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#chirpy chats
chiropteracupola · 8 months
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The flower!!
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lavender's a good plant for bees!
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celestialwhoree · 2 months
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🌙💖
Simon Riley with a single mom!reader.
She moves in to the flat next-door with her toddler, who's understandably a little freaked and unsettled by the new place, keeps her mom up all night with her cries.
She brings apology cookies over the next day, embarrassed at the fact she's not even been in the building for a month yet and her neighbours already probably hate her.
The burly, gruff looking military man who answers the door with an understanding smile and an invitation for her to join him for a cup of tea makes her jaw practically drop.
Truth is, he's seen her and her daughter in and around town for a couple of weeks now and hasn't managed the courage to speak to her, but when she comes over and hands him a divine smelling plate of cookies with a ringless finger, he can't not.
They get to chatting, and she mentions how occasionally she hears the music he plays through their adjoining wall, shares her mutual love of The Eagles and Credence Clearwater. He mentions how good her cooking smells, she invites him for dinner with a gentle smile and fingers fidgeting around the rim of her mug.
Her daughter is also a poppet, tries to get him to play Barbies with her whilst her mom makes dinner.
She preps him a really hearty meal, hot and protein rich and loaded onto the plate whilst he loads her daughter into her highchair and helps to set the table.
Single Mom!Reader can't help but revel in the almost domesticity of it, of having some support. Simon also doesn't mind the coziness of her home and the chirpiness of her daughter.
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thewinchestah · 2 months
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"PREY" - Alastor x reader fic
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Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader
Tags: One-Shot, 18+, Smut, NSFW, edging, begging, overstimulation, Alastor does what he wants, there's plot if you squint really hard, alastor in heat, breeding kink, degradation kink, praise kink,
Fandom: Hazbin Hotel
Word Count: i lost count. it's big.
  | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4
A/N: Helloooooo!!! I write a lot but i never publish it! My lovely friend and also biggest inspiration for this fic @smallershorteranduncut ordered me to post this and i'm nothing but her loyal servent! I hope you guys enjoy the fruits of me writing 10 google docs pages today while i was enraged. Also english isn't my first language, no beta we die like men here yadayayfayada! enjoy <;3 (UPDATE!) Part 2 is now up!
-
Everything about the Radio Demon seemed to be designed to make you desire him, want him. Many times in ways you weren’t even ready to admit to yourself. You haven’t been in Hell long, that’s true. But ever since you manifested here you felt like someone had picked your brain open to make Alastor the perfect bait to lure you into even more sinful, sinister paths. 
He had an inexplicable magnetism around him, a piercing presence that made your eyes stuck on him when he worked a room. He had you bewitched and you hadn’t share more than polite pleasantries with each other since you became a guest at the hotel.
Today, again, you were transfixed in his gaze. Sitting in the corner of the hotel lobby, trying to make your embarrassing attraction to him go unnoticed while Alastor waltzed across the room explaining more of his wicked plans to Charlie. God, how you wish he had his wicked way with you. 
He seemed more… on edge today. His red eyes  glowed a little brighter, his nostrils flared a bit more, static filling the room more often, he was smiling with almost barred teeth, and everyone seemed to be avoiding him. Even Charlie was trying to politely dismiss him, the general feeling of uneasiness inside the hotel  just growing larger when Angel stationed himself near your little corner of the room. 
“Don’t go near that creepy motherfucker today, he’s about to lose it.”  Angel alerted, almost whispering, a pair of his hands making the “crazy sign” near his head 
“Isn’t he always creepy and about to lose it?” Husk added, staring at the exchange between the radio demon and Charlie.
“I’m telling you toots, I know that guy definitely isn't normal, but today he is borderline a mass extinction event. I swear, he’s just waiting for someone to give him the excuse” Angel replied, confirming your suspicions. Something was off.
“Uh. Well, about that, I think it’s time we rescue Charlie” 
As if on cue Charlie turned to the corner of the room, gesticulating really hard to be taken away from the small commotion her conversation with Alastor was becoming. 
“Hey Charlie, do you remember that thing with the hotel’s… personalized stationery you asked me to help you today? Let’s do it!” Said angel gently guiding Charlie away from the Radio Demon.
“Guess that’s my cue Alastor! Greaaaaat chat! As always! Have a nice day!! Byeee!” Charlie’s overly chirpy tone giving away her uneasiness. 
Suddenly it felt like all the air was taken out of the room. Alastor’s neck turned into an ungodly angle, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. Static grew around the group, almost suffocating. As your vision went blurry from the sheer power that was being evoked, you contemplated if there was another afterlife. Preferably one where you didn’t inherit a death wish from your previous ones.
And as quick as it started, it was over. 
Alastor just said a creepy “hm” turned on his hell, and walked away. 
It almost felt like it was all in your head, but your friends standing perfectly still and dead silent next to you gave the reality of the situation away: everyone just had a near death-death experience. Maybe it would be a good topic for Charlie’s bonding exercises, who knows with this place. 
“I told ya’ll. Mass. Extinction. Event. Stay out the psycho’s way”
Angel’s voice became background noise in your head, your eyes focusing on the spot where Alastor just threatened everybody’s life without saying a word. As the voices dissipated around you and normalcy slowly returned to the hotel, your mind sank deeper and deeper into the mystery that was the Radio Demon. 
-
They were so oblivious, so naive. Thinking he wasn’t listening what they said about him behind his back. Thinking he was unaware of him being the topic of the discussion when he wasn’t looking. He could bathe in the smell of their fear, and he was relishing it. 
Alastor stared at the new pretty little thing that arrived at the hotel. Oh how pathetically sweet and innocent she was, thinking she was being subtle about her infatuation with him. Thinking she could hide her interest in him, when she was nothing but a doe caught in the headlights of his eyes. Oh, she was just the perfect prey for him, wrapped in this lovely red bow she wore on her hair. 
Angel was right, he was just waiting for an excuse, and she just offered him one on a silver platter. And alastor was everything but a coward. 
-
You cursed a little bit louder than you intended when you saw the blood dripping from your finger. “Stop. making. a. spectacle. of. yourself” you mentally screamed. You still could not figure Charlie’s “special stationary stapler” out, so stapling your finger was bound to happen. 
Even though it was not much, the silly little cut was stinging like a bitch, and your best efforts to stop the bleeding were futile, considering the mess on the hem of your skirt. Still high on the adrenaline from earlier, your shaking hands searched for something, anything to put on your finger so you could continue your work without anyone noticing. Everyone already had enough for one day, it was fine. 
“My dear, did you just hurt yourself?” Alastor’s voice invaded your ears. Oh, fuck. That’s it, he was going to murder you for being so incompetent with the damned stapler.
Turning to face him, you meet his piercing gaze, not sure if you should run and scream for help. “Oh no worries alastor, it’s just a small cut, i can manage!” you give him your most confident smile. 
Alastor’s head tilts, eyes burning red as he watches the small droplets of your blood make their way down your index finger.  
“Nonsense, I can't have my staff running around with injuries and bloodied clothes. We are in hell, but we are not savages, dear” He seems transfixed by the blood, and you are too scared to move, too scared to anything other than hold the weight of his gaze and hope for the best. Your lizard brain is screaming for you to run, ask for help. Maybe Charlie isn’t too far away, could you make a run for it? Somehow your survival instincts override your brain, maybe all those hours watching true crime back on earth weren’t in vain, and you decide against running. Let him initiate first. 
He catches your wrist, trapping it inside his deadly claws. His face, towering over you, comes all the way down to inspect the offending finger. You can feel his breathing on your skin. 
Your breathing stops. You swallow an imaginary lump. He’s gonna bite off your fing-
“Would you be a doll and let me take care of it? Blood being unnecessary wasted truly abhors me” 
You must have said yes at some point, you don’t really remember, now you are holding the red handkerchief he handed  you, answering his request to “please follow him”. Trailing behind the Radio Demon, both of you walk through the large corridors. 
This might be the time to scream for help. the voices inside your head warn. With every step of his feet you hear his microphone going tsk tsk tsk where it touches the ground. You are walking the death row, the paintings on the wall chanting “dead woman walking, dead woman walking”. 
“Keep pressuring the wound darling, we are almost there” he gently commands you, too gently… it feels almost… soft, pleading. The way Alastor goes from 0 to 100 is giving you whiplash. 
He slows down, reaching for the door knob of an unknown room. Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to enter first.
the door locks behind you.
 if i’m being murdered, at least i’m being murdered with class. 
“Don’t be silly, I’m not going to murder you” Alastor says, almost singing the last part of the sentence. 
“Oh fuck, i said that out loud, didn’t I?” you blurted out 
“Yes you did. And yes, I also noticed your lovely doe eyes on me every time i’m in the room” 
Your brain short circuits. That 's it. You are dead. He’s not going to murder you (apparently), but you are going to die of embarrassment. It will feel like murder. He knows, fuck, he knows. He knows about your crush (?) and he’s going to drag you for it. You are going to be so dragged the angels will pity you and bring you to heaven. A creative way to be redeemed, Charlie should know about this. Your thoughts are going downhill as a big snowball, there are too many of them and you can’t follow a single coherent train of thought. You don’t even want to know how you look in the middle of this. You must look pathetic, truly like a doe caught in headlights. And then you hear your name once.
Twice now, in a sing-song voice.
Your eyes fly open towards the sound, breaking from the anxiety induced spell as you realize the Radio Demon had just called you, by name. He knows your name???
“Ah hahah! You’re back.” Alastor says, as he starts to circle you like a predator. Your eyes, as always, follow his across the room.
 “I don’t like to repeat myself, little doe. You heard what I asked?” 
Again, you don’t really remember answering, your brain is going AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA as you watch him pace around you, eyes burning red, demanding your attention. Teeth slightly barred, voice on the edge of something. Was that “X” on his forehead always there?
“I asked if you know what you are doing to me” static fills the room as he finishes speaking. Alastor’s clawed hand trapped your bloodied finger dangerously close to his grinning lips. Your brain is doing flips as he stares deep into your soul, and when your thoughts land you make the connection. Alastor is horny. Alastor is horny for y-
“You see, little doe, I know what your eyes hide when you desperately lower them everytime I come near you. I know how you feel you can hide in plain sight if you stay quiet enough. But I can taste it. Your fear. Your lust. In the air. In your blood.” He has a white knuckled grip on your wrist now, same with his microphone. You lower your guard, eyes going from startled to lustful. “Good thing right now there’s nothing more i want in this godforsaken pit than your lust, pet”
You want this. There’s no point in lying to yourself. You want Alastor to fuck you. You’ve fantasized about the Radio Demon taking you more times than you can count. More times than you would like to admit to yourself. This feels deeply wrong, but you crave it. 
Fuck it, you are in hell, there’s nothing to lose. Alastor is still watching you, impatiently. For the first time today you realize you actually forgot to say something. He’s waiting. Alastor is waiting for your permission. 
“Take my breath away, Alastor” 
Your permission might have been really loud, it felt like you were screaming the words. But you can’t be sure, it might have been a whisper. Either way he didn’t miss it, what happens next is fast, angry and delicious. 
Alastor pounces and licks the blood on your finger, something clicks inside him as he tastes the red liquid, because he lets go of his microphone instantly and his arms grab your waist aggressively, so forceful you wouldn’t be surprised if it breaks skin. You shouldn’t be so turned on by this, by the sight of a psychopathic demon drinking your blood. But you are, and there’s no going back. 
“Strip” he orders. You want to say to him that you can’t take your clothes off your person with him holding you like this. He must have realized the conundrum: if he wants you naked, he has to let go of you. To Alastor, letting go of you right now is simply unthinkable. So he doesn’t: you feel his claws cut the bodice of your dress open, sending the most delicious shivers down your spine. Another claw rips your skirt apart, and you are almost fully naked in the Radio Demon’s arms, pressing your body hard on his still impeccable dressed body.
It’s humiliating, it’s dangerous, it’s hot, it is delicious, to be at his complete mercy, just how you always wanted.
Somehow both of you made your way close to the enormous bed in the middle of the room. Alastor cornered you, so the only way you could escape was walking backwards towards the bed. The brilliant bastard. 
You feel your calves hitting the edge of the bed, and Alastor breaks away.
 Pity, your mind complains. Get him back to touching you again. right. now,.
“Now now, we should establish some rules for this, pet” Alastor’s hands might have stopped touching you, but his piercing eyes never did. He knocks you on top of the bed, you lay there sprawled open just for him. His hands move up to do a quick work of his bowtie
“Rule one: you will take what I give you. Nothing more, nothing less. What I give you is enough. You might feel like you can’t take anymore, but you can. You will take it, I will make you take it” He takes his tailcoat off, his frame towering over you, even with your body completely flat on the mattress and his in front of it. 
“ Rule two: every ounce of your pleasure is mine and mine only. Mine to give, mine to take. And you will give me everything. I want to hear every sound, to feel every touch, to know every nasty thought that runs inside that pretty little head of yours. You will not suppress anything, I wanna hear your moans when you make a mess of yourself as I take everything I desire from your delicious body. I will relish on your desperate screams of pleasure.Nothing outside these walls matter” He is climbing on the bed now. You hold the weight of his gaze, underneath your demonic lover’s eyes your skin burns.
“Rule three: don’t you dare cum without my permission, good girls earn their orgasms and you will be a good girl. Or else…” static starts to pick up around the room, you are seeing the blackest black that ever was, his shadows enveloping you both. Nothing outside these walls matter. “Understood?” Alastor says as he pins your hands on top of your head, against the fancy headboard. His hand cups one of your boobs and he is worrying your nipple between his sharp claws. finally finally, your mind sings. You feel a surge of magic binding your wrists in green chains, attached to the headboard. It’s overbearing, it’s ridiculous. His magic feels like him, another part of him for you to take.
He pinches your nipple particularly hard and you moan softly, pleasure and pain consuming any other sensation. You forgot to answer him, you realize. You’ve barely started and you are already being bad. “yes alastor, yes.. but please don’t stop” the soft whimper leaves your lips.
“lovely.” he replies, and with that his mouth is on your nipple, sucking it while he administers his wicked ministrations to your other one. His sharp teeth prickling on the edge of breaking skin, and you already feel like you won’t be able to take all of him. 
His hand trails down to aggressively grip your thighs, his tongue sucking the neglected nipple his fingers left. Your moans become frequent and messy, if he’s already making you go insane with the beginnings of foreplay... You might pass out and die when he starts fucking you, but you don’t care. Let him show you the true meaning of la petite mort.
“My my, what do we have here” his hand leaves your thigh to trace the wetness of your panties. A clawed finger rips it apart, the last barrier between you and total consumption by the Radio Demon. He takes the finger between your glistening lips, not entering, just teasing 
“I don’t think i will get enough of this pretty little body of ours anytime soon, pet” he says as his finger finally enters your sex, He moves his digit with an expertise you didn’t really know he had in him,  making you whimper his name, ooohs and aaaahs, your hips start threshing from the pleasure. If you continue at this pace, you will be  begging for permission to cum too soon. Pathetic. you think to yourself. Because you know how hard this building orgasm will be,you don’t know if he will grant you more than one orgasm. And will you murder you yourself if you don’t feel his cock inside you tonight. You take a deep breath in between your moans and will your hips to stay in place, your nerves to calm down. 
Alastor adds another finger, and it takes all of your willpower not to become a puddle of wetness right there. You bite your lip so hard you taste blood. 
“you do make a mess of yourself, don’t you? you just can’t help it” he says as he curls his digits inside you. Your hips start thrashing hard again, and you sink them deeper into the bed. The chains on your wrists shake with the effort to hold back. As if alastor wasn’t going to notice. “no no no what did I say?” he snaps angrily, he’s eyes flash red at you and he takes his fingers out with a wet “pop”, you feel like crying at the emptiness. “please please alastor, don’t stop” you plead. His hands leave you entirely, you are left with just his piercing gaze, the one that makes your skin burn. “did I say you could hold back? don’t pretend like you aren’t a common whore for me, that you love how pathetic it feels that you are creaming yourself and we haven’t even really started” 
his condescending tone just makes everything even more sublime. It’s so wrong how good being told you are nothing more than a common whore by the Radio Demon feels. But you never felt anything close to this. “please Alastor” you beg again, nothing but a small whisper
“I would love to taste this pussy, so red already for me, but since you broke one of the rules… i’m afraid I will make you understand that are nothing but my pretty cockslut the hard way” 
Punishment? His punishment sounds ever better than his praise right now. You moan at his voice. He laughs. 
His knees cage you, as he lifts his upper body from you and starts undoing his zipper. He is taking his cock out. Oh fuck, he’s gonna fuck you without anymore foreplay. And he’s not going to be gentle about it either. You shiver. 
Alastor pumps himself a few times, his cock is big, thick, and an angry red shade, flush red like that, because of you, just for you. He’s gonna make you pay: pay for holding back from him, pay for making him feel like an animal and almost losing his hard constructed control. 
The look on his face says it all, he’s gonna take it out on you and you can’t do nothing about it.
You don’t have much time to think about the repercussions, in one swift motion his tip is already inside you, stretching you deliciously. Your brain short circuits again, the feeling of his cock inside you is everything you imagine and more. Depraved, heavenly, delicious. You struggle in your binds again, you want desperately to touch him. To feel his skin beneath your finger, to scratch him, mark him. But oh well, he’s the Radio Demon, he’s the one in charge and you are his prey.
Alastor starts to slowly enter you, he’s trying his best to hold back. He knows if he does this too fast it will hurt in a way he doesn’t want you to feel. And by the look on his face going slow is as torturous for him as it is for you. tantalizing inch after tantalizing inch he spreads the walls of your cunt apart. You understand now why this is punishment, it hurts in a perfect way, it hurts even more that he is doing it slowly, and not just thrusting like you imagined  he would, if he had more time to work on you. 
You become a mess of moans and incoherent words. His cock is halfway inside you now “HoLY FUCK ALASTOR” you scream. It’s already too much. 
“There’s nothing holy about this my dear. I’m going to breed you. I’m going to break you” and with that he buries himself to the hilt inside you. Now you truly scream in pleasure and pain “you won’t be able to walk straight for days, you will feel me in every step, and you will thank me for it”. His thrusts pick up at breakneck speed, the bed shakes from the sheer force that Alastor is using to fuck you. Every snap of his hips you moan more and more. 
The sound you make when he takes everything out and enters you at once is so obscene that it would make Angel Dust blush. He’s growling now, his antlers growing bigger as he fucks you like his life dependend on it. As he fucks you like he hates you. 
Alastor pushes your hips higher, and suddenly he’s even deeper. His other hand holding your waist in a bruising grip. The strain on your pinned hands will bruise too. His lips graze the skin of your collarbone, he looks so feral you are scared he will maul, the thrill of not knowing adding to your fucked up sense of pleasure. 
He seems to pick up on your fear, and bites down on your collarbone, hauling as he tastes your blood and buries himself inside you again and again. Moans turned into screams, and the only thing coming out of your lips is his name, spoken like a profane prayer. You would give everything you have to Alastor, and he doesn’t even have to ask.
Your orgasm has been building for a while now, the coil on your belly becoming tighter and tighter, like a supernova about to be born. “Alastor, please please let me come” you beg. His unfocused eyes stare down at you, as he takes a moment from feasting on your sweet blood to address your desperate, sweet pleas.
“Don’t. You. Dare” he says, punctuating every word with a sharp thrust. As much as you want, you are not sure you will be able to hold any longer. “I beg you alastor, please let me cum, i will let you do anything you want. but i need it so badly, please please”
You sounded so desperate when you begged, so beautiful.
“Don’t strike deals you don’t know you can fulfill, pet” his voice is low, a warning. You ignore it. “I promise Alastor, anything”. Alastor laughs.
 his finger touches your clit as he finally allows your sweet relief “you may come now, sweet doe” and that’s it, you are off, you are dead. You see stars, you see the entire universe as you scream out and climax. Walls tightening around Alastor’s monster cock, eyes rowling, his name a scream on your lips. You ride out your wave slowly, but Alastor is not slowing down.
Instead he is picking up his pace, maneuvering your hips even higher, your chains are stretched to the limit. You can feel them start piercing your skin. Thrust after thrust the sensation becomes too much, you are too overstimulated to go through all of this again.
“i can’t take it, i can’t take it!”
Alastor doesn’t care. “I told you not to make deals if you can’t hold them, didn’t I?” You don’t answer, you can’t. you can’t to anything but let him fuck you as hard and as much as he want. “but you are such a little cockslut for me that you can’t help it. What a shame” 
He is gripping your hips so hard it breaks skin, tiny trails of blood on his claws. “you will take it. You better take it, or I will make you take it” static picks up as he threatens the last words. You know you are spent, you know how bad it hurts, you know how bad his words sound, but the lines between pleasure and pain are so blurred that you can’t think coherently. Even this  pain of being broken feels good. 
Still, tears fill your eyes and you start crying, from pleasure, from pain, you don’t know anymore. What Alastor is doing to you has no precedent. No one can do this like he does. He knows torture too well, and he is tortouring you in the most decadent, delicious ways possible. “alastor i want to, i want to so bad but i just can’t” the tears sting your eyes and stain your face. 
Alastor sees it. He slows down just a bit, his voice softening “oh my dear doe, but you can. Just this once more, just for me. One more” his voice is so maddening soft it acts like fuel to your tears. Your skin tingles and you feel giddy, somehow your throbbing hot, wet cunt seems to find the right amount of relief, and you can feel only pleasure again.
Alastor continues to fuck you, your moans returning to normal, you are being so loud now, making a mess of yourself, just like he said, and a big hand comes to cover your mouth. 
“Oh we can’t have you being this loud can we?” his voice goes to that delicious mocking tone. His thrusts are slower now, but as deep as they can go. “what would you friends say if they found out that you moan like a common whore for their feared radio demon.. hum,.?”
You start to feel the pit of your belly tightening again, and alastor doesn’t stop humiliating you. The degradation feels just the right amount of perfection. You are exactly what he says you are. A common whore when it comes to him. “weren’t you ashamed just a few moments ago? trying to hold back the sinful sounds you make when I touch you? I already gave you one orgasm. I’ve been way too generous for my liking. I should stop right now since you feel so conscious about this”  Alator’s breathing is becoming erratic, his thrusts sharp, hard, and out of the breakneck rhythm he was torturing you before.You start moaning even louder through his hand. “ungrateful little pet. You are just so greedy for one more orgasm, you don’t even care that everyone downstairs can hear you hm??”
You can’t think straight. you feel on the edge of glory, this orgasm threatening to be harder than your previous one, as if it is possible. “alastor i’m so sorry, i know i don’t deserve it” you muffle behind his hand, he hears you speaking and takes if off “but can you please let me cum? just this once? just for you. Please Al” his thrusts are truly erratic now. He’s close too, even though you are too wrapped up on your own sensations to notice 
“please” you beg, nothing more than a whisper. Already making peace with the fact that you are going to come without his permission and he will probably never fuck you again
“Good girl, you can come now”
instantly as you are granted his permissions your world explodes, blinding hot pleasure takes over your body, the waves of pleasure making your heart beat so fast you feel like it’s going to stop. The petit mort is coming, and her sweet embrace envelops you, specially now that you feel Alastor’s cock twitching and spilling his seed inside you. You scream his name. Maybe you hear him screaming yours too. You don’t know anymore, your nerves are singing from pleasure unheard of back  when you were alive. Pleasure so great it could only be found in hell. The most heavily, depraved way of torture. 
You come down from your high, still dizzy, your body going limp. You are not dead, but you are positively spent. You give in into the warm and fuzziness of sleep. 
The last thing you remember is the softness of a blanket, a gentle kiss on your cheek.
“Oh my dear, I knew you had one more on you,spending yourself this way just for me! What a truly precious thing, doe”
You might be dreaming now.
-
You weren’t dreaming. Alastor praises you, knowing his words will be the last thing you hear before a night of peaceful, deep dreamless slumber. He makes sure to put the softest velvet blanket he owns on your body, not to make the damage you gladly allowed your body to take for him an inconvenience. Tomorrow you will wake up to fancy letters of praise and sweet chocolate covered strawberries. And no one will know how Alastor found the perfect doe to breed as he pleases during the height of his mating season.
2K notes · View notes
bubbles-for-all-of-us · 7 months
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Still wanting requests? I have a couple…
Can I get a idiots in love with Carmy x reader where he suddenly get jealous and possessive when you are working out front and a customer keeps touching you leg or back when you’re taking their order. (I was a server & bartender for 11 years and the audacity of the men who thought that this was okay, but we couldn’t tell them to stop because we were afraid of getting in trouble!!!)
How would Carmy react when he sees it, and after when he is kind of heated talking to you in the office and you tell him that’s that is something all women have to deal with on a daily bases. Everywhere. How would he react to this info?
Not under my watch
It's pretty late. Dinner service is almost over. Everyone's already had more than a couple of glasses of wine. Your feet are killing you. You just want to sit down but still, you keep that plastered smile on your face because the last thing you need is for the customers to notice your tired face.
And there's this one table that you tried to visit as rarely as possible. A couple of duchy-looking bikers. From the moment they stepped in, you knew they were up to something. Just the way their gazes followed every female in the restaurant said it all. A cold shiver ran down your back as you reached for the menus, walking towards them. In a perfect scenario, you would have gotten Richie to cover this but he had slipped out to drive Eva to her ballet class so it was just you.
"Hello, welcome to the Bear. Is there something I could get you two straight away?", you say in a chirpy voice. The two of them look at you like hawks. As if they were checking what part to bite into first. "How about we start with your name, baby girl", you already want to gag but keep up that same smile, "I don't think that's necessary, sir", "Oh, but how will we get your sweet cheeks here when we're in need for you?", the other says, leaning back to check your ass. "I'll let you look through the menu and will be back shortly to take your order", you say, turning to walk away. Stopping to pick up empty plates from the other tables. Saying goodbye to some of the customers. Thanking them for coming and wishing them a lovely evening. Yet all that time you could feel eyes watching you. Following your every move. And suddenly you get hyper-aware of how your shirt feels a bit too low cut and your breasts feel too outlined by the tight material. How the skirt feels too low cut. And you suddenly wonder if you lean across the table, does it show too much? But it's all the things you've never thought about. Nothing that bothered you before those two came along. The uniform is professional and the whole staff wears it. You try to shake it off. Glancing towards the clock. Richie should be back any minute now. He'll take over. You'll be fine. A thought about telling something to Carmen crosses your mind but you quickly chase that thought away. He's busy. And those two aren't worth his time.
A whistle catches your attention and you see one of them waving you over. You grit your teeth. Feeling like a dog called by an owner. "Ready to order?", you get your pen ready. Trying not to meet any of their eyes. "I'd like some with these tender-looking thighs", You feel his fingers reaching for the back of your leg and you quickly step back. Panic rises in your stomach. "Sir, I would ask you to...", you start, "You'll be begging by the time I'm done, doll. Not asking", he states. "Bend over why don't you", You feel another pair of hands on your back and you want to move away but you're so scared. Your whole body freezes. You grip the pan in your arms as you stare ahead.
And may all the holy spurts be with them. Because Carmen decided to look through the little window that leads to the front. A habit of his now that you've been working here. It's his way of calming himself in a way. Watching you smiling and chatting with the people always makes him feel at ease. He loves nothing more than watching you in your element. But it's also his way of making sure that you are well. This is Chicago after all. Too many dodgy people sneaking around. And his blood stopped pumping when he catches those two men groping you.
And, holy hell, is Carmen ready to raise hell. I don't even think there would be a question as to what he would do. Carmen's dropping the spoon into the pot and storming through the kitchen door. Because this is not acceptable. He snatches a couple of utensils as he goes. Ripping the hands away from your body. Slamming the rough stranger's palms to the table before two sets of forks make contact with their skin. "You fuckers will be lucky to walk out of here in one piece", he barks out. The room fills with cries of pain and swearing.
You feel someone else's hand on you once more, jumping slightly, only to be met with Richie. It's all a blur after that. Richie says something to Carmen. You feel him touching your face but you're kind of looking past him. It's all just a series of events. And then you end up in Carmen's office with him kneeling in front of you. "My love", he breathes out, carefully pushing a strand of your loose hair away. It killed him seeing you like this. His little sunshine. Absolute ray of sunshine now nothing more but a grey sky. Oh, how much Carmen wanted to go there and just beat the daylight out of these creeps.
"I'm okay", you mutter, reaching to squeeze his hand that has been lying on your thigh. "You should have come to grab me, love", he growls lightly you know that he's not mad at you. He's mad at the whole situation. It's frustrating to him that this shit is happening right under his nose. "Carm, it's fine. It's not the first time and...", but his wild eyes cut you off, "What do you... What do you mean not the first time?". His breaths are shallow now. You lean forward to cup his face, "It happened all the time in my last job. Hand on the back. Hand on the leg". Carmen is shaking his head, "I'll fucking find them all and", "And nothing, love, no one cares". But Carmen huffs, "I care. I care and this will never happen again. You come and tell me any time someone is looking suspicious to you", he's pulling you closer to him. Wrapping you up in his arms, "No one will touch you like that again. Not under my fucking watch".
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pretty-little-mind33 · 7 months
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Mastermind
Tangerine x fem!reader
Summary: Since the mission in Tokyo, you wanted Tangerine out of your life as soon as possible. Instead, he stormed back in to save you from yourself.
Genre: Fluff
Warnings: excessive amount of swearing, sexual themes, canon like violence, mentions of violence, blood, career sexism, Enemies To Lovers <3
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You were only supposed to snatch a stupid briefcase for your friend, Carver. Instead, your trip ended with a crushed up train, three concussions, one broken arm, multiple bruised egos, and a whole lot of unrequested fun facts about Thomas The Tank Engine.
Oh, and a man you were convinced wanted to become your mortal enemy.
You had heard about the infamous Twins in passing — the Bolivia case mostly — and you never questioned anyone when they assured you they were professionals. At least not until you saw them fuck up more than once in one evening.
You liked Lemon. He was a decent guy, a smart assassin, and he made you laugh with his corny obsession with a children's show.
His brother however — what a fucking asshole!
Tangerine had came in strong with an attitude. He was just eye roll here, sucker punch there, and whine, whine, whine. He also had the worst timing, somehow always running into you whenever you were trying (and failing) to do your fucking job.
He seemed just as irritated by you as you were by him, however it was obvious he loved having you at his mercy: wether that was stuck pressed between the train and his arms, with his gun lodged into your throat, or hearing you say "please" and "thank you" when he swooped in like a devilish knight and saved you from a deadly bullet to the stomach.
Still, you couldn't leave Tangerine's deranged ass quicker once the nightmare that had been that mission was finally over.
You really didn't think you'd see the twins again — certainly not at the same club where you were supposed to carry out your, rather simple, information extraction mission but when you do, your eyes narrow.
Lemon looks mostly casual. His dyed platinum hair is curled around his face as he leans his arm around the booth he's sitting in, casually conversing with another man you don't know.
Standing next to the booth, Tangerine looks even less casual. He's wearing his all too familiar dark blue blazer. His hair and mustache are just as neat as they had been on the train that evening and you smirk. He has a lit cigarette dangling from his lips as he occasionally takes it out and obnoxiously blows smoke into the air.
He looks infuriatingly good.
You cross your arms, watching them from across the room. You look around. Your target hadn't made an appearance yet and in the meantime you'd had to turn down many desperate and drunk men swarming you for your attention.
"Fancy seeing you here, luv." You smirk, hearing his voice, hoarse and velvety, near your ear. He'd found you quickly. Seems like he has a talent for that and you wonder if he'd somehow planted a tracker on you.
"Stalking me now, Orange?" You ask, not even bothering to turn around as you lean on the bar counter and start to intentionally swirl your drink around the glass.
"Tangerine." He corrects.
You turn this time. Your eyes meet his chest and they start to slowly move up until you can look at him in his annoyingly beautiful blue eyes, "Potayto, potahto." You say, shrugging your shoulders.
"Well, aren't ya as chirpy as ever, Poppy." Tangerine snarls. Your lips curl hearing the code name you'd used on that train. You've been using it ever since.
You look around seeing your target walk into a small room in the corner of the club. You run a hand in your hair, smack your lips together, and glance nonchalantly at Tangerine. You send him a sweet smile, "Well, Clementine, I always enjoy our little chats but I'm quite busy and don't have time for your potty-mouth right now." You turn away from him.
He catches your arm, "I really wouldn't follow im in there if I were ya, darlin" He warns seriously. You turn around, skeptical, but listen to him anyway.
"Why is that?" You ask, crossing your arms.
"Because, luv," Tangerine smirks as he firmly holds your shoulders and turns you both around. Nonchalantly, he gestures towards the door to the little room the man walked into, "That bastard hired Lemon and I to kill ya."
You tense, "What?" You spin around, heart pounding.
"Ya seriously din't think you'd been asked to be a fucking honeypot without any exterior motives?" You feel insulted until Tangerine continues, “You're an assassin, darlin', and a pretty damn fucking good one. Having you as a honeypot is a crime in itself." You realize it's the first time Tangerine has complimented you and he's looking at you with an unusually concerned expression.
"So, what are you waiting for?" You blink, completely serious.
"Excuse me?"
"Kill me." You say calmly, "Since when do you and Lemon not finish a job?"
The brunet looks at you like you've gone completely insane (which maybe you have) and then laughs, "Ya want me to kill ya, doll?" Tangerine genuinely looks like he's just heard the funniest thing in his life. However, his eyes narrow darkly and his hands curl harshly around your arm, "Fine."
Sure, you know Tangerine had been ruthless on that train but you'd also been extremely aware that he'd intentionally missed opportunities he had to kill or badly wound you. So, when he yanks you into the men's bathroom, you panic.
You pull against his arm and push against chest as you try to take out the small knife you always cram inside your boot, but Tangerine is too quick. Your body is suddenly thrown across the bathroom like you're nothing and you crash into the mirror, ribs hitting the sink. You stare at him, eyes fluttering from the pain as you sway on your feet and clutch your side.
Tangerine looks completely unfazed as he struts over to you and then grabs your chin between his fingers so forcefully you unintentionally whimper, "Where's the assassin I met on the train, huh?" He asks, his voice smooth, "Haven't given up so easily, have ya, darlin'?"
You stare at him. He's taunting you. He wants you to fight him. Quickly, you knee him in the groin and side kick him to the ground. He stumbles a little but recovers from the hit. A sensible voice in your head screams at you to run but instead you pull Tangerine up by the collar of his expensive suit and body slam him against the wall, your forearm crushing his throat.
When you look at him, Tangerine is smirking cockily, "Atta' girl." He croaks.
You realize a little too late that the only reason you managed to pin Tangerine to the wall was because he was letting you. The moment he resists, you're the one easily pinned as one of his hands presses your wrists above your head.
Time suddenly feels unimportant as you look into his eyes. “Am I in danger?" You whisper, breathlessly.
Tangerine's stoic expression falters a little and he drops your arms and looks around the bathroom. He turns back to you, running a hand in his hair. “Yes." Your heart leaps, “Lemon and I mean you no harm, but someone else wants you dead, Poppy."
His hand slides down your back as he leads you outside of the bathroom and back into the busy noise of the club. You catch his arm as he walks in front of you, "Tangerine, wait," You say, voice raspy. You watch him turn around. His hair is messy from his hand and he's looking at you like he's never heard you say his name before.
Your heart is beating out of your chest and you want to ask him to stay. A little part of you wants him to stay so he can take care of you. Only, you can't ask him that. You've looked after yourself and you've long accepted that that's how it would always be.
"What?" Tangerine frowns, wearing an irritatingly handsome expression for someone that looks so confused and, frankly, a little annoyed.
You frown and, as hard as you can, slap him across the face. From his profile, you can see a dark glimmer appear in his eyes and his jaw tightens. He doesn't react as he slowly looks at you again, and then he can't because you're kissing him.
You bury your nails into his cheeks as he wastes no time to grip your hips with his hands. You kiss him passionately and clumsily — like you've never kissed anyone before but somehow when his lips move against yours it still feels flawless.
"Fuck," Tangerine groans when you bite his lower lip and smile proudly.
He pulls you closer to him and his hand comes up to hold your neck as his fingers bury themselves in your hair. He jerks your head backwards painfully but you groan in approval. Tangerine begins to suck on the skin of your neck like he's been starved of you for years.
You don't want him to pull away when you feel him move so you chase his lips. He chuckles, his voice low, and cups your cheeks in his hands as he looks at you. His eyes are weirdly affectionate for a man who's a cold blooded killer.
"Are you going to turn me in?" You ask him, your face still in his hands.
"What didn't ya understand when I told ya Lemon and I won't cause you any harm?" He rolls his eyes, gently patting your cheek. Slowly, as if savoring the touch of your skin, he slides his hands down your arms and then intertwines your fingers with his, "Come on, we're leaving."
You let him lead you through the sweaty bodies of the dancing crowd until you reach the booth where Lemon sits. He sees his brother and then his eyes flicker to your hands and the corner of his lips curl, "I see you found er," Lemon waves at you.
"Bugger off," Tangerine snarls, hearing something in Lemon's voice that you hadn't, "And get off your fucking arse, Lemon," He adds, "I don't wanna deal with that bloody bastard when he realizes we aren't killing er. I don't want his filth on my suit. I like this suit."
Tangerine lets your hand go to adjust his collar. You cross your arms and look around the club. Accidentally, you make eye contact with someone and your entire body freezes.
He sees you before you can look away. Quickly, you turn to Lemon and Tangerine, who haven't stopped bickering, and slap Tangerine's chest to get his attention. He looks at you, eyebrow raised, "Hate to break up the love-fest boys, but I think our little friend just realized you lads plan on keeping me fucking breathing." You hiss.
"Bloody fucker." Tangerine whispers, his eyes glued on the man approaching you all as Lemon stands. Lemon pulls out his gun and unlocks it with a click. You bend over to take the knife from inside your boot but the moment you have it in your hands, Tangerine snatches it from you and replaces it with his gun.
"I don't want this," You deadpan.
"Don't argue." He squints at you and twirls your knife in his hand.
Ignoring him, you reach for your weapon anyway, "I like my knife, thanks."
Tangerine tuts and holds it above his head, smirking, "Guns are safer, luv." He patronizes.
"Misogynist asshole." You grumble, earning a frown from him.
"Mates, now ain't the time." Lemon interrupts sternly. You look behind him and see that the man who'd hired you to kill him, just for him to kill you, has a few other bulky looking buddies with him and they're much closer than they were earlier.
Without hesitation and because Tangerine is distracted, you manage to jump up and take the knife from his hand. You then proceed to meticulously launch it past the swarm of dancing bodies. With a smoosh it lands smack in the middle of one the men's head and the sound of his body hitting the ground causes a mass panic.
"Fucking brilliant," Tangerine scolds, looking annoyed, "Now ya lost the fucking knife." His hand wraps around your forearm and he whispers in your ear, "And I ain't misogynistic, sweetheart, I just don’t wanna see ya hurt," He admits.
He starts to pull you away but you wiggle out of his grip, "Poppy!" He shouts as you sprint towards the men.
Fuck this, you think, if those motherfuckers want you dead then you won't wait around for them to kill you – you'll kill them first.
You take the man closest to you in a scissor leg takedown, slamming him onto the ground. You snatch your knife from the dead man's head as he lays not far from you and slit the throat of the man you're pinning to the ground. You spin your head around and throw Tangerine his gun. Quickly, he unlocks it and, with Lemon, starts shooting past the innocent civilians and manages to fatally hit a few of the men.
You make your way to the leader and front kick him in the hand so he drops his gun. When he does, you try and bend over to retrieve it from where it fell only the man manages to punch you in the jaw. You stumble over, tears pricking your eyes from the pain, but stand up anyways. "Who the fuck are you?" You demand, returning a punch that the man easily avoids. He backhand slaps you so hard you groan. You fall onto your knees and your knife slides out your hands and across the floor.
"You don't remember me?" The man asks with a snarl, his Irish accent thick.
"No." You hiss, crawling to reach your knife. Only, the man kicks you in the stomach and you can't help the scream that leaves your lips.
You blink, cheeks and palms pressed to the floor as you helplessly watch Tangerine and Lemon in action. There had been more men then you'd anticipated and while the Twins can certainly assert themselves in combat, they're far too concerned with defending themselves to help you.
You feel a hand grip your hair and the man harshly turns you around so he's straddling your hips. He presses your knife against your neck and smiles at you. He's young, clean-shaven, and has moles sprinkled across his cheeks like small freckles. You stare at him only to have him spit in your face. Shutting your eyes, you snap, "What the fuck?" and struggle against him.
"You took everything from me, Y/n." He growls and your heart leaps. He knows your name.
"I don't even know who you are!" You try to buck your hips so he falls but he's too strong.
"You stole my job. The hit on the Senator and his family a few months ago, remember them?" You nod, "Well it was mine and you swooped in and took it from me. My reputation, gone in seconds because of some inexperienced, useless, brat." He rants like a madman and presses the knife harder until it strains crimson.
"Everyone steals jobs, it happens." You explain, voice hoarse.
"And yet you couldn't even finish it."
You can barely breathe anymore. "I couldn't kill the child." You explain.
"I know. I did, and yet you still took all the fucking credit," He smirks and lifts his arm. "You ruined my reputation – everyone said I was beaten to the task by a fucking girl – and now you're gonna pay." You squeeze your eyes shut.
Instead of the pain from the knife you hear one gunshot and suddenly the man collapses onto you. Instantly, you sit up and shove him away. Your head snaps up, eyes wide, to see whoever just shot him.
Tangerine stands over you, tucking his gun back into his pants behind him. There's blood splattered across his cheeks but you don't think it's his. He grins, "Now he's a fucking misogynistic bastard." He holds out his hand and helps you stand, "Ya ok, luv?"
You nod slowly and look around the club. There are bodies everywhere. Lemon stands in the center, cleaning his gun and he tilts his head at you, "We should skedaddle before the coppers come." He points out.
You nod again and let Tangerine and Lemon walk you out and into their car.
* * *
The Twins house is as you would have imagined. It's basically a mansion and just as polarized as they are. All the rooms Tangerine touches are neat and fancy, while whatever is Lemons has more of a messy, boyish, charm.
You're sitting on the kitchen counter as Tangerine presses alcohol to your neck as he cleans your wound. He's uncharacteristically gentle with you,
"So, what did that wanker want with you anyway?" He asks, not looking into your eyes.
You grimace, "I stole his hit, apparently."
Tangerine raises his brow, "And he wanted to kill you because of it?"
"I also took his credit for killing the Senator's four year old son," You sigh, "When in reality, I couldn't bring myself to harm the little boy." You feel pathetic in front of Tangerine, who is silent for a moment until he says,
"I wouldn't have killed him either."
You look up at him, "Really?"
He looks you in the eyes, "Really. I don't harm kids." He pauses and then moves some hair away from your face so he can clean some more scratches you have on your skin, "Why'd ya take credit for the kill?"
"I didn't want to seem weak in front of my employer. He already trusts men more than women." Your sentence dies and you look away, "This is a male dominated business, you know? Like most careers, us women have to survive somehow." You bury your head in your hands, "I know it's dishonest but the only reason I got that job on the bullet train was because I earned a little reputation from the Senator hit."
Tangerine suddenly laughs and it makes you turn your head towards him again, "What?"
"I understand, luv. Ya don't need to explain yourself."
"You do?"
He kisses your forehead quickly, "Mmhm."
You feel weirdly fuzzy with his lips on your skin and you remember your previous kiss. You aren't sure if you should mention it, or simply pretend it had never happened. Tangerine pulls away from your skin, but his finger slips under your chin and tilts your head to look at him. His eyes jump from yours, then down to your lips, and you hold your breath.
When he kisses you, you know there is no need for talk anymore.
"Should have known you had a soft spot for me." You say anyway, smirking into his lips.
Tangerine frowns, "What's that, sugar?"
"You're secretly a softie, aren't you?" You tease him with a smile.
Unsurprisingly, his frown deepens and he warns, "You're startin' to get on my nerves, sweetheart. Continue like this and next time, I'll leave ya to defend yourself from that arsehole."
You fake hurt, dramatically crossing your hands over your heart, and flutter your eyelashes at him, "You wouldn't, Tan."
"Nah," Lemon interrupts the banter, entering the kitchen with his pink boxers and his mouth full of mint toothpaste, "He couldn't leave ya, Poppy. You're all he ever talks about."
"Shove one up your arse, Lemon." Tangerine hisses, eyes narrowing at his brother.
"You dug your own grave, mate, lay in it." Lemon dismisses him with his hand, "G'night." He smiles at you and spits in the skin. Tangerine watches Lemon walk out of the room. His face is deformed into an annoyed expression,and the moment Lemon shuts the door behind him, Tangerine looks at you.
"Zip it." He demands. He taps your upper thigh as an indication for you to jump off the counter. When you do, his hands linger on your waist, "Come on, you're up way past your bedtime, luv." He smirks at his own joke as he leads you out the kitchen and down the hallway.
Tangerine's room smells like him and is cleaner than your entire apartment. You walk to the queen-sized bed and marvel at how comfortable it is when you sit on it. "Here," Tangerine says nonchalantly and hands you one of his shirts. He turns around, making sure you have your privacy, as he starts to unravel his blue-tie.
You don't protest as you step out of your dress and throw his shirt over your head. You feel out of place when Tangerine turns back around and looks you up and down. He raises one eyebrow, "Well?"
"Well what?" You ask, confused.
"Get into the bloody bed, Poppy." He says harshly.
"What? Where are you sleeping?"
Tangerine runs a hand in his hair, "In the living room."
"Bullshit. You can sleep in your own bed, I’ll sleep on the couch." You pause, eyes scrunching, "Or I- I'll juts go home."
Tangerine smirks, "In my shirt?" He motions to your dress on the ground and you feel your cheeks burn with embarrassment, "Just shut up and listen to me for once." He says.
"Then you stay too. There is enough room," You reason as you walk to one side and dramatically pull down the covers. You stare at him with wide eyes and pat the mattress, "You aren't afraid to sleep with a woman, are you now?" You tease.
Tangerine's cheeks flame and he grumbles something under his breath but he’s shedding his blazer. You avert your gaze and climb under the covers.
Your back is turned to Tangerine as you hold your breath, eyes bouncing around the room. Then, the light switches off, the bed dips and suddenly you feel warmth next to you.
"Tan?" You whisper into the darkness after a moment.
You hear him shift in the bed and then a small hum to tell you he' listening, "Poppet," He mutters and your lips curl upwards.
"Thank you.”
Silence.
"While I do appreciate the gratitude, why ya thanking me?" He asks, his voice low.
"Thank you for not killing me, and saving my ass, and of course letting me stay here — with you and your brother — " Your chest feels lighter and your eyelids start to feel sleepy. You feel Tangerine shift in the bed again and suddenly his arm is around your waist.
Your skin prickles with goosebumps and you shiver as Tangerine pulls you into him until you're curled up against his chest. You let out a shaky breath when you feel his cheek rest near yours, "Shhh, sleep now, luv. We'll leave the thank yous for tomorrow, hmm?" His voice is uncharacteristically sweet.
You hum in approval and let your eyes flutter shut. You start to drift in and out of sleep but you're almost certain you hear Tangerine mutter, "I'd never let anything bad happen to ya, Poppy. I promise, you're safe with me," just before you fall into the most relaxing sleep you know you'll ever have.
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januaryembrs · 1 month
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HOT UNDER THE HELMET | Poe Dameron x Mechanic!Reader
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Request: Hi, would you mind writing for Poe Dameron where Poe accidentally injures the reader (whose a mechanic), which is how they meet for the first time. And would you mind using the dialogue prompt “Oh, oh my god! It was an accident! I’m so sorry!”? 
Description: Poe finds out the hard way the best mechanic in the resistance is also most beautiful woman he’s ever seen; too bad you’re so hot headed. 
word count: 1.5k
trigger warnings: sexism, fire, women in stem facing problems even in space (because ofcourse they do).
main masterlist
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As much as you would love to admit times of war made people more benevolent towards each other, you’d be dead wrong. Not only had you been one of the only females in the resistance who knew her way around a wrench, but as it also turned out, not even the risk of dying could pull a males head out of his arse. 
You heard snickering before you saw them. The other three mechanics in your squadron crowded around a starfighter, laughing to themselves as they watched you tinker with a leaky engine, your body strewn across a lying board as you worked above yourself, your tools against your foot. 
Rolling out from underneath the ship, you paid them no mind as you searched for a screwdriver small enough to fit the flathead you needed removing. Scanning your work area, that you were proud to say you kept much neater than the blaster brained males you shared a space with, your brow furrowed when you saw your equipment nowhere to be seen. 
“Looking for something?” You heard Zagg, one of the males, say, and you felt a rage boil up inside you at the smug look on their faces as you regarded them with a sweaty, pissed off expression. 
“Where’d you boneheads put it?” You snapped, hauling yourself to your feet as you approached them hotly, your scowl only growing as they burst out laughing, “Real mature. The galaxy is going to bantha fodder, and you guys are hiding my tools,”
“You know, if you need help from someone who knows what they’re doing, you could just ask,” The tallest of the trio, Bran, goaded you, a smarmy smile on his face as he watched your cheeks puff with exhaustion, whirling around to charge up to him, no matter if you did have to turn your neck upwards to confront the pig of a male. 
“Why don’t you pick on someone your own size, instead of going after little girls who make you look like rookies,” You hissed, eying up the other two who seemed to exchange a sneer, “Leia chose me herself, handpicked me from the academy. You three nerf herders got through on sheer size alone, and it’s obvious you feel the need to compensate everywhere else possible,” 
You sauntered away, back towards the rear of the workshop where spare apparatus was kept, banging around the drawers with a foul mood, muttering about how useless the opposite sex was in times of crisis. 
As if he had heard the call of a siren, Poe strolled into the hangar, fully suited with his helmet under his arm, an all too cheery smile on his face for the belly of the beast he was unknowingly heading straight for. 
Catching the eye of one of the mechanics, a freakishly tall man that seemed to be chatting to the other two as they stood around an X-wing with a huge hole ripped into the body of it, he watched the worker drop his bitter face and regard him with raised eyebrows when he saw the chirpy pilot approach.
“General,” He nodded respectfully, though there was not a single trace of regard on his face. “You’ve come for your ship?”
“Leia said you had your best guy on it?” He said, almost missing the way the three of them nodded hesitantly, “She said it should be ready today,”
“Right this way, General Dameron,” The shorter, beefy one said, leading him away to a pristine looking starfighter, by far in the best shape he could see it being without it being brand new. He thought he caught a snigger behind him as the mechanic, whose oiled badge read as Kripply, took him over to the ship, “Why don’t you give her a whirl? As you said, we had our very best on the case,” 
Poe looked at him with an odd mix of a smile and wariness as he couldn’t miss the devilish excitement the man looked at him with. Had he sat in paint again, he wondered. Finn had had a field day walking him around the entire compound with two white ass cheek marks on his suit, he wouldn’t put it past his co-pilot to try his luck again seeing as Poe had been the one to win at cards last night and had not so graciously rubbed his credits in the man’s face. 
“Sure, let’s give this baby a whirl,” He said after a moment, his hair falling all over the place as he shoved his helmet over his thick, sable locks. 
Maybe he had a case of bedhead, he wondered. Afterall, he’d not exactly been sober as he’d stumbled back to his room last night, his winnings buying him round after round of smuggled Corellian Whiskey. 
He hopped up onto the wing, yanking himself into the cockpit that had been cleaned thoroughly, and he didn’t know why he ever doubted his repair team if this was the condition they left their vehicles in. The engine hummed to life as he flicked the tiny lever, and he couldn’t help but appreciate the oddly floral smell inside the small flight deck, and he wondered if they had gone so far as to spray freshener in there. 
You had found a spare tightener that would fit the screw, the last thing that needed fastening up before the engine should be good to run, Leia’s general would be by any second now. 
Rolling back under the vehicle, you tuned out the way Zagg cackled over the sound of an engine springing to life, you assumed their own, focusing on the tiny panel you had yet to cover the machinery with to protect the pilot from any stray blaster fire cutting the engine. 
But no sooner had you settled on your back beneath the jet, your hand reaching up for the metal sheet, you heard the familiar rumble of oil being fired through the motor, the drums whirling as the ignition started and a short blast of heat hit you in the face. 
You blanched as you knew that meant, knew what would come shooting out any second now. Heat always got kicked out of the engine first, the left over energy dishcharged out of the bottom grate. Because then came the fire as it sprung to life.
Your hand came up before you could think through what you were doing, the hard work you were unravelling in the interest of keeping your face intact, your brain from turning to crispy mush, as you yanked the oil pipe from where you’d connected it to the drum, the thick black liquid pouring over your entire body as you stumbled from out beneath the plane, just incase your plan hadn’t worked. 
You heard the engine cut, the sound of the cockpit sliding open as someone cursed from above, and you were filled with a new wave of rage as two feet jumped from the wing above you, turning to the three men who watched with entertained chuckles. 
“What happened, I thought you said-” Poe had started chewing out the males who didn’t seem to care all too much about the fact the jet had broken down, when he felt two hands shove him from behind, and he spun on his heel with annoyance. 
His face dropped entirely when he saw you, covered head to toe in a thick, gunky oil, your nostrils flaring as you glared at him with a heat he had yet to see from a woman before.
Usually women were so receptive to his charming good looks. Not this one it seemed. 
“What the kriff was that, man,”  You yelled, shoving his chest again with your slimy hands, and he quickly put it together what had been the problem. 
“What that me?” His brows flew into his hair line as you looked at him like he’d just learned there were stars in the sky, “Oh, maker! It was an accident! I’m so sorry!”  
“Oh he’s sorry. Thank goodness he’s sorry,” You threw your arms up, wiping the oil away from your eyes with slippy hands, and Poe had no idea what to say for the best. 
Though, he supposed telling you you were by far the prettiest woman he’d seen in moons was not the correct thing to go for, despite the fact it was the first thing he’d thought. 
“I’m a decorated pilot, I would never intentionally-” He spluttered, but you had already turned away, heading towards a small work bench where a bunch of old, dirty rags lay, supposedly for hands only. 
“You can decorate my ass, general. You’re waiting another week for that plane,” You seethed, barely regarding him over your shoulder. 
And he stood there, speechless, because what was he supposed to say. No one had ever spoken down to him like that, not since he’d grown into his good looks and had women falling at his feet to be near him. Certainly not since he’d become leader. 
You huffed past him, as he was rooted to the spot, jaw hung slack as you left the workshop, cursing him out clearly to yourself, and it was only then that he turned to the other three males who had watched him get his ass served to him with another round of sniggers. “Who in the maker was she?”
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popponn · 7 months
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call you later; 2.
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notes: what if you didn't pick up their call? they left a voicemail, in their own ways. so we still got uh... aryu chigirin and im considering reo. idk who else will come later but i had fun writing this!! character: itoshi rin, bachira meguru. [ part 1 : isagi, sae, nagi ]
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itoshi rin
What did you do? This guy is the type to only left anything if it’s urgent, about nii-chan, or about football. Other than that high chances are they are actual death threats and you are not an exception.
Though, he can not deny that you are sort of his favorite in a way—won't admit that to your face too, though. That’s why he even bothers calling you and not just left a message or tell some poor soul to call you instead. While he probably feels a bit irked that you didn’t pick up, he will save the nagging when he finally met you face to face later. And even then, most of teammates will clarify that rather than nagging it’s more like his way of asking for your extra attention. It’s adorable, if you ignore the fact that the next movie night will definitely without a doubt would have to be a horror movie night just to cheer him up. Prayers and thoughts, if you dislike horror.
The message he will left is exactly like him, in a way. Rude, doesn’t have many words, but if you squints you could hear what sounds like a caring nosiness. While he isn’t the type to suddenly get clingy because of one unpicked-up call or thing about it too much, call him back soon as you can even if he didn’t say or rush you to do so. Would never say it to your face, but having you around him calms him down a lot and that includes your voice.
“Where are you right now?” Rin sounds like he was angry, as usual. “You better not be picking up problems left and right or I swear I will—”
A background noise that sounds like a chirpy teasing interrupted him, reminding him not to be so scary, which Rin replied with a snarling growl, “Shut up! And that wasn’t for you—I got a match so you better fucking watch it and fucking message me where you are while you are at it. I will get you home later so you better wait for me or else…..that’s all. Later. Next time don’t just go somewhere without telling me, stupid.”
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bachira meguru
Do you know how long of a voice message can someone left on an unpicked up call? If you don’t you will find out soon.
He probably would not really question why you are not picking up, but mostly because whenever you got separated he will always call you in the most ungodly timing possible just for chatting. Somehow. So, at this point, it has become more of a norm for you to not pick up and just call him again later. He is not being nosy, it’s just more of how he expresses his love—sharing literally everything with you. This has led to several one-sided awkwardness from your part between you and some of his teammates, but hey Bachira Meguru’s Hottest Soccer Gossips is a very important segment in your daily life with him.
Which being said, yeah, get ready. He will talk into the phone as if you were there replying to him—and indeed he always manage to predict how you will react. Listening to his voicemail during work is a good replacement for podcasts and such as in case you are bored by them. Though, sometimes, when he is in a rush and have to keep the message shorter than usual, it’s really sweet! He rarely manage to remind you to call him back though, as it feels like norm for you to do so. Don’t forget it, so you don’t get a Bachira Meguru species asking to be carried around for the whole day on the next holiday. He has muscles and those things are not light.
“So, so, so!” Meguru began with his chirpy voice, not leaving any greeting as usual. “Today Isagi and Chigirin kind of clowned and I really, really want to tell you that story—but I gotta go fast, so I will tell you at home later, okay?” Meguru worded out each word in a rushed manner, akin to an excited buzzing bee waiting to run somewhere with skips in his steps and ball for him to dribble.
“Last night I dreamt about Zico so I will definitely win today! But I also dreamt you were there bundled up because you got a fever. Not like I’m complaining if I get to take care of you with my specials, but stay healthy, ‘kay, ‘kay?” Meguru said, jokingly yet dotting. Then, immediately, he continued, “Oh, well! That’s all—I will call again later or you could! So, see ‘ya, Lovely! Love you! Muuuach!”
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flower-cage · 4 months
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The Wolf And The Dragon | Chapter Seven
by @flower-cage
Aemond Targaryen x Stark!Reader
Summary: The war between the Greens and the Blacks has begun and the youngest of the Stark heirs is sent on a secret mission to King's Landing. In its course, she will learn to accept the power that was never meant to be hers and the love she never thought she deserved.
Ao3 | Main Masterlist | TWATD Masterlist | Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | NEW Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 coming soon
Chapter Seven: The Wolf and The Dragon II
Chapter summary: The several days that make up your recovery are bright and fanciful like this in his company, despite the looming promise of battle.
Words: 6,192.
Warnings: 18+ only; explicit sexual content, mentions of blood.
A/N: This is such a filler chapter - all fluff and longing and smut, barely any plot. Smut has entered the chat. Minors, do not interact.
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Tall, warped, and grey is the world that enshrouds you. It flashes past your eyes as you pierce through it unwaveringly. Towards where your legs take you, you are unsure, for an innate calling takes the lead and you trust it fully, you trust it blindly. Thick and hot as it drips down your flushed flesh, flying off and fouling the air with the taste of iron is… your blood? Pain is there too within your bones and desperate agony thrums and stings in your gut.
When it all stops, you know not where you stand, only that it grants you relief so great you surrender yourself to your exhaustion. The world that was once frantic turns void and silent.
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When you wake up next, it is to the warmth of the sun licking against your cheek. It melts away your heavy drowsiness slowly and, gently, you stir your limbs to wakefulness, relishing in the silken linens and in the satiation of a full night of rest.
The low murmur of the comings and goings of the palace and the city below have long become a constant comfort, and this room, whose purpose you initially suspected was that of a glorified cage, has become a home in this land of treacherous politics.
Even if your wishes were to rise and soak in such sunlight, however, or watch the capital buzz or the sea lap its shores from your lavish balcony, a twinge in your chest reminds you there is little movement you can undertake without splitting it anew. The sting of it steals your breath so immediately, it awakens you to the ache that also persists head to toe. Alas, solemnly you lie still and impatient despite the medicine-induced lethargy that slows you, tolerating the dull throb until a maid finally disturbs your empty contemplations.
“Oh!” she gasps in delight. “Good morning, my Lady!” 
She is quick to open your curtains further and bring forth a dress and jewels, now accustomed to the commanding presence of your wolf, and prance about rummaging through the many items Queen Alicent has donned you. You take the scene quietly, yet reluctant to join in the busyness of the royal palace.
“Now then,” she claps her hands together once, eyes running across your chamber disorderly, likely cataloguing her duties of the day, “I’ll request your breakfast and summon Prince Aemond,” she announces as she curtsies and turns to exit, not quite meeting your eyes as she dashes through her own actions, her disposition much too chirpy for your still dazed mind.
“The Prince?” you break your silence, finally, when her words settle in. “What for?”
“He demanded to be informed when you rose, my Lady,” she smiles like she knows more than she should.
Heat rises to your cheeks, then, and your heart skips a beat only to kick off at full force when you are flooded with the memory of the night previous, of your unpremeditated, timid admissions.
“Wait!” you yelp as she turns to speed off once again. “Assist me in looking presentable, then.”
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Your hairdo and the discrete jewelry the lively maid prepares in no time, but it is a true effort to help you into a tight bodice and a hefty, courtly gown in your state of fragility. Thus, when Aemond strides into your chambers, you are still gasping for air and in pain, sitting on the chaise in your modest living room.
“Rough start?” he quirks an eyebrow as he approaches.
There is a beat to his step and a levity to his brow you don’t think you have previously witnessed. It is but a faint trace of joy and tranquility on his typically stern countenance, one a stranger would take it for granted. You are far from strangers, however, and you cannot resist when your own expression softens at his easy disposition.
“My body is still awfully weak,” you grimace, a palm pressing below your bust, grounding you in your laborious breaths.
“It needs time to recover, is all,” he murmurs when he reaches you, towering over you.
Your heart gets caught in your throat when he bends to your height, holding your gaze, terrified to think he will claim your lips in front of the servants who set the table. In a startling motion, however, he takes your waist in his strong hands and brings you to your feet. Hardly a gesture proper between an unwed pair, his touch elicits shame to burn your face and desire to tickle where his fingers had gripped.
He allows you a moment to recover from the abrupt movement, hands steady at your quivering waist and oblivious that you take it to recover from the effect he has on you instead. His dark velvet vest glares back as you regain your grip on reason, keeping at bay the impulse to simply take him.
You have accepted your undeniable, burning passions, had a glimpse of his carnal pleasures, and admitted he has unequivocally conquered your regard. Whatever lies beyond is muzzled, indiscernible, and scares and excites you in the same breath.
His firm grip on your elbow pulls you toward breakfast as much as it pulls you from your uncomfortable wonderings.
It is another difficult, glacially slow feat to eat on your own, but you insist your body needs the practice and Aemond sits with you patiently, briefing you on the latest developments of the council and picking on your fruit. You note, without deliberation, his taste for the sour: green apples, green grapes, the slices of lemon on the lemon cakes. 
It is immensely strange to have him there in your chambers, simply keeping you company, under no pretense of duty whatsoever and of his own volition. It is immensely contrasting to the image of the Dragon Prince you know he works so hard to sustain, and it invades your chest with a tickling warmth you never knew could be attributed to him.
“Any news of my father?” you ask him when his short reports lull to a halt. He hums through a pout, a quick frown, peeling an apple. His long fingers, roughened by the sword, cut the fruit gracefully and meticulously - delicate yet sinister.
“The last we heard of the Northern army was several days ago when they were set to cross The Trident,” he tells you, unaware his every movement grasps your full attention. “The last raven has gone unanswered.”
The Trident - in between The Eyrie and Riverrun, one a sworn enemy, the other an inconstant party.
“A messenger was sent to find what has happened-”
The clattering of your silverware against fine porcelain interrupts his foreboding tellings. A shuddering breath escapes you and you stare at the delicate tabletop in search of reassurances for which you are scared to ask aloud.
Punching through your gut, stealing your composure, your icy fear flies through your veins, freezing your blood and hopes alike.
“I promise you,” he states firmly, promptly, taking your hand in unexpected sympathy and recapturing your attention. He is so warm the cold never truly reaches your fingertips. “If something has indeed passed, I will fly to them on Vhagar at a moment’s notice”
His eye is gentle yet fierce, tempting you with trust and affection.
“A letter arrived from my lord uncle in Old Town just two nights ago,” he tells you, clearing his throat and sitting back, releasing your hand and taking with him all warmth. “Though his fleet will join us, and some of his men, he is to ride to Highgarden.”
“Highgarden?” you repeat, the strategist in you instantly, thoroughly engaged. “But the way from Old Town is far too treacherous for an army,” you argue, “they could easily be stranded-”
“Not for a dragon,” he cuts you short, smirking like he had wanted for this reaction. For a moment you think he intends to forsake your plans and fly to the Reach on his own. Affronted, feeling strangely betrayed, you ready yourself to passionately oppose him. 
Then it dawns on you-
“The Blue Queen,” you conclude in awed breath.
“My brother Daeron will keep the Tyrell and their bannermen from advancing on King's Landing,” he explains, taking his cup between his smirking lips, holding your gaze and most unquestionably taking pleasure in your befuddlement.
“Do not tease me…” you mutter under your breath, huffing as you recollect yourself. “Seems most unlike this court to commit to such clever schemes,” you stir the honeyed wine in your hand, avoiding his mocking gaze, “rather than to plunge into battle.”
He hums in return and you hear, too, the smile that paints his amusement.
“We have recently learned a thing or two,” he tells you.
“Is that so?” you raise your eyebrows, meeting his eye and hiding yourself behind your own chalice.
A sweet sparkle ignites in his eye, likely meeting its twin in yours, but he is quick to turn his face and bite into his cheeks not to unveil it entirely. And you… you try not to get lost in the sharpening of his most beautiful features, in the tantalizing column of his neck that he exposes to you or the masculine lines that make his profile.
Easily you fall back into comfortable silence, picking on the remnants of your meal and enjoying each other’s, for once, easy presence. He goes to excuse himself for a council meeting from which you had been excused when your cups are nearly empty, but you insist on accompanying him.
It is a laborious task to help you to the council chamber. Your body can scarcely hold itself upward, your chest can barely bear the movement of your breaths, with each movement threatening to bleed it anew. Even so, Aemond takes up the task with patience, stopping every few steps to guide you to steady your breaths before you can even wince in warning. With an arm curled around your back and a firm grasp on your elbow, he becomes your steadfast support.
The gown that grazes the tiles and catches the sunlight does not cover your collarbones, so that your still-healing gash, too sore to cover in close-fitting dresses, is on full display. It catches the eyes of the nobility on your way through the Keep, but, perhaps for the first time, you do not feel cruelly scrutinized. 
The indistinguishable chatter that bubbles from the council can be heard many feet away, though its door remains dutifully shut. When it is pushed open for your entrance, the room becomes silent for no more than a heartbeat before it erupts again in renewed, vigorous cheers. It startles you - the claps, the hails, the cries of your name.
You look at Aemond in search of answers, finding nothing but admiration in the gleam of his eye, in the smile on his lips. The effect is so alluring, dizzying, that you force yourself to turn quickly back to the members of the council, before the craving for his full attention - his touch, his lips - traps you in immodesty.
“Hail Captain Stark!”
“Great to see you standing, Captain!”
Polite nods and smiles are all you manage in your startled state. Soon, the uproar dwindles with a stern word from the Hand of the King, allowing for the session to take place as usual. Only this time your word is not once taken for granted and Aemond does not join his mother’s side.
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He comes to you often, now. Every time the thought of him is accompanied with longing, he shows up at your door, at the library, at the gardens, wherever it is you are.
Every day he comes to you, sometimes in the morrow, sometimes at tea, each time a different excuse on his lips, a different activity on his mind. It is not difficult to see right through them, but you don’t dare teasing him so he is not discouraged from pursuing you, for you crave his company just as eagerly.
“Allow me to accompany you to the shores of the river,” was his first cover, “the maester says fresh air and light walking will help you regain your strength.”
You hummed in delight, gladly abandoning the embroidery you had taken up at the encouragement of Queen Helaena to take instead his arm.
Every night you sit in a small clearing you have claimed in the woods just outside the city walls, watching and instructing him as his fists fly, his eye veiled, against a bag of dirt that swings from a tall tree. You chuckle every time it hits him powerfully in the back of the head because he allows you the trust to do so.
The several days that make up your recovery are bright and fanciful like this in his company, despite the impending promise of battle. He is silent and intense and rigid as has likely always been his nature, but he no longer assaults and insults you.
In these days of your recovery, he is generous with his amiability and his tenderness which were once rare and quickly followed by hatred. And for the most part, you enjoy the comforting quietness you have found in one another, not knowing how long this deception of peace will last.
Before you know it, his friendship becomes a grounding force in this land you still don’t belong in, in the face of duties still greater than what you were ever meant to shoulder. It brings you relief and room to breathe, but it also dulls the ardent fire that would once burst into impassioned moments of affection or aggression. Now he grants you himself so freely, all your urges turn into potent longing, ever-pounding in your ribcage and stretching on and on as it is scantily fed by lingering touches, soft smiles, gentle gestures. 
The longer you spend in his presence, the more you truly see him - the mere man he lets slip from the cracks in the shell they call Prince Aemond One-Eye, the Kinslayer - and you yearn for him ever just as ardently. Yet the lack of angry, adrenaline-filled rushes turns rational the mind that granted you the courage to deliver yourself so effortlessly to your base desires. The same effect has overtaken him, you imagine, for he, too, has not taken that dangerous leap again.
He takes you flying when your wound is but a long line of red, taut skin stretching from shoulder to shoulder.
“Vhagar needs the exercise,” he explains as he pulls on his leather riding gloves, “and you need the sunlight.”
You get sunlight from your balcony. 
Even so, you join him, and he takes you to an island perhaps an hour from King’s Landing, forgotten in the Blackwater Bay. It is but a couple of grassy hills and dried acacias, deserted of wildlife but abundant in sunlight and cool, salted winds.
Just before you land, he veers Vhagar so that her wings graze the ocean, spraying you with saltwater, and freely relishes in your surprised yelps. It is in a dream-like, high-spirited state that you dismount his dragon to stand on a hilltop and enjoy the whimsical beauty that stretches on before you.
Across the vast expanse of deep blue, you see the Crownlands for the first time in a long while like the history books and fantasy stories always described it - sun-soaked and plentiful. You close your eyes and pretend you are a simple lady who enjoys the luxuries of the capital and the attention of a Prince who courts you. You enjoy the tall grass as it grazes your ankles and the breeze that flutters your silken skirts.
What if your interests had been simpler from the start? Would you have been content with a caring husband and a simple life like your sisters? Would the duty of motherhood suffice your ambitions?
Dull, your mind corrects you immediately. It is not your nature and has never been, but you delight in the glimpses of a different life you get in these escapades you enjoy at his side.
But they don’t last long, not at the brink of war.
Though council meetings are shorter and scarcer as the weeks pass, though your days are mostly filled with quiet joy, letters from all across the Kingdoms become more frequent. Though they mostly bring good news, they also make each day heavier and darker, luring war to break out.
Our fleet has joined the Hightower’s at the Arbor, whose succor we have finally secured. We shall sail with care and wait for Prince Aemond east of the Sea of Dorne, though I fear only a fool could hope for secrecy now, writes Jason Lannister.
We have made a small siege around Highgarden, but the Blue Queen suffices in terrifying the Roses back into their walls, writes Gwayne Hightower.
Corlys Velaryon’s fleet has now fully impeded trade into the Crownlands, confirms Borros Baratheon.
Some of the men from the Stormlands have made their way into the city four nights past, the men from Harrenhal six, and Lord Borros awaits with his fleet at the ready to join the advance coming from the west, awaiting you.
And yet no word from the Northern Army.
“There is no cause for alarm, yet,” Aemond often reassures you, “this wait is not unprecedented.”
But there is much uncertainty. This quietness before the storm does not sit well with you. No dragon has been sighted flying off Dragonstone, but you cannot help but wonder if this is all part of a ruse. After all, you had been spotted that night on Dragonstone and, for every bit of undisciplined, Daemon Targaryen is also known to be exceedingly sharp and tenacious. What if he had preemptively relocated the beasts?
These doubts and more haunt your dreams the closer you are to setting off for battle and, on the eve of the first strike, they grow so great they threaten to rip you apart at the seams.
You sit with them and allow them to consume you, under the eyes of the Weirwood Tree of the Red Keep, under the light of the new moon. For long you had engaged in silent devotion, searching for peace, protection, counsel, but it does little to soothe your disquieted mind.
No word from the enemy, no word from your father, and no word from the Riverlands. Their silence deafens you.
Resting upon a log, face to face with the image of the Old Gods, you close your eyes and revel in the warm breeze you seldom get in the North. It ruffles fallen leaves and twigs, seeps through the light fabric of your nightdress, and promises an unattainable liberty. In another shot at distraction, you listen closely to its path - northward - but the sound of crunching leaves a few steps behind you promptly awakens a feeling of foreboding.
Your hand tightens around the dagger on your waist. Something creaks a step closer. Without preamble, you jump and twist, your blade finding perfect lodging against his jawline, not for the first time.
He smirks, head tilted backward, hands in the air.
“I’m beginning to believe you take joy from having me under your blade.”
“Damn you, Aemond,” you hiss, stowing away your knife and releasing a shuddering breath that, predictably, does nothing to relieve you of your torments.
His very sight aggravates your affliction, when you take note of his rare dishevelling. Similar to you, only a cloak hides the cotton chemise he should be wearing exclusively in the privacy of his apartments, and his loose hair parts in the middle to frame his amused countenance. Both reflect the brilliance of the moon to don him an ethereal glow, and his casualty tempts you to believe he has invited you into his intimacy. 
“How predictable is the troubled wolf who trails the woods in the shadows,” he mocks.
You award him a hard gaze, not partaking in his light jesting when your shoulders clench in distress.
“How despicable is the dragon who slithers in silence after her,” you bite, regretting it immediately when his smile drops and his eye softens.
He has learned your moods and attitudes as much as you have his.
“What is it that ails you?” he asks so softly you wonder when his instinct has become to extend his care in place of retaliation.
And his softness, akin to how his mother had once received you, waters your eyes in a heartbeat. You bite your cheeks, looking away so that your tears are not encouraged to fall.
“This tranquility does not sit well with me,” you whisper.
“You question yourself,” he concludes with a tone of realization, watching your lips tremble, your hands clenching closed.
“Something is amiss,” you beg, predicting his denial. Indeed, he shakes his head and takes a harsh breath as if preparing to fight you tooth and nail. “But it is, Aemond!” you insist before he gets his chance, recapturing his attention and astounding yourself with how swiftly you lose composure.
“This silence is most unnatural,” you tell him gravely. “We have had an army on the move for months, Highgarden is under siege, Daemon saw us!”
He stares at you, jaw tight, gaze hard, and unmoving.
“And they are- what?” you lick your lips, staring back with equal vehemence, but if he is shaken by your reasoning, he does not convey it. “Sitting and waiting?”
You had not known how terribly these thoughts had rotten within you, garnering a great fear furtively until this single stab allowed it to burst and eat away at you.
“We knew from the beginning they would be ready to meet us in battle,” he counters with a placidity you would never have expected just two moons ago. “We have prepared for it accordingly.”
“There has been no word from my father, Aemond,” your voice breaks, your eyes truly tearing despite your efforts, lips trembling with the toil of keeping composure. “Chances are at least one dragon has survived-”
“No,” he takes you by the elbows as you hiccup through tears, through dismay. “We would have seen-”
“And they will descend upon you and Vhagar first,” you lament, wet, glimmery eyes meeting his worried look, “and it will be my fault,” you finish in a whisper.
Your desolation takes effect on him finally, and he takes your damp face in his hands to force your attention, to force you to trust him. He brings you so close, so quickly, your hands land on his chest for balance. His fine chemise is so delicate you feel every hard line of muscle underneath and his warmth seeps in slowly through your fingertips, flaring your feelings yet further.
“That will not happen,” he emphasizes, enunciating each word carefully and surely, so that they may weigh and impress on you. His hands brush your hair from your wet cheeks, his calloused fingers wipe your tears, then descend to your chin, tilting it so that he may secure your attention.
It takes your breath away, that passionate spark of his. His diligent care - perhaps his passion - alights a warmth that fills your chest to the brim and you feel seen, wanted, cherished. And you want more of it, you want all of it.
“You will not lose me,” he whispers, almost an afterthought that betrayed him when he allowed himself the gentleness. “I will not lose you.”
Your lips part in surprise. You did not expect him to interpret your words in this way, but the tightening in your chest only confirms his bold suppositions.
“How can you be so sure?” you whisper back, afraid of breaking the delicate exchange. “How can you trust that when so much is uncertain?”
He hums, smirk pulling on his lips and trapping you deeper in your desires.
“You are certain. Nothing else needs to be.”
Driven wild by his affectionate words, your heart beats harshly in your chest, ailing your breaths and ringing in your ears. Your fingers tingle against his solid chest where they rest and refrain from bringing him closer. His gaze is firm and allows no challenge as you look at him in amazement.
“You think chance alone brought you to King’s Landing at the exact moment we needed you?” he asks though he evidently wishes for no answer.
“My father-”
“What sense does it make for the Gods to place us in each other’s path-,” your knees buckle when he grazes the lowest dip on your bottom lip, “- and achieve what we have so far, against all odds, only to fail at the very end?”
At a loss for words, you revisit the chain of truly unlikely events that have led you to this very moment. It is not that you accept his reasoning, but rather that you are overtaken by a desperate desire to acquiesce to him, to be in harmony with him now that he so eagerly seems to seek that himself.
“The Gods play cruel games, too,” you try meekly, but in the back of your mind you hear his mother's words:
The Gods have only destined us to achieve that which we are capable of achieving, and that is an encouraging thought.
Just as they did then, they compel you to give in and simply… believe.
“The stubborn Stark and her almighty direwolf,” he starts, smirking when he senses your resignation, fingers gliding softly against the side of your face, gaze admiring the skin they trail, “and the bad-tempered, one-eyed Prince, rider of the largest dragon in the world…” 
One of his hands leaves your face as the other cups the side of your neck, eliciting sparkling goosebumps to travel down your spine.
“Heirs to little more than what they have made of themselves,” his fingers travel down your arm to wrap around yours, “they seldom seem the types to end consigned to oblivion.”
You soften despite yourself, huffing good-naturedly. 
“You read too much,” you whisper.
He places your knuckles on his smiling lips, stealing your breath entirely.
“Trust your capabilities,” he insists against your skin, prompting a sob you didn’t know you still held, “as I trust your role in the great scheme of history will be equally as grand as you.”
“Aemond,” you choke around his name. 
It has become easy to regard him and see past his dragon features, past his titles, his prowess and his sins, to see a mere man. It makes you adore and yearn for all of him, in all his ordinary manners and his human insecurities and all the facets he hides from everyone else’s eyes.
“Often I have read about the heirs of the dragon,” you start, swallowing the heaviness that fights to leave you, turning your hand to hold his face in your palm, “of their bloodlust, their beasts… their pride.”
Your fingers trail up the scar that splits his brow, ever so lightly delineating its cut.
“Little did I know they could be so kind,” his one eye hardens when the tip of your thumb hooks underneath his eyepatch.
His instinct is to flinch, but you give him your best reassuring, pleading look, and when his eye softens again you know he, too, wants to give himself to you entirely, undividedly. 
“And so warm,” you take off the binding leather, “so beautiful,” you gasp.
A hand curls on your hair, fingers weaving through your loose strands to hold the back of your head.
“There is nothing cold about the daughter of the great, white North either.”
He pulls you in gently, but you reach for him all the same, and this time you meet his kiss with the same eagerness.
When your tongues embrace, his heat melts you to the core. He is not forceful, but his hunger is evident, for he kisses and takes you as though his sole purpose is to drive you delirious with pleasure. He is urgent as if he has long thirsted to have you on his tongue again, yet slow and deliberate so that he may truly savor you. It is sensual in its pace, passionate in its depth, and makes you crave for more until your head spins with your sensations.
You pull on his silver strands in response to his squeeze on your waist, and you break apart in a gasp which alleviates your haziness enough for a single trickle of rationality to defy your actions.
“We shouldn’t-”
“Then why does it feel so good?” he grunts and licks into your mouth too quickly. “Why does it feel like the best thing I’ll ever do?”
He sucks your bottom lip gently and you shudder at the sparks of pleasure that descend through you.
“Tell me you don’t want this, then,” he murmurs against your slickened lips, eye glued to them like he wishes for nothing but to devour them. 
“Tell me this doesn’t feel right,” his nose brushes against yours teasingly and your mouth waters. “Tell me-” his thumb leaves a trail of goosebumps as it caresses the hollow of your throat, “-it doesn’t feel as though every path you’ve ever taken has led you here to me.”
He rests his parted lips so lightly against your own, you are nearly convinced you have conjured the feeling yourself in your crazed yearning.
“Go on and tell me you don’t want me.”
They say that none can tell lies before the Weirwood trees of the Old Gods. And you find that you really, truly, cannot.
“I-I do,” you breathe. “Aemond, I want you.”
His every move is calculated, as though he has thought this through meticulously, has always known how he would like to touch and pleasure you. He leaves you dizzy when his mouth leaves yours at last, your lips hanging open in search of his tongue again, but through them escapes a gasp when his hot lips suck on your neck instead.
Gently he pulls on the hair at the base of your neck, exposing more skin to his wandering tongue. His kisses clouded your mind, warmed your body, drove you to hunger… But this positively electrifies your skin, pulling pleasure from every inch of your body, from your fingers to your toes, from your chest to your tingling spine.
You feel his hunger on his tongue as it tastes you persistently. His utter devotion you feel on the fingertips he presses against your waist and his desperation you hear on the breaths he takes against your skin.
Just as sure and seamless as his every touch, he wraps his arms around you, holding you tightly and bending his knees to lift and deposit you on the cold grass beneath him. He recaptures your lips when he settles between your legs, but when he grinds his hard member against your core, you part in a broken moan.
It is most unnatural, you think, how your body reacts promptly and desperately to his every stimulus. It doesn’t make sense, you think, that you find yourself so soon at the very end of your wits.
Your hands paw at his soft shirt in renewed desperation, finding his hot flesh beneath it. His own hands deftly work to lift your skirts and venerate your bare thighs. And then the world slows down to a halt, if only because you need it to finally, truly feel him.
You close your eyes at the feel of his warm, naked back, your very soul re-energizing at the bare touch. A large hand travels to your shoulder blades, underneath your gown, sparking goosebumps in their path along your spine as your flesh desperately tries to cling onto its heat. His own skin does the same as your lips stroke reverently against his collarbones, up his neck. You take in his lovely scent and he takes your lips again, kissing you at the pace that the Earth spins, grounding you in the present, in his heartbeats, in his caresses, in his warmth.
Your wandering fingers cannot help but stroke though his lush strands, nor can they stop searching for the taut softness of his back as it ripples beneath them. You tease yourself by gliding your thighs along his own and settle around his waist, getting both lost and trapped in the tantalizing caresses and the promising heat of your close embrace. 
It is with a gasp that the spell of leisurely touches shatters, when he lowers his hips and presses his hardness against your exposed sex. It all too suddenly makes room for an intensity and a want that had laid dormant in your gut.
His hands journey further south and you moan into him when he squeezes and pulls on the back of your thighs, parting the lips that progressively slicken between your legs. It makes you ache for him, makes you moan and grip his hair a bit harder.
“Aemond,” you whine against his ruddy lips, when he moves you against him, building a pulsing pleasure deep within your cunt that strikingly resembles a desperate calling.
“I have wanted you,” he murmurs into you, blue eye made dark with lust, “direly,” he rolls his hips again, “fiercely.”
“Then have me,” you whisper, begging him as you shiver in desire. 
He holds your gaze with unwavering determination while you feel him reach between you. It is as if he yearns to watch every muscle on your face twitch and slacken in pleasure under his lustful ministrations. He gets his wishes when he lodges his leaking tip between your slick lips with a hiss, and you gasp when his thumb presses against the pearl of pleasure between your thighs. He gives you no time to decipher what he will do next, stroking you in earnest and grunting as your cunt flutters and squeezes around his most sensitive tip.
The pleasure builds far too quickly - you have craved him for far too long. You feel the heat and elation travel through your flesh in all directions before you truly peak. When you do feel it, it is immediately insufficient to satiate you, and your cunt contracts hungrily against his tip, begging for more while you deliver yourself to pleasure with deep gasps.
He answers your sinful cravings before you have to utter it, before you even stop quivering around nothing, sliding in easily, deeply, stuffing you to the brim. 
You yelp around a gasp when he does so, immediately delirious in your arousal, immediately and incredibly close to another peak. You never stood a chance - he has impregnated your senses with himself, driving you to s concupiscent frenzy; his masculine scent of sandalwood is intoxicating now it is spiced with the sinful scent of your sex, his warm, soft lips lick and suck until your thoughts dissolve to smoke, his thunderous grunts shudder you to your core when he sheathes himself inside you.
His gaze has never been more penetrating, regardless of how passionate it had always been. With his sparkling sapphire eye, lips red and abused by your urgent tongue, and fine silver hair clinging to his glistened skin, he finally conquers the parts of you that had thus far remained untouched by his alluring spell.
“Aemond,” you whimper, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes, breathtaking desire and realization battling inside you.
When he finally moves, he does it studiously, coercing you to feel his every inch. There is so much of him, he drags and teases all the spots that make your knees part further for him. When he pushes back in, your eyes roll back and a moan breaks apart the sloppy snare of your tongues. 
“Nothing will take you from me,” he admits in a rough whisper, amidst a hiss and a gasp. “Not a thing will part us.”
His weight grounds you to him, protects you from all that isn’t bound to the space between your heated flesh. His freed hair shades you from the exposing light of the moon. He takes your hands from their eager exploration of his back to lace your fingers in his, restraining them against the ground.
He entertains these luscious, languid movements for the short time it takes for your slick to soak his cock, until your knees come up to wrap high and wanton around his torso. Then, with a grunt, he awards you with thrusts so powerful they punch your breaths out of your lungs, so precise they wet your eyes anew with tears of pleasure.
“Aemond,” is the only thing you can say.
“There?” he asks softly, nearly patronizingly, and redoubles his efforts.
You burn from the inside, from the mouth-watering sensations he evokes unforgivingly in your deepest, most pleasurable spot. You sweat through your clothes and your hair clings to your sticky skin. When one of his hands uncurls from your hold and gently wipes your weak tears, takes your jaw, and pulls you into a searing kiss, you think you might burst aflame, but you welcome it like you have been waiting for him to thaw you your entire life.
“I won’t be going anywhere,” he whispers against your mouth, incredibly gentle despite the rough thrusts that still deliver you closer and closer to insanity, “not without you.”
And then all your pleasure snaps like this: with your eyes locked to his, with your lips grazing his, and his words weighing heavily on your chest.
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Taglist: @ficsrecsforhrnybitches @missusnora @let-love-bleeds-red @dark-night-sky-99 @arcielee @merakies @aemondsbabygirl @herfantasyworldd
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nee-biter · 6 months
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Pink | Virgin!Miguel O'Hara x F!Reader
Synopsis: Miguel has a crush on you, the popular girl from his biology elective class. After your ex-boyfriend threatened you at a house party, all Miguel wants to do is make sure you’re safe and sound. And that your ex pays for it.
Warnings: Cursing, Sexual Abuse, Leaked Nudes, Some Violence, Sexual References, Alcohol, 18+ only even if it's not full smut yet This is part one of a two-shot fic! I'll be uploading the nsfw part two HERE soon! :>
Pop songs continued to burst through the speakers, as everyone danced and drank. The thin walls of the apartment—not his, just a random baseball jock—moved at every reverberation of the bass. Miguel tried to keep a steady hand at his cup, still half-full from the cheap liquor that a dude was passing around. The reason for his intense focus—you, from across the room.
You were all dolled up, but not for him. Not for anyone, really. But for yourself. That’s what he liked about you. Your hot pink dress that clung tight to your body, your hair flowing freely and reaching the middle of your back, and your legs smooth and supple—he couldn’t stop looking even if he tried to. You were chatting with your group of friends and having a good time.
“I swear to god, you have to talk to her.” His younger brother, Gabriel, who was unfortunately invited to the party despite just being a sophomore, swung his arm around his older brother. “If you don’t, you’ll get stuck with me the whole night and that’s a bit lame.”
Miguel grunted, not wanting to get lumped together with his brother.
In truth, Miguel knew that he should approach you. It’s not like you two weren’t close. You were his partner in biology elective last semester. Though he had known who you were, since you were one of the more popular girls among your batch, that was the first time he met you. It was one of Miguel’s better memories, remembering how ecstatic you were getting paired up with him, since he was majoring in Biochemistry. He had asked, “What’s your major?”
“Art Management,” You had said, unconfidently. “It’s like the business side of Fine Arts.”
“Why didn’t you take the actual Fine Arts?”
“I’m not that good. And if I’m not that good, my art’s probably not worth anyone’s time.” In that memory of his, your head was bowed down as you said these words. Your chirpy energy suddenly dropped. Even in that moment of your first meeting, he wanted to assure you that you were a good artist. Miguel could see that you had a genuine heart and that your vibe wasn’t fake.
That’s why Miguel couldn’t understand it when you told him you were dating Harry Osborne, a privileged prick. Harry’s dad and Miguel’s dad were business rivals, so maybe Miguel had a bias against him. Miguel, a rich kid, having beef with another rich kid; it was laughable. But even so, Harry wasn’t treating you right. Miguel could see it every time your gaze would be stolen by your buzzing phone when you two would do pair-work. He could see the anxiety on your face as you tried to ignore the calls and texts. Miguel wanted to tell you to save yourself from your boyfriend. But ultimately, it wasn’t Miguel’s business. He wished it was.
Timeskip to now, you had just broken up with Harry five days ago. Here you were, partying. Miguel was glad, you seemed happier. But he was so hesitant to talk to you. Miguel didn’t want to seem like he was being an opportunist. After all, he had the biggest crush on you. But then, you made eye contact with him from across the room. With a warm smile, you waved at him. “Come here!” He heard you shout.
Miguel exhaled, relieving his tension before he made his way to you. “Hey, (Y/N)!”
“Miggy! You’re here!” You were bouncing to the rhythm of the song, moving away a bit from your friends.
“Yeah, I managed to swing by! You’re um,” Miguel stuttered, wanting to compliment your dress, your dancing, your anything, but he just awkwardly whispered instead, “You’re here, too.”
Now, in your eyes, Miguel was exactly the man you wanted to see. Not your bully of an ex-boyfriend. Not even the dude hosting the party right now. It was Miguel. You were harboring a bit of a crush on him. You didn’t want to admit it, because you just got out of a bad relationship, but your heart’s already beating for him. Whenever Miguel would do pair-work in biology with you, he’d always give you reassurances that your solutions regarding isotopes and their relative abundance quotients were right. To him, they were just basic solutions. But to you, they were hard to understand. That’s why it mattered so much that Miguel was never condescending, even if sometimes you get it wrong.
You couldn’t help but lean closer to him when you two were across from each other at the library table. You couldn’t help but bat your eyelashes at him, pretending you forgot what the difference of anabolic and metabolic pathways are. You liked the way he would open his notebook, skim the paper lines with his calloused fingers—why were they rough?—then, recap the topic to you with a serious expression. You liked that he was very passionate about his major. You liked the way he wore thick sweaters, making you question what’s hidden underneath them.
Miguel wormed his way into your heart. The only thing you wished to change was his mixed signals. Sometimes, he acted aloof to you, proceeding to bury his face in his books, squinting at you, or being almost an hour late to your study sessions. And yet, sometimes, you caught him staring at you. He’d look away instantly. Now that you’re single, you hoped he’d ask you out soon.
“So, who did you come with?” You asked, wondering if he went to the party with friends or with another girl.
“Oh, just by myself.”
“Really~” You asked, teasingly. “Then, why do I see your brother doing belly shots with those people?” You pointed at Miguel’s brother, lying down on the kitchen aisle. He spotted you two and waved back at the two of you.
Miguel cringed, then muttered some phrases in Spanish, but you couldn’t understand. You chuckled, assuring him that it’s fine. “Sorry, he usually stays at home. Don’t worry, I’m not chaperoning.”
You giggled at his words. He loved the way your eyes crinkle, when you laugh. He was so happy to see you. But the happiness was shattered when a new party barged in the living room—Harry and his two ugly friends.
Miguel immediately looked at you; his own face mirrored your worry. He wanted to pull you away to a different corner of the apartment to distract you, but Harry called out to you as soon as he saw you.
“If it isn’t the girl I dumped!” Harry declared, pushing his face close to yours. Everyone within your vicinity started looking.
“Actually, Harry—she dumped you,” A friend of yours said.
“No, she didn’t. Why would she? I’m the best she’s ever had!” Harry was leaning close to you; his breath reeked like alcohol. Miguel had had enough. He put himself in between you and Harry, giving the boy a glare. But Harry was drunk and stupid enough to not back down. “I know you, you’re O’Hara’s son. How does it feel having your daddy almost fucking bankrupt?” Harry turned to you. “Is this your new man?”
You looked at Miguel as your face flushed even further. You couldn’t say anything, overwhelmed at the presence of your ex.
“Listen,” Miguel muttered angrily, “Just leave her alone. And leave my dad out of this, too.”
“Fine. Fine.” Harry raised his two hands in mock defeat. But he winked at you. “I’ll leave her alone, alright.” He almost turned away. You and Miguel almost sighed in relief. But he just made it worse by addressing everyone. “By the way, look at your phones, people! Have a look at my ex!”
Everyone’s phones started dinging. You felt your blood go cold, your stomach frozen over. One by one, you heard your own moans and whimpers coming from people’s phones. It dawned on you that he shared leaked videos of you to everyone. You didn’t even know he took them. You didn’t have the heart to check what specific lewd moment was captured of you. Your friends started shouting at other people to turn that shit off. Miguel looked at your face, not once checking his phone. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t find it funny. Not at all. The music stopped and you felt all eyes looking at you. As if he wasn’t cruel enough, Harry turned up the volume of his phone at just the right moment of you screaming his name. That’s when two things happened—you bolted away from the party and Miguel suckerpunched him in the jaw.
Harry laid on the floor, his jaw an obvious red. Your friends started kicking his unconscious body and they told Miguel to find you and bring you back. He followed, wanting to know where you are and wanting to soothe your pain. As much as he wanted to beat Harry into oblivion—his main concern was you. Where were you? What were you feeling? How can he help?
He exited the building and looked around the street for you. You were at the heart of Nueva York; you could be anywhere by now. Quickly scanning the brightly lit streets thanks to the neon billboards and LED lamp posts, Miguel finally noticed your figure hastily taking the left to a busier street. Miguel called out to your name but you momentarily disappeared in the crowd. He pressed on further and caught you entering a convenience store.
Miguel entered, too. The bright lights of the convenience store made him jolt, claws instinctively coming out. So he placed on a unique pair of glasses. He saw you crouching at the cold drinks section.
“(Y/N), what are you doing?” Miguel asked, crouching at your figure.
Your mascara was ruined as tears had been streaming down your face for a while now. Your nose and lips were puffy, even as you bottomed out a bottle of mule. “Don’t look at me.”
“Can we talk, (Y/N)? You look like you need some fresh air.”
You didn’t answer as you nursed down the beverage.
“Also, have you paid for that?”
You shook your head. You were ready for him to pester you even further with more questions, but what you didn’t expect was that he just sat down beside you. In the middle of the cold-tiled aisle, Miguel just pondered the silence with you. You became aware of your beating heart almost made numb by the alcohol, but you couldn’t deny the heat in between your bodies. Miguel provided such warmth and such hope in your shameful situation You felt tears brimming your eyes. They couldn’t be stopped. “Did you—Did you… watch it?”
“No,” Miguel reassured you as quickly as you had asked. “I will never.”
You leaned into his shoulders, noticing how he didn’t flinch at your touch.
“If it helps, I think you can report him.”
You considered it for a split second before rationalizing with yourselves. “His dad will just pummel my reputation even more. There’s no winning here, Miguel.” You buried your face in the darkness created by bringing your knees closer to your chest. Miguel reached for the bottle, taking it from you. “I should just accept it.”
Miguel felt even worse now that you’ve given up. He wanted to make you happy. He wanted to respect your decision of course, but at the same time, he didn’t like how that asscrap crushed your heart to pieces. You didn’t deserve that. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
You were silent for a bit. “Sleep with me.”
“What?!”
Lifting your head from your knees, you looked at him with a straight face. “Sleep with me. Please.”
Miguel, flustered, just kept staring at you. Were you serious? You seemed like it. His mind tempted him to meet your demands. If it makes you happy, then he’ll make you happy. But he was quite sure that you’re just drunk, lonely, and vulnerable—not really a good sign that you’re thinking clearly. Also, he was hesitant because of another thing. “That’s not a good idea. I should bring you back to the party.” He tried standing up, but you grabbed his sleeve and mumbled more pleas. “(Y/N), you know we can’t do that.”
“Why not? I like you, Miguel. Please.”
Miguel stood there, trying to think of possible scenarios. Maybe he could go to your apartment, tire you out (in a non-sexual way), then leave when you finally go to sleep. But you’d probably get worried that he did something to you while you’re sleeping—not good. Maybe he could pretend to not be interested in you, then bring you back to your friends. But he’d risk losing what he has with you—not good.
No matter what rationalizing thought he had, the temptation to give in won over his heart, his logic, and his virgin cock. That’s right. Miguel hasn’t done it with anyone. It’s not because he was saving it or anything. It’s not even because he was never attracted to anyone before you. It was his spider-man gigs and his academics and his double life and his teen-turned-sudden-adult angst and his anal-retentive father. In his 20 years of life, there just wasn’t a time for it. Now, you’re suddenly offering sex to him. Why would he refuse?
He coughed, not believing what he was about to say. “If we’re gonna fuck, you better sober up.” Miguel snatched a water bottle and some snacks from the nearby aisles, then helped you up until you’re standing. “I’ll pay for your alcohol, but leave it behind, please.”
You stood up, hugging his arm as you’re still inebriated. You let him lead the way as he paid for the food, before leading you outside. Finally noticing the glasses he was wearing, you poked at it as he grimaced at your touch. “Glasses?” You mumbled as you buried your face in his arm.
“Yeah, they’re light-sensitive.” He hooked your arm as he led you through the crowd. “Where do you live, (Y/N)?”
“Not telling!” You teased, before gulping down water.
“Do you want to have sex or not?”
“Hehe. Sixth avenue. Alessandra Palace. Not a real palace.”
Miguel crouched on the floor, offering his back for you to ride on as you tried sobering up. You giggled as you got on his back, peppering kisses on his ears. Miguel blushed at the contact and told you not to do that. You pouted with an audible ‘hmp’ before Miguel held the back of your knees and lifted you up. “Mind texting your friends that I’m taking you home?”
“Why are you so strong?” You whispered while rubbing your forehead on his sturdy back “Thought you were a nerd.”
“(Y/N).” As much as it confused him to admit, Miguel was having fun seeing how adorable you were in this state. “Hold on tight.” -- end for now --
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fortuositywritings · 1 year
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Never Gonna Happen Masterlist
Wanda x F!Reader, Fluff, Jealous!Wanda
Summary: How is Wanda supposed to turn you down when you stop showing up?
Something is off, Wanda notices far too quickly. She tells herself it’s because Clint taught her to be perceptive and it has nothing to do with you personally. 
Clint taught her about looking for patterns and knowing when something isn’t right. There is nothing wrong about Wanda not seeing you first thing in the morning in the kitchen handing her a mug of freshly brewed coffee prepared the way she likes it, but it’s definitely a break in your pattern. 
Maybe you’ve overslept, Wanda reasons. She moves to the coffee maker, turning it on and then places a bagel in the toaster. Leaning back against the counter as she waits, an odd feeling stirs in her stomach. It’s quiet in the kitchen. She’s grown used to you chatting her ear off in the mornings. One would think you’ve had 3 cups of coffee by the time you hand Wanda her mug but she knows you don’t like coffee all that much. You typically join Wanda for breakfast with a bowl of cereal for yourself. What they put in the milk for you to be chirpy so early, she doesn’t know.
The sound of the bagel popping from the toaster startles her out of her thoughts. As she prepares her coffee, she hears footsteps approaching the kitchen. “Oversleep?” she asks, not bothering to look away from her task.
“No, I think I slept too much yesterday actually,” Steve’s voice rings throughout the kitchen. Not the voice Wanda was expecting. 
“Sorry, I thought you were Y/N.” 
“No, I think I saw her walking with Bruce to his lab a few minutes ago,” he claims, walking over to the fridge to grab a water bottle. 
“Oh,” Wanda responds, the surprise in her tone not slipping by Steve’s ears. 
“Why? Did you need her?” He raises his eyebrows in question. “I’m heading in that direction. I can-
“No. No, I don’t. Thank you though,” Wanda cuts him off before he can offer to call you over. 
“Okay.” Thankfully he shrugs off their interaction. The last thing Wanda needs is for Steve to tell you she was looking for you. It wouldn’t do her any good in proving Natasha wrong. Wanda is not leading you on.
***
“Don’t touch that.”
You huff annoyed but back away from the item on the work table. Another shiny object calls your attention. You lean in to get a closer look. 
“Or that.”
“Ugh, you’re no fun,” you complain.
“If contracting an infection that slowly eats away at your skin sounds like fun to you, then by all means, have at it,” Bruce sarcastically replies while simultaneously typing away at his computer, doing who knows what. Something science-y. 
“Gross,” you respond and move on to something else to amuse yourself with. 
“Not that I mind you hanging around here, but why are you here exactly?” Bruce asks from behind his screen. 
“Maybe I’ve decided this science stuff might be my thing,” you shrug, running your finger over one of the tables holding various vials and beakers. 
“‘Science stuff’?” Bruce repeats amused. 
“Yeah, you know, mitosis and so on,” you insist. “I don’t know. It could be my thing.”
You grab a pair of safety goggles off one of the tables and put them on. “How do I look?” 
You turn to Bruce who is having trouble holding in a laugh. “What? Do I look that bad in goggles? Maybe this isn’t my thing.”
He steps away from his computer to fix your goggles. “Maybe not. You had them upside down.”
“No wonder. I felt it digging at my nose,” you admit, rubbing the area where you are sure the goggles left a line. 
“Seriously, why are you here?”
“Can’t I pay my good friend Bruce a visit once in a while?” you challenge, but he doesn’t buy it for a second.
“Not when you are usually having breakfast with Wanda. Or did she send you away that quickly already?” he laughs. “I thought she was getting along with you lately or at least less annoyed by you.”
“I thought so too,” you mumble.
“So she did send you away?”
“No, she did not send me away. I didn’t go see her today in fact,” you tell him. 
“Why not?”
“I don’t know. I just didn’t,” you reply, unconvincingly. Bruce crosses his arms against his chest and looks at you in disbelief. “You didn’t want to see Wanda. That can’t be true.”
“Jeez, I can go a day without wanting to see Wanda. Not everything revolves around her.”
“You usually do.”
“You make it sound like I’m obsessed with her.”
Bruce gives you a pointed look and you sheepishly admit, “Okay, maybe a little. But maybe she made it clear that she doesn’t want to go out with me and I should stop suffocating her with my presence.”
“She said that? That you’re suffocating her?” He’s heard Wanda reject you plenty of times but never so harshly.
“Not those exact words, but that was the jist. I overheard her talking to Natasha,” you confess.
“So she didn’t say it to you. Maybe you heard wrong.”
“No. I didn’t. It was loud and clear. She wants me to stop bothering her. So that’s what I’m doing,” you explain. You try not to sound so hurt by the situation but Bruce can see right through you. 
“I’m sorry to hear that. I know you really like her,” Bruce sympathizes. He pats your shoulder trying to comfort you. 
You clear your throat, “Yeah, well that’s life. Now distract me. Tell me about yours. What’s going on with you?”
Clearly wanting to move on from the Wanda mess, you move on to a different topic and Bruce allows it. “You know my cousin, the lawyer?”
“Jennifer, yes.”
“You remember her name?”
“Yeah, you introduced me to her like two years ago when we were in California for that Expo in San Francisco. Also, she’s making waves with the whole She-Hulk thing.”
“Right, anyway, she’s coming to New York for a bit to get away after a whole lot of drama. She’s got a late flight tonight so we’re going to have lunch tomorrow.”
“That sounds nice, catching up with your cousin. Where are you going to eat?” 
“You know that place like two blocks from here that just opened last month?”
“Yes! I’ve been wanting to try it so bad but haven’t had the chance to go yet.” Truth be told you were hoping to take Wanda there so you could both try it together but obviously that’s not happening. Nothing is stopping you from going there by yourself now. 
“Oh, if you want, you can come eat with me and Jen tomorrow?” Bruce offers.
“Oh, no. That’s nice of you to offer but I don’t want to intrude on your cousin time,” you refute.
“Please, I’ve had plenty of cousin bonding time with her this past year. Trust me.” You still hesitate to answer so he continues, “Seriously, you would be doing me a favor. Sometimes I feel like she needs an audience to listen to her.”
“Okay, okay. No need to beg me. I’ll go,” you concede, chuckling. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
Bruce knows you are thanking him for more than just inviting you to eat. He nods letting the rest go unsaid as he gets back to his computer planning to get work done. A minute of silence goes by and that’s too long for someone like you. 
“Don’t touch that.”
“Damn it.”
***
“We were wondering where you were,” Nat says the moment you step into the kitchen to eat dinner with the rest. You aren’t late necessarily, but seeing as how you are typically the first one to come down to help Wanda, it was a little unusual not to see you already in the kitchen by the time everyone was being called to eat. 
“I did a little overtime at the gym today and still had to shower,” you explain, pointing at your wet hair like you need to prove you’re not lying, which of course Natasha finds suspicious. Lucky for you she doesn’t say anything. 
“If you say so,” she replies and hands you a plate for you to serve yourself. You take it and walk over to the stove to serve yourself some chicken and vegetables. You feel someone move beside you as you scoop some vegetables onto your plate. You don’t have to look to know who it is as their scent makes its way to your nose winning over the smell of the food that looks so delicious. 
“It seems you had a busy day today,” Wanda begins. “Usually by this time I’ve seen you at least two or three times.”
“Yeah. Had a rough wake up call, I guess. I decided to get an early start.” You try your damndest not to sound bitter, but you know it doesn’t come out as nonchalant as you wish. 
Wanda frowns, following behind you as you make your way to the table to eat. It’s weird for you to walk away from her without at least trying to continue the conversation. It feels awkward being the one to trail behind you. But more awkward is the moment when she stands idly by an empty seat waiting for you to pull it out for her only to have to do it herself when she realizes after a moment too long that you aren’t going to do it this time. It’s torturous avoiding looking in Wanda’s direction, who you can feel is staring right at you after seating herself for the first time in months.
Obviously this change in routine doesn’t go unnoticed. Sitting at a table full of highly trained operatives, it’s expected they notice the shift in your behavior. You also know they’ve been trained to read body language. Maybe if you keep your head down and stuff your mouth full of vegetables, they’ll let it go for your sake.
“That was weird.”
But then again, minding their own business has never been this team’s forte. 
“I never thought I’d see Wanda pick up a chair again,” Sam jokes, making the team chuckle and nod in agreement. He looks at you, an unspoken question in the air. You shrug, trying to act cool. “She said she could do it herself. Maybe it’s time I listened.”
There’s tension in the air, you can feel it. Trying to ignore it, you direct your attention to your food while everyone else directs their attention to Wanda to see her reaction. Wanda hates everyone staring, and maybe it’s because she feels you’re to blame for it that she says what she says next with a little bit of snark towards you. 
“Only took like a hundred times, but she finally listens, everybody!” Wanda laughs like it’s a light hearted joke but it is impossible to miss sharp undertones. 
“Don’t worry, Wanda. I hear you loud and clear,” you assure her with a bitter smile. She looks at you confused, wondering why you seem upset with her. What did she do? It’s you who is always bothering her, not the other way around. Bruce, uncomfortable with this little moment, clears his throat in order to garner everyone’s attention and changes the topic. 
You resume eating, adding some ketchup onto your chicken. Though as delicious as the food is, it’s a little hard to enjoy your meal when the chef of this very plate has been quietly poking at her plate. You assume her loss of appetite is due to your interaction. The guilt slowly creeps up on you. You didn’t mean to upset her. That’s the last thing you’d ever want to do. You try to keep to yourself during dinner so as to not further dampen her mood, but try as you may to listen to Bucky and Steve’s seemingly amusing story, your focus never strays too far from Wanda. Watching her play with her food and never taking a bite is driving you insane. You’ve got to say something. 
“Add some ketchup,” you tell her. 
“What?” She stops poking at her food to look at you. 
“That’s what I do when it comes out too salty. Add some ketchup,” you repeat, nodding toward her plate. You’d never consider Wanda’s food salty. You just need some bait and fortunately she takes it. 
“Are you saying my food is salty?” she asks defensively. 
“I’m saying that sometimes I need a little ketchup with it,” you tease her. “Maybe this is one of those sometimes.”
She scoffs, “This doesn’t need ketchup.”
“How would you know? You haven’t touched your food. Doesn’t inspire much confidence in the food if the chef won’t even eat it,” you quip. 
She narrows her eyes at you before taking a forkful of her meal into her mouth to prove her point. She stares at you the whole time she chews, rather dramatically you may add.
“See. Perfectly fine.” She leans back in her chair, looking at you with a raised eyebrow like she is daring you to challenge her. One bite of her meal wasn’t going to satisfy you, so challenge accepted. 
“Now try it with some ketchup,” you insist. You grab the ketchup bottle and move it over her plate like you are going to put some on her chicken. She reacts quickly, moving her plate away. “It doesn’t need ketchup.”
“You haven’t tried it with it,” you retort. “Just try it.”
You offer her your plate instead to pick off from. She sighs dejectedly but takes a bite from your plate. You can tell she doesn’t hate it, but already know her stubborn personality will not allow you to have this one. “It’s better without ketchup.”
This time you reach over to pick some food off of her plate. You hum in agreement after swallowing. “You’re right,” you say, and then reach for her plate again, but she impedes you from taking anything by smacking your hand. “Nope. You have your own plate.”
“But mine already has ketchup on it,” you explain, making a move for her food again. She moves her plate out of reach, giggling, “It’s not my fault you pour ketchup all over your food like a heathen.”
“Come on. Be nice,” you pout.
“You called my food salty. This is me being nice,” she replies, taunting you by taking another big scoop of her food and eating with a big smile on her face. You pretend to be hurt by it but in truth you are fighting off a smile of your own as you both finish your meals, refocusing your attention on the group.
Avoiding Wanda and treating her as if she’s done something wrong is not the way to go. It’s not her fault she doesn’t feel the same way about you. She’s basically told you so from day one, so it is unreasonable for you to behave the way you had earlier. There’s no point in making her feel bad for something neither of you can control. You can be friends with Wanda, you decide. All you have to do is tone it down and you’ll be fine. 
Wanda’s sweet aroma fills your senses as she leans towards you to pick the last bit of your ketchup tainted chicken off your plate. When you look at her she simply shrugs and gives you an innocent smile that makes your heart skip a beat.
You’ll be fine.
***
“Have you seen Y/N?”
“What’s this? Wanda Maximoff looking for Y/N and not the other way around?” Sam teases, making Wanda roll her eyes. “Has the day you give her a chance actually come?”
Wanda scoffs, “I wouldn’t bet on it.”
“Guess not,” Sam mutters. 
“Have you seen her or not?” Wanda sighs. 
“Shouldn’t I be asking you? She’s always following you around.”
“I’ll ask someone else,” Wanda grumbles. This is the third person she’s asked who teases her but gives her no straight answer. Before she can walk too far Sam stops her. “Hey, wait. I’m just playing with you. What’s up? Why do you need her?”
“No reason. Just want to know that she is bringing the good snacks for movie night.” Wanda shrugs nonchalantly, but Sam doesn’t quite buy it. He narrows his eyes, “Are you sure that’s it? No other reason?”
“What other reason would there be?” Wanda challenges and Sam has a lot to say, but he can tell he is getting on her last nerve so he backs off. 
“Last I saw her, she said she was meeting Jennifer and some other friends for drinks,” Sam answers.
“Oh? She’s going out with Jennifer again,” Wanda mutters. Sam doesn’t miss the tone in which she says Jennifer. “She’s been hanging out with her a lot, don’t you think?”
“Someone sounds jealous,” Sam insinuates with a smirk.
“What? No. What is there to be jealous of?” Wanda splutters. 
“I don’t know. Someone coming in and taking up all of Y/N’s attention. Maybe you are feeling a little neglected? Maybe you are worried someone is sweeping your Y/N away,” Sam continues. 
“She’s not my Y/N,” Wanda argues. “She can hang out with whoever she wants. It doesn’t bother me.”
“Okay,” Sam chuckles, further frustrating Wanda. Not wanting to participate anymore in this conversation Wanda storms off muttering something about Sam being nosy or annoying under her breath. Bruce hears some of it in passing while making his way to Sam.
“What did you do?” he accuses Sam, who in turn plays innocent. 
“Why do you assume I did anything?”
“Maybe because she said ‘he’s so annoying’ while walking away from you,” Bruce replies. 
“I just told her that Y/N is out with your cousin and maybe hinted at them becoming a thing,” Sam admits with a shrug like it’s no big deal.
Bruce sighs, “Why would you do that? And Jen is already dating someone. I think.”
“Well Wanda doesn’t know that. And maybe this way, she can realize that Y/N is not going to wait around forever for her,” Sam counters. 
“Stop meddling,” Bruce demands. “Let them figure it out on their own.”
You haven’t been ignoring Wanda, not like that first day after you told yourself to quit chasing after her. You join her in the mornings for breakfast. You have her coffee ready by the time she enters the kitchen. You still joke and tease. You still smile at her when you pass each other in the hallways.
To an outsider, you are behaving like you always have, but Wanda is no outsider. She notices the little changes. You don’t pull out her chair anymore during dinner. You don’t daydream while staring at Wanda at the latest team meeting in the conference room. In fact, you only bothered to glance at her when she had something to say. Usually Tony or Steve have to call you out for not paying attention to what they are saying with a comment like “L/N, I don’t pay you to stare at Maximoff. Eyes up here.”  
And now you are skipping movie night! You love movie night. After two fights and some negotiation, you even have a special reserved seat next to Wanda for these nights that you definitely take advantage of. Wanda forgoes wearing sweaters during movie nights because you always sneak your arm over her shoulder. The first few times you’ve done it, she’s shrugged you off but recently she’s happy she’s got her own little warmer in the cold room. Tonight she brings a sweater and Bucky sits in your spot. 
She tries her best to focus on the movie but finds herself paying more attention to whoever is walking in and out of the room, subconsciously hoping your night ends early. She tells herself it’s because she’s cold and too lazy to go searching for a blanket. Not because she misses you or anything, just your warmth.
You come home nearing midnight. Wanda only knows this because she was leaving her room to refill her water bottle while you were walking to yours. You are typing on your phone. Probably texting Jennifer, Wanda thinks. “Have a good night?” she asks you.
“Huh?” You look up a little startled. “Oh, hey Wanda. Didn’t see you there.” Wanda grunts displeased but either you don’t hear it or you ignore it. “Yeah, I had fun. What about you? How was the movie?”
“It was really good. You missed out,” she lies. Honestly, she prays you don’t ask her what it was titled. All she knows is it was an action movie from all the loud noises that would pull her attention. Apart from that, she has no idea what they watched tonight. 
“I’ll have to watch it later then. Goodnight, Wanda,” you excuse yourself, leaving her in the hallway without a glance back while you enter your room. 
“Night,” she replies to a shut door. 
The next evening there is a moment in which Wanda thinks things may go back to normal and she can finally prove to Natasha that whatever she and you have going on is completely one sided. 
She feels a light press against her back as she’s cooking, almost a phantom touch really and there is a part of her that wishes you’d commit and move a little closer, but she quickly eradicates the thought.
“Smells great, Wands.”
Who was Sam trying to fool? Wanda knows she’s still got you wrapped around her finger. She smirks to herself before answering, “Japanese cherry blossom.”
“What?” You look at her confused.
“It’s the new lotion I got,” Wanda explains. 
“Oh, I was talking about dinner but I’m sure your lotion smells good also,” you reply, taking a step back, giving Wanda her room thinking you may be crowding her.
Today though you guess personal space isn’t a problem for Wanda. “Here, smell it,” she moves toward you and flips her hair over to one shoulder. She cranes her neck and looks at you expectantly. You guess she wants you to sniff her neck. You do so cautiously. You pretend you don’t notice the goosebumps arise on her skin and that it doesn’t get your heart beating faster. You move away quickly trying not to look so affected. “Yeah, it smells nice.” 
“Do you want to help me cook?” A question she never thought she’d ask you. 
“I still don’t know how to cook.” 
“Never too late to learn.” 
“As much as I’d love a lesson from Chef Maximoff tonight, I actually have somewhere to be. And I’m running late,” you inform her after checking your phone to look at the time, missing the way her smirk turns into a frown. “I’d say save me a plate but I know the guys too well.”
“Where’s Y/N?” Bucky asks as soon as Wanda sits down at the table.
“She said she had somewhere to be,” Wanda tells him. 
“Probably out with Jennifer again,” Sam jeers. 
“Again? What is that, like the third time this week?” Natasha questions. My thoughts exactly, Wanda thinks. 
“So are they like a thing now?” Bucky asks through a mouthful of food. Wanda does her best not to seem so invested, so when Nat teases her, “Guess you don’t have to worry about Y/N’s little crush now, huh?” Wanda hums and nods. She can’t fool the widow though. Nat notices Wanda’s grip on her fork tighten after Bucky’s question. 
“Nah, Bruce said Jennifer’s already dating somebody,” reveals Sam. 
“Guess you’re not off the hook just yet,” Nat pokes fun at Wanda. Wanda rolls her eyes at Natasha’s remark but internally she sighs out of relief. Though the subject changes, Wanda is stuck on why she feels some sort of satisfaction finding out you aren’t dating Jennifer. 
She has an idea about why that is when she places a sticky note with your name on it on the plate she saved for you in the refrigerator. 
_________________________________________________________________
A/N: Long time, no see. That’s on me. Sorry. I had this ready for last Saturday but my laptop is refusing to turn on. I’m using my brother’s to post this. I hope I got everyone in the taglist who asked. See you in another 6 months! (jk) I’m working on the next chapter already. Probably good for next week.
Taglist: @skis1501 @xastrydx @almosttoopizza @m-r-nicely @matildeboh @ksslhdg @youlookterribleilookawesome @miss-chew @idkyidownloadedthisbutididanyway @simpformommywanda @wandanatfan @idcplss @poteitalouca @lizlil @watashiwaglr38 @natashaswifeu @unicorn2003 @kellexforthefuckingwin @sojo154 @sheriffhaughtearp @grxvitye @lissaaaa145 @pawiie @anitavdw @tearsofglitter @justyourwritter69 @natashasnoodle @vizox @anki-of-beleriand @an-evergreen-rose @jadechasesworld @lorsstar1st @captains-simp @natblackwidow2 @hella-hecka-gay @wandsmxmff @nothingisrealanyway @b0mbdotc0m @mmmmokdok @lonewalker17 @ageofolsen @infinnitycatchers @dark-hunter16 @ireadtofeel @reereeineedtopee @infrunamix @how-to-disappearr @username23345 @panthastichumanbeing @kurosstuff @chasethemoon @etheriaaly @youralphawolf72 @karmasgxrl @medinal @capswife @puathepig @whataloadof @splatasha-jumpinoff @afuckingshituniverse @justlurkingforyou @maximofflover @blackluthxr @scarletswandawitch @imdreamingblo @anxietyisgreat​ @xxromanoffxx @romanoffomixam @diaryoflife @natashasilverfox @harleyswanda @gimaximoff @simplysimping999 @cmaysf @frvny @sadpiscesheart @olsensnpm @chaekhan @dumpaccdontmindme @iliketozoneout @lordesolddepression @devriesgoode @shittylittleweirdo @i-have-no-life-charlie @dutifullysuperbwitch @teenybean @nothingisrealanyway @kas1644 @m-h-r-h @bpluvie @bottomforwanda  @daenerys713 @sandyche3ks @justyourwritter69 @get-the-fuck-outta-here @s1ut4nat @rooooooe @lenalesbian @alienstookourbunnies @lainjupi @mi-yo-0 @lesbesapphic @sylencr @i-wanna-be-a-deer @nightimemommy @donnietarantino @celticjess08 
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goldenempyrean · 8 months
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hihi :>> ur new prompt list is so refreshing !! can you please do “hmm… i’m keeping my eye on you”/“you’re hovering”/“no, i don’t need a tissue” for sick wanda and reader?
- 🎧
Cooking up Comfort
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〚 Notes - Hey 🎧 anon! Sorry this took a while, I was on such a writing streak then I was very stupid and gave myself food poisoning (oops...) and I've just kinda been busy since, so sorry the lack of stuff :) 〛
〚 Pairing - Wanda Maximoff x Reader 〛
〚 Summary - After a long day at work, you come home to find your adorable partner, Wanda, determinedly cooking a special dinner for you but it seems someone isn't feeling as good as they're letting on. 〛
〚 Wordcount - 1080 〛
〘 Check Out My Masterlist! 〙
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As you walked through the door of your cozy home, the warm aroma of something delicious filled the air. It was a familiar scent that immediately put a smile on your face, relaxing you instantly. After your long, exhausting day at work, Wanda’s cooking really did sound amazing. 
Upon stepping inside, you found Wanda bustling around the kitchen with an apron tied around her waist. She looked adorable like this, her hair messily worn in a bun but there was something off. Her cheeks were flushed but not in the normal heat-of-the-kitchen type of way, not to mention a hint of fatigue lingering in her eyes, yet she wore a determined smile that she couldn't hide from you as you came into the room. 
“Y/N, you’re home!” She smiled widely as she came over to hug you tight, “How was work?” She asked politely whilst kissing your cheek before turning her attention back to the sizzling pan behind her. 
“Oh, you know how it is,” You sighed, coming to sit on one of the small stools tucked into the island, “One of the new interns decided it was a good idea to have it out with the regional manager so that was mildly entertaining.” 
Wanda chuckled as she stirred the pan, “Well I’m glad your day wasn’t awful then, we mainly did recon training today, so I got home a little earlier,” She said before spinning on her heels as she held up two bottles of spices, “You in the mood for something spicy or you feeling something sweeter?” 
"I'd love something spicy," you replied, trying to keep the conversation light as you watched her move swiftly around the kitchen. However, your eyes kept drifting to the little signs that something was off. The small sniffles and the way she kept subtly rubbing her temples had you questioning if she felt just as chirpy as she acted. 
The two of you kept chatting, tell each other about your day but halfway through a sentence, Wanda paused and held up a finger to before her breath hitched and she crouched in on herself as she sneezed twice in rapid succession before rubbing at her nose and sniffling afterwards, clearly still itchy. 
"Bless you love, you feeling okay though, Wands? You look a bit under the weather." you gently inquired, trying to sound more concerned rather than pushy, “You need a tissue?” 
Wanda turned to face you, the determination in her eyes momentarily faltering before she quickly masked it with a cheerful smile. "No, I don’t need a tissue, don't you worry about me, love. I'm absolutely fine," she said, waving off your concern with a dismissive hand gesture. "I felt like preparing something special for us tonight, that's all, probably just the spices in the air getting to me or something.” 
You hummed, debating whether to push it further, “Hmm… I'm keeping my eye on you. 
"You're always keeping your eye on me.”  Wanda teased playfully, though you could make out the appreciation in her eyes as she flashed you a smile before turning back and returned to tending to the meal. 
As you watched her try and muffle a small cough into her elbow, you couldn’t help but feel torn. On one hand, you were thrilled that she was going out of her way to make a nice dinner for the two of you, with your busy lives, it wasn’t something you got to do often. But on the other hand, you couldn’t help but wish she’d give in and actually tell you how she was feeling. 
As you continued to mull things over the smell of the food intensified, and your stomach growled in response. Wanda looked over at you, a mix of pride and exhaustion in her gaze. "Almost ready," she said, her voice a touch weaker than before. 
"Why don't you go sit down, and I'll bring everything to the table?" you suggested, wanting to give her a chance to rest. Wanda bit her lip as she hesitated but eventually nodded, giving in to your offer. 
When the meal was finally served, Wanda's eyes sparkled with delight as she watched you take your first bite. "Is it good?" she asked eagerly. 
You couldn't lie; the flavours were incredible; she really was an amazing cook. “It’s amazing love, it tastes so good.” You smiled as you took another bite, “You did such a great job, thank you.” It was hard to miss the excited glow that appeared on her face at your words of paise. 
You both finished your meal, savouring each bite of the delicious dish before you. Your conversation flowed easily as you chatted about your day, plans for the weekend, and shared stories that made each other laugh but like earlier, Wanda had paused suddenly and quickly brought a napkin to her face, sneezing into it quietly. 
Picking up your empty plates, you began to clear the table, putting the dishes in the sink before coming behind the chair she was sat on, in response she leaned back and looked up at you through glassy green eyes.  
“You’re hovering.” She whispered, earning herself a small laugh as you leant down to press a soft kiss to her forehead. One that lasted a little too long at the creeping heat that met your cool lips. 
“And you’re too warm.” 
Wanda chuckled softly, her cheeks turning slightly pink as she leaned into your touch. "I guess I can't hide it from you, huh?" she admitted, her voice tinged with a hint of exhaustion. 
"Nope. We’ll have to go and get you all cosy and comfortable." you said gently, running your fingers through her hair. "But for next time, just tell me, okay? I care about you about love, and I’d like to know if you’re not feeling a 100%." 
She sighed, leaning her head against your shoulder. "I know, but I just wanted tonight to be special for us. I didn't want my little cold to ruin it." 
"You being here with me makes it special already," you replied, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. "But I don't want you to overexert yourself. You made such a lovely dinner for me, didn’t you? Why don’t you let me return the favour and look after you.” 
As Wanda leaned into your touch, she nodded softly, appreciating your concern and care. "Okay, you win," she chuckled weakly, "I'll let you take care of me." 
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darkgalactic · 2 months
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Deep cut were invited to a masquerade party in inkopolis by the squid sisters.
Despite their dislike for anything fancy they decided to go, for maries sake.
they all get there in their best outfits with shiver in a black dress covered in a light blue sash and a decorative face covering. Frye with a black eye mask with decorations and a yellow sleeveless button top and glittered pants with diamond shape cutouts. And Big man with a Black sun hat, black bow tie with polka dots and a golden colored mask.
Once they got to the party it's like all of the musical artists are here, The Chirpy chips, Ink theory, even the latest H2Whoa. The group were in awe of the theme (not some fancy smancy stuff). The group spotted the whole squid beak including Dj Octavio. ever since he help neo agent 3 he has officially become a member and finally made peace with Cuttlefish. (it was all callie’s idea)
Then Big man saw a familiar figure in the crowd. He could believe it at first but it was him, Mr coco. He really couldn't believe it. How is Mr Coco here? Was all of the splatsville invited? Big man approached Mr Coco until he spotted him and his face lit up.
“Big man! it’s great to see you here” Mr coco” big man
“great to see you too” “but I gotta ask,how are you here?”
“Oh harmony was invited and chose me to be her plus one.” Mr coco answered.
“Wow…you must be special to her then”
Mr coco nodded in agreement. “so…how’s the holidays been treating ya” Big man asked. “oh it’s been great asides from the overwhelming amount of customers..w-well i mean that’s good business right?” Mr Cooc laughed. it’s like the ray could go on about his ramblings as if he was lost in his voice or..eyes.
Just then the regular music died down and the sound of creole filled the room. It was time for the main event. Every sea creature on the floor each got a partner to dance with. By instinct Big man turned to Mr coco as he held out his claw. 
“May I have this dance?” Mr Coco offered asides from all the extra shoppers this time around and 
Manta Ray's face was bright red as he was about to experience a magical moment with his lover.
“Yes you may.” Big man accepted
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Meanwhile Frye and Shiver were having a chat with the squid sisters until they noticed big man wasn't with them until they saw the ray dancing with the coconut crab
“there he is with that big crab again” the blue octoling uttered
“Come on shiver, let them have it, and besides it has romance all over it” frye gushed. 
“She’s right and besides it’s a little what you both need right now” Marie smirked while callie giggled. 
“Well we’re not the ones dancing-“ Shiver was pulled away by Frye into the dance floor.
“Screw it let’s Dance”
And thus the rest of this snowy night ended like a fairytale.
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celestialwhoree · 2 months
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Gunslinger Ghost & Rancher!Reader🏜🐎
The Southern sun is almost unpleasantly hot against the skin of your neck, beating down through the thin linen of the shirt at your back, sweat dripping into the arch there - the perks of spending all morning trying to wrangle goats into a new pen, whilst simultaneously trying to fix said pen on your own. You've a hammer in one hand, nails digging through the pockets of your jeans into the skin of your upper thigh whilst you sling a lead rope over your shoulder with a huff of frustration. The nicker of horses and cluck of chickens is the only thing heard on the breezeless air, no sound of truck tyres crunching on the gravel or mindless chatter. Just the way you like it.
The empty feed trough seems to glare holes into your back despite the lack of eyes, but if the warm metal were able to vocalise, or think, for that matter, it would undoubtedly be grumbling to you about not being such a hermit and actually making the short trip to the feed and supply store in town, and with a sigh, you recognise that your imaginary feed trough dialogue is probably correct. The truck engine rumbles to life with protest, which you manage to quell by turning the keys just right, giving the ignition the little push it needs to really get going in spite of the lazy haze which settles over this side of the world when the sun relents its mercy.
The problem with a town like this, you tell yourself, is that everyone knows everyone, knows their secrets and their families and their homes. People come in, but they never leave, don't even realise they've been sucked into the simplistic ease of quiet town living until they're too comfortable to give it up. The strong, chirpy drawl of Marlene snaps you from your reverie, bright blonde curls and a brighter smile invading your vision as she stands before you squealing about how she's hardly seen you and how good you look, in spite of your somewhat dishevelled appearance and work clothes which you didn't bother to change from before coming to the store.
"You heard about the new guy moved in town?" She bounces excitedly from foot to foot, grinning wickedly when she catches your attention and the inquisitive look you don't bother hiding.
"Walk and talk." You mutter in response, cocking your head to one side as you move over towards the animal care section, loading a bag of feed into your cart, muscles straining under the weight, all whilst Marlene chats away off topic, talking about some guy with a mohawk at the bar until you shoot her a sharp look which tells her wordlessly that you don't care about mohawk, and are very much only interested in the new guy in town.
"Apparently he's military or sum'n, according to Dean. Saw him at the body shop when I was droppin' Frank his lunch. Man's huge, scary lookin'. You'd like him." She chuckles with a roll of her pretty eyes, never quite having understood your penchant for people as equally, if not more closed off than you.
"Not looking for anyone." Your grunt causes her to sigh dramatically, grabbing you by the bicep to keep your attention, her pretty eyes meeting yours with a sharp look.
"You gotta try." She groans pleadingly, giving you a little squeeze for emphasis. "It's been over a year, and he might be nice!"
"You said he looked scary." Marlene groans at your lazy deadpan tone. "You like scary! You're scary too-" She huffs when you go to protest, flattening her palm over your mouth to stop you from interrupting her. "C'mon - we all know everyone in town is terrified of your RBF."
"You're not-"
"Yes I am."
After checking out, Marlene follows you to your truck, standing there like a lemon as you heave animal feed into the bed, too used to her less than helpful nature to complain.
"C'mon! Just go have a look! Bring him your casserole!" She whines, tipping her blonde head back into the sunshine. "You could get a man on one knee with that."
"I'll think about it." You huff, and she squeals joyously, wrapping you into a hug before striding off to go peddle some more gossip no doubt - and when you get home, you can't help but root through your cookbooks.
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shunshunrika · 9 months
Note
3 some w isagi and bachira?
maybe include Nagi too if you're comfy (T_T)
luv ur works really I've been stalking ur acc (not in a creepy way) (*_*")
omg nooo it's not creepy at all and THANK YOU LOVE FOR READING my noob-grade, thirsty thoughts on this blog!! let me know how you like this!
warnings: SMUT, mdni, 18+ only, afab!reader, cum play, double penetration, mfm, vaginal s*x, nipple play, kissing, oral (m. and f. recieving), handjobs, and the like. not proofread towards the end.
PASS! ft. Isagi Yoichi and Bachira Meguru
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symbiosis(sym.bi.o.sis) (n.) - a mutually beneficial relationship between different people or groups.
You had initially firmly believed that monogamy was the absolute law of the land, and that polyamory was for unconventional freaks. Yeah, you'd have your fair share of hookups, but you'd never consider dating two people at once. With that in mind, you struggled to find a partner who would satisfy two very dominant traits of your personality - being taken care of and to take care of.
Yes, such people exist, and it was a constant fight to keep both sides of you satisfied until you had grown the balls to admit you were wrong about your rigid notions.
You had begun dating your tinder match, Meguru Bachira on a whim. It had started off as a casual fling, a few hookups here and there to keep both of you happy - but you started to grow affectionate towards the chirpy boy who would cling to you and eventually offered him a real date.
You thought it was going great with Meguru. He was a good guy. Friendly, loving, hilarious and above all respectful and considerate. He was the one who observed you were not being yourself to the fullest extent in this relationship and he was the one who proposed that you bring in another chap into the mix.
He told you that one of his closest friends, some guy by the name of Yoichi Isagi was picking up interest in you after having seen you and chatted with you at one of the football association gatherings as Meguru's +1. (Yes, your boyfriends were footballers, it was supremely hot) He confessed to Meguru about his growing infatuation after a chance bar outing and getting drunk. Meguru was initially jealous because he wanted you all to himself but with time, he considered that Isagi would be the perfect guy to bring out your other side, the one you hide with Meguru. With that, the three of you met up and after a lot of fidgeting around and a lot of scrutiny on your end, you decided to become a throuple.
It turned out to be one of the best decisions of your life and you couldn't thank Meguru enough for it. You took control and had your ego tickled when your baby, Meguru was with you and you were able to let go off the steering wheel while Isagi made sure you were pampered to hell. So far, you had kept your sex lives separate. You were riding Meguru on some days and on some days, you were being f*cked into the mattress by Isagi. It was perfect.
*******
"Yoichi" you whispered into Isagi's ear, laying on top of him on the bed as he scrolled through his phone, reading web-manga. You had come over to Isagi's house today as Meguru was grinding at practice the whole day. It had been a few days since you saw Isagi as he was overseas for a work-related business. You had figured since it was his off day, the two of you could maybe catch up a bit and watch a movie. That and you desperately needed his kisses.
He gave the best kisses in the world, he easily trumped Meguru in that department.
"What is it, baby?" he asks softly, removing strands of hair from your forehead so they don't fall into your eyes. He keeps the phone aside and embraces you, rubbing your back.
"I want kisses." you say, pouting. Meguru hasn't actually seen you this way ever and you were always curious as to how he would react if he did.
"Kisses?" Yoichi smirked at you, bringing your face closer to him.
"Here?" he asked, pressing a peck to your forehead as you shook your head.
"Then here?" he pressed another kiss to your cheek.
"Yoichi! You know what I mean!" you whined, squirming in his grip as he laughed.
"Oh, right, right." he said, kissing your nose and scrunching up his face when he sees your expression. "Ah, you are such good entertainment!" he says, finally leaving a kiss on your lips.
"Can't believe Bachira had you to himself for three whole months before I got my hands on you."
You were barely listening to what he was saying though. Today marked the twelfth day since you had subbed. and you were desperate. You grabbed Isagi by the hair and brought him down on your face again.
"Hey, Easy there-" he managed to speak before you were pushing your tongue into his mouth. It's not long before he's groaning into your mouth, the sweat from both of your foreheads making your hair stick to them. You snake your hands up into his t-shirt and feel his taut muscles relaxing and contracting as you continue to smooch him. You feel him bite your upper lip to make you stop for a second.
"Enough with the lips." he commanded, moving his mouth to latch onto your neck and start sucking there as he positions himself under you to squeeze the fat of your waist.
"Ah, I missed this!" you yelp as he hits a delicious spot near the crook of your neck. "Go harder!" you find yourself getting lost in Isagi's moves and his heady scent until a familiar jolly voice cuts through your senses.
"Y/N?" you see Meguru standing by the door of Isagi's bedroom and the both of you look at him skeptically. He seemed a little off - duller, somehow.
"How'd you get in?" Isagi asked. No he wasn't offended or anything that he had just interrupted your hot make out session. Isagi was probably genuinely concerned about house safety.
"You gave me the keys months ago, dumbass." Meguru said, approaching your bed and making your heartbeat spike unknowingly. He had in fact caught you in an embarrassing position even if he had scene every nook and cranny of your body by now. He didn't seem too bothered though, something else was on his mind. And Isagi spoke before you could.
"Something up, bro?"
"Nothing. Midfield play was amazing. Some of the guys on my team messed up some of the goals though. Had to take the brunt of that loss as the captain. I was up against Nagi's team today."
You feel a chill run up your spine when you hear that name. You two had hooked up. But it was only once, probably a year ago now, before Bachira happened and the both of you were drunk out of your minds. Nagi's poor aftercare was enough reason for you to leave first thing in the morning, leaving him butt naked and with a few notes of cash stuck in his buttcrack as thanks for the one orgasm you fingered out of yourself when he came too early and slept off.
"Hey, don't feel too low." Isagi said. "At least, when it comes to Nagi."
"I was one more 'your play is boring' comment away from kicking him in the nuts." Bachira said, rubbing the back of his neck and crouching down beside the bed to twirl a strand of your hair. "How you doing, babe?"
You felt so sorry for him when you saw his puppy like eyes. You knew exactly what he needed, and you knew he wouldn't dare to ask because he assumed this was your quality time with Isagi.
"Megu-chan, do you want to do it?" you offered generously and saw Meguru turn red.
"Wh-Huh-W-Well you're... I thought you were busy with Isagi and so." Meguru stuttered, clearly embarrassed.
"Come up," you said, guiding his head to lay on your chest. You lifted up your shirt to expose your breasts to him and both Bachira and Isagi started at your soft mounds in awe.
"Meguru likes to suck on them when he's down." you explain to Isagi as he looks on curiously. "Go on, Megu." and with your permission, Meguru latches on to one of your breasts and starts suckling like a baby. You let one hand remain on Isagi's neck and caress Meguru's head with the other. "Where were we?" you ask as Isagi hesitantly continues kissing your neck. You now have pleasure ebbing at you from two different spots on your body. Meguru's mouth is relentless as he gropes one of your breasts and sucks the life out of the other one. Isagi on the other hand has a tight grip on your jaw and alternates between your neck and your mouth with his hungry kisses. Soon, your thighs grow weak, and you feel wetness gather in your nether regions. You moan into Isagi's mouth, and he breaks the kiss to look at you and then at Bachira.
"Okay, enough." Isagi says irritably, trying to pry Meguru's lips off your nipples, earning angry whines from the boy. "Pass her to me. It's my turn now." Isagi says, descending onto your chest and flicking at your nipples with his tongue. You watch Bachira stare at the two of you while biting his lip. There seemed to be some uneasiness in his pants. You beckoned him to stand up and drop his pants for you to inspect.
"Looks like you're hard already, Meguru." you smile at his embarassed red face as he hides his boner with his hands. "I-I got carried away."
You start stroking his length gingerly. He has a pretty one, medium sized, curvy, thin - quite soft. Thin green veins running all along it. It's the curve that you love the most though, reaches some wicked places inside you after all. You start pumping his length soon enough as Isagi notes all of this. This special attention you give Bachira always. He used to consider it a given for being the dommest of the three but now he craves for more. He grabs your wrist and slides it onto his hard shaft instead, staring at you intently.
"I said I want to have her now." he commands. "That means no Bachira for a few minutes, understood?"
"Don't steal my girl like you steal my ball on the court, Isagi." Bachira cuts through and gently places his length in your mouth, holding your chin.
You love it. Love it! The two men you crave for the most fighting over who gets you.
"Y/N. If you divert your attention from my c*ck for even a second, you don't get to cum tonight, do you understand?" he asks, placing his own hand on your grip his hard on. You nod at him eagerly, mouth already full of Bachira's c*ck. You take a look at Isagi's. It stands tall and very straight. A bit above average. Two very large blue veins and a smaller tip.
You start taking the two men like a champ. One of them moans and whines while thrusting his body into your mouth while the other sighs and groans, whimpering occasionally as his manhood lies in the mercy of your fist. You are able to maintain this pace well until Bachira grabs your hair and makes you turn towards his c*ck, diverting your attention there.
"My Pass. Now give your all here like a good girl." he says, panting and lazily. Bachira?!! Was this your subby Bachira?
"I will cum on you first." Bachira declares but Isagi won't let him have that.
"Sorry, she's busy." he says, grabbing you altogether and pinning you on the bed, caging you such that he acts like a barrier between you and Bachira. You make doe eyes at Bachira and mouth a 'sorry'.
"I am so ruining you tonight-" Isagi starts but Bachira is already pushing at his chest. "Hey, you thief. Get off, she's mine!"
"She's mine. She had her first squirt with me!" Isagi yells back.
"No. That was with me. What did you do even? Can't compare to my tongue."
"HAH?? Don't make me make you suck my c*ck!" Isagi screamed.
"Like hell! In your dreams!"
You let their drama unfold as you patiently removed the rest of your clothing and waited for them coyly. When they noticed you sat there undressed, both their hands went to their own clothes. Bachira beat Isagi by a second and jumped on you.
"I am doing you first!" he said excitedly. You eye Isagi apprehensively.
"Fine, Meguru get's to pick where he wants to put it in first." you declare, winking at Isagi. That sets him off. He picks you up by your thighs and seats you down on his angry hard on, eliciting a thunderous moan from you.
"You sucker!" Bachira yells out, scrambling like a panther and positioning himself. He enters you in the same hole as Isagi, making your eyes bulge out from pain and pleasure.
"She said she wanted me to pick!"
You let them fight over you yet again as you got drunk in the pleasure of being double penetrated. Bachira from the front and Isagi from the back. Fortunately, they kept thrusting in and out as they bantered, not in sync, always keeping you on the edge of what will come next. You were so overwhelmed, you put your arms around Bachira's shoulder for support and Isagi yanked you by your hair.
"Not him, before me." he whispered darkly into your ear.
"You dumbass, she's hurting!" Bachira scolded Isagi, embracing you and rubbing your back.
"I-I'm-" you lean back and bump into Isagi, pushing your tongue into his mouth as you twisted your neck around. "Do it harder, Yoichi! Only you can."
That was enough motivation for Isagi to pick you off of Bachira's c*ck and go full force into you, making you bounce on his lap as he thrusted upwards, gritting his teeth and hissing. Bachira didn't want to give up in any way possible though, so he swooped down and started his assault on your clit.
The two men worked relentlessly to make a sludge out of your brain and your innards. Your eyes rolled back as you yelped and came violently right into Bachira's open mouth. You couldn't tell if it was his doing or Yoichi's.
Yoichi didn't stop though. He kept up with his pace while Bachira retracted, savoring your juice and licking it off his chin. Isagi positioned himself so that he attacked you sweet spot and you came yet again, this time spraying fluid everywhere. Especially on Bachira's face and chest.
"Yes!" Bachira exclaimed. "Do all that hardwork and I get all of Y/N's output!" he mocked Isagi.
"Well, don't you worry. Y/N gets mine." Isagi smirked, pulling out of you as you plop to the bed and positions his tip at your mouth.
"Drink up." he says, emptying all his cum onto your welcoming tongue.
"Mmmm." you moaned as you took the thick, creamy substance in, swishing it around with your tongue and blowing bubbles in it. As you came down from your orgasm, and sucked on your finger, completely deranged, you saw something unexpected take place.
Bachira, who was a tad bit taller than Isagi pushed him down into the bed.
"And this is for you." he said, pumping his curvy cock next to Isagi's face as Isagi prepared for the impact with a snarl. As Isagi closed his eyes, Bachira dumped all of his seed onto Isagi's face.
You gawked at them in awe, disbelief, amusement, what not.
BACHIRA?
MEGURU BACHIRA? Your sweet, subby, 'I'll eat you out, that's all' boy?
"Come here." he motioned for you to get closer and you scrambled towards him from your place on the bed.
"Put whatever's in your mouth back into his." he demanded, holding your arm. You took one look at Isagi. He seemed to be in a daze, face covered in cum. From the orgasm or from what Bachira did, who knows. Initially, you refused Bachira's demand as you wanted Yoichi's cum to yourself.
"Do it, and I'll give you something better baby." he said, stroking your cheek. So you went for it. Dumping all of Isagi's cum and your saliva right back into his mouth. Return Gift with interest.
You turned to Bachira now.
"Good girl. Now lick my jizz off his face and swallow it right up, honey." he said with his chirpy voice, pointing to Isagi's face.
You were appalled at how you never knew about this side of Bachira. and you were extremely pleasantly surprised.
You proceeded to exactly as he said and licked all of Bachira's cum off of a still dazed Isagi's face. Gulping it down readily.
"That's my girl." Bachira complimented you, while placing a soft kiss on your lips.
"Ahhh! I feel better already!" he stretched out, backing down and laying on the bed, pulling you to lay atop him. The both of you turned an eye to Isagi who was passed out beside you.
"Mate has no stamina I see." Meguru joked and you chuckled.
"Guess he's only good at passing on the field then." you said, playing with Meguru's hair.
"Oh he isn't." Meguru corrected you. "I am."
"If I don't pass, Isagi can't win. If I don't set it up for him, he can't please you. Symbiosis."
"That's why you let me be with him then." you said, gasping. "Meguru, I didn't know you were crafty like that."
"Don't ever forget who's the boss now." he said, giving you his signature playful wink.
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larvaem1lk · 11 months
Text
talk too much
ellie williams x reader
🦋 ok so. this is kinda a little bit based off of me because when i’m around someone i really like i will talk their head off & just be annoying overall LOL. anyway, just reader being a lil too talkative while ellie’s trying to work ! but at the end she just gives in bc she loves her gf duhh
🦋 um no warnings !! thanks for reading :-*
(also sorry if ur name is miranda, kristy or ashlin. i just picked names off the top of my head whoops)
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ellie’s sat at her desk typing on her computer, with a textbook open and desktop lamp casting a soft golden yellow across the thick pages. you’re in a chair beside her, the type with wheels that roll around, chatting and giggling about nonsense. you’re chirpy and awfully energetic being that it was midnight.
since you hadn’t seen your favorite green eyed girl all day, you walked in her dorm worried and confused. though the feeling quickly subsided as you saw her slumped over her desk, eyes glued to the large book in front of her.
greeting her with a quick peck to the cheek, you immediately plopped down on her bed and began rambling about your day, your girlfriend being the perfect person to tell all your thoughts to.
that was about three hours ago, and you were still here, talking and flying through the clouds in your own little world, practically annoying ellie at this point.
you were filling her in on the drama now, but ellie was too busy absorbing information about stars and celestial bodies and the universe. she’d give the occasional ‘mhm’, or ‘oh okay…’ in attempts to seem interested, yet her efforts went unnoticed.
“yeah like i was saying, i just can’t believe that miranda found kristy and ashlin in the bathroom…together? i mean it’s kristina, stuck up and bitchy kristina who i’m sure was straight. that girl—yeah. but then it’s like, i don’t understand what position they’d have to be in for both of them to be on the wall… you know? i dunno! shits crazy, el. like batshit fucking mad. utterly ridiculous. off the charts. luludelulu. like-” you giggle, finding the words coming out your mouth silly and slightly embarrassing.
ellie blows a stale laugh through her nose, hoping that’d satisfy you as she was completely lost in whatever you were talking about. something about girls on girls, but she wasn’t interested. if it didn’t relate to you on top of her, or vice versa, she didn’t care.
she nibbled on her bottom lip as her eyes scanned over the tiny words of the textbook, brows furrowing as she was in deep thought. though she couldn't really focus due to the sound of a pen clicking nonstop. she gives you a glance and mumbles, “you have any work to do babe?” the sound quite literally driving her insane.
you tap the pen on the table now, pretending to draw love hearts around ellie’s name. “mmm, no. i don’t know. i just wanna be with you right now,”
“hm, okay.” ellie widens her eyes while letting a sigh slip out. this was going to be a loonngg night.
you twirl around in the chair for a while, humming a melody before another topic comes to mind. ellie doesn’t even say anything, pleased that you moved on from the pen to humming.
“anyway. i’ve been thinking…” you trail off, eyes meeting the ceiling as you tilted your head to the side in wonder. ellie hums flatly, lifting her head to the computer screen as she begins typing.
“…when we get married one day,” you begin, and ellie hums with more interest in her voice. okay, you were talking about marriage now. not between kristy and ashlin, but you and her. see, she was paying attention.
“y’think it would be on the beach? or, i dunno. maybe… like homey, set up in our cute backyard, once we get a house of course—with like, dina and jesse and joel and my people. just family. oh! oh my gosh! yeah it should definitely be in our backyard. that’s so cute. that’s cute, right el?”
“totally.” ellie agreed, leaning forward to squint through the white noise of the computer.
you chuckle at the monotone of her voice, wheeling forward to get a closer look at her. “totally, she said. when has ellie williams ever said totally?”
“now.” she responds, and somehow her comment is even funnier. you swing your feet back and forth, babbling on.
“ooh, what about las vegas? you know we’ll be eating good. like, good ellie. i think gordon ramsay has a restaurant there. or what if we get married in paris!” you practically squeal, scooting closer to your girlfriend.
you’re only quiet for a few seconds, eyes flitting over her scattered desk before another idea comes to mind. “oh, the eiffel tower… wait! wait.” you place a hand on her shoulder, fingers tapping against the soft material of her hoodie as you try to gather your thoughts.
there’s a brief moment of silence, and ellie’s mind feels calmer. cooler. she exhales a small slip of breath, letting her fingers type efficiently against the keys. besides that, the dorm is quiet. she could even hear the crickets outside chirping. finally. ellie thinks.
don’t get her wrong, she loved your rambles. your rants. your voice in general. but right now she was in work mode, 76% immersed in the material as the other 24% was for you.
that number was slowly ticking down with each second longer you stayed quiet, her completely focused on studying and only studying. she’s glad you took a break though. allowing your voice to rest, taking a moment to soak in the stillness—
“oh my fucking gosh! italy! we should get married in italy!”
nevermind.
ellie flinches. she flinches so hard that a cramp forms in her neck, squeezing and throbbing with a heat that burns through her upper back. “fuck,” she curses under her breath, rubbing at the spot. it’s like a tiny ringing appears in her ears at the sound of your voice; you’re babbling now, eyes wide as you shake ellie’s shoulder in excitement.
she lets you shake her as she tries to turn to you, tense and cautious of your next possible outburst.
“baby,” she says in an attempt to calm you, but you don’t hear her. obviously. too busy arranging wedding plans in your head.
“just—imagine the love, the romance. oh ellie, i really think we should do it! we’re gonna have to fly everyone out, and—ohhh the food…”
she smiles, feeling her heart swell against her chest. you were the cutest thing. oh, she was being such a dick. just let your girl ramble about wedding plans ellie, is your studying really that important?
yes. it was. so important in that all of the knowledge she had consumed tonight was to be used for a huge exam tomorrow that she could not fail. she couldn't fail. i can’t fail it.
but look at you, with your big bright smile, and your pretty sparkly eyes. the way you’re so excited about marrying her makes her wanna kiss you. kiss you. oh shit, that’s it.
“oh my gosh ellie, the food. would it be stupid to serve pizza? ‘cause y’know, some people don’t like pasta. but we’re in italy, and it’s literally… so like…everyone loves pizza! ugh, what should we serve?! and who the fuck doesn’t like pasta? hey, d’yknow if dina or joel—”
you’re cut off when her lips meet yours abruptly, both of her hands grab each side of your face to pull you closer. the kiss doesn’t deepen. it doesn’t escalate. your lips are just pressed to hers for a very, long time.
you try to wiggle free but ellie doesn’t let go. your lips smush together when you try to talk, and ellie sighs internally. the only thing you had done all night was talk, talk, talk. ellie didn’t wanna be mean, but damn, what else did you have to say?
she pulls away with an agitated groan, and you try to catch your breath while licking your lips.
“wha—what was that for? i was talking—”
“yeah, babe. you were talking. give it a rest, alright? geez,” she shakes her head and sighs out a breathy laugh before turning back over to her computer. “i can’t focus with you in my ear like that.” she mutters, not realizing that she’d just stabbed a knife through your heart.
you’re quiet, cheeks burning in embarrassment. you bounce your leg as you stare at the side of her face before looking at her computer, a wave of sadness creeping over you.
a few minutes pass, and it’s still quiet. too quiet. your mind is still whirring and picturing the perfect wedding for you and your girlfriend, and all you wanna do is talk about it. talk, talk, talk.
you bite your lip to prevent any sudden outbursts or peeps that might irritate ellie. you fiddle with your hands in your lap, and when ellie glances over to your pitiful frame, she frowns.
okay… shit. maybe i kinda fucked up. lemme see what’s wrong.
she types out the final words of her sentence before turning to face you, tilting her head to see your facial expression as your head is hung low.
“hey, babe,” she whispers, and you lift your head with a sigh.
“hm.” is all you say, your spark dimmed and nearing burnout.
ellie places a hand on your knee. her hand is cold and rough, which makes a ding go off in your mind.
“you know they say cold hands mean a warm heart.” you mumble, eyes shifting down to your fingers to continue fiddling with them. you had to let it slip it out, whether she liked it or not. you were sure after this that you’d keep your responses to a minimum, though.
ellie chuckles. you were always the type to say little phrases like that. “yeah? who’s they? ‘cause i dunno if that’s really true—”
“it is true! and don’t ask me. that’s what they always say… and it’s really true, because your—” you cut yourself off, a faint smile on your lips, but it soon falls once you realize you were supposed to be giving the almost silent treatment.
“…well? i’m intrigued now. you can’t just leave me hangin’ like that y’know.”
“ellie… i’ll tell you later.”
“later? why not now?”
you shrug, and ellie scoffs.
“hey, don’t be like that, i wanna know!” she nudges your arm with a smile, trying to pick up your mood. your facial expression remains, unamused.
“okay,” ellie sits up straighter and faces her desk to slam her computer, her book right after. that gets your attention, your head whipping up in confusion. she turns back to you, intent on giving you her undivided attention.
“alright. talk to me.”
you groan, trying to refrain from smiling. “ellie, i can’t-”
“you can.”
“but i was being really rude while you were working, and then you told me to basically shut up so i—“
ellie feels regret bubble in the pit of her chest, sizzling and erupting into her veins. she felt hot now. guilty.
damn, i really fucked up. “babe, i-i didn’t…” she pauses as she slides a hand down her face. “i didn’t tell you to shut up. not... in that way. i was just, a little overwhelmed, that’s all. i’m sorry, okay? truly. you know i love it when you talk to me. so… c’mon. lemme hear that pretty voice of yours.”
you feel bashful, eyelashes fluttering as your gaze meets the floor. you wanna give in, you really want to… but you quickly shake your head, no. she’s gotta finish her work. “but… you need to work, el. i told you i’ll just tell you later.”
her brows furrow, “uh, what work? right now is dedicated to me and my girl.” her green eyes shimmer a silver in the glow of the lamplight as she searches your face, and you feel shy under her gaze, your heart beating a little bit faster. you sigh quietly, a grin finding itself on your lips. “you sure?”
ellie shrugs. “of course. tell me allll about it.” she rests her elbow on her desk while leaning her head in her hand. 
“okay.” you beam, starting another one of your rambles. ellie can’t help but stare at you in awe.
230 notes · View notes
adoremexxs · 6 months
Text
Sweater Weather
Chapter Two
warnings: kissing, drinking, mentions of drugs, yeahhhh i wrote this late at night so enjoy
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You. (Y/N) (L/N). You were gorgeous! You were getting ready for the party Urogi invited you to. You couldn’t wait to see that absolutely beautiful man…Sekido did get your attention though.
Those pretty ruby eyes, the sharp and narrow features of his, his muscles practically breaking his hoodie, Sekido made you kick your feet back and forth.
Aizetsu is so sweet and so kind! He’s such a sweetheart. Urogi had managed to get your number! We don’t ask why or how.
But he put you in a group chat with some other numbers.
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urogi: guys (y/n) is in here
sekido: why did u add her to the brother gc
Oh. So the other numbers are the brothers. Urogi told you who everyone was while you were getting ready, just checking your phone every 5 seconds whenever you hear a notification.
You still haven’t met Karaku! You wanted to meet him and he hasn’t said anything in the groupchat. You were curious…
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You wore the skimpiest and shortest outfit you could find. Whenever you walked into Douma’s house, you turned heads. Men AND women were eyeing you up and down. It made your ego soar.
You were busy looking for Urogi. You found him! Tucked away in a corner. You headed over to him.
“Hey, Urogi!” You waved at him, only to realize it was not Urogi. He looked like Sekido but with green eyes and more feminine features.
“Oh…you aren’t Urogi…you must be Karaku, yeah?”
Karaku smelled amazing, his cologne definitely seemed expensive. His outfit even looked expensive. You bit your lip, watching his eyes trail you up and down.
“I am. You must be (Y/N) (L/N), yeah?”
“Yeah.”
It was an awkward silence. Karaku was watching your every move before he finally grinned, “Wanna drink?”
“Hell yeah.”
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.
.
You may have had a few too many drinks.
You just met Karaku but you already could tell you both would be best friends. He was fun, loud and adventurous.
So whenever Karaku’s lips met yours, you didn’t pull away. Instead you returned the energy, biting his bottom lip and roughly shoving your tongue into his mouth. He was all for it, matching whatever energy you put in.
You both were hidden in a corner, everyone’s dancing and drinking distracted them from you both having a full-on makeout session.
Karaku pulled away first, panting and gasping for breath, “Let’s do something crazy.”
You were panting, your lips swollen from the abusive kisses, “What?”
“Let’s get fucking high.”
Karaku’s lips had curled into a smirk. He was wanting to see how far you would take it. You were about to respond before Douma had found you two.
“Karaku, (Y/N)! This way! Urogi and Sekido are looking for you.” The blonde bimbo grabbed your hand a little too comfortably and dragged you off, making Karaku follow behind.
You found yourself in a little room, not a lot of people were in here. Sekido was sitting on the couch, man-spreading. You could see the boner through his sweatpants and man, did you wanna go feral.
“(Y/N)!” Urogi’s chirpy voice caught you off guard, he wrapped you in a tight hug. “I was worried sick.” If he noticed your swollen lips, he didn’t say anything.
“Stay here with Sekido. Me, Karaku and Douma have to do something.” Urogi’s pretty smile makes you practically melt. You couldn’t believe you were going feral for men you just met!
The three leave the room, it’s really just you and Sekido who is looking up at you, dazed out of his mind.
You rock back and forth on your feet before sitting down extremely close to him. Your skirt rode up a bit but you tried to pull it down.
“So, Sekido…” You trail off, looking at how he was wearing long sleeves. He wears long sleeves all the time. You wonder why. You were really just staring at his boner the entire time.
“It’s kinda rude to stare at my dick, y’know?” Sekido tilts his head over to you, that look in his eyes making your whole body shudder. That half-lidded look makes you bit onto your lips.
You already kissed one brother, what’s another?
You were going to lean in and kiss him but his hand grabbed ahold of your chin. He was high. It wasn’t hard to tell from those glassy and half-lidded eyes.
Your stomach was going everywhere whenever he grabbed ahold of your chin, you watched where his eyes went. To your skirt, your face, your eyes, your lips, he was examining everything he could about you before crashing his lips onto yours.
You were kissing another brother…Oh. Great.
Sekido was a clumsy kisser but it added more fun. He was a lot more gentler than Karaku who was more experienced and rougher.
You preferred it. The gentleness of the kiss, the way his hand held onto your waist, you loved it all.
You pulled away in time because Karaku and them came back with more people.
Two handsome twins. You learned they were Yoriichi and Kokushibo. Then Hairo and Gyutaro and Daki. Daki was gorgeous. You were kinda insecure she might try to take one of the brothers from you…
Urogi plopped down next to you, smiling after the introductions were done. Karaku was eyeing you up and down again while Sekido lit up a cigarette, acting like he didn’t just make you go crazy! That had your heart racing 100 mph.
“So, (Y/N)! How are you enjoying school so far?” Urogi asks you, seemingly oblivious to the fact that your lips were swollen. He really liked you!
“Oh,” You thought for a moment, “It’s good. I like it so far.” You hum, shrugging. You and Urogi were sitting so close. You were really only focused on him and those dandelion eyes.
“Really?” The way his eyes crinkled up were so cute.
“Mhm. You made it much more enjoyable…” Plus Karaku, Sekido and Aizetsu.
“Aw! I’m glad!” Urogi seems happy with that response.
.
.
.
It wasn’t long before the cops busted the party and you had to go home. You had someone drop you off but now you have no ride back. You sat there, conflicted.
“(Y/N).” It was Sekido.
“Oh! Sekido!” Please be my knight in shining armor.
“Need a ride?”
God, his voice had you trembling.
“Yes. Please.”
.
.
.
Turns out that Karaku and Urogi got picked up by Aizetsu. He apparently doesn’t do parties. He was going to go but canceled last minute.
Sekido and you. Just the two of you.
“You’re a good kisser.” Sekido broke the silence. Damn right, you are.
“Oh, yeah?”
That sent shivers down Sekido’s spine. He couldn’t believe a stranger was making him feel like this.
“Yeah.”
You thought for a moment. You decided to pry.
“Why do you always wear long sleeves?”
That set Sekido off. You could tell by his facial expression.
“Sorry, I was just curious.” You quickly apologized.
“…It’s cool.” Sekido didn’t say anything else and just drove you home. God, he’s so hot. You just want to kiss him again.
He pulls into your driveway, parking the car.
“Welp, see you tomorrow.” Sekido hums, looking over at you.
You couldn’t take it anymore.
You grabbed ahold of his face, pressing your lips against his. You earned a squeak out of him. You’re so blasted right now. Hopefully no one remembers this.
Sekido returned the kiss, starting to suffocate after awhile.
You pulled away, saliva still connected your lips together from the heated kiss.
“…Thank you for taking my home, Sekido. You’re so fucking hot.” You kiss his cheek before grabbing your stuff.
He looks astonished, really. Sekido isn’t really used to this kind of behavior but he is loving it. “I-…Yeah, no problem.”
“Cya.” You wave and head inside, shutting the door. You wait a few seconds before grabbing a pillow and screaming into it.
You just kissed two brothers?! Are you fucking insane?!
At least they were hot…
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