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hwaflms · 2 days

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𐙚˙⋆.˚ nct dream reaction to you touching yourself!

‧₊˚ 💭 ✩彡 , , 2.5k, smut under the cut [cw: masturbation, degradation, voyeurism, fingering, very mild dubcon in jaemin’s, nudes, allusions to phone sex, established relationship in most, i think that’s it]

♡ mark . . . the poor baby had just gotten back from practice and was nearing the bedroom door when he heard some sounds of what he thought was you in pain or distress. being the sweet boyfriend he was, he hurriedly went to open the door, but the sight that greeted him was certainly not one he was expecting. you were laid out on the bed, your pants pulled only halfway off your legs as if you were too desperate to even bother taking them off fully, a hand stuffed in your underwear as you threw your head back and let out the prettiest sounds, looking so blissful and fucked out. your eyes shot open at the disturbance that was mark's arrival, the light blush coating your cheeks nothing in comparison to the bright, tomato-red one that decorated his. "fuck, um– i'm sorry, lemme just– i'm just gonna go", he mumbles his way into the bathroom, bumping into the door while trying to enter, but you both knew he looked for too long. now what was he supposed to do? it's not like that godly an image of you is going to leave his head anytime soon, no, of course not, he wouldn't be able to stop thinking about it for days, weeks, months even. sprawled out on the bed like that, lips parted and letting out such dirty, magical sounds– fuck, he couldn't help letting his hand travel into his pants in a similar fashion to you. before he knew it, he was jerking himself off to the thought of you (something he had definitely done before, but he had some wonderful new material now), pumping his cock up and down while his breathing became laboured, but in all his haste and pleasure, he had "forgotten" to lock the door. "um, need a little help there?"

♡ renjun . . . you thought renjun texting you “pleaseee baby, come over tn” meant that the two of you would spend time together until you eventually fell asleep, which did happen for a while until your boyfriend excused him to go play “one game with the boys”. though you rolled your eyes at him, you were fine with him playing a game or two, figuring you could just be on your phone for a bit. you weren’t, however, expecting to be sat on your phone for over an hour, with renjun now having his headphones on (you don’t know what the point was, though, you could still hear all the slurs being shouted mutedly from them). “renjun”, you grouched, but he doesn’t even turn to face you. “if you wanna leave me for a man, just say that.” he does laugh at this, but he pleads “one last one”, making you sigh and slump back down on the bed. you had chosen the pretty, new lace underwear you had bought the other day to wear tonight, but now you’re too salty to let him take it off you. deciding to take matters into your own hands, you shimmy out of your shorts, rubbing circles over your underwear with your eyes trained on his back. if he was too busy to touch you, what’s stopping you from doing it yourself? you try and fail to stifle your moans with your arm as you slip your hand into your underwear, rubbing your clit for a moment before dipping your fingers into your entrance. “renjun…”, you call out again, but both of you know it sounds different this time, and he glances over his shoulder at you. it’s almost comical the way he does a double take, pushing his headphones off of one ear, to get a clear look at you. slowly but surely, the tips of his ears and cheeks are dusted with red, but his eyes still shyly observe the hand concealed by your underwear. “oh…”, he sounds out while you throw your head back and whine, his headphones now fully off and you could hear whoever he was on call with distantly calling out “renjun? renjun, what the fuck we’re losing?” he shuts off his computer screen without even looking at it, getting up and slowly walking over to you, sinking down on the edge of the bed. “you just gonna sit there or you gonna help me?”, you grumble, but his eyes don’t miss the way your hips buck up. “wanna watch.”

♡ jeno . . . you swear you had meant to wait for him to return, you had tried your best to busy yourself while jeno was at schedules. he had told you the exact time that he would return, no earlier, no later, than 7:30 p.m. and there he was, promptly unlocking your front door at 7:29 p.m., expecting you to be reading a book in your room, or baking brownies-for-one in your underwear in the kitchen. he definitely wasn’t expecting the sight that greeted him. he had given you one rule for when he was away at work, to “not touch what’s mine”, one simple rule. you seemed eager enough to please him before he left, so he certainly wasn’t expecting to hear moans coming from the kitchen. he watches you for all of five seconds, back facing him with one hand disappearing into the waistband of your shorts, head thrown back a little as you leaned against the counter. “what are you doing?”, the sharp, gruff way in which he says it make you stop immediately, yanking your hand out of your shorts and holding it behind you. it was one thing if you were pleasuring yourself in the bedroom, but right out here? in the kitchen? jeno promptly walks over to you, reaching over and clasping the hand behind your back tightly, jerking it over to him. your fingers all but glisten when held under the ceiling light, and your cheeks redden at the short “pathetic” he spits while looking at you. not breaking the heavy eye contact, he closes his lips over your two fingers, swirling his tongue around them before releasing them with a ‘pop!’. the next thing you know, your face is being pressed against the cold granite surface of the counter hard, while jeno’s other hand holds both your wrists together behind your back. “you know how to count, right?”, he asks demeaningly, and while he lets go of your head, your cheek is still pressed against the counter so hard you can see the condensation form as you breath, nodding your head before he yanks your shorts down with such force that you can still feel the burn on your hips five seconds later. he places the palm of his hand flat against your ass, pulling your underwear up to reveal more flesh. “i’m gonna show you what happens to whores when they don��t follow a simple rule.”

♡ haechan . . . “well, well, well," you could practically hear the smirk in his voice, tone dripping, pouring with desire, just sounding so sultry. your eyes shot open at the sound of him, squealing shortly and rushing to cover yourself up with the blanket. "what do we have here?", he cooed from the door, one foot in front of the other and a hand placed against the doorframe, leaning against it. "f-fuck off, hyuck", you replied breathlessly, cheeks dusted with pink due to your embarrassment and also the rush you were feeling from touching yourself. he wasn't supposed to be back so early, you thought you were going to be alone for a little while longer; clearly you were wrong. "fuck off? did you mean 'fuck me'?", he drawled, letting out a half scoff and half chuckle, slowly sauntering towards you. “why don’t you show me what you were doing there?”, his suggestion sounds more like an order, and its like you lose the ability to think when he reaches over you to lead the hand straying away from your pussy right back, inclining his head to the side expectantly. under his urging, watchful eyes, you continue your previous actions, eyes widening when hyuck lets out an almost pornographic moan at the sight. sinking your fingers deeper into yourself, you whimper out of pure frustration from the fact that these were your fingers instead of his, and you swear you are almost in tears when he says, “stop”. he’s quick to replace your fingers with his own, coating his digits in your wetness before pumping two into you without any warning. “think you can give me three? maybe four orgasms?”, he cooes, tutting when you shake your head ‘no’. “i think we’re gonna find out.”

♡ jaemin . . . “aren’t you sweet?”, to say hearing your roommate jeno’s friend’s sultry voice startled you would be an understatement, fully believing you were home alone when you started pleasuring yourself. “jaemin– what the fuck–”, a blushing, bumbling mess, you’re quick to yank your blanket over your partially naked body, not knowing how long he’d been standing there watching you or how he had gotten into your house in the first place, choosing to ask about the latter first. “how the fuck did you get in? and did no one ever teach you how to knock?”. tilting his head to the side, jaemin raises his eyebrows but makes no efforts to hide the way his eyes scanned over your blanket-covered body, tracing your hips, collarbones, legs with his gaze. “jeno gave me the keys. and that’s not fair, the door wasn’t shut. besides, you called me”, he replies coolly, taking a step into the room but leaving the door wide open, as if you invited him in. “i heard you call my name in that pretty little voice of yours, but i thought you were hurt. didn’t think you were fucking yourself with your fingers to the thought of me.” you move to further cover yourself up as he walks closer to you, embarrassed out of your mind that he both heard you moan his name and watched you touch yourself. but what he does next really has you shocked– eyes never leaving yours, his hand snakes over to his pant-covered cock, gripping it with a satisfied hiss, a smirk curving on his lips when he sees your look of surprise and…desire??? “you see how hard i am for you, pretty?”, he all but moans out and you do see, the outline of his cock straining against the material of his sweatpants and making your mouth almost water at the thought of it. without another word, he’s in front of you, pulling his raging boner free from his pants. “what do you say we give jeno a little show when he comes back?”

♡ chenle . . . “damn, you started without me?” after enjoying the dinner you had cooked for the two of you, you suggested taking a shower together before slipping into bed to watch a show. following the routine that you had wherein one of you would cook and the other would clean, chenle grabbed your plate and his, placing them in the sink and telling you that he’ll be there in about ten minutes after he finished washing the dishes. figuring you could just get undressed and enjoy the extra space in the shower before your boyfriend joined you, you opted to start without him, but leaving the door unlocked for him. the second the hot water hits your body, you are relaxed, letting it soak your hair and cover your body. you trail your hands along your body to further spread the water, but soon you can’t ignore the dull thud coming from your core when you reach your inner thighs. grazing your fingers against yourself and testing the waters, you slowly begin your ministrations, spreading your folds with more intent now. another two minutes in and you’re blatantly touching yourself, head resting against the glass of the shower, steam engulfing its expanse while you sigh out of bliss. chenle, having left the dishes to dry, decided to join you, ridding himself of his clothes and finding the bathroom door to be partially open. when he’s greeted by the sight of you, your back is facing him, but it doesn’t take a genius to understand what you were doing. when you finally hear his voice, you look over your shoulder in surprise and slight embarrassment, but that is soon replaced with pure lust when your eyes mirror the look in his. “thought i’d get a head start”, you offer, slowly picking up the pace with your hand. “is that so?”, he muses, placing his hand over yours but not stopping your actions. “we both know that i can make you cum much faster than you can.”

♡ jisung . . . when you first started dating your boyfriend jisung, you didn’t realise just how much time you’d be spending on your own. if he wasn’t away at practices, he was busy filming various videos and content, so a large portion of your day was spent waiting for him. this was not to say you were unsatisfied with your relationship, you still got to spend time with him and when you did, it was time well spent. all you were saying is that you got a little lonely and bored at times, and that would explain why you were currently standing by the sink, debating whether you should hit send. you had just finished taking a couple photos of yourself during a moment of confidence and horniness and now they sat in the message bar of yours and jisung’s dms, waiting to be sent. you and jisung had gone there multiple times, but nudes were unexplored territory, yet you thought, fuck it, and hit send. even though you know he’s busy, it doesn’t take long before the ‘delivered’ changes to a ‘seen’, and you watch as the typing bubbles appear and disappear a number of times. after five minutes or so, you’re starting to worry and overthink, biting your lip when you see that jisung is now trying to call you. you pick up and play it off with as much confidence as you can, but jisung sounds the opposite– breathing heavy and voice quiet, like he’s trying to make sure no one hears him, and you hear the sound of a lock clicking. “why would you– are you–”, he blubbers, clearly at a loss for words and you can just picture him, cheeks coated with a sheen of red, eyes wide and mouth opening and closing. “what are you doing right now?”, he asks in a goofy manner and you can’t help your chuckle at the sound of his shy voice, cooing into the speaker. “i was missing you, sungie…”, you mewl, positively beaming when you hear him audibly gulp. “was thinking about you.” his breathing quickens and he mumbles “thinking of me?”, before he clears his throat. “what about me?” you smile at his inability to balance his shyness and desire, and you tell him what you were thinking about, soon hearing the telltale sound of a zipper being pulled down.

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valeskafics · 2 days

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"Fairytale" - Gale Cleven x Reader

a/n: a request from my lovely @rougegenshin, i hope you enjoy this babe! this can be read as a standalone or better as a sequel to "over the rainbow" 🩷

Summary: Gale wastes no time making you his after he makes it home from war.

TW: profanity, innuendo, she/her pronouns, AFAB reader, tooth rotting fluff, christianity lol (they get married in a church), oral f receiving, oral m receiving, overstim, p in v sex, breeding kink, creampie

Word Count: 1,580

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Masters of the Air characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Comments, likes, and reblogs are never required but are immensely appreciated 🩷

You’ve dreamed of a fairytale wedding for as long as you can remember. You just never thought you’d get it with the man you’ve loved since you were thirteen years old.

The press was all over it, calling it the wedding of the decade. The up and rising movie starlet marrying a certified war hero was truly an American dream come true. You and Gale were the talk of the town. Every time you attended a premiere, he was there on your arm, gazing at you with those sweet gentle eyes while you posed for the cameras. You would trace his scars with your fingertips, looking up at him with loving eyes, and everyone absolutely loved it.

Was it a bit of a scandal that the two of you moved in together before getting married? Sure. But everyone was willing to brush it off. After all, you were paralyzed with fear when you thought you’d lost Gale. You couldn’t eat, think, drink, or sleep. Your thoughts were consumed by him, imagining the worst possible scenarios. And yet? Somehow? He kept his promise.

He came back to you.

You still remember that first reunion after he got back to the US. The way you ran into his arms, his embrace tight around you, holding each other as if you never wanted to let go. Gale’s tears soaked your hair, yours soaked his shirt, lips meeting each other in a feverish, desperate kiss. You’d almost lost each other. You’d come so close to never seeing each other again. Never feeling each other’s kiss, each other’s touch, each other’s love…

Gale proposed almost immediately. He sank down on one knee right there on that airstrip, declaring he’d find you a ring as soon as possible but that he needed to know here and now that you would spend the rest of your life with him. How could you say anything but yes? You giggled as he took you into his arms, twirling you around, the sound of his brothers in arms laughter echoing in your ears. Meatball bounded up to you next, practically attacking you by slobbering all over your face, clearly having missed you just as much as Gale did.

Bucky and Croz, all of them came to embrace you, congratulating you and Gale, asking when the wedding would be.

Of course every single one of them is invited. Gale stands with his best friend in the back of the St. Vincent De Paul Catholic Church. After all, you’re a Hollywood girl now. His hands tremble as Bucky does his best to calm him.

“What if I let her down?” Gale mumbles, “What if I’m not a good husband to her? A good dad to our kids? I just…”

Bucky rests his hands on Gale’s shoulders, giving him a reassuring smile, “Breathe, Buck. Just breathe. Now tell me something. Do you love her?” Gale nods emphatically, “Okay. How much?”

Gale lets out a breathless laugh, “How much do I love her? That’s like asking me to count how many drops of water there are in the ocean, Bucky. I can’t. I love her so much that it’s a physical pain in my chest at times. I see her and nothing else matters. Everything else fades away. The war. Our time in that camp. Everything. All I can see is her and that sweet, sweet smile.”

Bucky nods at his best friend, “That should answer your question. No one will ever be able to love her the way you do. No one will ever be able to make her happy the way you do. Now, quit being a big old baby and get out there and marry that girl before I grab the rings and do it myself.”

You’re a vision of beauty and grace as you glide down the aisle toward him, that white dress making you look like an angel, the veil covering your pretty face from his view. Gale’s lips part slightly as he murmurs out a “wow” under his breath, feeling Bucky smack his shoulder, muttering what a lucky sonofabitch he is. And God, does Gale know it. His heart pounds against his ribcage with every step you take toward him, the pink shade of your lipstick visible from beneath the veil, as well as your radiant smile.

Meatball trods up, serving as your ring bearer, immediately attacking the both of you with licks to your hands, demanding to be petted. You ignore the priest’s protests as you bend down on your knees, no doubt dirtying the dress, and give him a snuggle, as does Gale, the two of you beaming at each other. And as Gale lifts the veil over your head, you take his breath away once again. You are everything he’s ever dreamed of, his every hope and wish come true as you say your vows to each other. He slides the ring onto your finger, admiring how beautiful it looks, the way it shimmers in the candlelight.

The way the candlelight reflects in your soft eyes as you gaze up at him so lovingly. And you say those words, and so does he.

“I do.”

The reception passes by in a blur, celebrities and family and friends alike all coming to give their congratulations, Gale watching as you spin around in your highest heels as you dance with your father, then with Bucky, looking like a princess. Bucky and Croz, of course, attempt to embarrass him with their toasts along with the rest of the boys - earning a bout of laughter from your lips that his heart racing, and Meatball gets into the wedding cake, completely ruining it beyond repair.

But neither of you would change a thing. It’s the most perfect of days, the day all of your dreams come true.

And the wedding night is no different. Gale’s fingers tremble slightly as he moves to undo your wedding gown, swallowing thickly as he watches it fall to the floor. You step out of it, wearing only your high heels, brassiere, and stockings, gazing up at him. You help him out of his jacket, his tie, then his shirt. Gale pulls you into a soft kiss, one that feels like the first time despite having kissed you nearly a hundred times before tonight.

But this kiss is so very different. It’s the start of a new chapter for the two of you. He lays you down on the bed, gingerly removing your shoes and placing them to the side, pressing a kiss to each of your ankles before he lets his pants fall to the floor, leaving him fully bare. You admire your husband, biting your lip as he crawls up over you, his hands tracing every bit of exposed flesh he can touch.

“I love you, Mrs. Cleven,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your neck, moving to nibble softly at your collarbone, “I’m gonna make you the happiest woman alive. I promise you that.”

“I know you will, Mr. Cleven,” you tease, running a hand through his hair.

Gale worships your body with his hands, his tongue, any which way he can. He tastes you for what feels like hours, mouthing at your slick folds until your body squirms away, desperate for reprieve. And even then, he continues, holding your thighs apart, eagerly lapping at you, wanting nothing more than to drown himself in your essence, in your taste. You’ve never felt pleasure like this, and even more shocking is when he spills himself simply by tasting you and rutting against the bed ever so slightly. The two of you share a laugh as you move to rid yourself of your brassiere, letting it fall to the ground alongside the rest of your discarded clothing.

His cock is already beginning to harden again as you begin cupping his balls, massaging them gently before mouthing at his tip. Gale’s teeth sink into his lower lip as he watches you work him to full hardness before you finally sink down on him, your wet, warm core enveloping him completely. Gale has never felt so complete as he does when he’s inside of you. He sits up, pulling you into yet another kiss, his hands cupping your breasts as you begin to roll your hips against his, bouncing up and down on him ever so slightly, moaning into his ear how good he feels inside you.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he grunts, his breath hot against your jaw as he kisses you, “You gonna let me fill you up, darlin’? Let me make you a mama?”

You nod eagerly, your breath coming out in soft pants as you plead, “Yes, Gale, please… Wanna start a family with you. Want everything with you.”

He flips the two of you over, pushing your knees up to your chest and begins pounding into you even deeper than before, his hair falling into his eyes as he looks into your own, the moment so glaringly intimate it’s almost painful. It’s almost hard to look, but you’re held hostage in his gaze. He kisses you again, feeling you reach your peak around him as he spills himself inside you moments later.

The two of you lay there side by side, trying to catch your breath. Gale reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours and smiles at you, “You’re my rainbow.”

“And you’re mine,” you beam back at your husband, pulling him into another kiss.

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hairmetal666 · 24 hours

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TW for internalized homophobia and related bad decisions

Steve is 12 and he thinks about finding his soulmate all the time.

You're supposed to find them through touch; your life together will flash in front of your eyes. They're rare, though, soulmates. So rare that most people never find theirs. So rare that some people say they're made up.

Steve wants to be one of the lucky few. He wants it to be a true, unbreakable bond, a love he gets to have forever.

He wonders if he'll find his soulmate at school. He's popular, he thinks. Tommy would say they were popular. But Tommy's definition of popular mostly has to do with the number of kids he can get away with being mean to, and that's not really Steve's deal. Tommy is like a prey animal, the way he can find weaknesses.

There's a new boy at school. Steve doesn't know his name, but they have English together. He's too thin, with huge brown eyes, and all his clothes are too big. His head's been inexpertly shaved and he never looks anybody in the eye. It's only a matter of time before he catches Tommy's interest, and Steve wishes he could stop it somehow, but he's never been good at going against Tommy.

The day comes, of course. They're standing in the hall, the new boy walking towards them, head down, as always. Tommy nudges Steve says, "What a loser."

And Steve shrugs, starts to ask Tommy about football, if the Colts can make the Super Bowl, but the boy is nearing and Tommy is cackling.

"Watch this." Tommy sticks his foot out.

The boy doesn't react fast enough. He falls forward with a bitten off yelp, and Steve moves without really thinking, only knows he can't stand to see him fall. He catches the new kid beneath his armpits, Steve's thumbs brushing the soft skin his arms.

The world around him falls away at the touch.

---

He's sitting on the floor in the band room, Eddie--the boy's name is Eddie--next to him. Eddie's hair is a little longer and Steve's in a green polo he doesn't recognize, and he's never been in the band room in his life. They're leaning into each other and laughing and Eddie's so beautiful.

---

They're in the woods--Skull Rock, Steve thinks. Eddie's hair is curled and frizzed around his chin, and he's laughing, his cheeks pink, his dimples prominent. He tries to pull his hair in front of his face, but it's not long enough yet to reach. Steve is overwhelmed, wants to kiss him so bad. He's never had to wait to kiss someone, or been unsure, or--

He wants to kiss Eddie.

So, he does.

It's hard, desperate, not the first kiss Steve expected, but then they've been waiting for so long.

---

Steve stands in the hallway of Hawkins High. He's wearing a striped, beige short-sleeved polo, and flirting with Nancy Wheeler.

He likes Nancy, she's pretty and smart and fun. And it's easy. He can hold her hand. Can introduce her to his parents. Can take her on dates and kiss her in public.

She bats her big blue eyes at him, and he can't help but kiss her.

He pulls away gently, brushing his thumb against her cheek, and when he looks down the hall, Eddie is there, frozen. His mouth is wide, his eyes glassy.

Steve thinks the way his heart stutters must be what dying feels like.

---

He's sitting on his diving board, facing away from the pool. He smokes a cigarette and there's a bat studded with nails at his feet, what the fuck. Music thuds, shrieks and laughter seep into the cool night air.

He should be playing the gracious host. He should be having a good time. Instead, his eyes search the woods and he taps another smoke out of the pack.

"Harrington?" The voice makes him jump, hand flexing around the bat handle. "It's freezing out. What are you doing?"

He recognizes the voice now, doesn't turn, doesn't respond, can't stand to see another person he let down; another person who could call him bullshit and be 100% correct.

"Do you not have a jacket? C'mon, man."

Something warm settles over his shoulders, and he inadvertently breathes in weed and leather and cedar. He squeezes his eyes shut, like that will make the comforting, familiar scent go away. He'll have to move to shrug off the jacket, though, which would mean acknowledging Eddie's presence.

"Can you at least say something, Harrington? You're freaking me out."

"I'm fine, Ed--Eddie." The nickname falls from his lips too easily. He doesn't miss how Eddie flinches.

His hair is long now, down to his shoulders, brittle looking in the cold. He's wearing a t-shirt and worn flannel, arms wrapped around his chest for warmth now that his jacket is draped over Steve's shoulders.

Steve is an idiot. He's such an idiot. Chasing after Nancy when Eddie is--

"I'm sorry," he says. He turns to face his soulmate, then. "I'm sorry about Nancy, I--"

Eddie jerks back like he's been hit. "Fuck you, Harrington," he snarls.

---

He sits in the back of an ambulance, eyes swollen shut, face throbbing. He's wearing a sailor suit for inexplicable reasons, which is almost more upsetting than the ambulance. He smells like puke and something toxically sweet.

A girl is with him, one he doesn't recognize, but he feels deeply, instinctively protective of her. He holds her shaking shoulders tight, tries to whisper comfort to her through his busted and bleeding mouth.

He's pretty sure he has a concussion.

"Steve!" Someone screams over the sounds of the EMTs and firefighters, of the building burning and collapsing behind them.

Eddie bursts through the gathered onlookers and past the ring of police cars enclosing them. He's falling into the ambulance before Steve has a chance to react.

"Sweetheart," Eddie sobs. He tries to cup Steve's face, but his fingers flutter around the damage. "Sweetheart, oh my god. I came as soon as I heard. Are you--what can I--"

Steve stares at him--his hair falling from its messy bun, his cutoff Metallica tee, concern and love leaking from those brown, brown eyes--and bursts into tears.

---

They sit on the roof of his house, sharing a joint back and forth. It's chilly, bordering on cold, winter just on the horizon. They're laughing, leaning into each other, and Steve is--he's happy. Elated. Could float away with it.

Robin--Robin-- is in the bathroom, or maybe in the kitchen for snacks, and it's just them for now. They're looking at each other, smiles wide, eyes bright.

They're taking it slow. Steve knows it's important, after what he did. They talked about it, his abandoning of Eddie for Nancy, chasing what his dad told him was normal and expected.

He doesn't want to cross any boundaries, wants to do this right. How Eddie deserves. But they're leaning into each other and they're smiling, and he's so in love. Intoxicated with it, lost.

In the end, he doesn't know who makes the first move, just that they're kissing and it's like coming home.

---

He's in a building, a shed or something. It's musty and dirty, smells like oil and gasoline and a building left closed up too long. Eddie's in his arms and he's talking through hiccuping sobs.

"I didn't save her, Steve. I didn't help. I just left her there! She was broken in pieces and I--I--"

Steve holds him close, tight, squeezes his eyes closed to stop his own tears from falling. He never wanted this for Eddie, never wanted him involved. Thought he could protect him from all of Hawkins's terrible things.

They aren't alone. Robin is there, coming up to hold Eddie too, plus a redheaded girl and curly haired boy he doesn't recognize.

"We'll figure this out, Eddie." The boy promises.

"We won't let anyone hurt you. We know you didn't murder Chrissy," the girl says.

---

Steve is in a world he doesn't understand, and Eddie is his arms. Eddie is in his arms, and there's blood everywhere. He's not awake, he's not--his heart beat is soft and slow, too slow, and his breathing stutters, and Steve can't--

"Baby, stay with me." He begs as he runs across the dead and rotting landscape. "Eddie, please. Wake up, okay? Wake up for me. I need to--I need to know that you're alright."

Eddie stays limp in his arms.

"Please," he begs. "You can't leave me. We promised, remember? We promised we'd be together forever. The rest of our lives. Me and You. Our six little nuggets. You promised."

The portal back to Hawkins is less than a dozen feet away, he's so close. Eddie gasps to consciousness, but his eyes are still hazy.

"Hi, sweetheart," he mumbles.

"Hey, hi, you're doing so good. We're almost out, okay? We're almost out and we'll get you to the hospital."

Eddie reaches out a weak hand, touches the edge of Steve's jaw. "Love you, Stevie," he whispers. "Glad you were mine."

He goes still in Steve's hold.

---

The images come faster now--

A hospital room at Hawkins General, Eddie hooked to machines. Steve holds hands with an older man. They wait in terrified silence

Eddie propped in a bed, a bunch of kids around him, Steve and Robin at his side. His eyes keep sliding to Steve, like he's making sure Steve's real, that he's still there

Their bodies tangled together in a bedroom Steve doesn't recognize

Steve down on one knee in a marble room lit only by black and red candles, Eddie standing in front of him

Hand-in-hand on a cliffside overlooking the ocean. The Chief of Police, Jim Hopper, stands in front of them with tears in his eyes and a beaming smile on his face

In a big, green yard behind a cozy little house. A little boy with Eddie's eyes and curls riding on his shoulders. Eddie sprinting around with a tiny girl giggling after him, perfect imitation of the King Steve hair-do on her tiny head

In a park, surrounded by family and friends. Steve has a little bit of a paunch and wears glasses. Eddie's hair streams around his shoulders, going grey at the temples. There's a banner strung between trees proclaiming 'Happy 20th Steve and Eddie!' They're surrounded by everyone they love and it's perfect

---

The images flash too fast for Steve to catalog after that, seconds-long glimpses of a shared future, and then he's back in his body in the hallway of Hawkins Middle, still holding too tight onto Eddie's arms.

Eddie rears back, face pale and terrified, and Steve is too shocked to do anything but let him go.

Tommy's yelling, but Steve only has eyes for his soulmate, who scrambles to his feet and throws himself down the hall away from them.

"What the hell, Harrington? Why'd you catch him? That was about to be funny as hell! I bet he'd have broken his nose--you ruined it!"

Steve isn't listening. He's trying to hold on to the memories of their life together, the ones that are already fading.

The last thing he remembers is that, sometime in the not-too-distant future, he'll find his way to the band room, Eddie Munson, and the rest of their lives.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #soulmate au #fluff #angst #angst with a happy ending #childhood sweethearts #canon divergent au #everyone lives/nobody dies #glimpses of the future #getting together #break up #getting back together #first kiss #brief stancy #platonic stobin

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sexbot300 · 2 days

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Making out with high!satosugu? Yes please

⤷ 18+, MDNI

Geto and Gojo always liked to stick their noses in matters that didn’t concern them.

So when you walked by, caught off guard by a pungent smell emerging from a dorm room, they took it upon themselves to sit you down on the couch.

Encased in the middle of the couch, Gojo at your right and Geto at your left, it all felt too hazy. Geto manspread his huge body, arm behind you over the headrest of the couch. Gojo spreading his wide legs out, blind fold coming loose, as he stare at the ceiling taking a long drag before exhaling it. Meanwhile, body tiny, sitting cross-legged while the men unintentionally squeezed you by their larger thighs. Light music played in the back while both men passed the neatly wrapped blunt back and forth as you sat in the middle, content with the amount of times you’ve already smoked. Light, euphoric, relaxed. Just a few words to describe how it felt.

“See,” Gojo stated voice calmer than usual with his usual cocky demeanor, “not so bad.”

Geto hummed, eyes closed as his nostrils released smoke before handing it to you. “You better take some more before the idiot wastes it all.” Earning an eye-roll from Gojo, while face still displaying a smile of bliss. His long fingers handing you the brown blunt, before shaking your head slightly.

“C-cant,” you stated, voice slightly slurred. Eyes darted to Geto, blinking, “mouth feels,” gulp, “dry.”

Almost as if a light switch turned on, both of the men shared a smile that stretched impossibly wide on this faces. Their faces turning to look at one another.

“Oh yeah?” Gojo said, his voice slightly husky, smirk still evident while eyes shouted red. Geto only snickered slightly, body shaking up the couch while he stared at Gojo.

“I don’t get… ?” You said in a measly voice looking between the pair as their eyes never left one another before flicking back and forth to you. My God did they look beautiful.

“Want to know what happens when one of our mouths gets dry?” Geto states mockingly, whispering into your ear. Almost as if it’s a secret him and Gojo are dangling over your head. Sending shivers up your body, he removes his hovering lips from your ear, getting closer to Gojo’s face as they both lean in slightly. Both of their faces only inches apart, in front of your own.

Placing the blunt on his soft lips, Geto takes a long drag, slight cackling heard, the inhaling sound erupts as he keeps the smoke encased in his mouth. Gojo only grins, pink lips opening. Placing his large hand on the back of the cleanly shaven undercut of the white-haired man, Geto slowly exhales into Gojo’s mouth, cloudy smoke connecting the two.

Starstruck, watching this unfold eyes-half lidded, unaware of what’s to happen. Within a split second after Gojo inhales this smoke in, both men smash their lips into one another. Eyes fluttering closed.

Geto, moving his head right promoted Gojo to do the same. Even though under the influence, the men skillfully navigated each others mouths. Tongue traveling up and down one another as smoke escaped their joined lips. Squelches of saliva was heard as the lewd display showed men hungrily attacking one another mouths just mere inches away from your own face. Only separating to suck on one another’s tongue and going back in for more. Light pants and noises of approval sang in ears.

Separating after a solid minute. Both the men sharing a snicker, eyes still deeply looking in one another through droopy eyelids.

“Mouth dry, Satoru?”

“Nopeeeeee.”

“But you know who’s mouth, is dry?” Geto stated in a sarcastic tone, prompting both of the men to look at you.

Darting your eyes back and forth, blush heavy on your face unable to speak.

“I-I-”

“Open your mouth.” Geto stated almost like a command, your mouth opened while both men just laughed.

Squeezing both of your cheeks with his veiny fingers, Gojo titled your head up before leaning in slowly and spitting a long wad of saliva in. “Don’t swallow,” Gojo stated.

“Mhpm-” eyebrows furrowed while Geto gripped your face away from Gojo’s grasp to look directly in his gaze. “Good girl.” He flashed a toothy grin before slipping his already wet tongue in your mouth.

Hand reaching out to graze his hair, “Unh,” you gasped, while he sank his teeth on your bottom lip tugging it. Mouth agape atop of yours while sharing the same air, you both began to rapidly lap each other tongues. Hungrily, searching for any and every bit of one another while he lowly grunted in your mouth. “Mmm- ah!”

Head tilting, his large hand caressing everywhere and anywhere he can get, while your tongues snaked around one another. So warm, so hot. He tasted like the smoke, Satoru, and mint. Teeth clashing, lips glued to one another, a passion that can be smelled from miles away.

Within minutes, Gojo’s long fingers harshly gripped your chin pulling you away from Geto’s face. Panting, lips coated in a glossy sheen. “My turn,” he stated before diving his tongue headfirst in your own mouth. This kiss was messier for sure. Gojo wasted no time in becoming familiar with your mouth. Hand cradling the nap of your neck, the white-haired man angled your head in a position to forcibly suck at your tongue.

His whole mouth engulfed your tongue, sucking and licking the muscle as muffled moans and concentrated faces only focused on the bliss of the wet kiss.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, don’t be so selfish Satoru,” the other stated while purring his name. Soon enough, he was merely inches away from both your faces as you and Gojo separated only for the purpose of air. A bead of saliva connecting you both.

Almost like a bluetooth connection, all three of you, inches away from one another knew that just making out with one person wasn’t enough.

Maybe sharing a blunt and some saliva with these “besties” wasn’t the worst idea.

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undreaming-fanfiction · 2 days

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Party Animal

Steve hated parties. And who could blame him? The infamous Halloween party of 1984 left more scars on his heart than he carried from all his other misadventures. Alcohol made people say thinks they buried deep inside, but then instead of owning up to them, they'd say "I was drunk", as if that was any excuse. So yes, Steve and parties didn't go together anymore.

And yet he stupidly decided to throw one anyway.

Look, they deserved it. All of them did - Eddie, Nancy, Robin, even Jonathan and Argyle, they all earned acting like actual teenagers for one evening. Steve wanted to see Eddie, now miraculously his boyfriend, just have fun, laugh, be silly. So a party it was.

It all went great - dancing, drinking, nibbling on mountains of Argyle's homemade pizza - but eventually they all got drunk. Not Steve, he just sipped one beer and kept an eye on everyone. Jonathan and Argyle were smoking outside, Nancy and Robin flirted in the most embarrassing way possible and Eddie...

Steve heard sniffling from the bathroom and his heart sank.

He didn't want to go there. He didn't want to be told that this was all a misunderstanding, that he pressured Eddie with his flirting, didn't want to hear he's bullshit again.

But no matter how terrified he was, he could never abandon Eddie. So he went in.

Eddie was leaning over the sink, wiping at his face and trying to control his breathing. "Shit..." he muttered and turned away from Steve. "Sorry, I...uh. I'll be there in a sec."

"Eddie..." It came out as a whisper. "Are...are you okay? Did I do something?"

Eddie just chuckled and pulled hair in front of his face. "Sure did," he mumbled.

And it made horrible sense to Steve. Of course he was the reason Eddie was crying. He couldn't help fucking up, he'd tried so hard to change but apparently it was 1984 all over again. So he took a deep breath and waited for the final blow.

"You're just perfect, Stevie."

Oh.

That wasn't what being broken up with sounded like. In fact, Eddie didn't seem angry at him at all. "...sorry?"

Eddie laughed, wet and high in his throat. "Like, you...you are too good to be true, you know? You throw a party for us and then you even don't drink so we're all cared for if anything happens? You...you give your best friend a green light to date your ex who shredded your heart to pieces? You invite the guy that your ex cheated on you with and his friend? You're just so good about it. And you're funny and so bitchy that I want to kiss you all the time. And I just...I love you so much, you know? And I've never felt that way about anyone and it's fucking scary, man."

Steve's racing thoughts came to a screching halt. Where he was too busy panicking and praying he'd still have time to fix whatever he did, now his brain settled on maybe I'm not getting broken up with? "So, uh..." he muttered as he watched Eddie try fix his eyeliner, "...there's, like, nothing wrong? Or maybe...do you want me to go slower? I know I can be a lot."

His boyfriend gave an incredulous laugh. There was no salvaging the eyeliner now, it was getting caught in Eddie's early crow feet, and Steve had never seen a more beautiful sight. "No, Steve. You're not a lot. In fact, you're just enough in every single way, but knowing that you're it for me, that good things can happen...it makes me terrified. I've never put all my drugs in a single lunchbox, or whatever metaphor you want to use for it, but with you I'm just throwing all the caution into the wind. And for the first time, I..." he stopped, chewing on his lip, "...I don't want to run away when I mess up. I want to stay, face the music and fix it. You're re-writing the Munson doctrine again and again and I just...I don't want you to settle for me, Steve. You are the whole package and I'm still cleaning all my messes. I guess today showed me that and I...yeah. Sorry about all this," he pointed at his tear-streaked face.

Eddie suddenly seemed so small, so insecure, and that wouldn't do. It woke Steve up from his frozen state and he took a step forward, cradling Eddie's face in his palms. "I'm not. Settling for you, that is." He was probably smudging the black even more, but Eddie would have been beautiful to him even fully covered in grime, and there were more important things to focus on. "Eddie, you keep talking about the Munson doctrine and being work in progress, but you don't see how you've thrown all the stuff I used to do out of the window, and I'm better for it. With you, I don't feel rushed, I don't have to perform or pretend. I can just live in the moment."

As he continued his speech, something strange started happening. Seeing people cry normally had a guaranteed effect on Steve - just one tear, quiet sob and he pushed his emotions down to be dealt with later or possibly never, someone needed him, and that was the priority. But now, staring at Eddie's wet eyes and shaky hands? He felt his own face crumbling and what better place to hide it than in Eddie's Metallica t-shirt. It smelled of cigarettes, pizza and the cheap laundry detergent that had come to mean home to Steve. "Sorry," he choked out. "Shit. I was...sorry, I'm supposed to be...you know. Consoling you. But I heard you crying and I thought...I..."

Eddie shook his head and tightened his grip on Steve's waist. "Oh Stevie. Whatever that pretty head of yours thought of, it's not happening. Unless it's kissing me, which duh, that's happening, if you want to of course, and staying with me to the point that you're sick of me."

Steve just whimpered into Eddie's shoulder, something that suspiciously sounded like "Now who's perfect, huh?"

His boyfriend just chuckled. "I guess that in a way, we both are. Maybe for each other?" If he'd aimed for self-deprecating tone, he failed. Instead, it was hopeful.

Steve didn't answer, but his embrace said it all.

They remained wrapped around each other for a long while, until Eddie whispered in Steve's ear: "how about we let the others celebrate on their own, hm? They won't be driving, their stuff is already in the guest bedrooms, and I hear your bed is wonderful this time of the year."

There was a muffled "yes" coming from Eddie's shoulder, and a few adjustments and "Good night!"s later, they found themselves in Steve's bedroom. Eddie managed to remove most of the rogue eyeliner, which was lucky. The time in the bathroom wasn't the last time he shed a tear that day, because as they were falling asleep, Steve said:

"You might be the first person who is dating the real me, and I'd like you to be the last one as well."

Tomorrow, he'd hold a funeral for the Munson doctrine. But today, he was going to wrap himself around Steve like a cuddly octopus and know that even if he doesn't manage to hold on tight the whole night, Steve would be there in the morning.

#steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fanfiction #steddie drabble #background ronance #fluff and fluff and FLUFF #the first WIP out of a fuckton has been finished #yay #also I can't sleep who would have thought?

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pckstell · 2 days

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STANDIN' ON THE SIDEWALK ALONE, charles leclerc

clutching a grocery shop bag in your left hand tightly, you hum to yourself an old french ballad. your amateur rendition of the song spanned only a few verses, as that's all you could remember, but nonetheless, it sounded lovely to your non-musically-trained ears.

you struggle to remember where you first heard the song as you expertly avoid the cracks in the pavement, and upon realising that it could only be your new monegasque friend, fight to conceal a cheesy grin. charles had introduced you to the wonderful world of french music during your meetings, and it had evidently stuck with you.

as had his dimpled smile. and his laugh. and perhaps even more overwhelmingly so, his generosity. if you hadn't been so blinded by your attraction to the man, you'd have thought yourself silly for being this strung up on him with no label on whatever you are, but here you were, completely infatuated and defying everything you knew about yourself.

you had fished your phone out of your pocket to ring charles, and while the mere thought of the action caused you to become giddy in excitement, it wasn't out of the ordinary for the pair of you. in fact, you had been surprised he hadn't called already considering it had become somewhat of a routine. brushing off the thought, and the crumbs on your sweater in an attempt to make yourself look more presentable (yes, you know it's not facetime and he can't see you) you press the button tentatively and bring it up to your ear as you walk.

the phone rings once. you think nothing of it, ruffling through your jacket pocket as you wait. as expected, there's nothing remotely of interest to be found, but perhaps evidence of a few too many mcdonald's trips. the phone rings a second time, and you go through the other pocket, now sourcing a lip gloss you thought had gone missing weeks ago. bingo. hang on, where was the third ring?

checking your phone quickly, you're met with confirmation that the line had indeed been cut off. it can't have been a problem to do with your phone, you had bought a new one just the other day, and your data couldn't have run out because you had also treated yourself to the unlimited package. there was one other possibility: charles had declined your call.

although initially hurt, as anyone would be, the more optimistic part of your brain tells you he must be preoccupied with something important, and so you put your phone away, and go to continue your merry way home, looking through the windows of the shops as you pass them. you hover a little longer outside the more fashionable clothes shops, but for the most part, your journey is uninterrupted.

until you catch sight of him, sitting opposite a girl whose back faces you, leaving you, vainly, to wonder what she looks like. she'd be a model- certainly. charles had a type, dark hair, dark eyes and elegance galore, and from what you could see, she had fit that description perfectly.

pulling out a strand of hair from your braid harshly, you observe the obnoxious colour with a newfound bitterness. for a brief moment, you can't help wonder if you would have stood a chance if it were darker, before shaking off the thought and returning your gaze to the couple.

he's looking at her like she hung the stars in the sky, and you hate that you recognise the twinkle in his eyes. he had looked at you like that. but what did it matter- he wasn't sitting in a fancy restaurant dining you, was he?, you note stubbornly.

no. instead, you were standing outside a restaurant in the dead of night, staring at a man who could not love you back, and the woman he did.

when tears fall from your eyes, and he discovers your presence through the glass, you wonder if he cares. your eyes were only watercolour, after all.

#f1 #f1 x reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc imagine #f1 fic #f1 fanfic

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yandere-romanticaa · 1 day

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Recently, the surge of AI has caught everyone's attention and I've been working on this little experiment.

Down below the cut are two fics and this is how I planned it - one was made up by using AI (more specifically, Chat Gpt) while the other one was written by yours truly. Below both fics will be a poll and I would like for you, my dear readers, to guess which one was AI. Personally, I don't think it'll be a difficult challenge but seeing your reactions and comments on this should prove to be an interesting endeavor.

This was posted on April 17th. And, in 7 days, I shall reveal which fic was written by me, and which one was done by AI.

Now then, let's get on with the show.

🥀 Story One.

In the dimly lit alleyways of Yokohama, Fyodor Dostoevsky stalks his obsession, (y/n), with unwavering determination. His fixation transcends reason, driving him to extreme lengths to possess (y/n)'s affection.

Fyodor's obsession with (y/n) began innocently enough, a mere curiosity sparked by their untapped potential and innocence. But as time passed, that curiosity twisted into an all-consuming desire, festering within Fyodor's mind like a venomous serpent.

Each night, Fyodor would follow (y/n) from a distance, his heart pounding with anticipation and longing. He would watch as (y/n) laughed with their friends, oblivious to the dark presence lurking in the shadows.

But Fyodor's love was not the gentle, nurturing kind. It was possessive, suffocating, and dangerously obsessive. He couldn't bear the thought of (y/n) belonging to anyone but him, couldn't stand the idea of anyone else basking in the warmth of (y/n)'s smile.

As his obsession deepened, Fyodor's mind became consumed with dark fantasies of possessing (y/n) completely. He would spend hours meticulously planning every detail of their future together, envisioning a life where they were inseparable.

But fantasies were not enough for Fyodor. He needed to make them a reality, no matter the cost. And so, he began to weave a web of deception and manipulation, carefully orchestrating events to bring (y/n) closer to him and drive away anyone who dared to stand in their way.

But as Fyodor's plans grew more elaborate, so too did the danger. (y/n)'s friends grew suspicious of Fyodor's intentions, sensing something sinister lurking beneath his charming facade. And as they delved deeper into Fyodor's past, they uncovered secrets that threatened to unravel his carefully constructed world.

But Fyodor was not about to let anyone come between him and his beloved. He would do whatever it took to protect their love, even if it meant resorting to violence.

🥀 Story Two.

Shimmering waves of starlight engulfed the man in white as he monitored his target from a safe distance, hollow purple eyes gleaming with excitement. He could feel his long fingers twitching with anticipation in his warm pockets, a stark contrast to the chilly wind on this fine spring evening.

He needed to be patient. Because patience was indeed, a virtue.

And Fyodor was a virtuous man. Perhaps not a good one, but he would gladly take the title of virtue.

Would you bestow upon him such a title? Would you do so, if you ever found out that he had taken such a keen interest in you? The rational part in his mind said no, of course not. Unlike him, you were blessed with normalcy. There was nothing extraordinary about you - no ability, no wealth, no status.

Nothing.

You could have been squished like a bug beneath his heel and the world would just keep on going as it always would. Sure, there would be some individuals who would miss you dearly but even they would move on at some point.

Such was the nature of humanity. How cruel, he thought to himself.

Fortunately for you, Fyodor was no ordinary man. Despite his predicament, he had grown fond of you. He was not sure why but after a while, he stopped asking such trifling questions as to why he troubled himself by giving you so much attention.

It was pointless to make sense of the senseless.

Right here, right now, all he wanted was to enjoy this quiet evening by his lonesome, as he tailed behind you like a creeping shadow. He would reveal himself to you properly when the time was right, when he felt you were strong enough to take him.

Fyodor just needed to wait a little bit longer, just long enough to see how he should proceed with you in case things went south.

In the meantime, he would gladly spend every waking moment simply watching you for his own personal pleasure.

🥀 TAGS: @yanroma, @oneoftheprettynerds, @misdollface, @sxy0ung, @rosemary108233, @c4xcocoa, @gettinshiggywithit, @ophticcus, @lakxcpsta, @ranposgirlboss, @robinaxolotl, @acornwinter, @enoojnij, @ishqani, @osachiyo, @bluepeanutharmony, @kaithegremlin, @fyodorscockslut, @wcayaw, @luna-mariko-akatsuki, @lovelyyz, @queenofspades403

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anadiasmount · 21 hours

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star night - jb blurb

masterlist | jude's masterlist

psa 🗣️: wow. what a week of ucl football! congratulations to all the teams that qualified 🤍 here's a tiny blurb with jude after his win yesterday as requested!! so proud of this man guys i can't :((

the strands on the bottom of your scarf had become your best friend throughout the game. making small knots or twisting strands together. nervous was one way to describe how you felt, but the huge bubble and pit in your tummy said more. covering your eyes when attempted goals were made, and gasping out reliefs when they were saved.

it was a total of 120 minutes, played, and in the end, penalties would determine who would advance. your eyes were glued onto the familiar tall figure, the 5 on the back, the one player who proved their worth after many talks and banters. you could tell he was tired, though he gave it his all.

the stadium went quiet for you, and all you heard was the rapid pulse in your veins as seconds passed. agony, cheers, tears, and laughter. it felt surreal, time went slow, and all you could focus on was him celebrating on the pitch, brown eyes gleaming with delight and relief as his team passed onto the next round.

he was over the moon, clapping, dancing, singing, hugging his teammates, just overridden with emotion. your eyes locked almost immediately, jude not being able to hide a big smile on his lips when seeing you. you waited by the rails, holding a towel and a jacket for him.

jude engulfed you into a tight and rushed hug, out of breath from running on pure adrenaline. you could feel the rapid heartbeat of his against your chest, his jersey clanging tight after running all evening. you laughed, cleaning his neck, sides, and face that glistened with sweat. "we did it baby... we did it," was all jude said as he leaned his forehead onto yours.

you held his face, kissing the bridge of his nose, "you did my love. i'm so so proud of you, look around and take it all in." jude couldn't help but dig into your neck, shoulders shaking as he let himself full relax against you. you could hear a small sniffle, jude pulling back, your thumbs catching the tears, and wiping them away from his pretty face. "i can't- i don't know how to feel. it happened so fast!" exclaimed your boyfriend in disbelief.

"what matters is that you did it, all the way to the end. you made history here tonight, keep it in here," you touched his temple, "and feel it here," placing your palm over his heart. "i love you y/n so much," he relished your love, wanting to stay here with you and never go back. he would die a happy man after this moment. "thank you for being with every time, between the good in the bad. you're the best thing that has ever happened to me, pretty girl."

neither of you could care less about the cameras, stares, or shouts from fans. this was his moment with you, and jude had just that. you held the back of his head, thumb brushing his nape, as all you could do was stare deep into each other's eyes with smiles as if you were kids at a candy store. "kiss me, kiss me y/n," pleaded your boyfriend, closing his watery eyes as you pulled him into a welcoming kiss.

lips molding as you let every sentiment of stress and anxiety from the game fly away. tasting his minty scent, as he deepened the kiss, his hand wrapped around your waist, and one holding your face, just like in the movies, except this was reality. you pulled back and kissed all over his face, jude shutting his eyes tight and crinkling his nose in bliss as you congratulated him.

"congratulations my golden boy."

#judey thoughts 5️⃣#jude bellingham x reader #jude bellingham blurb #jude bellingham imagine

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qvrcll · 2 days

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Warnings: mentions of political marriages, strangers > friends > lovers, kissing near towards the end, mentat at mind, lover boy at heart

The ordeal is simple — at-least on paper. You and Paul are meant to be wed on the single promise of a shared goal between the two of your houses, which come down to one thing and one thing only: security. Wealth, power and standing do not surmount to what, in Leto’s words, the Emperor has planned for the futility of house Atreides. He knows, Thufir knows, everyone knows, that Arrakis wasn’t branded to be some sweetly wrapped gift that fell into his lap when the time came to reward the duke. No - matters of this sort were much too systematic, especially at a scale such as this. Something must be done, to solidify the house of Atreides upon the rain-swept expanse of Caladan. Something to bind the Atreides to their mother planet long enough, so there might not be strife or conflict that sharpens whatever blade is held against them. So, wed Paul you must.

Simple doesn’t translate so easily against the obscurity that is the real world.

In the real world, the two of you are mere strangers. The only thing that binds the two of you is the responsibility bourne from the insignias that you wear, that are soon to culminate as two adjoining houses; whilst his happen to be two thick lines of silver against his collar, yours take on a different shape, a strange alterity between curves and striking lines, and shot through with gold against the sleeve of your garments. There is it — the mere tellings of your differences, as pure as day. He wonders how the symbols will look like, meshed together and serving as one. He wonders how he will appear next to you - frail boy or able man?

Half of the time, you catch his eye simply because you are there, sitting duly next to your father and ascertaining the weight of such a marriage past paper, when all is said and done. Other times, you are a blurring fragment in the hallways, swathed in your house’s colours and too fleeting to get a hold on, sometimes even flanked by your house’s livery. Mere strangers, he reminds the indiscernible feeling in his chest.

“Where is your head at? Focus!” Gurney growls out, more harsh tempered than his usual mood, as he crouches and takes Paul’s fair strike for what it was - a clean swipe that was meant for his chest, which now deflects smoothly off of the older, more haggard man’s shield, and sets the room abuzz with vibrations. And so the smell of ozone worsens, Paul calculates in his head, as he shakes his head thoroughly and shifts his grip on his weapon. Gurney isn’t impressed — not in the way he usually is. Paul knows he must answer.

“This is me focusing,” Paul offers, and doesn’t grit his teeth or possess a sudden candour with his strikes because he respects Gurney. But he cannot help the mood that has blanched him - voids, how he wishes he could confess those words, verbatim, to the older man who currently encircles his passes like a seasoned ring-fighter. But the word ‘mood’ had gotten him in line last week, when Gurney had simply upped his antics with the mere mention of it, “I’m just out of breath.”

“No, you’re not.” Gurney smiles, clenching his palm around the ragged hilt of the Kindjal. He knows, Paul thinks bitterly.

“No, I’m not.” Paul confesses. He tests a low swoop of his dagger - ill-advised - and reigns his laugh in when it catches Gurney off his feet, his back staggering against the training table.

Let’s see how you like this, lad, Gurney formalises in his mind, as he presses his defence like a bull and keeps his attacks slow and pulsing through the air, blinding all of Paul’s spots, “Is it the marriage?”

Cornered for tactics, and focusing mostly on not getting cleaved to pieces during training, Paul scoffs, “Of course it’s the marriage.”

“You’re scared.”

At this, Paul counters metal with metal, bounding back when it rings against his ears, rings against the room, “I’m not scared. I’m prepared to fulfil my duty, even if I am given options,” a dull parry, which still creates momentum, and thus space, between the two men, “I’m only uneasy because I’ve never actually met her.”

“You have. Several times. Or have you been asleep throughout your father’s meetings?”

Paul stresses a firm strike against Gurney, which repels off of his own shield by how close the dagger strikes the space between them. But he’s good at catching himself. Gurney, unused to Paul’s strange and newly learnt manoeuvres, falls short. He tries to counter, but cannot, but he is most impressed for it.

“Concede.” Paul breathes, low and attempting a threatening veil, as Gurney’s back meets the floor. The old man grunts, before nodding deftly as Paul hauls him to his feet with one palm alone. They settle in different corners of the room, silence beseeching both of them suddenly - they’re not two men for silence, but in Gurney’s head, Paul is undergoing a strange part of his life. He wonders if Paul fears it in the night.

Paul interjects Gurney’s thoughts.

“Do you - have you… met her?” his voice is meek. Uncharacteristic. Gurney smirks.

“Once or twice, in the hallways.”

“And? How is she?”

Gurney laughs. The boy is eager today.

The next time I see her, I will speak, he promises.

Better said than done. With no similar companions his age - a course of action being the very result of his heritage, his mother reminds him - he truly doesn’t know how to properly seek you out. You are more shadow than friend, more idea than person, and the more he sees you, the more he forgets.

“Something on your mind?” Duncan nudges him with the edge of some Fremen equipment, that bothers him well enough to dredge out Paul’s concerns. Not that he needs to. It is written on his face.

“Yes,” Paul confesses, readjusting for comfort, “It’s about my marriage.”

“You speak as though you will marry tomorrow. It is not set it stone. Not yet.”

Paul scoffs, “I know that. I just haven’t met her yet. And I want to.”

Duncan, in the midst of polishing some hardware and solar devices, that smell quite faintly of hot sand and the sun, pauses to glance away from Paul’s face. When his gaze returns, it is almost teasing, a smirk ripping across his face, “You’re in luck today.”

“What?” Paul swivels and —

Oh. Oh.

You’re standing there. Hands clasped behind your back, yes. Stoic, assessing expression, yes. Clothed in rich colours of your house, as you always are in his passing vision - only this time, it is a green so deep that it comes across as black. Suddenly, realising that you have been found out by not only Duncan Idaho, but by the Duke’s son himself, you uncharacteristically let slip your own embarrassment through wide eyes.

“Oh. My apologies — I, uh, didn’t mean to intrude. I was just curious by the - er - gadgets.” you fumble for words at a rate that would be comical if not for the morbid embarrassment seizing you by the seconds. You’re shaking your head politely, smile strained and legs rooted where they are and ready to melt into the various corridors - back to your own duties, you assume. Away from company. Paul, however, stands linearly and full of purpose, face constructed of hard lines that all smile at you.

“No, please. Join us,” his voice is smooth - you’ve never heard him talk, even around those board room meetings - and his hand is extended to gesture within the space, “I insist.”

Duncan raises a brow in amusement and Paul wants to tamp his feet down with a neat blow. That pulls a chortle out of the man, which only further startles you. Paul invites you cordially to take a seat, where you fit awkwardly, like you were truly imposing. However, in a manner of minutes, that is all erased when Duncan lets the two of you weigh the objects in your hand – sand compactor, weapons, stinted devices that were far too aged to be still of use but gathering attention nonetheless. When Paul passes it to you, he feels your soft fingers pass underneath his own, where a warm feeling curdles as an afterthought.

“This—is a sand compactor?” you ask warily, tilting the device as though it would spring up on you and dissolve to bits. Duncan barks out a laugh.

“For sand compacting, yes.” he humours you. You, however, are too lost on the object, still swirling it around in your palms; eyes peeled downwards.

“Yes. I see.” you reply.

The two men dissolve into a fit of laughter. You look up, eyes helplessly trailing from one to the next. The day is easy.

Paul is thankful for the event, and so are you. It doesn’t solve all his problems, and his head is always probing with inquiries and worries, but he can count on the off chance of seeing you in the hallways. He can count on the fact that you will pause, meet his eyes and smile.

You’re walking the countless hallways of the estate - Caladan had so much water to offer, but no one on your native planet ever mentioned the striking architecture, the hollowed out walls and think-pieces painted across rooms. High domed ceilings, with absolutely nothing to offer but soft light. Some rooms contained scintillating glass, chairs of different shapes and mediums, tables too big for just a few affairs. Others were bound shut, but that didn’t discourage nor intimidate you, nor your entourage.

On one such day, you’re caught in your explorations by none other than the Atreides heir.

In actuality, it is you who catches him first, stood perfectly still at the end of the corridor and holding a terse expression. When he spots you, his shoulders relax and he manages to blink once, before his mouth opens underneath the realisation that you were really here.

“Hello.” his voice is strong, and carries well.

That was awkward. This is always awkward. He curses himself.

You smile, and it swipes at the ground beneath his feet, “I didn’t expect to see you here.

“This is my residence, yes?” more jest than anything else. You snort.

“I am aware. Your residence is quite beautiful. I like to wander,” you say, finding yourself fixing a meandering pace beside him, and he smiles softly when he realises that he, too, steps beside you at a similar speed, “I hope you don’t mind.”

“I don’t. Never.”

It is quick work after that – by pure coincidence, that you joke to Paul that is it is methodical instincts and ground-work as a mentat that he is able to summon himself almost anywhere you are present from that point onwards, you two bump into each other more and more in the corridors, and from there, it extends to the rather large library, the training space with Gurney skirting its edges, the ever-blossoming gardens even, which held more water than shrubbery in retrospect. Meetings pertaining to your marriage held an element of amusement now, as Paul actually tries to catch your eye this time, drumming his lithe and smooth fingers against the table in a way that could’ve passed off as a wandering of his mind as his father droned on about security measures and fuel caps, but you notice.

You hadn’t, not before, but you did now. To his pleasure, you even respond in a tiny flickering of fingers against the age-old meeting table, the vibrations a blur against his obvious contentment.

“You look glad.” Gurney comments and Paul realises how uninvolved his attention had been on the room before him. He quickly assesses it and whatever lays within it; table, check. Light source, check. Scratchy walls, check. Gurney’s ever-gracing height, check.

When had his habits, trained and chained to duty, begun to sweep towards you?

“Do I?” Paul asks, keeping his voice as still as he can manage. He had swiped at his face to rid the itch off his brow, but he unwittingly catches how warm he is. Not uncomfortable, no. But enough to leave a mark on his consciousness. It was like he was simply losing grip on his own composure when he thought of… something. It was still fleeting in his own mind.

He is too afraid to retrace his steps and find a familiar pair of eyes staring at him in the recesses of it.

Gurney slaps a hand on Paul’s shoulder, seemingly articulate with the latter’s feelings. Old man, Paul would curse out in jest, but he merely smiles. It is strained, and strange. Paul never puts an effort into his smiles, Gurney notes.

“Something is on your mind.” Gurney clicks his tongue.

Paul blinks, swallows, “Something is on my mind.”

“Out with it.”

Paul hesitates, which is strange, because in all his fights he is the first to stoke the flame. He isn’t vengeful – at-least, he doesn’t think he is – that’s why his strikes lack a hunger for blood and instead, settle for calculation. Briefness. No means to an end just yet. Or ever, he thinks.

But with you, it’s different. That’s what he spits out, what he lets Gurney work with. How you were a supposed intrusion into his life – something he had assumed would be awkward, like a stab wound that had scabbed over and began to weakly throb in pain, always to remind itself of its own compromise to work around demise. He thought you would be that; but upon meeting you, you were anything but that. You were curious and brilliant in your own way – similar to him, yet miles apart so that you were the form of a friend he had always wished for in his youth. You talked about your interests and spent double your time inquiring about his. When your hands brushed, his own grew clammy – that’s the strangest one of them all, Gurney – And something was blossoming – was it friendship? Was it trust? Was it fear?

What was this spattering and gooey mess slipping over the swell of his heart whenever you appeared? What was it?

He talks and talks and talks until Gurney squeezes his palm over Paul’s shoulder in a way an uncle would do to his nephew who he might want to reassure. Or a brother would to his youngest companion, as if to say: I see you. I hear what you say.

“Sounds to me like there’s an awful lot of trust between the two of you,” Gurney clicks his tongue again, only this time, Paul scoffs. Ah, there he is – there is the Paul Atreides I know, Gurney smiles, “And something else too.”

“What is it?” Paul asks. His eyes are curious, brows furrowed. Gurney holds down the laugh building in his chest, and the emboldened words in red: you’re falling in love with this friend of yours, boy, and instead, pats him on the shoulder.

“Piece of advice, if you’ll heed to anything I say,” Paul straightens with attention, “Let the truth flow. Do not stop it. Do not push it back. To live with the truth, you must learn its ways and be one with it.”

That night, Paul walks back to his room with the truth beneath his skin, and listens to his own heartbeat against his pillow. The rest of him warms with the realisation of, oh, oh, oh.

The next time you see Paul, you think you’d done something to offend him. Or bore him. Or something other.

It had become a pleasant habit; meeting him at the Caladan gardens, opting for a spot and sitting with your backs to the grass, counting the stars as you talked. Before, conversation had tipped forth whenever. Now, there was something in the air – tension. And it is him that brings it.

Paul avoids your eyes, settling instead for the vast colouring of grey across the hallway walls whenever he caught you in it. He had stopped sending you the familiar drumming of his fingertips across the meeting table, and instead always froze up when you met his gaze, whereby he turned red with anger – or was it anger? What was it?

He’d always be staring at your face, and you would wonder if there was a piece of parchment stuck to it, or if he was merely bored around you; most days, you allowed it. It stung, yes, but you had nothing ill to hold against him. But it accumulated, unbeknownst to you, and for him to miss your question yet again made you sigh in defeat – disappointment?

“You seem distracted,” you say, not bothering to shield the hurt in your words, though you couldn’t begin to understand why and when you had ever begun to crave expect the attention of his earthen-dusted eyes, “Am I boring you?”

He straightens up, his eyes wide, which in turn surprises you, “Bored? Seven hells, no. ‘Course not.”

“What did I just ask then?”

He cringes, “I promise I’m not bored. Just…”

His fingers flex in his lap, before curling into themselves, and his cheeks warm slightly. Is it happening now? Is he doing it now? The weather was right; a typical Caladan breeze, heavy with the wetting of the sky from the day, and now shrouded with clouds and a darkness that was impenetrable. Even as the two of you laid against the bare grass, no one outside could tell either of you apart from the ground itself. In the moonlight, you were almost one with it.

“Just?” you ask. You were curious of this now, “Just what?”

“Just!” he sucks in a harsh breath, his sharp face now boyishly soft and pliant in a way you hadn’t seen it before, “I… Just promise you won’t take offence to this.”

How ironic.

“I promise, Paul,” you smile, shoulder bumping against his as you glance at the side of his face, the way his nose shapes perfectly against the dampness of the Calandan wind, “Tell me.”

Be one with it. Be one with it. It is a mantra in his head.

“I realise that I have begun to grow a certain, uh, affection for you. Yes, I like you. I don’t know how it had begun. And I know it’s foolish of me to even act this way when we are set to marry. But I know, in my heart, that—“ a breath, as he nervously glances at your now surprised face and oh, he shuts his mouth. He opens it again, panicked, “My apologies. I shouldn’t have—let me—”

“Paul.” you stop him, hands against his one arm that seems to be quivering ever so slightly – how much of it can he hold?

He waits. Bated breath.

You smile, shy and sweet and it whips against him in a way that the wind of his mother planet had never managed to. Here is my dear friend, he thinks, my dear friend who was but a stranger a long time ago and is set to marry me once talks have been concluded. Here is my friend who I have poured my stupid, ill heart to and who still looks at me with kindness.

“I like you too.”

He blinks. He looks at you when you speak and watches, really watches, how your mouth forms against the words. I like you too.

“As a companion? Or friend, at best? Is that what your ‘like’ refers to?” he asks, nervous in the face of your admission. It makes you smile, as he rambles slightly, and though his countenance is that of poise and grace, beneath he is a a boy of tender heart. Smiling, you grab the front of his thick coat lapel and watch his words die on his tongue as you place a feathery, warm and soft kiss against his mouth. It was so unbelievable, he thought he’d conjured it all up – that you weren’t here, timidly kissing him with a sheepish smile on your face, and the stars of his home glinting against your skin. He lets his finger brush your cheek, still dumb-struck.

“Again.” he whispers. His heart hammers at the sound of your breathy laugh, as you repeat the action, conviction in your palms as they lay upon his cheek, “Again, please.”

“Again?” you ask, voice soft and muted as he hoists you atop of his front, chest to chest, and gazing at him like he was everything. Within the action, your golden insignia brushes his own, silver ones so briefly that he can make out a shape bourne from the contact of either two, before they separate. You wanted him, as he wanted you. And soon, you would wed, and the image of gold upon silver won’t be so unclear anymore. Maybe, somewhere warmer and less unbelievable, he could let himself grow familiar with the reality of you. But for now, he could settle for this to be a mere dream he had grown to relish so very much. Even now, he could almost believe none of this to be real, just a trick of the mind. Maybe fatigue or delusion.

He says your name so quietly, a plea, and it has never sounded sweeter, “Please.”

And yet, the soft press of your mouth upon his convinces him that it is so much more.

i wanted to incorporate some inferences of paul’s character from the early novel (mentat, solitude in terms of companions, great fighter), as well as the film, whilst wanting to stray away from the destruction of house atreides after the gifting of arrakis, which would explain why the marriage needs to take place. sooo no one dies! HURRAH!!!!!!!!! enjoy :]

#paul x you #dune paul x you #paul atreides fic #paul atreides x you #paul atreides fanfic #paul atreides x reader #paul atreides x y/n #dune x you #dune x reader #dune part two x reader

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arxxq · 2 days

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• 𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇, 𝐘𝐄𝐓 𝐌𝐘 𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐌𝐘...🌷•

୨⎯ "eyes don't lie, say you're mine?"⎯୧

My first Aventurine x reader post. (also my first hsr imagine post)

Mentions and implied afab/female reader so I apologize for that I will try to make it up by making a gender neutral imagine soon. stellaron hunter reader!! Pure sfw? Fluffy + angst? Mistakes will be corrected once I find the time and energy to reread it. English is not my first language so please keep in mind my usage of words is not advanced and my grammar will have mistakes as well as spelling so bare with me here. Quite long...?

"I hate you..."

Those were the words she always had said to a certain blonde headed IPC executive. She didn't know why she even crossed paths with him in the first place....but unfortunately it was all written in her script that Elio said so.

Like her coworker Sam, her script was also quite brief. Nothing but a few short sentences and it aggravated her so badly.

But lines in her script said she'll break rules one day for a certain man...she scoffed at that fact. "For a man? Really?" She didn't like the idea of so.

But now realising it...maybe that line in her script was for that certain IPC executive.

She hated it. No matter how much she said "I hate you" to him...she always finds herself meeting him all over again. Was she really head over heels for an IPC executive? It made her stomach sick.

"I know you say that all the time," she snapped out of her thoughts when the certain blonde laughed. God that laugh really knows how to make her stomach twirl. "Penny for your thoughts? Or in this case a chip..." Aventurine asks the woman in front while flipping a chip in the air.

"or we could continue gambling though I'd say I would win either way" he always did after all. His good luck is what makes it so unique. "It's fine.." she gave him a short response. "Now hey what's with the cold shoulder?" Aventurine is clearly confused.

The woman sighed looking at her chips. Her gaze then changed moving it to meet his. Now noticing it she saw the beauty in his multi-colored eyes...even if it has no light it still seemed to shine stars to her. She then let out a hitched breath and without thinking she muttered. "Your eyes are pretty..."

Now realising it she cursed in her head...

"I love him..."

"shit I fucking love him..."

"Your eyes are pretty.."

Aventurine's eyes widened in shock. Did he hear that right? The woman who constantly reminded him that he hated her was complimenting him?

"Are you alright you're acting weird," he laughs trying to change the mood but she looked so deep in thought.

He will be honest meeting her a year ago was probably one of the things he still remembers till now. He never expected to cross paths with her either.

"Well if it isn't miss stellaron hunter [name], I never expected to see you here~" the woman in front of him looked at him in utter disgust.

"An IPC executive? You must be under the ten stonehearts then?" Her words were harsh but nonetheless Aventurine was too distracted with the softness of her voice. To him her voice could calm the oceans. It was so soft yet her words were hurtful.

"Ouch [name] I'm hurt, my name is Aventurine of the Ten Stonehearts, senior manager of the strategic investment department in the IPC it's an honour to meet you ma'am,"

That was their first encounter but it seems like he remembers and can recall every single moment they've spent with each other.

Silence engulfed their surroundings, there was no one else there but the two of them. None of them dared to utter a single word. Aventurine gaze lingered on [name] and her words.

"your eyes are pretty..."

Indeed he's gotten compliments that his eyes are pretty, but to him her eyes were much more majestic than his. Sure it never compared to him but he would always get so lost staring at them. As for her beauty that's where he was at first so lost but no he has an answer.

To him she was but a piece of art that can't easily be won through a gamble or any sort of money. She was an artwork that was unfinished yet so astonishingly beautiful that he admired her forever if he wanted to and he would.

He wanted to love her, he did...but he couldn't. It had nothing to do with him being in the IPC but rather his fear of losing her. After all even with his good luck it seems like it has no affect on his loved ones as he lost them once and twice and thrice and he was not willing to lose another one.

It was a gamble indeed and for once he didn't want to take this one...but it was so tempting.

But he couldn't...after all he can't possibly try to love someone else without learning to love himself more.

It was devastating indeed.

"life sent me you, but I can't have you in order to not lose you so soon...."

[name] didn't know what to do...she could tell from afar that the said man never really loved himself...not finding any enjoyment in the things he's doing. He was afraid but he hid under a confident facade.

To her Aventurine was Fragile as a dandelion but yet he was as brave as a wildflower. To her he was just a beautiful boy with such a broken soul yet she loved him. In the start she was in denial but in her script she remembered a line that was long which never was usual...

"Your heart will fall for another, a confident soul yet so broken in denial you will be, you will soon learn to seek for his love. Your heart knows the way so run in that direction no matter the risk and the consequences that will come..."

She now knows what it meant. She loved him and she wished that she could possibly lend her eyes to him so he could see just how spectacular he was in the eyes of someone who was supposedly born with hatred and see the newfangled that dance within her vision when he sees him.

The girl smiled without knowing because in her head she realised that meeting him was destiny's will.

"what chance did I stand against kismet (fate)? Even if I did hate it I don't regret it now...at some point some rules in life really were meant to be broken..."

As for Aventurine the moment he saw her smile...even if it was so small to him it was like a gift from the gods and above. To him she looked like an ethereal yet ghostly angel with a divine smile on her archangel face.

She was like the moon or perhaps the sun? It didn't matter anyways as her beauty was intimidating yet that was the reason she admired her so much. Seeing her smile was the last straw to him. He knew that she lived her life hating on others due to the hate that was given to her...so he wanted to give her a different perspective hoping that it could make her learn that there are some things worth to love

In each of their minds they made a choice...

"maybe just this once..."

"I wouldn't mind gambling my life just so I can love her and this time I'll be sure I won't lose her...so she can learn that there are things in life worth loving..."

"Just this once..."

"I'll adjust the rules and listen to my heart just so I can love him hoping he'll know how amazing he really is..."

There were just two human beings...and sometimes it's never really wrong to listen to your heart and desires no? Because in this life we all live with desires...whether it can be fulfilled or not it was up to destiny to decide.

For these two...I guess you could say that even fate wanted them to love...after all they can't possibly go against that can they?

do not plagiarize my works to any other platform or so...

reblogs and likes are highly appreciated

(feel free to comment and criticise my work nicely so I can improve!!)

a/n: it's quite long since I written something, so it's quite rusty? But if you've read my works before is there any improvement? This is my first hsr creation and it is about aventurine. Ever since I played the quest I got so attached to his lore and he became my favourite. Hope you enjoyed this. I'm not really proud of this work and I'm not sure if it's ooc but if you manage to read it till the end thank you. Have a great day and I hope that to those pulling for Aventurine..you'll get him since he's out in a few hours.

I have 106 pulls saved up wish me luck !

And all the best from me.

Have a great day or night <3

#·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰➳aryssa;hasinah #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imagines #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail imagines #hsr x reader #hsr imagines #aventurine x y/n

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bitethedevil · 1 day

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My NSFW Raphael headcanon that is gnawing at my brain

(Don’t get me wrong, I love all the kinkier versions of Raphael in fics. However, there’s this headcanon I have stuck in my mind and it makes so much sense to me. I’ve talked about in another textpost of mine that Raphael usually doesn’t reveal his true nature and intentions before his clients are either so far in that there is no turning back or that he has already gotten what he wanted from them. Up until then he seems like the perfect gentleman. It is all honeyed words and seduction until he finally has you in his grasp.)

Just imagine a Raphael that courts you with those same honeyed words and sweet poems. He makes you feel special, wanted and like you are the most beautiful person in the world.

When he finally gets you into bed, he doesn’t rush anything. It doesn’t just feel like sex, it feels like lovemaking. Slow and intimate because he is nothing if not patient. He’s a gentleman with you. He takes his time, whispering sweet nothings in your ear. Lavishes you with kisses, compliments and sweet words, always pulling your attention back on him and urging you to keep eye-contact. It feels like love because you want to believe it is and he knows exactly which buttons to push to make you melt.

Whenever you return his affections with a kiss or a touch, he praises you so sweetly. He coaxes you into giving in to the illusion that he knows you so desperately wants to believe in: that you really are the most special thing he has ever laid eyes upon. That he might be just as in love with you as you are with him.

When you finally do give in to the illusion, despite your better judgement, he asks you that cruel question that he always does: “Do you love me, little mouse?”. You know that there is only one correct (and honest) answer to that. You once dared to ask him if he loved you back? He simply smiled and kissed you. A kiss so passionate that you’d almost be tempted to believe that it was a “yes”.

The moment you’ve both finished, you lift your head from the pillow to kiss him again, as you had done just before. He pulls his head back with a cruel smile. You do it again, and he grips your chin and pushes you back into the bed. “Sleep well.” That’s all he says, still with that sadistic smile on his lips as he leaves the bed. The grand performance is over, and he played his part perfectly as always. He is as always feasting on your devastated mood that follows. You know that he will go back to treat you as if you are nothing to him as he always does…until the next time he feels like playing with you. It was all a lie. It always was. The worst thing was that he knew that no matter how much it hurt you each time, your foolish little heart would continue to long for that sweet lie, in the naïve hope that it would one day be the truth. Hope…such a tease.

(Idk man. It just makes SENSE to me, okay? He performs and he plays games with people, it’s what he does. I remember reading that some devils can have a selfish desire for being loved and it just checks out. Purely lust isn’t enough for him, he wants to own your heart and mind too, just because he can. He wants to build you up just to laugh at you as he tears it all down again.)

#raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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concreteangel92 · 2 days

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Noah With A Witch Girlfriend

Noah Sebastian x female reader

Warnings: none, all fluff

A/N: so I wanted to do something a bit different to what I’ve seen on here before and I thought a headcanon about Noah having a partner who practices witchcraft was such an interesting concept due to his upbringing and it’s also something very close to my heart haha hope you all enjoy 🖤

•although Noah was never a believer in witchcraft, he was open to learn from you as to why you do it and what it was all about

•would definitely find it fascinating comparing it to religion and seeing the similarities (of course you’ll tell him that it all comes from the pagans)

•loves watching your eyes light up when you talk about it

•Noah would soon have a new found respect for magic and its history

•but he will definitely crack the odd joke here or there but means no harm with them

• “you going to curse me if I piss you off?”

• “don’t tempt me”

•when you tell him that you work with your spirit guides/angels/universe (or whatever you prefer to call them) you know he’ll be making jokes like “so if I work with you, does that make you my angel?”

•corny jokes aside, you know he’s only teasing you

•he would soon perk up when you tell him that sex can be very powerful in spell work

•he’d be more then willing to help, I mean, what are good boyfriends for right? 😏

•if you gave him a tarot reading and it came true, of course he’ll try and find a logical explanation first

•Noah would also do that when any of your spells have worked, but you can definitely see the shock in his eyes at the outcome for whatever spell you’ve done

•he’d love to watch you work at your alter and loves how it looks and how personal it is for you

•would definitely buy you gifts and crystals, etc for your alter

•after some time he may even be inclined to join you in some of your work

•he’ll offer to cleanse the house for you to show that he’s learning

•he would definitely join you for meditation or your ritual baths to cleanse your energy/aura

•if it’s important to you, it’s important to him

•gets defensive at people who may laugh or make fun of you for doing it

•he will always have your back, no matter what

•I have no doubt you’d catch him reading some of your books, man loves to read and learn, this would be no different

•would also love the personal gifts you give him such as protection jars, crystals, amulets to ward off the evil eye, etc

•“Babe, why do we have so many empty jars in this cupboard, are they to be thrown?”

•“Leave them be!”

•Noah soon learns that a witch never throws good jars out

•in time Noah would ask you for certain spells for luck with the band or a project he’s working on

• “can’t hurt to have the extra luck right?”

•and you never know, you may just make a believer out of him yet ✨

#noah sebastian #bad omens #bad omens band #bad omens cult #noah sebastian davis #noah sebastian fic #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian imagine

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cursedonyx · 12 hours

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How the HL Cast Act When They’re Drunk 🍻

Sebastian Sallow

This lad has three main modes when he’s had a few to drink, and it’s all entirely dependent on how he was feeling beforehand. He will either be the sweetest, cuddliest little snugglebug you’ve ever met, who hugs anyone and everyone regardless of how well he knows them and tells everyone he loves them (unless he’s in an established relationship, then his partner is the only one who receives such ardent affection), or he could be the life and soul of the party, challenging everyone to dares, games and other challenges, accepting pretty much all dares for a laugh, encouraging people to get up and dance and have fun, telling outrageous jokes and more… Or, he will be sullen, moody, and prone to fights. It’s best not to let Sebastian drink too much if he’s in a grump, because it won’t end well.

He's got a pretty good memory for his drunk antics and never gets blackout. This is useful for both making sure his friends are safe and for embarrassing everyone with tales of their conduct the next day, but it’s a double-edged sword, as he will remember everything he did as well.

Ominis Gaunt

A charming man at the best of times, drunk Ominis is a shameless flirt, and will make pretty much everyone fall in love with him at some point during the course of the evening, regardless of which way they swing. He’s got a pretty good head on his shoulders and tends to toe the line of tipsy and inebriated quite well, but if he pitches a bit too far and ends up sauced, his inhibitions are going to go right out the window. He’ll be the first to dance on a tabletop, he swears far more frequently and is prone to showing off a bit, though he still draws the line at public nudity, which is a shame. Chances are, if there’s a piano nearby, he’ll play for everyone with exceptional skill and, if the stars align, he’ll even sing, which is a rare treat for all involved. Mans got the voice of an angel. If he’s in an established relationship, he’s far more comfortable with PDAs and will be much more open to experimenting with his partner once they’re alone.

Though he rarely gets blackout drunk, Ominis can struggle to remember all the details of what he got up to if he has one too many, which without fail will leave him utterly mortified and swearing never to drink again, even if he had a good time. It’ll take a week or two before he’s ready to even have a glass of wine with dinner if he’s embarrassed himself.

Garreth Weasley

Garreth is usually the one to bring his experimental brews to the party and he’s usually swiftly banned from wherever the drinks are being kept. Regardless, after a few bevvies he’s loud, boisterous, and usually found challenging Sebastian to various dares and competitions. A cheerful and popular chap, Garreth is likely to get people singing along to various songs he knows, or ones he’s made up on the spot. Whilst not as tall as Leander, Garreth is a big lad and quite strong too, so any of the girls present might find themselves picked up without warning and swung all about as he tries to dance, and one of his favourite memories of a previous party is trying to pick up all the girls at once and immediately falling over, ending up buried under a pile of laughing women. If Garreth is in an established relationship, very little changes, but you can be safe in the knowledge that even though he's flirting, that’s as far as it will ever go.

Garreth never gets hangovers, no matter how much he drinks, and he’ll be the first one awake the next day, helping to clean up or cook breakfast or make everyone a strong cup of tea.

Leander Prewett

Bless his heart, Leander tries very hard to fit in with his friends and as such will likely end up drinking too much too quickly, meaning he’s usually the first one to suffer the worst effects of drinking. That said, he handles it well, and after chundering once or twice he’s usually ready to keep going. Being a gangly lad, his sense of balance is terrible when he’s blotto, and he’ll trip on a bit of dense air if there’s nothing else to fall over. If the others manage to keep his drinking at a reasonable pace, Leander will often be found trying to flirt with everyone, and though he doesn’t have Ominis’ natural talent for it, he’s a surprisingly smooth talker when he’s not worried about being rejected, and he’s pretty much guaranteed to go home with someone at the end of the night. That is, if he’s single. If Leander is in an established relationship, he’ll follow his partner around, making sure they’re comfortable, warning off potential challenges to his territory, and he won’t even look at another girl.

Leander’s memory of the night before will be hazy at best, and though he knows full well he probably embarrassed himself, he’ll choose to believe he didn’t, so long as no one got hurt.

Amit Thakkar

Amit doesn’t drink much at all, but when he does and has one too many, he’s going to be talking at a mile a minute about whatever’s on his mind, whether that’s his memoirs, his gobbledegook, his stargazing, other people at the party, who he fancies, any gossip he’s overheard, and on and on and on and on. At some point during the night, he stops talking, sits down in the nearest seat, curls up and goes to sleep, no matter how noisy it is, and it’s pretty much like someone flipped a switch. You could be sitting on the sofa with him listening to him babble, then literally a second later he’s out for the count, and he probably won’t wake up for a good few hours, so move him somewhere where he won’t be trodden on. If Amit is in an established relationship, nothing changes about his drunk behaviour, because he’s endearingly loyal at the best of times.

Amit remembers well who he spoke to and what about, but rarely does he realise how much he gabbles on. He tends to take this with a reasonable degree of humility, but aside from hoping he didn’t bore anyone, he’s content that he didn’t embarrass himself.

Andrew Larson

He’s going to be mooning after everyone pretty the moment he gets trashed, and if Ominis is playing the piano, that lad better hope he’s got his girlfriend nearby because Andrew’s going to try his luck and be deeply disappointed by the inevitable rejection. Andrew lives by his emotions and will cry at the drop of a hat or a picture of a cat if he’s had enough to drink, but he will be laughing seconds later if someone falls over or tells him a joke. If the mood takes him, he’ll likely be having long, philosophical debates with anyone who’ll listen (most likely Amit) and he’s prone to wandering off at random moments because he saw something interesting and wants to go on an adventure. He needs a minder. If Andrew is in an established relationship he’s less likely to be a liability because his Alice in Wonderland moments are going to be focused entirely on his partner (and Ominis will remain unaccosted).

Andrew sways between having a good memory for his antics and remembering absolutely nada, sometimes in the same night. Parts of the evening will be clear as day, and parts will be obscured completely. He doesn’t tend to feel too embarrassed for himself, but more for others because it’s a guarantee someone else is going to have done something worse.

Natsai Onai

Even hammered, Natty is the mum friend. She’s the one making sure everyone drinks water in between their booze-infused bevvies, helping people up if they fall over, cleaning up puke and intervening in any brewing fights. Left to her own devices when no one needs her help, she’s sneakily encouraging Garreth to sing rude, memorable shanties, Poppy to climb the walls and jump on people, and Sebastian to run around the garden in the buff because if he doesn’t then Leander will. A master of planting ideas in drunk people’s heads, she usually makes sure things don’t go too far while masterminding entertainment for everyone involved. If Natty is in an established relationship, she’ll still be doing all of the above, but her partner needs to steer her more into the ‘having fun’ side of things so people don’t come to rely on her too much.

She’s got a reasonable memory for drunk happenings, but as she usually doesn’t embarrass herself, she’s pretty good to go the morning after. That said, if Natty does something embarrassing, she goes the whole hog, like the time she got stuck on the roof with only a tea towel for cover. That gets brought up a lot, and she wants to sink into the ground every time it does.

Poppy Sweeting

If you thought Poppy was a nutter beforehand, just wait until she’s got some beers in her. Poppy will be the first to try swinging from the chandelier, the first to encourage everyone to do shots, the first to run around the room with her shirt off, the real life and soul of the party. Once she’s drunk, she’s feral, and will climb over everyone and everything. Once she’s spent her boundless energy, she becomes incredibly cuddly, and if she chooses you to cuddle good luck getting her off you. Regardless of who you’re both respectively dating, you may find yourself going home with Poppy and her partner if the two of you aren’t together and she chooses you to snuggle. It’s not that she’s trying to get you in bed, she just loves cuddles and you smell safe.

She remembers nothing. Absolutely zilch once her blood alcohol level reaches a certain point. No embarrassment either, no matter what she did, she’s just happy everyone had fun.

Imelda Reyes

Competitive as ever, Imelda will likely be challenging people to drinking competitions (and usually Leander’s the only one to take her up on it, most people know better). Imelda has the blood of a Scot (and likely a Viking too) so she can outdrink almost everyone with relative ease. That said, once she’s drunk, she’s drunk. Swaying all over the place, her accent almost incomprehensible, and prone to getting into fights, Imelda is either the worst person to drink with, or the best. If she decides she’s looking after you that night, you’ll not have to worry about a thing, this girl would fight off a dragon for you. If you want to do something, whether it’s playing a certain game, talking to a certain someone, or just chilling outside for a bit, Imelda will make it happen. If you’re not the Chosen One, you can expect things to be very chaotic around Imelda when she gets cunted. If Imelda has a partner, her Chosen One will always be them.

Imelda’s memory is crystal, and no matter what she did, she feels no shame. Why would she? She was only looking out for her bestie or lover, and if someone got offended over that, well then that’s their problem. She’s not responsible for other people’s emotional reactions, after all.

Duncan Hobhouse

Will boast about being able to outdrink Imelda, then throw up and pass out after two butterbeers. Best to move him outside, because he’s going to shit his pants.

Masterlist

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy imagines #sebastian sallow #ominis gaunt #garreth weasley #leander prewett #amit thakkar #andrew larson #natsai onai #poppy sweeting #imelda reyes #duncan hobhouse #drunk hogwarts legacy

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beenbaanbuun · 9 hours

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hi i wanna ask if dove ever fought with seonghwa or hongjoong like full on disagreeing and just arguing? and what was it like ^____^ i really love ur Addams!Matz fic and seeing you post smth new related to it makes my day!

darling has tiny arguments with hongjoong on a semi-regular basis. despite her tendency to roll over and submit, she’s actually surprisingly hard headed and if hongjoong claims that she broke a rule that she doesn’t agree with, then she is going to give that man hell. the problem is, hongjoong is equally as stubborn and it sometimes ends up with the house being a full on war zone. snarky comments over a game of chess, silent glares over dinner; it’s just an all round hostile environment and seonghwa just tends to be on the sidelines watching it all go down.

“you can’t move your piece there,” hongjoong deadpans as he watches you do an illegal chess move. normally he’d just laugh it off and gently correct you, but he can’t find it in himself to do that when his blood is still boiling from that mornings conversation.

“well if you can make up rules, then so can i,” you fold your arms in defiance and hongjoong finds himself seething. if he were calmer, he’d drag you over his lap and teach you a lesson about being a brat, but just like you had your rules, they had theirs. no punishments out of anger was a pretty important one; they didn’t want to end up hurting you whilst getting their frustrations out. “and i say i want to put my castle there…”

it usually ends up with seonghwa having to step into the metaphorical firing line, because hell below, he and yeosang are sick and tired of it! the constant back and forth has driven the two of them to insanity and if he has to put a stop to it himself then he absolutely will. seonghwa isn’t a believer in anger, and so he will make them sit down and air out their grievances in a calm and collected manner. he’ll even implement a talking stick of absolutely necessary. as long as the two of them aren’t at odds by the time they slip themselves beneath the comforter or their bed, seonghwa will be happy.

for that very reason, darling and seonghwa almost never argue. if she doesn’t agree with seonghwa on anything, he will just nod and offer to talk it through with her when he’s less busy. sometimes she agrees and step down, but sometimes it’s clear that she’s looking for a fight and she tries to push it further. it’s infuriating because no matter how hard she tries, seonghwa just keeps his cool and answers her as if it’s any other conversation. he knows she only does it when she’s in a bad mood, so his first port of call is usually tackling whatever it is that’s getting you down.

“but i just don’t understand how it’s fair,” you snarl, your pacing coming to a stop right in front of where he sits on the chez. he doesn’t even look at you as you growl out your words, and it drives you mad. you stomp your foot in frustration, the loud noise irritating the man just ever-so-slightly. he lets out a deep sigh.

“i said we’ll talk about it later, lamb,” he hums with disinterest as he flicks over the page of his book. you’re fuming above him, chest rising and falling heavily as you glare at him. he lets his gaze flick up to your face, an unimpressed look resting on his features. “what? are you looking for an argument or something? you know i won’t give you one so why don’t you come and sit with me until you’ve calmed down.”

#ateez x reader #matz x reader #opposites attract universe

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dixons-sunshine · 1 day

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Seizing for a part two of young!daryl head cannons omg😩

Shopping Spree, Hangout Dreams AU Headcannons Part Two | Young!Daryl Dixon x Young!Fem!Reader

*GIF isn't mine.*

Word count: 853.

A/n: Here's a part two of my personal headcannons while I mentally prepare myself for the scene I'm about to write in my newest fic. Hope y'all like these!

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★ So it's quite common for us Daryl writers to have him call the reader "Sunshine", but I feel like it explains a lot about how he feels about you in this.

★ He definitely called you sunshine long before you actually got together. It's because Daryl sees his life as a bad thunderstorm, but you're the ray of sunshine that breaks through the devastating downpour.

★ Of all the things he loves the most about you, his favourite physical thing about you is your thighs. Whether you guys are watching movies on the couch and are cuddling, whether you're with him when he's driving, whether you guys are doing more... not-so-family-friendly activities, it doesn't matter. He loves gripping them. It's his absolute favourite.

★ Despite that, however, he's definitely a boob guy. He just can't hold them when you're in public, so your thighs share first place with them.

★ He definitely is also enamoured with your smile. It just makes his day so much better whenever he sees it.

★ He wanted to drop out of high school, but you talked him out of it—it wasn't easy, and you promised him that you'd support him either way, but he decided to stick it out and graduate.

★ In the first part, I mentioned that you and your mom lived with your grandparents until you were six. I definitely headcannon that your grandparents didn't love you and were deeply disappointed in your mom—they are really conservative and couldn't come to terms with the fact that their daughter got pregnant at 18.

★ They were abusive to you. Whether it was physically or mentally, that I'll let y'all decide for future fics.

★ Despite that, you remained positive. That was over a decade ago and you had refused a long time ago to allow them to be an anchor around your neck.

★ You talked to Daryl about them a while after you officially got together.

★ You told them about what they did and that made Daryl realise why you were so patient and caring with him. You understood.

★ On a more lighthearted note, Daryl has an unhealthy obsession with playing little pranks on you.

★ He's usually a serious guy, but with you, he allows himself to let loose. He plays pretty innocent pranks on you, like swapping your toothpaste out for mayonnaise. Never anything that could hurt you.

★ You always returned the favour, though, and that started many prank wars between the two of you.

★ Daryl isn't a great dancer, but sometimes he'll pull you into his arms and just sway with you, with or without music.

★ You absolutely loved it, even if you didn't understand why he did it.

★ “D, not that I'm complaining, but what's this about?”

★ “Jus' 'cause.” He never revealed more than that.

★ He would never tell you this, put he loved wearing face masks with you.

★ He kind of loved the way his skin felt afterwards. However, he loved how giggly you would get whenever he put up a "fight" and then finally agree to it.

★ He would always agree to it, but he allowed you to think you convinced him to change his mind. He'd let you have that just to see your radiant smile and hear your radiant laugh.

★ He lives for forehead kisses. Whether it's him giving them or receiving them from you, he doesn't care. He just loves them.

★ You and Daryl had both walked in on your mom being all lovey dovey with a man and teased her endlessly for it.

★ She always teased you and Daryl, so it was only fair to repay the favour, you had told her once.

★ She knew it was all in good fun, though, so she didn't scold you for it.

★ Your mom and Daryl are close. Not in a gross way, but in a familial way. She sees Daryl as her son-in-law.

★ She worked a lot of nightshirts at the bar and more often than not walked in the next morning to find you and Daryl acting all romantic in the kitchen.

★ Has she accidentally walked in on you and Daryl having sex? She would never tell...

★ She has met William Dixon, as stated in the previous part, and absolutely hated the guy for what he was doing to Daryl.

★ She may or may not have been the reason why he had a flat tyre once and was late to something.

★ She had grown to heavily dislike her parents for how they treated her when she got pregnant with you. She vowed to herself that if you were to get pregnant at that age, she would never make you feel like you were worthless. She may have been a kid having a kid, but she loved you dearly and couldn't imagine her life without you.

★ She knew she wasn't always the best mom, but she tried her best and hoped she was doing okay.

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Okay, so here's part two. I might make a part three?

#krys writes .ೃ࿐#shopping spree hangout dreams #daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x reader #twd daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #norman reedus #norman reedus x reader #the walking dead #young!daryl #young!daryl dixon #young daryl dixon

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