#the way he has one arm kind of tucked into the other (to hide his tattoo) and his 'um' and how he just looks at her for a beat | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feyhunter78 · 1 month

Text

Think I'm Gonna Call it Off

Description: You have been Prince Aemond's secret for years now, but a certain visiting Stark opens your eyes to what could be.

Inspired by the line “think I’m gonna call it off, even if you call it love, I just wanna love someone who calls me baby.” From Good Luck, Babe by Chappell Roan

Part 2

This was ridiculous, you are a Lady of a fine house, virtuous, beautiful, intelligent, kind and your embroidery skills have been praised by Queen Alicent herself and yet here you sit waiting for Prince Aemond to return. To return and not spare you a single glance. Not until you are tucked away from the prying eyes of the court, until he is confident no one can hear your conversations.

You wonder if it is foolishness that keeps you sitting there, leaning against one of the many windows in the library, searching the skies for Vhagar’s great form set against the clouds.

You have rejected a number of suitors, worried your father and mother, made yourself seem all but undesirable in the eyes of the court, all because the prince swore that he would tell his mother. That he would announce to the whole of the realm that he loved you, and that you would be wed as soon as possible. He does not want a Valyrian wedding he said, he has no taste for it, he wants to honor you, honor his mother, and the Seven whom he worshiped.

“Lady y/n?” Lord Cregan Stark’s voice rolls through you like thunder, the deep baritone, the rouge northern brocade that made him pronounce your name just slightly different from everyone else, just enough that shamefully it makes you feel special.

You turn your head away from the towering window and give him a small smile. “Lord Stark, I did not expect to see you here.”

He returns your smile and leans against the wall; arms crossed over his chest.

Seven help you, he did have such strong looking arms, the sight of them never ceases to distract you. Even his thick tunic, and his dark-colored cloak could not hide them. Truly, everything about Lord Stark seemed strong. Queen Alicent said it is common of a Northmen, that they must be strong to survive the winters, while Lady Frey said it was the wolf’s blood in his veins. That all Starks had unnatural strength, speed, and stamina granted to them by the Old Gods. Neither woman’s explanation accounted for the man’s looks though.

Lord Stark is quite handsome, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones with a close-cut beard, more stubble than a full beard though, and gray eyes like a winter storm. His dark hair is around Prince Aegon’s length, though often tied back and much better cared for. His lips are full and healed, having been cracked and dry from the drastic change in temperature on his trip down south. A small scar runs through the corner of them, on the right side, giving him a more roguish appearance. He said he had gotten it as a child, playing around with his father’s sword. And he was tall, so, so tall, towering over you in a way no man has before.

Then he laughs, the sound warming you to the bones, making a blush rise to your cheeks. “Do not tell me you think me a barbarian, as the others do. I thought you knew me better than that, little fox.”

The name he has graced you with never fails to make your heart stutter and disrupt any coherent thought you might have had. It is a reference to your house sigil, you know that. But the way he says it, how his accent wraps around each syllable, makes it seem far more…intimate than simply a friendly moniker given to you by a man who does not know your customs.

Aemond calls you his, or some sweet term of endearment in High Valyrian in private, sticking to Lady y/h/n in public. You wish he would use your name, you have told him time and time again, even the Queen and Princess Helaena use it. You have been at the Red Keep for nearly a decade now, been in the Princess’ inner circle of friends for almost as long, it would not seem strange to others.

“Lord Stark—”

“Cregan, or Lord Cregan if you must add the lord, as I have told you before.” He corrects you, but not unkindly, his lips curling up into a fondly exasperated smile.

“Lord Cregan, I did not mean to imply I believe that libraries were not your preferred place to spend your time, only that I thought you would be joining the other men on their hunt.”

He glances out the window towards the Kingswood. “And I would think you would be taking tea or sewing with the other ladies.”

You have been caught.

“Ah yes, well, as you know, Prince Aemond is to return today and Princess Helaena asked me to keep watch. She loves her brother very much but has to entertain the other ladies so could not watch for him herself.”

You pray Helaena will forgive you for involving her in a lie.

Cregan hums low in his throat and his eyes flicker to you, picking you apart. “Did she now?”

You nod, not trusting your own voice.

“The prince is lucky to have such a vision of beauty to return home to.” He says, running his eyes down your form, drinking in every detail with something akin to reverence? Though you know you must be seeing things. Cregan Stark would not look at you in such a way, there is no reason to.

“Princess Helaena is quite beautiful.” You agree, trying to keep an air of propriety around you even as your mind screams at you to flee for fear you will say something utterly stupid.

Cregan reaches out, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a moment caressing your cheek. “Aye, but she is not who I speak of.”

You? He means you?

You duck your head, cheeks warming once more. “You flatter me.”

He shifts forward, invading your space, the scent of forest air and woodsmoke filling your nostrils. “Is it flattery if it is true?” He is so close, still a respectable distance but close enough that you can reach out and touch him, can feel the warmth radiating from his skin.

“I believe that is a question for the maesters.” You tease lightly, your heart pounding in your chest.

“You are a smart girl, little fox, I am sure you can figure it out.” He teases back, a glimmer in his eyes that excites you.

No one teases you; no one jests or challenges you like Cregan does. You assume it is because they all know Prince Aemond has claim on you, or because you are a lady, but you are educated, and strong-willed, you enjoy a good challenge. You enjoy Cregan speaking to you like an equal.

“Truth is relative, as they say.” You offer, cocking your head innocently, barely able to keep a smile off your face.

“Aye, some say. Though your beauty is truth, relative or not. Surely you must know that.” He counters.

“Vanity is not a virtue.” You say, meeting his gaze. The storm gray of them has softened to a dove gray, mirth dancing within them.

“Neither is lying and yet…”

“Are you accusing me of lying, Lord Cregan?” You gasp in mock outrage.

“About knowing that your beauty is what every man dreams of returning home to? Yes.” He says, his tone light and blithe, but his words, and the way his eyes darken for a moment? It takes your breath away.

“Your beauty, little fox, is one that haunts men’s dreams, that keeps them fighting when they are the last standing. That they keep in their mind as they clash swords, traverse through snow and sea.” He continues, holding your gaze, voice no longer light, but heavy with intent and promise. “It is a beauty one wishes to see the moment they return home before all else, or any others. A beauty that should be admired in all lights and shadows. The setting of the sun and its rising, the summer days and winter nights, one to be cherished.”

You break away from his gaze, a twinge of sadness in your chest. Aemond has never spoken to you in such a way, he has waxed poetic about your beauty, flattered you, lavished you with sweet words, but it has never felt the same as Cregan’s did now. Guilt replaces the sadness, and you toy with the edge of your sleeves. You should not be engaging with Cregan in this way, it was not right, even if it made you feel…something. “You are too kind, My Lord.”

Cregan reaches for you, breaching what was proper, and taking your hand in his. They are so much larger than yours, so warm, so gentle. “Have I spoken out of turn?”

“No, no, I am just—I am a maiden of the South, Lord Stark, I am not used to such forwardness from a man I am not courting with.”

“Honesty, it is honesty, though I apologize for my forwardness.” Cregan says, subconsciously stroking the back of your hand with his thumb.

“Either way, I am not used to it.” You say heart calming with each stroke of his calloused thumb.

Cregan’s brows furrow. “I have heard tales of—the other noblemen, they speak highly of you. Of your beauty, your kindness, your wit, are they all struck dumb by your very being, is that why no one has praised you as you deserve?”

You feel you should say something about Aemond, but what could you truly say? There is no formal betrothal in place, he has not publicly staked his claim beyond a possessiveness that those who spent enough time in court could see. But nothing is ever outwardly stated.

You go to speak, but Cregan stops you. “My apologies, I should not have asked such a thing, how are you to know what lies within the minds of man?”

“You are correct, I do not know their minds.” You say instead and bury down any explanation involving Aemond and his invisible claim.

A dragon roar fills the air, the window vibrates with the force of the sound, and your eyes shoot back to the window. Prince Aemond is home.

“Or they fear the mind of one man and thus hold their tongues.” Cregan says, releasing your hand.

“The prince? I—he—we…it is not—” You cannot get the words out fast enough.

“I will take my leave.” He says, remaining for a moment searching your face until it seemed he had found what he is looking for, and left.

You watch him go, admiring the strength in his stride, when he turns back, a strange look in his eyes. “At the feast tonight, might I have a dance?” He asks.

“With me?” Your heart is pounding against your chest.

He nods.

Footsteps rush by the open library door, and you can hear Princess Helaena calling out to Prince Aemond.

You stand, smoothing out your skirts with shaky hands, why did he make you so nervous? Or is not nerves, but excitement? “Of course, Lord Cregan, I would be honored.”

“I will hold you to that.” Cregan smile, then he disappears down the hall, and you are left alone to hurry after the princess.

Aemond does not call for you until hours after he has returned. When you knock on the door to his chambers, dressed already for the feast, he bids you to enter in a soft voice, exhaustion tinging each word.

You hurry to his side, clasping one hand between your own. “My Prince, I cannot tell you how happy I am that you have returned safely.”

He uses his free hand to cup your cheek, that half smile, half smirk he wears so well on his well sculpted face. “I was only gone for a mere moon, and I was never in any danger, did you doubt your Prince, ñuha nūmio?”

“No, of course not, but…you would not tell me where you were going, no one would.” You say, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

“That is simply because it was not information you needed.” He says, brushing the pad of his thumb across your lips.

“But if I am to be your wife, would it not be prudent if I were to know where my husband is?”

Aemond’s eye, a brilliant amethyst, hardens, then he looks away and sighs. “Lady y/h/n I have told you patience is a virtue, and your virtue is what I adore most.”

You bite your lip, internally chastising yourself. You know better than to rush him. “My apologies.”

Aemond frees your bottom lip from between your teeth and brushes his lips across your forehead. “Do not take my words so harshly, your eagerness is quite endearing, and I to wish for us to be wed, but it is not yet time.”

You lean into his touch, “I understand.”

“How have you been amusing yourself while I was away, ñuha nūmio? Did anything exciting happen?” Aemond asks, his thumb resting beside the corner of your lip.

“Not much, it seems you had taken all the excitement with you. Though as you know Lord Stark’s arrival has caused quite a stir and now two moons later still is. Many ladies are jockeying for the position of Lady of the North.” You tell him, giggling at the memory of some of your friends’ actions.

“But not you?” Aemond asked, his tone making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up.

“No, I am yours, why would I wish to be Lady of the North?” You reassured him, brushing back a lock of silver hair from his face.

For a moment, you are struck with the feel of Cregan’s fingertips, rough and calloused but gentle against your skin. The warmth of his skin, the softness of his gaze, the earnestness of his words. What was he looking for when he stared into your eyes, when he took in every detail of your face?

“If you are too distracted, you may leave, My Lady.” Aemond says, the irritation in his voice drawing you from your thoughts.

“No, no, I am not, I am just so happy you have returned.”

Aemond hums in acknowledgement, dressed in his feast finery as well. “I have missed you.”

Your heart flutters. “I have missed you as well.”

He releases your chin to trail his fingers down the column of your neck. His cool touch causes goosebumps to follow in his wake, and he dips his head low to press his lips to your cheek, then begins to follow his fingers with his lips. “I have missed you, your voice, your smiles, your touch.”

You shiver in response, grabbing onto his doublet.

“Do not touch, you will wrinkle the fabric.” He warns, even as his hands grip your waist.

You remove your hands, clasping them behind your back.

“I will not be able to dance with you tonight, mother has brought another girl for me to try and charm.” He says, into your skin, his silver hair brushing against your exposed décolletage.

Your heart sinks. “Not even one dance?”

Aemond sighs and presses a final kiss to the hollow of your throat. “You know I detest it as much as you do, but it is my duty.”

You nod, blinking back the tears that threaten to appear on your waterline.

He smooths down your hair and turns you towards the door. “I will try to find time for one dance, but I cannot make any promises.”

His words lift your spirits, and you smile at him. “Thank you, Aemond.”

“Prince Aemond, we have guests tonight.” He reminds you, then he shuts the door, and you hurry back to your chambers.

The Great Hall is decorated beautifully, and you sit at your table with the other ladies of Helaena’s circle. A wine glass in hand as you watch Aemond dance with Cerelle Peake, her brown hair pinned up with a net of gold and sapphires, her umber gown flowing beautifully as she twirled.

“Come now, y/n, you will never be asked to dance with such a scowl.” Johanna Swyft says, poking your cheek goodnaturedly.

“No, she will never be asked to dance because the prince glares at anyone who tries.” Mina Redwyne says, clinking her glass against yours in silent sympathy.

Johanna shoots her a look. “Do keep your voice down, Mina.”

You take a long drink from your glass, emptying it, then setting it down, scanning the crowd for another servant. “Perhaps I do not wish to dance.”

“I am crushed to hear that Lady y/n.” Cregan’s presence makes every lady at your table sit up straight, and you turn to face him.

“Lord Stark.” You say, bowing your head in his direction.

He holds out a hand, and you remember how it nice felt, the phantom warmth still lingering. “I do believe you agreed to a dance, earlier today?”

“Lucky.” Mina hisses, as Johanna juts her elbow into your side to prod you up and out of your seat.

You stand, and take his hand, trying to ignore the twinge of pain in your side. “I did.”

Cregan leads you to the dance floor, and you can hear your friends giggling behind you, much to your utter embarrassment.

“Your friends seem quite encouraging.” Cregan says, barely holding back a laugh.

“When they learned I have no sisters, they decided that they would act as such, apparently that means acting in a most embarrassing way.” You say, falling into the rhythm of the dance.

“I knew you had brothers, but I did not know you were the only daughter, that must make you very precious in your father’s eyes.” Cregan ventures, his large, warm hand pressed to yours as you circle each other.

“I would like to think so.” You smile, your heart aches for a moment with homesickness. “He could not attend this feast, he is too ill to travel, my eldest brother is here on his behalf, accompanied by my second-eldest brother who is here to drink and presumably enjoy the Silk Streets.”

“I never had a taste for brothels.”

“Nor I.”

Cregan smiles and twirls you. “I thought not, for I have heard you are far too virtuous.”

You shrug. “It is more, I do not wish to spend the coin.”

Shock flashes across his face then he laughs, repeating your words quietly with a chuckle, and as you are spun back into his arms you cannot help but laugh as well.

“You are clever, little fox, I will miss you when I return home.” He says, his eyes searching you once more.

Your heart stops, and you trip over your feet. “You are leaving?”

His grip on you tightens as he helps you right yourself. “Aye, I have here for two moons, that is far too long, my people need me.”

You do not want him to leave, you will miss him dearly, his laugh, his expressions, his stories. You will miss the walks you had taken together, the discussions that ran late into the night, just outside your chambers, the men standing guard pretending they were not listening. The way he presented you with the pelts of animals he had hunted, regaling you with the tale of how he felled it. Who would challenge you now, who would make you laugh, would listen to your words, and respond as if you were an equal, as if your sex did not diminish your intelligence?

“When will you leave?” You ask, unable to keep your voice steady, so you spin away from him to give yourself a moment to smother your emotions.

Cregan pulls you back into his arms, trapping you with his steady gaze. “In a few days time.”

“Oh…” You manage to choke out, swallowing hard, your eyes on your feet.

“I have been meaning to tell you, there just never seemed to be a good time.” Cregan says sheepishly.

You nod, still staring at the floor. “Well, I will miss you.”

“I will miss you too, y/n,” he says softly, then he slips a finger under your chin and lifts it gently. “In all lights, in all seasons.”

Tears blur your vision, and you hastily blink them away, not even noticing he has said only your given name, no title attached. Cregan’s warm thumb catches any stray tears that fall, and you lean into his touch, desperate for more of that something he had made you feel before. That something you realize he was always making you feel, and that he is making you feel right now, though it is tinged with grief. “Cregan, I—”

“Lady y/h/n, I believe I promised you a dance.” Aemond’s voice is steel, ice, the frigid fear that ran through the veins of Vhagar’s victim, and you hurriedly wipe away any remaining tears plastering on a false smile, before you turn, Cregan’s other hand still on your waist.

You drop into a curtsy. “My Prince, that you did.”

Cregan’s hand lingers, and your heart lurches in your chest when the warmth of it is finally removed.

Another song has begun to play, one you love dancing with Aemond to. It allows for close movements and lingering touches that you always long for with him.

“I thought you did not wish to be the Lady of the North.” He says, his eyes picking you apart as Cregan’s did but there is a cold methodical feel to it that makes you feel utterly and horribly exposed.

“He was merely being kind, no one else had asked me to dance.” You protest, falling into the rhythm as you had before.

“No one else should, you are mine.” Aemond say, spinning you out, and then back in.

His hands burn through your gown, your skin, meeting bone, and before you would have loved it, relished the feeling, but now you feel they are too hot, your skin prickles uncomfortably.

“I like to dance; I do not get to dance when you are occupied, and you are often occupied.” You say quietly, your head bowed ever so slightly.

“I had them play your favorite song, as a reward for your patience.” He says, ignoring your words. “Do you like it?”

“I do, thank you.” You smile and raise your head, hoping to catch his eye and find it brimming with affection. That would soothe your wounded heart, would banish the grief you feel at Cregan leaving.

Instead, his eye is elsewhere, you follow its gaze to see it land on the Peake girl. You do not blame her, do not hate her, though your blood turns to fire in your veins, and you brace yourself for what you are going to say next.

“When are we going to be wed, I have been patient for many years, and you never tell me when my patience will be able to end.” You say, holding your chin high. You are not a Peake, but you still have pride.

His eye flicker back to you, his grip tightening. “Are you truly asking this now?”

“Yes. Yes, I am, because I am tired of waiting, tired of watching as you charm others, tired of being shunted to the side because even though you will not claim me, no one else is allowed to.” You can no longer keep your emotions contained. “I want to be happy Aemond, I want to be happy with you, but I am not happy.”

“Not everything is about your happiness, Lady y/h/n.” Aemond snaps.

You reel back as if you have been struck. “I did not say it was. You have been the one saying you wished to marry me, promising me you would tell the whole of the realm how deeply you care for me. I have done nothing else but dote on you and be patient.”

Guilt flashes across his face, and he reaches for you, but you push his hands away. “It is not so simple.”

“Do you see my face in your dreams, does it keep you fighting, keep you marching on, am I the first person you wish to see when you return home, do you wish to see me in all lights, in all seasons?” You throw Cregan’s words in Aemond’s face and wait for a response.

Aemond laughs, taking your hands, and bringing you back into the dance. “You have picked up a new book of poetry, I see.”

You cannot find it in yourself to be angry, the shock settling in, muffling everything until it is as if you are floating underwater. The rest of the night passes that way, you go through the motions, avoiding Cregan, your friends, shooting you concerned looks.

Then the feast ends, guards escort those too drunk to find their chambers, all others dispersing to their places for the night, or into Fleabottom for more revelry.

You try to sleep, but it will not come, Cregan and Aemond’s words echoing in your sleepless mind, until finally you throw off your blankets and wrap a robe around your nightshift.

You creep through the halls, no true direction in mind, letting your feet take you where they wished, when a flicker of umber catches your eye. Pressing yourself behind a pillar, you wait a moment then peek out.

“Lord Stark, might I be allowed to enter?” Cerelle Peake’s voice is soft, as was required for the late hours.

“Lady Peake, might I ask why you wish to enter my chambers?” Cregan asks, his words thick with sleep. His hair is loose, his night shift exposing his broad chest.

“I thought perhaps you might enjoy some company.” She says, as she takes a step towards him, moving to run a finger down his chest.

Cregan catches her hand and gently returns it to her side. “I do not wish for your company, Lady Peake. Please return to your chambers quietly, and I will not speak with your father about this.”

Cerelle scoffs and turns on her heel, storming down the hallway. You wait until Cregan’s door closed then follow her.

Halfway there, you know where she was going, you have walked these halls many times. Not wanting to further your own pain, you turn back to your own chambers, but your feet disobey you, and you find yourself in front of Cregan’s door.

You knock before you could stop yourself and the door swings open, a tired and angry Cregan standing before you. “Lady Peake, I do not need any comp—” His words die on his lips as he realizes it was you and not Cerelle. “Y/N?”

“All those things you said, about my beauty, about me, did you mean them? Truly?” Tears prick at the backs of your eyes, your chest tight, your bottom lip trembling.

Cregan rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Do not tell me you woke me only to hear more flattery.”

A sob escapes your lips. “I thought you said it was truth, not flattery.”

Cregan snaps awake, pulling you into his arms. “Little fox, I am sorry, I was half asleep, yes, yes, it is truth.”

You cling to him, gripping his night shirt, your face buried in his chest as you sob, every fear, every pain spilling out into his warm embrace. “Tell me you meant it, that you see me in your dreams, that you want me, in all lights, all seasons, that I am not destined to wait forever for someone to love me.”

“I love you, y/n, I love you, you do not need to wait, I will tell you as many times as you desire. I meant it, all of it, you haunt my dreams, you plague my waking thoughts, I want you in at any time, in any manner, or light, or moment I can have you.” He says, his voice is steady, and you can feel the vibrations of it deep in his chest, alongside his beating heart.

“I want to go with you to Winterfell, I want to be your Lady of the North, or even just your mistress if my house is not a good enough match, Cregan I do not care. I love you and all I care about is that we are not parted, that we are never parted, I do not think I will be able to breathe if we are parted.” You confess, looking up at him afraid to see what you saw in Aemond’s eye.

Cregan cups your face and kisses you, the taste of honeyed ale on his tongue, his hands warm as he keeps you close, using his foot to kick the door closed so he can press you against it.

Now in the safety of his chambers he breaks the kiss, your breaths intermingling. “You will not be a mistress, you will be my wife, none will come before you.”

“Will you tell your people, will they know?” You ask, your lips brushing against his with each word.

“I will wake the whole Red Keep to announce it now if you wish.” He says, his forehead resting against yours.

You reconnect your lips with his, his stubble brushing against your skin, but you pay it no mind, letting Cregan devour you, his hands moving into your hair, as you loop your arms around his neck, keeping him close.

He groans against you, his tongue tracing the seam of your lips, delving in when you part them and exploring every inch of you. “My little fox, my y/n, my wife, my beautiful, clever wife.” He presses the words into your skin, heated lips trailing down to your pulse point.

“Husband.” You sigh, tilting your neck further exposing yourself to him, his teeth sinking into the skin claiming you as his own.

“Say it again for me, my wife, tell me who I am.” He breaths, sucking, and nipping at your neck, returning to darken the marks between creating new ones.

“You, Cregan, my husband.” You say, eyes snapping open when he releases you and stalks over to the window.

He threw it open and stuck his head out, shouting. “Y/N Y/H/N, is to be my wife.”

You rush forward and pull him from the window with a scandalized giggle. “Cregan it is the middle of the night.”

“Then at the very least a few guards heard.” He says, pulling you close and kissing you again, in full view of the window, the moon, anyone else who might look up, and it is exactly as you want it.

I lied in the comments imma do a part two I’ve given into the peer pressure stay tuned my loves!!!

HOTD taglist: @nyctophilic0vitnir, @svtansdaddyx, @fan-goddess, @dc-marvel-girl96, @shintax-error, @bellameshipper, @the141bandicoot, @the-phantom-of-arda, @haydee5010, @partypoison00, @serrhaewin, @issshhh, @pax-2735, @malfoytargaryen, @sahanna, @dellalyra, @mxrgodsstuff, @jkhomes, @unusual-raccoon, @boofy1998, @kravitzwhore, @caribbeangel, @krispold, @issshh, @afro-hispwriter, @ryswritingrecord, @prettykinkysoul, @elissanatok, @sahvlren, @its-sam-allgood, @happinessinthbeing, @8e-h-e8, @feyres-fireheart, @just-emmaaaa, @crazylokonugget, @hedahobbit98, @devils-blackrose, @mercedesdecorazon, @snh96, @imjustboredso, @izzicle, @hiatuswhore, @aslanvez, @devils-blackrose, @yentroucnagol, @queenofshinigamis, @partyposion00, @cryptidsrcool, @jennifer0305

#meg's writing #hotd #aemond targaryen x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark x you #cregan stark x y/n #aemond x reader #this one is so long omg #it hurt me to write Aemond like this I love him so much #cregan stark

586 notes · View notes

fairyhaos · 9 months

Text

how seventeen hug their s/o

requested by anon : "Hi! If you are still accepting requests (I'm literally so scared that I've read it wrong) can I request how svt would hold you or cuddle you? Something like that? I'm feeling very soft (and a little touch starved ahaha). Sorry if I've misread!!"

notes: this turned into what kind of hugs svt give their s/o which is kind of the same thing, but a little to the left (?) enjoy anyways haha <3

masterlist

seungcheol

hugs where he wraps you in his arms and pulls you into his lap. when you want a hug, you want to feel safe and protected, and this is something he's found out through late night talks with you and tearful breakdowns where you finally admit what you really want. his arms are fully around you, keeping you in his embrace, and you're all curled up in his lap and it's the safest place you can be, surrounded by seungcheol and his sturdiness and his reassurance. he keeps you there for as long as you need, letting you fall asleep in his arms before he too dozens off, cheek against the top of your head

jeonghan

hugs where you curl up really small and feel warm. whenever you've had a bad day and appear in the doorway of whatever room jeonghan is staying in, he'll look up at you and smile, opening his arms and allowing you to run to his side almost immediately. he wraps one arm around your shoulders, the other around your waist, pulling you into his side, your head tucked under his chin and ear against his chest. you're bent over double, knees pressed into his side, but in this way you can hear his steady heartbeat and feel his warmth encompassing you.

joshua

hugs that are the softest things in the world. joshua gives hugs often, side hugs and brief hugs and celebratory hugs where you pull away after a few seconds. but when you need a hug, need to feel his arms around you, he smiles and his eyes soften and he pulls you towards him almost delicately, one arm around your torso and the other cupping your nape as he cradles the back of your head and guides you to hide into the crook of his neck. it's gentle, soft, sweet in the way only joshua can be, before his fingers find your sides and he starts tickling you until you're laughing and screaming and completely having forgotten your sadness from earlier

junhui

hugs that feel like being on top of the world. his hugs are almost unintentionally romantic, where he either holds you delicately or wraps you completely into his warmth and his scent so you feel like burrowing into his neck and staying there forever. he's always willing with his hugs, albeit a little surprised most of the time, where his eyes widen as you tap him on the shoulder before his face lights up and melts all at once before he's immediately wrapping a hand around your wrist and pulling you against his chest, laughing and wrapping his arms around you and hugging you in just the way that you needed in that moment to feel like everything would he okay

hoshi

hugs that knock the wind out of you and knock the love into you all at once. he hugs with his entire being, with everything he has, and soonyoung's being is something that's incredibly all-encompassing and incredibly comforting to fall into. he hugs you in a way that makes the rest of the world fall away, as he hugs you tight against his chest and rocks you back and forth, making nonsense noises or spewing compliments or simply laughing and rubbing his cheek against the top of your head. he's sweet with his hugs, sweet and bright, and make you well and truly feel all of the love he holds for you

wonwoo

hugs that feel like coming home. wonwoo has some sort of inherent ability to be able tell when you want a hug even before you realise yourself. he'll silently come into your room while you're working yourself up into a meltdown at your desk, and he'll just envelop you in his lavender scent and his soft sweater, chin resting against your shoulder, arms around your neck, his voice nothing more than a low rumble in your ear. he doesn't have to say anything, and his presence alone is enough to reassure you that he's here for you, that he knows you're going through something but he'll stay by your side, no matter what.

woozi

hugs which make your heart swell and your head feel all light and giddy. woozi's hugs are quick affairs, and so, so rare, so it makes you smile widely every time they happen. he'll wrap an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into his side, squeezing your upper arm and kissing your temple lightly before letting you go, and it's all light touches and gentle warmth and his own pleased smile lifting his lips as he walks away, but it's the most beautiful thing ever and knowing that you're someone who he deems worthy of his hugs and his kisses? it's the most wonderful thing in the world.

minghao

hugs where the whole world quietens and all that matters is the fact you're in his arms. he has delicate limbs, delicate touches, and as his arms wrap around you and you fall into his lap, his lips are a gentle pressure next to your ear and his fingers are light warmth that trace patterns along your back, all fluttering comfort and a promise of treating you as the most precious thing in the world. he holds you for as long as you need, keeping as silent as you desire, and there have been endless accounts of you falling asleep against his shoulder, and he's never offended, because the peace in your expression reassures him that he's helped you feel better

mingyu

bear hugs. hugs where he practically gathers you all up into his arms and holds you like he never wants to let you go, where he buries his face into your neck and presses soft kisses there before pulling away slightly to smile at you and then hugging you tighter once again. they're hugs that help you see that he's here, he's with you, he's real and he's not going away. mingyu is always so warm, and that makes him the best for hugs like this, where you can feel the love and warmth radiating off of him, both figuratively and literally. maybe it gets a little suffocating after a while, but neither of you are moving because it makes both of you feel so loved.

dokyeom

hugs that sweep you off your feet. literally. he loves hugging you, loves showing you affection in all physical forms, and you've been a subject to his flying hugs multiple times, where he runs towards you and scoops you into his arms and spins you around until you're both laughing and your hands cradle his face and you lean down to press your lips together. he's always smiling, always beaming as bright as the sun, but when you're in his arms he's smiling impossibly wider, tightening his arms around you and wanting to make sure you feel how much you mean to him and how happy you make him.

seungkwan

hugs that remind you that he loves you above all others. his hugs are always accompanied by a kiss on your cheek as he pulls away, and yeah he's gonna get teased by the others but it doesn't matter, because it's you, and they're all just jealous that he doesn't kiss them on the cheek. he's hugging you all the time, side hugs and back hugs and everything hugs where he hugs you with his entire being. he always lets go after a few moment, and he'll complain when you pull him back in, but he's laughing and his arms are wrapping around you once more and really, if he could have his way then he'd continue hugging you until the end of time

vernon

hugs where you simply lean into him and he becomes your support. hansol can tell when you're close to breaking point, where you feel like the whole world is going to collapse onto your shoulders, crushing you with its weight, and that's when he comes up to you, offering his shoulder, unflinching as you melt into him or collide into him, depending on how you feel. there's no other moment in which you'd let him hug you in this way. it's not even a proper hug: just your head in his shoulder, his arm around yours, but it feels so much more relaxing than any other hug. simply having him beside you, having him as your pillow and your pillar means everything to you.

chan

hugs where it feels like he's trying to mould you into his being so you never have to leave. he hugs tightly, but also warmly, and you can almost feel the thumping of his heart in his chest because he's pulling you so close into him. they're hugs that ground you into reality, that remind you he loves you, that he is absolutely and utterly gone for you and wants you to never leave his side. they're hugs where he whispers the cheesiest things into your ear, all ticklish and adorable until it makes you burst out laughing and try to squirm out of his grasp until he hugs you even tighter, never planning to let you go.

request guidelines

reactions tags: @jeonginssa @magicaltonaru @weird-bookworm @minhui896 @turningcarat @zarara @bunnyiix @slytherinshua @haowrld @belladaises @summery-bat @newgirlygirl @moonlitskiiies @ejspencer14 @mirxzii @wonranghaeee @saythename-chess @yonabutnotyuna @youthoughtiwasfeelingyou @crackedpumpkin @wqnwoos @sunshinekyeom-sang @ocyeanicc @zozojella @thesmellofcoffeeandrain @kthstrawberryshortcake-main @kawennote09 @a-wandering-stay @icyminghao @nananacomeonnnn @valenhui @sweet-like-caramel @hansolaria @gam3bo1z @marisblogg @evasaysstuff @odxrilove @kyeomyun @chansburgah @pepperonijem @jeonride @kellesvt @butiluvu @hanniehaee @sakufilms @immabecreepin @astrozuya

1K notes · View notes

ellievickstar · 3 months

Text

Pretty Lies

A/N: THIS THOUGHT STRUCK ME AS I THOUGHT OF THE MEME SO LIKE BEAR WITH ME FOR A MOMENT OKAY??? also i gave up valentine week, i want to write a lot does not mean i want to stick to a schedule.

Summary: Cassian has some questions about you and Azzy's relationship, and because you are both very private people you choose not to answer Cassian truthfully, but what will happen when he decides to test your answer out?

Request: Nope.

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Warnings: Fluff. I'm in my soft era okay??? shush. This is set before even Amarantha so somewhere between the first war and the curse.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Cassian glanced between you and Azriel, both of you had been speaking through the mating bond, thus it was mostly silent. Truth to be told, your bond was quite new and Cassian had not really heard you both interact with each other since you both confessed your love.

"Hey...I have a question," Cassian spoke up, raising his hand slightly. You cocked your head curiously, waving a hand to encourage him to continue.

"Do you guys use pet names?" Glancing at Azriel, he shrugged.

"No," You said simply.

Narrowing his eyes, Cassian internally scoffed. He did not buy it, not for one moment. Azriel may have been the most quiet among the three of them but he knew for a fact that Azriel was probably the most affectionate behind close doors. Azriel cared in a way that was quiet, a way that did not draw attention. The smallest details that hinted to the fact that the shadow singer cared more than he let on.

Cassian nodded to himself, he would reveal your lies and expose them for what they are, this was his true purpose in life.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

His plan commenced during dinner.

Waiting for the proper moment to strike, he suddenly piped up when you and Rhys were deep in conversation, Azriel was listening to Amren closely as she complained about how boring her life was now.

"Hey, Y/N, what do bees make?" Cassian asked slyly. Hesitating for a second, you gazed at him before answering, "Honey?" It was then that Azriel suddenly said, "Yes, Sweetheart?" Mor exploded into laughter, Amren hummed her amusement and Rhys grinned like a wild cat.

Blushing a deep red, you turned your head to hide your face in Azriel's arm, his hand coming up to stroke your hair while your body shook from trying not to laugh, his lips curling up into a smirk.

"I KNEW IT," Cassian screamed, "YOU LIARS TOLD ME YOU DIDN'T USE PET NAMES, HOW COULD YOU LIE TO ME," Wincing at how loud he was, Azriel shot Cassian a pointed glare in which Cassian quieted down, sulking slightly as he dramatically collapsed back in his chair, clutching his chest from 'heartbreak'.

"I'm sorry Cass, but you're not the most...subtle person," You tried. You were trying to not snicker and be kind about it but he gasped louder. "I can be subtle. I am soooo subtle," He rolled his eyes.

"So if I told you I found my mate would you be calm?" Rhys joked. However, Cass's eyes widened at Rhys, his eye balls seemingly almost popping out. "I'M THE LAST ONE LEFT WITHOUT A MATE????"

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Bonus:

"Never lie to my face every again," Cass whined, chuckling you nodded, Azriel's wing tucking you closer to his side, ready to scoop you up once you were done talking to Cass so you could retire home for the night.

"I promise I will tell you every detail, even how Az-"

"NEVER MIND!"

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

A/N: hope this was fun to read heheheh see y'all next time <3

Azriel taglist: @chessebookgirl (if you guys want to be tagged in any character fics please tell me and I will happily add you <3)

#acotar #acotar fandom #acosf #azriel shadowsinger #a court of silver flames #a court of mist and fury #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel fluff

739 notes · View notes

charliemwrites · 6 months

Text

Part 7 of Charmed Slasher Simon

CW for gore and violence. No smut (yet) this part was already long enough so I’m saving it for part 8

The carpets are drenched in blood, squish beneath Simon’s boots as he toes a lifeless arm out of the way. Headcount: 5 dead, 6 to go. And you for last.

You, wide eyed and paralyzed as you recognized the skull mask from nearly a year ago. Your manager had to drag you off. Simon’s going to cut his fingers off one by one for that.

Your coworkers are such easy prey. Hapless in the dark with a snowstorm raging outside. Huddling first for warmth and now from fear. You’re trying to gather everyone up; strength in numbers. Not a bad idea. But Simon’s faster and quieter and he’s been picking them off one by one.

The ones you’ve always liked he gives a quick death. A hot spill of blood before they even realize they’re dead. The others though - ones that have reported you to HR, badmouthed you to the boss, so much as stolen a pen. Those he’s been taking special care with, dooming them to long, slow deaths that you always stumble upon too late to do much more than cry and hold their hands.

Oh you’re so pretty like this. It really is the best of you. Too kind for your own good, all that altruism useless against a tidal wave of violence. He loves to watch you be so good.

It’s three more before he finds you again - separated from that manager. All on your own. Simon will have his guts for that as well, since he’s not using them.

He lunges at you, just slow enough that you can duck away as his knife thunks against the wall. Your eyes are so big; he can see the reflection of the mask in them.

You scramble away without looking back like the smart girl you are and Simon grins to himself as he takes his time following. There’s a yelp and then a thump, your quiet curse. Simon rounds the corner but you’re long gone - the smeared blood from you slipping though…

His cock twitches. You, covered in the blood of his victims, your own coworkers…

He rips the mask off and tucks the knife away as he hears voices up ahead. His name in a harsh whisper. He puts on the same terrified look he’s seen a million times, crouches down as he wobbles around the corner.

“Riley!”

You choke off a sob as you stumble to him, hands reaching. He catches you fast, eyes flicking over your shoulder to find Brandon trembling behind the couch.

“Where have you been?!” you murmur, eyes flicking over his face, his body. “oh, god you’re covered in blood!”

“‘S not mine, luv.”

You sniffle, shaking hands gripping at his forearms. “I-it’s awful. I don’t know why this is happening again.”

“It’ll be alright, I’ll keep you safe from him.”

You give him a half-hearted smile. Simon mirrors it, putting on his best survivor face.

“How do you know it’s a ‘he’?” Brandon asks.

Simon levels him a flat look. “Caught a glimpse of him gutting your manager. Big fucking bloke.”

You whimper; he’s all too happy to bundle you in his arms, stain you in crimson. From the other side of the couch, Brandon is staring. Hard.

“Where have you been?”

“Hiding. Like you.”

You pull away, frown at Brandon in confusion.

“Where?” Brandon persists.

Simon narrows his eyes in warning but the wormfood doesn’t take it back.

“Wherever I can,” Simon answers. “Like you.”

“Then why are you covered in so much blood?”

You step between them, as if you could do anything if they did start fighting.

“Brandon, what are you getting at?” You ask. “You don’t seriously think…?”

“Well where the hell did all that blood come from then?!”

Simon scoffs, puts a little hysteria in it. “You think I did all this?! You think I - that I-”

Except once he starts laughing in disbelief, he can’t stop. It’s just too funny. This idiot that can’t recognize something that doesn’t belong to him has Simon clocked in less than five cumulative minutes. Meanwhile, you’ve been orbiting around him like a little moon for months and haven’t had so much as an inkling.

“I can’t,” he chuckles, shaking his head. “I can’t keep a straight face. Never was much of an actor.”

The blood is draining from your face as you stare at him, warring with denial burning in your eyes. He coos, slips the mask from his back pocket and waves it in front of your face.

“Been too long since we last did this, eh, luv? Better venue than the hospital at least.”

You whimper, too frightened to even cry properly, all that water and energy going into survival. He takes a single step forward and grins as you nearly trip over yourself getting away.

“Careful, luv. I want a proper chase from you this time.”

But first-

“If you stay right there and give her time to run, I might not flay off all your skin.”

And the fucking coward bolts. Simon tsks in disgust, pulls the mask over his face.

“Looks like you didn’t learn the lesson last time,” he muses to you. “Your friends haven’t got any better. I’ll have to find another way to make the lesson stick.”

You pivot and dart around the couch, sprinting for the same doorway Brandon went through. Simon merrily follows, hopping the couch and letting his boots land hard to warn you that he’s right behind you.

You take sharp corners and double back, thinking that his larger size will make it harder to change directions. It would be smart in any other situation, against anyone else. But this is Simon, and he’s letting you stay just out of reach. Only tugging at your clothes when it seems like you need an extra boost.

As you’re passing through a doorway, there’s an ominous creak. A huge grandfather clock that nearly slams into Simon. You don’t dare look back, taking the next corner and disappearing.

Simon looks up at the landing where the clock used to stand. Brandon is leaning over the railing, white knuckled and despairing. Simon cracks his neck, rolls his shoulders.

“Alright then.”

#cod #my writing #fanfiction #dark fic #reader fic #charmed slasher ghost #final girl reader

858 notes · View notes

honeyedmiller · 5 months

Text

A Burning Desire part one

firefighter!joel x f!reader

series masterlist

rating: 18+, minors dni.

warnings: joel miller au, fluff, mutual pining, reader is a tad bit shy, sort of a slow burn, tons of flirting, reader gets into a serious car accident (but they’re fine i promise), mentions of minor cuts, bruises and disorientation from car accident, brief mentions of blood, no use of y/n. some descriptions of the car accident may not be suitable for everyone to read, so please be weary of this if you choose to read on.

word count: 3.1k

synopsis: you meet a handsome firefighter on a day where everything just feels… different.

a/n: would you believe me if i said this au has been in my drafts since october of last year? it’s a miracle i actually finished it. i scrapped the first idea i had for this au and switched it to this instead. hope you enjoy!

divider by @saradika-graphics

Today wasn’t like most days.

Something had felt off. It wasn’t necessarily a bad feeling, but a feeling was there, idling in the depths of your very being.

Maybe it was the way the summer sun was actually shining instead of a roaring thunderstorm rolling through Austin. Maybe it was the way you’d woken up to the sound of mourning doves, the birds you swore you hadn’t heard since childhood. Maybe it was the pleasant walk you had taken to your local café, multiple strangers smiling at you along the way.

Or, maybe, it was the handsome stranger behind you in line at the café that had caught your eye.

You didn’t mean to look intentionally. You just happened to have wandering eyes, enjoying the cozy atmosphere of Rosemary’s Roastery before your gaze settled on him—the incredibly handsome stranger behind you in line.

You did a once-over, subtlety not your strong suit today. You immediately noticed he was in navy blue slacks with a black leather belt holding them up at his waist, and a navy blue shirt with Austin FD printed on the upper left corner.

So he was a firefighter.

His kind brown eyes caught yours, and time fucking stopped when he smiled at you. You felt your face heat, tossing him a shy smile before turning back around.

The barista called you up to the counter, and after you gave her your order, you quietly asked if you could pay for the gentleman behind you. She nods with a smile and you wait at the other end of the counter for your drink.

You watch as the firefighter orders his drink, bewilderment crossing his features when the barista told him his drink had already been paid for. He nods slowly with a smile, tucking his wallet back into the front pocket of his slacks.

He walks over to the other end of the counter, a shoulder length away from you before turning to you.

“You didn’t have to do that, darlin’.” His sweet Southern accent dripped like honey through your veins, warming you in a way you didn’t think was possible.

“It was– uh– no big deal.” You shrug, and he chuckles before crossing his arms over his chest.

Christ was he broad. His thick biceps strained against the navy blue fabric of his shirt, tan skin glowing under the soft lighting of the café.

The veins on his forearms were prominent when he flexed his arms with every subtle move. And, god, he was so tall.

Aside from his dark brown eyes, he had a defined jaw that was sprinkled with graying stubble and a mustache above his dark pink lips to match. His nose was strong and angular; something of a Greek god himself. His hair was dark brown with grays strewn in, the only indicator of his age. If you had to guess, it’s between mid thirties to early forties.

He quirked a brow at you, hiding his amusement poorly as you checked him out.

Yeah, subtlety definitely wasn’t your strong suit at all.

“So what’s your name?” He asks, and you open your mouth to speak before the barista calls your name out to indicate your drink was ready. You sheepishly smile up at him as you thank her and grab your iced coffee.

“Guess that answers that,” He chuckles, holding out his hand. You slot your hand in his and he gives yours a shake. “I’m Joel.”

The barista called his name as well, and he thanked her as he grabbed his coffee.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” You pull him back in for conversation, deciding to throw all of your shyness behind you. “So, firefighter?” You ask, and he looks confused for a split second before he looks down at his t-shirt.

He rolls his eyes at himself with a huff of a laugh. “Was thinkin’ you were psychic for a second before I realized my uniform says it clear as day.” He laughed at himself, and it was incredibly infectious.

You couldn’t help but admire the crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. You were so enamored by someone you just met, allowing yourself to indulge in the warm feeling you got in your belly when you talked to him. Never in your life have you experienced this, but the way he made you feel just a few minutes into some small talk had you yearning for him to stick around.

“My brother and I joined the academy together and now we work at the same station.” He’s thoughtful when he speaks, a telltale sign that him and his brother might be close.

“That’s really cool. Bet it’s fun working beside him.” You say lamely, internally cringing at yourself for your awful attempt at flirting.

He doesn’t seem to notice, and thank god for that.

“It is, when he’s not bein’ a pain in my ass.”

“Younger brother I’m assuming?” You guess, and Joel looks at you quizzically.

“Alright, y’sure you’re not psychic or somethin’?”

You smile and shake your head. “Not at all, Joel. Just good at picking up context clues.”

“What about the one where I was gonna ask a gorgeous stranger for her number?” His teasing tone warms you, and you bite your lip to suppress the face-splitting smile that was threatening to spill onto your lips.

“Who’s the stranger? Lucky girl she is.” You play along.

“Some kind samaritan who decided to pay for my much needed coffee this fine summer morning.” He hums, leaning against the wall next to him.

“Mm. In that case,” You reach over to the section with the fixings for drinks, grabbing a napkin. You pull a pen out of your purse before scribbling your name and number on the napkin, handing it to Joel. “There you are.”

He waves the napkin in between both of your bodies, eyes alight with happiness.

“Definitely usin’ this to text the gorgeous stranger n’ ask her on a date.”

“Lucky girl. Hope she’ll say yes.” You nudge him softly.

“I hope she does too,” He grins, looking down at his watch-clad wrist—green band with a black and gray face. His brow furrows and he sighs, taking another sip of his coffee. “‘M real sorry darlin’ I gotta jam. My shift starts in twenty minutes.”

“No worries, Joel. Hope you have a good shift.”

“Thank you darlin’. I’ll keep in touch.” He holds up the napkin with a smirk, turning to walk out of the front door.

You watch as he walks to his truck before exiting the side door, walking back to your apartment.

“Does this mean you have a date for my wedding?” Your sister asks excitedly on the other end of the receiver.

“Seriously? I just met this man today.” You roll your eyes and continue jotting down grocery items you need to stock up on on a pad of paper.

“So what? If you guys hit it off that quick then maybe he’d wanna tag along.”

“You do realize that he’d have to meet the whole family, right? I wouldn’t subject him to that. Plus, we’re getting too ahead of ourselves. I don’t even know if this is gonna go anywhere yet.”

“Oh come on. Live a little. Let yourself be happy for once, sis.” Your sister is persistent, you’ll give her that.

“I was fine being single before our small interaction this morning, and I’ll be fine at your wedding without a date too. I’m fine.” Which is sort of true, sort of a lie. You didn’t mind being single, because, hell, it had its perks.

But another part of you—deep, deep down in the depths of your being, so badly wanted someone to give a shit about you in a romantic sense. You yearned for someone to hold you, someone to do cheesy shit with, someone that you could call home.

Your sister sighs on the other end of the line. “I know you’re Miss Independent and all, but you need to learn to let go of the reins a little bit. The world won’t end if you give up an ounce of control.”

You hated when she was right. Your sister, being a few years older than you, always had the superiority complex with I told you so’s plastered across her forehead.

You couldn’t deny the truth, though, and the truth was you really needed to let yourself have this. Let go and unashamedly let this kind, handsome man take you out on a date. Let him sweep you off your feet. Let him treat you right, because it’d been few far and between since a man has done that for you.

If the way you felt around him this morning was any indication that you should just relinquish control, that was it.

“Fine. But I’m still not inviting him to your wedding.”

And your sister laughs heartily, making you crack a small smile.

“Right. I gotta go, but keep me updated on him!”

“I will. Love you.” And she says it back, hanging up the phone. You sigh and stare down at your grocery list, continuing where you left off.

Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzed again. A text from an unknown number.

Unknown number:

This wouldn’t happen to be the pretty stranger I met at Rosemary’s this morning, would it? ;)

You laugh at the text, biting to suppress a growing smile as you type a response.

You:

Depends, is this the handsome firefighter who put the number on the napkin to good use?

You saved the number under ‘Joel’, finishing off your list before you received another text.

Joel:

Sure is, sweetheart. Although I wouldn’t necessarily say ‘handsome.’ Glad to know the number you gave me wasn’t fake.

You:

Me? Give you a fake number? Now that would just be downright stupid of me, wouldn’t it?

Joel:

Stupid how?

You:

Why would I give up an opportunity to get to know a (yes, very handsome, by the way) man such as yourself?

Joel:

You flatter me, sweetheart. I’m glad we met this morning.

You can’t contain your smile anymore, having half a mind to drive down to the fire station to see him in person again.

You:

I’m glad we did too, Joel.

Joel:

Watcha up to right now?

You:

Heading for the grocery store :) I need to restock a bunch of stuff. How’s your shift going?

You double check your purse for everything you need before you stuff your grocery list and phone into your bag, grabbing your keys before locking up and heading out.

The drive to the grocery store was only ten minutes. Emerald Eyes by Fleetwood Mac softly played through the speakers in your car, and you wondered briefly what kind of music Joel liked to listen to. You smile softly at yourself at the thought of him once more, shaking your head as the light turned green. You had to get a grip.

And then, halfway through the intersection, a loud crash had sounded. It took you several seconds as shock and adrenaline coursed through your body that you realized you were the one who got hit. You hit your head on the driver’s side window, a throbbing pain nearly unbearable sprouting within seconds. Your car spun out, glass shattering everywhere and airbag deploying as you gripped onto the steering wheel for dear life.

“Shit shit shit!” You cry, and once your car was at a stand still, you tried your hardest to look out at the scene to decipher what happened. You know your light was green, so someone must’ve run the red.

Other civilians pulled over and gathered around the accident, and you hoped someone was calling 911. Your vision became blurry as your head was pounding, and you groaned in pain as you tried to open the driver’s side door of your car. Your limbs felt like steel. You were shaky as you attempted to shove at your door, but you realized the door was stuck. You were trapped in your car.

Panic started to seize your whole body until you heard the faint wail of sirens.

Good. Someone called for help. Good. Good good good, you repeated in your head.

The sirens started to get closer, and you heard people shouting once the firetruck, ambulance, and cops arrived on the scene.

Joel’s seen many nasty accidents before. The most gruesome, heart wrenching things nobody should ever have to see.

And yet, he didn’t feel panicked when he was rescuing people, being the hero everyone claims he is. But when he saw that the woman who got hit was you, he started to internally panic. He seized up at the sight of you with tears in your eyes, blood dripping down the side of your face from the cuts of shattered glass.

“We gotta get her out of there. Tommy, hand me the jaws.”

“Joel, we need to wait for Cap’s orders.”

“I’ll get them myself.” Joel grits, passing by his Captain to grab the jaws.

“Miller, what are you doing?” His Captain asks, and Joel looks at the man.

“I know that woman in that car. Her door is stuck.” Joel’s desperate eyes trail back to your totaled car, and his Captain nods.

“Have Tommy help you.” He says, and Joel nods. Joel motions for Tommy to follow him.

“Hey sweetheart,” You hear Joel’s voice, and you swear you’re hallucinating until you see he approaches your car in a hurry. “We’re gonna get you out, okay? I promise you’ll be out soon.”

His voice is soothing, and a sob leaves your throat at his familiar, kind face.

“You’re gonna hear some loud creakin’ but it’s jus’ me gettin’ the door open.” He warns, and a few seconds later you hear the loud groan of metal being pried with something sturdy. The door pops open a minute later, and Joel reaches over to unbuckle your seatbelt before lifting you out of your car. His muscles ripple beneath you even through all of his gear, careful not to jostle you too much. He didn’t know the extent of your injuries, but he was hoping they weren’t too bad.

“Hey, you’re okay darlin.’ I got ya. Let’s let the EMT’s check you out to make sure you’re okay.” Joel places you on a stretcher while the EMT’s get to work, asking you a bunch of questions that you try to answer. You’re still a bit shaken up, but they concluded that you’d be fine. You only had a few cuts and bruises, and they cleaned up the blood swiftly.

You were fine to walk, so Joel gently draped a blanket over your shoulders as you sat on the ambulance’s bumper. He sat down beside you and sighed as you both looked out to the other car that hit you. A police officer came up to you and asked for your information, letting you know the person who hit you was texting and driving.

“Are they okay?” You ask the officer, and she nods.

“They’ll be fine. You both got very lucky today.” She says, walking off to talk with the few other officers on the scene.

“You okay?” Joel asks, and you look up at him. Worry is blatantly evident in his eyes, and it makes you melt. You just met this man hours prior and he cares about you much more than you probably deserve.

“I’m fine. ‘S gonna fucking suck trying to find a new car, though.” You huff a laugh, and Joel grins as he stares down at his hands knotted in his lap.

“Listen, I know we just met n’ all, but seeing you like that in your car scared the hell outta me, n’ I’d never ask a lady for permission to kiss her before the first date, but I just—”

You lay a hand on his arm, a smile on your face as you try to stop his rambling. Your sister’s words from earlier replayed themselves in your head: You need to learn to let go of the reins a little bit. The world won’t end if you give up an ounce of control.

And so you did just that. It was time you stopped worrying about the consequences of falling, because fuck did you deserve happiness. You had quite the hunch that Joel could give you just that.

Any man that saves me from being trapped inside of a car, is a man I’ll let kiss me anyday.” Your voice is gentle as you look at him with a burning desire.

And he does. He smiles softly and leans in, his plush lips enveloping yours in a steady, calculated motion.

You’d be a goddamn liar if you said you didn’t feel like you were floating. You gasped softly into the kiss, and a knowing smile curled onto Joel’s lips as he pulled away in the slightest.

“I feel it too.” And his lips are on yours again. You thread a hand through his thick locks, deepening the kiss marginally, until you hear a throat clear before you.

“Really, Miller?” One of his coworkers said with a shit-eating grin, and a man, who’s name you think is Tommy, pipes up as well.

“Ah, so this is the woman you’ve been talkin’ my ear off all day about. Nice to meet you darlin’, I’m Joel’s brother.” He sticks his hand out and you shake it while introducing yourself, turning to Joel after with an eyebrow raised.

“Talking about me all day, hm?” You tease, and his cheeks burn bright red. He clears his throat and waves his hand out in front of himself, brushing you guys off.

“Whatever.” He mumbles toward Tommy and his coworker, and they laugh as they begin to walk away.

“It’s alright. I was talking about you today, too.” You avow to him.

His eyebrows raise in shock.

“To who?” He asks.

“My sister.”

“Mm. N’ what’d she have to say?” He questions, leaning in closer to you once more.

“She said I should give it a shot with you.”

“Really? And what do you think about that?” A smirk makes its way onto his plush lips, and your face heats at his question. You decided to be honest with him anyway.

“Told her I’d give it a shot.” You bite your lip to keep from smiling too hard, heart thumping in your chest as a low chuckle rumbles through his throat.

“‘M real glad y’did, sweetheart.” He presses his lips to yours once more, butterflies raging through your whole body. Your veins are pumping with excitement and adrenaline, reveling in the man that is Joel Miller.

Today really wasn’t like most days, but the unwavering sweetness from the handsome stranger behind you at the café truly was the start of something more than you could’ve ever wished for.

if you want a part two, lmk!

tags: @party-hearses ; @ilovepedro ; @nostalxgic ; @cool-iguana ; @tinygarbage ; @bastardmandennis ; @amanitacowboy ; @punkshort ; @pamasaur ; @nerdieforpedro ; @brittmb115 ; @joelsranchbaby ; @lovely-ateez ; @nandan11

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller one shot #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #firefighter!joel #Joel Miller au #joel miller fanfic #joel miller imagines #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader

779 notes · View notes

seiwas · 4 months

Text

₊˚⊹｡ —let's play it again | geto suguru

wc: 1.6k

summary: you don’t see why this good thing should end, so you negotiate.

contains: implied f!reader but no pronouns used, non-curse!au, fuckboy!suguru, vague descriptions of sex

a/n: a part 2 to fuckboy!suguru inspired by those reels/tiktoks of couples capturing confessions in photo booths 🥺 + an early birthday gift for @irisintheafterglow!! he's a lil softie in this one 🥺 i hope you like it my dear iris!!

part 1 <- you are here

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

There’s a reason why Suguru always wins—

At the slightest indication of a loss, he withdraws, slipping out at just the right time before it’s considered a forfeit.

In this game with you, he removes himself quietly, like a ghost haunting your memories. It’s the day after the seventh time he’s spent the night when he cuts contact. Calls, texts, everything.

You don’t understand any of it; what you had was good—messages you can’t stop replying to, scratches down the length of his spine, fingers threading through the silk strands of his hair; that kind of good. You don’t see why it should end, don’t want it to.

So you negotiate.

Bundled up in your favorite coat and the scarf he never returned for, you corner him in the crisp chill of an autumn afternoon. He’s wearing that damn leather jacket again, black turtleneck high to hide his skin from what you hope is the cold and not from you.

His gaze continues to reel you in, obsidian pools you could sink into. He still smells of apple and tonka bean; you know the cedarwood won’t hit until he’s walked away, trailing the air he passes through.

There is so much you know about the man in front of you, how he hides his surprise by clenching his jaw; Suguru’s tell is never his eyes, it’s his lips—its sudden movements, the lift of a smirk down to the constriction of his throat.

“Did I do something wrong?” you ask, brows furrowed and arms crossed, a little anxious.

“Not at all.”

He swallows his lies every time he utters them, does it twice when he’s nervous.

His Adam's apple bobs two times.

(He doesn’t tell you your mistake: that you made it so easy to want mornings and nights spent entirely with you).

So, you negotiate a rematch; a deal to go back to the way things were.

If by the end of the next six months, neither of you want anything to do with the other, he wins and you’ll never speak to him again. But if you win—

He agrees.

(If he nips it at the bud, proves there isn’t anything more to this feeling and gets over you before he ever has to, then it’s a whole world of pain he’s avoiding—a whole web of attachment he’s never been used to making).

The rematch finds you learning a new side to Suguru.

He’s still charming, eyes dark and voice honey smooth when he speaks. His hands still know you best between your sheets, grabbing hold of your hips and molding you as he squeezes the flesh when you reach your peak.

There’s still freshly made tea sitting on the kitchen counter when you wake the morning after, its temperature the perfect warmth you know he’s mastered. Dinners are still your favorite, and he continues to lean in instead of asking you to speak louder.

Your contact is in his favorites, everyone else unanswered.

He’s still the same Suguru, except—

The apples of his cheeks flush warm pink when you call him cute instead of handsome; he stutters the first time he sees you dressed up for the new year countdown. And when he lingers those few seconds before kissing you, you swear you catch the corners of his lips curve up into a small smile.

He stays awake for a bit after sex. You know because you feel him next to you, finger feather light as it trails down the slope of your nose to your lips; then he kisses your forehead, completely innocent, pure, as if he wasn’t just inside you.

It’s a softness to him he’s never shown you before, less mysterious and more genuine.

You learn that he keeps mementos and photos all over his room, either aesthetically displayed or safely tucked inside boxes; that he holds onto the things that remind him of the people he’s let in his life, even when they’re gone—especially when they are.

He loves snacking, biscuits with tea especially, nuts second, and fruits third. When he reaches over one afternoon, cracker pinched between his fingers to feed you so casually, you freeze momentarily.

But you shake it off quickly, biting it from his fingertips while you smile brightly. The Suguru you know always looks at you directly, but this one coughs before blinking one time too many.

He swallows twice.

(The voice in his head tells him this’ll do the trick; he’s bared himself to you, mr. mysterious and cool signed out and replaced with none other than just plain Suguru).

—you like him even more now, you think.

On the fifth month of this whole ordeal, you bring Suguru to a photobooth.

You figure that if he wins, at least he’ll have this remembrance of you.

It’s old fashioned, one of those booths that only print in black and white—a time capsule of nostalgia, a place that feels of love captured through stills in time.

You tell him it’s a late birthday gift from you, a last hurrah for your cutest winter outfits. The end of a season before a new one begins.

Velvet slips through your fingers as you push the curtain to the side, and you bow your head to step in with Suguru close behind. The set-up is fairly simple: a bench, the camera, a touch screen to keep it modernized. You can take a total of eight shots, to be printed later into two strips of four—one for you and one for him, you figure.

It’s a bit cramped when you settle into the seat, soft cushion sinking further once Suguru follows next to you; for a man over 6 feet, dressed loosely in wide pants and layers of blazers, you’re surprised he even managed to squeeze himself to fit in this tiny space.

You zip your jacket up until the collar, fleece tickling the corners of your fingertips. The earmuffs you’re wearing act as a perfect statement piece while simultaneously keeping your hair from flying.

It’s a bit unsettling, but Suguru’s been quiet since you got here—watching, observing.

(Even while you’re setting up the timer, suggesting poses he’s nodding off to, he focuses on you entirely, tilting his head subconsciously.

You’ve been heavy on his mind lately—all the little things about you he can’t help but notice more intently.

You must be the sun’s lover, how your eyes seem to reflect every beam of it, warming him even in the winter. He’ll never understand what you mean when you say you hate how your hair looks in the morning, baby hairs sticking up and curling around the edges of your forehead; to him, you always look lovely. There’s honesty, in every breath and word you give him—something he’s not used to, something he isn’t well versed in.

Since giving this another shot, he’s tried to shake you off, put down his front to show you a Suguru so far from the one you know, from the one that first attracted you—all in the hopes of you dropping him.

Of you conceding to make him win.

But he’s realizing—

You call him cute when he’s only ever been handsome. And you laugh at his jokes, all the good but especially the bad ones too; you’ve been complicit to one or two pranks on Satoru. Sometimes at night, he clings onto your body, tucking you within him and draping his leg across your hip bone—he’s a human furnace but you let him engulf you entirely.

He doesn’t expect you to remember that he loves soba, that he’s dreamt of perfecting all forms of martial arts since he was seven. He doesn’t expect you to remember that he prefers hot showers, so he can step out on the tiles to feel contrast so strikingly cold.

You shouldn’t know this much about him, and yet you do.

—there’s no one else he’s been this genuine with.

So when you peer at him smiling, earmuffs resting cozily by your ears, his eyes soften, face relaxing as the corners of his lips curve up into a small grin.

Flash!

He says it, mouth forming the syllables around his words. You tilt your head, confused, eyebrows furrowing because you can’t hear him.

Flash!

His hand reaches for you, pushing your earmuffs to slide down the back of your head. It lands to rest around your neck.

Flash!

“You win.” he says, loud enough to fill the space of the booth.

You still don’t quite get it, brow raised in puzzlement.

Flash!

So he grabs your hand, interlacing his fingers with yours before he repeats himself again.

“I said, you win.”

And the look on your face when it registers, how your eyes glisten like glints on a sunshower; how you give him the prettiest smile that has his heart running for miles.

He’s confident he’ll always remember this version of you, thankful that he has evidence of it as the camera goes off into another—

Flash!

Tears well up in your lash line; one blink and they’ll fall. You’re smiling so hard he wonders if your cheeks are hurting, if you’ll want him to massage them the way you smooth out the knots between his shoulder blades.

Your hands remove themselves from his, only to replace the heat on his face.

Flash!

Then you kiss him, lips crashing onto his. you taste of pomegranate—the lip gloss he can’t resist.

His hand finds its way around your waist, spreading itself to support your back as he dips you, pressing against you harder. While his fingers slot themselves in the junction between your ear and jaw, your hands fall to his chest, gripping the lapels of his blazer.

Lips smacking, sliding. A breathy smile.

Flash!

When you part, his forehead rests against yours, the proximity holding you nose-to-nose.

Suguru’s never felt this kind of peace—he hopes the camera captures it, how contentment looks on his face in moments like this with you.

Flash!)

You step out of the photobooth hand-in-hand, collecting the photo strips from the dispenser; it’s your souvenir after all, a tangible evidence to remind you of the deal you made—

—if you win, he’s yours.

thank you notes: @mididoodles for helping me through this 🥺 + @twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat for all the support always!! + @mysugu @soumies bc when i think of sugu i think of u both... 🤧

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

#suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #suguru x you #suguru x yn #suguru x y/n #geto x you #geto x yn #geto x y/n #suguru geto x you #geto suguru x you #rated #suguru #jjk #shotorus.workbook

661 notes · View notes

tasteracha · 1 year

Note

pleaseeeeeeee write something about minho's long hair, i'm begging and freaking out 😫😫😫

a/n: oh i’m screaming. this ask was made for me. i can’t do this. i’m going to go more feral than i already AM DHSKDJDHD

your hands tangle into his hair, strands of it spilling out of your fingers as you pull him closer to you. it’s so soft, silky and pillowy in your grip, unlike the way his teeth scrape over the skin of your throat.

his lips don’t leave your neck as he lines himself up at your entrance, collecting your juices on him to make the slide easier. his cock passes over your sensitive clit and you arch up into him, bucking your hips against his.

“in,” you gasp, repeating the action when he properly bites your neck and sucks at the spot. “inside of me, now.”

he leans over you with a chuckle, tufts of his dark hair falling over his face and shrouding him in darkness. his glinting eyes are peeking through the strands, catlike and squinted as he takes you in. his face goes slack as he sinks into you, eyelids fluttering closed in pleasure as he rocks into you slowly. his hair follows his movements, swinging back and forth as he moves in you, and you can’t help but be transfixed by it.

your hand moves to tuck a bit behind his ears and you revel in how red his ear has turned. the lock slinks back out as quickly as it was tucked away, spurred on by how he’s started to fuck into you faster. you’re rewarded with a soft moan when you scratch a bit at his scalp and his movements stutter a bit. you try out a tug, a small piece of his hair locked between your fingers, and he gasps. that’s new.

he moves back to look at you with wide eyes, his cock forgotten and hard inside of you while he stared at you in reverence.

“do that again,” he says, breathless. all hints of his precious confidence, his casual humor as he makes you fall apart under him, are done. you do what he says, taking more of his hair into your hand and pulling, harder than before. his entire body shudders as he collapses against you, head pressed into your neck to hide his whine as his hips pick back up in a harsh rhythm.

usually, he loves to take his time with you, making you shake apart several times before finishing, your pleasure overriding his. but now, with your hands tangled into his long hair and tugging at it, his movements are almost wild as he fucks into you with a rare kind of desperation. he comes in you at the same time as you do, when you pull especially hard as you clench around him over and over. the room is filled with your moans twisting around each others’, pants and groans escaping into the air in bright colors.

you release your hands as he pulls out, the sight of him almost sending you into a spiral. his hair is a mess, carefully crafted strands mussed up from your work. his face is flushed, a war of embarrassment and pleasure making itself known.

“well,” he says, moving down your body until he’s a hair’s breadth away from your pulsing core. “looks like you discovered something new. don’t you think you deserve a reward, kitten?”

he dives in, lapping up his own release from your body, his tongue feeling perfect on your aching pussy. his hands move to grasp yours, guiding them to land on his head.

oh.

with his permission granted, you twine your fingers back into his hair like they belong there, pulling his head further into you and chasing your pleasure. he moans against you, the hum of it sending vibrations sparking up your spine.

even when it becomes too much, when your oversensitivity takes control and every stripe of his tongue or brush of his lips makes you buck up, he keeps going. your hands fist into his hair, trying to tug him off of you but he just groans into you and keeps going, one arm reaching up to brace against your hips, holding you down against the bed.

when you’re both laying in bed, teeth brushed and showered and in clean clothes, you tug experimentally at his hair. you can’t help the smile that takes over your face when he inhales sharply, sharp eyes flickering over you.

“careful,” he drawls out, pulling you into him and trapping your hands between your bodies.

you’re definitely using this knowledge to your advantage from now on.

#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids drabbles #lee know smut #lee minho smut #lee know imagines

3K notes · View notes

avocado-writing · 4 months

Note

Okay, I've had this idea bouncing around in my head, waiting for you to reopen suggestions, haha. How do you think the Origins Companions + Halsin, Rolan, Dammon, and Zevlor would react if they found out that Tav had been hiding a very serious injury from them? The kind of injury where Tav is convinced that they're fine and they don't want to worry anyone with something they can handle on their own, especially the people they care most for, but as they try to ignore the injury it only gets worse until it's potentially life threatening and they can't keep up the facade anymore. I will leave it up to you whether or not Tav and the other individual are in a romantic relationship. I think both ways have potential for wonderful angst 😆

ooohhh noooooo! but also oh yes, LOVE this sort of angst lol. written as if you have had an infection come on from an injury. this is gonna be a long list so let's buckle up...

Astarion

really tries to hide his panic but fails miserably.

can't help but start snapping - how could you keep something like this from him?

you try to give your excuses but he waves them away, angry, but mostly because he's terrified that he might have lost you.

if he has any healing potions he helps you take them, if he doesn't he immediately... sources some from somewhere.

holds you as tight as he dares, worried that he will aggravate the injury otherwise.

as you begin to heal and drift off to sleep he spends the whole night watching you rest, making sure that you're still breathing, still safe. doesn't mind when you cuddle up to him in the night, sleepily.

Gale

curses himself for not noticing your condition. he's a wizard, damn it! he's meant to be bloody perceptive.

wishes for the first time ever that he didn't just know wizard spells. wishes he knew how to heal, too.

makes you as comfortable as he can while he finds a book about what he can do for an infected wound, probably swallowing his pride and going to Shadowheart if it's bad enough.

you manage a weak, "Gale, you don't have to--", and he cuts you off, "if you're going to insist that I don't have to look after you, I'm telling you that I do."

fixes you something to help with the pain and infection, makes sure you drink it all despite the horrid taste, then tucks you into his bedroll to let you rest.

when you go to reach out and cuddle him he slips into your arms, presses his lips to your hair, and whispers as you fall asleep about how much you scared him. about how he'd never be able to lose you.

Lae'zel

only realises how unwell you are when you fall over mid-journey.

"tsk'va! why did you hide the extent of your injuries from me?"

hauls you onto her back and carries you back to camp, muttering about your foolishness the whole time.

makes you comfortable in her tent and uses her knowledge of githyanki medicine to help start healing you.

it isn't comfortable as she works on your infection but for the first time you feel her hands being soft rather than vicious.

"you should not have kept this from me." "I know. I'm sorry." "hm. ridiculous thing. zhak vo'n'fynh duj."

goes and intimidates the camp into being quiet so you can rest. it works. this is the nicest she's ever been to you. you could get used to it.

Shadowheart

obviously this is not a huge problem for her, but she is still worried that it got so far without her noticing.

immediately heals you, pouring far too many spell slots into your body in order to get it up and running again.

it helps, immediately breaking the fever you've been nursing, and the touch of Shadowheart's hand to your face is cooling and reassuring.

"lady shar teaches us to embrace our pain... but not like this. you should have known better. you could have died."

her hand slips down to cup your cheek, you cover it with one of your own. she's telling you off but you can tell it's because she cares.

"I'm sorry that I scared you." "I know. don't do it again."

she smiles and the ache in your heart is lifted, too.

Wyll

panics.

you collapse on day in camp and he immediately calls on the others for help, not so proud as to be unable to admit when something is out of his knowledge. he is not a healer. he needs help.

he manages to catch you in his arms as you tumble, hugging you close to his chest while magic is worked or a healer checks you over.

lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding when you begin to stabilise.

helps you back to your tent to rest, gently chiding you but letting you know that he's glad you're alright.

when your hand weakly comes up to touch him, he indulges you in a kiss to let you know how relieved he is.

constantly watching you on the battlefield from that moment on. if he can help it, you'll never be hurt again.

Karlach

another panicker.

scoops you up in her arms and holds you to her chest, running to the tent of the nearest healer in camp - or, if you're in the city, kicking down the door of a local doctor.

begging the healer to check you over, but is reluctant to let you go. if she stops holding you it's like she's relinquishing control and that scares the life out of her.

you're healed and she feels you start to stir in her arms, peppering you with kisses of relief, choking through her tears that you're never to scare her like that again.

carries you back home, even if you're totally capable of walking. she just wants to make sure you're okay.

Halsin

sternly disappointed that you didn't tell him, but more annoyed that he didn't notice something was wrong himself. how could he not see how out of balance with nature you were?

squirrels you away to his tent to heal you, make you soothing and medicinal teas, his big hands over the source of the infection.

you burrow into his touch, into his chest, and you end up sitting in his lap as he heals you.

he wants to tell you off a little, but is more relieved that you're alright. encourages you to share all your burdens with him.

kisses you on the forehead, then on the mouth when he's sure you're strong enough for it not to knock you flat.

Dammon

my poor boy is just a blacksmith, so though he doesn't exactly panic, he does scoop you up and try to find a healer as soon as he can.

waits quietly and nervously as you are examined, silently cursing himself for being too busy to see how you were hurt. he's meant to be better than this. he's meant to love you, how didn't he notice?

when you come to he can't stop apologising, and it takes several of your kisses to soothe him and tell him it was not his fault but yours.

he makes you promise that you'll always tell him when you're hurt. has you look into his eyes and swear it.

he can't do much on the battlefield but he can protect you where he can.

Rolan

another one cursing that he doesn't know healing spells.

"you aren't meant to die, gods damn it! you're meant to be strong... what good am I if I can't keep you safe..."

rushes you to the best doctor in Baldur's Gate. pays for all the treatment that you could need. holds your hand at your bedside for your entire recovery... until you come back to consciousness, of course, at which point he just starts telling you off for being stupid enough to get into his mess in the first place.

you grab him by the collar and drag him down for a kiss. that finally shuts him up. but he never lets you forget how foolish you were.

Zevlor

practical but still worried about you.

you collapse in the field and he finds a safe place to hide the both of you from dangerous eyes, using his Lay on Hands ability to channel his magic into healing.

you try to apologise but a finger to your lips silences you, and all you can do is watch in quiet wonder as he burns the infection out with his Paladin's light.

when you're better he gently chides you. tells you that you have people relying on your leadership, and that a problem shared means there are more heads working on how to fix it.

when he sees how sorry you are lets you cuddle into him. when you say you'll repay him, he insists your happiness and well-being is enough for an old warrior like him.

does take the kiss you offer, though. he's been wanting to do that for a while...

548 notes · View notes

norrisleclercf1 · 4 months

Note

I was wondering if we could get mafia max or Lance

A/N: Mafia Max with his twin boys, in the mood to write cute Mafia Dad Max.

"Boys, you better be dressed by the time I get in there," Max tucks in his white dress shirt, his legs draped in black dress pants that has you looking at him very sinfully. "Max, they're 6." You whisper, lying in bed as your husband stops and stares at you.

"You know, I love our boys, but sometimes I hate that they make me leave, you," He leans over the bed ghosting your lips, "In bed," He closes the gap, and you can't help but moan feeling the way his hands grab at your hips.

"Daddyyyyy!" Max groans and pulls away and you giggle, patting his chest. "You did promise to take them with you today," Max nods his head and turns, "I'm coming Casper, just give Daddy a minute." Max yells and turns, giving you one more deep kiss. "Daddyyyyy, Casper is making a mess."

You pull back laughing and Max huffs as he spares you one last look. "Better go, Fabian will make a bigger mess." Max nods and walks out of the bedroom and down the hallway to the boys room. "Casper, stop. Fabian, help your brother clean." Max is stern, but kind as he gives his boys a kiss each on top of their heads. Max watches as they start to clean up all their toys but stands knees clicking as he starts to help them.

"Daddy, do we get to see Uncle Danny today?" Fabian asks, eyes, his eyes staring right back at him wide and pleading. "Yes, I'm taking you two into work today." Casper squeals and Max's knees give at his weight tugging it down. "Yes, yes I know. Now, go give your mother a kiss goodbye while I pack your lunches." Casper and Fabian run off and your laughs blend together.

Making his way downstairs he shoos off his maid and grabs everything he needs to make the twins lunch. Backing two turkey sandwiches with the respected cheese they both liked and right amount of mustard and other things. He grabs their favorite cookies, one Oreos the other Chips Ahoy.

Casper runs down and holds his hands up smiling. "What do we say, Casper?" Max asks, knowing he was going to do it anyway, but Casper still needed to have his manners. "Hug, please Daddy?" Max nods and bends down lifting Casper with ease and continues making their lunch. Finishing it off slices of apple for Fabian and grapes for Casper.

"Daddy? Are you doing bad things today?" Casper asks, his blonde hair tickling Max's chin. "No, not today buddy. Just meetings." Max never hide what he did from his family, but he only told the boys he did bad things, never going into details, only telling them he did bad things. "That's good, I don't like the bad things." Casper was always Max's sweetheart. The soft one, the one who cries when stepping on an ant.

Fabian was the one who had no problem doing the hard things in life, hell he even kicked his grandfather Jos once, when he almost got violent with you when Max was away. Two side of the same coin, Max liked to call them. "I know you don't baby, but it keeps you, Fabby, and Mommy safe." Max kisses his cheek and Casper giggles.

"Fabby! It's time to leave," Fabian little yell of bye echos through the house as he comes running, Max scooping him up in his arms. "Now, let's get going my little soldiers."

791 notes · View notes

silkscream · 7 months

Text

tender is the flesh

ੈ✩ synopsis: in which you're the only thing that can make the strongest sorcerer of the jujutsu world weak.

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni), angst, yandere-adjacent gojo (he is so obsessed with you), religious imagery, unprotected sex, dom/sub dynamics, body worship, lots of biting, dacryphilia, possessive gojo

ੈ✩ wc: 2.5k

ੈ✩ a/n: [giggles nervously] gojo really went feral mode in this one! honestly this had more angst in mind because i was feeling So Horrible and then when i started writing the smut... someone else took over. anyways gojo is so obsessed with you that it might be a little unhealthy. like wants to live in your skin unhealthy. i think i actually wrote that word for word in the fic that's how down bad he is. runs away

gojo satoru won’t admit it to anyone, but he’s started to consider you an extension of himself. the missing piece, the phantom limb, however the cliche goes. even when he had ended things for the better, the ache would never dissipate until he found you again.

out of his own selfishness, he did.

once gojo had made up his mind that he was in love with you, he thought peace would come along with it. it did, in some aspects — your presence often acted like a summer breeze that eased his nerves. the warmth of your smile shined brighter than the sun.

and then other times, being in love with you was a new kind of violence. it churns in satoru when he’s alone, knotting in his stomach like a caged beast.

he knows you aren’t delicate. he’s watched you in all your beauty, all your bloodshed surrounded by the slain bodies of cursed spirits. he has held your calloused hands in his just to feel the pulse on your wrist. it’s a habit for him now whenever he touches you.

he has softened himself so much for you that he’s terrified to know that you’ve seen him in battle. he often wishes he could hide that from your memory, maybe make it disappear completely — the sadism that sparks in his eyes when he’s busy with his hands against curses and curse users.

he can’t suppress that violence within him — the one raging at him to leave you, ruin you, kill you. (he’d much rather you kill him, instead.)

right now, the sound of your even breathing is all that fills satoru’s ears despite the dread in his chest. when you twitch the slightest bit in your sleep, he has his arms around you in an instant, chin rested on the top of your head.

“satoru?”

“mm? thought you were asleep, baby.”

you nuzzle your nose into his bare chest. he can feel your eyelashes flutter against his skin. he chuckles when he notices you’re trying to adjust to make your face level to his.

“have you been awake this whole time?”

“uh… yeah,” he sighs. he doesn’t have an excuse this time like he usually does, but he’d rather die than relay his late-night thoughts to you out loud.

“can’t sleep?”

“i should be asking you that,” he chuckles. he tucks a stray strand of your hair behind your ear and moves to comb his fingers across your scalp just the way you like. the feeling of it makes you shiver.

“i was having one of those dreams,” you whisper. “the ones where i’m like, half awake. and you’re there, holding me.”

“yeah?”

“mhm. and then i tried to adjust so i could kiss you, and… and then you disappeared.”

“i’d never disappear on you.”

but you did. you don’t say it out loud, because you don’t blame him for trying to leave you the way he had months before.

he’d told you once that being with him was a death sentence in itself. it took a great amount of sacrifice and carnage for him to realize that you would never let that happen by your hand. he had discovered it in your bloody hands and the shallow breaths you’d taken after countless missions.

“i’m glad it wasn’t a nightmare.”

“what do you mean?” you coo, your big eyes blinking back at him. “not being able to kiss you sounds like a nightmare to me.”

he lets out a breathy laugh. he replies by giving you a peck on your hairline.

“satoru.”

“yes?”

“do you ever get nightmares?” you yawn.

it’s an innocent question. satoru is more likely to say no, because usually he has a dreamless sleep. he hasn’t gotten nightmares since suguru died, and even then, satoru has seen more gore and split limbs than a normal man should. he also recognizes that he isn’t a normal man.

“never. not when i get to sleep next to you.”

“right. six eyes isn’t afraid of anything.”

“that’s not true.”

“oh, yeah? what scares you, then?”

he holds your chin in between his fingers and his thumb.

“you, honestly.”

“me?” you giggle in genuine surprise.

“yes, you. i don’t think you have any idea of what power you hold over me.”

“says the strongest sorcerer,” you tease, rolling your eyes.

“i’m serious,” he mutters. “it’s terrifying, really. sometimes i want— i want you so selfishly. to own you. you’re so—”

“i’m what, satoru?” your voice is a wavering murmur now. he’s sure he’s scared you now.

“completely unprecedented. it’s fucking ridiculous.”

he would tell you he loves you, but that would make it real. real in the sense that those three words are an incantation that would most likely lead the both of you towards doom. despite already hurtling towards it, he prefers to delude himself by telling you in a million different ways that you make him weak.

he’s already accepted his spot in hell. on the other hand, you are too heavenly to accompany him, so he’ll keep you in this lifetime.

satoru rubs his hand on the soft skin of your neck and shoulder. in a certain lens, it’s innocent and loving. nurturing, even. but you know better.

gojo satoru sees you as his other half, as a necessity to the very fiber of his being, and he still wants to wreck you.

he dreams of it often. he usually has you tied up in red rope, something soft and pretty and comfortable. he likes the image of you docile, your skin so supple and malleable underneath his large hands.

you curl into satoru because you know that’s what he craves. you exhale into his collarbone and he thinks he might just lose his mind.

“you’re weird, six eyes.” there’s more that you want to say but you don’t know how to piece it all together in a way that makes sense. all the desire crawling out of your throat comes out in hushed breaths.

“i’m horrible.”

“no,” you grin. “just weird. but i like you that way.”

admittedly, you are on the brink of sleep. meanwhile, he is on the brink of imploding into himself if he doesn’t feel your touch. so, of course, he takes matters into his own hands.

you barely question it when satoru touches his full lips to yours. luckily for him, you don’t mind, either. he’s more than ecstatic to feel you melting into his body as you kiss him back, his tongue pillowy as it teases yours.

you’ve done this before with him plenty of times, but it would be a stretch to say that you’re particularly used to it. in every way, his mouth anywhere on your body makes you feel electric. in your sleepy haze, you accept it, because you’re convinced you’ve never felt anything better.

when his mouth leaves you, you can’t help but mewl pathetically.

“what is it, baby?” he rasps.

“don’t stop.”

“what do you want, hm?” he teases. “tell me.”

if you were more awake, you’d flush and retreat into yourself out of embarrassment. there’s a part of satoru that wishes to see that part of you right now.

in a sick, twisted way, it turns him on even more — the prospect of you being so unaware of how obsessed he is with you. of how he’d be more than content with simply living in your skin, knowing all the ways you move and all the ways you tick. he has you memorized, certainly, but he hasn’t gotten ahold of all of you. he’d forfeit his status and his work just for a bit just so he could learn all of you from the inside out.

satoru is so sure that his desire for you is too much. so much that it would disgust you the same way it disgusts himself. and it’s not that he finds the act of wanting you disgusting — it’s the mere caliber of his desire. it’s become otherworldly.

he’d rather coax out a confession from you, instead, just so he can feel better about himself.

“want more.” the sound of your voice is small. pathetic.

“want more what, huh? be more specific.”

“i— i want you to touch me. please?” you stammer. your eyes blink up to satoru’s for just a moment and he swears it’s the most adorable sight. the usual sharpness of his gaze softens.

he chuckles, reveling in the desperation of your voice.

“where? here?”

you hiss at the feeling of his long fingers cupping the damp mound of your underwear, reflexively bucking into his palm. he’s so tantalizing with how he moves the fabric to the side. your wetness gathers on his fingertips as he rubs your clit.

“y-yeah.”

“so pent up,” he groans. “all because you couldn’t kiss me in your dream, hm?”

“fuck.”

“my poor baby. ‘s so easy to make you feel good, isn’t it?”

you mewl his name, turning each syllable a staccato. your blink wildly at the feeling of his teeth gnawing at your collarbone as he keeps a steady rhythm on your clit. the movements are so gentle yet rapid. the coil inside of you is so close to breaking.

your eyes are squeezed in anticipation of your release. it’s probably good that you aren’t looking at his face, because the way satoru stares down at you is something indescribable. he looks at you like you created him. he’ll probably get sick from how prodigious his love is. his devotion will be the cause of his ruination.

“s-satoru! i’m— ”

“shhh,” he coos into your ear. “s’okay. you’re so good, look at you. so fucking pretty.”

you don’t even notice the tears pricking the corner of your eyes. when you look into satoru’s blue ones, you gasp at how blown out his pupils are, visible even in the dimness of your room.

he grins like a devil. he’s determined to have you overdose on him just so he can be the one to bring you back to life.

“fuck, don’t look at me like that,” he groans. “i’ll cum before i’m even inside you.”

satoru lifts up your (his) t-shirt so he can hook his teeth around your nipple. one hand grasps your waist hard enough to bruise while his other hand covers your mouth. he slips his fingers onto your tongue. when you suck obediently, licking up your taste, satoru makes a wounded sound, a whimper like a devoted dog.

you want to kiss him, lick into his mouth, but the hold he has on your hips is resolute, as if he’s sure that you’ll disappear. his demeanor is always wild during intimacy, often cocky, but this time it’s more primal than usual.

“so fucking cute when you fall apart for me,” he mumbles, his mouth moving upwards now to suckle on your collarbone. “just for me, yeah?”

“mhm,” you moan. his hands all over you makes your mind completely erratic. you barely register his words after chasing the high of your orgasm.

“say it. want you to say it.”

“’m yours, satoru,” you whine. “all of this — ah! — just for you.”

your legs are shaking so much from his fingers on your clit again. he has you overstimulated from his touch. the sounds that come out of your mouth have to be awakening something divine in him. the knife inside him twists inward.

“mine, mine, mine,” he mutters into your skin, slotting his hips with yours. he enters you without warning, a hard thrust that has your body bending to his will.

“no one wants you more than i do, you know that? if anyone even tries to test me, i’d kill them.”

“satoru—”

you can barely grasp language at this point. he laughs a little when he sees your eyes roll back and the sound of it is both melodic and a little mean.

“oh my god,” you whimper. tears start falling down your cheeks.

satoru might be a sadist — the sight makes his heart fucking swell. he wants to tear you apart and put you back together. he wants to worship you.

and god, the begging. the aching way your voice breaks as you say his name and the word please.

he’s carnal with his teeth at your throat. his hips stutter when he feels how tightly you suck him in, how he can feel your cunt contract when he hits a certain spot.

satoru thinks he’s been hungry for you all his life. if being the strongest sorcerer wasn’t his reason for being alive, he thinks that being able to see you sprawled out like this underneath him is reason enough.

satoru is many things. he’s arrogant, assured, depraved. he’s certainly annoying to anyone that knows him. but above all, to nobody else but you, he is fucking obsessive.

he loses himself in your pussy. with his cock pushed inside you to the hilt, he is yours and no one else’s. no one else can touch him like you do. no one else touches him.

“i’m so close,” you gasp.

“poor thing. is that what’s got you crying so much?” he taunts.

“y-yes! fuck—”

“you’re so pretty when you cry. i love it.”

you flush under his gaze, heat pooling in your stomach. when you attempt to cover your face with your arms and at least wipe away your tears, satoru holds down your wrists.

“don’t hide from me,” he groans. “wanna see my pretty girl when she cums.”

he can feel his dick twitching inside of you. you’re so fucking tight. the lewd sound of him drilling into you is obscene, but the look on your face is fucking divine.

he loves to claim you, to mark you up. he remembers how much you like it, too, especially when his long, pretty fingers are around your throat. he squeezes just the tiniest bit and you gasp in pleasure.

“more, more, more—”

“i know, baby, i know.”

satoru likes his name best when it comes from your mouth. especially when you’re crying, your voice shaking just as violently as your thighs.

he takes the opportunity to be even rougher, his other hand toying with your clit as he coaxes your release. you’re overwhelmed, flooded with a euphoria that stimulates the whole of your body.

“fuck, y’feel so fucking good,” he grunts. with his cock wrapped in the velvet of your cunt, satoru feels like he’s on top of the fucking world. above the heavens, too, probably.

“cum inside me,” you strain. “please.”

“yeah? you want it that bad?”

he presses into you further, lifting your legs so that your ankles dangle past his shoulders.

“yes— need it so bad, fuck!”

he curses with a growl rumbling in his chest. he soaks your insides with his warmth until it leaks out of you.

this is satoru’s form of worship. the stutter of his breaths, the slight tremble of his hands as they caress your jaw. the all-consuming kiss.

it rouses something terrifying inside you. in a way, it mirrors the beast in him. gods and monsters, the two of you.

the room is filled with the sound of both of your breaths evening out, heartbeats syncing together.

“jesus christ.” you clear your throat.

“you okay?”

“i’m perfect,” you reply in a haze. even after cumming, satoru wants to lick the sleepy grin off your mouth. or maybe make you cry again.

for now, he basks in your warmth, indulges in the way you bring him back to earth after making him ascend to heaven.

“yeah, you really are.”

#gojo smut #gojo satoru smut #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo x reader #jjk smut #jjk #jujustu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

616 notes · View notes

bokutizer · 1 year

Text

dada's so pwetty!

Includes : Sakusa, Oikawa, Suna Summary : Just a few daughters being enchanted by their dadas' looks Tags : fem!reader, fluff, domestic bliss pt. 2

You don't know what it is about SAKUSA, but you're sure he must be able to use some kind of sorcery. Because while you usually spend hours of playing volleyball with your daughter in your garden in hopes of tiring her out, reading to her, preparing a glass of warm milk for her before bed- While you do all of that to get your little mouse to sleep, all Sakusa has to do is lie down with her. That's it. Not a single effort needed. You would have kept on hanging onto your sorcery theory if one day you had not been silently standing outside of your daughter's room, the door slightly ajar and allowing you to view her and your husband lying together in her bed.

Sakusa is quiet as he lets her play with the dark curls on his head, his arm loosely wrapped around her back and keeping her close to him. He watches the way the ends of his hair wrap around her chubby fingers, the sight of it probably having an entrancing effect on her by the way her eyes slowly start getting droopier. It's usually like this. And it only takes a few minutes until her hand falls limply beside her head, and soft quiet snores start leaving her mouth. This time, however, Sakusa's able to hear her mutter something under her breath before her eyes fall shut. "Dada's so pretty." It's thanks to the complete silence in the room that he's able to hear it. And as always, Sakusa carefully gets up from the bed, tucking the blanket to her chin, and placing a soft peck against her forehead. Though, he doesn't realise that this time his lips linger there a little longer than usual. No sorcery then. Just love.

Shrieks and giggles resonate through the house as OIKAWA chases after the barely three feet short creature with a Yoda mask. You smile and shake your head absentmindedly at the tramping noises they make while speeding from the upper floor down the stairs, and into the kitchen where you're currently making dinner. You hear your daughter calling out to you for help, and you immediately lower the temperature of the stove before you feel her wrap her arms around your leg, trying to hide behind you. Both, Oikawa and you, smile knowingly at each other before he approaches you and wraps an arm around your waist.

"I see one pretty girl, but I could be swearing we had two of those in this house." Five years and one child later, and he's still the same smooth-talker, you think. But his talking does its work, as per usual, when you feel the grip on your leg loosen. "I'm here!" your daughter yells and slips her mask over her head, letting it fall to the ground. She laughs at Oikawa's faux and dramatic astonishment as he swiftly picks her up and holds her up against his chest, tenderly brushing his nose against hers. Small hands grab ahold of his face, his cheeks cradled in her soft palms when she speaks with an endearingly serious expression. "But dada's also pwetty, right mama?" She turns around and looks at you as if waiting for you to approve her statement. And of course you do, especially once you notice some moisture gathering in Oikawa's joyfully sparkling eyes as you lean over to press one peck on a chubby cheek and the other on one that somehow looks rosier than usual. "Yeah, he is."

SUNA always wonders how they do it. These menaces. These bad influences. These hooligans- The Miya twins. He will never understand why their annoyingly stupid antics are so hilarious to his daughter. So hilarious that she even once claimed wanting to marry one of them when she gets older. (At least she was referring to 'Samu, he thinks.) But as he watches Atsumu hold his daughter's fox plushy that Kita had once gifted her for her third birthday, moving it back and forth while talking in that high pitched voice, he has to admit that the twins can be quite an attraction. His daughter obviously thinks the same as she attentively listens to what Mr. Foxy (the toy - or rather Atsumu?) has to tell her.

Yes, the Miya twins are all fun and games. But there is only so much of excitement and action that a four year old's body can take. And once the exhaustion sets in, triggering her cranky and moody side, the only one she wants to be with are either her mommy or daddy. Luckily, the onigri shop has quietened down, only a few customers left that are finishing their meals. "C'mere." Suna says softly when he notices his daughter's eyes glaze over with sleepiness and she starts rubbing them. He's quick to cradle her against his chest, completely dwarfing her, as his hands rub small circles along her back when she leans her head against his shoulder. "We're leaving soon, then we'll go sleep. That' sound good?" He feels her cheek brush against his shirt as she quietly nods, but before her daddy's light strokes along her back and hair lull her to sleep, she catches uncle 'Tsumu say something to uncle 'Samu while holding her plushy up. "Check this. Mr Foxy looks just like Sunarin." Hearing their snickers, Suna swears he's about to give them a child-friendly comeback until a frail, whispering voice catches him off-guard. "Nuh-uh. Dada's prettier than Mr. Foxy." He's just glad the twins didn't catch it, otherwise he wouldn't hear the end of it.

2K notes · View notes

monimccoythings · 3 months

Text

Alastor x Daughter!Reader III (Platonic)

Yeah, this is going to take place after the end of season 1, just after Sir Pentious has ascended and the hotel has been rebuilt into a bigger better version. I just don't know how to fit Y/N in season 1.

Reminder: Alastor is in Hell for a reason.

TW: This contains a very delicate matter, like PTSD and panic attacks, even though I wanted to keep it brief because I'm not very well versed in these kind of subjects and wanted to be careful and respectful with it, I'm not entirely satisfied with how I wrote it, I researched and looked into my past experiences, but still don't think I truly adapted it as best as I would have liked. Also several mentions of cannibalism. Brief mentions of controlling behavior.

This isn't proof read so sorry for any grammar and/or vocabulary mistakes.

Part I ｜Part II｜Part III (You are here!)

tags: @anonymousewrites, @nonetheartist, @littledolly2345, @sunnyx07, @ouroborostheunholy, @mo-0-o, @sydneyyyya @lbcreations-blog

Soft jazz music enveloped the room, accompained by a strong smell of coffee and magnolias, someone was humming quietly to the music. Somehow, it reminded you of home.

You blinked groggily, trying to get the sleep away from your eyes, and leaned on your elbow. Why was the ground so soft and cushioned?

Yor eyes shot wide open when you remebered the events that led you there. The blood, the laughter, the eyes, the smile, the radio static... Your heart started beating wildly inside your ribcage, and you suddenly found yourself gasping for air. You clutched your old dress, hoping that would alleviate the growing pressure in your chest in some way.

"Well, look who's finally awake!" Alastor left the newspaper on the table and turned towards you, if his grin was supposed to be comforting it was not working. Just the fact that he was acting so casual, as if nothing had happened in the last ninety years made everything a million times worse.

"You are quite the hide and seek champion, ma petite faon. It took several years for my shadows to casually find you and then it took even longer for me to believe you actually had been sent here, ha ha!" His neck bended in an unnatural way as he laughed.

Crap. Did he always know where you were? Was this just a game of cat and mouse for him?

As if he had read your mind, his eyes adopted a more relaxed expression that did nothing to soothe your nerves. "Well, for the last ten years you gave me quite the chase, cher. Always on the move, never stopping, from one part of the ring to the other. And then there's that seven year gap." He muttered to himself that last part.

You still felt on the verge of a panic attack. Your body couldn't and wouldn't stop shaking, and felt like reality was blurring around you. Everything was happening too fast, it brought you back to that night decades ago when you found that your beloved father had actually been a serial killer. It almost felt like it was mere minutes ago.

Alastor knew of your discomfort, your fear. He could see it as clear as a day, he could almost taste it. He had always enjoyed tasting the fear on his victims, but yours only left an aftertaste of bitterness in his mouth. It was rotten, putrid and nauseating. Maybe because it was the only fear he should never had a taste of. Watching you like this also brought him back to the night he lost you.

As he held your unmoving body in his arms, for a couple of seconds his brain stopped functioning, unable to accept what had just happened. The pain he felt was just like someone had ripped his chest open and pulled out his still beating heart, only to crush it, leaving an empty and cold hole in its place.

He had taken you to your room and laid you in the bed, tucking you in. You looked so peaceful, if your face and clothes weren't stained with blood he would have believed you were sleeping. But you would never wake up again.

The next couple of days passed in a blur, tracking down the man who had dared to do this to you and then run away, and giving him his fair punishment. And as he dragged his mutilated body through the forest... Well... the rest is history.

"Anyways! All's well that ends well! Now I found you, and you won't need to worry anymore!" His chirpy radio filtered voice portrayed some genuine happiness that didn't reach you. The bond and trust that used to tie you two together, had been damaged beyond repair. And Alastor knew. That didn't mean he was going to give up, though.

Before he had the chance to make things even more awkward between you two, the door bursted open, revealing several people behind it.

"Oh, you're awake, that's so great! We were all sooo worried since Al suddenly brought you here, and you seemed passed out, we didn't know if you were alive or-" The blonde haired demon kept rambling, but you barely listened to her, way too much in shock. Behind her, there was a bunch of demons: a winged cat who would be rather doing anything else than be there, a tiny cyclops with a psychotic and perky smile; a spider demon who, if anything, looked confused; a taller cyclops demon girl who found the dirt in her nails to be way more interesting than you, and some kind of moth demon girl? You wondered if they all were going to participate in your slaughter or were just going to watch.

"-aaaand who were you again?" The blonde demon asked with an awkward smile.

"I'm very glad you're asking! Because this is no other than my beloved little girl!" Alastor opened his arms widely in a dramatic form of presentation as the sound effect of a studio crowd cheering mixed with his voice.

"Wha- hold the fuck up? Your daughter??? Didn't you sing to Luci-?"

One glare full of murderous intention and loud static was enough for the spider demon to shut up.

"Now, now, how about we let the newest addition to our merry little band have a well deserved rest." Your dad not so gently pushed the uninvited guests back towards the door.

"Addition? Is she our new guest?" The moth-like demon girl asked.

Alastor's face darkened and loud static filled the room. "A҉b҉s҉o҉l҉u҉t҉e҉l҉y҉ ҉n҉o҉t҉.҉". He swapped back to his more charming persona. "She'll be joining our facility as an assistant!" His tone admitted no further questioning, and, quite reluctantly, the staff and guests left the room.

So that's the story about how you ended working in the Hazbin Hotel.

Your work was mainly small chores or helping others. Nifty needed help to clean the rooms? You were there. Someone needed you to take cover at the reception? On it. Whatever tiny task someone needed help with, you had to do it.

You were not allowed to leave the hotel. Alastor made sure of that. Wherever you went, he made sure some of his shadows followed if he was not around, just to keep you controlled; although he'd rather call it, 'lovingly checking on his little baby'. It really was not needed, even if you didn't trust nobody there and your guard was still up, where else would you go? It was literal hell outside.

Years of hiding and living in constant fear of death or something worse had left you extremely mistrustful and fearful of people. There were times were you believed this was all a ruse to lure you into a false sense of security and then hit you were it hurt most.

It's not like you didn't believe in Charlie's dream, it was just you couldn't believe it could be possible, your father had very sincerely stated that he was just sponsoring it because he loved watching doomed souls struggle to achieve something meaningful and then fail spectacularly. Of course he did.

So, at least you had a roof over your head, enough food to eat, and a no-killing rule inside the hotel. Things could be worse.

Yet, there was still something inside you, something that you so desperately tried to let go but were unable to, as it had rooted itself deeply inside your mind and heart.

It started with small things, maybe a loud sound, maybe a bit of blood, it didn't matter because you could already feel yourself breathing heavily and sweating. It was like the entire world vanished around you. You couldn't breath, you couldn't think, your mind was on edge and your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest. You were completely paralized with fear, your hands shaking furiously, making you drop whatever you were holding.

These episodes started becoming more and more frequent, the more you tried to fight against them, the stronger they became. Whenever Charlie, Vaggie or any guest tried to ask you about them you always tried to brush them off, not wanting them to see it as a weak spot to exploit.

After several episodes and you refusing to open yourself, Alastor had enough of watching you suffer and decided to take matters into his own hands. So, he took you to Rosie.

If you expected something out of a place called 'Cannibal Town' it certainly wasn't that. It looked so... normal, like any other town you would have found back in your time. Well, if you ignored the people eating an entire corspe on the street. Your father gently moved your face to face front, because apparently it was rude to stare.

Oh Rosie immediately adored you. 100% godmother material. That southern belle couldn't wait to pamper you and dress you up in all kinds of fancy clothes.

Talking to Rosie was surprisingly, easy, if you looked over her cannibalistic tendencies. She kindly offered you some fresh fingers, but quickly backed up when she saw you turning green, jokingly saying "Ah, teenagers and their diets."

Sessions with Rosie always left you crying and drained but in a positive way, you felt like a huge load had been lifted off your shoulders. It may be a long road ahead but it was a great start.

Talking to Vaggie also helped. Turns out being a former exterminator had left not only physical but psychological scars on her. The first months after she had been left to die in hell had also been very struggling for her. She helped you with breathing exercises, held your hands when they started shaking, and even was willing to teach you some self defence. Which your dad opposed to.

Charlie was... Charlie, always positive and upbribing but also respecting your boundaries, you were almost starting to belive she was being genuine.

There was another member of the staff who had not been present when you were first brought there and you had yet to meet. The King of Hell himself, Lucifer. Just knowing he could be there send shivers down your spine, wondering what kind of diabolical entity could he be. When you first saw that 4' overly excited manchild, at first you thought it was a joke.

Lucifer took a liking to you pretty easily, much to the annoyance of Alastor. He was curious about how someone as innocent and young as you could have ended in a place like that and vowed to protect you if someone ever gave you trouble. Your dad is seething. "Here, take this." And he just gives you a toy duck who backflips and makes the cutest rubber ducky noise. You loved it. Your dad is about to break the no-killing rule.

Alastor tried to win back your trust and love, even if he knew it was going to be a long and arduous task. He didn't care. He just got you back he was never letting you go.

He may not believe entirely in Charlie's dream, but he knew that if it was possible the one who had more chances to go straight to Heaven would be you. And he was not having that.

Alastor briefly considered making a deal to own your soul, just to ensure your safety and his control.

Up to this day he still doesn't know how you ended down there, and can't wait for the day when you will trust him enough to tell him.

He will respect your boundaries begrudgingly, he is your dad, he knows best. Will play nice and let you take your time with things. He will quietly show support for your emotional progress and make light physical contact, just enough to be supportive and not freak you out.

He cooks for you, and only you. The old homemade grandma's recipes he used to make back in your living times. At first, you didn't trust it, thinking he could have poisoned it. But the second you tasted his Jambalaya you felt like crying. Not only because after ninety years barely eating you were famished, but because for a couple of seconds, something there in the taste and smell had brought you back to simpler times. (like the Ratatouille guy)

Alastor truly desires to hear you call him 'Dad' again, you had yet to do so. Yes, you recognise him as your father, but after everything it just pains you to address him as such. It's like your dad and Alastor were two separate people. The loving father vs the serial killer, the guardian vs the Radio Demon.

He really loves you very much and it's been hard on him to keep that much distance from his little fawn. So he takes out his frustration on others, don't turn the radio on when he tells you not to.

And with time, his efforts were rewarded. Somewhat. You seemed to have gotten a bit more comfortably around him, at least you didn't flinch or recoil anytime he approached you. But you couldn't forget, you couldn't overlook the fact that he was a murderer and a cannibal and still doubted if anything you two had lived together had been truly genuine.

Honestly, it offended him that you would even think that way. Wasn't he there for you, always? Didn't he protect you from the darkness of the outside world during your living times? Wasn't he, as a father, devoted enough to his fawn?

But of course, actions spoke louder than words, and his actions had left too many cracks in your trust. But he will keep trying to win you back. Alastor's very patient demon, he has all the time in the world.

Y̸̗͉̺̱͂̕o̸̧̯̞̟̰̪̗̱̳̱̎̈̿̄̄͛̅͝͝û̴̦͔̹͈̣̥̾͛͑͗͋̅̏̂̚ͅ ̷̭͋̈͛̽͒̅̀̈́́̚ă̷̢̢̖̦͕̞͚͔̻̳̅̇̃͌̿͐̄̃̕r̵̨̢̺̦͇͚̙̈́̅̽́̊͠ę̶̺̖͋̐͐͌͘͠͝ ̶̖̲͎̜̮͚͉̰̒n̵̢͕̝͖̗̜̣̾̾̇̾̅̽͊͘ǫ̴̼̺̠̱̦̘̒̈̎̿̇́̔̉t̴͙͇̼̱̻̦̦͔̖͙̍͌ ̸̩̂́̎͒͘g̶͔͚̰̺͔͉͓͍͔̈́̽̈́͋͘͜o̵̹͔̫͚̼͚͒͑į̷̧̫͔̹͉̰̘̮̍͋͒̈n̸̢͕̙̙̞͔̓͐̓ͅg̵͖͇̜͚̗͙̤̫̱̝̉̂́̚ ̴̪̂͑̓̊͛a̷̖̞͊̄̈́͑͋̈́̄͘n̶̻̟̙̝̪̩͂̋͗ẏ̸̨̛̱̱͇̱͖̤͕̥͛́̍̂͛̕͠w̸̛̖͎̫̑h̵͔̝̣̀ẹ̵̝͍̳̟͚̪̍̒͋̒̀̊̏r̷̨͉͉̒̑̉̒̄̎̓̎͜͝͠ȅ̸̩͇̳.̵̠̪̖̍͂͠.

#alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #tw: ptsd #tw: trauma #tw: cannibalism #tw: controlling behavior

377 notes · View notes

luveline · 2 years

Text

𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲, 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐬𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐞 | 𝐞𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary it's a hot summer in hawkins and you're bored. plus, your best friend eddie is very distracting. it was inevitable, really, that you'd end up messing around [4.6k]

warnings smut, 18+ only please, fem!reader, p in v sex, oral both receiving, awkward giggly best friend sex <3, fluff, clueless idiots, weird stains etc, eddie being hot and soft, less awkward more giggly part 2

𓆩❤︎𓆪

The midsummer sun toasts the back of your neck as you walk through the trailer park. By the time you're knocking at Eddie's door you feel frazzled by the heat, ducking under his arm and into the shade gratefully when he swings open the door.

"Hey, babe," your best friend says, a hint of derision in his tone.

"Yeah, hi," you say.

You beeline past the couch to the fridge, kicking open the stiff freezer door for something cold to hold to your cheek. "It's, like, a thousand degrees outside," you say, garden peas soothing your sweaty forehead.

"It wasn't much better in here 'til I opened all the windows," he agrees. "If you told me you were coming I would've picked you up."

You raise your eyebrows, laughing. "Yeah, I'm never getting in that thing again."

"It wasn't that bad."

"You almost killed us-"

"I jumped a curb," he cuts you off, waving his hand at you. "You're ridiculous."

Eddie rolls his eyes at you and you roll yours harder, following him down the narrow space into his bedroom. Even the window thrown open can't hide the smell of pot and cheap beer, though you're pleased to see he's changed his sheets. You sit down carefully, worried to disturb the notebook on his bed.

"What were you upto?" you ask, lying back.

Eddie stretches. One arm behind his back and the other pushing his elbow down, a loud click echos. His shirt rides up, a snaking snail trail of dark hair exposed.

You don't shy from looking though you won't ogle him. Your best friend has always been hot in the grungey way he is, long hair and big eyes, cool clothes, tattoos and Marlboro's and everything that had ostracised him from your peers.

You'd ended up friends because you hadn't always been attractive. In fact, you'd suffered through an awkward stage for the entirety of high school, and only now two years after your graduation do you feel any type of hot or desirable. Eddie, soft-hearted, loser weirdo Eddie has never been anything but ridiculously kind to you.

You pull up your jeans where they're slipping down, tugging your shirt from your lightly perspiring chest with a dramatic huff to fan yourself.

"I was trying to make music," he says with usual bravado, throwing himself down behind the composition book. He tucks the pen between its curling pages and shoves it across the nightstand. "But it wasn't going anywhere."

"No?" you ask, moaning under your breath as you move the frozen peas to your chest.

Eddie clears his throat. "Nah. Now you're here, anyway. Like you knew I was bored to tears."

"I'm psychic," you agree.

"Major. Summer is so fucking boring," he says.

You smile at him, turning on your cheek to take in his casual attire, his grey sweatpants and his too short shirt. He's missing his rings but his chains remain, dull silver against his white skin.

"You could study," you say lightly. "You know. Actually graduate."

Eddie smiles at you sweetly. You glare at his condescension. "They're making me do the year again, therfore making me take the classes again. I don't need to study."

You want to laugh. He does need to study, he does, but you know the difficulty doesn't lie in laziness or anything, he just has a difficult time concentrating. Every year you offer to informally tutor him and every year he declines, but not this year. You're gonna get him through high school if it's the last thing you do. And it might be, with this heat.

"We are gonna study," you say sternly. "Not today, though."

"Not today," he agrees, laughing.

He crosses his arms, hands hugging his biceps as he leans towards you. You watch his actions carefully though he's not planning any mischief, only looking down at you.

"Your eyes are all smudged up," he says.

You sigh with frustration and loll your head back. "It's 'cos it's so hot. I'm gonna freshen up," you say, standing, offering him your defrosting bag of peas.

He's not looking at the peas, you realise, but your chest. You follow his gaze, watching as a cold rivulet of melted ice runs between the valley of your boobs.

You don't comment on his watching as you leave the room. You don't really care if he looks at you like that because you know he doesn't mean anything disrespectful by it, the way your eyes tend to drift to his hands, his wrists and their stark green veins. Some things are distracting.

You clean up in the bathroom, your face, your sweaty body, sniffling from the heat. You can't stay in there long.

"It's a fucking sauna in there," you say as you emerge.

Eddie has changed positions, his legs crossed with a pillow in his lap, the stereo remote in his hands. His bracelet has fallen down from his wrist, stopped at the curve of his forearm.

You look away. Distracting, you think.

He gestures at the window, wide open, curtains blowing in the breeze. "That's how hot it was when I woke up."

You settle down next to him against the wall, box springs groaning beneath you. This close you can smell his green apple shampoo.

"You're not wearing any cologne?" you ask.

He smiles smugly. "You're sniffing me."

"You smell like shampoo," you say instead of denying it.

"Showered this morning."

You gasp and cover your mouth with your hand. "No fucking way."

"Get fucked, Y/N," he says, chuckling.

Maybe it's on your mind. Maybe it's the sheer level of comfort you feel with him, you don't know, but you fall silent at his words and drop your head into his shoulder. You spend long minutes at his side, listening to his humming, wondering what you're going to do all summer. You make a questioning sound.

He pulls it out from under you and only puts it back when you don't laugh. "What?"

You look up at him and then quickly look back down.

"What does that look mean?"

You don't decide what you're going to say so much as you feel it, the words escaping you before you can think any better of it. "Do you want to have sex?"

Eddie laughs, a nervous lilt of sound that bubbles up and hurts your feelings. You pick at your nails and he leaps to ask, "What? You're serious?"

"It's fine if you don't want to."

He waits for you to say more. When you don't, he raises his eyebrows at you. "I never said that."

You decide to be cool about it, shrugging your shoulders like this is an obvious, regular suggestion. "We're both bored. I don't know. It could be fun."

"Are you sure that's something you want?"

"You're hot."

"Thank you," he says sincerely, "but what I mean is, is that something you think we can deal with? It changes our whole dynamic." His words have that similar too-casual tone, the both of you trying to be cool.

"Doesn't have to," you argue with little heat, looking up at him from his shoulder with wide eyes.

"You don't think so?" he asks. His voice is quieter now, and he's looking down at you with a heat that quickly gives you butterflies.

"No," you say under your breath. You lick your lips and say, slightly louder, "No. It can just be fun. If it sucks we'll never do it again, and you can stop wondering what my tits look like."

"I don't wonder about that," he denies quickly, guiltily, giving himself away when his eyes flick down to your chest and dart straight back up.

"So you don't want to find out?"

He bites his lip. You wait, tilting your head just slightly and giving him your best approximation of the doe eyes girls do in movies. "It's fine if you don't want to, Eddie," you say honestly.

"I do want to."

"Yeah?"

"If it's just for fun, right? What else is there to do?" He asks, shrugging his shoulders.

You grin. This is how you find yourself kneeling in the middle of his bed as Eddie pulls the curtains closed and locks his door, your eyes following the dark mess of his curls as he tucks them behind his ears, the way his arms shift as he turns the light off now the sunlight's hidden. He pauses before he turns to you, hand held to the light switch.

You start to take your shirt off. He hears the noise and spins on his heel. Warm, worn shirt in hand, you try not to show how nervous you are as your chest settles, bared in your bra alone.

Eddie blinks. You laugh nervously and he laughs back, wavering at the end of his bed.

"You're fucking pretty," he says.

"Don't lie," you say, though you know he feels like that's true, an earnestness in his voice that shoots sparks straight down to your core. You move off of your calves and squirm onto your back. "Help me take these off," you say. Before I lose my nerve.

Eddie pulls your legs towards him with surprising strength, knocking your hands away from where they're struggling with the button on your jeans. You can't help the sound you make, a hiccup of air has he undoes the button. His fingers are warm at your waist and as they drag down your hips. You arch your back so he can work them over your thighs, one socked foot pressed to his chest. You give him a smug look, as if to say, yeah, you do that.

Ever amused with you he huffs a laugh and pulls your jeans off in one big sweep, discarding them in a crumpled heap on the ground.

You're surprised at the lack of talking between you and aim to rectify it as he climbs onto the mattress and crawls up between your legs like he knows what he's doing, pulling your thighs over his.

"This is so weird," you say. "Right? This is weird."

His hands burn where they're spread over your thighs. "It's not that weird. Do you not want to anymore? We can stop."

"No, I mean. I don't know. Maybe it's 'cos you're still dressed."

"If you want me to take my clothes off, babe, you can just ask," he drawls, smirking.

You hold your breath as he pulls his shirt over his back, exposing the smooth expanse of his chest broken up by a small crop of dark hair that leads down past his naval and disappears into his sweatpants.

His chain bobs between you as he moves to hover on top of you, a great deal of space between your chests.

"Are we kissing?" he asks.

"Do you want to kiss me?" you ask him. He doesn't answer so you shake your head. "Maybe we shouldn't. It's romantic."

He laughs in a way you don't fully understand, his hands suddenly on your waist and pushing up over your ribs to the edge of your bra, a thin silken thing that contrasts your skin nicely. Your nipples are hard, peaking through the fabric. You can't find it in yourself to be embarrassed as he brings his hand up.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Yeah," you say, waiting, your body aflame in anticipation of his touch.

He brushes the pad of his thumb over your nipple and grins when you hiss in a breath, pulling back so he can see the entirety of your chest as he takes your breasts into his big palms and massages them gently.

"Pretty underwear," he says.

"Thank you," you say, feeling small under his gaze and his ministrations.

Eddie's eyes meet yours, burned honey brown. "Is the kissing rule extended to everywhere, or just lips?"

"Do what you want, Eds."

He does. He kisses the curve of your breast and you start to feel dizzy as his teeth appear, scratching over your skin lightly. He tugs the cup down and kisses a trail to your nipple, taking the bead of it into his mouth. You push the hair from his eyes and gasp at the sensation, a riveting strike of pleasure that warms you up from the inside out.

Eddie pulls away just as quickly and mouths kisses around the damp circle, plastering pecks over the small embeddings of his teeth.

His hands work under your back and fiddle with the clasp of your bra. You hold in a comment about his clumsy fingering though you giggle to yourself.

"What's funny?" he asks in a murmur, dropping your bra unceremoniously off the side of the bed.

"Nuthin'," you sing-song.

He doesn't believe you, hands pressing over the naked expanse of your chest with a firm pressure, messing with your boobs as he goes. He covers them with two hands and brings them together.

"Having fun?"

"Always with you," he says, saccharine sweet.

His teasing sarcasm is familiar and puts you at ease, wiggling down into his squishy bedsheets with a curious look on your face.

He gets bored pretty quickly, sitting up, hands fast as he slips his fingers under the waistband of your underwear and makes to pull them off. You throw your hand out and he stops.

"Maybe I can leave them on?" you ask.

He purses his lips, looking disappointed but accepting. "Sure, if you want to stop."

"No, I don't. Just. I don't know," you refuse to say you're shy about how you look. "Can't you just pull them to the side?"

"Sure. I don't care if you haven't shaved or anything, if that's what you're worried about."

More the general idea of your cunt on display. It feels nerve-racking. "Thanks."

He softens. "Baby, don't say thanks. We said for fun, right? Doesn't matter how we do it. I want you to enjoy yourself." He sees your knowing smile and amends, "I want for both of us to enjoy it. Keep the underwear. I can take mine off though, right?"

You grin at his cheeky tone. "Go for it, hotshot."

He turns the music up before he does, which is really the last straw. How loud does he think it's going to get? Your heart beats in your chest, fast as a mouse's as he pulls down his sweatpants and exposes his boxers.

You can see the shape of him already through the fabric.

He palms his cock and reaches for your chest, massaging one of your boobs as he does. You're sick of being touched without touching, struggling up into a sitting position. "Can I…?"

He nods, looking about as nervous as you'd felt when he pulled down your bra.

Your hand trembles imperceptibly as you take his cock into your hands, stroking its length through material. You're giggling as you do, the situation alien and tummy churning. He's both harder and softer than you expected, though you feel a certain rigidness begin to grow at your touch.

You shuffle backwards and bend at the waist, careful and gentle as you pull down his boxers. His cock springs free, crowned in a trim patch of dark, curled hair, going to kiss his shaft when Eddie pushes your shoulder.

"You don't have to," he says.

You frown quizzically. "I want to. This is half the fun, right?"

He looks a little dazed as you move in, his hand moving from your shoulder to your neck as you kiss the side of his length. He twitches in your hold.

You spit into your hand and it's embarrassing. You expect Eddie to laugh and he doesn't, something unreadable on his face when you look up. His lip between his teeth, his brows furrowed, he looks handsome and dark. You pump his cock, kissing at the shaft as you go, happy when his breathing hikes and his hands find your hair. Heat grows between your legs, the very beginning of wetness.

Eddie doesn't let you play for very long. "Fuck, maybe you shouldn't. Uh. I don't think I'll last," he adds.

You plant a last kiss to the side of his head and pull away. "Sorry."

"God, don't be," he says. You've never heard him like this. So rough.

"How do we do this? Do I just…?" you flop down on your back, smiling with teeth, nervous and embarrassed and excited, super excited.

"If that's how you like it."

Awkwardness disarmed by wanting, Eddie moves into the gap between your legs and spreads them, the flat of his palm against your cunt without any dithering. "Are you ready?"

"I don't know."

"Want me to play with you?" he asks.

You feel conflicted.

He holds his cock against the stretch of his midriff and shakes his head at you. "It's okay, princess."

Princess. "Maybe you can… can play with me as you go," you suggest hopefully, coquettish.

He rubs his thumb over the bump of your clit, peering down at your covered cunt almost assessingly. His thumb dips, fingers pulling cautiously at damp fabric until you're on show.

"Fuck," he says. "Fuck, can I touch you?" And he's already touching you but to be asked is nice, and when you nod he rubs the wet circle of your entrance with two fingertips, spreading that little bit of wetness around.

He begins to push in. Your eyes flick from his actions to his face, chest heaving as he mouths, "Fuck," and palms at his throbbing cock. "You're warm."

You flush from head to toe and squirm as he works you open, spreading and curling his digits inside you, working slickness out. You're tight with nerves but slowly, slowly relaxing.

"Can we fuck now?" you ask. You're rushing through the steps because you're nervous and Eddie can't seem to decide whether he should let you, conflict clear as day in the way he presses his lips together.

"I have lube," he says, too loud.

You choke on a laugh. "You do?"

"Yeah, just," he scrambles off of the bed and pulls a tube of gel from his bedside table. And of course he fucking does, Eddie's the same motherfucker who nails handcuffs to the wall. "You wanna try it?"

He's pulled out a condom at the same time.

"Yeah," you say, smiling enough to make your cheeks ache. Eddie's answering grin is brilliant.

He rips the condom open with his teeth and you watch as he rolls it on, enchanted, breathing shallow.

His hands rub at your thighs as he spreads your half-hidden cunt open.

"I'll go slow," he says.

You nod. He squeezes a very generous amount of lube over his cock and then thinks twice, spreading it with his fingers around the shaft and then over your entrance. It contracts with the cold. Eddie groans with his lips slammed shut and moves in closer, rubbing the head of his cock up your cunt. The first contact is overwhelming.

You reach for his forearm and grip hard.

"Okay?" he asks, pausing.

"It's a mess, right? Do you have a towel or something?"

He seems endeared by your worrying, grabbing your ankles in one hand and lifting your hips from the bed to shove his discarded shirt under your weeping slit. You feel your vision go rose coloured at his small display of strength, worse when he takes a hold of your ankles in sticky fingers and encourages them over his shoulders.

He bends over you, his chain dangling between you.

The head of his cock bumps into your entrance. He readjusts, pushing with minimal pressure. Your ass pressed to his hot thighs, your ankles to his hard shoulders, your hands searching for something to hold. Eddie twines your fingers and holds your joined hands to your hip.

"You're so fucking hot," he says, grinning saliciously. "I'm gonna fill you up, okay? Ready?"

His enthusiasm is catching, a grin turning up the corners of your lips as he presses in. He stretches you out slowly, fingers flexing around your hand and the other holding you in place as he takes shallow, quick thrusts.

Lube in play, your nerves are hardly a problem and soon the only feelings are pleasure, the dizzying, goosebump-prompting feeling of being split open around him and the warmth of being this close to him clouding you up. You're surprised at how much you want to make sounds, your fast inhales slowly turning to mewling moans. Eddie makes less noise but his enjoyment is obvious, an amorous screwing to his brows and lips.

"Fuck," he groans, the word dragging with his cock, head probing emphatically at your walls.

You gasp as he bottoms out, his pelvis flush with your cunt. "Fuck," he says again. "Baby, your pussy's s'fucking tight. How's that feel? Feel good?" Then, at your shy smile, "Yeah?"

"Yeah, Eds."

Your thighs burn as he pushes in. Attentive at your clit, Eddie works you into a steady tizzy, thrusting slow and deep and moulding, looking prettier than he has any right to look as he pushes tight circles into your swollen clit.

You can't help flashing between two minds. Oh my god, I'm fucking Eddie. And oh my god, I'm fucking Eddie. Lovely, handsome, ridiculous Eddie, best friend since middle school and fellow long-term loser, nicest boy you've ever met, and why do his eyes look so big? He's so close the tops of your thighs are brushing your abdomen. You can smell that green apple tang under sex, his skin. His chain tickles you as he closes in and you think he's going to kiss you, really truly kiss you, but his face ducks down, his nose and lips on your neck.

Anywhere but the lips, you'd agreed, and now he's kissing your neck. Scraping bites and loving, sloven mouthing. A spread of damp half moons over the column of your throat, working his way up to the sweet spot below your ear.

His hips snap into yours harder than they had been and you whimper.

"Again," you demand, arms wrapped around the cape of his back, his shoulder blades moving under your hands.

"Whatever you want, princess," he promises, the pet name bathed in ire.

Snapping again, hips rolling, pleasure made all the worse by his panting into your skin and his kisses, though they grow sparse as time stretches. You feel his hips begin to flag, his fucking sloppy. The circles on your clit become loose.

"Eddie," you whisper. His pelvis is grinding hard into yours, an aching painful pleasure as he works empathically into your spongey walls.

"How's that feel? Fucking full of me, aren't you?" he asks.

"Feels good, it-" you gasp as he pulls out and strikes in, the head of his cock going deep. You feel a rush of heat behind your eyes almost close to tears as he finds somewhere you didn't know he could find.

"What was that?" he asks, laughing, teasing. "Did you hear that sound you just made?"

One of your hands falls down his back, pulling, hoping to spur him into a crueler rhythm. "Eddie, it's so deep."

Something about your wet eyes, your pleading tone really gets him. A wave of shuddering moves over his skin and he pulls you by the shoulders into his chest, mouth at your neck muttering curses. You cry out as he hits your sweet spot again, merciless, hardly recovered from one thrust when you're suffering another. You're a wet mess of whimpering, his name and nothing else on your lips.

"I'm…" He takes a deep breath, sounding apologetic. "I'm close, babe, I'm," he cuts himself, slowing his movements.

"It's okay, it's okay." You want to say something sexy like a bombshell would but all you can do is squeeze your walls around his cock and pull his hair from his neck and whisper, "You can cum. Please."

"Shit," he moans, hands tight on your hips, rocking you against his rutting cock until he's cumming. You'd pay more than you should for the sound on tape.

His grip on your hips is bruising as he sits up. "Fuck," he says, voice coloured with good humour. You laugh at his laughing, the two of you giggling and breathing hard. He lets go of your hips, stroking his hand against the markings left behind.

"Babe, I'm sorry. Did I hurt you?" he asks, eyes shooting upto yours.

You're failing to hide an amorous smile, breathing hard. "No, you didn't hurt me," you say fondly.

"Shit."

He pulls your legs off of his shoulders and they ache as he folds them up, resting his chin on your knees and pulling the dampened hair away from his sweaty forehead.

"You have the mouth of a sailor, Eddie."

He rubs his cheek against your kneecap. "Can you blame me? Sweetest pussy I've ever fucking seen-"

"You've barely seen it!"

"Fucked, then," he amends.

His hands are like silk as he follows down your thighs and spreads them open. You cover the flesh of your tummy with your hands as he pulls out and tugs the condom off of his softening dick. He ties it off, aiming for the trash can in the corner and missing.

You cringe. "Eds."

"I'll get it later," he says distractedly, staring down at the wet mess of your panties. "Babe, you've seen the jewels. Can we please have these off and I'll take care of you?"

Your legs close as you slide your knee against your thigh coyly. "Care sounds like I'm sick."

"You are sick. Sick body, sick smile, sick little sounds," he teases. "Sick cunt."

You wrinkle your nose and glare at him, giggling as he pulls your legs back open and his fingers dig under your waistband again.

"Don't fucking swear," you scold.

"Please?" he asks, ignoring your admonishment.

His hands are paused and patient. Your chest rises as you inhale, falls as you let it out slowly.

"Okay. Yeah. It's only fair."

Your bravado pleases him endlessly. "Attagirl," he says, pulling your panties down until they hang off of one ankle. You wiggle your foot to make them slide past your sock, Eddie too distracted by your bare centre.

"You're a total jerk for hiding this from me," he says, the flat of his palm smoothing down the edge of your cunt, his thumb pulling your entrance open just slightly. "You think I wonder about your boobs? I fucking did, but your pussy?"

You flush white hot at his words. "Does it… meet your expectations?"

He bursts into boyish laughter between your legs until you're giggling too, the giggles quickly tapering into breathlessness as his lips touch your skin. Close-lipped kisses up the inside of your thigh until he's loving on your cunt. He rubs at your entrance before easing you open, middle and ring finger pushing in with his wrist turned up as he suckles your clit. You reach for his hair, scratching his scalp gently as you scrape messy curls from his face.

He makes up for any inaccuracy with ardency. You twitch beneath him, hips rolling in an attempt to draw him impossibly closer.

"I got you," he murmurs into your sticky skin. He nibbles lightly at your clit, pulls until it slips from between his lips. "Wanna feel you cum around my fingers."

You seize up, thighs tightening. "Eds-"

He shushes you, three quick sh sh sh's that make you wanna pinch him. His pinky and index finger slide against the wet skin between your cunt and thighs as he finger fucks you, curving into your sweet spot as his mouth works you over. You're pent up from the fuck and he knows what he's doing, and you can't help pulling his hair as you cum around his fingers, clamping down hard.

He plays a little longer but eases up when you cry out, the bottom of his face shining with dampness as he pulls away.

He wipes the mess away with the back of his hand. "You taste sweet. But that might've been the lube."

You splutter around a breathless laugh and tug him on top of you, bodies pressed together and sweaty. His weight is nice.

"That was fun, right?" he asks, hands at your neck, elbows digging into your naked chest as his face hovers above yours. If you didn't know him as well as you did you'd miss the tiny silver of worry.

"So fun. I have amazing ideas," you agree, panting.

"Amazing."

There's a gap of silence where you catch your breath and Eddie watches.

"How's the dynamic? Changed?" he asks lightly, fingers tapping over your collar like he's playing a song.

"Irrevocably."

You wrap one of his curls around your finger and indulge yourself, eye to eye, lips an inch apart.

"Do you wanna do it again?" he asks.

You pretend to think about it. "Yeah."

He gives you that perfect puppy dog smile and kisses your cheek, a wet, smacking thing as he climbs off of you and pulls you into his lap. You haven't quite decided, but you think you might let him kiss you on the mouth if he wanted to.

they get better at fucking I swear

#eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader blurb #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x fem!reader #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things

16K notes · View notes

carolperkinsexgirlfriend · 7 months

Text

Steddie Upside-down AU Part 3

Part 1 Part 2

Their planning session didn’t bear much fruit. Harrington had tried the water in his sink, and it came out a murky black. When he pulled snacks out of a hidden bottom in one of his dresser drawers, each unopened pack was full of mold and ash.

They had no weapons, no game-plan, and the sky was still red. In short, they were fucked.

The bickering was kept barely civil by the need to control their volume.

“–just think we should consider scoping the place out!” Harrington was whispering but enunciating like a shout. “For all we know there’s good food at the store, or a way out of here right where we went in, or at least some water at the quarry!”

“You want to drink quarry water? That shit’s inedible even when there’s not toxic ash particles floating in it!”

“That’s not the point!” Harrington’s passing in front of him, raking his hand through his drooping hair. “We can’t just hide in my room forever. No one’s coming to save us!”

“Not forever, man.” Eddie replies, leg twitching from where he’s still sitting at the edge of Harrington’s bed. “But that thing’s still out there. I don’t know about you, but I think we should have a better idea for surviving it than just hoping it’s not out there!”

Harrington droops, shoulders, mouth, hair, and then drops to the carpet where he was standing. “Shit, okay, okay, you’re right.”

That same thrill goes through him at seeing Harrington beneath his feet. He squashes it down, scooching off the bed to sit across from Harrington on the floor.

“Hey,” Eddie says, voice gone quiet and kind at the look of desolation on Harrington’s face. “We’re gonna figure this shit out, man.”

Harrington laughs, and it sounds remarkably like the laugh he always heard across high school hallways and cafeterias and gyms. Hollow. Eddie has the absurd urge to throw his arms around him.

“Okay man, how about we start by raiding your closet. I don’t know about you, but my clothes reek like your rich-boy pool.”

Harrington scoffs, but dutifully levers himself off the floor to shuffle through his open closet. He throws a navy blue long sleeve in Eddie’s direction, followed by an awful pair of bleach-washed jeans, socks, and a pair of underwear.

Then, like Eddie’s another jock and they’re in the locker room after practice, Harrington starts stipping with no regard to modesty. Eddie quickly turns his back from the sight and begins to do the same. His jeans jangle when he drops them on the carpet, chain and lunch box rattling when they hit the floor. Eddie holds a silent memorial for all the dignity he was about to lose.

He’s just pulled the slightly short pants on and buttoned the fly when he hears the little “huh,” Harrington lets out.

Quickly pulling the shirt over his head, he turns to see what Harrington’s on about. Luckily, the other boy still had his underwear on. Unluckily that was all he had on as he crouched down and stared at the ring cradled in his hand. Absurdly, Eddie thought of Gollum and had to bite his lip on the laugh in his throat.

“Whatcha got there, Stevie boy?”

Still crouched, Harrington held the ring up toward Eddie, clutched between pointer finger and thumb, looking like a man picking the worst possible moment to propose marriage.

“This yours?” he asks.

It was. “Where’d you get that?” he demands, snatching it from Harrington’s grasp.

“Fell out of my pants.”

Eddie looks down at the little ring in his palm. It was his Mom’s–the perfect size for only his littlest fingers. He remembers the pressure and sudden pain of his finger being wrenched out of where it was tucked into Harrington’s pants. He hadn’t even realized it was missing.

Slipping it onto his other pinkie, Eddie murmurs a quiet “thanks,” cheeks blooming with color at the implications.

Harrington doesn’t respond, but Eddie can feel his gaze on the back of his head as he walks over to Harrington’s horrific plaid curtains and twitches them back to look outside. There’s nothing to see but the same red sky, the same vine-covered pool, the same empty backyard they’d fled last night.

Not wanting to stare at the hopeless sight anymore, Eddie bends down to pull the borrowed socks and his slightly damp boots back on his feet.

Eddie can hear the sound of clothes shuffling behind him, refusing to turn back around until the sound stops. But then Harrington gasps out, “Nancy?”

Eddie turns, expecting to see Harrington’s girlfriend miraculously in the room with them, but there’s nothing but Harrington spinning wildly around the room, looking for something Eddie can’t see.

“Nancy?” he says again, louder this time, still at nothing.

Eddie’s sure he’s gone around the bend, and he’s going to have to put him down like old yeller, but then he hears it, “-would he have gone?” It’s quiet, muffled, but there.

“I don’t know, Nancy,” another voice replies, sounding exasperated. “Maybe he’s off with his parents vacationing in Europe or something. Who cares? Can we go before someone calls the police?”

“Barb?” Steve calls again, growing louder still.

Eddie still can’t see anyone, but he calls out “Wheeler?” desperate to be heard.

“Will is missing, though!” Wheeler replies. Her voice sounds shrill—less like she’s panicking and more like she’s about ready to lose it and sock her friend in the jaw. “Do you really think that’s a coincidence?”

“Yes!”

“Nancy!” Steve calls again, this time loud enough to echo through the room.

Eddie’s yanked open the closed door to the Harrington’s stupid en-suite bathroom, like Wheeler and her mystery friend will suddenly appear in the bath tub, hanging out like the world is still normal. He’s even poked his head into the dark interior of the closet they’d slept in, but no dice.

Harrington is still screaming his head off to the two girl’s who are either playing the world’s cruelest prank or simply can’t hear him, when Eddie opens Harrington’s bedroom door.

It happens before he’s taken even one step out into the hallway. There’s that sound that makes his hair stand on end. Foxes chittering, television static trapped in an enclosed box and made horrific and animal. Eddie closes the door.

Harrington’s still screaming as it grows louder—grows closer.

“Harrington,” he snaps, voice cracking on each syllable.

He doesn’t stop screaming until Eddie’s backed up right into him, unable to look away from the door as he trips over Harrington’s feet. His shoulders are setadied.

Nancy’s still talking. Eddie can’t hear her over Harrington’s ragged breathing, over that thing chittering up the stairs.

“Munson, what’s—” He must hear it because he stops talking, and his nails really dig in, little pricks of pain that Eddie wants to lean back into.

He finds himself bargaining in his brain to some nebulous being he doesn’t believe in. He’ll let Harrington beat him bloody if that thing doesn’t come into this room. He’ll tell Wayne he loves him more. He’ll stop skipping P.E. He’ll go to church, god damn it! But none of it works. The sound grows louder.

Harrington’s forearm is suddenly in front of his sternum, pulling him along backwards. Eddie stumbles further into him, letting his weight drop onto Harrington fully. The bastard doesn’t even seem to notice, as he continues dragging Eddie bodily away from the door.

Wheeler’s friend is talking now. Eddie has no idea what she’s saying, only that her voice turns angry and shrill just as Harrington begins to slide his bedroom window up. Just as that horrific nightmare of a monster busts down Harrington’s bedroom door like it’s a cardboard playhouse.

He’s paralyzed, rooted to the spot as the thing opens its gaw and screams, twining horrifically with the mundanity of two invisible girls arguing. The blinds clack together as Harrington lunges through them, pulling Eddie out the window behind him. He can hear the strings holding them together snap–knows the sound intimately from all the guitar strings he’d broken while learning.

His back scrapes painfully on the top of the sill as he’s crammed through the opening. He doesn’t care what shapes Harrington configures his body into as long as he keeps pulling him away from that thing.

His opinion holds as Harrington drags him bodily across the shingles of his roof. The monster lunges, stuck halfway through the too-small window, as Eddie’s hauled upright.

“Fucking, go,” Harrington yells, shoving him toward the sheer drop off the roof. He’s just considering jumping when he continues, somehow finding the energy to sound exhausted, “the gutters, man. Shimmy down. I do it all the time.”

He’s not looking at Eddie anymore, back turned like somehow keeping the monster in sight will stop it from swallowing them whole.

Eddie eyes the gutter. It looks flimsy and too smooth to hold onto, but the horrific sounds emanating from Harrington’s bedroom make a compelling argument. He kneels, latches his hands into the loop of the gutter and swings himself off the roof.

Vertigo almost takes him down, but Eddie manages to hang on, shuffling quickly down as he hears glass begin to splinter from above.

Harrington’s foot catches him in the shoulder before he makes it all the way down. His fingers slip–he falls.

It’s not a long fall, but he lays, winded in the aftermath and watching Harrington leap and roll like some goddamn action hero, before he’s yanking Eddie up and dragging him blindly away from the house.

It’s quiet by the time they reach the woods. Eddie can’t hear Harrington behind him past his own ragged breathing. He only knows he’s there by the warm hand clutched tightly into his vest, like he’s a school child fond of running into the road. Eddie doesn’t mind.

He minds even less when, once fully ensconced in the trees, Harrington pushes him against a tree and pulls him down beside him.

It’s reminiscent of those first moments in the closet. They’re close together, Eddie can’t catch his breath, and they’re both staring, horrified in front of them waiting for the big bad wolf to come eat them.

Harrington is holding his hand.

Part 4

#steddie upsidedown au #steddie fic #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #my fic

460 notes · View notes

my313 · 2 months

Text

instagram bf!beomgyu 🐻📷

now playing 𝄞₊⊹ love - rocco

⋆ pairing: bf!beomgyu x f!reader

⋆ warnings/themes: fluff, pda, paris trip w gyu, has some insta story pics, suggestive at the end but not rly?, i love writing cute whipped men beomgyu will not be exempt!!!!

a/n: only a few days until cb!! so have this hehe <3 been thinking abt it since he opened his insta acc .. and the amount of pics hes taken for user page.soobin!!! me 🤝 beomu photographer agenda

your friends compliment how well your paris pictures turned out, gushing about how they can tell you’re glowing even through their phone screens. one of them even asks how you smile so genuinely. your colleague asks how your candids look picture-perfect, as if the sun knew when to kiss your skin, or when the moon illuminated the swell of your cheeks, and especially as if the camera just knew when to shoot.

there is no magic to your pictures, but you have something — rather, someone — quite close.

your boyfriend of many years, choi beomgyu, had always had a knack for making things appear more beautiful in his capable, calloused hands. though, if he heard you now, he’d give you a scolding, “the camera just captures your beauty. it’s not any of my doing, babe.”

maybe that’s a half-truth, but you know that your boyfriend definitely works his magic on you.

because when beomgyu has a lens in his hold, be it your phone or an ebay-bought digicam; it’s his love for you that carries. every frame that manages to reach yours or his instagram following, even the ones tucked safely behind your phone case and in his wallet.

it’s all a culmination of beomgyu’s lovestruck gaze, his animated attempts of hyping you up, the jokes you pass back and forth, and the utter adoration you have for him.

you vividly remember the night you and beomgyu aimlessly strolled around paris. the streets would appear dull to many, but you and beomgyu could make any city an enamoring experience with your uncontrollable fits of laughter, mischievous giggles, and the comical sway of your clasped hands back and forth.

like most tourists, you end up by the eiffel tower.

when beomgyu unclasps your hands to paw at the lens cover of his camera, you laugh. “isn’t it illegal to take pictures here at night?”

he moves the camera to his face, trying to look through the viewfinder with one eye shut. “you know what’s illegal, baby?” he redirects his gaze to your unassuming face, the camera moved to the side.

“hm?” your head tilts, genuinely curious.

beomgyu bites down on his lip to hide the growing smile he always can’t seem to control when you’re at mercy to his foolishness. one of the things he loves about you is the way you’re simultaneously gullible and quick enough to join the banter he sets up.

his index finger positions itself on the button readily, shifting back to cameraman mode with the chunky piece of technology blocking out his face.

“to not take photos of my gorgeous, most prettiest, scrumptious, girlfriend that i can frame and put up everywhere.” click.

you stare at him, dumbfounded. even more confused by the click of his camera. you don’t hear it again until seconds later when you throw your head back to let out a boisterous laugh; the ridiculous kind that only beomgyu loves and other tourists hate. click.

when your face is back in the viewfinder, beomgyu shoots again. it feels as though the lens is brought to a new life when you’re the muse, because beomgyu’s rose-coloured gaze shifts the world the camera sees through a pinkish filter — one with hearts and sparkles everywhere. all because of you.

the warmly-lit eiffel tower shies in comparison to the warmth of the grin etched on your lips, cheeks about to burst. click. click. click. one more with flash.

beomgyu makes a halt, capping the lens and slinging the camera over his neck again. you’re calming down from your laughing fit, but you still clutch at your stomach breathlessly. beomgyu takes this as a chance to walk over and take you into his arms.

he nestles you into him, letting you rest your head on his chest like you were too shy to look up at him. a chaste kiss to your forehead prompts you to look up at beomgyu. he smiles fondly at you, “wanna see the photos?”

you grumble, falling back into his chest. his hearty laugh makes you feel the vibrations, and you can’t picture being with anyone else in this lifetime or the next. “i guess…”

he lets you pull away, but only so far. beomgyu’s arms never stray too far, especially when he’s not holding your hand. he wraps an arm around your waist and huddles you in, like showing you these candid pictures of you laughing at his nth stupid joke was some top secret.

“this one’s gonna be a banger, babe…” he scrolls through the camera’s memory roll. “credit me when you post, okay?” he pouts at you.

you roll your eyes, more dotingly than in irritation. “clout chaser…”

“nooo..” he whines.

“i just want people to see who’s behind the camera, making you laugh, seeing you at your most beautiful.” beomgyu’s shift from teasing to sentimental has you cooing. you can’t help but give him a little head pat, one of his favourite forms of affection. like a puppy.

you nod, laughing along. “don’t worry, everyone knows. but i’ll do it for you, my struggling artist~”

“i won’t be struggling anymore if you gimme kiss,” back to taking jabs. his lips are in a pout and you’re tempted to pinch them with your fingers, knowing he’ll grumble cutely.

“c’mon, it’s commission for the photos. good deal, right?”

you peck his lips multiple times, then one on either side of his cheek. by the time you finish, he looks like a smiling fool. you poke at his whisker dimples while your other hand holds his hand.

“i’ll give you an even better payment if we go back to the hotel now. what d’you think, pretty boy?”

beomgyu has never walked that fast in his life.

#from.313 #313.softhours #313.beomgyu #beomgyu fluff #choi beomgyu x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt x reader #txt fluff #beomgyu soft thoughts #beomgyu soft hours #txt soft thoughts #txt soft hours

279 notes · View notes