#I still think its a sweet gesture somehow

[beomie3]

shoong! - choi yeonjun

pairing: boyfriend idol! yeonjun x fem!reader

summary: an upcoming dance challenge video with one of yeonjun’s role models has him nervous, overworking himself with the tricky choreo. but you’re by his side, there to relax him in more ways than one ;)

wc: 3.9k

warnings: smut, cursing, heavy make out, oral (both giving/receiving), unprotected sex, yeonjun is down bad (so are you), also tons of fluff too!<3

title track: shoong! - taeyang

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

"stop! start again," the choreographer's voice echoes throughout the dance studio for the tenth time tonight, biting your nails as you watch yeonjun hang his head in frustration.

his black tank top was beginning to pool with sweat, occasionally lifting it to wipe his forehead as beads formed near his hairline. to say he was tired was an understatement.

after practicing all day for an upcoming tour, he also had to master a solo dance for a challenge video promotion he would be filming soon. you could practically feel his exhaustion from afar when he shot you a tired glance.

you lifted your fist in a "fighting" gesture, being the only form of support fueling him. because right now, the choreographer was on his case and it angered you, if you were being completely honest. you wished she would tone it down a bit. but yeonjun found her harsh orders a helpful form of guidance, always pushing himself to the extreme.

the choreographer cued the music and it began echoing throughout the mirrored studio, the only sound booming other than yeonjun's sneakers squeaking onto the wood floor and her shouting down from five.

he began to move fluidly with the music like he was one with it, moving his hips and arms and legs perfectly, even better than what the choreography called for. he was the best dancer you'd ever seen, and damn was he passionate in what he did.

the song came to its end and he had to lay on the cold, wood floor for a moment to catch his breath, standing up immediately when the choreographer approached him.

"great, now with better visuals." she almost scolded him, noticeably bringing him down with her backhanded compliment. more visuals? but lady, he is the visual. it took everything in you to restrain yourself from walking over there and saying just that. but doing that will probably do more bad than good, ultimately having to painfully retract yourself.

you furrowed your brows, fingernails aching as you watched your boyfriend get into position again, somehow mustering a natural and sultry smile as he did the dance over, body flowing perfectly with the deep bass of the song.

your heart ached for him, already thinking of all the ways you would take care of him after he was done practicing, wanting to give him all the love and care in the world after getting through such a physically draining day.

yeonjun doubled over after the song ended and the choreographer signaled he had "passed" with a few claps and a thumbs up from the staff room, dismissing him for the night as he chugged water and wiped sweat from his face.

he sluggishly made his way over to where you stood by the changing room, melting into your arms as soon as he reached you. it felt as he had just gone for a swim, damp from head to toe with sweat.

"you're gonna kill it tomorrow with taeyang," you assured him, gently rubbing his wet back as he breathed you in. you knew yeonjun was nervous for this, he had worked his ass off perfecting the choreo because he always looked up to taeyang even since his trainee days. and now, he was going to film a promo with him, how surreal.

"i know," he whispered into your hair, the small smile on his face obvious because of his tone. you looked up at his flushed face, plump lips tugged into a sweet open-mouthed smile as he still caught his breath, running a hand through his dark, wet locks.

"c'mon, let's go home," you patted his hip and he nodded sluggishly, quickly slipping on the fresh hoodie you brought him before wrapping an arm around you, exiting the dance studio together.

~

once you returned to your apartment, you ran junie a shower like you always did after a long, hard practice; either joining him to wash up or staying back in the kitchen to make him his favorite soup while he showered.

today, you made his soup faster than usual, leaving it covered on the stove to retain its warmth while you went to go check on him in the shower.

steam escaped the bathroom as you opened the door, knocking on its wooden frame to advise him you were entering. his head poked out from the shower curtain, black hair slicked back from the water; a heavy glint of worry in his eyes, lips slightly downturned. baby :(

you felt a pang at your heart, immediately entering the steaming room and wrapping your arms around his wet body from where you stood, not caring that you were still fully clothed. you could sense that look from a mile away; he just wanted to be held. to be told everything will be okay.

"i'm just...really worried about tomorrow. what if i mess up? i can't do that in front of taeyang, i just can't." his voice was frail and he sunk his face into your neck and sighed, melting into you as your shirt quickly became soaked from his wet head of hair.

"yeonjun, you're the best dancer i've ever known. the best person i've ever known. you'll do amazing. you are amazing." you lightly massaged his shoulder with your palms, feeling him melt deeper into the hug. his face softened at your kind words, but he still struggled to even fake a smile.

"get in with me?" he didn't even let you respond before he was pulling you in, helping your clothes off and throwing them off next to his on the bathroom floor. he hugged you even tighter now, both of you silent under the running water, just holding him there as he breathed you in, sighing as you stroked his damp hair.

"it's all going to be okay," you whispered into his skin, gently pressing loving kisses to his neck. you wanted to relax him, give him all of your physical affection to remind him of just how much you love him. to calm his nerves before the big day tomorrow which you knew he sure as hell would kill.

trailing your kisses up his neck, under his jaw, and meeting your lips with his pillowy ones, he kissed you back softly.

"don't worry junie." you whispered against his plush lips. this was what he needed; your kisses and your reassurance. the warmth of your body pressed to his in a tight embrace. like you were an angel, coming to save him of all of the harshness of the world.

"it'll all be okay," you trailed your fingers to the tops of his shoulders, lightly rubbing the sore muscles while pressing tender kisses to his collarbones, sensing him lean his head back to the shower wall, relaxing under your touch.

you gently squeezed the muscles of his arms all the way down to his hands, following with the trail of your lips across his chest, working your way down to his lower stomach, where his abdomen slightly tensed in sensitivity. you knelt in front of him, looking up at him with kind eyes, and he looked down at you with a half-lidded gaze, neediness clearly present.

"just relax," you smiled up at him, and he gave you a small nod, the corner of his lip slightly upturned and sucked between his teeth, savoring your delicious touch. his member had already grown helplessly erect since you first started showering his neck in gentle kisses; pressed flush against his stomach and just waiting for your magical touch.

you gently trailed your fingers over his flushed tip, deriving a small shudder from your boyfriend as he leaned back onto the shower wall, eyes closed, just enjoying the moment. you took his heavy hardness into your hand, gently stroking him, kitten-licking the pre-cum off of his tip just the way he needed it.

he sucked air between his teeth at the sensation of your warm tongue on his sensitive tip, a low moan escaping his lips when you licked up and down his length, swirling your tongue on the sensitive skin. you were just too good.

his hand fell to your hair, tangling his fingers between the wet locks as you took him entirely into your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat and slightly making you gag, the feeling fucking fantastic to him.

the way you looked up at him with tears pooling in your eyes from sucking him off so good made all worries flee his head immediately, only thing he could do was watch you, enjoying the insane pleasure you gave him.

his groans grew louder, echoing throughout the bathroom, spewing your name as you quickened your pace, doing everything so perfectly he could just bust at any moment. the way you trailed your fingers up and down his thighs, tracing his hip bones and running them across his abs had him going insane, pleasure through the roof as he released a loud moan, back arching against the shower wall.

"you're so good baby," his voice was low, tongue emerging to wet his lips as you began stroking and sucking simultaneously, getting a good rhythm going before he was a moaning mess, bucking his hips into your hand, rutting himself deeper into your mouth.

"i'm so so close," he pressed his head back onto the wall, slightly pulling at your hair, still gentle with you. but when you quickly flicked your tongue on his tip, it was over; inviting hot cum to shoot all over your mouth, licking your lips clean of it.

he huffed out of breath, eyes half open as he gave you a lazy grin, fucked out of his mind. helping you to your feet as you hugged his waist, he pressed kisses to the crown of your wet hair. the sound of his chuckle brought warmth to your heart; that's all you wanted, was to see your boyfriend happy and worry free.

"your soup is warm and waiting for you in the kitchen," you stroked his cheek, smiling when he placed a small kiss to your lips. he couldn't quite find the right words to thank you, so he pecked your lips repeatedly, holding you so tight. he even forgot exactly what he'd been stressing over, thanks to you. just knowing you'd be by his side tomorrow was all he needed.

~

and there he was again- next day in the studio, examining his outfit in front of the large mirrors, and you were too; checking out the beige, designer sweater he sported along with some baggy pants and black shoes. he was already absolutely killing it and taeyang had yet to arrive.

you noticed his slightly uneasy posture when he looked over at you, the hint of nervousness in his expression. you beckoned him over quickly.

jogging to over you when the staff weren't looking, you handed him a small napkin, holding the weight of his favorite cookie you had baked him this morning before you drove over to watch his big filming day.

he unraveled it, revealing the small sugar cookie with "yj fighting<3!!" piped onto it perfectly with baby blue frosting, bringing a blushing smile to his cheeks which he failed to hide with his other hand, finding it the cutest thing ever.

he slipped the cookie between his lips, smiling even bigger when the sweet flavor soothed his nerves. "you're the best," he praised your baking skills with a full mouth, chewing quickly and giving you a quick peck on the lips before running off to the dance floor when the choreographer emerged from the staff room.

the minutes went by of watching your boyfriend gain more and more confidence during his warm ups, rehearsing the song thoroughly before the arrival of the other idol.

you almost wanted to kick your feet at watching yeonjun's reaction to meeting taeyang; their interaction was professional yet so wholesome, bowing every second they could and you smiled, so happy to see your boyfriend enjoying himself with one of his role models. you were beyond proud of him, and you're sure many other moas felt the same.

after some small talk, it was time to begin filming, and you dialed in on yeonjun, praying that he would find his confidence through it all. and boy did he ever; moving so in tune with the music that he practically became it, mesmerizing you.

and damn was he sexy, moving his body carefully yet rhythmically with each beat, giving it his all when it came to his solo in front of the camera. he gave the camera a few winks and he looked over at you after each take, shooting you the same wink. you simply melted in your little spot by the changing room.

the sound of shoong! by taeyang was long engraved in your ears by now as it was probably the hundredth time hearing it over the span of two days. but you could never get tired of watching your man dance, eyes trailing his every slick move; every subtle rut and roll of his hips and flick of his tongue over his lips. feeling so lucky that such a man was yours.

you felt yourself slightly hold your breath during each take, fingers crossed that yeonjun would be happy with his performance and not too hard on himself, and every time he shot you a satisfied smile after each monitoring period, you brimmed with happiness, so glad he could see himself shine the same way you did.

after several hours of watching your boyfriend and taeyang dance professionally through the choreography countless times, getting takes with every angle possible, they said their goodbyes and he was dismissed for the night.

a large smile grew on junie's cute face as he ran over to you like an excited puppy, wrapping his arms around you tightly, nearly picking you up.

"see!! i knew you could do it! i'm so proud of you." your words simply meant the world to yeonjun, gazing into your sparkling eyes as you both brimmed with contentment. his love for you grew in this moment, wanting to repay you for being so amazing.

you weren't even halfway through the front door of your apartment before you had to come up for a breath amidst your heavy make out with yeonjun, his hands trailing everywhere imaginable on your body as you stumbled past the door.

shutting it with his foot, yeonjun scooped you up, wrapping your legs around his hips as he pressed you against the wall of the living room, decorating your neck with kisses and love bites.

"we deserve a little celebration don't we?" he mumbled already out of breath against your ear, and you nodded, basking in the excitement of the moment.

"you actually did so good junie," you kissed his neck softly as he carried you to the bedroom, hearing his small giggle as he set you down on the bed.

"only because of my #1 cheerleader," he leaned down, pressing his hips in between your legs and reuniting his lips with yours. the kisses were hot and passion-filled, making him begin to sweat even after all of the dancing he had done tonight.

he helped your shirt off of you, throwing it off to the side where your shoes were also kicked off, kissing a trail in between your breasts and down to your pants, undoing the button with a swift tug.

you could already feel wetness pooling in your underwear from the moment he was playing with the hem of your waistband in the taxi on the way home, occasionally slipping his pinky under and tickling the skin, hinting at you of what he wanted to do tonight.

and here you two were, not even home for three minutes and already a whimpering, moaning mess as you made out half naked on the bed, lips swollen from his nibbles as he lightly circled your clit through your panties.

you pulled his sweater off and threw it aside, running your fingers across his damp skin as he shivered, smirk widening against your lips. his lips ghosted down to your waistband, leaving a trail of kisses and goosebumps behind as he slowly peeled your underwear from your throbbing wetness, just begging to be touched by the handsome man in front of you.

teasing you with a few thigh kisses, he spread your legs far apart, hooking them under his elbows and then over his shoulders as he got a good look at you, licking his lips at how delicious you looked glistening in the dim lighting of the bedroom.

"thank you for being there for me, always," he flicked his eyes up at you with a warm smile, diving in between your legs before you could even say anything back but the moan that escaped your throat, arching your back at the sheer pleasure as he licked up and down your folds gratefully, savoring every bit of your essence.

yeonjun knew what the hell he was doing in many different aspects. in this one, he for sure knew how to make you scream his name and have you coming all over his face in a matter of minutes.

curling his fingers up to hit your jackpot, hot pleasure dispersing throughout your body, eyes rolling back as he fucked his fingers into you, flicking his tongue against your bundle of nerves deliciously.

one loud moan of his name and your legs were shaking on his shoulders, giving out when you rode out your wave of absolute pleasure, leaving your juices on his fingers which he licked clean.

he was quick to kiss you again while you caught your breath and recovered from the pulsations of your orgasm, helping him unbuckle his pants and dropping them to the floor; every vein visible on the imprint of his rock hard member through his underwear.

you were already soaking wet again when you helped him peel his underwear off of his hips; the sight of his dick springing out had your mouth practically watering again, just needing to lick off the bead of precum that formed at his tip.

but that was all he allowed you to do, wanting to take care of you this time, considering last night only he had finished and not you. in his eyes, you deserved to come even twenty times if you were up to it.

he took control, pressing you back down onto the bed as he kissed you, his warm member nudging against your stomach, so hard you just wanted to be stuffed full already.

taking your legs in either of his hands, he held them up in the air, tapping his tip against your entrance and then entering slowly to give you time to adjust, easing in so effortlessly due to how drenched you were.

he threw his head back at your warmth that engulfed him to no end, walls sucking him in perfectly. he threw your legs onto his shoulders so that they bent at the knees, hands on the plush of your hips to support each of his thrusts as he began to slowly and deeply pound into you, your moans echoing though the room with slaps of skin.

his hips snapped rhythmically against your own, which after all, yeonjun knew how to use his hips considering how amazing of a dancer he was; leaving you mesmerized with them more so after watching him dance tonight. and now you were getting to see him use them up close and personal, grinding skin to skin against you with every twitch inside of you, practically wanting to scream.

he fucked you slow and deep, then hard and fast; knowing exactly when to speed up or slow down. not to mention, he liked to switch positions frequently, flipping you so easily around like you were putty in his hands.

he had you on all fours now, ass in the air as he pounded into you from behind; doggy being the best angle to spank you in, because he knew you loved it.

"fuuuckkkk," he drew out his words, a groan in his throat as he watched your ass bounce back onto his thighs, kneading the plush of your skin with a firm grasp and slapping it gently.

you were already about to come again and he could sense it by the way you tightened around him, growing louder as he reached around to palm your breasts, fingers circling your sensitive nipples.

"jun-" you could only moan half of his name, chanting it over and over like a prayer, sheets messy with sweat and some drool as you buried your face into the pillows.

"wanna come on my cock y/n? yeah? give it to me." he spoke through gritted teeth, giving it to you so good you were on the brink of exploding.

you spasmed violently all over him, doing everything in his power not to finish quite yet; thrusting into you slower to let you catch you breath, gently turning your face with his fingers to kiss your lips, warm chest pressed to your back.

before you knew it, he flipped you over again, his body weight melting on top of you as his cock was still buried deep inside, subtly twitching as you fluttered around him. he went slow, kissing you in what felt like slow motion as he hit the deepest parts of you, splitting you open with each of his thrusts.

his face was flushed, even more than when he dances, eyes half-lidded and sultry and gazing deeply into yours, lips plump and dark middle part messy over his wet forehead. he was sexy as ever.

his hips stuttered and you decided you wanted to give him a break after doing all the hard work, maneuvering him so that he lay on his back, you on top.

he got a beautiful view from this angle, well, you each did. but he smiled, bottom lip caught between his teeth as he gently palmed your tits, trailing his fingers down your waist and over the plush or your ass.

you rode him steadily, watching his dick stretch you perfectly from where he was laying. you thought maybe you could last a little longer for him, but the moment his thumb rhythmically massaged your clit, it was over. there you were bouncing on him, getting yourself off to the friction of his tip against your g-spot and nearly crying at how amazing he felt.

sensing you were so close and tired, he began rutting his hips up and into you, fucking you so hard you were almost dizzy, fisting the sheets in your hands as he pulled them from you and interlaced your fingers with his instead.

"you're so fucking good," you moaned at the last second before he was finishing inside of you, the warmth spreading around your core and pushing you to the edge as well as you collapsed to his chest in a sweaty heap.

you both breathed heavily, your head rising and falling on his chest as he caught his breath, pushing his wet bangs out of his face before hugging you tight.

you both lay there, pressing kisses to one another, talking about the events of the day and how excited he was to see how the promotion would turn out.

"tell me why that song is still stuck in my head," you weakly laughed on his chest, envisioning the smooth choreography in your head and how well he danced to it today.

"maybe i'll teach you?" he smiled down at you and you happily nodded, knowing that you two would probably end up back in this bed because dancing with yeonjun always gets you heated.

he kissed you again, so satisfied with everything in his life; knowing that if he had his #1 supporter next to him, he could conquer any hard choreo.

<3

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

a/n: if you made it this far, tysm for reading! <3 this is inspired by the t:time ep of yeonjun’s behind the scenes shooting of shoong! and i’ve also been trying to learn this choreo so why not write a fic!😭 hope you enjoyed <33

#yeonjun #choi yeonjun #yeonjun smut #yeonjun fluff #yeonjun drabbles #yeonjun fic #yeonjun hard hours #yeonjun hard thoughts #txt smut #txt fluff #txt #txt reader #txt fic #txt x reader #txt x you #yeonjun x y/n #yeonjun x reader #yeonjun x you #txt imagines #txt series #Spotify

[talesofesther]

too close to the stars

Loki x Reader

Summary: Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, but a bit of a Christmas spirit might just change that.

A/N: I wish everyone a very happy Christmas. <3

Word count: 3k

Masterlist

The sun peered over the horizon this morning only to shine over the white expanse of snow that covered the grounds of the Avengers Compound.

It had snowed pretty heavily over the night, and as Loki looked out his window, he couldn't help but think that the landscape was rather pleasant to look at—Thor had already made his way outside to shovel snow out of the driveway along with Steve, the once green fields were now a blanket of glistening white, as were the many trees around. The air was cold, but a pleasant kind of cold; it brought a feeling of calmness.

That is, until a rather sharp noise of something scratching the floor outside his bedroom disrupted Loki's peace.

Accepting that another day had begun, the god made his way outside onto the common area, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie and putting on his slippers.

As soon as Loki rounded the corner to the spacious living room, his lips hung open in bewilderment and his brows furrowed in mild confusion.

You were standing on the very top of a ladder, stretching your body so you could reach the ceiling trims and lamps, all while holding an ungodly amount of ornaments, string lights, and garlands. It looked like a rather precarious arrangement and Loki found himself worrying for your safety for a moment.

"What on earth are you doing?" Loki asked, exasperated, frozen in place as he watched you.

The ladder wiggled in place when you quickly turned around to face him and Loki nearly bolted forward to catch you if you were to fall. He cursed under his breath when all you did was give him a cheeky smile.

"I'm decorating," you gestured around to the expanse of the living room, which already had most of its nooks and crannies filled with garlands, Santa Claus plushies, stockings, and the like.

Loki's frown only deepened, "We already have decorations." He pointed to the exaggerated Christmas tree that had been standing beside the TV since before the beginning of December. Honestly, he had yet to understand the humans' obsession with said holiday.

You chuckled, and the sound naturally brought the ghost of a smile to Loki's lips as well. "No, silly. I'm decorating for our little Christmas party tomorrow night, I thought the place looked a bit bare still." You winked at him and went back to work.

Loki shook his head, his heart swelling with affection. He was way past denying it already. Somehow, between your overwhelming sweetness and insistence on treating him as if he was someone worth saving, you had managed to sneak your way into Loki's cold heart. He simply hadn't managed the guts to tell you, yet.

With a flick of his wrist, the living room erupted in a myriad of greens, golds, and reds. Each decoration you had on your arms—and more—magically took its rightful place in the walls and between furniture.

A breathless chuckle went past your lips, eyes glinting with amazement as you watched it all unfold. It was incredibly endearing, the way that, despite seeing so much of it, you never ceased to be enchanted by Loki's magic. He secretly took pride in it.

"That's convenient," you mumbled with a faint smile.

"Quite," Loki stated, taking a step closer, "Now please get down from there before you break something and have to spend your precious holiday in the med bay."

You skipped down the ladder as if gravity would bend to your will, were you to fall; the tilt of your lips ever present as you came to stand before Loki, much closer than what would be socially acceptable for ones who said they were merely friends. Yet Loki would never dare to complain. If anything, he held himself back from pulling you even closer.

"Do I detect a hint of worry, trickster?" You raised a brow at him. "Would you miss me if I didn't attend the party?"

Loki chuckled lowly, his smirk was teasing but his eyes avoided yours. "Darling, you're the only reason I'm even going to this party."

You bit your lower lip to keep the smile from getting any bigger, "Flatterer," you breathed.

And Loki loved you like this, all pink cheeks and bashful eyes, as if he had the same effect on you that you had on him. He hardly dared to dream of it. But he allowed himself to bask in these tiny moments by your side.

Then your pinkie hooked around his own, and Loki was putty in your hands.

"Come on, let's take a walk outside, enjoy the sun while it's out." You tugged him toward the elevator, not once letting go of his hand.

It was indeed very pleasant outside, the soft rays of sunlight were just enough to bring a bit of warmth along with the cold winter breeze, the air was fresh to breathe in, and the snowy landscape was beautiful.

Loki's boots crunched the snow and frozen grass underneath as he lazily walked beside you. He'd steal glances at you from time to time, watching as the sunlight shaped your serene profile and how you looked genuinely breathtaking amidst the white horizon. Everything felt perfect for a precious second and Loki wished he could slow down time.

His musing was suddenly interrupted, however, when he was hit in the back of his head with something mildly solid and very cold; causing an oof to escape his lips.

He whipped his head around in your direction only to see you muffling a giggle with one hand, while the other held a snowball.

A halfhearted scoff went past Loki's lips. He raised a hand to brush off the remaining snow from his hair, as a mischievous smirk painted his features, "You little minx, you have no idea what you've gotten yourselves into."

A mix of a squeak and a chuckle fell past your lips the moment Loki bolted towards you and you naturally sped off in the opposite direction. You struggled to run amidst the rather thick snow and Loki took the advantage to bunch up a snowball of his own and hit you square in the back.

By the time you had made it back inside the Compound, you both had nearly run two full laps of the whole yard and were a mess of snow-covered clothes and breathless laughs.

"I.. win," you spoke in between deep breaths, one hand resting on Loki's chest to brace yourself.

"Absolutely not," Loki frowned as if you'd personally offended him. He took a deep breath himself, gesturing to your snowy clothes, "You're way worse off than I am."

"Uh uh, lies," you insisted. "I hit you way more than you hit me, your aim is shit," you chuckled.

Loki's smile followed yours naturally, he raised a hand to brush wild strands of your hair away from your eyes, his touch all delicate and soft. "You keep telling yourself that, love."

─── ·❆· ───

When the night of the celebration finally arrived, Loki found himself hesitating to get out of his room. He stared at his reflection in the mirror, slowly running a hand over the smooth fabric of his black suit. Did he like what he saw? The person staring back at him? Would you?

It was no secret that, despite accepting his presence, a few wary looks and comments still lingered between his teammates whenever he walked into a room. Loki couldn't blame them, not really. He also couldn't deny that those not-so-kind comments didn't get to him sometimes, much as he'd like to.

But then, there was you, who had never once made him feel unwelcome or unworthy. You who made him coffee in the mornings and always saved him a seat at the table. You who had a smile reserved for him ever since his first day here. You who made his heartbeat stumble and his silver tongue get caught in his mouth.

And Loki so desperately wanted to be someone deserving of all that. Still, he feared he wasn't.

A long sigh went past his lips. With a final tidying of his hair and the tie around his neck, Loki made his way out.

There was music playing in the common area. The several blinking lights you had so meticulously arranged were illuminating the room beautifully, reflecting against the many Christmas ornaments in warm shades of orange in the night. Tony, Thor, and Natasha were hanging out by the bar, with drinks in hand and loose smiles on their faces; Clint and Steve were sitting on the couch, laughing at something that Loki couldn't hear; Bucky and Sam were standing together by the Christmas tree, apparently trying to guess what was inside each present.

A few of their gazes turned as Loki stepped into the room, he could see as well as feel it, the weight resting in each one. He gave a polite smile and nod to no one in particular as his gaze skimmed around, looking for the reason he came. When he couldn't find you, he walked straight to the bar.

Loki leaned his elbows on the glass surface, closing his eyes and breathing in. There was a reason he wasn't overly fond of the team's social gatherings; he felt like an intruder, someone they were merely putting up with.

"Anything special?" Natasha's sultry voice made Loki look up. She stood behind the bar with an inquiring eyebrow raised at him.

"I'm afraid she's not here yet," Loki mumbled, which elicited a low chuckle from Natasha. The spy was a dear friend of yours and probably something close to it for Loki as well, one of the few people here who he knew didn't mind his presence.

"Actually," Natasha started, nodding towards the opening doors of the elevator, "I think she just arrived."

Loki turned around and his breath hitched. You stepped out of the elevator slowly, one hand smoothing out the fabric of your red dress—a gorgeous red dress that hugged your body and accentuated your curves to perfection. Your hair was up in a bun and there was golden jewelry highlighting your features.

The god was frozen in place, entranced by the beauty that was you. He'd never been so taken with anyone like he is with you. And when your eyes met, and a small, timid smile graced your glossy lips, Loki swore he could feel his heartbeat stumble.

You were about to make your way to him when Steve called your name and stole your attention. And then Bruce, and then Sam. Seemed like everyone wanted a piece of you tonight.

Loki had a near-empty drink in hand when you finally managed to walk up to him.

You approached him with a smirk, leaning on the bar just beside him and raising a hand to gently tug on the lapel of his blazer. "Well, don't you clean up nicely, trickster?"

Loki hummed, leaning just a tad closer to you, "I'm not the one everyone is trying to get a hold of this evening." He said lowly, only for you to hear.

"Oh please," you chuckled, briefly avoiding his gaze. "I only have eyes for one person tonight."

A beat of silence passed, even if the room was anything but silent. Tony was going on about one of the many Christmas stories he shared every year, eliciting laughs from your teammates who by now had gathered all around the living room. From the corner of his eye, Loki noticed Bucky trying to straighten the star on the very top of the Christmas tree, the one the soldier himself had knocked over earlier.

You'd be mad, Loki thought. You'd be saying something about manners and being more careful, with a smile on your lips as you easily fixed the golden star yourself.

But instead, you were here; attention solely on Loki, in your little corner of the world as the chatter around you turned to nothing but muffled noise.

Why? He couldn't help but wonder. What could you possibly see on him?

"And who is this lucky gentleman?" Loki asked, his voice suddenly way too quiet as he kept his eyes trained on his half-empty glass, "Or lady?"

Only after you didn't answer, did Loki finally look up at you. There was a soft smile on your lips, painted with a feeling he couldn't name.

"That's a secret," you whispered back and took hold of Loki's glass of champagne, leaving it on top of the bar before closing your hand around his own instead. "Come on."

Loki followed easily, he allowed you to guide him to the balcony, where the cold wind was flowing and the warm lights from inside were nothing but a faded glow coming from the glass doors.

You didn't let go of Loki's hand when you stopped walking, only squeezed it once as you looked up at him with softly furrowed brows and an adorable tilt of your head. "What's wrong? You've been all tense ever since I walked in."

Of course you'd know. Of course you'd notice the stiffness of his shoulders and the guarded look in his eyes. If there was anyone who could read him like an open book, it was you.

A breathy chuckle fell past Loki's lips, he drank in the sight of you in the night; as wisps of your hair flew with the wind and as the light from inside outlined the shape of your features.

"You know it as well as I do that they don't want me here," Loki shot a pointed look at your teammates inside, not accusing, simply stating. "I don't… belong here…" Loki's fingers tangled with yours, his thumb gently brushing the skin of your hand, "With you." The words were nothing but a breath.

You raised your free hand to his face, twirling a strand of his hair between your fingers before you gingerly traced his jaw. "But you do," you took half a step closer to him, your heels bumping his shoes, "You may think that you don't, but you do. I'd miss you greatly if you ever left."

Loki met your gaze again, his eyes a pool of sentiment, walls down and as vulnerable as you'd ever seen him. He leaned into your touch, all soft and pleading. "How could I ever deserve your kindness?" He spoke quietly, almost as if he never meant to say it out loud.

But you heard anyway, and your answer came in the same heartbeat. "You already do, always have." Your voice caught slightly in your throat, overwhelmed with the affection you felt for him.

The softest of smiles graced Loki's lips, the back of his eyes burned and his heart beat out of his chest, for you, for you, for you. He leaned in, biting the inside of his cheek and closing his eyes when you didn't pull away. His lips met your forehead in a lingering kiss, a promise of the thousand words he wished to say to you, of everything you made him feel that he couldn't put into words.

When he pulled away, you were looking up at him with something akin to adoration—maybe he could dare to call it love. Your eyes shining with a twinkle of expectation.

Loki squeezed your hand, feeling his cheeks heat up. "I couldn't break your silly tradition, now could I?" He shot a glance up.

You followed his gaze and finally saw it, a glimmer of green leaves with a small red trinket tying it together, delicately flowing in the wind as it hung by the door, pretty much on top of your head. A mistletoe.

You hummed, a small smirk coming to your lips as you settled back on Loki. "I don't remember putting it there." You raised a brow at him, standing so close you breathed the same air.

"And yet it's there anyway," Loki mumbled, lost in your orbit. His eyes darted down to your lips; it was a quick glance, all timid and boyish, but you caught it.

"So it is," you chuckled quietly, taking hold of the tie around his neck so you could pull him closer still, "And I wouldn't want to break tradition either."

You kissed him then, soft lips fitting with his own like a missing puzzle piece. A quiet gasp of surprise escaped Loki as soon as you closed the distance, yet you were quick to kiss it away, trapping his lower lip between yours and bringing one hand up to tangle in between his hair.

The taste, the feeling of you, put Loki's most beautiful dreams to shame. It's white noise and being submerged underwater all the same time—sweet, warm and tasting like brown sugar and the sip of champagne you had earlier.

The world around faded to nothingness as Loki's hand traced your spine and tugged you flush to him, his breath came in trembling puffs when you pulled away just the tiniest bit. His lips tingled as they brushed against yours again.

What a remarkable mortal you were, to have a god shivering beneath your touch. And selfishly, Loki wouldn't have it any other way.

You opened your eyes slowly, tongue running over your bottom lip as your thumb traced his jaw. You breathed in deeply to catch back the air he whisked out of you.

Loki watched the stars dancing in your eyes, looking down at you as if you were his universe, and delighting in the way you looked up at him as if he were yours. Maybe that's what love was all about.

Your hand trailed down his arm, brushing the fabric of his blazer until you tangled your fingers with his.

Squeezing your hand, Loki smiled. He felt like he belonged, right here by your side.

"Come on, before they open all the gifts without us," you winked, raising your free hand to clean the smudged lipstick by the corner of your mouth.

Loki followed you inside with his cheeks and heart feeling all warm. And if the mistletoe disappeared in a flash of green after you turned around, no one needed to know.

⋆* ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3

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#loki x reader #loki laufeyson #loki imagine #loki #marvel #loki series #loki x you #marvel x reader #loki x female reader #imagine #fanfic #angst #fluff #loki fanfic #my story #loki laufeyson x reader

[eoieopda]

darksided (myg)

Min Yoongi adored you. He'd simply never hurt you - unless you asked.

Pairing: Min Yoongi x Fem!Reader | Darksided AU Type: One-Shot - SMUT (You must be 18+ to ride this ride.) Sequel to foresight, but can be read as a stand-alone fic. Word Count: 4.4K Content: established relationship au; soft bf yoongi turned mean!dom!yoongi at the request of sub!reader; p in v penetration; unprotected sex/creampie (be safe, y'all); oral sex (m receiving); brief face-fucking; v fingering; squirting; a lil degradation and spit kink, as a treat; harsh language; after-care; also cavity-inducing fluff A/N: This was nine (9) pages in Word - my longest smut ever, all because this man-bun era has got me FUCKED up. Barely proofread (sorry ily). Check out my other fics here. Listen to the playlist here. 12/11/22 A/N: The sequel, blindsided, is finally here! check it out when you're done here :)

“When I signal you, that’s when you press the button, okay?” 

Your eyebrows furrowed as you stared down at his recording equipment – a galaxy in its own right, lit up like a Christmas tree. He may as well have asked you to defuse a bomb, except you couldn’t even identify the bomb. “There are approximately three thousand buttons in front of me right now,” you whined. 

He was exhausted and you knew it – you could feel it – but his patience with you was, as always, limitless. His fondness for you still shone through his eyes, overpowering the dark circles looming below, as if he hadn’t made a mistake in inviting you into his office. Then there was his laugh, surprising enough to smack you but so soft that it cradled you. “It’s the only one that says ‘record,’ jagiya.” 

A quick survey of the landscape before you indicated that this was a criminal oversimplification. There was a minimum of four options fitting his description, and all of them looked both breakable and expensive. You blinked down at the sound board, then back up at him, dumbfounded. “I think you made a mistake letting me in here.” 

Again, with the laugh – knocking you prone, nudging you closer to an early grave. Somehow, out of all of time and space, you got to exist in the same lifetime that he did. How lucky you were to have him, and his wind chime laugh all to yourself.  

You were lovesick and it was chronic. 

“Look down at your left hand – no, baby, don’t move it – that knob above your middle finger?” He was standing on tiptoe inside the booth, gesturing as if he was landing a plane. Your eyes darted up to follow the path of his fingers, then back down to the board. “Go diagonally up from that knob for two rows. Do you -” 

Overcome with a sense of unearned pride, you pressed down on the button, beaming. You certainly had not been signaled, but nonetheless, your efforts were rewarded. Importantly, that reward was now recorded for prosperity. Your favorite mixtape, the soundtrack of your racing heart, a lullaby: “I really couldn’t love you more if I tried.” 

His wide smile, like his tone, was sweet enough to cause a cavity. You were folded up like a pretzel in his chair, but somehow, your knees still seemed to wobble.  

You were lovesick and it was terminal. 

“Should I shut it off now until you’re ready to start?” You asked with cheeks glowing pink. 

He shook his head, still grinning. “I can cut it down. I do need you to cue the track, though – when I signal you.” He stated the last bit of his sentence slowly, shooting you a pointed look and then a wink. 

You were once lovesick and now you are dead. 

Finger hovering over the ‘play’ button, you watched him wide-eyed, anxious to avoid another mishap. His faith in you may have been unshakeable, but yours wasn’t – and this third mixtape was his magnum opus. You’d rather explode into a cloud of dust than mess up the tireless work he’d put into it so far.  

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, centering himself. Without looking, he raised his hand and pointed silently to you. Within seconds, your mind was blown. 

Min Yoongi contained multitudes. Despite your years together, it never ceased to amaze you how your beloved introvert – who said more with actions than anyone could communicate with words – could transform the way he did. Moments ago, his voice was a blanket, fresh out of the dryer, but now? Now, his presence electrified you. There was an unapologetic confidence – callousness, even - that you only saw when he rapped. 

Even his body language changed, like he’d evolved right before your eyes. You couldn’t look away because there was nothing else worth looking at – just him, top to bottom. The way he held his head, lips nearly touching the microphone, highlighted the deadly curve of his jaw. Carved from marble, luminescent and sharp. The strain of his neck, vibration visible in the column of his throat as he growled out his bars. Then down, down, down to his hands. His rings caught the light from above him, refracting slivers of white as his fingers moved with the beat.  

Oh, how you wanted them wrapped around your throat. 

Seeing him like this had you spellbound – feral, if you were being honest. As you watched, bottom lip clamped hard between your teeth, a heatwave crashed over you; it burned you from the inside out. Sometimes, you dreamt about this version of him. Your Yoongi adored you. He showered you with affection, respect, and praise. He’d never dream of hurting you. 

But would he, if you asked? 

You were so lost in your thoughts that you didn’t hear him finish the take. 

“Aegiya?” There was a hint of concern in his voice that told you he’d called out to you more than once already. 

You swallowed hard and shifted in his chair. “Yes?” 

He slid his wireless headphones down until they rested around his neck. The bright red band leaned against his cheekbone as he tilted his head to the side in confusion. “Are you alright? You looked like you were in a trance.” 

He wasn’t wrong. You were hypnotized, and it was entirely his fault. 

When you merely hummed in response – too distracted by his features to form a coherent sentence – he opened the door to the booth and stepped out. He pulled the headphones off completely and set them down on the counter before walking straight to you. 

You were vibrating. Could he feel it? 

The trembling only intensified when he reached you. Looking down at you, he ran the pad of his thumb over your cheek. 

“Tell me.” He said, as if that brief touch informed him of the maelstrom spinning circles in your brain. “Something’s got you dizzy.” 

Psychic. 

Suddenly, you were shy. This man knew and loved every single aspect of you, and still you felt embarrassed. If you begged him to fuck you – not just make love to you – would he laugh at you? Even worse, would he be offended? You didn’t want him to think that what you had wasn’t already perfect because it was.  

His eyes scanned your face, narrowing just slightly as he tried to read your mind. The two of you were silent for what felt like hours before you saw it – his pupils dilating, offset by the spark of silent understanding. The corner of his mouth twitched when he cracked the secret code. The hand caressing your cheek lowered slowly until it came to rest on your throat, thumb harshly directing your jaw – and your gaze - upwards. 

“Is it me, baby?” He teased with a voice like velvet, cocking his head to the side with a smirk that left you stupid. “Have I got you dizzy?” 

Involuntarily, you whimpered. So stunned by his stare that you were speechless. Melting into a puddle. Dripping. 

He exhaled sharply through his nose – a cruel, quiet laugh - and his eyes darkened further. “I can’t give you what you want if you can’t tell me what that is.” 

Once again, you shifted in your seat. You were suddenly so painfully aware of every nerve in your body, each one tingling like a live wire. Even your thighs clenched, trying desperately to apply pressure where you needed it most. You craved him so badly that it ached. 

“I don’t want you to be gentle with me,” was your answer, though it sounded more like a question. “I - I know that you -” 

His hand shifted quickly from underneath your jaw. He now had your cheeks pinned between his thumb and middle finger, squeezing hard to cut off your sentence before you could finish it. There was a microscopic pause as his eyes searched yours for permission. You blinked and nodded to the fullest extent you could within his grasp. 

“Stupid girl. You know nothing.” 

Muffled by his hand, your weak moan was barely audible, but he could feel the way your breathing quickened. The rise and fall of your eager chest. The way your nipples, yet untouched, made themselves known through the fabric of the t-shirt you’d stolen from him. Draped in him but smelling like you.  

Blackcurrant, orange blossoms, vanilla. 

He leaned down, mouth now hovering beside your ear. The heat of his breath on your neck was maddening, but it was the way his lips brushed against your ear that proved fatal. When he spoke, it echoed in every one of your bones. A whisper heavy enough to bruise. “Get up.” 

You followed the lead of his hand over your mouth and rose to your feet. Sharply, he redirected your gaze to the seat you’d just left. It was inexplicable how something so faint could be so blatant. That nearly imperceptible spot, snitching on you; showing him how your body begged for him. 

“Such a messy girl, ruining my chair like that.” He tutted. “I should punish you, shouldn’t I? Should I ruin you, baby?” 

Held so still, your knees still trembled. Without his hand gripping your cheeks, you would’ve crumpled at his feet. Before you could do so yourself, he forced you downward. After all, your knees couldn’t buckle if they were digging into the hardwood. 

He released his grasp and used that same hand to push his hair away from his eyes. Your heart raced as if you were sprinting, and yet you were frozen in place. You didn’t know where to begin because you wanted everything.  

Your indecision prompted him to roll his eyes. “Do I have to do everything for you? Say it. What do you want?” 

“T-to touch you. Please,” you begged, “I want to feel you in my throat.” 

He beckoned you silently with a curl of his finger. You sat up further on your knees and reached out tentatively for the drawstring tied at the waistband of his joggers. 

“Stop.” He ordered, and you did. Looking down at your wide eyes, his smirk deepened. Your hands fidgeted uselessly in your lap as he began untying the drawstring himself – his slow pace was torturous. You'd have ripped them off his body if given the chance. “Open your mouth” 

Again, you did as you were told. 

It took everything you had not to drool when he lowered the waistband of his joggers just enough for his cock to spring out. Already throbbing, beige tip glistening with pre-cum in the half-light. He took himself in his hand and began to pump himself as he took a step towards your waiting mouth.

"Stick out your tongue."

Now, you couldn’t help it – and when he saw the string of saliva spilling from the tip of your tongue, he growled. 

“Fuck,” He breathed, sliding the fingers of his free hand into your hair and tugging. “Look at how badly you want to be used - you're begging without saying a word.” 

You couldn’t speak, but your eyes were screaming at him. Please. 

Teasingly, he tapped the tip of his cock against your tongue, hissing as he felt the wet heat of your mouth. But when you went to close your lips around him, he pulled your hair – and you ��� away. 

“Spit on it – slowly. Keep your eyes on me.” 

You felt a twinge between your thighs as he delivered his orders. You’d undoubtedly soaked through your little sleep shorts already, but his tone just then made a mess of you. You squirmed as you kneeled, feeling the rivulets of slick begin to trail down the innermost part of your thighs. And he hadn’t even touched you yet. 

Looking up at him from under the curtain of your lashes, you saw the wicked fascination flicker in his eyes. The way his breath hitched as he watched your spit fall from the ledge of your lips until it connected with his shaft. In your peripheral vision, you could see his cock twitch at the contact. 

“Now open.” Finally. 

A low moan broke from the depths of his chest as he slid into your mouth, and you couldn’t recall a more beautiful sound. As you pushed yourself further onto him, you hallowed your cheeks, following the vein running along the underside of his length with your tongue. 

You stared up at him through wet eyes. So full, you pleaded with yourself not to gag, to breathe steadily through your nose. Tip pushing past your soft palate, he grunted as he bottomed out. Without softening his gaze, he watched for your reaction – always so concerned, even when he was pretending not to be. To his surprise, you swallowed, allowing the tightness of your throat to squeeze him.

“You’re fucking filthy.” He muttered with his eyes screwing shut. His jaw fell open when you slid off him, swirling your tongue around the head of his cock once you reached it. His eyes followed suit, blown out pupils fixated on the spit dribbling down your chin; darkening at the obscene sound of him sliding through the suction you'd so masterfully generated. 

Pulling your hand from your lap, you reached out slowly for his balls. As your fingers massaged him, his grip on your hair got tighter. Almost imperceptibly, he began to roll his hips against your mouth. 

His panting was interlaced with curses as he fucked himself into your warmth. “Fit so fucking perfectly in your throat,” He grunted, “Like you were made to be my toy.” 

It startled you when he suddenly removed himself from you. Thoughtlessly, you whined – and then, immediately, you froze. Eyes darting back up to him, the anticipation of consequences prevented you from closing your mouth fully. You waited there on your knees, trembling, while your mascara pooled uselessly in the wells beneath your eyes. 

“Somebody feels entitled,” He scoffed as he glowered down at you. “You better be careful what you wish for.” 

Before you could process the speed of his movements, his arms hooked under yours and pulled you from the ground. Your legs ached, but as he loomed over you, you followed his unspoken order, backing yourself into a corner. With your shoulder blades pressed flush against the wall, he stepped forward and used his knee to push your legs apart. 

For a moment, it seemed like his façade was cast aside. He raised his hand slowly to caress your cheek, swirling soft circles into your flushed skin with his thumb. Out of habit, your eyes drifted shut and you leaned further into his touch. And when he leaned in, just as slowly, your slightly parted lips waited for a kiss that never came. 

“You’re just begging to be filled, aren’t you?” He asked in a whisper so sharp it stung. “Not loved but fucked.” 

You nodded shyly. “Y-yes,” You stuttered, “Please.” 

His lips still lingered closely enough to touch yours, to send shockwaves shooting down your spine, but he continued to withhold his affection. This was the first time – ever – that Yoongi had turned down an opportunity to kiss you. Until now, he didn't seem capable of doing so. 

“Please what?” 

“Fuck me. Please -” You keened as his hand began to drift from your cheek, down your neck. In the blink of an eye, every word you knew disappeared from your vocabulary. The tip of his index finger trailed down over the fabric of your stolen shirt, between the valley of your breasts, and came to rest at the hem.  

He pinched the seam between his fingers and tugged. “Part of me wants to tear this off you,” He mused with his head tilting to one side. His eyes remained locked on yours; the amusement in them was clear, even in the darkness. “But most of me wants to see you fucked out and stupid - in my shirt.” 

Your legs threatened to give out yet again. He was devastatingly handsome under normal circumstances, but this newly unearthed cockiness was ruinous. You bit down hard on your lip as he raised your shirt enough to access the waistband of your shorts. With his help, you shimmied them down until they dropped quietly at your feet. Quickly and clumsily, you stepped out of them and kicked them aside. 

Yoongi’s hand rose again to your face. His middle and ring finger were extended; the others curled down towards his palm. You didn’t need to be asked to open your mouth – it was the only response your eager mind could conjure. His fingers were cool against your tongue as you closed your mouth around them. And when he was satisfied with the lubrication you’d provided, he slid his fingers out from your hollowed cheeks with a lewd pop. 

“How badly do you want to come all over my fingers?”  

It’s a wonder there wasn’t a puddle beneath you, considering how those words made you gush. “I need it,” You pleaded with fluttering eyelids and bated breath, “Please touch me.” 

You whimpered and closed your eyes as you felt his fingers dive into the pool between your thighs. Every nerve lit up like a switchboard as he slipped through your soft folds. He scoffed at how wet you were – so soaked that it was audible in each millimeter of his movement. 

Simultaneous to his middle finger penetrating you, your head rolled back until it rested against the wall. Your mouth fell open, but you were too entranced to do much more than breathe as you acclimated to his presence inside you. He started slowly, curling his finger upwards as he pushed further inwards. Even at this pace, the otherwise dead air was filled with the sound of your sodden cunt. 

“You’re dripping already?" He let the tip of his finger rest against the spongy spot behind your pubic bone; the pressure was incredible, but he stayed torturously still. “And yet you’re so - tight.” Achingly slow, the pad of his finger spiraled against your g-spot. “I’ll have to stretch you out before I can bury my cock in you.” 

As his ring finger plunged inside of you, you cried out, head slumping forward against his shoulder. Sensing that you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself up for much longer, Yoongi grabbed the back of your right thigh with his left hand and pulled your leg up to rest against his hip. With this new angle, his fingers ventured even deeper until they bottomed out at the knuckle. He didn’t give you much time to adjust to the new sensation.  

As he fucked his fingers into you at a feverish pace, he continued his mind-numbing assault on your g-spot. Over and over, he toyed with you; thrusting, stretching, scissoring, and teasing as your arousal trickled into the palm of his hand. There was an intoxicating – unbearable – warmth burning in the pit of your abdomen. A sensation so all-consuming that your eyes rolled back in your head. 

Your walls clenched around him, sucking him in and begging for more as your helpless heart raced. “Oh my god,” You wailed, “Holy shit – Please, I’m - Yoongi!” 

Your orgasm hit you like a freight train. Never in your life had you fallen apart like that – shaking and speaking in tongues. Having sensed the swell of pressure, Yoongi knew exactly where this road headed; and he could tell that you were fighting it. “Don't hold back from me,” He growled.

And then the dam broke.  

A wicked grin danced across his face as the wave of pleasure crashed onto the floor below you. “Fuck. Look at this.” He pointed downward and your bleary gaze followed. Remnants of your orgasm had splashed onto his joggers as well as the hardwood. “Nobody could ever make you come like I can. Say it.” 

The words bubbled out of your chest, half-way between a sob and a moan. “Nobody can make me come like you.”

You were a shivering, spilling mess; and your ears were still ringing from how intensely your every muscle had clenched. Before your knee could buckle, you were abruptly swept up into his arms. With one arm wrapped tightly around your back, his free hand slid over the surface of his desk, sending various papers and cords rocketing towards the floor.

Once the space was cleared, he set you down and laid you out onto the cool surface. You were exhausted and thankful to be horizontal; though you knew he wasn’t yet finished with you. 

After all, he intended on ruining you. 

Through half-lidded eyes, you gazed up at him. The hair he’d so neatly tied into a bun at the top of his head had mutinied; inky tendrils were now splayed out haphazardly in different directions. You were fuck-drunk, but you swore the overhead light behind him encircled his head like a halo. It was all so unholy - the way he stood before the altar of your exposed core, with his face angelic and his throbbing cock in hand.

The hand not pumping his cock slid over your bent knee. It took tremendous effort, but you lifted your arm to place your hand on top of his. One tiny squeeze – a brief, loving check-in – received an echo. Then, just as quickly as it appeared, the fleeting moment of tenderness was gone. With each of your legs now trapped in his hold, he pulled you towards the very edge of the table. 

Once he was satisfied with your closeness, his focus switched to his access. He simply wasn’t content to leave your legs bent up at either side of him; so, he rested the backs of your legs against his shoulders and leaned forward until you’d nearly folded in half. 

He didn’t need to use his hand to center himself prior to entering you. His body understood the proportions of yours automatically; like you were puzzle pieces created to fit perfectly together. Though his intention may have been to penetrate you slowly, centimeter by centimeter, your slick was overwhelming. The usual ache you felt upon acclimating to his size was drastically reduced; and he bottomed out quickly, cursing. 

The fullness you felt was euphoric, and it left you mewling hopelessly under the weight of his body. He was buried deep, throbbing as your walls constricted around his width. It shocked your system when he slid out almost completely only to drive himself back into you. 

“Like a fucking vice grip,” Yoongi hissed as he picked up his already brutal pace. Every curve, every vein dragged maddeningly along your walls as he fucked you. “Do you hear how wet you are? Shit – your pussy is begging for me.” 

The only thing louder than the squelch of your cunt was skin hitting skin; close behind was the way your name spilled from his lips in a flurry of expletives. You, on the other hand, were nearly incoherent. With every thrust, he knocked another thought loose until eventually, you had nothing left.  Relentlessly, his cock grinded against your g-spot, leaving you too mesmerized to recall your own name. 

There was a sheen of sweat above his knitted brows; and his bottom lip was now trapped between his gritted teeth. He was close and you knew it. The depth of his thrusts didn’t falter, but his steady pace was getting harder for him to maintain. You felt the rubber band inside you beginning to fray - on the brink of snapping and shooting you into orbit like a sling-shot. 

“Baby,” The soft, shaky voice caught his attention. He opened his eyes and focused hard on you – your flushed cheeks, and trembling lips. As he surveyed you, his resolve began to evaporate; his expression softened immediately. There he was: your Yoongi. “You’re gonna make me come again.” 

As your walls clenched tight around him, the edges of your vision began to blur. You watched his face as he came shortly after you, studying how delicately his eyelashes fluttered as the warmth of his release filled you. In that moment, it was the two of you, toppling in slow-motion off the edge of the universe. Irrevocably in love - heaving chests, shuddered moans, names whispered in the place of prayers. 

He shifted his arms to allow your quivering legs to fall from his shoulders. When the hands on either side of your head could no longer hold up his weight, he collapsed onto you. With his face nuzzled into the crook of your neck, you could feel his breathing begin to slow as his cock softened inside you. 

You were nearly delirious when you felt his lips buzz against your skin. You were too far gone to understand what he was too exhausted to communicate. “Hmm?” You hummed, wordlessly asking him to repeat himself.

He groaned with the effort of pulling himself away from your embrace. He only traveled far enough to glance over at you. “I said, I think several of my past lives just flashed before my eyes,” He stated matter-of-factly. Within seconds, his eyes crinkled up at the corners and his grin grew. That soft chuckle wasn’t far behind. 

“I don’t know where I am.” You admitted with a sheepish laugh. After a moment, you amended that thought, “I don’t know who I am.” 

Yoongi placed a gentle kiss below your ear – the only part of you he could reach without sitting up fully. “I have no idea. How did you get in my house?” As you rolled your eyes, he bumped the tip of his nose against your jaw, too tired to tease you much more than that. “But now that we’re both completely spent, I’d like to go back to being soft with you – for now.” 

He tried to wink at you, but both of his lead-lined lids closed in unison.  You hummed thoughtfully as you ran lazy fingers through his hair, like the decision required serious deliberation. You paused, then giggled.  “Permission granted, my love. You may proceed.”

He was quiet for several moments before he stood bolt upright. Startled, you propped yourself up on your elbow and looked to him. He turned towards the booth and then back to you.

His eyes were wide as a blush swept over his cheeks. "Aegiya, did you forget to stop the recording?"

Sequel (posted 12/11/22).

#bts #bts army #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bangta boys #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts fluff #bts suga #bts suga smut #bts suga fluff #suga x reader #suga x y/n #min yoongi #yoongi #yoongi x reader #yoongi x y/n #yoongi x you #yoongi fluff #yoongi smut #bts yoongi #bts min yoongi #min suga #re: darksided #2k #re: blindsided #jade writes

[sshadowritestoriess]

hello! could you write something with zen echo and ramattra (sorry if that's too many characters) with a human reader who kisses them even tho they don't really have a mouth, I'd like to know their reactions

Kissing robots is so good <3

Kissing Zenyatta

Kisses aren’t a display that surprises him, really!

It might have been pretty anticlimactic the first instance that you had press your lips to his faceplate, a gesture of which he gently leaned into and remained patiently still, until you pulled away

But he would still sometimes entertain you with a prized “oh!” as if he hadn’t expected it

He only apologized the first time for not being able to return the favor the same way, but he was delighted by receiving such a human affection! It pleases him immensely that you would demonstrate this kind of love as if he were human

The best he could do to reciprocate was to press his forehead against yours, lean carefully into your touch, or nudge his jaw against your cheek

He’d be ridiculously gentle doing these things, highly aware that he was of metal and that humans bruise quite easily.

When you would kiss him where he would have a mouth, he liked to respond with a verbal “mwah!” or other kiss sound

You both would also have a habit of blowing kisses to one another as well. He loves pretending to catch yours, and would feign placing it on his cheek before signing “I love you” with his hand

But he also liked to take your hands in his and press your knuckles to the nine lights of his forehead, feeling the warmth of his glow against your hands in his own means of returning the gesture

Sometimes he even asks for kisses, very politely. It’s hard to refuse (but why would you?)

Kissing Echo

Considering her face is just a hologram, you both occasionally forget that and share an amused moment when trying to kiss each other

Sometimes it’s definitely on purpose though! Feigning a kiss upon one another’s mouth with sweet smiles, and an especially elated giggle from Echo

Your one-sided kisses always make her gasp, an expressive look of joyous surprise on her face that leaves her mouth agape

She finds it so interesting, curious, and will lift to you her hands and turn her head from side to side asking “Can you do that here? And what about from here?”

So it’s not really a one-and-done— if you kiss her, you’re gonna end up doing quite a couple. She loves it very much

She doesn’t seem bothered that she can’t truly kiss you back, and if asked she’ll tell you “I think there’s something just as special about pretending!”

And it’s true. The make-believe gestures of affection are something very unique to her that may as well be real in its own way

Just because she couldn’t kiss you doesn’t mean she wasn’t. It may not be the same, but it felt no different than if she could. And it was fun, and worth her reactions

She could never bore of your kisses, nor tire of returning them.

Kissing Ramattra

Ramattra, on the other hand, would somehow end up shocked by your kisses every single time without fail. Subtly flinching as if you’d accidentally surprised him

He’d make a disgruntled noise after your display, but he’d never ask you to stop. He would, however, make sure now and again that you didn’t think he was going to be able to suddenly kiss you back one day

Sometimes he’d mutter something about “human gestures”, but it was hard to discern if it was bringing him offense or not. But again, he never told you he didn’t like it— and he was pretty open about telling you the things that brought him unease

It was more like he was just tolerating it for a while, but he’d eventually begin appreciating it

While he can’t kiss you, he does have a similar gesture that brings him a lot more satisfaction when you attempt to do the same

His specific model can summon a very brief vibration from behind the “mouth” of his faceplate, an old discreet means of communicating that uses the gentle buzz as something similar to Morse code. The pulses produce no sound, but emits a small encoded wave between omnics— like sending a text directly into someone’s mind

It wasn’t a language any human could decipher, but he’d press his ‘mouth’ to your neck or cheek and speak a quick note of affection there, anyway.

You seemed to understand it was loving. And when one day he’d tucked his face into your shoulder and his faceplate pulses ticklishly against your skin again, he was suddenly ecstatic when you leaned your throat against his head and hummed quickly, in the same rhythm he did, mocking his gesture

So, technically, you were telling him you loved him back by repeating his ‘message’, and you had no idea.

He wouldn’t admit a thing to you, but you could tell it made him pretty happy.

And while he preferred his version of “kisses” to yours, he would never turn down your ways of showing him that you loved him

#overwatch #overwatch2 #headcanons #fluff #kisses #ramattra overwatch #ramattra #reader insert #zenyatta #echo overwatch #echo #echo x reader #Ramattra x reader #Zenyatta x reader

[author-morgan]

Title: Rise by the Birdsong Pairing: Daemon Targaryen x fem!Reader Rating: M Summary: In which you soothe Daemon's wounded ego and pride after he loses in a tournament. Warnings: Typically Westerosi shenanigans.

HE SUMMONS YOU to his chambers in the hours after the tourney and feast —the taste of defeat still bitter on his tongue. Hubris cost him the victory. He had the Merryweather boy cornered. It should have been easy, yet he was forced to yield the champion's title and purse. Daemon Targaryen drapes his arms over the side of the tub and thinks of who he would have named as the Queen of Love and Beauty had he won. Certainly not Rhea Royce —the old bronze bitch. He’s more apt to name one of the sheep before her. The thought fades when the doors creak open, his guards letting you pass into the prince’s chambers.

Steam fills the room, as does the scent of Myrish oils. Your skin prickles with heat for reasons that have nothing to do with the warmth of the air when your eyes settle on Daemon at the center of the room. You wondered where he’d gone so quickly after the feast. His eyes flash open as your footfalls echo on the stone floor until you stop beside the tub and kneel. “My prince,” you greet. He’s always liked how you say his title, sweet and taunting, nigh like a songbird. Glancing away from his face, your gaze follows the line of his arm and the planes of his chest. He’s all lean and lithe muscle, sculpted from years of training and battle —the most seasoned warrior in all of the Seven Kingdoms.

Daemon takes your hand, reclaiming your attention. His fingers curl around yours, then he shifts and leans toward you, head dipping down to press a soft kiss to your knuckles —a knightly and unexpected gesture. He lets your hand go and settles back in the tub, and the look of an arrogant prince reclaims his expression. “Take off your dress,” Daemon demands, flicking the surface of the water. Ever the dutiful lady, you rise and reach for the ties of your nightdress —shedding the pale linen, baring yourself to Prince Daemon Targaryen.

He's been soaking for nigh half-an-hour, and the water is still warm —fire cannot harm a dragon, he told you once whilst he held his hand above a candle, toying with the flame. You sink into the water and find the space he’s made next to him, head half-resting on his shoulder. Daemon drapes his arm around your shoulders, and wordlessly, you begin tracing mindless patterns on his chest. “You fought well today,” you tell him after a while, thinking of how handsome he looked in his dark steel suit emblazoned with the sigil of House Targaryen and decorated with rubies.  

“I lost,” he reminds you, no lack of bitterness in his voice. He’d find a way to best the Merryweather boy, somehow.  

You reach for his hand, and he lets you take it, curious brows raised. “Yet they all speak of how commendable your effort and skills are” —your fingers find the scars on his knuckles, the calloused pads of his fingertips. “Reputation is its own victory,” you tell him, placing a kiss to the center of his palm before he retracts his hand. 

Daemon looks down at you. “Trying to mend my broken heart?”

You trace a curving line over his breast and up his neck, caressing his smooth and sharp jaw. “It’s I who am heartbroken, Daemon,” you say, smiling. He cuts his eyes at you, something dangerous lurking in his stare. “You told me you’d gift me a crown of roses upon your victory, and here I am, crownless.”

His lips quirk upward. “Dare speak to your prince with such impertinence?” His touch against your cheek is gentle, but you can still hear the slightest hint of a laugh in his voice. It’s the look in his cool eyes that speak of danger, though —he’s always been as wild and unpredictable as his dragon. You hold your breath as you look at him, expecting his kiss when he careens forward in the water, and when he leans in to meet your mouth, you’re struck by how desperate it feels in comparison to all the other times.

You’re impatient for more —always more— feeling his smile growing as he kisses you again, and you’re happy to give the Rogue Prince whatever he wishes. He always brings out your worse impulses. Sighing against his mouth, his tongue brushes against yours. He tastes like the spices from dinner, warm and enticing, and there’s still a hint of sweet wine lingering on his lips. Not even a maiden could refuse Daemon Targaryen after a single kiss like this —you hadn’t been able to either, but now all that is in the past. His fingers run along your neck, tilting your head to deepen the kiss, and the little moan you make is music.

“Who else would keep you on your toes if not I?” You question, breathless. Daemon hums his agreement against your neck, lips trailing further down your pulse.

He pulls you close against him until you’re nearly in his lap —his cock twitches against your leg, but he brushes you off when you try to reach for him. He’d not summoned you tonight for a quick fuck. Daemon’s hands trace along your ribs to cup your breasts and feel your nipples stiffen in his palm, and his slight hum of approval makes your thighs squeeze together instinctively. Tonight, he’s more interested in having his hands on you instead —reparations for his failure to give you a rose crown.

“Open your legs,” he orders, a hot whisper at your ear, and you do so without a second thought. His hand slips between them, teasing briefly over your inner thighs before he’s touching you. Your voice is a breathy whimper as you feel him stroke slowly over the folds of your cunt and up to circle your clit. He doesn’t enter you yet, not until he can get his fill of watching you squirm and shudder from such simple attention. “What would Lord Mooton say if he could see precious his daughter like this?” Daemon relents to your soft pleas and slips two fingers into you. You shudder against him as he works in and out of you, breath catching. Your father is the last thing you want to think of with Daemon’s fingers buried in your cunt. “You like this?” He asks, well aware of how quickly he has you rutting into his hand for more stimulation.

“Yes, Daemon,” you insist, wrapping your fingers around the back of his neck to draw his lips down to yours. His thumb rolls across your clit, and your head falls back.

His kiss is less fierce this time, deep and slow until your lungs ache. You can sense his mood improving as he fucks you with his hand, relishing all the little noises you make for him. “You’re mine, little dove,” he breathes in your ear, and you can’t disagree when your cunt is already squeezing so tight around him. He brushes over your clit again, and you lean your head forward to his shoulder this time. “I won’t let you wed another.” You know he speaks true.

You whimper when he nibbles at your earlobe. Cautiously, you move to touch him and slowly trace down his stomach and past his navel, earning you the smallest laugh of amusement from him. Permission enough to touch him. You take his hard cock in your hand, and he lets out a pleased sigh as you begin to stroke him. Watching him is mesmerizing, his movements as graceful as ever even as he rocks his hips into your touch, though his own rhythm between your thighs stutters momentarily with distraction. “Yours,” you agree between long kisses. The Seven and the Old Gods be damned, you’d made your bed among the dragons and intended to lay in it.

Both of you stay like that for a while, enjoying the feel of your bodies as you work to get each other off. He’s better at it than you are —this Lord of Flea Bottom— and it doesn’t take long to have you panting hard with every brush of his fingers inside you. He can tell you’re close from the way you’re clenching around his fingers, his tongue muffling greedy moans.

“Let me see you,” he says, and you’re powerless to deny him when you lift your head from his shoulder. His thumb brushes over your clit harder, and the tension in your body snaps, your arms wrapping around his back and holding him to you in a desperate need to ground yourself as you come on his fingers. Daemon’s fingers keep moving inside you, teasing you through your orgasm until you’re a dazed mess for him. You give yourself several long moments to recover, breathing in the perfumed steam of the bath to slow your frantic heartbeat. He withdraws his hand from between your legs, and you can’t hide your disappointment at the newly empty feeling inside you.

Daemon rises from the water —his cock hard and straining against his belly— and offers his hand to help you out of the tub, leading you over to his bed. You lay back as he wishes, and he parts your thighs again, rubbing along the wetness he finds there and lifts his fingers to his lips to taste you. The noise Daemon makes is a promise of next time, but you’re given no time to dwell on the thought when he crawls over you and settles between your legs, the head of his cock just pressing into your cunt —unexpected, he usually takes you like a bitch in heat.

Your hips rut up towards his impatiently, and a moment later, he’s inside you. He hisses sharply but can’t stop the roll of his hips, pushing his cock deeper into you. It’s a newfound boldness you do not wish to relinquish. “Behave,” Daemon scolds, but there’s none of the usual annoyance or ire in his voice. His mouth eager on yours as he guides your arms up to pin your wrists above your head. “Stay still.” You do. Relaxing into the down blankets and pillows while he laves your neck and breasts with affection.

His thumb brushes over your nipple, and he hears how you stutter out his name, and it only spurs his need to have you like this. “What a good little dove you are.” Daemon smirks, and you have to look away, almost ashamed of how red your face turns at his praises, but you squirm beneath him as he strokes along a sensitive spot inside of you.

You feel his lips ghosting over your closed eyelids, and you peek one open to watch him. There’s the faintest flush across his face as he stares down at you with such raw hunger it feels like you’re going to burn up from the heat of your bodies —like Caraxes has bathed you both in flames. You want to touch him, to run your fingers through his silver hair and down the toned muscles of his shoulders and back. You flex them impatiently but keep your hands obediently where he’d placed them.

He pinches a nipple between his fingers, and you jolt, letting out a shaky moan that has his cock throbbing inside you, and it rips a harsh groan from his lips. You reach for him without thinking, dragging your nails across his scalp before he takes your wrists and presses them harder into the bed. You wriggle under him and only earn a quick nip to your earlobe. “Told you to behave,” he reminds you sternly, but his scolding only makes you clench around him tighter. Daemon curses and his next kiss is hot and demanding, and you part your lips for his tongue without a moment’s hesitation.

“Please, Daemon,” you whimper, and he knows what it is you want and gives a small nod of agreement. You reach for him again, going for his silver locks to bring him back down into another kiss. You hold tight to him when he tries to separate, keeping his chest flush against yours, whispering and whimpering his name like sacred prayers as he presses himself deeper into you —his pelvis grinding against your clit.

He thrusts into you harder while stroking your clit, and you unravel for him, tension running through you like dragonfire until you’re unable to do anything more than shudder beneath him. “Daemon,” you whimper, muscles twitching uselessly as he teases you through it. You’re too focused on your blood pounding in your ears to fully appreciate his reaction to you, his breaths ragged, and pupils blown wide with his own arousal at how you spasm around his aching cock. It’s a sight you’re not like to see again —you very well may never see your prince like this again.

You try to wrap yourself around his waist and pull him further into you —wanting to help him find his release— but instead, your legs are pressed firmly into the bed. “No,” he says through rough kisses, the last one nipping sharply at your bottom lip. He groans, feeling his cock twitch in anticipation of release. 

Daemon pulls out of your cunt and leaves you empty. You almost complain, but he shushes you by dragging your hand down to his cock —slick and throbbing from all your efforts— and you follow his lead without instruction. His fingers are warm around yours as he guides you. He looks tragically beautiful when he comes, his head tilted back and mouth slightly open in a sharp gasp at the shiver running through his body. His cock twitches in your grasp, coating your hand and stomach in his sticky seed —he won’t risk a bastard child.

He moves to lay beside you, more relaxed than he’s been in a fortnight. You roll onto your side and look him over. This is far from your first time entertaining the prince in his bed —even being of noble blood, you know how this works. All the Seven Kingdoms know you are his mistress, even true love perhaps, but he is already sworn to another, and you must act as though the whispers and rumors are lies. It always hurts when you must leave, but you’d been foolish enough to cast your heart to the son of the dragon, and now you must suffer the price. “Do you require anything else, my prince?” You query.

Daemon turns his head to look at you, flushed and glowing. “Mmm” —he reaches for you, fingers trailing along your cheek and back into your hair— “stay.” The request surprises you, but you’ll indulge him and your own heart. A comfortable silence lingers until Daemon shifts, gathering you up in his arms to lay you down on the bed properly and offers a rag to clean yourself with as he does the same. When he returns to your side, Daemon rests his head on your breast and lets you hold him, humming sweetly as the songbirds, to an age-old lullaby. We'll sleep when the morning comes, and we'll rise by the sound of the birdsongs. And the morning will come too soon.

[ taglist: @mrsragnarlodbrok @erzsebetrosztoczy @certifiedlittleshit ] if your name is italicized, tumblr would not let me tag you. if you’d like to be added to my Game of Thrones/House of the Dragon taglist, just let me know with this Google Form!

#Daemon Targaryen #Daemon Targaryen x Reader #Daemon x Reader #Daemon Targaryen Fanfic #House of the Dragon #Matt Smith #my writing #setting for this fic is before HotD and the DotD begins #he came for me y'all and i cannot help it #between him and Criston Cole woo boy #if i wasnt sold on the casting i am now #soon to be everyones favorite bastards

[dljcem]

ೃ༄ Apple Cider

johnny cade x gn!reader

warnings: not beta or proof read, brief mentions of smoking/injury, prompt credits to @/lovemeagoodprompt

5 times johnny wanted to tell you he loves you + 1 time he finally did !

i.

Johnny couldn’t quite tell what you were talking about anymore. Somewhere in the conversation, he’d lost track of your commentary—who was running away, who was in jail, who was going with who, who stole what and where and why…

He was about to nod, feign (or try to, at least) some form of understanding, when you suddenly stopped.

“What?” he queries, wiping his cheeks with the back of his hand. “Do I have something on my face?”

Without saying a word, you lean in, skimming the edge of his jacket collar before folding it down. A deep flush covers his features—he can only watch in stunned silence as you regain your earlier position, almost like nothing had ever happened.

“There!” you smile brightly at him; he swears his heart stops. He’s about to say something, but you promptly cut him off, resuming whatever story you’d been sharing before.

ii.

Johnny rummages through his pockets for what feels like the tenth time—still, the familiar weight of his lighter is nowhere to be found. A smile plays on your lips upon seeing his predicament; he doesn’t seem to notice, too caught up in frustration.

You retrieve your own lighter, tucked safely into the back of your jeans, and place it in his palm. That gets his attention.

“Keep it.”

He does so with hesitance, lights his cigarette and takes a long drag. Albeit a relatively small gesture, it has his head spinning—only you could make him swoon with something as insignificant.

“Thanks, Y/N.” he mumbles, averting his gaze before you can sense there’s something amiss. He drowns out the words threatening to spill from his mouth with smoke.

iii.

Johnny doesn’t like parties. Not the alcohol, or the music, or the outright concerning amounts of people. He does like you, though—perhaps that’s why he’s sitting on some flimsy couch instead of walking home.

His arm is going numb under the weight of your head, yet he doesn’t move a muscle. He briefly wonders how you sleep amidst such chaos; soundly, by the looks of it.

You stir with a small noise, further burying your face in his shoulder. He knows then he’ll be there all night. He can’t bring himself to disrupt your rest when you’re oh so peaceful.

“Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

The rest goes unsaid.

iv.

Johnny lets you brush his hair back, doesn’t flinch as you press an antiseptic-doused cotton ball to the cut on his temple. The only sign of discomfort is the subtle creasing of his brows—somehow, you still catch on.

“You alright?”

He nods, straining a quick response to appease your concerns. He instinctively reaches up, traces the jagged outline of the wound. He knows for a fact it’ll leave a scar; an ugly one, at that.

“It’s not all bad,” you shrug, reading his mind once again, “makes you look tough.”

He looks away and tries to convince himself you mean nothing by it.

v.

Johnny rests his back on the grass, damp from the morning rain. You’re laying only a few inches away, hair splayed in different directions. He watches as you search for patterns in the stars—amidst your concentration, you don’t notice his gaze.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” you prop yourself up on your elbows to get a closer look, smile because you’ve finally found what you were looking for (or, rather, something close to it.)

“…yeah.”

He glances at the dark sky; finds that its not nearly as pretty as you.

vi.

Johnny looks at the horizon, where the setting sun casts various shades of orange. The porch steps are rough against his knees, old and worn from years of use—still, he is calm. You seem to share the sentiment, much quieter than you normally are.

“Hey, Y/N?” his question is but a whisper; you hum in acknowledgment.

“I think I love you.”

Before he can regret it, you’re leaning your head on his shoulder. And, for once, you meet his eyes.

“I love you too, Johnny.”

#johnny cade x reader #johnny x reader #johnny cade headcanons #johnny cade imagine #johnny cade #johnnycake #the outsiders headcanons #the outsiders x reader #ponyboy curtis #dallas winston #the outsiders #the outsiders fluff #the outsiders johnny #ralph macchio #fluff #1965 #greasers #dljcem

[kissitbttr]

oh em gee do you think reader and miguel would be homecoming and queen?!?1!1 judging from their reputation from what i’ve read i feel like they’d defo win the titles tbh. imagine them winning it thoo 🥹🥹

“what do you mean i won?” you mutter to yourself as you look around, all eyes are now set on your frozen figure,

“oh my god this is actually crazy. homecoming queen has always been from sorority girls, never a cheerleader. babe you’re making a history!” gloria squeals, squeezing your hand,

this can’t be happening. you didn’t even know that you made it to the candidates list!

miguel, who’s already standing on stage with a big smile on his face and a crown perched on his head. hands clapping louder than the people in the room, mainly cheering for himself because now he doesn’t have to worry about dancing with a random girl.

gloria nudges you in the elbow to get you moving, making you glare at her but your legs finding themself to begin walking towards the stage. with a nervous yet awkward smile, you nod your head to some who congratulates you.

you even catch some of the sorority girls giving you a disgusting look while whispering to each other.

‘fuck. you’ you mouth before blowing a sarcastic kiss, catching them by surprise,

miguel chuckles at your attitude, internally patting himself in the back for having a sassy girlfriend. your gaze move to his, and in seconds your smile turn into a genuine one. big beautiful eyes smiling at him too,

it’s amazing how he can easily tell the difference between your fake and reals ones, isn’t it?

as you begin walking up to the stage, miguel goes breathless. raking his eyes up and down your body shamelessly. he thinks that you look gorgeous every day but tonight is different.

a very simple yet elegant, golden satin dress that hovers just a little bit above the ankles. a slit on the left of your thick thigh, giving him the perfect view of his favorite features from you. the v cut of the dress, giving him a perfect view of your plump breasts. long hair settles into its natural flow.

overall, you look like an angel. and he has a hard time keeping his eyes off of you.

“your homecoming queen and king, ladies and gentleman!” the host announces, making the crowd erupt in cheers,

you giggle at how gloria and beck cheering for you the loudest, giving them a wave. then you finally look over to the side only to see miguel is already entranced with you. his eyes taking you all in. if a gaze could speak, it would tell you that not enough words in dictionary could describe how perfect you look tonight, and how he still needs to wrap around the fact that he gets to call you his.

“why are you looking at me like that?” you smile when he reaches out to slides his hand between yours, pulling you to him,

he shrugs, guiding you down to the dance floor. “you just.. fuck… how is it possible, mi amor? para lucir así de perfecta”

your cheeks warms under his gaze. “i-i don’t know”

“speechless aren’t we?” he pulls a joke, making you roll your eyes,

“don’t make me even more nervous. this feels weird” you confess, his arms move down to your hips. “did you put my name on the ballot or something?”

“i didn’t i swear.” he shakes his head, “but that sounds like something i would do”

“i know” you rest your chin on his chest as you both slowly sway side to side. the song ‘one sweet day’ by mariah carey and boyz ii men playing in the background. both of your favorites.

something, somehow comes over miguel. the way your beautiful eyes glinting with love while looking up to him, soft smile perches on your pretty lips. the crowd circling around the two of you, watching the beautiful couple sharing a dance as a newly wed and—

wait. shit

newly wed?

“thinking quite hard there, baby” you drop a comment at the way his eyes seem to look.. gone. “care to elaborate?”

“just… this” he gestures,

“us dancing? why?” your hands on his chest now, head tilting to the side in curiosity,

“it’s like taking a glimpse of us getting married someday” he blurts out,

and there’s where you feel your heart fails to find a steady rhythm of its beat. his eyes wander across the room, mentioning a couple of things about how he would love it if ice sculptures didn’t make it at yours and his wedding. he thinks it’s useless,

you guess he can’t exactly spot the look on your face being both stunned and warmed by his confession. too busy taking notes on what you both should and should not have at the reception.

he.. thought of getting married ? to you ?

“would you like that, muñeca? white and pink flowers too. for the decorations. they would look so pretty”

all of these words jumping off his mouth seems like nothing to him, because maybe he thinks of it as one that he is so sure of and that you would probably agree with.

but little does he know, it’s everything to you. and you are trying your best to act your cool

“as long as i get to pick the flavor of the cake” you smile up at him

#frat!miguel #miguel o’hara blurbs

[guyfieriii]

Sad Girl

This piece is dedicated to the lovely @randomchick546 for this ask. Thank you so so much for patiently waiting! This is so long overdue, I just hope its worth the wait and I did your prompt justice!

Be prepared for a bucket full of angst and then some.

Pairing: John Price x f!Reader Warnings: Explicit Sexual Scenes

You’re embossed with memories of his touch, his lips. 

It’s jarring — just how often your mind hurtles to a place, a moment, a memory you’ve shared. You walk by the smoke shop, half a mile out of your usual route to campus just to breathe it in. Wafts of tobacco, spice, and a lingering sweetness — you’re right back there with him. 

“Something on your mind, love?” 

Fuck. 

He sounds so genuine in his concern, the truth almost slips out.

You’re leaving tomorrow, John.

“I — Nothing.” There’s this constant pressure that’s settled deep within your chest — it tightens ever so slightly. It coils around and travels upwards, burning your throat like bile. Unspoken truths, veiled emotions. It obturates your mind and you bite back the impulse to succumb to the cacoethes. The strain of it makes you ache.  

It’s better than the alternative. 

You wonder if you’ve left as much of a lasting effect on him, as he has on you. You must have. Why else would he come back? 

He’s gone, often for months at a time, but every time he comes back home, he goes searching for you. 

It’s always the same. 

Can I see you? Let me see you. 

You make the obligatory half-assed attempt at resisting his call. It’s a pasquinade. A pitiful farce you undergo to make yourself feel better. Make you feel less desperate. Which you are. 

Desperate to stay away for self-preservation and yet desperate for another moment back in his arms. 

You’re pulled taut, being ushered by the opacity of pure need and want. It’s thick and it clings. 

So you dither for a moment, pretend to pause before saying yes. 

As if you haven’t been counting the days. 

He must, too. Why else would he come back? 

In all likelihood, it’s just another form of casuistry you’ve contrived as a balm for that ache. 

Wishful thinking. 

Laughable. Arbitrary. 

Yes, John. 

Always, John. 

You think back to the moment you met him. It wasn’t happenstance. Not the kind of meet-cute you see in films and hear about in songs. 

This isn’t that kind of story. 

It was utterly manufactured. From the second you laid eyes on him. He was seated at the far end of the bar, staring into a half-empty glass clasped firmly in his grip. He looked at it as though it was his only place of solace. 

Until he met you.

He seemed lost, but his posture betrayed him — rigid, attentive, in absolute cognizance of his surroundings. 

It’s a fragmentary attempt, then, to try and find relief. 

You stare. You assess. You memorize. For a moment too long, perhaps. 

There’s a pulse in his shoulder, as he lifts his glass to his lips. As though he notices you out of peripherals.

A revelation that doesn’t come to you quickly enough, and suddenly you’re caught. He looks at you, brow raised in a silent question. Shame and embarrassment creep up your chest and you���re left speechless, caught red-handed in your voyeuristic tendencies. 

What he does next, is unexpected. 

He raises his glass to you, a whisper of a smile beneath his moustache. It’s a gesture you reciprocate. 

Moments pass and neither of you looks away. It’s unnerving, being the subject of unremitting attention. A pharisaic thought coming from you, regardless, it’s somehow agitating and euphoric in equal measures. 

You’re hyperaware of his gaze on you, everything else in the background seems to meld into a kaleidoscope of cobalt and azure. 

Neither of you makes an attempt to move and eventually the spell breaks and he turns away. 

You have no right to feel as disappointed as you do. 

A precursor, really, for what’s to come. 

You see him again, the two of you still seated at opposite ends of the bar. A sea of people between you, painfully present yet quite inconsequential. There are friends commemorating something or the other, couples locked in intimate conversations, some closer than others, and a few singles, out on the prowl. Then there’s you and him. 

Your silent exchange resumes. You raise your glasses in unspoken cheers, locked eyes, fighting the urge to stand and cross this trodden path to the other side. 

You try and imagine it — his voice. 

The way it would eclipse you, weighted, full of husk and honeyed, it would cling to your memory. The way it would carry through the room, cut through the sea of noise in succinct clarity. It would set you alight, much like his gaze. 

You don’t mind it. 

You’d prefer it. The burn — a similar way to the scotch he just bought you.

The bartender had placed the glass down promptly just as you took your seat. 

“From the gentleman down the bar.” He said. 

Somehow, without looking, you knew. 

You couldn’t know for certain, of course. Not unless you crossed the distance between you and him. It’s an enticing prospect, but you hold back. 

So does he. 

A week goes by, the two of you are locked in a battle for consistency. The only meaningful exchange that happens, is the swap of your drinks. A scotch for you, a gin and tonic for him. You almost laughed at the near-comical look he pulled when you bought him one, but he drank it all, nevertheless. 

It started out as engaging, almost tantalizing, given that both of you were clearly holding back. A little tease. Some back and forth. No words are spoken, yet a conversation is held. His measured cadences are all conveyed in a single look, and you’re left wanting for more. 

A clear sign, if there ever was one. 

Eventually, you’ve had enough. Your impatience gets the better of you, however, you can’t be the one to make the first move. So you wait. You wait at the threshold of the pub, unwilling to cross it, watching him from afar. Trying to find that same impatience that one could wring out of you within him. 

Wishful thinking. 

You walk around the block once, twice, before taking another quick glance to see him still at the bar. You watch the late-night traffic pass by in a haze of taillights just to pass the time. 

An hour goes by, and you’re worried you’ve miscalculated. By the looks of it, he seems to be leisurely enjoying a drink, and you’re the fool who’s freezing out in the cold to prove a point. The late autumn chill sets deep within your bones and you almost cave in just for the warmth but you persevere, and your tenacity is rewarded. 

“I missed you in there.” His voice is just as you had imagined it. 

It does burn. 

You wait a breath before turning around to see him, nonchalant, leaning against the brick wall of the pub. He has a knowing smile on his face like he’s known what you’ve been up to all this time. 

“Been waiting out here for long, love?” He deftly lights a cigar, taking in a short puff, smoke wafting out from the cusp of his lips in quick bursts. 

“I—” You had words planned. Intricately thought out, in an effort to be clever. In an effort to impress. You blame the academic in you, you’re always out to galvanize your way onto someone’s memory through the sheer virtuosity of your intellect. So, you prepare and agonize over every interaction. 

He did it without even trying. 

“Yes.” There’s something about him, something within the way he looks at you that you don’t even bother with a lie. 

“Like to make a man wait, do you?” He takes a step forward, unyielding in his gaze.

“In some cases. It’s not like you were itching to make a move.” You challenge back, your heart thrumming in your chest, your breath quickening as he takes another step forth. 

“I was biding my time.” He says, simply. 

“For what?” You counter. 

“Wanted to see if I—” He’s inches away from you now, the scent of him engulfs you — firewood smoke, vanilla, and spice. You wonder if he tastes the same. 

“Yes?” You rasp, mouth suddenly dry. You run your tongue across your bottom lip, as your gaze falls on his, the cigar still clutched between his teeth. 

“Does it matter?” He asks in a way that seems redundant. Like he already knows the answer. 

“Not really.” You whisper and he smiles. 

“Can I see you, darling?”

A year has passed. His effect on you remains the same. Some kind of trance in a form of limbo. Forever stuck between the rapture that comes with having captured John’s attention the way you have, and the longing in the time that holds in between. There is no moderation, only extremes. 

“Can I see you, darling?” He asks again.

No, John. I don’t like it when you go away.

“Yes, John.” 

It’s a prison of your own making, because he was nothing if not upfront about his situation. The moment the two of you realized you wanted this to be more than a one-night thing he had been straightforward about his circumstances. 

“I’ll be gone for long stretches, darling. Is that something—”

“You worry too much, John. What’s that they say about absences and hearts?”

He looks pleased and you’re elated. 

The longest he had been away at a stretch was eight weeks. The first two went by fairly quickly. 

You were still in a state of bliss after an entire week spent with him. All your time was split evenly in between classes and John. You’d often go to a class with his shirt on, the smell of him clinging to you. 

The same shirt now hangs in your closet. It doesn’t smell like him anymore.

Your limbs ached and your mind was left reeling after a week of sleep deprivation and sex, but you revelled in it. All that remained was lasting proof of your time with him — something to cling on to. 

The third and fourth week, that feeling had subsided and your memory of him faltered. Late at night you’d lay in bed, hands nestled between your thighs as you desperately rummaged through memories of your time with him. If your imagination did its work right, his hands would replace yours. You could feel the weight of his body, the shape of him, the warmth. His voice in your ear, breathless, wanting. 

“Tell me how bad you want it, darling. Fuckin’ tell me an’ I’ll give it to ya.”

It still burned. 

Even when he’s not there.

The last stretch of the time spent in his absence was pure agony. You try find a substitute, nothing perfect but something to pass the time. 

All in vain. 

Any hands that aren’t his just make the lack of them all the more apparent. John’s hands, you feel, were made for you — to mold and shape and caress. Ruin, even. 

His absence transforms the ruin into absolution. 

Any seeming imitation just adds insult to injury, no matter who it is. You’re left desiring, more than you were before. A feeling that once simmered beneath the surface would surge through, impossible to ignore. 

Your skin itches, trying its hardest to grasp at the remnants of his touch, but the slate is practically wiped clean. All you can do is wait. Patiently, as far as outward expressions go. You’re composed for John’s benefit. Indifferent, almost. 

Cool. Calm. Collected. 

Or perhaps—

“Do you think about me when you’re away?”

There’s a pause. A slight hitch in his breath. His cock still sheathed deep within you, brows furrowing in confusion as though he might have misheard what you said. 

You instantly wish you could take it back. It’s a meaningless question anyway, one uttered in a moment of mind-numbing bliss as walls crumbled down and you faltered. You forgot the carefully constructed façade you maintained. Just long enough for a transitory spill of some truth. 

It’s freeing — you want to keep going, but you can’t. You feel it bubble beneath the surface, pressing outward and up. You turn away — you have to. The prying look that shadows his expression threatens to wring you out of every thought you’ve ever had. You’d spill them all. Open, like a faucet. What would flow through is months of hunger, ache. Enduring an itch that never fucking subsides. You’d confess to it all — on your knees. Every sin. Every passing iniquity. 

And hope for absolution. 

Wishful fucking thinking. 

His fingers grasp your chin in a firm hold. Not bruising, not even one that ushers you to look back at him. Just firm. Like he’s allowing you to continue, asking for more rather than demand it. 

You’re a creature of habit. 

You concede. 

You’re met with a fierce look, accusation lay plain like a chrisom shading his eyes. It doesn’t frighten you. You’re exhilarated, now that the shame has passed. 

What you said, it cannot be undone. You’ve forced his hand, drawn out a reaction. 

He must confess as well. 

He must—

“What do you want me to tell you?” He whispers harshly. 

“John—“ You begin,

His hips jerk forward — forceful, emphatic. Like he’s trying to make his question sink in deeper.

“Fuck— John, I—” You barely gasp out, lungs burning under the pressure of this sudden change. You’re breathless, quivering, and oh so ready. You’re primed — because this is it. It takes every ounce of self-control you have not to make your gratification too apparent. 

You sense it. His confession. It’s what you’ve spent months wondering, finally coming to light. 

His thrusts are unforgivable, deep and hard. The kind that reverberate up your spine and make your teeth shatter. 

“Think about nothin’ else but you, my darling.” His chuckle is humourless and disbelieving like he can’t fathom how you’ve managed to yield this confession out of him.

Makes it feel like an accomplishment all the more. 

You don’t even bother to hide your grin. 

“You’re a fuckin’ menace, y’know that?” His lips are at your ear, your entire frame now eclipsed by his. Your hands find purchase across his shoulders, wide, rippling with tense musculature as he presses himself into you, every inch of skin between the two of you aligned. The warmth that rolls off him has you nearly feverish. 

Your fingers trace constellations of gunshot wounds that embellish the broad expanse of his back. Had you more timed you’d have counted them all, asked for the story behind each one. Ease the memory, perhaps with a kiss. He’d indulge you, you’re sure of it. 

You might not have been before, but now—

“Get off on it, don’t ya?” The timing of his words is immaculate — your cunt spasming around his cock in synchronicity with every twitch his as he spills himself into you. You come undone, once again with a shivered moan and a breathy chorus of ‘Yes, John’. 

“That’s fucking right. Just like that.“ He murmurs appreciatively, tracing your collarbone with a delicate swipe of his tongue. “So good for me.”

He’s showered you with praise before, even with repetition. He’s told you how well you take him. He’s confessed to how good he feels buried in you. It’s evident with how he remains within — till he softens, just encased in your warmth like he’s meant to be there. He’ll taste you like a man starved and declare he’d die a happy man buried between your legs. You’ve heard it before. 

For a little while, it had lost its novelty. 

But now—

You’re invigorated in this new achievement of yours, in this latest revelation. You’re not the only one who suffers. 

He aches, too. 

There is something to be said about this feeling of solidarity. Knowing you’re not alone somehow serves as a balm. You’re apart and it’s torturous, but he feels it too. 

Or— 

Or maybe it’s just your ego that likes being stroked. 

If you were to go off of the near perverse triumph you feel right now, you’d bet on the latter. 

“I’ll send you off with a little present.” You say. “Since you miss me so much.”

“Mm? What’s that?” He husks lazily, placid oases gleaming back at you. It’s painfully intimate — this moment. You want to let the time still, with the two of you under this canopy of bliss and deepened confessions. You want to let the words sink in and let the seconds pass slower. 

They don’t. 

“Get your phone, John.” 

“Sending a soldier off with a little photo, are you?”

“Not a photo. No.” 

That gets this attention. 

He fucks you again as a way of thanks, and as the hours dwindle to the early morning and you lay enveloped in each other's arms, you remind him of it. 

It’s not how you expect it to go. It’s gentle, almost loving. He takes his time with you, prolongs every action, savours every response. He treats this gift like a genuine one, unwrapping you with care and precision. 

Or maybe that’s just the army man in him. 

He follows your lead for most of it, save for one request he makes at the end. 

“Say it.”

“What, John?”

“Say you’ll miss me.”

You pause. He falters for a moment, unsure.

But still--

“I’ll miss you.”

It hurts that he looks surprised. 

You see him again, two months later. He says it’s different. He says he’s staying longer this time. 

“Spend it with me?” He asks. 

He asks. 

You’d think after all this time he’d know better. 

You brace yourself not to answer too quickly and give yourself away. Barring the one time, there haven’t been any clandestine confessions made between the two of you.  

It’s a gift — more time. A thing that only existed in the confines of your imagination now dares to turn into a reality. 

You almost don’t believe it. It’s too good to be true. 

You’re too used to missing him, it’s made you wary of the alternative. 

You just can’t help yourself. 

“Don’t you have other people to see, John?”

There’s an unmistakable clench in his jaw when he sharply turns away as if you slapped him. You wait with bated breath for the pin to drop, for a crack in the armour. You’d spend all this added time just trying to chisel at fissures that form — they have in the past only to close too soon. 

And now—

You hurt him. If only he’d admit it. 

“Rather see you, is all.”

It’s a statement. Blank. Matter of fact. It might assuage most people, but you aren’t most people. They aren’t the ones who get attached in an untenable situation. They don’t keep a distance as a form of self-preservation, definitely not as unsuccessfully as yourself at any rate. They would see Captain Price for the man he is — dutiful. Unattainable. Larger than life, even. They’d be pleased with his unvarnished reasoning and take what they are given with a smile. 

So do you. 

It’s just not real. 

You’re a glutton for agony. It’s like you’re hardwired to seek it. Persistence is second nature — even when you set yourself up for circumstances that are less than ideal, you’ll see your way through to the end.

You fuck. Relentlessly. Despite having the extra time on hand, both you and he act like it’s a dwindling commodity. 

You try to find your chance in between the heated touches, the whines, and the moans. Your name is a song perpetually at the cusp of his lips — at times a form of supplication in a chorale of many others. 

“Please, love.”

“Jus’ like that. Fuckin’ take it.”

“So pretty. So perfect.”

“That’s it, darling.”

His touch remains impenitent — hard, rough, relentless. 

His voice is a take dragging across a pebbled path — textured, heavy. It travels down your skin in a shroud of his warm breath. 

The words caress, but his voice—

Burns.  

It’s only his words that at the outlier. The striking contrast of white along a canvas of red. 

That’s how you picture it. 

They never cease, even when it’s you and him, breathless, coming down from a high. You’re spent, covered in a sheen of sweat. Limbs tingling from the exertion. Your eyes are heavy with sleep. The slight movement of his chest, the even timed up and down of his breathing are practically soporific. 

However, you maintain your wits long enough to find a moment’s interlude, just to say—

“John, I’m—”

Sorry. 

Too late. There’s nothing to chisel at, no gap slither past. 

“Shhh. Don’t.”

You know better than to make another attempt. 

Feigned apathy, then. For the remainder of the time. 

It’s somehow harder now and you’re not sure why. It’s not as if you haven’t perfected the art of quiet disappointment. Perhaps it’s because you’ve seen past the rubble, and into the man. You’ve experienced a slice of that torturous ‘what if?’. Maybe now, the evident reality of your situation isn’t that easy to ignore. 

When he leaves, as he always does you come to a decision. Since you can’t possibly ask for more, it’s the to cut your losses. You move on. You’ve memorized and cataloged enough of him to simmer the pain. You won’t be sad. It’ll be fine. You’ll be good. 

You’ll be—

“Can I see you, love? Just tonight.”

“Yes, John.”

#john price x reader #price x reader #john price x you #captain john price x you #captain john price x reader #john price #captain john price #mw2 price #mw2 x reader #mw2 fanfic #mwii #cod mwii #mw2 #mw2 imagine #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod:mw2 #cod imagine #cod smut #call of duty imagine #call of duty fanfic

[petersbaby]

(Can’t) Sleep - Eddie Munson x reader

Warnings: vague mentions of abuse/trouble at home, oral (f receiving), fingering, smut, cum

I DONT KNOW IF IT SNOWS IN INDIANA LOL

-

“Hey, eds. Can you come get me? You said to call you if I ever need you and I need you now.” You say shakily into the phone after he picks up.

“Oh, yeah. Of course. Give me a few and I’ll be right there.”

“K. Thank you.”

Eddie jumps up from the couch right away, rushing to action. He tries to put on his shoes so fast that he falls over and heads out to his van.

You felt bad, borderline awful, because it was snowing and already starting to get dark out but you had to leave and he was the first thing to come to mind when you wanted safety. The fact he didn’t even think for a second before saying “of course” sort of melted your heart, but you still felt guilty.

Either way, you go to your room, and change into some warm clothes and pack your backpack with a few things you’d need like medication and makeup and an outfit to sleep in. You were gonna sleep over, but he just had no idea yet because you hadn’t asked him. You were extremely confident, however, in the probability he’ll say yes.

You stand in your living room, looking out the window for headlights on your dim street. Soon enough you see them, not the brightest but just enough for him to see to drive.

You made him drive in the freezing cold and the dark in his piece of shit van that barely made its way around every day, but he’s not thinking about it that way. You wanted him. You needed him. And to feel that from someone was something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

You trudge outside, walking up to open the passenger side door and toss your bag in the floor next to your feet on the floorboard after you get in.

“You okay?” He asks, concerned, dark eyes still somehow shimmering.

“I’ll be okay. Thank you, again. I know this probably isn’t what you wanted to do with your Saturday night.”

“Yeah, you actually caused me to miss the red carpet event and then the fashion show I was going to. I was actually gonna star IN the fashion show. But yeah, you just had to go and crush my dreams.”

“Shut up.” You smile, and you ride the rest of the way back to his house in comfortable silence. You pull into his driveway and he turns off the car, unbuckling as you do the same.

“Here.” He takes your backpack and slings it over his shoulder to carry it in for you and you meekly follow behind him to the front door.

“So like I was saying, I’m actually quite famous. The mansion I usually live in is being cleaned so we’re gonna have to tough it out here. Deplorable living conditions, if you ask me.” He gestures his arms wide at the general area around him.

“Well even if it has to be in this sad little home, I’m honored that you took time out of your schedule to hang out with me.” You say sarcastically, matching his energy.

“You wanna smoke?” He offers, trying to make you feel at home the best way he knows how.

“I’m okay, that shit makes me paranoid.”

“Ah, gotcha. Well, what do you wanna do?”

“You got any movies?”

He looks at you as if you just asked the most stupid question anyones ever asked.

“Do I have any movies? Come on. Of course I have movies.”

He walks towards his bedroom and you assume he wants you to follow him, so you do, and you’re met with what is undoubtedly very much a teenage boy’s room.

“Sorry, just don’t look at all the shit. There’s a ton of shit in the floor but the bed is fine.”

You nod and start to go towards the bed.

“Well-wait…” he stops you, seeming to think for a minute. “Nah, yeah the bed should be fine.” He tells you as he collects a pile of tapes in his arms. He comes to you, dropping them all on the bed beside you where you sat perched on the edge.

“Wow. You really did have movies.”

“What did I say?”

The sarcasm, again. Charming, very sweet in a way.

“I’m assuming you want me to pick one…. Here.” You pick up and hand him the copy of Texas Chainsaw Massacre and he seems impressed by your choice.

“Huh. Wasn’t expecting that one. You look more like a rom-com typa girl.”

You tilt your head in confusion.

“No, not in a mean way. This is perfect.” He clarifies. He goes to put all the other tapes back onto the shitty table holding up his TV and you start to unlace your sneakers and kick them off. You slip your jacket off your shoulders, feeling so much lighter immediately.

“Yeah, get comfy. It’s okay. I won’t bite ya.” He glances back at you and you smile to yourself. You crawl over to the side of the bed that’s against the wall and sit there, legs crisscrossed.

“Alright.” He announces as the movie is in and he starts to do the same, kicking off his boots and shedding his vest and leather jacket.

“You can uh… you can get under the covers if you want to. All yours.”

There was a slight awkwardness there, you never having been in his room like this before. It was oddly comfortable, kinda like home, but also new and unfamiliar. You break the silence.

“But for real, you actually didn’t have any plans? Anything I messed up?”

“No. You wanna know my plans? They’re pretty much the same every weekend. I lay here, smoke weed, watch movies.”

“Oh. I guess that’s nice.”

“What about you, what’s going on with you? Something happen?”

“Yeah, just uh… just my dad. It’s nothing new, but tonight I just couldn’t really handle it. I had this overwhelming need to get out of there, I felt like I was suffocating on all the bitterness and anger in the air of the house.”

“Damn.”

You giggle a little.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to just say that.” He starts to ramble, desperately trying to defend himself and clarify that he didn’t mean to sound rude.

“It’s okay. What can I possibly expect you to say? It’s fine.” You shrug.

“Yeah, I just feel like that was a little insensitive on my part. I don’t have any advice, because I don’t even fuckin’ have a dad. They suck.”

“Yep. Pretty much.”

You sit together for a moment, watching the title screen play out,

“Thank you for being there, eds. Thank you for being here, I mean.” You say softly, head falling to the side to rest on his shoulder, a gesture he felt with great warmth.

“It’s no problem. I told you I would be, didn’t I? From the first time we met. It means a lot to me too, because it makes me feel like you’re starting to trust me.”

“I trust you, stupid. I already trust you.” You joke, but meaning the general message.

“Really?”

“Mhm.”

He places a hand to rest on your knee, the one closest to him and mindlessly runs his thumb in gentle circles. Your head stays where it’s at, finding comfort on him. You stay like this for a while, until about halfway through the movie.

“Do you wanna lay down? No, that sounds weird. I mean, just lay down and you can keep resting your head on my shoulder. Seems like you like that. And that sounded cocky. I’m digging myself into a hole right now.” He rambles.

“Yes, we can lay down.” You say calmly, trying to give off the vibe that he doesn’t need to be so nervous around you. You do, you on your side and him on his back and arm out as you slip between his arm and his body, effectively giving him the opportunity to wrap his arm around you. He does, and you snuggle into his shoulder, closing your eyes before you know it.

-

“Hey. Eds.” You whisper, having awaken in pitch black and silence except for the bugs outside and the hum of fluorescent lighting from the streetlights.

“Hey.” You repeat, shaking him a bit this time. He looked so sweet, so soft, fast asleep. You felt bad about waking him but you needed to.

“Hmm?” He stirs, eyes squinting as they open up slowly.

“It’s too dark in here. And too quiet. I’m scared.”

“Oh, you’re afraid of the dark. Shit, sorry.” His voice is groggy with sleep and he rolls over to flip on his lamp on the bedside table.

“And can you put in another movie? I don’t care which one.”

“Course.” He gets up out of the bed, walking over to the tv and you realize you both fell asleep in your daytime clothes and on top of the covers. You lift the blanket up just in time for him to crawl under it right next to you.

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry, you can go back to sleep now.”

“Are you gonna go back to sleep to?”

“No, probably not right now, anyways.”

“Then I won’t either.”

“Okay.” You whisper like you’re at a slumber party and your friend’s mom told you guys to be quiet, but it’s just the two of you. He points this out and that’s when you realize.

“So sweet. Little whispers.” He muses, pretty smile on his face.

“Be quiet.” You say softly, smiling, only a bit louder than a whisper.

It was crazy, insane, almost incomprehensible how fast it happened. The moment the words finished falling from your mouth, your lips were on his or maybe his were on yours, you didn’t even really know who went for it but that didn’t matter as sparks lit up your whole body.

You swear with how intense the fireworks are that you’re glowing from the inside out. Like if he looked at you, he could see all the mini explosions going off in your heart and all around your stomach, and before you know it you’re whimpering with need. Once he hears this, he disconnects your lips.

“Hey, you know what you’re doing, right?”

“Wha-what do you mean?” You ask, confusedly.

“Like you really meant to kiss me.”

So it was you.

“Like, just making sure you’re not like half asleep and not thinking straight. Or maybe you’re just scared and that’s why, but either way we probably shouldn’t if you don’t mean it.”

“Yes, I meant to. And I really want to again. Unless you don’t-“

Your sentence cuts off when he closes the distance between you two again. It becomes fairly intense, a little bit messy as his tongue slides across your lips and you part them, allowing him into your mouth.

You make out with each other as if you’ve done it a million times before, like your lips and tongues are already very familiar with each other even though this is the first time they’ve met.

Both laying on your sides, facing each other, you bring your hand to cup his face and pull it impossibly closer to yours, hand then snaking around to the back of his neck where you reached up to run your fingers roughly through his hair at the back of his scalp.

“Fuck,” he breathes, grabbing your hips and pulling your body so much closer to his that they’re pressing against each other and you feel something hard brushing against your thigh when he does this. He starts to wander, but stops.

He tries silently to think of a nice way to say “can I touch your ass” but evidently comes up short.

“Keep going.” You assure him.

His hands move the rest of the way down to your ass where he kneads over and over, taking handfuls, squeezing, pushing. Pushing and pushing until he’s basically grinding your body against his.

“Take these off, please.” You pull away to say, reaching down to feel the way his cock was incredibly hard and straining against his jeans. You take it in your hand and squeeze his bulge gently but also firm.

“Jesus fuck. Ah- okay.” He’s taken aback for a moment but nods, taking his pants off and leaving him in his boxers and loose fitting band tee. You slip your hand underneath his shirt, running it up and down his warm abdomen as you feel the muscles freeze and twitch, you guess maybe it’s because it tickles, so you stop.

Instead, you attach your lips to his neck, licking the slightly salty skin there before sucking on it, biting down with teeth, which caused a groan from him, one you swear must’ve been brewing in there for a while because it was so loud and so lewd.

The way he moans just encourages you, continuing on to bite and suck marks into his skin and then kitten licking over them to soothe the sting.

“God, I know this might be rude, but I can’t take it anymore. I’m gonna cum in my pants if you keep doing this to me.”

“So then don’t.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t take it. Do something about it.” You whisper.

“Jesus Christ, are you sure?” His voice is raspy.

“I am.”

“Take your pants off too, then, okay?”

You nod, pulling your pants down your legs and off your body.

“You’re right. The dark sucks. Because then I can’t see you.” He comments, eyeing you up and down, especially focusing on your bare legs and feet.

“Stop it.” You say, blushing, shutting him up with a kiss. He couldn’t help being corny, and you couldn’t help the fact that it somehow worked on you.

He gets up and climbs onto you, slotting himself between your legs, which you part open for him. You feel his erection press up against your core, which makes you gasp.

It was incredibly hard and admittedly bigger than you could’ve ever previously imagine, almost to the point you were nervous. You told yourself that you can take it, though, that you will take it. He grabs the cotton fabric of your shirt and pulls it off of you, leaving you almost completely exposed, still in your bra and underwear.

“God, you’re perfect.”

“Am not.”

“Yes. You. Are.” He punctuates each word with a kiss, trailing down your chest. He places a kiss in the very center of it, between your breasts. Next, he goes to your ribs, then your stomach, then your lower stomach.

He ends up between your thighs, biting the insides of them softly and kissing his way towards your center. Before he gets there, he takes a moment to lean back a bit to appreciate the sight in front of him. He reaches to rub your pussy through the fabric, but since it was black, it was a surprise how wet you were.

“Jesus Christ.” He marvels at the feeling, pressing gentle circles over your clit. You squirm a bit, bucking up against his hand, and he pulls the soaked undergarments from off of your body.

He places a kiss on your clit first, gentle but enough to make you twitch. Then he starts to lap at you, tongue seeming to try to consume everything that was dripping from your hole. He was like a dog who needed water.

“God, Eddie, oh god.” You moan, eyes involuntarily shut.

He comes back up to lick at your clit and dips a finger into you simultaneously.

“Ohhh, fuck.” You continue babbling.

He quickly adds a second digit and bends them inside you, and you cum right on the spot. It was so sudden and took you by surprise, and you couldn’t silence the moan that came from you while you orgasmed, his fingers still working you and eyes watching you as you fall apart.

You lay and pant, breathing heavy, body weightless like a feather. Getting ready for more, silently preparing. He concludes that his job is done, and comes back up to your level to lay beside you. You seemed pretty tired.

“Wait, are you done?” You turn to look at him.

“I- yeah, I got you off.” He says.

“Indeed you did. But don’t you want more?”

“More…” he repeats blankly, far off in thought. Clueless.

“Do you want to have sex, Eddie. I asked you to take your pants off for a reason.”

“O-oh shit, really? Are you sure?”

“I am. Are you?”

“Yeah. Of fucking course.”

“Good. Take everything else off for me?”

He pulls his shirt over his head, tossing it to the side, then shimmies out of his boxers. Once he’s done, you get on top of him. You stroke his cock a couple of times, just feeling the weight of it in your hand, and precum oozes from the tip. He needed you, now.

“Is this okay?” You want to make sure.

“Yes, fuck, yes.” He stammers, and you smile. You position his cock right below your entrance, and slowly sink down onto him. He groans, quite audibly, and you relish in the feeling.

He was stretching you, you can’t remember a time you’d felt so full in your life. The sting subsided once you sank all the way down and just sat on it for a moment, then you started to move.

With your hands on his bare chest, you ride him gently to begin with. You grind forwards and backwards, just getting a feel for how well he fits inside you, accidentally finding that special spot in the process and stimulating it.

“Oh my god, Eddie. Ohhh my god.” You whimper, continuing with your movements.

“So tight, shit, she’s fuckin’ squeezing me.” He groans beneath you.

He grabs your ass, squeezing so hard his fingernails dig into the plush fat of it. He starts to guide the way you ride him, setting a quicker pace. He must be close. You decide to lean down and let him take over. He pounds up into you from below and you choke on your moans, a new one coming out each time he hits the deepest part of you.

“Fuck, fuck me. Fuck me, eds.” You whimper into his ear and he moans, goosebumps crawling across his body. He continues even though he never stopped.

“Okay, ‘m gonna cum.” He eventually forces the words out while he thrusts into you quick, gradually becoming sloppy. You feel his cock twitch inside you and an overwhelming warmth immediately after.

He rides it out, fucking his cum back up into you for as long as he can before he’s overstimulated, and you get off of him when he stops. You immediately regret doing so, grabbing your pussy and keeping your hand over it. You didn’t want to leak cum all over the place you were about to sleep.

“Can you get a towel maybe?”

“Oh, shit, yeah one sec.” He jumps out of bed and grabs the nearest towel he could find, thankfully clean but not for long. He returned to give it to you and you placed it beneath your body and relaxed. It was a lot, evidently, it seemed to pour and pour until it finally stopped. It felt a little gross, but also nice.

Eventually, you threw the towel to the floor (his room was already messy anyways), and changed into the outfit you had brought but fell asleep before you could put it on. He did the same, getting dressed, but left his shirt off. The room was warm, even more so now after everything, so it was fine for him to do.

He lifts his arms and you crawl into them, resting your head on his chest. He fell asleep soon after, snoring slightly, which made you smile. It was just a little one, barely noticeable, but you noticed because you were right up against him. You closed your eyes and at some point you drifted away.

#eddie munson #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson brainrot #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader

[mintmatcha]

Heat blisters across the ocean in waves. Summer is at its peak, rippling the air.

The others in your party have decided to dip down the beach's scorching sands and into the ocean foam, but you've decided to stay put. Marcille's griping partially carries over the break of waves, only the overtones of her voice and Falin's giggles reaching you, a distant siren's song that beckons you closer.

Instead, you pop the last crumbling bit of your popsicle into your mouth and close your eyes. The flavor spills across your tongue, flashes of citrus and blossoms of berry, and you hum in appreciation. When only the wooden taste of the stick is left, you open your eyes and catch how Laios has been watching you.

His lips are slightly parted, blush pink and gently moist, still wet with the same seawater that hangs from his dirty blonde hair. Those golden eyes are wide and just as bright as the sun.

The attention makes you glimmer; Laios is... different than other men you've liked, but he's certainly the most attractive. Wide shoulders and a thick frame, you can see how his muscles move through his sweat soaked undershirt, coiled and strong. It makes you act differently; you curl your spine and stick out your chest, pointing your toes to make your legs seem longer and more alluring-- all of the things women do when they want a man to want them.

Then, you remember who you're dealing with.

"Oh, sorry." You gesture with the empty wooden stick. "Did you want some?"

Laios blinks. Then, blinks again.

"Oh, uh-" he laughs, cheeks red. "Yeah."

The excitement inside you slumps. Yeah, he just wanted your snack.

"You should have asked." You roll your head to your shoulder and shiver at the bead of sweat the dips across the open curve of your neck. He does the same, rubbing the back of his neck with the flat of his palm. "I didn't know you liked sweets. It was really good."

Laios swallows and you watch his throat bob.

"I just didn't think you'd want my spit all over it."

"Spit doesn't bother me."

He doesn't say anything back. The silence unsettles you; Laios isn't one to ever stop talking. He's filled with tidbits and tangents that are seemingly never-ending. Shuro and Chilchuck hate it, but there's a certain charm to the joy he has when he's dumping information on your lap.

"Do you think there's any monsters in the water around here?" You try to spark that joy in him.

"No, they don't come in this close to shore; it's too overfished." Laios rattles off with ease, no passion behind it. "Do you really not mind spit?"

"I guess not?"

"Cool." Laios leans back again, watching the shore where everyone else relaxes as if searching for something. When he seems to find it, he turns back to you and swallows again before quickly diving into you. Before you can process what's happening, his lips find your cheek. They're somehow warmer than the air, but not as warm as the wet flash of tongue that creeps out from between them. It's nothing more than a quick swipe, but it's enough to rip a gasp from your lungs before he pulls away.

"You're right." The sticky orange juice of your dessert is stuck to his lips. "It was good. A little salty."

[sariixxx]

𝐌𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐘 𝐁𝐎𝐘 ꨄ

𝗠. 𝗙𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗼

____________________

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: 𝗻𝗼𝗻𝗲!

𝗴𝗲𝗻𝗿𝗲: 𝗳𝗹𝘂𝗳𝗳 ღ

____________________

You were chilling in your dorm, bored as hell.

Nobara and the others were already sleeping, which you had been waiting for.

That meant you finally got to hang out with your lovely boyfriend, Megumi.

_______

'Gumi <3

'Gumi <3

Will you come over now or what?

You

Aw are you missing me that much? 😻😻

'Gumi <3

😐

You know what I take it back. I'll lock my dorm door.

You

NOOOO MEGUMII PLS I WAS JOKING 😭😭😭😭

'Gumi <3

😐😐😐

too bad

You

🥹🥹 pls

'Gumi <3

fine be quiet thi

*tho

You

Alr see you in 10

'Gumi <3

Why so long?

You

I can't just straight walk to the boys's dorms idiot. Gojo will make me run laps around the whole school 🏃🏼‍♀️🏃🏼‍♀️

'Gumi <3

Ugh fine, hurry up tho

You

Awwww you do miss me

'Gumi <3

Start moving idiot <3

______

A slight grin makes its way to your face as you see Megumi's last message.

Should I change before going over?

You think about it for a second but then decide that the sweatpants and oversized T-Shirt will do it.

Your head peeks out of your room as you watch the empty hallway.

Then you close the door and try to walk as quiet as possible.

After some minutes you arrive at your destination and knock on the door quietly.

Soon after Megumi opens, immediately pulls you inside by the arm, and picks you up in an embrace.

Your eyes soften at the sweet act.

Normally he was more closed off and had a hard time showing affection but today was probably your lucky day.

You hug him back until he places you on his bed, gently.

"What took you so long??", he murmured against your chest, him kneeling in front of you while you sit comfortably.

"Well I had to pick a route so nobody would see me... Also I kind of stole some snacks from the kitchen.", you grin and shove your hands into your pockets.

"Here you go!", you hold out your hands and he just smiles and shakes his head, "Unbelievable."

He takes one of the snacks and lays down on his bed.

"How was your day?", he asks, gesturing you to lay down beside him.

You do as he tells you and say, "Meh I trained with Maki today. She was ruthless, but it was still cool. Ohh and Gojo told me soon I will go on a mission. With Inumaki!! Isn't that cool?"

"With Toge? Since when do we carry out mission with 2nd years?", he raises an eyebrow.

"Well Gojo said since I'm a grade 1 I could easily take part in more advanced missions. So he set me up with Inumaki, since he's the highest ranked right now.", you say while munching your food.

He nods, a little in thought, "I see."

"Is that a problem?", you ask tilting your head to the side.

"Huh- no no of courso not! Just... be careful.", he mumbles.

You chuckle a little, "Oh come on that's not all, is it?"

Mehumi groans and puts his arm over his face, "I'd rather have me going with you."

You blink, twice and then smile so bright, you can't hold it in.

"I want to kiss you so bad right now, you have no idea Megs.", you whisper.

He blushes, hard, "What the hell why would you randomly say that-"

You cut him off by hovering over him, put your hands beside his head and kiss his lips.

You could swear you heard him whimper so you grin into the kiss.

"You're adorable, you know that? And sooo pretty, you could be a super model! Like so beautiful, literally my pretty boy!", you blabber while putting butterfly kisses all over his face.

If he wasn't red before, he definitely is now.

Cheeks so dark you think he'd faint any point and lips glistening as if he just made out with you for hours.

"Stop.. you're so embarrassing..", he mumbles trying to cover his face.

You giggle and hold his hand form in place and kiss him once again.

His arms wander up your waist as you sink down on him and breathe heavily.

"But like- I really mean it Megumi. You're the only one for me. You really are my pretty boy.", you say after ending the kiss.

And somehow he can't tell you to cut it out, because for some reason, his heart never beat faster than right now.

Knowing that you thought of him so highly, thought of him as your pretty boy.

That alone made him feel the happiest he's ever been.

#megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu megumi #megumi x you #megumi fluff #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk season 2 #jjk #anime

[lawrites]

Not Worthy

Oswald Cobblepot x Plus Size! Gender Neutral! Reader

Short drabble about Ozzie telling Plus Size reader to buy something pretty at the "expensive" shops and them not being able to find anything. Hurt/comfort, very cute at the end <3. This was made for a swap with @acapelladitty :)

CW: slightly suggestive, reader has down thoughts about their body

“Get yourself something pretty, sweetheart. Something expensive, at the good stores in Gotham. Then come back and show it off for me. That's all you have to do, and I'll treat you real nice after.”

Oz had given you a winning smile this morning as he held out his Centurion Card, gesturing for you to come closer. His arms had snaked around you, bringing you onto his lap and making the both of you laugh at your uncoordinated landing. He had given you a gentle kiss, cupping your cheek after you separated for just a moment before telling you to “get going” with a wink. 

You felt so warm and happy then. It sucks that your day and mood have both been ruined, now. You wonder if you can sneak into Ozzie’s Manor and somehow avoid him seeing you with no bags full of new clothes. Oswald loves you, truly, and he's attracted to your body with its curves and rolls, your stretch marks, your tummy. But…that doesn't change how society, especially high society, views you. 

Every high end boutique you had entered, every one, had glared at you like you were beneath them. While you are used to it at your size, it's still grueling and makes every shopping trip harder, mentally. And the cherry on top was being able to find maybe two garments in the entire 5 hour shopping trip that would have fit you across all the stores you visited…and they were boxy and frilly and looked like a grandmother would wear them. 

You're, again, used to this. Being fat means you have to sometimes be more practical about shopping than you would like. But you guess you just are under more pressure with Ozzie being so sweet and giving you his card. You feel like you've disappointed him. Ever since you decided to give up, telling your driver to take you home, your brain has been racing with awful thoughts. A small part of you knows they are irrational, but the rest of you is just dejected, frustrated, and tired of having to go through this again. 

Yeah, why would you have thought they would have anything in your size to begin with?

Did you see how those people at the store looked at you? Like you were something they could smell?

Ozzie is gonna notice you came back with nothing, ask why, and then break up with you, because he will finally have realized how he's completely out of your league.

The last thought makes you choke out a sob as you try to sneak through the front foyer of Ozzie's Manor. And you cringe as you hear his voice yell out in answer, “Sweetheart? Is that you? Why didn't you tell me you were home?” You hear his footsteps as he makes his way from the living room to your location, and you feel panicked trying to figure out what to do…so you freeze. 

You see Ozzie’s face as he turns the corner, going from teasing excitement to worry instantly. “Dove?”

Your heart sinks to your stomach, and you blurt out, “I'm sorry, Ozzie. I wasn't able to find anything,” while placing his card on the side table next to you. Your arms wrap around yourself, turning your back to him so he can't see your belly. “I-I think I'm too big. I can't wear those p-pretty clothes that you want me to get. I'm a disappointment.”

You try to hold in your sobs, but your body physically shakes with your anxiety which keeps you from disguising them. It is silent…for a moment. Then, you hear his footsteps again. “Angel?”

Shaking your head, knowing he wants you to turn around, you refuse. But you feel a warm hand on your shoulder. “Angel, c’mere.” 

The hand turns you, and you decide to let it, finding yourself enveloped in the warmth of Oz’s embrace, taking in his comforting smell. Another sob and shake forces its way out of you, and his hands gently stroke your back and run through your hair, trying to comfort you. 

Oh great, now he can feel your back rolls.

Ok, that comment from the bitch that lives in your brain was so out of left field that it brings you back to reality. Ozzie is also helping, as he is actively hugging you and even humming out a soft tune in his low voice. You sniff, pulling back and looking at Oz. 

“Oh, I'm sorry for getting snot on your shirt. I guess I can't do anything right.”

Oz just chuckles and puts one hand under your chin. “Dove, I don't care. I want to know what shops turned you away and treated you like this.” His face morphs from a gentle smile into a dangerous grimace. He looks murderous, “I'm going to burn them down.”

You shake your head, “No! No! You don't understand…I went to the nice shops downtown like you said and…they didn't necessarily turn me away, I just couldn't find anything that could fit. I-it’s my fault.”

A barking laugh makes its way out of Oz, and you feel your heart break, for just a moment, before he apologizes and pulls you to him again. “Sweetheart, please take this the right way…but those aren't the nice shops. Of course they wouldn't have anything for the likes of you, I wouldn't let them dress you if you wanted to change out the oil in your car.”

You are confused, now. Looking up at him, you sniff. “W-what? So…what shops do you mean?”

Oz puffs up his chest, “I suppose I'll have to take you to them myself. They are very exclusive, and only the elite in Gotham frequent them.” He winks, “God I can't believe you went to those awful shops downtown. They can't afford the fabrics I want to drape your perfect body in.”

His hand traces down your side, landing on your hip, “And yes, you're big, but I fucking love it, sweetheart. It may take more of that expensive fabric to make something worthy of you…” The hand grips into the flesh on your side, making your breath catch, “...but I get to show off how gorgeous you are and how wealthy I am in one fell swoop. What's not to love?”

With a teasing grin, he gently reaches out to cup your face again, making you give him a gentle smile in return. “There's my Dove.”

He brings your face to his chest, running his hand through your hair again while you practically melt against him, comforted and at ease.

#x reader #oswald cobblepot x reader #the penguin x reader #plus size reader #oswald cobblepot #oswald cobblepot x plus size reader #the penguin x plus size reader #lawrites #batman rogues x reader #batman rogues x plus size reader

[sleepingdeath-slashers]

Ooh so could you do a Tiffany x gender neutral reader where at the scene when tiff had chucky in his cage, she mentions how she got over him and is now dating reader who Tiff just rabbles about them?

And please take your time on this I don’t wanna seem like one of the impatient readers so do your best!

she moved on ; t. valentine hcs

thank you for requesting, anon

reader is assumed as gender neutral

minors please do not interact with my content

she hadn’t thought about her ex in a long time — mourning him for more than long enough when he’d initially passed away before making a point of trying to move on

she’d had plenty of flings over the years — tiffany was incredibly attractive so there was no shortage of men and women ready to hop in bed with her — but nobody ever stayed for long

not until you, that is

you, who was able to make her laugh without any effort

you, who didn’t judge her for her past and helped her take the steps she needed to fully detach herself from chucky

you, who kept a photo of her in your wallet/purse and who would proudly introduce her as your girlfriend to anyone you met

you, who watched all her favourite films with her and who would get wrapped up in the plot without complaining about them being ‘unrealistic’ or ‘silly’

you, who loved her for her mind and her humour and not just her body

you

just you

and yet despite all of that she still couldn’t seem to get away from charles for long because here he was, miraculously not dead and a hell of a lot shorter and more plastic-looking than she remembered

she’d seen his death reported on in the paper

she’d been going to therapy to talk about their relationship and how she was dealing with his loss

she’d moved on and was happy with you — even looking at wedding venues (even if you hadn’t been together very long, but when you know you know)

she’d done everything right and still he’d managed to come back into her life like nothing had happened

it made her angry

it made her sick

so she trapped him in a baby cage and went out for a smoke, ranting with the front door of her trailer open as she made some very pointed gestures and remarks to her ex

how dare he do this to her! how fucking dare he!

who the fuck did he think he was?

why couldn’t he just let her live her life in peace?

couldn’t he see that she was finally — fucking finally — happy after all of the shit he’d put her through?

the sheer audacity had her tonguing the inside of her cheek and reaching for her lighter — she didn’t have enough cigarettes to deal with his shit right now

frankly there weren’t enough cigarettes in the world at all to help her deal with his bullshit, but that was besides the point

she takes a drag from her second cig and now she’s stopped pacing — leaning on the doorframe and facing him head on with more disappointment and sadness that outright animosity

and somehow that scares him more than when she was ranting and raving and screaming at him

she asks why he can’t just let her have one good thing — but it’s not really a question and he knows it and he doesn’t even get to contemplate answering and manipulating her before she continues

she talks about you, about how she’s finally happy for the first time in forever and of course he has to come in and turn it all to shit (she spits the last word like it burns her tongue and continues in a dreamier voice, the ghost of a smile worming its way onto her lips)

‘they’re real sweet, ya know?’ (he doesn’t and she knows it but she continues), ‘they make me happy. we have fun together’

he says that they did too, jumping at the opportunity to reel her back in, but she chokes out a laugh and kicks his baby gate, causing his plastic body to stumble back

she scoffs at him and reaffirms that ‘fun’ doesn’t just mean being an adrenaline junkie — but even then that you don’t put her down or discourage her from doing what she enjoys

you let her have real hobbies, not just ones that benefit you — you even watch cheesy chick flicks with her and, pray tell, when did he ever bother to do the same?

never, that’s when

chucky tries to reel her back in again, recalling the fun they used to have — but he’s already lost

he lost before he even turned up at her front door because tiffany valentine has moved on

she doesn’t just want kink sex and excitement — she dreams of domesticity and marriage and love

her days of blood shed and murder are (mostly) over and have been since she settled down

since she fell in love with you

you with your smiles and your gentle touches and your humour that makes her laugh so hard her cheeks and sides ache

you who reaches out first and who doesn’t leave her high and dry and wanting like charles did

you who she loves, really truly loves, and who she’d never even dream of leaving

so she grabs a bottle of wine and tells chucky to keep on talking — because he may not have a snowball’s chance in hell of winning her over, but by god is it cathartic to watch him beg

… maybe she’d even call you up and give him a live show of every single reason, position and sound why you’re a far sight better than he ever was

#minors dni #sleepingdeath slashers #tiffany valentine #tiffany valentine x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff headcanons #slasher x reader #female x reader #sleepingdeath #fluff #fluff hcs