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chahnniesroom · 2 days

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to have and to hold

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: you don't think there's anything chan can do to make you love him more. chan continues to prove you wrong.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, lots of fluff!!

a/n: sorry it has been so long since i posted! i have been wanting to write this since that ep of return of superman where chan and felix took care of rowoon, it was so so sweet. also i'm so sorry but i did not edit this at all

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

“Do you think you’d ever want to have kids?”

Your question breaks through the quiet dialogue of the show that you and Chan are watching. Behind you, you feel Chan freeze before he forces himself to relax and continue fiddling with your fingers.

Chan hesitates for a moment longer before answering.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly and carefully. “I think that I’d want to eventually, but right now? Being an idol- It would be difficult. I mean, for anyone it’s hard, but especially with this career…”

“Do you like children?” you ask, curious even though you can anticipate his answer.

“Yes.” This time he replies immediately, although his voice is still cautious. He releases your hands from his hold and gently nudges your shoulders so that you twist to look at him. “Y/n- Do- Are you-”

“What?” you stare at him, not sure why he suddenly seems so worried.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks gently. “It’s fine if you are! We can totally work things out and I will 100% support you the whole time-”

“Oh!” You smack yourself in the forehead. “No! Definitely not! I was just thinking.”

“Ah.” Chan slumps against the back of the couch, this time he’s actually relaxed. “Just thinking or- what brought this on?”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly. “That must have been out of nowhere for you. No, it’s because my older sister’s wedding anniversary is coming up, the first one since she’s had a kid, so I wanted to let her go out without having to worry. I was wondering if you wanted to help me babysit?”

“I see,” Chan says, sounding relieved. “Your sister. Yes, I haven’t met Doyun yet, right? I’d love to help you take care of him.”

—

Your sister is delighted that you’ve offered to take Doyun for an evening and you quickly coordinate with Chan what day would work best. It’s not possible to babysit on your sister’s actual anniversary due to Chan’s schedules, but your availabilities line up on a Friday night the weekend after.

Chan is nervous leading up to it, which you find absolutely adorable. When you look over his shoulder one night, curious what he’s focusing so intently on, you find him scrolling through articles on interacting with babies as well as tips on baby-proofing an apartment.

Before your sister arrives, you work with Chan for a few hours transforming the open area of your apartment, placing pillows and draping blankets over sharp corners and making sure to keep any small objects out of reach.

When the doorbell rings, Chan panics, popping his head out of the kitchen from where he’s been trying to figure out a way to prevent Doyun from being able to open the cabinets.

“We're not ready!” he says, eyes wide.

“What do you want to do, keep them waiting outside until you finish?” you joke, then pause when it looks like Chan is actually considering it. “Don't worry, I'll go let my sister in and you keep working on that. We'll be watching Doyunnie the whole time, so even if you can't work that out, it's fine.”

Your sister doesn't stay for very long. She hands Doyun off to you and assures both you and Chan that your place looks safe for a baby. After going through everything that is packed in the massive diaper bag that she’s leaving with you, she heads back home to get ready for her dinner.

Doyun has a short attention span and cycles between playing with a stuffed animal, a ball,

some plastic fruits and vegetables, and toy trains within the first hour. He is so adorable that you and Chan don't mind how much energy is required to keep him occupied. Luckily he's a fairly easygoing baby and hasn't fussed at all, although it did take a while for him to warm up to the two of you.

He's comfortable now, especially since Chan has started to spin the two of them around, hands firmly gripping Doyun’s torso. Doyun absolutely loves it, shrieking in excitement with his eyes crinkling. Even after a few minutes of the same thing, he never grows bored, just as thrilled everytime that Chan lifts him above his head. Although Doyun isn’t very heavy yet, after 15 minutes there’s sweat visible on Chan’s forehead and he’s starting to get out of breath.

“How about we take a bit of a break? Do you want to read?” Chan sits Doyun down against some pillows and rummages through the bag that your sister packed, finding some of the books that she included.

Chan hands the books over and although Doyun accepts both of them, he throws them aside and instead clumsily reaches up towards Chan, clearly asking to be picked up again. Chan pretends to groan and complain as he lifts Doyun back up.

“Aww,” you coo. “He really likes you.”

“And I really like him,” Chan says, spinning Doyun around. “I just wish I hadn’t gone to the gym earlier today, I didn’t realise what a workout this would be!”

Eventually Doyun grows tired, no longer begging Chan to continue. This time when Chan settles him on the ground, he just looks around curiously before crawling up to Chan and grabbing at his curls.

“He’s so small,” Chan marvels. “Look at his little fingers!”

He reaches out towards Doyun, who immediately wraps his hand around Chan’s index finger and pulls it towards his mouth.

It's comical to see the difference in size between their hands and Chan visibly melts, allowing Doyun to gum at his fingers, quickly covering them in a sheen of saliva.

“Are you hungry Doyunnie?” Chan asks. “It’s almost time for dinner, let’s see what your auntie prepared for us.”

By the time Doyun is set up in a high chair with a bib on, you’ve finished cooking. Dinner for Doyun is simple, consisting of steamed vegetables, tofu, rolled omelette, rice, and a bit of fruit. You’ve also used the same ingredients plus a few additions to make kimchi stew for you and Chan.

Chan is distracted the whole meal, prioritising feeding Doyun and wiping his face clean in between bites over eating his own food. It's a futile effort since Doyun seems more interested in smearing the food around rather than getting it into his mouth.

When you're finished with your food, you switch spots with Chan and coax Doyun into eating the last few bites he has left while Chan scarfs down his own meal.

After dinner, you carry Doyun into the bathroom and start filling the bathtub with a shallow layer of warm water. He watches with wide eyes as you add bubble bath that changes the colour of the water to a deep blue and creates a thick cover of bubbles. After washing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen, Chan joins the both of you just as you’re rinsing suds out of Doyun’s hair.

Cleaned and dressed in a fuzzy onesie with tiny bear ears poking out from the hood, Doyun struggles to stay awake for the rest of the evening. It’s obvious that he’s tired, he’s starting to get cranky and his blinks get longer and longer, but he stubbornly continues to play. After his third time nodding off while slotting plastic shapes into a cube, Chan picks him up and walks him around the room, rocking him slightly while humming a melody that you can’t recognize.

When your sister comes to pick up Doyun, he's sprawled out on Chan’s chest, deeply asleep. A line of drool drops from his open mouth to form a wet spot on Chan’s shirt, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind, staring at Doyun with stars in his eyes.

That night, right when you're about to fall asleep, Chan speaks up. His arms are wrapped around you and you can feel his breath against the back of your neck.

“I think,” he says quietly. “I think I want kids. Not now, I still have the same concerns as before, but in the future? I want it.”

“You did so well with Doyunnie, it looked so natural,” you agree. “I think you would be a great dad.”

“Only if you’re there by my side,” he corrects.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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lovedazai · 20 hours

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CRUEL BEYOND MY YEARS . . . you do the impossibleーyou make dazai feel. that’s why you’re his, you just don’t know it yet.

ft. pm!dazai + f!reader, pm!reader, chuuya is there too, so are oda and ango, jealousy & possessive behavior, some descriptions of depression & violence, 2.4k w.c.

EVERYWHERE, EVERYTHING SERIES MASTERLIST

dazai knows he’s supposed to be in a meeting right now.

he yawns, hands behind his head in a makeshift pillow, overgrown legs hanging off the arm of the couch as he stretches out. the heels of his shoes graze his jacket, haphazardly tossed aside when he first came into his office and laid down.

even with the sleep mask covering his face, blocking out the sun that pools into the top floors of port mafia’s headquarters, he knows it’s you who’s approaching his door.

he fights back a smile, something he rarely has the opportunity to do. he keeps his breathing steady and deep as he hears the familiar rhythm of your knuckles against his office door, knocking in a code. you both came up with it when you were younger, freshly sixteen against the hallow walls of his shipping container; your own shared secret. he hears the gentle creak of the old wood as you peek inside.

“dazai?” he hears the soft sound of your footsteps as you come closer, then a sigh he’d recognize anywhere. “dazai. take that thing off. it’s creepy.”

he remains still. he’s supposed to be asleep, after all.

“i see mr. executive is as busy as always,” you say sarcastically, but he can still hear the smile in your voice. you slip your thumb under the soft cotton padding of the sleep mask and slide it up his face, pushing his bangs back. the soft glide of your skin against his forehead leaves tingles in its wake, and it’s easy enough to ignore the burn of his one visible eye adjusting to the bright afternoon light when you’re hovering over him like an angel. “don’t you want to say goodbye to me?”

a new mission. he sighs exhaustedly, as if was the one who was assigned. “how long will you be gone this time?”

“not long, probably,” your hip presses against his as you sit on the edge of the couch. you rest your cheek on your hand, arm bridged over his stomach as your elbow props on the backrest. “chuuya got assigned to it with me. him and i make a good team.”

“you shouldn’t hang around him so much,” he tilts his head back. “you should be careful. he eats dog food, you know. he really is a dog, isn’t he?”

“shut up,” you laugh, and the sound makes his heartbeat quicken without his permission. “i know that isn’t true.”

“it is!” he sits up on his elbows so he can meet your eyes, his own shimmering with mirth. “i even saw him do it. you trust me, don’t you?”

you flick his forehead, giggling as you stand back up and straighten your skirt. “you’re just jealous you don’t get to come on this mission with us.”

with us? dazai swears he could be sick and die right there on the couch, as if there even was a ‘you and chuuya’. the thought alone makes him nearly double over in pain. if anything, it should be him you were paired up with, and if you asked for his opinion, it was a joke that you weren’t by defaultー even if little assignments like this were below him now that he’s an executive. no one else knew you as well as he did, and no one else ever would; besides, he’d known you longer than that stupid slug. mori’s negligence on the matter makes his stomach churn and his skin prickle uncomfortably.

“hey,” he grabs onto your jacket sleeve, where the cuffs are still a little too long and the fabric hangs over your wrists, before you can walk away. “be careful.”

you smile at him brightly, giving him a thumbs up, but it barely fazes him. he watches you leave, gaze dark and mouth firm. something bitter starts to crawl up his stomach, growing in his chest like thorned vines intertwining and tightening around his ribs.

when mori first introduced you and dazai to one another, you were both fourteen years old. the first thing he noticed when he saw you was that your clothing was too big, hanging awkwardly off your body. you’ve both grown since then, nearly identical black jackets and ties over white button-downs adorning your frames. the second thing he noticed was that you were different from him; he could tell from your eyes, bright and glistening.

he can’t remember a time when he wasn’t burdened by the feeling of looking through a window, always a spectator. you were different; you had a seat at the table. every bomb placed, every trigger pulledー you were there with him through it all, with the same fucked up feeling of adrenaline pounding through your veins, except you were attached to the world around you. you saw meaning in it somehow.

he wants to pick you apart piece by piece and study you under a microscope. he wants to understand just what it is about you that makes you so intriguing. what do you know that he doesn’t?

how are you making him feel this way?

he thinks about you on your mission, even when he tries not to. he flips through his paperwork lazily, pulling sheets from their stapled packets and folding them into origami shapes. he stares at his finger when he gets a paper cut on the edge of a report about some dispute in kyoto, watching the blood dribble down his skin in small beads. he raids the infirmary for chemicals, slipping past the nurses and picking the lock to the medicine cabinet, pocketing bottles and extra rolls of bandages. he plays on his handheld console, sighing in frustration when his character dies again; if only it was so easy.

it’s nearing the latest hours of the night when he decides to sneak into your office that he finds you again, back from your mission and chatting with chuuya, who’s arms are crossed as he leans against the edge of your desk. dazai skims his eyes over you, noting with satisfaction that there seem to be no new visible injuries on you. he relishes in how chuuya’s brows furrow when he sees him, and how yours rise in delight, cheeks rounding in a smile. he throws his arms around your shoulders, your faces close enough for him to count your eyelashes as you tilt your head back to look at him.

“i hope you didn’t have too much fun without me,” he pouts, squeezing you against his chest. “did you keep chuuya on his leash during your mission?”

“don’t talk about me like i’m not here, idiot.”

“oh, there you are,” he eyes the aforementioned man lazily, as if he were a bug that landed near him. “i almost missed you because you’re so small.”

“i fell asleep right after we were done,” you giggle. “chuuya had to carry me back.”

“oh?” he tightens his arms. dazai always thought you were the cutest post-mission, all sleepy and touchy; he always made sure he was around for those moments. “did he?”

you’re talking, something else about the mission, but he doesn’t listen. chuuya looks from you to him when he feels his gaze, eyebrow raising in a silent question. they screw up in irritation when dazai’s eyes narrow as his lips curl up into a cruel grin. he cranes his neck down, nose grazing your temple before he drags his tongue across your cheek.

“ew, dazai!” you try to shove him away, but he doesn’t go far, still clinging to you tightly. “what the hell? you’re so gross!”

he laughs in your ear, even as you try to pry his hands off his shoulders. you twist your hand around his wrist, tugging on it and glaring at him over your shoulder.

“let go, dazai.”

you’ve only ever looked at him like this when he woke you up in the middle of the night, knocking over one of your chairs after he broke into your apartment; you weren’t able to fall back asleep for hours, and when you finally woke up the next day, you realized he ate the last of the mapo tofu in your fridge.

he loosens his arms, stumbling when you shove him. the feeling of your hands pushing him away is nowhere near as warm as when you brushed his hair back earlier that day. there’s no pretty, warm smile dimpling your cheeks either; just your back retreating from your office, the sound of your door slamming shut, and chuuya’s annoyed glare prickling his skin. his chest tightens.

the flickering light of bar lupin’s sign penetrates the foggy night air, like a lighthouse calling lost ships home. ango and oda are already inside when dazai arrives. a cigarette dribbles loose curls of smoke into the air as ango cradles his glass between his palms and oda tilts his head back to sip his whiskey. the bar’s most devoted patron hops from dazai’s seat knowingly, landing on his little white paws as dazai sits down on the stool with a huff.

he rests his chin against his forearm, sighing into his elbow as the bartender places his usual in front of him wordlessly. the two older men look at the pouty pile of messy hair between them. oda knows he’s waiting for one of them to ask, so he does. “did something happen today, dazai?”

“yes,” he bounces the sphere of ice against the bottom of the glass, feeling his fingertip go numb. “she’s mad at me.”

“what did you do now?” ango eyes him wearily from behind his glasses.

“how rude,” he says flatly, his voice sounding hollow without his usual playfulness. “immediately assuming i’m at fault.”

“aren’t you always?” he sighs into the rim of his glass, taking a long sip.

they both wait in silence before dazai shoots up in his seat, his stool spinning slightly.

“how can that stupid slug touch what’s mine?”

“‘yours’?” ango asks, a thin eyebrow raised. “people don’t own other people.”

“i didn’t know you two were dating,” oda says.

“we’re not,” dazai sags back down, folding his arms and laying his head down so his eyes are level with his glass again. “that’s gross.”

“you’re not?” oda repeats. “…then why are you upset?”

he feels the bandages around his eyes loosen as he turns his head away, squishing his cheek into his elbow. the cat licks his paws across the bar, before reaching up and rubbing his little face. he catches dazai’s gaze, looking at him with big, round, unblinking eyes. his chest tightens again.

the sun is rising, melting the black of the night sky to gold when dazai arrives at your apartment. his hand freezes inside his pocket, fingers wrapped around his lock pick, glancing back to your door. he lets it go and knocks instead, beating his knuckles against the wood in your secret code.

you’re in your pajamas when you open the door, and he notes the bruise on your leg that was hidden under your work uniform. he looks at you like a lost puppy; ears down, eyes big, with his tail between his legs.

“hey,” your eyes dart along his body, and he knows you’re scanning him for injuries too. “you okay?”

he doesn’t reply, and you let him meekly slip past you into your apartment. your blanket is pooled on the floor from where you were sitting at your coffee table, chopsticks and a bowl of stir fry waiting for you; the schedule of a mafiosa has your circadian rhythm flipped, eating dinner as the sun rises.

“did you eat anything yet?” you ask him, sitting back on the ground.

his big brown eyes blink down at you emptily.

you open the side of your blanket expectantly, scooting over to make space for him. you nudge your food between the two of you when he sits beside you. his stomach flutters as he thinks about you feeding him from your chopsticks, a hand cupped under his chin, your soft thumb brushing his lips as you wipe them clean. he ignores it, plucking a shrimp out of your bowl with his fingers instead.

“you can have the rest,” you bundle the blanket a little tighter around your shoulders, sighing softly as you lay your head down on his shoulder. “i made extra. i knew you’d come over.”

“you did?”

“mhm,” you rub your thumb along the edge of his bandages where his palm and wrist meet absentmindedly. “i know you.”

you do, scarily so. you like your stir fry spicy, but you kept it mild for him. because you knew he’d come over. because you knew he wouldn’t have eaten otherwise. because he only ever gets a home cooked meal when you make one for him.

“‘m sorry.” he mumbles, voice barely audible.

you tilt your head up and look at him, eyes heavy. he holds his breath as you lift your hand and cup his cheek, tracing the dark circle under his one visible eye with the pad of your thumb.

“let’s go to bed,” your voice is soft in the way it always is when you’re tired. “we can still sleep a little before we have to go back to headquarters.”

he knows every inch of your apartment, but he still lets you guide him into the dark of your room, and he’s suddenly surrounded by everything that is so quintessentially you. he has it all committed to memory: the title of the book on your nightstand you swear you’ll finish, the delicate splay of jewelry on your dresser, the pajama shorts hanging over the side of your hamper in the corner.

you practically collapse, falling into your bed and splaying your limbs with a happy sigh while he carefully lies down, staring at the ceiling and keeping his hands to himself. it’s after a few quiet moments when he feels something warm against him, and when he turns to look at you, his breath catches in his throat.

you’re so much closer to him than anyone else would ever dare to be. you curl towards him even in your sleep, like a sunflower growing towards the sun. your arm reaches towards his, fingers loosely clinging to his sleeve, as if you wanted to keep him anchored to the bed with you. he could almost make himself believe you really wanted him there.

he watches the daylight fall over your face, just as delicate as the sheet you draped over your body, still thin enough to show off the contour of your legs. you look so relaxed, cheeks full of color with the shadow of your lashes resting against them.

you looked so alive. so human.

his chest tightens.

BSD MASTERLIST

taglist . . . @little-miss-chaoss @almond-t0fu @yaeeko @annoyingpainterprincess @callm3-tash1 @janbannan @snowsilver2000

#💌 . . . with love mai ⊹ ࣪ ˖#dazai x reader #bsd x reader #dazai x you #bsd x you #dazai osamu x you #dazai osamu x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd imagines #dazai imagines #dazai fluff #bsd fluff

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lv2mt · 2 days

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hungry

this is my first time writing smut feel free to give me any tips☺️

the sun was reflecting of his skin, sweat was dripping off his body, the way he would bite his lips out of frustration. you was mesmerized by the married man in font of you.

you had known art for a couple of years you both meet up a lot there has never been sexual tension between you and art but recently he's all you've ever needed.

art finished his practice and you both went back to his car, for some reason the car drive was silent but you didn't mind because being with him just made your mind go to the most dirtiest imagination.

"y/n?" art said breaking the silence "yeah" i took my eyes of the window to look at him, he looked frustrated like he needed something. "i need to talk to you about something" he looked back at me but his eyes travelled to my lips then back on the road.

my body knew what he wanted and it turned me on even more. "sure what's up?" his hand gripped on the wheel making his hand pop out in veins. "this tension between us, i can't help but want you" i was shocked hearing that come out his mouth but it made me hungry for him.

i didn't know what to say i wanted him to have me, do anything to me but i just couldn't think of how to word it. "this tension i feel it your all i can think about but you have a wife art i don't want to ruin that for you" i said still looking at him but then looked out the window to notice he's pulled up in some empty parking lot.

he turned his head to look at me, his eyes was cold like he was demanding that he wanted me. “don’t worry about her” his tone of voice sounded so careless but it was attractive.

i couldn’t hold it in anymore i took the lead and kissed him, his lips was soft our lips just felt meant for each other like a jigsaw piece.

he slipped his tongue in my mouth, one hand traveling to my hips as the other on my cheek. our breaths filling up the car, all i could think about was him in me i needed it, i needed it now.

“you don’t know how much i’ve been needing this” art said in between kissing, “oh yea baby” his lips moving down to my neck marking it as his and i loved it.

he pulled back his seat and i sat on his lap his hand traveling up my summer dress, his fingers rubbing my heat feeling the wetness of my panties. “already this wet hm” his voice sounded so hot “mhm”

his fingers now in me, at first he was going slow i knew what he wanted, he wanted me to beg and that’s what i did “art go faster please” he smiled looking at me, mesmerised by the woman who’s begging for him. his pace fastens even putting another finger up me, my head on his chest moaning.

“you feel so good” i try to say “oh yea?” art replies back then slowing his pace and pulling out his fingers, he then continues to lick the cum of them, i needed him in me i couldn’t wait much longer but he already knew that.

i lifted up a bit so he could take his shorts and boxers off while i took my thong off, we didn’t have a condom but i was on the pill so that didn’t matter. “you ready baby” he asked i nodded in approval.

his big dick going in me stretching me out, my eyes watering from the slight pain but that soon went as i started to thrust on him making us both moan.

the car shaking making it obvious what we was doing on the outside but we didn’t care, the thought of us getting caught just made it even more sexy.

our lips numbing from the force of us making out. “y/n i’m gonna cum” them words coming out his mouth triggered me to go even faster. hearing the moans and grunts coming out his mouth was like listening to music.

the faster i got the more closer we both was so coming it wouldn’t take long now. his hands gripped on my waist and his head rolled back leaving a empty space on his neck, i kissed all down it making one of his hand grip on my hair.

a couple of minutes went by and i felt his warm load in me and mine on his. he was still in me but we was still, not moving and now just catching our breaths. i lifted myself back up making his dick exit me.

he put his boxer and shorts back on n i put my panties back on making us now clothed again. “your neck” art said shocked of what he did, i moved and sat back in the passenger seat getting my phone and looking in the camera.

my eyes widened the trail of hickeys all down my neck “oh my god art!” i said but i didn’t bother me it shows that i am now his. we both laughed about my neck “i guess i was just in the moment to even realise” we both just laughed and smiled at each other.

“that was fun” i said hoping to get the same response back “we should do it again be our little secret” i once again nodded my head as approval and he gave me a peck on my head.

#art donaldson #challengers #mike faist #art donaldson x reader #mike faist x you #smut fanfiction #art donaldson x you #art donaldson smut #fanfic

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sugar-coat-it · 2 days

Text

Body piercer! Matty part three

Part 1, Part 2

I missed writing for this man so much my god he is my everything. If you haven’t read the other parts, go ahead and do that first for context perhaps!

Fem! Reader

Contains: Mutual pining, cutie newly established relationship, mention of marijuana, proud concert bf Matty, him being protective of girlie at the show, exhibitionism (light petting in the crowd), rough quickie (unprotected), public sex (bathroom), fingering and fucking on the counter, Matty puts his hand over her mouth, mirror sex, choking (with jewelry)

WC: ~6.3k

—-------------------------------------

PART THREE- Your new boyfriend takes you to a punk show, ending with a quickie in the venue bathroom

—-------------------------------------

Both you and Matty knew in your hearts that this wasn’t just a fling. Flings didn’t stay up for endless hours on the phone, knowing damn well that you both had work the next morning. Flings also didn’t think about each other for every waking minute, always sending each other sentimental messages when things reminded them of each other. And, they certainly don’t touch you the way Matty touches you: like he’s like he’s been starved of you his entire life. He’d frankly been losing his mind, constantly daydreaming at work as he stared at the Polaroid of the two of you he kept at the front desk, knowing he couldn’t stand not calling you his girlfriend much longer. Not after the past couple of weeks you’d been seeing each other had been some of the best of his life. He was so antsy over the fact that he couldn’t actually call you his that it was eating him alive, where else would he ever find someone as perfect for him as you? His work friends teased him endlessly for being so head over his platform boot heels, telling him how he needed to lock you down as soon as possible. He endearingly calls you his “favorite client”, but you’ve quickly become his favorite everything (“No. You don’t even get it, mate,” he’d said, rambling on to some poor guy whose ears he was piercing, “she's like… the light of my life, really”). But, considering that you couldn’t close your eyes without picturing his pretty brown irises staring back at you, his eyes crinkling at the edges with all his twinkling, wild mirth, you weren’t faring much better.

Just as you’d hoped from that first night together, his sleepy eyes were in fact now a constant in your life. He asked you to be his girlfriend after taking you back to the same cafe where you’d had your blind date. Needless to say, it was an enthusiastic yes on your part, and everything has been so much brighter since, you can hardly imagine your life without all of his ruckus. Your days with him are long and lazy, and the nights are even longer, often spent wrapped up in his sheets or giggling while curled up on his couch after a smoke session.

You’ve learned a lot about Matty in the time you’ve been together. Like his tendency to leave things in your flat, his ungodly marijuana tolerance levels, and his love for his puppy Mayhem. You’ve also found that he takes his music very seriously. Listening to music is like a ritual to him, one that he refuses to partake in with “trashy” music. You call it snobbery, he calls it having good taste, and lately, he’s been trying to share that taste with you. He’s almost been subtly brainwashing you into getting into his bands, playing their songs in his car, burning some of their tracks on his CD mixtapes for you (always scrawled with cute Sharpie doodles and bad handwriting), humming the melodies of his favorite songs to you while cuddling. Honestly, you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t working, you’ve found yourself adding his music to your playlists, combining your styles much like how the mohawked man has slowly rooted his way into every corner of your life.

So of course, words couldn’t describe how thrilled he was when you agreed to see one of his favorite bands play at a punk rock show. He’d approached you with the idea tentatively, explaining that it was fine if you didn’t want to go, he’d just take one of his mates from work if so. The way his face lit up when you said yes, your heart could have burst as you watched his eyes sparkle with pure unbridled joy. Then, he leaned in and kissed every inch of your face, ignoring your giggles and protests of him tickling you while he declared how much you were going to love it.

When the day of the show arrived, you kept your outfit simple: baggy, ripped jeans, a white tank top, a band hoodie, and a studded belt you recovered from the depths of your closet, figuring you’d at least blend in with the grungier crowd that way. You put on one last thing to complete the look, hooking Matty’s chunky, silver chain (that of course, he’d left on your dresser) around your neck. You smile to yourself as you tuck it under your clothes, liking the feel of having him close to your heart like this. When did you become such a sap?

Meanwhile, Matty was pacing around your flat, making sure he had everything he needed and that you’d get there in time for doors. His reasoning for being punctual was much less about him than it was for you. He wanted you to fully experience being close to the stage because he knows how much you like to take pictures at shows, your constantly full phone storage being a telltale sign of that. He was going full-on concert boyfriend mode, also keeping your lipstick and your wallet in his little hip pouch so you wouldn’t have to worry about carrying anything but your phone. He’d clearly thought this through quite a lot, he’d been looking forward to it for weeks.

A sudden kiss to his cheek quiets the hum of his overactive mind when you approach him, his furrowed brows sloping to a soft look of adoration as he insists on you standing still so he can take a good look at your outfit. He holds his fingers up in front of him in the shape of a square, squinting one eye closed like he’s framing you for a memory. Sure, the relationship was shiny and new, but something about the way he looked at you told you this wasn’t going to dull with time’s cruel hands, not any time soon at least.

“Ohh, yeah. Very punk rock, baby,” he smiles slyly, chuckling as you roll your eyes.

“Hardly! I don’t exactly have the wardrobe for this.”

“Shh, nonsense. You’re like a regular Joan Jett, babe. But hotter.”

“But hotter? Wow,” you laugh, now glancing down at the jewelry adorning his hands and wrists, “I like your bracelet.”

Matty cringes, sucking a breath through his teeth while looking up towards the ceiling. He recalls just how he’d obtained said bracelet as a teenager with something to prove. He was never a bad kid, just a highly restless one who got bored too easily. Besides, he never got in any real trouble since his parents would have strung him up by his toes otherwise.

“Erm, thanks. I think I nicked it when I was a teen.”

“You were a delinquent!?” you exclaim, causing Matty’s loud laughter to ring through the apartment.

“That’s a strong term, innit? Let’s call it… misguided… and stupid. Now c’mon, out the door, miss.”

You shake your head playfully as he shoos you out of the flat, imagining a younger version of your boyfriend getting into all sorts of mischief. You can almost perfectly picture his toothy, boyish grin as he runs around the streets of his hometown with his mates by his side, freckle-faced and carefree, his curls in an unruly mop on his head. You wonder if you would have gotten along with him in his younger, wilder days. An odd part of you hopes he still would have liked you.

“Why do you still have it?” you ask as you start your walk to the train together. “What can I say? I’m unbelievably sentimental.”

The train ride is quiet, you share his wireless earbuds and listen to music side by side. The deal was that the queue of songs switched back and forth, you got to play one song, then him. He leans his head against your shoulder, the muss of hair atop the shaved sides of his head grazing your neck. He almost falls asleep as you start to scratch the top of his head. But, inevitably, all of his energy comes rushing back to him when the train comes to a halt. Immediately, he’s grabbing your hand to bound down the street to the venue, shouting about how good of a spot you’re going to get.

—---------------------------------------------

Once inside, at a glance, you don’t exactly fit in here. A sort of insecurity festers in you as you eye some of the girls dressed in spikes and leather, they looked like they belonged here, and so did your boyfriend. But, you try to shake it off nonetheless, even if you didn’t feel nearly as cool as you wanted to. This place was like the high council of people who exclusively wear clothes with tears in them.

Matty stands close behind you as you pack in with the rest of the grungy-looking crowd. His hands are on your hips as he glances around, making sure that you have enough space to stand comfortably. He knows how these shows can get, and he’s made it his personal mission to make sure no one ruins the experience for you. He shoots a look at any guy who tries to stand too close to you, the coldness of his stare sending them inching away from your personal space with cowardice. In an instant, the mean look is wiped off his face as he glances down at you, seeing how happy you seem to be there with him. He leans down, the cool metal of his chain grazing your neck as he speaks near your ear, just loud enough so you can hear him over the buzz of chatter throughout the venue.

“Can you see alright?” he asks, giving your hips a little squeeze.

You nod with a smile, having a fairly clear view of the stage. You’re only about three rows back thanks to Matty’s punctuality. You turn your head, grasping the necklace around his neck gently before pulling him down further so you can kiss his cheek. A grin breaks out on your boyfriend’s face, he can’t help but chuckle at your little move, he loves it when you get bold with him. His lips brush against your ear as he murmurs “little minx” before standing back up to his full height.

Matty talks over the pre-show music as he tells you a bit of background about the bands playing tonight, prattling on about who plays what and what makes them so cool. You listen to him with an enamored look plastered on your face, nodding along even when you have no clue what he’s talking about, but what else is new? It only makes you adore him more with every detail rattled off from the depths of his mind.

“... and this one here I don’t know shit about, to be honest. I reckon they’re probably fine though,” he shrugs, showing you the lineup on his phone.

You squint at the screen, tapping your nail against one of the names you recognize because of him. You blink up at him prettily, knowing he’s going to get a kick out of what you say next.

“This is the one with the guy who plays the drums with two pedals, right?” you recall, tilting your head at him, knowing damn well that you’re laying it on thick.

“Yes!! Yes, exactly,” he beams, his eyes instantly lighting up before he presses an enthusiastic kiss to your temple, “That’s my fuckin’ girl. The coolest girlfriend.”

Soon, the show begins, and Matty lets out an excited whoop as the first band makes their entrance, the one he’d bought the tickets for in the first place. He lets go of your hips, taking a small step back to give you the room to dance if you want to. He’s so considerate of you, it makes a glowing sort of warmth swell in your chest. You glance back at him and he gives you two thumbs up, his face scrunching up with a grin that’s so earnestly Matty, you have to resist the urge to just grab him and kiss him till your lips are raw right in the middle of the crowd. Not to mention how fucking good he looks tonight, his tank top allowing his tattooed arms to be on full display, and it should be illegal how tightly those black leather pants cling to his legs.

Your attention turns back to the stage as the first notes ring through the small venue, grungy guitar chords echoing off of the walls. Nothing gives you the same feeling as live music does, the pure thrill it makes rush through you is unmatched (sorry, Matty). The music is harsh, it grates on your ears, but in the best way possible. It’s invigorating, fucking electrifying, it’s thrumming in the hollow of your chest. You feel alive. Matty leans over to see it all happen from just a step away, watching the stage lights reflect in your eyes. He hadn’t looked at the band once, this was far more mesmerizing than anything that could be happening up there. You’ve completely captured his attention, and when you start bobbing your head to the beat and singing along to the chorus, Matty almost drops to one knee right then and there. He’s already mentally noted that this song will in fact be played at your wedding reception.

As the set goes on, his eyes stay on you for the majority of the time, he’s just so taken by watching you have this much fun hearing his music, which is now your music too. He’s simply beaming with pride. Every time you look back at him with that thrilled look on your face while you’re moving to the rhythm only solidifies to him that you’re his absolute dream girl. And of course, he’s having the time of his life too. Matty mouthes along to all of the words, nodding his head in a way that makes his quaffed mohawk bounce with his movements. And, shit, it’s hot in the crowd, you can feel the heat radiating off of the bodies moving around you. The hoodie you brought may have been an oversight, you can practically feel your mascara melting off of your lashes.

The show goes on, and when the moshing in the middle of the crowd gets increasingly rowdy, one man gets shoved and sent hurtling past the bodies between you and the mosh pit. You quickly hold your hands out to brace for the impact, knowing this can’t end well as you prepare to meet your leather-jacketed doom. The man is visibly very intoxicated and he would have stumbled straight into your body from the momentum if Matty’s hands hadn’t shot out to block him, catching him by his shoulders.

“Oi! Watch where you’re fuckin’ going, fuck’s sake!” Matty spits, sending him back toward the pit with a light push.

Now, had Matty done his fair share of moshing and getting absolutely catapulted into other people at breakneck velocity? Yes. It’s not even entirely the guy’s fault that he almost crashed into you, he was pretty drunk and didn’t have his wits or his balance about him, but in Matty’s mind, he might as well have tried to tackle you to the ground WWE style.

“I could have caught him!” you argue over the music, laughing at the bitter look on your boyfriend's face.

Matty raises an eyebrow at you and shakes his head with an amused smile, but doesn’t argue. Maybe you could have, but he wasn’t about to let some sloshed idiot break his girlfriend's back because that’s his job, dammit.

The band’s set is finished with a bang, the final chords echoing in your ears as you try to catch your breath from moving almost nonstop, your heart thundering against your ribs. You turn around to face Matty with a giant grin plastered on your face, letting out a breathless, excited laugh. He just chuckles, eyeing the strands of hair sticking to your face from the sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup rimming your wide eyes. He’s not in much better shape, his tank top is clinging to his body like a second skin. By this point, your hoodie feels like it has its own climate, and you’re dying to peel it off.

“Fun?” he asks, as you start to lift the fabric over your head.

“Oh my god, yeah,” you breathe, your voice muffled by the hoodie.

“I-”

His next words die in his throat as his eyes immediately snap to your chest, his breath catching as he spots the clear outline of your nipple piercings through your drenched, white tank top and- was that one of his chains around your neck? He feels a stir in his tight leather pants as his mouth slightly drops, he can’t remember ever being so instantly and completely turned on. Heat ripples through his body, climbing up to his face as he shamelessly stares at your tits. Not only were you showing off his skillful work, but your pretty neck was adorned with the chain he’d forgotten all about at your place. It might even look better on you than it does on him.

You’re tying your hoodie around your waist when you catch the look on his face, your brows knitting together with confusion till you follow his gaze and find your piercings proudly displayed through your shirt. As the realization dawns on you, you look up at your boyfriend with a coy smile. Matty shudders, lust crowding his mind as he struggles to come up with a coherent thought, one that isn’t wildly pornographic. He can actually feel his hands tense with the urge to grasp, to lay claim to you with his fingertips. You simply look up at him through your lashes, watching him short-circuit right before your eyes.

Before he has the chance to say or do anything, the next band comes onto the stage, the crowd roaring to life a second time. You give him a knowing look before turning back around to face the direction of the music. Matty swallows hard, raking a hand through his mohawk like he’s grappling with demons… and losing.

The music is nothing more than a pulsing beat in his skull, his attention is fully on the back of your head. He begins to inch forward to you, his hands finding a home on your hips while you vibe to the beat. He brings your hips back against him, feeling your movements stutter as the protrusion in his trousers presses into your ass as if to say “Feel what you did to me?”. You get the message loud and clear, draping your weight against him, your head lolling back against his shoulder as you both rock to the beat of the drums, sweaty skin to sweaty skin. Matty’s hands begin to wander, mapping over the damp fabric of your tank top, up your stomach, over your ribs till- oh. You gasp, the stage lights strobing under your closed eyes as he squeezes your tits through your top. Matty can distinctly feel the barbells through the thin fabric, it drives him fucking wild. Your lips part as you melt into him like honey, your skin feels like it’s on fire as the music blares through the venue. Your stomach swoops when he dares to flick the piercings with his fingertips, danger humming in your veins as he gets bolder, as if you’re not surrounded by a sea of people. Your eyes snap open, you quickly glance around to find that everyone’s far too enthralled with the show to notice, not that Matty would give a shit if they did. No one can hear the way you whimper when he pinches your nipples. You stare down at the large hands that possessively grope your breasts, feeling a throb resound between your thighs.

“Matty, you said this was the band you don’t know, right?” you call to him, your voice uneven and unnaturally high-pitched.

His heavily lidded eyes look almost black with the way they darken as he reads between the lines. Even if it was one of the bands he liked, he’s pretty sure absolutely nothing could stop him from doing what comes next, not when his dick is this hard, and you’ve teased him this salaciously. Wordlessly, Matty lets go of your chest and grabs your hand, leading you through the crowd towards the exit. He moves fast, the urgency in his strides and on his face likely making people move out of the way quicker. You’d feel concerned about losing your spot up front if your mind wasn’t so scrambled with need, your legs rushing to keep up with your lanky boyfriend.

Your head is spinning as he swiftly leads you into the nearest gender-neutral bathroom. Matty’s hands are on you the moment he closes and locks the door, he’s all over you in every sense of the term. You breathe in the musk of his sweat between the melding of your lips. The kiss is messy, it’s searingly hot as he desperately licks into your mouth, his fingertips digging into your hip bones. He backs you up blindly until your hips meet the bathroom counter, his hands reaching to undo the hoodie tied around your waist and toss it aside without breaking the kiss once. You didn’t think you could get much hotter than you were in the crowd, but now you’re burning up from the inside with white-hot desire.

Matty hastily turns you around to face the bathroom mirror, tagged with graffiti and littered with lipstick prints at the border. It was clear that the space was well-loved, but clean. A culmination of every aspiring artist and sticker enthusiast in the area, almost no spot on the wall was left untouched. Your eyes are drawn away from the decor as Matty grasps your jaw from behind you, turning your head to make you meet the almost feral look in his eyes through the mirror. He holds you that way as he leans down to press dire, open-mouthed kisses to your neck, his other hand snaking down your front to unbutton your pants. The feeling of his tongue stud soothing over faded love bites only makes you weaker in the knees. Matty fumbles with the zipper of your jeans for a moment before he shoves the clothing down your legs, the fabric pooling around your ankles. It’s clear that he’s not wasting time with his usual delicate, worshiping caresses of your thighs while he undresses you, this is an electrified frenzy.

“No bra, baby? Is that how you want to play?” he mutters, his lips grazing the column of your neck teasingly.

“I-I didn’t-” you begin to protest, only to be cut off by your own moan as he gives a rough pinch to your nipple through your top.

Matty follows the curve of your midsection with his hand, intense honey-colored eyes locked on you through your reflection, the image swirled at the edges with colorful spray paint. A shudder reverberates through your body as his fingers venture lower, dipping below the waistband of your soaked panties. Your body instinctually arches backward against his, mewling when his calloused fingertips brush against your swollen clit. It’s like he can light up every one of your senses with just a graze, your breath getting shallower by the second. You feel his stiff cock twitch in his trousers as you press yourself impossibly closer to him, every inch of his glowing skin flush against your back. Matty continues his loving assault on your neck as his thick digits gather the arousal pooling between your thighs. Your dazed vision trails downward as you stare at his hand shoved inside your panties from behind you, watching the fabric shift with every movement of his skilled hand. You whine as he circles your slit before beginning to sink his slicked fingers into you, your eyes squeezing shut as the dizzying pleasure thrums in your veins.

“Shhh. You know how much I love your pretty noises, baby, but be good, okay? Can you do that? Don’t want anyone to know what we’re up to, do you?” he murmurs, dragging his plush bottom lip against your ear lobe.

You nod wordlessly, afraid that if you open your mouth, noise will overflow from you uncontrollably, his fingers being knuckle-deep in you is just too damn good. If you don’t control yourself, anyone outside could hear you, could know how good your boyfriend is filling you with his fingers, satisfying you to your very core. The thought of it alone makes your heart hammer in your chest harder. You don’t want them to know… because that would be wrong, it would be undignified… it’d be… kind of hot.

His digits stretch you open as he begins to diligently pump them in and out of you, curling them towards the spot that he knows will make you see stars. He works quickly, his pace is almost feverish from his determination to make you fall to pieces as efficiently as he can. Matty’s other hand is groping your breast, squeezing the fullness of it, his rings pressing into your flesh through your thin tank top. You bite down on your lip hard enough that you think you might tear the flesh open, desperately trying to keep your whimpers quiet. Matty’s gaze on you is cautionary, his eyebrows slightly raised like he’s testing you, seeing just how much you can take.

The last of your defenses come crumbling down as the pad of his thumb presses against your clit, the flood of sensations making a moan burst from your throat as he begins to draw tight circles on the bundle of nerves. In an instant, Matty’s hand is off of your chest and is clasped over your mouth, muffling any noise. Fuck.

“I mean it. Pipe down, or I’ll stop,” he says sternly, smirking at you as he feels your walls flutter around his fingers.

“No- no, please don’t stop,” you babble against his palm like the idea of it was simply unbearable.

Matty’s hand stays firmly over your mouth as he withdraws his fingers from inside you, ignoring the way you squirm in protest, whining uselessly. He tugs your ruined panties down your legs, letting them join your pants in a heap around your ankles. It’s almost embarrassing how you can hardly contain your desire, but he likes it that way, knowing how needy you are.

“Matty, please, fuck, need it,” you mumble, and he can see the way your desire is clawing at you from the inside just from a glance.

“Be patient for me, my love,” he smiles, hurriedly pulling himself out of his uncomfortably skin-tight pants with his free hand, “You’ll get what you want. Being stuffed full with my cock, hm?”

You whimper as Matty nudges your legs further apart with his foot, leaning you forward over the counter onto your elbows. He whistles lowly at the sight of you, his eyes following down your spine, over the curve of your ass, and to your dripping pussy. You tremble slightly as he reaches between your legs, collecting your honey on his fingers before spreading it over his shaft, slicking himself with your arousal. A whine vibrates against the palm Matty holds over your mouth as you swing your hips in a desperate attempt to entice him. He just chuckles darkly, keeping his hand securely in place as starts to guide his cock through your folds, the head kissing your aching clit as he rubs it back and forth.

Matty doesn’t waste a second longer, you can hardly process it before he’s pushing inside of you, gasping as he fills you inch by inch. His fingertips press into the side of your face as he tightens his hold on your mouth to muffle your mewls, watching as your lashes flutter, your face contorting with pleasure. He can feel your hot, heavy breaths fanning into his palm, your chest heaving as he bottoms out inside of you. Matty groans loudly, tossing his head back as he’s fully surrounded by your velvety warmth, forgetting his own volume rules that he’d set for you. Hypocrite.

“Oh, fuck, you feel so good,” he sighs, reaching to pull your tank top over your breasts, “Stay like that for me, yeah? Wanna see your perfect tits.”

He barely allows you a moment to breathe before he’s snapping his hips against you roughly, letting out a strained grunt with every thrust. Sensations trickle up your spine like flickering flames as a muffled cry spills out of you. Matty angles his hips just right, hitting so deep inside you that you feel as though you’re being split open by each drive of his cock, it’s mind-numbing. Your whole body jolts against the counter with his purposeful movements, the edge of the porcelain biting into your hip bones. He can hardly focus on just one thing, his gaze darting from where he’s disappearing inside of you, to your gorgeous face, to your breasts. Matty’s raspy voice makes your eyes refocus on him, you watch in the mirror as he licks his teeth like he wants to devour you whole.

“You see how pretty you look? No, no, sweetheart, don’t look at me, look at yourself. God, isn’t she pretty?” he drawls, “You look so sexy, wearing my chain like that while you’re taking my cock.”

At his instruction, you meet your own eyes through the reflection, your eyebrows sloping as you realize that he’s right, you do look pretty when he’s fucking you. Your rosied cheeks, your blown pupils, your glowing skin… and your boyfriend’s hand over your mouth. Your chain bounces against your collarbones in tandem with your pierced tits, it’s no wonder he’s loving this position so much, he gets to watch everything at once. While you’re gazing at yourself, Matty reaches around and begins to rub two fingers on your clit, swirling them in intoxicatingly quick figure eights. You watch your own eyes go wide as the pleasure ricochets through your bones, making you light-headed. This must be the expression Matty lives for when he’s got you like this, the face to his sweetest wet dreams. You’re almost mesmerized by seeing yourself get railed to high heaven, it’s sort of an odd feeling. In one swift motion, Matty lets go of your face and grasps the chain around your neck, pulling it taut against your throat from behind, ripping a shocked cry from your lips.

“Ohh, she liked that one,” he grins lazily, tilting his head back with a groan as he feels your walls clamp down on him like a vice, “Shit, not gonna last if you keep doin’ that, god damn.”

It feels like he’s stolen the air directly from your lungs as he lightly chokes you with the silver links you’d so slickly “borrowed” from him. Even just the slight restriction of oxygen has you reeling, your eyes rolling back as your hands claw at the counter, your whole body buzzing with mortifying heights of exhilaration. It’s a dizzying combination of thrill and precarious risk as Matty keeps a tight hold on the chain while fucking you with such vigor that you don’t feel attached to your body, the counter being your only loose grasp on reality. It only makes every drive of his cock feel that much more visceral, the tension coiling tighter in your belly. Heat prickles at your cheeks and the bridge of your nose at the purely obscene sounds of him thrusting into your sopping cunt, skin on skin echoing through the small space while his fingers abuse your clit.

It’s all building up so fast, quicker than usual due to Matty’s frenzied rhythm, his hips meeting yours again and again, unrelentingly. You bite back a wail as the tension so deep inside you reverberates in crackling pangs, threatening to break you to pieces as you arch backward. Your hips writhe against his hand both like you’re chasing the friction and trying to thrash away from its intensity. He can tell you’re on the edge of euphoria, teetering with every swipe of his fingers, every slam of his hips. He gives the chain a harsh tug, knowing it’ll send you spiraling into the depths of pleasure just beyond your fingertips.

“Fuck!” you gasp, one of your hands flying to grip his wrist as your mind goes impossibly blank, your nails digging into his skin, “I’m gonna- I-I can’t!”

“Shit, me too angel, so close. Oh, fuck, cum for me, sweet girl. Cum for me while I fill you up,” he grunts, a burst of energy coming over him as he manages to piston into you even more brutally.

It crashes over you like a thunderous wave, spiraling through you from your dizzied head to the tips of your curled toes. He lets go of the chain, putting his hand over your mouth again to stifle your cry, the disorienting rush of oxygen almost making your knees give out from underneath you, and they just might have if Matty hadn’t kept you supported against the counter. It feels like pure white light is fizzling under your eyelids as Matty makes you reach the stars with your climax, dousing you in pulsating bliss as you clench around him tightly. He lets out a deep, animalistic sound as he spills inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he fucks you through your orgasm, his rhythm beginning to falter from the effort.

“Fuuuck!” he hisses through gritted teeth, along with other breathy strings of profanities.

Slowly, his body stutters to a stop, giving one last roll of his hips before he collapses over you as delicately as he can, enveloping you with his chest to your back. He lovingly presses kisses to the back of your neck as your head hangs forward slightly, both of you gasping to catch your breath.

“H-holy shit, babe. You’re so good…you’re fucking incredible,” he mutters, seeming just as dazed as you are.

He can’t seem to stop complimenting you and loving on you as he keeps you held up with his hands on your hips, rubbing little circles into your skin as you both come down from the highest of highs. The afterglow clouds your head in a way that makes you feel like you’re floating with Matty being your only anchor to the ground.

“Matty…” you mumble, reaching back blindly for his face.

“I’m right here. Right here, love,” he whispers, guiding your palm to his cheek.

You smile warmly as you feel the scruffy sides of his head at your fingertips, Matty keeping his hand over yours sweetly. At the same time you both glance upwards at the mirror, letting out simultaneous giggles as you appreciate the state you’re in. He leans to kiss your cheek, peering into your eyes adoringly through the reflection, pulling your top back down over your breasts.

“Oh my god… we’re a mess,” you snort, rubbing aimlessly at your runny mascara with your free hand.

“You mean you’re a mess, I look damn good,” he jokes, starting to slowly ease you both back up into a standing position.

You both let out a breathy sound as he pulls out of you slowly, his cum beginning to streak down your thighs. Of course, Matty stares, swallowing thickly like he’ll never quite get used to the sight while he shimmies back into his pants. Diligently, he reaches for a handful of paper towels, keeping a gentle hold on your hip. You reach to try and smack his arm when he laughs at the way your legs are trembling, your knees wobbling due to how hard he’d railed you. He dodges the blow, grinning at you triumphantly.

Matty gently wipes away the residue of his pearly release, whispering a hushed “I know, I know” when you squirm at the sensitivity. Once he discards the paper towels, he kneels down to pull your underwear and your jeans back up, kissing his way up the outside of your leg as he does so while looking into your eyes with a playful glint. He kisses you deeply while he buttons your pants with nimble hands, not even letting you lift a finger as he takes care of his girl. You throw your arms around his neck, smiling into the kiss as he teases his tongue piercing along your bottom lip just to make you shiver.

“My perfect girl,” he mumbles against your mouth.

You stay in the bathroom for just a little longer, kissing and whispering sweet things to each other while your bodies fully come down, Matty shouting at whoever keeps intermittently knocking on the door to fuck off. You can’t help but feel a little tinge of guilt in your stomach for “christening” the restroom the way you did, but you highly doubt you were the first.

After he reassures you that the makeup streaked down your cheeks is “hardcore” and that you should leave it the way it is, you finally leave to re-enter the show (not before one final, drawn-out kiss, of course). Your boyfriend keeps you close by his side, his fingers interlocked with yours as you find yourselves at the very back of the pit, scattered with only a few other people. Matty guides your arms around his neck, grinning at you like a fool as you start to rock back and forth to the rhythm of the drums. His smile is infectious as he leans in to rest his forehead against yours, singing to you when the song reaches its chorus. He looks incredibly dorky as mimics the wail of the guitar solo, swinging his hips while his hands rest comfortably on your waist, almost like you’re about to slow dance. You tell him as such and Matty just tosses his head back with a laugh like a little kid. His eyes are sparkling, but not just from the iridescent stage lighting, it’s the look he gets only when he’s with you. You feel your heart swell in your chest as you continue to dance like you’re the only two in the venue, and he looks at you like you’re the only woman in the whole world.

—-----------------------------------------

SO I was a liar and I did write another part. I intended this to be a blurb but I had so many more thoughts about them and their relationship eeeeee

The ending was soooo “do you wanna dance, dance at the back of the hall”

I love them. I need them to be happy forever actually.

This one is dedicated to my lovely lovely friend B (@haveyouseenherlately) thank you so much for the ideas, you get body piercer like no one else, queen. Love you!!!

Go check out her stuff if you haven’t it SLAYS <3

#body piercer!matty #matty healy smut #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you #the 1975 smut #the 1975 x reader #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fic #the 1975 fic #the 1975 fanfic

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coco-loco-nut · 2 days

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Book Club - Part 7

Pairing: The Grid x Reader, Lance x Reader

Summary: reader in a crash, book club dads worried af abt her

requests open masterlist

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You felt nervous going into Spa, a feeling that you just couldn’t shake. You had talked to Kimi about it and even crashed the Haas garage to talk to your best friends, but nothing could shake the pit as you climbed into the pit as the light rain started. Max looked at you and gave you a thumbs up before getting into his car.

You’ve never done great at Spa, the only reason you are P4 is because of the rocket ship that is you car. That was one lap, this is 44 laps. You release a shaky breath and focus on the lights above you. Not even 10 laps later the pit in your stomach increases due to the increased rainfall. You can’t get rid of the feeling despite your intense concentration on driving.

My tires aren’t going to last much longer, I’m losing grip.

Copy, Y/n, push one more lap then we will bring you in.

By the time you reported the tire conditions you were already mostly through sector three. You resteel yourself and push the car as hard as you could while managing the tires.

It’s when you enter sector two that you panic a little. You are losing grip faster than you thought and have begun fighting the steering.

GUYS SOMETHING IS HAPPENING

Y/n?

Y/n? Are you okay? Y/n!

Your wheels lose grip to the track and send you into the wall. It’s a nasty crash that immediately red flags, the debris across the track plus the rain increasing was enough for the FIA to red flag it. Your head is pounding and your vision a little blurry. Only when your ears stop ringing do you hear the radio.

Fuck, yeah I’m okay

You slur the words and pull yourself out of the car, immediately collapsing when you stand up as everything fades to black.

Lance, slow down, red flag, red flag.

Andrew? Who was that, don’t tell me it was Y/n. Fuck, is my wife ok?

It was her, no word back yet. Nothing over her radio from what we can tell.

Andrew, I need to know. Is. She. Ok.

She just said she was ok over the radio. There is debris across the track, stop the car and a marshall will get you back to the garage.

Shit, that’s bad. Andrew, what are you hiding from me?

Lance stops the car and gets out when it is safe to do so, as indicated by the marshal, but his heart drops when he sees you being put into ambulance.

“Mr Stroll, please let me at least let me get you back to the garage,” the marshal senses that he wants to fun over to the scene. Lance reluctantly goes back to the garage where he immediately pulls out of the race and goes to the hospital where they are taking his wife.

Max, Y/n crashed behind you, red flag.

Shit, is she okay?

No confirmation yet, make your way back to the pit lane.

Max feels his heart drop. He knew how uncomfortable you were going into the race and he would do anything to go back and time and tell her not to race. The red flag ended the race, and every driver had a similar reaction to Max and Lance. Max felt sick that that’s how he won, and he said as much in the post-race interviews. It was visible how much he and the paddock cared about you. Every one of your grid dads, as you affectionately called them when talking to Max, came over to him asking for updates, hoping Max would know more since he was your teammate.

“Lance, take a seat, pacing won’t help,” Kimi tells Lance, equally worried and frustrated at the lack of information as they wait in the hospital. Kimi was already on his way after the phone call this morning, this wasn’t what he expected when he touched down. Half the grid is sitting in the room, their legs bouncing or anxiously conversing.

“Mr. Stroll,” a nurse says, causing the both of them to hop up and walk to the desk.

“Who is Mr. Stroll?” she asks and Lance slightly raises his hand.

“I am, this is her father,” Lance says, the nurse motions for the two of them to follow.

“The doctor is in the private room waiting for you,” she closes the door behind Lance and Kimi.

“Hi, I’m Doctor Janssens. I have a bit of good and bad news. Good news is that Y/n only has a mild concussion, some whiplash, sprained wrist, and a small hairline fracture of the wrist. Bad news is that she’ll be out of racing for at least a month,” both Kimi and Lance cringe at the news.

“That’s all? It was a nasty crash,” Lance asks a bit skeptically, looking at your sleeping figure.

“Based on tests and scans, we have ruled out any head, neck, and back breaks. We have her pain meds, which is why she’s sleeping. She will likely be under observation for another day or two,” the doctor says, trying to relay the information in a delicate manor.

“Thank you,” Kimi dismisses the doctor, a hand resting on your shoulder. He and Lance sit in silence for a minute, gathering feelings and thoughts.

“She looks so peaceful,” Lance says softly, holding his sleeping wife’s hand.

“I’ll give you a moment while I talk to Christian and the drivers. Think about when you want to make a statement. I may hate the media, but you don’t want them to be hounding the hospital,” Kimi says before stepping out. Kimi and Christian quickly come to an agreement about the seat, the later not wanting to lose out on his second driver. The grid takes the news relatively well, but they all know how lucky they were, especially you. Pierre and Charles may have been handling it the worst.

“Kimi, will you look over this statement?” Lance asks, knowing the older man is an expert in saying things vaguely.

All-

We want to thank you for your support following Y/n’s crash. She is currently in the hospital under the care of great doctors. We are thankful that she is okay and look forward to a smooth recovery.

- The Räikkönens and Strolls

“Looks fine to me, I will take care of the outside stuff. You focus on our girl,” Kimi goes into Dad mode, sending the message to Red Bull and Lawrence. He posts the statement first on his account, Red Bull and Lawrence following shortly afterwards. Red Bull edited it slightly to reassure fans that you still had your seat waiting for you.

“Lance? You ask as you wake up, wincing from the pain. The room is dimmer, as to not strain you.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he says softly, brushing hair from your eyes.

“Everything hurts,” you groan.

“Going into the wall will do that to you, you got lucky,” Kimi says from beside Lance.

“Dad? What did the doctor say, when can I get back into the car?” your vision slightly blurry as your eyes adjust to being awake.

“You have a concussion, whiplash, wrist sprain, and a hairline fracture. You’ll be out for about a month,” Kimi says, heart aching.

“Some of the guys are here? Want me to bring them in?” Lance asks, doing his best to distract you from the amount of time you will be out.

“Yeah,” you verbally confirm, not able to nod your head due to the neck pain. Lance leaves the room to grab the grid.

“I’m sorry, crashes like this are the worst,” Kimi tells you, clearly still affected by your crash.

“Thanks for being here, you didn’t have to leave everyone for me,” you says softly, thinking about your family back in Finland.

“They want to know that you are ok, and you are still my daughter, of course I will be here,” he replies, his softer side showing.

“I didn’t mean to scare everyone. Robin, Rianna, and Grace weren’t watching, right?” you panic a little, scared for their young minds.

“No, they know you are hurt, but they think it’s just a boo boo,” Kimi reassures you. The grid comes in and sufficiently distracts you, happy to know you’re okay.

You spend the next month in Finland with Kimi and your family, working back to 100%. Kimi takes you karting when you are almost fully recovered, getting you back to normal. Lance visits when he isn’t racing.

“Sissy, why do you have to go?” Robin asks, you tested in F1 cars again and got the green light to race again.

“I have to go drive in circles really really fast, just like Papa used to,” you crouch down to his level. Your sisters equally sad at your departure.

“What if you get a boo boo again?” Rianna asks, and you pause, thinking about how to explain it well.

“Do you stop going to the park even after your fall and get a boo boo there? Sometimes we get hurt, but that’s ok,” you don’t promise that you won’t get hurt, that’s not a promise you can keep. Rianna nods, understanding but sad you aren’t staying.

“Will Lancie come back next time?” Robin asks, not wanting to let you go.

“He will, I’ll be back in a couple weeks, it’ll fly by,” you give you siblings one last hug. Kimi hugs you goodbye as well, he spent the past week going over the track with you and talking about strategies.

When you get to the track, you are stopped by every driver, asking how you are and saying how much they missed you.

“Welcome back,” Fernando greets you when you walk into the club meeting.

“I listened to the audiobook, let’s get this party started,” you smile, happily listening to Lewis and Daniel fight about some symbolism. Your boys pampered you for your return. George brought you coffee from Mercedes, Logan brought you a pastry that he picked up from a bakery. Valtteri gave you some home remedies for your sore muscles that he swore works wonders. Kevin and Nico just hugged you but that was enough for you.

“Max was freaking out, he chewed out the Red Bull team for not pitting you earlier,” Daniel tells you, having filled in for you while you were hurt.

“That’s nice of him,” you smile to yourself. Lewis had also been vocal in interviews about how your crash could’ve been prevented if the race had ended sooner due to the rain.

“Y/n! Have a second?” a reporter asks and you nod.

“See you later, Danny,” you wave goodbye to him and approach the mic.

“Thanks for joining me, I just have a couple quick questions. First off, how are you feeling?”

“I’m really good, a little sore, but itching to get into the car again,” you reply, not giving away more than that regarding your injuries.

“You certainly seemed to scare the grid when you weren’t responding after the crash. How has your welcome back been?” the reporter pushes for more information.

“They’ve been great, they all came to the hospital to visit and have taken great care of me today. I obviously feel bad for scaring them, but they are the best competitors I could ask for,” you smile, before leaving the interview.

“Welcome back, kid,” Max hugs you when you walk into the Red Bull motorhome. You sing Super Max when you see him, having spent the last month listening to the silly songs that have been written for the drivers

“Thanks Maxie. Who is the better teammate, me or Daniel?” you grin, putting the dutchman in a tough spot.

“Daniel, for sure,” Max jokes. Your jaw drops and you turn around, leaving to go to another motorhome. You find yourself in McLaren, singing Let’s Go, Lando, with Lando himself who was happy to join in with your under-the-breath singing. Oscar wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at or murder the two of you.

“What brings you to our home?” Oscar asks once you both stop singing.

“Max said he liked Daniel more than me as a teammate,” you pout, not revealing that you knew he was joking.

“Right, I’m texting Lance,” Oscar shakes his head with a laugh, leaving you and Lando to chat.

“Y/n, love, you just healed, let’s not get hurt by forcing McLaren security to kick you out,” Lance laughs when he sees you and Lando bonding.

“Noooo, we were just becoming friends, she never hands out with drivers that are her age,” Lando whines. You give him an ick face.

“For good reason, you are all icky,” you quickly turn to Lance, “not you, baby,” you smile and turn back to Lando, “why would I hang out with you all and party after races when I can spend time with the older drivers whose company I prefer,” your eyebrow quirks.

“Say what you want, I’ve seen you at our parties. You have more fun than Lance,” Lando grins.

“Alright Lance, let’s go,” you get up, Lance assisting you since you are still a little slow due to the aches still in your muscles. He walks with you hand in hand back to Red Bull where your trainer helps work out your neck muscles and tape your neck and wrist.

“Let us know if you are feeling pain, if you have to pull out of free practice early, pull out. There is no shame if you are hurting,” Christian tells you, before you get to your car.

“I know, I’ll let you know,” you smile, feeling good in the car. After FP1, all of your grid dads found you after weigh ins, checking you over.

“Mi hija, are you okay? Does anything hurt? How is your hand,” Fernando asks, filling his usual position as the overprotective grid dad.

“A little sore, yeah,” you groan as you roll your shoulders.

“Don’t do that, let’s get you to an ice bath, then some heat,” Kevin says. Lance and your trainer don’t bother checking in on you.

“Let’s have a, well what your would call, a girls night. Help you recover,” Lewis suggests. And that’s how you spend the next few nights, in pajamas, with fluffy blankets, alternating cold and heat on your neck, watching movies of books you had read with the club.

“Petition to make this an occurrence each race?” Valtteri proposes at one point, getting eight voices in agreement back. They did a wonderful job of helping you recover, and the encouraging phone calls to Kimi helped you feel more than ready to race when race day approaches.

“IT’S LIGHTS OUT AND AWAY WE GO! GREAT START FROM RÄIKKÖNEN!” The announcer yells into the mic as you gain a few places, toe to toe with Max.

Can I race?

Permission to Race, give em hell, Y/n

You end up winning the race with a 1-2 finish, pulling a Carlos Sainz and Ferrari after his appendix removal. Your first F1 win.

#f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #daniel ricciardo #f1 grid x reader #f1 grid #george russell #logan sargeant #max verstappen #valtteri bottas #kimi raikkonen #lance stroll x reader #lance stroll #lewis hamilton #nico hulkenberg #kevin magnussen

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veryinnovative · 2 days

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@jegulus-microfic | april 30, prompt: sky | word count: 1.927 featuring older ceo regulus black and younger secretary james potter part 2 | part 1 AKA word on the street is i Excel in the sheets

“Erh…” he tries after a stretch of silence. “So, how was your day?”

Regulus pins him frozen to place with a look, a sign spelling ‘stupid’ nailed right into his forehead. “You know how my day was. You manage my schedule.”

Damn, tough crowd. “Okay,” James drawls, a little unsure. “But, like, how did it go?”

The place functions as any other hole-in-the-wall restaurant that serves just a handful of people throughout the day, most of whom are loyal customers returning every so often for a comfort meal when homesickness becomes a little too much to bear. Even now, there are only a couple of people scattered about, none of which pay any mind to either Regulus or James.

“So, first impressions?” James asks when he takes a seat across from him.

“It’s satisfactory.”

“Satisfactory.” James blinks.

Regulus is quiet. He looks terribly out of place wearing a luxury suit exported from one of the globe’s corners and James can’t help but feel a little guilty. He’s seen Regulus carve into lobster with only a fork and knife but still can’t help but worry about future dry cleaning prices for which he may or may not be responsible.

“Erh…” he tries after a stretch of silence. “So, how was your day?”

Regulus pins him frozen to place with a look, a sign spelling ‘stupid’ nailed right into his forehead. “You know how my day was. You manage my schedule.”

Damn, tough crowd. “Okay,” James drawls, a little unsure. “But, like, how did it go?”

Regulus, perhaps finally acknowledging his poor attempts at small talk to ease the awkwardness, studies him intently for a long, close moment before acquiescing. “Enervating.” Right, because Regulus is the type to unironically use words like enervating.

“The business deal?” James asks and Regulus nods. “Dude from Jakarta, right?”

“The CEO from the biggest real estate company in Jakarta,” Regulus corrects him.

Tomato, tomato. “Does this mean you get to leave work at a reasonable hour starting tomorrow?”

“I’ve never had reasonable working hours.”

“Of course, I forgot the very important detail you’re a raging workaholic.”

Regulus’ mouth sets into a firm line as his brows knit together into a censorious frown—his entire face contorting into something that’s one odd remark away from turning downright petulant. “I am not—” He stops. Breathes in. Probably recognizes James is very carefully pulling his tail and for some reason becomes decidedly collegial. “Allow me to rephrase myself. I am meticulous. I prefer finishing tasks before going home and don’t mind when it results in me staying at work a little longer. It’s inevitable as a CEO when timezones don’t work in my favor.”

Absolute bullshit. “Just last week you kept leaving the office after the cleaning shift already came by to sweep the place clean. I know because they told me.”

“I can’t see how any of this poses as a bother to you.” And there it is, the good ole Regulus Black-esque deflection.

“I’m just worried. That is all.”

Regulus’ nose twitches and he looks away, a clear indication that he no longer wants to be a willing participant in the conversation. When Regulus becomes like this, James has learned to leave it be.

Luckily, it doesn’t take long for the food to arrive. James can stop pretending to take in the beautiful sight of the night sky, cracked asphalt, and the flickering colors of traffic signs when the plate is placed on the center of the table, carrying an assortment of different meat cuts and a modest side salad that will probably be Regulus’ for the taking.

Using the table etiquette of a properly groomed aristocrat, Regulus carefully selects some vegetables to put on his plate and a modest serving of rice. He skillfully carves out some pieces around the skewer.

“Seriously,” James deadpans. “Go on, Your Royal Highness, you can use your hands for this.”

Regulus almost bridles at the mere suggestion.

“Seriously, there’s no shame in it. Here, let me do it for you”

Regulus watches as James grabs one of the skewers and uses his fork to tear chunks off, dropping a generous portion of roasted vegetables and meat on Regulus’ plate. “You want some of this flatbread?”

Regulus shakes his head and James shrugs. He swiftly mouths off a dollop of sauce on his thumb, which earns him one of Regulus’ notorious James-exclusive grimaces.

Right, table manners.

They get to eating and James is once again reminded of how much of a slow eater Regulus is. It’s like he counts his chews, jaw working diligently with the faint scrapes of his cutlery against the plate. That and he works even as he eats, almost on auto-pilot with how he takes out his phone to open Outlook.

“Using your phone at the table is rude manners,” James teases.

“I got an e-mail.”

“Of course.” He nods. “Nothing workaholic about that, no.”

“It’s an important e-mail.”

“You know I read something about how it’s also important to spend time with your employees.” He waves around a piece of the flatbread as if to emphasize the point. “Get to know them better and all.”

“I know plenty about you,” Regulus answers as he types away.

“That so?”

Regulus looks at him, entirely indifferent as the phone is placed face-down on the table. “James Potter. Twenty-three years old. Finished your master’s degree at Oxford, with flying colors might I add. You took a gap year to travel, working all sorts of jobs to pay for your accommodation. Currently, you live near Camden and spend most of your spare time enjoying hobbies or going to the pub with your friends. You have a Joe and the Juice stamp card.”

James tries not to physically reel back. “That…” He starts, absolutely nonplussed. Someone come pick his fucking jaw off the table, it’s dropped off its hinges. “You know what Joe and the Juice is?” Impossible, all things considered. Regulus is in a tax bracket where chain restaurants might seem like fanciful inventions, the kind of places mentioned only in tales where fine dining is unheard of. There's a brief curiosity about whether this is the equivalent of discovering that Toy Story's Pizza Planet is a real place that actually serves food.

“I've come to understand that it's a venue offering juice among a broad array of meals and beverages, yes.”

Still, that’s doesn’t explain… “How do you even know all of that? I hardly even know anything about you other than that you recently turned thirty and were homeschooled for this position.” And that he’s quite fond of the occasional handful of candied macadamias when feeling particularly indulgent. James keeps a packet of it in his bag.

Regulus’ throat bobs. “I do thorough research on the people I employ”

That’s not more than thorough research at this point, far beyond the usual background checks done on new personnel. “Uh-uh. Or you stalk my Instagram during your free time.”

Regulus promptly chokes on his food. His fork falls onto the plate with a loud clatter. James nearly knocks his knee against the table as he too scrambles for the pitcher to pour him water, almost knocking over his can of Sprite in the process.

“Easy, I was just kidding.” He has half the mind to stand up and start patting him on his back to dislodge whatever molecular-sized cucumber wedged itself in his airpipe. “I doubt Mr. Black Enterprises even uses Instagram.”

Regulus looks up startled. Definitely not from the lack of air.

Oh.

Ohohohoh.

“Oh my god.” James’ face splits into a distinguished, shit-eating grin. “You do.”

“What?” It’s barely a wheeze with the way Regulus has been caught. His grip is deadly around the fork, something that should warn James to be wary.

“Instagram,” James repeats, trying his hardest not to gloat when Regulus shivers. “You use it? The Regulus Black uses Instagram? I thought you would be a member of some upper-echelon-exclusive platform instead of mingling with us.”

The worry swiftly dissipates, giving way to confusion, and then settles into something far more at ease. Although James enjoys those fleeting moments where he gets Regulus riled up, he much prefers seeing him relaxed. “Oh—I—Yes. Occasionally,” he stammers, swallowing and reaching for a napkin to dap at his mouth with. “Barty convinced me,” he hastily adds. “It’s a very private account. I’m hardly active on it.”

Sinking into his seat, James pats around for his own phone. “You should follow me.”

“Shu?”

“On Instagram. You should follow me. If you want, of course.”

The tips of Regulus’ ears turn a delicious pink as he returns his attention to his plate. “I’ll think about it.”

After some more idle talk and eating, they decide to head out before Barty ultimately decides it’s past working hours and he’s not dropping Regulus off at home—some palatial penthouse tucked away in one of London's secluded enclaves where the affluent reside, enjoying a life of extravagance as they remain shielded from the public gaze.

Nonetheless, the cherished designated driver will have to linger a bit longer, as both James and Regulus pull out their cards at the cash register. Being a very wise man, Hakeem registers the amount into the terminal and swiftly turns away, well aware that nothing good ever comes from getting involved.

James dismissively waves his hand. “You can put away your card, it’s on me.”

Of course, Regulus isn’t compliant in the slightest. “I made you feel obligated to stay longer than you intended, so it's only right that I pay.”

“I’m the one who invited you, come now.”

“And I’m the one responsible for making you miss out on dinner.”

“Nah. I told you, it was my fault. Seriously, I want to—”

He attempts to move closer, but Regulus also edges forward. Despite being shorter, Regulus exudes an air of authority that instinctively compels James to widen the gap between them and not bump into him. “And I insist.”

But luckily, James is taller and his arms are longer. “Gotta be quicker than that then.”

He extends his arm, shooting right past Regulus’ and taps his card against the terminal, smiling smugly when Regulus scowls up at him, not in the least impressed by his playing dirty. James’ lips part, a jab resting right on the tip of his tongue, something along the lines of ‘They don’t teach you this at fancy pants school?’ only for a chime to disrupt his train of thought.

Card declined.

“Low funds, Yakup,” Hakeem announces without looking over his shoulder like James isn’t sinking to his knees in embarrassment already.

“You got paid four days ago,” Regulus murmurs at his side.

“Rent and utilities were due yesterday.” It nearly comes out in a whine.

“I doubt your rent takes up your whole salary.”

“I also had to pay off my credit card,” James grits out, fumbling through his wallet looking for some cash. In an alternative universe where they’re starred in some cartoon show, the poor faux leather division coughs up dust motes.

“Seriously? How much do you make?

“Might I remind you that you pay me.”

The way Regulus clutches onto his credit card, unlimited of course, one might think the poor thing is about to fold in half. James might as well, to be honest. “Move.”

“No.” His pride’s already been hurt. “Hakeem, can I pay in installments?”

“Only if you take young Khadija out on a date.”

James considers it for a moment, but Regulus the comment only makes Regulus seethe further, “Potter, if you don’t move I’ll give you a reason to worry.”

That’s enough to convince James. He steps away, all kicked puppy-like, and watches how Regulus’ payment gets processed far quicker. “Next time’s on me.”

Regulus rolls his eyes, even as the apples of his cheeks dust pink. “Come, I’m tired and want to go home.”

#jegulus #james potter #regulus black #jegulus fanfiction #marauders #marauders au #jegulus microfic #starchaser #sunseeker #ino microfic tag!#arab jegulus <3 #i had to split this in two and i fear the first half shan't see the light of day for a while yet #for now it's just in a doc for mil's perusal..#this is v low effort but it's why i love it #ceo reg save me #fic / word on the street is i excel in the sheets.#i forgot the title </3 #80% is asleep but matter not... it shall find u

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lqveharrington · 3 days

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Handsome As Always | V.

summary: After three years of dating, you and Vox decide to tie the knot. But what happens when Vox lets his fears consume him?

pairing: Vox x Lucifer’s Daughter!Reader

includes: MAJOR FLUFF, insecure Vox, over-protective Lucifer, Charlie being herself, Valentino being his usual self (that’s pretty much it, let me know if I’m missing anything!)

a/n: this can be read as a part two of ‘you look beautiful’ but can also be read individually!

Ever since your father deemed it was all right to date Vox, you’ve watched your relationship grow in many ways. Vox gained upgrades to his technical self while you gained more recognition as the upcoming Queen of Hell. Your relationship became more well-known to the Pride Ring, and eventually, the news made its way down the other rings. However, there were things you believed never changed. Like Vox’s fears that were kept hidden from lowlife sinners and Overlords.

Vox feared a total of three things as an Overlord and as your loving boyfriend. He feared your father, rejection, and losing you from his life in Hell. And throughout your three-year relationship, you were able to witness each fear creep up behind him at least once.

But there were times you didn’t realize they were happening or being kept from you.

“You promise to watch over my little girl?” Lucifer handed Vox a velvet box, watching the Technology Overlord nod with fervor. “You better. If not, I swear I will not hesitate to wipe you out of existence with the snap of my finger, do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” Vox tucked the box away into his suit pocket, flattening the new creases made. “I understand. I promise I will cherish your daughter until the day Hell freezes over.”

“Good.” He gave a harsh pat to the back of the Overlord’s back, earning an awkward chuckle from him. The two stood in silence for a hot minute, waiting for something else to happen before you walked in with Charlie trailing behind you.

“Dad, Charlie said she didn’t take the necklace but… Vox?” You give him a quizzical look, snapping your earring on. You and Charlie glanced at one another before you spoke again, smoothing out your skirt. “What are you doing here so early? I wasn’t expecting you to be here for another thirty minutes.” You squint when your father scoots away from where he originally stood. “Nonetheless seeing you with my father.”

Vox pulled you into his arms, squeezing your waist. “I just thought I could come earlier. I don’t mind waiting a little longer if you need more time, gorgeous.”

“Cheeky picture box.”

“I’m a flat screen. Upgraded, remember?” He teased, tilting his head at the way you grinned up at him. “You love me.”

“I do.” You let him lift your chin and press a kiss to your lips, smiling softly.

Lucifer coughed, “Won’t you look at the time? Sweetheart, you have to get ready for your date if you want to leave with Vox anytime soon.”

You separate with a grin etched on your face despite the eye roll you gave your father, gaining a chuckle from your partner. “I’ll be back soon.”

The second you left the foyer, Charlie was shooting questions toward Vox, bouncing on her heels at her sister’s soon-to-be fiancé. “Did my dad give you the ring? Are you excited? Gosh, my heart is pounding for you two! Do you know how you’ll propose? Who else knows that you’re proposing tonight?”

“Yes, more nervous than excited, mine is too, nope, and just you guys and Alastor,” Vox answered all her questions with a lopsided smile, fiddling with his fingers.

“Nervous? What for?” Charlie sat on her hands to prevent more movement. “It’s not like she’ll reject you after rejecting a million other guys. She actually loves you. Those other guys just asked her ‘cause she was royalty.”

“Charlie!” Lucifer glared in his daughter’s direction, earning a quiet squeak from her. “She won’t reject you, Vox. She truly loves you. She would never leave you.”

The father-daughter duo watched Vox glitch at the newfound information, both cursing themselves for making the sinner a mess. Vox was fine until Lucifer and Charlie began talking about your past experiences. The fear seeped into him as he felt his fans kick on, becoming a glitching mess by the time Lucifer was able to speak again.

“Okay, uh— I’m not sure how to fix this.” He rested his hands on his cane, looking back at the stairs and the sinner glitching in front of him. “Listen, uh, my daughter isn’t one to date someone for three years and just leave. She really does love you. I mean, she gives you these lovesick looks whenever she sees you!” Lucifer sighed when the thought of his little girl getting married appeared, a soft smile etching on his lips.

Charlie clasped her hands together in excitement, “And I’m sure she wouldn’t say no either. You two are perfect for each other…”

“What now?” You stick your head in between hers and your father’s, resting on Charlie’s shoulder.

“Come here, let me look at you.” Lucifer pulled his eldest to the front of him, eyes beaming with pride. “You look amazing, honey.”

“Thank you.” You do a full turn before you feel an arm pull your waist to a chest, warmth filling your own. “Hi, handsome.”

“Are you ready to go, my love?” He pressed a kiss to the back of your head, missing the way Charlie and Lucifer glanced at one another.

“Of course.” You spun in his arms, linking your hands together.

You watched as Vox consistently dropped his fork, apologizing each time for the clattering noise. You purse your lips at his nth time for apologizing, the fork hitting against the table. Today was supposed to be a relaxing night for your anniversary, but something was bothering your other half. So in return, it bothered you.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” You set down your utensils and reach for his hand that wasn’t messing with the food on the plate. “You’ve been fidgeting since we left the manor.”

“Sorry, there’s just a lot going on in my mind.” He squeezes your hand and meets your eyes. His gaze relaxes within a second, giving you a soft grin. Vox sees it now, the look your father was talking about. He takes both your hands in his, “I love you.”

“I love you too, Vox.” You smile and rub his hand.

“I really do love you…” He feels himself heat up before clearing his throat, keeping his eyes locked with yours. “Gorgeous, these past three years with you have been unbelievably amazing. You’ve been this light sent from Heaven for me and I can’t thank you enough for being there for me. You make me feel like my fans constantly need to be on, and you’re always there for me even if you don’t want to be… I love you more than any words can describe it. So…” Vox kneeled on one knee and reached for the velvet box in his pocket, opening it to reveal the ring Lucifer used to propose to Lilith. Your name fell past his lips as tears fell down your face, “—Will you marry me?”

You let out a wet laugh, nodding at him. “Of course, I’ll marry you, you cheesy picture box.”

Vox slipped the ring on your fingers before pulling you up from your seat and lifting you to spin around with him. “I love you.”

You rest your hands on his chest as he stops spinning, “I love you so much more.” Your lips connected, the feeling of electricity stronger than ever between the two of you. “I’m never leaving your side.”

“No?” He held you close, hands clasping firmly around your waist. “I hoped you would never.”

“Never.” You press another kiss to his lips, messing with the ring on your finger. “Is this why you were talking to my dad?”

Vox nodded, eyes filled with love. “How else was I supposed to get parental consent to marry the eldest of the Morningstar family?”

“Oh, shut up.” You smile and kiss him, feeling his grin in the kiss.

When you got back from the restaurant, Charlie and Lucifer immediately zeroed in on your left hand. You flashed your hand toward them before getting tackled by a hug when they saw the engagement ring adorning your finger, noises of excitement coming from your family.

Lucifer shook Vox’s hand when he spotted the Overlord, “I told you she loves you.”

The next eight months were taken over by your wedding plans. From the venue to the flavor of cake, you and Vox were present for all decisions, making sure everything was up to both your tastes. However, Lucifer handled all the expenses and invitations, ensuring that his eldest had the best despite Vox being one of the richest Overlords in Hell. Charlie was with you when you picked out your wedding dress, assuring you that everything was beautiful.

It wasn’t until the day of the wedding that you and Vox became nervous. More so, Vox.

“You can’t tell me you’re too pussy to marry la princesa now, Voxy. It’s your wedding day.” Valentino blew smoke from where he stood in the dressing room, eyeing the television demon. “What are you even nervous about?”

“What if she realizes she can do so much better than me?” Vox drags his claws down his screen, pacing around the room. His dead heart rate picked up, the paper vows in his suit feeling heavy with each second. “I haven’t seen her since two days ago! She might’ve changed her mind—“

“Vox, I doubt your doll would change her mind about marrying you.” Valentino points his cigar at him, rolling his eyes when Vox glares in his direction at your nickname. “You’re rich, she loves you, you’ve got the wits and brains, she has beauty and power. I don’t get what’s wrong.”

“She’s more than just looks and status!” Vox adjusted his lapels, smoothing them out. “This is such a stupid tradition. Separating the groom and bride before the wedding? They can go to Hell.”

“They most likely are.”

Vox sucks in a breath, glancing at the time. “Fuck, okay. Where’s Alastor?”

“You think I would know where your best man is?” Valentino pushed off the dresser and made his way toward the door. “He’ll appear when he appears. Otherwise, have an amazing wedding. I’ll be seated with Vel.”

Vox let out a frustrated groan. He truly loves you, but the fear gnawing from the inside out was making this day so much more difficult than it needed to be. His eyes twitched as the clock ticked, not knowing where his best man was and how his soon-to-be wife was.

You, on the other hand, were also pacing your own dressing room, Charlie doing her best to calm you down before it was your turn to walk down the aisle.

“It’s going to be fine! You look amazing, the venue is perfect, and you don’t have to worry about safety, what’s left to scrutinize?”

“Does Vox love me?” You whip around and stare at your sister with a distraught look. “I mean, I love him. He’s wonderful, but what if he thinks I’m a pretentious royal who is just marrying him for fun just to leave?”

“That’s not what he’s thinking about.” She gripped your arms, slightly shaking you. “Right now, he’s waiting to marry the love of his life in death at the arbor. And we both know that you love him until double death.” You let out a small chuckle, resting your hands on your bouquet. “And as of now, I need to walk down the aisle as your maid of honor and then you need to walk down with Dad, okay?”

You nod, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I’ll see you up there, Charlie.”

“You look beautiful, don’t ruin it!” She exclaimed as she stepped out of the room.

You smiled as she left, then met your father’s eyes as he stepped inside the room. “Hi, dad.”

“Oh, baby, you look… You’re all grown up.” Lucifer gave you a small smile and hugged you, keeping his tears in until later. “You’re making me seem like an old man.”

“Dad.” You laugh against his shoulder.

“Are you ready, my little princess?” He reached up and cupped your face, gaze filled with joy. You link your arm with his, nodding. “Then let’s get you married.”

And it truly was gorgeous. Since it was a royal wedding, there were many people in attendance, but your attention was solely on Vox. Both your fears and Vox’s fears faded away when you met each other’s gaze, the admiration radiating off the contact. And you never broke eye contact with him, even when you met up at the altar. When Lucifer started officiating, you kept close by Vox’s side, doing your best not to kiss him right then and there.

“You look beautiful,” Vox murmured in your direction, making your smile wider.

You glanced over to meet his eyes, “Thank you… You look handsome as always.”

You both chuckled at your words, knowing you said those exact same words to one another when he first met your father. Soon enough, vows were completed with few tears, and rings were passed over, the only thing left was the pronouncement.

“By the power invested by me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.” Lucifer clasped his hands together, a golden, red, and blue wisp swirling around the newlywed couple. “You may now kiss your bride.”

Vox pulled you in by the waist, bringing his screen close to your face. “I’ve been waiting two days to do this again.”

“Let’s give them a show then.” You wrap your arms around his neck as he pulls you back with a hand secure on your waist and meets your lips, the cheers from the audience making you smile into the kiss.

“Okay, kids. Break it up, I’m still here.” Lucifer coughed from where he stood, not making eye contact with his daughter. When you throw him a playful look, he smiles, finishing the ceremony. “It’s my honor and privilege to present to you for the first time Mr. and Mrs. Vox Morningstar!”

Vox raises his brow at you, “Your last name?”

“You don’t like yours, why not have mine?” You tease as you link your hand with his, walking down the aisle.

“I’ll have all of you if you want me.” He presses a kiss to your temple, the static from his lips gone. “I love you, beautiful.”

“I love you more, handsome.” You rest your head on his shoulder with the biggest grin adorning your face.

Yeah, his fears were irrational.

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whatswrongwithblue · 21 hours

Text

Alastor Headcannons

Fem cat demon reader in a relationship with the Radio Demon

SFW

Rosie introduced him to you. Maybe not necessarily with the idea that you two would be romantic, but she saw similarities between you two and knew you would eventually hit it off.

Once you stopped constantly arguing, that is.

The man had been an Overlord for so long and had sworn off attempting romance for an even longer period, that he genuinely did not recognize his feelings for you as romantic inclinations at first.

He knew he liked you. Admired you. And enjoyed your company. Could talk to you for hours about anything and everything. So obviously that meant he wanted to own your soul.

That blew up in his face – almost literally.

He quickly found out there was nothing he could offer you, or do to you, including putting you in harms way, to force you into making any kind of deal with him. He couldn’t make himself do a damn thing to you. And that scared him and made him avoid you for a long time after that.

But when you two did eventually reunite, it was a lightbulb moment for him, and he pretty much immediately started pursuing an actual relationship with you.

PDA isn’t really his thing, besides hand holding and possibly a hand on the small of your back if he’s feeling extra possessive or wanting to show you off.

The biggest exception to this rule is dancing. He loves to take you dancing.

Surprisingly, he really doesn’t mind others knowing you two are an item.

Some might think he’d want to hide it, worried that others would see you as a weakness to exploit but honestly? Who would dare go after something the Radio Demon held in such high regard. Let them try, my dear.

In private, if he’s in a good mood, he’s quite the sweety.

His love language is definitely acts of service and quality time.

He’ll want to start each day relaxing, enjoying coffee and breakfast with you. He cooks. And throughout the day he really enjoys just being the same room with you, even if you’re both absorbed in your own tasks.

In private, if he’s in a bad mood, he’s very distant.

Don’t touch him and try not to interrupt his work.

He’ll still unconsciously show his affection for you by letting his guard down in these moments.

He’ll let his mask slip a little, show you how upset he is when he would never let anyone else know what’s capable of actually getting under his skin.

He’ll be in some disheveled state. Have his jacket off, or bow tie undone, or hair tied back. He’ll have his microphone across the room. Little things to show he’s still comfortable being vulnerable with you but still . . . best not push it because then he’ll get a little mean.

If you’ve accidentally hurt his feelings in some way, then the insults will start. He’ll call you annoying or dramatic, but he won’t raise his voice unless you do first. He rarely swears so when he does, you know he’s completely at his wits end with you or with whatever else has upset him.

He would never ever lay a hand on you.

If he’s really pushed to the edge, his power might be harder to control. Lights may break, his shadow will go nuts on the wall around you, and he’ll even take on a more demonic, imposing form, but you’ll still feel completely safe in his presence.

Have I mentioned how rare these arguments are? There’s a reason why he’s comfortable enough to be in a relationship with you, because 99% of the time, you understand each other perfectly and can calm the other one down.

At the end of a “no touch day” he’ll usually come find you and initiate some type of cuddle. Usually once you’ve already gone to bed.

He’ll slip under the sheets behind you, probably still a little damp from a shower, and either be the big spoon or, if you’re awake, rest his head on your chest while you stroke his ears.

Those ears are mighty sensitive. Not in a sexual way, but it always sooths his exhausted nervous system when he allows you to touch them like that.

That, and your purrs. No lullaby in the world is as potent as the mesmerizing sensation of your purrs when his body is laid close against yours.

It took him a few months to admit it, but after the first time he told you he loved you; he says it all the time. His mother always told him you couldn’t overuse that phrase if you meant it, so you tend to hear it multiple times a day.

He isn’t fluent in Louisiana Creole, but he knows a few phrases, and will slip into the native accent of his youth and whisper them in your ears when he’s trying to sooth you if you’re the one upset.

He took decades to propose. You never pestered him about it, but Rosie did – and that probably made him take even longer to get around to it than if she had just let it alone.

Neither of you were super into the idea of a big ceremony but then word got out and half of Cannibal Town was asking about Save the Dates so you two decided that while the vow exchange would be short and sweet, the reception would be a fucking party.

NSFW

Sex had not been a part of this man’s life for a very long time.

He’d only been in two brief relationships, once as a teen, and once later to appease his mother, and neither one exactly went well.

Even his rut, which makes most other demons sex-crazed, used to just make him more aggressive and territorial. The physical aspects of it were easy to take care of in private, so he never had to seek out other outlets.

But then you came along and while it still wasn’t as much of a priority for him as it was for you, he still found himself enjoying and even desiring that kind of intimacy with you.

For the first time in . . . well, ever . . . he found himself initiating sex with someone, rather than the other way around, and you found yourself pleasantly satisfied whenever he was in the mood.

Don’t get me wrong, he could still be - and was often - very touch adverse, especially after a difficult day.

But if he’s happy and relaxed and you’re around . . . you two are going to end up under the covers.

He used to hate his tail. He’d even cut it off more than once, but it always grew back. But you liked it and he liked anything that pleased you. And then you started touching it during intercourse and he really liked that.

If the guy has one cum button, it’s you stroking his tail while he’s inside you.

It also really helps that you are so comfortable with your tail and you constantly let him touch it.

He’s definitely a top. Sex is just not interesting to him unless he knows you’re getting off, so it’s either mutual pleasure or your pleasure, but he doesn’t care for anything that involves just his body.

You enjoy going down on him, and it’s okay for him, at least for starters, but he rarely lets you do it for very long. It’s just . . . boring, for him. He’ll compromise and 69 if you’re really in the mood for that kind of thing.

He gets very excited when you’re in heat.

It’s the only thing that can -almost- always override his touch aversion on a bad day.

The idea of you wanting him that much, to the point of it being a near constant physical need for him to be inside you, really gets him going.

He wears out faster than you do, but even after he can’t get it up anymore, he has a multitude of other appendages (fingers, tongue, tentacles) and even some toys that he thoroughly enjoys using on you until you are finally sated.

He’s not one for dirty talk. It makes him uncomfortable, and he finds it distracting. He stays pretty quiet himself during sex, but he loves the needy little moans and whines you make.

He does bite.

And slap your ass.

He’s not usually one for restraints or whips, but he does enjoy marking you with his teeth and claws. Again, this man wanted to own your soul, so he’s going to enjoy leaving physical reminders all over your body that you are his.

His rut is much harder to handle now that he’s sexually active.

And he’s very different in bed when he’s in a rut.

That’s when he dirty talks.

And that’s when he really gets rough.

You have on more than one occasion been face fucked to the point of choking and tears.

And those shadow tentacles really come out to play during that time of year.

They’ll be wrapped around your body, your neck, limbs, etc. They’ll fuck your mouth, your ass, any part of you that his cock isn’t in. He wants you completely controlled and filled up by him when he’s fucking you in his rut.

And he can go for a very long time. Multiple times. You learned after the first year to just plan on taking a vacation that time of year because really, other than eating and sleeping, he pretty much demands that’s all you two do.

He can sometimes lose control of his power and his bodily form during sex.

You’ll know when he’s close to climax because those antlers get massive and his eyes tend to go black. And if he’s in a rut, he can get a little . . . big.

Like, all of him. His entire body. But also yes, his dick gets larger then, too.

One time, you were just about to say you were getting stretched a little too much down there, and his weight was starting to crush you, when he literally broke the bed. That’s all hot and steamy in romance novels, but you just about broke your tail that night and ended up nearly impaled by the bed frame.

Another time, he got his antlers stuck in the backboard of the bed and that was even more embarrassing for him than breaking the actual bed had been because it took him so long to calm down enough to control the size of those things and meanwhile you had just been pinned beneath him and laughing hysterically at the very horny, very frustrated, very stuck husband of yours.

He’s a self-inflicted insomniac and doesn’t let himself sleep much, so after sex, he tends to pass out next to you and when he finally wakes up, he usually insists you join him in the bath or shower for some aftercare.

He’ll help clean any wounds that haven’t already healed, massage your overworked muscles, and verbally check in with you that he didn’t take things too far. Especially since after a rough rut-induced session, he gets awfully insecure about the things he did to you in the heat of the moment.

Of course, you’re always happy to ensure him that you really enjoy that side of him and you’ve never felt like he’d taken anything too far with you.

(P.S. These are some ideas I worked through on what this ace-spectrum Overlord man would be like in a committed relationship for my upcoming OC wife x Alastor fic. I’ve been working on it for weeks now and am just about ready to start posting. It’s been very difficult writing him truly in character while also navigating meeting my OC, coming to terms with his feelings for her, and how he would behave as a partner/husband. For this post - so that it can be its own standalone work - I’ve changed all the wording to Y/N, with the only specifics being that Y/N is a cat demon. But if you really enjoyed this, I hope you’ll stick around for The Fire in the Sin. It’s going to essentially be all of the above turned into a novel, that’s half prequel and half current events for Hazbin Hotel.)

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x oc #hazbin hotel fandom #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons

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rainylana · 2 days

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“I’m always going to take care of you.” Alternate Version! part two!

Eddie Munson x female reader

summary: part two of my series, will also be the final part in the installation.

warnings: talk of sexual abuse and rape, depression and breakdowns, explicit details of rape and violence, mostly told in eddie’s pov, language. if i missed anything please let me know! i hope you enjoyed the reboot of this series<3 let me know your thoughts on this one, it was tough to write!

“Please, Y/n, you can’t shut me out. You can’t.” Eddie was sat by your hospital bed beside you, hands holding the metal railing that was put up at the sides.

“I told you, Eddie,” Your voice broke, eye swollen, purple and red with a gleam of tears. “I don’t need to talk about it.”

“Don’t need to talk about it?” He repeated shockingly, more so to himself.

You’d woke up an three hours ago, having been out for almost thirteen hours after you’d passed out. You were a completely different person. You’d shut down, cold, unwilling to talk about what happened. You only wanted one thing, and that was to go home. Eddie didn’t know how to handle it. He knew he shouldn’t push you. You obviously needed time, but Eddie wasn’t a patient man, and he needed you to be okay.

“Please,” Your voice broke, looking over to him with a bruised eye, the skin around your nose red and aggravated. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Eddie, but I am fine. Just forget about it and get me out of here.”

The police had been there as soon as you woke up to question you. Did you recognize your attacker? Had you ever seen him before? What was he wearing? How tall? Did he tell you his name? What was his hair color? So many questions and so little answers. You hardly remembered it, yet you couldn’t seem to forget it.

Eddie had sent Wayne and all of his friends home. You weren’t up for visitors. Frankly, you were scaring Eddie. You seemed pissed, angry at the world and broken, not able to be fixed. You had a look in your eye that you’d never had before.

“I’ll go get the doctor.” He said tiredly. He didn’t sleep a wink in that uncomfortable chair.

Eddie left you alone then, leaving the room with a heavy sigh. He found your doctor at the front desk giving check out papers to another patient. “Dr. Grant?” Eddie called, gaining the female doctors attention. “How much longer till Y/n can leave?”

“We want to keep her just a few more hours for observation.” She checked her clipboard. “Just until we get the results of her head ct.”

Eddie nodded, not wanting to tell you the news of having to stay longer. He looked like a shell of a man, broken, eyes red rimmed and lips cracked from chewing on them. “I don’t know what to, doctor.” He looked to the floor. “She won’t talk to me.”

Dr. Grant frowned at Eddie, pulling him to the side so they could sit in the waiting room. She put her clipboard down on her lap. “Mr. Munson it will take some time before y/n will feel comfortable with talking. I can assure you that it’s perfectly normal in rape victims to shut down.”

He visibly cringed at her choice of words. Rape victim. You were a rape victim.

“I’m going to give you some paper work that may help you help her.” She smiled, placing a comforting hand on his knee. “I know it seems impossible, Mr. Munson, but eventually she will be okay again. It’ll just take time.”

Dr. Grant left the pamphlets on his lap as she left for her rounds. He looked down to find brightly colored pieces of paper, the words rape and assault plastered all over them. He got up quickly when his eyes teared up, disappearing into the bathroom and shoving the papers in his pocket.

Take time, it certainly did.

•

You acted as if nothing happened. You went on about your daily chores, cooked meals and cleaned the trailer. You were pretending, acting. Eddie couldn’t pretend nor could he forget. He was trying to be patient, that’s what the pamphlets told him. Be patient and understanding. But Eddie saw right through you. You weren’t that good of an actress.

He could see how broken you were, the look in your eyes was shattered and gone. The aches in your body you pretended weren’t there, how uncomfortable you were sleeping in the same bed with him. He offered to sleep on the couch and you’d nearly bitten his head off, saying you were fine and he was overreacting. All you were was angry when he talked to you. When anyone talked to you.

When it got late, when everything had been done for the day, you’d sit outside on the porch and stare up at the sky, smoking your pack of cigarettes that you’d swiped from Hopper a few weeks prior. You’d stay out there past midnight. Eddie hadn’t even seen you cry. You didn’t cry or get sad, only angry. That’s all you ever were.

You spent a lot of time in the shower, hours at a time during the night when you thought he was asleep. He never was. Neither of you slept peacefully anymore. You were barely eating. You tried, tried to keep up appearances to prove that you were okay, but you were slipping. It was getting harder and harder.

It had only been three days, but Eddie was starting to loose it. He couldn’t handle watching you fade away so quickly.

It was late when he finally had dozed off, but your absence in the bed woke him. His hand reached out to find you, only feeling the blanket and pillow. His eyes squinted in the dark, his heart beginning to race. Where were you?

He found you in the living room, one single lamp on that made your face an orange color, staring off into space with a blanket wrapped around you. Eddie frowned, turning on the kitchen light that made you jump slightly.

He tried to ignore the way you stiffened when he sat down, sitting a few feet away from you. He stared at you the entire time, trying to read your face. You looked broken. Utterly broken and so, so sad.

“Sweetheart,” Eddie began, sighing deeply. “I can’t keep watching you like this. I’m trying to…give you time, but it’s killing me watching you-” He stopped when he felt a lump build in his throat, not wanting to cry in front of you.

“I’m fine.” You dismissed him every time, not wanting to entertain the idea of breaking down in front of him. The mere fact he knew what happened, what everyone knew, made you feel weak and disgusting. Like a huge spotlight was on you. It was the worst feeling you’d ever felt, like you were standing naked on a stage, vulnerable and exposed.

Eddie bit his cheek and looked away. “No, you’re not, Y/n.” He swallowed roughly, looking back to you. “And that’s okay. I know you feel like it’s not, but it is. You don’t have to shut me out. Please, baby, you can’t shut me out.”

You squinted your eyes shut and looked to the wall. “Eddie,” You begged. “I can’t.”

You can’t.

That was the first time you had said that. That you couldn’t talk about it. Your voice had broke, just only a little. It was the first time he’d seen real emotion in three days. He didn’t want to push you, but you had to let it out. There was no way you could keep on living like this. It wasn’t healthy.

Eddie looked toward the window, it was pitch black outside, not even the flood lights were on. They had quit working a few weeks ago and no one had come to fix it yet. He swallowed back anxiety and nausea. “I know you’re scared-”

“No, you don’t.” You snapped, still refusing to look at him. “You don’t know how I feel. Nobody knows how I feel. They’re just trying to be nice.”

“Then tell me, baby.” He begged, placing his hand on your knee.

You shoved it off, storming up and escaping to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it just as quick. The shower was turned on within seconds, then he heard you crying, trying to muffle it with the sound of your sweater, or maybe it was a towel.

You hated him. You had to. There couldn’t have been no other explanation for your anger and hatred. You blamed him for what happened, for not coming to your rescue sooner, you just wouldn’t admit out loud. He felt like you’d been killed that night, like your very spirit had been snuffed away like a lit match. He missed you. It was his fault. It was because of him. He was the reason your spirit was gone.

He put his head in his hands and cried.

•

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Wayne. She won’t talk to me. She’ll barely even look at me. She won’t let me touch her. She won’t…she won’t tell me what happened. She blames me. I know she does.” Eddie pushed out air between his lips, struggling to breath. He’d showed up to Wayne’s mid panic attack one morning when you refused to get out of bed. The both of you almost broke out in a fight, except you wouldn’t fight. You didn’t have the energy. It had been another three days gone by.

He was sitting on his uncle’s old sofa, going back and forth from putting his head between his knees or fisting his hair with his hands. Wayne was making himself a fresh cup of coffee, watching as his nephew suffer through his anxiety.

“No, buddy, she doesn’t. She’s just hurtin’.” He poured the coffee into his mug.

“Then why won’t she let me in?” He bounced his knee. “Why won’t she let me help her? She blames me.”

“Try to imagine yourself in her shoes, Ed.” Wayne came over, cradling his mug as he pulled out the kitchen chair, sitting himself in front of his nephew.

“I can’t.” Eddie shook his head. “I can’t even begin to imagine what she’s feeling.”

“That’s my point.” His uncle continued, raising his mug. “You don’t have the slightest idea what she’s going through, you’ve got to give her more time. It’s not even been a week yet, buddy. I know you’re anxious to help her. She’s lucky to have you.”

She’s lucky to have you.

He bit his nail nervously, thinking back to leaving you at the trailer, covered in blankets and refusing to get out of bed. He shouldn’t have left you, but he was on the verge of another breakdown and needed his uncle.

“Why is she so angry?” He gulped, his throat dry from his quick breathing. “I’ve never seen her this angry before.”

“Because she doesn’t know how to process what she went through.” Wayne placed his coffee on the table after another sip. “When we’re hurtin’, sometimes it turns to anger. I think you can relate to that, huh?”

He could. With the kind of life he led, his childhood, everything after vecna and the trauma he endured, he knew exactly what his father figure was talking about. When you hurt, when you have nothing else to feel, you get pissed off.

•

When Eddie got back home, he knew you were still in bed. The lights were off, the tv was off. The poor fish you shared hadn’t been fed yet. He quietly walked into your shared bedroom, the sunlight peering through the curtains, illuminating your face. The blankets were tangled around you, your arms hugging the pillow. You stared at the wall into nothingness, s blank look on your face that spoke volumes of emotion. You were heartbroken.

Eddie watched you for awhile, making his way to sit at the foot of the bed. He sat by your feet, putting his hand on your blanket covered ankles, squeezing them reassuringly. “How about something to eat, huh?”

It took you several seconds to respond. “I’m not hungry.”

He would much rather you be angry than like this. A zombie, unwillingly to move or breath, not able to function or communicate with him.

“What about some tea?” He tried, eyes soft and round, his hand softly rubbing circles on your leg.

You cringed under his touch, shaking your head. “I don’t want tea, Eddie.”

Then, Eddie’s throat filled with a ball of sick, but he quickly forced it back down. You said his name with such malice, such hatred and venom that told him everything he needed to know. You did blame him.

His eyes filled with tears and he stared at the wall. “I’m so sorry, baby.” He closed his eyes. “I’m so sorry for everything.”

He’d said it time and time again, but his words came out in a desperation that he hadn’t yet conveyed to you.

“I don’t blame you for hating me.” He sniffled, his curls shaking with the weight of his shoulders. “I’m to blame and-”

“Eddie, please,” You sobbed, making him practically flinch in surprise. You were crying. “Stop it.”

He let out a whimper, falling to his knees so he could kneel at your head. “Honey,” He cried. “My baby girl, I can’t stand the thought of you hating me. Please, angel, just let me take care of you. Talk to me. Let me in.” He was begging you with a cracked, broken voice that made you sob right along with him.

His hand went to touch your cheek, but you flinched and sat up, bringing the blankets up to your chest. “It’s not you, Eddie!” You blubbered, snot running down your nose. “I don’t hate you! You can’t think that! P-please, don’t think that!”

He crawled up on the bed to sit in front of you, hot tears still rolling down his face. “Then why are you shutting me out? We’re supposed to be a team! We promised each other! You promised me and I promised you! Please, baby, I have to know what happened! It’s killing me!”

“I can’t!” You exclaimed, your tousled up hair falling at the sides. “Oh, God, Eddie, I can’t! I can’t talk about it! I can’t do anything! I just want to lay here and die!” You coiled over and wailed broken-heartedly, a song of cries that boiled out of your throat and paralyzed you. You curled up into a ball and practically screamed into the blankets. Eddie was shaking, bringing up a hand to bit as hard as he could, not knowing if you would allow him to touch you,

He placed one hand on you gently, and when you didn’t pull away, he quickly gathered you in his arms. “I’m here, baby. I’m here. I’m here, sweetheart. Just let it out. Let it out, let it out.”

You let him hold you, and in desperation of the moment, you wrapped your arm around his leg to bring the heat of his body flush to yours. You bawled your heart out into him, emptying all your fears and sorrow.

“I- I can’t stop- thinking a-bout him!” You said hysterically, your tears making his jean covered knee damp. “It hurt so-so bad, Eddie!” It sounded like your cries caused you physical pain, your words coming out choppy and broken.

Your bruised ribs ached from your heavy sobs, your hands going to hold your stomach. “God, oh, God, Eddie, I can’t do it! I can’t! I can’t!”

“You don’t have to.” He said firmly, trying to control his own sobs so you could understand him. “You give all that pain to me, okay? You give it all to me. I can handle it. You let me take care of you. I’m always going to take care of you, sweetheart.”

Your bruised nose had started to bleed onto his jeans, going unnoticed from the both of you. You were hyperventilating, shaking and practically convulsing in his arms.

“Come on, baby,” He held you to his chest, your body still curled up against him. “It’s okay, I’m here. Just let it out. Tell me what you need to.”

It hurt. It hurt so bad. He hurt me so bad and I couldn’t stop him. I’m so scared. I’m scared he’s going to find me. I don’t want you to look at me differently. I feel so weak. Please still love me. Please stay with me. Don’t tell anyone I’m afraid.

You cried for so many things, but he listened to every last word you had to offer him. You told him what happened. A man had followed you into the bedroom, forced you down and split your legs apart, punching you in the nose and kneeing you in the ribs, shoving himself inside you like a sword, piercing it’s way into you roughly. You had cried and cried, screamed and begged, till you didn’t, finally going into shock and laying there, taking it.

Eddie had tried his hardest not to breakdown at your confession, but he could only do so much. He held you into the dark of night, promising what he had said. He was always going to take care of you.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #stranger things season four #joseph quinn #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson headcanons #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x y/n #female reader #i’m always going to take care of you

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yappersblog · 7 hours

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adore you — emily engstler [requested]

request. “the cameras at emily's game are always panning towards you be ur in complete awe of her and everyone loves it : and theres a moment where its halftime and its a cute segment of you and emily being cute n kissing 🥹”

tag-list. @euphternal

synopsis. every moments of emily’s matches are important—but the most loved ones are definitely the ones with you in it.

author’s note. loooove this! i’m still working on the other requests, don’t worry, i’m just posting the ones that i’ve already done. i don’t know if it’s good, i’m quite skeptical about ut but i tried my best. hope you’ll like this 💖

help. schatz means treasure in german.

“oh god, wait for me please!” you practically shout, trying to make your voice perceptible among the screaming crowds.

“take my hand” emily’s sister screams to you, grabbing your hand in hers and leading you through the basket-ball court—whose filled with people, coaches and cameras ready to record.

while searching for your seats, you can’t help but smile a little when you see more than half of the stands being full of fans—all of them wearing their favorite team’s jersey, some even waving their hand-made board in the air; trying to get one of the players’ attention.

you didn’t expect today’s match to be this full, but you’re not the one complaining—being genuinely happy to witness the fans’ interest increasing for your girl’s team.

the louisville team’s girls work really hard every single day. so, watching them getting the recognition they deserve can’t do anything but warm your heart.

looking around you, you feel the hand of em’s sister tightening around yours; the big-ass crowds scaring you two a little bit—even though you got used to it, it still feels a little bit scary to be surrounded by hundreds of people who don’t really care about pushing you down the floor, or even squashing you and not apologising for it.

“right here!” it’s your turn to lead danielle to your seats, once you finally find them.

climbing up the little stairs, you smile to the few fans that recognise you—even ask some of them how they are doing—and finally take place on your assigned chair, danielle sitting next to you.

“it’s so full today, what even happened?” she says, taking her phone out of her pocket to send her little sister a message—letting the latter know that the two of you are still alive.

“don’t know. it’s cool though, maybe they’ll stop sleeping on emily” you shrug, the blonde laughing at your pouting face.

everyone knows that you’re emily’s number one fan.

firstly because it is your girlfriend duties to be supportive, but also because the cameramen always find a way to sneak footage of you cheering loudly on your girl—ass off your chair, mouth wide open and all.

at first, it was only little sequences of you encouraging em and the team.

but at some point, those little sequences became longer ones—ones where we can see you getting from a cheering state, to a love-sick one; heart-eyeing your girl each time she was in your radar (which means every time since you’re obsessed with her).

the fans found your behaviour endearing.

but what they found even more endearing, were all the half-times when you couldn’t help yourself but run down those stairs and join emily’s awaiting arms—snatching some coo’s out the crowds.

slowly, your whole persona started to attract attention.

everyone loved how much care and support you gave to your girlfriend. you always let her know that she’s doing so well, ramble about how she’s a brilliant player full of talent and that her hard-work will always pay off.

and they adored the way you didn’t care about the cameras—still ready to get up from your seat to shout loudly if it was needed.

the cameramen kind of understood the people’s attraction; and finding your reactions interesting enough to be filmed, they couldn’t help but start feeding it—cameras following your every little moves when you were seen at a game.

it doesn’t really bother you; you might not even notice it, too caught up in the game to do so—only realising that you’re being filmed when danielle’s elbow hit your side, or when the little laughs around you get a little bit louder.

since then, the photographs’ pastime always turns out to be recording your slightest reactions.

“oh gosh, they’re already on your ass” you hear danielle chuckles on your right, the palm of her hand hiding her smiling lips. “how does it feel to be a superstar?” she asks right away, amused by this whole situation.

“dumb ass…” she laughs again when you press your elbow against her side, and you smile a little—eyes focused on the court in front of you.

a few minutes pass by; your girlfriend’s sister and you chatting during each one of them, before abruptly stopping to loudly cheer when the players finally make their entrance.

you were already cheering, but now that you finally see your baby walking out the dressing-room, you’re cheering twice as loudly—and you can’t help it. it’s like an automatic reflex type of shit.

from up there, you see emily looking around the stands—snatching more screams from the fans—and then getting attacked by hailey, who jumps on her back while pointing at you and danielle.

locking eyes with your girl, you practically feel your cheeks hurting from smiling too much. “she’s so, UGH” danielle bursts out laughing, and you smile a little—still mesmerised by your girl’s beauty.

from her neatly braided hair, to her sexy-ass tattooed legs, everything about her makes you a giggling mess. and the cameraman, whose been recording you since the beginning, seems to be living for it.

your eyes still locked, you take advantage of her not doing anything and tell her that you love her—ready to shout it out without a doubt, with your face on the national television or not.

hearing your scream, the whole louisville team’s burst with laughter—some of them teasing emily, who don’t seem to care; too busy saying it back to you.

“you two are so cute, it’s sickening” you hear danielle mumbling, the girl shaking her head like a disappointed mom. it’s your turn to laugh, pinching her cheek.

“awww, we love you too dan’” she rolls her eyes but smiles nonetheless when you press a little kiss on her cheekbone. “jealous bitch…” you mutter once you’re comfortably seated, danielle gasping loudly before slapping your arms a few times.

the opposite teams dap each other’s up, and soon enough—the match begins.

your ass, during the whole first part of it, is definitely not on your chair, too busy cheering like there’s no tomorrow to do so. you even argued with the referee from your seat, danielle laughing her ass off next to you and the cameras setting their lens on your screaming figure.

it’s already half-time when danielle leaves to go get drinks and snacks, leaving you alone.

some fans sitting behind you call your name, and next second, you’re turned in their direction—speaking about the match and the louisville team’s score.

too caught up in your discussion, you don’t even remember yourself to turn in your seat and watch your girlfriend—but one of the girls in front of you does it for you, her eyes trailing on the basket-ball court before widening in shock. “oh my god! emily ensgtler’s looking in our direction!” she screams, attracting some of the crowd’s attention.

spinning on your chair, you can’t help but smile with all your teeth when you lock eyes with your girl—the german waving her hand in your direction, silently asking you to run down those stairs; which you are already doing.

“baby—oh!” she lets out a small scream when your whole body violently collides with hers, her tattooed arms automatically moving to wrap themselves around your waist.

smiling against the skin of her neck, you embraced her as hard as you can, not even minding her sweaty state.

the two of you swing a little from left to right, entangled with each other, before you finally decide to get your face out of her collarbone—puckering your lips for her to press hers against them.

humming into the kiss, you don’t even hear the crowd cooing, enamoured by the blonde girl in front of you. “you played so well baby” she smiles softly, pride and appreciation filling her up. “‘m so proud of you, you don’t even know how much” you add, locking your eyes with hers—letting her know that everything’s coming out your mouth is sincere.

“thank you baby, means a lot” you know that she’s not heavy on expressing her feelings and all—especially not in front of hundreds of people—so you appreciate her trying. “you know, i couldn’t play so well if my little cheerleader wasn’t there” she pinches your hip, watching intently as your cheeks become red.

“it’s my job, i take it very personally!” the blonde laughs, her smile making your heart melts.

her inked fingers get tighter on the fabric of your pants. “oh i know schatz, i know…” a little silence takes place—and you rest your forehead against hers.

being with emily is like muting the world’s noises, everything’s become clear and much more bearable.

she’s like every illnesses’ remedy—or at-least to yours, because, ironically enough, you swear you’ve never been this healthy before.

she brings to you so much happiness, love and care, and you do it too—drowning her under tons of affection and appreciation.

to you, it feels like you were put on earth to complete each other.

to the cameras, you were just another cute couple who happens to be very supportive of each other—one showing it more than the other, by screaming and shouting cheers every time she gets the chance to.

but who cares about what they can possibly think about you two?

as long as you’re still here to loudly cheer on her, and that she has your body in between her arms at the end of the day—emily doesn’t give two fucks.

written by © yappersblog, i do not accept plagiarism—this is my work and only mine.

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silkscream · 2 days

Text

our boredom's bone-deep

ੈ✩ aki hayakawa x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, drunk sex, angst, alcohol, smoking, hurt/comfort, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of s*icidal ideation

ੈ✩ wc: 3.8k

ੈ✩ a/n: theyre both so repressed. also sorry about the tswift reference guilty as sin is just on repeat this week

“Yo.”

Aki turns around to see you walking towards him. You join him on the balcony, reaching over to steal his cigarette back from the breast pocket of his windbreaker.

He looked good in civilian clothes. You didn’t see him like this often – out of his dress shirt and tie with his hair down. Dressed casually like he was a normal boy and not a hunter who signed his soul over.

“You can ask first, you know,” Aki grumbles, watching as you light up the cigarette in your mouth.

“You were going to say yes, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing that it’s true. He’d taken you to his apartment because it was closer to the location of the mission, offering aid to the wounds you’d gotten in the face of a devil. He didn’t have to. You could still walk and you certainly weren’t dying, but he felt the need to keep you close, anyway.

You chuckle when you see the irritated look on his face.

“Don’t pout.”

The cigarette in his mouth is burned down to the nub. You take it out, grazing the cherried end against the ceramic eightball ashtray you’d gotten him for Christmas the year before. The paint was chipping from how often he used it, speckles of white against the black paint.

You take another cig out from the pack before placing it back into his pocket, holding the stick between your fingers up to his mouth and lighting it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You’re very welcome,” you grin.

You stay like that for a few minutes. Smoking and silent, staring at the sky post-golden hour, when everything is blanketed in cobalt blue bleeding into a light orange.

“How are your cuts?”

“I’m fine,” you chuckle. “Why do you worry so much? I’ve been around longer than you have, you know.”

Aki merely shrugs. He doesn’t look at you. Holds in his emotions like a geyser begging to stay dormant.

“I just do,” he says plainly.

“How sweet,” you scoff, flicking your cigarette off the railing. “Thought you liked me the least, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, irritated. “You’re the one who trained me. Obviously, I don’t hate you.”

You merely chuckle, discarding your blazer. Your uniform shirt is still slightly bloodied.

“What, you think I don’t like you?” Aki asks, a brow raised.

“I’d be surprised if you liked anyone,” you shrug. “But I can tell you have a soft spot for Denji and Power, even if you refuse to admit it.”

He grunts, looking away from you as he finishes his second cigarette. The late spring breeze blows his hair into his face. He doesn’t realize how close he is to you until he adjusts his arms on the balcony, his elbow grazing yours. You don’t react, your chin tucked into your arms as you lean forward. He looks at you with curiosity.

You look at him finally and grin.

“You look better with your hair down, you know.”

“I was thinking about cutting it,” he mumbles.

“Don’t. It’s cute. I always thought you looked kind of like a girl. The hair is working.”

He rolls his eyes again, grimacing. He tries to hide his flush.

“Thanks,” he deadpans. “You know how to make a guy feel special.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?” you grin. “You think I’m scary and mean? I’m very sweet to my lovers, you know.”

He could cringe. That wasn’t what he meant. He shivers at the word “lover” like it’s taboo, knowing very well that images of you are flooding his brain against his will. Your proximity makes it worse, how even despite both of you getting roughed up during your mission, you still smelled sweet to him.

“Yeah, right.”

“Do you really think I’m so cruel?” you challenge him. He’s not going to take the bait. He won’t.

“I’d assume you were a sadist.”

“You think I’m a sadist?” you laugh.

“Probably,” Aki grumbles. He fidgets.

He doesn’t want to take out another cigarette, but he’s convinced that it’s the only thing that would help him tolerate your presence right now. He’d felt unusual since he took you back to this apartment. His nose wrinkles at the memory of your body hours prior, your side saturated in blood. His rabbit heart thumping out of his chest at the thought you’d die in his arms — and yet here you are, next to him, teasing like you always do.

“Why?”

“Because you love pushing me to my limits,” he mutters.

“Oh, come on,” you chuckle. “It’s not like I treat you like a toy. I’m not Makima.”

“What does Makima have to do with this—”

“Because you listen to everything she says. It’s like all of you fucking worship her.”

Your voice sounds bitter, but Aki doesn’t want to pry about it. For some reason, something in his chest riles him, makes his heartbeat faster at the prospect that you might be jealous of his devotion to Miss Makima. You’d always clashed in your beliefs but was never particularly candid about it – you were like him. You wanted to kill devils for the sake of avenging your family, but you also seemed apathetic about your life. With no family or a promising future, you often didn’t care if you died. It was the most frustrating thing about you.

Aki huffs. “You hate following rules yet you’re still controlling. It’s hypocritical.”

“I am not controlling.”

“You are. And you love to torment me because I’m the only one willing to put up with your shit,” he says, laughing humorlessly. You don’t know that he would do anything you told him, that he didn’t give a fuck about Makima. It had always been you, at the forefront of both his blissful dreams and worst nightmares.

“I like your resilience,” you say quietly.

“Resilience?”

You nod slowly. “You’re the strongest person I know, Aki.”

He hates how much dopamine fills his brain when you say this. The smallest praises from you would have him hung up, lately. Even a smile was motivating, though he’d rather die than admit that to anyone. He was never one to pine or yearn, keeping to himself since he was young. No girl could pry anything out of him that wasn’t surface-level until you.

He hated it. It felt like a weakness.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

“If I’m actually that strong, I probably would’ve broken down your walls by now.”

It could be a teasing statement, but he tucks his expression away into the fabric of his jacket, looking away from you. You’re so close to him, close enough to touch, but he still holds himself back.

“You should save your efforts,” you mumble.

Aki looks at you with narrowed eyes and tries to scan your face for anything telling, but you’re as stoic as him. He’d always found it frustrating, how he could never get anything out of you. He didn’t know how to be selfish. He was apprehensive about provoking you despite how much he wanted to.

“Why?”

You finally look him in the eye. Your features are painted with stubborn contempt as you glare at him.

“Because I’m not worth it.”

Your words strike him through the heart. You weren’t one to be particularly insecure – he’d known this since he met you. But your words now are trying to downplay how much he feels for you, and he won’t have it.

Aki moves close enough to you to smell your breath.

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I waste my time on you,” he protests.

You stare at him. You’re surprised he wants to know you at all. You’ve barely processed the meaning behind his words, the possibility of him wanting you beyond mission support and devil-hunting guidance. Both of you had walls up and that was fine. You never had any intention of breaking any of his, regardless of how often he showed up in your dreams. No matter how often you’d find yourself glancing at him, drinking up his features until you had snapped yourself out of it.

“You can’t want things as a devil hunter,” you say blankly, staring at the dark sky. “There’s no use. Desire is the root of all suffering and shit, right? Like in Buddhism?”

Aki feels his face warm up, his frown deepening as you say this without even looking at him.

“I’ll suffer for you if I want to,” he says firmly.

“Always a masochist,” you whisper, sighing. You smile weakly at him.

“Maybe I am a masochist.”

“I know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be a devil hunter, huh?”

“Why are you a devil hunter?” he raises a brow.

“Because it’s better than killing myself. If I die because of this job, at least I died being useful, you know?”

He swallows thickly at the thought of your death. He’d imagined it a thousand times since he met you and realized how sardonic you were, how little you cared about your own life. You were a mirror of him.

“Don’t say shit like that,” he says, his tone cold.

“It’s the truth.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not letting you die.”

You stare at him, the expression on your face unreadable. Your eyes look dim.

“Thanks,” you mutter. You slide the glass door open and go back inside. Aki feels his lungs ache.

Eventually, he follows you in and sees you on the couch, staring blankly at the television with a bottle of whiskey in your hand. He rolls his eyes. You were just as bad as Kishibe these days.

He sits down next to you without a word, stealing the bottle to take a gulp, flinching. You watch with amusement. He grimaces at you.

“What?” he asks, irritated.

“You can do better than that.”

He wants to wipe the smirk off his face. Maybe with his mouth. He blinks at you a little too fast, then distracts himself with another gulp. A longer one that makes his throat burn, his head dizzy. You laugh.

“I fucking hate you,” he grumbles.

“I didn’t force you to do it,” you scoff.

No, you didn’t. But it was always easy for Aki to do things for you. He often wanted to, didn’t ask any questions. You always wondered why.

“Would you roll around like a dog if I asked you to?” you grin.

“Fuck off.”

You lay down, perching your legs over his lap. He sets his hands on your thigh like it’s second nature to him. You scan his features. His midnight eyes glisten with the blue of the television reflecting in his irises, his mouth downturned into a default pout.

“You should keep your hair down more often.”

He looks at you with surprise, like he’d forgotten you were there.

“Pretty boy,” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.” He tries to keep his expression level. His face is hot from the whiskey, not you, he tells himself.

You shift your position and your foot grazes his crotch. It makes his breath hitch, the creature of want inside him gnawing at his heart. He thinks maybe you’re teasing him, so he takes your foot and rubs it. You raise a brow.

You’re sitting up now, grunting as you do. He pretends that you aren’t staring at him.

“Does it still hurt?” he murmurs.

“Nah. I’m good.”

There’s contempt on his face when he looks at you, his eyes tracing your collarbone just for a second before gazing at the blood on your shirt. Speckled shapes turning from red to brown.

“Let me see.”

“Aki. I’m fine.”

“Let me see,” he mumbles.

You sigh, unbuttoning your shirt until you’re only in a sports bra. He frowns at your wound, how the gauze is dark and nearly falling off.

“Why didn’t you tell me it needed to be changed?”

“It’s fine—”

“No,” he scolds. “Stay still.”

He pins you down by your hips. Somehow, he’s in between your legs, his face frowning in concentration as he looks at your skin. He gets up to grab the first aid kit.

You take another sip of whiskey.

It numbs the pain when he fixes you up again. His fingers are delicate when they handle you — you can’t help but stare at the way they move when he blots your cut. A small press to the center and you feel it sting, making you hiss. He grips you by the waist to disarm you.

Stay still.

“There,” he breathes, kneeling on the floor in front of you. “It’s more secure now.”

He looks at your stomach, watching the rise and fall of your skin as you breathe. You reach out and pat his head like he’s a pet. Aki was a cute drunk. Still stoic, but malleable in your hands. There are moments during group outings when he opens up a little, places his head on your shoulder. Looks at you for a bit longer than he normally allows himself to.

He presses his cheek to your thigh and sighs as you skim the nape of his neck with your fingers. You stroke his jaw. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you.

Your thumb hooks on his mouth briefly and you feel his tongue on the pad of your fingertip. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes. Glazed over in the dimness, dripped in syrup.

“You’re barely awake,” you breathe. “I should go.”

“No.” He grips your wrist when you pull your hand away, saliva from his mouth creating the string of fate. The sight made your heart sing. Disgusting.

“Why?” you whisper.

He’s quiet. He could bite the bullet, let the heat of it soar straight through his chest so you can see all the gory bits of desire in him. The whiskey only exacerbated the feeling. He was usually good at keeping it down, despite clinging to you like an extra limb. You probably saw right through him.

“Just stay,” he mutters.

“Make me stay, then.”

He hides his face in your lap again. He feels like such a boy. When you run your fingers through his hair again, he pulls away and grabs both of your wrists, pulling you toward him until you fall onto his lap, his body on the floor. He grips your hips and stares at you from below.

“What are you doing? You wanna wrestle?” you joke half-heartedly.

“No,” he slurs quietly. “You’re hurt.”

Aki sits up and leans on the back of his elbows. He looks at you like he’s eager prey, offering himself on a platter, but he won’t say it. It’s killing you.

“C’mon,” you grin. “I can take it.”

“Stop.”

You pin him to the ground. You’re playing. It’s just that and nothing else, isn’t it?

“Aki,” you say. Your face is so close to his. Your breath smells like tobacco and cinnamon, your neck like petrichor.

“I’m not letting you provoke me,” he groans.

You roll your eyes. “Stop trying to take care of me.”

“But I want to,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible.

“Then I’ll take care of you. I’m your senpai, remember?”

His face is hot again, sweat sticking to his shoulder blades. Fuck, he needed to fix the fan since Power and Denji had broken it while wrestling. The memory reminds him of the position he’s in right now and a flush creeps up his neck.

“I–”

Your mouth interrupts him. It’s an experimental peck. Impulsive. It’s short, but Aki groans into it and touches his tongue with yours. You pull away with wide eyes.

There’s hunger in his gaze, something like desperation. You could work with this. You knew that you had Aki wrapped around your finger since he started at Public Safety, but you didn’t know he would be like this.

He breathes deeply, dark lashes blinking at you from the mess of his bangs. His dick was infallibly hard since you’d straddled him. It was aching now underneath your cunt — there was no hiding it.

He narrows his eyes, trying to disguise how much he wants you.

“Thought you said desire is the root of all suffering.”

“I guess we’re both masochists, then,” you whisper.

He kisses you with more force this time, buries his mouth into your neck to exhale the scent of his shampoo in your hair. Drunk on you. He sucks a hickey into your flesh like it’s payback.

He groans when he feels your hands underneath his shirt, rubbing against the pale skin of his abdomen until he takes the liberty to pull the fabric off himself. Aki has always been pretty – like a girl, like you’d told him before. He was also remarkably boyish. The shy type. He’d seem to grow muscles over the past year, his lean figure always hidden by the uniform.

“Stop staring at me like that,” he huffs.

“Get uglier, then,” you roll your eyes, pulling at the zipper of his jeans.

He lets you handle him like a doll.

“Thought you’d be rougher,” you whisper.

“You’ve… thought about this before?” he asks.

You blink at him, then look away.

“Once or twice.”

“I’m not gonna be rough with you,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Not when you got stabbed earlier today.”

“Told you I’m a masochist,” you chuckle dryly. You strip off your slacks, showing off your less-than-sexy cotton underwear. He grazes your core, the wet patch growing larger with your slick.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, mesmerized. He licks his lips, wanting to taste you, lust transparent on his face. It humiliated you, for some reason — you were always used to it rough and fast, your vision blurred while you took cock that you didn’t give a shit about. This was different. This was real.

You put your fingers in his mouth again, pinning him down. He moans when you spit on the head of his cock, palming him gently. Taming him.

You slide your panties off of your legs and do the same with his briefs. When you hover over him, your throat feels tight. He keeps looking at you like you created him. Like you were the world itself.

His tip catches on the slick of your cunt, circling your entrance. Your blood boils, every ventricle in your body sparking to life. You feel him buck his hips, desperate and rutting.

“Use me,” he groans, muffled from your fingers on his tongue.

You sink down on him and his eyes roll back. You remove your fingers from his mouth to toy with your clit, whimpering at the sensation of him filling you up. He was bigger than you expected.

Aki shudders from sensitivity. Alcohol usually numbs his senses, but he can feel all of you, how hot and tight you are. It’s driving him mad. He hiccups through moans, his throat raw.

Your cunt pulses as you grind on him, trembling above him as you try to keep your hips from stuttering too much. Already, you were about to fall apart.

“Fuck,” Aki mutters.

Your hand grazes his face and jaw, and he leans into your palm to kiss it earnestly. Your face burns as you tangle your fingers in his raven hair. When he rises to kiss you, you pull his strands while your other hand holds him back by his shoulder. He groans and thrusts upward into you, holding your hips so that your thighs are flush against his.

Your pulse throbs against the cave of your chest. Aki is desperate to kiss you, to get his tongue in your mouth, so he uses your own trick on you – pulls you in with force and grabs a fistful of your hair. You moan into his mouth, tapering off into a whimper, and you feel him let out a breathy laugh in between kisses.

Aki lets himself be a little loud — no one else was home, and fucking you was cathartic. He squeezes the fat of your thigh, his lunacy suppressed into his tight fists. Entranced by the sight of your cunt swallowing up his dick.

You whimper as your knees start to get rug burn, the skin as raw as the love bites on your neck. Your stomach stirs, ecstasy boiling in the pit. You could pretend it was love from the way he gripped you.

“You’re fucking tight,” he grunts.

“Do you like it?” you rasp. You almost sound like you’re begging.

He nods and holds your face, his other hand making an imprint on your waist. Aki was so much taller than you — his size didn’t register until now, the way he was forcing your chin up to look up into his eyes.

He can barely speak, only letting out choked moans and heavy breaths. You look so vulnerable despite being on top of him. He could picture it now, your thighs shaking with arms outstretched to him in morning light. Bare-faced and illuminated, not a bruise on your body. Happy in another life.

“Fuck, Aki,” you moan.

“Again,” he breathes.

“What?”

“Say my name again. Like that.” Like you love me.

��A-Aki,” you whine, gasping for air. “Close.”

A rush of blood to the head. He almost wants to tell you he loves you, force you to say it back to him in between swapping spit. Even if it was just pretend.

You writhe as you cum. Heat-struck by the coil breaking in your stomach. It was like he was melting your insides. He feels your cunt twitch and spills into you with a groan, nose buried in your hair.

He winces as he pulls out of you, his cum getting the carpet wet. He’ll have to clean it up later. He breathes heavily and looks anywhere but your face.

“Lie down with me,” you whisper.

So he does, face to face with you, his arm loose over your waist. He wants to kiss you, but he assumes you’ve had your fill. He wonders if you’ll ever toy with him like that again. He hates himself for how badly he wants it.

But then you look at him, your eyes searching his for meaning. Unspoken words.

“You okay, baby?”

He’s shocked at the nickname, blushing like he didn’t just fuck you to the moon and back.

He nods, blinking rapidly when you stroke his jaw gently. Branding him with tenderness. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept with you. He didn’t want to be a sycophant, but he still felt attached to you, and it would only get worse from here. Stuck on his heart like chewed gum.

“Angel boy,” you sigh, hazed. You’re still a little drunk. “Pretty.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a dog.”

“What are you, then?”

He says nothing. You smile. The warmth in his chest is immeasurable. It aches like a wound that never heals. He supposes that’s what you are for him. But what is he?

“Yours.”

#aki hayakawa smut #aki hayakawa x reader #aki hayakawa x you #chainsaw man smut #chainsaw man fanfiction #csm smut #chainsaw man x you #chainsaw man x reader #csm x you #csm x reader

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icyg4l · 3 days

Text

PAC: How to Heal Your Broken Heart

Hello beautiful people! If you are currently going through a romantic break-up, I send my love to you. 🫶 But here, I will give advice on how you can deal with your grief. I am not a therapist so if you feel like you need to contact one, I would highly encourage that you do that. If you resonate with this reading and would like a more personalized reading, please read my guidelines and message me privately so you can receive one. Without further ado, please select your pile!

Top Left-to-Bottom Right: (1-4)

Pile One: You need to acknowledge that this was meant for you to happen! There is nothing wrong with being single, lovely. Sometimes things just don’t work out and that’s okay. Right now, it’s time for you to focus on bigger and better things without someone by your side. You could have been with your partner for years and one day things just ended. It happens. But the best for you to do right now is to get your hair and nails done. Get to know yourself as a person, not as a partner. You have so much personality, Pile One. You need to take up more space on your own. You don’t need someone to conquer the world with you. I feel like you honestly just have to get used to being by yourself so find literally anything to do by yourself. Read, go for a walk, buy yourself flowers, take yourself on dates. Spend more time making yourself the main character instead of finding ways to antagonize your ex.

Cards Used: Ace of Cups (RX), Four of Wands, Judgment, 7 of Discs, 9 of Swords, 9 of Cups.

extras: fancy dates. peach smoothie. alice in wonderland. benedict cumberbatch. “lumberyard.”

Pile Two: You got a lot of cards, which means that you need to listen up. Pile Two, when was the last time you’ve been outside with your friends? You may have spent a lot of time in isolation in your previous relationship. You don’t have to do that anymore. Your girls are waiting on you. It is best that you go to as many parties that you can find to avoid going back because you don’t need to be with a manipulative liar anymore. I would also suggest that you go to a jewelry store and go spoil yourself. The codependency in your last relationship was abnormal and it’s time that you realize it. I feel like this person took the light away from you and you’re slowly but surely gaining your power back. Your energy is similar to Pile One but I feel like the focus for you is to empower yourself. Adopt the mindset that things will work out for you. Assuming the worst possible outcome is going to work for you. You have to let yourself shine because no one is dimming your light anymore. Surround yourself with positivity and please please please make sure you’re around people that make you feel comfortable and like yourself. Right now is a crucial time for you. Treat it as such.

Cards Used: 6 of Discs, 9 of Discs, King of Discs, Princess of Wands, 8 of Wands, 4 of Cups, The Magician (RX), The Hanged Man, The World, The Emperor, Ace of Wands, 3 of Cups.

extras: “party hard.” tiger print. mr rogers. sofia the first. birthday pin. red dot.

Pile Three: I feel like this pile has to get their body in check. Have you been having physical health problems as of lately? I feel like you need to see a doctor. I am getting the image of someone with a fever getting their temperature checked. It’s almost summertime, this shouldn’t be happening! So first things first, take your Vitamin C. Once you take care of your physical health, you should affirm that everything will be okay. Expose yourself to new places, people and things. Take a getaway trip for the weekend, maybe longer. I think you should also write affirmations on post-its and put them up around your house. I feel like this pile went through a mutual break up but it still hurts. This will sound weird but you’ve been through worse so this shouldn’t break you, lol. I think that’s your spirit guides way of saying to stay optimistic about your situation. There’s an advantage in your situation. You will find more things to laugh about when it comes to your situation. Another thing that I suggest that you do is remove your ex’s energy; their clothes, pictures of them, any and everything. Get it out!

Cards Used: 4 of Discs, Temperance, Queen of Cups, Princess of Swords, 2 of Swords, 5 of Swords (RX), The Sun, 6 of Discs, The Star, Ten of Cups, Queen of Discs

extras: cameras flashing. candied yams. apples and oranges. dominoes pizza. hot flashes. quince.

Pile Four: I’m not going to lie, it may be time for you to consider taking the extra step to getting your mental health in check. If you have been feeling like ending it all, then please talk to a psychiatrist. They may prescribe you with medication. I feel like you need that extra boost. Shit feels stagnant with this group. It’s all about personal accountability with you guys. Yes, it sucks to have your heart broken but how will you fix it? How will you recover? I think you should get in touch with your family. It’s been a minute since you talked to them, hasn’t it? You might feel like they will mock you for going through it or say “I told you so” but they won’t. They’ll be angry about the fact that you were cheated on & manipulated. You were too good and too pretty for your ex, Pile Four. Any plans that you had with them are gone and it’s time to accept that. You may have a hard time moving on but it’s best that you are supported by those who have your best interest at heart. You absolutely can do it. Turn your pain into art. Make music, write poetry, draw something. Do anything to keep your energy moving and flowing. You should also get physical. I channeled Dua Lipa’s song for you as well. So get in the gym & build your physique, begin a cardio routine, just do it!!!

Cards Used: 6 of Cups, Ten of Discs, King of Wands (RX), The Empress, The Star, Death, 9 of Discs (RX), Ten of Swords, The Chariot (RX).

extras: agent of chaos. black ops. nike. “that’s not my forte.” acting. self-righteous. fake smile. eye bend.

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khuzena · 3 days

Text

This bitter life.

pairing: Blade x g/n!reader

Part 1, Part 2.

Summary: Life is not fair, that is the truth every being must accept. Yet, there’s a part in Blade’s mara-struck mind, that he cannot accept this type of ending, he will not allow it, but he has no right to deny fate itself.

In other words, you die and he’s miserable.

Cw. It’s very fluffy trust me, Reader is absolutely fucked, you die, unrequited requited love, not proofread, very slowburn, character development, terminally ill, ansgt only bcoz fluff is for the weak, life is unfair.

A/n: You already know what it means when I upload a fanfic. If you don’t, my only warning is, shit’s going down.

(wrote this bc bladie won the poll for my other fic of which character u guys want a fic for next 🥳)

Days pass by, Blade didn’t come back to the Stellaron Hunters HQ to watch over you. Silverwolf keeps messaging him, telling him he needs to come back for another mission but he’s stubborn.

Silverwolf: Come back here, we’re having a meeting

Silverwolf: oh come on I know you’re seeing this

Silverwolf: Istfg

[seen by Bladie]

His phone shuts off and he just stares outside your window, he knows you’re not getting better anytime soon. He sometimes feels a twisted, aching feeling in his chest when you give him that feeble smile to pretend you're okay, when you both know no amount of medicine will save you, you could no longer hold a glass for more than a minute because your muscles fail you.

He feels sick.

This misery of his never going away.

“I have to go.”

He expected that you’d call out for him, “Okay, take care.”

So he leaves, he wishes he never looked back.

He was gone for 3 weeks, on another mission to exterminate more and more foes of the Stellaron hunters and gather more Stellaron with Kafka.

“Something on your mind?” The blood on his hands could never be washed away, he wants to go back to that stupid Clove-V planet and talk to you.

“None of your business.” Kafka is surprised, it's the first time he sees Blade so irritated (he mostly is but not to this extent)

Kafka doesn’t ask again and they finish their mission.

In 4 days, he rushed to see you. You stopped replying to his messages, only a tiny ‘seen’ message pops up every now and then and he hates to admit it, he’s dying to see you again.

“Doctor.” Your door creaks open, another visitor it seems.

”Is it you Blade?”

He nods, but with a tightness to it, he sits beside you again, mold was already building up on your sink, your lack of mobility making you lose the ability to do normal tasks.

”Are you okay?”

”I wish.” How could someone act so carefree on the brink of death? He doesn’t understand you, no, not at all.

He wants to reach out for you, to comfort you but he doesn’t know how to comfort you. He doesn’t understand why he wants to comfort you, he understands why he cares so much, he doesn’t understand why he’s feeling this way, he doesn’t even understand himself.

But when you smile at his hesitance, he realises, maybe you do.

He doesn’t reach out for you, he’s always an arm's length away from you, never close yet never too far. “You haven’t eaten, you’re going to die.”

Even if you eat, you will never get better; but he wants you to.

“Maybe, but I’m fine with that.”

”With dying? You’re a fool.” He doesn’t want to accept that you’re going to die, that you’re okay with dying because he’s not.

You’re a fool, a bastard, for trying to understand him but he can never understand himself nor can he ever truly understand you.

“You better not die,” his eyes desperately tried to never meet with yours.

He doesn’t want to look into your eyes, he doesn't want to accept the truth. That your eyes no longer beam with excitement at his words, that the sparkle in your eyes had dimmed.

“I know I will,” he no longer hides his worry, his fear, his desperation to keep you alive.

So he asks again, “What do I do?”

Like every other time he asks what ‘can’ he do for you, you repeat your words, “Just keep me company.”

He nods, sitting beside you. The tension in the air is obvious, neither utter a single word in this deafening (yet comforting) silence.

Blade cannot accept that you’re giving up, you’re not allowed to give up, he won’t accept it.

He drapes a blanket over you, “Feeling better?”

“A little.” Your throat burns, but you want to talk to him, even when you’re dying, you want to understand him.

”It hurts.” He doesn’t know what to do.

He wants to understand your pain, he wonders, if your pain is as worse as his, that it hurts so much you’d rather pass. That maybe, you’re the same and you wish to die too.

Neither of you will truly understand the other, but you try.

“I got sick when I was a child, 7– no, 8… I don’t remember,” he pretends he doesn't hear the rasp in your voice, “Just… Medicine made the progression slower.”

You could almost cry, “I wanted to study medicine, I wanted to heal others of their pain.”

”I don’t want to die.”

He doesn’t want to hear your desperate cry, he doesn’t hear it.

“Blade, it hurts,” he’s never wanted to shut off his ears when you spoke what he never wanted to hear, “Can I give up?”

He doesn’t want you to, but has no right to deny you peace.

”Is it okay if I give up?”

No, he won’t let you give up. You were there when he was sick, you did not look at him with hatred in your eyes, you treated him like any other person, something that has never happened in years. In your eyes, Blade was just a man.

So he doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t want you to give up, of course; but what can he do?

“It’s okay, right?”

”If that’s what you need.” He holds your hand out of instinct, “Then give up.”

He wants to yell at you that you’re an idiot, that giving up is for the weak but it’d be hypocritical of him to do so, I mean, he’s given up on life a long time ago, what’s he going to do? Tell you inspirational shit to keep your will to live alive?

“Thank you.”

No tears escape him, not a single choked sob leaves his throat but when your eyes lock for one last time, you understood him and he understood you too.

You two were just the same.

He squeezes your hand and rests his head on your stomach, when you don’t flinch, he realises you’re gone now too.

He can no longer understand you by your words, you can no longer speak to him, he can’t understand your past or who you truly are.

But how could you, how did you do it?

A single medical book rests on his hand, he may not understand what you truly are, but he’ll read countless books for you. He’ll play your favourite stupid games for you.

Maybe then, he’ll understand the only person that truly knew him, who gave him company in this miserable life of his.

What a pathetic, miserable, bitter life.

Note: DEF OOC BUT WHO TF CARES (I DO AND IM EMBARRASSED) but its okay right?? Like i wrote this in just 2 days (5 hours everyday) Whatever whatever i think its okay i feel sick I haven't ate lunch yet bye wuahhshdsj

Written by @khuzena. Likes, reblogs and comments are always appreciated. ♡

#what have i done #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr fluff #hsr x reader #honkai star rail angst #blade x reader #blade smut #blade angst #blade fluff #i wont take that back #suffer with me #hsr angst #yingxing #blade hsr #hsr x you #honkai star rail fluff

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