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ma1dita · 4 months

Text

bedtime stories

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: bitch this was supposed to be a blurb. 2.4k

summary: (pre-established relationship) The one where night shift with him runs late, but you don't mind at all. You won’t admit a lot of things to Luke Castellan, but perhaps he knows something you don’t. Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader

warnings: none, banter and fluff on a night shift

a/n: Introducing luke castellan x trouble!reader… this is just gonna be ongoing blurbs and one shots of an idea in my head (and my latest hyperfixation) reader is essentially reformed unhinged bitch now camp mom and it’s enemies to friends to lovers. Working through reading the pjo series hehe

(posted 1/16/24, beta’ed by the lovely @ttulipwritezz @mrsaluado & @lixzey thank you bunches)

—

Dragging your feet across the dirt of the forest floor, you sigh to yourself in the quiet night air. It’s gonna be another long night and with the beep on your digital watch, you blearily peer at the time and sigh. Almost 11. Swaying slightly, you whistle a familiar tune as your nimble hands straighten out the deck chairs near the firepit, pick up trash to toss into the receptacle, and turn off the lights in the dining hall. All on the way to check Cabin 7, mind you, and the Apollo kids will undoubtedly loop you into singing a song with them before you shut the lights off and close the curtains.

Gods, your dad is definitely gonna hear about this in the morning.

It’s not like Mr. D ever really cares, or listens, more focused on droning on about missing his wife and playing pinochle even when you rattle off his…your to-do list for the week to keep Camp Half-Blood running and the younger demigods in mostly one piece. Honestly, he should be grateful he has you, and even if he is, he’ll never let you hear it. At least you’re Chiron’s favorite.

A shadow passes your field of view, and before you can rub at your sleepy eyes, strong hands pin you to the side of a tree on the dirt path you were supposed to take across camp.

Sorry, let’s correct that—you’re one of Chiron’s favorites. The other all-star camper stares at you like you’re a three-headed dog under the beam of his flashlight.

“Just me, Castellan,” you grumble, a bit winded as you blink harshly at the bright light. “Still doing checks.”

“You’re losing your touch. You making a habit of going to bed late?” Luke smirks, and it’s actually annoying how he always looks like he knows something you don’t.

“You always pin campers to trees?”

“Just the pretty ones.” His smirk turns into a sly grin that makes you roll your eyes.

“Okay loser, I’ve got cabins to check,” you drone as you push off from the tree. “6 cut into my time after staying there longer than I had to. The little ones kept asking these otherworldly philosophical questions and Annabeth just laughed at me while I tried to not pluck my eyelashes out one by one.”

Your clipboard taps lightly against your hip despite the aggression in your voice and Luke laughs much like his little sister, a burst of sunlight overflowing into the dreary and mundane. Your lips quirk upward before you can stop and remind yourself of who you’re talking to. The tall boy reaches behind him to scratch the nape of his neck and sighs, sucking at his teeth.

“You’re always doing the most, huh?”

“Who else is going to, my dad? He’s probably already out like a light.” Once, you found your dad asleep at his desk after dinner, snoring loudly instead of keeping watch. You started taking more night shifts after that.

“Well, no. You know I’m here to help you, even if you’ll never admit it.” Luke extends a hand to you so it’s easier to navigate the step back onto the dirt-trodden path, but there’s no fun in that, so you hop around him and start walking away. The sound of his footsteps fall and match yours as he follows you, both in tandem like the sound of a steady heartbeat.

“The day you catch me admitting anything about you is the day the Underworld freezes over. You should know that by now.”

“Woooooow, so I don’t get a thank you for singing the Apollo kids to sleep? You should’ve seen the look on their faces when I walked in and not you. They ended the song pretty quickly after I opened my mouth to croak out a chorus,” he says, drawing his bottom lip between his teeth and nudging your side as you both laugh.

He’s a terrible singer, to be honest. Not even the Fates would’ve expected that from someone who otherwise seems like a perfect boy. Sometimes you wonder what he’s done in a past life to have it so easy–to look like he’s been chiseled by Michelangelo, have the athletic prowess of ten Spartan soldiers, and the heart of a hero only legends could get right. He’s probably the closest thing to an actual hero here at camp. You often find yourself looking at him in hopes of finding a crack in the porcelain of his perfection, but any fault of his seems to just build up his endurance in his quest for glory.

Maybe that’s why your dad doesn’t like him, his aspirations for something greater than the camp that’s kept you safe all these years, though the multiple complaints and headaches the both of you have given him as squabbling teenagers must’ve added onto that. Sometimes, though, the way he helps ease your load prods a funny feeling you do your best not to acknowledge in your stomach. Luke walks ahead shining the flashlight onto the dark path so you both don’t trip. It’s there now, at the sight of him offering an arm for you to latch onto to hop over fallen branches.

Mental note: tell the satyrs to move that in the morning.

As you hurdle over the brambles, you let go immediately after you steady your feet, moving his hand that’s holding the flashlight back towards the path with no other words. You are your father’s daughter after all, and he knows this—stubborn and your name have the same face.

Moving further towards your destination, the light reveals a teenage couple entangled within each other’s arms at the base of a tree out there for everyone to see in the moonlight.

“Jeez, guys, alright— pack it up, wrap it up! Could’ve at least found somewhere private… It’s curfew already, if I see you two again it’s a citation.”

The boy blushes and mumbles an apology to you, scurrying back to cabin 7, and you raise an eyebrow at a sheepish son of Hermes who swears they were all in their beds when he was singing to them.

“I don’t wanna go back to my cabin, all the boys are gross…” the girl whines, cheeks flushed from embarrassment as she flutters her eyelashes at you and Luke. You sigh. What has the world come to that young demigods are entrusted to the care of two people who barely consider themselves adults?

“Well, if you’re still in 11 with this one,” you simper, blatantly pointing at Luke, “I can’t blame you. He’s gross. Come by mine tomorrow and I’ll get you privacy curtains, okay? Trust me Yvonne, you don’t think boys are all that gross if you like kissing them.”

She nods, smiling charmingly at the two of you, before brushing past Luke and winking, “See you inside!”

Your head swivels to look at Luke with a coy expression, “There’s no way she’s not an Aphrodite.”

Luke huffs as he clicks his flashlight on and off. His hands are always fidgeting, always searching for something to do. He’s more like his dad than he thinks, carrying the quieter traits of quick fingers and more obvious ones like his constant search for amusement. Talking to you consistently satiates that itch.

“Aphrodite isn’t the only god that attracts attractive people, you know.”

“Oh? Do tell, because if she’s one of you, your cabin’s gonna be extra trouble,” your mouth curves into a smile, and he thinks he likes it more when you’re trying to be mean to him like this because the back and forth between you two is a comfort Luke cherishes. The words have lost their bite over the years, and there are no more cuts and bruises besides an occasional wounded ego, but it’s still entertaining, to say the least. He can’t imagine a day without hearing the teasing lilt of your voice, always easy to prod at and always wanting to have the last word.

“My dad is the god of thieves and messengers. We’re fast, smart, charming, and also good-looking. Do the math.”

“Also apparently the ones with the biggest egos, but okay.” There it is. He shoves you and you trip over your own feet falling fast.

“Hey! Jerk.”

“Definitely a daughter of Dionysus, crazy as always, and clumsy too.” Luke’s nose crinkles at the sight of your crumpled frame.

“Your hand is like the size of my face, what the fuck was I supposed to do with that?”

A fleeting thought in the back of your mind reasons that maybe violence is the answer, but he’s still not finished making fun of you even after he helps you up.

“And vulgar! What a shocker.”

“Ugh. You better hope your dad stops populating because if there’s any more that come here and act like you? I’m quitting.”

Luke watches you gaze at the heavens, probably looking for a fuck to give and he snickers at how easily you give in nowadays. Maybe he’s the one losing his touch—usually you’d put up more of a fight to argue.

“You wouldn’t. You love this job. Camp. S’why you’re not as fun anymore, trouble.”

A noise of agreement leaves you as you glare at him and the stupid nickname back from when you used to wreak havoc just because you could, a direct juxtaposition to the honorary position you hold today. Finally following him up the front steps of Cabin 11, Luke opens the door and beckons you in, pushing at your hip with his knuckles.

Checking this place last has become a habit with Luke helping you out, and all the kids—Hermes’, minor gods’, and unclaimed, love it when you come to stop by before lights out. They especially loved the later bedtime, but hugs and cool stories from you were a close second.

“Everyone good and ready for bed in here? Sorry it took so long guys,” you say, visually scanning the perimeter and matching faces to bunks, seeing them all settled beneath their sheets, all except for one Luke Castellan. He’s still leaning against the doorframe, breath grazing your shoulder as he hands you a copy of his log from the other cabins he kindly relieved you from.

“What, no bedtime story this time?” He says through hooded eyes, and though he won’t admit it, he adores the sound of your voice. Luke does anything he can to get your attention to hear it more. It almost has a calming effect on him, and maybe it’s the fact that your dad can cause and cure madness, anxiety, and all alike, so something in him believes you do the same, powers or not. One look from him has you sputtering out snarky remarks; different strategies, same results—works every time.

“Castellan…” He grins at the look on your face, and tiny voices pop up from around the cabin, all asking for a bedtime story. Chris even starts a chant from his top bunk, making you want to hurl your clipboard at his head. Hypnos is calling your name at this point, and you’d do anything to crawl into your own safe haven in Cabin 12, but your heartstrings pull at the sight of the little ones pouting, hoping for you to tuck them in with a blanket of comforting words and stories of something more than what these walls meagerly provide. Camp Half-Blood only keeps them safe for so long, and not a lot of them make it out of here alive. You and Luke both know that being two of the oldest at camp, and his smug expression as he settles into his bed is confirmation that you’re about to give in.

“Fine. One quick story, and then everyone goes to sleep okay? Who wants to sit on the floor with me?”

You take your place sitting on the ground next to the foot of Luke’s bunk as he lays upside down on the twin-sized mattress, peering at you through one open eye as the younger children, mostly the unclaimed ones—drag their blankets and form a circle in the middle of the room, waiting patiently for you to start enchanting them with something to occupy their tired minds. Acting— that’s the gift your father had to give you; this time you decide to tell the story of Atalanta and the golden apples, how she ran from love and it still found her in the end, and how some stories can have good endings, despite what’s often found in Greek legend. Multiple tired eyes droop closed as you finish the story and carry the ones who’ve fallen into Hypnos’ embrace back into their bunks, tucking them in with kisses on their foreheads and it leaves you with a warm feeling that will help you brave the chill on your walk back.

Admittedly, this next part is your favorite part on nights like these. The overflowing cabin of rowdy pranksters and babbling children is as quiet as the secret you hold close to your heart, tiptoeing back towards Luke’s space and draping his blanket over his muscular frame, exhausted from another day of trying to achieve greatness. Your hand brushes a dark curl away from his forehead, fingertips ghosting his pale skin like a kiss you’d never have the guts to give. With everything you have in you, you summon thoughts of serenity and peace, hoping whatever keeps him up at night lets him rest for even a few hours. You don’t pray often, finding yourself spiting your father instead of honoring him on most days, but in the dim light of Cabin 11, you find yourself making time to do so for a pain in your ass called Luke Castellan.

Perhaps he knows something you don’t after all, the crease in his forehead relaxing as you pull your fingertips away.

“Sweet dreams, angelface.”

Mental note: Put his ass to work tomorrow for falling asleep halfway through the story.

It’ll only give him another excuse to ask you to tell it again a few nights later. You find yourself not minding that, a sliver of a smile pulling at your face as you walk towards the door and shut the lights off, a sleeping son of Hermes illuminated by the gentle shine of the moon.

You’d never admit that, though.

—

“you steady me and stir me

all at once.”

-Tanya Wright

ask to be added to luke/general taglist!

luke taglist (some won't let me tag, turn on my post notifs?): @kissingyourgrl @dorcas4meadowes @lorarri @andrewgarfldsgf @noodlesketchbook @10ava01 @poppysrin @ashisabitgay @timhalamet @liv1104 @leeknows-wife @mxtokko @bugcuti3 @luvvfromme @midmourn @2hiigh2cry @yuminako @niktwazny303 @lukecastellandefender @intergalactic-padawan @iliketopgun @annybah @dangelnleif @thegrinningghost @alyssajunelle @obxstiles @m00ng4z3r @visndcaitswhore @b0ok-lover @elegant-face-tree @this-barbie-is-having-breakdowns @amortencjja @idonevenknow1359 @maliaaaa @targaryenluvs @sakyira @dhdjdjjdhsjdiri @number-onekidqueen @nininehaaa @bradynoonswife @stevenknightmarc @hoodedhavok @happy-mushrooms @homebyeleven @anotherblackreader @too-deviant @liviessun @lilacspider @theadventuresofanartist @sucker4seresin @simpforsunwoo @zanzie @starrystormwritings

#luke castellan x dionysus!reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo imagine #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan x reader fanfic #made by ma1dita ♥︎#trouble!verse #percy jackon and the olympians #pjo x reader #luke castellan fluff #thank you for reading my love ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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munsonsfairy · 9 days

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I have an ideaaa

how about a Paige x fem!reader wedding/proposal fic or headcanon??

the idea of her draft fit as a wedding outfit omfg 🤭

🪞🏹🕯️🌿 MY PEACE • PAIGE BUECKERS

omg i love this idea!!! i did wedding headcanons if that’s okay!! <3

content: fem reader & no physical description of reader or their wedding outfit

౨ৎ the night before, you and paige spend it by cuddling into each other while sitting on the balcony that overlooks the city.

“my wife, my wife, mine,” she whispers against your neck after every kiss. “not for another day, babe,” you’ve been reminding her since she proposed.

౨ৎ it takes her 20 minutes to leave your townhouse that night. lots of goodbye kisses have already happened that it took kk & ice to drag her ass out.

“bye my beautiful gorgeous wife!” paige yells out the window as ice drives away. she doesn’t get into the car until you are out of her sight.

౨ৎ instead of reading your vows in front of your wedding guests, the both of you decided to do it before the ceremony. as you walked towards paige, you could see her wavy blonde hair with her front pieces in braids (as always). she was wearing an all white suit. you could tell she was nervous and excited by how much she was fidgeting.

“paige?” when she turned around her blue eyes already had tears in them. she looked at you in awe and almost fell to her knees. “we can’t cry we both have make up on,” you fan both of your both eyes trying to hold it all in.

she laid her head on yours and looked into your eyes. for a moment it felt like it was only the two of you in that garden. “we’re finally doing it. my wife,” you see a tear fall from her eye as she leans in to kiss you.

౨ৎ now the vows!!!!!! 🥹

paige reached into her pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. you could see her shaking, so you squeezed her hand to remind her it’s just you.

she smiled at you and took a deep breath, “ever since i could remember, i was always told, “you’ll know when they’re the one,” and i never understood that. i never felt complete until i saw you. when our eyes met, i knew after 3 seconds that you were the one. i’m blessed with the pleasure to know someone like you.” she looked up at you and saw you tearing up. “bro if you cry, i’ll cry,” she said laughing. “okay okay! no more crying.”

she took another shaky breath, “to be able to love and be loved by you. you are my sunrise and sunset filled with the most beautiful colors. you’re my peace with the world is too loud. your love is my turning page. you are the strongest person i know and i admire to be my best self everyday. i never doubted our love and will always consider myself lucky to love and learn from you. these past four years have been my favorite movie. i promise to love every single detail of you for the rest of my life.”

after you said your vows, paige was walking up to kiss you until you stopped her. “not until we say i do!” she looked at you with shock but kissed your knuckles on both hands. she leaned her forehead on yours once more. “see you at the alter,” then watched as you walked back to the venue’s house.

she didn’t want to take her eyes off of you. just wanted to stand there and admire you.

౨ৎ during the dance, you reserved chick-fil-a as a surprise for paige. she ran to you and grabbed your face to kiss you all over. her and kk were fighting over who was going to be the first to be served. spoiler alert: you got served first since they were too busy bickering. when you were eating your nuggets, paige noticed you had ranch on the corner of your mouth and kissed it off of you.

౨ৎ once your reception was over and almost all of your wedding guests have left, you and paige danced one last dance. your heels were long gone and paige was very tipsy. she held you so close to her chest that you could hear her heartbeat. you felt the breeze against your skin and closed

your eyes. paige was slowly guiding you in a circle while humming the song.

she kisses your head and said, “my wife.”

tagging: @urantisocialgay because i know you’ve been asking for this (:

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers headcannons #paige bueckers imagine #paige bueckers x fem!reader #paige bueckers fic #paige bueckers fanfiction #uconn huskies #uconn wbb

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toxicanonymity · 8 months

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i need more raider joel more than i need air in my lungs

Night air.

3500 words, raider!Joel x f!reader | ✨gif

Raider master list ⭐ Joel master

reader-curated playlist | sweet pea (smut songs)

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie. . . He makes room for you, but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry.

You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t. "When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask instead.

SUMMARY: Joel brutalizes a bad guy, gives it to you hard, then works on something for you and gives it to you slow. His POV is revealing. WARNINGS: I8+, POV alternates, ANGST, Joel's trauma, overkill violence, dubcon (stockholm syndrome) unsafe P in V x2 (hard then soft), dark fluff, f masturbation, somnophilia, staying inside, NO Y/N. A/N: ty @milla-frenchy for Qs & recs 🖤

—--- JOEL——

Yeah, Joel killed two of his own men, and they had it coming. He caught them red handed on their way into your room in the stash house. It still makes his blood boil to think about. If they hadn’t walked into that room talking about you like a piece of meat, those two men would be alive. Joel would do it again in a heartbeat.

He’s not surprised when the others are shaken, but if they’re good men, they have nothing to worry about. When things remain tense longer than he expects, Joel rounds them up for a group meeting. He puts you in the usual room with his trusted guard Carter posted at the door. The meeting becomes heated.

“No one’s gonna be left at this rate,” one man barks. “They ain’t gonna say it,” he gestures behind him to the other men, “but I will. She shouldn’t be here.”

Joel’s voice raises with his blood pressure. He asks, “What’d you say to me, Harold?" as he stands up.

Louder, maybe loud enough for you to hear, Harold repeats, “She shouldn’t be here. It’s bound to happen.” Bound to happen? These low-lifes are bound to put their hands on Joel Miller’s girl? Joel can feel the beat of his rage in his veins. All his muscles tense.

He takes a deep breath, exhales sharply, then says matter-of-factly, “I’ll show ya what else is bound to happen.”

Joel picks up his rifle.

"Yeah, kill me," Harold chides. "Kill us all."

Joel shakes his head no. His voice is deep and flat. "Not until ya beg me to." Now he’s gotta make an example out of someone.

Joel forces Harold outside, then puts his rifle behind his back and lets Harold take a swing at him, just for fun. When Joel gets this wound up, he needs to feel something. After getting clocked square in the jaw, Joel beats him until he’s barely conscious. Then, Joel hoists Harold, who is not a light man, and impales him on a sharp, severed fence post.

Joel puts his rifle around front again, leaving Harold alive but doomed, and heads back toward the house. He’s almost to the door when Harold manages to groan through his gurgles. Joel turns around, calmly raises his rifle, shoots him in the head, then keeps walking. He goes back inside, chest heaving, wiping blood splatter off his face with his wrist. The rest of them are still inside. No one came to Harold's defense or ran. Joel stares down the men, and based on the faces he sees, he’s not worried about any of them.

“Rest of ya got nothin’ to worry ‘bout,” he reassures them. “long as ya leave her ‘lone.”

The men nod. Joel thinks about adding, and I’m not the only one you’ve gotta worry about, tempted to warn them that you know your way around a pistol and can handle yourself. One bullet, right between the eyes of that fucker. Joel thinks about it all the time. There’s something about his little sweet pea being a badass. And thank god, because he almost lost you.

“Now back to business.”

They discuss the rival crew they think sent two guys to Joel’s trailer, only for Joel and you to kill them. Joel doesn't think the crew is stupid enough to cause any more trouble, but agrees someone has to keep watch Just in case.

Joel almost reminds his men that he holds all the smuggling routes and contacts, just in case they’re concerned enough to pull something. But he doesn't need to say it. He dismisses them and grabs a duffle bag before collecting you from Carter. Carter asks what to do with Harold, and Joel says leave him for a while.

–

When the two of you get back to his trailer, Joel is ready to fuck out his anger. He sees himself in the mirror, chest heaving, veins about to pop, blood splatter on his hairline. God damnit, Harold. Joel showers because he doesn’t want any part of Harold getting close to you. Not even his blood.

You’re in the kitchen getting a glass of water when Joel walks out of the bathroom in just a towel. He crosses the kitchen, drops the towel, and pins you against the counter, pressing his hardness against your ass. He backs up enough to scrunch up your dress and growls, "good girl," when he finds you panty-less and wet. You knew. You were ready for it.

He grunts as he shoves himself into you, and he gives it to you good. "No one’s," he thrusts, "gonna," he grunts "touch ya." He plunges into you twice more, breathing heavily, then adds, “but me.” The power of his hips sends you to your toes with each thrust. He wraps an arm around you to hold you steady and watches over your shoulder as your tits jiggle with each punch of his hips. It doesn’t take you long to come. Then he curls his hands under your arms to hold your shoulders down from the front and begins to pulse with a low groan. He leans his head against yours and cradles it from the other side as he catches his breath, then asks, “you good?”

You nod, “mm-hmm,” and he pulls out, feeling better.

“Good.”

In the following days, things settle down in Joel’s group and get back to normal. The rival crew doesn't show up.

—--

One night, Joel leaves you inside the trailer while he sits out by the fire, as he often does. What you don't know is that he's not just sitting, drinking, and thinking. He’s working on something. He’s been making things for you. He hasn’t given you anything because nothing’s good enough, and it’s probably not going to get any better, but he keeps doing it. Sometimes he feels a little silly, but they’re things that will help both of you. Practical things.

He made a thigh holster for your gun. There was an old one without the straps in the weapons cache which is just a small room of chaos in the stash house, no telling what else is in there. He used part of a belt for the top strap and some black ribbon on the bottom, for the time being.�� It would be better than nothing, but he hasn't given it to you in case it wouldn’t work. Maybe it doesn't matter. As the weather changes, you'll probably need new clothes, anyway. Maybe even pants, he internally grumbles. Sweaters, too, so your chest won’t be exposed.

Tonight, Joel has another strap of leather with him, one that wasn't right for the holster. He also has a pot of water and a steel nail with a makeshift handle so he doesn’t burn himself. He heats up the tool and uses the hot nail head to emboss the strap with bold letters. He’s been working on it all week, and he’s only on ‘E.’ It’ll be first name only at this rate. You might not wanna wear it anyway, but it’s for your own good.

Joel’s almost lost you twice now. If there’s anything he can do to make someone think twice about touching or taking you, he’ll do it. Because Jackson, may he burn in hell, was right. Joel can’t have his eyes on you every single second. He's told you before: you tell’em you belong to Joel Miller. They’ll back right off when they hear it. But it doesn’t hurt for them to see it, too. And of course Joel wouldn't mind seeing it himself.

Joel’s fingers are too big for work this small. He accidentally makes the vertical line of the E slanted. Ah hell, this whole thing is no good anyway. You may never see it at this rate. But it feels good working with his hands, especially on something he thinks could help keep you safe and keep you his. You're a good girl, his good girl.

He should be thinking strategy, what’s going to happen with these warring crews, but that’s just not where his head’s at.

—--- YOU 🌸🫛—-----

You listen to the fire crackle and pop, longing for Joel to come to bed, longing for him to hold you, and more. He seems to stay outside longer than usual. When he adds a new log to the fire, you get impatient and decide to go out. You put on your shoes and go to the door, pushing it open just an inch. The rail to the stairs is blocking your view, but he's looking down at something. His jaw clenches in the firelight and he raises his eyebrows as he looks up. You slowly open the door, stepping out onto the stairs in your nightie. He puts something down on the ground, out of view.

“‘s’too cold out here, sweet pea. put on a shirt, would ya?" Your heart flutters at the implicit invitation and you return with a flannel over your nightie. As you approach, he takes a swig of whiskey and puts the flask down. His eyes are dark as he watches the flames. He makes room for you but doesn’t take his eyes off the fire as he lets you climb into his lap. You study his face and see something new flickering behind it. Worry. You want to ask him what’s wrong, but you don’t.

"When are you gonna come to bed?” you ask.

His brows knit as he looks at you. For a few seconds, he concentrates on picking lint off the flannel and smoothing your nightgown.

“I dunno, sweet pea. Got some stuff to figure out.”

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head no. You put your arms around his neck and rest your cheek against his shoulder. Then you slowly roll your face against him so your lips touch his warm skin and your nose rests on top of his shoulder muscle. You close your eyes and stay like that for a moment. He doesn’t stop you. Then you dare to press your lips ever so slightly into his skin before pulling your face back to look at him, your lips disconnecting with a barely perceptible smack. Joel’s still looking at the fire, but he allows himself a subtle smile as he exhales a silent laugh, then cradles your head. “Go to bed, sweet pea.” He kisses your temple. “I’ll be there in a li’l bit.”

You take the flannel off and get in bed, still smelling like the fire. You think of getting naked, eager to feel Joel however he wants you. But maybe he likes undressing you, and it’s chillier than normal, too. You lay under the covers getting wet and tingly thinking about what he'll do when he comes to bed.

The fire is still blazing. There’s no sign of him putting it out. It doesn't seem like he's coming in soon, but you're too turned on to just go to sleep. You close your eyes, recalling the feeling of Joel’s warm skin on your lips by the fire. The way his eyes sparkled. The way he always opens his arms for you to get in his lap–that seat is always yours whenever you want it.

You think about how handsome he is. Even, or especially when he’s looking rough. All dirty and beat up when he got home that one night, muscles pumped up. His sexy stitches. You play a montage in your head of all the times you’ve heard him yell, seen him stomp around ordering guys to do this or that. How fiercely he protects you. Your lip creeps under your teeth and you close your eyes.

All the way turned on, you slide your hand down between your legs and imagine him walking in and ravaging you. You recall how urgently he fucked you at the kitchen table after he thought you almost died. You recall the time he fucked you naked in missionary and and marked your neck. You try to visualize the look in his eyes.

And then, when you’re just about to come, you remember that one morning. Those few seconds you kissed, when he kissed you back. He had pulled you into him before he knew what he was doing. You still savor that fleeting moment he was grinding against you, his plush lips locked with yours. You can practically feel it. And that’s enough to put you over the edge. You turn your head into the pillow and brace for your orgasm.

—----- JOEL —------

You must think Joel can't hear your pretty little sounds when you touch yourself, but over the crackling of the fire he could swear he hears you moan into a pillow. His nose can't help but twitch into a little smile. He lets the fire die as he finishes the 'E', then he comes inside and washes off the smoke in the shower. By the time he gets in bed, you're asleep on your back with your left arm on your chest.

He carefully gets into the bed, spreading his weight out to not jostle the mattress. He's to your left, lying on his side, facing you. You’re so pretty and peaceful with your eyes closed and your sweet lips just slightly parted. An urge has been growing in his chest. He’s tried to push it away, but it's only grown, and he's afraid he can’t stop it happening.

He can’t bring himself to do it when you’re awake. He can’t let himself see how happy it makes you. The loss feels inevitable, and it gets closer and closer. The panic he felt when FEDRA had you on the ground. The devastation when it sounded like you were shot outside his own trailer. It gets worse every time. And last time, there was something new. Two losses flashed before his eyes. The loss of you (in the present and future), and the loss of what could have been–at least for a while, when he had the chance. The worst part is, he doesn't know which would hurt more.

His eyes fall on your mouth again.

If he does it now, it won’t mean anything. It won’t change anything. If he does it now, maybe this urge will stop pulling at him every time you’re close. And then he can tell himself it never happened. Yeah, if he does it now, it can be like it never happened. Like he never let himself get that close, never gave you hope that he could be anything more than the terrible man he is.

His lip twitches as he watches you sleep. Then his breathing syncs with yours, and for a moment, everything fades away but you and him and the physical need that's tugging at him.

Joel leans over you, careful not to wake you, and he hovers over your pretty face. It's happening. His heart races as his face drifts toward yours, drawn to you like a magnet.

He closes his eyes, presses his lips gently into yours, and something rushes through his blood to every part of his body. Fuck. He's instantly soothed. With your lips still locked, he takes one breath through his nose then pulls away. He takes a deep breath, expecting the buzz to fade, expecting to hate himself. But you're so pretty and your lips were so soft. He almost chokes on his own saliva. He's quickly gotten hard.

Still fast asleep, you sigh and your nose twitches. You hum the prettiest little "mm," and roll over on your right, facing away from him like you normally sleep.

He pinches his eyes shut tight. He has to have you.

–

Joel curls himself around you, inhales your hair, and cups your breast. He presses his cock against you, hardening to full strength by now. He lets out a deep but quiet, "Mmm," not enough to wake you up. The exposed skin of your back and shoulder is so inviting, he's salivating. His arm slides from your breast down your nightie to your mound and you sigh. He lifts his head to see if you're awake as he aimlessly caresses you over your nightie. Your brow furrows with his light touch. Aw, sweet pea, he thinks to himself. You're just so cute. He presses a gentle kiss into your neck where it meets your shoulder, and he begins to ghost your clit through the fabric.

You sigh again, but still don't seem to wake up yet. He presses your mound so your hips tilt for him, and he pulls up the nightgown. He tests you with a finger and finds you wet but pulls back and pauses to add saliva to his tip. He teases your entrance with his cock, and you sigh "Mmm, Joel," as you begin to stir awake. He pushes the curve of his tip just slightly inside, then holds your breast.

He asks, “You 'wake?”

“Mmm,” you answer weakly.

"wake you up?" His cock prods at your tight, wet entrance, pushing in a little further.. He's itching to be inside you, but he's taking his time, captivated by your peacefulness.

Your spine arches and you push back on him, taking another inch of his cock in with a moan as you stir awake. "Joel,” you sigh.

He presses his lips into your neck and lets them linger. You ask, "are you awake?"

"Mm-hmm," he answers, his voice deep and gravely. He groans softly as he pushes his cock into you. He takes a deep breath as your insides make room for him. It dawns on him that he's never taken the time to savor the moment your bodies are joined, but shit, it feels good. He didn't know it could feel so good like this. He’s feeling every groove of you in slow motion. Each centimeter of you greets him with a tight, warm hug. You push back on him with a moan, bringing your bodies together.

Oh, sweet pea. You want it so bad, and you take it so good.

—---YOU 🌸🫛—---

Joel’s cock spreads you apart and he buries his length in you slowly at first, palming your breasts. He pauses, all the way inside you, and removes your nightie so your naked bodies are flush. It feels like a dream. The way he kissed your shoulder, the way he’s fucking you right now with his whole body cradling yours, each thrust so deliberate, you can’t help but still wonder if he’s truly awake. If you're truly awake. He grunts softly each time he bottoms out. His sighs and moans are deep and gravely.

“Sweet pea,” he whispers against your neck, “ohhhh, you — ohh, you take it so good, baby.” His hand slides down your stomach, between your legs. He whispers in your ear, "God DAMN, youfeelsogood,” he inhales sharply, then sighs your name. Your nipples harden and you get goosebumps.

“Joel,” you whimper at his fingers on your clit. The fullness of his cock was enough, and the addition of his hand has you twitching already.

“Shhh, it’s okay,” he whispers, and his voice is so soothing, you relax again. He slows down his pace, his length sliding snugly into your warmth slow enough to feel the drag of his tip inside you. He touches your clit and you whimper again. He adjusts his hand to touch it less directly, pulsing his flattened fingers. That’s what you need. You moan.

“Good girl.”

You wanna ask him again if he’s really awake, but you don’t want to break the spell. You let the silence linger, peppered with moans and sighs from each of you. You’d love for this to last forever. You love every way he gives it to you, but the newness of this is something to savor. After a few minutes, sweat begins to bead and run between your bodies. You’re both breathing heavily. He gropes at your breasts and the entire front of your body, like he can’t get you close enough. His breathing gets ragged. You memorize the feel of his cock dragging thick and slow inside you. Then he adds his hand again. His thrusts become more powerful. “Come for me, I want you to– nnngh.”

“Joel,” you whine.

‘Ohh,” he moans.

“Joel, I’m–”

“Go ‘head, baby—ugghh—-you can do it”

Your upper back presses into his chest. He groans and holds you tight as you convulse against him and choke his cock with your climax. “Ohhhh, baby, mmmm.” He bottoms out and pulses inside you as you’re still coming. He sighs "ohhh," as he fills you up with his warm release. Your body hugs him more with every pulse of his cock.

When you’re both finished coming, your bodies are still joined. You relish the fullness of him inside you. You expect him to pull out any minute, but his breathing regulates with yours.

At some point, Joel's breath stutters abruptly, and you realize he's fallen asleep like this. Holding you close, body curled around you, cock gradually softening inside you. It isn't long until you drift off, too.

Smut continues here: asleep inside

Next major chapter: hunger

Thank you so much for reading and engaging. Please consider commenting or reblogging to show raider Joel your love, even if this post is old. 💖 Love you guys. I love your passion for him. Your engagement motivates me. <333

Friendly reminder that there will be no pregnancy in this fic, Joel was snipped pre outbreak.

----

@toxicfics for notifications, make sure your phone is set to enable push notifications from tumblr. Some of my fics are pretty dark!

⚠️ Since so many people are saying tags aren't working, I may discontinue the tag list soon, sorry ⚠️

All Joel:@ethanhoewke @silkiers @eiviea @evyiione @xdaddysprincessxx @queerly-anxious @chernayawidow @ambassadortotrilliusprime @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @jasminespringtime @romanarose @fandomsfallnomore @djarinxore @blackvelveteen1339 @manazo @wolvesandvampires @taeslarityy @str84pedro @lokanda @kyloispunk @filthfairy @fieryglutenfreechickennoodles @harriedandharassed @moonlightdivine @worhols @fan-fiction-floozy @cutesyscreenname @weddingfairy @pedropascal-whore @spideysimpossiblegirl @feministfanboi @gracieispunk @prettypartyfavor @am-3-thyst @babeincolor @milla-frenchy @switchbladedreamz @within-the-depths @am-3-thyst @may-machin @pedromania91 @sloanexx @paleidiot @yourmistysecret @bean-is-reading

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #raider!joel miller #raider!joel #toxicanonymity ☠️#raider!joel☠️#joel miller x female reader #joel miller x f!reader #tw violence #joel miller angst #joel x reader #joel miller fic #tlou joel #tlou smut #raider joel #dark!joel miller #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal characters

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slutforalastor · 1 month

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you never thought this day might come, sat down with the Radio Demon's head in your lap, his gaze lazy and half-lidded as he allows you, generously, so generously, to touch the pronged antlers that extend from the top of his head. His lips pass soft white noise as you run a finger from the base to the tip of his antlers, the vibration that you can feel beneath the hard exterior somewhere between the hum of a domestic appliance and the throb, throb, throb of a heartbeat

You can feel Alastor's shoulders tense up whenever you put too much pressure on them, his calm breathing briefly interrupted every time you push his sensitivity past his tolerance. Each time you find yourself being too exploratory, you correct yourself back to the safety of gentle strokes, letting your fingertips soak in the unique texture. They are somewhere between the firm smoothness of exposed bone, like his teeth when they drag across the topmost layer of your skin, leaving perfect streaks too shallow to bleed, too pronounced to refute their creator, and the spongy give of delicate flesh. You know the trust he's imparted to you to be given this kind of access; not only does he so limit incoming touch, but resents any reminder of his reincarnation as a prey animal.

"I'm surprised you're okay with this," you murmur to him, so unwilling to compromise the sanctity of this moment.

"Only because it is you," Alastor assures you, his tone just as hushed.

You continue, relishing in this opportunity. You explore every hook and divot of the black extensions, marveling at the current of demonic energy that pulses through them. It was your impression that they only grew when Alastor was angry, but not quite: any overwhelming passion, be it joy, theoretically speaking, or fear, or sadness, and they will billow out. You wonder if you can elicit such a response. Your opening gambit is strong: you lean into his ear, whispering "If anyone else were to do this, you'd tear them apart, wouldn't you?"

"For even less than this, dearest. I'd assumed that was obvious."

"But not me?"

"But not you."

"Maybe I want you to tear me apart, love."

The first sign; you feel a shift through the skeletal system they're connected to, a tremor of recognition, of sudden awoken desire.

"I'm sure you just aren't aware of what you're asking for."

"No, I'm all too aware. You want something deeper, too, don't you? It can't be enough just to meet in such a temporary union, only to separate. I want you to bring a little piece of me along with you, knowing you've claimed more than just one part of me, but any you desire."

He shudders, deeper this time, and you feel growth. Sharp edges and deeper curves sprout like curling ivy where there had once been certain ends, like a blossoming tree bursting into life. Your loving strokes down the length of his antlers grow deeper, more pronounced, almost incessant.

"What game are you playing at?" Alastor pants, his breathing hitching every time you push against them with any kind of firmness.

"I love seeing what you do."

His body has seized, but doesn't do anything else. You can feel the efforts of the sinew across his back against your lap. Best of all are his facial expressions; his initial contentment has evolved, firstly into surprised, the edges of his bladed grin peeking out from his thin lips, his eyes squinted and playful. Now it's become a look of desire, his mouth open slightly, droning a steady song with no melody but a captivating refrain, nonetheless. His eyes plead with you; so uncharacteristic, for him to be putty in your hands. To think you could hold the high ground in any situation, much less as a result of this.

"Don't toy with me," he warns, but his voice doesn't sound assured. It sounds needy, like a request for more.

"I would never, love."

"Then end this teasing," he begs.

You do as he asks, taking your hands away from his antlers. With some strain, he manages to get his breathing back under control, his antlers receding like the retreating tide, back to their typical size. "Did you enjoy yourself?" you wonder, after he's calmed himself.

He looks at you with mischief etched in his features. "Not as much as I'm sure I will soon enough." ~~~

#alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel #the radio demon #alastor x reader #alastor x you #antlerplay

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itoshiexx · 8 months

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can i dance with your s/o?

how the blue lock boys react when someone asks to dance with you.

pairings: itoshi rin, itoshi sae, reo mikage x fem!reader (separate) | warnings: jealousy, slight possessiveness, overall fluff, teeny bit suggestive on sae's

notes: hi guys! i wasn't planing on posting anything since i haven't been able to write (studying for the bar and all), but since i reached 300 followers, i thought maybe i could post this lil thing that was in my drafts for a long time lol it's quite different from what i usually do but i hope y'all like it! and tysm for 300!! <3

Itoshi Rin

the lights of the room flickered around the sparkles in your long dress and practically made you glow. the piece of clothing was beautiful — an italian design rin bought for you specially for that night, where you would accompany him to a charity event. there were hundreds of football players like him in the venue, but rin’s sight could only focus on you.

a song was playing softly in the background, and he admired you from afar, sitting in the bar along with some of his teammates while you chatted with their girlfriends, who became your friends pretty quickly. that was just how you were, always easy going and approachable, very unlike him. it was easy to be drawn to you like you were the sun, and rin was more than happy to be in your orbit.

then, the song changed to a slow paced tune, and he saw your beautiful eyes turn to him and sparkle just as much as your dress — if not more. the girls you were chatting with came towards their respective boyfriends, but you remained there, just staring, as if knowing it was a lost cause.

itoshi rin didn’t like to dance.

and while he was distracted by your orbs, someone decided to talk.

“can i dance with your girlfriend?”

the voice sent chills down his spine, and rin turned to the owner with a harsh glare, scrutinizing the image of none other than itoshi sae. they still had a pretty fucked up relationship, even after rin went pro, and he was not happy to hear what he just heard.

“what the fuck did you say?” his tone came out slowly, a veiled threat.

sae didn’t even blink. “i asked to dance with your girlfriend. you are certainly not doing it, and since i didn’t come with anyone, it would be rude to leave her there. haven’t you learned shit, rin?”

a vein nearly popped in his forehead. it was already bad enough to hear the condescending tone in sae’s voice, but implying he could take better care of you than him? no, that wouldn’t do.

“fuck off, you shitty brother. don’t come near her.”

he stormed off to the dance floor, leaving his shitty brother and his knowing smirk behind, immediately going to your figure. he could tell you were confused, but gave you no time to ask, taking your soft hand in his and dragging you to where the other couples were dancing.

both of his hands found home in your waist, just like he always found home in you. your arms laced his neck by pure reflex, considering you were still very much confused with your boyfriend’s attitude.

“what happened?”

rin played dumb. “hm? what do you mean? i’m just dancing with my girlfriend.” he shrugged like it was no big deal.

it really wasn’t. not when you smiled at him like that.

sure, itoshi rin didn’t like to dance. but he loved you, and if dancing would make you happy and keep you away from his shitty brother, he would do it in a heartbeat.

Itoshi Sae

parties were not really sae’s thing. he wasn’t one to socialize with his teammates, and he didn’t feel the need to talk to sponsors or to the media, considering he had a manager to do that. so how he got caught up in one was a true mystery.

sure, playing for the U-20 national team could be a big deal for a lot of people, but not for sae. he hated japan and all its weak players, and the only reason he agreed to play in the first place was to see project Blue Lock firsthand. he definitely did not sign for a party.

though he supposed he could endure it if you were there.

the dance floor was crowded, and a pop hit was blasting through the speakers. you were with sae on the bar just a minute ago, but your already tipsy self exclaimed to love this song and the need to dance it, so that’s what you were doing. and fuck, what a sight you were.

your skimpy dress hugged your body in all the right places, marking the curve of your ass. every time you moved in sync with the beat, swaying your hips, he could feel his breath hitch in his throat, always eager for what was under the fabric. you were breathtaking, and his.

“hey, genius boy!”

sae grunted when his eyes were forced to leave your frame, and he was not pleased to find oliver aiku by his side, portraying his signature toothy grin. his only acknowledgement was a hum, hoping oliver would take a hint and leave him the fuck alone.

“nice night, huh?”

sae sighed. apparently, he can’t take a hint.

“sure,” was all he said, turning his eyes back to you. you were still having fun by dancing like there was no tomorrow, and for a moment, sae wanted to smile from the way you were so carefree. he didn’t, though. but maybe something in his stoic demeanor cracked by looking at you, because the guy next to him spoke up.

“whatcha looking at?” oliver followed his sight before sae could fool him, and he felt anger rising when spotting a glimpse of desire in the heterochromatic eyes of his teammate. “oh, wow. what a babe.”

sae narrowed his eyes with an impossibly harsh glare that could make anyone cower. oliver didn��t. “she’s my girlfriend, so back the fuck off.”

“oh! can i dance with your girlfriend? she seems lonely.” the player smirked, seemingly enjoying to tease sae.

“look,” the older itoshi started, unamused. “you should probably know by now that i don’t tolerate bullshit. especially when it comes to her.”

oliver cocked his brow. sae continued, “so if you wanna have a slight chance to win against Blue Lock and not lose your shitty spot in the U-20 team, don’t fucking test me.”

finally, the player raised his hands in surrender, leaving without saying another word. chugging down the rest of his drink, sae made his way towards you, gluing his body behind yours and securing you close with a hand on your waist.

“hey, baby,” he mumbled in your ear. “wanna get out of here?”

Mikage Reo

being the heir of a billionaire corporation was no easy task. although there were some good parts in it, such as the money to do whatever one pleased, reo mostly dreaded everything related to his position. of course, this included the galas thrown by his family.

these galas were always full of snobby CEO’s and their heirs, trying to secure their spot in the light by arranging a marriage with the Mikage’s son. this part, at least, was solved when reo finally got married to you, and of course enduring hours of these boring parties became a hundred times better with you by his side.

however, he couldn’t say he was exactly pleased with the way all eyes were on you every time you put on some high couture outfit. you were stunning — reo knew that much, and he always boasted to anyone who could hear about it —, but he couldn’t help the spark of possessiveness that always ignited inside his chest whenever someone else stated this fact.

such as the old man talking to him.

“your wife is truly beautiful, mikage. a hidden gem.”

reo could feel his anger rising, jealousy and overprotectiveness becoming one. but he remained calm on the outside, a smiley façade that could effortlessly fool those around him. he couldn’t be rude, considering this geezer was one of the main investors of the mikage corporation.

“indeed, she is,” he answered through his teeth. the man didn’t seem to notice his gleaming eyes that could very much be homicidal.

“how long have you been married again?”

“two years.” he took a sip of the champagne glass in his hands. the liquid went down his throat with a burning sensation that made him momentarily forget about the searing rage in the pit of his stomach.

“oh, to be young again. i wish i could go back and enjoy my youth a little more,” the investor laughed, and reo had to force himself to do the same. his eyes, however, didn’t leave your frame.

you were graciously talking with three women of high society, distributing kind smiles as if they weren’t as precious as the diamonds in your neck, if not more. reo was well aware that none of the people on that gala deserved the goodness of your heart, but you couldn’t help but be sympathetic towards everyone. maybe that was why you were so adored. he knew for certain it was one of the reasons he loved you so much.

“do you mind if i dance one song with her?”

fuck. that man was still there.

“sure,” albeit hesitantly, reo agreed with a forced smile, watching as the investor walked up to you and bowed to ask for a dance. with your usual gentleness, you agreed, taking his hand and going to the middle of the ballroom for a waltz. the mikage could only watch your ethereal form glowing under the candelabrum, eyes softening with the way you were so carefree.

he was glad to have your purity in such a corrupted world.

when the song ended, reo wasted no time in coming to you and taking your hand from the man with a gentlemanly gesture that made you smile. you bid farewell to the investor with a small courtesy, your hand finding your husband’s easily.

“hey, beautiful.”

“hey, handsome,” you whispered, eyes sparkling. “you were totally holding yourself back, weren’t you?”

you both laughed at the way you could read him so easily. though reo didn’t mind.

“hell, yes. i was dying to drag you back to my arms.”

it was where you belonged, anyway.

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yandere-romanticaa · 9 months

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・❥・𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬.

what happens when lyney's feelings become too strong to handle? however is he going to deal with his crippling heartache and desire?

yandere! lyney x gn! reader.

This fic was partially inspired by the song "Wanna be Yours" by Arctic Monkeys. Admittedly, he's not the first character I'd associate with this band but I really wanted a snazzy sounding title. I also personally characterize this boy as a lovesick little fool so the song can stay.

If given a better option, most people will naturally chase after that which is more beneficial for them. Be it studies, entertainment or social circles, almost anything in someone's life could easily be replaced in a heartbeat.

That same sentiment could be applied to lovers as well.

What's to say that you won't wake up to your senses one day and leave Lyney for good? He tries to give you everything a person could ever hope for - he spoils you with gifts and his most undivided attention, his words are so sweet that they could rival the sweetest of candies. Unlike the empty candy though, Lyney's words are all true, he means absolutely everything he ever says to you. He can't exactly pinpoint the time when he fell head over heels but that didn't matter. Every time he looked at you it felt as though someone lit fireworks in his stomach, his smooth facade would melt away like ice and he was left completely defenseless. He was weak and at your mercy, he was yours to take and yours to love. Every single piece of Lyney belonged to you, his body, mind and soul, you owned all of him and didn't even know it.

How many nights did the two of you spend under the stars with Lyney by your side, his hot breath fanning your ear as he proclaimed his undying love to you, gloved hands twitching in anticipation to hold and caress your body. He loved to touch you in any way he could, physical affection was something the magician simply needed. If you didn't give him at least his good morning and good afternoon kiss, Lyney would always be in a sour mood, which would force his crew to send someone to fetch you in order to remedy this problem. Yes, Lyney loved you very much, the sweet red apple of his eye.

He just wished you loved him as much as he loved you.

Worry would often plague his heart whenever he'd catch you conversing with anyone that was not him or his siblings. Despite his solid reputation he was still but a humble magician at the end of the day.

Did you wish for something more? Were you not satisfied with him?

There were so many people out there who could give you everything Lyney could not. His ties with the Fatui also do not help his case, even if his motives remained pure. Naturally, he never had the heart to tell you that he belonged to that organization, for he feared that you would leave him right then and there. Lyney would often find himself waking at the dead of night, his mind and body restless due to the dreams he would have. Each and every one was always centered around you and it was almost always the same - he would come clean about everything, his past, his work, ties to the Fatui, everything. Tears would cake his face and he would lower his gaze towards the ground, shame pooling in his eyes. He would turn his back and say he doesn't expect any sort of sympathy from you. With a hunched posture he would take a few steps, the black boots on his feet feeling heavier than iron, the chains around his heart tightening further as the circumstances in his life would force him to leave everything he built with you. Just as the rain would hit the ground and Lyney would feel your arms around his waist, your soft lips pressed against the crook of his neck. You would hold him like that for who knows how long, promising that you would never, ever leave. You loved him, there was nothing that would change that.

Those dreams left him longing for more, his paranoia skyrocketing through the roof and deep into the night. He can't lose you, if Lyney lost you, he...

It doesn't bare thinking about.

As shaky as things were now, they were alright. He was going to make them better, stronger. He was a magician, making impossible things possible were literally in his job description. He would make sure that your love was reserved for him and no one else in this world.

🕊️ TAGS: @genshinarchives, @mod-kisa-blog, @juuuuuj101010, @kalopses-sonderes, @b10h4z4rd, @xiaopleasecomehome, @mayulli, @saturnalya, @alatusprinz, @lakxcpsta, @mewmeowmika, @ranposgirlboss

#yandere #yandere x reader #yancore #yandere imagines #yandere x you #yanderecore #yandere aesthetic #genshin impact #yandere scenarios #lyney #lyney x reader #genshin lyney #genshin impact lyney #yandere lyney #yandere lyney x reader #yandere male

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bunny584 · 14 days

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For I Have Sinned ୨୧ Chapter II

“Place me like a seal over your heart, like a seal on your arm; for love is as strong as death, its jealousy unyielding as the grave.” Songs of Solomon 8:6-7.

As newly appointed Duchess-To-Be, you have much to learn. Etiquette, conduct and eventual motherhood are the pillars you are expected to live by. Because who cares about your choosing?

The Chapel, tended to by a mercurial Priest, is the perfect refuge.

…right?

Pairing: Geto x female reader

A/N: The is dedicated to the artist ( @captainsalsaa ) I mean look at our fallen Angel. His tears. His frustration. Dear GOD.

To the artist: I stared at your piece, then heard a specific song on my writing playlist then wrote the entire last scene in one sitting. To date, it’s my favorite scene in my author’s portfolio. I hope I did our fallen Angel justice. Thank you for creating this 🤍

Previous | Next

CHAPTER II: Hello, Father.

“Awake early, little dove.”

Warm hands caress your shoulders. A welcome contrast to the chilly nautical dawn. The sun still has a ways to go, but songbirds have begun their wake up call.

“As are you, Arella.”

Your eyes float to your favorite maiden standing above you. No more than a handful of years older, but with a heart for you as if she raised you from birth.

“It’s my duty to tend to you, is it not?”

Soft laughter harmonizes with the nightingales. A quick kiss on your forehead before her warmth disappears off the balcony — undoubtedly to go retrieve a treat of some kind.

She’s not wrong.

Technically it is her duty.

But Arella is your blessing.

Matting and kneading your surroundings to fit your needs. Eager to dampen the growing pains of settling in a new home.

Constant hellos.

Permanent smiles.

Not too wide, like a promiscuous woman. But not too tight, like a cold prude.

Rooms to tour. Hands to shake. Garments to pin and tie and lace around your lungs as if your God-given ribcage was a frivolous extra not needed for life. Not needed to breathe.

Breathe.

Your lids screw shut. Pulling in as much of the balmy, saltwater breeze gliding up the steep rock face along the overhang.

Much like he did.

The Chaplain.

His hair cascading down his back in the same way poets monologue when inspired. His eyes a mural of what the Gods paint when they want to show off.

The way earth acquiesces to his touch as if he is the Creator. The birds choose to perform for him every morning. And the ocean exists to bathe him.

You cannot decide if the sorbet sunsets are created by the Chaplain. Or if the Gods fight over who gets the honor of painting him a new one each evening.

“Sleep still escapes you, precious girl.”

It does, but not for the reason she thinks.

“You worry too much, Arella. I’ll adjust soon.” The tea she brought you is delicious.

The both of you cross back into your quarters. The stagnant, perfumed air suddenly suffocating.

“I would like to go to the chapel garden.”

A quiet declaration that stills your handmaiden in her tracks. Then a small grin blossoms on her beautiful face. Fussing with your bedding. Wiping away evidence of your sleepless night.

“For the flowers that bloom, little dove? Or for the God that tends to them?”

The blood in your veins runs subzero.

“Arella! I am engaged to be marri—“

“Of course you are. But eyesight isn’t a sin.”

Another moment of feigned irritation before you burst into a fit of childish giggles. The both of you no better than school girls, covering your mouths, stifling your laughter.

“I just wanted to see you smile.” Arella gestures to your extravagant dresser across the room.

“In the second drawer you can find a casual garment. Come back with at least one hour to prepare for Mass.”

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

A hummingbird chaperones your walk to the church estate. Dulcet hums drown out the rattling heartbeat between your ears.

This is harmless.

It is not a sin to take in Earth’s natural candy. To appreciate God’s gift to humanity.

In all of his majestic glory.

Your eyes dart around as if your thoughts are a tangible scroll. Written in ink for the world to see.

Don’t be ridiculous, there’s no one around.

Just you. Your fluttering companions (both heart and bird). The waking sun. God above and his plants swaying in the gentle gusts of wind. You’re safe in your mind.

Until he decimates all logical and reasonable train of thought, that is.

You should be angry. Infuriated. That no one adequately prepared you for seeing the demigod for the first time. Even now, you question whether he’s flesh and blood.

Maybe an illusion?

The Lord playing tricks from his throne?

The mirage before you halts your paces. You can’t help but question your level consciousness.

Because this must be a dream.

“Oh, don’t be cruel.”

Words slip out of your mouth, currently ajar. It’s not your place to chastise the One above, but come on.

Your eyes taste the Chaplain for a second time and this course is even more decadent than the first.

There he stands.

A raven waterfall down his broad, muscular back. Half of it tied away from his face. Olive skin so rich the surrounding plants pale in comparison. Russet brown working pants hang loose around his tapered waist, but snug around his thighs. Various tools hooked in the belt loops. Heavy mahogany work boots match the worn leather gardening gloves fitted to his hands.

His hands.

Reaching for thorny vines plaguing his hydrangeas. Even at your distance you could detail each muscle fiber in his arm tense and release with every pull and toss.

Pull and toss.

You would have gotten lost in his rhythmic trance, if it weren’t for the symbol branded in charcoal sprawling his back. The emblem peeks through his thick hair, every now and again.

A spear?

No.

A trident. With waves snaking up its stalk along his spine.

His gravitational pull is overwhelming. Your feet move with more stealth than the King’s Guard.

“Working on the Day of Rest, Father?” Casual, measured.

“Duchess,” Saliva pools in your mouth. His smile teases your ears before he graces you with it.

“I have to start being more careful about my clothing.” A playful glint in his eyes.

“Especially now that I’ve been blessed with a fellow greenskeeper.”

He is a man of God.

And would never insinuate anything impure.

But that doesn’t stop your cunt from clenching around his words steeped in a baritone potent enough to rumble the ground beneath you.

“I’m sorry. I should’ve sent word that I was coming.”

“This palace belongs to you, Duchess. You are welcome here at any hour.” His hand captures a vine and tosses it into the pile without his eyes ever leaving yours.

You are weak.

And greedy.

The way your gaze drops to his arm. Desperately etching its contours into memory. Seconds, maybe minutes pass before you realize you were gawking. And the Chaplain just let you.

Head cocked to the side. Soft smile ghosting his full lips.

“Would you like to finish the tour of your new playground?”

“Y-yes. Of course, please.” Stumbling over the uneven cobblestone in your voice, you turn away to begin the coordinated stroll. The Priest slides his arms into a linen button up. Lazily fastening two center buttons only.

He informs you of the work that has already been done, what’s left. Where the soil is richest, where it is the most acidic. How the sun hits certain flowers at each hour of the day.

Brilliant.

With complete command over God’s bouquet. The sun following him wherever he steps.

“Did you enjoy your swim today, Father?” Both you and the Priest come to a slow stop. One of his angular eyebrows raised.

“I’m dry, Duchess.” He responds with a low, hypnotic chuckle.

Heat floods your cheeks. How could you be so presumptuous?

“What gave me away?”

Your knees nearly betray you. The razor sharp grin on his face could cut glass.

“You were born for the ocean. Or rather, the ocean was born for you.”

Your statement is greeted with blaring silence.

Lava in his gaze. Singeing every part of your face it touches. His expression is like a foreign language.

“I—I’ve overstepped, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend. Clearly I have much to learn about social graces.” A meek apology bubbles out of your lips. Desperate to fill the space between your bodies.

The mercurial man shakes his head slightly. Thawed out from your statement, he reaches over and plucks a stray lilac petal resting on your crown.

“My father used to say the same.” He muses, looking away for the first time.

“Your father! Is he—“

“He was called home some time ago.” This smile is soft. Reminiscent. Polite, but his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Oh Father Geto, I’m so sorry.”

A foot in your mouth is not enough punishment for your indecency. Why would you go prodding like this?

“Don’t be, I’ll see him again. Soon enough.”

“Not too soon, I hope.” The statement draws a stunned gaze from the Chaplain. Eyes dancing between yours.

“Time to prepare for mass, little dove!” Arella’s melodic call tethers you back down from outer space.

You flicker over to her with a ruby dusting over your nose and cheeks. Like a child caught with her hand in a cookie jar before supper.

“Happy Sunday, Father!” Arella calls out, cheshire grin on her face deepening your crude blush.

“Indeed, Arella.” He returns the greeting while keeping his eyes on you.

“Send my regards to the Duke.” His voice lowers, for your ears only. With a nearly imperceptible edge to his tone.

“Happy Sunday, Duchess. We have a counseling session scheduled late afternoon, yes?”

A statement of pure black and white fact. And yet it travels down your spine and settles between your legs. Wet heat dampening your thin negligee.

“Yes, Father. Happy Sunday.”

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Mass was miserable.

Your corset laced tight enough to meld your two lungs and beating heart into one entity. To say the neckline strangled you is putting it mildly. Cold, uninviting pews dug into your skin at every turn.

Wretched.

But the worst of it wasn’t the thin, oxygen-deficient air. Or the shards of glass that slid down your throat with every swallow. Even the jaw pain from tensing your lips in a well-mannered smile for two hours straight was tolerable.

The worst part of it was him.

The Priest mesmerized an entire congregation to an ear-splitting hush.

His first Sunday mass since appointment and nearly everyone in the country and every surrounding province stuffed into the chapel.

So desperate for blessings from Father Geto.

Could you blame them?

His voice danced in and out of the pews listlessly.

Soothing fussy children. Adolescent girls and their mother’s alike — utterly smitten. Adolescent boys experienced their first “I want to be like him” with their fathers sitting right next to them. Husbands glanced feverishly at the women in their lives.

He had to have noticed it. And yet, he floated above it all the entire service.

Above you.

Refusing to gift you those eyes that put Vincent Van Gogh to shame. No matter how much you shifted in your seat and straightened your spine.

The Priest spoke to everyone in the room but you.

Did you read him wrong?

Did you misinterpret your budding friendship?

Does it…should it even matter?

Your irritation is palpable. Innocent bystanders are caught in your friendly fire. Including Arella, who changed you out of that horrid costume. And sweet Noel, who ushered you into the seating area — just outside of the good Father’s office.

You make a mental note to send treats to the tender-hearted alter boy. And to apologize profusely to your handmaiden.

“You are a million miles away, darling.” The sound of your betrothed tows you out of the storm clouds.

You flicker over to the Duke. Emerald green eyes, high cheek bones — handsome in a way that is characteristic of everyone native to your new home.

“I’m right here, Ezra.”

“Are you, sweetheart?” The back of his hand caresses your cheek.

“Mmhm.” You offer your future husband a weak smile and kiss on his cheek. His eyes faltering slightly, undoubtedly hopeful for lips instead.

“Good afternoon, Duke and Duchess Ahriman.”

Father Geto’s velvet greeting encases you both. If Ezra’s arm didn’t guide you to stand you would have been paralyzed in your seat.

“Father Geto, a pleasure. Thank you for seeing us.” Ezra offers a genuine smile and handshake. Buying you a few extra seconds in your mind’s safe haven.

The Chaplain is tight lipped. Professional. He returns the handshake firmly.

“Pleasure is mine.”

Ezra shifts slightly on his feet. Straightening his spine and dropping his shoulders. Your eyes bounce between the Chaplain and your fiancé.

“I must say, Father. You are even more handsome up close. I speak for the men in this country, thank you for taking the vow of celibacy!” The words spill out of the Duke. Unknowingly thinning the air.

The Priest chuckles quietly, dropping his eyes briefly before landing them on you. And it feels like you could double over. Your core temperature skyrockets under his smoldering gaze.

He, the archer. You, the bullseye.

“Let’s get started, shall we?”

Ezra laces his fingers in yours, taking the two seats directly in front of the oak desk. A leather bound notebook and pheasant feather pen are neatly arranged — with your names on the first page.

Blue flame rises from your toes to hairline. You might as well have been sitting naked. With how exposed, how vulnerable you feel already.

“What will we be covering first, Father? Something about how wives should obey their husbands, right?” Ezra is light-hearted. Meant to be said in jest.

But he finds himself being the only party in the room laughing.

The Priest rolls the ink pen between his fingers. Allowing a deafening silence to coat the walls. His expression is neutral, but eyes ablaze.

“If the man in question is worthy of submission.” He starts. A low, ominous rumble.

“Uh, yes. Of course.” Ezra responds, shifting in his seat.

But the Chaplain does not stop. Intent on making a point, he leans in. Pen whirling lightning fast between his long, deft fingers. Enough tailwind to launch across the room, if he desired.

“If the man in question would give his life for his wife.” Volcanic eyes linger on you, then back to your fiancé. Ezra’s palm finds your thigh. You gnaw on your inner cheek to avoid flinching away.

“If he would love her like Christ loves all of his creations unconditionally. Unselfishly. Irrationally.”

“Yes, Father. I understand.”

“Only then, should she submit.” His serrated tone could split chromium with ease.

“Of course, of course.” Ezra wisely accepts defeat.

He presses a short kiss on your cheek as an apology that you didn’t ask for, nor do you want.

“Mmm.” A forced acknowledgment of the Duke’s affection through your pinched lips. Barely able to move under the Father’s microscopic gaze.

“Now then,” Father Geto clears the boulders in his throat.

“Tell me about your love.”

The question stuns both you and the Duke. Looking to each other sheepishly because neither of you chose this.

War is young men dying and old men talking. And your life path is no different. Dictated by conversations between the powers that be.

“We’ve only met a week ago, Father.” Your honesty drives both of his eyebrows upward.

“A week ago?”

“But we are hoping you can teach us.” The Duke, overeager and excitable.

“Teach you…?” Father Geto muses. You can’t quite interpret his tone, or minimal response. But your heart flutters all the same.

He is thinking something. And what you would give to get a glance. To be let in.

“Perhaps guide us?” Ezra gives an unintentionally painful squeeze on your thigh. You fail to muffle the tiny whimper.

The Priest’s eyes laser down to where your fiancé’s hand lays. Chest rising and falling dangerously slow.

“Right.”

Your eyes trail upwards as he stands. Closer to God than to you from this point of view.

“Duke, Duchess. You’ll have to accept my sincerest apologies.”

His fingers dip the unused pen back into the ink cup. The edges of his leather bound notebook coming together. Seemingly without any notes, but an entire script from this session swirling in his mind.

“My schedule is incorrect. I have another commitment. We will reschedule, yes?” Said with a finality that sends chills crawling down your spine.

The two of you stand. Another handshake between the men. A restrained nod for you.

Just as quickly as you were let in, Father Geto shuts you out of his office and his mind.

· ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── ·

Suguru presses his forehead against the shower tile. Warm water raining down his loose mane. Soothing his sore, overworked limbs.

Today was maddening.

He nearly destroyed his vestment the minute that God-forsaken counseling session ended. Seeking refuge, he took to the coast.

And the sea provided anything but peace.

She was angry with him, tonight.

Curt. With unpredictable currents. Rip tides at nearly every turn. She tested his adaptation without mercy.

Just like that night.

“I’m going to stay on board, brother!”

Suguru flickered over to the silver-haired deckhand. An unfamiliar reservation opacifying his nearly translucent, iridescent eyes.

Brother in name, technically.

Their bloodlines were oil and water. He was a high born. Suguru was born unworthy of a beggar’s pity.

But, bloodlines were inconsequential when their souls were instep as one. Both handed to humanity on the same night. During a thunderstorm already inscribed in history books.

‘The Tide of Eternal Requiem.’

It brought complete devastation. Crops destroyed. Families torn apart by tragic accidents inland and at sea.

Then fate struck.

Within the same hour, a voltaic boy, with a halo that put the clouds to shame and diamond eyes that could draw truth from murderers was born into the loving embrace of his parents.

And Suguru was born with a crown so dark that the raging midnight appeared bright.

With eyes as ominous as the sky above.

Gunmetal grey, accented by an eerie violet swarm. Dormant volcanoes, threatening eruption. His birth mother abandoned him in an alley. Driven by fear that he was a bad omen from the Gods.

“Ahhh, Satoru come on. Since when do you shy away from a few waves?”

Suguru teased. Already well into the process of shedding his work gear.

“Zeus is the one rumored to be my father.” His counterpart flashed a knowing smile.

“Poseidon doesn’t watch over me like he does you, Suguru.”

A tsunami couldn’t keep Suguru from his home. Much less a little rain.

They were 3 miles away from the shoreline. Using his God-given ability, Suguru regularly acted as their scout. Performing his own reconnaissance then alerting the incoming ship of safe or turbulent terrain.

“Almost ready to go, son?”

His chosen father came up behind him. Suguru knew there were tears lining his meek eyes before turning to face him.

“Dad.” Suguru sighed, fully disrobed now. Just his muscular frame and a compression suit.

He met his father’s concerned gaze. Always like this during sea storms. Quiet prayers written all over his gentle features.

Despite the worry, he never once attempted to convince his oceanic boy to stay on board. It would have been too cruel.

“I’ll be fine, I’ve traversed angrier swells.”

“Suguru, take care of yourself when I’m gone.”

Elder, worn hands landed on his shoulders. Nearly too high for his reach. Suguru cocked his head to the side.

This goodbye was different.

“Stay on this path. For me. Albeit straight and narrow, there is a wonderful view. This is all for you, son.”

Both men glanced to the Persian gulf. She thrashed against their vessel. Swaying their catch left and right with the intention of taking her creatures back.

“Where is this coming from?” A genuine question from his younger self. Unable to read between the lines.

“Can’t a man just speak from the heart?”

The melancholy smile didn’t meet the wrinkles of time decorating his eyes, but they shared a laugh anyway. Suguru turned away but was promptly drawn back.

“My beautiful boy.”

The fisherman cradled his son’s face. Swimming in the eyes that Suguru once hated. The eyes that convinced his birth mother to abandon him.

“Make it to shore, son.” Suguru rested his head against his father’s neck. Taking a slow, sweet drag of his scent.

Oak.

He always smelled like oak. It was one of Suguru’s favorite things about him.

“If Poseidon calls—“

“I’ll tell him to fuck off.” Mischievous grin plastered on Suguru’s face. His father planted a kiss on his cheek, pushing him towards the end of the boat. As he always did.

Then the Gulf wrapped him in her hostile embrace.

She was irate.

Vicious tidal waves. Rapidly shifting currents. Even her creatures knew to settle below their usual depth. Suguru cursed the fact that he was born with useless, human lungs. Unable to withstand the pressure of the Midnight Zone.

Within minutes his long, lean frame was riding her whims without a shred of control. Tossed around like a rag doll. At her complete mercy — or lack thereof.

This was the first time he struggled to tame his element. A muffled groan bubbled around him. Serrated edges of long coral stalks dug into his back. Stark white foam whirled around him.

Aerated waters.

Suguru could barely maneuver against the waves pummeling his core. Searing heat traveling up his spine. His lungs demanded oxygen.

The boat.

The boat would never make it to shore.

Desperate, furious strokes of his arms meant nothing against her unrelenting grasp. Effectively pinning Suguru to his underwater cross.

A piece of chewed plank wood whizzed by his face.

Followed by another.

Then another.

And Suguru watched his nightmare materialize before his eyes. Mustering his last oxygen reserve, he bellowed against his closed lips.

As if she hadn’t already ignored the cries of his fellow fisherman.

Even still, he screamed so loud his ribcage should have vaporized. But ushering him to a watery grave at that time would have been too merciful.

Suguru blinks out of the harrowing memory. The steeping tea takes at least two layers of epithelium off his esophagus.

Fucking, hell.

He can’t seem to escape pain today.

The swim was excruciating.

Mass was dreadful.

Watching that boy’s hand lay on your lap was grating.

Suguru’s mind drifts back to you. Your thought washes over him like baptizing waters purifying that which is impure.

The gleam in your eyes when you asked about his morning plunge. Barely a week and your pulse on him is already this precise.

Do not covet, Suguru.

He scoffs to himself. Shaking free of your tempting spiral.

This ‘straight and narrow’ path is proving to be more challenging than he let on.

“Would you be proud, Father?”

A whisper of accusation at the end of his inquiry. Suguru would give his arms, his eyes…his life to hear his father’s voice on the other end of his questions, once again.

“Did He tell you?”

Roaring silence. Of course. He knows that. He expects it.

But it angers him all the same.

“Did He come to you in a dream??” Suguru echos louder. More frantic. Punched out in a way he can barely recognize.

“Was the reaper at His left, my heart on the right?!” A weak sob slips through the crack in his baritone.

Yet another pain. But this one is tart and blurring his vision.

“Did you KNOW? D—did you know that day was your last?!” He hisses through a salty stream. Storming out to the garden to escape the walls collapsing in on him.

Suguru’s eyes laser to the remaining thorny vines along his bed of hydrangeas. Without a second thought he wraps them around his bare arms. Staining the plant and his freshly bathed skin with crystalline tears. Once its thorns sufficiently bury into his skin he rips it away from the soil with all his might.

“Bastard. I’m your SON.”

Warm metallic drips down the hills and ridges of his arms. Collecting in the flower bed.

Is he cursing his earthly father?

His Heavenly One?

Or the Deity that brought this grief on him in the first place?

It hurts.

An unforgiving pain.

Much like the thorns in those rapids. Much like the inconceivable burn from his lungs begging for expanse. The time limit, even for him, ran lethally low.

Well exceeding his father’s time limit.

Poseidon stole from him that day.

A callous trade for Suguru’s continued existence.

“Why didn’t you…I—I should’ve been there.”

Guilt eviscerates Suguru’s remaining resolve. Tilting his head up, he lets the salty crystals rain down his cheeks freely.

The full moon cradles his face with the same warmth, the same adoration his father’s hands used to.

Suguru accepts its celestial kisses for a moment before burying his face into his bloodied palms. His damp locks curtain his flushed face. Protecting the world from his unruly sobs.

“I’m here.” Barely audible words escape through desperate grabs for air.

“I made it to shore, Dad.”

E/N: Oh hello, don’t mind me just sobbing. Also, guest appearance by our glorious Blue Eyed Babygirl King™️ If you need me, I will be in witness protection before Gege finds this since it’s a crime to be a S*toru lover.

taglist: @blkkizzat @rotteneyess

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m00nh1gh · 4 months

Text

REDBONE

Han x reader

Two of Jisung's favorite things lately are getting high and having sex, but he hadn't tried both at the same time yet.

Contains: They are both under the influence, Han loves reader's tits, unprotected sex, very messy

I've never taken weed nor have I ever been high, so what I write might not be accurate!

Word count: 1.4k.

As soon as you entered the apartment complex, you could smell weed in the air and you also heard music blasting in the hallway. That was coming from where you two live, so you already knew what Jisung had been up to. You smiled to yourself, unlocking the door to your tenement, ready to see your boyfriend either on the couch or on the bed. Either way, you'd see him immediately, since you live in a small studio. It's only one room.

“Baby!” You heard him whining dramatically when you walked in, kicking your shoes away. You laughed and he stood up from the couch, walking up to you and holding you by the waist loosely.

“I missed you so much, gimme a kiss,” he pouted his pretty lips at you and you pecked them quickly with a smile.

“Decided to get high without me?” He kept holding you as you walked over to the couch, finally letting go of you when you sat down.

“Sorry babe, had a rough day,” he sighed, taking a hit of his blunt before handing it to you. You picked it and brought it to your lips, closing your eyes when you sucked in the smoke. It was finally time for you to let go of the things that happened today.

“Hm, wanna talk about it?” With one hand, you pulled him closer to you as you fell back against the couch. He laid his head in your chest, sighing.

“We're just all on edge lately. Don't know what to write for new songs. Chan was mad at us today,” he explained and you ran your hand through his hair, humming

“Did he apologize?

- Over text, yeah. He left to get some air and then we left too.

- You'll be alright tomorrow.”

Taking another hit from the blunt and breathing the smoke out in the air, you placed it in the ashtray as you felt your heartbeat fasten. Jisung seemed completely relaxed and you giggled a little. He lifted his head to look at you and he smiled.

“Gimme another kiss, please?”

You nodded and he lifted himself up to bring his lips to yours, breath hot on your nose as he kissed you lazily. His tongue slipped into your mouth swiftly, making you whine when it slid against yours. Your arms wrapped around his waist, pulling him even closer to you, making the both of you laugh against each other's lips.

“Baby, might get hard if you keep touching me,” he mumbled, taking a strand of your hand between his fingers and wrapping it around one.

“Nothing wrong with that,” you bucked your hips up teasingly, meeting his crotch. He groaned and pushed them back down on the couch, sitting up on his knees. “What d'you wanna do? You choose.

- I get to choose?” His eyes sparkled and you smiled, cheeks flushed as you nodded.

“Take it off,” he lifted your shirt up and you took it off for him, sitting up too with his arm around your lower back as he unclasped your bra, sliding the straps down your arms until the clothing piece was completely off. He licked his lips when he saw you, as if it was his first time.

“Pretty baby,” he whispered as he lowered his head, kissing your chest and licking your nipple. You brought him with you again as you lay on the couch, his lips never leaving your breasts. The sounds were so wet and they turned you on even more, his tongue was one of a saint in your opinion and you thought you could cum undone only like this if you wanted.

He bit on one of your nipples as he looked up to see your reaction. You arched your back exaggeratedly with a moan, the feeling more prominent than when you are sober.

“How does it feel?” He asked, licking your stinging skin. He was curious as to how you perceived things in this state, because even if he was high too, he wasn't the one getting bit.

“It hurts,” you said and you let out a broken ‘ah’ when he pinched your other nipple.

“And this?

- Hurts too,” tears filled your eyes and he noticed it.

“Aww baby, don't cry,” he cooed, a smirk plastered on his face as he kissed you again, massaging your boobs with one of his hands. You could feel he was hard when he positioned himself between your legs and the shivers that ran down your spine were crazy. Something you'd never felt before.

You tugged on the hem of his shirt and immediately, it was off, his skin was hot and felt so soft under your fingers. You traced them along his muscles, lips parted and eyes half-lidded.

“Like what you see?

- Yeah.”

He chuckled and grabbed your wrists with one hand, pinning them above your head as he made out with you. You felt cold since the cold air hit with Jisung's saliva on your chest, but when he pressed his against you, you suddenly felt hot - too hot - and you moaned.

He struggled to take the rest of your clothes off since he didn't want to let go of your wrists, but then his hard cock slid against your wet pussy and you were in complete bliss. You ached for him, your senses heightened and your whole body shaking under him. Was that normal? You didn't even know.

“Fuck, yeah. Gonna ruin that fucking pussy, you'd like that, right?” You nodded eagerly, trying to free your wrists from his grasp but he only tightened his hold on them instead.

“Keep still for me, baby,” he kissed right under your ear as he talked quietly, eyes closed peacefully and tip already at your entrance. “Close your eyes.”

You both gasped when he entered you, it was as if you could feel every small veins on his dick inside you and you were so wet Jisung thought he could pass out at the feeling, eyes rolling to the back of his head as you moaned against his ear. His grip loosened a little, but you didn't even notice it. You were too focused on the overwhelming pleasure mixed with pain to even care.

His breaths sounded like small moans as he thrusted in as well as yours. The music in the background coursed throughout your body, it was one of your favorite songs. Jisung was the one who made you discover it and it was now part of both of your lives.

“Can you hear that? It's our song,” he looked down at you, still fucking you at an uneven pace and you couldn't even respond, mouth open and eyes closed.

Jisung took that opportunity to let go of your wrists and to enter two fingers in your mouth, softly pressing on your tongue. It tasted salty, you wrapped your lips around them and you looked up at him.

His eyes were fixed on your lips, he almost forgot he was balls deep inside you, but you rolled your hips against him and he moaned, sucking in a breath, and focusing back on your cunt.

“So warm and wet everywhere- ah-,” he pulled his fingers out of your mouth and he brought them to your clit, spreading your saliva on it. You were too sensitive for this. You spasmed and tried guiding his hand away, but he was stronger and he loved seeing you like this.

“Too much, Ji, please- mmh!” You almost cried, his dick was rubbing continuously against your g-spot at the same time, the pressure sent you over the edge spontaneously and your vision blurred as he guided you through your orgasm. His fingers dug into your hips from how hard he was holding you, but this time, you didn't even notice it. He soon pulled out of you and released all over your stomach, you were both a moaning and panting mess, hands shaking and hair sticking to your foreheads.

“What the fuck,” he breathed out with a shaky laugh, his hand running through his hair and your vision came back to normal soon after.

You laughed too, eyes closed again and he cuddled up to you, uncaring about his cum sticking to his and your skin, you could wash up later.

“Thanks for letting me do this,” he kissed your temple and you nodded with a smile on your face.

“I'd do anything for you, you know that.”

#Spotify #skz #stray kids #skz imagines #skz scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz smut #stray kids smut #han jisung smut #han jisung #skz hard thoughts #han #han smut #i need him

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dear-bunnyboo · 4 months

Text

𝐒𝐎 𝐈𝐓 𝐆𝐎𝐄𝐒... || 𝐉𝐎𝐄 𝐁𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐎𝐖 18+

a request from @joeburrowshottestwife 🤍 I got a little carried away and wrote a mini smut if you may…

I recommend listening to the song while reading and I hope you guys love it!!

𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: Joe Burrow x Reader

𝐒𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐒𝐨 𝐈𝐭 𝐆𝐨𝐞𝐬... - 𝐓𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐒𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Who would’ve thought that seeing the prettiest blue eyes would lead to a lifetime of love and passion and so it goes…

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: 18+ mature content, cursing, smut, sex, sexual tension, drinking, flirting, hickeys, oral, gossip, quickie, lowkey public sex, against the wall, fluff, infatuated!joe, partying, strangers to lovers?, slight jealously, some cute moments

If you are below the age of 18 and or you are not comfortable with the warnings above, please don’t read this!

𝐌𝐢𝐬𝐜. 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 || 𝐌𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

See you in the dark

All eyes on you, my magician

All eyes on us

You make everyone disappear, and

Cut me into pieces

In the dimly lit bar, you and your girlfriends revel in the atmosphere of a girls' night out, surrounded by laughter and chatter. The bar is an intimate yet lively space, bathed in a dim glow that emanates from strategically placed low-hanging lights.

The walls, adorned with eclectic artwork and vintage posters, create a unique ambiance. The air is filled with a blend of laughter, clinking glasses, and the deep sound of the music playing from the speakers.

The dance floor, though not too expansive, beckons those eager to showcase their moves. Rustic wooden tables and plush booths provide comfortable seating for groups of friends, creating pockets of shared moments.

As you sip your drinks, the room suddenly hushes when Joe Burrow, the famous NFL quarterback for the Cincinnati Bengals, appears in a dark corner with his friends.

It's in one of these shadowy corners that Joe Burrow and his friends have claimed their spot, inadvertently becoming the center of attention as his fame draws glances from all around the room.

As you took another sip of your drink, your attention is stolen once more by the magnetic presence of Joe Burrow tucked away in the dim corner.

His fame precedes him, and the way he effortlessly commands the attention of the entire bar pulls you into a trance— it was like magic, you were hypnotized.

Your friends continue their chatter, but your focus is drawn to Joe.

In the low light, his silhouette exudes an intriguing allure, and you find yourself captivated by the subtle confidence in his posture.

Your heart quickens.

Your gaze locks onto Joe, and in that moment, the crowded bar seems to vanish. It's just you and him, a magnetic connection that cuts through the surrounding noise.

His back against the wall, Joe holds a drink in hand, mirroring your intrigue.

The bustling atmosphere fades into the background, leaving only you and him in this shared moment of unspoken connection.

His eyes, carrying a certain intensity, seem to cut through the crowd, reaching you even from a distance. Each glance feels like a subtle incision, dissecting every part of you.

There's a flutter of excitement and nerves as you contemplate making your way toward the bar.

The air is charged with anticipation, and as you decide to approach, you can't shake the feeling that this might be a moment where the ordinary collides with the extraordinary.

"I'll be right back," you announce to your friends, the excitement building within you as you decide to approach the bar. With each step, you can feel Joe's eyes following you, a magnetic pull that seems to intensify as you make your way through the crowd.

The soft glow of the dim lights casts a warm hue on your gold slip-on dress, catching Joe's attention.

You could practically feel his gaze, he was cutting you into pieces as if he's unraveling your every layer with his gaze.

The atmosphere is charged with anticipation as you reach the bar, the heartbeat of the music syncing with your own.

Before you can even order a drink, a deep voice, unmistakably Joe's, interrupts. "Let me get that for you," he offers, his baby blue eyes meeting yours. He gracefully places his hands on either side of the bar table, enclosing you within his captivating presence.

In that moment, the world seems to fade away, leaving just you and Joe, locked in a magnetic connection.

The bar, once bustling with activity, transforms into an intimate stage for this unexpected encounter, marked by his confident gaze and the subtle thrill of a newfound connection.

Feeling like you're being dissected by his eyes, you can't help but be captivated.

Joe leans in slightly, a playful smirk dancing on his lips as he says, "Allow me to be the magician tonight. What's your poison?"

You meet his gaze with a teasing smile. "Well, if you're the magician, surprise me with your best trick. Maybe something with a twist of mystery."

He chuckles, a low and melodic sound. "Mystery, huh? How about a classic, then? How does a whiskey sour sound? It's got just the right amount of intrigue."

You nod approvingly. "Sounds like you know your way around the bar. Whiskey sour it is."

As he signals the bartender, Joe turns his attention back to you. "So, what brings you to this corner of the bar tonight?"

You playfully twirl a strand of hair. "Just out with my friends, enjoying the night. But then I spotted the you in the dark corner, and curiosity got the better of me."

He raises an eyebrow, the charm in his eyes unmistakable. "You spotted me, huh? Well, it seems curiosity works both ways. What's your name?"

You extend a hand. "Y/N. And you're Joe, the attraction of the night, I presume."

He takes your hand, his grip firm yet gentle. "Guilty as charged, Y/N. So, are you a fan, or was it just my irresistible charm that lured you in?"

You laugh, the banter flowing effortlessly. "Maybe a bit of both. Your eyes have a way of making the ordinary feel tempting."

Joe smirks, leaning a bit closer. "Well, I must say, your gold dress is doing its fair share of enchanting tonight."

The conversation continues, a dance of words filled with flirty exchanges and charming wit, creating a magnetic connection that goes beyond the confines of the bustling bar.

As you and Joe take to the dance floor, a subtle shift in the atmosphere becomes palpable. The pulsating beat of the music seems to synchronize with your movements, drawing the attention of the surrounding crowd.

All eyes gradually gravitate toward the two of you, creating an invisible spotlight on this spontaneous dance. The initial curiosity transforms into a collective recognition– Joe Burrow, the NFL quarterback, sharing a moment of connection with a stranger on the dance floor.

The dimly lit bar becomes a stage, and you and Joe the unwitting performers. Whispers and glances follow your every move, and the music seems to amplify, encapsulating the shared energy of the room. The air is charged with a mix of admiration, surprise, and perhaps a touch of envy as the ordinary night transforms into an extraordinary spectacle.

In that moment, the dance floor becomes a canvas, and your connection with Joe, the brushstroke that paints a captivating picture. All eyes are on the two of you, caught in the rhythm of the music and the chemistry that seems to transcend the boundaries of the crowded bar.

Gold cage, hostage to my feelings

Back against the wall

Trippin', trip-trippin' when you're gone

'Cause we breakdown a little

But when you get me alone, it's so simple

'Cause baby, I know what you know

We can feel it

The night unfolds with a seamless transition, and before you know it, you find yourself in a secluded corner behind the bar with Joe. The distant hum of the crowd and the rhythmic beats of the music create a cocoon of intimacy around the two of you.

Your back rests against the wall with you arms wrapped around the tall man in front of you, and Joe, with a casual yet confident demeanor, has his hands all over you.

“Fuck.” Joe breathes out against your lips.

Your lips molded against his, clashing and sloppy as Joe caressed your body all over before pushing you harder against the wall.

"Fuck, you're so fucking beautiful.” Joe says as he kisses down your neck and chest.

"Touch me" you practically purred, but this time it's a plea. "You want me to touch you?" Joe asks as he kisses down your neck and chest. You nod and gasp as his hand reaches up to cup one of your breasts through the fabric of your dress.

"Mmmm, you're so fucking sexy" Joe says as he starts to squeeze your breast. You moan and arch your back, pushing your chest into his hand. Joe moves his hand down to the hem of your dress and slowly slides it up over your hips.

You feel his hands on your thighs, massaging them as he pushes the dress up further. You feel his breath on your skin as he kisses down your stomach and then back up to your breasts. He takes one nipple into his mouth and sucks it hard, causing you to moan loudly.

He switches to the other nipple and gives it the same treatment. "Oh fuck, that feels so good," you moan as he continues to suck on your nipples. Joe moves his hand down to your pussy and starts rubbing it through your panties.

"Mmm, you're so wet for me, baby," he says as he slips his finger inside you. You moan even louder as he starts to finger you. "Fuck, I want to taste you," Joe says as he pulls your panties off. He licks his fingers clean and then starts to lick your pussy.

You moan and writhe against his tongue as he eats you out. "Oh god, yes, yes, yes," you moan as he continues to eat you out. “Please, more, Joe.” You gripped his hair, you could practically feel him smirking against you.

"Mmm, yeah? You want more, baby?" he asks as he slips his finger back inside you.

"Fuck, yes," you moan as he starts to finger fuck you. He adds another finger and continues to fuck your pussy with his fingers.

"Oh god, please don't stop," you beg him as he continues to eat your pussy out and finger fucks it at the same time.

"I'm not going to stop until you cum for me," he says as he starts to finger fuck you faster. You could feel yourself getting closer and closer to cumming. "Oh god, I'm gonna cum!" you scream as you cum all over his face and fingers.

He keeps fingering you until you've finished cumming and then he stands up. "Can I fuck you, please?," he whispered against your ear as he placed more kisses against your neck.

“Please.” You breathed out impatiently.

Joe unbuckled his pants before lowering it along with his underwear showcasing his big hard on. You watch as he strokes his cock and then lifted your leg to wrap against him. He lines up his cock with your pussy and then thrusts into you.

"Oh fuck, you're so tight," he groans as he starts to fuck you. You wrap your legs around him and start to meet his thrusts. "Fuck, you feel so good," he says as he continues to fuck you. He picks you up and pounded you against the wall.

"Just like that. You’re so good for me, baby," he says as he pounds you harder. You can feel his cock throbbing inside of you as you bit the love of his ear, a whimpering mess, “Joe, harder.”

Joe did just that.

“Take it. Take it.” He slammed into you harder and harder, your nails digging into his back, you both moaned as you threw your head back in ecstasy.

"Fuck, Joe," you say as he continues to fuck you. "You're so fucking good." Joe started to fuck you harder and harder, his cock throbbing inside of you. He could feel himself getting close and he knew that he was going to cum soon.

"I'm going to cum," he says. "Do you want me to pull out?"

"No, just keep fucking me. I’m on birth control," you shook your head. "I want your cum inside of me." Joe smiles and continues to fuck you harder and harder. He can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, his cock throbbing inside of you.

"I'm going to cum," he says again. "I'm going to fill you up with my cum." You moan and push him closer against you, urging him on.

He can feel your pussy clenching around his cock, and he knows that you're close too. "Cum for me," he says, thrusting harder and faster into you.

You can feel yourself getting closer and closer to the edge, and then you finally let go, crying out as you cum all over his cock. Joe groans and follows suit, filling you up with his hot cum. He holds you tightly against him as he continues to pulse inside of you.

"I can’t believe we just did that," you say, kissing him softly. "You wanna get of here" he says, smiling down at you.

"Yes please."

You both get dressed and head out the door. You can't help but feel a sense of euphoria. You've just had amazing sex with someone who you just met but someone who makes you feel safe and comfortable.

And all the pieces fall

Right into place

Getting caught up in a moment

Lipstick on your face

So it goes

Leaving the enchanting sanctuary behind the bar, you and Joe walk out hand in hand, the cool night air providing a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the shared moments.

As you step into the night, you can't help but notice the subtle aftermath of your little moment and the whispered conversations. Joe's lips are tinted with a faint red hue, a playful smudge of your lipstick from an impromptu moment of closeness. You, too, wear the evidence on your lips, a charming reminder of the shared laughter and connection.

The onlookers can't help but whisper and gossip as you navigate through the lingering crowd. A few conspicuous lip marks on Joe's face and neck become the talk of the night, adding an air of mystery and intrigue to your departure.

Despite the whispers, you and Joe continue walking hand in hand, oblivious to the outside commentary. The city lights cast a gentle glow on the scene as you embark on the journey home, the echoes of the night's magic lingering in the air.

I'm yours to keep

And I'm yours to lose

You know I'm not a bad girl

But I do bad things with you

So it goes

A few months into the relationship, the dynamics between you and Joe have seamlessly woven together.

You, typically labeled as the good girl since childhood, have followed rules diligently, excelled at school, and cultivated a high-paying job. However, with Joe, a transformation has occurred. He's managed to unlock a side of you that, until now, had been carefully tucked away

In his company, you let loose, embracing a freedom that transcends the boundaries of the familiar. The structured life you once led now coexists with moments of spontaneity and laughter. Joe has become the catalyst, bringing forth the ‘bad’ side– a side unapologetically liberated and carefree.

The dichotomy between the good girl exterior and the liberated spirit within becomes a harmonious dance in your relationship. Joe appreciates the layers, the depth beyond the conventional labels, and you find joy in the uncharted territories of letting go.

I make all your gray days clear and

Wear you like a necklace

I'm so chill, but you make me jealous

But I got your heart

Skippin', skip-skippin' when I'm gone

The morning sun bathes the charming streets in a warm glow as you and Joe step into a quaint restaurant for a brunch date. The air is filled with the tantalizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and the gentle sizzle of brunch delights.

The restaurant exudes a cozy ambiance, adorned with rustic decor and soft, ambient lighting. Sunlight filters through lace curtains, casting a gentle pattern on the checkered tablecloth. The gentle hum of conversation and clinking of cutlery create a soothing backdrop.

Seated at a corner table, you and Joe peruse the menu, the anticipation of delightful flavors adding a spark to the atmosphere. The waiter arrives, and you both share playful glances as you place your orders.

As you wait for the food to arrive, the conversation flows effortlessly. The ambiance encourages intimacy, allowing you to share laughter and stolen glances, creating a shared world within the confines of the cozy restaurant.

The dishes arrive, each plate a work of culinary art. The flavors dance on your palate, and the occasional clinking of your utensils against the plate becomes a rhythm that accompanies your shared moments.

The scene is painted with the colors of love and the promise of the day ahead. The brunch date unfolds like a story, each bite a chapter in the narrative of your connection, as you and Joe savor both the delicious food and the joy of being in each other's company.

Amidst the delightful brunch spread, you and Joe find yourselves immersed in a conversation that effortlessly weaves between shared memories and future dreams.

Joe smiles, his eyes locking onto yours. "Remember that time we tried making pancakes together and ended up with a kitchen covered in flour?"

You chuckle, a warm nostalgia enveloping the moment. "How could I forget? We turned a simple breakfast into a floury battlefield. Good times."

The conversation takes a turn toward upcoming plans. "Speaking of which, any thoughts on that weekend getaway we've been tossing around?" Joe asks, his gaze filled with excitement.

You nod, enthusiasm mirroring his. "Mmm hmm. A change of scenery sounds perfect. Maybe somewhere with a beach or a cozy cabin in the mountains?"

Before Joe can respond, the waitress arrives, interrupting the conversation with a flirtatious demeanor. She directs her attention towards Joe, her smile overly friendly as she takes a moment longer than necessary to place the water glasses on the table.

"Hey there," she says, a hint of flirtation in her voice. "Anything else I can get for you?"

You exchange a knowing glance with Joe, and as the waitress lingers a little too close, you can't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the unwarranted interruption.

As the waitress hovers a bit too long, a subtle pang of jealousy tightens within. You've always been secure in your relationship with Joe, understanding that his charm might attract attention. You've been chill, confident that his heart belongs to you.

Yet, in this moment, an unexpected wave of possessiveness creeps in. It's not about doubt, but an innate response to the realization that your boyfriend, undeniably attractive, draws attention from others. The jealousy is fleeting but palpable, a twinge of discomfort you hadn't anticipated.

The waitress continues her lingering presence, focusing most of her attention on Joe. "So, Joe, do you come here often? I haven't seen you around before," she says, a subtle flirtation in her voice as she refills his water glass.

Joe, trying to be polite but sensing the awkwardness, replies, "Oh, well, it's our first time here for brunch. Heard great things about the food."

She smiles, leaning in a bit too close. "Well, I'm glad you chose to spend your morning here. You know, we have some special desserts today. Maybe I can tempt you with something sweet?"

You, sitting there, feel the tension rising, your jealousy now mingling with irritation. Despite Joe's efforts to redirect the attention back to you, the waitress continues to engage him, seemingly oblivious to your presence.

Reminding yourself of the love you share, you take a deep breath, letting logic override the momentary surge of jealousy. It's a reminder that even in a secure relationship, occasional pangs of possessiveness can surface, only to be soothed by the assurance that Joe is yours, heart and all.

Joe, maintaining his politeness, manages an awkward chuckle. "We'll have to check out those desserts, but for now, we're pretty set with brunch. Thanks."

As the awkward encounter with the waitress concludes and she finally leaves your table, Joe lets out a relieved sigh. "Sorry about that. She was a bit... persistent."

You smile, appreciating Joe's acknowledgment of the situation. "It's okay. People can be a little forward sometimes."

Joe reaches across the table, gently taking your hand. "You know I only have eyes for you, right, baby?"

Your gaze meets his, reassured by the sincerity in his eyes. "I do, but it's just one of those moments, you know? Sometimes, even when you know, a little reminder helps."

Understanding your sentiments, Joe smiles warmly. "I get it. And speaking of reminders..." He nods toward your neck.

You look down to see the delicate necklace, the chain adorned with a small pendant bearing Joe's name. It's a subtle yet meaningful piece he gave you, a constant reminder of the love you share.

"Remember the name you wear," he says, his voice gentle but filled with conviction.

As you trace the pendant with your fingers, you feel a renewed sense of connection. Joe's name against your skin serves as a steadfast reminder that, despite occasional external distractions, your bond is unshakeable.

The brunch may have had its awkward moments, but the shared glance and the necklace serve as anchors, grounding you both in the warmth of your relationship.

You smiled at the thought.

You did a number on me

But honestly, baby, who's counting?

I did a number on you

But honestly, baby, who's counting?

So it goes

dividers: @cafekitsune

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