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hihomeghere · 2 months

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Salt and Pepper | Arthur Morgan / Reader

Word count : 1.4k Summary : Arthur notices his hair is starting to gray. I saw a post on here about Arthur with salt and pepper hair and I couldn’t stop myself hehe. Warnings/Tags : talk about death, getting old, Arthur loves his wife, no tb, Arthur and reader own a house, mention of past gang members, cursing, lots of fluff, self deprecation on Arthur’s side, bullets, mention of weight gain (in a positive way)

“Godamn ugly bastard.” Arthur huffed, his gaze piercing as he looked into the mirror. He hadn’t meant to have himself a pity party this morning. In fact he was feeling quite fine this morning before looking in the small bathroom mirror. Waking up next to you always puts a spring in his step. Especially when he’s waking up in a real bed, underneath a soft quilt that you happened to sew in some free time. Mismatched patches and all, it was his favorite thing in the small home you two shared. Hell, you were becoming quite domestic ever since the house was completed.

But he wasn’t exactly expecting to find gray hair sprouting from his hairline. He wasn’t that old, was he?

“Jesus.” He sighed, inspecting further he realized it wasn’t one or two gray hairs, it was almost twenty. Hidden under his longer than normal locks after forgoing a haircut for the last couple weeks. He was surprised you hadn’t noticed them, especially with how much you loved to run your fingers through his hair. Although, he loved it just as much, maybe even more.

God, he needed to get rid of these before you saw them. He was sure you had some tweezers around here somewhere. He opened up your drawer, rifling around for your tweezers. Bingo. His hands gripped the small piece of metal, a triumphant smile on his face.

It was only once he looked back up into the mirror, determined to fix this issue before you woke up, that he noticed you padding into the bathroom. Rubbing sleep from your eyes, you wrapped your arms around his middle.

“Mornin’.” You hummed, laying your cheek against his bicep, smiling sweetly at him through the mirror.

“Mornin’.” He said, clearing his throat.

“What do you need those for?” You asked, eyeing the tweezers in his hand. Caught red handed, he tried coming up with some excuse.

“Nothin’ sweetheart.” He said, giving you his signature smile, kissing your forehead. He slipped the tweezers into his pocket for safe keeping, at least until he had a free moment without you around. After all those years on the run and he could come up with nothing, Hosea would have been so disappointed in his lack of an answer. He swore he could hear the old man chastising him now.

“For a former outlaw you sure are an awful liar.” You tutted, shaking your head, slipping your fingers into his pocket and pulling out the tweezers.

“Well it ain’t my fault,” He huffed playfully, “Could never get nothin’ past you anyway.” He said, rubbing the back of his neck. You removed your hands from around his waist, leaning back on the sink as you looked up at him.

“Spill.” You said raising an eyebrow, your arms crossed over your chest.

Knowing he’d been caught, Arthur hung his head, a low sigh leaving his lips.

“It’s just-“ He cursed, turning to look away from you, “Well I’m goin’ gray.” He admitted, not meeting your eyes.

“And?” You asked in such a nonchalant manner.

“And?” He asked looking up at you, his brows furrowed.

“So you have some gray hairs.” You said with a shrug, “You’re acting like the damn world is ending.” You chuckled softly, a smile tugging on your lips.

“Well-“ Arthur sighed, pursing his lips, he didn’t want to be vain but damn it, it did feel like the world was ending.

“Honey.” You said softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. “Ain’t nothing wrong with some gray hairs.” You said, shaking your head, looking so goddamn patient as always. What he did in a past life to deserve you he would never know, he definitely didn’t deserve you in this one. You smiled, running your thumb over his couple day old stubble. He couldn’t help but sigh softly, leaning into your touch.

“Just makes me feel old ‘s all.” He shrugged, closing his eyes.

“Arthur.” You said softly, he opened his eyes. His bright azure pools looking into yours. “Getting old means we’re still alive.” You said pointedly, not missing the way your fingers trailed lightly down his chest.

He sighed softly, anyone who said he was the most like Hosea had obviously never had a one on one conversation with you. You had shared the same dry wit along with being just as wise as the old man. Sometimes he wondered if the two of you were more closely related than just being adopted by him as a kid.

As your hand settled over his heart, he couldn’t help but remember a time when you didn’t have this place. When his next breath had been an undeserved blessing. When you and Charles had pulled his broken body off that godforsaken mountain. You were right, he should be grateful for these gray hairs and new lines on his face. Should be grateful that he made it this far out west with you, where the air was dryer and slowly his lungs didn’t hurt as bad with each breath.

If anything he should be grateful that you’re here, here in this house. The house that he built specifically for you. That you’re not buried six feet under like most of the fellow gang members. That you didn’t catch a bullet like Lenny or Sean, how he wished they could have had the chance to grown old. Even as mouthy as Sean was, the poor bastard didn’t deserve that. Lenny was just a boy, foolish enough to be sucked in by Dutch’s silver tongue. He shook his head trying to clear any thoughts of the past.

God, along with the fact that somehow both of you still happen to be standing, the fact that you chose to stand by him after everything you went through makes his head swim. You could have left him at any point, hell he had begged you to leave after his death sentence. And yet, here you were.

“Guess you’re right.” He said, a small smile tugging on his lips.

“Course I am.” You teased, a smile spreading across your face. You leaned forward, brushing your nose against his. He accepted your silent invitation, pressing his lips against yours. So soft and warm and inviting. He could feel you smile against his lips. That small smile warmed him from the inside out, nearly making his toes curl.

Jesus, he was lucky. More than lucky, he still couldn’t figure out how he had tricked you into marrying him. He wanted to be the best version of himself for you, he had made a promise to try every day to be a better man for you. You shouldn’t be tied down to a miserable old fool like himself.

As if you could read his mind, which he often suspected you could, your soft voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Besides,” You began as you pulled away, “I like the salt and pepper look.” Arthur scoffed, shaking his head.

“Really?” He asked, raising a brow.

“Really.” You nodded, running your hand through his hair. “Think you get more handsome every day.” If anyone was getting prettier every day it was you. Your hair was longer, cascading down your shoulders in waves. No longer tied up in a tight braid or bun. You looked relaxed, at peace. You became softer once you both settled into your new lifestyle. Not just emotionally, although you still had that fire which had first drawn him towards you, like a moth to a flame. You were physically softer, your harsh edges smoothing out as you started to eat and sleep better. Your curves became more prominent, and he certainly didn’t mind having more to hold onto late at night.

Maybe you truly did feel the same about him. He had never known you to lie. A blush settled on his cheeks at the thought. He shook his head, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Yeah, alright darlin’.” He says taking your face in his hands, kissing you again before you had the chance to embarrass him further.

Maybe getting old wasn’t so bad if you had someone to grow old with.

#rdr2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan x reader #hosea matthews #red dead redemption #rdr #hihomeghere #dutch van der linde #Charles smith #Arthur died??not in my Minecraft server #john marston #fluff

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alavestineneas · 6 months

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Losing dogs

pairing: young!coriolanussnow x fem!reader

summary: His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return. warnings: not really canon-compliant, mentions of minor violence, blood and shitty relationships word count: 4k

Part 2 is here!

author's note: remember kids, manipulators and sick bastards are only hot in fiction - don't do them (and drugs) in real life!

The polished toes of his new shoes reflected everything in the grand hall—they caught glimmers of lamps adorned with gold, colourful drapes on the enormous windows, and the kaleidoscopic dresses of women around. The chatter filled the room, almost too loud to hear the music—not that he would enjoy it either. Some things require focus.

''Mister Fabius, Missis Fabius.''

Corialanus's face melts into a smile-like expression at the sight of the older couple.

They look like lice in the large building—rich lice, that is. The golden and platinum rings on Missis Fabius's fingers shine with every gemstone known to man, mirroring the bright lights. The jewels look ugly on the wrinkly hand, he notes. What a waste.

''Mister Snow, what a surprise! I was just telling Livia of your prodigious success in your new position. Incredible work, Mr. Snow; simply incredible! ''

The man's face radiated with excitement, getting closer in shade to his burgundy tie. The gold threats on it piqued more interest for Mister Snow than the words of the old man—after all, it's not every day you meet such luxury in person.

The man's wife, however, seemed less enthusiastic; her cold, bored gaze circled him up and down, stopping only after getting the satisfaction of an undoubtedly unpleasant conclusion.

Coriolanus mentally went over his outfit, hairstyle, and anything else she might have noticed. Nothing was out of place; the holes in his coat were a thing of the past. Still, it was something—that thought found its place in his brain, drilling a small hole in its way.

''When will we know of your decision, Mister Snow? We gave you time—a lot of time.''

''This evening, Mrs. Fabius. After the play, I promise to give you my answer tonight.''

He has to look first. What fool buys a horse blind? Sure, the horse came with immense fortunes and, most importantly, connections, but still. He couldn't afford to make a hasty decision, especially when the stakes were so high. After all, he was one of the most desirable bachelors; Fabiuses had to thank him for even considering the offer.

''There is no agreement until tomorrow, Mister Snow. We will have you for breakfast at nine o'clock sharp,'' Mr Fabius said, placing a hand on his wife's back and leading her towards the entrance. They could afford not to make one's adieu.

The opera was popular among the richest; all of the seats were taken. He would have lied if he said the golden rails and red velvet didn't make him feel a bit out of place. Nobody paid him any attention, although this time it didn't hurt him as much as usual. He could hide in the shadows of his box seat without being concerned about making an impression.

Not the stage, of course. It was the least of his worries, although he did pay a high price for a ticket. No, he looked at her.

The golden gown on her was a shimmering masterpiece. Layers and layers of the most expensive fabric covered her body like soft waves, crashing down at the round neckline with their gilded ends. She wore diamond earrings, just like her mother did, although they suited her better.

Coriolanus remembered her from the academy; she always sat near the window, gazing out at the world with a longing in her eyes. She wasn't a very bright student but rather a dutiful one. always on time, always prepared with her assignments, and always eager to please her teachers. The heiress to the jewellery empire. The flower of the elite social scene. Her presence attracted attention, yet she seamlessly blended into the background, never stealing the spotlight. YN Fabius was everything he needed her to be—a picture, but never a spectacle.

The manor was grand and opulent, showing the wealth and status of the Fabius family. Its sprawling gardens and delicate architecture were a testament to its esteemed position in society. Collums, paintings, and endless staircases stood as if frozen in time. It was as if there was no war just a decade ago.

''Mister Snow,'' the butler called out, his voice echoing through the grand foyer. ''Breakfast is served in the blue dining hall; if you would please follow me.''

Thousands and thousands of steps and passages lined the walls, leading to various wings and chambers of the mansion. It was warm, even during the cold autumn season. Only keeping the fireplaces always lit must cost a fortune.

When they finally reached the needed room, Coriolanus was slightly out of breath. The blue walls reached the high ceiling, painted with pictures of half-naked gods and goddesses frolicking in fields of flowers. It created the illusion of a smell wafting through the air as if the vibrant colours had come to life.

The table was served for four, not three, suggesting that someone else was expected to join them. The silverware gleamed under the soft rays of sunshine, casting a shimmering glow across the room—pure silver, nothing less.

The door behind him opened with a gentle creak, revealing Mr. Fabiuse's humble figure. His simple, at first glance, shirt was another of the perfectly constructed illusions—Coriolanus knew the fabrics like the back of his hand. The shirt, though seemingly plain, was made from the finest Egyptian cotton, woven with intricate patterns.

''Mister Snow, how good that you came on time. Excuse my ladies, the girls are such girls at every age. Take so long to get ready,'' he laughs. ''Please, take a seat," Mr. Fabius said, gesturing towards a plush chair covered in velvet.

''There is no point in all of those paints once you hit sixty,'' Mrs.Fabius said, appearing right behind her husband. She circled the table before taking a seat herself, her eyes glancing disapprovingly at the young man. "Let's begin before the food grows cold," she added with a sigh, her tone tinged with resignation.

''Of course,'' Mr. Fabius nodded, lifting the lid on the first dish. The aroma of it filled the room, and Coriolanus couldn't help but feel his hunger grow. He didn't have the habit of eating so much in the morning—another thing he needs to adjust about his routine.

When Mr.Fabius finally placed the fork down, Coriolanus knew it was time. ''Thank you for the invitation, Mr. Fabius. I must say, I thought a lot about your proposal, and after careful consideration, I have decided to accept it.''

''Good.'' Mrs. Fabius answered instead, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I'm glad to hear that, Coriolanus. I believe this union will bring great delights to both of us."

Mr. Fabius seemed not to notice the interruption. ''I think a winter wedding would be absolutely perfect. Everybody seems to be getting married in the spring, but in the winter? Oh, it's definitely going to be a hit. Ah, and here's the lucky bride-to-be!''

She stood beside the just-opened door, her eyes following his expressions. Her hands, adorned just with one small pearl ring, were gently clasped together in front of her. She looked nervous, like a child standing in front of the full class on the first school day. Her dress, a delicate lace creation, clings to her figure like a second skin.

He smiled at her. YN looked like an antique statue, as if she just stepped out of the ruins of the Panem. Coriolanus wasn't even sure she was breathing—her stillness was so deep.

''Let's leave the lover birds to chirp,'' Mrs.Fabius said, standing up. She walked towards the couple, her heels clicking against the floor, and extended her hand towards YN. "Congratulations, my dear," she said with a warm smile before leaving, her husband following after her.

''It's time for a ring, isn't it?'' Coriolanus cleared his throat. Everything is to be done appropriately; there is no reason to avoid traditions. He reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a small box. White, of course—who is he, if not a romantic at heart?

''Mr. Snow,'' YN watched him stand up and come closer with the same expression she always bore—a mixture of melancholy and worship. ''Grant me something.''

He paused. Coriolanus didn't like to make promises. He would have to make it clear to her later, after the wedding—the fact that he took her for a bride was enough of a promise. Still, he needed this engagement to work, and he was not about to lose it to a crude lie. With a sigh, he softly replied, "What is it that you desire, Miss YN?"

''Promise me you will be kind to me. All of our marriage, promise to be kind to my heart.''

Coriolanus almost laughed in her face. Oh, what a lovely, clueless fool. "I will do my best to treat you with kindness, Miss YN."

''Good,'' she smiles. ''I think we will make a great couple then, Mister Snow.''

''Coriolanus, my dear. Please call me Coriolanus."

He couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance. It was sealed. His golden prize, his future wife, was now bound to him by the ring on her finger. Of all of his investments, this one had the potential to yield the greatest return.

Mr.Fabius didn't lie—his daughter was the perfect bride. She never spoke to him unless he did first; she never questioned him. She simply followed his lead, like a well-trained pet. A pretty, lovely YN. She knew what to do, how to dress, and what to say. He searched for one—at least a slight imperfection—and couldn't find one; it was as if she wasn't a human, which, to him, she wasn't.

''What are you going to do today?'' he asks, without bothering to look up from the newspaper. He doesn't wish to hear her answer, but he still asks out of courtesy. Coriolanus knows that her daily routine is made up of attending charity events, dinners with influential figures's wives, and shopping for designer clothes. It's a predictable pattern.

''Well, the trees I ordered came in today; I'll have to chat with the new gardener about them. Are you meeting with anyone important later?"

''As a matter of fact, I do. Larry Tremblay wants to include me in a business deal he's been working on."

It's partly true, but she doesn't need to know more. Just a familiar name was usually enough for his wife to hum in satisfaction and assume that he was still climbing the social ladder. Not this time, evidently.

''You shouldn't accept.''

He looked up from his cup, trying to guess if she had gone out of her mind. YN looked like usual, her eyes meeting his without a care in the world. Why today, of all days, she decided to question his decision was beyond him. He cleared his throat, attempting to maintain his composure. "And why should I decline such a good-looking opportunity?"

''He beats his wife. Just yesterday, I saw her with bruises. ''

Coriolanus fought hard to keep a smile from forming on his lips. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, feigning indifference. He knew his wife wasn't the brightest, but this? "Is that so?"

''Don't you understand what it means? The man only beats his wife for two reasons. If he has always enjoyed those types of things, which Larry did not, or if he loses power and control in other aspects of his life. The business isn't going as well as he wants it to,'' YN lowers her gaze, losing confidence in her voice. ''I thought you would want to know that.''

He would, very much. Her conclusion was the dumbest thing he ever heard, based on some black and blue marks and a twist of her imagination. Still, it was interesting—his wife's head wasn't always empty like he hoped. She thought enough to notice something, and she listened enough to remember his partners.

''I will keep that in mind,'' he replied, his tone tinged with a hint of annoyance. What harm could it do to entertain her thoughts? It was even slightly amusing to see her try to piece together a puzzle that didn't exist.

It wasn't so fun anymore when Larry Tremblay was fired exactly two weeks later. Surely, it could be a consequence, but Coriolanus Snow didn't believe in them. There had to be something, anything, to explain his wife's sudden knowledge—she couldn't have acquired it on her own, about that he was sure.

YN looked unfazed by his questioning gaze as she lay on the dark olive-coloured sofa in his office, continuing to play with a snow-white kitten on her stomach. It was his wedding gift, one of many—the pricy creature with a diamond collar. He thought it was rather symbolic—two caged animals who were once considered sacred.

''How did you understand that Tremblay was about to be fired?'' Coriolanus asked, his voice laced with suspicion. It could be that she overheard the woman talk about it, or even that she had some inside information from her connections. What bothered him more was what she could know from the same source about him.

YN paused, her fingers gently stroking the kitten's fur as she met his gaze. "I didn't know that. I simply knew he had trouble at work. Evidently, they were big enough for him to lose his position."

''Really?'' he chuckled. Maybe she was telling the truth. ''Then, what can you say about my work?''

YN's eyes narrowed slightly. "Your work doesn't matter; how you present yourself does. Can I give you some advice?'

"Sure.'' Coriolanus bit his tongue, fighting the urge to snap back at her. After all, it is what he married her for—to fit in. He took a deep breath.

''Buy a new car, but not the most expensive one; it will give off an impression of stability, like you know the job isn't going anywhere. Your shoes are always too polished; it's like you wore them right out of the box. And throw away that hideous tie you always wear—you look like a student."

''Something else?'' Coriolanus mustered a weak smile, trying to hide his frustration.

''I don't want to offend you, Coriolanus. But I want you to do well. After all, you are my husband now, and your success reflects on both of us. Why not help where I can? You know I love clothes.''

''Good, '' he replied, forcing a more genuine smile. "Now get away from that cat before it scratches you. I'll figure out the rest on my own."

''Of course you will. You are the smartest man I've ever met.''

He was. It was because of his intelligence that YN married him, because of his ambition. Well, that and something else.

From her earliest childhood, YN knew what she was destined to be. She was the child of late parents, the only child, and a girl; she would inherit everything the generations of her family worked so hard to achieve. And YN was no fool; she needed a man. Driven, proud, and cold-blooded. The one who was not afraid to get his hands dirty while she spent her time leisurely in his shadow. Oh, no—YN never minded her place, much like her mother did. She taught her to bet on the finest horses, and Coriolanus Snow was no exception.

From the time she saw him in his ridiculously tight shirt in the academy, she knew what she wanted. Him. The top of every class, the charmer with pretty eyes—a catch, really. Her mother said there was darkness inside her dear Coriolanus, but YN knew. That's why she now sits in the opulent living room, waiting for him to get home. Mr. Snow was a horrific, ruthless man. But he was still, at his core, a man.

And men never listen. That's how she got him and got him good—a silent, fawn-eyed creature that he thought he could control. An obedient wife and a lovely lap dog. It was funny to see his gaze twitch slightly when she said something she wasn't supposed to—how long would it take him to figure it out?

It's time—his tall figure appeared in the corridor leading to the living room. YN watches silently as he takes off his shoes and coat, placing them on the rack by the door. Home at seven p.m. sharp, just like any other day. Just like any other day, dinner is at the table.

He never said thank you. Instead, her closet grew bigger with countless dresses, bags, and shoes—sometimes even brand-new jewellery. YN didn't mind it; she loved it—the jealous whispers of other women at the events about how lucky she was. She didn't have to sleep with a big, fat old man to get the latest fur coat or the most exquisite diamond necklace.

At least a few times a month now, Coriolanus would wake up in the middle of the night, screaming. This night was one of those: YN woke up from the constant turning and tossing in the bed. She doesn't know how he didn't figure out why; it was easy to guess his food contained something to make his sleep far worse—YN made sure of that. Maybe he just didn't have the heart to admit his weaknesses, even to himself.

''Hey,'' she whispered, getting out of the warm covers. YN tiptoed over to Coriolanus' side of the bed, careful not to bump into anything in the dark. ''Hey, wake up. Are you okay?" she asked, gently shaking him awake.

Coriolanus jolted upright, his eyes wide with fear as he gasped for breath. He wasn't; of course, he wasn't. Yn would have lied if she said she didn't find it hot to see him like this—sweat glistening on his forehead, his chest heaving.

''You were having a nightmare again.''

He looked at her with the eyes of a lunatic, still not over his dream. ''What did I say this time?"

''You were mumbling something about birds and songs, I think? It didn't make much sense."

He doesn't recall that she mentored the 10th game too. Without much success, of course, but one thing she did remember was a girl from District 12 who liked to sing. Coriolanus remembered her too; it was evident from the fear that crossed his eyes.

''Excuse me,'' he said, his voice still shaky. ''I need a moment.''

YN watched as he stumbled towards the bathroom, his hands twitching. As much as her husband wanted to hide those parts of himself, he couldn't. Not from her.

There was nothing else to do but wait. YN climbed on the bed, turning her back to the bathroom door. Coriolanus would only come out when he thought she had fallen asleep. She learned to control her breath when she was just a little girl; it saved her life once, when a rebel pointed a gun at her small frame, meaning to shoot. He didn't—what use was it to waste a bullet on a non-breathing child?

Surely, after some time, the blonde man stepped out of the bathroom. For a few minutes, he listened to her steady breathing before sliding under the covers and pressing his body against hers, his large hand covering her shoulders. Coriolanus wasn't gentle; YN wasn't sure he knew what the word meant anyway, but he was careful. His arm around her chest wasn't tight—just enough for him to bring her closer.

As much as YN wanted to turn around and face him, she didn't. There was no point—like any other human, he hated the feeling of vulnerability. Instead, YN focused on the warmth of his body. Coriolanus Snow was a god more than a human, and real gods were never kind. The only currency they recognized was blood.

The annual party for the victor of this year's games. The first year Coriolanus Snow worked as a head gamemaker, his creation was a bloodbath, a spectacle of violence and despair. He did a good job—an excellent one, even—and one of the greatest stars of today's celebration was him.

They needed to dress the part in clothes that exuded power. And so they did. Coriolanus's suit was ample—purple velvet with gold embroidery—the colour of Roman emperors. The colour of the winners. The suit hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, suiting his white hair. Gold cufflinks, gold rings—he looked like a sovereign among men. It was risky to do so right in front of the current president, but who was Coriolanus Snow if he was not confident in his success?

YN wore the gown from the matching collection, a floor-length masterpiece. The deep purple colour was a stark contrast to her skin tone. And jewellery, of course—she came from the Fabius family for a reason. The lavender diamonds on her necklace and earrings. They were rare—the rarest—even. Only a few violet diamonds have been mined in the past seventy years.

It was all anyone talked about behind their backs. Whispers, rumours, and so much venom dripped from the mouths of Panem's elite—that's what they were hoping for, anyway. The Snows were just as shamelessly rich as they were powerful.

That's why they now sat at the President's table, just a few faces away from them. Coriolanus smiled to himself - not even the President's wife could compare to YN. Not in fashion, not in elegance. He had an impeccable taste - even a person far away from politics could see that.

''A toast!'' the President stood up with a glass in his hand, turning to face the Coriolanus. ''I am sure many of you know who was the mastermind behind the games this year - it's my pleasure to introduce Coriolanus Snow to those of you who don't. However, not many know his story of success. From a dirt-poor background, when his greatest possession was his family name, he worked hard to achieve the position he holds today. Let us raise our glasses and celebrate his remarkable journey to success and the country of Panem - the land of opportunity!''

YN cursed under her breath as she listened to the crowd cheer for her husband. He remained stoic - the only thing that gave away his fury was his eyes - they grew as dark as the sky outside. She didn't bother to calm him - this fire was impossible to put out. The President made a fatal mistake with his speech - she knows. But the true fear crept into her heart when she saw the President's wife pass Coriolanus the dish.

Cabbage.

Under a fancy sauce, it could be transformed into a delicacy fit for their circle. But tonight, it was his last straw. The colours changed on the face of Coriolanus, from white to all shades of red. His fists clenched, and veins pulsed on his temples. The room fell silent as they observed.

''Oh, I am so sorry,'' YN chipped in. Quick, something. ''I have a terrible allergy to cabbage.''

The President's wife looked concerned. ''Oh, I didn't know.''

YN made her eyes water, throwing a coughing feat for more dramatic effect. ''I think I need to step outside for some fresh air."

She felt a warm hand on her back. ''Let me accompany you, just to make sure you're alright." her husband announced, carefully leading her towards the exit.

The first thing he did when they reached the women's bathroom was break the mirrors in a fit of anger. Shards of glass scattered across the floor as he paced around the room like a caged animal. YN watched as shouted and hit the walls, sitting on the bathroom floor. Beautiful one - the tile was a lovely shade of pink, contrasting with the chaos unfolding before her.

After a good few minutes, he finally calmed down and sank to the floor beside her, his face buried in his hands. Her husband, her hauntingly beautiful, pathetic husband - oh, what a sight. He looked mad, maniac, even; his blonde hair was far from its usual perfectly styled form, falling on his tear-stained cheeks.

"What do you think of me?"

His voice is hoarse, a few notes down from a honey-like. She likes it better, YN thinks - nothing of the fasçade he was trying so hard to uphold. No, just a raw hunger with a mix of equally raw despair.

"I think you are an animal, Coriolanus."

She smiles, watching his expression change. He suspected it, of course - her husband was a smart man. Still, he can't believe it - his head twitches in her direction, his gorgeous bottomless eyes shining under the weak light of the only surviving floor lamp.

"What?" he asks with such a loss in his voice YN has to fight the urge to bring him close. Not now, she thinks. It's not the time.

"A hungry, desperate, sick, sick animal with nothing to lose."

Coriolanus gets closer abruptly, clearly angered - she can't let him leave now. His arm shouts to find its place on her neck, long, slim fingers forming a circle around her throat. "You think I am after money, don't you?"

"No, no," a yelp escapes her lips, bordering a hysterical laugh. "Only fools are after money, Coriolanus, and you are no fool."

YN watches as he loses his grip a little, calmed by her words. What a pitiful, fascinating creature was her husband - one word of reassurance and he is willing to let thousands of cursings slide.

"What is it, then? What did you fantasize about in your small dull head?"

He still doesn't believe her. YN is surprised at how quickly it becomes boring.

"You want power."

Clap - the grip on her neck is tight again.

"That's why you choose the fear. People forget the hand that feeds them, but the one who beats? Never."

The frown on his face falls a little, and through the gritted teeth escapes something like a curse. "You talk an awful lot about me," he notes. "What are you hungry for?"

"You."

He laughs. That was a deep, chest laugh - YN thinks she never heard him laugh so sincerely. "You want my love? Don't lie to me, YN," he taunts, pressing a little harder on her neck.

"Not love. Love is easily swayed, is it not? No, I want you."

Coriolanus looks at her as if he never done so before. Well, he looked thousands of times, but he didn't see. His eyes study every expression in hers, every part of her face. "A hungry dog is not a loyal dog," he finally masters.

There is a certain silence after his words. YN gulps, desperatly trying to help her dried throat - the blood from his hands ran down her neck onto her exposed chest, leaving sticky, dark trails behind.

"Feed me, then."

He kisses her. He puts a force behind it, watching her hands fall on his chest for some kind of support. Coriolanus kisses her until there is no air in YN's chest anymore, and she has to push him away to take a rushed breath.

They were going to be just fine.

After all, they both never bet on losing dogs.

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artemismoorea03 · 10 months

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DP x DC: Original Serial Adopter

When Bruce adopted Dick Grayson the Media was in a frenzy. The billionaire and playboy adopting an orphan after some kind of freak circus accident? Nobody expected it to last more than a month. The media called this action an "Act of Charity".

Then a few years later he adopted Jason Todd. Jason was much more scrappy and after a while some media started calling him the "Wayne Stray".

When he took in Tim after Jason's "accident" they called Tim a rebound. But instead of a relationship Tim was just being used to fill the void that Jason left. The media eventually called him "Jason Todd's replacement."

The media got much more suspicious when Bruce adopted Cassandra and crossed lines with their speculations that resulted in a lot of lawsuits. Though nobody in Wayne's circles believed the rumors for a second, so rumors were wiped out pretty quickly. The least offensive of these things called Bruce a "Bleeding Heart" when the media saw the scars Cassandra had.

Stephanie was never officially adopted - at least legally - but anybody who saw her with the family knew that Bruce had adopted her as a daughter. Like Cassandra she got some negative comments but they learned after the first time. "Another Wayne Joins The Manor".

When Damian came into the picture the media exploded. Comments along the lines of "The Bastard Child" which made Bruce's blood boil but kept quiet. Damian had only known violence and aggression growing up, and while his mother loved him she had exposed him to a life he didn't need to see. Bruce wasn't about to make everything worse by loosing it on the media for being jackasses.

When he fostered Duke the media exploded again. Showing the ugly side of human ignorance but Bruce and Duke were both able to ignore it (while Tim and Oracle found ways to rip every person apart who dared make a comment against them).

Bruce didn't care what they said, because at the end of the day he had children who he loved with all of his heart and was learning to do the best for. Sure, he made plenty of mistakes but he tried to learn from his mistakes.

Though the rumor about Bruce being a "Serial Adopter" was one that would be one that would never leave him.

But he had to learn it from somewhere.

A fact that was ignored until Alfred showed up back to the manor after a shopping trip with a scrawny child walking hesitantly behind him, carrying some of the groceries'. He was prime "adoption bait". Underweight, messy black hair, blue eyes that were just a bit too blue, and bruises that were in view despite the kids best attempt to cover them with his hoodie.

A large hand print bruise around his neck, scraped knuckles, and a bruise peeking out from under his hairline might as well have been ink in the pen that Bruce was going to use to sign that kids adoption papers and sign the receipt for the shovel he would buy to bury the bastards responsible.

After the groceries were put away Alfred properly introduced the kid. His name was Danny and after a series of unfortunate events while Alfred was shopping Danny had been forced to jump in and help him. Bruce thought that maybe Alfred had been in danger and never called them but when it became clear that luck just wasn't on his side and that he was never in danger for anything despite being late it made Bruce even more concerned about the teen that currently was eating his third apple as though he had never eaten anything in his life.

He stayed small, stayed silent, looking around the room anxiously. He clearly kept tabs on every window. Every door. Every exit but hardly paid any attention to the valuables. He was scared but not a thief.

Finally they have to ask about Danny's injuries. Was he safe at home? Did he have a place to stay? Why was he so thin? Did he need them to call somebody.

Danny was quiet for a long time.

"I don't have a home to go to. The bruises are fine, I'm just clumsy. I don't need a place to stay. Thanks for the food and the hospitality but... I don't feel like being kidnapped and tortured by another millionaire so if Alfred doesn't need anything else I should go."

Danny tried to get up and move, the pain obvious but before anybody could say anything else Alfred simply said.

"Sit."

Danny hesitated, then sighed and sat down again.

"You promised you would allow me to treat you before you left. I am a man of my word so as soon as you finish your apple I will bandage your wounds and you will be free to leave if you wish."

Classic Alfred trap.

One that worked flawlessly.

Fresh bandages, a full stomach, warm clean clothes and a cup of hot chocolate on the comfortable couch in the living room was all it took to lull the injured teen to sleep.

Alfred continued this trend for three more days managing to trick Danny into helping him with minor tasks around the manor, offering him another meal because he 'made too much and didn't want to waste it' and countless other things.

It wasn't until day four when Danny seemed to accept his fate and allowed them to help him. Which prompted Cass to point at Alfred.

"Original Serial Adopter."

Making the entire table laugh while Danny just looked increasingly confused.

#dp x dc prompt #my prompts #dc x dp prompt

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atsumulogy · 2 years

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WHEN YOUR CO-WORKER CALLS HIMSELF YOUR “WORK HUSBAND”

synopsis: how he reacts to your co-worker calling himself your “work husband”

featuring: miya atsumu, oikawa tooru, & iwaizumi hajime. fem!reader.

content warning(s): jealousy, possessive boys, weird co-worker, suggestive at iwa’s part 😵 sorry my hands slipped lmao. also grammar mistakes … have mercy i wrote this kinda half asleep + use of wife

naia’s footnote: yk that work wife thing? yeah, that but with a twist with the hq men 🤭 jealous scenarios are my guilty pleasure LOL i wrote this when i was supposed to be doing smth actually productive 😓‼️also i got carried away w atsumu’s haha

REQUESTS ARE OPEN! rb’s & likes are appreciated

#01 — WHEN COMING AS YOUR PLUS ONE IN YOUR OFFICE’S FANCY EVENT, MIYA ATSUMU didn’t want to admit it but he kind of expected to be fawned over by your female colleagues — not that he wanted them to! It’s just … expected, seeing how absolutely hot your husband is (the expensive suit and tie and all). What he did not expect was being introduced to your … what was it? Ahh, yes, “work husband”.

The absolute audacity and sheer nerve of this bastard to call himself that in front of him, the actual husband on the documents and in your heart.

Work husband. He scoffs silently, face scrunching up in irritation, poking his cheeks with his tongue instead of making a fuss in this exclusive event where lots of important people are present. As much as he cares for obliterating this man in front of him, he cares more about you and didn’t want to cause you any issues with your workplace.

(Though, if this ugly scrub touches your arm again and joke about Atsumu being the side chick, he wasn’t so sure that he wouldn’t cause a scene.)

Besides, the 24 karat gold necklace hanging around your neck with his initials attached to the chains and the elegant ring on your finger makes it painfully clear that your self-proclaimed work husband has no chance against the Miya Atsumu.

BONUS:

Atsumu may have acted mature about the situation while in the event, but behind closed doors he was whining and grumbling about that annoyin’ scrub.

“— like I still can’t believe he had the guts to say that in front of me!” He scoffs, face scrunching up again, his mouth forming a scowl. “Work husband… tsk, i’m yer only husband! hell, i’ll be yer work husband, house husband, and every other fuckin’ husband title there is!”

Instead of informing your husband that it doesn’t work like that, you nod to every word he said every time he looks at your eyes to back him up on his rant.

“Yes baby, I know. Now why don’t we get you a trophy with all those husband titles, hm?” You jokingly offered, patting his fluffy blonde hair.

Next week a package arrived carrying a shiny gold trophy with the words “Miya Y/n’s only house husband, work husband, and everything else in between” customized on the front <3

#02 — OIKAWA TOORU SCOFFED AFTER SOME IRRELEVANT, MEDIOCRE, UGLY MAN introduced himself as your “work husband”, somewhat offended because someone dared crown themselves a self-proclaimed title as your work husband — like that bastard is even worthy enough to be breathing the same air as you!

He recognizes this man to be the man you ranted to him about that was inappropriately acting like he’s close with you and many other women of your office.

Wanting to do you and the other women of your office a favor, he decided to humble him.

“Last time I checked, there was no side piece. And if there were to be a side piece — which will never happen by the way! — my wife would pick someone better looking than you. As you can see she has great taste, since she married me and only me. But you should know that by now, hm? Our wedding was even on the news!” showing the ring on his finger, wiggling it even to show emphasis, his tone and his (threatening) smile was friendly, but you all know that it was anything but that.

Oikawa Tooru is an intimidating opponent, both in and out of the court.

#03 — NEVER IN HIS 25 YEARS OF LIVING HAS IWAIZUMI HAJIME met a more annoying and repulsive person such as the man in front of him that cockily and casually called himself as your “work husband”.

You felt his beefy arms tighten around your waist, he leans in to you closely, his hot breath heating up your ears as he asked you with low voice, however still (purposely) loud enough for the guy in front of you two to hear. “Baby, do you even know him?”

You nodded, “He’s just some guy in the finance department who’s really weird, Hajime. I don’t even remember his name. Sato? Aoki?”

The man before you deflated, his cocky stance nowhere to be seen as he scoffs defensively, “It’s Nakamura —”

“— Yeah, sure, well my wife and I have somewhere else to be now. So goodbye Ishikawa-san.” He purposely used a different name — politely even, to mock him and push his buttons.

“It’s Nakamu —”

“Bye Sato-kun!” You played along with your husband’s petty antics, waving him off before locking your arms around Hajime’s before snuggling close to him as you two walked away. The both of you bursting out laughing once you guys think the guy was far away enough to not hear you two.

“Have you seen his face! He deserved that humbling experience!” You snorted, Hajime rolling his eyes as he remembers the guy.

“Okay but who even is he really? Is he always so flirtatious with you? What even is a work husband? Last time I checked, I’m the one who gave you that new last name of yours.” He grumbled, irritated at the thought of that bastard flirting with you at work when your husband wasn’t there.

“Aw, babe, you know that you’re the only one for me.” you patted his cheeks affectionately, smiling at him while giggling.

He does. He knows it, a bit too well at times. So he sighs and he lets it go. Because he knows that at the end of the day, he’s the one you come home to, he’s the one you cling onto while watching your favorite shows, he’s the one that rests his free hand on your thighs whenever you two go for a drive.

And tonight, he’s the one that will lay you down on the bed and touch you, talk to you, and feel you in ways that only he can do.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x you #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #oikawa tooru x reader #oikawa x reader #iwaizumi hajime x reader #iwaizumi x reader #atsumu fluff #oikawa fluff #iwaizumi fluff #haikyuu drabbles #hq x reader #haikyuu!!

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kazvha · 2 months

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Hi, I saw your requests were open for the time being. I wanted to ask if you could write some headcanons (or anything really) about isagi, kaiser or noa from blue lock having a crush on gn reader. Like how would they fall for them, deal with their feelings and confess ? Thanks for considering, good day/night.

Summary: Them developing a crush on you

Including: Kaiser, Noa, Isagi

Notes: First time writing for them, sorry if they're ooc. Thanks for requesting!

MICHAEL KAISER

• Kaiser became aware of you for the first time when he bumped into you and didn't even spare you a look. Irritated, you scowled and mentioned how ugly his haircut was

• He only gave you a side glance and went on

• Since then, he began to notice your presence much more on the Bastard München campus

• He saw you when he bought a coffee in the cafeteria, he recognized you standing on the side of the football field while he was warming up; even after his taxing training he noticed you on his way to the dorms

• Kaiser isn't someone who shies away from conversation. When you became the assistant of his physiotherapist he had finally the opportunity to talk with you

• He already forgot about the bumping incident and conversed with you like he did with everybody else, a lot of self-absorbed remarks and snarky comments. And you didn't hesitate to bite back

• He was a bit friendlier with you than with everybody else though because you weren't his opponent on the field

• Eventually you warmed up to each other and the stinginess in your conversations toned down a little. Kaiser found himself looking forward to finding you around campus and agitating you

• He quickly realized that he had formed a crush on you. That's also when every conversation with you took a flirty spin. Kaiser was confident in himself, it would only be a matter of time until you fell for him

• Kaiser addresses you with so many silly pet names like "Süßkartoffel, Schnucki, or Bärchen"* instead of using your name

• He's generally touchy with people, but he became so much more touchy-feely with you after realizing his feelings

• Head resting on your shoulder to look at the document you're reading, hands around your waist just for fun, or even patting your head and messing up your hair :(

• Kaiser tries everything to sweep you off your feet and fluster you. When he's sure that you like him back, he immediately asks you out.

• "You like me right? I caught you staring at me multiple times these last few days," he smiles arrogantly and leans back with his hands behind his head as you stare at him with raised eyebrows. "Good for you that I like you too! Let's go out this weekend."

(* sweet potato, sweetie, little bear)

NOEL NOA

• You were the social media manager of Bastard München and had to talk to Noa multiple times throughout the week since he was the player who got the most likes and views on your posts and videos

• Noa had to do several challenges and Tiktok dances because of you. He thought that most of them were strange, but the rational part of him understood that his cooperation would be good for the team's publicity

• He was so bad at dancing and doing these challenges, you had to teach him every time you shot a new dance video

• Noa was very flustered every time you came up to his side and guided him with your hands on him, but he didn't let it show

• Over time he became used to your ideas and you two grew a little bond. He even developed a little crush on you. The thought of carrying out your ideas wasn't that bad anymore as long as he got to spend time with you

• He tried to reason why he liked you in the first place. Several things came to his mind: His heart beat faster every time you were near him. He had the desire to please you. When he was with you, there was always a slight smile on his lips

• Noa wouldn't say anything and continue like this for a year, to find out if his feelings were fleeting

• He didn't feel the need to be in a romantic relationship right now since his hands were full with football-related things. But if he still decided to pursue one, he wanted to be with the right person

• So when his heart remained unchanged after a year, he tried his luck and asked you out in one of your shootings

• "Let me be frank with you, I caught feelings for you. Could I take you out on a date, if that's okay?"

YOICHI ISAGI

• Isagi fell for you after you interviewed him. You didn't ask him superficial questions like every other reporter, but you understood his plays and asked him about his ambitions

• He was initially stunned by your questions but answered all of them with eagerness in his voice

• He was so giddy when you exchanged your contact info at the end of it

• Also when you texted him, asking him for another interview

• The next one had a more casual vibe to it. You two went out to the park and ate street food while you asked him various questions. You quickly became friends due to his open nature and it almost felt like a date...

• He became a nervous wreck every time before you met up and he asked his mom for advice on how to treat you like a gentleman

• Even when you two texted he probably would delete and rewrite his messages for like five minutes before actually sending them. His friends tease him because of that

• He definitely practiced his whole confession at home in front of the mirror and when the time to confess came, he quickly rattled his whole speech off before he started second-guessing himself

• "Look, I immediately thought there was a connection between us the moment we met. You understand all my plays, but you're not only engrossed in my football journey, you're interested in the real me too! So, yeah it's actually no wonder that I developed a crush on you... Do you think you could accept my feelings?"

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ddaz3d-and-cc0nfused · 3 months

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hey i love your work so much!! i was wondering if you could do something where hotch gets lingerie for the reader. and the reader is like mmm no maybe not.. but hotch is like please just try it on to see if you like it?

reader is like ok, so they put it on and they are stilly kinda hesitant but when hotch sees them he is like star struck and… ya know shows them how pretty they are!! and he just praises the reader, maybe they do it in front of a mirror 🫣🫣

i think it would be cute, but you don’t have to write it if you don’t want, sorry if this is all over the place it was just a stream of consciousness!!

༉‧₊˚. 𝐚 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐟𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 || 𝐚𝐚𝐫𝐨𝐧 𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐧𝐞𝐫

— pairing: aaron hotchner x plus size!reader

— summary: to aaron, buying you lingerie was an act of love, to you, it was something new.

— warnings: lingerie wearing (obviously), slight body insecurity, illusions to mirrors being used for future... unsavory acts, kissing, heavy petting, praise, heavy kissing.

— wc: 745

⋆ a/n: hello hun!! i'm so glad you like my work and sorry that this isn't as detailed as you probably would have liked. funny enough i couldn't find space to fit actual smut in there, but never fear! it is still as equally spicy and fun!

masterlist | AO3

“What the fuck is that?”

Aaron held up a piece of lingerie that looked more like pieces of string and lace were sewn together than any actual cloth.

“Lingerie, honey.” He said with a deep chuckle. “And you want me to wear… that?” You questioned in disbelief. “That would be ideal, yes.”

There was a wince on your face as you continued to stare at the dark red thing. “Yeah… no. Absolutely not.” You crossed your arms. “Sweetheart, you don't even know if you won't like it.”

“No, I know I don't like it. How about you just see me naked?”

“As tempting as that sounds, I would like it very much if you were to try it on.”

Your eyes flickered from his to the bundle of lace.

Now, it wouldn't be fair to say no, because Aaron has indulged in many of your fantasies over the years, and he barely asks for anything, as well as always focuses on your pleasure. If you said no he'd drop the conversation entirely, he was never one to pressure.

You could see it in the burning of his irises that he wanted to see you in the lingerie, and he would never steer you wrong and pick something ugly. Oh God, just thinking about him going into a place like Victoria's Secret made your cheeks heat up.

With one final glance you sighed, sticking out your hand. “Fine, but I'm doing this just because I love you and… because I want to.”

He walked up and handed you it, pulling you into his side to give you a kiss on your head. “Thank you.” You just hummed before disappearing into the bathroom.

Oh you looked like a fucking clown.

You knew this would be no good. This was not flattering at all, at least in your eyes. You cringed, tugging at the straps that dug into your arms uncomfortably. You had never felt so… unsure sexually before.

“Aaron, I look ridiculous.”

“I'm sure you look great.”

“Did this thing not come with a robe?” You couldn't help but ask, because the outfit felt like it was missing something.

“It did.”

“And where might it be?”

“With me.”

“You're such a bastard.” You mumbled to yourself.

You took a deep breath to ease your nerves.

“Alright, I'm coming out, but if you laugh at me, I'm going to kill you.”

“In what world would I laugh at you?” He was right, you were being nervous and irrational and — God, you've never done this before. Was it hot in here? Were you sweating?

Stepping out of the bathroom was one thing, but Aaron staring at you speechless was a whole other can of worms.

You shifted anxiously in your spot as he approached you, his large hand cupping your cheek. His calloused thumb rubbed the hot skin of it softly.

“You look breathtaking.” His voice was strained. The other hand that wasn't cradling your face landed on your naked hip. He squeezed the fat of it, a light shiver shooting up his back at the feeling of the fat spilling through his fingers.

Your body thrums with excitement, your last hesitation slowly melting off of you.

“You think so?” You ask shyly. “I know so.” Aaron confirms with that warm, comforting voice of his. He connects your lips together and a light, surprised gasp exits your mouth. Your hands shoot-out to hold his strong biceps.

His lips molded themselves firmly onto yours, tongue exploring your mouth with desperate fervor. It was like he was trying to consume you, and a new type of fire burned in his veins. It was a rabid kind of need that threatened every part of him that was a gentleman.

You pushed away from him to catch your breath, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Your eyes fall on the mirror hanging on the well next to where you guys are standing and you groan.

“Ugh, Aaron…” You whine in embarrassment, burying your head into his hard chest. “Don’t be ashamed of yourself, sweetheart. You’re gorgeous.” You groan in embarrassment. “Why do you have to say stuff like that?”

“Because I mean it. I love all of you.”

“You really know how to sweet talk a girl, don’t you, Hotchner?”

“As much as I like sweet talking you, I like having you in my bed more.” He locked your lips again, nosy hands massaging and gripping at the chub exposed by the two-piece.

ೃ⁀➷ my lovely taglist!: @alina02 @louderfortheback @minervadashwood @their-love @fandomsarelifee @theendofthe70s @nomajdetective @mgg-theprettiestboy @phoenixblack89 @celtic-crossbow @hallecarey1 @bunnybabe-babydoll @alixwriter @dixonzzgirl @violettavirus

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kneelingshadowsalome · 2 months

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I feel like, Young!Pathetic!Konig would do REALLY well with a Older!Lady-Cougar!Reader, She's maybe been divorced twice and looking ta maybe become widowed this time? May-haps her current hubby has wealth and power but is a few screws short of being a good man towards our poor reader, and there's that Pesky prenup that makes it so she won't get ANYTHING in a divorce...buuuttt if the bastard has a bit of an....*Oopsie doodle*.... Maybe she's looking for someone to take care of her problem, and maybe she likes this young soldier boy, whose all too happy to help with *whatever needs* she might have? Likes how desperate he is for just her hand on his arm, likes how he's on his need begging for just a *taste* Likes that she can teach him how to please a woman, how to make her moan like no lover before....Likes how willing he is to kill the man she's married too...

Asfdf my brain short circuited ❤️ I know I said somewhere that I don’t write cheating but if it’s cheating a bad man with an even worse man König….

CW: 18+ MDNI. Age difference, F!dom/M!sub undertones, praise kink, cheating (your husband is an old dick), mating press & other shenanigans, murder & mentions of blood, König is a lovesick yandere in the making.

It was just one night.

Just one night to satiate your needs because your husband for sure never takes care of them.

But then the young pup you picked off from the pub pops into your workplace next week... With a large bouquet of flowers in his hand and a box of chocolate in the other, your desperate little “detour” looks like a boy who just got laid for the first time in his life.

“König…” you sigh and pull him to an empty breakroom before all your colleagues see you’ve cheated on your beloved husband with a man at least ten years younger than you.

“You can’t be here,” you start, trying to ignore the happy, greedy stares this little—big—soldier gives you.

He’s all the equal to his alias, looking like a king in the making with those wide shoulders and that fierce stare. But his hands are shaking, he guides those eyes to the floor as he puts the gifts on the table littered with crumbs and coffee stains, switches his weight from one foot to the other once you start to tell him how it is.

He listens dutifully as you try to explain how it was only one night, that he was incredibly lovely and you had so much fun but that you can’t see each other anymore. It was wrong of you to do so in the first place, you’re married, and you’re so, so sorry... You were just so sad and lonely.

You tell him he’s a good man. That he’ll find someone special, some lovely girl to call his own. He will find someone who can give him what he wants, someone who will cover him with kisses for bringing her flowers and sweets.

You try to explain it to him even as you get slowly chased into a corner, you try to tell him what a catch he is even when you get pinned to the wall by a hard, lean chest.

You try to tell him that he’s the perfect man for some other girl even when he pulls your strings aside and bullies his cock inside you.

One minute is all it takes as he huffs and groans and fucks you against the wall, your moans and his grunts barely muffled by shirts and fists and lips and skin. There’s lipstick on his clean, white shirt after he’s done with you, teeth marks where his shoulder meets his neck, a spittle of cum on your skirt as he pulls it down with shaky hands.

“Sorry,” he murmurs in your ear. “I just had to see you. I missed you so much...”

Your cunt is what he missed, any woman could see that. Got a taste of it last weekend and wouldn’t let you leave his place at all; a small, miserable flat of 25 square meters, with burned rice on the stove and a thin, cum-stained mattress on the floor. He fucked you on that mattress, four times because on the fifth attempt to part your shaking thighs, you told this horny lad you need to go home.

“I know, big boy. I missed you too. But you need to go now,” you say to your pretty lover. Ugly but pretty, in his own way, his utter lack of cruelty is what makes him beautiful in your eyes.

“I don’t want to,” he dares to argue back and claims your mouth, kisses you like you’ve never been kissed before.

“You have to,” you moan. “König–”

“I love you.”

You’re huffing, panting into each other’s throats as you realize he’s even younger than you thought. Fell in love with your cunt so easily, this big runt, thinks it’s meant to be just because you’re wet and he’s hard.

“Don’t be silly,” you huff and look at the drowsy smile, the messy state of this lovesick man before you fight your way out of his lap.

You want to cry, wail, scream from the injustice. Where was this silly young golden retriever six months ago? Why didn’t you meet him when you were single and sweet? Now you’re trapped in an unhappy marriage with some old fool who was cunning enough to trick you into a ludicrous deal with him. The prenupt you discovered only later, after he swore that you wouldn’t have to work a day in your life and that everything that belonged to him would be yours one day. In reality, you’ve had to beg for every crumb, act the part of a trophy wife who also has to work herself to death. And he won’t even fuck you, only wants you to massage his back and his cock while you’re left all alone without love, without a single kind word.

But König never lets you go: not in a way you beg him to, no, he always shows up at your door. Sneaks into your lonely room from the window, licks you to ruin while you laugh and tell him no, fucks you three times a night, crawls under the bed when a cleaning lady almost catches you two. He shows up at cafes, restaurants, conferences, parties, everywhere where you go but your husband won’t.

He’s so reckless that you have to teach him to be more patient, more gentle. You guide his fingers and his head, even his cock, while locking your eyes with his so that he knows when he’s doing it right. You praise him for a good, unhurried fuck, cup his face and kiss him when he gives it to you nice and slow. Anyone can see he'd want to ram it in until there’s nothing left of him and you, but you kiss and kiss and kiss him until the poor boy moans and cums without permission, just from that tiny taste of intimacy and love.

He gets pets, smooches and caresses, blowjobs that leave him shaking and breathless on the bed. He looks like he has no brains left after you’re done with him, looks a little helpless when you climb on top of him and help yourself with his cock after he only just came.

He’s always up in no time, especially if you tell him he did well. Stares at you and your breasts like you’re a vision from heaven, drools on them once when you won’t let him have a lick. Mopes when you laugh at his predicament, and won’t stop brooding even when you give him a kiss on the tip of his nose.

But he’s never mad at you for long, not if you call him sweetie or your silly apple crumb, not if you let him fall asleep in your bed, partly on top of you. There’s always a wet spot on your back if he’s the big spoon, he begs you to sleep naked as he does, says it’s better for your health and then teases you with his fingers come morning, probably thinking he’s so very clever. Takes you to the theater and offers you expensive port wine and cake, tells you how to steal a car, how to shoot any gun. Gives you a hungry kiss in public when you tell him he has to act like he’s your cousin from abroad, vanishes for weeks to his training, sends letters instead of texts, and tells you he’s going to be a big boss someday.

It’s hard to imagine this serious but silly mess as an intimidating officer, not even when you know he has the size and looks for it. He’s too innocent and needy, doesn't know how the real world works yet. Thinks he’s immortal just because he’s young...

There’s a certain darkness in him, and you mistake it for the remnants of some turbulence of his teenage years, just some wrath of a boy who never got what he wanted. Who wouldn’t be a little pissed and impatient in their twenties? He probably doesn’t even know what he wants: hell, you don’t know what you want.

“Like this...?” He asks demurely when he lifts your knees to your ears and sinks his cock into you inch by inch, carefully as if it’s the first time you’re making love.

“Just like that,” you whisper as he spreads you so wide you can’t even breathe, fills you up deliciously, like no one else before. His eyes never leave you, not even when he uses your hole as a place to bury himself and all his bad memories, not even when he makes you squirt like you’re nothing but an oasis in a desert that never ends.

But you know he comes to you for other things than just that.

He comes to you for kind words, breathy praise, soft touches and ruffles of his hair. He comes to you for practice and to get his sense of self in order. He’s your pretty knight in shining armor when others have called him ugly, he’s your strong bull when others have ridiculed his disproportionate limbs. He’s your safe haven, your sunshine, your crazy, silly man, your soldier and your savior, and he soaks up your love and attention like a sponge: every drop gets gulped down like he’s a man dying of thirst. He doesn’t take sips, he doesn’t know how to, and you on the other hand don’t know how to quench the raging drought inside him, long after yours has been satiated.

You sleep like Romeo and Juliet just before their death, and fuck like rabbits in the spring. He takes you in the car, in the closet, in the toilet, in other people’s beds, even at the alley one night.

“I love you,” he always says after he has spilled his cum – it’s like a ritual or a prayer, and you always reach for the baby hairs of his neck in return, and give them the gentlest caress.

“I love you too,” you whisper one night – it just slips when you stroke his cheek. It never comes as a surprise that he gives you the most miserable pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

He knows about your situation, knows enough that you’re trapped and unhappy. But you never knew he saw you as a victim. If anything, you feel like he’s the victim here. Poor boy, saving what little he has for a future with some woman who knows nothing about true love... You’re not the one for him, you’re not even a silly little sex kitten any young soldier would want to play with. You’re just some bored, abandoned wife who wants to feel something, mean something to someone. But you love him enough to know that you’ll let him go when he wants to move on. As bitter as it makes you feel, you know you’ll give him to someone younger and more beautiful, someone who will love as passionately as he does. Anything to make him truly happy.

But the next evening, König doesn’t climb in through your window. He uses the door, the inside door, and you jump from the bed and hurry to him in your nightgown, the only gift your husband ever gave you.

“I killed him for you,” he says, your soldier boy from Austria, your good, good boy with a good, big cock.

You only now see that his hands are stained in blood, and nothing shakes anymore: your wannabe sniper is as calm as ever when he confesses he’s murdered someone.

“...What?”

He comes to you and cups your face, the blood on his hands both wet and cold. You’ve never seen him so peaceful, not even after he’s had a good fuck. The boy who no one ever loved has turned into a man, but what kind of man… You shiver in his clutch, unsure if you’re about to suffer a heart attack from fear or love.

“He didn’t suffer... Much,” he says, his cracked lips only a breath away from yours. “Knives can be messy…”

You gulp while staring into the deep, dark abyss of his eyes, the innocent baby blue nearly swallowed by the darkest of all loves.

This is not how you thought things would go… You were supposed to give the old man the finger and divorce during the summer. Put your finances in order so that you can escape. Maybe fuck König on the side and see if he’s still the man of your dreams once you’re happily divorced.

Now he’s telling you you’ll marry as soon as possible, or that if you want a summer wedding, he can wait a few months… He tells you you have nothing to worry about, he won’t go to jail, not this time. He’ll take care of you now; he just got promoted. You don’t ever have to be sad again.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he says when all words have finally escaped you. “Now we can be together. Forever…”

#könig x reader #d/s dynamic #sub könig is fine with me if he tries to top from the bottom or becomes totally unhinged in order to prove his love ^^#he's a switch he just doesn't know it

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

Note

WIBTA for dropping a friend for being cringe? Obligatory "cringe culture is dead" or whatever people say to feel better about liking kids shows. I (22F) have this friend (21 NB), and we've been friends since high school. We're in college now. This friend of mine genuinely makes me cringe so much I don't think I can maintain this friendship anymore. At the time of writing this I've only been texting them to reply to anything they say, and even then it's a one word answer or an image at most.

They've always been cringe, but when you're a neurodivergent woc in one of the whitest states in the country, you take what you get in terms of friendship. Beggars can't be choosers or whatever. I don't know why I let the world let me think I'm a beggar though.

Anyways, It's a lot of things. They fucking dabbed, without a hint of irony, when I was walking up to them and I considered pretending I didn't know them and walking past. They have this comically nasal voice and are completely incapable of having an appropriate volume anywhere. Like fuck man how do you sound more autistic than me? Their style is so fucking ugly I feel sick looking at them sometimes. They're not dirty or smelly or anything but jesus fuck at least match a color. What I think broke the camel's back was going out to a movie with them. They would NOT shut the fuck up. Like goddamn fuck off I'm trying to enjoy the movie. Stop eating my fucking popcorn bitch. To their credit they did stop after I told them to. I feel embarrassed bringing them anywhere. My brother has asked me multiple times why I hang out with this individual, and I think this is what made me completely reconsider. He's neurotypical and more emotionally intelligent than me, and due to being younger will always keep it real with me, so I trust his judgment. I'm not an emotional person or anything so I can't say I feel much of a bond with people in the first place, so I don't feel bad ab potentially cutting this person off.

I realized I fall into this situation a lot as a neurodivergent woman of color, which is being friends with ugly white people I should know I'm too good to even look at. I've already had other friends tell me I'm too pretty to be seen with them. Objectively? They're right. I'd rather be friendless than interact with this bastard anymore. I've already dropped most of my former friends from before college for similar reasons.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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celesteleoves · 11 months

Text

“DIMPLES ARE SO CUTE!”

ೃ࿐ EREN YEAGER X FEM!READER

summary: eren only shows his dimples around you.

warnings: eren has dimples, fluff, mentions of spicey things (girls teasing girls ykyk), erens very stoic around people he’s not close with.

“can you imagine jean having dimples, mikasa? i mean that would boost his ego too much.” annie laughed as you all sat around armins house.

your friend group had decided to have one big hangout! currently, the girls were sitting in the basement catching up on gossip while the boys went out to get stuff for a barbecue later.

“he still looks insanely good annie, can YOU imagine your boyfriend having dimples?” mikasa retorted back as the rest of us girls laughed.

“at least he’s good in bed-”

“hey, y/n, you like guys with dimples right?” sasha questioned as she downed a can of root beer.

“who doesn’t? dimples are so cute!” you said as the girls agreed.

“historia loves me and my freckles, dimples ain’t got nothing on us.” ymir pulled historia to her chest who only giggled and nodded.

you smiled at the two, they were so cute it drove you nuts. but at the moment, you remembered something about your crush and a feature you noticed about him.

“wait, eren has dimples guys!” you said with a smile on your face like you’d just solve the biggest mystery on earth.

the girls narrowed their eyes at you and then turned their attention to mikasa, who was a bit confused as well.

“don’t look at me, i can’t remember ever noticing eren having dimples. you sure y/n?”

“i swear, just wait till he gets back and look closely! you can see them.”

“she’s so in love she’s imaging eren with her favourite features a guy can have.” historia mocked and you rolled your eyes.

“i swear by it.”

mikasa laughed at your words as the girls listened closely to this newfound information.

“sure you do, i’ve known eren my whole life and i dont ever really see any prominent dimples on his face.”

“mika, let’s also remember she’s heavily obsessed with him. of course she noticed these things.” sasha joined in on the teasing as you groaned.

“fine, maybe you guys are right about the dim-”

“right about what?” jean asked as he, armin, and connie walked into the room with drinks and snacks.

“it’s girl talk, jean.” armin said while putting stuff down on a near coffee table before taking a seat on the couch annie sat at.

“well let me in on it!” jean pestered mikasa as he also joined her on the couch also.

“sasha! of course you ate my favourite chips bro.” connie whined as he noticed the chip bag he brought was in her hands and was now devoured by Sasha’s uncontrollable need for food.

“shut up connie!”

“anyways, we were talking about how y/n says she believes eren has dimples.” historia brought the conversation back and now everyone was listening intently.

“that mean bastard? doubt he could have something as attractive as dimples on his cold, ugly face.” jean said as he emphasized the last few words in a mocking way while mikasa slapped his arm.

armin paused and thought about it before speaking. “actually, he might. i think i almost saw his dimples once but he turned away from me, so i couldn’t see them.”

“see!” you smiled in victory and stood up to grab a coke can but before you could, a hand swooped and grab it right out of your reach. the person raised it above their head.

“don’t mind me, i’m really in the mood for some coke.” the person you guys had been talking about for a while finally arrived, eren.

and god damn, he looked too good even though you saw him thirty minutes ago. somehow, he manages to just get more attractive in your eyes day by day.

“eren, i was gonna have that actually so hand it over.” you smiled and reached to grab it, the visible height difference between you two causing troubles.

your friends went silent as they watched you bicker with each other. they had all been rooting for you two to get together, for a while now. you had easily fallen for him, what you didn’t know as of right know is that he fell harder.

although, one thing that made the whole groups jaws drop was the prominent dimples that appeared through eren’s smile as he looked down at you, his green eyes seeming brighter as he teased you and laughed.

“no fucking way.” annie whispered and nudged armin who only stared at the two with a smile on his face.

“shit man, turns out he does have something as cool as dimples on his face.” jean sighed and leaned into mikasa’s shoulder who only let out a chuckle at that.

truth is, mikasa knew eren had dimples. but, she only saw them when eren was around you or when he talked about you with a smile on his face.

a/n: heyyy, so i’m back with the aot oneshots too! im in a aot brainrot bc of the trailer and how sad i am that aot is going to be ending soon :( anyways, hope you enjoyed!

please message me if u have any concerns, suggestions, or a specific aot or mha work in mind that you would like me to write!

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anxious-lee · 4 months

Text

The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known || Hazbin Tickle Fic ||

A/N: this entire fic was inspired by that one scene where Al threatens Husk in ep 5. it broke my heart to see him so utterly petrified so I wrote this as a hurt/comfort for myself

Warnings: mentions of Alastor's control over Husk, slight NSFW language but it's not actually sexual I just didn't have any synonyms for what I meant lol

Word count: 2,466

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When you're an Overlord of Hell, you tend to get pretty comfortable with staying in control.

Because one wrong move can mean the end of the line.

Husk knew that better than most.

And even now, after all that power of his was lost, he still found himself more suited to calling the shots in whatever situation he found himself in. It was just easier that way. If he could remain on top of things, then nothing would go wrong. Mostly.

That feeling of security never lasted long, though, because sooner or later, he was reminded of the terrible choice he made long ago. That he gave away his autonomy to the most psychotic demon in hell.

The way he spoke to him. Like he was so small. And insignificant. Like he existed purely for the bastard's own amusement and nothing else. Any input given was condescended to, patronized, and dehumanized. It formed an ugly little pit in Husk's chest. How little control he had once Alastor stepped into the room. It scared him, in a way that so few things did.

At least he had someone else to talk to who knew how he felt.

Speaking of whom, Angel Dust strutted into the bedroom, sporting a fluffy silk robe.

"Hope I didn't make you wait too long~" he whined seductively.

"Not long at all," the other purred.

The two settled down together in bed, soaking in each other's embrace.

Tonight was all about them, huddled together in hell's moonlight.

Husk remained still as Angel shifted downward until his head fit under Husk's chin, knowing just where to go.

He loved to be pampered, that much was obvious.

It was peaceful for some time before Angel's eyes suddenly blinked open.

"Hey. How come you never want a turn at being the little spoon? I'm not unreasonable, I'm sure we could share," he said coyly.

Husk didn't quite know what to say to that. It wasn't something that needed to be spoken in words. Husk dominated, Angel submitted (in more ways than one). It seemed almost absurd to suggest that Husk would be the one being given affection.

"Nah, I'm good. You look pretty comfy down there, anyway."

Angel, however, wasn't satisfied with that answer. He pulled himself back to get a good look at the cat's face, cocking his own head curiously. Who wouldn't want to be on the receiving end? Even once? It couldn't be understated how warm and protected one could feel in the arms of another. And Husk didn't want that? Did he feel pressured to say that because he knew Angel liked to take that spot?

"Really? You THAT much of a top that you can't play second fiddle once?" said Angel.

"I'm just not a big... "softy-cuddles" kinda guy, as if you already couldn't tell," Husk admitted, gesturing to his overall gruff demeanor.

Angel studied his face.

"Not buying that for a second," he said, punctuating each word with a poke to the chest. "Come on, you're missing out!"

"That's sweet, babe, but I'm-"

"Just five minutes?" Angel pleaded, holding five fingers up in front of him, "Five minutes of me cuddling you for a change. If you decide you hate it, I won't bring it up again. I just... you're always taking care o' me. I want to give some of that back to you, ya'know? You deserve it."

Fuck.

How was he supposed to say no to those puppy eyes?

Besides, it couldn't hurt... right?

"Fine," Husk relented.

"Yay!" His boyfriend cheered.

They rearranged their positions; Husk now farther down the length of the bed and Angel wrapping all three pairs of arms around him like a furry burrito. His knees and head also tucked themselves inward to cradle the cat properly.

It still made Husk a little tense, letting someone handle him so willfully, but the touch was too nice to deny for very long. Thoughts of safety oozed into his brain as his body relaxed against the chest behind him.

"See? Now isn't this nice?" said Angel softly, barely above a whisper, "For a man who supposedly doesn't little-spoon, you've got the moves down pat."

"I'm not making any moves," Husk mumbled, smiling loudly in his voice.

"Well, you're relaxed, aren't ya?"

In a way.

Angel peered down at the bundle of fuzz, taking in how much shorter he was in comparison.

"Awww! I never noticed how cute you were from up here." His hand began petting the top of the kitty's head, smoothing down the hair.

And there was that feeling again. The one that couldn't let Husk enjoy a good thing while he had it. The fear of releasing control.

"I'm not a pet," he grumbled, having no control over the defensiveness in his voice.

Angel, ever oblivious, pressed on. "Oh, but you are to me~. My sweet little Husky~."

Finally, the camel's back broke under that straw.

"Just stop, okay?! I don't-" Husk took a much-needed breath, sitting up, "I know being treated like a toy is your thing, but it's not mine. I don't like being talked to like I'm a pet. Like all I am is your little dancing monkey." It dawned on him just how much of all that was directed at Alastor. The words sunk in like cement in a lake, and he turned his eyes away, unable to look at what he just ruined.

Angel blinked. All of sudden, the moment had soured, and he had no clue why. Was it something he said? Husk said he didn't want to be treated like a toy. Is that how he felt? Like he wasn't valued? That wasn't what he was trying to say at all! It was adoration! Not condescension.

"What...?" Angel breathed.

"Forget it. Just, I'm sorry-"

"No! No, don't apologize," Angel interrupted, choosing his next words carefully, "I'm sorry if I made you feel that way. It wasn't what I meant to say. I wasn't tryin' to say you were weak or small. I was... I was trying to tells you that I adore ya. You do so much for me and our friends. You look out for us, and protect us, and listen to our bullshit problems all the time.

"I think so highly of you, Husk. You don't take shit from no one, not even me. You're unafraid to speak your mind. You know how to keep your head when life gets messy. I got nothing but respect for you. That's why I wanted to do all this. That's why I want to pamper you with love and shit. Because you're always so strong, and I wanted to... I don't know... give you the space where you didn't have to be strong. Not with me."

A heavy silence fell over the room.

Husk couldn't find the words even if he tried. He had never heard such meaningful things spoken about him. Him, the grouchy barfly. How could he possibly come back from such a beautiful declaration? Especially now with how foolish he felt. It had never occurred to him that accepting affection was an act of good, and not an admission of weakness. That someone could be trusted to hold him in their hands and lift him up rather than drag him down.

Angel could never be Alastor. This was not a hostage situation.

This was a security.

One that he felt that he needed in this moment more than ever.

"Fuck... I'm sorry. I messed up everything and spoiled the mood. I'm still not very good at this whole intimacy stuff," Husk sighed.

"I know, and it's okay. I can teach you," Angel cupped his hand around Husk's cheek.

Husk leaned into the touch. "And uh... thanks. For what you said."

"I meant it."

What did Husk do on Earth to deserve such an Angel?

"Look, if uh. Ahem. If you still wanted to... to do what you were doing before... you know, I won't fight you," Husk stammered, falling quieter with each word.

If that's the only means of permission that Angel can get right now, then he'll take it. He gently eased Husk onto his back once more.

"Good. 'Cause I still have lots more love to give you, sweetcheeks." Angel's iconic smile returned.

Even though Husk basically just admitted he wanted Angel to keep going, his praises were beginning to fluster him. The corners of his lips started to rise, and the only defense he had against them was to turn his face away from the man in front of him.

"You like it when I talk to you like that, huh, baby? Do you hear in my voice how much I'm crazy about you? How I'd do anything for ya? Cause I would~. There's nothing that you don't deserve," Angel said, scratching oh so lightly beneath Husk's chin.

Husk squeezed his eyes shut as he surrendered to his smile and tried to crush Angel's hand with his neck.

"It's true~. Because you're just the cutest little thing alive! Er, unalive, so to speak," the spider said, feeling encouraged by this reaction, and bringing another hand to scritch in the middle of his side.

Before he could stop it, a giggle escaped from Husk's mouth. Mortified, he then clamped his jaw shut, holding any more upcoming laughs in.

"You don't have to pretend for me, baby. It's just us here," said Angel, now bringing all three sets of arms into the mix. One pair was tracing his sides, another scritching either sides of his neck, and the last drumming their fingers torturously over his belly.

The giggles rose back up again, and this time shutting his mouth wasn't keeping them at bay. If he weren't so stubborn, he might've given in by now. But it was just too embarrassing.

Husk clapped his paws over his mouth, and while it did (partially) succeed in quieting his laughter, it didn't do anything to remedy the tickly sensations now all over his torso. He twitched and quivered under the touch, but with Angel hovering over him, it didn't leave much room for reprieve.

"This looks like it really tickles. I'm sure you'd feel better if you let all those laugh out!" Angel encouraged, "Pleeeeeease? For me? For yourself?"

Still, he didn't budge.

"Okay. I didn't wanna have to do this, but you've left me with no otha' options." Angel took one hand that was scratching his chin and took both of Husk's paws in it, holding them above the cat's head.

The effect was gradual.

At first, you couldn't hear a peep. Then, over a matter of seconds, Husk's giggles began to bubble up once more, fighting their way to the surface, and tickling him from the inside out.

It was over. Before long, there was nothing between the loving attacker and the melodic sound he adored so much. It started out deeper and huskier, much like his normal speaking voice, but with each passing moment, it grew higher in pitch; the kind of laugh he reserved only for his softer moments with Angel.

The spider took this as a sign to continue and deepened the pressure of all of his appendages, digging into the jittery muscles.

Husk couldn't even recognize himself anymore. He sounded nothing like the bitter old drunk he normally was. In its place, was a goofy little lovesick fool who laughed like no one in the world could hear him. He guffawed and chortled and cackled with reckless abandon.

"There it itihis! There's that gorgeous laughter!" Said Angel. "For a moment there, I thought you was bout to explode!"

The compliment somehow made everything worse. The helplessness of the situation was still there, the feeling of being small, but it was... different. Like he was small enough to be held in someone's palm and protected from all harm. It felt safe.

Husk's cheeks began to burn red.

Hopefully, Angel would be too distracted to notice.

"Aw baaabe! Are you blushin'?!"

Fuck.

As if on cue, his cheeks burned brighter.

"Am I making you feel flustered~? Does it make it tickle more?"

"WOHOHOULD YOU SHUHUT UHUHUP?!"

"So it does. Hmm," Angel hummed as he started moving his hands faster and faster up and down his body. Up his sides, then down his sides, up his tummy, then down his tummy.

It was maddening.

It was tortuous.

It was wonderful.

If Heaven didn't feel like this, he didn't want it. If salvation didn't give him the same amount of relief and safety and joy that playing with his lover gave, then it wasn't worth it. He'd stay in this inferno of hell forever if it meant he could stay with Angel. Stay in this moment.

The demon in question kept on with his teases.

"Who's the cutest little thing~?" Angel cooed as he noticed Husk jump when he touched the lowest portion of his belly, "Ohoho, looks like someone's ticklish! Coochie coochie coooo~!"

Just when Husk thought he couldn't laugh any harder, he did.

"HAHAHAHAHAHA YOU FUHUHUCKING PRIHIHICK HAHAHA!" Husk snorted.

"Oho my gosh! You sound just like Fat Nuggets!" Angel chortled.

Husk's laughter was beginning to go silent, and started getting wheezier. This, Angel knew, meant it was time to stop.

"Alright, doll, I think you've had enough," Angel said as he released his prisoner.

As the spider removed his hands from his body, Husk started panting and giggling hysterically, still feeling the phantom sensations on his skin.

"Need some help there?" Angel offered, moving his hands back towards the other's belly.

Husk curled away from his hands, "Dohohon't!"

"I'm not gonna tickle ya, I swear! I'm just gonna get the leftover tickles to go away. Okay?"

Husk nodded hesitantly and revealed his stomach to him.

Angel's hands met his fur, and although it did jump at first, the firm pressure and massaging motions rubbed away the remaining tickles, just like he said it would.

"Dahamn. That really works." Husk breathed.

"Right? Now do you feel better?"

"Yeah," Husk sat up as Angel gave him room, "You know, for such a compliant gentleman, you sure do know how to take charge."

Angel swiveled to Husk with his mouth agape. "I can be a boss when I wanna be!"

"Heh. Sure, power bottom."

Angel reached for Husk's right foot (or paw) and skittered one set of fingers over it.

"NonononONONOHOHO! I'M SORRY, I TAKE IT BACK! I tahahake it bahahack! Hehehehe!"

"Uh huh. That's what I thought," Angel stopped and huffed with a wink, nothing but kind love behind his eyes, "So. You ready for bed?"

"After all that laughing? Hell yes I am. I might even sleep through tomorrow." Husk said tiredly.

Angel chuckled, sidling up behind Husk and gently cacooning his arms around him again.

"This okay?"

Husk sighed.

"It's perfect."

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Wooh! That was a rollercoaster! 😅 Hope the people that wanted lee!husk enjoyed this fic 🫶

#tickle #tickles #tickling #ticklish #tickle community #tickle fic #hazbin hotel tickles #lee!husk #ler!angeldust #huskerdust tickles

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