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absolutebl · 2 days

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This Week in BL - All's Quiet on the BL Front

Organized, in each category, with ones I'm enjoying most at the top.

May 2024 Wk 3

Ongoing Series - Thai

Wandee Godday (Sat YT) ep 3 of 12 - I love how were getting a solid depiction of two queers just genuinely enjoying sex with each other. That’s actually rare in BL. In this case, it manages to also be weirdly adorable and cute.

Dee is such a tease. I guess Y likes a brat?

LOOK at those bedroom eyes!

Linguistics corner: when these two are being serious, sweet, or flirty with each other they use rao/nai which is kind of old fashioned and charming and not common in BL. They move pretty seamlessly into gu/mueng and back depending on the style of convo, tho. It's FUN to hear them talk.

Let the fake relationship commence!

My Stand-In (Thai Fri iQIYI) ep 4 of 12 eps - I HAVE THOUGHTS. I'm really enjoying the sinister backbone of this show. I hope they have the courage of their convictions in that regard and lean into a kind of sexy evil revenge narrative. It was a pleasure to watch the break up and I do not want a redemption arc for Ming or a romance for us. Fuck 'em, let’s just ride a revenge train, okay Joe baby?

That’s said, I totally sniffled at the ending scene where Ming (for two years!) has been paying penance cooking for two and waiting alone. Excellent pathos. Now, I understand how they're gonna make this a full 12 eps. And I’m excited about it. Carry on!

We Are (Weds iQIYI) ep 7 of 16 - I wasn't a fan of Winny & Satang in My School President but I'm loving them in this. The thing with Q, Toey, and Chain had me hooting with laughter. I think I’m finally just easing into the relaxed absurdity of this show. The key is not to expect anything from it. Just them being tiny gay idiots.

Two Worlds (iQIYI) ep 10 fin - Someday I’d like to really enjoy a MaxNat show, but today was not that day. (I feel like ever since Between Us I’ve been generally disenchanted with established OG pairs and what they’re bringing to the table. Perhaps that’s a discussion for another day. Cherry Magic excepted, of course.)

OK, so this final episode, they sure tried to fit a lot in. But that made the pacing better for me. So I kinda liked this weird cliff notes resolution to the story.

In conclusion:

MaxNat do a credible job with a messy script about parallel worlds, gangsters, and strange diseases cured by forest fruits. It sounds confusing because it is. The chemistry is excellent the side pair is entirely forgotten about, and one could drive a Tardis through the plot holes. Still, I found it modestly enjoyable if not at all rewatchable. 7/10

Only Boo! (Sun YouTube) ep 6 of 12 - I do love how bold and brash Moo is. He’s truly a great character, such an utter outgoing sunshine puppy focused on his pursuit of his older boy. I'm charmed by his utter harmlessness. They gave us a sweet coming out scene, and an awesome supportive mom. Frankly GMMTV has a good track record with moms. (With a few noted exceptions, of course.)

That said, I do keep forgetting this is a GMMTV offering. It just doesn't FEEL GMMTV. Just me?

OMG Vampire (Thai Sun ????) ep 1 of 10 - Starts tomorrow, will report on sitch next week. LeeFrank are back - not unlike the undead. But how do we feel about it? Unsure given their track record.

Ongoing Series - Not Thai

At 25:00 in Akasaka AKA 25 Ji Akasaka de (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 5 of 10 - I like it. I like our sulky 2nd lead. He’s pouty, adorable, brash, and adding some much-needed tension to this narrative. The blurring lines between show within a show is a lot of fun. Probably the best I've seen done in BL so far.

Living With Him AKA Kare no Iru Seikatsu (Japan Thurs Gaga) ep 6 of 10 - I like that we got backstory, but we also sort of already knew it. So this ep felt a bit like filler. They are wonderful when they’re on screen together but when they aren't it's a bit dull. I hope we just get them together for the next 4 eps. But this is Japan, so I doubt it.

Blossom Campus (Korea Thurs Gaga & iQIYI) ep 1 of 6 - The image resolution on this show (via Iqiyi ) is terrible. Meanwhile, awkward crush. Jock nerd pairing. Dorky. Maybe a bit too much awkward/dorky for me? I'm not sold on this one.

Meanwhile the ordering then not eating or drinking of food continues. Very upsetting.

Boys Be Brave (Korea Viki) eps 5-8fin - This show was just never sure what it wanted to be. Slacker sunshine KiSub moves in with nerd JinWoo, mostly because he knows JinWoo likes him but won't confess and that's never happened to him before. It reminded me of some earlier KBLs like Behind Cut, yes is had bones but not much flesh, so it only just hung together and progressed through not very much plot in a jerking rattling fashion like an animated skeleton. All the story and chemistry was with the side couple and none of the screen time. That just annoyed me. What did this BL want to BE? Who tf knows. I, for one, don’t care, and resolve to think no more on it. 6/10

Blue Boys (Korea Sat YouTube) - This ended at 4 eps on a cliffhanger. Since this is a very small studio I don’t have a lot of faith in there being a part two. But they have bundled both this BL, and the GL, bingable chunks on YT. So if you want to binge it, it’s there. Just be aware that it ends on a cliffhanger.

My thoughts?

Promising reunion romances full of class and coming out struggles but I grade with what we got, not on expectations, and you know I HATE a cliffhanger. So yeah, it HAD promise but as of now it gets a 4/10 - fatally flawed. I reserve the right to change my mind if they amend for damages.

It's airing but...

You Made My Day (Thai YT) ep 1 of 5 - mini series staring the I Will Knock You couple Tar & Bom, started but I couldn't find it. I also didn't try very hard.

Lady Boy Friends (Thai WeTV grey) 16 eps - reminds me a bit too much of Diary of Tootsies only high school. Not my thing. DNF unless it turns a corner and is truly amazing.

A Balloon's Landing (Taiwan movie) trailer - A frustrated Hong Kong writer, Tian Yu, meets a Taipei street gangster, Xiang (Fandy Fan from HIStory2: Crossing the Line), and the two of them embark on a journey to find the Bay of Vanishing Whales. Along the way, they discover unexpected twists and turns and close bonds, which brings out the message that "there is always someone like you in this world who is waiting for you. This released to cinemas in Taiwan, no word on international release.

In case you missed it

A really really thorough and fascinating article on 2 Moons 2 and what happened.

Next Week Looks Like This:

Upcoming BLs for 2024 are listed here. This list is not kept updated, so please leave a comment if you know something new or RP with additions.

May Releases

VBL (Taiwan) is releasing 4 'Special Episode' epilogues to their 4 2023 shows every Friday this month on Gagaoolala, Viki & Viu. Not sure on search terms or how to find these. (Or, frankly, if we need them.)

5/10 – You Are Mine

5/17 – VIP Only

5/24 – Stay By My Side

5/31 – Anti Reset

5/25 The Time of Fever AKA Unintentional Love Story 2 (Korea movie) trailer - HoTae & DongHee are back but unfortunately not in a cinema near me. Side couple from Unintentional Love Story, same actors, same character names. I love them. I NEED TO SEE THIS.

5/28 My Biker 2 (Thai movie YT?) - trailer

5/30 Knock Knock Boys (Thai Thurs WeTV) - I'm hoping I can get it elsewhere since my WeTV account is inactive, but I do love Best and I'm interested in seeing him in a new pairing. That said, I'm not wild about Seng... so I won't be too cut up if I can't get hold of this. More here.

5/31 The Time of Huannan (Taiwan movie) - May not be BL

THIS WEEK’S BEST MOMENTS

I'm a sucker for this king of casual claiming. (Only Boo)

It me! (Wandee Goodday)

(Last week)

Streaming services are listed by how I (usually) watch, which is with a USA based IP, and often offset by a day because time zones are a pain.

The tag BLigade: @doorajar @solitaryandwandering @my-rose-tinted-glasses @babymbbatinygirl @babymbbatinygirl @isisanna-blog @mmastertheone @pickletrip @aliceisathome @urikawa-miyuki @tokillamonger @rocketturtle4 @blglplus @anythinggoesintheshire @everlightly @renafire @sunflower-positiiivity @mestizashinrin @bl-bam-beyond @small-dark-and-delicious

If ya wanna be tagged each week leave a comment and I will add you to the template. Easy peesy.

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welcometogrouchland · 1 year

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Absolutely fascinating to be in the middle intersection of knowing that Thing is really popular, and that because Thing is popular there's a fair bit of vocal backlash to thing (because people are very mad Thing is popular when they don't like it) and you find yourself running through the unpleasant takes (not bad, just not what you're here for) from people who don't like Thing like snow white running through the scary fucked up forest until you finally find the fucking cottage where people who like Thing talk about Thing. Then you pass out in the cottage and when you wake up a bunch of small and opinionated creatures still carrying their burdens from the content mine arguing about Thing and also now your presence in relation to Thing bc you were clearly fleeing from the bad takes forest. This metaphor isn't what I wanted it to be but you get the idea

#ramblings of a lunatic #it's 20 to 1 in the am rn I am waiting for this stupid fucking DVD to encode #I've been doing this for 11 hours and 15 minutes according to the tracker and I'm. actually so close to the brink of eternal damnation #because of the fucking disk #anyway i. am not your dad and cannot tell you how to live your life but I do think that it's probably a tad impolite-#-to tag your dislike of Thing with nothing except the Thing tag. like no ''Thing critical'' no ''anti Thing''#or anything else that's easy to censor and block #just putting it in the tag for people who like Thing #alright. that's a choice but alright #I'm very tired.#either someone needs to rock me to sleep like a baby or theh shoot me out back like a dog #hi sorry i took a break from making this to check on DVD and IT DIDN'T WORK!!!! I FUCKING ENCODED IT WRONG AND FOR WHAT #TO WAIT FOR ELEVEN HOURS NOT KNOWING I FUCKED UO #IT'S ONE AM #GOD FUCKING DAMMIT #fuck it. man. I'm finishing my big essay tomorrow anyway. I'm gonna fuckin. do that. and then I'm gonna burn these dvds #i only have about. 3 days to do em all (and i still need to get some. sweats)#but yknow what fuck it what else am I doing. who cares!!!#i was gonna type something mean here but i have to hope that my fuckups and failures will not be for nothing #god. anyway #night yall. happy last day of December

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seraphdreams · 7 months

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JJK MEN AS YOUR PERSONAL TRAINER. | TOJI FUSHIGURO, GOJO SATORU, CHOSO KAMO, SUGURU GETO.

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — synopsis. having private sessions with the men prove to be an experience. what type of trainer are each of them?

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — cw. smut, edging, degradation, praise, dry humping, fellatio, switch!choso, overstimulation, emo boy!choso, cervix fucking, unprotected sex, they are all whores. mdni <3

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — word count. 3.1k

𓏲 ࣪₊♡𓂃 — dolled up! oh em gee ?? headcanon format ? yup! i originally wrote this as a little joke since i started pilates but then my mind wandered and it wasn’t a joke anymore. other than that, ino was supposed to be on the list but he couldn’t make it :( something about being busy .. regardless, comment / reblog if u like ! it would make my day, thank u ♡

TOJI — THE CORRUPT TRAINER.

there must’ve been a clear distinction as to why your trainer only allowed sessions from 9pm up until midnight, but your desperation when it came to relentlessly searching for a personal trainer didn’t leave enough room in your mind to think deeper about the true nature of its shadiness. all you needed was a spotter, and toji’s services claimed to provide just that.

and what happens when you combine height, a monsterous build, superhuman stamina, and a handsome face? well, you get toji fushiguro in all his abhorrent glory.

his chiseled body virtually doubled your frame with biceps the size of your head, shoulders wide enough to emphasize the narrowness of his waist, and veins crawling up his limbs even when the muscles weren’t flexed. a mean looking man with a scar over his mouth like some battered veteran. whatever he got into during the day was truly nothing you’d want to take part in.

inviting him over to your home gym was one thing, but it was looking to be another when his “help” took the form of sensuality; his large hands running along the back of your thighs when he’d seemingly fold you over with your legs on either side of your head for warm-up stretches, or even the occasional groping of your ass when it came down to squats, he was barely doing his job, what you paid a hefty price for, and yet you loved every bit of it.

“c’mon, you can take more of it, cant’cha?” toji’s gruff voice goads, watching the way your tiny cunt struggles with swallowing the head of his wrist-thick, bulbous cock. you were put in the awkward position of doggy, yet another one of his sessions derailed and he deemed this new workout could help you build up some much needed endurance. you were going to need it if you planned on keeping him around.

it surely seems that way when you’re practically running from the pleasure he pistons into you, thick cock kissing your cervix with each skillful, angled thrust of his. large hands were wrapped around your waist, keeping you in place for him — because if there was one thing your personal trainer was strict about, it was form. and your form was beyond perfect.

“‘s just too good.” you mindlessly whined, attempting your hardest to grip onto the thin cushion of the yoga mat beneath you. toji lets out a deep scoff at your vocables, driving his hips against your ass once more, this time a bit sharper with a hint of fervor as its aftertaste. “and you’ve been training with me for how long now?” his question came out in a mocking tone as his lips stretched wide in a crooked smile, that of a statement rather than a query.

“t-two weeks .. fuck.” you respond, mind going hazy from the gaining intensity of his potent movements. the feeling was all too much, it came as no surprise when pleasure began to surge from your spine to coil at your core, building up that high you've been chasing for the past hour, that grumpy ol’ toji continued to rip away from you.

pressing a heavy hand to the small of your back, he arches you forward, groaning at the sight of how swiftly you position yourself for him, your face pushed against the mat.

maybe his training has paid off. . “two weeks and you’re still struggling to take my cock?” he pulled your hips back against his, leaving you defenseless in the ministrations. “guess i need to train this pretty little hole of yours more often.”

with the end of his sentence, he snakes his thick arm around your waist, the pad of his thumb finding your achy, puffy clit, rubbing the nub in tight, harsh circles. if your moans weren’t already loud enough, you were sure the whole town could hear you by now, crying out his name like no tomorrow while your legs trembled with your impending orgasm. “‘m cumming! so hard!” you cry, drooling into the mat as he fucks you through your orgasm.

it wasn’t until soon after that he finally reached his high, sending hot and sticky ropes of cum into your womb. not once had a session with toji ended with him shooting his cum in a more responsible way, with a rubber. it was clear to you since the very first time you allowed his fantasies to come to fruition — toji didn’t believe in condoms.

your body went lax as soon as he pulled out, and he tucked his cock back into his pants, hovering over your sad frame with an amused smirk on his scarred lips.

“good session. i expect $800 wired to my account by the mornin’.”

GOJO — THE ENABLING TRAINER.

when you first showed up to the private room of your local gym in search of your assigned instructor for the night a.k.a “the strongest,” you were expecting some big burly man with a cocky attitude — someone you didn’t particularly get along with. but much to your surprise, instead, he was handsome; fluffy white strands of hair that strayed upwards and a million dollar smile with just the charisma, the charm to back it up.

gojo stood over 6 feet tall, and although he was on the lankier side, there was no denying the lean muscles that peeked through his skintight black top. he smiled, throwing a loose cloth over his broad shoulders.

“you ready to get started?”

your eyes greedily took him in, scanning over the finer details of his gorgeous build. it wasn’t until about thirty seconds of daydreaming about what he’d look like unclothed that you finally gave him a response in the form of a nod and hum.

of course satoru wasn’t an idiot, he could tell from how dazed you were during the first few minutes of instruction that you were focused on something else, not that he minds though, it’s truly an honor that a girl as pretty as you is capable of fawning over him, just as many others do.

after having to shake your thoughts whenever it came to watching him take a large swig from his water, droplets of the liquid streaming down his chin to graze his prominent adam's apple, or the soft appraises he’d coo when you finally got the hang of his workouts, it was the end of yet another vigorous session with him, sweat dripping from your chin down to your chest that was scantily clad in a baby pink sports bra. you held on taut to your water bottle as satoru carried conversation with you.

“you improved so much in just an hour. i’m proud.”

his praises barely reached your ears before you looked at him with adoration glossed over those pretty eyes — there was something about him that you just couldn’t get over, but you knew you needed him badly. you dabbed perspiration from your forehead with a matching pink towel, soft smile forming on your doll-like features.

“thank you,”

he nods his head slightly before starting, “you seemed a bit distracted today, though. something on your mind?” his query pulled you from your gojo-induced hypnosis, causing you to blink away the embarrassment pooling up within you. were you truly that obvious?

“hm? there’s nothing, i’m fine,” your reply came out low and sheepish while your eyes struggled to find anywhere else to settle besides those bright baby blues. he took it upon himself to inch closer to you, studying your features until you gasped softly once your back hit the wall. “nothing?” he asks for confirmation, and you affirm. “nothing.”

“all you gotta do is use your words if you need me.”

gojo’s hands found their way at your thighs, creeping them upwards underneath the thin spandex of your shorts. his touch felt hot against your skin, each brush of his fingertips along the expanse of your inner thigh causing shivers to trickle down your spine while he watched with mirth at your pitiful attempt to keep your whines at bay.

“i think .. i think i need you.”

with that, satoru smirked and lifted your leg up just enough so that it fell over his arm. his lips met yours with a salacious that only the whorest of whores could possess, skilled tongue angling its way inside your mouth to gently clash with yours in the sweetest harmony that had you buckling underneath the frame of his body.

it must’ve been a spur of the moment when you found yourself rutting your hips up in search for satoru’s, a pitchy moan sounded into the kiss when he matches your ministrations, grinding his sweatpant clad and half-hard, leaking length into the seat of your shorts; creating the most delicious sensation as the tip nudged against your clit.

his free hand took purchase at your cheek, his thumb rubbing ever so gently against the heated skin while his movements increased in greediness. your mind’s too hazy to make out anything besides the pleasure and build up of your orgasm — so much so, that it pulled you back to reality as soon as it hit, your sloppy kisses coating gojo’s soft lips in a thin sheen and the seat of your shorts sopping wet from the release of your high.

yet, gojo kept at it until he too came to a falter, cumming an ample amount in his sweats while groaning deep into your mouth. he separated from the kiss for just a split second before he took it upon him to goad,

“we can add 30 more minutes and i’ll give you more than just a taste.”

CHOSO — THE INTIMIDATING TRAINER.

a pierced tongue, some tattoos running along both veined arms, and a deep, monotonous voice were a recipe for your timidness when it came to the kamo, who you’d invited over for your very first home training session. it didn’t help that he was on the quieter side, responding to whatever small talk you’d make with one or two words while his intense eyes would follow every move you’d make as he’d help with your form.

he truly wasn’t a bad guy, or so you thought. even now, during your session with him, his praises were appropriate, he wasn’t too handsy nor did he seem to have any ill intent; being with him felt surprisingly comfortable and refreshing just as the crisp, cold water you two were currently drinking, made fresh from your refrigerator’s tap.

“was it too intense?” he’d asked in regard to the exercises you had just completed. intense was an understatement, you didn’t know how you could move your body in such ways that you did, which wouldn’t have been possible without his expertise. choso set the chilled glass of water down onto your coffee table, feeling coy from sitting on your couch, something he’d never done even with his regulars, and in response, you shook your head at the query, settling yourself by his side.

there was truly no denying how absolutely stunning you were, like some angelic being brought to him from the heavens up above in the form of the sweetest thing he’s ever met. he was afraid that if he blinked too hard, you’d vanish.

the more his eyes focused on your lips when you talked, how you’d massage the sore muscles of your thighs and even let out cute whines because of the fact, the more he found it harder to contain his thoughts, rapidfire in his mind. those perverted thoughts that only some horny teenager could have, not a well off adult like him.

yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him from getting hard in his sweats, a dark grey patch spreading at the crotch, what he’d hoped you’d mistake as spilt water.

“shit,” with that of a husky sigh, he ran his hand over his face, tinges of pink battering the tattooed scar across his nose and cheeks. “i’m sorry.”

oblivious to his situation, you were quick to express your inquiry. “sorry about wh- oh.” the head of his cock practically peeked through the barrier of the hem of his sweats while he made a futile effort to cover himself with one of your pillows once you had realized.

he looked cute like that, embarrassed by something so natural that it even spurred on your arousal, the thought of him getting worked up over you doing virtually nothing. “i-it’s okay.. i can help you if you want.” you offer, moving your position to sit between his thighs.

violet hued eyes widened from your newfound boldness, the clearing of his throat being the only true source of sound he could make in that moment.

“nah, nah. it’s-“ before he could inch out the words, you were drawing featherlight circles at his tip over the fabric, causing his breath to hitch and resolve to falter.

choso wasn’t someone who’d allow himself to be in such a pathetic situation, yet the thought of you carrying out his perfect porn plot fantasy was all he needed for that internal morality to fly straight out the window.

you chuckled at the way he hiked himself up when you finally took him from his bottoms and into your hot, wet mouth. just the sight of his cock disappearing past soft, glossy pink lips has his temperature rising, feeling as though he could pass out.

it’s hazy for him — your hand at the base, the rhythmic bobbing of your head slowly while gradually picking up speed. he never would’ve thought the job he took on for extra cash to fund his college textbooks would end up with someone as gorgeous as you giving him a chance. every pump of your hand around what couldn’t fit into your mouth had him groaning, bucking his hips up as gently as he could without battering the back of your throat.

though, he wouldn’t mind if he did.

staving off a gag, you ultimately increased your pace, determined to get him off while your other hand fondled his plump balls.

from the faint touches alone, he could feel his high approaching, embarrassingly quicker than usual. yet, he couldn’t help it when you started to grow sloppy, a mix of spit and precum dribbling down his shaft.

“w-wait, fuck.. ‘m gonna.”

it took no time for him to shoot his seed into your awaiting throat, his head thrown back against the headrest while he bucked his hips to jettison every last drop. you swallowed all he had to offer before pulling away, watching the gentle rise and fall of his chest.

maybe he wasn’t as intimidating after all.

GETO — THE CHARMING TRAINER.

you were his favorite. you had to be. even in the long line of women waiting to have their own turn with him, you were always a top contender. he had always made time for you, and you alone.

geto’s popularity made perfect sense in your mind. he was tall, handsome with narrow features and dragon tattoos strung along both arms, a man ahead of his time. not to mention, his docile, gentle demeanor. he was charming as all get out and you were beyond aware of your superstar status of being the only one he wanted.

“are we actually going to get some training done or is there something else you want to do?” he straps his fingerless gloves around his palm, tank top tight around his torso, carving out each and every trace of his abs while looking over you, a pleasant smile quirked at his lips.

you felt sheepish under his sharp gaze, a feeling that comes all too natural with expert trainer, suguru geto. “i’m fine with whatever you have in mind, sugu.”

if you didn’t know any better, you’d swore you saw his cheeks dust in the lightest shade of pink at the endearing nickname. you were cute, too fucking cute and perhaps, that was the reason he kept you around.

“i’m thinking we test that stamina ‘nd see if you can hold up riding me?” he hooks his finger under your chin, tilting your head up just slightly. “no help, all on your own.” in all honesty, you could definitely take up his challenge. how hard could it be to take some dick?

or so you thought.

“fuck, sugu! ‘s too much!”

you wouldn’t want to be caught dead in the miserable state that you were in but it ultimately did seem as though geto’s lessons had gotten you nowhere. the tip of his cock wasn’t even an inch past your cunt while you rested your hands on his broad shoulders, pathetically trying to take what was the easiest part.

he smirked at you, resting his hands behind his head. “i’m not helping, princess. i meant it.”

you continued to try and sink yourself down onto his unreasonably thick cock, a soft crack of a whine tumbling past parted lips when your pussy engulfed another half inch of him. “but-“

“if i have to help you, we’re not finishing until you’re a mess.” he grits, not harsh enough to come off as daunting but stern enough to warn you. yet, the warning fell to deaf ears when you began to whorishly beg pleas of “help me, sugu. help me.”

from that, he let out a low groan, his hands on your waist sinking you all the way down to the base before he gained stability, flattening his feet onto the floor and fucking his cock into your fluttering cunt.

with the way he moves, you were almost positive you had the wind knocked out of you from those first few thrusts alone. soft babbles resonated throughout the room while you clung to his body like it’d comfort you in the hell that was his potent ministrations.

you felt far more sensitive than you ever felt, white hot pleasure coiling within you in no time, your pussy tightening around his shaft in such a suffocating way, geto felt as though he couldn’t breathe either. “s-so tight, princess. i know you wanna cum, cum for me, baby.” he goads through a strained voice, his thumb now working between your folds to find purchase at your clit, rubbing the puffy nub in moderate circles.

“if you do t-that, i might—“

and before you knew it, you were gushing around his pretty cock, face twisted in the prettiest picture of pleasure. the aftershocks of your orgasm were way more intense as you were fucked to overstimulation, a sly grin on his lips.

“told you we weren’t stopping, darling.”

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alxclaremont · 1 year

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i am going to go insane me thinks.

#i. there are no words #when will i stop getting treated like the absolute last choice. when. literally when.#either im not invited place’s because i dont have money or because i dont have a car or because its a bit of a drive to get to where i live #and no one ever wants to make that drive #all of which. are very much not my fault as its not like i asked to be in the current situation i am in and though i completely understand #why no one would want to ask me to do things because of those reason’s it’s still not Fair #or i am just blatantly ignored and i tell myself that they’re just busy but then they post screenshots of them having funny conversations #on their close friends when i texted them multiple times days ago #or i tell myself that they just forgot to ask me and oh dont worry its really completely fine #ans then theres the old ‘we need to find you a boyfriend’ response #like. why is that always the response to whatever we end up talking about #i am going to lose my mind <3 #will i ever stop feeling or be treated like the last option or problem?#probably not but stay tuned #its at times like this when i would looooove to just leave and never talk to anyone ever again #the only problem with that plan is that there are too many people that think i wont make it in life #so obviously i have to do it out of spite #this is why i haven’t been talking to anyone since school ended el em ay o #anyway. whatever i guess #lacey talks

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miniimight · 6 months

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Hiiii idk if you’re doing requests rn but I just ADORE how you write Izuku and katsuki like omg-

Anyways- my meds are causing me some crazy nightmares lately and I was wondering how they would handle you waking up from a nightmare???

If you don’t take requests then forget this ever happened :’)

Have a nice day byeeeeee!!!

NIGHTMARES you wake up in a start and wake them up in the process

with izuku & katsuki

notes guys i know ive been away for way too long im so sorry!!! :( i'm in the process of moving so it's stressful T-T thanks for the request, anon, hope those nightmares got/get better :( <3

it was so vivid. your mind sunk into an alternate reality that captured all your senses. you felt yourself spiraling deeper and deeper, faster and faster—

your body jolted upright with a breathless yell and a sharp gasp, the world stilling for a mere second...

and then you leaned over your knees, your lungs racing to catch up with your need for oxygen. your chest felt tight and you squeezed your eyes, remembering that your boyfriend was laying peacefully beside you.

you peeked to your side and found him staring right back—wide, bright eyes piercing into your own—sending a shock through your body.

IZUKU

"god, izuku, you scared me—" you sighed, your hand pressing on your stomach as if that would make the uneasy feeling disappear.

"i scared you?" he sat up further, scooching closer to your side. "you scared me, angel. are you okay? you're out of breath, honey. let's do it together, okay?"

you whimpered softly as you tried to follow his guide. izuku could tell you were in distress and it took everything to stop himself from overwhelming you with questions. he just laced his fingers with yours and squeezed.

"good job, honey." izuku praised you ever-so-softly, rubbing your back soothingly. "feeling a bit better?"

you nodded, frowning. "m'sorry for waking you—"

"angel." he whined, letting his eyes do all the talking. "don't do that! please, don't do that." he actually sounded offended.

you looked away from him, your throat hurting from holding back tears. "it's been happening all the time, though, and you need your rest. maybe i should take the guest room?" you were more talking to yourself than anything, but izuku refused to let you entertain such an idea.

izuku's shoulders slumped, the shock fading as drowsiness began to overtake him. he smiled lazily, fighting a yawn. "y/n, even if i knew you would wake me up every night for the rest of time, i'd still choose to be here beside you."

you turned to face him, the horror of your nightmare slowly fading to the back of your mind. "really?"

"really." he confirmed.

you smiled, letting your head rest on your knees as you stared at him lovingly.

the rustle of sheets and whistle of wind reminded the both of you that it was indeed the middle of the night. izuku tugged you closer by your waist, pulling you back onto the bed. he groaned softly, stretching a little before he relaxed against you. "did you wanna talk about it?"

you pursed your lips. curling into his embrace, you immediately felt warmer. "...not right now."

he kissed your forehead. "don't worry, i'll always be right here to protect you from anything your head throws at you. you just tell me and let me at 'em." he kissed you again before wrapping both arms around you.

his steady breathing and soft snores brought a fond smile to your face. you found yourself falling asleep despite the night's events.

KATSUKI

you both stared at each other for a good few seconds before you spoke up.

"sorry for waking you," you mumbled, still having trouble managing your breathing. you turned away from him, pressing your palms into your eyes.

"no," he whispered with a softness reserved for you only. "you didn't wake me."

you stared at him through the darkness and could see him so clearly. "katsuki—"

"shh, it's okay, baby." he gave you a soft smile, once again reassuring you. "come 'ere."

you sniffed as you inched closer. katsuki gently took your arm and pulled you the rest of the way right into his arms. his hand fell to your waist, tracing little shapes and lines as he allowed you time.

"wanna talk about it?" he asked.

you shook your head.

"okay." he squeezed your shoulder, kissing your cheek. he figured you'd tell him when you were ready—the last thing he wanted to do was stress you out even more. it was hard, not to get all the answers on what was bothering was you... it was in his nature to want to make all your problems go away. "what do you need?"

you hand wound around his torso, hugging him back. "um..." you shuddered as you breathed in. "just you."

he smiled against your skin. "yeah? promise you're not holding back on me?"

you giggled. "yes."

"cuz you know i'd do literally anything—"

you sat up slightly, turning to face him with a swat to his chest. your face burned and it was a struggle to recall the images of your nightmare. "katsuki! oh my god."

"what?" he scrunched his nose. his eyes never left you. "it's true."

you returned to your spot between his arm. "just you."

"whatever you say." he pressed his lips to your temple before he got comfy. he sighed. "goodnight, pretty. wake me when those stupid nightmares bug you again, okay?"

your heart fluttered and your smile grew out of your control. "okay."

#bnha x reader #deku x reader #izuku x reader #bakugou katsuki #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo x reader #katsuki x reader #izuku midoriya #mha x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #bakugo comfort #deku comfort #deku fluff #midoriya izuku #bnha #mha fluff

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devilmademewriteit · 1 year

Note

Drabble request for dbf!joel getting blown under the table or something while he's having a convo with reader's dad?!?! IDK I just love your dbf!joel!!

You Can Be the Boss

pairing: dbf!joel miller x fem!afab!reader

warnings: rough oral (m receiving); petnames (angel, baby, sweetheart); age gap; choking; hair pulling; (yall this is pure pure daddy issues FILTH, I warned you. I warned you hard).

Hi y’all ty for sending me all ur requests. ummm you guys are insane ! and so am I ! maybe more because I’m actually the one writing these ! this one is so dirty ! don’t say I didn’t warn you !

more to come hehehe. I don’t tag ppl for my smaller drabbles / fics so turn on notifs or whatevs ;)

-em<3

—

“As close as I’ll get to the darkness, he tells me to, ‘Shut up, I got this.’”

- You Can Be the Boss

—

It was still a secret, after all.

Sneaking into his apartment, late nights in alleys, abandoned cars lining the streets of the QZ… you’d managed to keep your joint intoxication with one another under wraps.

Today… today was risky. You usually waited until the wee hours of the morning to even walk by his place, let alone enter, but you’d needed to drop off a sweater that Tess had leant you the previous week, intending to leave it folded up on the doormat before bolting down the hall. Your footsteps were nervous and heavy, which led to the door swinging wide open on its hinges, a gruff “where you runnin’ off to, Angel?” and a set of rough hands pulling you through the doorway.

Then you were spread open against the tattered table cloth of his (busy) kitchen table, underwear shoved to the side, watching a hunched over Joel Fucking Miller spit on his hand and run it up down his heavy, hard length.

“Shouldn’t come here during the day,” as he’d lined himself up, “Can’t fuckin’ help myself.”

That’s when you heard the definite sound of a key twisting inside a lock. Joel’s head shot up — your eyes barely had time to widen before he was shoving you under the table, panties still twisted around your ankles.

A quick zip, then footsteps.

“Oh, sorry man—”

Oh, fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

“—Tess said you wouldn’t be home.”

It’s your father.

You thank God for your his poor observation skills (and the tablecloth) as Joel responds, “ah, no worries,” frustratingly non-chalant as ever.

“While you’re here though,” and your heart sinks, identifying your dad’s intention to stay, “Was wondering if we could go over the plans for our new routes. FEDRA assholes blocked off another south-east one today.”

Your blood turns to ice inside your veins as both men pull out their chairs, settling into a purely-business conversation. Joel barely hesitates, cool as ice.

Not fair that he gets to be so calm while you’re so… not.

Not fair.

If only there was a way to even out the playing field.

Crunched into yourself, you scoot closer to Joel’s calves, clinging onto his denim and doing your best to make as little noise as possible. When it’s clear, however, that your father’s far too invested in the practicalities of the conversation to suspect or inquire into or even notice anything else, your eyes wander towards the slowly softening bulge, still visible underneath Joel’s belt.

And you get an idea.

The man always tortured you, and you were well aware that what made your arrangement especially enticing — for the both of you — was the taboo-ness, the wrongness of it all.

So your pussy drips just thinking about it.

Slowly, delicately, you slide your hands up Joel’s thighs, feeling his every muscle respond, tensing, turning to stone, or jolting with electricity beneath your playful touches.

It’s hard, quietly pulling down his fly. Still, metal tooth by metal tooth, you eventually succeed, unable to hold back a smile of vindication when his cock springs up, swelling and hardening between your fingertips. Joel covers his choke with a cough.

Just as you duck down to lick a fat stripe up his cock’s dark underside, noticing how the lungs above you constrict — freezing — the conversation changes.

“You been seeing a lot of my daughter?”

Joel takes an uncharacteristically long time to grunt out a “here n’ there.”

You hold in a laugh, both at your dad’s timely question and the reaction it causes. Placing a hand at the base of him, you consider this the perfect moment to start teasing his tip with patient, innocent little kitten-licks.

“Been acting weird,” your old man continues, unphased and unassuming, “Worried she’s been gettin’ herself into trouble.”

Trouble? You’re looking at him.

Your dad’s whole “fatherly concern” (not like he’d ever shown any before) angle makes you bold. You want to make it harder for Joel to deny your father’s suspicion.

You want to make him lie through his teeth.

You part your lips, wrapping them adoringly around the entire head of his cock before gliding down, using your hand to assist you as you please every inch of him.

While he mostly manages to keep it together, his legs don’t, gently parting with desire to allow you better access.

“She-she’s a good girl, man,” Joel manages, and while his delivery borders a groan, he stays surprisingly level (your body doesn’t forget to note his praise, either, aching cunt growing wetter and wetter at his every word). “‘Bit juvenile sometimes, and reckless—” he pauses, and it’s very clear he’s not speaking to your father, “—but good—” you work every inch of him with your hands, throat, and mouth, savouring the feel of his ridges and veins, the taste of his salt on your tastebuds, “—so good.”

You freeze, scanning the room for tension as both you and Joel try to figure out if his desire-stricken tone’s given you away.

It hasn’t.

Of course it hasn’t.

Your dad continues on as if everything were normal, as if Joel’s tip wasn’t kissing the back of your throat. “Just not sure if I’m raising her right—or… or if I was much of a father at all.”

Yeah, probably not. You know, given that I’m under the table sucking your best friend’s dick.

You watch, head still slowly bobbing up and down his length, a hand carving a careful path down his leg. Joel’s fingertips breach your shoulder, his palm slowly graduates to cupping the back of your head.

And he shoves you forward, forcing every punishing inch of himself down your little, gasping throat.

“Just needs a little discipline,” your torturer responds, raising his gravelly voice to mask the definite sound of choking.

“A heavy hand.”

You huff against his abdomen. Just like that, Joel’s taken the reins of your little operation.

Like he always did. Like he always does.

“You’re probably right,” your father responds, sighing with concession. Tears begin to well in the corners of your eyes while your lungs burn for oxygen, mouth stuffed and nose pressed into Joel’s skin. He chuckles, slapping the table. “Give ‘em an inch and they take a mile, huh?”

“That’s right,” Joel responds, a soft coo, tightening his grasp in your hair and somehow forcing more of himself between your lips.

Making his point.

You hold back a whimper, nails hopelessly clawing at his jeans.

Your dad raps his knuckles against the wood, pushing his chair back to leave. Unfortunately for you, Joel doesn’t move, holding you there like a prisoner — suffocating you.

He clears his throat. “I’d walk you out, but, you know—” your eyelids grow heavy, little stars beginning to dance in your vision “—been goin’ hard recently. Wearin’ myself out.”

A huff of understanding and concurrence from the other side of the room.

Eventually, after what seems like an eternity, hinges squeak, goodbyes are uttered, and your father’s left you alone with his buddy again.

Joel’s chair scrapes back — he pulls you along with him, attached to him, out from underneath the table.

Finally, finally, he releases his grasp.

You jump off of him, strings of saliva trailing from your lips, gasping for air as if you were seconds from drowning.

You aim to collapse against his knees, but he quickly grabs you by the throat, presses his big thumb under your chin, and forces your wet, tear-lined eyes up to meet his.

They’re filled with a lust so dark, you wonder if just that look might swallow you whole.

“Prouda yourself?” He speaks, voice low.

Dangerous.

And you just smile, dazed, nodding. Nodding because you know where it’ll get you. Nodding because you just know how much it’ll entice him.

“‘Course you are,” he continues, softer, “Shoulda been honest — shoulda told your old man he raised a fuckin’ slut.”

Joel lifts you up, indelicately shoving you down on the table, right back in the position you’d originally started the visit in.

His eyes darken to black when he sees how wet you are, how fucked-out, needy, and unapologetic you are.

“And you know what, baby?” A deceiving coo as he lines himself up at your entrance, using his other hand to squeeze your jaw — tight.

You look at him with big, begging doe eyes, eyebrows already knitting together from the tantalizing contact.

“I’m really fuckin’ glad he did.”

And as Joel Miller roughly sheathes his cock inside your young, tight cunt, you find yourself agreeing with him.

—

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST

AO3

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller tlou #joel miller fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #dbf!joel miller #dbf!joel #Pedro pascal smut #Pedro pascal x reader #the last of us #tlou #request for em’s answering machine: answered<3

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munson-blurbs · 1 year

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3

Summary: A series of mishaps has you and Eddie (and Grandma and Harris) in the same place at the same time, leading Eddie to let his guard down a bit. That is, until a secret is spilled.

Warnings: angst, Eddie is really mean to Reader, injuries (nothing bloody or gory), mostly set in a hospital, mentions of Eddie's dad, mentions of CPS, Reader's grandma has Alzheimer's, slowburn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, Eddie is 30, Reader is 28, no use of y/n

WC: 6k

Chapter 3/20

Scruffy!Eddie edit credit to @eddiemunsons-missingnipple Divider credit to @saradika

“Har-Bear?” Eddie calls out from the bedroom, pinning his nametag to his shirt. “You tie your sneakers yet?” His son had insisted that he didn’t need help with the laces, that he could do it on his own, but he’d be late for work if he waited any longer.

“Not…yet!” the tiny voice yells back, and Eddie can sense the frustration in his voice. “I think they’re broken.”

“Broken, huh?” Eddie laughs to himself as he walks out to the living room, where Harris is sitting in front of the door. Sure enough, his shoelaces remain untied, and tears roll down his cheeks. “C’mere, bud. It’s okay. I can tie ‘em for you this time.”

Harris shakes his head, brown curls bouncing on his scalp. He mumbles something unintelligible, and when Eddie bends down to help him, he pushes his hands away.

“Harris, enough!” Eddie hisses through gritted teeth, taking the laces and tying them quickly. “You know that you have school and Daddy has work.”

“B-b-but I’m the only one!” Harris wails, kicking his shoes off defiantly. Eddie picks them up with one hand and scoops up his son in the other, tipping towards the couch and hooking his pinky around Harris’s little backpack. He doesn’t have any time to waste; shoes will have to be put on at school.

Maybe Ms. Sweetheart will have better luck with him, Eddie thinks wryly, wrangling a screaming Harris down the stairwell.

“The only one what?” Eddie asks once the crying starts to subside.

“I’m the only–sniff–one at school who–hic–can’t tie my shoes!”

Eddie wrinkles his nose as he places a shoe-less Harris in his carseat. “I’m sure there are other kids who are still learning how to tie their shoes.”

“Nuh-uh,” Harris protests, straining against the seatbelt. “All the other kids tie their own shoes, but Ms. Sweetheart or Mr. Will have to tie mine.”

Eddie’s heart sinks as he thinks of his son being the outcast as the freak, the rest of his friends flying past him as he gets left behind. “Tell ya what,” he says finally, mustering up a smile, “I’ll teach you, and you’ll be able to tie them in no time.”

His offer placates Harris, who spends the rest of the time singing along to the radio. Eddie wishes it could always be like this; happy and carefree, just driving and listening to his favorite metal station with his mini-me. Maybe one day it’ll happen, but the fleeting sense of hope disappears as quickly as it comes. His time with Harris might be limited if he doesn’t get his shit together.

The job was a start; he was lucky that the hours coincided with school drop-off and pick-up so he didn’t have to reach out to Wayne. He’d been working at Rock Records for about a week, and while it was a far cry from the stardom he’d once dreamed of, it was paying the bills and still allowed him to spend his time around music. And when his manager–a twenty-year-old named Ash who used her phone line to talk to friends rather than answer store calls–heard that he plays guitar, she’d all but insisted that he give lessons. If he could get Wayne to watch Harris a few days after school, that would be even more money in his pocket.

But, first, he actually has to start talking to his uncle again.

He pulls into the preschool parking lot, killing the engine and hopping out to help Harris from his carseat. When he opens Harris’s door, he immediately deflates.

“Harris, where is your jacket?” Eddie asks, heaving an exasperated sigh.

The little boy just shrugs. “I dunno. At home?” It’s not his fault; the chilly early October air just began settling in, and he’s not accustomed to including his jacket into his morning routine. A look of realization creases his brows, another tantrum on the horizon. “Now I won’t be able to go out for recess!”

“Hey, hey,” Eddie says reassuringly, shrugging off his own denim, patch-riddled jacket, “you can take mine.” It’s comically oversized on Harris’s tiny body, but the smile on his face is enough to distract Eddie from the chill settling on his own arms.

“Daddy, now I’m just like you!” Harris sticks out his tongue and makes the ‘rock-and-roll’ symbol with his pointer and pinky fingers, scrunching his big brown eyes shut.

Eddie laughs, taking his son’s hand as they cross the parking lot. The way he copies him is adorable, but there’s a sinking feeling in his stomach when he pictures Harris actually following in his footsteps.

As soon as he enters the school, Harris lets go of his father’s hand and bounds into the classroom, the jacket dragging on the ground like a regal cloak. “Ms. Sweetheart, look at my jacket!” he proudly announces, twirling around on one leg. “It’s my daddy’s!”

You smile, crossing your arms over your chest as you shake your head teasingly. “Harris, is daddy wearing your jacket?”

“Nooooo,” he says, jutting out his chin and giggling. “It’s too small, silly!”

Eddie shuffles in behind him; after a month of drop-offs, he’s realized that he’s never going to win the battle of getting Harris to walk beside him in the hallway. “Don’t forget your backpack, little dude,” he reminds him, handing him his bag and motioning towards the row of cubbies.

Nodding, Harris hangs it up on the hook, along with Eddie’s jacket. He starts to run towards the toy area, stopping when he hears you call out, “Harris…”

“Huh? Oh, right.” He flashes that innocent smile, slowing his pace to a walk.

You shake your head knowingly, grabbing the clipboard with the sign-in sheet from your desk. Wordlessly, you give it to Eddie, who takes it with a sigh. This is how it goes most mornings: he drops off Harris, scribbles his signature, and stalks off without so much as a “good morning.” It’s not ideal, but it’s better than the barrage of insults and snide comments that he seemed to prefer to greet you with.

He drops the clipboard on top of the cubbies with a clatter, turning to the door, but the sound of a child shrieking stops him in his tracks before he can leave.

“Harris, no!”

Eddie’s stomach turns at the way the little girl angrily shouts his son’s name. Harris is frozen in place, holding a weird contraption that Eddie doesn’t recognize. The boy’s lower lip trembles, and all Eddie wants to do is pick him up and yell at the other kid for making him cry, but you get to the scene first.

“Abby, Harris, what happened?” you ask, crouching down to their eye-level. There’s no accusations, just a soothing tone to de-escalate the situation.

“He took my Bop-It!” Abby pouts, stamping her foot in frustration. “He stole it from me!”

Eddie feels his fists clench involuntarily at the word stole. Harris would never steal. He was a good kid, and having the Munson name didn’t automatically make him a thief. He tries to send a telepathic message to Harris, willing him to stand up for himself, but it doesn’t work.

You eye the toy in Harris’s hand–the Bop-It in question, you assume–and meet his shy gaze. “Did you take Abby’s toy?” Again, your voice is free of judgment, and Eddie allows himself to relax ever-so slightly when you don’t automatically take the girl’s side.

“I just wanted to see it real quick!” Harris mumbles, shoulders slumping. “I was gonna give it back.”

“What should you do when someone has something that you want to see?” you prompt him gently, feeling Eddie’s eyes scrutinizing you, analyzing your every move you make to see how you’re treating his son.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, eyes wide and misty.

“You have to ask them and then wait for them to say yes,” you say, and he nods as you swivel to face Abby Carver. “Abby, if someone forgets to ask to see your toy, you can remind them nicely. With an inside voice.”

“But he didn’t even say sorry for stealing!” she whines.

“It was an accident,” Harris rebuts, scrunching up his nose, “an’ I didn’t steal it!”

Breathing out a soft sigh, you turn back to him to end the argument before it can really start. Hell hath no fury like a preschooler scorned. “Saying ‘sorry’ is important, even when we accidentally make someone feel sad or mad,” you tell him.

“‘M sorry, Abby,” he says, handing her back the Bop-It. You can’t help but notice the way that he tucks his free hand into the pocket of his jeans, just like Eddie does when he’s anxious.

“It’s okay, Harris,” Abby says flatly, eager to flounce off to her friends and show them her toy, as Harris quietly joins some of the other boys to play with building blocks.

You press on your knees and stand up, finally allowing yourself to glance over at Eddie. He gives a tiny nod of acknowledgment; so subtle that you would’ve missed it if you’d blinked. You’re not exactly sure what it means–thanks or good job or simply I’ll be back for pick-up–but he’s out the door before you can think about it further.

You really should have seen it coming. Should’ve listened to the proverbial alarm bells ringing when you’d heard the shower running. But you were exhausted from a long day at work; the Bop-It situation having kicked off a series of arguments between various groups of kids. At one point, you and Will had given up on storytime and basically played referee, just trying to keep the peace between tiny feuding humans.

You’re scraping the last bits of unfinished mashed potatoes into the garbage when you hear the crash. There’s a clatter of bottles and the pop pop pop of the shower curtain ripping off of its rings. Your blood runs cold and you nearly drop the plate you’re holding, palms suddenly slick with sweat.

“Grandma?” Your voice catches in your throat, a hoarse whisper, and you clear it and try again as you fly towards the bathroom. “Grandma?!”

There’s no answer; between the steady pounding of the shower and her own declining hearing, you expected just as much. You push open the door that she thankfully left unlocked to find her laying in the tub, tears mixing with the stream of water. She cradles her left wrist in her right hand, mumbling inaudibly to herself between heaving sobs.

“Grandma, what happened?” you ask, leaning over to finagle the knob to the “OFF” position.

She looks up as if she’s just realized you’re standing there, too disoriented and focused on the pain to take in any of her surroundings. “I fell.”

You reach for the powder blue towel hanging on the back of the bathroom door and pluck it off of its hook. “Here,” you say, draping it over her shoulders, “let me cover you and I’ll help you up.” It seems absurd to worry about modesty, given the urgency of the situation, but you can tell based on her sheepish demeanor that the small part of her that still feels shame is pinging in her brain. You tuck your hands under her arms, lifting with your knees and hoisting her to her feet. “Grab the bar,” you instruct her, nodding your head towards the silver safety bar lining the shower wall.

“Can I dry you off?” She gives a small nod, letting go to hold her swelling wrist. “Keep holding onto the bar. I don’t want you to slip and fall again.”

“But it hurts,” she whimpers, and you know this will be a losing battle. Even if she does agree to grab onto it again, she’ll almost certainly forget, and you'll have to start the whole process over. Instead, you carefully run the towel over her, watching as the cloth soaks up droplets and trying not to think about how backwards this all seems. There was a time where she was the one drying you off, lifting you out of your little bath seat in the kitchen sink and cooing at her beloved baby granddaughter, hope and joy filling her eyes. A time where life seemed limitless, and maybe she’d started to slow down, but she’d sworn that she’d always remember this moment. She couldn’t even imagine forgetting you.

Grabbing the pile of clothes from their spot on the tiled floor, you find her shirt and offer it to her. “I can help you put it on,” you tell her, toeing the line of preventing another fall and respecting her dignity.

Grandma’s lips curl into a frown and she shakes her head. “Those are dirty,” she protests.

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing yourself to grasp onto the last bit of patience you have left. The words, You didn’t even go anywhere today rests on the tip of your tongue, but you swallow them down, force a smile, and say, “Okay. Let’s get you to your bed so you can sit down, and we’ll pick out new ones.”

She reluctantly agrees to this, and you slowly walk her to the bedroom and grab the first of everything you can find. A fuschia t-shirt and green sweatpants might not be her best look, but you’re not trying to style her for a runway show. After sliding her fluffy pink slippers over her feet, you help her up and guide her to the door, where she stops in her tracks.

“Can’t wear these outside,” she says simply, pointing to the slippers.

“It’s okay,” you reassure her, grabbing your keys from the small table tucked in the corner. “You can wear them outside this time.”

She doesn’t budge. “No, I need my other ones.” Her gaze lands on the pair of white Reeboks resting on the shoe rack. She starts to lean over to take them, but she’s still unsteady on her feet, and you wrap your arm around her torso before she can wobble.

“Just…just sit,” you mutter, feeling anger rise in your chest like a thundercloud. It wasn’t her fault that she was being stubborn, but it didn’t quell the burning frustration. You toss her rejected footwear to the side, silently reminding yourself to pick it up later, and shimmy her feet into the sneakers. You tie the laces into a double knot, pulling nice and tight, determined to keep it from unraveling.

Eddie’s day at work wasn’t much better than yours. After dropping Harris off at school, his first customer had been a middle-aged woman who claimed that a record had been scratched when she’d bought it a few weeks ago, insisting that Eddie had sold it to her that way. Which could have been the case, except he’d only started the job earlier that week.

All he wants now is a nice cold beer, but he has to wait until Harris goes to sleep. Years of watching his own father guzzle down Johnnie Walker until he fell into a drunken stupor led him to promise never to drink in front of his son.

“Bedtime, buddy!” he announces. He doesn’t even have to pretend to be excited; the second Harris dozes off, he’s going to crack open that Coors Light and watch the most mind-numbing show on TV.

Harris throws his head back in exasperation. “But Daaaaadyyyy, I’m not even tired!” His whine pierces Eddie’s eardrum, making him grimace.

“It’s 7:30, and it’s a school night,” he tells him, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “But tomorrow is Friday, so you can stay up a little later then.” He walks over to the tiny dresser pushed up against the wall, pulling out the bottom drawer and taking out a pair of dinosaur-print pajamas. “C’mon, let’s go. Pajamas, pee, and brush those teeth.”

“I’m…not…tired!” Harris screams at the top of his lungs. His cheeks flush beet-red, and spit gathers at the corners of his mouth.

Eddie clenches his fist around the pajamas, feeling his fingernails dig into the soft cotton. He inhales for three, then exhales for three, feeling the oxygen flow through his lungs. “Harris,” he manages through gritted teeth, “I’m going to count to five. And when I’m done, I want you doing your bedtime routine, or you’ll go to bed early tomorrow.” He takes one more deep breath, getting to two before Harris angrily snatches the pajamas from his grip and stomps off to the bathroom.

The boy only brushes his teeth for a grand total of ten seconds, but Eddie doesn’t have the stamina to argue about oral hygiene tonight. Tucking Harris into bed, he leans in to kiss him on the forehead, but he’s met with the back of his head.

Logically, he knows that there will come a time where Harris won’t want a kiss good night, won’t need his dad to help him into bed. Eddie just hadn’t planned on it being tonight.

“I hate you.” Harris’s voice is muffled from his lips being smushed into the pillow, but Eddie received the message loud and clear. It reverberates in his brain like an echo in a tunnel: I hate you I hate you I hate you.

Eddie backs out of the room slowly, flicking off the light and closing the door. He forgoes the shitty TV and sits in silence as he sips on his beer, letting the bitterness seep into his tongue before he swallows.

The venom in Harris’s voice was unmistakable. Eddie knew all too well how it felt to hate a parent. That raw anger swelled within him each time his father got them thrown out of another apartment, or conveniently forgot to pick up groceries (but always managed to remember his booze and drugs), or put his hands on Eddie.

My son hates me, Eddie thinks, taking a last swig of his drink and absentmindedly wiping the foam from his lips. I’m a shit dad, and my son hates me.

He’s too wrapped up in his own thoughts, leaving the sound of squeaking bed springs unnoticed until a loud thud followed immediately by the sound of Harris’s distraught wail snaps him to attention.

“Daddy!” Harris cries out, and Eddie’s sprinting to the bedroom before he can even finish the second syllable.

“What happened?” His voice is louder than he intends from the adrenaline coursing through his veins, and it only makes Harris cry harder. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m not mad,” he says, softening his tone as he flicks on the light. His eyes widen when he sees the way his son’s arm is twisted.

“I couldn’t—sniffle—sleep, s-so I—sniffle—t-tried to j-jump my awake out,” Harris explains through hiccuping sobs. “An’ I h-hurted—sniffle—my arm.”

“C’mere, sshh, ‘s okay.” Eddie reassures him as he scoops him up, carefully avoiding his injury. “We gotta get you to the hospital so the doctors can fix it.”

Harris’s lower lip trembles again. “Are th-they gonna g-give me a sh-shot?”

“Nah, they’ll just have to do an x-ray,” he says, grimacing when he thinks of how much it’ll cost, even after Medicaid kicks in. “But those don’t hurt.”

Harris gives a tiny nod, still ambivalent as he nestles his head into the crook of his father’s neck. His curls tickle Eddie, who presses a kiss to the boy’s forehead and murmurs, “Daddy’s here, okay? I got you.” He feels Harris’s uninjured hand grab onto him a bit tighter as he brings him to the car.

“Can we go home now?”

You breathe out an exasperated sigh, leaning back in the chair and bouncing your leg anxiously. Hawkins General Hospital wasn’t crowded, and you and Grandma were taken to a room fairly quickly, but it still isn’t fast enough for an elderly woman who has no idea why she’s here.

“We have to wait a little longer for the doctor to see us,” you explain for the fourth time in as many minutes. “They have to make sure you don’t have a concussion.” Your answer seems to placate her, at least until she asks again within the next sixty seconds, as she hums her acknowledgment.

There’a a soft knock on the door, and a perky blonde nurse pokes her head in the room as soon as you give her permission to enter. “Hi, I’m Chrissy; I’ll be your nurse,” she says, looking at your grandmother. “What brings you in to see us tonight?”

“I’m just here with her,” Grandma shrugs, pointing to you.

“She slipped and fell in the shower,” you explain patiently. “I know she hurt her wrist, but I’m not sure if she hit her head, and she has Alzheimer’s…” You glance at her uneasily. “She doesn’t even remember falling.”

Chrissy nods understandingly, offering a sympathetic smile as she makes a note on her chart. “I can take you in for an x-ray of your wrist, and then we’ll run some tests to rule out a head injury as best as we can, okay, Mrs…” Her gaze shifts back to the chart before she brings her attention back to you. “Do you teach at Hawkins Preschool, by any chance?”

“Guilty as charged,” you give the best semblance of a laugh you can muster.

“I recognized your last name,” she says as she helps Grandma off of the examination table. “My daughter is in your class. Abigail Carver? She absolutely adores you.”

The compliment buzzes in your chest as your smile becomes more genuine. “Well, thank you. That means a lot. And she’s a great kid, too.” Except when she’s screeching at her friends, you think, but you keep that tidbit to yourself.

“I work nights, so my husband handles the school stuff,” Chrissy explains. “But I’m glad we finally got to meet, even if it’s under these circumstances.”

She hooks her arm through Grandma’s, who promptly shakes her off. “Let go of me!” the older woman snarls, shuffling back towards you. She may not know exactly who you are, but there’s at least a level of familiarity that brings her some comfort.

“I’ll walk with you,” you offer, and Chrissy agrees gratefully as the three of you gradually make your way down the starch-white hallway.

Unbeknownst to you, in a room just across the hall, Harris Munson is showing his dad how he can hop up and down on one leg without losing his balance.

Jesus H. Christ; does this kid ever run out of energy? Eddie silently wonders, but he plasters a smile on his face. “That’s really cool, Har-Bear. Just, uh, sit down before you hurt yourself even more.”

Harris is about to pout when a nurse enters the room. She’s probably in her mid-fifties, Eddie surmises, with brown hair that’s streaked gray and pulled back in a low bun.

“Harris Munson?” she asks shortly, and Eddie points to the little jumping bean standing next to him. “Come with me to the x-ray room.” She doesn’t offer her name, but Eddie catches a glimpse of the badge on her scrubs pocket that reads “Anna.”

Anna has Harris place his arm on the table, gingerly moving it to take x-rays from different angles. Standing in the doorway, Eddie winces at the tiny yelps his son lets out with each minimal adjustment. “You’re hurting him,” he manages through a bone-dry throat.

“If there is a break or sprain, we need to ensure that we find it,” she explains impatiently, retreating back to the room where she snaps a few more images before bringing them back to the room.

“Dad?”

“Mhm?”

“I’m sleepy now.” Harris punctuates his statement with a yawn, laying back on the examination table and dozing off just moments later.

Eddie takes his jacket–the same one that Harris wore at school that day–and places it over the boy’s sleeping body in a makeshift blanket. By the time the radiologist comes in to deliver the results, Eddie’s struggling to keep his own eyes open.

“How’re we doing in here?” she says, watching as Harris stirs, stretches his little legs, and promptly falls asleep again. “Is it past someone’s bedtime?”

“His and mine,” Eddie grumbles, wiping the sleep from his eyes and sitting up straighter. There’s a pinch in his lower back from slouching in the uncomfortable chair, and he grimaces as he tries to massage the sore spot.

“Well, you’ll be out of here soon. It looks like Harris did break his wrist, so we’ll need to get a cast on it, but we can discharge him as soon as it’s done.”

“Brilliant.” Eddie presses on his knees as he stands up to gently shake his son awake. “Hey, bud. It’s time to wake up so you can get a super cool cast.”

“Mmph,” Harris grunts, throwing his good arm over his eyes dramatically.

Eddie just laughs, not catching the concerned look on the doctor’s face as she flips through Harris’s chart. “C’mon, I’ll carry you, but you gotta help me out here.” Harris begrudgingly complies, wrapping his legs around Eddie’s waist and holding onto him as tightly as he can.

“It’ll only take about fifteen minutes,” the doctor explains, rubbing Harris’s back for good measure. “You can drop him off in this room, Mr. Munson. One of our nurses needs to speak with you.”

He doesn’t like the look on her face; the one that simultaneously gives away nothing and too much. Her lips press together in a thin smile, one that’s obviously forced, as an orthopedic technician guides Eddie into the next room.

The unfriendly nurse from earlier, Anna, is waiting for him outside the door.

“Mr. Munson, could I speak to you privately?” Eddie nods wordlessly, traipsing behind her back to the room where Harris had just been sleeping.

“Mr. Munson,” Anna begins, and Eddie swears he’ll punch a hole through the hospital’s wall if she keeps speaking in that condescending tone, “as you know, ensuring the safety and wellbeing of our patients, particularly our pediatric ones, is our top priority here at Hawkins General.” She pauses, as though he’s supposed to have some response to that, but he remains silent. “Given the nature of your son’s injury, coupled with the report that a nurse smelled alcohol on your breath when you entered our facility, we have to report this incident to Child Protective Services.”

Eddie’s eyes nearly bulge out of his head; his fists clench involuntarily, and he has to remind himself to steady his breathing. In for three, out for three. “There–there must be some mistake,” he stammers. “I had one beer after Harris went to bed–well, he was supposed to be in bed–and I was well under the legal limit when I brought him here.”

Anna cocks her head, and rage surges through Eddie’s bloodstream at her subtle gesture of disbelief. He didn’t even drink when his son was awake, let alone drive drunk. And the thought of him hurting Harris, whether under the influence of alcohol or not, was enough to turn his stomach. For fuck’s sake, he felt guilty if he accidentally stepped on the kid’s toes.

“Be that as it may,” the nurse continues, and Eddie swears she’s trying to suppress an eyeroll, “I also see that there was a previous report from 1992–”

“When he was born?” Eddie sputters. “That–that had nothing to do with me. His mom…”

Anna glances back down at Harris’s chart and frowns. “It looks like both you and Harris’s mother were listed in that report.” She looks up at Eddie again. “This is out of our hands now. CPS will take over from here and determine the next steps to take.” With that, she walks away, leaving Eddie leaning against the door with tears in his eyes.

All he can think about are the custody papers Wayne gave him. The way he’d angrily torn them up, taking them as a threat, rather than an offer to help. The way he’d blamed Wayne for his life going to shit.

I hate you, Harris had said earlier that evening.

Maybe Wayne was right. Maybe Harris was better off without his dad around to fuck up everything in his path.

You’re waiting at the front desk for Grandma’s discharge papers when you hear an excited voice call out your name; rather, his nickname for you.

“Ms. Sweetheart!”

You turn around to see Harris Munson running towards you, sporting a bright orange cast on his wrist. “What happened to you?” you ask with a smile–a genuine one, this time. That little boy always manages to cheer you up.

“I was trying to jump my awake out and I breaked my wrist,” he says. “So then my daddy taked me here and I got this cast. See?” He holds out his arm two inches from your eyes, as though the neon color wasn’t already a dead giveaway.

“That is the coolest cast I’ve ever seen,” you tell him. “I broke my leg once, and I just got a boring white one.” You pout your lips exaggeratedly, making Harris laugh. “I bet all the kids in school will wanna sign it tomorrow.”

Harris breaks out into a giant grin. “They can sign it?”

“Sure can!”

He thinks for a moment and asks, “Will you sign my cast, Ms. Sweetheart?” He looks up at you with those soft brown eyes, and you feel yourself start to melt.

Before you can answer him, your Grandma speaks up. “I’m leaving,” she declares, already trying to take off the sling that the nurse gave her for her sprained wrist.

“I just need to sign you out, Grandma,” you explain. “And remember, you need to keep the sling on so your wrist can heal.”

“Fuck you, bitch,” she hisses. “I hate you.”

Your face heats up, embarrassed at her outburst and at the fact that it happened in front of a student and his parent. “I’m sorry,” you mumble, though you’re unsure if you’re apologizing more to Eddie or to Harris. “She has Alzheimer’s…she doesn’t know…”

You expect Eddie to laugh at your misfortune, but when your eyes flicker to his face, you only see sympathy.

“‘S okay,” he says softly, putting a ringed hand on Harris’s shoulder. “I feel like swearing, too, after the night we’ve had.”

You offer a weak smile, still processing the unfamiliar kindness that he’s showing. “Thanks,” you manage, just as the receptionist hands you the discharge paperwork. “I’ll see you both at school tomorrow?”

“And you can sign my cast!” Harris exclaims, flashing a toothy grin. “Promise?”

“Promise.” You ruffle his hair, leading Grandma out to the car before she can conjure up another slew of swear words.

Eddie wakes up the next morning still exhausted. He rolls over, catching a glimpse of Harris still sleeping soundly in his racecar bed. He’s tempted to let him sleep in a bit, maybe take the day off from school, but he knows how badly he wants Ms. Sweetheart to sign his cast.

Ms. Sweetheart.

He’d been thinking about you all night. The way your calm, confident demeanor had faltered when your grandma cursed at you and said she hated you. The way you caved in a bit, as though her words had punctured you.

You hadn’t reacted like that when Eddie called you a bitch; you’d simply carried on as though the words meant nothing to you.

Because they did mean nothing to you. Because he meant nothing to you. He was just another drop in the douchebag bucket, and once you’d gotten over the initial sting of rejection, you’d moved on. And so had he.

Right?

He tries to shake these thoughts from his mind as he gets Harris ready for school, but it’s nearly impossible when all the kid can talk about is how he saw Ms. Sweetheart at the hospital and how she’s going to sign his cast today.

“She’s the bestest teacher I’ve ever had,” Harris tells Eddie, shoving a spoonful of Cheerios into his mouth.

“She’s the only teacher you’ve ever had, buddy,” Eddie reminds him, but Harris remains unfazed.

Sure enough, you’re waiting outside the classroom door, black Sharpie in hand. Harris’s eyes light up when he spots you.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You remembered!”

“Of course I remembered,” you say, uncapping the marker and crouching down to his level. Both Eddie and Harris watch intently as you write your signature, complete with a little heart.

Ms. Sweetheart ♡

“Go ahead and unpack,” you tell Harris. “Once you finish your morning routine, we can have your friends sign it, too.”

“Okay!” He starts to run, but crawls to a stop. “Gotta use my walking feet in the classroom.”

You give him a thumbs-up, turning back to hand Eddie the sign-in sheet.

“I’ll be damned,” he chuckles, shaking his head incredulously. “I’ve been trying to get that kid to slow down since he learned how to run. Swear to God, he skipped right over the ‘walking’ stage and went straight to sprinting.”

You laugh at his remark, taking the clipboard back from him. “Try the walking feet trick. I’ll let you borrow it, free of charge.”

“Much appreciated.” He starts to leave, but stops before he can fully turn his back to you. “How’s your grandma, by the way?”

His kind gesture catches you off-guard, but you recover quickly. “Already giving me a hard time about the sling, but that’s the home health aid’s problem until I get back.”

Eddie steps forward, awkwardly resting his hand on your upper arm for just a second. He’s not exactly sure what he’s doing, or why, but it felt like the right move. “Well, uh, good luck. With the whole ‘sling’ fiasco.”

“I’ll need it.”

He smiles, and you easily return it. It’s an olive branch, one that you eagerly reach out and take. It’s not much, but it’s more than he’s ever given you.

Eddie’s walking back down the hallway, feeling as though a weight has been lifted off of his overburdened shoulders, when he hears it:

“...reported to CPS. Apparently, this isn’t the first time it’s happened.”

No. No. There’s no way that they could be talking about him.

He rounds the corner towards the school lobby to see Carol Perkins talking to Steve Harrington, her hushed whisper not soft enough to prevent other people from hearing.

“What?” Steve asks.

“Yup,” Carol nods. “Something about when he was born? Like, how bad of a parent do you have to be to get reported to CPS as soon as your kid is born?”

Eddie feels the bile rise in his throat. His suspicions are further confirmed when she adds, “And get this–he was drinking when he brought Harris to the hospital. That’s why I’ll never let Frankie play at his house.”

There’s no way he can just walk past them and act like he hadn’t heard anything, so he decides to wait until they finish their conversation. They made him sound like some sort of neglectful alcoholic who disregards his son’s safety. They made him sound like his dad.

As Steve and Carol say their goodbyes, Eddie takes one last glance back towards the classroom. You’re cheerfully greeting an adoring student, ruffling her hair like you did to Harris at the hospital last night.

Eddie sucks in a quick breath. You were there last night. You were also in the orthopedic wing, as evidenced by your grandma’s injury. You had been humiliated in front of him for the second time; the first was when Eddie hadn’t called you after the one-night stand. And now you wanted revenge.

No wonder you were so friendly this morning. This whole time, you were just waiting for him to slip up. Waiting for him to have his moment of weakness. Now he knows better than to trust you. He won’t make that mistake again.

@littlepotatobeansworld @kelsiegrin @lma1986 @munsonology @stuckontheceiling @avobabe87 @eddapwinchester @peachysink @definitelynotecho @browneyes8288 @jeremyspoke-inclasstoday

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

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noted-aj · 28 days

Text

Feeling so tired, really falling apart.

hazbin hotel (some of) cast x gn!reader

comfort / angst headcanons

HCs for if the cast found reader crying in their room, yet they attempt to hide the fact that they were. reader is gender neutral, they/them are pronouns used along with Y/N <3

(SORRY THIS IS SO SHORT!!!) first post ever :3

characters included: angel dust, charlie, husk, alastor

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Charlie:

💌 - Charlie would definitely bring snacks or things that comfort you to your room.

💌 - She can be a bit much at times, and my accidentally pry too much.

💌 - I swear, her hugs could probably comfort anyone within seconds. Just imagine a soft yet intense cuddle sesh with her

💌 - She wouldn’t want to be too pushy, but would definitely offer to stay with them and help cheer them up.

A light knock sounded from your door and a soft yet somehow still energetic voice followed it. “Hey, (Y/N)?..” A small sniffle could be heard from the other side of the door, coming from you. A strained “Yes?” you said. The door creaked open, your head staring at the bubbly woman who stood in your doorway. “I just wanted to check on you, you haven’t been out of your room all day.” You swiftly wiped the tears from your face “No, no, I’m fine Charlie. Don’t worry.” Charlie gave you an empathetic look and walked over to your bed, sitting down on the corner of your bed. “Tell me how I can help.” She wrapped an arm around you with a smile.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Husk:

🍻 - Husker is definitely great at comforting others, but doesn’t like to do it to people he doesn’t trust or know.

🍻 - He would be similar to a father figure just letting you rant about what happened, but not trying to shut down your problems.

🍻 - Asks what kind of drinks you like and make them for you, or have Charlie help him find comfort objects for you

The door to your hotel room creaked open softly, but loud enough for you to hear. You wiped your eyes and stood up defensively, taking a few sniffles. A cat demon looked down at you slightly, a melancholic look on his face. You sighed and turned away from him, giving up the attempt to hide the fact you were crying. “You alright, kid?” You nodded largely, not saying a word. He looked down with you and then back towards your face, turned away from him. “..Would you tell me if you weren’t..?” You looked away shamefully, still remaining silent. He placed a hand on your shoulder, giving you a small smile “That’s okay. I’m here for you if ya need it.” He chuckled.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Angel Dust:

💒 - Depending on what you were crying about, Angel can usually always help in some way or another

💒 - His hugs are immaculate, he has 6 arms for a reason. And he’s soft as hell too.

💒 - He has a lot of problems as well, and I’m sure you two could have such a relieving vent & cry session together.

You walked up the stairs on the hotel lobby, not speaking a word to anyone in the lobby. You received a few concerned and confused glanced for someone who was usually striking up conversations, you didn’t spare a glance to any of them. “I’ll check on ‘em.” Angel walked up the stairs behind you, and paused before knocking on your door. He hesitated but eventually tapped his knuckles against the door and was met with a “Go away.” and a few sniffles. He opened the door lightly and frowned at your clearly upset state. “C’mon doll, you know you can talk to me.” He reassured and walked over to your bed, sitting on the edge and placing a hand on your shoulder.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

Alastor:

📻 - Despite seeming so careless about everyone, he took pity on you when he saw your depressive state.

📻 - Will NOT leave you alone until you tell him what happened or why you’re so upset.

📻 - Someone hurt you? Done, killed. Someone accidentally hurt you? Also done, killed.

📻 - Won’t get physical, but will offer some advice.

(Similar to the last scenario)

You walked into the hotel foyer, looking around and only seeing Niffty dusting a window sill while Husk was slumped at the bar, his face stuck right in it. Alastor, Charlie, Angel, and Vaggie were nowhere to be seen. You saw this as a great opportunity to not talk to anyone. You sniffled and wiped your eyes with a huff, perking up the staircase and maneuvering to your room. As you closed the door to your room, you sighed and leaned against the door when you felt the tears come back again. All of a sudden, Alastor manifested in your room, towering over you. “Mind telling me about your melancholic facade?” He smiled at you, in typical fashion. “I’m fine, Alastor. Leave me alone.” He saw right through your persona, and his gaze narrowed. “Now, now, let’s not be hostile. Fill me in.” He sat down on your bed, patting a spot next to him.

authors note: i started this in early march and COMPLETELY forgot about it.. please request ideas, I NEED STUFFS TO WRITE BEFORE I RUN OUT OF MOTIVATION!!!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・.・。.・

#hazbin hotel angst #hazbin hotel platonic #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin charlie #hazbin husk #hazbin hotel x reader #gn!reader #comfort #hazbin hotel comfort #alastor x reader #angel dust x reader #husk x reader #charlie x reader #aaaaahhhhhhhhhhh #noted aj

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serevena · 7 months

Text

Gf!Ellie on Halloween

a.n - Happy Halloween everyone!! Needed to post this because Halloween is my fav ever..hope your Halloween is good!! Enjoy <3 🎃

warnings - provocative language, fluff, Ellie being a dork and scared of everything, kissing.

; I

Ellie was never the type to celebrate holidays. Her peers would be lucky if she accepted a cake on her birthday.

But you changed that, persistent that Ellie get dressed up and went out with you for Halloween. You went all out and made her close her eyes, grabbing a costume you bought for her a few days prior and holding it in front her.

“You can open ‘em.”

“Holy shit!” Ellie muttered, her brows raising as her hands went to her knees, rubbing them over her jeans lightly. And you could slowly see her crack a smile on her chapped lips.

“Do you like it?” You asked, already knowing the answer. The helmet; which was admittedly the best part to the beloved astronaut costume was still in the closet, and you smiled at the thought of Ellie’s reaction to that. Ellie nodded and felt the fabric of the costume before kissing you, quickly pulling away to look at it again.

“It’s fuckin’ sick!”

; II

Throughout the month of October, you’d been practically forcing Ellie to partake in any Halloween events. Haunted houses, pumpkin carving, pumpkin patches, you name it, the two of you did it.

She most definitely did not agree to the haunted house at first, scared shitless but she’d never admit it.

And god, it was like hell on actual earth when the two of you arrived. Ellie let out something of a scream-groan when the two of you were waiting In line, a man sliding over to the two of you. You laughed, not only finding it cool but also at Ellie’s reaction. She covered her face and squeezed her sweaty palm onto yours.

And let’s not get started on when the two of you actually went inside. She insisted you go first so the scare wouldn’t be as bad for her, but she somehow ended up in the front halfway through. She jumped and practically squealed every time someone popped out, a gush of wind hit the two of you, or a light would make a weird noise.

By the time you and Ellie left the haunted house, she was out of breath, sweaty, and half dead.

“Never. Fucking. Again.”

; III

“That’s for like, five year olds.” Ellie muttered.

“Right, because parents trust a five year old with a sharp object.” You laughed, wielding a carving tool in your hand with two pumpkins on the counter in front of the both of you.

“You never know.”

“What’re you gonna make?” You questioned with almost a devilish grin, knowing Ellie did not wanna do this. “I don’t know yet..”

…

She turned her pumpkin around with a tiny smile on her face, and you glanced down at it, caught off guard. She made a portrait of Joel, and god was it good.

“You should make that into a profession..” you mumbled, glancing down at your pumpkin. It was a stick-figure Ellie that you knew she’d make of you for. Onto to the next one.

; IV

“What’s your favorite scary movie?” You asked, throwing a piece of popcorn into your mouth. Ellie shrugged from the corner of your eye and sat up. “I thought we were watching interstellar.”

“Ellie, we’ve seen that movie like 10 times..plus it’s Halloween, we should have like, a marathon or something.”

She immediately sat back, defeated. She let out a long sigh which caused you to smile and roll your eyes. “Drama queen.”

You could see Ellie’s mouth widen at your words as her brows furrowed, but she again, was defeated. So she stood silent.

Eventually, the two of you agreed on the movie ‘Saw X’, and you glanced over at Ellie who glanced over at you a few times.

Safe to say the night ended with Ellie in your arms, half asleep, drooling on you but also refused to sleep since she was convinced she’d have a nightmare about the movie.

“It wasn’t even that scary.” You said, caressing her auburn hair.

“You’re so full of shit.” Ellie said, smiling a bit once she heard you laugh in response.

#castasplla #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams #ellie x reader #ellie williams x female reader #ellie tlou2 #ellie x y/n

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idesofrevolution · 1 month

Text

The Journey of Dr. Santana Fabrega

There's nothing quite like your bro slobberin' over your sweaty feet while tokin' on a hookah. Let me just tell you- everybody's happy. I'm stoked to be stoned and minty fresh, and he's happy to taste my ripe size 12's. Who isn't the happiest? The folks. Sure, I dropped out of college, sure I started focusing one hundred percent on my art, sure I have a parade of guys out of my little basement lair... but I never got why they had to be such fuckin' buzzkills.

Ever since they joined that church when I was at uni, my parents have been sucked into the Evangelical cult. Not the whole lifting your hands up to Jesus & speaking in tongues sort of church, by the way. Man, they're out there with picket signs at sex clinics, bannin' books at the high school, all that crazy fuckin' Christian Nation bullshit. They're my parents, so I love 'em and whatever. But fuck, those psychos really fucked 'em up. So now, their crusade is "curing" me of my gayness. Didn't really matter that I'm pan, they don't really know the difference. They don't really care about the difference, though. Not straight, not right.

So when they caught me the other day with Sam cleanin' my dick in the basement, it was World War 3. Man, a Nuclear Bomb would have less energy than my mom's hysterical shrieking. It's Florida, so it's nothing the neighbors haven't heard before. But, shit. I thought my eardrums were gonna pop. They stomped off upstairs, bein' all 'we are going to talk about this later, Santiago.' So, I let Sammy finish up, I pulled on some shorts and I went upstairs to face the fire while he snuck out the basement window. Fuck, I wished I were him.

The 'family meeting' went about as well as you'd expect. Threats of burning in hell for all eternity, demands that I find the Lord, etc. Apparently he doesn't like a lot of things about me: my weed, my tattoos, my sexuality, my piercings, my hair for some reason? I don't know man, I just tuned out after a while. What I did catch, though, they were sending me to substance abuse counseling. Couldn't help but laugh, and that sent dad through the fuckin' roof.

"Doctor Fabrega is going to teach you some manners, young man. Make you a Godly man, like you should be." Yada yada yada. He should have known better than to give me the doc's name. After the ass reaming, I made my way back downstairs to the computer. It took five minutes of research to find this Doctor Fabrega. Turns out he's a Christian Therapist, but that wasn't what was most interesting. Down in his specializations, buried beneath substance abuse & cognitive behavioral therapy was a word that caught my eye: licensed Hypnotherapist.

I knew exactly what kind of bullshit they were tryin' to pull on me. But when I was enrolled at U Miami, my major was Psychology. Not only that, but I still happened to have access to the university library. Oops.

I texted Sammy, knowing I was gonna be up all night doing research, and that my dick would need some appropriate attention under the desk. I was gonna show this motherfucker just how sick it really is to be like me.

---

The waiting room was bullshit. Cold white walls, bright wood floors... It looked straight out of an IKEA ad. I'd already been there for like 20 minutes past my appointment time, giving me just enough time to scroll through the last chapter on my phone. I hear the receptionist call out my name, and I head toward the office. Just as bullshit as the waiting room. It's like the guy wants to live in a psych ward- no color anywhere. At least get a blacklight or something.

"Santiago Rivera. Welcome, I'm Dr. Fabrega." The guy was hot as fuck, not gonna lie. Looked like he was straight out of Sao Paulo- even with the fancy suit you can't hide muscle like that. "Please, sit. It's so good to meet you." His voice was so weird. Speaking every word with like, perfect diction. You know those AI voices that talk that way? That's what it was like, as if he were trying so hard to hide an accent underneath.

"Just call me Santi, doc." I plopped down on the leather chair, might have put my feet up on his coffee table (don't recall), and he just looked at me like he was looking in a microscope. No idea what the deal was. He walked over to the couch and sat down with my file and started to drone on.

"Alright, Santi, it says here that your parents are pretty concerned about your behavior lately. You're 23 years old and a college dropout, you take illicit drugs, you have no job, and you're having unnatural thoughts. That's quite the list, bud." He was so fuckin smug, that sort of punchable glibness that only comes from a particular kind of self righteousness. Like Jesus himself came down and kissed them.

"So, first off. I did drop out of college, because I couldn't afford it. Second, I sure the fuck do smoke green because it's a) fun, and b) prescribed to me by my real doctor. Third, I do have a job. I do graphic design and graffiti art and I pay my own bills with it. And last off, yup: I fucked him." He sat there, somehow shocked that I told him how it was right off the bat. I'm not playing his little game, and that made him angry.

"I see. So you have no remorse for any of this? I believe your parents are very right to be concerned about where your life is headed."

"Fascinating, considering I'm moving out at the end of the month and they won't need to deal with my life. So. You married?" He was thrown off by that, just as I'd hoped. Right out of the blue. Knocks them off kilter for a second. An easy question to answer, so they usually do.

"Uh, well, no I'm not married. Is that your concern in all this?" Man, I couldn't help but laugh. He's trying to be sarcastic?

"Where did ya go to school for... whatever this is." This made him close my file, he even put it on the table and crossed his arms.

"I went to Liberty University, top of my class in their Doctor of Psychology program. You, it seems didn't make it that far, so you might not know what 'this' is." Oooh, he's big mad. I thought, let's push it. I did what most of my guys love, but would piss him off, I kicked off the Vans. Made sure I wore my skating shoes that day, the super ripe ones with the same damp socks. When they came off, those puppies let their presence be known.

"Sounds boring. Boring then, boring now. I got accepted into the Art Institute in Savannah, so I'll be headed that way soon. Be legit soon, then you wouldn't have anything to say. How's your sex life?" He thought he was so tough, not flinching at the musk, nor my question. But I knew both hit him right where I wanted. The question to make him mad, the stink to get him hot.

"Santiago, I think we should continue with our session. You can put your shoes back on and we can try some exercises to help you think a bit more clearly." I crossed my ankles, wriggling my toes a bit.

"I think they need some air. Are you gonna try and hypnotize me now? Or is that the last ditch effort when everything else fails?" He leaned back in his seat, the grimace growing stronger. "That stuff is not that hard to master. A couple days really and you got it down."

"Is that so?" He ground his teeth as he spat out his words. "It seems you know all there is to know, then." Time to hit it home.

"You know what, let's put money on it, doc. Hundred bucks says I can put you under." I got him, his eyebrow shifted just enough for me to see.

"This isn't a casino, Santiago. I don't bet money on client's health." I couldn't help but smirk. He left an opening I couldn't pass up.

"Aight, no money then. If I put you under, I get the bragging rights. If I don't, I'll play your stupid games. Win-win for you, nothing to lose but your dignity." Hook, line and sinker; he leaned in, grabbing the remote on the table next to him. He tapped a button, and the shades started to come down.

"Well then, Mr. Rivera. I wish you luck."

The room got dark. Really fuckin' dark. Fabrega hit another button on the remote, and a cool blue washed over the room. Gotta say, tight LED system. I kicked my shoes off the table, and scooted my chair forward. Showtime.

"Alright, Santana, I want you to just take deep breaths." He squirmed at my use of his first name, one last dig before I brain fucked him. He took his deep breaths one at a time, slowly getting deeper and deeper. "As I count down from one to ten, each number will bring you closer and closer to relaxation. Picture a long tunnel, at the end, a bright white light. With every number, you take a step forward to the light, do you understand?"

He nodded, it was an induction I'd made up this morning. I started from 10, telling him his first step he could feel the tingling relaxation in the tips of his fingers, slowly crawling up his hands and forearms. 9. Another step, the tingling creeps up his big muscly arms and shoulders. 8. One more step, the tingling is pushing up his neck and throat, reaching his tongue and teeth. 7. The tingling bursts into his head, a paradoxical rush of relaxation, a fog of dissonance washes over his brain as thoughts collide and crash about. 6. The tingling washes down his spine, flowing through his nerves into every part of his body. His body feels electric, a painless jolt running throughout him. I watched as he tensed up, his big muscles contracting and bunching him up. It was working.

We get to 5, starting at the crown of his head, the volts decrease, turning lugubrious and liquified like molasses sloshing about in his head. 4. The light is so close he can feel the heat, but his body is cooled as the syrupy fluid flows down over him like a waterfall, pooling in his big feet as it fills every crevice. 3. It feels as if he's trudging through mud toward the light, his legs feeling wobbly and gelatinous. 2. So close, his whole body feels like a massless blob, inching toward the final drop into the cavernous light. 1. He crawls toward the ledge, plummeting down into the endless void of bright white light. There, he will sit as I have a little bit of fun.

"Alright, Santana. Can you hear me in there?" Fabrega nods, expressionless. Fuck, that was maybe a 80/20 chance I was gonna fuck this shit up so bad. But I guess God really is on my side here. "Whenever I ask a question, you will answer truthfully. Whatever I say you will incorporate into your life. Now, Santana, what do you do when you're not at work?" His lips moved slowly and replied in monotone.

"I go to the gym, I go to the golf course, I hire my date, and I go home." Ooooh shit. He's giving my friends on the corners a decent living, good for him. Hardly a Godly thing to do. Either way, it was a perfect place to start.

"You love going to the gym, don't you, Santana?" He nodded. "You love gettin' all sweaty don't you?" His head began to shake, his expression furrowing a bit in disgust. "No, Santana. You love getting all sweaty. The feeling of those cool droplets on your hot muscles during a hard workout? Doesn't it feel good?" He pauses, before reluctantly nodding. Ahh I love gettin my fingers in his brain, never ceases to please. "You love that funk that comes off your sweat, Santana. You love sniffin your pits, your big feet, your balls... That musk means you're workin' hard. Keeping in shape. Staying virile. Isn't that right?" He nodded, squirming in the chair. I watched his body try to reject the instructions, try to rebel, but just one repetition had his back to stillness.

"You don't even like golf, do you?" He nodded, I didn't even need to manipulate him. "You much prefer hitting the beach, don't you? Seein' all the guys and gals starin' at your glorious bod... You love it, don't you?" He nodded, the side of his lip curling ever so slightly. "You love bringing out the speedo, letting the goods hang low, letting the buns bulge... you know they all wanna see it anyway..." He nodded again, it was like taking candy from a baby. The guy had the mental fortitude of a frog.

"You like fucking, too. You can have any girl or guy on the street with a single wink." He nodded, and I couldn't help but watch as his groin started to bulge. "Yeah, boy. You love taking that horse cock and plowing it into some ass... plowing it into some pussy... fucking their pretty little mouths..." Drool started to drip from the corner of his lip, and a little wet spot quickly appeared on his pants. "You're a freak, aren't you, Santana? You like fuckin' in the car, in the sauna, at the gym, under the desk... gushing gallons into them while you shove your sneaker on their face." He was moaning, slowly grinding against the open air. Can't lie, I was gropin' myself a bit just watching him.

"Now, Santana. I'm going to bring you back to your office, but when I do, you are going to be super laid back and chill with Santi during your sessions. If he says the word 'sniff' you will return to this space, return to an open mind, just as we have done here today. Do you understand?" He nodded one final time before I began his emergence. Counting back from one to ten, I watched as he slowly came back to the real world, and with one snap, he blinked his eyes and wiped his brow.

"Well, doc. I got the bragging rights." Fabrega pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a headache. Time to see if it had all paid off.

"Uhh... yeah... Santi. You got me there..." Perfect. He pulled his hand away from his nose, clicking the shades back up to their little hole. It didn't take long until he saw the wet patch on his bulbous package. He chuckled under his breath. "You'll have to excuse the mess, Santi... I have hyperspermia, so sometimes it all just flows out." Hot- and totally unprofessional. Just how I like 'em. I leaned back in my chair, smirkin' the whole way.

"Damn, doc. Firehose down there. Gonna have to show me sometime." He smirked and waved me off.

"I don't fraternize with clients, Santi. Oh, look at the time. I'm late for my 5:30. Alright, I'll see you next week." He stood up, extending his hand, his whole demeanor entirely changed. I slipped my Vans back on, spitting on my hand before gripping his. He shuddered a bit, sure. But we were gonna get real close, real quick.

---

The next few days flew by. My folks were so excited to see that I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Fabrega, and I loved knowing what they didn't. I was excited to see if Dr. Fabrega was gonna be Santana. So when I finally got back in for my appointment, I didn't need to wait long at all. Only five minutes and the door swung open, the receptionist completely flustered. The anticipation was killing me. She sat down behind her computer with tunnel vision and I walked into the office.

At first, I thought it was empty. He wasn't sitting at his desk, on the couch... but as I heard huffing from the balcony, I knew where to find him. I walked up to the sliding glass door, and turned outside to see one hell of a sight.

It was Santana. Nothing on but his whitie-tighties and his damp socks doing pushups on the bench. Fuck, those muscles were glistening in the light, his underwear with damp patches on his ass and bulge. His clothes sat in a pile near his head: jeans, a Miami Heat jersey, some sick dunks I wanted to steal... far from the stuffy suit he had on just the week before. He finally noticed me, and smiled.

"Santi! Hey! Just finishing up my lunch workout. Thought I'd get a session in today on the balcony. Damn, the fresh air is good for exercise!" I smirked. It was night and day. So far, gone was the bible thumping hypocrite, and here was what was underneath. If anything I was doing him a service.

"Shit, Santana! You're looking prime today. You gonna funk out our session today, or?" I punched him in the shoulder, and he giggled like a kid.

"It's eau naturale, my friend. Natural water. That's what it smells like." He slipped on his jeans and his big fuckin' sneakers, tossing the jersey over his head while we walked in. He trailed some deliciously ripe musk, and I couldn't help but savor a bit of it. We plopped down on our seats, and just started shootin' shit. I bitched about the parents, he bitched about his receptionist, I told him about Sammy suckin' my dick clean, and he told me about the threesome with a gym bro and his girlfriend. He was coming along beautifully. Though, I thought to myself, how's about a round two?

"Dude, by the way, those kicks are fuckin' tight." I pointed to the dunks, which he smugly kicked up onto the coffee table, showing them off.

"Thanks, man. They're the lifting shoes. My work boots, heh." I reached out, grabbing ahold of his foot, and yanked it off. He chuckled like a fuckin' idiot while I looked at 'em. Size 13, nice and big- and the smell wafting out of there... Fuck, man.

"Damn, dude you never wash your socks? These stink!" I playfully tossed the shoe at him, and just as he started to brush off the comment, I said my magic word. "Sniff it." Like a flipped lightswitch, his expression turned numb, slowly bringing the shoe to his nose and inhaling his own musk. I clapped my hands, rubbing them together: let's do a little more programming.

"Santana, You're a pretty chill guy, you know that?" He nodded. "You smoke, don't you? You know, the good shit?" Deep in his mind, he had to know it was me talking at this point, so I was talking to him like a bro. Establishes trust, ya know? He shook his head no. "Ahh, come on man. You love kickin' back and toking on that reefer after a long workout." Santana chuckled a bit, before nodding, still nose deep in his sneaker. "Yeah, you love smokin' out your bros, your babes... when you're not shootin' tequila!" He full out laughed on that one, nodding along. The sneaker slowly dropped from his hand, and he laid back in his chair.

"How old are you, Santana?"

"28." Shit, he was only a few years older than me. I mean, he looked young. But hell, you wouldn't have known it from the way he acted.

"Where are you from?" "Rio de Janeiro." Interesting. I clocked the accent. I was pretty proud of myself.

"Why do you try so hard to hide it? The way you talk, the way you dress, the way you act... You act like you're from Ohio." Another chuckle, I should have had a Netflix special. "You're gonna embrace that Brazilian pride, bro. Don't hide it for some mayo drinking buzzkills!" He furrowed his brow, nodding intently. This one was for his own fuckin' good. Be proud of that shit! "You should get some ink to really embrace it. Nothin' sexier than a tatted up stud, am I right?" He nodded again, his bulge once more springing to life. I smirked, simply wanting to know a little something somethin'.

"Do you think Santi is hot?" He sat there for a second, before slowly smiling and nodding. I didn't even need to program that one. Aww, big old himbo. "You're not afraid to let him know, are ya? I mean if you tell his crazy fuckin' parents that he's cured... He wouldn't be your patient anymore... Right?" His bulge twitched again, and he smirked devilishly as he nodded. "You like it when he's all up in your brain, don't you? You like it when he gets his dick deep in there and mind fucks you into a chill, laid back stud. Don't ya?" The dampness grew and his breath got heavy. He nodded, drooling down the sides of his cheeks. "Yeah, you wanna let him in completely, don't ya? Make you like him?" Moans grew, and his thrusting in the air quickened pace. "You wanna be best bros with him, don't ya? Bros with benefits... hangin' out, smokin' weed, hittin' the clubs, swappin' spit... swappin' cum... swappin' subs..." He started fuckin' howl. He was beggin' to splurge. "When I tell you, you will cum. And when you do, everything we talked about will be your truth. Now... Cum."

His eyes opened, still moaning loudly. He gripped onto his jeans, pulling down the waistband and underwear, that big old uncut donkey dick flopping out before shooting his load all over himself. Volley after volley. He wasn't kidding about the hyperspermia: maybe four double shots of his spunk sprayed like a geyser into the air. The 8th Natural Wonder of the World. He laid back and chuckled, throwing his arms behind his head.

"Fuck, brother!" The thickest accent flowed of those lips, deliciously thick. "After today, that'll be down your throat, cara." He pointed at me, hopping to his feet and shoving his python back into his pants. "So, I'll write your discharge papers, it'll get the pais off your back. Act the part until you're out, and just go live." Fuck yeah, we high fived, and I ruffled that sweaty mullet of his. "Hey, come over tonight. I got some friends comin' over... if you and Sammy wanna join." He winked and slapped my back. Damn, I did good.

"I'll be there, man! You save me a round so I can show you how to clean this dick." I groped my bulge, smirking as his bit his lip and winked. I've created a monster.

---

"Ei, sexy! Come get a toke before it's gone!" Such a demanding little bitch, I love him. I slipped his filled condom off my cock, the kinky fucker insisted, and I happily complied. If I'm being real, this psycho has taught me things! I flushed it down the toilet, and swung the bathroom door open to see him lounging on his bed, toking away at the blunt I packed.

"Hey you fuckin' hog, don't you smoke it all!" He chuckled dumbly, reaching over to hand me the blunt, taking the opportunity to snatch my wrist and pull me forward into a kiss. Fuck those lips were so good, pressed against mine or around my cock. "Isn't Carrie coming over soon? You gonna be able to get off so quick?" I pushed away, taking my puff.

"Ahh, plenty to go around, eh?" He groped that musky bulge that I had a feeling Sammy would be huffing later. "Ey, bring me my pants. We can go get a shot before she gets here." Heh, the last month or so crashing with him has been fuckin' sick. The folks think I'm rooming with some guy from the church, when really I'm gooning with my therapist every night in his bed. Savannah is letting me take online courses, I'll have my B.A. in a couple of years, and I'm already getting some gallery hits. Santana is gonna be my armcandy for the opening, and I told him to forget his deodorant. Fuck he’s perfect. But a thought had crept in my head the other day. One last program, one final idea planted in his head... Though, at this point, there was no need to put him under. I'd just ask him.

"Hey, so I gotta go to Georgia to finish up some paperwork at the school. It got me thinking... I'm followin' my dream. What about you?" I tossed him his pants and passed the blunt, taking a deep whiff of those ripe dunks before throwing them his way too.

"I could go back to the practice, though I think the bible thumpers would lose their minds, heh."

"Well... What we did for eachother... What if you did it for others?" I slowly got down to my knees, a smirk crawling across my face. "What if you could help those poor... misguided young men change their lives?" I crawled toward him, spreading his legs wide as I tossed his legs over my shoulders. "Wouldn't that be so... so... fun?" I slowly pulled down his musky briefs, releasing his monstrous cock again, the musky hooded beast slapping me on my cheek. "Then, we could have so... many... new.. friends..." I pulled down his slimy hood and wrapped my lips around his tip. I should have known better. His hand grabbed the back of my head, slamming it down onto his spear, my nose buried in his bush as he thrust back and forth into my mouth.

"Unff... Yeah, brother... Oh yeah... That sounds like a good... unhhhhh... good idea." Grunting, slapping, moaning, slurping... it all rang out in his room, until he gushed another thick load down my throat. "You wanna join me?" And in that moment, I smiled. It was the best idea he'd had yet.

#original #hypnosis #mind control #himbo #bisexual #transformation #male hypnosis #male transformation #stoner #cannabis #musk #footplay #switch #male reprogramming

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soullessdianthus · 10 months

Note

14 & 15 with Simon??? Can be separate !

A/N: Apologies in advance, I was a little tipsy while writing this. (⁄ ⁄•⁄-⁄•⁄ ⁄) Also sorry for the wait, I had written a whole different version of your request, but it wasn't sticking right with me. Brat taming with lieutenant Ghost in his office! They just like to tease each other. :3

𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐘 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒 | “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐢𝐧’𝐭 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭.” + “𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭.”

Warnings: established relationship, protective!Ghost?, smut (rough, p in v, brat taming, dom/sub dynamics?)

━ The hell was that? ━ His voice was sharp and full of venom, like always. Full of disappointment, soaking to the core of human flesh. Burning skin, muscles and bones like acid.

Only the loud thud of the closed doors to his office broke the tension hanging in the air.

━ What?

You wanted him to say it out loud, to name the reason for his outburst. You were testing his boundaries today, playing with fire. And what did your grandmother tell you? Be careful or you’ll burn your fingers.

That day something was a bit odd about the lieutenant. You noticed how his broad shoulders tensed as he walked you to his office, the way he clenched his fists hanging by his sides, how agitated he was.

Most of the soldiers around the base didn’t even notice those little details, but you did.

━ Don’t act clueless, sergeant.

Oh, you knew perfectly well what you did wrong. Talking in an undermining way to your superior in front of the recruits? A dangerous game you’ve been playing. He didn’t like being so insolently challenged.

━ All I did was just pinpointing how you articulate in a demeaning way towards the recruits. You think they’ll stay for long, after being called names? ━ You stood still in front of his desk, hands neatly crossed behind your lower back. After a second you added his rank to stay professional. ━ Sir.

━ Since when do you care about the rookies? Ah, ‘cause you like ‘em, don’t you? You’re seekin’ their attention, isn’t that right? Some little, pathetic boy to play with?

His warm breath, you could feel it on the back of your neck. Ghost was standing right behind you, his figure towering over yours. Lieutenant tried to intimidate you, to scare you a little. Like in the good, old days.

━ They are nicer and more eloquent to talk to than you, that’s for sure. You think you’re better than everyone else, do you? Too big of an ego perhaps?

You finished the sentence with confidence, a stupid smirk twisting the corners of your mouth.

You weren’t victorious for long.

Ghost moved quickly, grabbing your hands and locking them where you put them yourself - behind. His other palm pushed the back of your neck into the cold space of his desk. Single strands of your hair tickled his veiny wrist.

Your whole upper body was pressed tightly to the surface, your left cheek meeting the solid facet. You gasped, being treated so… roughly all of the sudden.

But wasn’t that what you wanted from the sole beginning?

━ I think you’re forgetting your place, sergeant ━ Ghost stepped closer towards your pinned body, the front of his clothed thighs and pelvis rubbing against your rear. ━ Got a lil’ bit ahead of yourself. You need a reminder, where do you belong.

You squirmed under his tight grip, struggling against his immaculate strength. The coiling, irritating sensation began to warm your legs up. But you didn’t protest verbally, not once.

He released your pretty neck, it could be broken so easily if he only wanted to. The man quickly undid your cargo pants and slid them down your thighs along with your underwear.

Drenched underwear, the wet stain couldn’t be missed. Not by the lieutenant.

━ When I’m done with you, you ain’t gonna walk tomorrow, sweetheart. ━ Ghost said near to your ear, when the outside of his calloused palm, teased your inner thighs, slowly climbing up and returning down.

Who could have thought that such a cold brute as Simon Riley could caress you so gently? But he did that on purpose. To prolong your torture. The wait.

━ No more sweet talkin’ to those recruits ━ it was an order, de facto, no room for a civilized discussion left. ━ The next time you look at ‘em, I’m goin’ to break their fuckin’ arms.

How could such a violent threat make you so aroused at the same time? Did that make you a degenerate? Fuck.

You were fucked in the head.

Lieutenant was standing so close, you could feel when he took care of his own trousers and finally released his swollen cock from its confinement. Without any further warning he began forcing his way inside of your silky, dripping walls.

The sudden intrusion made you mewl underneath him, back collapsing almost like you tried to escape.

━ Come on, you can take more than that.

Within the next firm thrust, Ghost bottomed out, stretching your aroused cunt around his pulsating shaft. He quickly picked out a pace so brutal and fast, almost vulgar, that made you gasp for air.

Ghost was taking all his anger and jealousy on poor you.

He made your body move rapidly forward with each thrust, your lips parting and mouth falling open. Lieutenant’s office was soon filled with your moans of pleasure, thoughts focused on the glorious feeling of him stuffing your pussy full.

Ghost held your hands behind your back as he kept pounding into your needy cunt. His other arm keeping your hips steady, his fingers digging so deep into your flesh that it’d certainly bruise the next day.

Good, he had to leave some marks. So the rookies knew you were his.

━ That’s a good girl ━ he praised you briefly ━ keep moanin’, so they can hear you clearly. Who makes you feel this good, eh?

He didn’t slow down at all, yet he demanded a response when you could barely focus on anything else than feeling of him. Ghost breaths were becoming louder, almost like a little grunts. You could hear them even through his skull mask, he still had kept on.

━ Y-You, Ghost. ━ You spat out, barely audible. You were getting closer and closer to your sweet release, but of course he had to take that from you.

When your automatic mumbling didn’t satisfy him, he pulled out all of his length, leaving you aching for his touch, unsatisfied. Empty.

Lieutenant had to control each aspect of this situation. He had to have an audit over you. Entirely.

━ That’s not the right answer. ━ The hand that was digging into your hip bone, began to stroke gently down your spine. Each brush of his hand, sending you a warm tingle down your already sore limbs.

Oh, how you loved his touch.

━ Yo-You, sir.

━ That’s better.

Ghost once again began to thrust into you in a merciless rhythm. If your hands were free at the moment, you would surely grip the hard edges of the desk and hold onto your dear life. The way he treated you like an object he could take it all out on you, made you crumble between his fingers.

You little degenerate.

He managed to contain himself from bursting until you became a literal, whimpering mess underneath him. The delirious feeling of your orgasm blinded you for a few seconds and enhanced each sensation, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes. Ghost barely held back when your inner walls began clenching on him, inviting him to finish too.

So he did - the spurts of his warm cum painted your pussy on the inside as you laid limp, upper half spreaded over his desk. Ghost finally released your poor, aching wrists and put his palm across the furniture’s surface, trying to catch his breath.

There were some days when Ghost was too rough and absolutely wasn’t thinking about how sore you’ll be the next day. So when you were both done, the guilt began to build up inside of his head.

━ You’re my needy thing, right? ━ He asked rhetorically, before placing a kiss over your forehead. Through that stupid mask of course.

━ All yours, Simon. Always.

#reader insert #cod mw2 #cod mwii #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #request

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pilfappreciator · 5 months

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Brandi and Bruce’s S/o looking after the bakers dozen on their own, what shenanigans occur?

Anon this is?? Literally so cute what the hell??? Also referring to them as the "bakers dozen" is so genuis sfhjjfdadfggh—

Reader & the Bakers Dozen: babysitting solo

Includes: GN! Reader, mentions of polyamory, mentions of Vacay Lovers, slightly Parental! Reader, the Bakers Dozen

CW: Bruce Jr.

🍪 POV: your partners go off to some fancy convention to promote their business, leaving you to watch after all 13 of their kids. Chaos ensues

🍪 These little shits are already a lot to handle, so when you suddenly find yourself being the only adult in the house responsible for them? Yeah, babes, you've definitely got your hands full

🍪 Luckily, you've spent enught time at the Vacay Lovers household that things are at least a little easier for you lol

🍪 They definitely behave much better for you compared to other babysitters. Partly because you're smoochin their parents (and don't wanna get in trouble), and partly because they genuinely like you :3

🍪 But they're still little shits thru and thru, don't forget that

🍪 If they happen to have school? Chances are Bruce and Brandi already took care of their lunches and stuff before they left, so it'll be up to you to pick them up (WARNING: THE KIDS WILL TRY TO CONVINCE YOU TO GO ORDER AT THE NEAREST FAST FOOD PLACE! Unless you've got money for 13 happy meals, prepare to hit em with a firm refusal). Definitely helps if you blast some music in the van! They've kinda lost interest in Velvet & Veneer after learning the two literally tortured their dad and uncles...

🍪 Play Brozone. They'll go crazy and shout-sing along with Bruce's parts lol

🍪 Later in the day you can expect a few to come up to you for homework help. They might also wanna help with dinner, but fyi there WILL be a mess. Pasta sauce on the floor, flour all over the counters, stains on your clothes— the whole shebang

🍪 Want the least amount of casualties? Just let them set the table (no worries, all the plates and stuff are made of plastic ajdjakkala)

🍪 A few of them have some dietary restrictions tho so keep that in mind!! Luckily, you can always find a list of reminders/examples up on the fridge courtesy of lovely muppet wife Brandi <33

🍪 If the kids don't have school that day, then be prepared. You're gonna have very little time to yourself ://

🍪 Like they've each got their own interests and hobbies to keep them occupied, but sometimes they'll need you to reach somewhere up high, or for you to play tiebreaker/settle an argument, or they honestly just want you to join them for a game of hide and seek which???

🍪 "Aw, you sure you guys don't mind me joining in?"

"Yeah! Just cuz you're old doesn't mean you can't have fun, too!"

"...Gee, thanks :D"

🍪 They're merciless

🍪 They've all got their own set of chores they need to do. Each and everyone will try to worm their way out of them. All of them. Everytime

🍪 Sure, they can be a little hyper sometimes, but they're like 6-8 years old so that's expected. For the most part, they're all pretty chill

🍪 It's Bruce Jr. who you've gotta watch out for

🍪 He is a shit- stirer and I WILL FOREVER STAND BY THAT

🍪 This guy won't hesitate to rally his siblings into whatever plan he's been cookin in that feral little head of his. Prepare yourself because you're MOST DEFINITELY getting pranked. It's like a requirement or something

🍪 One nice thing i have to say about Bruce Jr. is that he's actually pretty resourceful. Like this little dude is using everyday household items like he's staring in his own Home Alone movie AKSJSJAKA—

🍪 Rest assured, tho, none of his pranks are seriously harmful or anything but like... at the end of the day, expect:

1) to be covered in craft supplies

2) your clothes/skin/hair a mess

3) to have one limb stuck in a bucket

4) all of the above

🍪 Honestly I feel like Bruce and Brandi would be surprised if they came back and DIDN'T find you sporting paint-stained clothes or with glitter in your hair. Maybe a few stickers slapped on your forehead??

🍪 The trick to dealing with this little agent of chaos is to either keep him separated from his siblings long enough so he doesn't manage to rope anyone into his schemes, or strike some kinda deal with him. Considering he's got 12 siblings, all of whom you need to be watching over at the same time, chances are the second option is your safest bet

🍪 Chances are he'll ask for something semi-illegal, or at the very least something that DEFINITELY requires adult supervision

🍪 DO NOT LET THIS BOY TALK YOU INTO BUYING ANYTHING RELATED TO FIRE. Seems like an easy task, I know. Unfortunately this little shit enherited his dad's charm so watch out o_o

🍪 He'll settle for a happy meal tho. Hopefully you didn't already cave and take him and his siblings out to eat earlier, otherwise you're spending even more money ajsjakkala

🍪 If any errands need to be run during your time there, you BETTER BELIEVE they're all coming with. You'll need to be incredibly vigilant during this time cuz these kids are even more rowdy in public than they are at home. If you're smart about it, you can turn the whole thing into a game! If everyone manages to grab everything off the grocery list in a certain amount of time or if they're able to find the best quality (but relatively cheap) brand of laundry detergent, then you'll buy each of them candy or something uwu

🍪 You can count on them to be cooperative, but like... bring the family child leash just in case

🍪 Cough cough (Bruce Jr.) cough cough

🍪 MOVIES BEFORE BED! It's a bit of a family tradition in the Vacay Lovers household. Yknow, just some way for the kids to spend time together before the day ends

🍪 You're most definitely gonna be playing tiebreaker when the time comes. All 13 of them have wildly different tastes

🍪 Absolutely no scary movies tho. They'll try to argue that theyre able to handle it, but at the end of the night expect to find yourself under a pile of frightened children who've ctawled into bed with you

🍪 Their collective nightly routine is literally?? So chaotic??? Like all of them are simultaneously trying to squeeze into the same bathroom just to brush their teeth... running in and out of their respective rooms... trying to sneak some extra dessert before bed

🍪 Literally never a quite moment in this household jshskakakam

🍪 You might have to read a few bedtime stories or sing a lullaby—

"Dad does it better"

"Just go to bed, Benji"

—but once they've settled in under the covers? Out like a light. They are unconscious the moment their heads hit their pillows

🍪 You'll probably have a mess (or two... or three) to clean up afterwards, but once they're taken care of? Dishes washed? Counters clean? You're more than welcome to crash on Bruce and Brandi's bed <33

🍪 Said couple returns home the next morning...

🍪 Just to find their kids drawing on your face with marker. Cross your fingers that none of its permanent 💀💀

Hope this was good! I know I call them all little shits BUT I MEAN IT AFFECTIONATELY OKAY AJSJAKA

Ngl I feel like this could have been like... more colorful? Like I was very general about the kids and their behavior as a whole, but now I'm super tempted to make a post describing each of them and all their little quirks! Just something fun to do that'll help me write them better in the future ;3

#anon i hope you know im using Bakers Dozen as an official term from now on #big brain move #love that for you <33 #i shall continue to slander bruce jr. till the grave #trolls #trolls band together #bruce trolls #brandi trolls #Vacay Lovers #Bakers Dozen #trolls x reader #brozone x reader #spruce trolls #x reader #headcanon #ask

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queer-overwatch · 1 month

Note

Hi!! Could I request maybe a Venture x Reader (Any pronouns will do) on like a museum date? I want Venture to yap.Please and Thank you. ( Also bless the both of you I needed more Venture content I was tweaking without them)

Venture at a Museum!

Aaa ty sm for the request!!! I love that idea so much- they are such a yapper I love them <3 also your welcome hehe, had to take thing into our own hands >:3 (also bc u didn't request a specific format (like hcs or oneshot) i just did a short lil oneshot, hope thats okay!) -Frisk

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

"Look, look- they have a whole section on rocks! Kinda basic selection but it's still rocks!"

You never thought you'd be able to learn so much about rocks in one day, but it seemed like Venture had made it their personal mission to force as much information into your brain as possible. You didn't mind, really! It was always nice listening to them rant about all the cool stuff they found while walking around the museum you'd planned to bring them to, but it was a lot to take in at once.

"Augh, I love sedimentary rocks- they're my favorite! 'cuz sometimes they have like, little fossils in them and I'm like, "Woah! A cool thing in another cool thing!" and it's awesome! One time I found a trilobite fossil in a rock, it was so cool! I wonder if they have any here- that'd be so amazing! I wonder what they taste like-"

After spilling every single fact they could think of about the rocks on display, Venture drags you to a section of the museum dedicated to Egyptian history, though they mostly just seemed interested in the architecture of the pyramids. You really did try to listen, but you mostly just caught the gist of their long, long, long explanations- something about a Mastaba being like a sort of prototype to pyramids? You were just happy to see them so excited, even if you didn't quite understand what they were so hyped about.

"Oh, if only that British lady could go back to ancient Egypt and get the architects of their time to answer my questions! I'd give anything to be able to do that!" Sensing the slight disappointment creeping up on them, you decide to try and bring Venture elsewhere, not wanting them to spend any energy on being upset by what they can't do.

"Why don't we go look at the dinosaur fossils? I'm sure there's some mistakes in the descriptions that you can correct!" You take their hand, gently pulling them away from the long essay-like description of images of the pyramids that they were reading. Incising them with promises of being able to show off their intensive knowledge of dinosaur fossils, or fossils in general.

Venture perked up almost immediately, following behind you as they ready themselves to go on and on about their favorite dinosaur ever, the Deinocheirus! You tried to ask why it was their favorite ones, and all they said was something about it being "them fr fr" and having rocks in its stomach. You weren't too keen on questioning that one.

They take a large step so they're walking next to you, swinging your arms as you walk, "It's always been one of my biggest goals to find a dinosaur fossil! I really hope I do one day, if I did I could die happy!"

"Please don't die- I would be so sad if you died." You squeeze their hand, voice light as you joke with them.

"Aw but I wanna! I wanna be a fossil for future people like me to discover! When I do die I wanna be buried with a bunch of cool stuff! Maybe mess around with my bones a little, just to throw 'em off!" As you finally reach the fossil exhibits, they abandon you to run off and check over every. single. fossil. which while endearing, gave you a lot of running to do in an attempt to catch up.

"Finally! For once a museum that gets everything right! Well, everything as far as we know-" They stand next to one of the larger fossils, not anything you recognized as you take your place next to them, catching your breath.

"Wow, how impressive-" you wheeze, standing up straight and stretching out your legs as you link arms with Venture, trying to stop them from running off on you again.

They laugh, grabbing you by the shoulder and dragging you in the tightest hug you've ever received.

"Thank you, so, so, so much for planning this. And for listening to me talk about rocks so much, and for caring about me- and a million other things! I can't even remember everything you've done for me, but I know its a lot!" They let you go, still holding you by the shoulders, the biggest smile you've ever seen on a person splayed across their face.

"Of course-! I love spending time with you, you're well aware of that, silly." You laugh, grabbing their wrists and taking their hands off your shoulders, holding their hands as you admire the glow of excitement on their face.

"Welllll since you clearly don't mind, can we go to this other museum I found online next week?! I heard they have an area where you get to watch an hour long video on the story of Julius Caesar!"

#venture #overwatch venture #venture x reader #venture overwatch #overwatch x reader #sloane cameron #if i made any mistakes anywhere please tell me-#im a lil stupid #Xornk

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bad268 · 2 months

Note

Hi I was wondering if you're comfortable with writing one for Andrea kimi antonelli with a chronically ill reader? (I have pots so preferably something similar or about that) but just a kinda fluff/comfort where the reader is having a bad flare up day? Only if you're comfortable but tysm if u do write it I love your writing! (I'm also a writer)

- em

At Least 75% (Andrea Kimi Antonelli X Reader)

Fandom: RPF/F2/F3

Requested: Clearly (I FEEL LIKE HE'D BE SO SOFT FOR YOU) (Also, thank you so much Em <3 Send me some of your stuff if you're comfortable with that, I'd love to read your stories <3)

Warnings: Chronically ill reader (not explicitly stated what illness)

POV: Second Person (You/your)

W.C. 1181

Summary: Flare-ups and hot tracks are not fun.

As always, my requests are OPEN

MASTERLIST // HITLIST

~~(^Pinterest)

Maybe he would understand if you missed one day. Just one day this weekend was all you needed. You woke up this morning and felt like hell. Your mind was foggy and you felt like throwing up. Honestly, you really did not feel up to walking around period, let alone walking around a crowded paddock in the heat. Still, you knew that you wanted to support Kimi this weekend, and you would do everything in your power to do so even if it meant you would suffer for the day.

You looked to the other side of the bed, seeing Kimi’s side empty. He had an important meeting with Mercedes this morning and told you he would meet you in the Prema garage whenever you got to the track. Groaning, you moved to sit up in bed, almost immediately stopping to lay back down as you were hit with a dizzy spell.

You waited a few extra minutes, taking some deep breaths to slow your rapid heartbeat. When you finally felt it slow to a normal rate, you gradually sat up on the bed. You waited again before swinging your legs over the side and standing up slowly, holding for a minute as you regained your balance. It did not take as long as it normally did, so you decided that was a sign to go about the day as normal.

Well, that was a mistake.

It did not take long after getting to the track for you to feel the wrath of your body. The heat was unforgiving, your head was pounding, your heart was starting to race, and you just wanted to hide away in Kimi’s arms. Thankfully, you were able to hitch a ride from a passing golf cart, but the closest they could get you was the start of the pitlane. Unfortunately for you, the Prema garage was in the middle.

You groaned to yourself, not wanting to walk that far, so you took a seat on a nearby stack of tyres. You pulled out your phone, and just as you were about to text Kimi, he showed up, standing in front of you.

“I was just about to text you,” You chuckled as you weakly wrapped your arms around his waist and leaned against his chest.

“I had a feeling,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around your shoulders as his hand held your head to his chest. “How are you feeling? Is the heat too much? Please be honest.”

“I don’t think I can walk to the garage, mio vita (my life),” You sighed in defeat as your shoulders sagged, but Kimi held you tighter to his chest when he felt you sink. “It’s been a bad day, and it’s only just started.”

“Why didn’t you stay in the hotel?” Kimi consoled as he rubbed up and down your back to calm you down. “Your health will always come first.”

“I wanted to support you,” You wined, pulling back a little to look up at him, resting your chin against his chest. “It’s a big weekend for you, and you know I’d never miss qualifying.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” He mumbled as he left a few kisses around your face. You began laughing, but you cut yourself short when a wave of nausea hit you. You hid your face in his chest once again as you breathed in his scent. Even he could feel your heart rate rising from just sitting there, and it did not help that SkySports had spotted you. They looked like they were going to make their way over, so Kimi tried to pull away slowly, He turned around and gestured for you to hold around his neck. “Hold on. I’ll carry you to the garage, and we can lay down before quali.”

“Can we get food or smoothies first? I haven't eaten all day and I know I probably should,” You whispered into his ear as you laid your head on his shoulder, and he held your legs tightly around his waist.

“I’ll go get you a smoothie after I drop you off in the garage,” Kimi compromised with a small smile as he started down the pitlane. “Look at you remembering to eat! I’m proud.”

“I knew you would like that,” You chuckled to yourself. You almost fell asleep, but you reached the Prema garage before you could. Kimi carried you into the back room where the driver’s room was set up and set you down on the massage table. Kimi pulled off his Mercedes jacket and laid it over your legs before leaning down to leave a kiss on your forehead. As he pulled away, you reached out to grab his hand before he could get too far. “You leaving to get food now?”

“Yeah, I’ll be back in a few,” He sighed with a loving smile as he leaned down to be at eye level with you. He lifted your entwined hands to leave a kiss on your knuckles. “Your usual?”

“You’re too good to me,” You replied dreamily as you closed your eyes again. “What would I do without you?”

“Starve.”

After qualifying (front row!!) and after the debrief, you and Kimi were free to head back to the hotel for the night. Despite wanting to suck it up and celebrate Kimi’s pole position, he knew you better than that. He knew as soon as he saw you sway in the garage after he pulled the car in that he was not letting you lift a finger that night. And true to his internal promise, he did not let you even walk.

“You know, it’s not that hot. I’m okay to walk,” You chuckled as he swept you into his arms and carried you through the paddock. Interviewers and fans that remained got a few pictures that you would be seeing later, but the gesture from Kimi made you happy nonetheless. “Are we going to dinner with the team?”

“Nope,” He quipped back as he popped the ‘p’ as he walked out of the gate and toward the car that Rene was pulling forward since they carpooled. “We are going back to the hotel, ordering room service, watching whatever you want to watch, and relaxing. I need your health at least at 75 percent tomorrow. I know your 100 percent is hard to come by, so I’ll settle for 75.”

You could not stop yourself from laughing. Even after hearing this joke many times, it never failed to put a smile on your face. “Can we make a fort?”

“By we, you mean me?” He joked, looking down at you just as Rene pulled up. Kimi helped you stand on your feet momentarily, so he could open the door. Then, he helped you sit down. Even going as far as to buckle your seatbelt for you. Once he clicked it in, he moved his head, so he could leave a small kiss on your lips. He pulled away slightly before whispering, “If you want a blanket fort, I will happily make you one.”

~~~~~

#andrea kimi antonelli x reader #andrea kimi antonelli #kimi antonelli x reader #kimi antonelli #kimi x reader #formula 2 imagine #formula 2 x reader #formula 2 #f2 x reader #f2 #f2 imagine #mercedes amg petronas #bad268 #ship268 #thing268

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letterstotheflre · 1 year

Text

𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐕𝐘 𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐒 (𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐈’𝐌 𝐂𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔) || 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍

summary: it's his fault. daryl knows that. he should've realised sooner that he knew exactly what those mushroom's would do to you once you ate them.

cw: 18+ only. dark fic [ft. sex pollen, dubcon, mentions of previous noncon drugging (on daryl), outdoor sex, grinding, fingering, squirting]

a/n: soo here is my first big daryl fic! honestly, this might be my favourite fic i’ve ever written :3 it was very fun to write and somehow i really liked writing daryl dialogue/inner monologue (his accent is just so fun lol). once again, this was supposed to be a very feral smut fest and ended up having a lot of emotional moments and inner daryl turmoil </3 i still hope you like it :)) || also very unrelated side note, but i think “gold rush” by taylor fits the daryl in this fic v much (it’d be from his pov, not yours)

“Where d’ya think we should go next?” You ask Daryl around a mouthful of the lone rabbit he hunted earlier this afternoon.

Finding food is getting harder and harder, not to mention you’re running out of your water supply. It’s obvious you need to move your camp to a better area, preferably somewhere near a lake or river. The question is, where is that exactly?

Daryl shrugs, turning the rabbit leg between his dirty fingers around. He takes a rough bite.

He doesn’t know, and to be honest, he doesn’t really care. Now that the prison fell and with the group scattered to the winds, he doesn’t have much hope for anything. He had gotten a little too comfortable there, his first mistake, and now look where it landed him. Had he learnt nothing from his first camp with Merle, then the camp in Atlanta, then the CDC, and finally the farm? He had enough experience under his belt to know that things always took a turn for the worse, especially when everything seemed safe and peaceful. Yet he still let his guard down.

The thing is, the prison… the prison was different. It was well protected, with several feet of fence that kept the walkers far from the main building. They didn’t have to worry about any walkers creeping into their cells and taking a bite out of them in the middle of the night since they were able to clear their side of the prison in a matter of days. They had guns and ammo, food and water. Hershel and Carol even taught them how to take care of crops. Hell, they even got their hands on some cattle! They didn’t need to scavenge the woods for some meagre squirrels any more.

Things were looking up. He had even started to think that maybe, just maybe, they could spend the rest of their lives there. But then the Governor showed up and everything went to shit.

So now here he is. No Rick, no Carol. Alone once again. Well, not exactly alone– he had you for company.

It’s not that he doesn’t like you– he likes you more than just a normal amount if he’s being honest with himself. It’s just that… you’re a dead girl walking. He doesn’t know how you’ve made it this far, and by all accounts you shouldn’t have. Before all this, before the virus and the walking dead, you were a preschool teacher. You had lived in the city your entire life, in a nice house located in a nice neighbourhood with nice parents. If he had to bet, he’d say you were even prom queen back in the day.

There had been no need for you to learn how to hunt, scavenge, track, shoot a gun or even handle a knife. Daryl had been the one to teach you how to shoot a gun in the air, volunteering immediately when Rick brought the subject up and completely ignoring the amused, knowing smile on his friend’s face.

If he focuses hard enough, he can still hear the sound of your happy laughter the first time you hit the center of the target. Can still feel your chest pressed to his in your celebratory hug.

“Think I saw some train tracks a couple miles east yesterday. If the others saw ‘em too, they’re probably following them thinkin’ we’re doing the same,” you ramble on, not letting his lack of answer deter you. “Maybe we could find Rick or Maggie.” You lean forward so you can reach the mushrooms you picked up today, plop one and then another inside your awaiting mouth.

Daryl watches as you chew, eyes judging. He had been adamant that you shouldn’t eat them, shouldn’t even touch them.

“Stupid girl,” he growled, swatting your hand away from the cluster growing on the bark of a tree. “Didn’t ya mom tell ya not to touch things you never seen before?”

“Ain’t stupid,” you bristled at his tone. “I know these, they used to grow ‘rond some plants in the garden back home. Pretty sure mom put them in our soup ev’ry now and then.”

You don’t let his lack of answer deter you. “Think I saw some train tracks a

Daryl kneeled beside you, broad right shoulder touching your left one, and examined them closely. He was sure he had never seen them before, not in the woods from his hometown nor in any of his hunting trips since the outbreak started. “Nah, these ain’t safe,” he concluded.

“Yes, they are.”

“No”, he enunciated the word to make it as clear as possible. “They ain’t.”

“Yes, they are,” you scowl and plush a couple from their roots. “I ain’t stupid nor useless. I know I can eat these.”

Daryl rolled his eyes. “If ya want to kill y’self just to prove a point then fine, be my fuckin’ guest,” he snarked. Then he got up and kept walking in silence, not even sparing you another glance.

He shakes his head firmly. “Nah, no train tracks.”

“What? Why?” You ask, surprised. “It’s our best shot at findin’ the others!”

“Ain’t no one to find, girl. S’better if ya stop kiddin’ yourself.”

“How could you say that?!” You look at him like he’s a monster. Daryl clenches his jaw. “They’re our friends, our family! We can’t just give ‘em up for dead as soon as things go south! Not after everything!”

Daryl throws away the bone in his hand and looks at you with fury. Don’t you get it? Merle, Sophia, Andrea, Lori, T-Dog, Dale, the list goes on and on. You’re the only one he knows for sure he has left and he’ll be damned if he has to add your name to the list too because you want to search for ghosts. You are his responsibility now. His voice is loud when he says, “Yeah, we should! ‘Cause if you saw those tracks y’know what it means? Means other people saw ‘em too. Bad people. And if ya go ‘round there, lighting fires and singin’ those stupid kid songs you sing all day like you’re in a fuckin’ musical or some shit y’know what they’re gonna do? They’re gon’ kill ya, or worse. So drop the fuckin’ topic and finish yer dinner.”

There really is no room for argument. You drop your gaze to the floor and gulp down the lump in your throat, bringing your knees to your chest. Everything is silent for at least an hour, the only sounds coming from the crackling fire and Daryl’s chewing.

And then you call his name.

“Daryl?” Your voice is different; breathier, quieter. Almost like you can barely string the letters together. “I don’t feel very well.”

He’s on his feet in a second, the argument forgotten as soon as he heard your mumbled call. In three quick steps he’s standing in front of you. He kneels so you’re the same height and cups the side of your face. “Wha’s wrong?”

You blink sluggishly, revealing your dilated pupils, and lick your lips. “I don’t know,” you slur. Your breathing gets heavier. “I think– Oh God, I’m so hot,” you complain, almost ripping the zipper of your jacket in your haste to take it off. You throw it away like it’s made of molten lava. Before he can stop you, you take off your long sleeved shirt, leaving you in just a tank top, and lean back against the fallen tree trunk with a relieved sigh.

It doesn’t make any sense, Daryl thinks. It’s almost winter in Georgia, you should be freezing, but there are no goosebumps littering your skin that might signal you are cold in any way. In fact, you’re even trying to roll your cargo pants up to relieve your legs from a nonexistent blistering heat.

Daryl presses his hand to your forehead and is surprised to find it slick with sweat. “Y’re burning up,” he says, though he guesses you could probably already tell. He takes one of your arms and inspects it closely, looking for any wounds that could potentially be infected. “Where ya bit?”

You shake your head. “No, no. I didn’t see any walkers today.”

Your arms are in pristine condition, save for some sparse moles and freckles and a single healed scratch on your forearm he remembers you got from running around the woods so carelessly. There’s no sign of a bite or infected cut.

“Did ya get close to anyone sick back at the prison?” He knows it’s stupid to ask– everyone had taken their rounds of antibiotics to prevent another possible outbreak, and it’s also been a week since the prison fell. If you had been infected, you would’ve showed symptoms earlier on, but he doesn’t know what else to do.

“No, I was with Beth ‘n Judy.” Suddenly, you gasp in pain and clutch your lower stomach, pressing your thighs together. “Daryl, it hurts,” you whimper.

The pain in your voice breaks his heart. You look so small, curled up in a tight ball like a wounded animal. He brings you into his lap and shushes you, “I know, I know.” He rubs your back in an attempt to soothe you. “Just lemme think for a second, ‘kay? M’gonna fix ya.”

He wrecks his brain for a solution but keeps coming up blank. He doesn’t have any idea as to what the hell caused this– one second you were fine and then the other you were bending over in pain. Did you touch something? Eat something? Was the water contaminated? Did some poisonous plant graze your skin? Was the rabbit he killed infected and he didn’t notice?

The tip of your nose tickles his neck as it moves from his collarbone up to his jaw, your rib cage expanding beneath his broad hand when you take a deep breath. He grunts at the strange sensation. “What are y’doin’, girl?”

Your hands curl around his shoulders, the leather of his vest crinkling beneath your tight grip. “You smell so good,” you mewl, taking in another whiff of his scent.

What the fuck.

He doesn’t know where the random compliment came from. He knows you have to be lying though– it’s been weeks since his last shower. His last one was five days before the prison fell and it wasn’t even a proper shower, just a scrub down with a rag, a bucket of water and some soap they found in the last supply run. That’s why he says, albeit a little disheartened, “Y’re talking nonsense.”

You shift in his lap, pressing your chests together and Daryl has to force himself not to react to the feeling of your boobs against his chest or to the movement of your wiggling hips over his crotch. “Am not, am not,” you babble, pressing small wet kisses to his neck and trailing your palms down his strong arm. “You– you smell so good. Feel so good. So big. I–” your breath hitches when you grind against him, relief morphing your previously pained features. “I need you, Daryl.”

His hands that were previously laying limp on either side of him are suddenly held by your softer, smaller ones and moved to your thighs. He drops his gaze, watches you control his hands. Up and down, up and down. The light coming from the fire illuminates the remnants of your dinner. You shift directions and now his hands are on your ass, forcing him to squeeze and grope as you keep grinding against him.

He stares intently at the leftover mushrooms and all of a sudden he’s 23 years old and Merle’s laughing his ass off as Daryl finishes the dinner his older brother had insisted on cooking. He remembers now, the desperation clawing at his chest when the shrooms started making effect. Remembers how Merle dragged him to a club in the city and patted his back in encouragement. “Go wild, baby brother! Lord knows ya need this.”

Misery is heavy on his shoulders. He wants to throw up– he was wrong before. He did see those mushrooms before. He had eaten them and been under their control. And now you were suffering the same fate he had all those years ago. Because of him, because he failed to realise sooner.

You move his hands up to your waist, your stomach, your breasts. He never wanted it to be like this. He had hoped, stupid as it was to dream about something other than mere survival, that if he ever got the courage to confess his feelings it’d be when everyone was safe again. When you didn’t have to sleep in tents and cars and pray to God he found any semblance of food. When you’d finally have a house, or a room, or at least a bed.

He’d be soft with you, just like you were with him every day.

Now, as you grind and moan above him in a lust filled rut, that dream will remain that. Just a dream.

He tears his hands from your grip, one settling on one side of your hip and the other cradling your cheek. Heat emanates from your skin like you’re a furnace. Daryl leans forward, lips brushing yours as he promises, “M’gonna make it better. That okay?”

You’re not in the right state of mind but he still asks for any semblance of peace of mind.

“Please,” you whimper, little crystal beads gathering on your waterline.

After months of pining, he finally closes the distance between you and presses your lips together in a firm kiss. Your mouth is soft and plain against his, trusting him enough to follow his every command as he devours you completely. He uses the hand on your hip to help you smooth down your otherwise stuttered grinding, drinking down every sweet little moan and gasp he elicits out of you.

That’s what you are– sweet. Sweet to touch and taste and feel. Sweet even in the way you cling to him, use him to relieve the affliction between your legs he accidentally caused.

Daryl holds you by the back of your neck, feels the warmth of your breath as you moan his name. “More. I need more,” you cry. The tear tracks on your cheeks glimmer in the warm fire light. “M’so empty. Need you to fuck me. Please, please, please,” you beg like a broken record, forcing your fist into Daryl’s chest and twisting his heartstrings without mercy.

“Don’t cry, doll face,” he rasps, brushing away your fresh wave of tears. You inhale shakily, leaning into his touch and nuzzling his palm like a touch starved kitten. Your hands tremble as you unbutton your jeans, struggling to pull them down from how sweaty you are and how sticky the insides of your thighs became. Daryl silences you every whine with a kiss and helps you pull them down to your shins, not willing to risk taking off both your shoes and pants completely in case you need to make a quick escape.

“I said I’s gonna fix ya and I am. Just need a couple minutes first.” You make another noise of complaint that turns into a relieved sigh when Daryl pulls your panties to the side and teases your folds with the tip of his fingers. “Need to get ya ready first. This all for me?” He asks, gathering all the slick dripping out of you.

“Mhm,” you hum, eyes closed in bliss as he toys with you. You nudge your noses together. “Always for you, Daryl. Only you.”

You really need to stop playing with his feelings like that. You’re talking out of your ass, he tells himself, letting your desire and need for relief control your words. Still, it’s nice to hear. He can’t deny that. Maybe he can live in this fantasy bubble a little longer, at least until reality crashes down on you both and you have to come to terms with what happened and decide to never see him again.

He circles your weeping hole, taunting you, then plunges a lone finger inside when you look like you’re ready to pounce on him. It’s easy, oh so easy, for him to slip in. He thought it would be harder, given the fact that he knew you haven’t slept with anyone since the apocalypse started. Not that he kept an eye on you or anything, he just happened to notice how your tent and cell were always silent, much like his. But you’re so wet that your cunt practically swallowed him right in.

You tap his shoulder needily, mouthing the word “more”, and bite your lip to stay quiet when he adds a second finger and then a third. You could cry from how happy you are right now.

“That enough for ya, ya spoiled girl?” He scoffs, rubbing circles on your swollen clit with his thumb.

You can only nod as he buries his fingers up to his knuckles, curling them and feeling the rough calluses as he prods inside you in search of your soft spot. When your loudest moan yet lets him know he found it, he abuses it, creating loud squelching noises that have him smiling.

Euphoria sends a shiver down your spine and makes your entire body shake as you cum, a small stream of clear liquid hitting Daryl’s wrist and dripping down to his jeans. “Shit,” he whispers, amazed.

He made you squirt.

Daryl’s still staring at his dripping wrist as you paw at him with a heaving chest, fingers curling around his brown plaid shirt. Your nails could nearly break the fabric. “You promised,” you sob. “You promised you’d fix it. That you’d fuck me. Don’t you want me?”

He tears his gaze away from the mess between your legs in shock. How could you ever think he doesn’t want you? When you’ve consumed his every waking thought and haunted his every dream. When the only thing he wanted to do when you looked at him with those glimmering eyes was to follow your every command word for word. When he didn’t want to just fuck you– he wanted to keep you safe and warm, wanted to make sure you’d never know hunger.

He grabs your jaw, fingers tightly pressing on your warm cheeks, and snarls. “Don’t ever think I don’t want ya.” He tugs you to him so he can kiss you, unbuckling his belt with one hand and pulling down the zipper of his jeans. Your own hand joins his and squirms under the rough fabric so you can take his cock out from behind his boxers. His jaw clenches at the feeling of your soft hand around him, so different from his own. Untouched by decades of manual work, protected by dutiful applications of hand creams (he's heard you tell Beth how dry your hands are now and how much you miss your favourite hand cream. He’s been looking for some on every supply run ever since).

He spreads all the wetness stuck to his fingers over his cock, his stomach doing a summersault when he sees you biting your lower lip in want. You guide him to your entrance, gasping in unison when the mushroom tip slips past your soaking wet folds. Slowly, you sink yourself down, Daryl mouthing at your neck as you get used to the thickness of his cock as it threatens to split you in half.

“Relax,” Daryl grunts, the scruff covering his cheeks scratching at the tender skin of your cleavage. He goes back to playing with your clit, knowing it’ll allow the tension to leave your muscles and he’ll be able to push in the remaining two inches.

Once he’s buried to the hilt, you take a shuddering breath in and slowly start to bounce. “Wanted this for so long,” you babble. “Wanted you, Daryl. A-And now you want me,” you smile, increasing the speed of your bouncing. You chant, “You want me, you want me, you want me.”

Daryl nods, teeth gritted as he feels you tighten around him, walls pulsing. You collapse on his chest, hips still grinding in search of any form of friction. With a firm and secure grip, he grabs your ass and uses it as leverage so he can pound you down on him. For once, he’s not worried about loud noises or stray walkers or even unknown strangers stumbling into the scene. No, he just worries about you and your sweet cunt keeping his cock warm; about your lips on his neck, your hands gripping his hair and your dulcet “uh uh uh’s” ringing in his ears as you cum for the second time.

He lifts you off of him just in time to shoot ropes of white all over his shirt, biting your neck to muffle his grunts of pleasure. For once in what seems like a lifetime, the walker infested woods are completely still, only both of your laboured breathing breaking the unusual silence.

Until you speak in a meek voice and it’s like he’s suddenly doused in cold water. “Daryl?”

He drops his forehead to your clavicle and shuts his eyes tightly, heaving a sigh. This is it– the moment where he loses you, where you run away. Forever disgusted with him. Afraid of him for breaking your trust.

After another beat of silence, you call his name again. “What happened?”

He straightens his back and rubs his face. He clears his throat. “It was the mushrooms,” he refuses to look at you as he explains the events of the night, unable to stomach the look of disgust he’s sure is all over your pretty face. “The ones you picked up today. I thought I didn’t know them but I did. They’re some kind of… aphrodisiac or some shit like that. Merle…” he trails off, skipping over the reason he knew about them in the first place. It doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. “Y’were feeling so sick ‘n those things… with the amount you ate they would’ve– they would’ve killed ya if I didn’t…”

“You saved me,” you state, cradling his face so that he can see you. His face is all scrunched up like he wants to cry and he hates himself for it– he has no right to feel like shit. He shakes his head. “You did. You saved me. I would’ve died if you didn’t do as I said, as I wanted you to.” You kiss his lips chastely. “Y’know, I meant what I said earlier. While we were…”

“Nah,” he scoffs. “Y’were just saying shit ‘cause of the drugs. S’okay, ya don’t have to worry ‘bout my feelings.”

“No,” you frown, disconcerted that he always seems to bring himself down without even realising it. “I meant it. I’ve wanted you for a while, since– since the CDC, actually. When we played that card game after dinner and ya helped me get to bed since I was too drunk to even stand.” You smile as you remember the feeling of his arm around your waist and the soft pat on your head once you were resting on the pillow. You tuck some strands of hair behind his ear and his throat dries. Shrugging, you say, “I just never thought you liked me that way.”

Daryl weighs his options, wonders if he should take a leap of faith or pretend he’s never thought of you that way. This is too much for him. He’s scared to bare his chest wide open only for you to dislike what’s inside. But then he sees the earnest look in your eye and behind it, the fear that he won’t say anything at all.

“I do,” he gets out through the fist clutching his vocal chords. “Like you. Like that, I mean. I–” He shuts his eyes at how useless he’s with words (another reason why you deserve someone better than him). However, instead of rolling your eyes at him or making a derisive sound like he expected, you simply giggle at his uselessness, reaching for him once more.

He lets you kiss him and touch him as much as you want. You trace his brow bone and cheekbones with the soft pads of your fingers, play with the ends of matted hair and twirl them around your index. When you yawn, he makes sure you have your top and jacket back on and lets you rest on his chest. He stretches his arm so he can reach his discarded crossbow and leaves it on his side. “C’mon, go to sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

pls reblog if u enjoyed it, it’ll make me twirl my hair and kick my feet :3

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon smut #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead #daryl dixon

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itoshi-s · 1 year

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@marycorn requested: rin + bathing with him // no lukewarm love v-day event !

wc: 1.7k. cw: fem reader (referred to as woman like, once), fluff, rin isn't all that used to love :,3

"you're feeling more like oat milk and vanilla, or.." you pause, twisting the jar so you can read the label properly, "oh, you like this one- lavender and lemon?"

you hold up the candles, lifting them respectively as you speak, only to find rin - the very one your question is directed at - still staring at his phone intently as he rubs the back of his neck. the little frown etched between his brows and tense stance of his broad shoulders make him seem entirely too stressed for your liking.

"rin?" you ask again, putting one of the jars down on the counter. "you okay?"

it's only the lighter flicking that makes him snap out of his stupor. he glances over, teal eyes a bit confused until they settle on the candle you lit up - his favorite.

(it's hard to call it a favorite when it's actually the only scent he enjoys among all your other gourmand and flowery ones.)

"hm? yeah, sorry." rin sighs and locks his phone, setting it down before reaching to pull his hoodie off. "just some press shit before the season starts. had to catch up." he explains, voice muffled by the thick cotton over his mouth before he fully peels the garment off.

"'s alright." you hum softly, hand dipping into the bath water to check temperature. "i just don't like seeing you all pent up like that."

now, rin doesn't like how it feels, either. perhaps that's why he values his routine so much - the daily schedule he's been following ever since he realized how serious he is about football. morning stretch, breakfast, practice, lunch, gym, going home, dinner, evening yoga, then some meditation to finish the day. sounds like a lot — and it definitely is — but surprisingly so, it doesn’t feel as tiring as it might seem.

rin’s never really thought this tight schedule of his lacked anything, either — at least not until you crawled your way right into his heart, albeit a little too cold but oh, so aching for love still, and made yourself home in the long abandoned space. it's only natural you came with a whole package - all your silly candles, drawers full of various bath bombs and salts, and far too many masks to count, which you always looked so ecstatic to put on his face.

you came with your own little routine - one that fit so perfectly into his, it's almost as if it was fate's doing.

perhaps, this is exactly what he needed at the end of his day - your skin on his, head tilted back to rest on his shoulder as you listen to him speak, so intently and calmly as always. maybe, the feel of your fingers in his hair, tenderly pushing the bangs out of his face as you grin upon the sight - here's my handsome boy - is the little piece he longed for everyday.

(love, he thinks is the right word for it. he needed your love - but despite getting better at voicing out his feelings over the years, it's still far too sappy to admit to out loud.)

snapping out of thought, rin shakes his head. “yeah, me neither.” the man mumbles under his breath, and you need to look over your shoulder to make sure he’s just teasing — voice far too tired to make out the tone. “if they end up calling again, it's better cause someone's dead or some shit. not picking up otherwise.”

you laugh, and rin’s mouth curls into a rare smile.

“wow," you mumble, "that’s not very captain of you." you tease, to which he snorts.

"not very teammate of them to be such idiots either." you'd suppose there would be more of a bite to his tone as he retorts, but it's surprisingly gentle as he allows his gaze to rest on your silhouette, taking in the image of you slipping the silk robes off your shoulders and exposing the soft skin underneath. he sniffs shortly, "whatever. let's not talk about 'em anymore."

you only give a slight chuckle in reply as you slip into the bathtub, followed by a content sigh. the bubbles have grown thick and luscious, nearly covering most of your body once you’re fully submerged in the glittery lilac water, and rin’s cheeks grow warm in time with your own. yours, because the water is indeed just a bit too hot even for your liking; his, because you look so fucking sweet, a sight for his sore eyes.

pulling your knees chose to your chest, you squirm forward to make space behind you. "c'mon, it's gonna run cold-"

"shut up, woman," rin mutters under his breath as he steps in behind your back, lowering himself and pulling you flush against his chest once he's fully seated. the water sloshes over the edges at his sudden motion and you gasp - both at the mess and his jab.

"hey!" you try to turn in his grasp, but the way it tightens keeps you locked in place. rin laughs by your ear as you lean your head back with a pout. "it's the first time in, like, forever that we have time for this, and that's the treatment i get?"

rin gives your frame a squeeze again, paired with a chaste kiss pressed to the crook of your neck. you lean your head to the side, allowing more space, and it's almost muscle memory by this point - merely an instinct and unconscious thought that makes rin's heart jolt.

it has been a while, indeed, rin figures. you've been both way too busy with work to make way for the small things, pieces of your daily routines that in the end made the day feel this much better. now, he's not exactly sure how did all of... this become a regular routine for you two, but it has quickly turned out to be the very thing both his mind and body long for whenever it's time for a break.

maybe the lack of time was the cause of his annoyance spiking these past few days, eyes rolling upon the most minor inconveniences. he's never been the calmest type around the team, but it was truly best to keep your mouth around him lately. (if there has to be one person to ask about it, it's ryusei. as always.)

as rin inhales your scent, mixing with the faint citrus of the bubblebath and calming lavender the candle diffuses, he realizes that he's missed you.

long eyelashes flutter against your shoulder as he closes his eyes, hands starting to roam down your waist and grope their way to your hips where they finally settle.

"i missed you." rin admits, albeit to his own surprise - and it seems like yours, too, if the way your fingers flex on his knee is anything to go by. he noses at your neck and feels his shoulders finally loosen up. "missed this, i mean."

you shift in your seat slightly, back pressing against the firm planes of his chest even further, until you can nearly feel the steady thumping of his heart.

"me too." you say softly, one hand slipping to rest on his bicep instead while the other guides his other arm to wrap around your chest again. you squeeze it tight and turn your head to get a better look of rin's face. "it's not as fun without you anymore, yanno?"

rin must sense your gaze on him, cause as soon as you're done speaking, his head lifts from it's spot on your shoulder and turquoise eyes lock with yours. a small smile breaks across your face as you reach a hand up, pushing back the bangs that already start to stick to his forehead.

"you're telling me i'm fun?" the ravenette mumbles, corners of his lips pulling upwards when you go to mess with his hair.

your chest squeezes with adoration upon the sight - handsome, refined features on show, paired with the dearest look anyone could ever grace you with. sheepishly, you nuzzle your face against rin's neck and nod. "well- sometimes." you murmur and feel his throat vibrate with a laugh.

"took you long enough t' admit." rin snickers, straightening his legs a tad more as he leans back, until the water reaches shy past your collarbones. "you wanna tell me something else while we're at it, baby?" he taunts, head tipping down just slightly to steal a look at your face, still snugly fit in the crook between his neck and shoulder.

"mmhm, i just might." you hum, "i love you, dummy," you sigh, holding back an amused smile as you push yourself up. sitting up straight, you look back over your shoulder just in time to spot the very sight you've longed after for the past few days - teal eyes just barely hooded yet sparkling with so much affection, and a content smile to pair with.

you watch silently as rin rolls his shoulders back, arms moving to rest over the edge of the tub. it's been a little while since you've last seen his body this relaxed, lean muscles all loosened up and frame seemingly even more broad now as he rests.

"i love you, too," the man replies, feeling his smile widen upon noticing your lips curl up in a grin of your own as well. perhaps it's just these silly essential oils you've loaded the bath water with, or maybe it's the temperature and steam in general, cause there's a giddy feeling gnawing away at his chest and a loop pulling at his heart that makes it just a tad harder to breathe properly.

(it's the same sensation that only ever creeps up on him when he looks at you. love, rin thinks. he can voice it out all he wants, bare his heart for you countless times - but he's never getting used to how dizzy it makes him, searing hot in his veins and cotton-like in his head.)

a sense of serenity swirls around the room and mixes with the delicate lavender as silence falls over the both of you, other than the gentle fizz of bubbles and flicker of the candle. you hold rin's gaze as he breathes, chest in a steady rise and fall until he opens his mouth to speak - and you're surprised he's only ever asking for it now.

"wash my hair, please?" rin speaks - quietly and meekly so, as if you ever denied him the thing - and you roll your eyes, hand already reaching towards the stand to fetch the shampoo bottle as you smile, feeling so lovesick your chest hollows.

"thought you'd never ask."

#୨୧ 𝑁𝑂 𝐿𝑈𝐾𝐸𝑊𝐴𝑅𝑀 𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐸 #✧.* zaria writes #thank you for requesting luv !! & for your kind words as well < 3 #rin itoshi x reader #itoshi rin x reader #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #rin x reader #blue lock fluff #blue lock x you #bllk x you #itoshi rin x you #rin itoshi x you #blue lock imagines #itoshi rin #blue lock

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