#may be ooc but its too late to put it on the a/n | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fandoms--fluff · 8 months

Text

Mud and Suds

Flufftober, October 3rd

3 year old Salvatore sister reader x Stefan Salvatore x Damon Salvatore

Summary: Damon makes Stefan give you a bath from you being all dirty, and it backfires on him just a bit

Warnings: None, fluff overload

A/n: may be a bit ooc, but it's really stinkin cute

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s been two hours since you went outside carrying a plastic shovel and two different sized containers.

“She’s been out there for a while, what’s she doing?” Damon brought up, looking outside through the open door and can barely see you because you’re too far away.

“Well you can always check on her” Stefan pointed out, looking up from writing in his diary.

Damon shrugged and went out, walking towards where you were sitting, surrounded by different blobs of dirt and mud. You built all of them forming a little mud kingdom of your own surrounding your vicinity. He walked up to you, noticing all of the mud smeared on your clothing, face, arms, and legs. He raised an eyebrow wondering how you managed that.

“Hey, Kiddo, I think it’s time to go inside and clean you up” Damon crouched down in front of you.

“Bu’ mud, Day Day” you pointed at your creations, and called your brother by his nickname.

“Its getting late, you can continue tomorrow, alright?” Damon said and you nodded.

You stood up and walked over to Damon, avoiding destroying any of the mud castles. He took one of your muddy hands and walked you into the house.

"Don't you even think about it" Damon said when you were about to pull away from him and run around the house.

You looked up at him and stuck your tongue out before seeing Stefan sitting in one of the chairs. "S'efan!" You exclaimed and ran over to your other big brother. You wrapped your arms around his legs, unnoticlingly smearing mud all over his pants.

"Hello to you too, y/n/n" Stefan sighed when he saw all the mud on him.

Stefan looked over to your guys' older brother and pressed his lips together for a moment. "At least she only ran four meters away?" Stefan shrugs.

"Really? Well for that, guess who's on bath time duty? You" Damon told him before walking up to his room.

"Okay. Let's go get you all cleaned up! And let's get all these muddy clothes cleaned" Stefan picked you up, not caring about more mud getting on him since he already has to change anyways. "Yeah!" You exclaimed, leaning your head against his shoulder.

He carried you on his hip up the stairs and to his bathroom. Once he got there, he sat you down on the counter for a second while he turned the tap on to gave the bathtub filling up.

"Let's get you out of these dirty clothes, and if you're good during the whole bath, you can sleep in Damon's bed tonight" Stefan smiled, getting back at Damon for leaving him alone with a mud covered and energetic you to get cleaned and ready for bed.

"Yea, Day Day! Bubbles?" You asked him. "Yes, you can have bubbles in your bath" Stefan agrees. He grabbed the bottle of lavender scented bubbles from under his sink that he bought for you a couple months ago.

After he poured some of it in under the running tap, he came back over to you. Getting you out of the clothes was fairly easy to him. Usually you'd have put up a fight about having a bath, but today you're cooperating easily.

"Ready!" You exclaimed and raised your arms in excitement. "Yes you are, good job!" Stefan brang you over to the tub and slowly raised you into the warm water. "Is it too hot?" He asked. You shook your head, immediately playing with the bubbles.

"Okay, I'm going to be back in just a second, I'm going to get all your muddy clothes into the hamper, and change out of my now muddy clothes, you got it?" He said softly.

"Otay" you said before splashing with the bubbles again.

Stefan ruffled your wavy hair before picking up the pile of small muddy clothing. He vamped out of the bathroom connected to his room. He quickly put all yours and his muddy clothes into an empty laundry bin and changed into a tshirt and sweatpants.

When he got back into the bathroom, there was water splashed onto the ground. "Really?" he deadpanned, to which you just giggled back.

Stefan just shook his head with a small smile. He came over to you with a washcloth and body wash. He washed all the mud off of you quickly, surprised that you stayed still the entire time.

"Okay, last time, cover your eyes" Stefan told you, holding a cup of water above your head to rinse out the final suds of shampoo out of your hair. Your head was tilted back just a bit.

You covered our eyes with your tiny hands, while also squeezing them shut. Stefan slowly poured the water over your head, making sure to get the last of the shampoo out.

"Alright! All done" Stefan tells you. You removed your hand from your face and tilted your head back to normal. "Bath 'inished?" You ask.

"Yep, it's finished, time to dry you off and get into your pajamas" Stefan told you and lifted you out of the tub with a towel and quickly wrapped it around your body.

He undid the stopper, letting the water drain out before walking out of his room and over to yours. He placed you on your bed, all dry becuase of the towel now and walked over to your dresser.

He pulled open one of the drawers with your pjs in them. "Do you care which one?" He asked you. "Uh-uh" you shook your head.

Stefan picked out a light purple and white striped lonsleeve and bottoms. "Okay, stripes it is" he said. He dressed you in the pajamas as you started to nod off.

"Day Day" you quietly said, realizing Stefan had picked you up into his arms again. "Mhm, let's go see drop you off with Damon" Stefan said, to which you giggled at.

When Stefan walked into Damon's room, he looks up from where he's sat in his chair. "What do I owe the privilege of seeing my baby siblings" he smirked at Stefan's slightly offended face from being called a 'baby sibling'.

"Oh, just a little gift" Stefan passed you over to him.

"S'eep in Day Day's bed!" You told him before nuzzling into his chest.

"I told her if she was good during her bath she could sleep in your room tonight and she was!" Stefan told him, answering his confused stare.

Stefan quickly bolted out of the room when he got the death glare from Damon, "Have fun!" He yelled before closing his door.

You just giggled at your older brother's expression and poked his face multiple times. "Good thing you're my favorite" Damon whispered in your ear.

705 notes · View notes

sanjisblackasswife · 2 years

Note

Hello! I don't know if your request is open or not, sorry if I send this request when your request is close. May I request separate headcanons for monster trio x fem reader? Reader wears clothes that can hide her ass because she's uncomfortable when someone stares at her ass (and she dislikes her ass because it's too big). Sfw or nsfw is up to you. Is my request alright and fine for you? Do tell me if you feel like it's too much, thank you!

A/N: This stupid ass draft didn’t save and I already wrote sm so I apologize for the late response I was so mad SKSHSHSKSK anyways I’ll always put on my head when my request are closed so you’re good babes your request was perfect thank u!. But I did do a similar HC of this but it was pretty OOC and spicy so I’ll make this one more tame and sfw ;) tysm for requesting!

Monster Trio’s Girlfriend Insecure About Her Big Butt (FLUFF)

Black Fem Reader in Mind

Ft. Zoro, Luffy, & Sanji

No warnings! Just fluff and stupidity.

————————————————————————————————————————

Zoro

As if this MF gives af

Look at him. And imma say it again:

Booty Hunter Zoro is canon. I will not have y’all disagree w me on this idc what y’all say

Anyways he doesn’t really care what you wear so he never had a reason to question why you mostly wore baggy clothes. He assumed since you’re the martial arts fighter of the crew it gives you more leeway?

Today you and him went to go fishing in a small town and it was a bit hot so you wore a long dress with a jacket over your waist. Just for extra precaution.

“Got damn…” you heard a few guys whistle from behind you which made you hold onto Zoro’s arm as he scratched his ear yawning not even paying attention to any of the men cat calling you and making derogatory comments about your shape.

“Fuck that’s a sweet piece of ass he got—hey sweetheart how bout you dip that asshole and come have fun with us?”

Zoro usually doesn’t engage with people that holler out to you both. You and him both know Zoro will protect you so he tells you not to worry about the stupid comments. He just doesn’t give a fuck until they decide to get bold enough to get close

And that was the first mistake

“Hey!” The man’s hand didn’t even get to touch your shoulder before Zoro pulled out his sword and cut the man.

The rest of his crew behind him looked terrified and many of them whispered “Oh that’s the pirate hunter Zoro! How didn’t he know he was with that chick?!”

Zoro grabbed the man’s collar with full force and looked him then his crew in the eye

“Its already annoying as hell hearing you asses yell out to my woman without attacking all of you, but Just know next time I see any of your shitty dirty hands on her I’ll cut them off of you. It would suck to not have your only girlfriend to use when you’re alone at night wouldnt it?”

Just in case nobody understands the last prt Zoro is implying the man uses his hand to jack off

Zoro pushed the man back down and continued walking as he stole a bottle of sake from their group in passing.

“Common unless you want me to kick all their asses for you.”

First off it turned you on a bit hearing him call you “my woman” it was so out of character for him

You scurried to him and he held his hand out sipping his their drink and you grabbed it

“I hate I always cause this.”

Zoro didn’t know what the hell you were talking about but when he asked and you explained your issues with your butt and how you don’t like it he rolls his eyes.

Lowkey offended you but that’s how Zoro is.

“You shouldn’t be insecure about that. It’s stupid. Your body is ..very attractive and those idiots probably never seen a woman’s body besides on a magazine in years.”

“Any jackass that want to make you feel bad about having a sexy ass like yours can talk to me about it because they’re not the one that gets to grab it now are they?”

He was so shameless in his words.

“Zoro…”

You smile, your boyfriend can be a numbskull but his heart is always in the right place. So you take off your jacket and without a slip of the beat you get Zoro smack your butt.

“See? You really do have a great ass.”

“Stop it!”

He laughs and kisses your forehead because he still loves his overthinking girlfriend sm.

Sanji

This man is a true chad. A gentleman. A MAN ABOVE MEN—-

So he clearly notices when his Princess feels even a little bit down

He had a feeling by the way you looked at your body in the mirror there was something you didn’t like about yourself

He noticed how you never wore a bikini, or shorts, or even a flowy dress on hot days.

Sanji has asked you what’s the issue, but you brushed it off and told him not to worry about it

But Sanji being Sanji he couldn’t let that slide no no

There was a beach party celebration happening by the dock and a bunch of people in and out of town were there. You really loved swimming actually and Sanji wanted to go and play in the water with you but you were stuck in your room

“Y/N-SSAAAAAAANNNNN COMMON!”

Robin and Nami got you a two piece to wear, they said they didn’t want to see you outside until you wore it and that in turn made you nearly regret confining to them about your insecurity but you knew it was just the typical tough love they gave you.

You let Sanji in and he was already in his swim trunks ready to go but you were still wearing a sweats and hoodie

“Baby why aren’t you ready? You sick? Need me to make you some soup?”

He does NOT let go of the subject if you try to brush him off this time he has been seeing you act like this for too long

So you finally explain to him

After you let him know your dilemma with your big butt he’s ready to kick Zoro

He didn’t even have anything to do with it he just wanna kick his ass

“WHO SAID DISGUSTING THINGS TO YOU AND YOUR BODY? HM? I WILL KILL THEM—“

He began screaming and flames came out of no where so you had to smack him

“No! I Just…for a Long time guys always made fun of my butt and if they didn’t make fun of it they made sexual comments and I hated it and I—- there is just so many people out there—“

Sanji understands your issue but rest assured he reminds you why you shouldn’t. He tells you how he will hurt anybody that tries it and even bring a towel and a big shirt to cover you if you need it. You show him the blue bikini you were ganna wear and Sanji just forgets his sweet speech and spazzes the hell out

“OH PLEASE MY DEAREST BLESS MY EYES TO SEE YOUR PERFECT BREAST AND PERFECT BUTT! I WILL WORSHIP YOU PLEASE—-“

He was holding onto your legs crying.

Anyways you kick him out your room and put it on.

You have to admit you looked delicious you really did.

Tits were great, legs were amazing, and dat ass was so fluffy like a pancake you could bite it (yeah I said it)

You come out holding your body and Sanji pauses and just bleeds all over the damn place

Took you an hour to get off the beach because he kept passing out

Sanji really felt happy that you were comfortable enough to express your feelings to him so all day he was by your side

Yes his hands and eyes were on your butt

And as promised he brought the shirt and towel which you didn’t need because he made you feel so comfortable:(🤍

One guy did whistle at you, but Sanji kicked the shit out of him

He also had your thighs wrapped around his shoulder in the water and carried you around

All in all Sanji made you forget why you were insecure about your beautiful booty in the first place

Luffy

Luffy doesn’t quite understand but bless his heart he’s TRYING

You’ve told him about your insecurities about your butt and he really doesn’t fucking get why you don’t like it

He has actually turned you around and pulled up a dress you were wearing and stared at your butt saying “So what if it’s big it’s nice.”

Since then he subconsciously touches your butt

Very shamelessly

He doesn’t make you to wear any less baggy clothing but he will encourage you if you ask him, like if you should wear tights

“Yeah wear those Your but jiggles a lot when you wear em!”

Just like Zoro and Sanji he’ll Gum Gum tf outta somebody if they make disgusting comments about your body

Luffy wanted you to buy him some meat so you both went to a food vendor and while waiting in line as Luffy was sitting on the benches to the side watching you happily, a man pushed up against you cupping your butt in the process

“Hey! I felt that why’d you do that!?”

“Not my fault darling you got a lot going on back there…I just simply fell.”

You wanted to beat his ass but you were so close to getting Luffy’s food. It wasn’t too long until then you felt the creeps body really close behind you.

You prayed he’d just move but there was a crowd of people around you and you knew you’d have to clear the damn room if he touched you again

His hand was creeping up your thigh and you felt it even under your thick pants but that was until

“Luffy!”

Your sweet boyfriend GGP that mf down the street.

Luffy was watching you closely after hearing you yell at the man. He didn’t quite read your words correctly but he knew you were uncomfortable and he found out why

He grumbled grabbing your waist to be stretched over to him

“Weirdo. You okay?”

“Mmhm.” You really thank God for his stretchy body

“Good! Let’s go to a different food place for meat!”

The rest of the walk you were in front of him instead of beside him

“It’s okay, Y/N I’ll protect you.” He spoke in your ear “Not ganna let any assholes touch you.”

He has without effort helped you get over your dislike of your round tookus

841 notes · View notes

houseofhyde · 1 year

Text

dressed in white (putting off crying).

pairing. daemon targaryen x fem!reader

synopsis. he knows of those who whisper that seeing the bride in her dress before the couple stands beneath the eyes of the seven births nothing but bad luck for a marriage, but daemon targaryen cares little for superstitions.

warnings. canon appropriate sexism/misogyny, implied valyrian!reader, implied incest (if you interpret this as the reader being targaryen), daemon is a simp for his lover!, likely ooc!daemon (i'm new to writing for him, i’ll get better, i'm sorry), poorly translated high valyrian, angst, fluff, descriptions of sex.

word count. 5.6k

hyde's input. lmao the title is based off a lyric from the (superior) the 1975 song meanswear. this whole scenario has been playing on my brain since i first watched hotd and i need to get it out before it drives me crazy by living in my tiny pea-brain for too long. i literally only made this blog to post this (since it wouldn't suit the writings on my main blog), so idk if i'll actually post anything else on here but feedback would be appreciated! anyway, daemon is a menace to society, i love him. sidenote,, i've always been terrified to post any fics in the got/hotd fandoms because istg every writer in this fandom has a god-like level of prose and it intimidates me, so please be nice if you think this sucks :) i’ve only read through this once, there may be spelling errors but it’s late and i just want to post this already!!!

tight braids rip hair from skull, gold incased jewels trap a delicate neck in a chokehold, stiff fabrics snuff out any heat of the westerosi sun from gracing dampened skin.

you aim to breathe in an air of relief for your aching lungs, yet the maiden behind you denies you of such a virtue as she pulls tighter on the set of strings holding up your bodice. you grow more lightheaded, oxygen starved body swaying momentarily, as a few more of your ladies in waiting assist with dressing you in the white coffin, lace cuffing your wrists like shackles and the weight of the gown feeling akin to that of a great beast, be it the weight of a stag, or a lion, or a wolf.

or a dragon.

“please,” hardly recognising your own voice, you flinch at the broken rasp that makes its way past your lips. your throat burns, your stomach churns, your eyes carry bags beneath them. far from a blushing bride, you are. the days of celebration leading up to the ceremony have taken an effect on both your mind and body, restless nights leading to uneaten feasts and unquenched thirsts. alas, you push such thoughts to that corner in your mind you reserve for nothing but tales of docile dragons and knights in dirtied armor as you straighten your stand, shoulders rising and head holding itself high. “may i have a moment of solitude within my chambers?”

your ladies shoot their attention over to the eldest among them, a septa who's hair has grown a deeper shade of grey with the passing of time and face has grown wrinkled by a history of smiles and laughter, and who bares the name of dorothea.

“of course, lady y/n. every woman must steal her last moment of solitude before she marries herself off to her lord husband. solitude will be sparse once you are wed.”

like an army of men, though far more graceful and colourful, the ladies make way towards the entrance of your chambers, spilling out in a single file line and shutting the door behind them.

and finally you breathe.

once, twice, thrice, and then you are a mess of desperate gasps and trembling limbs. you make your way over to the mirror which centres the room, steps more of an uncoordinated tumble than a graceful walk of a future lady of court.

met with your own reflection, something feels off. like a lack of connection, your astute mind can not fathom how this frail, tired, solemn looking girl bares any resemblance to the confident, bright eyed and quick witted woman you'd grown to be.

you trace your hands over the flaring of the dress' skirt, as if working out the creases in the fabric will loosen the ones that line your forehead. so caught up in your own unfitting image, you barely register the reopening of your chambers door.

“please, dorothea,” you sigh the woman's name out like she's bound to you by something more motherly than mere duty, the years spent in her company making for far better memories than the fleeting time you've passed with your true mother. “just a few more minutes. i'm... not ready. not yet.”

“i should hope not, you've yet to finish fastening the buttons on that ridiculous gown they've forced you into.”

the first thing you notice as your eyes meet the mirror once more is that your frown has deepened.

“you can't-” the second thing is him, dressed in the onyx and blood colours of his house, his newly shortened hair styled in a way that gives him a near boyish charm. the only visible slither of dark sister- nothing but a handle pressing into his left side- reminds you this is no boy, but a man, brutal and abrasive and protective, fresh from a victorious battle in which he walked away with a crown and the offering of another sword for his brother's throne. you're quick to correct your choice of words. “you shouldn't be here, prince daemon.”

if you were anyone else, you'd think the prince cares little- if anything- for the words you cast his way, arms clasped behind his back as he strides across the room with an air of arrogance, confidence, the stature of a man who not only belonged within your chambers but within your heart.

but, alas, you are you, and that means a great deal when it comes to the study of one targaryen prince. only you would notice the twitch in his brow, the snarl across his lips that is quickly denied in exchange for a smirk, the slight shrink of his shoulders as the weight of the truth sets itself upon them.

he's displeased.

whether the reason be your unusual use of his title- an act he knows you've committed with the foolish hope of putting distance between you both, if not physically then at least in power- or your attempt to banish him from your quarters evades you, but it matters little, really, for daemon is still approaching you.

he's upon you quicker than you expected, quicker than you wanted.

“let me.” two words, simple and used from the most common of folk to the most regal of lords, uttered in an infinite number of scenarios. yet, they may be your undoing as the silver haired man welcomes himself to the feel of your skin, a single finger trailing it's way down what remains exposed of your back. the touch mimics a shiver, something that tickles down your spine in a disturbingly enjoyable manner.

you nod your approval, too afraid to open your mouth and see what sounds he elicits from you, your heart too long starved of affection and his gentle caress the first it's tasted in years.

the fear of speaking carries on even as he departs from your skin, both hands joining in finishing the task of clasping your dress together. maybe this is worse, you think, having his knuckles bump against you every so often as he fiddles with the pearly white buttons, teasing you with what could be, what could've been.

“i never imagined us marrying under the seven.” part of you believes he's mocking you, torturing you with words he knows will wrap around your heart like vines and pierce the delicate organ with its thorns. you wonder if this is the targaryen prince known for his callous words and disregard for the sentiment of another come out to show you his true colours once and for all, gone now the days where he'd shower you in expensive metals and feed you the sweetest of treats.

he catches your line of sight in the reflective glass and his smile widens, pulling his lips with a heavy sense of dishonesty that makes your insides twist. never did you think there'd come a day where daemon targaryen would fake a smile towards you.

“īlva qilōni carry se ānogar hen uēpa valyria should dīnagon isse se ways hen uēpa valyria.” us who carry the blood of old valyria should marry in the ways of old valyria. there was a moment in time- back when the sight of a man was enough to make you blush- that you believed there was nothing, and no one, that compared to the beauty of hearing daemon speak his ancestral language, the old flame of valyria setting his soul ablaze. as you stand now, eyes stuck on watching how he's focused on one particularly stiff button, you find only heartache in hearing him speak high valyrian. not even the way he breaks his composed facade- though only for a mere handfull of seconds- to frown and scowl down at the stubborn button is enough to ease the tension in your chest. “ondos bound ondoso ānogar, daor dovodedha cloth.” hands bound by blood, not silly cloth.

by the time he finishes off fastening your gown, bile burns the back of your throat as his hands smooth down your back, painfully slow in their travels, giving you enough time to think of how this isn't how things were meant to be.

daemon was supposed to be the one eagerly tearing off your dress, not trapping you in its suffocating confines.

you decide to play into his fantasy, to let not only him but also yourself indulge in the sweet naïveté of wishful thinking.

“skoros ābrar gōntan ao imagine syt īlva?” what life did you imagine for us?

he takes a breath, pausing the conversation and inhaling as if to stable his wavering heart, focus his mind on choosing his next words wisely or run the risk of you shoving him away completely.

when he at last answers, you wish you'd never asked.

“i saw us trading life in the keep for dragonstone, making a home for ourselves where the targaryen history runs deepest. it's where we'd wed, where i'd get to listen to you swear vows to me that carry true meaning, unlike the shit i’ll have to endure hearing you spew later in the sept.” relief floods over you like a great storm as he switches back to the common tongue, a downpour which serves to dampen the fiery passion in his voice. his hands have found rest upon your mid-riff, large and warm and protective in the way they pull you back against his muscular chest. “we'd host feasts for whenever my brother insists on visiting us to keep up appearances of a false bond between his new family and his old one. you'd teach me about other languages, so i could express my adoration for you in every tongue known to man, and i'd show you what it is to never want for anything, make sure you own every possession you desire and feel every emotion you require.

“when we're not busy playing politics, in the moments you're not teaching our sons how to thread needles and to be good husbands, while i encourage our daughters to wield swords and to be strong, we'd spend that time in the throes of pleasure." the blunt ends of his nails dig deep into the layers of fabric, as if he's trying to tear the dress off to reveal the real you beneath, the you he's become all too enthralled by. the you that's bare, and pliant, and begging for his touch in a way that is not only sexual but primal, as though you'd perish if not for the brush of his lips against yours and warmth of his body casting over you like a shadow meant to seal you away from the harsh world. "fuck a marital bed, we'd make it into a marital home, a marital garden, a marital beach. i'd take you anywhere, work my fingers into you till they are broken, bruise my knees just to drink your sweet nectar, fuck you so full of my seed till it has nowhere else to go and no choice but to drip out of you, covering us in our brutal lovemaking.”

“daemon-”

“they'll tire of us, eventually, all our poor maids and guards. tire of catching me with you bent over any surface, tire of hearing you chant my name like i'm your only god. they'll be running back to kingslanding with their tails tucked between their legs, ready to spread the gossip of just how insatiable the rogue prince and his ravishing wife really are.”

“daemon, you really-”

“we can still have that life, my love.” he sounds so hopeful, glances upon you so eagerly in the reflective glass that you near crumble to the ground if not for the support of his arms around you. “hmm, wouldn't you prefer we do that, instead of this over the top ceremony that'll leave you with nothing but a headache and sore feet?”

the heartache behind his intentions sedates the anger that quells within your chest, way past the layers of bodice. it is not born from nowhere, this anger. not a fiery pit lit from an explosive catastrophe but, rather, a sole flame that has simmered and festered and burned for a near three years, mothered by solitude and fathered by abandonment.

“no, we can't.” intending to put your foot down, reign in control over yourself, hands reaching to tear his tiresome hold off of you, you're bereft to find yourself sighing a breath that leaves clear the exhaustion you've been harbouring- far beyond just physical, deep in the trenches of neglected emotions- , body melting into a puddle at his feet upon watching the familiar sight of your embracing limbs in the reflection. bitterness bites the back of your throat in this repeat of familiar history: you, daemon and bodies touching away from prying eyes and gossiping courtiers. “my father... he'd have your head, daemon. after everything he has done to secure this union happened... after all the rumours... it wouldn't be fair to him.”

daemon hums out an acknowledgement and you nearly convince yourself he's in agreement, that he understands the repercussions that would entail if you gave in to his game of make-believe; that he knows these pretty words that once were a gift for a younger version of yourself to hear, all tied up in a bow made of his velvet kisses upon your silk skin, have become a punishment meant to torment a child who'd dared to play with a toy that was never hers to touch in the first place.

all hope of redemption is lost with the tightening of his hold.

muscles flex beneath the red of his sleeves, an unspoken promise of the strength he harbours, the brute force he’d be more than willing to use should someone aim to take you from his hold. what follows is a resounding silence, where you’re too shaken to speak and his head rests it’s weight on your shoulder, the near-white crown of his head staring back at you in the mirror as it blends with the white of your gown. he burrows his face into the spot where your neck meets your shoulders, hiding whatever broken, troubled, pathetic- his own word for sad- expression paints his features.

“i thought you would wait for me.”

and just like that, the illusion is shattered, an accusatory tone to his voice which leaves behind nothing of the false sense of bliss or the hopeful future but jagged shards scattered along the ground, threatening to split your skin and make you bleed should you dare to clean it up.

“how could i, prince daemon?” the anger works its way through the cracks in your broken heart, taking up the space you’d once reserved for tears and forgiveness. “you left. no words, no warning, no goodbye. my loyalty is with my father and my house, and therefore marrying to secure a fruitful alliance for said house comes above all, even petty little princes.”

“i was banished! by my own brother! by your own-” he halts the words before he can speak them. though the dragon in him is awakening- the slightest of conflict rousing the ugly defensive side of him-, he stubbornly holds his position, eyes squeezing shut a little tighter to fight out the light of reality he’s trying to evade. “and now here i return to find the one person i came back for could not wait a measly three years for me!”

“if you think i’ve waited only three years for you, you’re an even greater fool than otto hightower.”

the prince tenses, the mention of his sworn nemesis (a feat which had earned him plenty a mockery on your end, forever bereft at the fact a supposed grown man could live with a near-playground level of hatred for another) causing the fire within him to grow more violent. he unwinds himself from the hold he’s got on you, arms dropping to his side and face rising from it’s hiding spot within your skin. in the mirror, he looms over you, staring down at you like he’s the red wyrm and you are but a helpless doe moments away from having your flesh burnt by his fire.

“forgive me, lady y/n,” the hairs on the back of your neck stand to attention as darkness overcomes his voice, matching the expression on his face. “i wasn’t aware of how deep your loyalty ran for you to whore yourself out so easily for some lord’s name and gold.”

with the twist of an ankle, you come face to face with the dragon prince, chest heaving with each laboured breath which fails to calm your nerves and nose blowing out what you imagine to be the steam of your fiery anger. you stagger back, he leans forward. hands land on your elbows and steady you, draw you nearer till the mounds of your breasts brush against his cloth-covered chest.

daemon is stunned to silence, a rare feat, as he gazes down at you and sees not the woman who’s wrapped up in white lace but the girl who’d been covered in tears and carried fear in her eyes as she took in the sight of the man she’d crashed into- quite literally, as he’d enjoyed reminding you whenever you had gotten a little too generous with the wine and led yourself down the path of unadulterated reminiscing in his chambers- in the halls of the keep. he remembers how it felt to truly look upon your face for the first time, to be lulled into a sedated state just by hearing your soft voice stuttering out apologies, to part ways from you with hands still burning from the heat of your flesh, refusing to cool down even as he sat among the small council, too busy clenching his fists and questioning what exactly was so bewitching about the maiden he’d caught in distress.

a sharp sting to his cheek is enough to shatter the memory, bringing him out of the looking glass of the past and into the present where your eyes are filled with more disgust than tears and the burn of your flesh is against his face instead of his hands.

you’d slapped him.

by gods, you’d actually struck him.

if the circumstances called for it, the prince wonders if his cock would be stiffening by now.

“you, of all people, have no right to call me a whore, lord fleabottom.”

“and yet i seem to recall you begging me to call you that during our past encounters.”

you grab at his collar, sharp nails digging into the dark material as if it were his windpipes, crushing them under your brutish strength. tugging him down with what you believe to be force- and what is truly just him giving into your attempt-, the pair of you find yourselves eye to eye, nose to nose, frown to frown.

oh, yes, his cock would certainly be hard, were his heart not so weak.

“you are a despicable excuse of a man.” you mean to spit the words in his face, praying to all the old gods and the new for this feeling to truly be hatred, disgust, disdain. three years have passed and, with it, so has your love, leaving a gapping hole meant only to be filled with hate. were it not for the shaking of your free hand, or the pounding of your heart in your ears, you’d believe your prayers had been answered. alas, the gods are cruel and your words fall only as a whisper on his ears. “i pity the women who have been scorned with loving you.”

“come now, my lady, you were always so against those who pitied themselves.”

“do you hear how pathetic you sound?” taken aback by his rebuttal, your response comes with a moments delay, one you hope he does not notice. the grin he casts down at you proves otherwise, and serves as yet another plank of dry wood tossed on to the blazing embers of your ire. “i am to be married come high noon, and you are already a married man! put aside your wants and realise your duty, perhaps then your king would not see it necessary to rid himself of you.”

“and what a marriage it’ll be, my lady! with your dearest lord cunt lannister parading you around as though you are some prized deer he’s caught for a feast, and you drowning yourself in riches and wines to forget the horrid memory of his red face above yours.” he matches your own grip on him, his far larger and far stronger hand shooting out to take a hold of you by the neck of your dress. he’s a brute, tugging on the expensive cottons like they are no more than the clothes of a common whore. “rumour has it your dear husband-to-be is one of those one-pump-chumps, so at the very least he’ll get it over with quickly, allowing you to roll over and bring yourself some satisfaction as his pathetic seed paints your thighs.”

“at least my marriage will be consummated!” daemon scoffs as quickly as the words have shot out your mouth, no harm coming from them, not with how many nights he’d spent in your sheets claiming he’d sooner fuck his own dragon than touch his so-called bronze bitch. the real kicker, the true spear through his pride, the thing you know only by rumour and not by fact, is what you say next. “meanwhile you’ll continue to chase pleasure in whores who look like me from the back, but just never quite sound, smell, taste, feel the same as i do.”

“keep talking and i’ll take it as an invitation to remind myself of just exactly how you feel.”

“if the recent rumours about you are true, my prince, i doubt you’ll be capable of getting your cock to rise for the occasion.”

silence takes hold of the little space between you. contemplation evident on his face, he straightens back up to his full height, eyes no longer at level with your own as they cast down a look which lacks all the sharp edges from before. no longer are his eyes daggers that threaten to slice through you but, instead, blankets of warmth and safety which ache to wrap around your tired bones and shield you from the cold which accompanies the feeling of solitude.

the hand which once held you by the top of your dress has traveled up the expanse of your neck, fingers soft and lazy in the way they stroke over the skin. before you even process your own actions, the grip you have on his own clothes loosens, till your hand is merely resting against the solid mass of his chest.

for the first time since the rogue prince had returned to the capital, victorious and wearing a crown, you allow yourself to take in the sight of him, wholly and unserved. you admire the shortened length of his hair, noting how it frames his face in a way that fully brings out its sharp edges. you trace over the new lines in his skin, unintentionally reminiscing on words you'd both exchanged between tangled limbs and the moonlight ( “they are a sign that i'm aging, sweetling.” “they are a sign that you've lived.”). you catch sight of mangled skin along his right side, peeking out from beneath his clothing. your heart clenches at the thought of him in pain, and you distract yourself from thinking of what other marks decorate his war-torn body by returning attention to his lilac eyes.

three years have passed since you had last held each other and, against your own wishes, your heart still remembers to beat harder around him.

“he will not love you.” the words are an exhale from him, like he's resigning you to your own fate.

“i do not need love.” the words you speak become the first lie you've ever told him, making even with the way he'd faked his smile earlier.

“then if not love, freedom. that cunt will not give you that." you aim to tear away from his piercing eyes, yet the force of his hand tilting your chin upwards gets in your way. he may have been at war, you think, but he's inflicting a greater torture upon you than any fallen soldier right now, imploring you to look upon his weakened state in a way he's never allowed before. "he will give you gold, and dresses, and dresses made of gold to occupy yourself with, but never freedom.”

“freedom is a fool’s game.”

“gaomā daor ȳdragon hae aōla.” you do not speak like yourself. this time, he does not prevent you from looking back at your own reflection. you wish to whine about how you do not look like yourself either, dressed in such a ridiculously white gown but don't in fear that he'll take it as invitation to slice through it with his dear dark sister. “what happened to the girl who used to make plans to see the world on dragon's back, to taste every wine, to be tied to no land?”

“she died somewhere between the first time you kissed her and six moons into your war for the stepstones.”

like the mirror were something akin to the mystical, future-telling balls you'd heard of in the stories of witches and seers, the memory of your first kiss plays out before you. you remember it all like it was merely yesterday. the way you'd at last bested him after the five moons of midnight training you'd endured. the way he lay frozen on the ground, eyes widened in a mixture of shock, irritation and pride. the way he'd marched over to you and sent thrilling chills of fear down your spine as you worried he aimed to scold you for daring to nick the right side of his cheek with your blade, drawing out blood. the way he'd ripped your weapon from your hand, thrown it off to some unseen part of the dark training grounds and proceeded to attack you. only, where you had expected raised fists and seething words, he gave bruising kisses and sighs of satisfaction, the victory of at last going against everyone else's supposed better judgement and giving into the carnal desires he'd tried to cast aside in favour of protecting your virtue in the eyes of the cunts that sat with himself and your own father at the small council.

and then, you blink and suddenly it is half a decade later and you're standing in those same dark, cold, training grounds, only this time the prince is nowhere in sight and you're hacking at a man made of straw, picturing the king's brother's face with every swing of the blade.

“most nights i barely knew if you were alive, daemon! any news of you was sparse, and never meant to fall upon my ears. were it not for rhaenyra serving as cupbearer for the council, overhearing the gossips that ensued in their meetings, i'd never have found out you'd gone to war in the first place. waiting for you to send a raven, or send at the very least a sign that you ached for me as much as i did you, it broke me. and, as i put the fractured pieces of myself back together, i found i was no longer the wide eyed fool you'd left me. i was no longer going to cry over a man who didn't respect me enough to let me know of his leaving.”

“how could i write you, my lady? was it not you who asked of me that our affairs be kept a private matter? i'd have thought our scandal was lesson enough for you to learn there are rats in every crevice of kingslanding. a single letter from me would have been your undoing.” the anger returns to his voice, though not so all-consuming this time around. behind your own reflection, you see him shifting around, body growing agitated with the need to do something, anything to expel the dark energy coursing through his veins. “we both know i have not once had an issue with making my affections for you known, it is you who was so scared to be branded as my mistress! so do not dare question my respect for you. everything you've wanted, i've given. anything you've asked of me, i've done. and it was still not enough to mark my claim on your heart.”

“why do you still not see my heart is not some land to be won?” if at any moment you pondered the possibility of the maids outside your chambers being aware of the reason behind daemon's current presence, the raising of your voice and the words you spit out at him must be enough to confirm any of their suspicions. you wonder which of them will be the one to spread the word, until it reaches your father's ears or- worse- your betrothed. “nyke daor mirri sombāzmion hen pryjata syt ao naejot hang bona jaes-forsaken bartōro hāre zaldrīzes banner iemnȳ.” i am not some castle of ruins for you to hang that god-forsaken three-headed dragon banner within.

if words were daggers, yours would have pierced through his darkened heart and twisted the blade. for there is nothing more prideful to a targaryen than their own bloodline- and many a nights you'd spent, sat at candlelight with the infamous conquest of aegon targaryen himself depicted to you in a written word, pondering if this grandiose sense of self is what lead to their customs of taking their own kin to wed-, the hot tempered prince being the greatest example of this, rumoured to have once made a eunuch of a man who dared to so little as roll his eyes as a young viserys targaryen passed by him in a brothel.

you feel him more than you see him move behind you, weight shifting from one leg to another and carrying the rustle of metals and leather with it. he's glaring at you through the reflective glass, mouth pressed shut in a straight line and hands clasped behind his back, as if holding them there is some way of holding off whatever thoughts he had of touching you with hands that had brought so many people to their end- his own wife being their latest victim.

several minutes of silence pass by before you realise he's weighing out his options, trying to choose what to say next. the rogue prince, known for his unmatched wit and possessing the ability to argue his way out of acts of war against his very own brother, is lost for words for a second time.

when the words come to him at last, you wish they'd disappear again.

“i am a proud man. i have fought, and lived, and fucked with fire and blood, so this will be the first and only time i will ask this of you.” you watch with baited breath and sweating palms as daemon's figure lowers itself behind you and, with no second thought to be found, you swirl around in your gown just in time to watch his right knee meet the floor, his other one positioned perfectly at a ninety-degree angle and holding his weight as he leans his arm against the muscular thigh. his head is tilted up, desperation dancing gracefully with the heartache in his eyes as his right hand finds comfort in tangling itself with your own, him relishing in your touch and you fighting so hard to forget each and every other time he'd held your hand so gently.

in an imitation of his return to king visery's graces, he's bowing for you as though it will win him back your favour and the warmth of your bed.

“do not make yourself a lannister, do not wed him. lady rhea royce is dead, there is nothing obstructing our path. we can make it to the dragonpit before anyone even notices you're gone, we'll be wed by sundown, i beg of you. kostilus, marizzo hen ñuha prūmia, mazverdagon nyke aōha valzȳrys.” please, owner of my heart, make me your husband.

it is a plea for so much more than your hand.

it is a plea for your life, a plea for your future, a plea for a world where you reside upon dragon's back and he resides anywhere that is by your side.

it is everything you've ever wanted to hear from him, coming into fruition in the worst way imaginable: dressed in a wedding gown meant for another man.

“skoro syt sir? skoro syt līs ao epagon bisa hen issa sir?” why now? why must you ask this of me now? you pull in a breath and push out a sob, eyes welling with unshed tears as you force yourself to rip away from his lilac irises to find safety in staring up at the cold, unfeeling ceiling. “skoro syt daor skori nyke istan nykeēdrosa dāez naejot vestragon kessa?” why not when i was still free to say yes?

before he can fumble out a response, the door to your chambers reopens.

unlike before, it truly is dorothea this time.

“my lady,” she looks past the prince on his knees as though she can not even see him, too committed to her loyalty for you to rub a greater amount of salt in the gaping wound upon your heart which is daemon targaryen. there is no doubt when believing she'd never utter a word of the scene she has walked in on. “we must make haste. the ceremony will commence shortly, and there can be no wedding without a bride.”

the grip on your hand grows tighter, a silent plea from daemon to get you to look at him again, to see him for all that he may be- a man made of untamed disrespect, a tally of war crimes, blood of the so called dragon seed and, above all else, love for you- and take him as your own.

it makes it an even greater battle when you force your aching body to pull away from him, hands patting down the creases in your dress one last time before making your way over to the door.

this time around, it is you who leaves daemon a mess on your chambers' floor, kneeling there till his knees ache and the wedding bells have long ago rang out.

#daemon targaryen smut #daemon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen imagine #daemon targaryen oneshot #daemon targaryen fic #daemon targaryen angst #daemon targaryen fluff #house of the dragon smut #lmao the description of this fic is so misleading.. it's basically click bait i'm so sorry 🥴

618 notes · View notes

harcove · 10 months

Note

hi 🥺 i hope you’re doing all right — i’m sending so so much love 🫶🏼 i don’t want to bother you with a request so please feel free to just read this and move on if you need to ! i was just doing my hair, and as a curly girl i imagined begging Billy to let me do my post-shower styling routine on his luscious hair. he’s probably protective over his hair but i think it would be so cute !! like , him sitting on the edge of his bed, a little (a lot) stiff, with hair strands in his eyes as his s/o fusses over his wet hair, scrunching product and twirling clumps into ringlets 🥹🫶🏼 and he hates to admit that he loved being taken care of and despite his grumbling, he liked how his hair turned out 🥹

A/N: me, a year after taking a hiatus from writing, answering all my year old requests: "heyyy guysss...."

Fr I'm sorry y'all I stopped writing, and left all your beautiful requests in my inbox cause I didn't wanna delete them cause I love them and always wanted to do them someday... Even if it's LATE BY A YEAR IM SO SORRY... I hope this kinda makes up for it 🥺

Pairing: Billy x reader

Length: 3.4k

Warnings: Nopepepepe, but I will say OOC Billy just so no one tries to tell me I write him OOC even though this is how I characterize him lmao

Nah, I trust you - B.H.

Billy's back was stiff as a board.

He couldn't help it; it was his natural reaction to the situation. Facing his back towards people. It was hard. But you had begged- pleaded. Please let me do your hair, please! And no matter how many times he said no or brushed you off, you wouldn't let up. You were absolutely relentless.

To Billy, his hair was a key part of him. It was one of the few things he had complete control of in his life; something that was completely his and something he had the free will to do with it as he pleased (even if it meant his father would make a nasty comment or two about it) and it was something he took pride in.

Yes- he had let you touch his hair before. But that was after a long day, when he knew he wouldn't be going out again and was winding down in bed.

Not after a shower. He usually did that himself because he was the only one who knew how to do his hair the way he wanted. Or at least, he believed he was the only one who could do it right.

It may have sounded stupid; people might say it's just hair and its not that big of a deal. But to him it was a big deal. It was an integral part of him that even his father couldn't take away, even if he had something to say about it.

He supposed, maybe, if there was anyone who he might trust enough to do his hair after he showered, it might be you.

Your hair was beautiful. Thick curls that you tended to and he had seen you tend to before. Times where he'd been in your room, reading some random book he found on your bookshelf while he waited for you to finish showering- you walking out with wet hair and sitting at the vanity to put things in it- to make sure you took care of it.

So, if there was anyone he might trust for this, it was you.

In fact, it was always you. For every thing that Billy found himself alone in, found himself with no one he could trust, there was always you. He trusted you.

"Trust me, you're in good hands."

You note his stiff shoulders as you sat behind him on his bed whilst he sat on the floor. Billy was caged; in the beginning of your relationship he was especially so in all situations. Some days were still harder for him but he was much better than before.

It took a lot of patience and thinking past his personality at times, but it was worth the effort. He was worth it.

It was just too bad that so many people in his life didn't think so.

"I'll stop driving you to school if I'm fucking not," his voice is low, and much of his words came out as a grumble from his chest.

Gently, you place your hands on his shoulders and lean forward, bracing yourself on him so you don't fall from the bed. For a second his shoulders tense a bit more but when he realizes what you're doing they start to relax.

"Trust me," you kiss the side of his face gently- your lips brushing against the spot beside his ear, his wet hair tickling your own face.

Before you can pull back to work on his hair, his hand grasps your arm and he drags you back with enough force you think for a minute you're going to fall over his shoulders onto the floor, but thankfully you manage to use your other hand to grab onto his shoulder again.

He's pressing his lips to yours. It's rough and it's almost as if he's kissing you for the first time after years of not seeing you. Billy Hargrove is a great kisser. It's passionate at times and gentle at others. Oftentimes he's stronger than he realizes, but he's never hurt you.

You feel him bite your lip, and you squeeze his shoulder hard, pulling back.

"You're trying to distract me," you breathe out, trying to catch your breathe.

There's a heat deep in your lower body, in your stomach, and your face feels a tad warm. He knows what he's doing, he always does. But you won't let him get away with trying to distract you- besides, making him wait grants a better reward, for you and him both.

"I don't need to try babe," his eyes have a glint in them and you push his back as you sit up straighter.

"Okay Prince Charming," you role your eyes and bring your hands to his head, feeling the curls in his hair.

Billy's got a mullet; a ever popular hairstyle at the moment, but his looks better than others you've seen. He's also got a natural wave and some curl to his hair. He uses a curling iron on it too sometimes to really accentuate the curls.

He could always try to get a perm, but it was something in the back of his mind. He was fine right now doing what he was used to. Besides- who knew better about how much curl or wave he wanted than himself?

Pouring a bit of leave in conditioner into the palm of your hand, you slap them together to coat both of your hands before running them through his hair again. Your fingers tangle into his locks and you can already see the natural curl and wave in his hair. It's thicker at the root and thins out a bit at the ends.

With it damp like it was, it looked brown rather than the dirty blonde/brown you're used to seeing. His hair is beautiful, and you're unafraid to let him know so.

"Your hair is so beautiful Billy," you say with a smile that can be heard in your voice "Beautiful just like you are."

Billy's not used to being called beautiful. It's not a word people commonly use on him. Hot, yes, sexy, of course. Beautiful, no.

Yet you always seem so keen on using the word on him. At first, he'd always push back and claim that a word like that was meant for the likes of you, not him. Just call him sexy like everyone else did.

But you were insistent. You always were. And you'd brush him off and do it anyways. And soon, the word began to have a different meaning to him. A word that he associated with you. He wasn't sure if he thought himself beautiful but he knew you were and to you he was.

It always managed to make him feel something in his chest, that was for sure.

"Jesus, can't you call me hot, or some shit?" Billy bites out, but there's no malice in his words. More so, he sounds akin to a petulant child in that moment.

You suppose he's never had a chance to really be a child in his whole life. Never been taken care of, or babied.

So of course you'd do it for him now.

"You are hot," you make a sizzling noise with your mouth as you pull your hands from his hair, "but you're also beautiful."

"Glad you know."

It quiets down from there, a gentle lull in conversation is peaceful and welcome. Sometimes, Billy can be so loud (and as he likes to tell you, you can be especially loud when you're alone with him) and he can play loud music and get angry. But he likes the silence sometimes- only with you- because when he's alone, it's the music that blocks out his darker thoughts and his father's words.

But with you, the silence is safe.

Your hands pick up the heat protector Billy has on his bedside table and you spritz it a few times in the air to see that it's working, making Billy grab it.

"That shits expensive," he says before he starts spraying it into his hair himself.

"Alright, alright, I'll buy you a new one for your birthday- stop, I'm supposed to be doing this!"

With a quickness you grab the bottle back from his hands and spray his hair once more at the back before putting the bottle back on the table.

You're the only one he let's do these things.

Once that's done you run your hands through his hair again, half because you want to feel his hair again and have to make sure the product is everywhere.

You can feel it; the way his body relaxes just a smidge as you place your hands into his hair, playing with his locks and massaging his scalp. Compared to when you started, his body has loosened, his back is not as stiff- he's actually somewhat slouched, and his shoulders are too.

Moving to crawl across his bed, you grab the hair dryer and curler to really get to work on his locks. As you plug the former in, Billy looks at you, just drinking you in in those simple and quiet moments.

He's fucking whipped for you, and at one point in his life, that terrified him. It still did sometimes. But only because he'd never felt that way before. And he didn't want to ruin you.

Soon his hair is dry and your moving onto the curler.

His natural hair is already wavy as it is, and he's got some natural curls- especially on the nap of his neck he has what you called baby curls. You pull on them lightly, tug them, and you're doing it on purpose because soon Billy's large hand is grasping yours from behind and you're giggling.

"You're like a fucking child," he squeezes your hand, not enough to hurt you, but he's always been more heavy handed than most, "You're not touching my goddamn hair again if you don't stop."

"Your baby curls are so cute," you smile- removing your hand from his grip and placing both of your hands on either side of his head, tilting it back to look up at you.

He's always had the most beautiful eyes. Blue, clear, piercing.

Beautiful.

You gingerly place your lips against his as you lean forward. But he kisses back less gently, more needy, and his hands are soon finding their way backwards to hold the side of your own head. The position is odd, but the passion is familiar.

But this time it's not you that pulls away, it's him. And you can't help but pout as he does so- his tongue jutting out to lick his lips before a Cheshire like smirk shows itself, beautiful white teeth making their appearance like a vampire.

"Well? We don't have all night," he's so snarky when he speaks, knowing what he's doing to you- in a battle of wit and playfulness, Billy is the master. He is always one step ahead of you. You can never win. He throws your actions back in your face- the ball in your side of the court but he's the one holding it.

You let out a hmph as you take the heated curler and begin the task of curling, ignoring the heat that pools in the depths of your stomach and the way you can still feel his lips on yours. And he sits there, shoulders hunched slightly; a tiny thing that you notice with a soft smile and a bittersweet happiness. For so long when you had first met him, he was always tense; even alone, he always seemed like he was wound tight. At first it was confusing, worrying, and your worrying was warranted when you found out about his father. Neil Hargrove was at the bottom of the bucket, not worth any of your time or energy. Only ever worth the energy if you were trying to protect Billy.

He tells you to leave it alone. But you would never sit there and let him get shoved around in front of you. Something his mom should've been there to stop, you were trying to stop instead.

But now, he relaxes his shoulders, slumps his body lazily, when you're with him alone he is all mush. Usually. Right now, you were both aware that Neil and his wife, Max's mother, were away for a weekend trip together or something like that, so he could be this way in his own home.

It breaks your heart to think about how every other time he was home, and Neil was too, he was wound tight; always on edge, always waiting. Wondered how he could sleep at night. (That was probably why he liked to take naps at your house whenever he was there.)

If you could, you would keep him with you at your house. Your parents didn't mind his presence and were privy to the knowledge about his father. It was inevitable they found out that his relationship with his father was less than stellar. The extent of their knowledge wasn't that deep however- because if they knew, they'd call the police.

You weren't opposed to that. But Billy was. Vehemently so. Claimed that if the police were involved, it would only get worse- not just on him, but on everyone involved (this was code word for Max, you knew it). Also told you that police had been called before, when he was younger, by a neighbour who had suspicions. But his father was a good actor. And the police didn't dig hard enough, try hard enough.

You tell him all the time when it comes up that Hopper is different than the police in California at least. Hopper is a good man, a man with morals, and a man you trusted and one who would take this seriously. And it is not just you talking out of your ass, trying to convince him- no, you know Hopper would take it seriously.

But it always falls on deaf ears. And you can't force him to do something he doesn't want. You've tried. So you relent. For now. Things are more calm than they've ever been with Billy and his father. It could be related to the time he spends at your home, not around enough for his father to start too much. It's not good. But he's not bruised up. So for now, you relent.

You do not want to make things worse.

"You should sleep over next week," you casually suggest as your hands move to curl another section of his hair, running your fingers through already finished curls to make them look more natural.

"I slept over last week," Billy says, one of his legs stretching out in front of him as his body further leans back, "Can't get enough of me?"

You wonder if he's aware of the reason you always ask him to sleep over at your home. Well, part of the reason. You enjoy his company, you enjoy falling asleep beside him, flush against his body because your bed is meant for one person, not two, and God forbid he stays on the ground to sleep or sleeps in the living room on the couch away from you. You enjoy waking up to see his beautiful golden touched skin from his time soaking up any of Hawkins sun, and you enjoy watching his face- calm and at ease, as he sleeps. Not worried, or on guard. Just calm.

The other half of your reasoning is to keep him away from his father when you can.

If hes aware of the secondary reasoning, he hasn't said anything. Or made indication of it. But you're positive he must know or have an idea, because Billy Hargrove is perceptive and he is smart, something people don't tend to realize. More the fools they are.

"I'd just die without you," you playfully respond, (though you aren't sure how playful it is when you think about losing him- it horrifies you and you don't know what you'd do) as you turn the curling iron off, setting it aside to cool down before it can be put away. You run your fingers through his hair again, lightly pulling curls and brushing through them so they're not so perfect and the blend. So they look natural.

It isn't hard. Billy's hair is amazing. And you're not so bad at doing hair yourself, you remind yourself with a smug grin. Your hair was tended to nicely and you took pride in the curls and coils.

"I know," he scoffs, letting your fingers massage his scalp, "I'll think about it."

You smile softly. As much as you try to keep him at your place, you could never force him to do it. It was up to him when he would accept the offers or show up randomly for a night or two. He was independent. And you knew that was a part of him that he cherished and held onto tightly; the independence to choose to come over, the independence to own something like his camaro. His father took a lot from him, made him feel small- you would never take away his freedom to choose, never make him feel small. Never make him feel like you wanted to force him to do anything.

"All finished... My mom is making those cookies you like by the way," you tease, tugging on his hair, "the ones with those tiny peanut butter-"

"Cups in the middle," he finishes sharply, suddenly pulling himself away from your soft fingers in his hair. He flips himself to face you in a quick motion, a devilish look on his face as he surprises you with his sudden movement- pushing you down against his bed- his body pressed against yours as his face is so close you can feel his warm breathe fan across your lips, "trying to bribe me is a shit tactic. Won't work."

You roll your eyes, but you know he loves your mothers cooking. But you really aren't bribing him. Just a little, jokingly- he knows this too. He knows you.

"I know," you wiggle beneath him, trying to make yourself more comfortable. He rests his entire weight onto you, and it feels like you're covered in a weighted blanket, "she always leaves some aside for you anyways. Sometimes I think she likes you more than me."

Your mom adores Billy. Tries to baby him when she can. And at first that made you nervous; afraid of how he might react to it. He was wary at first but he took it well. He was charming, and good at making people like him. And you thought perhaps he secretly liked having someone try to mother him. Maybe it made him feel safe. Or happy.

"Of course she does, I mean, look at me."

It sounds so funny coming from him. He's referring to his good looks- and how Nancy Wheelers mom had tried to hit on him before.

"Don't be gross," you push down against his shoulders, not doing much to change your position or deter him. If anything it makes him worse.

But this time he relents, if only to get a look at his hair. When he looks in his mirror, you wait with bated breathe, still laying on his bed from where he'd been on top of you and pushed you there- but

His lips catch yours, hungry. He forces his tongue into your mouth, though it doesn't take him. It never does. He's intense and he isn't letting up; his hands move to dig into your hips, pushing your body deeper into his bed.

Billy's body stops resting on top of yours so heavily as he moves, placing one of his knees between your legs, and heading straight for your neck.

He always knows what to do. How to make you feel good in any situation. He's not even giving you a chance go breathe. You squeeze his biceps with your hands suddenly, letting him know you need him to stop for a moment. His baby blues look into your eyes with mild annoyance.

"Don't you want to look at your hair?" You manage to say as you catch your breath, "see if I... Messed it up?"

He looks at you in silence for a few moments, his face deadpan; too void of emotions for you to pinpoint what he's thinking. His eyes search your face and flicker from them to your own curly, thick hair and his tongue darts out from between his lips unconsciously to wet them. He breathes through his nose.

"Nah," he brings himself close to your face again, a small tilt in the corner of his mouth, "I trust you."

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove fanfiction #mine #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things x reader #my writing #amy writes

133 notes · View notes

m1d-45 · 1 year

Note

Yo, mid, i know its very late for me and i just am trying to sleep while its fucking COLD, i had a thought jolt me awake from my dozing.

How hot do pyro's run? I do know that some people CANON it to be true that pyro users have high body heat, but is it like africa versus the northpole or something like that?

Cuz i currently desire a personal heater snugglebug.

Goodnight.

-🥘Stew

warmth

a/n: could be read as sagau, could be taken as just regular genshin. this kinda devolved from the ask but… eh? only diluc and thoma are ‘x reader’s, the others are mostly character studies.

word count: 2.1k

-> warnings: n/a! minor spoilers for character lore, i suppose? xinyan may be slightly ooc? mentioned xingqiu x chongyun in hu taos part?

-> gn reader! (you/yours)

characters: diluc, bennett, klee, amber, xinyan, xiangling, yanfei, hu tao, yoimiya, thoma, in that order :) the traveller is mentioned but isn’t specified (they/them, no names)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x || @esthelily

< masterlist >

mmm it honestly depends on your opinion, but i personally am pretty guilty of imagining myself a diluc to hold onto when i’m cold, so i’d say there’s at least a bit of a difference.

i heard from the first golden apple archipelago event that diluc apparently melted kaeya’s icebridge (citation needed), so that pretty much confirms that a significant level of difference is present between pyro users and the general public. however, it was still summer and assuming diluc was still wearing his giant coat, they must be at least vaguely immune to overheating/possess some sort of control over it. all this to say that at the bare minimum, diluc wouldn’t mind holding you close during a chilly winter. the winery is prone to chilly hallways, just due to its size, and he stays up late anyway. please, don’t be afraid to go knocking on his door: chances are he’s awake and more than willing to let you in. despite being a pyro wielder, his blankets are large and thick, carrying enough heat to keep you warm while he wraps up his paperwork. you don’t have to stay awake with him if you don’t wish; the sight of you tucked away within his bed is one he wishes to memorize.

i imagine bennett’s high heat has definitely saved him from getting sick when his adventure is ruined by rain (again), keeping him from ever being at risk despite the fact that his clothes are soaked and the path he’s trudging through is muddy. he’s well used to it, but it doesn’t stop his dads from chastising him whenever he returns, directing him towards his room and one of the many, many spare sets of clothing he had. he dries off quickly after showers, his clothes never sticking, and sometimes when his adventure ended well he’ll be glowing, embers in his eyes as he excitedly tells you about it, uncaring of the way some of the dry grass caught in his hair begins to spark. for your sake and his, bring him inside and let him talk to you after you remove the tinder.

klee, younger, likely has a lesser degree of control over her vision. she’s probably prone to hiking up a few degrees when she’s excited, and is often found in albedo’s camp at dragonspine simply due to the fact that she both can easily re-light his fire when the winds blow too hard and he knows she won’t get sick. he sits on his stool, watching his experiment and listening intently to her talk about gunpowder. when snow washes in and puts out the measly store of wood collected in the middle of his lab, it barely registers before she’s collected pyro in her palms and shot it neatly to the center of the pile. any moisture vaporizes, the flames licking higher than they normally would.

amber has a better control over her vision than most would expect from somebody so young. her vision hangs off her belt and only barely glows a bit brighter when speaking about the knights, her gloves waving animatedly as she tells some tale of the cavalry captain’s newest scheme. he comes up, hearing all gossip in the city and doubly so that which pertains to him, but even the hiss of cryo doesn’t dampen her emotions. she ignores the hand he puts on her shoulder and simply puts hers on her hips, pretending he isn’t there and continuing about how it’s so irresponsible of him to continue such behavior. he laughs, telling her it’s rude to be so cold, but the way the inside of her gloves grow warm says otherwise. it’s invisible to most, dampened by leather and the many guards of an archer’s arms, but anybody that looks can tell you for certain that the brightest fires in the city are lit by an outrider’s glow, provided only that you ask about her recent expedition.

xinyan is well aware of her loud nature, and learned the hard way not to let it get out of control. pyrotechnics are a large part of her shows, but it took her a while to get there. she loves rock and roll, and performing gives her so much energy- she played barely a day after she received her vision, when her control was weak and her body was still adapting to the change, and the guitar she played then on no longer works now. five dots singe the area around the strings, a large patch where her palm rested sunken into the wood. if you ask about it, she’ll wave you off shyly, unwilling to tell you about how she had to wear heat sinks in a pair of special gloves for a few months. still, just to be certain, she bought a bottle of heat-resistant sealant to brush over her current guitar for her tours. she loves music, loves her shows and doing what she does, and she’s much better at controlling her vision now, but… it’s better safe than sorry, right?

xiangling, similar to bennett, has been saved many times by her heightened body temperature. turns out, it gets incredibly dangerous climbing the spires of liyue since the wind can turn your fingers cold and creaky, making it deadly to try and climb, but she’s never run into that problem. she moves with ease, unfettered by the chill, her sheer enthusiasm seeping into the stone beneath her. when she travelled to mondstat, she passed by a camp near the base of dragonspine and overheard a peculiar recipe, one that required a special kind of ‘chilled meat’. the chef seemed nervous to give her the location, due simply to her clothing, but she set off anyway. needless to say, dragonspine is colder than liyue, and the traveller found her and guoba hunched by a campfire, clearly shivering. they led her off a mountain and with the promise to never return without a proper team (or warmer clothes), they handed her some chilled meat from their inventory. after a bit of further pressing, they taught her how to make goulash. she took excellent notes.

as a lawyer, the last thing yanfei needs is to be hot-headed. the law is slippery, always twisting from her hands, and the ability to grit one’s teeth and stand again after it swipes beneath their feet is one needed in the world of legal advice. ningguang can’t count the amount of times she’s received a letter from her detailing the most recent loophole she’s found, the paper stained with ash around the edges. at first she thought it unprofessional, but after being stopped on the street and quite frankly chastised due to the slow response time when such a matter as the law was concerned…. she understood a little more. her next letter was responded to promptly, and yanfei’s gratitude showed in court, citing one of the tianquan’s letters as proof that a law was changed prior to a merchant’s new policy, not after. as a half-adepti, more power runs through her than most, and she often grows too warm to think in her office. she has measures to counteract this, such as traveling to deal with cases, allowing the wind to wick away her frustration, or simply wearing cooler clothes during the summer. madam ping was the one to suggest the latter, and she lives every day grateful. still, as they share a cup of tea as yanfei rants about a civil case she’s been assigned, yanfei’s mug stays warmer than ping’s for nearly the entire time. thankfully, she prefers her drinks hot anyway, and green tea has always helped take the edge off her irritation.

hu tao is many things, but emotional is not one of them. being a funeral director requires a certain level of coldness to it, as to not let the many deaths a day affect you, and she handles her role quite well. she carries enough respect that her voice is somber when speaking to the families of the deceased, yet doesn’t allow the constant gloom to affect her. perhaps it’s her sense of humor, allowing her to brush it off a bit easier, or perhaps it’s the fact that it’s hard to feel sad when xingqiu is describing his latest escapade with chongyun. the latter is at wanmin, waiting for his popsicles, and hu tao listens with bubbly glee to their most recent tale. it’s funny, how oblivious chongyun can be, and as they sit and swing their legs across the street, the stone beneath her feels less and less warm. they share, they banter, they talk about poetry and all things literary. when their hands knock together xingqiu winces slightly at the heat of her rings, but cools his hand easily enough with a bit of hydro. when chongyun returns, xingqiu takes the small treat he offers her, unwilling to risk him getting singed. chongyun recites what xiangling told him to about her newest creation, and hu tao stifles a grin. the edges of the small napkin begin to darken, but she hardly notices. focused on the slight glaze in xingqiu’s eyes, the funeral director laughs.

working with fireworks with a pyro vision is a risky adventure. yoimiya, who was incredibly cautious about such things and only ever used her vision to light fireworks at first, rarely ever runs into this risk, but it’s on her mind. as the queen of the summer festival—a title that never fails to bring heat to her cheeks, should you mention it—its her responsibility to keep up and maintain the same level of quality year after year, and she is intent on delivering. still, she’s not immune to problems associated with a vision like hers. the small building of naganohara fireworks is one with a rich history, gunpowder and dye embedded between the floorboards, but it doesn’t have the best ventilation. it’s by design, as a stray breeze can ruin a fragile firework, but sometimes she wishes she could have a fan. she loves creating them, enthusiasm sparking whenever she gushes to her father about her latest idea, but when the summer gets hot and the room gets hotter, even one sleeve of a kimono feels like too many. don’t get her wrong, the process of barely singeing a dye so it crackles instead of pops is one far easier with a vision, but when the time finally comes to sit back and let sparks fly, she doesn’t hang around to watch the fuses get lit. instead, she moves somewhere cooler, letting the night breeze cool off her excitement, sitting cross-legged on chilly grass. when the fireworks start and the sky lights up, youmiya glows along with them.

a housekeeper does a lot of things, but starting fires is not typically one of them. both ayato and ayaka prefer cooler weather, the former having the ability to mostly self-regulate, and thoma’s vision mostly went unused. other than occasionally lighting the fire at shimura’s or one of the other food stalls he stopped at, thoma’s days were quiet, free of battle. he was simply a housekeeper, and though he occasionally misjudged the weather and gave ayaka a false impression, they both quickly learned to seek a second opinion. the same was with you. quiet days, mornings spent in a soft sort of haze as he woke up before the sun even on his days off. he didn’t mind, turning to brush away some hairs from your face, but you leaned into his palm, shifting closer. he smiled, one that dissipated when he noticed the goosebumps down your arm, leading beneath the thin sheets. he was confused for a moment, as the room felt fine to him, but he quickly remembered that it wouldn’t be the same to you. with a murmured apology and an arm around your waist, thoma made a mental note to bring thicker blankets for you from the closet. winter was coming and evidently early, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be cold. still, that was a problem for later, for when your skin didn’t warm under his and when the sun was further overhead.

#these just kept getting longer as i went btw there’s no significance to klee’s section being like. 1/3 of yoimiya’s—#genshin #genshin impact #genshin fluff #fluff #diluc #bennett #klee #genshin amber #xinyan #xiangling #yanfei #hu tao #yoimiya #thoma #diluc x reader #thoma x reader #genshin x reader #diluc fluff #thoma fluff #somebody PLEASE tell me they don’t hate this format i this is the most productive i’ve been all week #stew🥘 anon #< also real funny of you to start your ask with ‘i know it’s late’ bro i don’t even know what time it is for me let alone you. you could #have said it was noon and i’d believe you. time is fake anyway.#anyway. you 🤝 me: imagining pyro cuddles as we shiver like hell. sorry this didn’t feature more hugs but most of these people are Children #probably could have twisted it into just. you and them vibing. but i have not edited this and i’m not starting now #if you’d like actual pyro cuddles just say the word. i would be more than happy to

209 notes · View notes

mioified · 2 years

Note

hello hello ! can i req a scenario with azul, riddle, and epel ? waking up/mornings with them <3

thank you very much !

🌃 Goodmornings!

Short morning up scenarios with Riddle, Azul and Epel!

warning; might be a little ooc..? ^^' I also didn't proofread this again so sorry in advance

helloo! thanks for requesting this! sorry for taking so long ^_^

ꨄ Riddle R.

You slowly awaken to an all too familiar voice calling your name. Gently fluttering your eyes open, you turned to the other side of the bed, facing the voice chanting your name—Your lover, Riddle Rosehearts.

"Y/N, You need to wake up and get dressed for class! You mustn't let your drowsiness taint your perfect attendance.."

you yawn and rub your eyes, attempting to process what he was trying to tell you.

when you realized what he said you looked at him with a face of puzzlement.

"wait.. get ready for... class?"

"Yes! Todays a friday, You may sleep in tomorrow but for now we need to get ready." Riddle gets up from the bed, trying to urge you to do the same.

You let out a small chuckle, which evolved into you full on howling out of laughter and he raised an eyebrow at you and huffed—Being late to class is no laughing matter to Riddle. He takes pride in his perfect record!

You inhale deeply trying to take a break from your bursting laughter, But you just couldn't believe it!—The Riddle Rosehearts—forgot it was a Saturday! You swore you could feel tears forming out of your eyes, This was too much!

Your lovers patience was running thin, what could be so funny at the moment that it was worth risking being late to class?! He huffed and crossed his arms, giving you a mean glare. "I demand you tell me what's so humorous right now, Y/N..." He looks at the clock, checking to see how much more time you both have left before you have to leave.

Your loud laughter had gradually turned into soft giggling, Calming yourself down, you tilted your head at Riddle with the sweetest smile as if you weren't just laughing at him.

"Riddle, Are you sure you read the date right today?"

"..wha..." His eyes shot open, He couldn't have possibly read the date on the calendar wrong? could he? He closes his eyes and starts to try and recall back to when he woke up. With his blurry vision and head filled with worries about his classes for the day, maybe, just maybe, he might've read the date wrong when he took a quick, lazy glance at the calendar on the bedside table...

Riddle opens his eyes as he shoots a look at the calendar, this time with his vision and head clearer.

..Saturday. You were right. Riddle let's out a sigh of relief. On one hand his attendance wasn't ruined! but on the other, he felt ashamed for not carefully looking at the date earlier, Now he's woken you up for no good reason. When you were sleeping so peacefully too!

He gently flops down onto the bed, putting his face into the pillow. if Riddle was being honest, He too, was extremely sleepy this morning, he was just sucking it up. If he doesn't put up an example for the other students, who would?

"I'm sorry, Y/N.." he sighs and looks at you with slight guilt in his eyes. "I shouldn't have woken you up this early."

You put a hand onto his head, gently combing his cherry-red hair with your fingers.

"It's alright, Riddle. Don't sweat it." you assuringly told riddle.

"Really..? Is there anything i can do to make it up to you though?"

You removed your hand off of Riddle's head and put it to your chin. You closed your eyes, pretending to be lost in thought, Although you already knew what you wanted.

"How about.. sleeping in some more with me?" you give him a sheepish smile and moved a little closer to him on the bed. You lifted up your blanket, inviting him in.

He sighs and accepts your offer, sliding under the blanket next to you. He closed his eyes and wrapped an arm around you. "Well.. I suppose if thats what you want."

ꨄ Azul A.

you fluttered your eyes open, looking around to see everything in its respective place as it was last night. The pearly white walls along with the large painting hung onto it, The elegant vanity mirror right above the table, The cute little seashells that admitted light right above your head—All of it in the same place as it was last night, except for one thing, Something that was right next to you last night before you went into dream land,— Azul.

When you quickly realized that you had woken up without him by your side, you immediately sat up and scanned the room, looking for any traces of him. Just as you were about to give up and stand up to go look for the silver haired boy yourself, the door creaks open. You see Azul pop his head through the door before opening it fully, Revealing him standing there with a tray of various food along with a cup of your favourite drink.

"Ah, You're awake. Good-morning. I do hope you slept well.." He walks over to the side of the bed you were sat on and places the tray onto the soft mattress.

"Oh.. Azul! You didn't have to.."

"Mornings aren't very busy in the Mostro Lounge, So I thought it'd nice if i brought you some breakfast in bed." Azul looks to the opposite direction of you, Trying to hide the redness in his cheeks. "Well, You should eat it quick, our dishes are best served fresh after all."

You give him a shrug then proceed to grab a fruit kabob from the tray, Who knew Mostro Lounge made food this cute? you pushed away the thought as you bite into the heart-shaped apple slice placed at the top of the kabob, letting out a hum of delight.

"Are the kabobs to your liking? If you favour other things feel free to tell me."

You shake your head no, taking another bite out of the kabob. While chewing on the fruit, you get an idea that's sure to make your morning a little more.. lively. You finish eating the fruit in your mouth before you look Azul in the eyes, a mischievous grin forming onto your face. A flash of worry grazed Azul's face, he never liked it when you tease him, He gets too red for his liking.

You suddenly bring the fruit kabob forward, waving the tip of the stick infront his lips. He raises an eyebrow at you, Unsure of what exactly he should do in this situation.

"Why don't you tell me if they're to your liking, Azul?" You let out an airy giggle as you watch his face get as red as the strawberries on the kabob you were holding when he realized what you wanted him to do.

"Why would i do that!? It's for you! I can't just eat something thats for you!.. Stop waving that stick in front of me, You're gonna poke me with itttt!" Azul let's out multiple whines and grabs your wrists, You continue to keep the kabob infront of his mouth, Pushing him to eat a fruit or two off of it.

"Come on 'Zulzul.... It's just a lil' fruit.."

He blushes at the nickname and loosens his grip. Feeling too embarrassed, he finally gives in to your wishes

"Alright! Alright.. just.. just give me a second..!!" he lets out a sigh of relief as you remove the stick close to his face, letting him catch his breath from all the complaining he was doing. He pushes up his glasses and you can see the faint tint of pink spread on his cheeks.

"Okay, I'm ready." He says with a monotone voice while opening his mouth; You internally laugh at his seriousness at the situation. Not wanting to worsen his flustered state you get straight to the point and bring the fruit kabob to his lips, without any complaints this time. He bites down onto the kabob, sliding the top fruit off and chewing it in his mouth, Carefully judging it's taste.

"Well? Do you like it?" You look at him with sparkles in your eyes, awaiting for his answer.

He puts a hand to his chin and closes his eyes for a moment, thinking about his answer.

"it's sweet.." he opens his eyes to look at you and gives his best attempt at a "cool" grin, but you can see the anxiousness and uncertainty in his crooked, cute smile.

"Although, it's not as sweet as you!.." He winks at you.

"you're so corny.."

"I deserved that.."

ꨄ Epel F.

"Y/N.. hey.. Y/N..! wake up!"

...

"Y/N!!!"

Your eyes shot open at the sound of Epel waking you up. You stretch out your arms and shake yourself awake. He's standing beside the bed with his arms crossed, clearly frustrated from his attempts of waking you up.

"Geez!.. Yer' s' hard ta' wake up! Vil would never let ya' get away with stayin' in....." Epel stops himself mid-sentence, like he had realized something important. Uncrossing his arms, He clears his throat and tries again, this time much more soft spoken and sweeter.

"Vil doesn't appreciate us staying in bed for too long so, Let's get started for the day together?" He lends out an arm to you, offering a hand to pull you out of bed.

"You know, You don't have to be so worried about using your accent around me.. I can understand you clearly."

He sighs and shakes his head. "It ain't that simple f'me... Ya' never know when Vil could be around. Ah' jus' wanna be careful." He stretches his arm out more for you to grab.

"your always so uptight about Vil.. Let loose a little!" You finally grab his hand, but instead of him pulling you up, you pull him down, making him fall into the bed right on top of you.

"H-Hey! whaddya think yer doin?! if we ain't up'n ready in 5 minutes Vil ain't gonna be too- Ack!" You stop Epel's whining by 'softly' hitting his head with the pillow you were next to. His eyes widen, taking a couple of seconds to comprehend what just happened, before he gives you a smirk—"If thats how you wanna play.. That's how we'll play!"

He rolls off of you and grabs a different pillow, fluffing it in his hands.—Oh, it was on.

Epel throws the pillow and hits you straight in the face, thank sevens it was a soft pillow, if it was anything else you'd think you might've broken something. You grab the pillow he threw at you and swing it at him, hitting him in the chest. He gets a hold on the pillow you were hitting him with, stopping your attacks.

"Heyy!! Let go! thats not fair!" You tug on the pillow, trying to pull it away from Epel. He laughs while trying to do the same

"Nuh-uh! Tis' is totally fair!"

Epel tugs a little harder on the pillow at the same time you do—you then hear a rripppp, and see the stuffings of the pillow fall out.

You look at the ripped pillow, then to Epel. His eyes were widened and his mouth was agape, He was in the same shocked state as you. You look back at the ripped pillow, then to wide-eyed Epel, then to the pillow again.

"Erm.." You scratch your head, wondering what to do, Till you hear Epel giggling a little.

You look at him with a puzzled look and his giggling grows louder. "Vil's gonna be so mad wahaha!"

You start giggling with Epel, You guys could clean up the mess later, At the moment you were just happy Epel wasn't too stressed about the situation like you thought he'd be.

The room was basically filled with laughter at that point, both of you enjoying your carefree but eventful morning with each other.

Eventually the laughing grows back down. Epel wipes a tear off his eye. "Oh well, We can clean it up later. Let's start getting ready before Vil actually gets on our case-"—Just as Epel mentions Vil, You both hear the door slam open.

You and Epel turn your head to look at the door to see Vil.—Oops.

"Yeah, you both should be ready because I'm already about to get on your case." He stands in the doorway with a scowl on his face, Clearly annoyed.

What a tiring morning it turned it to.

my ruggie plush came in this week ^^ hes so cute guys hgegghghrhhh

#twisted wonderland #twst x reader #epel felmier #azul ashengrotto #riddle rosehearts #riddle x reader #epel x reader #azul x reader #riddle x y/n #epel x you #azul x you #riddle x you #twisted wonderland x reader

356 notes · View notes

ghostaholics · 1 year

Text

ᴄᴀᴛᴀʟʏsᴛ ( ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏɴᴇ )

SUMMARY: (au only mildly inspire by the original tv/game timeline since I started writing this before ep. 2 came out; honestly not very canon-compliant) After reaching Colorado – the Fireflies' former backdrop for failed vaccine trials – you and Joel get ambushed in the science lab by people who have since then, made their new home at the abandoned university; during the scuffle, one of the attackers stabs you with a syringe containing unknown contents. PAIRING: Joel Miller x fem!Reader WARNING(S) FOR LATER: pining (mutual) sex pollen; dub-con; p-in-v unprotected sex; use of a mouth gag and a rope during sex but it's for safety assurances not because Joel's a dark guy; still angst even though I left in 50% of it; religious references and lots of metaphors that don't make sense; unbeta'd - expect mistakes; characterization is based on second half of the game and I may have accidentally made him too soft oops idc, ooc for sure WORD COUNT: 2 k A/N: PT. 1; this is already over 10k words in my drafts and I still don't even have like half of it done yet but I'll put out this small part for now I guess

IT'S A GODDAMN SICKNESS – THIS FEELING, festering, like skin stripped raw and every nerve lit on fire. There’s nothing left of you – only flesh and bone knitted together by gnawing hunger.

He should put you out of your misery.

You would welcome death over this: it would be faster, easier, not each excruciating second prolonging your suffering as time bleeds, drawn-out, stretching at an unbearably sluggish pace. This won't pass over. It's only been getting worse the longer you try to ignore it, to let it snuff out on its own. The craving is bad. It surges through your veins, leaves your blood boiling as if it’s burning you alive from the inside-out. Insatiable need devours your body like an all-consuming disease; your mind is scrambled, thoughts as good as ash at this point aside from the surviving idea that you know that this will swallow you whole.

Here's how it happened.

HE'S A KILLER; The leftover carnage is a gut-wrenching testament to that – a breadcrumb trail of carcasses deserted along the westbound, beaten track to Colorado that’s rivaled only by the number of skeletons in his closet.

Not that he's had much choice. It's this very concept that every single media outlet had kept pushing, what had plagued the top headlines, breaking news, and morning segments leading up to Outbreak Day in a concerted effort to capitalize on a little something called sensationalism. The public had wolfed it down, too – had gorged themselves on the idea of it even after all the grocery stores had been raided bare and there'd been zero food left on the shelves; TVs as their place settings with radios emerging as their proxies not long after the power had gone out – because the drama of it all had been more satisfying than the shitty scraps they'd been getting by on: survival of the fittest, who'd get wiped out by the infection first? And Joel Miller is a living legacy that continues to push the limits of natural selection with every poor bastard that he manages to sink a shiny fucking bullet into.

Adaptation. The end of the world has chewed him up, teeth gnashing – razor-sharp incisors; no leftover bones, no remains like the majority of the people who’ve met a collective demise, but a man spit out in one intact piece (physically, anyways – mentally, that’s probably another story). Now, he’s a stone-cold terror. Cutthroat – all jagged edges and mistrust leaching into his pores. Someone who’s had to acclimatize, because the way he sees it, there’s a million different choices to make that only ever lead to two outcomes. And Joel always picks whichever option affords him the best opportunity to stay alive, but it’s the reason he’s got a ledger drowning in red.

Before, that had meant late mortgage payments and loan sharks hunting him down, risky wagers with shady figures to get Sarah new clothes in time for the upcoming school because she’d been outgrowing them every damn year, and also don’t forget the shady business ventures he’d invested in until he’d learnt his lesson the hard way and had decided to throw himself headfirst into work – day in and day out to save up for his own construction company, something stable and honest; maybe then he wouldn’t have to lie about forgetting to pick up the milk or the pancake mix because the reality had been that he was struggling to put food on the table, and maybe he’d get to spend more time with his daughter and pay the soccer club fees that he couldn’t afford so she could make more friends outside of him and the Adlers, and maybe his blood pressure would level out so his pockets wouldn’t dry up with the cost of his medicine because his insurance had been shit, and maybe he wouldn’t have to go to bed every night crunching numbers behind his eyelids to figure out if he had enough to get through the next month’s round of bills, and fuck, maybe things would finally start to look up for once in his life.

Then it had all stopped mattering in an instant.

So now, it means shooting someone dead without a second thought – a past full of necessary evils: ruthlessness, cynicism, and a death toll second to none. Anybody coming up against him? Shit out of luck. He’s never had a problem with having to pull the trigger, and being caught on the wrong end of his gun always promises a grim fate.

Except Columbus, Ohio.

It would’ve been another blight, another wicked deed buried underneath the growing mountain of awfulness that he's responsible for. There are a lot of things that keep Joel up at night, but as bad as it is to say, this definitely wouldn’t have been one of them.

And then, the impossible – first person to break the cycle: a scavenger combing through the tipped over stands of North Market, kneeling under the dusty Penny's Meats cleaver sign at a basket filled with plastic bags of twenty-year-old beef jerky. And Joel would kill (quite literally) for that if it meant securing his next meal; hell, the next week's worth of them. The only thing standing in between him and food security could be taken care of with an easy shot to the back of your skull at point blank range.

A target.

An inconvenience.

— but that's another story.

Since then, it’s been a road paved with affliction. Ohio. Indiana. Illinois. Iowa. (Nebraska's a sensitive topic.) Wyoming.

Joel grasps your hand firmly in his: dried blood over split knuckles and calluses that have stayed around forever because now he wields a gun 24/7 instead of a carpentry tool from his blue-collar days; he helps you navigate the terrain so you don't misstep – a sprained ankle can slow us down in more ways than one, he always says. Cautious, trigger-sensitive, because he needs to be. The action is meant to be practical, shepherding you over the terrain. So you opt to neglect how his fingers slotted between yours shoos the bitter cold from making a home out of your body and thaws the ice from the crevices chiseled in your bones.

The feeling is nice.

The thought is dangerous.

Because, Nebraska: a hellish nightmare in the flesh.

(Let's not talk about it).

(But circling around the topic doesn’t help. You don't bring it up, and yet it still takes center stage, occupying your mind. Always. How could it not?)

Hordes of cordyceps-ridden pieces-of-shit on your heels until you'd been driven into a corner, back against the wall – odds in the negative as infected after infected had zeroed in on your position and converged like a putrid swarm, a writhing mass of rotten bodies, all of them clambering over each other for their own share of pulpy, human meat to tear into; it'd reminded you of the same way people had been after the outbreak had reached critical mass.

Ravenous.

(This is what had been a difficult pill for you to swallow in the beginning – before you'd started sleeping with a machete along the edge of your bedroll, before the sound of a person choking on their own blood had gone from something that had cursed your hands with a 'round-the-clock tremor to nothing but fucking white noise, and before you'd learned everything there is to know about how to survive amongst societal collapse where 'every man for himself' has never been a more true statement than it is now: the hunger doesn't stop when you turn into one of them.)

As the two of you weave through dense foliage overrunning anything in its path and past man-sized slabs of concrete that form a serrated pattern of the very ground you're currently forced to scale, Joel rumbles a low, "Easy, now,"; you can see how in the dead of winter a plume of air leaves his mouth whenever he talks. He's nice to look at, better than your surroundings by a long shot. Boulder is just another wasteland that offers nothing new in your trek across the country because underneath the whalebone-white quilt of snow smothering everything, it's the same old shit that you saw when you'd cut through the never-ending stretch of land that used to be the Bible Belt to get out of the Atlanta Q.Z. It'd been ghost towns dotting the map between miles and miles of infestation: the walking dead had been piloted by the impulse to tear you apart alongside their living counterparts – the survivors with rootless hearts that stalked in the shadows like vultures waiting to pick your corpse clean of supplies.

But, for as on guard as you have to be, you'd rather focus your attention on Joel, because the snowflakes burying themselves in his beard are far more interesting than the decaying buildings and jigsaw-puzzled pavement that paint Colorado with an apocalyptic finish. He's a welcome distraction. Maybe, too good. The toe of your boot catches on the uneven landscape while you're lost in thought so you brace yourself to strike the ground as it gives out from under you, hands flying out in reflex. Instead, sturdy arms secure themselves around your waist before you can fall. You’re hauled flat against the solid wall of Joel's chest, something akin to an embrace that shouldn’t feel as nice as he is to look at. Even through layers of clothes, even through the frigid temperatures during this time of the year, his heat manages to bleed into you.

"Told you to watch your step there'," he murmurs in that long Texan drawl. Whiskey on his breath. Caramel. Ethanol. Burning alcohol-sweet, it greets you alongside the usual smoky and metallic smell of gunpowder and blood; the kind he'd pilfered from a liquor store back in Omaha – makin' sure it's good enough to the Molotov cocktails with, he'll comment before taking a swig. Brings it up like clockwork, as if it gets funnier the longer he keeps trying to wear the joke out even worse than the soles of his boots. It doesn’t. Just short of being a jack of all trades. Certainly no comedian.

Not a drunk, either – isn't stupid enough to put himself in jeopardy around these parts. You'd seen it before, once: cheeks flushed red and eyes glazed over; couldn't walk a straight line for five feet, much less aim a gun (September 26th, you remember). This isn't that. The whiskey's stronger now, though. You can tell when he stands nearby, face inches away.

(He's been drinking more lately. Not a lot, but the right amount to drown out the memory of... well, ever since—)

He's the closest thing to home that you know.

(—he almost lost you.)

You find yourself latched onto the sleeves of his jacket for stability, and even though you should push Joel away – a voice in your head that warns you to put distance between you and him – your fingers curl tighter into the coarse fabric to keep yourself upright as you regain your footing. “You see that thing? Swear it came outta nowhere."

He huffs out a small laugh, not one of those full-bodied ones that you’ve only heard probably twice since you met him (both of them at your expense and God, do you miss his smile), but it’s still a rich, little sound that comes off as something pleasant to your ears all the same – breaks up the monotony of the snow crunching under your heels and teeth chattering during the occasional bouts when you shiver. "Sure," he says, because he knows you can't lie for shit.

You untangle yourself from him with some reluctance. Homesick – a feeling that you attempt to shake off with more mindless conversation to make the time slip by faster. "Out of every place we've been to, Colorado definitely makes bottom three."

There's faint amusement coloring Joel's face. It makes him look years younger. "We haven't even gotten to UEC yet." He tilts his chin in the general direction that the two of you had already been heading towards. "Over there. Just across the way."

Skepticism stains your voice. "You know, something tells me that I won't have a change of heart."

ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴛᴡᴏ - ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #unfortunately i have the smut just not the action~#this will very likely not be done until i finish the term #joel miller fic #joel miller smut #tlou #the last of us

104 notes · View notes

rozcdust · 2 years

Text

Kill me, romantically

Pairing: Rindou Haitani x F!Reader

Genre: Enemies to lovers, crack

Word count: 1.4K

Warnings: Canon divergent, ooc, profanity, violence, casual sexism, explicit content, Rindou is a bitch

Mikey hired a new executive, and your clever eyes and sharp tongue make Rindou wish to put your face through a glass table.

Day 3 of Promptober

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

An unfamiliar face in the meeting room caught Rindou off guard, and he had to take a couple of steps back to check that he was, in fact, in the correct place.

But no, the room number is correct.

Clearly you were the one mistaken then.

Looking out the window, your face comfortably nested into the crook of palm, your presence was loud, even if hadn’t said a word, your breathing so slow and even that the only confirmation Rindou had that you weren’t just a statue was the slow rise and fall of your chest.

“Ah, sorry miss, I believe you may be in the wrong room.” He tried to reason, politely, a shy grin making its way onto his face.

You refused to give him the courtesy of paying him any attention, your eyes flickering to his form the only sign he got that you even heard him.

“I am precisely where I was asked to be.”

Bitch-

Well, it was official.

Rindou has chosen to lowkey hate you, and he didn’t even know who the fuck you were.

“Ah, Rin, excellent, I see you’ve met our newest member,” Kakucho interrupted him before he could bark out a snarky reply. walking past him to settle into the chair next to you with a smile, “Hi, y/n it was? I’m Kakucho, pleased to meet you.”

Just as Rindou was about to warn the younger man that it’s hopeless, and you’re an asshole with a nose stuck too high up to even respond politely, you turned around in your chair, a smile rivalling the Sun on your face and your hand meeting Kakucho’s in a firm grip.

“Hi! Yeah, y/n it is, pleased to meet you too.”

Bruh.

Wait, the newest-

Huh?

“What do you mean the newest member?!” Rindou blurted out before he could stop himself, his eyes bouncing between you and Kakucho.

“Mikey sent an email about a new executive, haven’t you read it?” Kokonoi asked, judgement almost palatable in his voice as he and Sanzu walked in, getting to their seats.

“To be fair, it’s 2018, who the fuck sends emails anymore?” Ran was next to walk in, responding to Kokonoi’s question, and really, Rindou was wondering why does everyone feel the need to walk in now?

“So, that’s it? We’re just accepting anyone off the damn street now?” Fuming, Rindou took his seat as well, glaring at your still smiling face.

You winked at him.

He was ready to start fucking growling like a rabid dog.

“Whatever do you mean, Rindou?” A new voice spoke, sounding mildly threatening, and Rindou froze, carefully spinning his chair just enough to face his boss with a bashful smile.

Mikey.

Well, it was too late to back off now.

“What I mean, boss,” Swallowing a lump in his throat, the smile on his face now shaky, “Is that since when do we allow just random ass women into the top ranks of Bonten?”

“Wooooooooow,” You drawled before Mikey could respond, the smile on your face turning malevolent as Kokonoi smacked Rindou with a rolled-up newspaper, “Sexist much?”

“What? No, no, no, don’t turn this into me being a prick, what the fuck do you bring to the table that any of us can’t do?” Lashing out as he wrestled the newspapers out of Kokonoi’s hands, throwing them straight at his face, your smile only pissed Rindou off more.

“What she brings to the table, Rin,” Mikey sighed, and Rindou could feel the eyes of other executives jumping from him to Mikey as if it was a damn ping-pong match, “Is an extra pair of hands, with immaculate skills none of you possess.”

“What the hell would those skills be?!”

“Well, proper military training in combat for one.”

Rindou visibly flinched in disgust.

“The bitch is ex-military?”

“Yes.” Sitting down, finally, Mikey pulled out a couple of files, handing them to you.

You stood up, thanking Manjiro with a soft smile, your long, black coat fluttering behind you as the knee-high combat boots you were wearing made every single one of your steps echo.

“Wow, excellent!” Throwing his hands in the air, Rindou glared at you with a sardonic smile, “And whatever will we do when Papa Warcrimes comes looking for his dog?!”

Rindou’s insult didn’t hit quite as well as he hoped, as you merely laughed, the sound bouncing off the walls to form a crescendo.

“Papa Warcrimes, huh? That one’s new.” Smirking, you bowed at the waist to plant a swift kiss on Mikey’s cheek, pissing Rindou off even more.

“If anyone was looking for me, sweetheart, they would find me pretty easily,” You stretched, starting to make your way towards the open doorway, “They’d just have to take a stroll to the Somei Cemetary, I have a pretty nice gravestone there.”

That was all you said as you closed the doors behind you, the sound of your laughter and footsteps haunting Rindou even from down the halls.

He fucking hated you.

“She was pronounced killed in action, Rin, so there are virtually no chances of anyone looking for her.” Sighing, Mikey moved on with the meeting, leaving Rindou both baffled and with more rage in his heart than he’s ever felt.

He will put you into that empty fucking grave personally.

You did, unfortunately, become a semi-permanent presence in the work-line of Bonten, showing up to meetings to only receive a couple of papers from either Sanzu or Mikey before leaving, usually with a swift kiss to the cheek to either of the men and a wink for him.

He was thoroughly and fully done with your bullshit.

What infuriated Rindou even further, maybe even more than your sheer presence, is the way you got along with everyone.

Everyone.

Including his stupid fucking brother.

The guys invited you clubbing, out for just a drink, to their poker nights, hell, Ran invited you to their motherfucking house, and Rindou had to lose sleep over the horrifying knowledge you may or may not be fucking his brother when he’s not there.

Which got him to snap one night when he came to the house to your giggling and Ran’s groans.

Knocking the doors into the room with his foot, Rindou stomped in with his gun locked and loaded and pointed at your stupid face.

You and Ran were in his room, yes, but in a less… Explicit position than Rindou expected.

“What the hell are you fools doing?!”

You looked up from screen, a smirk on your face as Ran continued dancing.

“Tiktok. Wanna join, baby?”

Rindou left the room fast enough to take the door off it’s hinges, much to your amusement and Ran’s displeasure.

Hell, he even caught you chatting with his one night stand one morning, the girl he vaguely remembered as someone he’d like to keep seeing laughing and swirling a piece of her hair between her fingers, her eyes almost begging you to fuck her on the spot.

Rindou kicked both of you out.

He fucking hated you, hated your obnoxious giggle, your stupid, pretty face, your sharp tongue, the goddamned trench coat and combat boots you always insisted on wearing, the way you popped up to meetings just out of nowhere and the way he saw girls at clubs flirting with you more than any of the other guys, including him.

You infuriated him.

“She is horrible and if you guys invite her to our poker night again, I am officially killing each and every one of you present in this fucking room.“ Borderline yapping, Rindou slammed his fist on the table, glaring at each and every one of the men present.

“She’s fun, Rindou, I don’t know what the fuck is your problem. And she does her fucking job well.” Sanzu was the first to shrug, a lazy, drugged-up grin ever present on his cut-up face.

Kokonoi nodded, not even looking up from his laptop.

“I agree, you’re just tripping because a woman does your job better than you.”

“THAT IS NOT- WHAT THE FUCK DOES SHE EVEN DO?!”

Kakucho gave him a look.

“She’s an assassin, Rin, in case you haven’t noticed. We’ve never had as much free time as we do now when she’s with us.”

Mikey nodded, hands crossed.

“So what?! She’s a murderer?! Boo hoo, fucking useful!” Pouting like a child, Rindou swatted Ran’s outstretched hand as the older Haitani tried to pet his hair in a soothing manner.

“Bitch all you want Rindou, she’s staying.” Mikey’s tone let Rindou know there is no more space for any further discussion.

So Rindou does what he does best.

Continues to bitch.

Rindou opened his mouth, but the sound of a metal panel moving on the ceiling interrupted before he could continue talking shit.

“It’s hardly murder if it’s an accident, Haitani.” Grinning as you leaned out the open panel upside down, Rindou could feel his eye twitch.

“CAN’T YOU ENTER THE ROOM LIKE A NORMAL PERSON, YOU STUPID FUCKING CUN-“

“Did what you asked, boss. Got any more for me?” Interrupting him, you glanced between Mikey and Sanzu.

“I’ll leave it on your desk, doll.” Sanzu nodded, the lazy grin on his face widening.

Rindou wasn’t sure who to throw his chair at first, so he chose Sanzu.

Easier target.

🔖Taglist (open):

@1818cigarettes @nana-phobia @dilf-city @wakasa-wifey @rinsie @kisekihany @missarabellla @bajifairyy @cryszus @r-xochitl @levistiddies @sanzucide @graythecoffeebean @yukihime-mikeys-girl @mukounisuru-gashadokuro @sunahyejin @crybabylisa @yamaguccitadashi @minoozi @trashmemebitch @frogtits1 @sup-zfam @whydohumansss @xashiui @bontens-whore @nqctre @bontenacious @lumi-does-some-stuff @hana-patata @hxked @erza-uzumaki @sh4nn @sisnot @soushswag @kneeapartman @anahryal @reiners-milkbiddies @satsuri3su @aretheea @bluerskiees

Requested by: Anon

a/n: this reminds me of ‘I know how this story goes’ so much and I LOVE IT 😩🤧 also uni is apparently hard??? who knew! certainly not me 🥲

#tokyorev #tokyo revengers #bonten #rindou x reader #rindou haitani x y/n #rindou haitani x reader #kakucho hitto #ran haitani #kokonoi hajime #rindou haitani #manjiro sano #sanzu akashi #haruchiyo sanzu

365 notes · View notes

a-world-with0ut-dr34ms · 1 year

Text

Hey, Who Really Cares

Ghost x Reader x Soap Very Slight Ghost x Soap

It's been weeks since the lieutenant last saw you. Ghost had thought that night with you before had been merely a fluke. However, seeing you again suddenly has only shown him that your night together may not have been a mere chance encounter after all...

A/N: This is basically Ghost having a crush on the reader, with Soap being all charismatic and whatnot. Hopefully not OOC (っ◞‸◟c)

Tags: Fluff, Angst, Slow Burn, Flirting, Innocent, Sweet, slightly goofy, Light-Hearted, Banter, Shadow!Reader, Ghost has a crush

Word Count: 4.7k

Masterlist

Chapter Fourteen - Hey, Who Really Cares

You watch another plane fly overhead, the cry of its engine peeling by amidst an early evening sky. It cuts through cream colored clouds, before submerging into the setting sun, as the world above you grows a fading shade of blue and peach.

The air cools, the birds chirp, cars drive along busy roads, and you sit beneath a tree beside the brick walls of your new barracks, strumming away at your guitar.

The plane eventually vanishes into the horizon, along with its rumbling. A heavy sigh leaves you. It was only a few hours ago when you'd stepped off a plane yourself. Though it wasn't for a flight home, were you so lucky. Your job has only just begun, from the looks of things.

You've got new orders, only this time they come straight from the General himself.

The details regarding your abrupt relocation had been scarce, even before Graves had you stuffed on the next flight back to the states. However vague the details are, the reasons were made clear to you from the jump -- your files had been pulled, and you were finally being placed with the Task Force.

You would be the mole after all.

Shepherd felt it necessary to have you moved, given your recent work in Turkey and Kavala. Of course, it also helps that Graves' gave him a strong recommendation on top of things. You're not sure what that may have been however. You haven't felt particularly noteworthy recently.

Though whatever Graves said, the General saw some truth to it and moved you. Right on time too. You've felt as though you've started to wear out your welcome with Shadow Company as of late. And time away from your Commander would no doubt do you both some good.

The tips of your fingers grew raw from the past hour you spent plucking at your guitar strings. Your knuckles felt tight and your hands had become numb, but the discomfort was manageable. With luck, it would make for a faint enough distraction. It's much more manageable than the emotional pain that tugs at you beneath the surface.

You were cleared for combat before you flew out here. The news wouldn't have surprised you, had it not felt like a lie. Sure you're good to go on paper, but something was wrong with you. You could feel it.

You haven't felt like yourself since that night in Kavala.

Beyond the guilt you felt, you knew something had been off in you for days now. There were things you've found yourself doing, experiences you've noticed and felt, that you've never had to deal with prior.

An impending sense of dread hung heavy in your gut lately. It exhausts you all day, and keeps you wired through the night. In the quiet moments, you have these sudden urges to cry. You have to convince yourself to get out of bed most mornings. You'd go the whole day and forget to put a meal in you if you weren't paying attention.

And you were alone in your feelings.

The others in Shadow Company showed little to no remorse about the events that occurred that night, and that was even before they'd gotten paid for the job. Keeping things impersonal seemed to be the company motto.

Once the cash had rolled out, it was as though that op had never happened. No one brought it up, and no one had a second thought about it. Graves included. They were ready to take their blood money and ready to add more to the pile.

You didn't share the sentiment.

That night felt as surreal as a nightmare, only you've been trapped in some sort of sleep paralysis with it lingering; unable to move or wake yourself, and unable to shed away the emotions that had coursed through you in those brief moments.

All the noises, the chaos, their faces -- Whenever you think back on it, your throat tightens. Your blood runs cold. God forbid you space out when these thoughts came, lest your back in that dark hallway, looking for that scared little kid again.

You start to play another song, watching leaves from the tree gently fall around you. They dot the grass you sit on alongside the barracks. The other soldiers didn't use this back entrance often, giving you a little privacy (not that you needed it). The ones who'd pass by didn't have much to say, though their eyes always followed the music.

Despite the turmoil you face, you smile and nod at the soldiers, sparring a comment when a comment was spared. You'd nod a farewell and you'd let your own music drown their walking away.

And when they're gone, you let the swell of sorrow boil in you quietly. You close your eyes and sing to yourself, letting the lyrics match your strumming, and the melody keep your throat from burning so much.

No, nothing's wrong with me, you tell yourself. Nothing is wrong.

It saddens you to think of this, just as much as it scares you knowing that this might be the new normal for you. That this was out of your control now. If only you'd hadn't noticed the change in you.

You get a groove going with your song now, it pulls the lyrics from you with little effort. You keep your eyes closed as you sing. There's not much around you looking at anyway.

...

Ghost awoke in a tiny bedroom, lit by dim sunlight and old dust, the world around him completely still. His slumber had been a dreamless one; nothing but black and silence, just as he liked it. And for a moment, his room made him feel almost deaf.

It was damn near cathartic.

He lies on his back in bed for a while longer, this nap having been an unplanned one. As the man does so, he takes this time to breathe and be with himself. Attempting to meditate, in some sense of the word.

His therapist keeps recommending he give it a try, or something of that sort at least, if Ghost remembers it right. Their advice went in one ear and out the other sometimes, depending on the kind of day he was having.

Still, Ghost was somewhat receptive if not a bit apprehensive to their words. Some meditation would probably do him some good, despite not having the faintest idea of how to go about it. Lord knows it's been far too long since he's spent some time with his own thoughts.

Missions take top priority in his mind, making it difficult to think or notice much else outside of what needs to be done and bad men who need to be handled. He prefers it this way. Though many have warned him time and time again that all missions have their end eventually. When that comes, what would sate his troubled mind then?

How much longer could he avoid himself?

His dark eyes lingered above, stuck on some singular crack he's found over his head. It's tiny and sad looking on the cold white of the ceiling. Uninspired, much like Ghost is in this moment. He sighs to himself, feeling the minutes tick by monotonously.

Letting his mind run blank in the silence proved easy enough to do. Seeing where that blank space takes him would be his true hurdle. Once he allows himself too, the details paint themselves more clearly in his head.

AQ. Russians. Former Cartel men. Mother. Tommy. Joseph...

The dead were always the first to come to his mind, some recent, others years old. None which stick with Ghost any longer than the last. And none that didn't leave the usual crater in his chest afterwards. How else would he remind himself of the heart thumping in him?

Once he sifts through the surface level rot in his mind, it slowly brings him back to the living memories. He finds himself thinking of his team for a short while after, their expressions and figures all mostly indistinguishable from the next. Apart from a few outliers.

Soap came to mind first in that regard. Johnny.

Ghost wasn't sure what Soap found so interesting about him. It wasn't like the lieutenant was easy to talk to, nor fun to be around, he always thought so at least. Not in comparison to the Sergeant.

Truth be told, Ghost knew surprisingly little of Soap outside of work, beyond the fact that he could talk enough for the both of them. They've been running ops for awhile now though, long enough to where Ghost has grown used to the Sergeant's joyful demeanor. At this point, he couldn't picture him any other way.

Soap's go-getter personality matched well with his skill, the charisma was just an added bonus. That kind of authenticity was rare to find these days. A rarity Ghost has only seen been matched by one other carefree spirit. One that seems to cross his mind even more so, any time he had a second too long to himself.

Looking up at the ceiling, the memories play in his mind like a movie. A starry night with a full moon, cold air and wet rain water. Kind eyes and a sweet smile. Warm arms which gently take him in, as a soft sensation presses to his chest. A few short seconds from a night nearly a month past. You.

That night with you refuses to leave him be, no matter how much he pretends it didn't mean anything to him. It'd be better if that were the case. But he couldn't have a moment to himself without his drifting back to you. Back to your warm embrace.

Suddenly, Ghost wasn't so interested in meditating anymore, fearful to linger in the memory of you for too long and catch himself reminiscing again. He's gone this long without having to deal with emotions like that, there was no chance in hell he'd put himself through it now.

The man quickly throws on a black hoodie and readjust the skull balaclava he'd had on, as he looks upon a half-finished pack of cigarettes sitting on his nightstand, calling to him.

Ghost's penchant for smoking would give him well enough of an excuse to leave his room for a bit. So alas, his small addiction willed him out into the barrack hallways.

It only took about thirty seconds before that one decision changed the course of the rest of his day. He starts down the empty hall, still trying to familiarize himself with the place, until he hears something behind him...

"L.T.?"

Ghost paused, recognizing that Scottish accent from anywhere. Soap.

He doesn't bother turning to face the man, he's matched the mohawk to the voice by the time he's made his way over and stepped into his line of vision.

Soap's face lights up at the sight of the Lieutenant, a boyish grin coming out of him. "Looks like I caught you right on time."

The Lieutenant lets his eyes lazily fall on the Sergeant. Guessing from the faint scent of sweat and workout attire, Ghost could infer that Soap most likely left from the gym not too long ago.

"So you were looking then?" Ghost asks almost teasingly.

He continues walking down the hallway before Soap has had time to respond. Which didn't matter much, as the Sergeant only followed Ghost along the way now. As he suspected he would. Very rarely did Soap leave him be when around.

Ghost could have told him to go if he wished to. Though he hadn't.

"No," Soap says. "I just happened by. Not to disappoint you, sir."

"Too late for that," Ghost quipped.

Soap chuckles, bashfully looking ahead of himself. He clears his throat. "Where're ya off to then?"

"I'm just havin' a smoke."

"Tsk. Tsk," Soap smacks his lips jokingly. "Those things'll kill you, L.T."

"Somethin' has to."

There's an awkward pause between the two men. For some reason it catches Ghost off guard, and for a second he thinks Soap might have been reading a bit too into his joke.

The Sergeant jokingly cringes to himself though, signaling to Ghost that there were no boundaries crossed. Good. Though it was peculiar of the Lieutenant to care about something like that to begin with. "Very edgy of you," says Soap.

"Look, Johnny," Ghost starts. "I just woke not but fifteen minutes ago. If you're gonna follow me, I need you at five, mate."

"Ah," Soap begins to tease. "Woke up on the wrong side of the bed, then L.T.? Bet it's 'cause you slept with that thing on your face."

"Maybe so." Ghost says unenthusiastically.

This brings a low rumble of a laugh out of Soap, who shakes his head at the lieutenant's comment. Ghost never fully turns his attention back to the Sergeant as he speaks, though his glancing over grows more frequent.

"Is it comfy?" Soap asks.

"Like an extra pillow for my face, Soap."

"Could I try one on, sir?"

"No."

"Afraid I might wear it better than you?"

"I don't share."

Soap laughs again, the base of his voice booming in Ghost's ear. Reminding him that he just woke up.

"You're a funny man, L.T.," Soap laughs.

"Who says I'm being funny?"

"I'd say so, sir."

"Fuckin' hell. A five, Johnny," Ghost rolls his eyes. "This here is a strong seven you're givin' me."

Soap blows raspberries. "A seven?" The man's accent was really starting to come out. "I'm at a solid six right now, at least. You know me better than that, Ghost."

"If it isn't five, it's not what I asked for."

Ghost and Soap round another corner in the barrack hallway, as they now approach the back exit to the building. The man's lips were twitching for a cigarette now, already tasting the nicotine on his tongue.

Some fresh air would do him some good too, even if he had to share it with some rather lively company. Ghost could handle it being only Soap however, being a team for this long now.

"You hear that?"

The sound of Soap's voice cutting in brings Ghost to a halt just near the exit, and just in range for him to hear the distant strumming of a guitar. The music was faint through the doors, though the soft melody picked up rather soothingly.

What caught Ghost's attention most was the sound of a woman's voice singing along to the acoustics. A voice which was soft and angelic, not perfect but with enough personality to it to be its own. It's a voice he could recognize, and one he's only heard recently in his memories.

There was no way, he thought.

"I think someone's playing music out there," Soap comments. Ghost doesn't notice him open the door until the sunlight washes over him; a cold, late summer wind breezing by, as the sounds of blissful music blankets over him.

He and Soap step out of the barracks onto the back concrete, steps of the building, facing an emptier end of the parking lots away from the main road, fenced away. There were a few trees and patches of grass decorating this part of the outer building, though the leaves were proving to be an impending nuisance in the coming autumn.

As the leaves blew in the evening sky, Ghost watches them hover about, until they fell at the patch of grass you sat at, a small ways from the exit. There his eyes found you once again, and a breath forgets to leave him.

For a moment there, he thought he might have been in his room, still dreaming.

You sit beneath a tree, your legs crossed and a guitar laid over your lap, as you look off into the distance with your eyes shut, singing to yourself some song which you knew intimately. In your voice, Ghost hears the struggle in you to keep your tone from breaking down.

The orange glow of the sun feathers your skin warmly, your hair lush in the lighting. Your head sways peaceful to the music, with not a care in the world to who walked by. A rather fitting setting for the Canary. A setting which had Ghost completely stopped.

The last time he saw you, you were drunk and spilling all your guts out to him in your bathroom, damn near literally. And the last time you saw him, he was struggling to function properly from just a simple hug. Now you're here fully, ready to play the game again, and he still hasn't gotten over that damn hug.

Ghost thought that burying the memory would snuff the feelings out. That's what he's used to doing. That's what usually works too.

Yet seeing you again now... Why? What are you doing here?

Ghost runs a few thoughts in his mind, and then it all clicks. The new recruit.

When Ghost and Soap had been given their new orders and sent out here, they’d already been let known that they’d be receiving a new recruit for the remainder of the assignment. He should have known that it wouldn’t actually be someone new.

"Canary?" Soap calls to you from where they stand on the steps. You open your eyes and halt your playing, and the first thing your gaze falls on are the black eyes of Ghost's looking back at you.

And like that, you coax a dying flame in him anew.

He watches your eyes widen, only lightly, before a pleasing smile shows, which only grew as you turned your attention over to the Sergeant. Soap is the first to make his way down the steps towards you. He makes strides like you'd been friends for years.

Ghost lingers by the exit, keeping a distance. Taking everything as it comes by him. He leans against the railing by the steps, watching cars drive by, and listening to you and Soap speak.

"It's good to see you guys again." You stand from where you sit, resting your guitar against the tree behind you. "I was just starting to miss you too."

"The feeling's mutual," Soap says. "What's got you out here?"

"New orders from Shepherd."

"You don't say," Soap smiles. "You the new recruit then?"

"I might just be," you smile.

Your eyes drift from Soap to where Ghost stands, your expression turning playful. You begin to wave and call over to him. From a distance, you were just all glitters and sunshine it seems. "Looks like we're going to be battle buddies again Ghost!"

Ghost stays quiet, watching as you turn your attention back to Soap. The whole time you two talk, Ghost debates with himself on how he wants to feel right now. What should he be feeling?

Why not go over there? Some voice nags at him in his head. You know you want to.

Ghost exhales. He remains by the exit.

A small part of him resented the way he couldn't quite bring himself to walk over to you and Soap and join in; instead of being so standoffish like he always was. It's not every day people wanted to actually talk to him. But staying away was conditioned in the man. And he knows he wouldn't add much to the conversation regardless.

He never knows what to say.

So instead he watches you, reminded of all the little details that have grown hazier since your brief departure. The liveliness of your speech and how you move your hands when you talk was entertaining enough to observe. And your voice. He remembers liking the sound, but hearing it again really had him tuned in all of a sudden.

Its pitch sings to him like a lullaby almost.

Ghost watches you laugh at something Soap says to you, seeing the way he suavely rests an arm against the tree as he talks. Your eyes look Soap up and down, before you say something sly. Commenting on his gym attire from the looks of things. It makes Soap start to flex his large arms jokingly. Striking various poses which make you laugh rather boyishly. You give the man a playful shove and you both laugh.

Ghost wonders if you two even notice how flirtatious your actions come off at times, watching the way you maneuver around each other. Something tells the Lieutenant that Soap wasn't as aware as he seemed, though you never know. And as for your intent... Well, that was a question for the ages.

Whether intentional or not, you seem to play into it rather easily, words leaving your lips like cool poetry, tongue and teeth moving swiftly with your sentences.

Every now and again you look Ghost's way. When you see him already looking, you don't react in the slightest. Merely meeting his gaze before going about yourself as you were. You'd even wave a little every now and then, as though to let him know you saw him too, and that he could join in if he wished. Never forgetting him, even as he wasn't near. A gesture made from kindness.

It really is you, isn't it?

Before long, you've made the decision for yourself to come see him. You pick your guitar up and make your way back over to the exit where he stands, as Soap follows behind.

You stop at the bottom of the steps though, resting against the end of the railing, as some coy smile paints your lips. Your gaze softens, and Ghost can't help but to soften along with it, even as his cold composure never breaks.

Soap speaks again suddenly, moving his way around Ghost and reopening the building door. "I'll come knockin' once I'm done," he says.

Ghost realizes he missed a whole conversation between you two after all.

You wave goodbye and Soap re-enters the barracks. And before Ghost has realized it, he's now outside alone with you. How did that happen?

The air closes in around you both like you're back in that room again. Ghost stands at the top of the stairs, only about four steps down from where you stood at the base still. Now that you were closer, it was harder to avoid how heavy your gaze felt on him suddenly.

"Ghost," you greet him.

"Y/N."

The sound of your name gruffly leaving his masked lips brings a sheepish smile to you. It excites you even. "You remembered."

Ghost relaxes more in his stance, slipping his hands into his pockets now. He hasn't stop thinking of your name since you told it to him, though he wishes that weren't the case. "How've you been?" he asked. "Managing to stay in one piece?"

"Physically," you say rather nonchalantly.

"Not mental?"

Ghost meant for his comment to be casual, however he sees his words pull something out of you. A glint of something dark, something tired, and something worn. Sadness. A look he's held before. It makes him wonder what you've gotten into since the last time you've spoken. In this line of work, he imagines it had been rather unpleasant.

It's a quick flash of grief Ghost felt did not suit you. A look that seems to weigh on you, just barely being held down by your trained smile.

"I could be better," you shrug. "But I'm still here."

"Which is good, yeah?" Ghost says. "That you're still here."

"Is it?" you say sarcastically, though your voice feels drained of its normal passion.

Ghost merely shrugs. "I'd say so."

You look off for a second, and Ghost remembers the little pauses you take to think of your words again. How carefully open you are with him. You do what you know best, and you begin to tease. "Did you miss me, lieutenant?"

Did you miss me? Did he? It's hard to notice when you missed someone until they're in your face again to remind you of the absence.

"I haven't forgotten you."

"I haven't forgotten you either."

You finally manage to break his gaze from you, the man choosing to look somewhere off into the parking lot. Now it was Ghost's turn to think of his next words to you. Your careful nature is seemingly contagious.

"I trust your activities since the last we spoke have been of the sober sort." He decides to keep things surface level again. Ghost was too dazed from a good nap to be going through all of this right now.

"Painfully so, lieutenant," you finally move up the steps, stopping beside him with your guitar in your hands still. "Speaking of 'sober activities', Soap and I were gonna grab a coffee in a few, if you'd like to come."

Ghost raises an eyebrow at your comment, though you can't see it beneath his mask, beyond the rising of his own eyes. So that's what was discussed. Soap asked you out on a bloody date. The cheeky bastard works fast, he'll give him that.

"Am I third-wheelin' then?" he asks.

"Never, Ghost." You begin to strum a little tune on your guitar, as though to add a little jingle to your words like some sort of minstrel. "Soap might be, if he's not careful."

"Don't let 'em hear that," Ghost jokes. "Might break the lad's heart."

You laugh to yourself. It's bubbly and light, and pulls Ghost wide awake from his tired self. "I can't have that," you say. "He's such a sweety."

Soap's a "sweety"? It almost makes Ghost laugh, though in a lot of ways he agreed with you there. It's just not how he'd word it personally. "A real charmer, that one."

"Are you comin' then?" you ask. "I'd love to catch up, especially since we're about to be a team, from the looks of things."

"I wouldn't mind havin' a tea."

"It's a date then," you strum another melody at the end of your sentence, and start to fake a British accent, rather poorly too. "Until we meet again, lieutenant. This humble bard need ready herself for the night."

"She needs more practice with the accent," he jabs. "Bloody atrocious, that was."

Your gaze sullies suddenly, as you take a few steps closer to Ghost. He leans back against the railing of the steps, crossing his arms and looking down at you as you come near. With his sleeves somewhat rolled up, he watches you take an eyeful of his tatted arm, before looking up and down the rest of him.

Your gaze had grown rather forward since the last you've spoken, it seems. Rather tantalizing, lulling the man in tactfully. He'd taken your flirting before as drunken banter. But you're not drunk anymore, are you.

"Perhaps you'll show me a few pointers later then," you say. "You're here to give me tips and be eye candy, as I recall."

Ghost is at a loss for words there for a second.

He'll admit, at times your lines came too fast to him. You were always ready with a quick quip, and it left little time for him to really analyze your words and craft a proper response that wasn't mere gut reaction. Not without giving away that he was indeed trying to read into your words. But if Ghost wasn't careful, he risked speaking a bit too candidly for his own liking.

You wouldn't catch him so easily.

"Don't be greedy now," he says. "I'm for the whole team."

"I can share," you say.

"Is that right?"

"That's right."

Ghost hadn't noticed himself leaning in until he heard another plane fly overhead. By then, you'd been leaning in as well, the two of you only kept apart by the guitar in your arms and the distance in height between your faces. It must have been darker in your room than he remembered, because in the sunlight, where he could really see all of you this close, you were absolutely stunning.

If you weren't careful, you might just make him start to misbehave.

Alas, you seemed to enjoy playing the tease. You play one final melody on your guitar, giggling to yourself and stepping towards the exit. "I'll see you later, lieutenant."

Ghost watches you leave, taking both your music and atmosphere with you. After a few moments pass and he's alone, he finally takes that cigarette out he'd been dying to smoke this whole time. Though as he curls the bottom of his mask up and places it between his lips, his heart still patters rather rapidly in his chest.

Perhaps you'll show me a few pointers later then. Later...

...Chapter Fifteen Here!

#call of duty #modern warfare ii #mwii #call of duty modern warfare ii #ghost x reader #ghost simon riley #soap x reader #john soap mactavish #Spotify #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley #simon riley #john mactavish #soap mw2 #soap mwii #ghost mwii #control

42 notes · View notes

chenyann · 2 years

Text

The mysterious case of the prideful apple

You and your friend has a sleepover but some unexpected things happen while watching a horror movie!

This took longer than all my other fic I wrote and the story is much longer too^^; im so sorry for the wait quite some of yall were excited for this and I delayed it for so long 😭 but I hope yall like this one ~yako Fluff/crack?/ maybe ooc epel?

"A sleep over isnt so bad"

A sleepover is a social occasion whereby a person stays overnight at another person's house. A pajama party or slumber party is essentially the same, but may involve multiple people. Hence why it's a sleepover!

Grimmy had quote-on-quote moved to Heartslabyul since you hardly fed him. thats a lie you just didn't give him an extra can of tuna and he went off, you told the adeuce Duo to play alongSo you had ramshackle all to yourself for a while.

There were rare occasions when you got moments like these,Moments where you can have fun with your friends,but on each rare occasion, you made sure to treasure these precious moments like they were the finest silk.

[Nrc courtyard 1:20pm]

"So what do you think?" You said with a small smile, a smile that glowed ever-so-slightly.You and epel didn't get much time to hang out since Vil had been stealing epel to be his doll, so you wanted to catch up with him and the best way to do that is a Sleepover.

"What about vil?" The boy with hair that's as purple as lavender said with a frown, you hummed like a Hummingbird acknowledging his question.

"I told him you will sleep at a reasonable time and I'll do your skin care" the lavender haired boy groaned "don't tell me that's what we are gonna do the whole time,if so I'm not gonna go!"

A huff left your lips "I know you don't like it that's why I'll just

Make you put on the moisturizer and cleanser." Epel groaned even louder "I don't wanna" he wined "why do I have to put them on why can't you–" he stopped complaining when you gave him a glare.

"You're lucky I'm making you put only the cleanser and moisturizer,cause if I didn't love you I would make you do the whole routine" you said as you took a bite out of the cookie trey gave you after another unbirthday party.

That moment a single glass heart was once more filled with an unknown feeling, that feeling had come and went dancing on his chest making something grow like a tree having its branches grow around his heart.The thing was that It only came when you were around and left when you were out of sight,that funny feeling was strange but never unwelcomed,in fact he encouraged it to come.

You love me…. Epel was lost in thought before you had to burst his bubble."You okay there?" You leaned In close and waved your hand in front of his face,swatting your hand away as the boy spoke."I'll go to the sleep over"

"Really??? OKAY! Go to ramshackle at 5:40 okay!" You said with a giddy smile your feelings painting the air around yall to a beautiful blue and violet,Yet a bell screams In yalls ear practically saying 'your time is up go to class now'. Ya'll pack up your stuff and bid farewells and go to your next class.

[Pomefiore lounge 4:25pm]

"Monsieur Cherry Apple!You seem excited, oui? Is it because of your date with our dear trickster?" Rook said with a smug grin and look at that, the diva is here too.

"Epel you better make sure you do your skin care and don't stay up too late with y/n other than that have fun." The queen walks off, the huntsman winks at the lavender haired boy and follows his queen.

The boy grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder marching off to the ramshackle dorm.A walk with a calming flow to it, the air scented like a meadow and the quiet chatter of fellow students whispers in his ears.A warm breeze caresses his skin and holds him in a soft embrace….perhaps I should wait here for a while?

[Mr s. Mystery shop 4:30pm]

"Heya! Little imp what can I do for ya?" Sam spoke in a sing song voice behind the counter."Nothing much just getting some things for a

sleep over." You said as you looked at the 'fake' skull he was polishing."Ah..!" The shop owner spoke in delight,"I just stocked up on movies and snacks ill give you a discount since you are a frequent customer!" A smile has appeared on his lips, not one of a deceiver but of a friend.

Before you knew it you were smiling too,"okay let's see what you got then" that giddy smile had yet to leave your lips but you didn't mind it staying for a while.Sam got a box from the back and explained what there was, movies, popcorn,drinks,games,fairy lights and blankets.

"This bundle is normally 250 thusmarks/mandol but I'll give it to you for 195" you stared at the bundle and sighed "Sam I think you're spoiling me too much,am I your favorite imp" you said in a sing song voice as you got your wallet out.The shop keep just laughed and bagged your things, you took notice that he didn't deny what you said.

You waited for him to bag your stuff and you spotted something."Hey Sam, are these any good?" He stopped bagging your stuff and looked up at you. You held a bag of chips. In big words read 'Miss Mary's ghost thins apple flavor' he looked at them and said "not many buy them but in my opinion they're quite alright" he said with a smile.

"I hope your opinion is good then!" You said as you handed them to him, he finished up bagging your things and bid you a farewell but you had yet to notice his sly grin.A grin that could rival Cheshire cat or chenya.

[Ramshackle 5:39pm]

The young boy heard the pitter patter of what he presumed was the prefects running towards the door.With a smile they welcome the boy and step aside to show the boy what they did with the place; Fairy lights hung from the ceiling, the lamps was on,there was at least 26 blankets and pillows,the smell of freshly made popcorn lingers in the air as the looks in awe."whoa! This is like a whole dang dimension of comfort!" He said, letting his accent slip, "how in da world did ya do 'tis y/n!?"

You gave him a smug grin and spoke "the ghosts helped me and Sam hooked me up with all this stuff" The boy looked around even more and said, "are ya finished?" You sighed and shook your head "no I still gotta go and get the tv" the nodded and interrupted you "I can help!" You looked at him and beckoned him to follow you.

You two were in a spare room epel was getting the TV on the cart so yall can use it and you were searching for the cords it needs.

[Ramshackle lounge 7:01pm]

When yall got the TV out and working , the sun was already bidding its farewells and letting the moon take its seat on its internal throne, lighting the sky with stars and glowing against this old building;The crickets have already started making their blissful tune letting the life of night dance under the graceful moon.

"Look it's already dark" epel said,His eyes shining brighter than the stars out the window."we should get started then" you said as you sat down on the blankets and pillows,epel followed after you sitting down with his bag.

You put a movie on and get out the ghost thins munching on them with epel,the movie you put on was a horror due to epels request.It was packed with jumpscares and blood, on the contrary it was actually really scary, not one of those movie that try too hard to scare you.

You remember very vividly when epel latched on you due to a jumpscare, it was funny to see him play it off moments later.You chose to give epel an apple crisp and his face lit up so cutely why not toy with him a bit?

"Open up epel" you said holding the apple crisp in front of his mouth, he looked baffled even a bit offended."Ya think I can't eat an apple chip myself!?" He said with a hint of anger, Yet you knew he didn't really mean it, maybe he was just embarrassed? "well, you won't get one with that attitude young man" you said mockingly , like how a mother would scold a child for breaking something,"now open you" all the boy did was sigh and open his mouth.You popped the chip in his swiftly since you knew he would bite down on your hands for teasing him.

And that's when it happened…

[Ramshackle lounge 9:00pm]

The tv force repeating the same line over and over again like a broken record player.

I'm here….one

I'm here…two

I'm here….three

I'm here….four

I'm here….five

….

Silence filled the room as yall stopped joking around…five times, it said ' I'm here ' five times…."That was weird. Maybe Sam gave me a broken dvd?" You said breaking the tension in the room like it was glowstick,you got up clicking stuff on the TV but there was nothing wrong with it.You took the disc out and and looked at it hm..? The disk wasn't scratched up and it looks perfectly fine,epel was watching you as you stared at the disk.

"What's wrong, is the disk broken?" He asked hurriedly, you turned to him and shook your head "nope the tv and disc seems fine" you walked to turn the lights on but the moment the switch flipped the bulb blew. Ah! Yall both screamed.Epel looked at you, he saw you standing there frowning from the fairy lights glow.

"Maybe the ghosts are pranking us?" He said trying to calm both of yalls nerves "no, it can't be they told me they were gonna chill in the school so they won't bother us….they even swore" you spoke in a low voice "we got some flashlights in the kitchen can you for me while I try to clean up the glass." Epel frowned and answered you quickly,too quickly."um…how about we get them together?" He said quickly as he stood up from his spot, you saw right through him though.

"What? Are you scared epel?" You teased knowing dang well you're scared too, the boy stiffened like a child would when they got caught doing something they aren't supposed to.“Scared who do you think I am prefect?” You looked smug….too smug at that moment he ran off into the kitchen…it's quiet….yep he's dead r.i.p you thought to yourself , you heard a noise from across the room and a chill ran up your spine ad you saw one spot was darker than rest of the room…where is he???

BOO!

Epel comes from your left and gazes into your eyes with a triumphant look,as he held 2 flashlights in his hands."told ya I'm not scared" he pauses as he sees you trembling "Hey what's up with ya did I spook ya that bad?" You didn't reply all you did was point across the room,the boy looked where you were pointing at and spoke again "what are ya pointin' at prefect??" You stare at him and said "didn't you come from over there…?" Your hand was now shaking and he noticed it,shaking his head he looked back at the stop you were pointing at.

"No…why?" You went pale and faced him again, grabbing his hand and taking him to another room."i…I heard something in the corner of the room and I saw a silhouette…" he also turned pale thinking of something that could ease both of yalls hazey minds…"it's maybe nothing I'll go get check it out!" You snorted "really?" You put your hands on your hips "you're gonna beat up the ghost for me, princey poo" you batted your eyelashes at him, forgetting the fear that once laid in your stomach!

He huffed and grabbed what seemed to be a table leg "just stay behind me yn" he said as he exited the room you giggled as you followed him down the hall “Don’t laugh at me y/n!” he yelled ''Okay my little cotton swab♡♡ go fight the ghost then!'' You point to the corner of the room where you saw and heard the thing.

Epel gets closer to the corner and he sees it, it had short black hair and some bald spots it's hair was everywhere and looked knotted and it looked scrawny and pale with its spine sticking out,it kept making low grumbles as epel raised the table leg it swiftly turned around and crawled on all four towards him.

AHHHHHHH!!!!!! Epel let out a bone chilling scream as it crawled towards him with its deformed face, you ran to him and grabbed his arm running towards the only room that had a lock….your room.You locked the door and hugged epel for dear life as yall sat on the bed "Epel calm down" you spoke to him whispering a mix of apologies and little nothings in his ears, little do you know your voice is like music to his ears slowly but surely you lulled him to asleep.

The world layed comfortably on your shoulder and you held him as if he was sand slipping through your fingers, you held him and his heart like it was glass with care and precaution.You soon found yourself tired wanting to aslo rest you laid your head on top of his and fell in a deep slumber;not before saying you love him and giving him a goodnight kiss though.

Knock …

Knock….

The knock stopped and the sound of the jigging door handle echoed in the room, with two oblivious and sleeping nrc students.The Door slowly creaked open due to ramshackle being old,Looks like they are asleep?Jack spoke,"no fare they had a sleepover and didn’t invite us”Ace spoke, crossing his arms in the process,“shut up Ace you're gonna wake them up” grim spat at him,making a fuss between the two of them.

“We will give them five more minutes" deuce said as he looked up at Jack, only receiving a nod of approval.

"Hey" deuce said "ain't these those chips that makes creepy illusions?" He looked at them once more and sat them down, "come on guys let's let them rest a bit more"

#epel x reader #disney twst #disney twisted wonderland #twst x reader #twst wonderland #twst scenarios #twst #epel x mc #twst fanfic #twst x you #twst fluff #twst x y/n #I fr scared myself writing this💀💀💀#And the fact my crabs were banging on the glass didn't help😭#You know that one creepy ppg tiktok #Yeah that's what the creature was based off #twst oneshot #twst imagines

56 notes · View notes

hibiscusheir · 2 years

Text

Bakusquad Playing Specter (Roblox) with game-experienced!reader

a/n: ty for the support on my last post :]] it means a lot to me. a lot of this may not be accurate, as I haven't written for this fandom in about a year's time, so it may suck, or it may not! -heir

Characters: Katsuki Bakugo, Eijiro Kirishima, Denki Kaminari, Hanta Sero, Mina Ashido

CW: cursing, getting scared, probably terribly translated Spanish on Sero's part

Katsuki Bakugo

At first, he denied your request to play.

"The fuck-? No way, that sounds stupid."

After a bit of convincing, he complies, and you teach him the simple ropes of the game.

He doesn't really get it, but he wants to win.

"What's this-"

"That's an EMF reader. If it goes up to five (5), we write that down, and it narrows down our selection to figure out the ghost."

"And this-?"

"...Bakugo, that's a flashlight-"

If a hunt starts, and you two are together, you'll lead him to a closet to hide and wait.

(He makes fun of the ghost through the closet)

If you're split up, however, he'll rage when he either gets in the closet too late or he can't find one and the ghost kills him.

"WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!"

"You didn't hide fast enough."

"I'LL BLOW THAT GHOST TO PIECES-"

"Dude. It's a video game. Chill."

He wins sometimes, but you need to keep him grounded, otherwise, he'll get cocky.

Eijirou Kirishima

He would never turn down a game request from you!

"Hell yeah, sounds manly!"

I think he'd know some stuff, like what an EMF or a thermometer does.

But anything else, he doesn't know what he's doing, and you will have to explain to him.

He would try to address the ghost by the first name, even though it's chat and that's not how it works.

"*Insert name*! Y/N, why aren't they responding-???"

"It doesn't work like that, Kiri."

":( that's not nice."

When hunts roll around, you two are always in the closet together.

(Probably because he never leaves your side.)

On the rare chance he's not with you, he knows where to hide because you showed him.

You guys usually win.

If you don't you're alright with it!

Even if it's just a dumb glitch.

Denki Kaminari

He's so jumpy about the game.

Even the sound of running water makes him jump in his seat if it's sudden enough.

He'd need the flashlight if the lights went out/the generator was turned off.

Always hiding in either the closets or in the van

But if he gets the courage, he'll venture with you, solving the case together.

You gotta do most of the work, sorry. 🤷

Probably short circuits when jumpscared.

Would be the one to turn off jumpscares.

Though, he'd be pretty good about getting to the generator quickly to turn it back on!

(Because he's scared lol-)

You guys usually equally win and lose, most of the time, he dies though.

Hanta Sero

I think he'd be down to play, despite not knowing the game.

He's eager to learn, though!

Once you explain to him how to play, he's actually quite good.

He stays on track, doesn't get too cocky, and does well on his own.

...on easy mode.

On any other mode, however, the ghosts always scare the shit outta him.

Like during hunts, if he rounds a corner and sees the ghost, he yelps.

"MIERDA SANTA-"

"Y/NNNNNNNN, AYUDAAAAAA-"

But he dies since there's nothing you can do

(unless you use a crucifix or sacrifice yourself lol)

Overall, you two make a pretty good team as long as the mode stays on easy!

"*High fives you* Ayyyeeee, we did it!"

Mina Ashido

(Disclaimer, this is my first time writing for Mina, so if its OOC, then I'm sorry T-T)

She'd be down!

Lowkey think she'd know what she was doing.

Like, she'd know what an EMF is, know how to use a crucifix, know where to put the book, etc.

She strikes me as the type of girl to look up paranormal things in her spare time, especially since she's training to become a hero! There could be a villain who is like one of these ghosts!

She may have played this game before you asked her to play with you.

May even be a higher level than you~

She may get a little surprised by the jumpscares, but not super freaked out by them.

And definitely not scared enough to turn them off, hehe.

A/N: ayyyyyyyyy that's the end of that one :) I'm sorry if the last three seemed shorter and if they were a lil (or a lot) OOC but i still hope you liked this! like, reblog, and follow if you enjoy this and want more content from me! my requests are open as well :)

32 notes · View notes

cynettic · 3 years

Note

I just read Kitsune reader x yan Scaramouche's fic, may I have gotten hooked on it? and of course, it's just perfect and that's why I'm here to lose a part two with nsfw, thank you in advance and understand if you refuse:3

Link to Part 1

Summary - Taking you captive, Scaramouche continues to see you as a pillar of support. Coming back home to have you there, always. Even if it meant chaining you up.

Pairings - F!Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Smut, slight noncon ( I tried to make it as consensual as possible but its difficult with yandere themes ), fingering, electricity play

Rating - NSFW

Penpal - Ahhh I'm actually beginning to get attached to this series, might end up writing a couple more posts with different hc and stuff. I hope you liked the post though, have a great day <3

A/N - The literal definition of the ‘stoic cruel boy who’s mean to everyone but you.’ Oh well, Scaramouche is ooc af, but I did change a few things in his backstory so its supposed to make sense for this story ;) Also- since we dont know Scaramouche’s actual name, I have the reader still… yknow, call him Scaramouche. Which is kinda weird cause its his harbinger name but oh well. Also, credit to @cycletr4in for proofreading it ;3

Taglist - @cursedraiden

Stay with Me pt.2

Scaramouche was a gentle captor.

In contrast to piercing eyes and harsh stares when it came to others, he had a soft spot for you. Like the ice that encased him whole melted at your touch, craving for the warmth only you could give him. For your arms around him, to play pretend and imagine he were a child, free, fearless, unbound. A child in your arms, safe and protected.

But you were held hostage, which meant that the chains around your wrists and legs held you down and secured you. Like you were bound to one spot like you’d always been, except this time you didn't have a choice.

You weren't waiting for the Kitsune Saiguu.

Hell, you didn't even have your vision.

This brought on resentment for the dark haired boy. You hated him, you despised him for holding you down under his own judgment. But at the same time, all you saw in him was a child, a little kid who hadn't had the time to grow up. The one who refused to do so because it was his only way to survive in the type of world he lived in. Hide behind that same facade he developed as a kid, snide remarks and unrelenting cruelty.

Just to come back to your arms, sobbing because he was still that child. Sobbing because he was still hurt. Sobbing because you were still his beacon of light, of hope.

He depended on you.

And as much as you built up harsh words to use against him, they dissolved in your mouth when you saw him. His vulnerability that he saved for you and you only. A deep part of you cared for him, a little too much.

Gentle fingers brushed through the locks of Scaramouche’s hair, twirling it around and playing with the strands. It was smooth, a small detail no one would have the chance to notice from the distance he put around himself and others. A quiet hum left his lips as he leaned against your chest, eyes fluttering closed against the soothing feeling of you against him.

The lavish silk sheets were soft against your skin, pillow pushing your form to sit up. Just enough to have Scaramouche in your arms, knees on either side of his body as his head rested under your chin. His chest rose and descended, almost on beat with yours, if not just a tad slower.

You hoped he wouldn't hear the way your heart thrummed against your chest.

Warmth, his body flushed against yours, the luxury of a bed and the small candlelight on your bedside. Different from what you’d grown into just on the side of the trail, sitting for decades. Or with your time with the Kitsune Saiguu, it was never this warm, never this gentle.

But this warmth ended at your beating heart, furiously blazing. Sending an urge of adrenaline through your body, whispering ‘run’ through your veins. A primal urge that would've had your hands around Scaramouche’s neck, till he was wrangling and dead.

Till you could escape.

Hand slowly sliding down his jawline, you let your gentle fingers ghost along the soft skin of his neck. Claws outstretched and ready, sharp and pointed with a deadly intent to kill. You could end him so quickly, overturn his trust and make an escape. You deserved it, you deserved freedom. Not a delusional boy who thought himself protector against someone who’s lived decades more than him.

Jolting at the sensation of a soft grip on your wrist, you watched with idle fascination as he simply cupped your wrist in his hold. Not stopping you, not restraining you, he simply brought your hand to his face. To his lips where he pressed the softest of kisses into your palm. So heartfelt and genuine that all you could do was freeze, not even considering clawing his face.

“I love you.”

You both stayed in that position for a few moments more, silence cradling the tension that slowly dissipated from your body. Forlorn eyes watching as he shift the angle of your wrist to kiss your fingertips. He wasn't waiting for an answer, basking in these soft moments where he could hide in your hold. Like a child, forced to grow up too quickly, yearning back for his foolish naivety, yearning for the childhood he missed.

You were that childhood.

Which is why he clung to you so dearly, showed expressions he didnt know he could make, hold you captive under the impression that it was ‘right.’ What he was doing was okay.

Claws retracted, you pursued your lips, holding back the tears of frustration that burned at your eyes. You hated him, hated him for the chains on your wrists, for the disappearance of your vision that you’d given so much value to. Hated him for the warmth he still made you feel.

You hated him.

You felt like a housewife in some respects. Not with the cleaning and cooking part, and of course no children were part of the equation. But in terms of support, you stayed rooted to that room, loose chains too strong for you to break or tug holding you down. Window was too far, and you were stuck moving around the bed and the desk that sat just a little farther away.

Attempts at having your vision back or more freedom in movement had been discussed with Scaramouche, but as childlike and free as he acted with you, he was not an idiot.

“I don’t plan on underestimating you,” was his answer, head resting on the plush of your chest. “You’re strong, always were. But I have to take extremes to make sure you don’t get hurt, some people out there are stronger than you.”

You wanted to point out that there were a ton of people stronger than him as well, but you kept your mouth shut. “Can I at least see the house? I’ve been cooped up here for so long…”

And he cant say no to such an innocent request as that right?

So he unlocks the chains, the vision at his side reminding you that he was strong. You solely knew that he’d been tough as a kid, and under the intensive training he’d seemed to endure, he was much much stronger. You werent willing to give it a go and lose his trust just yet.

Not like he really trusted you anyways-

At the very least, you’d hoped to get some sort of blueprint of the house, and all you’d received was confusion and your mind making up that the house itself was a maze.

“Didnt we… just pass through here?”

Glancing at the obvious frustration on your face, Scaramouche chuckled, pulling your arm through the hallways you swear you’d seen three times prior. “Nope, most of the hallways look pretty similar. The house wasn't built for dumbasses.”

You flashed him a look and were about to make some snideish rebuttal before you saw the smirk. You knew what he was doing, trying to comfort you with casual arguments you both used to have. Consisting of you telling him to work on his people skills, and him calling you a lazy ass. Of course you missed it, but you also knew you couldn't go back to it.

And then there was the issue when you learned that he was a harbinger.

A scene you didnt want to replay in your head, when a maid burst into your room, Scaramouche acting a tad more intimate. He had an awful tendency to do that, hug your waist and press his face against the crook of your neck. Press gentle kisses down the length of your shoulder that had you shuddering. You weren't used to intimacy, and considering you’d watched him grow up, it was just weird.

Stuttering, the maid had demanded that he was requested by the Tsarista. You’d seen the fear in her eyes when Scaramouche slowly turned to her, seen the unshakable immobility of standing under his gaze.

“Do not enter.” He said, “It’s on the door.”

That was the first time you’d seen Scaramouche kill.

You hoped it’d be the last.

But you’d seen death before, so much death in the time of the Kitsune Saiguu. And for a few seconds, you found yourself fearless as you yanked against the chains, yelling at his figure at the doorway.

“Tsarista?” You snarled, standing just a few feet away from him. His hand on the girls neck, clenching around the pretty skin of hers. Disgusted, the chains that held you back from closing the gap and throwing the girl away from him were impossible to overcome. “Why the hell does she need you?!”

‘Let go,’ you wanted to say. ‘Let her go, she’s going to die.’

It worked, because the ironclad grip was gone, the maid tumbling to the ground lifelessly. You’d been too late, and now her blood was on his hands, your hands. This was your fault and you had half the self control not to thrash against the chains with sharp claws, hands on his neck.

The hard steel gaze vanished in an instant, and like he’d regained his senses, he took a few steps to you. Hands clenching to fists before loosening to fingertips brushing against his palms. Confusion, regret and guilt clouded his features like a child waiting to be reprimanded. You didn't back away, stood firm and fierce when standing and keeping a tough front.

You wanted to cry.

“Its… its a long story.” He finally stated to your question, and when you didnt budge, he took a deep breath. In control again, he closed the distance between the two of you, “I’m sorry.” And that same thrum of electricity jolted through your body, sending you into a spiral of the girls lifeless eyes and Scaramouche’s childlike eyes. Till everything went black.

You woke up with the body gone. Scaramouche was gone as well.

You learned that Scaramouche liked to have things his way. Which meant that he was always in control, always had control of every situation.

Even in those short stretches of vulnerability when he rested in your arms, he still held something over you. And you had to adapt, shift for his wishes, coddle him and stay as his beacon. Because he was stronger, and even if you’d find some way to escape, he would find you.

It was odd, and you slowly let go of the image of him as a child, you knew he was a lot older. He’d probably reached the age your body was stuck in, and with every sweet kiss he pressed to your lips, you knew he saw you as some sort of lover. But as someone who wasn't in control, you simply had to play along, just until you found some way to make your escape.

Without killing him.

_-_-_-_-_

“Strip.”

Laying on one side of the bed, your eyes jolted open at the commanding voice. Slowly, you sat up, eyeing the dim figure at the doorway. Without the help of a candle or the moonlight at the window, you could distinguish Scaramouche at the doorway, taking off the large headpiece as he flung it to the ground.

“Excuse me…?” Your voice was soft, rusty after an evening nap.

“I’ll make you feel good,” was his only answer. Slowly making his way to the bedside till he could properly face you. His eyes were soft, but there was an odd sort of determination that you hadnt seen before. You held back his stare, confusion lacing your features when he suddenly started pulling off loose decorations that hung on his clothes. Just till he unlaced the vest and slid off his shirt. “Don’t worry.” But you didnt know quite what he meant until he leaned further to you, catching you off guard.

So you yelped when his hands suddenly slammed down on your shoulders, shifting you to have access to the buttons of your top layer. He was quick when undoing them, simply swatting away at your hands when you protested and tried to pull him away. Throwing it to the edge of the room when he was done, you could only thrash in horror when he undid your trousers just as quickly, pulling them down before you could grab them back up.

“Scaramouche? Hey-”

And then he threw you down on the bed, exposing you in your undergarments in the cool air of the room. Shivers crept up your spine and bristled across your skin, and before you could curl up to at the very least hide away, you felt a tug at your chains. Fear finally settled in when you saw Scaramouche attach the chain to the bedpost, until your hand was lifted up and he began to do the same to the other.

“Wait wait wait, stop and explain what you’re-”

Only then did he pause from what he was doing, slowly looking down to properly face you. His eyes slid up and down your body, and he took a step towards you. “I’ll make you feel good,” were his only words, and you were forced to take them as all he was planning on giving you. Only when he sat on the bed next to you did you realize what he meant, hand settling on your shoulder, waiting.

“Alright,” you said slowly. Painfully, the words bit your tongue, but you were merciless against someone who had control against the situation. You could say no and you knew Scaramouche would stop, he was gentle to you and you only. And even if he’d been firm just before, you knew that he’d still stop if you asked him to.

A part of you felt thrilled to have that power over him.

Another part of you just wanted to escape.

But you didnt have any hope to do so unless you were willing too give him everything. Because he expected everything and would do anything in his power to obtain it. You’d let him fiddle around with this delusion, thinking that he had control. Until he didnt.

Which is why you didnt flinch when his hand gently slid up your stomach, cold against the warmth you’d had under the blankets. Rubbing gingerly against your skin and drawing smooth shapes over before he slowly slid over your body. His eyes seemed to glint under the darkness of the room, lust filled and wanting.

You didnt shift uncomfortably, you pretended to be that doll he expected you to be.

Just staring up at him as he slowly leaned down to kiss you. His lips felt like snowflakes on a winters day, idly swaying side to side to catch one in your mouth. Jolting like electricity when they melted into your touch, red and swollen when he pulled back. You now vividly felt every touch, as if a current flowed and static jittered in the places he briefly brushed his fingertips.

“You always take such good care of me,” he breathed, lips slowly drifting down your chin. Just past your jawline and right on your neck. The space between your head and shoulder, a soft vulnerable spot that had your lips humming at the affectionate pressure. “Its my turn to take care of you.”

And then his lips were everywhere, collarbone, shoulders, cleavage. Just until his teeth were tugging off your bra, face nuzzled in between both breasts. Both of his hands now resided on your hips, grabbing both thighs to hold them up and against him. You could feel him hard, pressing so close to your heated core.

You managed to keep your reactions in check.

Just until he slowly grinded against you, mouth on your breasts as he again pecked the soft mounds, molding his lips against them as if he could remember the texture, memorize the feel. It was just to that point that mindless sounds slipped past your lips, turning to gasps when his hands on your thighs suddenly buzzed, and static rushed in. Your legs felt weak, entire body thrumming in response to the electricity he sent jolting.

He was using his vision.

The realization was numb against his lips on your breasts, hands slowly stroking the skin of your sides, travelling up. He hovered over you for mere seconds before mashing his lips against you once more, different. He was no longer gentle, and it was with the contact on your tail that you lost all control. When he gently moved it out of the way, backing up.

You were a mess.

Not that you tried to be, you’d been doing your best not to enjoy his touch. But it was hard when your core heated up so fast, mashing both legs together in hopes he wouldn't notice. You knew he would, any action beyond that was just you trying to save your dignity.

He sat there like he was enjoying the sight, the first time you’d seen him actually portray any visual confirmation of satisfaction towards the chains. He’d drink dry any ounce of control you gave him, and it was impossible not to give him it all when you were visionless and vulnerable.

But the dignity you struggled so hard to keep shattered when his hands brushed against your inner thigh.

Fingers slowly made their way to the padded fabric of your undergarments, two digits rubbing the area slowly with expertise. You bit your lip, muffling any groan of anticipation, hiding the way your hips tried to rock back into the gesture. Desperate, oh so desperate. Hiding back the whimpers as he slowly quickened the pace of his fingers against your garments. “Archons Y/n,” he murmured. “I haven't even put anything in and you’re already a squirming mess.”

“Shut u-up,” was all you managed, trying to shift away from the pressure against your clit. But his other hand was on your hip, holding in place. You could only watch and press your thighs tightly together as he slowly slid down your panties, resuming hovering over you. Distracting you with kisses, his fingers gently stroked your core, two fingers slowly sliding into your cunt using your juices.

He was gentle when pumping both fingers in and out, too slow when you thrust your hips to meet his fingers, pleading for him to go faster. But he liked hearing your cries, slowing down when you begged, quickening when you whined and just lay there, taking it.

You shuddered the first time electricity jolted from his digits.

It was when he had three fingers that he sent the static up your body, back arching with such intensity that it even had him chuckling. “Oh? You like it that much?” And then it is like something buzzed against your body, fingers vibrating against your clit as your thighs tightened around his hand. So much that you thought you’d crush it, but it didn't matter, not with the electrifying feeling against your body. It felt so odd, so overwhelmingly good that it had your legs sliding up and down the bedside, toes curling as the static grew and you fell paralyzed to his touch.

It didn't take long with his fingers thrusting in and out of you to cum. Moaning mess when he gave you the time to breathe, teeth biting your bottom lip and then mashing against yours. Your eyes grew fuzzy and most happened in a haze, and all you knew the entire time was that you’d given yourself to him, and that it felt good. You couldn't see the childlike wonder in his eyes anymore, not the need of a beacon or of support. No, the look he shared was feral, the smile tinting his lips almost scary. But it felt too good to care, and you let yourself enjoy his ministrations.

He pulled out and suddenly his own shorts were undone, boxers thrown to the side of the room just like all your other clothing. You didn't see how big he was, just felt his hard shaft against your throbbing cunt, pussy dripping and legs open wide and tired after your first go at it.

You expected him to be gentle like he’d been with his fingers. But he pressed the tip against your core, and in one full motion he was in. Teeth grinding against each other, you held back a scream, shock coursing through your body, overwhelmed with pain and discomfort. It hurt. But it was quickly overshadowed by his movements as he slid in and out of you, slow when pulling his hips back, and rocking himself completely inside you each time. A pattern that let you catch your breath and lose it all the same. Like he was continuously having a go at hitting the deepest parts of you, pulling back before fully thrusting into you and sending waves of pleasure and pain alike.

It was expected, but you couldnt hear yourself.

Not with your mind trapped in a haze of how he felt, body still buzzing after how he’d pulsed his vision through you. And now you were at the mercy of his member, hips swaying along with his, no energy for you to rock with him and try to push him deeper.

Archons, you didn't even think he could go deeper.

But you were proven wrong again and again as he kept the steady pace, hands clawing at your ass and hips. Stabilizing himself and trying to press himself against you, as far as he could go. Slowly, his hands drifted up to your hair, playing with the soft sensation of your furry ears. Pinching and rubbing, fingers coaxing the back of them like a massage. So gentle, but it paled in comparison to the harsh treatment of his dick.

You came first, gripping the chain with your hands in an attempt to stay stable. Walls clenching around him one last time before you got your release, your moans turning into cries when he continued to thrust into you. Your body felt numb, all nerves centred on the way he pounded into you, chasing his own release.

When he did, he pressed his head into your chest, his own breaths heavy with pleasure. Not pulling out, you could only lay there helplessly as his seed filled you, warm in contrast to the electricity he’d shot up your body just earlier. He didnt pull out, and laying in your chest, your heavy breathing didnt stop until he was asleep, collapsing on you and using you as support yet again.

Taking only a minute later to regain control of your senses, you shifted uncontrollably at his member inside of you, sending waves of pleasure every time you moved. Your wrists were restrained and you were stuck in this position till morning.

Achingly, you looked down at the boy, wondering how you would ever manage to escape.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact hc #genshin impact oneshots #genshin headcanons #genshin impact scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin smut #scaramouche smut #genshin fluff #smut #writing

992 notes · View notes

hcrringtonshair · 3 years

Text

I'll Make It Short

Sam Wilson x Reader

Word Count: 1492

Warnings: fluff - lots of that, a cheesy Sam, reader being a pain in the ass, mentions of smut (I'll make it +18 just to be save), a few cursing words

A/n: Thank you @speedycatbluebird for requesting this! I first thought I can't do this because for me Sam isn't all that romantic but for me I found a good way to make him romantic but not too ooc. I hope you'll enjoy this and I'm sorry for the cursing words and my failure to write it without hints of smut. AND sorry for me taking so long! Oh and This is not beta read! (As always haha)

All feeback, comments, reblogs and likes are welcomed!<3

Masterlist

Send your requests!

With a loud sigh you took the last bite of the cake on your plate. Eating this sweet stuff wasn’t a good choice while the hot sun burned down on you.

“Call me a superhero for finishing this without dying.”

You groaned while leaning to the site, resting your head on the shoulder of Sam who was sitting next to you.

His body vibrated at his laughter as he wrapped one arm around you and Bucky in front of you grinned.

“Aren’t you already?”

AJ, next to Bucky lifted his eyebrows and Cass besides him nodded.

“She’s the coolest aunt that’s for real.”

You joined the laughter at the table, feeling your chest warm up by the kind words of the boys.

“The only thing that’s left is that your uncle makes her your aunt for real.”

The murmured words of Sarah on your other side let you freeze for a second, and you look up to Sam’s face to check if he heard her.

But he was chatting with Bucky again and even if he heard it, he acts like nothing happened.

“Babe I’m tired.”

Hours later you still leaned on Sam’s shoulder listening to his stories about the fight in New York and his new suit to other members of the neighborhood.

The sun was halfway gone, but the warm weather and excited ambience wouldn’t let anyone think about going home.

Sam hums approvingly in your hair as he places a kiss on it, “We’ll go soon.”

You really enjoyed the whole day, but now all you wanted was to go home and cuddle up in your blankets.

“Come on boys. Let’s go home, it’s late. Say Goodnight to Sam, Y/n and Bucky.”

Two hours later, Sarah was the first one to stand up, followed by AJ and Cass even though they didn’t seem too happy about it.

“Good Night Uncle Sam, Good Night Aunt Y/n, Good Night Uncle Bucky.”

From the corner of your eyes you saw Sam smiling at them and even Bucky smiled by them calling him uncle.

“Good Night boys.”

You yawned with a smile and watched them go.

“See you later at home.”

A few minutes later only Sam, Bucky and you were left.

“I think we should go too. She’s already sleeping.”

With closed eyes you heard Bucky standing up, the bench he was sitting on scratching over the wooden underground.

“Nahh she’s not. She’s just trying to make me do what she wants.”

For another time his body shakes as he giggled, gently lifting you up in his arms and starting to walk.

“He’s right Bucky.”

Loud enough for them both to hear you, you mumbled the words which made them both laugh.

“If so, you can walk on your own, can’t you?”

Sam attempts to put you back on your own feet, but you protest by groaning into his chest.

“Okay fine.”

He softly laughed again, and you opened your eyes a bit to look at him but closed them immediately as he looked down on you.

“Ah god damn it, we have to go back. Buck go home we’ll follow soon. I forgot my phone on the table.”

You felt how Sam turned around to go back and heard Bucky saying goodnight.

“Y/n you’re not as lightweight as you look.”

“Thanks for that, you’re not as charming as you pretend Wilson.”

You slapped his shoulder, eyes open again and narrowing at him.

“Also you’re a bad liar. Your phone is in your pocket. I can feel it.”

The last bit of daylight showed him smirking down on you while he let you sit on the table.

“But maybe I am romantic and wanted to spend a moment here with you alone.”

“Don’t go cheesy now. You just called me fat.”

With crossed arms and a pouting face you watch him groan but laughing while hiding his face.

“I didn’t, I just said-”

“Anyways. You could have told Bucky that you wanted to be alone with me. I think he would have left voluntary when we would have start making out.”

You giggled on his frown but stopped as he leaned down, his face a few inches away from yours.

“Y’know what. I’ll remember that for the next time.”

He gave your lips a peck, but you grabbed him by the shoulders before he could lean back.

Pressing your lips on his you heard a growl from him which made you smile into the kiss and deepened it by pulling him even closer.

“Y/n…” You bit his bottom lip to stop him from talking, but he was stronger than you and moved back, only this far to face you.

“It wasn’t my intention to make out.”

“C’mon Sam, if you want to be romantic it’s logical that I think that we’ll do more than just make out. Besides, its one of the rare places where we didn-”

“It’s really hard to be romantic if you’re not at the slightest.”

He wasn’t mad about you, the ankles of his mouth raised up a bit, and you could tell that he already thought about it as well.

“Then you have to try harder.”

He sighed as he watched the calm water around you, eyes switching back to you as you attempted to remove the sweater from your body.

“Y/n no.”

He grabbed your hands, holding them to stop you and bringing them onto his chest.

“I try to focus y/n. Please give me a moment.”

“Focus on what?”

With closed eyes another groan left his mouth at your question.

“I’m tryin’ to… damn this is harder than I thought.”

He cleared his throat before locking his eyes with yours again.

“Why is everybody saying it’s easier when you’re already there.”

He mumbled more to himself, making you start to worry a bit about him and brushed over his cheek to make him relax.

“Babe just say what you wanna say.”

“Sugar I’m tryin’. God damn it.”

He took a deep breath, whispering several curse words before speaking up again.

“Listen. You know me, I’m not that type of guy who makes big speeches. This in New York was different.” He rolled his eyes at your frowning, “Whatever. I’m not this romantic dude, you know that. What was the most romantic thing I’ve ever done?”

“Making me the best Mac n Cheese ever when I was sick last month?”

“That was a rhetorical question y/n.”

“Oh… but you’re romantic Sam. You may not notice but for me the good morning kisses and cuddles are very romantic.”

“Really? I just think it’s… it’s not romantic for me, I think, because you just deserve it.”

You blushed at his confession, “See that was romantic too.”

“Okay okay umm… Well I wanted to say that I love you. I mean I really love you. After all this shit I’ve gone through, we went through…. All the stress in the last weeks, Flag Smashers, Super Soldiers, John Walker.”

“Now that you mentioned Walker it’s not romantic anymore.”

For a brief moment he laughed, putting his hands in his pockets before pulling out a ring.

You gasped as you stared at it, eyes switching up and down from his hand to his eyes.

“Now that you are really destroying my efforts to make it a proper proposal, I’ll make it short.”

He attempted to kneel down, but you stopped him by holding onto his shoulders to support yourself as you stood up.

Your legs had become jelly and your whole body started to shake while tears built up in your eyes.

“Yes. Don’t you dare to ask me that cheesy ass question. I say yes.”

He wanted to groan again by your move to hide him from making it right, but his view became soft when he saw the first tears rolling down your cheeks.

“So you will mar- Ouch.” You slapped his shoulder which caused him to laugh, “Okay okay, we’re going to marry yes?”

“Yes we will.”

Already sobbing you took him into a kiss, softly moaning into his mouth as his lips moved smoothly on yours.

“Can I first put that ring on your finger before you spring onto me?”

With a blurry view you watched him slowly putting that finger on your shaky hand with the brightest smile you have ever seen.

“I love you so much Sam.”

“I love you too, sugar.”

Still with that bright smile on his face, he brushed away the tears on your cheeks. Pure love and admiration in his eyes by your whispered words.

“You’ll tell my sister. She will kill me if she finds out that I planned it all on my own.”

“Fine but first I’ll come back to the topic that we didn’t have sex before on this place.”

“You’re really a pain in the ass y/n.”

“The pain in the ass who is going to marry you dumbass.”

#Sam Wilson #Sam wilson x reader #sam wilson x you #sam wilson tfatws #tfatws spoilers #sam wilson x y/n #sam wilson fluff #sam wilson smut #mcu #marvel #marvel writer #request #captain america #captain america x reader

204 notes · View notes

illumilu · 3 years

Text

“there’s only one bed” - hisoka morow x reader

a/n: a very stereotypical cliche for fanfics, but, yk what? i roll with cringe. so here, have my drabbling of what would happen if you were to spend an unwanted night in the same hotel bed as the adultrio. i feel like i may have made this a bit too long, but who cares?? i have time, you have time and an incandescent loneliness to fill, so let’s get into it!

summary: you arrive at the hotel with hisoka, but to your horror (wink wink), there’s only one bed. this is part one of a three-part series, with the adultrio. illumi and chrollo will be coming soon!

warnings: no particular trigger warnings, lowercase intended, a lot of fluff! and cuddling! i’m afraid there’s no nsfw here... keep in mind it’s hisoka - i kept it as pg as possible... may be ooc i’m sorry :)

hisoka morow:

- you arrived at your hotel room, tired from the trip there, not quite sure what to expect. you stared at the single bed placed in the middle of the room, aghast. there must have been some kind of mistake. except there wasn’t. the room had been booked out of simplicity, with no specification on the number of beds, or anything else for that matter.

- and, of course, the man you had booked this room with was none other than hisoka morow.

- otherwise known as the most flirtatious man on earth.

- a little bit of backstory; as your strictly professional colleague, hisoka was always taunting you with his charming little phrases, treating you like his little toy whom he could mess around with.

- “oh, y/n! whatever will we do~?”

- you sighed in frustration. out of all the people you could have been stuck with on this trip, it had to be hisoka.

- hisoka sighed and pouted - not from worry or anguish - but, rather, to mock you. you shot him a dirty look.

- “my my, y/n... why so serious? it’s not like i’ll do anything~”

- the playful lilt in his voice suggested otherwise.

- while hisoka went off to take a shower, you busied yourself with your latest objective; making sure he couldn’t pull anything. being inventive as you were, you gathered all the pillows from the bed (which, for some reason, there were many of), and built a wall separating the two sides of the mattress.

- you got changed promptly, and lay on the left side of the bed, waiting for hisoka to come back. however, his shower ran for longer than expected, and soon enough you felt yourself becoming drowsy.

- just as you were about to fall asleep, you heard hisoka’s voice come from the other side of the room.

- he chuckled. “y/n, what do we have here? your latest invention~?” he teased, ridiculing you.

- “i don’t trust you.” you stated plainly, staring up at the ceiling. you couldn’t see him from across the strangely high pillow wall you had made, but you could feel him smirking.

- “...and for good reason, y/n..”

- he extended his arm and lazily ejected his bungee gum to attach to the pillows, knocking them over in an instant. damn. you thought you had made a pretty good structure.

- you rolled over lethargically to see him standing there; what a sight.

- honestly, you didn’t mind hisoka. it was just... he often became... annoying. as much as he irritated you, you had to admit he was quite pretty. striking amber eyes, streaky plum hair that fell across his face, soft lips and an overall impressive facial structure. not to mention his unique fashion sense that somehow accentuated his toned body. porcelain skin, with his childish paint, which was so often called on by you - “hisoka, do you put that on every goddamn morning?” - he was a fine man.

- but, when that bastard opened his mouth.

- what a contrary tale.

- he waltzed closer to the bed and eventually sat down with his legs crossed, like a child in a classroom - except, he was staring down at you, who was scowling at him.

- “hisoka. don’t pull anything. i’m going to sleep.” you ordered, rolling to your other side so you were now facing away from him.

- “oh y/n... but how could i resist you~?” he joked, lying down on his back, unnecessarily close to you. you tensed up.

- “hisoka.” you warned. except you didn’t really sound like you were warning anyone. some undertones in your voice urged you to let things happen - for an uncertain millisecond, thoughts of letting hisoka do what he wanted plagued your mind.

- the millisecond passed soon enough.

- the jester turned to his side, so you were both facing the same direction and began whispering in your ear with a smile. why was his voice so... smooth? so succinct and mellow? that was not the type of person he was. so why did you want to melt into him? he giggled childishly.

- “so... y/n... you wouldn’t mind if i did-”

- “-this!”

- all of a sudden, hisoka was embracing you, cuddling you and shoving his idiotic face into the crook of your neck.

- “HISOKA, YOU HAVE FIVE SECONDS TO GET OFF ME.”

- “oh, but if you wanted me off, couldn’t you simply give me a little kick~?”

- bright idea, madman. bright idea.

- you kicked him in the stomach, which invoked no painful reaction, but prompted him to roll to the other side of the bed, letting you escape from his clutches.

- “ah. y/n, that hurt~” he exhaled tiredly, feigning offence; it was more of a hum, which escaped his mouth like golden honey pouring from a dipper.

- “good. don’t come near me again.”

- “if that’s what you want, darling~”

- “don’t call me that, morow.” you glowered.

- “how scary... good night, y/n.”

- despite trying to hide it underneath his complacent ego, hisoka was beginning to worry. the man was attracted to essentially everyone, but something pulled him closer to you especially. you had a certain magnetism about you that he found increasingly attractive. why did he find teasing you so... enjoyable? why did he long for you to reciprocate? thoughts such as these had been swarming his subconscious since the beginning of the trip. he had pushed away such speculation, for it didn’t suit him.

- a man like him, a man who killed so depravedly, a man whom nothing was known about, an enigma of sorts; surely a man like that didn’t deserve to truly love.

- meanwhile, your brain was a motor engine; what had just happened, and why did you let it go on for so long? you had the reflexes of an expert nen user; so why did you let him stay there, nuzzling into you, before socking him in the gut?

- what a conundrum, for the both of you. looks like this cliche is reaching its peak, hm?

- you fell asleep soon enough; after all, the trip had been long and you were tired. not only physically, but also emotionally. hisoka wasn’t helping your case.

- hisoka himself often had trouble sleeping, which many people didn’t know. most nights, he just lay there solemnly, thinking of new card tricks or enticements for new victims.

- lately, however, he had been thinking of you.

- which he didn’t like at all.

- time passed as his mind whirred while he contemplated who you were, and why you made him so impressionable. suddenly, he heard something.

- he had his back turned to you but heard a shuffling of bedsheets. what time was it? 1am? 2am? he couldn’t tell, but he came to the conclusion that you moved around when you slept and left it at that.

- that was, until, he felt someone cling around his back and reach across his chest firmly, wrapping around his waist with their leg.

- that someone was you.

- if only you knew what you were doing, you would be appalled... maybe a little grateful... but for the most part, appalled.

- your soft breath brushed hisoka’s back delicately, making his nerves transform into an quivery yet arrogant smirk. your arm was wrapped around his chest and your leg was draped across his side. you were obviously deeply sleeping. he couldn’t see you from the way you were embracing his back, but he could have easily woken you up at any given moment.

- so, why didn’t he wake you up?

- maybe it was because he could tease you about it in the morning. yeah. that seemed reasonable. that seemed alike to what hisoka would usually do.

- or maybe it was something else, something he didn’t want to come to terms with, something panging within his heart, something festering inside of him, something that was a victim to his ignorance of emotion.

- much like he had done to you earlier, you burrowed into his shoulder, sighing contentedly, blissfully unaware of what was going on.

- blissfully unaware of the way you were ruling over hisoka, the way you were confusing him and making his emotions a tumultuous mess.

- surprisingly, you clinging to him helped him sleep, and within 15 minutes, hisoka was out like a light. though neither of you were conscious enough to experience it, those few hours you spent embracing each other felt tranquil. it almost felt normal, or like something that should have happened long ago, but never did.

- as peaceful as those hours were, the moment you woke up, everything crumbled into chaos. complete and utter mayhem - at least, on your part.

- you woke up calmly enough, as one usually does, without realising where you were or what you were doing. but, as soon as you registered that you weren’t hugging a pillow, but in fact a person, your reflexes triggered and you abruptly let go, jolting backwards and upright.

- oh my god.

- not just a person.

- hisoka morow.

- you stared at him dozing away, like the little jerk he was.

- what had he done to you? had he put you under some spell? no, that wouldn’t make sense. he was a transmuter, not a manipulator. the bastard probably didn’t even know how to manipulate. then, what was it? was it his dumb bungee gum? your mind was racing 100 miles per hour, so you sat on the left side of the bed, sullen and confused.

- your side of the bed. the left side. the side you had so protectively proclaimed as “your side”. yet there you had been, on his side of the bed, cuddling him? what type of sorcery had he used to make you embrace him so passionately?

- facing the wall, you rationalised yourself. hisoka wouldn’t have done anything, right? but neither would you. right? right?

- “awake, are we?”

- hisoka interrupted your disarray of thoughts. you stood up and turned to look at him. he was propped up on the header of the bed, staring at you composedly. with those amber eyes. what was he on? why was he doing this to you?

- “you...” you began accusing him but couldn’t finish. looking at hisoka, he seemed... well-rested for once. did he even know what had happened? was he waiting for you to admit something?

- “i...? i what, y/n? use your words~” he cooed mischievously.

- oh, the jackass. he definitely knew.

- you glared at him, unable to compile your thoughts into words. you watched as he stood up and walked toward you, until he was standing opposite you, gazing into your eyes. he smiled knowingly at you, causing an surge of emotions to rush up your throat, inciting you to say something, to do something, anything.

- “did you...”

- “no, y/n. it was you.” he simpered.

- oh.

- he raised his hand and pat you on the head, a sly and righteous smirk ceasing to wipe off his lips. he left to the bathroom, leaving you standing there, mouth agape, eyebrow twitching in annoyance. or perhaps, better said, in confusion. when did you start clinging to people like that?

- why... did you feel so at home? when you first woke up, something had been different. some sort of warmth had enveloped you, in your heart. it had felt nice to have someone to lie close to.

- in the meantime, hisoka was also seriously mulling over his emotions for you. so many questions invaded his mind, each popping up quicker than the last had been answered.

- sometimes, he felt as if it would be better to keep everything about you tucked away. underneath his charming, intelligent mask was years of emotion and love and hatred and all things deemed merely human, but too human for him to ever “deserve”.

- as the jester stared at his dazed reflection in the cheap hotel mirror, he came to this conclusion; it wasn’t a matter of what he deserved, or his entitlement. he had to confront the obvious truth that had been bugging him for so long.

- he would tell you he loved you, but not for himself. he would do it for you.

- let’s just say this was the start of something new.

hey so i thought it’d also be good to mention that this is my first time writing a fic on here... to be honest, it’s more the format of a drabble, but i hope you enjoyed! the word count was 2084 words, so i’m super sorry for rambling on too much - i feel like i got a little too deep into hisoka’s character at the end there. illumi’s and chrollo’s version will be coming when i have the time!

either way, likes or reblogs or whatever are super appreciated, but don’t feel forced to or anything! either way, i feel like no one’s gonna see this with my reach LMAOO but anyways thank you for reading, if you made it here! feedback and tips for writing on here are always helpful :)

532 notes · View notes