#I think he’d have a few gold teeth too

[simplydm]

Thinking about the Beetlejoest, specifically how he has $50 facecam expansions instead of the normal joe $25.

We can work with this

Imagine a Joest with gold coins for eyes. He loves money, you could say it went to his head, and he refused to give the ferryman the gold coins for travel across into a final resting place. So, he’s still in the overworld, just a ghost.

#dm’s headcanon for the evening #and gold teeth #I think he’d have a few gold teeth too #speak up dm

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Nursle.

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Reader (JJK).

Word Count: 3.4k.

TW: Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Mentions of Pregnancy, Implied Stalking, Unprotected Sex, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Lactation, Slight Breeding Kinks, Daddy Kinks, Mentions of Abusive Relationships, and Age Gaps (Gojo is 20, Reader is 35+).

[Part Two]

A few days into the new school year, you decided that Gojo Satoru could not be Fushiguro Megumi’s primary guardian, despite what the paperwork filed by the former claimed. Honestly, the fact that Megumi’s name had been misspelled in every conceivable way across the aforementioned paperwork should’ve been enough to make that clear, but after a decade of teaching, you’d learned to pick up on the smaller signs; a certain discomfort that passed through Megumi's expression whenever you asked about his homelife, the lapse before a half-hearted answer whenever you posed a question to Satoru as to Megumi's preferences. It didn’t necessarily mean anything bad was going on, just that something was going on - something you couldn’t ignore, not completely.

Four weeks into the new school year, you decided that Fushiguro Megumi did not like Gojo Satoru. All your students were at the age where they were suddenly eager to distance themselves from any adult they could call an authority, but Megumi was the only one still in your classroom hours after the school day ended, the only one who stayed for as long as you could afford to let him. Sometimes, Satoru would make an appearance, loiter outside of your classroom or pass time with the best attempts at small talk someone nearly two decades your junior could make, but Megumi made a habit of ignoring him and try as you might, you'd never had the heart to be very strict with your students. The only days he didn’t stay to help you (as much as a nine year old could help anyone do anything) were the days when his sister was free to pick him up and, much to your relief, Satoru was nowhere to be found.

Two months into the new school year, you found yourself on the doorstep of Gojo Satoru’s listed address which, notably, was not the dingy flat you’d dropped off Megumi in front of whenever he stayed too late to justify letting him walk home alone. Instead, you gaped openly at the skyscraper in front of you, as tall as the eye could see and pouring out the kind of people you couldn’t help but want to get away from. You’d called ahead, let Satoru know you’d be making a home visit to discuss some of your concerns about Megumi, but for as long as he’d kept you on the phone, he’d never bothered to explain why he would ask you to meet him in a place like—

“You’re early, Miss (L/n).”

You stiffened, glanced over your shoulder to find Gojo Satoru – dressed in his usual plain, black uniform and unaccompanied by the student you’d come to discuss. He greeted you with a wide grin, a lazy nod, and you returned it with a purse-lipped smile and a tightened hold on the strap of your messenger bag. “Well, I’d hate to waste your time.” You toyed with the idea of meeting his eyes, but your gaze skirted over the pitch-black lenses of his sunglasses and settled firmly on the collar of his button-up. “And you don’t have to call me that. It makes you sound like one of my students and—” A slight pause, a nervous laugh. “I think you might be a little too old to blend in.”

Satoru’s grin only widened. With only your own paranoia as warning, he strung an arm through the crook of yours, dragging you towards the entrance of his looming tower. “I think it’s got a nice ring to it, Miss.”

Something sharp pricked at the back of your throat.

In hindsight, it might’ve been easier to do this with the nine year old.

You kept your teeth grit and your smile plastered on as he led you through the lobby – all shining crystal chandeliers and glistening marble floors – and hauled you into a gold-gilded elevator, the kind that would’ve let you know you were somewhere you didn’t belong under normal circumstances. You watched in stomach-knotting, heart-stopping terror as the numbers ticked up, up, up, until the mirrored doors were sliding open and you were stepping into the living room that could’ve swallowed your shoebox of an apartment whole. Your heels (blocked, low, practical – the only pair you’d found the strength to wear since coming back from your leave) clicked against the bare tile floor as you stumbled into the remarkably open space, his furniture sparse and largely utilitarian. You spotted one of Megumi’s drawings on a low coffee table, a pile of Tsumiki’s hairbands forgotten on an otherwise empty bookshelf, but any other signs of life were either nonexistent or exceptionally well-hidden. Any hope you had that Megumi and Satoru’s situation might’ve just been that of a young, overburdened guardian and his slow-to-warm ward evaporated immediately. Those of limited means tended not to live in penthouses that cost triple your annual salary in rent.

If Satoru noticed your growing anxiety, he didn’t seem to pay it any mind. With an exaggerated yawn, he strode past you and collapsed onto a leather couch – too pristine to have been recently visited by two hyperactive children. When you stalled near the entryway, he let his head lull to the side, his tinted glasses falling low on the bridge of his nose. “You don’t have to be shy. There’s plenty of room – not that I mind the view, if you really wanna stand.”

You took a deep breath and let it out in a long, labored exhale. He’s practically a kid, you reminded yourself. You could only be thankful you hadn’t gotten him a couple of years ago – otherwise, you’d be dealing with an actual child.

Reluctantly, you squared your shoulders and perched yourself on the far edge of the sofa. Satoru immediately closed the distance, draping his lanky arms over the back of the couch, his fingertips just barely brushing against your shoulder. You pulled your messenger bag into your lap, opening your mouth as you looked for Megumi’s file, but Satoru cut in before you could start your well-practiced monologue. “This is your first year at his school, right? I’d remember if I saw a teacher as pretty as you around campus.”

“It’s my first year back,” you corrected. “I’ve noticed Megumi very introverted for a boy his—”

“Let me guess – maternity leave?”

Your lips quirked into a tight frown. Fighting the urge to cross your arms over your stomach self-consciously, you sent him a withering look out of the corner of your eye. “I’d rather not talk about my personal life, if it’s all the same to you. Like I said, I’m not here to waste your time.”

Your tone was clipped, your voice strict, but Satoru’s only response was an airy chuckle, a careless grin. “I’m not in a rush,” he said. “But you’re probably eager to get back home to your baby girl. I know you try to spend time with her on weekends.”

This time, you didn’t try to breathe. Letting your bag fall back to your side, you moved to stand, but Satoru was quick to catch you by the wrist, to pull you back down with a single, playful jerk. Your bag fell off of your shoulder, hitting the floor and spilling open at your feet, but you didn’t reach for it. He was stronger than he looked, and you already knew everything you had to about strong young men with more power than they knew what to do with. “I’d really rather not talk about myself when Megumi is—”

“Can’t be easy, leaving her all alone like that. Did you ask your neighbor to babysit again, or was it that brat of a teenager you call up on weekends?” His hand fell to your thigh, and you immediately regretted wearing a dress, let alone one that ended well before the knee. You’d wanted this to seem causal, unintrusive, but as his fingertips bit into the plush of your thigh, you regretted not going straight to the police as soon as you noticed something strange. “Can’t be easy, not having a husband to dote on you and the little princess anymore.”

You keep your eyes on your feet, on one of the manilla folders spilling out of your bag. Megumi's name was scrawled messily across the upper right corner in red pen, because red was his favorite color and you knew he would see it every time he helped you organize paperwork for your other students. “I appreciate your concern, but we’ve managed to take care of ourselves.”

“I know.” He was close, too close. You could feel his breath, hot and humid, against the shell of your ear. “It’s just that I think I might just be able to take care of you a little better.”

“I think I should leave.” You spoke slowly, your tone flat, factual. Like you were talking to a child, or a dog, or worst of all – a man in monks' clothing, ready to worship at his own alter. “Before either of us does anything we might regret.”

Satoru let his lead lull forward, his fanged smile biting into the corner of your jaw.

You tried to bolt, but it was already too late.

It happened too quickly for you to process. One second, you were writhing in your own skin, your favorite student’s neglectful guardian pressed into your side and the next, you were on your back, splayed over the length of his couch, Satoru’s knee between your open legs and his hands on either side of your head. Your body reacted before your mind, trying to run, to resist, to get away from him, but Satoru’s hand was on your chest before you could so much as sit up, keeping you trapped underneath him without a trace of effort. “You can stop working so hard, momma.” His glasses had fallen away completely, revealing eyes as blinding as the cloudless sky and as unfeeling as raw ice. It was hard to remember why you’d ever thought a man like this could ever have anything to do with a boy as sweet as Megumi. “Daddy’s gonna take real good care of you.”

You shouldn’t have been so worried about the dress. It didn’t matter how long your skirt was, not when the cheap material fell apart so easily under his eager touch – your bra and panties discarded with just as little thought. You panicked, started to kick and shove and thrash, but his hands were already locked over your hips, keeping you pinned to the couch as he bent down and buried his face between your thighs. However young you’d thought he was, he must’ve been younger; his inexperience shining through in the overzealous way he nipped at the inside of your thighs, how hastily he laved the flat of his tongue over your slit. His pace was rough, his technique nonexistent, but you couldn’t remember the last time you had time to touch yourself, and you hadn’t slept with someone else since…

This time, when your mind went blank, you were the one willing away fractured thoughts and bitter memories. You didn’t want to acknowledge the twisted pleasure Satoru was forcing onto your body either, but it would’ve been impossible to ignore the way his teeth grazed over your clit as he wrapped his lips around the sensitive bud, to not hear the slick sound you just couldn’t seem to believe a part of you would make as he forced two fingers into your tight pussy. You threw your head back, clenched your eyes shut, but no amount of aversion could seem to block out his throaty laugh, to make the reverberations his deep voice sent pulsing through your cunt anything short of unbearable. “Needy little thing,” he muttered, pulling away just far enough to press a lingering kiss into the apex of your hip. “Bet he was neglecting you even before you ran off. Is that why you had to leave him? He didn’t know how to treat a pretty thing like you?”

You would’ve given anything to make him stop talking, but you didn’t have a chance to try and bargain. While his fingers pumped mercilessly into your pussy, his mouth pushed slow, wet kisses into the rounded curves of your stomach, your midriff, your chest. He noticed it before you did; saw the thin trail of thin, near-transparent fluid running down the curve of your chest before you felt the telltale soreness in your breasts, managed to draw a connection between that and the shallow, airy moan Satoru let out as he ran his tongue over your leaking nipple. He took long, agonizing seconds to lick up the spilled milk before his lips found the closest nipple and finally, he latched onto you properly.

He was worse than your newborn. It was an awful thing to think, it was a terrible thing to have to think, but it was true. He was rough, and clumsy, and noisy – groaning as he lapped and sucked, eager to swallow down anything you had to give. Drool seeped out of the corner of his mouth, whatever pain he might’ve alleviated immediately replaced as the fingertips of his free hand kneaded into your swollen tit. By the time he pulled away, he was panting, scissoring open your pussy with enough force to leave your toes curling, your thighs twitching, little involuntary whimpers slipping past your lips despite your best efforts to choke them back.

He didn’t so much earn your climax as drag it out of you, piece by fractured piece, broken moan by stuttering convulsion. Your hands shot to his head, fingers soon knotted through messy white hair, but he didn’t seem to care, didn’t seem to mind, his attention devoted entirely to spreading open your cunt and milking your chest dry even as the last of the aftershocks faded and the first pangs of overstimulation began to set in. When he did pull away from you, it was with an exaggerated smack of his lips, a teasing nudge of the heel of his palm against your clit, a cocky smirk that reminded you of the expression Megumi would sometimes draw onto his doodled stick figures as they were hit with simplistic, two-dimensional cars or torn apart by black and white wolves. That was something you’d meant to bring up during your conversation with Satoru – Megumi’s tendency towards more violent forms of creativity, how it could be an early sign of emotional unrest in children too young to properly express themselves. Now, you could only wonder why he didn’t draw Satoru more often.

You were barely conscious by the time he drew back working one arm under your back and another under the bend of your knees. You let your eyes fall shut and, by the time you found the strength to open them again, you were on your back, dark satin sheets underneath you and Satoru above, snowy hair providing a much-appreciated barrier between you and those terrible eyes. This time, you couldn’t stop yourself from meeting his prying gaze, and he welcomed your bleary stare, drinking you in for one second, then another, before dipping that much lower and slotting his lips against yours. The kiss was surprisingly gentle – all slow tenderness and delicate warmth. Your mind flitted back to dark eyes and pitch-black hair, pointed teeth and deceiving smiles and you willed yourself not to think at all.

You heard fabric shift, felt his hands curl around your thighs. With an aching sort of slowness, he pushed your knees into your chest, leaving you spread open and vulnerable below him. You felt the head of his cock press against your slick entrance, heard a raspy groan trickle past his lips as he thrust into you – bottoming out in the same stroke.

He didn’t wait for you to adjust to his size. With his face buried in the crook of your neck, he rutted into you with short, brutal thrusts; never pulling out of you entirely, never happy unless his cock was abusing the deepest pocket of your wet heat. Immediately, it was overwhelming – too much stimulation being forced onto you too quickly with too little preparation. Your hands fell to his back, your nails biting into his skin as he fucked into you with a jagged kind of desperation. His cock scraped against something soft and spongy inside of you and you cried out, arching against him. “I can’t— It hurts, Gojo, slow—”

“C’mon, baby, you can do better than that.” His voice was low, airy. He pressed an open-mouthed kiss into the corner of your jaw, rolled his hips and pressed himself that much deeper into you. “What’s my name? Who’s takin' care of you from now on?”

It was more an act of desperation than anything; a broken plea that you could barely recognize as your own voice. “Daddy,” you sobbed, shrinking against him. “Please, don’t cum insi—”

You were cut off by an unabashed moan, the feeling of his cock twitching inside of you. His hips pressed into yours, his thrusts growing shorter, more violent as he pumped something warm and awful into your pussy. At the same time, his thumb found your clit, pushing harsh circles into the vulnerable bundle of nerves and bringing your exhausted body to its second climax. Your vision burnt white as your cunt clenched around him, as his thrusts turned labored and languid, as collapsed against you – limp and boneless. Idly, almost lovingly, he nuzzled into the side of your neck, letting several seconds pass in silence before sighing, the pinnacle of satisfaction. Eventually, he picked himself up, resting his weight on his elbows as he cupped your face. “Pretty girl. I think the brat’s got a crush on you, too – always going on about his favorite teacher, telling me to keep my dirty hands away from you.” He laughed, shook his head. “Think he’ll be excited to have a younger sister?”

You didn’t answer, but Satoru didn’t need you to. He was already picking himself up, already pressing a kiss into the crook of your neck as he straightened his back, staring down at you with eyes that must’ve gone lifeless years ago. Eyes that, despite your best efforts to ignore their similarities, you couldn’t help but feel that you’d seen before.

“Speaking of, I think it’s about time we checked on our baby girl.”

~

Less than an hour later, you found yourself in your makeshift nursery; the corner of your bedroom occupied by a crib and a few shelves of miscellaneous supplies. You sat on the foot of your bed as Satoru held your daughter in his arms, rocking her as she sniffled and threatened to cry. You’d taken a taxi back to your apartment – called up and paid for by Satoru, of course. He’d given the driver your address before you so could so much as process where he was taking you, something you were currently choosing to ignore.

“She looks just like him.” His tone was light, his smile soft. He gestured to your daughter’s curly tufts of dark hair, her brown eyes – both only a shade away from black. “It’ll get worse as she grows up. He was always like that – couldn’t stand to let anyone else be the center of attention.”

You felt sick. Black spots still danced in the corners of your vision, and it took all your strength just to choke something coherent out. “He’ll never meet her. I’d die before I ever let him put his hands on my daughter.”

“I know, baby, I know.” He flashed you a grin, then turned back to your daughter. “I’m gonna keep both of you safe, be such a good daddy to both my pretty girls.” He pulled her that much closer to him, pressing a ginger kiss into her forehead. “You know, you really gotta open up more. I tried as hard as I could, but I don’t think I ever managed to catch her name.”

That made sense. You tended not to use it, when you could help it, when you were strong enough not to think about the man who’d given it to her – the man who’d tried to take yours, before you’d gotten away from him and and his monsters. You weren’t feeling very strong right now, though.

“Himari,” you mumbled, the sound of it alone still enough to steal the air out of your lungs, to leave the taste of blood heavy on your tongue.

“Geto Himari.”

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen imagines #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #jjk imagines #yandere jjk #gojo x reader #gojo x you #yandere gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #yanderecore #yancore #yandere gojo

[feyascorner]

8 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, tav reader is a bard, italics are flashbacks

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. a little peek at what this guy is thinking before i move onto act 2 of this fic!! <3 also this specific flashback is not the usual pre breakup flashback it's right after the blushing mermaid incident !!

His nightmares have long stopped making him sick.

The same dreams where Cazador would have shackles around his neck and wrists, laughing maniacally while he carves runes into Astarion’s flesh, no longer bring him the same dread the morning after. Instead, he feels a kind of numbness that spreads past his physical being into the mindless stare he bores into the ceiling. Even before the birds awaken outside the city, it's quiet in the morning. This eerie sense of stillness used to be his favorite time of day.

Because when there’s nobody outside, there’s nobody to bring to Cazador.

Now, it feels too empty. Too alone. As if he’s the only person left in Faerun.

With nobody but his own mind, he begins to replay the events of the last few months. No matter how many times he does it, it doesn’t seem quite real. The nautiloid, the grove, the underdark—all of it. From the second he first bathed in the sun’s glory to the second he lost it all anyway, it doesn’t seem real.

It doesn’t seem real that he once had someone to care for him.

But he supposes he’s mistaken. He’s had plenty of affection throughout his centuries lurking on the city's streets, albeit rare for something genuine. Regardless, it did happen. Like Sebastian or other fleeting victims of Cazador who weren’t as crude as his usual prey. Genuine people whose biggest crime was falling for Astarion’s charms at the wrong time and place.

He doesn’t remember most of their faces anymore. He’s given up on trying to.

And like clockwork, his mind fades to the moment he first tasted humanoid blood as he begins to zone out from a particular part of the ceiling. A proper meal, rather than those disgusting rats on cellar floors he’s been allowed for most of his vampiric life. He remembers the liquid gold sliding down his throat and the sheer energy that came with it—some of which he hadn’t even known he had. He recalls the heavenly metallic taste of your lifeline. How, despite all the blood, all he could smell was your soap. How hot you’d felt against his own cold and unforgiving husk of a body.

Astarion swallows, forcing himself to focus on the chipped wood on one part of the ceiling.

While on any other occasion, he’d remind himself that he’d never have a taste of you again, you had given it to him. Even though he swore all the gods above were against his odds, you’d offered him your blood as he lay pathetically against the walls of the Blushing Mermaid.

But it had been different this time. Instead of that soft smile you’d give him when he’d drink from you in the past, all that remained was a stern frown. You hadn’t run your fingers through his curls and instead chose to grit your teeth, forcing your eyes away from where he bit into your wrist. Your generosity hadn’t been one stemming from affection but one of necessity.

You had flinched away from his touch.

He’s not surprised. In fact, he should’ve expected you to shove him away the second his mouth neared your skin, and he did expect it. But instead, all you’d done was brace yourself—as if you hated his touch—and forced yourself to stay still for his sake. It was akin to watching himself endure the skin of so many strangers in hopes of convincing them into Cazador’s dungeon all those years ago. He knows it’s not the same. He knows this, but hells, did he hate how dry his throat felt after, despite feeling satiated.

He would’ve preferred if you’d just left him there to bleed.

He hates that you hadn’t done so.

He hates that you hadn’t let him ascend.

He hates that he’s forced to live alongside you.

He hates you.

Before he can tell what he’s doing, he’s standing in front of your bed. How he got here is a blur, but he has a dagger in one hand and a fist in the other. You lie blissfully asleep, unaware of the blood-red eyes that stare down at you in a daze, illuminated by nothing but the moonlight peering through the windows. He takes a moment to take in the state of your room–and though he’s not shocked at the mess scattered around the ground and desks, he’s not pleased by it either.

“Gods, how do you even live like this?” he asks, as if you can hear him.

He glances at the glint of his blade and then at your sleeping face. The same face once peppered at least a hundred kisses against his cheek, laughing loudly when he’d feign annoyance at the marks left behind. You’d only snickered then, tackling him into an embrace and allowing him to return the sentiments. Those same lips of yours are now chewed raw, almost a bloody red.

“I could finish this endless fight right now,” he whispers, his grip tightening around the handle of your blade. “I could wake you with this knife at your throat, and you’d have no choice but to kill me. I’d return the violence, of course, but only one of us would live. There would be no use fighting any longer.”

Your chest only rises and falls steadily, and he notices he hasn’t seen you at such peace since he last slept beside you all those months ago. He doesn’t see the same expression anymore because when you look at him now, it’s always accompanied by furrowed brows or a downward quirk of your lips.

He wishes you would respond.

“Ha,” he scoffs pitifully, dropping his hand. He places the blade in its rightful place on your bedside table again and sighs. “This is much too pathetic of a death for either of us. If we were to kill one another, it should be done properly—not in this mess of a room.”

With one last pathetic scan at the details of your face, he turns to leave. But before he can even reach the door, he hears a soft gasp from your bed.

For a moment, he thinks he’s been caught.

When he whips around, all he sees is your clearly asleep form, yet this time, there is no peace in your expression. Instead, it’s scrunched up into a painful grimace as your fingers grasp at your sheets and your mouth falls open to take in breaths of air that don’t come to you. He thinks you might be choking on god knows what until one of your hands flies to your throat. Your nails claw at a collar he can’t see.

He glances at his own hands.

Oh.

Astarion slowly paces back to his spot beside your bed, watching as you writhe against nothing but the air. He realizes you’re not suffocating, but it sure looks that way. He doesn’t know what to do besides watch blankly with wide eyes, but fortunately for him, the moment doesn’t last long. In seconds, your hand falls from your throat, and you continue to grimace painfully. Still, you’re no longer choking.

The bruises have faded, but only physically.

The vampire feels his hand inching toward you but freezes, unable to bring himself within a foot of your restless body without doing something he’d regret. His mind flashes back to how you’d flinched away from his touch, and it’s enough to make him drop your hand again. And being unable to decipher what he’s supposed to feel, he just stares at the wetness of your lashes, his jaw tight.

His voice is rough as he speaks.

“You foolish bard.”

“You’re one of the Gur children.”

“So what if I am,” the small child, too frail for her age despite the fangs protruding from her gums, crosses her arms, huffing. It’s been mere minutes since you managed to sit her down on the forest grounds, bent down on one knee to reach her eye level, but she remains positively stubborn, glaring at the other vampire spawn who stands idly by your side while twirling a comb in his fingers. “That doesn’t change anything.”

“It’s important. You were turned recently, then, weren’t you?” you frown, and a flicker of recognition passes her before it vanishes again. “Why are you alone? Where are the other kids?”

“That’s what you want to ask?” Astarion hisses from your side, his hands stopping. “Stop indulging such trivial questions and demand to know whether the little brat was the one to kill that poor husband. The clock is ticking, and I still have to hunt.”

You snap in his direction. “Will you stop it? She’s a child.”

“A spawn—she’s a spawn. Get it right, darling, she’s no child.”

“You’re acting like a nine-year-old yourself.”

“Ha! As cute as it is that you’re attempting to insult me, let’s leave the lines to me, hm? Your delivery couldn’t be less enthusiastic if you tried.”

“This isn’t a joke, Astarion.”

“I didn’t say it was.”

You glare at him, and he glares straight back. The smallest of snorts, stifled by a hand, comes from Berry, and you both turn to look at her in an instant. By the time you do, she’s already back to huffing, her brows furrowed.

With an exhausted sigh, your shoulders slump. “So, did you kill Roger Highberry? Was everything an act?”

She hesitates, and though you dare to believe that what you see is sorrow, she wipes it away with a blink of an eye, gaze glued to the ground before her. “I didn’t kill him. I didn’t lie.”

“Do you think we’re idiots?” You nearly roll your eyes at his voice. “You’re telling me a spawn—one that’s been newly turned, might I add—wouldn’t go ballistic at the sight of fresh blood sleeping soundly just a room over each night?”

“I didn’t!” she spits, baring her teeth. “And I’m not talking to you! I don’t want to talk to you, you—you—asshat!”

It’s apparent that it’s her first time using the word, but you don’t bother mentioning it.

“You wretched little–!”

“Berry,” you sigh for the umpteenth time, ignoring the fuming elf behind you. “I want to believe you, but I need you to be honest. And when I say honest, I mean absolutely everything. Including why you followed me out here and tried to attack me earlier.”

She falters. And almost shamefully, she looks down at her hands again. “...I ran away from the other spawns. I didn’t want to be with them anymore, and I pretended to be an orphan to stay with Cora and Roger.”

“What?” you blink. “Why would you do that?”

“Ulma taught us vampires are evil for the blood they take from people,” she mumbles. “I didn’t want to be evil too. Even if it means leaving my friends.”

As she speaks, her face dawns with a wave of solemnness–one too familiar to yourself.

“If you’re not with the others, why did you send me to the Blushing Mermaid knowing that there’d be an ambush?” you finally ask, gentler than you should be with how Astarion impatiently taps his foot behind you, but you couldn’t care less. “It could’ve killed us.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you,” she blurts, searing eyes darting to your silver-haired companion. “I was trying to kill him. He tried to perform a ritual and kill the rest of us with the power he’d get…I might not be with my friends, but I don’t want them to die either. I don’t want to die.”

You feel your breath still. Astarion does the same, now unmoving from his spot. However, his shock stems more from offense. “Cazador would have rid of you anyway. You were doomed from the start.”

You glare at him, still maintaining a soft tone toward the girl. “He can’t harm you anymore, Berry. Nobody can.”

She points a finger at Astarion. “I can’t be sure until he’s gone!”

“Berry–” You reach toward her hand.

“I let you see Dalyria so you’d turn him in! Not to keep him!” she hisses, slapping you away with a snarl. “And the worst of all, you let him drink from you! You let someone who wants to kill the rest of us drink from you while the rest of us have to pay greatly just to survive! If you’re his friend, then I have to hate you too!”

Eyes going wide, you find yourself standing again, cheeks tinging red. “I—that was just–”

Astarion’s attention still seems elsewhere. “I don’t want to kill you, as appealing as it sounds at the moment. Even I don’t indulge in harming children, despite how annoying I find brats like you.”

“Stop lying!” she shrieks. “Petras said you’d kill us all! That the second you finish the ritual, you’d kill the rest of us to make sure you have no competitors. That there isn’t another person like you who’d go against the will of their very master—”

“Though it sounds positively delightful, I wouldn’t be the one doing all that bloodshed,” he snaps in return, fangs visible through the grit of his teeth. “It seems my dear brother has misinformed you. The ritual itself would’ve wiped you all—which would’ve been far better for the city, clearly—but I would only be making a choice. A sacrifice.”

While the two are too caught up in the wrath of their distaste for one another, realization quickly flashes across your eyes. Suddenly, you’re standing between the two, one hand inches from Astarion’s chest as a warning, while you keep Berry shielded behind your free arm. The act catches him off guard, and you think the downward curl of his lips should scare you. “And what do you think you’re doing?”

“Go hunt—or whatever it is that you do,” you demand, fingers inching closer to your weapon. It feels too dramatic, but you decide you can never be too safe. “I need to talk to her without you here to bicker and argue with a child.”

He scoffs. “Talk about what exactly? What more is there to know? You do realize that if I were to leave now, the brat would take another attempt at your life.”

“She’s a kid. I can take care of myself.”

“When you cowered behind me just minutes ago over a damn squirrel?”

Hells. You should drive a stake through his heart just for that.

Your eyes narrow. You might’ve entertained this quip on another occasion, but that moment is not now. “Go.”

His gaze flits from you back to the child, his expression indecipherable. You want to look away from his harsh stare, but your pride doesn’t dare allow you. And you’re thankful for it. “20 minutes then. 20 minutes only, and then I shall return.”

You nod.

With one last fleeting glance and a hesitant footstep, he turns on his heel, stalking to disappear into the darkness of the woods. It doesn’t take long because, after only a few dark strides and the rustling of leaves, he’s gone, leaving only you and the blazing vampire spawn behind you.

“Is that what Petras told you?” your brows furrow at Berry. “Is that what he told everyone else? That Astarion would’ve killed you once, he became an ascendant?”

She stares up at you, gaze blazing with rage. But there’s more to it. Loneliness, longing, and the most prominent: grief. Grief for the life that’s been taken away from her and reciprocated her payment in the form of fangs. She adjusts uncomfortably in her cloak, her tiny fists clenched at either of her sides.

Her silence is the answer you need.

This must be why the other spawn isn’t against the ascension. They can’t be against it because they don’t know how it works in the first place. Just as Astarion’s siblings believed the ascension would’ve rebirthed them alongside Cazador, the remaining 7000 spawns believe the same—almost ironic, in an endless cycle that repeats itself no matter what. They aren’t even aware of the ticking clock attached to their lifelines.

“Astarion wasn’t lying,” you say softly. “He wouldn’t have killed you after becoming an ascendant. He would’ve killed you becoming the ascendant. It’s the price of the ritual.”

She releases a frustrated grasp of her nails digging into her palm. “No, you’re just saying that because you’re his friend!”

“I’m not his friend,” you admit.

And despite expecting a pang of regret pulling at the strings of your heart as you say the words. No tightness in your chest, no dryness in your throat, and no shame for the lies pouring so effortlessly out of your lips. It makes you think that perhaps it’s not a lie. You dearly hope that’s the case.

“Then what are you?”

"I'm like you,” you say. "He tried to kill me too."

She frowns. “You let him drink from you. Nobody does that. Not for something like us.”

Your heart cracks a bit at her words, but you shake your head. “It was to keep him alive. To save him, as I intend to do for you.”

“You? You’ll save us?” she scoffs, clearly unconvinced, as she picks at the makeshift bandages wrapped around the wound on her arm. It’s a flimsy piece of cloth you tore from your cloak, but it’s better than risking it against whatever natural elements the forest offers. You gently pry her fingers away, preventing her from agitating the split skin.

“I did last time,” you remind her. “I’m the one that stopped Astarion from ascending—did Petras tell you that too?”

She falters. And while there’s an apparent hesitance in her eyes, there’s something behind all the rough exterior she’s built up from an undeniably traumatic experience of becoming a spawn. She looks up at you when you squeeze her tiny hand, almost hopeful. Because despite what irreparable damage the past few months have done to her, she remains a child. An innocent caught in a war of bloodshed. And what more can you gather from a child but hope?

“You want to stay with Cora, right?”

She nods sheepishly.

“Then you’ll stay with her,” you smile. “I’ll lend you my trust if you lend me yours, and you don’t run off anyway.”

“Promise?” You hold out a pinkie. She stares at it, but when she meets your eyes, she lifts her own hand to interlink with yours. For a moment, she almost looks like she's forgotten about the reality of her situation. That even if she were to live, she wouldn't be able to stay with Cora for long, given her inevitable nature.

How childish. Innocent. And you’d do anything to keep it from becoming more sinister.

“You let the girl go?” After ensuring Berry returns to her room, Astarion repeats the question for the third time as you turn away from the Highberry household in utter disbelief. The cold night air sends chills down your skin, and you wrap your torn cloak tightly around yourself, walking straight past him. Despite your apparent intentions of ignoring him, he trails after you urgently, following no matter how quickly your steps take you through the dead stillness of the city. “And what if she decides to kill the wife?”

“She won’t.”

“You don’t know that,” he hisses. “What makes you so sure she can go against her very nature to kill just so she can stay in a bedroom she shares with four other kids? All of which are very appetizing meals to her, by the way.”

You shoot him a glare. “I’m sure you would know.”

“I do. Which is all the more reason for me to step in so we don’t have to deal with yet another dead body on our hands.”

“I don’t need advice from someone who wouldn’t hesitate to use a comb as a weapon.” You rub the side of your head to soothe your headache.

“Seeing as you set a spawn free into the city, I’d argue differently.”

“Will you just shut up?”

“I didn’t accompany you to be a pretty toy piece at your side, darling. With the foolish choices you’re making, I have no other choice but to nag,” he rolls his eyes. The snarkiness in his voice is enough to snap what remains of your already worn patience.

“And you think you’re allowed to give me advice?” you spin around to face him, stopping dead in your tracks. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re basically a hostage! You don’t get to make decisions on what we do!”

“Well, who else will you get advice from now that all your little friends seem to have lost all respect for you?” 

Your jaw unhinges. He stands firm, arms crossed, and it’s enough to make your blood boil. “Gods, you’re—you’re such an asshole.”

Astarion laughs bitterly. “Care to tell me anything new?”

“About your personality? We’d be here all night. You’re also forgetting that I fought with the others for your sake, you bastard,” You step closer, teeth gnashing together. “I saved your life.”

“I would’ve survived with or without your help, darling.”

“You only got this far because our friends helped you!”

“Would you like me to be grateful?” he guffaws, and your chest tightens at how condescending it sounds. “Because must I remind you that you also stole the only chance of me escaping this filthy life where I rot away on the streets and feed on lowly criminals? You’ve forced me to be what I am, and now you think I’m indebted to you?”

Why does he keep saying that? You fight the urge to just punch him.

“I’m not saying you owe me anything, you fool!” your eyes meet his in a blaze of fire. Your heart beats rapidly, and you sincerely hope it’s gone unnoticed. “How many times do I have to tell you that I never forced you to do anything—I was stopping you from becoming like Cazador!”

He’s suddenly looming over you, his gaze sharper than before in a frenzied manner. Just mentioning his old master’s name is enough to push him on the offensive. “I never would’ve become like him…not after what that bastard did to me. I would’ve become stronger and been able to help you. Us. So why in the bloody hells you ever stopped me–”

The words pour out like a mountain of sand held by a twig, and you reach to grab the collar of his shirt. “I didn’t need help! Neither of us did, Astarion. It would’ve been hard, but we would’ve made it out like we always do if we just tried!”

You’re unsure you’ll make it out this time, but does it matter anymore?

His frown creases as if none of your pleas are getting through his thick skull. And while you have half a heart to keep blurting out whatever comes to your mind, his sudden silence and the smallest of steps he takes away from you make you seal your mouth shut. Like he’s closing the door again. Like he’s leaving you all alone again.

Your voice drops, and you bring your hand back to your side.

“You’re not being fair, Astarion.”

“Darling, I’ve followed all your stupid rules and remained on my best behavior till now, even when I could’ve caused more than a few casualties. Hells, I even watched that girl go back to the orphanage alive,” he says, quieter. “I’ve been more than fair.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about.”

“What is it, then?”

“It feels like you know everything I’m constantly thinking of, whether it be you or something else,” you mumble. “But you won’t let me know what you’re thinking. I’m not asking you to tell me your deepest secret…I just need to know what I’ve done to deserve the bullshit I have to put up with. I took away the ascension from you; I get that, but is that really it? Is that really why you hate me this much? What’s worse, is that very time it feels like we can finally talk, you just—you tell me that you hate me again and then leave it there to fester even more anger on both sides.”

Astarion stares at you, his expression impossible to read. Horrified but unrelenting of the mountain of unsaid words, you continue. “Just talk to me.”

Why, you want to ask. He knows you only did what you thought was best at the time, so what have you done to deserve such cruelty?

Why do you hate me so much?

He gives you a long, hard look. It was surely only a few split seconds, but it seems like hours as you don’t even dare to breathe, rooted in place as you await his answer. It’s infuriating that you can’t tell what he’s thinking even now. He’s always been far too good at masking his feelings, and while he’d used it against you once, you never thought he’d have to again. And finally, when he moves, he doesn’t move to speak.

He shuts his eyes, and when they open again, he’s grinning. That fake, beautiful grin that brings you so much anguish and conflict simultaneously that it makes the sides of your head pound with the beating of your heart. “Fine, darling. Let’s talk if you want to so badly.”

It's so artificial that it leaves a bad taste in your mouth.

You wish he’d just tell you he hates you again.

He’s blocking you out again. Again and again, no matter how many times you take a step forward, he takes a few back, and the distance between the two of you grows larger. It’s just so exhausting and repetitive. You’re sick of it. 

“Why do I hate you? Where should I start?” he hums. “Ah, perhaps when you took it upon yourself to be the one to stab a knife through Cazador’s heart. I’m rather curious myself, darling, how did it feel? Could you feel his screams through your dagger, or were you too occupied watching the life drain from his face? Was it hard to reach his heart? Did he struggle? Oh, do tell, I’d love to know how that bastard suffered.”

The words feel like a knife to your own chest.

“To think that could have been me if I hadn’t seduced you when we met…You could’ve pierced a stake through my heart when you first caught me longing for your blood. Can you believe it? If you’d just killed me then, you wouldn’t be standing here now. You wouldn’t have let me bed you in that dirty forest clearing, and you would have never felt my lips upon yours. I could have chosen anyone else---anyone in the camp---and we wouldn't be standing here, but Gods was it easy to seduce you."

He stops, and his next words make the blood drain from your face.

"Just like the thousand other victims I brought to Cazador. You're no different from them...all you want from me are my weaknesses. You kept me this way to keep me fragile, and pathetic."

Has listening to someone's voice always been so difficult?

“I didn't—”

“But I suppose you’re the victor in another sense, my dear,” he sneers, his face impossibly close to yours, but he’s never felt so far away. “You should count yourself lucky. Few can say they’ve managed to bed me and survive to tell the tale. You even managed to make me fall for you! You, a simple naive bard, managed to seduce me! And Gods, did you put up a glorious show, darling, betraying me like you did. It was an ingenious move on your part, preventing me from reaching my full potential—the hero of Baldur’s Gate wouldn’t want anything tainting their beloved city with blood, after all–”

No, this is all wrong. This does nothing but make things worse. You wish he'd just stop.

In the blink of an eye, Astarion stops speaking. With expecting eyes, his attention flickers to the knife now pointed at his pale throat. You practically gnaw on the inside of your cheek as you inch the knife just a few centimeters from breaking skin. “Shut up.”

Astarion’s glare narrows on your hand. “Enough talking for you?”

You see that whatever man you fell in love with in what feels like another lifetime was a mask. Deep down, you’ve known that the face he wears is nothing but a facade ever since this entire fiasco started and he’d situated himself into your home. Yet, the cruelty still hurts. It hurts how much he detests you with the very same face that once worshipped your very breath. Gods, you’d been so foolish, thinking a damn vampire spawn could feel anything other than hunger….much less love.

He’d likely prefer to eat out your heart than hold it in his cold, dead hands. He’d watch you with those sultry eyes as he sinks his teeth into what remains of your heart and feels nothing but his own thirst being satiated.

So you won’t give him the opportunity. You won’t give him your heart again, even as the sky falls and the ground dissipates.

You’ve done it once, and you’ve never regretted anything more.

“You’re turn, my dear,” he says. “If you wish to say something, feel free to do so.”

He steps closer, and the tip of your blade draws a small bead of blood. He doesn’t seem to care.

Red, red, red. Your vision is growing blurry.

You inhale sharply. Breathe. You can still breathe. Words that had been bottled up inside dissipate the longer you watch him, as you understand that no matter what you say or do, he will remain as he is. While you want to tell yourself it’s because time itself has ceased for him, you know he doesn’t want to change in the first place.

“I should kill once this is over,” you mutter calmly. His blood now falls down the side of your knife. “But I’m not like you. I’m not as pathetic or petty as you are, even though I’ve been through less than you probably have. I don’t attempt murder just because things don’t go my way.”

His smile twitches.

“If you like being alone so much, then I won’t stop you. Once this is all over, I never want to see you again. I don’t care what you do, but I just want you to disappear. I want you gone, forever, in whatever shadows you hide in during the day.”

It only seems like yesterday when you begged the moon to see him one last time.

Even though he’s speaking through his teeth, he nods as you bring your knife back to your side. “I’m glad we have something to agree on.”

You want to laugh, but you fear it’ll come out as cracked.

“And you’re right,” you wipe his blood off the dagger on your sleeve, not bothering to spare him a glance. “I should have let the others behead you when we met.”

If he wants to sabotage the little good left in his life, let him. If he wants to be miserable for the rest of his undying days over what’s already been done, let him. You don’t care anymore.

Amusement drips from his voice. “A shame.”

His finger tilts your chin upward, his thumb rubbing at the side of your cheek. It’s then that you realize there’s a whiff of blood coming from a wound on your skin—a result of the forest, you’d guess. You try to swat him away, but his thumb swipes the droplets of blood to the side of your face, staring down at you with eyes that resemble rubies. You’ve always loved them, describing them as the gems you’ve stumbled across in such dire times, but now all you want to do is look away. They’re too harsh. They’re too cold. They’re too him.

You swallow the lump in your throat as he licks your blood off the pad of his thumb.

“It would’ve been better if one of us died that day.”

He takes his time to respond. 

“I know.”

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#astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #bg3 astarion #astarion #bg3 x reader #bg3 #fluff #astarion x oc #baldurs gate 3 x reader

[barefoothighlander]

call me little sunshine - iii

-summary: you come home for summer break to find a new man has moved in next door, he’s charming and mysterious so you welcome him to the neighbourhood

-simon ‘ghost’ riley x fem!reader

-warnings: mdni (18+), dark themes, smut, unprotected pinv, slight stalker!ghost, public sex, fingering, creampie, underwear as a gag, possessive!ghost, age gap

prev part masterlist

a/n: this part is short but it’s basically porn with plot anyways so

It had been four days since he left, he didn’t tell you where he was going, only that he’d be gone for a while. You didn’t want to know, whatever he was doing it didn’t concern you, you needed to distance yourself from him, his mere existence a stain on your conscious.

You found yourself dreaming of him, your body jolting awake from the too-familiar sensation of his touch, it scorched your skin. As if your thoughts weren’t already consumed by him, he had snuck his way into your sleeping mind, intent on invading the entirety of you.

The morning of the fourth day you woke up in a thin layer of sweat, the warmth outside doing little to settle your mental unrest. Sleeping was difficult, the only comfort you found was in his presence, his warmth holding you, keeping you safe. You wanted to call him, to reach out but every part of you fought against it, this perverse relationship that had taken over your life, it felt wrong, dirty.

You turn in your bed, arms reaching for your side table where the key to his house lay, mocking you as you stare at it, you could easily just go to his room, lay in his bed and let the scent of him wash over you, you could snoop around, try and figure out more about him, even if would hurt you.

The pinging of your phone breaks you from your thoughts, grabbing the device to read the message,

In town for the day, meet up? x

You let out a sigh at the message, a text from an old friend, Jake, you're relieved it isn't Simon. You think it over in your head, you hadn't seen Jake in a few months, going your separate ways after the semester ended, he was kind, considerate, everything Simon wasn't, you unlock your phone to message back.

Sounds good, does noon work?

Works perfect babe, see you then. x

It'd be nice to be around some new masculine energy you think, see an old friend, have a conversation about something other than sex, it'll be refreshing.

11:30 rolls around and you make your way into town, it's a short drive, only a few minutes but the streets are narrow meaning you'd have to walk a few blocks to the cafe you and Jake agreed upon. It's right beside a small bed and breakfast that he was staying at, his face lights up upon meeting your gaze.

"Been too long darling" He wraps his arms around you, placing a kiss on your cheek, you smile back at him, your hands settling on his shoulders.

"Missed you too Jake"

He directs you to a small table outside the cafe, pulling your chair out slightly to allow you to sit, moving to sit in front of you. He's a ball of energy, asking questions about your summer break, answering your questions about his travels, your chest warms with the sense of familiarity, you're comfortable around Jake, he doesn't make you nervous or scared.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't attracted to him, he was handsome, chin length curly brown hair, dark eyes, and the same gold medallion around his neck that he never took off, you rest your chin on your hand, watching him as he speaks, he's passionate about his travels, specific with his words.

"Do I have something on my face?" He smiles, you break from your trance, shaking your head as a blush rises to your cheeks,

"No, sorry, just got distracted" You laugh

"Well, what about you, any new guys in your life?"

You hitch your breath, the words striking a nerve,

"Nope"

"Not one? Seriously?"

You lie through your teeth, "Not one"

The rest of your conversation is mundane, he asks about school and your family, listening intently as you talk about your studies, you can't help the smile that persists on your face, he made you feel relaxed, he was predictable and calm, it was nice to spend time with someone who didn't make your entire body feel like it was being engulfed by flames, but the itch of him was still there, the way his fingers traced your skin, it was something you could never forget.

Trying to busy yourself after getting home you wind up tending to the garden in your backyard, kneeling in the dirt as you prune the leaves of a few bushes of flowers, oblivious to your surroundings including the heavy slam of a car door in the front yard.

"You look good like that, on your knees"

There's no mistaking his voice, his deep accent echoing in your bones as you turn to face him, he's invited himself onto your property, leaning against the small shed that sat in the corner of the yard as he eyes you.

"Good afternoon to you too"

"Who was that bloke you were with earlier?"

"What?"

"The boy that sat across from you at the cafe, who was he"

"Were you spying on me?"

"Answer the question"

You stand from your position, moving closer to him, his scent invading your senses, it was like no matter what you did, there would be something about him that commanded your attention.

"A friend"

"A boyfriend"

"Just a friend"

"Don't like the sound of that"

"You sound jealous" A small smirk on your lips

"Not jealous love"

"Then what?" You stand closer, taunting him, watching his eyes rake over your chest as his crossed arms tighten.

"Did he touch you"

"Maybe"

"Don't be a fuckin' brat"

"What if he did? Would you hurt him?"

"I'd fuckin kill em"

You huff a small laugh, staring up at him with rounded eyes, "You don't own me, Simon, I can fuck whoever I please"

That sets him off, he drops his arms, stepping forward and forcing your body back, invading your space until your back collides with the wall of the shed, his body trapping you. He leans down, his lips next to your ear, the hair on your neck standing on end in anticipation,

"You're being a little brat you know that" He whispers, turning his face so you can see his eyes, waiting for your response,

"Didn't realize" You whimper

His breath lingers over your skin, arousal dripping from your core in anticipation,

"Watch your mouth"

You let out a sigh as his hand connects with the skin of your thigh, tracing his fingers closer to your core, you elicit a moan as his hand cups your clothed sex, his fingers pinching over your soaked folds.

“So wet already, you need me don’t you, say it”

You turn your head to face him, your cheeks flush in embarrassment as you look at him, it’s been too long, and he feels so right.

“I need you”

“That’s my girl, only I can touch you”

“Only you”

He slips his fingers under the band of your panties, tugging them down your legs before closing his fingers around them.

“I’ve missed you my angel”

He teases his fingers through your folds, collecting your slick and spreading it around, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit as your hands reach for him.

“Gotta be quiet, don’t wanna wake the neighbour’s”

His words mean nothing, all you can focus on is the way his digits work your pussy, teasing over all the right spots as you crumble before him, his large form pressing against you, keeping you pinned to the wall as his lips press against your neck, sucking on your pulse point.

“You’re not gonna cum, not until I stretch you out on my cock”

You clench around nothing, his words guiding your body, keeping you on a high that would have no end, not unless he said so.

He grabs your hand, placing it over his hardening cock, squeezing your smaller fingers around his length,

“Feel that, that’s what you do to me, hurts, you gonna fix it?” He mumbles against your skin, you nod lightly,

“Please, want to help”

“Knew you would baby”

He moves back, undoing his pants to let his cock spring free, your core aches at the sight, his tip red and dripping as you move your hands to it.

His fingers stay on your clit as he uses an arm to lift you, his chest pressed to yours as he lines himself up. You let out a cry as he pushes in, the stretch of him too much after too long apart,

“Gotta stay quiet”

Your hands cling to his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pushes in further, a string of moans from your lips as he bottoms out. He turns his gaze to you, his eyes dark as he reaches a hands up,

“Open”

He pushes the fabric into your mouth, stuffing it inside your lips, the taste of your slick lingering on it as it soaks in your saliva.

“There we go”

He braces his hands on your waist, holding you as he pulls his cock out, dragging it along your dripping walls as your head drops back, your moans muffled by your panties.

“Missed this pussy so much”

He grunts as he thrusts into you, bottoming out with every stroke, his thumb tracing over your clit, your body teetering on the edge of orgasm as he works you open.

“Can he fuck you like this, huh?”

You pull your focus to him, his eyes staring back at you as his hips snap upwards, you try to respond but it comes out a muffled mess, shaking your head.

“That’s right, this pussy belongs to me, it’s fuckin mine” He punctuates his words with a thrust, forcing the head of his cock deep inside you as your slick drips from your core, pooling around the base of his cock.

Your saliva pools at the edges of your mouth, dripping down your chin as he grabs your hips, lifting your body and forcing it down on time with his thrusts,

“Fuck, not gonna last long with this tight pussy squeezin’ me”

Your hands paw at his skin, grabbing at his shirt, trying to ground yourself,

“Cum for me, show me how good I make you feel”

His words snap the band in your stomach, your orgasm tearing through your body as you writhe in his grip, your sobs quiet in your throat as tears prick at your eyes.

“That’s it, my perfect girl, my perfect fuckin girl”

His orgasm follows yours, his thrusts sloppy as he chases his high, wrapping his arms around your back as he holds you to him, burying his cock inside you as he floods your walls with his cum, the liquid dripping from your core as you spit the gag from your mouth, panting against his shoulder.

He holds his softening cock in you, his lips pressing softly to your neck as he mumbled against the skin.

He lowers you slowly, his hand on your waist steadying your wobbling legs as you lean back against the shed, heavy eyes staring back at him.

“Daddy’s home”

You furrow your brows at him, his gaze drawing your attention to your fathers car that had pulled into the driveway, panic setting into your nerves.

“I don’t want to see him with you again”

You’re in a daze, brain completely fogged, unable to form a response as you watch your fathers form grow closer, focused on him as Simon leans down toward the ground.

“Afternoon” He shouts, waving to the two of you,

“Good to see you, was just getting some gardening tips from your daughter, can’t seem to keep even a weed alive in my yard”

“She’s fantastic isn’t she, very gentle hand”

Simons smirks at the words, stepping back slightly from your body,

“You alright hun? Looks like this heats getting to you”

Your cheeks flush, thankful that the sheen of your skin seemed to hide it from your father, “Mhm, just been out too long I guess”

“Well, you should get inside, I’m sure you can talk to Simon later”

“Right, I’ll see you both later then” You nervously add, moving past the men toward your house, eyes staring at your feet as you leave.

You rush toward your room, your skin on fire as you peel back your curtains, watching the two men interact in your yard, you see Simons hand in his pocket, fidgeting as you squint your eyes.

Realization hits, it’s your panties in his pocket, he’s playing with your panties as he talks to your father, you can’t tell if the sweat on your skin is from the heat, embarrassment or how turned on it makes you. It feels so wrong, everything about him, the way he treats you, using you at his will, but you crave his touch, his words, everything about him.

There’s no escape anymore, you can’t avoid him no matter what you try, he’s always there, might as well give in.

#simon riley fluff #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley x reader #cod mw2 #ghost cod #ghost fluff #ghost mw2 #simon riley x you #mw2022 #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x you #call of duty mwii #simon ghost riley angst #cod mw x reader #call of duty #ghost simon riley #simon riley angst

[imaginesandbandfiction]

Triad Part 1 — How You Met Cas and Az

A Cazriel x Reader Headcanon

Series Masterlist

A/N: This is a headcanon on steroids, haha! Kind of a prequel in the same universe as this one. I’ve got a few more in the works but feel free to shoot me an ask if you have any requests!

You met Cassian and Azriel when you were sent from your tiny border village to Velaris, hand-picked by Madja as one of her healer’s apprentices.

Cassian first; even through teeth gritted against pain, he’d been a shameless flirt.

“Wow, you’re really good with your hands,” he said, flashing a cheeky grin over his shoulder as you wrapped it in a bandage to keep it stable while his muscles finished healing.

You patched him up a few more times before meeting Az, but eventually the Shadowsinger showed up with a gash in his back, bisecting his wings.

It was clearly not an injury from active combat, nor did it seem like torture. It was a threat. Using power for power’s sake.

You’d made eye contact, and your eyes drooped at the corners like you knew not to mention it, but your concern needed to express itself somehow. Like your empathy for others was woven into your skin.

When you finished your apprenticeship, Rhysand offered you a job in his court as a field healer. Later, you’d learn it was Azriel who’d recommended you.

In hindsight, you should have seen it sooner. When Rhys needed a job done right, no questions asked, he sent his dream team. The general, the spy, and the healer.

You spent 5 decades convinced the connection between the three of you was purely platonic.

It was Azriel who started suspecting the mating bond first. He felt his shadows tugging him towards you like they’d already sniffed you out. They never listened properly around you unless someone was in mortal danger; preferring to lap at your feet like gentle waves. Sometimes, one would escape from his grasp and snake its way up your body and you’d giggle—it was over for him the first time heard it. So he kept quiet, either biding his time until the bond snapped and proved him right or left him doomed to an eternity of pining.

You were worth the risk.

Cassian, on the other hand, went straight to Rhys when he started suspecting. Just barged right into the High Lord’s study like he owned the place and draped himself over the armchair in the corner.

“What’s wrong, brother?” Rhys asked, secretly grateful for a distraction; he’d been doing paperwork all morning

“I just got done training with Y/N,” Cassian grumbled.

“Congratulations, or I’m sorry that happened?”

“I dunno, it’s been weird lately. Like my siphons aren’t working properly, or something. I can feel my magic flowing through my body when I’m around her and… it’s so fucking stupid, Rhys, but…” Cas trailed off, too afraid to say the words in case they weren’t true.

“You’re wondering if it could be the mating bond?” Cas buried his head in his hands and nodded. Rhys laughed at him. “Well, just from looking at you I think that it probably is, but I can take a look and see if your magic looks any different.”

“Do it.” There was no hesitation. He had to know.

Rhys slipped into Cassian’s mind and it was pure chaos. The red threads of his magic were tangled up with shimmering gold and deep violet.

Rhys pulls out and Cassian’s head snaps up, wide eyes locking on Rhys’s. Cas’s face lit up sight of the High Lord’s shit-eating smirk.

“Really?” he asked, letting the words escape atop a soft exhale.

“Congratulations, brother,” Rhys confirmed.

Cassian attempted to keep it a secret; he didn’t want to force you into anything you’re not ready for or cloud your judgement. But, Mother, he wanted to scream it from the top of Ramiel and let all of Prythian know that you’re his.

So one night, when he and Az were in Windhaven to check on Devlon, he spilled his secret over pints of ale in front of the fire at Rhys’s mother’s cottage.

“Wanna know a seeeeecret?” He slurred, lifting one finger off his glass to point at Az, squinting at the shadowsinger from across the room.

“You’re keeping a secret?” Az asked, one eyebrow raising alongside the corners of his lips. His expectations were low; most of the time, Cassian’s “secrets” were only secret to the male himself — he was usually the last to know.

But when Cassian leans forward and whispers, “Y/N’s my mate,” it takes all of Azriel’s hard-earned self control to keep his magic to himself. The bond was angry, wanted to lash out, but he forced an amused smile onto his lips and mumbled his congratulations into another sip of ale.

After that, Az tried so hard to keep his shadows under control. After all, he had only started suspecting his own bond a few weeks ago, and it’s not like he laid any claim to you, or anything, but… His magic seemed to think otherwise, and the longer he kept it contained, the harder it got to control.

And then the bond snapped while the three of you were on a mission together in the mortal lands. It didn’t snap for you, though, so they try to act normal around each other but it’s SO HARD, like their magic is butting them against each other. (It is, because they’re stupid).

Rhysand picked up on it as soon as you returned, the tension between the two of them that hadn’t been there when you left. Both men came to him with their concerns, and even though he suspected that there weren’t two separate bonds but one single thread of gold tying the three of you together, he kept quiet. He sat back, watching as their glares and muttered insults turned to heated arguments.

You were baffled at the abrupt change in their dynamic. You suspected it had something to do with a female, but that was none of your business. They’d eventually work out their differences; they were brothers, after all.

A part of you, deep down, felt burning, white-hot rage every time you thought about her, this nameless, faceless female. You bury the burn in work; whenever you’re not in the field, you pick up extra shifts with Madja, healing until you’re too exhausted to do anything but grab a sandwich from the cafe near your apartment and fall into bed. It’s the only way sleep comes without a fight.

It takes a few weeks for the pressure building between them to boil over; your shift is almost over when the two Illyrians show up, bruised and bloody. They stand in the doorway to your office, shoulders hunched and eyes downcast. Something in you snaps at the sight of them, that white-hot anger bursts into raging golden flames.

“What the fuck has gotten into you two lately?” You yell, crossing the small room in two long strides to poke a finger into each of their chests, reveling in the twin winces on their faces.

Cassian opens his mouth to speak but you glare at him to shut him up. “Actually, no, I don’t want to hear it. Whatever it is, you gotta figure that shit out because this is ridiculous.” You pause to take a deep breath before continuing. “The two of you have been so fucking annoying lately, I told Rhys not to send me back out with either of you until you pull your heads out of your asses.”

Like they were two halves of the same whole, their faces fell in unison. Warmth bloomed from your navel inwards, filling you with magic like molten caramel. The last thing you saw before you passed out were the apologies lurking behind their eyes, and then everything went black.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar imagine #acotar headcanon #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #cassian x azriel x reader #azriel x cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x reader #azriel x you #azriel x reader #cassian headcanons #azriel headcanons #cazriel x reader #cazriel

[sunderlust]

sweat dripping on our dirty laundry (hangman x reader)

masterlist

pairing: jake 'hangman' seresin x f!reader

synopsis: laundry day can suck but less when you and jake fuck!

warnings: 18+ ONLY, explicit sexual activity (fingering, piv, unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, cum play near the end? oops, bad laundry innuendos, pwp)

as always - I love you jordan and may (aka gretagerwigsmuse & seasonsbloom) you both give me life and motivation and break my heart with every fic and then put it back together <3

It’s not like you absolutely despise laundry day - it’s more of a love-hate relationship. On one hand, the serotonin boost from an empty hamper and a full, clean smelling closet is unmatched. On the other hand... you and Jake have way too many clothes put together, and the chore can take almost all day if enough clothes and towels pile up. Normally, you and Jake tackle it together. But he’d just returned from his most recent deployment two days ago, and you wanted to give him a chance to properly rest his body, lounge around the house, let him catch up on the Cowboys’ disaster of a season. 

“Hey Jake?” you call out from the laundry room over the hum of the dryer cycle. You’d left him in the middle of your trashy reality TV session to transfer the lights. “You got anything I can throw in the laundry? I’m doing a load of darks.” 

Silence - you figure he’s probably dozed off and resolve to just go check his hamper after you finish untangling your bras. But a few minutes later, you hear his footsteps approaching the laundry room, stopping in the middle of the doorway. 

“What was that, sweetheart?” he rumbles, voice slightly hoarse, and you feel bad for waking him from his sleep. 

“Oh, nothing,” you reply, finally managing to hook one of the clasps together and slipping it into your lingerie bag. “Just wanted to know if you had any darks I could throw in...” you trail off when you turn to look at him, trying desperately to keep your eyebrows from shooting straight off your face as you appraise the six-foot-something Adonis of a man leaning against the door frame wearing what you can best describe as an expression of mischief, like he’s up to no good, like he’s ready to eat you alive. 

You think it wouldn’t be the worst way to go. Bone apple teeth, Jake Seresin. 

Immediately, your eyes catch on the way Jake’s gray sweatpants are slung low on his hips, v-lines especially prominent and a golden happy trail descending below the drawstring knot. Slowly, your gaze shifts upwards to follow the cut lines of his abs, up to the patch of gold hairs on his defined chest, and finally landing on the signature smirk he’s wearing. Jake knows he’s hot, is well aware of the effect he has on you, but it never stops him from trying to catch you off guard and distract you from your responsibilities by showing up in your periphery looking this damn fine. 

It’s why you signed an informal household contract with him a few months back: shirt and pants are required whenever you have to hop on a video call at home. 

While you’ve been shamelessly checking him out, Jake squints. “Are those my boxers?” he asks, eyes drawn to your bottoms as he takes a step forward. 

“They’re comfy!” you defend with a sly smile, turning to add detergent to the washer, feeling all too aware of Jake’s gaze on you. He shifts slightly behind you, and suddenly you feel him right behind you, arms caging you in, erect cock pressed up against your ass, chest flush with your back.

“I’m sure,” he drawls in your ear, sending a shiver cascading down your spine, rippling throughout your nerves. You feel his fingers dance across your hips, and the sweet kiss he presses to your temple is innocent enough, but his hands seem to be acting a bit more shamelessly. His breath hitches when his fingertips start exploring, grazing nothing on your hips underneath his worn pair of boxer shorts. “Don’t you have panties of your own, sweetheart? Bought you that nice lace set you kept pulling up on my phone when I wasn’t looking.” 

“They’re all in the wash,” you hum back, delighting in the feeling of his fingers massaging circles over your hip bones, his hot breath on your ear. 

“Should’ve asked me to help,” he mutters lowly, nuzzling his beard into your neck. 

You finally gather your wits and turn around to face him, leaning your back against the washing machine and looking up at him. His pupils are practically blown out as he smirks down at you appreciatively. “Are you offering?” you ask, almost a whisper, the sound almost lost to the rumble of the dryer next to you. But Jake’s standing real close, can read the words as they form on your lips and he nods once, twice. You glance down at the dark gray sweatpants, gesturing with one hand. 

“Take them off. I need them for this load,” you order, a bit louder now, and the smirk on his face slowly transforms to a wide smile that reaches both his eyes, crinkling his eyes to make your heart swoop. 

“Yes ma’am,” he tells you, finally removing his hands from your waist to shuck off his sweatpants, leaning down to pick them up from where they’ve pooled onto the floor and holding them out to you. But you barely barely notice that - your eyes are drawn to his rock-hard cock that’s flush against his abdomen, tip already red and leaking precum. “But I’ve got the only load you need to worry about.” 

Your steadily climbing lust abruptly stops in its tracks, and you crook an eyebrow as best as you can. “What the fuck, Jake? Are we on fucking Brazzers?” 

Jake bursts out into laughter, leaning in to press his lips to your mouth, and you kiss back as best as you can while maintaining a disapproving pout. “Not if I can help it,” he grits out, still feverishly kissing you like a starved man. “You just make my brain short-circuit, honey. Sometimes I say stupid things.” 

You pull away, narrowing your eyes at the silly boy you’ve fallen in love with, the man you want to spend the rest of your life with, the one who somehow manages to make you hornier than you thought possible whilst also filling you with the desire to club him over the head. “Sometimes?” you hedge, turning around and lifting the lid of the washer and shoving his sweatpants in with the rest of the load. As you spin the dial and close the top, finally starting the cycle, you continue to lecture him “I tell you, Jake, if I had a dime for every stupid thing you said-” 

“Yeah, yeah, you’d probably be able to afford that nice high-efficiency Samsung laundry set you’ve had your eye on. But sweetheart..” Jake's hands return to your waist, this time shoving down the boxer shorts slightly so he can slip his fingers between your legs, grazing one digit over your wet lips. “I keep telling you - God you’re fucking soaked-” and you’re unable to hold back the moan that bubbles out in response to the rasp in his voice, to his tone carrying sheer amazement at your level of arousal. Jake continues: “ - I keep telling you, as soon as the house is done, that’s the first thing I’m buying for you. But I don’t want to buy one now and then lug an old model to the new place. My girl deserves the best. A brand new washer for me to fuck her against in our brand new home.”  

You moan out, partially at the promise but equally at the way his other hand has slipped under your (well, his) t-shirt to grope at your breast, the way his fingers are gathering your wetness. 

“Shit, you’re so wet, darling,” he breathes out, sliding one finger through your folds and crooking it just so, enough for the tip of his finger to graze that sponge-y part of your cunt. You keen in response, grinding your pelvis into his hand and gripping his shoulders tightly for support. A click sounds out, and the spin cycle starts, shaking against Jake’s wrist pressed up against your clit, sending delightful sensations quivering throughout your body. 

Jake repositions his other hand to rest on your lower back; he presses slightly to tilt your pelvis forward into the running machine, into the vibrations, into another tidal wave of pleasure that leaves you shuddering in its wake. 

“Fuck, Jake,” you manage, a gasp leaving your lips as he adds a finger to your cunt and plunges them in and out rhythmically, almost in time with the motion of the cycle at first and then speeding up. You’re sighing out in bliss, unable to keep yourself from grinding down on his hand and pressing your bare ass into his hardened cock, feeling slight wetness on your lower back from a bead precum falling from the tip. 

“God, sweetheart” Jake grunts, pulls his hands out from your cunt and spins you around, then effectively hoists you up onto the machine, lips pressing into your neck as his hands make work of dragging the boxer shorts down your legs. He surges forward to kiss you deeply, slipping his tongue to press in against yours, heavy breaths escaping his mouth as his hands travel to graze his touch all over you. 

For a moment, it’s just you two being horny people, just making out on top of your washing machine almost completely naked, entirely wrapped up in each other, just full of sheer and utter devotion. You pull away to catch your breath, inhaling the scent of sweat and his musky cologne. 

With a smile, you lean your forehead against his.  “You’re gonna make love to me on top of the washer, Jake?” you ask him innocently, bashing your eyelashes and running your hand down his chest, tangling and tugging at his golden hairs teasingly. Jake grunts out at the sensation, reaching down to grab the hem of your t-shirt to pull it up over you. 

“No, sweetheart,” he starts, eyes darting down to appreciate the way your nipples have pebbled in the cool air before sliding his hands down to your hips. In a split second, he pulls you to the edge, grasps his hard length in one hand, guides it into your soaked pussy. “I’m going to fuck you on top of it.” 

And with that, the spin cycle starts up again, and Jake starts drawing his hips in and out slowly, hands resting on the small of your back to hold you in place. And it’s truly fo the best, because the rumble of the washing machine is sending vibrations up throughout your body and the feeling of Jake buying himself into you over and over agains is so overwhelming you fear you may topple over onto your side, hit your head on the cabinet, maybe sustain a concussion. And Jake’s always aware of this, always aware of how easily he can fuck your brainless, make you lose control of your body as a whole as you get lost in the motions of him just pounding you silly - so Jake knows he needs to keep a firm grip on you, which only adds to your pleasure. He’s moaning out your name over the sound of both machines running, pressing soft kisses to your jaw as he holds you up. 

“Not enough,” you murmur, placing one hand on his chest to stop his motions and attempting to pull him out. 

“Hmm?” he asks, slightly dazed as he takes a step back, cock still standing tall and proud and dripping with your wetness. As soon as your feet hit the floor, you turn on your heel and lean both your forearms down on the edge of the washing machine, gripping it tightly and bending over to present your ass to him, arching your back just the way he likes it. By the sound of the strangled groan behind you, it seems like Jake approves. 

“Smart girl,” he says, sending a tiny flutter of pride throughout your chest, and one arm comes to wrap itself around your middle to hold you up, the other hand kneading and squeezing your backside roughly. “Such a pretty, smart girl,” he praises and guides his length back into your warmth, starts to match the pace of the spin cycle again. 

“It’s too much,” you whine out, still backing into him despite yourself and pushing yourself further onto his length. Jake hisses out at your eagerness, and the way your walls flutter around him and the slight tremors in your thighs from trying to hold yourself up. 

He moves his hand from where it’s cupping your ass and slides it around to your front to press into your stomach. His fingers are widely splayed, and with a slight grunt, he lifts, pulling you further onto him. “Hold tight, sweetheart,” he manages, and you grasp at the one neuron that’s still firing commanding signals in your brain, trying to consciously force your fingers to tighten their grip on the edge of the washing machine before Jake’s actions hit you in full force. 

And in full force it hits indeed - he’s pounding into you from the back now - his pelvis smacks loud against your ass and the squelch of your soaked cunt is the most erotic sound and it’s just barely audible over the machines. Your thoughts are interrupted by Jake tugging at your earlobe with his teeth and grunting out the most colorful string of profanities - “Fuck, sweetheart, feel so good wrapped around my cock, so fucking good for me - let me fill you up, let me put a baby in you, get your tits and belly nice and big for me so I can take care of you, never let you lift a finger, fuck, please...” 

“Yeah, Jake,” you breathe out as best as you can, “Fill me up, please, too much, please...” 

And with his chin grazing your shoulder, you can feel him shaking his head furiously. “You first. You first, please, sweet girl, cum for me,” and he’s not so much as commanding you as he is begging, pleading for you to release, to give him the extra push for him to climax. And as he’s swearing out loud and praising you his hand is sliding down from where it was gripping your hip, fingers seeking out your clit to give it the extra flick, the extra strum to bring you close and it’s working, with the way his cock is grazing all the right spots inside of you and his middle finger applying just enough pressure to your apex. 

“Jake, please,” you whine out, and he’s hushing you, pulling his hips back further to completely unsheath himself before slamming back into your cunt with a resounding smack. “I think I’m... oh.” Your orgasm washes over you, sending you cascading 

“That’s it, sweetheart,” he grits out, not slowing the circles on your clit just yet but gradually decelerating his thrusts, electing to punctuate each press into you with a grind of his hips. “Shit, I’m,” Jake manages out, grunting out your name with an added level of intensity, power - he’s close, you can feel it in the way his grip is tightening around your body and the way his breath is getting so much faster and how his hips are more stilted in their movements. 

“Cum in me, fill me up, Jake,” you coax, clenching your cunt down on his cock repeatedly and trying your best to push back against his thrusts. Jake lets out a strangled cry of your name, slams into you one last time and holds you tight against his body. His cock is shoved inside you as deep as it can go and you can feel every pulse, every throb of his release filling you to the brim. It’s oozing, comforting warmth and you reach a hand back to lock his hips in to feel full, to feel this close to him for that much longer. 

Eventually, his cock starts softening, and he leans down to press a sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Jake,” you whine out as he pulls out, immediately using the last of your strength to squeeze your thighs together to keep his cum from spilling out and leaving another mess for you to clean up in the laundry room. Your muscles feel sluggish, feel like you’re trying to run underwater, feel like you’ve forgotten how to use your limbs. “‘m so tired,” you whisper, and Jake shushes you sweetly, one large hand rubbing circles on your lower back while the other is wrapped around your middle, all but holding you up. 

“Let me take you to bed, honey. Think we’re both due for a nap,” he murmurs and slightly lifts you up from where you’ve almost collapsed against the washing machine. You blearily open your eyes to glance at how much time is remaining for your clothes - “Jake? Can’t nap for too long. Wake me up in twenty?” 

“Sure,” he nods, letting you lean on his arm to lead you out towards your bedroom. 

The first step you take sends a rivulet of cum dripping down the inside of your thigh, and the feeling of the rest of his release slowly trickling out sends another wave of arousal through you, mixed with a twinge of despair at having to clean it up. A pathetic whine manages to escape your lips. 

Jake chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead and guiding your hand to lean against the counter. “Stand still for me? I’ll take care of it.” He steps away towards the sink grab a clean washcloth from the stack of towels you neatly folded earlier, running some warm water over it. 

And with a hazy mind, you thank whatever deity, whatever force exists that brought you Jake Seresin - the man who fucks you within an inch of your sanity, who takes care of you like no one else, who wants to spend his forever with you... who’s currently on his knees in front of you, nudging your thighs apart and is starting at how his release has painted your cunt, completely mesmerized. 

“Jesus Christ,” he says in awe, reaching to run a finger through the mess - like he’s ready to fucking fingerpaint with it - before finally lifting up the washcloth to wipe you down, and you shudder at the feeling while simultaneously managing an eye roll. 

Horny bastard. 

-- 

And when you wake up from your nap hours later in a cold sweat with the realization that you most definitely slept through the washer cycle - and that your darks were most certainly going to develop that funky odor - you quickly move to lift yourself out of bed with a sigh. 

A hand on your waist stops you, and you turn to see Jake’s face of anguish in the dim light of the evening - he’s still half-asleep, left cheek pressed up against his arm and golden hair a tousled mess, but he’s still managing a signature pout as best as he can. 

“Don’t go,” he grunts out, pressing his fingers into your hips. You shake your head, even though you know he can’t see you.

“Jake, I’ve gotta move the clothes, they’ll dry weird-” 

“Took care of it already, baby,” he groans out against his bicep, turning slightly so his hand can pull at your arm. “Lights are folded and put away, darks are in the dryer, and I deserve to nap with my girl after fucking her brains out.”

You stifle a laugh, finally giving in and letting yourself fall back into bed, into his awaiting arms, falling back into the man you love. As your drift off to sleep with Jake’s arms wrapped securely around you, a tiny voice wonders if you could manage to convince him to get the quiet washer/dryer set now if you pointed out how clearly he’d be able to hear your sighs and the sound of sex over a cycle. Maybe then you could grow to enjoy laundry days.

#hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin smut #top gun maverick smut #tgm fic #mine

[flowersandbigteeth]

Can you PLEEEEASE do more with the Hesian rancher he's my absolute favorite. I just want an update with him slowly more and more considering the human as a sentient being (maybe finds drawings or the human trying to teach herself how to speak galactic standard) but still loves her unconditionally and listens to her while still conditioning her to be his mate. This man makes me too hot and bothered for my own good 🥵

I had a bit of fluff written about them along those lines before I got sick, so here ya go ^_^ this is just a sfw thing

Hesian Alien (Kostas) x female reader

Word Count: 1k

🌶️ NSFW MASTERPOST 🌶️ (the first part of this story is nsfw, fyi)

W: petification, brief non-serious mention of suicide

“SOMEONE END ME. PUT ME OUT OF MY MISERY.” you wrote in the dirt with a stick you’d found. 

“Are you drawing, (Y/N)?” Kostas asked, as he breezed past you holding a big fluffy sheep thing, “that’s very detailed and pretty.” 

You glared at him and snarled. 

“I hate this and I hate you!” you stomped your feet and kicked over a pile of some kind of purple hay. 

The rancher didn’t even look over his shoulder. This wasn’t the first or last tantrum you’d had since he’d dragged you along behind him on a leash while he tended to his fluff balls. You had regained your stamina after he’d fed you and had been relatively docile until it got hot outside. 

Now you were sweating, the sun was beating down and it was obvious he wasn’t even halfway through whatever it was he was doing to the docile little creatures. One of them wandered over to you and poked at you with its trunk. You tried to growl at it, but it just gave you an empty look with dopey eyes and you felt bad. 

You flopped on your back on the ground, tugging on your leash, which Kostas had tied to a fence post. 

“Aaaaaaaaaggggghhhh!” you screamed. 

A shadow passed over you and you went still in the sudden coolness, smiling a little. 

“You’re going to have to learn to express yourself more appropriately, (Y/N),” Kostas’ deep voice rumbled. 

He reached down and brushed the sweat off of your forehead.

“If you are hot, you have to tell me so I can help you,” he said, “kicking things doesn’t let me know what is wrong.” 

Your eyes got huge and there was a moment before you lost your shit. 

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO DO THIS ENTIRE TIME YOU BIG DUMB STRAWBERRY HIMBO!?” you screamed, jumping up and waving your hands. 

Kostas chuckled at you and walked over to a cooler to get you a weird gel cube of water before handing it to you. 

“You’re so cute,” he said, patting your head as he watched you rub the blessedly cool thing all over your cheeks and chest, “you’re supposed to eat it.” 

You bared your teeth at him and he pulled another one from the cooler and bit off the corner, before snatching you up in his big hand and squirting some in your mouth. 

“MPHH!” you gulped as you swallowed and glared at him. 

“You’re going to learn some Galactic Standard words today,” he informed you, watching you drink the rest of the cube in his hand, “I know you’re not stupid, despite what the Ozil would have us believe.”

He smiled at you. 

“I wanna see how clever you really are.” 

Your eyebrows went up at his first acknowledgement that you might actually be sentient. He narrowed his eyes on you and pulled your hand to his lips. Your cheeks flushed immediately. 

“Focus here,” he said, his intense gold and green eyes forcing yours to his mouth. 

You caught a flash of fang as he spoke and your heart fluttered. He nodded up. 

“See the sun? That’s hot. HOT.” 

Since the translator installed in your body did a lot of the comprehension work for you, you had to focus on the way his lips moved to actually figure out the word he was saying and then try to replicate it. 

“Hot,” you finally managed after a few mangled attempts. 

He grinned and pointed to the cooler. 

“The water in the cooler is COLD. Can you say that? COLD.” 

You took your time, this time feeling his lips move as he repeated the word for you. 

“Cold,” you managed. 

“So how do you feel?” he asked, testing if you really understood him. 

“Hot,” you said and he beamed. 

“What do you want?” he asked. 

“Cold,” you said. 

“That’s amazing (Y/N)!” he cheered for you, spinning around and tossing you in the air, before catching you again, making you shriek, “I knew you were clever!” 

You would have been indignant, because of course you were, if he hadn’t of proceeded to shower you with a flurry of kisses on your cheeks and the corners of your mouth. 

He looked at you for a second. 

“I bet you could read too, if I taught you,” he said thoughtfully, and glanced back at the cooler. 

“See that word on the front? I’ll show you letters later, but for now you can learn what words look like. That means cooler.” 

You nodded sagely. Your intelligence being acknowledged went a long way in improving your mood. Somehow you felt like you’d gained a victory and the rest of your afternoon was much more entertaining as you spent it pointing at various things and making Kostas give you the word for them. By dinner you were working with a small vocabulary of basic nouns. 

“Do you want to try and say my name, (Y/N)?” he asked as the sun set and he led you back to his house, your work done for the day, “it’s Kostas. Kos-tas.”

You beamed up at him with mischief. 

“HIM-BO” you pronounced carefully in English. 

He frowned at you as this was the first time you’d done something incorrect all day. 

“No, Kost-as,” he tried again, pulling your hand to his mouth, “K-K-kossstaaasss”

“Hiiiimbo,” you said giggling. 

He twisted his lip and stared at you for a moment before it dawned on him you were teasing him somehow. He gave you a smirk and narrowed his eyes at you. “I think you are a lot smarter than they said you were,” he murmured, tossing you over his shoulder and smacking your bottom, making you squeal.

#alien fluff #sfw fluff #monster fluff #exophelia #monster x reader #alien x reader #x reader

[missmeinyourbones]

oh oh okay atsumu then for the chocolate thing!! and suddenly every household chore he has becomes a shirtless one. shirtless folding laundry, shirtless mopping the floor, shirtless doing the dishes…and he folds first bcs he’s really just turned himself on thinking about what’ll happen when you give in

AFAB reader, highly suggestive, minors DNI

"and where did you get these?"

atsumu was a bit too proud himself when he came home with the surprise in hand. plopping it on the table and beckoning you over, he carefully watches as you examine the box with suspicion. 

simple black and decorated with gold lettering, it looks normal. like an average box of chocolates, one he’d get you on valentines day or as a sweet surprise after a bad week. but when he cracks it open and removes all plastic protectant, you know somethings different. 

"online," atsumu merely shrugs, focused on reading the backing of the box as he removes the contents. 

you snort in annoyance, "that's comforting."

“don't worry about it," he beams at your grumpy facade. 

there are only four chocolates inside of the box, each with an imbedded slit in the middle, implying they be broken in half and shared with someone else.

"they're safe,” he assures you, “you know i'd never give you somethin' that wasn't."

though his sweetness shines through, you roll your eyes at the entire situation. 

its not that you’re against the idea of some silly aphrodisiac, whether it works or not. but today was your designated cleaning day, and if this was atsumu’s cheap way of getting out of his share of chores, then he has another thing coming. 

"not today," you decline his eager offer. "we have things to do."

the pout that pulls at his lips is almost immediate. "baby, c'mon. it'll be fun."

he pokes your side and chuckles when you flinch at the sudden prod. he bites his tongue before it can say something smart about how you don’t even need the chocolate to be sensitive. 

"you said you'd help me clean," you remind him through gritted teeth, though your fingers still dance along the spine of the box. 

"and i will,” he childishly insists. “i can be horny and clean at the same time. usually am when yer around, anyways."

his comment receives a halfhearted smack to the chest.

"stupid," you note out loud, more so to the package before you rather than to the man beside you. "it's probably all psychological," you mutter beneath a sigh. 

atsumu’s eyes narrow in thought, "psychological...?"

"tell me you know what psychological means."

"course i do, but how?"

he watches your eyes flicker between the box and the chocolates, as if you’re teetering on the edge of decision. what he recognizes to be a nervous hand comes up and picks at your lower lip. 

"like when you tell a kid not to eat a piece of candy, it makes them want it more," you explain. 

atsumu nods along, "so yer the candy in this scenario."

"and you're the kid," you confirm.

a grin flashes across his face and you’ve known him long enough to know that it’s one of no good. 

"so if it's just psychological," he borderline challenges, removing one from he wrapper and splitting it between his fingers, holding a half out in front of you, "eat one and do yer chores."

you eye the candy in his hand with suspicion, before plucking it from his hold and weighing it in your palm. "it’s not me i’m worried about," you remind him. 

atsumu perks up a bit too quickly at your implied response. "i’ll do my chores too, swear." his hand is raised like he’s promising and reciting a boy-scout’s oath. 

and with that, the chocolates are pressed and dissolved on your tongues, and (much to atsumu’s dismay) the long list of chores to be done begins. 

he’s fine, for a little bit. sure, sweeping the kitchen floor sucks, but it doesn't suck any more than it usually does. and you’re there, too. laughing at a few of his jokes and looking all pretty for him as you wash the dishes piling up in the sink. 

and suddenly, it’s hot. was it always this hot in here? the thermostat reads a comfortable room temp, but he finds himself cracking a window anyways. and when he looks back to you, expecting to see you also feeling the candy’s effects, he’s met with disappointment. minding your own business in between soapy hands and half-clean glassware, you look focused. 

he watches your eyebrows furrow in concentration. listens intently to your tiny grunts of extra pressure applied to certain stubborn spots on the dishes. they remind him a bit too much of the noises you make when he sucks too harshly on that spot by your throat, or even the ones you make when he takes a crooked finger and presses it gently to your—

"feel anything?"

he’s borderline gawking when your innocent question pulls him from his dirty thoughts. broom idlely in hand like a moron, his jaw practically touches the floor as he drools over you doing absolutely nothing. 

he clears his throat, reminding himself to breathe. "nope, you?"

you smile at his usual determination. "nope."

the chores continue. except now atsumu is sweating. it takes few minutes for his shirt to be thrown aside with an excuse the chores making him break a sweat. 

the two of you now fold laundry together, clean linens laid out across the couch, and it’s normal. it’s quiet and domestic, or it would be, if atsumu could stop himself from silently admiring your skin.

your neckline exposed through your loose fitting shirt, he hones in on how your throat bobs when you mindlessly swallow. how your neck strectches and twists with every turn of your head. how your skin, shamefully untouched and barren, is just waiting for him to do something about it. swallow his pride and claim it as his own. and fuck, he can feel himself hardening by the second.  

"still not feeling anything?" he winces behind a tough face.

fully aware of his dwindling resolve, you decide to shrug, "not really."

his last straw wears thin when you reach down to grab the laundry basket tossed aside on the floor, giving him the perfect opportunity to watch your shirt rise with the action, your ass on full display for him. your back arched purposefully elegant. 

you think he whimpers from behind you.

"baby, yer killin' me," crawls from his throat as if he’s in pain (which he would debate, he is). his insatiable hands reaching for you hips, itching to feel any part of you that you’d let him. 

his heart flutters when you sweetly smile up at him and his selfish, grabby hands. 

"so do something about it," you innocently insist. 

atsumu nearly combusts at the five words. "really?" he gawks, still needing your approval, "can i?"

you nod permission, and atsumu’s hand immediately makes itself comfortable beneath your sweatpants and between your thighs. he easily, eagerly takes a single finger and allows it to swipe between your folds. he’s borderline cumming in his pants when he finds that it slips with ease, thanks to your built up slick. 

"fuck, baby," the feeling has him instantly tensing up his thighs. he repeats the action with an added finger, collecting more slick before removing his hand and proudly showing you the mess you’ve webbed between his fingers.

"so,” he teases through a shaky breath as he admires your work, “psychological, huh?"

your head falls back in both anticipation and embarrassment. 

"you have the maturity of an elementary schooler," you mumble towards the ceiling.

"then our analogy still stands—” atsumu growls against your stomach, shirt now riding up and skin vibrating with need as his lips press against it. 

his fingers work your pants down by your ankles as his mouth hungrily works it’s way up your thighs, "—because somethin' tells me yer about to taste like candy."

#love u and ur big brain augustine #miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu smut #miya atsumu smut #atsumu x you #miya atsumu x you #atsumu fic #miya atsumu fic #haikyuu atsumu #haikyuu miya atsumu

[comphy-and-cozy]

congrats on 1k, my love!! 💜

🦋 could we get something for 14. "Get on your knees" with andrei please?

cooked up somethin real nice for you tiff 🫶🏼

celebrate 1k with me

Prompt: #14 “Get on your knees.”

Pairing: Andrei Svechnikov x Reader (f)

Word Count: 1k

Warnings: smut (18+ ONLY), blowjob/face fucking, restraints, spitting, very brief cumplay

The sound of PNC Arena erupting is deafening, a sea of red and black surrounding you as the ever-familiar goal horn buzzes. Andrei’s arms raise in celebration, a fierce cheer leaving his mouth as his teammates pile into his arms for a famed Hockey Hug. ‘Raise Up’ blares through the speakers, instantly triggering a warmth in your heart.

As you watch your Russian skate toward the bench for celebratory fistbumps from his teammates, a different type of warmth fills your body as you think back to your conversation from just a few hours prior.

You were seated on the edge of your bed, watching Andrei select a tie from his collection in the closet. The navy blue suit clinging to his body is your favorite, and you were appreciating yet again how nice it looked on his figure.

“Which one, dorogoy?”

His question startled you, pulling you out of your daydream of stripping the suit off of him, briefly wondering if you’d have time to entice him for a pre-game tryst. You tried to act innocent, glancing at the two ties he held out in his hands, positioning them against his front to show the color match; the smirk on his face told you he’d caught you, though.

“Um…” you trailed off, forcing your mind to focus on the two colors: a pale, yellowish-gold or a rosy pink. “That one.”

Andrei’s expression was smug, his large fingers running along the yellow tie you’d pointed to. You watched him stroke the smooth fabric, seducing you with just the simple act of putting on a tie.

“There’s no time left,” he said, returning the pink tie to the hanger, “but I’ll make it up to you when I get home.”

Your cheeks heated, caught red-handed, and you glanced up at him sheepishly. “Is that a promise?”

“When have I ever not kept my word to you, prinsessa?”

Sure enough, when you hear the key turning in the lock on the front door, your heart thuds in your chest at the promise he’ll soon bring to a reality.

Andrei’s hair is still damp from his post-game shower, his suit back on his body like he hadn’t ever taken it off. He sets his keys on the counter and shrugs off his coat without a glance at you, not even acknowledging you sitting on the couch, still sporting your Canes t-shirt underneath your leather jacket. It makes you shiver, anticipation building before he even gets his eyes on you.

And then he does, catching your gaze with a confident smile, so wide his missing tooth is visible. His arms open then, and you jump off the sofa to hurl yourself into his arms for a celebratory hug.

“That was such a nice goal, Drei,” you murmur into his thick neck, squealing when his arms give you a tight squeeze.

He hums a ‘thank you,’ though the glint in his eye is nothing like the playful smile you expected; instead, he’s smirking at you, gaze predatory.

“Remember what I promised you?”

You nod meekly, eyes drawn to where his hands have raised to loosen the tie around his neck. He slides the silk fabric out of his collar, then raises an eyebrow at you. A silent command.

With a gulp, you present your wrists to him and allow him to tie the soft material around them both. Not too tight—loose enough that you could probably slip out if you tried—but just enough to restrict the use of your hands. Enough to send a message.

“Get on your knees, malyshka.”

Helpless to obey, you do as he asks, sinking to your knees with your bound hands in your lap. You look up at him, and resist the urge to groan when he shrugs off his suit jacket and unbuckles his belt.

Your insides melt when he fishes out his already erect length, pink at the tip and a small bead of precum perched on top. Tucking your lip between your teeth, you resist the urge to moan, instead listening obediently when he tells you to stick your tongue out.

“Good girl.”

Praise warms your insides, followed quickly by warmth between your legs when he taps his shaft on your outstretched tongue. The weight of it is delectably heavy, solid and firm and waiting to be lodged in your throat.

Andrei repeats the action, tapping until he slips just the tip past your teeth, brushing the roof of your mouth with a groan. Your tongue flattens against the bottom of his shaft, pressing against him as he experiments moving into your mouth.

The way he eases in is almost polite, gentle enough to make sure you’re good, at first. But once he knows you’re ready for more, his hips are moving faster, rougher, letting him lose himself in the wet cavern of your mouth.

“Fuck, dorogoy,” he curses, hand fisted into your hair while his eyes squeeze shut. “Your mouth is so good— so fucking good for me, babe.”

The crescendo of his pretty groans alert you to his impending climax, and soon your mouth is flooded with his cum, shooting against the back of your throat.

With another grunt, Andrei eases himself out of your mouth, tongue instantly missing him. But then his large hand is on your jaw, tilting it so you can show him the pool of his cum resting on your tongue.

He hums in approval, admiring the sight paired with the dampness of your eyes. “Krasivy.” Beautiful.

With another nod, he tells you to swallow it. You do, letting the liquid slide down your throat, keeping your eyes on him the entire time.

“One more, dorogoy,” he says, and you open your mouth again.

Andrei purses his lips, letting a string of saliva pour from his mouth, dripping onto your tongue. You feel it slipping back, the same sensation as feeling his cum slip back.

He hums again, appreciative of your obedience. Another nod, and you swallow.

Your Russian tucks himself into his pants before quickly leaning down to press a kiss against your lips. He helps you up, and when you think he’s going to unto your wrists, he gives you a grin.

“Oh, I’m not done with you, kisa.”

#andrei svechnikov fic #andrei svechnikov smut #andrei svechnikov x reader #andrei svechnikov imagine #nhl imagine #hockey fic #smileysvech #c’s 1k celly #asks

[pullhisteeth]

the bone crush | eddie munson

summary you’re five years out of high school and your boyfriend's managed to get famous. some days are harder than others, but he goes to great lengths to make it better. [5.5k]

contains modern!au, fem!reader, rockstar!Eddie/famous!Eddie, established relationship, insecure reader, a fight (kind of), depression, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff

something I dreamed up on the train home from work one evening because I was listening to Taylor and getting all emo. lots of love xxx

-

But I don't like a gold rush / I don't like anticipating my face in a red flush / I don't like that anyone would die to feel your touch / everybody wants you / everybody wonders what it would be like to love you.

-

A tingling sensation spreads from your fingers into your hand, creeping slowly up the length of you arm where it’s pressed between your body and the couch.

You’ve been lying here, on your side on the couch in your apartment, for three hours. The sun’s gone down but you’ve made no effort to move to switch on a light, or to eat, or to do anything, really, besides scrolling mindlessly through every app at your disposal. It began with TikTok, which you opened upon slumping down on the couch after work, still in your stuffy trousers and button-up shirt. It moved to Twitter for a while, then over to Instagram, and back round to TikTok. At one point you even entertained Pinterest, keying doomed phrases into the search bar that you knew would drive you further into the hole.

You’re on Twitter right now. Somehow, you landed on a thread dedicated to the lead guitarist of a well-known rock band. Each new tweet is another photograph of him showing another way that he is, as the poster claims, boyfriend material.

They’re not wrong. The photos are candid shots, taken behind the stage after a gig, or at stage-door late into the night. In each one he looks sleepy, soft, a direct contrast to the gritty stage persona he adopts. He’s got a dopey half-smile or he’s sticking his tongue out; in some, he’s wearing a beanie, and in others he’s got a black hoodie on.

You keep going, reading the replies to each tweet individually, scores of young women cooing over him. Your screen is awash with hearts and flames and flowers, exclamation points and capital letters. 

One of the photos catches your eye. You linger on it for a few minutes, studying the details, reading the replies. You swipe up from the bottom of your screen to close the app, replacing it quickly with your camera roll. You swipe quick, scrolling upwards until you reach your photos from six or seven months ago.

Eddie had been on a tour across Europe. He’d left in February and come home in May, leaving you behind. But in mid-April he’d flown you out to Spain, where the band had a week break between shows. You’d spent six days trawling the streets of a small coastal town, eating your body weight in paella and swimming for hours in the sea. When you got home you’d posted a photo on your Instagram, just one. You like to keep these moments to yourselves, and usually you don’t share much of anything of your life with the world. When you do, though, the fans go wild.

It’s a photo of Eddie at a restaurant. It looks intimate, like it’s just the two of you, though no one’s to know you were surrounded by the band and crew. It was a clear evening, warm and fresh, and he was sat opposite you in a pretty shirt, top three buttons undone so his ink-splattered chest peeked out. He’d tied his hair back, though by this point it was loose, and the ring on the chain around his neck reflects in the light of the candle between the two of you.

He’s looking past the camera, up and over it to your face. You think about what you must have looked like, tongue between your teeth while you got the right shot, head pulled back, the angle unflattering, but it never changed the way he looked at you. The way he always looks at you.

His big, round eyes catch the light, too, deep and rich in the orange glow. His skin’s lit just the same, and so he looks softer than ever. It’s one of your favourite photos of him, which is all the more reason for you to regret ever sharing it.

You take the dangerous leap with this tweet in particular: checking the quote replies. The ones usually hidden from you, only seen if you go looking, which is precisely what you’re doing now. You know this never ends well, only ever leaves you with a deep pit in your stomach, but you have no will to stop yourself.

You know this because this has become routine for you over the past weeks. It’s like a drug, addictive though it does no benefit to you really. Acknowledging that the mean comments sent your way were increasing was your first mistake; seeking them out is where you fell down the hole.

As the window opens, the first tweet you’re greeted with is surprisingly tame and kind, something sweet about how pretty he looks. True.

But then the second, and the third and another a few tweets down, is where it gets bitter. See, when you’re as famous as Eddie is, with such a dedicated following of young girls, your life is never private, and never can be. These girls know who took what picture and when. They think they know how he felt in each one, or who was making him laugh, or where he’d just been. This one is no exception, and their biting remarks resemble thousands you’ve seen before.

He always looks so bored of her.

Surely he can’t enjoy being kept away from the band???

Am I the only one that thinks he hates her lmao

It doesn’t stop there - it goes on for ages, tweet after tweet after tweet of sarcastic or scathing comments about you. Your appearance (which has never been good enough for anyone, apparently), your personality (boring, stuck-up, controlling), and, most commonly, the fact you are a - quote - clout chaser.

Your arm’s completely numb now. You tell yourself that you couldn’t turn your phone off if you tried, despite the fact your thumb is scrolling just fine. You ingest every word, find new fan accounts to trawl and new insults thrown your way to soak up. There are maybe three photos of you online now, and they circulate through these accounts like paper money, exchanged for nothing but the venom of teenage girls. Are they teenagers? You’re not even sure; some of them definitely are, but you’re convinced most of these people are adults.

A call comes through just as you open another series of replies - this time to a thread titled times Eddie Munson looked good enough to eat. It breaks your concentration, your eyes flitting up to the little picture in the corner of the screen.

Eddie.

You can’t bear to answer the phone. You haven’t spoken to him yet today, and the last time you texted him was yesterday, on your lunch break. Sometimes he’s busier than usual; you’re no stranger to a bit of distance.

You let it ring out, the little green telephone going until it stops, the notification sliding back up the screen. Soon enough you get another, for a text, but you swipe it away before you can read the preview.

You stare at the replies for a while, lingering on the ones that claim they could be better girlfriends than her, before finally hitting the lock button and letting your phone drop onto the carpet. You roll onto your back, groaning when the blood rushes back into your arm and the tingling feeling comes back, and muster the energy to push yourself up and stretch.

As the joints in your back and across your shoulders pop, you toe your shoes off and stare blankly at the wall. There's that feeling that always follows these late-night escapades into the depths of the little yet dedicated following Corroded Coffin have amassed: it's a hollow feeling that somehow still fills you entirely. It rips through you, a deep and unwavering yearning for him.

He's been away since August, and now it's October. Two weeks ago, you'd laid here for a few hours after your friends had packed up the dinner party at midnight, looking up at the ceiling, counting the weeks you'd spent with Eddie this year.

So far, it was fewer than you'd spent apart. Of course, watching the man you love do the thing he loves so much is one of life's biggest blessings, but you'd be a fool if you tried to convince anyone that it didn't hurt. Even if you have friends, and your own life, and a job. That clawing yearning, it grows, expanding by the second every time he leaves for another grand tour of some continent somewhere, with his childhood friends and their insatiable libidos, their lowkey stimulant dependencies and the roadies.

He's home in a month, which is really a month and a half but giving yourself more manageable goalposts is something that helps. You're definitely not delusional.

You decide you’ll spend the rest of the evening offline. It’s 9pm, so you strip your work clothes and pull on something comfier. You put bread in the toaster and when it’s done you spread peanut butter on one slice and jam on the other, and on your way to bed you pick your phone up off the floor.

Your offline evening lasts maybe twenty-five minutes. Something about the comfort of bed and the need for something to entertain you while you eat two slices of toast lulls you back to the welcoming arms of evil fans.

It’s 1am when you get another call from Eddie. You managed half a slice of the jam-covered toast before discarding it in favour of your favourite meal - the insults of strangers - and you’ve been curled up in a ball scrolling TikTok for three and a half hours.

Should you answer it? Probably, yeah. For some reason, though, it feels like you’re angry at him, even though he's done nothing. Something spiky flares inside you when he calls, like you’re jealous, or bitter. It’s entirely your own doing and yet you’re punishing him for it.

He calls again when you don’t pick up, and then texts when you let this one ring out too. You try to swipe the notification away again but click it by accident, opening your conversation, which is awash with grey bubbles where he’s tried to reach you with no reply.

The latest one, above the bouncing bubble with three dots, reads: is everything okay?

No, you think to yourself. You watch the dots, addicted to knowledge that he's out there somewhere, texting you after a gig, when everyone else is getting drunk or high or laid. You know this isn’t healthy, but tonight you feel particularly self-destructive.

give me a call when you wake up. xxx

He thinks you’re asleep, so you’re off the hook for now. You can return to your mind numbing, to breaking down your brain cells one by one, until your eyes force themselves shut and your brain winds down, your phone still open in your hand, playing the same video on loop into the night.

It’s a restless sleep, broken too many times and not deep enough to really count as sleep at all. You eventually drift off properly, some time in the early morning, and when you wake, the light’s blinding. You didn’t close the curtains before you went to bed - did you even try to close them at all? - so as the sun’s moved across the room, it’s landed directly over your face. You’re splayed out on your stomach, drool in your hair.

The sun seems high, too high for an autumn morning. You reach around, patting the mattress and your bedside table in search of your phone. With no luck you sit up slowly, groaning, rubbing your sleep-laden eyes.

Your phone’s on the floor beside your bed. You reach it and find that it’s dead, so you tug the charger cable out from where it’s lodged down the side of the bed and plug it in.

For a few minutes you lie there, befuddled, with no idea of the time or how long you were asleep. Impatient, you get out of bed, aching and creaking because of how you slept, and pad across the room to the bathroom. After you pee and dodge your reflection in the bathroom mirror, you head to the kitchen.

The little fluorescent numbers on your stove read 12:08.

Shit.

Turning on your heels, you run back to the bedroom, throwing yourself over the bed onto your stomach. You grab your phone and try to power it up but it’s still flashing the little battery at you, almost like it’s angry you’d even try to turn it on.

Shit, shit, shit.

How long were you out? It’s definitely nearly 12 hours since Eddie last called, and it’s now 48 hours since you spoke to him on your break.

The wait for your phone to come back to life is agonisingly long, a painful three minutes wherein you pace and sit, break out in a sweat, and even start making your bed in desperation.

Finally it buzzes and you jump. As it comes to life it buzzes again, and again and again, and you freak out, dropping it onto the bed.

4 more missed calls from Eddie, and 3 texts. Normal, to be expected with your lack of response.

But the strange thing is the texts from your friends. Each one of them has text you multiple times, at various points since 6am. Even your mum has called, which is strange for a Saturday.

You’re not sure where to begin, so you start with where’s comfortable: Eddie.

I’m worried, sweets. text me soon x

this is getting weird, what’s going on?

any sign of life?

You tap a response quickly, too quick to keep up with yourself. You’re floating in a post-late-night haze, thick with guilt from the night before and head stinging from staring at your screen for so long.

I'm alive! give me a call when you’re free. love you xx

Almost as soon as you hit send, your phone’s buzzing again, Eddie’s name and picture flashing up on screen.

“Hello,” you say quickly as you answer it, bringing the phone to your ear and holding it with both hands, as though it might slip away if you’re not careful.

“Christ, y/n, you scared the shit outta me.”

“Sorry,” is all you can say. He sounds so breathless and it makes your nose burn.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just... I was worried, ‘s’all. Sorry for all the texts.”

“No, it’s okay, I should have called.”

“It’s fine, really, I thought you might be out, after work or something, y’know, didn’t wanna bug you, but-”

“No, Eddie,” you say, cutting him off. “It’s okay, I should have text you or something, I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying sorry,” he says with a light laugh. “But you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, knowing he’ll see right through it anyway, regardless of the fact he’s miles away and hearing you down a phone line.

“What’s up?”

“It’s fine, really, I don’t wanna keep you.”

“’M not busy, sugar. Y’got me for however long ya need.”

“But-”

“Did you, uh... Did you read the news? This morning?”

“What?”

“I think you should, uh, check it. Now.”

“Is everything okay? Did something happen?”

“No, no,” he says, laughing again. “Just...” Your phone buzzes in your hand. You bring it down, setting his call to speakerphone, and see that he’s sent you a link.

You tap it and it opens a webpage. It’s an article on Rolling Stone.

Corroded Coffin postpone US tour.

“What the fuck?”

“Heh...” His nervous laugh sets you on edge, your anxious sweats not letting up.

“What does this-”

“I, uh, I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

“What?!”

“Here, I’ll explain when I’m back, okay? Just... Just please call your mum, will you? And maybe text Robin and Nance back? They’ve been on my back all morning.” And then, before you can protest or ask questions, he says, “I’ll see you soon, sugar. Love you.” The line buzzes. He’s hung up.

You bask in bewilderment for a few seconds, staring at your phone. Your messages app has a little red 57 in the corner - unheard of for you - and you have 5 missed calls - four from Eddie, one from your mum. You call her and tell her you’re okay, and that you’re sorry for the radio silence, and that you’ll tell her everything about the tour when you know more. And then you text your friends back, mostly ignoring the 40 messages in the group chat about the news, telling them the same thing, that you’ll fill them in once you can.

Fifteen minutes passes like an age. You finish making the bed, and then put on some coffee. You tidy away yesterday’s clothes, which you’d left in a pile by the bed, and splash your puffy face with cold water.

Is he angry with you? He didn’t seem angry on the phone. But why is he coming home, and why has the band postponed the tour, because you didn’t pick up the phone for one or two days? Your relationship has been long distance just as much as it hasn’t; going a day without speaking isn’t much to shout about.

You stare at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes are still puffy and there are marks down one side of your face where your bedding’s made indents in the skin. You scrub the sleep from your eyes and the drool from the corner of your mouth and run your fingers through your hair, doing your best to smooth it down.

It’s then that you hear the familiar sound of keys in the door. Just as you round the corner into the hall, sliding across the wood in your socks, you find your boyfriend closing it behind him and setting a bag down on the floor.

You’re moving before you know what you’re doing. Your body caves in from want, from the deep-seated desire to be next to him, and you can’t - won’t - stop yourself from throwing your arms around him. You squeeze him, your arms around his middle, and feel him relax into you as his own come around you. The two of you stand like that for a while, him rocking you gently, and when he pulls you back so he can look at you, he finds that you’re crying.

“Oh, baby,” he coos, pulling you back in again. You slip from his grasp, though, moving so that you can reach up and paw at his face. You plant firm lips on his and let yourself drown in the euphoria of the reunion.

“Eddie,” you pant against his mouth. “Why-”

“Hey,” he laughs. “I’ll explain, okay? Just-” Kiss. “Missed you.” Another kiss.

“I don’t-”

“Are you okay?”

You speak at the same time, but he’s sterner where you’re unsure. He's looking at you with your face in one hand, eyes hard like he’s trying to get you to fess up.

“Mm-hmm,” you hum, nodding quickly and ignoring the way the sound bubbles in the thickness of your throat.

“Here,” he says, the firmness ebbing and his face softening. He takes your hand in his and walks you to the living room, past the kitchen where a week's worth of dishes sit beside the sink. If he notices the state of the place, he doesn't say.

He sits on the couch and waits for you to join him.

He watches you when you do, and for a while it’s quiet. There are a hundred questions you have for him, but they dissipate when he holds your face in his hand again, tucking hair behind your ear like he’s in a movie, tracing the fading indents from your sheets down your temple and across your cheek.

You take in the state of him - the wildness of his hair where it’s pulled back into a scrunchie, your scrunchie, and the deep marks of tiredness beneath his eyes. Otherwise, he’s much the same as he was when he left you in August, your rockstar off to wow every state with that skill of his you love so much. He’d taken too long saying goodbye at the airport, nearly missed his flight to Washington, and when he’d finally let you go you’d stayed, sitting in a deserted café, clinging onto the last glimpse you got of him before he was weaved through security by their manager, Jason.

“What’s goin’ on, hm?” he asks, voice soft as ever and sweeter too. It brings you out of your head and you look up at his ridiculous, gorgeous face, his brown eyes burned with sorrow, the scrunch between his eyebrows that appears when he’s concerned.

“Missed you,” you tell him, whispering in case speaking louder will shatter what can surely only be a bitter daydream.

“Why’d you go all cold on me then?” He drops his hand from your face and holds your leg where it’s bent up underneath you.

“Been a bad couple days.”

“How come?”

“Just missed you,” you repeat. It’s all you can think about now he’s here and he’s got his hands on you - how you’ve missed him, his smile, his eyes, his hands, the way he smells, the space on his shoulder where your face fits when you hug him.

“Missed you too,” he tells you. “But I think you’re hidin’ somethin’ from me.”

You groan and twist in your seat, letting your legs drop off the couch, his hand falling to his own lap, and lean your head back. With your eyes shut, you breathe deep.

“Sorry I didn’t text, or call, I just... I’ve been really low.” You hear the tremor in your voice and know he can hear it too. He hopes you don’t hear his heart and the way it breaks at the sound.

“I know you don’t really go online, or whatever-”

“I know what’s been happening,” he says, cutting you off. You open your eyes and turn your head so your cheek’s pressed to the back of the couch and you can look at him. His eyes are harder now, trained somewhere away from your face, though his hand, now resting too on the back of the couch, toys silently with the ends of your hair.

“You do?”

“Yeah, Jason’s been keeping us, uh, updated, or whatever. Showing us some of it.”

His eyes meet yours and he looks back at you with a tenderness that pulls you limb from limb. 

You crumble then, all the emotion of the past few weeks easing out of you like crackling smoke. You lean, without thinking, into his side and cry, wet and heavy sobs, gasping for air. Through cotton-wool ears you can hear him soothing you, feel his hands smoothing up and down your back. You listen as he coos pretty things in your hair and kisses the crown of your head until your breath’s a bit more level.

“Sorry,” you hiccup.

“Stop apologising,” he says, with that same feather-light laugh he had when he told you the same thing on the phone. And then he breathes out, slow, and says, “I knew somethin’ was up last week, when you called me from the store.”

“Oh, yeah.”

You think back to last Tuesday, when you’d been picking up groceries and only just made it back to your car before the tears had spilled over and left you in a miserable puddle in the driver’s seat. You were tired, of what you couldn’t tell: going home to an empty apartment, shopping for one person, the fact you’d had to buy a different shampoo because you’d used Eddie’s up and they didn’t have the one he usually uses at the store.

You’d called him after you’d cried, just to hear his voice, but it had been late in the afternoon wherever he was and he was getting ready to play another show so all he’d been able to say was I love you, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay?

It’d left you feeling bereft, worse than ever.

“I don’t know what to do,” you choke out, mind on that evening and the hundreds of others just like it.

“What do you mean?” he asks, taking your hands in his own, his thumb smoothing up and down the sides of your wrists.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you say flatly. “You being away so much, I... It’s so hard, Eds. I know I have friends, and-” Hiccup. “-and they’re great, they’ve been great, Nance and Rob especially, they... We have dinner every week and it’s not like I spend every night here on my own, waiting for you, or whatever, I just... Everything online is so hard to look at but it's also so hard to not look at, it’s so hard to see all these people being so invasive and weird, wanting you all the time, following you around, and sometimes it’s mean and then I think, you know, maybe they’re right sometimes. I miss you, and it hurts and I don’t know what to do because you’re so happy, and I love you and I love your band and you’re so talented but I just... I sit back here, waiting for you. It’s like I’m a... An anchor, or something, y’know? I feel like they’re right, I’m holding you back, I just-”

“Stop it,” he says. You take a well-needed breath and look at him, hearing the way his stern words come out filled with remorse, and find that his eyes are red round the edges and his mouth’s doing that thing it does before he cries.

“Oh, Eddie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

He squeezes your hands and says, “No, it’s okay, I just- I hate when you talk like that.”

He takes a breath and, letting go of your hands, pinches the bridge of his nose. After a quiet moment he sits upright and turns to you.

“I never, ever feel held back by you. Do you hear me?”

“I know, I just-”

“I mean it. Never.”

“Okay,” you sigh.

You see him ease a little, leaning back slightly.

“I know you didn’t sign up for this, and the fact you’re still here is honestly... Maybe one of the craziest things ever. I know that it’s been bad recently, I’ve seen some of the stuff online and god knows I have to deal with it in person every time I leave a fucking building, but you can't listen to them, baby. I don’t want any of this if it’s hurting you.”

“Eddie-”

“I’m serious. I’d drop it all, leave it all behind, change my name and flee the country or something, if it meant I’d get to be with you.”

Your nose burns again, and there’s a simmering ache in your temples. You breathe and try to keep the tears at bay but it’s futile; they come without permission and quickly, thick drops down your cheeks.

“When you called last week, I... It broke my heart, sugar, I couldn’t bear it.”

“I had to get different shampoo,” you tell him bluntly, like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world to cry over the little red out of stock sticker underneath where the bergamot shampoo would usually be.

He just looks back at you sadly. You’re not sure where to go from here, because whatever outcome you know your heart will break. You could leave him, abandon all of this and start afresh somewhere new, taking your time to mourn the loss but get over it eventually. You could stay, doing this every year for the foreseeable future, playing your role as the doting girlfriend who waits patiently for her world-famous boyfriend to come home. Or Eddie quits, and you live with the guilt of what he’d lose forever.

“What’s goin’ on in there?” he asks you, tapping your forehead softly with his index finger. “Hm?”

“What do we do?” you ask him, as though he's somehow wiser than you when it comes to this.

He toys with your hair again, tucking it behind your ear. “I don’t know,” he admits, “but I’m here for now.”

“But you’ll go again,” you remind him.

“Yeah,” he responds reluctantly. “But there’re only two weeks left of tour.”

“But there’ll be another, and then another.”

“Not like this, there won’t.”

“Eddie, you can’t quit. That’s not fair, I can’t expect you to do that, I don’t want you to do that.”

“Who said anything about quitting?”

He’s suddenly got a smile on his face. It’s only small, one side of his mouth pulled up in some kind of mischievous signal.

“You can’t keep making music and not touring, that’s not-”

“I’m not quitting music, baby. Tours just won’t be this long.”

“But you’re getting more famous, you can’t-”

“Let me explain,” he drones playfully, not really fed up with you but playing into it to get you to listen.

“You’re right, you can’t expect me to quit and stay here with you, just like I can’t expect you to drop everything and come with me. I thought about it, y’know, the logistics of you coming but it’s not easy, I mean, we live on a bus for most of the tour and when we are in hotels we’re doin’ press all day, and just ‘cause we could afford it now doesn’t mean I want you to quit your job, or leave your life behind for me or anythin’. But I also... I hate this just as much as you do. I don’t know how it looks to you ‘cause my free time isn’t exactly a lot but I spend literally every minute I have on the phone to you, so much that Gareth’s started really takin’ the piss, givin’ me shit for it...”

He’s laughing and as you let yourself laugh too, feel the heavy weight of distance lifting off you. It’s been so long that you’d almost forgotten how blissful it feels to be sat with him, laughing like this in your little apartment. Almost.

“I’ve got some ideas about how we can make this work,” he continues, “but right now I’m just happy you’re okay.”

“How long are you home for?” you ask him in a low voice, hesitantly, lest you get your hopes up.

“However long you want,” he says softly, tracing the side of your face. “But probably a couple of months.”

“Months?!” you gasp, incapable of controlling your volume. He flinches and laughs again.

“Yeah. Won’t be able to sort new shows for a while anyway.”

The tears return, only this time they’re born of a deep relief. You feel it lift you and you fall into him, gripping on for dear life. Your arms wrap around his middle and your nose rests at his neck, and you squeeze him as hard as you can while he carries on laughing, his own hands matching yours. When his t-shirt is sodden with tears and your arms have eased up he brings you up to meet his eye. As you watch them flit between your own and your lips you get that feeling, the fluttering of a crush deep within. Suddenly you’re both seventeen again, when your biggest worry was whether the boy with long hair in your English class liked you back, rather than all the burdens of early adulthood and fame. And then he kisses you, a true homecoming kiss, warm and firm and sure, and you melt into him, sighing happy noises and kissing him back.

Four hours later, you’re still on the couch. He helped you clean, slowly undoing the wreckage of depression, and you both showered, washed his hair with the shampoo that will become his new smell. You’ve torn through an order of Chinese takeout and you’re halfway through a tub of Ben and Jerry’s, though currently it sits abandoned on the coffee table, the two spoons leaving melted ice cream across the varnished wood.

The conversation - about where you go from here, how you navigate this new life together - is saved for another day.

Right now you’re in his lap, right where you like to be, kissing him senseless and letting him do the same to you.

You dance your mouth across his cheek, down his jaw and onto his throat, over the scattering of pretty, blooming bruises that match your own (just marking what’s mine, he’d told you). When you reach his collarbone, he says, “Maybe we should get a cat.”

You sit upright and look at him quizzically. “A cat?”

“Yeah,” he says, a lazy smile growing. “It’d keep you company when I’m not here, and Nance would love lookin’ after it when we're away."

You dwell on the idea, your eyes dancing across his face which glows a pretty shade of pink in the low living room light.

“Okay,” you agree, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Let’s get a cat.”

-

One month later, you pick up Ozzy from the pound. He’s a baby, really, small but filled with restless energy. He’s black with white socks and though you dote on him endlessly, it’s Eddie he truly falls for.

At least you have something in common.

-

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie stranger things #stranger things 4 #stranger things #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson angst #Eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fic #st 4 #stranger things vol 1 #stranger things eddie

[cosmal]

okayy since my profile’s all fucked again im gonna keep annoying in ur ask box…

rugby!james learning to make time for reader after they start datingg

𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐄𝐟𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭 — 𝐉𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

summary you don’t think you have anymore time to see james. he promises to make an effort. so do you.

also this is unedited sorry

warnings/tags fem!reader, she/her pronouns rugby!james, angst, fluff at the end

word count 1.4k

“What about Thursday?” you call through the door, rinsing your hands through warm water, washing the suds from your wrists as a distraction.

“Training. You know that. Every Thursday.” He doesn’t say it cruelly, more of a soft reminder to move past it.

“No, James. You told me it was cancelled this week.” 

Through the door, James can still hear your upset building. It has his chest tightening with worry because he really didn’t want this to happen this season. Juggling his training and games, and your job and meetings has become more of a problem the further into the rugby season he gets. His team keeps winning games and your work just keeps piling up.

He waits for you to open the door but it doesn’t happen. He hears the tap squeak off and then your pacing.

“I did?” he asks because he really doesn’t remember.

“Yes,’’ your voice trails off.

He doesn’t argue. It’s likely. “Hey, open up and we can figure something out, yeah?”

There’s some rustling, lids getting clicked closed and then the metal crash of your pedal bin slamming shut before you open up. You’re all done up and pretty, eyes sparkling with a sheen of glitter and a lip gloss James loves. A black dress he also loves. To death. If you didn’t look so worried he’d make a cheesy, lovely comment.

He’d also soothe the pinched crease between your eyebrows if he knew it wouldn’t ruin the 45 minute job you’d done with your makeup. 

“What’s there to figure out?” you ask, voice a little pitched up, “You have rugby, I’ll have a meeting. It’s the same as always.”

You walk past him to your dresser, clicking on the yellow light bulbs to search for a pair of earrings. James follows.

“What do you mean the same?’’ he asks, catching a view of you in the mirror, standing behind you with his arms folded over his chest.

You lean forward to pierce a gold hoop through your ear and catch his eyes, sighing you say, “Please, James. I don’t want to argue, I have to leave in ten minutes and I don’t want to be in a bad mood for the whole night.”

“When did we start arguing?” he asks, closing the gap between the both of you. You stand up straight, turning to press your back into the lip of your dresser. The gap grows again and James hates it.

“James,” you sigh, twisting a little too roughly at the gold in your ears so the clip is at the back.

“What did you mean by the same as always?” he asks. 

If he didn’t look so sad you’d say something like you know what I mean, James. You decide against it when he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. A habit of his you hate. You’d reach forward and tug it from his mouth if you thought just his touch right now wouldn’t have you unravelling. It always does. You’ll appologise for getting angry and he’ll applogise for arguing or whatever and the subject will be forgotten until next week. 

You have the urge to forget about it. The stronger urge to actually talk to him. 

“You’ve just been so busy lately,” you tell him, “So have I. I just, what…what if nothing ever changes?”

“Hey, the season’s almost over. Then I’m all yours.” he tells you, more hopeful than you are. Than you’ve been for the past few weeks.

You sigh. Because it’s tiring and because it’s nothing new. “And then in another eight weeks you’ll have the pre-season. You spend more time on that oval than you do in your own apartment.”

James deflates, full body, letting his shoulders slump forward. The charismatic, strong front he tries to put on falters only for a moment. It’s different. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do, honey.”

Your hands squeak around the wood of your dresser where you lean backwards, “That’s exactly my point, James.” you exasperate, working yourself up more than you wanted to be. You don’t want to be this way with him, it’s not how you’d of like to have handled this situation. Your guilt eats at your tongue but you don’t stop, “You can’t skip training or games, I’d never ask you of that. It’s a problem with no solution.”

James eyes flicker behind the glasses falling down the bridge of his nose. Sniffling before he says, “What are you saying?”

You become a little too defensive, “I don’t know!”

“You want to break up?” he asks, quieter than he’s ever been around you. He hates it, you hate it even more.

You shake your head, leaning up off your furniture and step closer to him, exasperated you say, “God, no, James. That’t the last thing I want.”

He nods, a little more hopeful, “Right.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Jesus Christ, no.” He doesn’t even think before he answers you. He’d never have to.

“Okay,” you say before closing the space berween you entirely. Wanting his comfort more than anything. 

He gives it to you willingly, snaking his arms around your back, his fingers warm against the bare skin under your straps, “Hey, okay,’ he says, curls touching his eyelashes, ‘’What if I promise to make more of an effort?”

“You make a lot of effort,”

He shakes his head and you brush his curls back. Something simple, but also something you both need, Simple touches. “More though.”

You tilt your head back, “More?”

“I promise to make dinners and I’ll- I’ll come visit you on your lunch breaks,”

“James…”

He grins boyishly and you’ve missed the ten minutes you had without it. His smile is a treasure. “I mean it!” he laughs, though still entirely serious, “I’ll make sure I don’t go overtime at trainings and when I do get home I promise to give you more back massages than you need.”

“James,” you repeat, smile almost as bright as his, “I can’t ask you to do all those things, you’ll get tired and I don’t want that.”

His smile tampers down, “No I won’t.”

“No?”

“No. And if I do, I don’t care. I want to make this work.”

You peck his top lip, too quick for James’ liking, “I do too.” Another kiss, “I do.” you murmur against the light stubble of his jaw.

“Good,” he says, pecking you back. Too quick for your own liking. You’re both holding back the strong urge to appologise like idiots.

“I promise to make time for you too,” you tell him seriously.

“You’ll give me massages?” he asks hopefully, squeezing you closer to prove his point. His hands are a heat you need, feeling yourself lean futher into him until he sits down on the frame of your bed.

“Sure,” you say, completely truthfully. You will. You might love it more than him.

There’s a small beat where James is staring at you too intently. You can feel your cheeks under his loving gaze. “We can get through this,”

You blink, “You think?”

His smile is once again too soft and you can feel yourself melting, “I know.”

You push his glasses back up his nose and his face screws up all dazed, “How?”

“Because, I love you and I’d do anything for you.” he murmurs, leaning up to kiss you. Warm and tender against your skin that sticks to him. He huffs into your mouth until you’re both smiling which makes kissing almost impossible. Still, you kiss like it’s your first.  

You pull away all flushed and glassy eyed, “You’re awful,” you pant.

“Awful? I’d say more like charming,” he says indiginantly. His boyish charm washing back over him like he’d never lost it. 

“Don’t say things like that when I’ve spent so much time on my makeup,” you laugh wetly, pushing your fingertips into your hot cheeks. Careful not to smudge anything.

James pouts lovingly, pulling you back into his firm chest, “Oh, don’t cry, sweetheart. It’s okay,” he coos, fighting the urge to hold you so tight it messes you hair and makeup entirely. “We’re okay,” he repeats, quieter than last.

“Yeah,” you whisper.

“Yeah,” he echoes. “Now turn around so I can zip your dress.”

You frown over his shoulder, “It already is zipped up,”

“No, I want to unzip it. Wanna see what’s underneath before you go out.”

You pull back and lightly slap him over his chest, “James!”

How could you ever think you’d never fix anything with a boyfriend so charming. It’d be impossible.

#james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter imagine #james potter headcanon #james potter drabbles #james potter fanfiction

[corpsebasil]

The Snow Queen Part 1

The princess of a distant, more ruthless kingdom is engaged to the prince of Ravka against her will, though he tries his best to find a place within her heart.

The prince trailed after her like a godsdammned puppy.

She was a princess made of ice, her personality a brick wall to reach, and she’d thwarted Nikolai’s every attempt at flirtation since she’d been send to Ravka to wed him. She’d even refused to speak the common tongue when she’d arrived, her handmaidens and herself speaking their native language alone. The ring on her hand still felt too heavy as she tried to fill her days with good things, refusing to let her sorrow at leaving her kingdom crush her underfoot.

But he was so. Damn. Insistent.

He’d bought her gifts, extravagant presents from all regions of the world. Jewels and exotic teas, gowns of silk and chiffon, necklaces and books and paintings for her rooms. He’d even found her a companion, a small Siamese cat that cuddled her every night as she slept. He’d realized quickly that endless flirtation and roguish behavior would not win her over, and had changed tactics to attempting to befriend her with kindness and generosity.

He was a good prince. A man with a golden heart, and he’d never stopped trying to win her over, no matter how cold she was to him. Until the day he’d came to her, face heavy with disappointment, and asked her for an audience.

She stood from her chair, raising a hand to her accompanying handmaidens, bidding them to leave her alone as they protested in her common tongue. Nikolai didn’t understand a word, though he’d tried to learn it, greeting her with a few severely incorrect words of her language from time to time.

“Your highness,” he greeted her now, sketching a small bow that suited her rank as a princess. She stood, knowing already that if he was calling her Your Highness and not love or darling or sweetheart, it must’ve been a serious matter.

“Your highness.” She repeated, nodding her head in deference as he made to sit in the chair closest to her. His hands folded over his lap, his expression pained, as he looked to her.

“It’s come to my…realization..that you’re not at all interested in a marriage to me.” Her heart dropped into her stomach at his next words, a strange desperate feeling rising up through her. “So I’m going to rescind our engagement. You can go back to your home and—”

“No.” The words snapped out of her so fast she startled, and confusion was etched across his handsome features when he looked up. “I have a duty, Nikolai. And I—” she searched for the correct words, unsure of why she was suddenly desperate, desiring, to stay at the palace. “I think that you’re…nice. And maybe if we hadn’t been forced into this we could’ve..” she trailed off, face warming as she avoided eye-contact with the man she was engaged to. “I’m saying I’d like to know you. Properly. Before I decide if I’m going to return home.”

Nikolai’s breath was short as he stared at her, at the princess he’d been unable to woo, and wondered at his sudden rush of lightness. He’d liked her—of course he had—and it had hurt him more than he wanted to admit for her to shun him so thoroughly over and over. So he smiled, tentatively, and pulled out what he’d thought would be a parting gift.

“Combs,” he said, passing her the small box. “from your country. I’ve heard the women love them there. I think—I think you’d look beautiful with them.”

Her face turned redder as she opened the lid, examining the whirls of gold and emerald, the dragons that wound themselves around the teeth of the accessories. They were stunning, and she smiled warmly as she shut the lid and glanced up at him.

“Thank you.” She said, meeting his gaze. “This was very kind.”

Nikolai stood, glancing around awkwardly all of a sudden, before continuing.

“There’s a party tonight. At the lake. Drinks, boat rides, the lot.” He paused, taking in her attentive expression. “Would you accompany me?”

Her head dipped once in a nod, thick-lashed eyes peering at the prince, and he allowed himself a quick smile before bidding her farewell and exiting the room. Y/N’s handmaidens rushed in almost immediately afterwards, practically tripping over themselves, the girls whispering and giggling as they made their way to the princess’s side.

“He’s so cute.” One said, sitting on the couch and sighing.

“He’s like a prince from a storybook.” Another laughed, dashing over to scoop up the princess’s cat when the Siamese stalked out of the bedroom.

“What did he say?” Another asked, carrying in a tea-set and placing it on the counter.

“Not much,” Y/N began slowly, running a hand over the box in her lap. “but he convinced me to stay.”

-

The party that night was larger than Y/N had expected. She wore a sheer gown, stunningly beautiful, with the dragon combs pulling back her hair. Her eyes took in the groups of people and felt suddenly shy, but kept her expression one of neutrality and steel. Lanterns hung from the trees, casting a lovely orange glow against the grass and tents. Tents which held delicious smelling foods, drinks, and desserts.

Y/N took half a step towards the revelry before he heard her name called and turned her head, watching as Nikolai approached her with a mug of something steaming in his hand.

“You don’t drink.” He told her, casually enough to suggest she’d told him and he wasn’t simply observant, and offered her the mug of tea. It smelled lovely as she took a sniff, the steam warming her face. At least, she told herself it was only the steam. “You look—” his words halted and she glanced up, raising a brow. “Very nice. Beautiful.”

“Thank you, Your Highness.”

“No just—just Nikolai. Please.”

“Alright, then.” She took a small sip of the tea, almost sighing at how refreshing it was. “Nikolai.”

He smiled, taking her arm, and she was forced to realize how handsome he truly was. She’d been so focused on going home that she’d tried her best to ignore that fact, and now she allowed herself to really take in his features. A strong nose, smooth face, and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen. She usually wasn’t attracted to blondes, but…

He seemed to read her mind as he glanced over, watching her study him, and she knew he was still looking at her when her eyes fixed intently on the lake they approached, her face flushing with pink. She gave him a sidelong glance and saw him smiling, watching the lake too, and she almost rolled her eyes before she saw what they moved towards.

“Are we going on one of those?” The princess asked, eyeing the very small boat with a perplexed look.

“Rowboat.” He explained, nodding to the oars. They were decorated with tiny lights and cushioned seats, and a few couples had already gone out on the vast lake. “Would you like to?”

“I think I would.” She mused, finishing up her tea and looking at Nikolai, unsure of where to put the mug. She watched when he took it, returning it to a nearby vendor, and then guided her towards a boat. He held her hand as he did so, his grip soft, and damn her if her blush didn’t deepen at the feeling of his fingers wound with her own.

“Here,” he said, helping her climb into it, and she tensed when it rocked, quickly settling herself on the cushions. He followed, moving in front of her, and they sat so close in the small boat their knees almost touched.

He rowed them out, pushing away from the shore and farther out onto the water. Y/N marveled at the clear blue of the lake, stars reflecting on its surface in the darkness of night. The tiny lights on the rowboat caught on her combs, shining with gold as she leaned over and trailed her fingers through the water, relishing in the cold.

Nikolai only watched her, his eyes softening as a smile lit upon her face. Then she gasped, startling him, and pointed down at the lake, leaning over to see something he couldn’t.

“Look,” she said, voice excited. “I think there’s fish.”

He glanced over and, lit up by the dim light of the boat, there were indeed a few minnows dashing under the surface. They disappeared when the princess poked at the water, startling the tiny fish, and her laugh sounded like coming home.

“I’m glad.” He said, and she looked up at him. “That you decided to stay.”

She smiled, and then that smile turned slightly wry as she propped her elbows on her knees.

“Someone has been pining after me for months. I felt it was only fair to give him a chance.” Then she examined her nails, flawless as they were, and said, “but it might not be simple. You’ll fine I’m not easily seduced.”

Nikolai huffed a laugh, his expression saying he knew exactly what she meant, and her smile grew. But it faltered at his next words, something soft and unusual crossing her stunning features.

“Trust me, darling,” he chuckled, giving her a lazy grin that made her heart pound. “however long it takes to seduce you is worth it.”

She swallowed, and he took in her expression, his blood heating a fraction when he noted the color on her cheeks and the confusion—no, desire—in her eyes. Y/N glanced away, but snapped her eyes back to his when she felt him leaning a bit closer to her, her face already close to his as it was. But when she leaned into him involuntarily, lost in those blue eyes of his, she allowed him to reach out and touch her face, the pads of his fingers soft.

Her breathing hitched when he bent his head down, her eyes closing at the first tentative brush of his mouth against hers. And before she could press herself into him, really feel him, a sudden jolt under the boat made it lurch, and they crashed into the water as it flipped.

Y/N coughed when her head broke the surface, her eyes wide with cold and surprise as she held onto the bottom of the boat for support. She had no idea what could’ve possibly caused the flip, but Nikolai did. Because he was eyeing the giggling group of Grisha on the distant shore with a look that promised a good scolding once he’d dried off.

Y/N couldn’t help it. She laughed. She laughed and then covered her mouth with a hand, eyes crinkling at the corners as Nikolai looked her. He feigned annoyance even as a sparkling smile pulled onto his face, and he moved closer to her in the water.

“What’s so funny?” He asked, close enough to kiss, and her stomach churned with nervous excitement.

“You.” She said, still giggling, and didn’t balk when he reached out to adjust the combs that were slipping from her hair.

“Wouldn’t want you to lose those.” He murmured, fingers lingering on a strand of her hair, his eyes marveling on the softness and color. She gazed at him, feeling bold, and extended a hand to touch his own hair, her hand slipping to the back of his neck and pulling him into her.

She could’ve died. She didn’t think she’d ever had such severe butterflies with any man, not as much as she did when the prince of Ravka leaned into her touch and pressed his mouth to her own, a soft, gentle kiss that made her feel adored. She let out a soft sound that made Nikolai’s heart pound, nearly letting go of his one handed grip on the boat and sinking back down into the water. He could only hold on, marveling at the feeling of the princess’s mouth against his own, as she hooked her own free arm fully around his neck, crushing him against her.

“Easy,” he whispered against her lips, pulling back a fraction for air. “those girls might drown us if we look too into each other.”

“I can handle jealous women.” She scoffed, turning that radiant head to shoot a menacing look at the Grisha. They’d scattered, but the ones that lingered suddenly found themselves busy. “The women in my court are much more ruthless. These girls are nothing.”

“Ruthless how?” He asked, voice still low as he turned her face back to his and kissed her again, allowing her to speak after. She seemed breathless, though, her gaze having had softened again.

“Broken glass in your shoes. Poison ivy infused soaps. Oh and—” she giggled, though Nikolai was horrified. “—one time, a girl put a snake in my room. A snake.” She grinned fiendishly, and Nikolai was surprised to realize the princess that had such a cool, calm facade had metaphorical fangs of her own. “She was an idiot. It was not even venomous.”

“Did it bite you?” He asked, expression still wary. “What happened to the girl?”

“I had her whipped.” Y/N said, as calmly as if describing a stroll down the garden-path, and then let go of him to show him her arm. He saw the gouge marks of scars looked like two raised dots on her otherwise flawless skin, and he balked at the sight. She lowered her arm, suddenly worried at his reaction, and spoke quietly. “Do you think me…too violent? My kingdom too vicious?”

“No, I—” he swallowed, running his fingers through her hair again. “it’s just surprising. You seem so…calm. Sweet.”

“The most beautiful frogs in the world carry the most lethal poison, prince.” She told him, eyes glittering. “In a ruthless kingdom you must, sometimes, become ruthless as well. That is why I have begun to enjoy Ravka. The worst someone has done to me is glare or force me to swim a little.”

Nikolai chuckled at that, his hand moving to her waist as he looked to the shore.

“I think we should swim back.” He told her, eyeing the dimming lights as the night grew darker. The princess nodded and turned, swimming gracefully through the lake as her hair streamed behind her.

-

Y/N laughed as she exited the bathroom, a large, lavish robe wrapped around her delicate nightgown. Nikolai sat on the couch, playing with her cat, their late night teas sitting warm on the coffee-table.

They’d both gotten back to the palace and immediately showered, but one of her handmaidens rushed in to tell the princess that the prince had wanted to have tea with her before bed. And since they’d skipped dinner and opted instead for a lovely swim in the lake, why not have dinner together as well? The girl had asked about a million questions that the princess shook off, telling the girl to leave her be.

So as Y/N began to brush her long hair, she approached the tea-set and nibbled on the corner of a cucumber and dill petite sandwich, then moved to her vanity to apply her night creams and lotions.

Nikolai watched her ministrations, basking in the friendliness of her presence, of the wonderful smells in her room, of her lotions, and admired the beauty of her when her face was bare. It made her look younger—more girlish. And those lips of hers, free of cosmetics, looked softer than ever. His heart seemed to ache in his chest at the memory of the kiss. He desperately wanted to kiss her again.

And then his mind drifted to what she’d said about her kingdom, about the vicious things women pulled on one another. He left the cat alone, ignoring its sassy meow as it stalked to Y/N’s bedroom while he thought. He knew girls could be competitive, jealous more so, but…a snake? Someone had tried to kill her with a snake? And over what?

“Prince,” she called over a shoulder, looking to where he sat on the couch. “what are you thinking about?”

He startled, glancing up.

“Nothing. Why?”

She clicked her tongue, raising a brow.

“I can see you in my mirror. You were frowning.”

“Ah,” he said, taking a breath. “I was just thinking…did it hurt? The bite?”

Y/N finished up her routine before she spoke, and moved over to him, taking a careful sip of warm tea before she turned to him. She sat so close her leg brushed his own; it thrilled him, having her be so casually close when a day ago she’d looked at him like he was nothing more than a bug.

“I didn’t see it at first.” She said, raising her robe’s sleeve to again examine the markings, as if seeing them helped her remember. “It was curled up on my vanity. I sat down and it struck. It did hurt. Rather a lot actually.” Then she smiled, a bit wickedly, and Nikolai tried to ignore the rush he felt at that look. “I always carry a knife on me when I’m home. There are more threats than women, so I killed it. I was a bit more than relieved to see that the ditz had found a common snake and not a venomous creature.”

Nikolai smiled cautiously, his eyes flickering over her face. No fear. No fear was in his face as he looked down at her, and something in her warmed. She liked him, she realized. And she knew, somehow, that no matter what parts of her she showed, violent or not, he would care about her anyways. Would accept it. So she told him, ignoring the blush that surely spread on her face.

“I like you, Nikolai.” She said, reaching down to toy with his hand. His fingers readily grasped her own, warm and comfortable. “I think you are very…” she thought of the word. She was fluent in the common tongue, but some words…

“Gorgeous?” He offered, smirking when she rolled her eyes at him. “Devilishly handsome? Seductive?”

“I was going for persistent.” She scoffed, but smiled. “I appreciate your efforts. Tonight was…nice.”

“Would it too persistent,” he asked, tucking a strand of damp hair casually behind her ear. “if I asked to kiss you again?”

“You don’t need to ask.” She said simply, her sweet face tilted up to his, and felt as if she was melting when he kissed her.

#shadow and bone #nikolai lantsov #nikolai lantsov x reader #nikolai x reader #wattpad #shadow and bone imagine #fluff #patrick gibson

[voraciousvore]

Giganterra (Chapter 18)

Prologue/ TOC | Previous (17) | Next (19)

Content Warning: Vore/ sexual themes

Word Count: 2.7k

------ Chapter 18: The Glutton ------

Chester couldn’t get Jackie out of his head. She was the best human he’d ever tasted, and he was obsessed with her. He fantasized incessantly about savoring her in his mouth, swallowing her down, and feeling her move around inside his belly. He wouldn’t be able to rest otherwise: He’d stayed up all last night thinking about her, rotating her around in his brain like he was roasting her on a rotisserie. She had such a unique, unidentifiable flavor that tantalized his taste buds as he remembered her sublime taste on his tongue. Any meals he ate paled in comparison, seemed bland and tasteless, when she hovered in his every waking thought as well as his dreams. 

His mouth watered as he wandered over to the royal kitchen. The chefs were all focused on food prep, chopping and yelling and banging pots and pans around as they worked tirelessly to feed the royal family and their army of servants. Chester sidled along the wall, hoping he could escape notice. He padded over to the human tanks, wiping his salivating maw on his sleeve and finding it harder and harder to restrain himself. He loomed over the enclosures, searching for his prey. 

Jackie’s breath hitched in her throat as the specter of her worst nightmares overshadowed her. She knew the giant desired her, was seeking her out to eat her, and she was deathly afraid. With nowhere to hide, on display in the transparent case, she remained perfectly still, hoping by some miracle to evade his sight. Her blood froze in her veins when his predatory gaze landed on her, and his mouthful of slick teeth displayed across his face in a ravenous grin. She let out a high-pitched shriek and cringed away as his enormous hand blocked out the light above. 

“Chester!” Bucky snapped, whacking his knuckles hard with a wooden ladle. “Get away from there!” 

“Ouch!” Chester cried, retracting his hand. “Aw, c’mon, I was just looking…” 

“Bullshit! I know you too well, you drooling glutton. There’s no way I’d let you prowl around unsupervised in MY kitchen.” He planted his hands on his mile-wide hips with a shake of his head. 

Chester turned up the corner of his mouth in a smirk. “Alright, fine. You caught me.”  He kneaded his hand, which was turning red and beginning to bruise from being struck. “Can I just-” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“Absolutely not.” 

“I just want to borrow one for a few hours. Is that too much to ask? Nobody will even notice she’s missing. If the king requests her, you can just claim she’s sick or something.” 

Bucky squinted his eyes in thought, stroking his triple chins. He grinned mischievously. “What will you give me in return? Will you let me piss in Ronny’s food?” 

Chester retched. “You know whatever you put in his food, I have to eat too. Hard pass.” 

“What about spit?” 

“Ugh, gross. No! You’ll get me in trouble if I sanction something like that.” Chester brushed his fingers against his neck. “That’s not worth losing my head over.” 

“Either way, the spoiled brat deserves it,” Bucky grumbled. He crossed his arms and rolled his eyes. “No deal then.” 

Chester frowned and dug his hand in his pocket. “What about this?” He revealed a handful of fine jewelry, glittering with gold and precious gems.  

Bucky’s eyes gleamed. “Where did you get those?” 

Chester glanced around conspiratorially before leaning forward and lowering his voice. “Princess Bianca’s jewelry box. She’s got so many trinkets, she’ll never notice a few missing. I snagged them recently when I was in her private quarters to check her breakfast. She doesn’t pay attention to the servants whom she considers beneath her.” 

Bucky sniggered. “Nice.” He gestured with his thick fingers greedily. “Alright. You win. Pick one, and she’s yours for a few hours.” Chester slapped an ornate garnet ring in the head chef’s pudgy palm and returned the rest to his pocket. Bucky frowned. 

“That’s worth a fortune all in itself,” Chester clarified, noting his dissatisfaction. “That’s more than enough for the privilege.” 

Bucky grunted, but he knew Chester was right. Besides, he was only loaning her out for a few hours: He wasn’t actually sacrificing anything himself. As far as he was concerned, it was free cash. “Fine. Just hang out in the food storage closet over there. If the king requests her for a snack, I expect you to spit her up. And clean her off when you’re done, for God’s sake.” 

“Fair enough,” Chester agreed. He didn’t care—whatever he had to say to get that tasty woman in his belly. His stomach rumbled, clamoring for fresh living meat. Jackie’s heart stopped with horror as she watched him remove the lid from her tank and reach his enormous hand inside. She had no defense, nowhere to run as his open hand approached, fingers far taller and thicker than her entire body curving around her. She screamed, but her exclamation was muffled as she was fully engulfed in the giant’s gargantuan fist. 

He raised her out triumphantly and rushed over to the food closet, shutting the door behind him for privacy. The closet was dark, cramped, and musty, with nowhere to rest his hindquarters comfortably, but Chester didn’t care. He sat down on the dusty floor, against a shelf loaded with onions, potatoes, carrots, and turnips, heedless of the inevitable accumulation of dirt on his clothes. The pungent odor of root vegetables and dust motes made him sneeze as he disrupted the layers of sediment. 

He peeked into his hand to see Jackie cowering down in the hollow of his fist, shivering uncontrollably. She wasn’t fighting him too much, since she comprehended how weak and powerless she was compared to a giant, so he opened his fingers like the blossoming of a flower to reveal the tasty nude maiden in all her glory. He drank in her intoxicating scent, ignoring the other smells pervading the air. He quivered with delight and anticipation, sighing with how overcome he was to finally get the chance to fully indulge himself. 

Jackie wanted to bolt so badly, but she feared a fall from this height would severely injure her, if not kill her. Plus, she doubted she could get away without the brute catching her, even if she scurried down his arm and tumbled into his soft lap to break her fall. “P-p-please... don’t hurt me...” she whimpered. 

“Shhhh, no, no, it’s okay,” Chester assured her. “I’m not going to harm you. I’m just going to swallow you whole. You’ll be tucked away, all nice and safe in my belly.” A flood of spit dribbled down his chin with anticipation. As he spoke, he admired her naked form. She would taste even better without any clothes to impede access to her skin. 

As his bright emerald eyes dined on her flesh, he was suddenly struck with an unexpected bout of shyness. She had a full figure, identical to a giantess but on a much smaller scale. Her voluptuous thighs and breasts looked delicious in more ways than one. Her form was very aesthetically pleasing, perhaps even... titillating? A blush crept over his cheeks. He’d seen plenty of human women naked before, but he didn’t normally see them through a sexual lens. None had ever captured his interest like she did. He was mortified to find blood flowing to his groin, awakening his member.  

He was lightheaded, and his heart was pounding almost as hard as Jackie’s, albeit for a very different reason. What was wrong with him? No human should make him feel this way. They were supposed to be food, not romantic interests. Yet, he’d known from the very beginning that she was special. He’d presumed it was because of her exquisite aroma and taste, but as he gazed upon her a different sentiment, one very powerful and overwhelming, invaded his heart. He felt an urge to hold her against him—or inside him—to protect her and keep her safe. Her face, which initially appeared plain to him when he was judging her by the king’s standards, now drew him in like a magical enchantment. 

Chester blinked, trying to snap out of his trance. For some reason, all at once, the whole situation felt very wrong—not just his inappropriate emotions, but his obsessive desire to consume her at any cost. He had single-mindedly pursued his goal to eat her, but now that he was here, he wanted more from her than merely satiation of his physical appetites. He didn’t know what to do, and he wasn’t in the habit of treating humans like people, so he sat there stupefied like an idiot. Jackie was crumbling under the strain as she waited for him to mercilessly devour her. After her dreadful encounter with King Richard, she knew what to expect: She knew struggling would be futile. 

“Um... so... what’s your name?” the hungry giant asked stupidly, not sure what else to say or do. He was stalling. He’d gotten this far, only to be paralyzed with indecision. He wanted to eat her so badly, yet the more benevolent yearning in his heart clashed with his ravenous stomach. 

Jackie’s face contorted with bafflement on top of her fright. “Huh?” 

“Your name,” Chester repeated, swallowing and licking the excess moisture off his lips. The subtle movements of his gigantic tongue and throat caused Jackie to recoil. She couldn’t help but imagine, with the graphic clarity of prior experience, the horror of being forced over the threshold of the teeth into the slavering maw, to be swallowed and squeezed into the churning, boiling organ deep inside. She was too afraid to answer him, too focused on her impending torture. 

Chester lowered his hand away from his mouth, resting it in his lap with a soft exhale. Jackie squeaked with surprise, reflexively clinging to one of his fingers for support. She shook in his palm, unsure what was happening. Yet again, with her new position closer to the ground, she weighed the option of sprinting for her life. She glanced up at the giant towering above her, his face scrunched with a complicated expression she was unable to distinguish. He was just so incomprehensively massive. His arm far exceeded the length she’d be able to run before he reacted. He’d effortlessly catch her, and the last thing she wanted to do was anger the giant man.  

“W-what difference does it make?” Jackie stammered, breaking the uncomfortable silence. She couldn’t stand the suspense any longer. “If you’re just going to treat me like food anyway?” 

Chester hesitated. “I don’t know.” He curled his huge fingers gently around Jackie, making her cringe. She didn’t know why he was asking her personal questions, but she figured it might be better to keep him talking, to delay and perhaps shorten her tour through his digestive tract. 

“M-my name’s Jaclyn,” she answered timidly. “Although everyone calls me Jackie.” 

“That’s a nice name,” Chester replied. He didn’t know what else to say, so he lapsed into a tense silence. His new desire, a strangely tender sentiment, battled his primal predatory urges. His cravings to ingest her were killing him, waxing stronger than ever. He wanted to lick her, to envelop her in his jaws, to roll her around in his cheeks like a jawbreaker, to feel her small body sliding down his throat. His stomach rumbled like an earthquake, and Jackie whimpered with raw terror. She didn’t want to be inside his body, not at all.  

He struggled to hold himself back, but he feared his stomach would take over if he deprived himself any longer. “Can I eat you?” he blurted out loudly. A drop of spittle dripped off his lip and splashed on his palm next to Jackie. 

“Are you kidding me? NO!” Jackie cried, hopping away from the fresh puddle of filthy warm slobber. 

“Please?” Chester implored. He subconsciously leaned over the tiny human, holding her closer to his mouth. “Good lord, you smell so good...” 

“S-stay back!” Jackie cried, holding out her hand stiffly in a fruitless gesture of self-defense. Chester was sorely tempted to wrap his lips around her cute, tasty little hand, or run his tongue up the length of her arm, but he restrained himself. He backed off with a sigh. 

“I’m sorry,” he apologized softly. He wasn’t sure why he uttered those words. He was a giant, an apex predator; she was a lowly human. He had every right to devour her, and he didn’t require her permission to do so. Yet, he felt so wrong. Everything felt so wrong. His world was falling apart, all because of this little human he was obsessing over. He winced as his stomach growled again, more insistently this time. 

Keeping Jackie ensconced securely in his hand, he fumbled his other hand over the shelf loaded with vegetables and blindly snagged a carrot. He shoved the entire thing in his mouth, all the way up to the stalk, and crunched down on it with his teeth. He chewed it up and swallowed with a hearty gulp. He reached back again, grabbing an onion this time, and bit into it like an apple, without even peeling it. He chomped it down and continued to forage, demolishing a few potatoes and polishing off another onion with gusto. 

Jackie watched the gluttonous display with confusion and dread. She didn’t understand why the giant was dining on random vegetables. Was he just eating appetizers to prepare his stomach for her, the main course? His prodigal appetite was disquieting to behold as a menagerie of giant vegetables were grinded into mush by his fearsome teeth and disappeared raw down his gullet. Jackie could hear with gross detail the chewing of his teeth, the gulping of his throat, and the gurgling of his stomach as it received the offerings. She imagined swimming around in a cauldron of bubbling gastric juices, surrounded by fibrous pulp digesting all around her, and shuddered violently. She hated that mental image with a visceral passion. 

For his part, Chester failed to realize his vegetable binge was frightening the tiny human in his grasp. He was hungry and deeply conflicted. He yearned to eat Jackie with an intensity that burned as bright as the sun, but at the same time he didn’t want to force her into his belly. With tender new feelings embroiling his heart, he didn’t wish for her to hate him, by forcing her into his stomach. The correct course of action would be to return her to her tank uneaten, before he lost control of himself, but at the same time he didn’t want to let her go. He still strongly desired to eat her, to taste her, and a part of him wanted to keep her inside him forever.  

So he sat in the closet, wallowing in indecision and his own carnivorous urges, and gorged himself with vegetables. They were filler, and sadly not meat, but they were edible nonetheless, and superior to an empty belly. He was padding out his time with her as he tried to resist, yet still contemplated devouring her, leaving the option open. He didn’t want Bucky to know he failed to eat her either. Bucky would judge him for his odd choice, and find his behavior exceedingly strange and suspicious. Chester didn’t want to cause trouble or jeopardize his highly coveted position at court. 

Fortunately, his more civilized and compassionate side won against his predatory instincts. He did not eat Jackie, and returned her to her tank later without a single drop of saliva or acid on her skin. As miserable as he felt, to walk away without indulgence despite paying for the privilege, he was proud of himself for overcoming his hunger. His heart was beating fast, and his cheeks flushed as he glanced back at Jackie before exiting the kitchen. 

Jackie was perplexed. She had expected the worst, but nothing had happened. She wasn’t eaten against her will, even though the giant clearly coveted her succulent meat more than anything, with all his salivating and stomach gurgles. He stuffed himself full of vegetables instead. She didn’t know what to make of this puzzle. The rush of blood to his face before he left was even more bewildering to her. Why would he be blushing? Nothing made any sense. 

Chapter 19

#g/t vore #vore writing #vore story #giant #g/t fearplay #macro/micro #male pred #female prey #v.ore #v0re #v/ore #gt vore #vore stories #g/t writing #g/t story #tiny

[missmungoe]

Editing the update for Bind Me to the Tide (Shanks x Makino Soulmate/Shared Pain AU), which has somehow become two chapters. ETA this week, but in the meantime, have a snippet, because Luffy is giving me a lot of feelings in this fic:

It became a routine, as the days of their stay lengthened to weeks—he’d be up with the sunrise, the first one through her doors, and the last to retire, his heart as light as her laughter, which Shanks spent most of his days looking for ways to coax out. And aside from the initial excitement surrounding their arrival, the following days were mostly uneventful. Peaceful, and without any notable incidents involving windmills or sharp objects.

With one exception.

The sniffling was making it hard to hold the needle steady, and, “Sit still,” Shanks said gently, angling his chin a bit.

Bottom lip sucked between his teeth, Luffy held his breath.

His look softened, and, “I’m not going to scold you,” Shanks said, as he continued stitching the cut in his cheek. It was a good thing the knife had missed his eye. “I’ve done more reckless things with a knife when I was your age. But speaking from experience, you should treat yourself with more care, if not for your own sake, then for your soulmate’s.”

Luffy sniffled, but, “My soulmate?” he asked.

“Everyone’s got one, right?” Shanks asked, with a smile that recalled his self-assured declaration, weeks ago now. “So even if you’re the one who's hurt, someone else will have felt it, too. And the stitches.”

It was punctuated by the needle piercing his skin, but Luffy seemed to have found a distraction in the topic of soulmates.

Focused on stitching the cut, Shanks didn’t ask, but then it was a private matter, even without counting the fact that he was talking to a six-year-old, but then, “I feel them,” Luffy said, and with a grin, “They get hurt a lot.”

His own smile was startled, but then it couldn’t be serious injuries if he sounded so delighted about it. “Maybe they’re a little hooligan like you, getting into fights.”

Luffy seemed delighted by this prospect. “Yesterday, it hurt here,” he said, pointing at his front tooth, his voice muffled as he said, “Like shomething phfell out.”

“They might have lost a tooth," Shanks said. "It happens at your age.”

Horrified eyes stared up at him, as Luffy asked, distressed, “Do they come back?”

He chuckled, “Yes." And with a look, “But only once. When you’re fully grown and you take a few too many punches, you’ll end up with gaps in your teeth. This is why I don’t fight with my fists; it would be a crime to ruin these pearly whites. Although there are some pirates who exchange them with gold.”

Luffy’s eyes rounded, his horror exchanged with delight. “Gold?”

Realising that he might have made a mistake, “If anyone asks, I did not put this idea in your head,” Shanks said.

Grinning, Luffy didn't seem to find any cause for concern. At least he wasn’t thinking about the stitches.

He was quiet for a beat, as Shanks continued, before he touched his chest, over his heart. “Sometimes it hurts here.”

His smile tilting, “Yeah,” Shanks said, gently. “Mine does that sometimes, too.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “Pain isn’t just from cuts and bruises.”

He absorbed this, but then, “I like it,” Luffy said, smiling. “Having a soulmate.”

“Yeah?” Shanks asked. He was focusing on the stitches, but then he was trying to make it so it wouldn’t scar too much.

“Mm,” Luffy said. “I don't feel alone when I feel them.”

It hit him so hard he had to pause what he was doing, but looking at Luffy only found him smiling.

He didn’t reach for the bond, or Makino where she was in the storeroom doing inventory. And he’d been lucky, growing up, never lacking in company, but like the little boy on the barstool beside his, he thought about the little girl who’d grown up here, and wondered if there’d been a time, before Teach, and before she’d been so afraid, where she’d thought of him that way, not as a burden but as a companion.

“Can you have more than one?” Luffy asked then, as he resumed stitching the cut.

“Soulmate?” Shanks asked, and when he nodded, “I haven’t heard of it happening. For most people, feeling one person’s pain is more than enough.”

Luffy grinned, undaunted by this. “I’d have more if I could!”

“Yeah?” he chucked. “How many?”

He thought about it, before he declared, “Ten!”

Shaking his head, although his grin couldn’t be helped. This kid...

“That’s a whole crew,” Shanks said.

Luffy’s eyes widened, before he grinned and said, fiercely, “Even if I can’t have ten, I’m still gonna try.”

“Try?”

Luffy nodded, and said, “To feel when they’re hurt.”

His hands stilled, but then he hadn’t been prepared for that, although Luffy didn’t seem aware of the profundity behind that simple statement, but then for him, it probably was that simple.

“That,” Shanks said, with a rough chuckle, and saw him wince as he pulled the needle through, “Sounds like something a captain would say.” And with a smile, “But you’ll have to toughen up,” he said. “Can’t cry at every little pinch if you’re going to share the pain of your whole crew.”

It was punctuated by him snipping the thread, and, “All done,” Shanks said, tilting his chin to inspect it. “It’ll scar, but it shouldn’t be too bad.” Smiling, he lifted his brows. "Your soulmates might even recognise you when they see it.”

He realised what he’d said a second too late, but Luffy only looked emboldened by this.

Those wide eyes lifted to his own scars then, as he asked him, “Where’s your soulmate, Shanks?”

As though the Fates had been listening, Makino returned from the storeroom, her smile softening as she came up to the counter where they were sitting, reaching for Luffy’s chin as she inspected the stitches. She was standing between their barstools; this close, Shanks could count the pale freckles on her shoulders where the sleeves of her blouse bared them. She wore a new bodice today, sunflower yellow with wildflowers embroidered along the laces, the dark red petals bringing out the brandy in her eyes.

Turning towards him dragged his eyes up from her waist, as Makino said, “You’ve done this before.”

He might have felt a little ridiculous for his own reaction if he hadn't been so arrested by the gentle admiration on her face, and grinning, he waved his fingers. “Steady hands. Well, unless I’m drinking, but in which case I really shouldn’t be holding a needle to anyone's face.”

He saw her eyes darting to them, before she quickly looked away, and clearing her throat, “Hungry?” she asked Luffy, running her fingers through his hair. “I could make your favourite. Nothing heals a hurt like a good meal.”

“You’ve been spending too much time around Lucky,” Shanks said, and saw her grin where it lifted her cheeks.

Bouncing off his barstool, his stitches already forgotten, “Food!” Luffy cheered.

“You can keep the captain company while I cook,” Makino said, a smile thrown his way. “If he doesn’t mind.”

“Always happy to have good company,” Shanks said, with a wink at Luffy, who’d climbed back onto the barstool. "And someone ought to keep this little troublemaker in check. Not me, but someone. I say we get into a bit more trouble, eh, Luffy?"

Eyes round, "What kind of trouble?" Luffy asked.

"Oh I'm sure we'll find something," Shanks said. "Always some trouble to be found, even in little ports like this."

Looking at Makino found her watching him, her eyes holding something that made him pause, although before he could inspect it, she'd blinked it away, and with a flustered smile, excused herself.

Shanks watched as she made her way to the kitchen, a last glance offered over her shoulder to him before she disappeared through the doors, leaving him by the bar with Luffy, and a feeling that had grown progressively harder to ignore, despite his continued attempts.

He wondered if it was his imagination, and that he was just seeing what he wanted in her reactions. And he didn’t consider himself a delusional man when it came to attraction—he was aware of what he looked like, and hadn’t exactly been lacking in attention where that was concerned. Even Makino had conceded, if only by prim omission, that she found him visually pleasing, which would have been all the encouragement he’d need, usually.

But attraction couldn’t always be helped, and it didn’t mean she’d welcome anything more. And given how comfortable she was around him now, he didn’t want to fuck it up by crossing a line there was no coming back from.

Even if the way she looked at him sometimes made him wonder if she would mind crossing it.

“Shanks?”

“Hm?”

“Why do babies hurt?”

He blinked, and turning his head found Luffy watching him expectantly. “What?”

“Yasopp was telling Ma-chan that it hurt when Usopp was born,” Luffy said, cocking his head. “Why? What happens?”

Shanks stared at him, his train of thought derailed so thoroughly, he had nothing to offer, and so only managed a very articulate, “Uuuuh.”

“Oh, and what’s a cervix?”

“Uuuuuuuuuh.”

“And what does ‘tearing’ mean?”

“Hey, do you want to play a round of bartop hockey?”

#Shanks x Makino #Shanks #Red-Haired Shanks #Akagami no Shanks #Luffy #Monkey D. Luffy #One Piece Makino #Makino #Shanks/Makino #Red-Haired Shanks x Makino #opfanfic #One Piece fanfic #One Piece #mungoe writes #Soulmate AU

[avenirdelight]

Don’t Marry Him

Son Heungmin

Sonny finds out that his ex-girlfriend is getting married. She’s the love of his life so he can’t let her marry someone else. [Requested]

⚠️ Curse words

Nothing could have prepared Sonny for the thing Ben was telling him right now. It had been just a normal training day, and Sonny hadn’t had any inkling as to why Ben asked him to see him at the first team’s restaurant after training. Ben had said that he wanted to show Sonny something, but Sonny thought that maybe it was about the house Ben was planning to buy—they’d been discussing the property quite a lot since the one Ben was keen on was in the same area as Sonny’s.

But Sonny instantly felt his world crumbling down when Ben placed a piece of envelope in front of him. The soft colour with gold letters on it gave him a hint of what it might be, and Sonny felt like he was punched right on his gut when he read a familiar name on it.

“This arrived a couple days ago. I assume that you didn’t receive one, since you still looked… Fine and normal. You would’ve been exactly like this if you knew,” Ben said to Sonny, who looked like he was in a trance. “I’m sorry, Sonny, but Joey, my wife, and I thought you should know about this.”

Sonny gritted his teeth, eyes still locked into the envelope. His heart started beating so loud in his ears.

It was a beautiful invitation, Sonny had to admit. Papers in her favourite colour with gold letters, decorated with a ribbon in a darker shade, simple and sweet. It was just so her. But Sonny hated it, because it wasn’t his name beside hers on that wedding invitation.

“Look. I don’t approve of what you did to her. But I think you deserve another chance,” Ben continued as he leaned a bit more forward. Sonny still hadn’t moved an inch. “She’s a good person, Sonny. As her friend, I want the best for her. And I think that what she truly deserves is you. The best version of you.”

“But, Ben, she’s getting married.” Sonny said, stating the obvious, as if he was trying to convince himself that it was true. He leaned back on his chair, looking completely defeated. “See? She invited you and Joey, but not me. She doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore. She’s made up her mind.”

“You still have the chance to change her mind. This is your very last chance.”

Sonny had ruined her life once. As much as he didn’t want to see the love of his life marrying someone that’s not him, wouldn’t he be the biggest prick on planet Earth if he did it all over again?

“Do you still love her?”

Sonny shifted uncomfortably in his seat and he let out a little chortle, his shoulders shrugged a little. He finally looked up and met Ben’s sharp eyes. “You know the answer. But obviously, she’s moved on. I can’t– I can’t do anything about it.”

“You can. I told you, this is your very last chance,” Ben said, emphasising the words so Sonny would really listen to him. “This is what I hate about you, mate.” Ben shook his head and let out a quite exasperated sigh. “You’re such a fucking coward when it comes to her. Haven’t you learned? Why can’t you just commit to the person and the relationship you want more than anything in your life? Do I really need to say this out loud for you?”

Ben wasn’t even being harsh, he was just stating the truth. Sonny’s relationship with her did not work out because he’d been an insecure coward. He’d made her go through everything but then he pushed her away and let her go just like that when she said that she wanted something more.

After the big break up, it hadn’t taken Sonny long until he realised that he’d made the biggest mistake in his life—mainly because Ben, Joey, and Dele reprimanded him for what he’d done—but even then, he’d been too scared to give her a proper explanation and apology. Everything had gotten too late because a few months later, Sonny heard from Ben that she was dating someone else. And it seemed like things had gotten way too late again for him now.

“Sorry, I don’t… I don’t know. I need time,” Sonny said in a timid voice. Trains of thoughts were clashing in his mind, and he didn’t like the uneasiness that had started to wrap him. “I mean, we don’t even know if she still loves me.”

That was his biggest question right now. She’d moved on from him rather fast, and it had not even been a year but she’d already decided to marry someone else. She obviously had forgotten everything about their past.

Ben let out another heavy sigh. “Believe me, she still does. It’s actually quite easy to see.” Ben suddenly stood up and tugged down the hem of his sweater, Sonny’s eyes followed his movement. “Sorry, I need to go. Promised my wife I’d pick her up from work. But, hey, if you need any help, don’t hesitate to give me a call.”

Sonny slightly nodded before he dropped his gaze back to the wedding invitation.

“Sonny, I’m your best friend too. I want the best for you too, that’s why I’m doing this. I do think that you two are meant to be together.” Ben placed a hand on Sonny’s shoulder and gave it a squeeze. “But you will remain as her one fucking stupid ex-boyfriend for the rest of her life, unless you do something about it. And she’ll be a Mrs…” Ben paused, picked up the invitation from the table, and scanned it. “Miller. She’ll be Mrs. Miller in less than six weeks.”

Sonny visualised her first name and the groom’s last name in his mind, and the new name started to ring in his head. He wasn’t kidding if he said that he was getting a bit nauseous because of it.

“Go, Ben, don’t make your wife wait,” Sonny said as he looked up at his best friend and gave him a small sheepish smile. Ben patted his shoulder once more, before he said goodbye and left Sonny alone, with a completely conflicted heart and mind.

—

“You’re insane. Oh God, Sonny, you’re absolutely fucking crazy, are you out of your mind??”

Sonny lost count on how many times the combinations of those words—crazy, insane, out of your mind—had come out from her mouth for the past half an hour. He agreed, though, he was crazy for doing this. It made her really upset and angry, he’d never seen her like that before. Her sweet and lovely side was nowhere to be seen and honestly, Sonny didn’t blame her at all.

“You can’t just show up at my door and ask me for the impossible, Sonny. You– You never even tried to get me back, you never even tried to reach out after we broke up.”

“You were already dating him, I couldn’t suddenly come back, could I?”

“And you think that you can come back now? When there’s already a ring on my finger?” She sneered as she held up her hand and showed him the big shiny ring. “You had three months before I met him. But you never texted, you never called.”

“I’m sorry.” That was all Sonny could say. He’d given her a thousand of it today. He wanted her to know how sorry he was about everything—about the things he did and did not do.

“You’re lucky my fiancé is in Paris right now, he’d probably punch you in the face if he saw you here,” she said with a calmer tone. She was standing near the window with both hands on her hips. From the kitchen island where Sonny was leaning himself against, you could see the backyard outside and the purplish sky outside as the sun was about to set. “I actually really want to punch you in the face right now. God.”

She’d been pacing back and forth, but she’d stopped and was now looking directly at him, with eyes full of anger and hurt. Sonny gulped, but didn’t make the lump on his throat go away. He felt so guilty, and now hurt from seeing her looking hurt. Honestly, Sonny would actually let her punch and hit him as much as she wanted, if it could help her to forgive him and take him back.

“Sonny, you can’t just come in here and tell me not to get married.” Her voice was a bit shaky. A little bit of tears started to pool in her eyes, but she took a sharp deep breath to shake them off. “After breaking my heart like that and ten months of silence, you can’t just show up and expect me to take a step back again.”

“Have you? Have you really moved on? I’m sorry but… I think what we had was special. I can’t even forget about you even a little bit.”

She lightly chortled and shrugged. “I don’t think we don’t have to forget to move on,” she answered. “I mean, I’m lucky, I guess. I found someone who makes me see forward, and show me things out there, show me what I can have. Someone who makes it feel less painful when I think about things from the past.”

Once again Sonny felt his heart dropping to the pit of his stomach. He hated to get reminded that he’d been replaced. That man was her future now and he was merely a dark shadow haunting her.

“Do you love him?”

Her eyes slightly widened. Sonny couldn’t believe it himself that he’d just blurted out the question, but he needed to be brave today to get answers. She chortled again as she folded her arms in front of her chest.

“Of course, I do. I’m going to marry him, Sonny,” she said. “Josh loves me. He treats me right, we understand each other. And he wants to commit to our relationship, that’s the most important thing. He’s not perfect, but… He’s always sure of what he wants. He wants me, and he wants to always work things out between us. He doesn’t give up on me, or on us. So if you or other people are wondering why I’m suddenly marrying him, that’s why.”

Basically, that man was everything that Sonny was not. That man gave her everything Sonny didn’t. And Sonny once again was reminded that he was a complete fool.

When they were dating, Sonny had been so insecure. He was not a ‘normal’ person who lived a ‘normal’ life. His job demanded so much of him, so at some point in their two-year relationship, he felt like he had become a man who couldn’t give and provide the things she deserved.

Sonny hadn’t been having the best season back then, he’d picked up a few injuries and hadn’t been performing well on the pitch. It reflected on his life off the pitch. He felt like he hadn’t been able to give her love and security. He couldn’t protect her himself, or be there for her when she needed him in rough days, or even give her his time for a little date.

So that was why, when she suddenly blurted out the words “maybe we should just get married” in their conversation one night, Sonny panicked and let his insecurity and fears eat him up. Even before they dated, Sonny knew that she dreamed of being married and building a family, and he felt like he couldn’t give her that anytime soon. So he slowly pushed her away and shut her out, which led to the break up.

The silence in the room was deafening. The words “I love you” were at the tip of Sonny’s tongue, but he knew it wouldn’t be enough to win back her heart. Sonny was not someone who likes to give promises; he didn’t want to convince her to get back with him with sweet words and empty promises. He was actually there right now just as someone who loved her more than anything in his life.

“We were fine, Sonny. It wasn’t perfect, but we were working things out, weren’t we?” she finally said, breaking the silence. “I was a bit stressed out, a bit upset because things were hard for us, but I was fine with it. Because I know since day one, that life with you will not be easy sometimes. And honestly, I liked it. I liked what we had, I wanted that hard life with you.”

Sonny listened to her carefully, as he felt his heart beating hard on his chest. Their eyes were locked into each other, and Sonny swore that tonight he wouldn’t look away from those beautiful eyes that she had.

“And I’m sorry, maybe at that time it wasn’t the right time to mention marriage. But I loved to imagine a future with you.” A faint smile grew on her face and her tone got a tad happier. “Being your wife, building a family, planning for life after your retirement one day… I imagined all that. You’d be a coach and I’d still come to watch the match even though you don’t play anymore. And you’d always be famous so we’d always have to have bodyguards with us when we go out on sneaky dates, even when we’re nearly forty. Maybe a couple of Son juniors would tag along…”

This time she didn’t stop the tears from falling from her eyes. And Sonny didn’t know what had gotten into him, but he walked towards her, and when he was close enough, he pulled her into his arms. At first he thought that she was going to reject him and push him, but a moment later he felt her melting into his embrace. Her body shook as she silently cried, and he let her as he kept hugging her.

“I want all of that for us. I want everything you wanted for us,” Sonny whispered to her ear.

“No. You can’t do this to me, Sonny, you can’t,” she mumbled to his shoulder in between her cries.

“I’m sorry, I have to. You’re the love of my life, I can’t let you marry someone else.” His voice started shaking as he felt the urge to cry. The feelings were getting overwhelming for him—the feeling of having her in her arms again, the feeling of possibly losing her forever. “I know you still love me. You feel the same, I can feel it. We belong to each other. Please.”

Sonny felt her gently pushing him, so he reluctantly loosened his arms.

“But I’m getting married in five weeks! We’ve paid for everything, the invitations are out, and I’ve just booked flight tickets for my parents, for God’s sake.” She looked up so she could clearly look at his face. “And I can’t break Josh’s heart, Sonny. He’s so fucking in love with me, it’s going to crush him.”

“But I’m the one you truly love.” It came out as a statement, not a question, because he was sure it was the truth. Ben was right, it was easy to see that she still loved him. She still looked at him the same way, touched him the same way. The connection between them was still very much there. “You loving him doesn’t stop you from wanting me. Him loving you doesn’t stop your pain of not being with me. I know because I feel it too.”

“Please, come back to me,” Sonny continued. “Life with me is still going to be hard. I hate making promises but I will now. I’ll believe more in myself. I’ll let you be there for me, for us. I’ll listen to you, I’ll tell you when I need you, I won’t push you away. I’ll give everything for us, no matter how hard things are.”

“You know it’s easier said than done…”

“I know. But please, give me a second chance to try. I can do everything. What I can’t do is see you with anyone else. Please,” Sonny begged, as he placed his hands on her waist and gave it a light squeeze. “Don’t marry him and get back to me.”

She let out a long sigh as her hands travelled to the back of his head. She caressed his hair like she’d used to, so gentle, so calming. “Oh, Sonny…” She said. Sonny closed his eyes, feeling himself melting into her touch. “You’re the best thing that I’ve ever had…”

Sonny’s heart skipped a beat. But to be the best thing she’d ever had was not enough for him. He wanted her more than anything, more than he’d ever been. He maybe still had a bit of insecurities and fears left deep down inside him, but he’d willing to fight them for her.

Today he’d presented her, maybe still not the best, but surely the most real and honest version of him, that he hadn’t shown her in a very long time. And if at the end of the night he rejected her and told him to go away, he honestly didn’t know what he’d do with his life.

—

“You ready for this?” Joey asked. They were on a balcony, looking down to the aisle and altar in the garden. The big day had come and Sonny had never felt so nervous in his life before—not for any North London derbies, not even for that Champions League final.

“Yeah,” Sonny simply shrugged as he took a sip from the glass of sparkling water he’d been holding. “Looks a bit cloudy today, innit? I hope it’s not going to rain.”

“Weather forecast says it’s going to get sunny in the next hour, so everything’s going to be fine,” Ben said from the bench he was sitting on. “However, I feel like the rain’s going to pour down from your eyes.”

“That is so lame,” Joey turned on his heels to look at Ben. Sonny just let out a chortle.

“Tell me he’s not going to weep, though. Look at him now, he looks like he could bawl his eyes out in any second.”

“You’re the worst friend. Sonny, isn’t he the worst friend?” Joey, who happened to stand between the two men, shifted his gaze back and forth. “What Sonny needs the most today is calm and comfort, and you’re not helping at all.”

“Well, I’ve helped a lot. He wouldn’t be here today if it wasn’t for me,” Ben defended himself. To be fair, Ben deserved some of the credits, so Sonny had to agree–he nodded his head in agreement. “See?”

Joey shook his head. “I do think I deserve some credits too, but whatever,” he commented. “I’m a bit hungry. Anyone wants to look for a quick bite?” He glanced at both men again.

“Yeah, I’ll go with you,” Ben said. But Sonny shook his head this time.

“Nah, I’m good. I’ll stay here.”

After giving a pat on his shoulder, Joey left with Ben trailing behind him, leaving Sonny alone.

Today was going to be a life-changing one for Sonny. He was still processing his feelings and everything that was happening, and he was grateful that he had Ben and Joey who’d always been there for him, because he didn’t think he could go through this alone.

Sonny had made his mistakes. He could only regret it forever, but he’d realised that the most important thing was to appreciate what he had now. Everything that had happened had shaped him to be the man he was today, which was better than who he’d been yesterday. 

Sonny was going to see her in an hour, in the most beautiful wedding dress that had ever been made—but it was mostly because she was the one who was wearing it. She’d be the most beautiful person on this island, and she’d walk that aisle gracefully, with her most gorgeous smile plastered on her face. And Sonny was going to be there witnessing it all.

And just maybe, by watching her being the happiest person in the world today, he could finally let those regrets go. Maybe it would be easier for him to forgive himself and take the next step. And finally, he could be the man that he wanted for her.

—

so...what do you think happened at the ending? do you think sonny is going to marry her or he just got invited to her wedding with josh? were ben and joe there at the venue as his groomsmen or were they all just guests at her wedding?🥹

i haven’t written in like 4 months and i thought that i’ve completely lost the ability to write, so i was surprised that i managed to write this. i hope you’re still interested in my writings because i might make a short comeback!😆

thank you so much for reading!🌟

[son heungmin tag list: @smileytaa @delicateearthquakellama @luvelyxp @chicken-fifi @alotofrandomfangirling @natsuzoku @muglermami @landosmilkjug @koufaxx @charlesxavierenthusiast @jeonsfeur @heli991113 @namin13 @kittiisnotcat]

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My Masterlist🤍

#avenirdelightwrites #son heung min imagines #football imagines #footballer imagine #son heung min one shot #football one shot #footballer one shot #football fic #footballer fic #fanfiction #fanfic #imagine #one shots

[jaynovz]

Silverflint Bathing Fic Rec List

So I realized I had most of this rec list already compiled because I really like reading about the Pirate Lads getting squeaky clean. So here ya go!

--

All Our Yesterdays by trill_gutterbug:

Summary: “It might do you good to stop wallowing in your own filth,” Flint replies. “Although just as likely you’d dissolve completely.”

Silver shakes his head. “If you haven’t, I certainly won’t.”

Flint opens his hand invitingly. “Come find out.”

Silver regards him thoughtfully for a long moment. “We won’t fit.”

Flint adjusts himself, sitting up straighter. He lifts one dripping leg onto the edge of the rim, opening a vee of space in the water. “There’s room.”

Bathed by twofronteethstillcrooked:

Summary: An itch had caused him to reach back to scratch. His fingers came away red as the pain shot like cannon fire across his shoulder.

Silver went pale as he rushed nearer. “You told me you weren’t injured.”

Flint shrugged. “I didn’t think I was.”

Silver seemed to be clenching his teeth hard enough to crack rock. His nostrils flared. “We should see to it before you head much further inland.” He sounded like someone Flint did not want to test on the matter.

what the water gave me by youatemytailor:

Summary: "Captain," Silver says, firmly, like this is the most important discussion they have ever had, "Come here now and let me smell your goddamned hair."

Aftermath by Thiebes:

Summary: It had only been days without Silver in front of him, but Flint couldn't take his eyes away.

Flint gives Silver a bath after being captured by Israel Hands.

I wish for once we could stay gold by jaynovz:

Summary: Madi has discovered that pirates truly are a grimy bunch, but her two have managed to keep fairly clean the last few months when they had access to fresh water.

The governor’s mansion is filled with bustle, men scurrying about, seeking answers from both Captain Flint and their new King, but there is time enough to steal them away. Time enough this evening for some respite, to cleanse the grief and violence from the last few days alongside the dirt.

the only way out is the way back in by samedifference61:

Summary: And Silver obviously means to further agitate Flint’s state when he says, “Do you know what she said to me this morning? She said, ‘I cannot understand why the two of you have not been intimate yet.’”

a shared bath, a conversation about death, and a promise

A State of Undress by mycapeisplaid:

Summary: It's not everyday you get to undress your Captain.

Note: Specifically chapter four for the bathing, but the whole series is great :))

from whence we came and to where we shall go by princesskay:

Summary: Only a starving man could be this hungry -- this recklessly wanton.

Our Longed-For Bed by mapped:

Summary: Flint wishes for something he may call home again. Perhaps Silver is that something.

Surety by Magnetism_bind:

Summary: After Silver's finally returned from the sea Flint has to deal with his feelings.

Here there is liberation by frau_kali:

Summary: The water was cool against his skin, making him shiver, probably visibly. He touched the sponge against the area around his stump, doing his best not to wince. The water always helped, always lessened the pain.

“I'd be careful not to waste a single drop of that, if I were you,” Flint spoke up from his desk, making notes in his log. He hadn't looked at Silver since his quartermaster had removed his clothing. Probably too distracting, Silver thought, with a twist of newfound pride. - In which Silver teases Flint, is teased in return, and begins to discover a thing he didn't know he wanted. Oh, and also hair washing and pulling :)

Princes of the New World by x_etoile_x:

Summary: “This is your plan?” Flint sneers, looking at Silver like he’d expected no better. “Hiding below decks like a rat?”

“Now Captain, that’s unkind,” Silver pouts, trying to hide his hurt behind teasing reproach. All day he has tried to match Flint, to fight alongside him though he is ill-suited to it, and it has earned him nothing but disdain. Now it’s time to do things his way for a while. “Like a stowaway, at least.” --- After they have taken the warship and been cast out of the crew, Flint and Silver are forced to contend with each other and the nature of their relationship.

Note: Bathing specifically in chapter 4, but the whole series this belongs to, our feast is but beginning, is top tier, highly recommend.

--

As always, hit me up if there is a fic you think I’ve missed! <3 <3

#black sails #silverflint #john silver #james flint #jay's esoteric rec lists #fic recs #black sails fic recs #silverflint fic recs #I was compiling some fluff for a friend the other day and so here yall can have this too