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ka0ila · 3 months

Note

Sorry but I just can’t get dom, caring Chan x reader in a deep subspace out of my mind😭😭 I need more of that concept !! I trust you with everything lmao you’re so creative so just do whatever comes to mind:)

//baby, you’re not alone. it’s like one of my favourite scenarios everr, thankyou sm i hope this satisfies you <33 also im so sorry im really not good with soft stuff but i tried<3 i wrote it in 3rd person as it was a req, tell me if you would like me to change itᵕ̈

|All Mine

pairing- soft dom!chan x sensitive sub!reader

genre- smut [18+] mdni.

type- request

warnings- fingering (fem receiving), breeding, subspace, overstimulation

not proofreadᵕ̈

ᝰ.m.list !

It’s been a whole week, you hadn’t seen chan.

The other night he came home, you were making out, pinned against the wall, but suddenly,

he got a call.

He finished you off but you needed, literally needed his dick inside of you.

Nothing was enough, nothing. No toy, nothing could replace him. You were about to cry, but you knew it wasn’t his fault.

Now, touch deprived, youre on your bed, flustered and red, warm and needy. You were so sexually frustrated you couldn’t help but cry,

you wanted him, you wanted him around you, you wanted him to treat you good,

to make you feel good, to focus on you, and you only.

Thinking about just being safe and comfortable enough to go fully into subspace because you trust him with everything,

the way you submit your body to him blindly, the way you give everything in his hand,

enough to fully let go and let him please you however he wants, and have his way with you.

All you could thing of was being all soft and dumb around him, fuzzy and fucked out of your brains, too needy to think straight,

getting praised and pleasure, being his good girl, submitting to him completely. You toss and turn, remembering his soft dirty whispers, you blush to yourself, dumb.

“baby?” you hear the door open, you were completely out of your mind to realise he had come home, you perk up at his voice, seeing you in this condition he’s taken back.

“oh my, oh my. is my baby needy? hm? are you in your subspace babygirl?” he changed his voice the moment he realised what was happening, you were clearly in your subspace. This had happened before, multiple times infact.

You whimper in response getting in his embrace, tears fill your eyes,

“My poor baby. Did you miss me so much? hm?” he said while getting on the bed brushing your clothed clit slightly,

oh the sight of you so turned on, out of your mind, whimpering and so red, he could forget the whole damm world and stare at it the whole day.

it was as if there was nothing better to do.

You whimper, the look in your eyes, he knew he couldn’t play with you.

“c’mere baby, let me take care of my princess”

all you could think about was pleasure, you were fuzzy and dumb.

you were completely disconnected with reality.

oh that expression on your face, hot red and needy, looking at him needy, how dare you disregard it.

he unzipped his pants and shirt, placing you in his lap gently while whispering things in your ear, sending chills down your bone,

you felt so overstimulated even though nothing had happened.

“oh my pretty, pretty baby” he placed a kiss against your neck, sucking your earlobe as he rubs circles on your clit,

“so wet baby, so wet for me.” he places another kiss on your cleavage.

the wet sounds turned him on so much, you were so wet for him, only for him.

it fed his ego, his pride and strengthened the fact that you belong to him,

“need you, please” you couldn’t bare it, you would usually love it but right now, all you could think was of his dick inside of you raw.

“yeah? you need daddy’s dick in that pretty little whole of yours?” he chuckles as he places you gently on the bed, tying your hand slightly to the headboard. Making sure they weren’t too tight, he sucks on your breast, while the other hand treats your clit.

“my pretty baby, my patient baby, you deserve all the pleasure in this world” he whispered as he looked deep into your eyes, a string of saliva on his soft pink lips.

he rubs his tip slightly, you flinch,

it felt too good, you couldn’t wait any longer,

the moment he entered you he couldn’t maintain his pace, the sight of you, all submissive and brain fucked in front of him, he couldn’t control it.

you were a mess, moaning continuously, chanting his name,

“yes baby, all mine. you’re all fucking mine. my pretty baby, this is fucking mine”

one hand on the headboard the other playing with your clit, as he slams into your hole,

he places a pillow under your abdomen,

“you-.” thrust, “are-.” thrust, “all-.” thrust “mine.”

oh, you were on cloud 9.

you were practically screaming at this point, no shame, no one could stop you.

you were out of your senses to realise.

“im gonna cum, channie— please” you begged,

“don’t stop, please dont stop.”

“cum for me baby, fucking cum around my cock, cum while im fucking you, cum like the little cumslut you are.”

he didn’t stop, you were clenching around him and he only paced his speed, reaching for his high,

“cum in me, breed me, please.” you whimper, tears fall from your eyes,

“aw? does my baby want to be breeded? want to carry daddy’s babies?” he said sucking the sensitive spot on your neck,

“mhm—.” you couldn’t comprehend or speak anything,

the way he was pacing up every second, hands tied you were helpless,

“im gonna breed you baby, gonna breed my lil princess” he said as he left his release deep in you,

inspecting and making sure every drop of it was in you, nothing to be wasted.

he rubbed your head, fixing your hair placing a soft kiss on your forehead, untying your hands and caressing them slightly.

“i love you—.” you said as you were about to doze off due to exhaustion,

he smiled and said, “i love you more babygirl, sleep well i’ll clean you up” he was about to get up but you stopped him,

“stay until i fall asleep, please”

he took you in his embrace, securing you in his arms, you felt asking nothing in this world could harm you in his arms,

as long as he was next to you, you had nothing to worry about.

he kissed your nose and patted your head,

you were safe.

368 notes · View notes

feyascorner · 24 days

Text

11 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3

He knows he hasn’t returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.

Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, it’s of surprisingly good quality. It’s the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.

When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldur’s Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadn’t had before—free of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of death…and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.

Being “stuck” in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book he’s already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence again…meaning some (Gale, specifically) don’t mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Gale’s incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.

An outing or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

So he embarks. Where to, he doesn’t know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. It’s not that he’s afraid of the cleric, of course. He’s a damn vampire, for heaven’s sake. He’s only being cautious.

The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and it’s not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isn’t exactly common, after all.

“Baldur’s Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if you’d like a peek.”

Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intended—not that he cares. “Who in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?”

The boy frowns, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t want one, you could’ve just said so.”

“Really? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,” Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boy’s distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed ‘Exclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldur’s Gate! Never seen before!’

He finds himself reading.

“Mister, if you’re going to read, you have to pay!”

Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boy’s palms with a plop. “It’s two silvers.”

“I’m fully aware, don’t worry.”

The Baldur’s Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where it’s due. Gortash’s death must’ve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they don’t provide as much entertainment as it surely could’ve if they stretched a few truths. He doesn’t read much into them, though, because he’s soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where he’s practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.

In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

He wonders if you’re ashamed of them as he’s ashamed of the ones on his own neck.

Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.

The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. They’re painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, must’ve been altered, as they don’t sound much like you.

One question catches his eye.

‘So what does the hero of Baldur’s Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?’

Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.

‘’This city is my home…but I don’t think I could stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve made some precious memories here, but I’ve also made ones that I’d rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, I’d have to embark for elsewhere.’’

His eyes widen. You’re leaving? When the hells did you decide that?

‘Truly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.’

‘’Where will I go? I mean…I guess I’d just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.’’

Astarion’s gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesn’t even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. He’s not sure if he would’ve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he won’t have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.

This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if it’s only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.

Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.

He’s always wanted to be immortal. Even before he’d grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get here…left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes it’s not so bad, being a vampire—-besides the whole ‘not-being-able-to-see-the-sun’ fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, he’s essentially invincible as long as he doesn’t find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?

He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.

Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. There’s a reason why he’s always preferred wine over whatever’s filling their cups.

He paces toward the door, but just as he’s halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.

“Shadowheart,” the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. “What brings you here this morning?”

She certainly won’t miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.

Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. They’re just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. “Just picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearances…”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation because he’s already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but there’s one he tries that slides right open.

Much to his distaste, it’s occupied.

He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.

He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking it’s another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.

The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.

Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks he’s alone, until there’s another shrill voice rushing at him.

“There you are, Tav! I’ve waited days to see you here agai—" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "You’re not Tav.”

Way to state the obvious.

Clearly, he wants to spit back. But he’s too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. “Wait, you’re Tav’s friend!”

Friend. He hasn’t been considered your friend in a long while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” she tilts her head. “Did you maybe make up with Tav?”

Ah. You must’ve told her about his—peculiar arrangement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didn’t we?” she offers him a smile, which he doesn’t return. She doesn’t wait for an answer either. “I wasn’t expecting you here…Did Tav send you?”

Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sun’s radiant glow. She doesn’t seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“I—yes,” is all his damn brain can spit out.

“Oh,” her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. “You should’ve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how they’re doing…I haven’t seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?”

Hells. He’s already itching to jump off the roof.

“Does your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?” he grumbles. “And I’m afraid I don’t know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.”

Alfira’s shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. “...Well, that’s a shame. Then, what brings you here?”

This time, he’s prepared.

“Seeing the state you’re in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure they’re doing well. It’s a busy time of year, you see, and they haven’t had the time to indulge your—-outings up here.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say something—anything else about what you’ve been up to, but it comes up empty. It’s not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but he’s not sure if he knows any more about what you’re doing than this bard standing right before him. You don’t play music anymore. You don’t frequent the bars as much as you used to. You don’t do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?

It irks him: not knowing, that is.

He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.

“---and I’d really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I can’t imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,” she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. He’d be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. It’s a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. “I don’t know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think it’s fate. Tell them it’s a gift for helping with my songs.”

Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents he’s all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time he’d held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.

“Were you looking for it?”

“No. Like I said, it must be fate.”

How cheesy.

His lips quirk downward even further, if that’s even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but it’s clearly seen a different level of care than what you would’ve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.

“It’s seen better times, I know. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it even if it’s not how they left it.”

Wouldn’t you? No. He doesn’t know if you’d appreciate it. Why would you? You don’t even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.

“Please,” she pleads. “Give it to them.”

His brows pinch.

And because he doesn’t want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because he’d much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. “Fine. I will.”

The smile she gives him doesn’t prompt him to do the same.

Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, that’s what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesn’t hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.

The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.

“I won’t pry,” Alfira says. “They never really told me what happened between the two of you…I respect your privacy, so I won’t ask. But whatever it was…I do hope it won’t happen again.”

It’s a weak one, but it’s a warning. He’s had plenty of those to figure it out.

“It won’t,” he mutters.

He’ll be long gone before it can.

Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.

Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it weren’t for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. “Is now not a good time?”

You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. “It’s alright. I’m only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.

“You’ve been busy. I’ve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.”

Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think it’d be a sign to close the tavern down.

Your tone remains grim. “Were any of them the woman you were looking for?”

He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. “No, she’s…I still haven’t found her.”

And maybe it’s the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. “You would think she’d try to meet someone she was so close to.”

It’s insensitive, and you wouldn’t blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s gotten much rest recently, either. “Trust me, I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

“No. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and I’ll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,” he groans. “Well, deader body.”

“Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. She’s always been stubborn, and she’s far more determined than myself, believe it or not.”

“Not you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely can’t be so easy to control, and let’s be honest…” you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. “You’re practically a blood pot being offered to her.”

He frowns. “Is it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I don’t know much about vampire spawn aside from the obvious…”

You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. “Believe me, they’re beasts when they’re ravenous.”

“Beasts?”

“Do you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,” you shrug. “It tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really like…it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"

Yevir’s face pales.

“See?”

His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. “I’ve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the time…Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, I’d want to find some way to make her new life more tolerable…it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

You blink.

Shit. You’ve said too much.

What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and he’s living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?

You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.

“I have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,” you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.

“I’d appreciate it.”

You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isn’t much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but you’re sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to be…so a small push certainly wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Gale’s left on the stove into a cup.

If you were in Astarion’s shoes, you’d think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought he’d felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time you’ve spent with him and the stories he’s told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when he’s drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality he’s long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you can’t deny it, either.

You wonder if it hadn’t been for Cazador’s leash tying him down, he would’ve turned out differently. More twisted. That he would’ve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldn’t have learned the value of a life. That he would’ve become more alike to him—the man he would’ve become if he’d ascended.

That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything he’d gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.

You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, you’d rather have this than what could’ve happened if you hadn’t listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.

You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.

But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesn’t drink tea at all.

Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarion’s pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.

You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.

“You—Is he—” Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. “He’s—”

Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevir’s hand reaches his sword. “Now, let’s not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...”

The Fist snaps his head in your direction. “He’s a spaw–!”

The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible ‘thud,’ and he’s out like a light.

You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Lae’zel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. “Your soldiers are such children.”

Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.

You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.

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273 notes · View notes

norizz-nation · 8 months

Note

Hey! I‘d love to read something about George smut.. but sadly I‘m not very creative so maybe you can improvise and think of something.. ☺️💕

I was just thinking about writing a George smut! Hope you like it. 🤍

Good girl 🤍

Summary: After seeing his baby niece and nephews, George wants a baby too.

Warnings: nsfw, 18+, breeding kink, slight choking, biting

George and you were dating for a good 3 years now. Having a great relationship, since he never argues with you, he somehow always gets your point and says “yes you’re right, im sorry”

You both were invited to his one cousin’s house. His cousin has a baby. Just after arriving George was so focused on his nephew, making baby voices, kissing him, making funny faces. You were looking at George from the kitchen counter as he noticed and came to you with a big smile and wrapped his hands around your waist. Snuggling his nose in your hair as he whispered “look at him, so cute” and you hummed.

“I wanna get you pregnant” he whispered in your ear and you looked behind with a confused face. “A baby? Really?” He nodded as your face lit up with joy, hugging him tightly and running your fingers through his hair.

You and George couldn’t wait that long, to go home then fuck. After having dinner George said that he’s having a headache so they should leave for home and somehow managed his cousin.

You and George were making out from the main door, practically ripping each others clothes, dropping every peace of clothing on the floor. As you both made it to the bedroom, George picked you up and threw you on ur shared bed, while you were just on your t-shirt and underwear as he crawled up to you kissing you hungrily. As his hands went to your tits, he then removed your t-shirt and bra and sucked on your tits. Making your head fall back in pleasure. Your hands instantly grabbed his hair as you started to moan a little. He then went lower and lower kissing your thighs. He then bit your inner things making you whine in pain “ahh George!” As he looked up at you and smirked.

He then placed a soft kiss on your clit and got up and positioned him infront of you. Jerking his dick while rubbing it in your clit as your moaned and ran your hands on his abs. He then went inside slowly, so slow that was painful for you as you wrapped your legs around his hips and pulled him closer, as his pace became fast.

His thrusts becoming harder and harder. As he puts your legs above his shoulder getting more access, grunting in your ear, as his one hand was choking you hard. “You want me to fill you up?” You nodded “yes yes! please, fill me up” his thrusts going deeper. “Oh sweetheart you’re gonna look so pretty pregnant with my baby” you bit on your lower lip as he came inside you, filling your pussy. “You’re such a good girl.” He stayed in that position for a while placing his forehead on yours. “I love you so much” you smiled and kissed him. “I love you more George” as you held each other so close.

A/N: requests are open! feel free to ask what you want me to write! luv you ❤️

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strawbsj · 3 months

Note

let’s indulge a little with the hotcoolz 3some….. are the girls possessive? are they official? who made the first move? we need all this info 😩

Oh my god, we haven’t indulged in that yet? How could I? Here is something for all of us😵‍💫 (btw Yunjin and kkura are g!p!!!🤫)

Ok so I’m too sure that when hotcoolz fuck they ain’t coming here to play they truly are fucking hard and rough!😩

Kkura and Yunjin both are passionate on stage so I’m damn sure they are passionate and sensual in bed!!!

It all probably started when Yunjin confessed to you and Kkura had feelings for both of you (you and Yunjin had feelings for her too but decided to confess later🫢🫣) so when Sakura saw you both basically eating each other out, she couldn’t help but feel the jealousy and possessiveness come out.

Literally grabbing both of you and making out with the both at the same time while leaving soft touches or nibbling at your thighs, jaw and neck.

I know this, sakuras oldest and dominant demeanor shows in bed, every time the three of you fuck she fucks hard and rough while Yunjin is probably in between, when you have been a brat she would tag team with Kkura and show you who you belong to. Both railing the shit out of you or one of them is pounding your brain out,while you are giving the other the suck of their life. They are the hottest brat tamers😵‍💫😰

When Kkura goes too rough on you, Yunjin is always there and never fails to show you how much the both of them love you,tracing her hands all over your stomach while gently kissing you or brushing your hair with her hands softly.

Libras are creative and our Yunjin is a libra so I’m sure she would spice up your sex life, getting you and Kkura out of the boring bedroom sex and trying new places parking lot while making you pose for the camera, practice room while the members could be coming any time the thing of being caught makes y’all cum harder, shower sex or maybe even the cinema placing their hands on your mouth to muffle your sinful moans.🤫

Ok,our Pisces queen Sakura is a big on foreplay😵‍💫prepping your tiny cunt for her and Yunjins gigantic cocks, having knuckles deep in you or simply eating you out but it really does the trick, the stretch of their cocks now hurts less.

At the end of the day, they can’t keep their hands off of you, so when the three of you started dating. Fans and members noticed how close the three of you had gotten and how the three of you have something for each other not just member and member friendship, the glares of their manager is only keeping their mouth shut about you, but let’s see how long can they keep those mouths shut?🫣

#le sserafim smut #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim x fem reader #le sserafim yunjin #le sserafim sakura #sakura x reader smut #sakura x fem reader #sakura smut #miyawaki sakura #huh yunjin x fem reader #huh yunjin x reader #huh Yunjin x reader smut #huh yunjin smut #yunjin smut #yunjin x reader

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millenialfanfictionaddiction · 7 months

Text

Being Team Japan’s Manager

Manager into crafts

Team Japan x Gender Neutral Manager (they/them)

Warnings: Like all fluff, maybe swearing???

AN: I’m back on my bs again and here to feed everyone 😅 sorry it’s so sporadic but I hope this holds everyone over for a bit!

When I say you should be nominated for sainthood Yn, I mean it!

These guys are a lot to deal with

Honestly, you have no clue how they even functioned before you came along

I mean, the coach practically begged you to be their manager

Man’s is tired 😴

Anyways, it’s safe to say that practices are eventful

Despite’s Bokuto saying he’s “matured”, he hasn’t

“How come Hinata got more sets than I did?” Bokuto asks Atsumu

You 👉🏻😃 crap he noticed-

“It’s simple, Hinata was just on today and you weren’t,” Atsumu responses, walking away

Bokuto 👇🏻

Meanwhile, Yaku and Hakuba are arguing about something 🙄

“That’s block sucked man, stop moving your hands all over!” Yaku shouts

“I wasn’t moving my hands all over, I was setting up for a receive when I knew I couldn’t block!” Hakuba yells back

On top of that Iwaizumi is yelling at Kageyama for practicing too much

Sakusa is complaining about how everyone needs to schedule their flu shot

And Aran has just all but abandoned the gym because he’s just over it

Thankfully, when practice was over, you were able to go home and spend some time enjoying one of your favorite hobbies

Crafting ✂️ 🎨 🧶

You had tried a lot of different crafts and found that you were pretty good at them

Everything from painting to knitting, from sculpting to resin

You enjoyed the creativity that crafts provided

It could be stressful but definitely not as stressful as your day job

Nothing can ever beat that stress 🙄

Anyways, you’d managed to keep your hobby on the down low

It wasn’t that you weren’t proud, it was more like you just hadn’t found the opportunity to bring it up

I mean, it’s not like you’re busy or something 😐

It wasn’t until one fateful night when your happy little secret was finally discovered

You see, you were home, watching/listening to some show while trying to knit

It was a newer hobby you’d picked up, on top of jewelry making, crocheting, etc

A jack of all trades our sweet YN 💅

You are knee deep in ‘knit one purl two’ rhythm when the door bell rings

Now since you had very little life outside the team, you were wondering who it could possibly be

You didn’t want to lose your stitch so you stood up and made your way to the door

On the other side was none other then Hinata and Kageyama

Panicked you quickly opened the door and stared at them

🎶 when he looks at me, and I look at him and he looks at me and I LOOK AT HIMMM 🎶

Obviously, you are draped in yarn while dawning other comfy attire 💅

Arguably two of the most “chaotic” members of the team just stare at you

Literally 👉🏻👁️👄👁️

You look at them like “What? Can’t I have a life outside of being your caretaker?”

Of course Hinata probably thinks you just escaped some maniac who attempted to tie you up with yarn of all things…

“OMG YN WHERE YOU KIDNAPPED??” Hinata yells, grabbing onto your shoulders and shaking you rather violently

“I’m in my own house Shoyo…” you respond, brain trying to reconnect to reality

Leave it to Kageyama to help the situation

“HINATA BOKE YN ISNT KIDNAPPED, THEY ARE PRACTICING THEIR KNOT TYING SKILLS!” Kageyama screams, smacking Hinata in the back of the head

See… helping 😌

Sighing as the two dunces fight in front of you, you try to calmly correct their mistake

“I’m not kidnapped, nor am I practicing any nautical knot tying, I’m learning to knit,” you explain as the two cock an eyebrow in your direction.

Both of them look at each other and then back to you, confused 🫤

You 👉🏻😐🙄

“You know what, it’s really not important! What do you two need?” You question, wondering why you were interrupted in the first place

“Well now I can’t remember why we came here!” Hinata exclaims, “can you Kageyama?”

“Yeah not really,” Kageyama answers

You definitely deserve a pay raise Yn

“Ok well if you two could kindly go home and rest that would be much appreciated. You know how angry Hajime gets when you guys don’t get enough sleep,” you scold as the two men’s eyes widen

They quickly take off, racing each other to who knows where

As you close and lock your door, you think about how the next days practice with go

Will Hinata and Kageyama tell the other guys about your hobby?

Will Hinata and Kageyama even remember?

Honestly you figure brain cells are on your side since the two that just exited your apartment have a combined one on a good day

There’s no way they’d ever tell the guys about your knitting…

Sure… yeah… absolutely… it’s DEFINITELY fine : D

*12 hours later*

“YN I didn’t know you tied nautical knots on your days off? What a unique hobby!” Yaku says, first the next morning at practice

“I didn’t even know you fished Yn,” Hakuba adds

“Maybe YN just likes the art of knot making?” Aran suggests

You 👉🏻 🧍🙄

“I don’t tie knots guys, I knit… KNIT!” You shout as their eyes all pop open

“Knit? As in like what grandmas do?” Atsumu inputs

Please someone 👊🏻

“Atsumu shut up! Knitting is something alot of people do to relieve stress. And with a team filled with dummies like you, I’m sure YN needs all the stress relieve they can get!” Iwaizumi shouts

“Oh my god,” you whisper as the gym fills with chatter

“Why didn’t you tell us about your hobby Yn?” Ushijima asks as you just stare at him and gesture to the chaos that is currently unfolding

Ushijima just nods and quietly walks away to resume his practice

“So YN do you knit? Like scarves or port holders or something?” Suna questions as he walks with you to your office

“Well I’m just learning the art right now but I do a few other crafts in my spare time,” you say, still ignoring whatever is happening on the floor

“That’s cool, you should post some of your crafts online. I’m sure you could sell them or something? Maybe make a little extra money?”

You shrug, not really interested in extra funds and more excited to just do something you enjoy

Or should I say, the TEAM enjoys 😅

Because if you think you’re going to get away with not teaching one craft Yn, you are very mistaken

Hinata is sending you 5 minute craft videos every day

Bokuto wants to know if you can knit special pads for him for practice

Atsumu is asking for a custom “Atsumu” phone case 🙄

It literally doesn’t stop

So what do we do about this? Well there’s only one thing we CAN do 👀

🎉 CRAFT PARTY 🎉

That’s right, you gather all your craft supplies and haul them into the gym one Friday during practice

The guys all stare at you like you’ve walked into the wrong gym

“Uhh Yn you do know this is a volleyball gym right?” Yaku jokes as you set up your table on the side lines and nod

“Yep! But after practice it’s going to be a craft party!”

“Craft… PARTY???” The guys all shout in tones varying from excitement to pure confusion

“Yes since you all want me to make you crafts, I’m just going to show you how to do it instead!” You exclaim

“You made sure to get non-toxic glue right Yn? I don’t trust some of the idiots not to eat it,” Sakusa remarks, staring at a few members in particular

You roll you eyes and smile, “yes Sakusa, it’s all safe! And I have crafts for everyone.”

Surprisingly, the guys are rather good at crafts

Sakusa’s flexibility makes crocheting and knitting a piece of cake

Atsumu’s flamboyant nature makes him great at painting

Hinata and Kageyama have somehow turned bracelet making into a competition

Komori and Yaku are great with stencils!

And you? You are just happy to be able to share your hobby with your favorite people 🥰

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kahluamystery97 · 1 month

Text

Satellite (HS x OC)

Chapter One (March 2021)

“Cmon baby, pick up." Harry Styles muttered to himself. Each unanswered ring of the phone frazzled his already fraught nerves. As he resigned himself to being relegated to voicemail the line came alive.

"Hello.” Her greeting more of a question.

"Hi, uh, hi um, thanks for answering.” Harry was suddenly at a loss for words. Fumbling and unsure what to say next he blurts, "I just, I won tonight. I won a Grammy."

"I uh, I know. Congratulations. I was watching.” She admitted quietly.

She knows. She was watching. Harry’s heart nearly leapt from his chest. He pushed down the fear of her rejecting him and boldly decided to say what he was feeling.

"To celebrate this win without you feels so hollow though. So much of this is because of you."

“Harry.’ She said his name like a warning.

He knew he was pushing his luck. He couldn’t stop now. Harry braved it.

"You helped more than you know. You let me adore you," He played on the song he had written for her. The line was silent.

Her laugh was flat and angry. “Just me? Did you call Colette first or is she next?"

Harry swallowed hard. He deserved that. "I'm sorry this isn't where I wanted this call to go. I wanted to ask you to come tonight. To celebrate. Be with me. Just having a little thing. We don't have to have any complicated conversations. Just come and be beside me. Celebrate with me."

Maggie Dunne felt her gut twist into knots. Had she had any significant amount of food in her system she was sure she would vomit. She picked up the phone to congratulate him. This was a big moment in his career. She genuinely cared that he should have a good night. She did not expect an invite out.

Maggie knew if she wasn’t careful she could be sucked right back into his orbit only to be spit out again. She surprised even herself when she said, "Text me the details. I'll try. I'm not even dressed."

"Wear whatever you like. It isn't a giant thing. Everyone will be so happy to see you. I could send a car for you." He offered hoping that would guarantee her turning up.

"I can get my own car." Just like that she hung up the phone. She had no idea why the fuck she was considering this. Things between Maggie and Harry hadn’t always been so complicated.

This is just a teaser. I wrote this story ages ago. I started it right after Harry won his first Grammy. I shared a really rough version of it a long time ago on here and it didn't have too many followers. I thought since the place seemed sort of quiet I would give it a rewrite and see if anyone was interested in it. It is more for me than anyone else. Just to prove that I haven't totally let all of my creativity die while I toil away in corporate America. Hope you enjoy it (more to come).

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fic #satellitefic

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h0unds-of-h3ll · 2 years

Text

Helping hand

The biggest name in Hawkins visits you. The bully, but before you can refuse. He meets you with a proposal: help him and he’ll help you.

Steve Harrington x reader smut.

Word count: 5k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: choking *slightly, degrade and praise, talk of harassment, unprotected sex, p in v, making out, groping, manhandling, hair pulling, hickeys, scratching, explicit language & themes, finger sucking, talk of jealousy & masturbation, secret pining, enemies to lovers? Descriptions of pus, blood and bruises *see gif below, parents in the other room.

A/n: nothing. Look at him, read the filth I wrote for this goon. He’s hurt AND wAnTiNg. What a dream come true. Not really set in a specfic season sooo. This is so cheesy oh my god.

Brown boxes are scattered in your room. Some filled to the brim with memorabilia, others with clothes. The one you’re currently packing, a collection of your work. Academic medals, shoved into the bottom. It’s bittersweet having to leave for college. To become a scholar to better yourself. To get an education for a career. Your parents were more excited than you were. You were mourning over lost memories. The pictures you forced Jonathan to take. The clubs you were in with the introvert. You thought his strike against Polaroids was a bit odd, so you had to get creative in other ways. Such as sneaking, quick photos of him and Nancy. They were cute, even with the unrequited thing they’re going through. Your heart weighs heavy in your chest. Digging through the piles. As you dig, you find an old essay. One that you did for Steve Harrington. You smile. It’s funny, really the strange deal you used to have with the king. You made pretty good money from it. A’s were $100, Bs $50. Test scores were doubled. The dirty hassle lasted all throughout senior year.

It’s amazing how neither of you got caught. Now and then you’d slip up and add a word Steve most definitely didn’t know. Or some punctuation. You’re pretty sure he doesn’t know the difference between a semicolon and a colon. The most bewildering thing being that you actually got to know the person behind the hair. He was an idiot, but a charming one. You got to understand him better as you tried to tutor him. Always after school at your place, four on the dot. (It was the only window of time for your parents, both at work and school ending.) But it didn’t matter, he rarely showed. Always saying something came up.

Or when the times he showed, he was always nervous and unconcerned with the work you tried to teach. It was useless trying to teach a dog who’s too stubborn for his own good. The tricks he didn’t understand. Which leads you to do his work. You reminisces the times he would flash a sharp smile when you popped a joke. The flutter of your heart as he looked at you. The demeaning look he had when he actually tried. Shivers run up your spine as you trace your thumb over forged words. Lost in the mirage of what your life would be like if you acted on your feelings. The rattle on your window spooks you, you jump to your feet. Scurrying over to the window, your heart thumps against the cage of your chest. Trying to pump out of the flesh and bones. It’s the middle of the night, and the only light you have is the soft glow of what’s in your room. But you can make it out. Who it was. Him. The legend of your dreams. His face is casted over with dark shadows. His hair in clumps, facing every which way. It wasn’t normal for him to look so disheveled. He’s slumped over, a hand pressed to the side of your parents house. His other pushed against the side of his torso. You purse your lips together, thinking of every possibility. Your window was incredibly small, although you knew it was possible to escape through it. However, Steve was bigger than you.

Broader even so you scrambled for a better plan. You couldn’t just waltz in a foreign boy into the house. Your parents would lock you up like Rapunzel if they found out. The gentle buzz of the living room tv is a reminder that they’re home. “Date night” resolved to a movie marathon on the couch. They weren’t talking so you assumed that they were passed out. But what if they weren’t. You paced by the window. You step on your tiptoes to peer through the small rectangle. With a deep breath you unscrew the window, propping it open. The cool Night’s air prickling your skin. The air is still as humid as ever. You’re beyond confused as to why he’s here. But the urge to help clouds your judgement. Did you summon him here? It wouldn’t surprise you if you did. It wouldn’t be the craziest thing that’s happened here. As you stare down at him, he runs a shaky hand through the thick strands of his hair. A dark jacket matched with a light shirt is drenched in what you assume is blood. His or someone else’s you didn’t know. He looks to the side, wiping his cheek on his shoulder.

”What're you doing here?”

You whisper as loud as you can. Careful to not waken your parents. Even though you're grown, you’re still terrified of them. He blinks dumbly at you. Those puppy dog eyes, bruised and busted open. It pains you to see him so broken. He looks to the ground, not able to look at you.

“I-“

He pauses. Tears burn the backs of his eyes. Remembering the night's events has scarred him worse than it ever has. He’s honestly shocked he’s hobbled all the way to your house, but here he stands. Wobbling to the side and discombobulated. He chews on the inside of his cheek.

“I need your help.”

~~~

It’s astonishing how he managed to fit through the window. With your “help” you tug on his hand, pulling him through. He’s tripping over your night table. He staggers a couple of steps before crouching. He cups his hands around his shin and groans. A pained wince going across his face. Now you can examine his wounds. It’s almost sickly, the long deep gashes on his temples. The short ones across his jaw and lips. One of his eyes has a big welt near the lid, it drips fresh blood into the cornea, blinding him. His skin was filled with grime and dried blood. Your heart floods with sorrow. Even if he was an ass to you, he didn’t deserve this. His head falls back on the edge of your bed. He whines high in his throat, almost a moan. You panic, placing your finger over your lips and shushing him. He’s too loud. He’s going to get you caught. With a boy in your room. Without a doubt, your parents would murder you and bury you under the house. His head whips to you. Eye(s) throwing daggers.

“Did you just shush me?”

Fuck. Why does his voice sound so good? It’s groggy and feels like drinking Coca Cola. Butterflies form in your stomach. You push your chin into your chest and nod. Not wanting to say much else, knowing that if you do you’d expose yourself. Your eyes fall to his once white shoes. His jeans rolled up twice around his ankles. The material tattered at the end. He notices that you’ve shrunken into yourself. He feels at home. Not seeing you for months, but you haven’t changed a bit. It’s a relief to not see something defiled. He huffs, chest being stabbed with every breath. It’s quiet other than his fragile breathing. You’re as quiet as a mouse. Just observing him, trying to figure out how to fix the issue. To make him feel better. The room holds still, almost like time has frozen in place. With Steve. The idiot decides to break the trance. Turning around to attempt to lift himself off the floor. The springs of your bed croak as he uses it for support. You quickly come to his aid. Your hands come to his shoulders, helping him stand.

“I really don’t think this is a good idea.”

You murmur, pulling him to his feet. His jaw ticks as he grinds his teeth together. Restraining himself to not just scream in agony. His feet shuffle as you push him to the chair by your desk. He falls with a choked gasp. His hand goes back to his waist, pushing. You wonder if there’s a nasty bruise forming, or worse, if he broke his ribs. Your blood runs cold. Steve looks to the side. Above your desk was a mirror, one he wished he hadn’t seen. His eyes flicker over his face. He doesn’t recognize himself. Gashes littered across his face that it hides his true form. Why does he feel so ugly, like he’s a monster? He wants to cry. You chew on your lip as you rack your brain for answers. Among the conspiracies, you can’t find a definite answer. His clothes are drenched with crimson and brown. You can’t see the major wound that’s causing such damage. The only way to find out was to get him to shed the top layers. You blush before you pull on the lapels of his jacket. The bastard smirks. The tear in his bottom lip stretching.

“Trying to get me out of my clothes, already? I mean, I’m all for it, but I think foreplay is pretty hot.”

Your breath catches in your throat. Stomach flipping at his jest. Steve wants to sleep with you? Is that what he was insinuating? It’s comical how outrageous it was. He didn’t even bat an eye at you walking by you in the halls, and now he wants you? It made little sense. You shoved your foolishness deep down. Remembering that you’re simply here to help, not to make matters worse. You shake your head.

“I’m trying to see where you’re bleeding.”

He nods briefly, face falling to complete stoicism. He leans forward, peeling off his jacket. His hands were shakier than when he was outside. Was he nervous? You put it that he was in shock. Your eyebrows knit together as you see him fully. Dark pools are scattered everywhere, not just one definite spot. His hand falls back to his side.

“I can tell you one thing sweetheart, I don’t think there’s a place I’m not bleeding.”

He smiles, blood clotting around his teeth. He’s stupid, such a fuck boy with no shame. You should’ve known that’s all that he wanted from you. There’s no right for your thighs to dampen and your pussy to flutter at the pet name. His dark eyes roam over your body. Loose tee and baggy shorts, hiding the curves he knows you have. You look at ease, well before he interrupted. He likes the look of it. He wonders why he never paid you any attention. Such a sweet thing that he never gave the time to. He feels like a dork about it. But with the way you’re looking at him reminds him of his mother. Hands on hips, and face cut to stone. Your face mixed with a scowl and utmost concern. As he breathes, he can feel that broken rib poke into his palm. One thing is for sure, is that this is going to be a night he’ll never forget.

~~~

About every medical bandage in your premise was on Steve. After you had cleaned him up with a warm rag. And after a thousand more sexual innuendos, he looks better, to say the least. Instead of cuts, his skin was now littered with bandaids. Two gauze rolls are wrapped around his waist. (The stupid bastard wouldn’t admit to it hurting, so you had to push a finger there. You seethed the moan and the way it made you feel after.)

He breathed shallowly, each breath felt like his lungs were being punctured. But you were more curious, scattered on his bare chest, that trailed down his stomach and under the waist of his blue jeans. When did that happen? Numerous times at his basketball practices did he took his shirt off. But when did he become so masculine? It was impossible for you to place your finger on it. You tried your hardest to not gawk. You dabbed the now cold rag on his most likely broken knuckles.

Swiping the dried and new blood off the bone. You’re sat, legs crossed by the outside of his leg. His hand dangles off the rest. You made a distinction to not acknowledge the dull throb between your thighs. To not stare at the round, and might you add a prominent bulge in the front of his jeans. He gazes down at you. Completely and utterly amazed. He was a dick to you, but he also knew that you had a heart of gold and the people he used to know wouldn’t have helped him. Which is why he came to you. Such an intelligent girl wasting her time with him. His lips quirk up into a smile. He ignores the sharp twist of pain in his face. He trails his longest finger over your face.

“Wanna know something?”

You don’t look up, but you nod. Too concentrated on wrapping another gauze around his thick fingers.

“I heard this thing. It’s where if you kiss where the person is wounded, it’ll heal faster.”

You snort a laugh, and his smile widens. His gums turned red. Fuck, you’re pretty. You grin as you reach over his lap to the scissors on your desk. You stand, cutting off the excess tape before tying it around his hand. Placing the scissors back down, you face him. You pout, faking sadness.

“Awh, does big bad Stevie have a boo boo?”

He rolls his eyes, his smile dipping into a frown. Those eyes that hold so much horror behind them look you up and down. He scrunches his nose once they come up to your face.

“Yeah, but this nice girl fixed me up, though.”

Your hands fall to your hips again. He reaches out, his fingers brushing the sides of your thighs. Your skin burns under your shorts from the hint of his touch. Your cheeks flush.

“You’re smoother than I remember, Harrington.”

You speak his surname as a degrading term, like an insult. It shoots him in his heart. He thought you were warming up to him. Evidently, he was wrong. It makes his heart thump hearing your voice talk to him in such a way, it also makes his stomach hurt to be talked down like that. His ego is a flip of a coin. His eyes flick to your chest, then back to your eyes. His tongue sweeps over that cut on his bottom lip.

“You’re prettier than I remember.”

His voice is faintly above a murmur, but you hang on his words, blushing to the floor. He grins, spreading his knees far apart. Your breath stills as his hands flatten on the sides of your thighs. He pulls gently. Guiding you between his legs. He leans, wrapping his arms around your waist. His chin pushed on your stomach to look straight up at you. His eyes shine mischievously. Your hands fall on his shoulders.

“You’ve helped me so much princess”

He says floored. And he means it. You have helped him tremendously. He presses a kiss on your shirt.

“How can I repay you?”

He watches you think. He cannot realize that you’re stunned. Incapable of thinking. You could make him do anything in the world, yet you don’t. You’re not entirely sure what came over you, but you push him back. His back pressed against the seat. He thinks that he might’ve offended you before you slot yourself on his thighs. Each leg over his. Sitting only a few inches away from the throbbing head of his growing cock. He hisses as the sound of a crack is heard. You immediately jump back on his knees. Seating yourself, the farthest away from his chest. He shakes his head, locks swaying on the mop of hair. He grabs the backs of your thighs, pulling you to where you once were. You’re close to him. Actually looking at him. He takes a moment to just admire you. Why hadn’t he done this before? His heart aches.

“Don’t worry about me, sweetheart.”

He kisses the side of your neck and you can feel the roughness of the scab forming on his lip. His lips feel plump and soft, minus the abrasions. It’s pecks, not the long press that you long for. He peppers them up to your ear.

“I’m yours.”

He groans as you move your hips along his clothed bulge. Your hands cup the sides of his neck. Pulling him back to slot your lips onto his. His grip tightens on your thighs. You can taste the bitter copper of his blood entering your mouth. You farther the taste of him more. Delving your tongue into his mouth. He accepts it, not trying to rival you. He just lets you take a hold of him. To play with him, however your little heart desires. Your fingers trail to the back of his neck, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. His fingers dance along the end of your shirt. As he moans into your mouth. You make the quick decision that he’s very vocal, which is your demise. You part. Each party heaving with each breath, Steve more so. You blink your eyes open, finding his still closed with swollen lips parted.

“Parents. Home.”

Is all you can say, huffing. He nods. His hand leaves your thigh to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. The bandage is a contrast to the softness of his fingers.

“You’re so beautiful.”

He intones. His eyes water as he remembers how he sent his goons to taunt you. He just couldn’t get attached, especially not after Nancy. But after almost dying has made him reconsider a few things. You weigh heavy on his lap, comforting.

“Wish I would’ve told you that sooner.”

Your eyes flow down to his lips. Then back to his eyes, you blush. You wiggle to slot your hips on his. Moving your hands to cup his scarred cheeks. You push your forehead onto his, noses brushing.

“It’s okay. You can tell me as much as you like now.”

You smile, pushing strands off his warm forehead. He nods.

“Sorry about being a dick, too.”

Your smile widens.

“Maybe getting your ass beat wasn’t such a bad thing.”

You quip, and he leans back. His eyes squinted.

“Touché.”

He nips the bottom of your lip. You jerk your hips up and he moans. His hands go to your ass and he’s squeezing the globes.

“You feel overdressed.”

You press a quick kiss to his lips.

“What’s stopping you from doing something about it?”

His eyebrow pops up at your suggestion. You can feel his cock twitch under your core. Even at the heavenly idea, he doesn’t want to ruin his redemption.

“You sure? You don’t have to. I’m pretty into the thought of kissing you right now.”

You move back, lifting your shirt over your head. Your skin feels like lava. The only thing separating him and your breasts is your bra. Which is his favorite color. His mouth almost hangs open, his tongue feels too big for his mouth. It’s like the first time he’s ever seen a woman’s bare skin.

“Oh.”

He sighs, almost in disbelief. You smile brightly, placing your hands back onto his shoulders. You tilt your head to the side.

“Is that a good ‘oh’ or a bad one?”

His hands travel to your hips, above the elastic band of your shorts.

“Definitely good.”

His head mimics yours, moving to press his lips back onto yours. Licking and lapping drinking you in. His hands go to your back. Up to the band of your bra. Talented fingers unclasping the metal. He takes the bands down your arms until you take it off yourself. It falls somewhere behind him. The warm contact of his chest on yours is mind-boggling. His arms wrap around your midsection, hugging you to him. Your nipples are just a smidge above his. He kisses your cheek, then everywhere he can reach your face. It’s hasty, the quick pecks he gives. He’s mapping out every feature of yours.

“Feel so good.”

His lips brush your temple.

“Wanna feel you.”

You whisper, and he nods.

“This is going to be a little awkward, but if you’re willing to give me the benefit of the doubt.”

He jests to himself when you lean back. You ignore that his eyes linger on your nipples as he speaks.

“Then you can have me all you want?”

You kiss his jaw.

“All I want?”

He nods, his hands roaming your back.

“My performance might be a bit off, but yeah.”

You smile, laughing, softly slapping his chest. He groans. You give him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry.”

He shrugs.

“Honestly, at this point, I can't really feel it.”

You pull off his lap. Shimming off his thighs to ease the pain. Anxiety tingles over you. You hunch over, fingers hooking in your shorts and panties. Slowly pulling them down your legs. His eyes bulge out of his head at the sight of your bare cunt. Naked before him. His cock almost tore through his jeans. He’s surprised the amount of blood pumping through his veins doesn’t pour out of the cuts.

“I-, you’re fucking gorgeous, sweetheart.”

You feel shy and meek, but giddy to be admired and put on display for him. You wonder if he says that to all the girls he’s with, or if it was just reserved for you. It twists your heart painfully.

“Can you do me a favor, pretty girl?”

You nod.

“Can you help me get out of these jeans?”

You’re not entirely sure if it’s a ploy or not. But you squat between his legs, on your knees. Unbuttoning the brass button and zipping down the clasp. Your breath stands still, hair on end. You’re really doing this? About to perform the thing, wild dreams are made off. You suck in a breath. Your heart plummets as you are met with pale skin and thin veins. Of course, the smug scoundrel doesn’t wear underwear. You hook your fingers in the loops of his jeans. You bite on your cheek to stifle a moan. He lifts his hips up to your face to wiggle the material down his waist. He almost springs from the confines of his jeans.

His cock hitting his stomach with a damp smack. He winces, the veins pulsing on the pink crown. Beads of pre dribble down the sides. You don’t want to admit that your mouth floods at the sight. The need to have your mouth filled, let alone your weeping cunt. He grabs the rests to pull himself off the chair, so you can pull the denim down his thighs. He falls back down with a weighty sigh.

As the article wraps around his ankles, you run your hands flat along the tops of his thighs. His hips jerk up, spreading the smear of his arousal on his abdomen. It shines along the thick patch of hair that runs down to his cock. You stand after he begins to thrust limply into the air. He’s so pretty, perched up on your chair and rutting into the air. Imagining being hugged with your tight cunt. He’s battered and achy, but still wanting. He stares- hawks at you with dopey big eyes.

Committing your curves to memory. Soon it will be through muscle. A routine that he’ll never get out of his head. He shivers, reaching his long arms out. He opens and closes his beaten hands, resembling grabby hands. He urges you to come to him with each grab. You obey with a small smile. Walking into his trap. He pulls you into his lap. His bare cock pressed between your mound and his stomach. Your arms wrap around his shoulders. Playing with the hair by his ears. Twirling around your indexes, feeling the thickness and sticky hairspray. The pungent smell of a styling cream. It doesn’t help the messiness of the way it sticks to him.

“Wanna know a secret?”

He mumbles, kissing your collar bone. You tilt your head to the side, allowing him to further his kisses.

“Mhm.”

“All those times when I bailed on lessons, I was too afraid that I’d fuck up and admit I had feelings for you.”

You’re taken aback by what he said. Your fingers are still in his hair as his kisses deepen. His declaration made your mind incoherent, running a million thoughts per second. The Steve? Had feelings for you? It seems so wild to be true, but here he is admitting them to you. As you attempt to find the words, your mouth opens and closes. His kisses stop across your chest.

“It’s funny because I knew that it wouldn’t work.”

He’s right, you’re going to college in an exceptional state. Living a life that’s completely the opposite of his. It shouldn’t work, but opposites attract. You feel the strongest desire to at least try. How bad could it be?

“You know, I thought you would be smarter than what you used to be.”

In all honesty, you really thought that he would be. But you put too much faith in him, obviously with the state of things. His mouth falls open, eyes widening.

“Rude.”

You shake your head, smiling wide, showing him pretty teeth.

“No, but do you know what is rude? You thinking that I wouldn’t be into you.”

It’s silent other than his hammering heart on yours and the throb of his cock. He had an internal battle, debating the circumstances before he had an epiphany.

He smashes his lips to yours. Full of clanging teeth and tongue. It’s a complete contrast to the first time you had kissed him. He was laid back, letting you test the waters. But now he’s the one who’s eager, finding the caves in your mouth that make you mewl. Almost as easy as combing his hair back. You couldn’t keep up with his fervent pace. Nonetheless, he continues to pour all of his emotions into you. His hands paw at your ass before grabbing. He lifts you to hover over his cock.

He gives you a knowing look and, without speaking, you lower your hips. He spears you open; the head edging into your walls. Stretching you out for him. It’s slow, and he’s dragging through your walls as you sink. A shared whine between both of you escapes. One of relief, similar to slipping into a hot bubble bath. It washes all the feelings of insecurity and distraught away and replaces them with pleasure. He shoves his face into the crook of your neck. Kissing the junction, then sucking. When you fully sink down, sitting on his lap, his balls are a reminder as to how hard he is. How close he is to rupturing. He kisses the tops of your breasts, staring up at you with half-lidded eyes.

“The prettiest girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your pussy flutters around him, and he moans. Pulling you flush to his chest. He groans as the bone in his side threatens to pop. As he tries to thrust into you, he winces every time he moves. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts, you cup his face. Looking into his clouded over eyes, you give him a warm smile.

“Let me take care of you.”

He frowns deeply. Sighing.

“Haven’t you already?”

He asks sincerely. You’ve given him the galaxy, yet you want to give him more? His heart bursts as you smirk. You lift your hips up his length.

“Not like this.”

He moans loudly, his hips jutting up. You pepper kisses on his chest. He throbs inside you as your thighs tighten around his. He can feel his thighs become wet as you bounce on his lap. His toes curl as his ball draws up.

“So much for being quiet.”

He smiles a toothy grin. Your hips slow to a roll and your eyes widen. Shit! How could you have forgotten? He grinds into your still cunt. He rubs soothing circles on your thighs.

“Can you do me a favor, sweetheart?”

You nod your head quickly. Willing to do anything in the world for him. His face falls serious. He chews on his lip, tearing the skin farther. His eyes drop from you to the carpet.

“Will you run away with me?”

You heave. It’s quiet, too quiet. You nod a little after a quick debate. Fuck it. Your parents made you get to this level of success because they wanted it. You didn’t care, you’re going to run away with the Harrington boy and it makes you dizzy. Without a word, his eyes fall back onto you. He grabs the backs of your thighs, making your pussy squelch as you bounce once again. Impelling yourself on his length, repeatedly.

A soft rhythmic clap and hushed moans are all you can gather. Your hands thread through his hair, pulling his mouth to yours. You clamp around him. On the verge of your mind-boggling orgasm. Tugging on the locks only makes you swallow his whimpers. You tug and he gives you another. Proving that you can cum from a noise. You go limp and he jerks his cock into you the best he can. Spasming on him, he wraps his arms around your back. Clinging you to him. It’s hot and sticky, skin grinding against skin. One of his hands goes to grab at your hip for leverage. The other goes to the side of your neck. He pulls away from you, giving you air to breathe as he pants. He pushes his forehead on yours. His hand wraps around the base of your throat. Watching your eyes roll back. He squeezes his fingers on the sides. Constricting your breath.

“Treat me so good, f-fuck me so good.”

He has his head on his shoulders. His hair was strewn in clumps. His Adam's Apple bobs. He shuts his eyes tight. Thrusting up into you sloppily. His grip loses on your thigh. Your small hand wraps around the wrist on your throat. He cups your jaw; the gauze tickling your cheek. You pull his thumb to your lips. His brows knit together. He swallows thickly as he pushes the digit behind your teeth, hooking it to your cheek. And he’s done for. He ruts deep into you. Hips off the seat, seated at your cervix. He stays there, gasping for air. You swirl your tongue over his thumb. He resolves back into his achy self. He removed the digit out of your mouth to pull you to his chest. You rest your sweaty forehead on his shoulder. He runs his knuckles over your spine. His other hand is smoothing over your hair. He kisses your head, muttering words of endearment. He’s like a weighted blanket. One of those heating pads you saw in magazines to help with cramps. His lips brush over your ear.

“Now that I think about it, I think I’m in love.”

You snort a laugh, and his nose scrunches up.

“Or in heat.”

He shakes his head, clicking his tongue against his teeth.

“So mean to me.”

“Oh, whatever!”

You scoff, and he smiles. You pull your head off his chest, staring at him. He cups your cheeks and presses a long and meaningful kiss to your lips. His cock is growing soft in your cunt, but he remains seated. Lost in the kiss, the both of you fail to hear the patter of feet outside your room. Nor the calling of your name. Neither the door opening.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington #joe keery #joe keery x reader #stranger things #smut #Steve Harrington x reader fluff #Steve Harrington x reader smut

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mngo-jii · 9 months

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Okay but I really need to fill the gap as to WHY Daniel was casually carrying Amortentia around during that erumpent event. I don't think he'd use it, but maybe it's because his smell just like MC? 👀

Perhaps the reader finally gives into their curiosity and asks over why Daniel had *that* potion, and he gets too flustered to even give an excuse? Btw I really loved your crushing hc, these were adorable! 💖

“ AMORTENTIA. ” d. page

wc: 1k

letter ✉️: i rlly was also wondering how i’d turn the amortentia scene into a fic without having him turn into a maniac and use it on reader 😭 ty for this idea 🙏🏻 idk if i did it justice though because this kinda sucks um *scratches head*

“Right. Let’s see. I’ve got... Amortentia, that’s a love potion, definitely not. Essence of Dittany, hm... Ah, here we go. A calming draught.”

You narrow your eyes at a peculiar potion he just mentioned. Yet the situation at hand is more important than the question as to why he has the most powerful love potion in existence. You digress.

Of course, it’s not hard to catch onto how Daniel is a potions prodigy. It’s particularly impossible to miss it. Given how much time he spends in the Potions Classroom brewing maybe nearly every potion in existence. Sometimes, you tend to question how he doesn’t get exhausted from the hours he spends in front of the cauldron. But you suppose it’s just a passion of his that differs from everyone else’s.

Like how Lottie, herself, can spend hours painting anything that comes to mind. A wave of creativity just happening to hit her at some random time, like how the light shines oh-so perfectly down into the classroom windows, or when she realizes how fascinating the flames look when she casts the confringo spell.

But there are times she exhausts herself too, like times she’s mentally drained from an art block she’s been desperately trying to escape.

You’re not sure if you’ve ever seen Daniel tired of creating potions. It’s quite impressive—no, farther than that, that you sometimes find yourself admiring how well he can work his way around the cauldron with little to no errors.

And because of how well he ferments potions and how much time he spends on doing so, it’s no surprise to find that he has quite the collection of distinctive potions. However, he always either gives them away, displays them on the Potions Classroom shelf, or keeps them somewhere in his dorm.

So why did he so casually carry Amortentia, of all potions, in his pocket?

Of course it isn’t as bad as the Death potion, but your point still stands!

After that day you couldn’t help but let your mind wander on the possibilities on why in the world he would have such a powerful potion easily-accessed. After all, he doesn’t seem like the type to use it on someone. Actually, does he even have a ‘someone’ to use it on, nevertheless?

Maybe it’s not your place to ask. But as time goes by, you can’t look at Daniel without being reminded that he literally has the most formidable love potion known to man in his pocket.

“...W-What are you looking at?” He asks you, aware of your unwavering, however thoughtful gaze.

“Daniel,” you lean towards him, taking note of the crimson hue spreading his cheeks, “Is there any reason for you to be carrying the Amortentia potion right now...?”

Daniel visibly panics. He stammers out an incoherent response that’s cut off by Professor Flitwick.

“Please pay close attention to the instructions. Today we will be learning a disarming charm known as Expelliarmus.”

The two of you gently shuffle back to place, turning your attention to the man standing atop a very thick book. You suppose he can answer you later.

Daniel scampers to collect his belongings the very second Professor Flitwick dismisses class, unbeknownst to you. He scoots towards the very edge of the table and races out the door, stumbling into the hallway for an escape as if he had just seen a dementor.

Very quickly, he scans his surroundings, paying no mind to his classmates who barely glance at him as they walk by. He decides to draw himself a little farther from the doorway and towards the stairways of the Defense Against Dark Arts classroom, where he presses his side against the wall.

Unluckily for him, you just so happened to be reaching to grab his hand right now, making him feverishly twirl around to face you.

“Daniel, I’ll keep it a secret, I promise !” you whisper-shout, bouncing a little in place.

“It’s nothing—” He backs away from you in an attempt to escape your clutches, but you only step forward.

“Then why run? Why are you sweating so much?” You furrow your eyebrows, clearly concerned for your friend who is, yes, sweating bullets now.

“It’s just—”

“Pleeease tell me, Daniel.”

“I—”

“Pleeease.” Now both of your hands are grabbing his. You muster up the best pair of puppy eyes you can do at the moment, and lean yourself towards him trying to get him to just tell you.

Daniel’s face, which is inches away from yours at this point, is basically red.

“It’s— I— For—..” Why is your face still leaning in?! Why are you so close?! Haven’t you heard of personal space? (He kind of doesn’t want you to back away.) He shuts his eyes.

Before he could process it, his mouth moves on his own, blurting out the reason of which was not on your list of possibilities at all.

It was like a survival instinct.

“It smells nice...! It smells like you—your-robe-that-you-lent-to-me-last-week.”

Daniel wishes the floor would swallow him up.

He barely opens his eyes when you slowly let go of his hands and back away, and he only snaps them open when he hears a familiar hysteric laughter from above and behind him.

He slowly turns around, as if he hadn't already known who it is.

“You cannot be serious!” Robyn wipes a comical tear from her eye as she dramatically leans over a stone wall, “Ahhh, you’re daft, Page!”

Daniel doesn’t bother to say anything as he somberly stares at her above the staircase. His arms falling limp and his entire body stiff.

“I can’t believe I witnessed this at such a perfect timing...!” She drunkenly makes her way down, clapping her hands slowly in such passionate amusement despite the silence between you and him. “I can’t—” She pitilessly snickers at Daniel.

She gracefully turns to the opposite side of where you two came from and slowly disappears into the halls, her voice fading out in the distance—“I can’t wait to tell everyone else about this!”

Daniel stares as her figure slowly shrinks in his vision, as if he were trying to make her explode with his mind despite the distracting and repetitive sounds of her claps and cackling.

However, he’s taken aback when he feels a familiar piece of clothing gently wrap around his shoulder. He looks over, noticing that you’re no longer wearing your robe.

“I’ll gladly keep lending you my robe if you want me to...”

a/n: this is short ohmyy im sorry 😞

#(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ— written by lnr #hpma x reader #hogwarts magic awakened x reader #daniel page x reader

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centrally-unplanned · 2 years

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Bocchi The Rock! is really hitting sweet spots for me on how it presents its main character’s core plot concept. Bocchi is essentially K-On! but if main girl Yui was too introverted to function instead of too stupid to function; which is a challenge to make interesting. The Yui of this show, Hitori, is a social train wreck who convinced herself learning guitar would substitute for having a personality and make her friends, with the expected 0% success rate. The plot follows her new desperate attempt to achieve friend-dom by joining a band. Which is a character concept that gives us some extremely relatable content:

Yet the show does still have the challenge of making a character who sucks at socializing be the main character of a Slice of Life show about socializing. Its a comedy, obviously, but still that can get repetitive fast, these character types are often side characters for a reason. Shows like WataMote keep it fresh by making main girl Tomoko a degenerate scumbag on top of a shut-in, its the *degeneracy* that powers the show; you want to have an angle on characters like these

Bocchi’s angle is both character & directorial. On the character side, what endears me to Hitori is how much she is halfway there on understanding social interaction. She might be a breathing pink stress ball but she isn’t clueless, she knows, kindof, what you need to do to make friends - her panic-attack levels of social anxiety just preclude it. So you get opening scenes like these, where she dresses full-musician to go to school to inspire musician-types to talk to her:

And it falls flat on her face because she has been there for months already and still refuses to initiate anything:

But that is what fashion is for! She did look good, in another context this would work (and does accidentally to trigger the ~plot later)

Or when learning about her new also-weirdo band mate Ryo, she goes from “yes friend!!”:

To, 5 seconds later on hearing that she spends her time visiting ruined buildings & second-hand clothing stores, “oh no, not like me at all”:

Which is actually pretty smart for 5 seconds of thought, Hitori groks that interests correlate with personality and people relate to being alone differently.

The point is that Hitori’s social failure is stacked on top of social insight, the humor derives from what she gets right vs wrong. Her *almost* getting it is more enjoyable, and more importantly way more likeable, than her just flailing. She holds the stupid ball for sure but you get why, she is trying to throw it away at least, which is endearing instead of frustrating.

More exceptional is how the show communicates her struggle; she can’t talk good right? So tons of her dialogue is internal dialogue - which you have to spice up somehow, static shots w/ voice narration is not very fun. Bocchi has a grand time playing one of anime’s trump cards of having fantastical brain-scape setpieces to communicate mood. That ‘she is a loner’ revelation ain’t settling for some sparkling pink-background; we have a full apocalypse to carry her aborted dream instead:

Communicating information hits the same struggle as emotion; this is a show about music after all, and another of anime’s strengths its presumption the audience actually is interested in the details of the niche hobby stuff the show is about. But Hitori-in-actuality couldn’t teach someone how to breathe let alone music tips, so instead we get random artistic cutaways to diagrams and explainers by imaginary instruments:

Which I love! Its expressive, you can shift the artstyle in a way that doesn’t clash, it lets the animators flex technique, and the information gets across without dragging down pacing (a lot of media, *unable* to do this, simply cuts the information out entirely, primarily to spite me).

And of course since all of this is happening inside Hitori’s head, she is, apparently, immensely creative - I love her now, teach me your ways my gumball princess! Her head would be a great place to be if you could lobotomize the anxiety somehow. All this means that Hitori, while awkward, is rarely cringe - partly because the directing always cuts away from any shots that would focus on cringe, but mainly because Hitori is too interesting to be cringe, you got other things to think about.

All in all Bocchi the Rock is my favourite silly-Slice-of-Life show of the season, and I hope it continues this level of playfulness going forward.

#bocchi the rock!#Ash seasonal anime thoughts

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frozenjokes · 1 month

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hOtgUy drops by to pick up his visor, and Cub viscerally regrets not googling his name before then (1/2)

Tuesday was a big stocking day for the little shop where Cub worked, and easily his busiest of the week as he managed most of the stock, keeping track of what they had, sorting things, generally doing anything that kept him off the sales floor. The type of people shopping in a place like this tended to have fragile egos, and Cub, despite his previous best efforts, did not have a delicate touch. Self proclaimed superheroes would happily get into fights, suffer massive injuries, and generally engage in borderline suicidal behavior in the pursuit of a thrill, but say they have a big head one time, and you find out who the most sensitive members of society really are. (And she did have a big head, literally and metaphorically, it wasn’t Cub’s fault they didn’t have a helmet that fit.)

You could say he and his manager occasionally butted heads after incidents like these, disagreeing especially on how the aftermath was handled (admittedly, never well on Cub’s part, but he struggled to mask under pressure), but there was nothing either of them could do about it besides stick Cub in the back where no one could see him and pretend to like each other. She couldn’t fire him; a higher up was a family friend, and they knew Cub needed the help, and Cub couldn’t quit, because, again, money was always an issue, so the two of them just had to suck it up and deal. In the end though, it wasn’t a bad gig, not when he didn’t have to speak to people most of the time. It would just be a little nicer if his manager wasn’t always convinced he was doing a shit job.

Cub had been excited this morning for that to change, though in the flurry of handling supplies and dealing with deliveries, and having to micromanage everything, he had forgotten HotGuy was coming. The trucks had been late today, as well as a few other issues Cub had been dealing with, so he was still outside around noon, and coming back in to hear HotGuy’s voice was quite the scare. Mostly because he was so loud.

“-Oh yes! Positively delightful, knew exactly what the problem was and assured me you all would have exactly what I’m looking for. You know, I don’t often take a look around the smaller stores for the things I need; a lot of my equipment is custom made, but this place is just adorable, seriously, adorable. I’m so lucky Cub and I ran into each other! Is he here? Could I speak with him?”

His manager was clearly flustered, reasonable given that bigger names like HotGuy never stopped by smaller shops like this. It was cheaper, sure, but the quality wasn’t always there, and if you can afford the better stuff, you might as well spend the money.

“Thank you-” she finally said, “I’m sure I can get you what you need right here though, just a replacement for the visor screen, right?”

“Oh, that’s alright! Cub said he’d have it ready for me.”

Cub heard the strain in his manager’s voice, and it was quite clear the last thing she wanted was for Cub to say something rude or scare this high value customer away in some other creative way, “Cub’s very busy right now in the back, we get new stock on Tuesdays and he usually handles most of the-”

“I can wait!” HotGuy announced proudly, and Cub cringed from his place in the back. He couldn’t see his manager, but he could practically hear the strain in the silence, probably split 50/50 between bafflement that HotGuy was going to wait to be served and fear that he wanted Cub to be the person to serve him.

Probably fair, because when Cub finally poked his head out from the back, he was not ready for HotGuy to have no legs. The wheelchair itself was a sight; heavily customized to HotGuy’s colors but also full of stickers and even advertisements on the sides. Was- were those kitchen knives duct taped to the handles-? HotGuy himself was dressed in his usual costume, still wearing the cracked visor, but he had plain black sweatpants on as well, almost jarring in comparison to the rest of his intricate costume, though, more jarring was the fact there was nothing in the pant legs.

“Cub!” his manager hissed, not subtle at all, but maybe that was warranted given that his staring was just as conspicuous.

Cub jumped, scrambling to explain himself in a flurry of thoughts and stutters, but he and panic did not mix well, the resulting defensive coming out as, “He had legs yesterday-“ which was definitely one of the worst things that could have come out of his mouth, so he excused himself immediately. If he could escape out the back door fast enough, a stray truck might take pity on his plight and run him over. His manager broke the stunned silence, apologizing profusely, but she was completely drowned out by HotGuy’s laugh, an impossibly loud, barking thing. He said something, but Cub didn’t hear it or his manager’s response, though he did hear their shuffling and then- wheels? Was that the wheelchair?

“Cub?” Whatever Cub was expecting next, it was not HotGuy’s face poking in through the doorway. Probably much worse than his imagined worst case scenario, and Cub had to fight the urge to get up and run.

“Hi,” he managed instead, then, after the voices of literally everyone he knew started yelling in his head, he continued with a meek, “Sorry.” ‘That’s not genuine,’ something sneered, a mangled conglomerate of many voices, school teachers, old friends, parents- ‘Again, and mean it this time.’ “I’m really. Sorry.” Cub tried again, but it still wasn’t right, it still wasn’t human-

“It’s fine, I don’t care,” HotGuy said, far better at sounding like he meant it, “Nothing I haven’t heard before, though, usually that particular comment comes from kids,” Scar laughed, but seemed to realize pretty quickly that Cub did not find it very funny. Cub didn’t even want to know what his face was doing right now.

“I’m sorry.” That sounded better.

But HotGuy only cocked his head, something like concern dancing behind his eyes, though, it was hard to tell behind the visor. Cub didn’t even know what color they were. “Can I come in?” He sounded friendly. Cub’s voice didn’t seem to be working anymore, so he just nodded, miserable. HotGuy wasted no time doing just that, though he struggled a bit with the mess, another entirely mortifying thing to have to watch. Cub should get up. Do something about it. He didn’t, though.

“One of my prosthetics got damaged yesterday after we parted ways. CuteGuy wasn’t happy with me still, and he let me know it. The equipment is sturdy, obviously, it has to be, but there’s a lot of moving parts, and because I’m so active, maintenance has to be performed relatively often. Since one needs fixing up, might as well make sure the other is in tip top shape, yeah?” HotGuy was quiet for a moment, but Cub still couldn’t say anything, so the hero continued, looking curious, “Did you not know? That I’m an amputee?”

Cub opened his mouth to answer, but that just wasn’t going to happen, so he shook his head instead, embarrassment building. HotGuy looked entirely fascinated by that information, and there was some kind of odd open mouthed half-smile on his face, but Cub for the life of him could not tell what HotGuy was thinking. Luckily, the other wasn’t exactly trying to keep it a secret.

“I think I’m impressed. I also think I need to model with my wheelchair more. Goodness.” HotGuy stopped, plucking his phone from his pocket and looking something up, “No, that’s like- when you google me, that’s like the first thing that every website says about me! It’s what I’m known for- how-?” Cub cringed, but HotGuy didn’t seem to notice, shooting up in his chair.. Excited..? “You don’t even know how it happened! I bet you have no idea! Oh, I haven’t gotten to tell that story to anyone who didn’t already know in ages and- well, before when I told people the wounds were a little more raw if you catch my drift. Far more unpleasant- Oh!”

HotGuy was off in his own little world, and very clearly didn’t notice Cub flinch at the sudden noise. Honestly, Cub couldn’t even tell if he was looking at him.

“I’ll tell you at lunch! You’ll come to lunch with me, won’t you?”

Cub struggled to do much more than gape and gesture uselessly, and he wasn’t entirely sure if HotGuy understood what was happening, but he definitely recognized there was a problem, brows furrowed in concentrated thought. Finally, he clicked his tongue.

“I’ll give you the address! I’ll write it down,” HotGuy pulled a small notebook out of his pocket, humming to himself, before lighting back up, “And my number! Just in case you can’t make it. Or don’t want to come. You don’t have to come. But I really want you to! If you don’t come though you should text me. You don’t have to text me. But I’d really like if you texted me. Or call me! You don't have to call me. How does 1:00 sound?”

Cub stared, which apparently HotGuy took as a resounding yes, as he continued writing, just about as happy as can be. He tore the page out of his notepad then set it on Cub’s desk, patting it a couple times before turning right around with an enthusiastic wave, “Byeee!”

Cub scrambled to his feet, opening his mouth to say literally anything, but speech still wasn’t working out for him, and HotGuy was practically already out the front door. His manager was similarly speechless, but more in the normal way rather than the Cub way, so baffled, she wasn’t even wearing her signature customer service smile.

“Are you okay?” she surprised him with that, her tone far more gentle than he had expected, especially after a complete disaster. But she did look worried, and now that he thought a little harder about it, he had to guess he wasn’t looking so great. But Cub couldn’t say as much, so instead he ducked into the back room, returning with the note HotGuy had left for him.

Her eyes widened as she read it, complete disbelief evident in every feature on her face. Cub wasn’t sure why she was so surprised, he had no doubt she heard every word HotGuy said to him, but regardless, she returned the note, near silent.

“You should go.” She must have seen the distaste on Cub’s face before he even knew it was there, shaking her head, “You have to go. This- Cub! That’s HotGuy!” This was not in the least bit convincing, but his manager was a bit too distracted to notice. Honestly, he didn’t mind all that much. It was a little nice to be talked to like a friend. “Go, go on, rest up. Take as much time as you need, but if you don’t make it by 1:00 you’d better text him. Then tell me everything. He likes you, Cub!”

He wasn’t entirely sure how to respond to that, so he simply didn’t.

Cub sighed through his nose as he turned around, fully intending on taking that break, but not on going to lunch. Lunch with a random famous guy was the last thing he wanted right now- god, and he’d kill for a nap. He frowned, but stopped short when he saw his desk, or rather, the little package on top of his desk. The visor screen- damn it.

It was HotGuy’s fault he had forgotten about it, but maybe it wasn’t, maybe it was Cub’s fault for making a complete fool of himself- HotGuy must have felt obligated to comfort him, surely. Embarrassing. Mortifying, even. If Cub never had to face the world again, it would be too soon.. But it would probably be responsible of him to actually give HotGuy the visor he came for in the first place. A proper apology.

He sat with a huff, eyeing the note with a creased frown. Yup, there was the name and address of the place HotGuy wanted to meet him, his number, and-

Cub dropped the little sheet of paper, then nearly fell out of his chair trying to catch it.

‘And HotGuy is a little much as far as names go, so please, call me Scar.’

#hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #cubfan135 #cubfan #hermitfic #hermitshipping #not in this part much but in the next one #convex #cubscar #hotguy

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bookscandlesnbts · 4 months

Note

they must have been planning/talked about this for a long time since the application process starts so far in advance, and then they went on their japan trip so would’ve had moments alone nearer to the enlistment time so of course they would have private moments to talk, but it also must be so difficult when you’re moments from actually enlisting and there’s btb staff cameras, media cameras, parents and family, 2 enlisted members and everything! so overwhelming - the moment where JK rubs JMs head and JM looks away then back at him, and that long look they cut at the end of the btb felt so…. heavy

Hi anon. Get ready for some all over the place thoughts because honestly, I’ve been having a hard time. And I knew I would, but even trying to anticipate this and getting myself mentally “ready”, I am not ready. I was not ready to say goodbye to Jimin, to Jikook to any of the members. And I’m not fooled. 18 months is a long damn time. If it’s this hard on day 2, then I need to prepare myself. I need distractions. If I still get anons, and can come up with things to post, then I will stay active on here. I have no one to gush about BTS with in my real life and even less so now that they are all gone to MS. I made it 2 minutes into Jimin’s last live and then I couldn’t do it. He was devastated. He was holding back tears and we know from a decade worth of content that Jimin is not one to cry easily. He waited until the very last second to cut his hair. It really broke my heart to know that he has to do this and doesn’t want to at all. In fact, I spent pretty much all of yesterday and the day before crying and now I am having moments where I break down if I’m alone with my thoughts for too long. Don’t be fooled either. It’s not just Jimin. I’m furious that all the members and every citizen has to. That MS is mandatory. But I’m not going to talk about that or go further into my thoughts on it.

I figured it would only be a matter of time before we learned more about the application timeline, but I knew it had to be far enough in advance. If I had even known that a companion enlistment existed, I would have called it from Day 1 that they would enlist together, but I sadly can’t claim that.

I hope they got as ready as they possibly could. It seemed like the reality set in for JM and JK during their lives, and unlike some of the shittest most obnoxious parts of the fandoms (yn cis hets looking at you) that claimed that JK was going to be so excited to go and want to even stay longer, he wasn’t. He wasn’t at all. His live was short and somber. He also said that he was iffy about it. I know BTS didn’t want special treatment, and part of me is glad that they didn’t get it because of the uproar that it would cause, but it’s still awful that they had to do it at all. I have to trick myself sometimes into thinking that it’s not what it really is just to cope.

The way Jimin bent forward to JK showing him his head made me cry. He needed comfort and approval, and JK just rubbed it over and over and looked away from Jimin for a minute. I think he was overwhelmed too. Of course, he complimented him which was so sweet.

I’ll be honest, I’m pretty terrible at noticing footage cuts, but that one was SO OBVIOUS that if I can notice it, then it’s really bad. I can’t even speculate what was cut because I’m not creative but my guess is that they said something comforting and private to each other.

In summary, I hate this. I knew I would hate it. But it’s so much more painful than I could have imagined and I think it’s because JM and JK were both so sad in their lives. And don’t get me wrong, I’m so so glad they were honest with us. That’s how you know that they aren’t “fake” and “scripted” like some idiots want all of the members to be characters in a tv show. They are human and they bared their human emotional souls to us. And it broke my heart and it will for the next 18 months. I think about how long we have been without Jin already and it sucks so much. But we will be there for each other. We will try to have little joys and experiences. We will work on ourselves and improve whatever it is we want to improve or achieve. Or some days or most days we will just fucking exist. We also don’t have to do anything monumental or special. Existing is enough too. Existing until 2025 when they reunite.

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ilyuu · 7 months

Text

update!

get ready folks this is a rollercoaster of emotions but uh, just to put this out here, it isn’t exactly good news

alright, so i think i’m gonna go ahead and quit writing for this blog. yeah, not exactly the best start to this - you think as a writer i’d know what words to use.

before anything - nope, i am not going to deactivate my blog, next best thing is to archive it since there’s so many memories that i like to at least keep, of my moots and of just a lot of things in general that i like to memorialize and a lot of writings and posts.

i want to keep them here because i want someone, whoever comes across it, to read whichever one and feel some semblance of comfort; that’s the main reason why i made this blog in the first place and that’s how i intend to leave it.

oh uh, yeah, for the reasons why i’m quitting, i can technically list a few :

genshin burnout : i don’t feel as strongly as i do for the game anymore, not as excited, even as fontaine was released, and stopped playing it a few months back. so, y’know, as genshin-centric this blog is, it’s technically a bit hard to try and get into something that you long lost interest for.

school : it’s catching me off-guard every time and even though i found a rhythm with my classes and schedule, it’s only asking for more of my time and, quite literally demanding. i’ll be honest and say that i can’t juggle a blog with a post every day and stay consistent with my schoolwork and what’s expected of me. i need to start thinking about my future.

spiraling thoughts : yup, you read that right; i’m back at it again with me thinking that my writing isn’t good enough and am doubting my skills as a writer as a whole, especially with my way of writing that as his poetic touch to it that’s making me wonder if it’s even worth anything at all.

with that, i think i just need to start writing for myself again because i haven’t felt that feeling for literally a while now.

have i thought about this for a while now? i have actually, somewhere in the middle of august but i was really, really hesitant for a lot of reasons.

said reasons being mainly my moots. i don’t like the ideas of leaving any of them behind at all, especially with them being the main reason why i love opening this app every day, seeing them flood my dash with everything that happened the night before, saying good morning, and seeing them in my notifs and inbox with their chaos and genuineness. i have so many memories here that i consider so dear to me because of each and every one of them, making my day and night, and… i don’t know, it’d suck to lose all of them.

@mikacynth : you were my first moot and i know i’ve mentioned and said this so many times to the point that you’d probably get sick of it but it did and does mean a lot to me knowing that you opened a door for me to meet so many others that made writing and just being on here amazing. you’re just so damn cool, creative, and nice and i’m so, so happy that i met you.

@floraldresvi : i don’t remember how i met you, and i’m so sorry for that vi, but you’re the kindest, absolutely gentle and attentive person i know and i just wonder how i ever got the chance to talk to you and be moots. i wish you nothing but the best because that’s all you deserve and more and you better keep that in mind vi.

@st0pthatsgay : this was a strangers to friends to lovers arc fr!! sorry i couldn’t help that, do you know how long i wanted to make that joke? but seriously, oli, you and your unbridled chaos and energy never fails to make my dash and quite literally everyone else who follows you like a rom-com movie or something; i’m so glad that i can call you a moot and one that i cherish so, so much.

@papiliotao : rei, you made my day whenever you drop in one of your small blurbs into my inbox and i get the space to just write whatever comes to mind; it was a little thing we had and, i don’t know, i loved it. i love it still a lot. it was like a duo we had and always made me smile with whatever we talked about, maybe just about writing in general or the cats that you always see. i’m just sorry that we won’t be able to have our wedding soon. really.

@supernova25 : bestie, i still remember those times about the ai bots!! i still think about them a lot!! it was fun!! in general, you’re always a lot of fun to talk to, and it could be about anything and it’d fly off the roof. also your asks about the most random of things has definitely made me feel better on my worst of days just to put that out there.

@soleillunne : i’d make a joke about you running up for the title of creator of angst and all that but you’ve always been so sweet so let me just push that aside, considerate as well; don’t think i didn’t see you send me links of anything scaramouche related because i do and i appreciate that so much

@hollythius-rising : YOU AND YOUR THEME CHANGES DON’T THINK I DON’T NOTICE THEM you’re also very very sweet and chaotic when it comes to your taste in tall purple men in lab coats but we don’t talk about that aosjksjs just that it’s always been a pleasure to talk to you whenever we have the chance to

@mondaymelon : YOU. we vibe with each other a lot like radio waves and it got me all giddy, and i’d just drop a lot of memes into your inbox just so i could see how you’d react only for you to give me a taste of my own medicine when you do the same thing 100 times more effectiveaisjsjs

@venusflwers : those late nights of playing roblox with you makes me feel so, so happy, you have no idea. it’s filled with crack with whatever you say and you somehow make a horror game feel like some comedy instead i swear; you’re literally the most unhinged and funniest person i met and i love that about you so much

@kazumist : it’s like a parent watching their kid grow up and then completely surpass them in terms of height. yeah, that’s you akiaki!! always frothing over your writing, your drabbles, because it had that soft and domestic feeling to them that i absolutely love to the moon and back

@m1shapanda, @snobwaffles, @vennnnn-diagram : you three are, excuse me for my language, so fucking amazing. i always wanted to talk to you so many times and even when i did, always hoped that we could’ve talked a bit more. misha, you’re so cool and i always wanted to just ramble with you; that and your art is so pretty and soft and just so DAMN COOL did i mention that? snob, you detective, you and your curse arts that make me laugh as much as pour bleach on my eyes (/j), you’re just so supportive and i really like that about you. ven, i wished we could’ve talked a lot more too with how just vibe with everyone so quickly and easily - you’re just as amazing, really.

and to all of my other moots, the same goes to you, even with the ones i didn’t talk to as much - just being moots with you, knowing that someone liked me like i liked them made me feel more belong on here and more a part of something. i’ve never been a part of something like this, and know so many people and to know that i mean something to them? yeah, that really, really means a lot to me.

i’d probably just be a lurker on here than anything… haven’t really thought that far, only that i know that i can’t stay on here any longer without feeling guilty, burdened, stressed, or all of the above. or maybe just start off as a smaller blog again without any sense of obligation because ever since i’ve hit 500, which was a while ago, that’s what this blog started to feel like with each bit of time that passed.

i’ve enjoyed it, of course i did, don’t get me wrong! i’ve just been enjoying it less than i did when i started off, that feeling of accomplishment and joy and pride at myself numbing a bit more with each milestone i passed. that’s just all me though, i’m sure.

anyways, not right now though, maybe just around the weekends when i actually have time to spare. so, until then, i’ll stick around here as much as i can. other than that, i don’t have much else to say other than thank you.

that i hope that you’ll keep doing what you love, whatever that is, despite the highs and lows. just know that the community you’re in is filled with people who love you through and through and that i do too - that you’ll do what you love because you want to, not because you should.

#!!!

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hyperrkylo · 2 months

Text

CHEZ

// PHIGHTING! OC

❝ 𝐀𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬 ❞

◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤◢◤

PROFILE

name ; Chez

pronouns ; he/him

height ; 5’4

age ; 15 1/2

birthday ; 17 April

gear ; Cheezburger

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PERSONAL STATUS

Faction ; Factionless

Occupation(s) ; Restaurant owner / Cook

Status ; Alive

Relations ;

Cola (Sibling)

Slingshot (Rival/One-sided)

Subspace (Past-inspiration)

Ban Hammer (Despises)

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BACKGROUND

Chez is a chaotic and hyper teen who is currently on the run due to his “criminal record.” He is the younger sibling of Cola and runs some type of fast food-chain; in which he gives others food poisoning and possibly killing some with the materials he puts in his food.

TIMELINE

[ TO BE ADDED ]

APPEARANCE

[ Picture ^ ]

PERSONALITY

Chez is an immoral and a very energetic demon. He is very aggressive and tries to intimidate those who he deems “below him.” He is temperamental and is a bit stupid.

He also is extremely bossy to Cola, and often talks back to him and gives him sass, much to the annoyance of Cola.

Chez is very reckless and used to look up to Subspace in the past, some of Subspace’s personality bleeding into Chez’s own and partially leading him to how he acts during the present.

He isn’t all that bad though, as he is pretty respectful and determined. He may not seem trustworthy, but if he likes you enough then you can put all of your trust in his hands. Chez also keeps his promises and fulfills them no matter what.

Chez is also very creative and hardworking, being very honest and blunt to others. He also holds a high ego, which takes time to shatter since he is hard-headed and stubborn.

If he ever got a friend though, he would be very caring and supportive towards them, though he will still be blunt and l mean, but he can’t really help it.

Chez may not seem like it, but he means well. Well, half of the time he does.

Half of the good things he does is because Cola forced him to do it.

RELATIONSHIPS

Cola ;

Cola is Chez’s older brother, who deeply cares for Chez despite him being a very irritating person to deal with. Even if he sometimes hates Chez, he is willing to do anything to protect his younger brother.

Slingshot ;

Chez thinks Slingshot’s Cafe is rivaling his “restaurant” so he has some type of hatred towards Slingshot. Though, said person couldn’t care less.

Subspace ;

Chez once looked up to Subspace, some of his personality and morals being influenced by Subspace. However, he later on stopped seeing Subspace as his role model. The reason why is unknown.

Ban Hammer ;

Chez hates this guy. He’s always having to run away from Ban Hammer and sometimes dreams of ripping his face off. Probably would lose if he tried to phight Ban Hammer though.

TRIVIA

One tried to sabotage Slingshot’s cafe and attempted to set the place on fire

Got caught and was sued

Always carries edible food everywhere he goes, this is because he is always hungry

His original color is yellow

Always sits on the edge of chairs

Would hate Gen Alpha slang

Probably has scoliosis

Loves karaoke but sucks at it

Eats the most atrocious food combos

Terrible at lying

Bro thinks he’s him

Do NOT give him Fizz Up!

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SIDE NOTES

i’ll give more lore whenever lol

will be updated over time?

you can ask questions about this guy if you want lmao

most of my oc-related stuff will be on the blog “inethrix”

so you can ask questions and interact/learn about characters there.

or if you just wanna vent, talk, or need to find something just put in it that blog’s ask box.

yes this is a shameless self-promo

#roblox #phighting #phighting!#roblox phighting #phighting roblox #phighting oc #oc phighting #will make dialogue for him later #basic bio starter #more lore coming soon!!!#for a friend :p

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frannyzooey · 2 years

Text

In The Dark: 6

Ezra x f!reader

Rating: Explicit, mentions of drinking, age gap

A/N: Thank you endlessly to @mourningbirds1 who gave me the best, smartest advice on this chapter. I couldn’t have done it without her input - my writing is better because of her. Thanks also to @krissology and @charnelhouse who give me the BEST feedback and reassurance on the f i l t h ❤

Series Masterlist

Thank you for your recent submission to our creative writing program. We regret to inform you that while this piece, as it stands, does not meet the criteria we are looking for in terms of an applicant, that’s not to say it doesn’t have potential. Below are revision requests - please complete them and resubmit…..

Looking at the email, you let out a slow, defeated breath.

“Shit.”

You rub the frown between your brows, hoping to ease some of the tension seated there and reread the email again. You had hoped for better; would have to do better to have a shot at this program.

Stepping to the side on the park path, you read it again. A couple of joggers rhythmically pound pass; a family; some women chatting while one pushes a stroller and they all fade into the background as you read the words on your phone, hoping they say something different this time.

They don’t.

Closing your email, you start back on the path, opening your music app instead. Only there isn’t really a good song choice for “disappointed I didn’t get into a program I’ve been working really hard for” and so you poke around, listless and defeated.

Dried leaves skitter along the path, swirled bunches gathering and catching along the edges of the grass, the occasional piece of crumpled trash mixed in with them. It’s brisk, the wind making it colder than the temperature would suggest and while your cheeks sting with the bite in the air, the hot coffee you hold in your hand is a pleasant contrast. Still, you tug your scarf higher around your neck, walking a little faster towards the library.

There is only one person who would understand what you feel right now, and you know you could call her but you also want another person who wouldn’t quite understand, but could console you in a way you’ve come to crave these last few months. Under normal circumstances, it would be considered good luck that these two people live together, knowing that you could call one and the other would be there too, but not so, in your case.

Still, you need to talk to someone and when you Facetime Cee, she picks up almost right away. The sight of her familiar face brings you consolation, and you immediately curl into the comfort of her virtual presence and reassurance, pouring out your disappointment.

“God, that really sucks. I’m sorry.” Cee’s face is clear through your phone, highlighted in the afternoon sun. She looks warm, her plump cheeks a blush pink as she sits on the couch in her living room and it’s like you can feel the warmth of her place through the screen, wishing you were there. You look away from her face, trying to rearrange your features into something that doesn’t look so….depressed.

“Thanks. I guess I just thought…I don’t know.”

“You thought you would get in and it’s because you should have. I read that story about a dozen times. It was exactly what they were looking for.”

You raise your eyebrows, staring off to the side. “I guess not.”

“So now what?” she asks, resting her chin on her propped up knee. You say nothing for a moment, and she lets you think. She always knows when to give you a minute.

“I’m gonna clean it up and resubmit it,” you say eventually, a plan visibility forming in your mind. “They didn’t say that I was out, they just said they need to see some changes before they give me an answer. I’ll make them and see what happens.”

“That’s my girl,” she smiles, and the sight alone is enough to make you feel slightly better about the whole thing. “Maybe you should –”

She pauses, looking off to the side for a moment and you hear the door open on her side before shutting with a click. She turns back to you. ��Come over tonight. Leave it until tomorrow. Give it a night to sit and then look at it with fresh eyes in the morning.”

You hear a mumble off camera and Cee looks up, then swings the camera around to fit Ezra in the frame. He’s come to sit down next to her on the couch and his unexpected appearance makes your heart skip fast in your chest at that familiar swirl of dark curls, the patchy beard, the dimples that appear when he smiles at you.

“You coming over tonight, Birdie? Everything okay?”

“She didn’t get it. The submission,” Cee tells him and he keeps his eyes on you, a slight frown pulling at his mouth.

“That’s too bad. You should definitely come over then. Let us ply you with drink, make you forget all about it.” He winks, and you find yourself smiling.

“Yes!” Cee exclaims, excitement lighting up her face. “That’s a great idea. And perfect timing - it’s Ezra’s birthday. We were gonna go out tonight anyway. I was actually gonna see if you wanted to come, and now it looks like you’re free, so….”

“It’s your birthday?” you ask him, pushing down the strong urge to follow it with a question of how old he’s turning. The grays at the corner of his jaw tell you enough; the grimace on his face stops you completely.

“It is,” he replies easy. “You should definitely come. Want me to come get you?”

The offer is tempting. Time alone in the car with him, the perfect excuse to see him without Cee, but an idea blooms in your mind as soon as he asks. You have something else in mind.

“You know what? Lemme just meet you guys there. I have to swing home, drop this stuff off, change.” You pick up the pace in the park, changing directions towards home.

Cee nods, but Ezra stays put, still looking at you. “You sure? I can come get you.”

“I’m sure. Thanks though.”

–

Sofreh. A Persian restaurant near their house, it’s where Cee tells you to meet them later that evening and when you get there, they are already seated at a table in the corner. You find your way over to it, wanting nothing more than to bend down and greet him with a kiss, but instead you greet him with a smile and take a seat next to him, the one next to Cee occupied with a present. You hand her yours to place next to it.

When you take your coat off, you can tell by the subtle clench of his fist against his thigh and the way his eyes drop the length of your body that your outfit hit the mark you had hoped it would. A wraparound dress, one that hugs you just right and shrinks your waist and gives a peek at the swell of your breasts - but you have a feeling it’s your lipstick that he’s especially liking right now. The thought is confirmed when you take your seat, turning to him with a smile and he can’t take his eyes off your mouth.

“Happy Birthday,” you lean in and tell him quietly, nudging his shoulder with yours and he grins wide, nudging you back. His hand settles on your knee with a squeeze.

“Thanks. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course - I wouldn’t have missed this. I didn’t even know it was your birthday.”

The waiter comes by to take your drink order and as you quickly peruse the menu while Cee says what she wants, he takes the opportunity to lean into you.

“You should get this one,” he murmurs, the suggestion sounding more seductive than it should. He taps the menu in your hand, his other hand skating around the curve of your knee, his fingers tucking themselves under your thigh. “It’s delicious.”

His mouth waters at the smell of your perfume, his eyes flicking over to your mouth again. Of course you would wear that same lipstick you wore the night of the party. The one he watched you line your mouth with, the one he imagined smeared around the base of his cock later that night. He takes a steadying breath at the thought of it, and your lips curl slightly up.

He orders for the both of you: a Sekanjabin Martini, with gin, mint syrup, cucumber and lime and when they place the drinks on your table, you make a silly, playful face at how fancy you feel clinking your martini glass against theirs in a cheers. The drink is smooth and crisp, refreshing as the alcohol slides thickly down your throat. He was right, it is delicious.

The space is warm and intimate with the tables closely bunched together and the lighting is dim and inviting. The liquor warms you, flowing through your limbs and making you loose, and you fight the urge to lean into his body.

When Cee starts a story about something that happened in class today, you’re only half listening, finding it hard to concentrate with him sitting so close to you. His hand is still in place, but the close quarters of the restaurant means you're tucked in tight to the table and no one can see. That thought alone is enough to build and spread through your hips and down between your legs; even more so with every sip of drink you have. When his thumb starts a maddeningly slow caress against your bare skin, he squeezes the plush give of your thigh, feeling you subtly shift in your seat.

The food turns out to be just as good as the drinks: strained, fresh tart yogurt with shallots and chives, savory feta and herb flatbread, saffron rice with lamb. He casually spoons extra lamb onto your plate even when you wave him away and you're touched at the way he remembers your particular meat preferences. When you finish your drink, another appears and when you take a sip of it, the pleasant, warm buzz of intoxication goes to your head, in a pleasant way. When the waiter comes around again, you order sparkling water, needing to keep your head around him.

His clean, masculine smell is enough to transport you to your bedroom, phantom sensations pressing into the inside of your thighs at the memory of his weight between them. The scent of his hair, the husk of his voice, the humid pant of his breath. You take another sip to distract yourself, wishing you were alone with him. Every brush of his arm against yours, the press of his thigh against your knee, the solid closeness of his body. You’re so turned on, even more so when you slip into a daydream about straddling his lap right here at the table to grind yourself against it and Cee’s voice pulls you from the vivid thought.

“Present time,” she announces, handing him yours. He’s already grinning when he takes it and his laugh is immediate when he opens it, reading the tagline on the front of the used novel out loud.

“Torn between her fright and desire,” he says dramatically, peeling the rest of the paper off. He flips through the yellowed pages, scanning the words. “Sounds intriguing. The perfect bedtime read.” He turns to you with a sincere smile. “Thank you.”

“It should have a lot of dirty parts, like you said you were into,” you tease and Cee’s eyebrows raise, her drink paused in midair.

“Wait, when did you say that? Gross.” She laughs, reaching her hand out for the book. “Lemme see that thing.” She turns it over to read the back, smiling fondly. “I remember seeing this with you a couple weeks ago, at that bookstore. Isn’t this the one that says “member”, like, a lot?”

He reaches to snatch it from her, ignoring the way you’re both laughing. “Don’t spoil it for me, Cee,’ he chides. “I wanna learn all about this dangerous blend of fright and desire for myself.”

She laughs, waving his statement away. Reaching for her gift, it’s about the same size as yours and he gives her a look before reluctantly taking it.

“Oh stop,” she says. “It’s not a lot, but I thought you might like it.”

It’s a photo, you can see the frame when he opens it, and unlike your gift, he doesn’t laugh. He looks at it thoughtfully, a small smile stretching his cheeks. “I remember this day,” he says softly.

You lean closer and he shifts the frame towards you so you can see: them, at the beach. Cee looks around twelve years old and Ezra younger too, though it’s hard to tell under his hat and sunglasses. They are leaning towards each other, sharing a towel. The day is bright, though their clothes suggest it’s colder than it looks - pants and sweatshirts, with Cee swaddled in what looks like Ezra’s jacket. “This is a good picture. Thank you.”

She nods her head in a silent your welcome, fishing out her phone. “Look at this,” she says, swiping it open. “When I was trying to find that picture, I found this one. Remember this?”

She shows him the screen and he immediately laughs. “I do. That’s amazing.”

“Peak me right here,” she says, showing it to you and you laugh too, reaching for the phone.

It’s the two of them, standing on a path somewhere in the wilderness and Ezra is leaning against a railing of some sort, while Cee is standing in the foreground, her eyes almost all the way closed, clearly caught mid talking. She looks awkward in a teenage way, someone who isn’t comfortable yet in her own skin and you feel a rush of endearment for that girl, so unlike the one you know now.

“Remember when you fell on that trip?” she asks Ezra, and he’s already nodding before she can finish the question. “He totally slipped on the path and really fucked up his arm. You can see it there, in the picture. He took it out of the sleeve and cradled it against his chest under his shirt on the walk back. The way his sleeve kept flopping in the wind was so funny looking? I remember I couldn’t stop laughing.”

“I wouldn’t have fallen if you hadn’t hit me with that stick,” he protests, taking a swallow of his drink. “You were swinging it around, pretending like you had a machete and when you smacked me with it, it hurt like a fucking bullet to the arm. I had to snatch it from you –”

“I didn’t even want to go on that hike in the first place,” she interrupts him, her voice carrying over his. “You deserved to get smacked, making me tramp through the woods for fun.” She emphasizes the word fun with finger quotes and you smile at their bickering, picking up the beach picture again.

Your early days in the city so lonesome, you never thought you’d be here, at a table, having dinner with your people. You’d always passed places like this on your walk home, looking in from the outside at the couples and the families and the friends. Seated in large groups, or clustered in small ones, sometimes two bodies curled into one another in a semblance of privacy in a public place; the golden wash of interior light over all of them. You had a hard time imagining yourself in their place, you included in one of those small animated with happiness groups, your schedule busy with plans.

Looking down again at a younger Cee, guilt gnaws at you at this obvious reminder of their connection and shared past. They were together as a unit long before you and will be together for the rest of their lives - a stronger connection than you could ever even understand. How could you come between that? Now that you’ve finally found your people, how could you risk going back to the before?

Ezra senses a shift in your mood, his eyes noticing the way yours have glazed over. His jaw shifts in thought, wondering where you’ve gone, though he can probably guess with the way you’re studying the picture in front of you.

“Do you like hiking, Birdie?” he asks, pulling you back into the conversation and you look up at his earnest expression, the warmth in his brown eyes a simmering glow.

“It’s okay. I haven’t really –”

“It’s settled,” he announces over you, draping his arm around your shoulders. He tucks your body tight to his and you feel a flash of heat at the contact, wondering if he’s making any excuse now to touch you. When he looks down at you, a spark of mischief in his gaze tells you that’s exactly what he’s doing and you play along, eager to stay molded to his side.

“I’ve got myself a new partner,” he tells Cee, squeezing you close. “We can venture into the woods together. Chart the uncharted. Prospect the dangerous unknown –”

“Oh, be quiet,” she waves at him, picking up her glass. “We were only in the middle of Brooklyn.”

–

“I just ordered it,” he says, tucking his phone back into his back pocket. “Four minutes away.”

“You really didn’t have to do that,” you reply with a face, buttoning your coat. Adjusting your scarf around your neck, he admires the color against your skin. “I could have easily taken the train.”

He waves the suggestion away, giving you a reprimanding look. “I insist, Birdie.”

The three of you are standing outside the restaurant now, the sky the hazy grey of night that never fully gets black due to the lights of the city. The front window of Sofreh casts a glow over him, light catching his profile and though your buzz is keeping you warm enough, you long to go back inside the restaurant.

There is a yellowish filter from the streetlamps casting over everything: the cars driving down the street, the people walking either to dinner or from it, the three of you as you shift to the side to make room for them. It shines on the pavement of the road, washing over every store front, the remaining leaves on the trees that line the block lit with it.

Your Uber pulls up to the curb and for a brief, agonizing moment, you hold eye contact with him before he pulls you into a hug. You close your eyes, savoring the firm press of his body as it envelops yours, your senses filled with his warm scent.

“Happy Birthday,” you say into his shoulder, your cheek pressed against the crook of it and he squeezes tighter, holding you for a beat longer.

“Thank you,” he replies, his voice a low rumble against your body and you want nothing more than to cup his face in your hands and pull him in for a kiss, to let him know how much you mean it.

He’s already pulling away though when you think it, the hug not nearly as long as you want it to be and he steps to the side, letting Cee have her turn. When she hugs you, she tips in your hold, a laugh bubbling out of her and Ezra pulls her towards him, hooking his arm with hers.

“Come on, you lush,” he said, pulling her down the sidewalk and he watches you get into your car before turning away.

—

The night, the liquor, the closeness of him and the reminder of how good he feels flows warm over your skin, putting you in the best of moods when you walk into your apartment. Thoughts of the email you got this morning are long gone, replaced with ones of Ezra and it’s his face in your mind when you pull out your phone, sending him a text.

Liquid courage courses through your veins.

Are you awake, old man?

You see bubbles appear on the screen and you picture him standing in the kitchen, fishing his phone out or sitting on his patio, a beer in one hand, grinning. Your phone screen suddenly changes, his name popping up in a call and you answer it, laughing.

“Why didn’t you just text me back? I knew you were an old man.”

He laughs, the sound deep and rich. “You know I don’t text, Birdie. Did you get home safe?”

You hear a door shut on his end as he slips into his bedroom for some privacy.

“I did. I wish I could have stayed with you guys.”

“You should have,” he replies, and the two of you sit silently for a moment with the unspoken knowledge that that probably wouldn’t have been the best idea. Not after that you’ve done; not after drinking.

“I was wondering if I could give you another birthday present.” The hesitation in your voice is endearing to him, and he smiles. He hums in approval, the sound making you shiver and your eyes flutter shut. Your body has an unconscious reaction to it, one he would be delighted to see in person.

“Well now I’m really intrigued. What did you have in mind?”

You stand in front of your mirror, fingering the sash at your waist, imagining you undoing it for him.

“Are you alone?”

He pauses, breathing hard through his nose, his hand running down the length of his thigh. Jesus. You sound so innocent and unsure, your voice so soft through the phone and he’s already starting to harden in his jeans at the sound of it.

“Hang on, okay?”

He leaves his phone on his bed, going into the living room.

Cee is buried in her laptop when he says goodnight, no sign of emerging anytime soon and when he leaves the room, she gives him only a glance and a quick, “Happy Birthday, Ez” before he comes back to you.

Closing his door behind him, his movements are eager when he snatches his phone off the bed and settling himself against his headboard, he sees your FaceTime request pop up. He answers it before it can even finish the ring and he doesn’t even get a greeting out without sucking in a breath.

It’s you - your phone propped up somewhere in your bedroom, the lighting a flattering golden color that washes over your skin and in that fucking dress, you look sensuous, seductive.

“Hello, Birdie,” he greets you, bringing his phone a little closer to his face.

“Hello.” Is it his imagination, or is your voice a little huskier? It makes him twitch inside his pants.

“Is my birthday present…a phone call?” His eyes light before they darken, drifting down your image to linger on your neckline. “Or is it a show?”

“Something like that,” you bite your bottom lip and his eyes fix on the sight. “I had an idea. I wanna try something.” You shift closer to the screen, your hunch pressing your breasts together in a spill from your bra and your voice lowers even more. “I thought maybe I could turn my sound off and you could…watch me.”

“Watch you do what?” You know he knows what you mean, but you also know he’s not gonna let you get off that easy. He wants to hear you say it.

“Watch me get undressed,” you start, focusing your eyes on his mouth. Your tongue drags across your bottom lip when you remember what that mouth can do. “Watch me climb into bed.” You pause for a moment, bringing your eyes back to his. “Watch me think about you.”

There it is. The admission makes him smile lazily, almost smug. “Watch you think about me, huh? And what do you do when you think about me?”

“I’m gonna show you.”

“Now why would I want the sound off for that, hmm? You know I wanna hear every pretty sound that comes out of your mouth.” His voice is like gravel, slow and thick like syrup, the register of it sounding low through your phone.

You shrug, suddenly unsure. “I don’t know, I just thought – I thought maybe it would be hot if we couldn’t talk to each other. We could only watch.”

His eyebrows raise in surprise. “You’re gonna watch me?”

“If you want. Or not - it’s your birthday.”

“Well if it’s my birthday, I think I just wanna come over right now and watch you in person.”

He likes the sudden frown of arousal that bunches your features, his lips turning up at the sight. You slowly shake your head no though and he frowns playfully.

“Very well, Birdie. If this is all I get…”

You keep your indulgent smile, the corners of it stretching even wider when you place a finger in front of your mouth in a signal for him to be quiet and his expression turns to a sudden hunger, one focused on your mouth.

You give him a wink, and then you mute your call.

–

He is riveted when you back away from the camera, standing up so he can see your full body. Your fingers go to the sash of your dress, slowly untying it and when you part the fabric so he can see your bra and panties, he unconsciously brings his phone closer to his face.

It’s like he’s a voyeur and the thought makes his cock thicken almost instantly, his palm settling over the length of it to press it against his thigh. It comes to him that you wanted to do this silently as a means to test the waters with something like this without the pressure of dirty talk, but also because you knew Cee wouldn’t hear him on the phone this way and he slides down in his bed, stretching out to watch.

There is something so…erotic about this being silent. You, standing in front of him and cupping the lush curves of your breasts through your bra, the image focused on them. He can see your nipples bead through the thin material, his mouth watering when he remembers the way they taste.

Your fingers slip into the elastic waistband of your underwear and pulling them down to give him a peek of your hip bone, he can see the beginnings of the sparse patch of hair before you let them go. You let the dress drop silently, turning around for him and he wants to groan at the curve of your ass peeking out beneath the band of your underwear, wanting nothing more than to squeeze it with his hands.

Instead, he squeezes himself.

You face the camera again, your arms reaching back to unhook your bra and when you let it drop to the floor, he holds his breath at the sight of your bare breasts. The plump, velvet soft underside of them calls out for his mouth and you come closer to the camera, making sure he can see.

Fuck. The heel of his hand unconsciously slides down the length of his cock, attempting relief.

You look at him for a moment, your small hands trying to cup the weight of your breasts in their hold and when you play with the peaks of them until they harden, he lets out a low, soft groan.

You press them together, bending down to give him a good look and an image of him fucking those lucious tits until he comes on them catches him off guard; a damp bead of precome slipping from the tip of his dick to seep into the fabric of his briefs.

You turn slowly, silently, your back to the camera. His eyes devour the dip of your waist, your length of your bare skin, but it’s your ass you know is his weakness and so you tug your panties higher, putting the curves of your bottom on display.

He is riveted to the screen when you start to slide them down, his breath held in his throat when you wiggle them over the curve of your hips and when you bend over to slip them all the way down your legs, he closes his eyes with a frown.

“Fuck, Birdie,” he groans, the sound a deliciously tight strain in his throat and you stay there for a moment, the folds of your cunt peeking just below the curve of your ass. He can’t hold out, his hand shaking as he works his belt open and then the button of his jeans, the quiet sound of a zipper being pulled down coming through the line and his hand slips underneath the waist of his pants and into his briefs. You can hear it all, the sounds of his movements making you ache empty and when he palms himself with a heavy, deep breath, you stand back up to watch.

You unmute your phone.

“Put the camera on it. Lemme see you.”

His reaction is immediate, the screen shifting to his lap and you watch a rhythmic movement under his pants - but he knows that’s not what you want. He pulls his hand out, instead framing the heft of his cock with it through the denim and you can see the full, thick length of the outline, his hand resuming stroking.

“Do you see what you do to me? Bend over again. I wanna see your ass.”

The power you feel right now is indescribable, even as he calls the shots and you don’t think you have ever felt more desired or wanted in your whole life.

You mute your end again, standing up and turning around and with a peek over your shoulder to make sure he can still see, you lean forward and brace your hands on the edge of your bed, letting him have his look.

Your hand drifts down between your legs to skim feather light over your cunt and he watches with rapt attention as the tips of your fingers play with your folds for a moment, before dipping inside. You put your knee up on the bed, slowly bringing the other one up and when you start to crawl, he sounds hoarse and raspy through the phone.

“Don’t”, he says, sounding desperate. “Bring me to bed with you.”

You wanted to give him a longer show than this, maybe make yourself come while on all fours, but you oblige. It’s his present after all.

You climb into your bed, settling on your back and position the camera to the side of you, making sure you’re still in view. He can see the length of your torso, the rounded curves of your breasts, and your arms extended in a reach down between your legs, your hands out of sight.

When your eyes flutter shut and you bite your lip with a gentle arch of your back, giving into your touch, he lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself, opening his pants wider with one hand while holding his phone with the other. It’s a fumble, his briefs tight against his skin, but when he finally pulls himself out, a soft sound catches deep in his throat. He shifts lower on the bed, lifting his hips to shove the band of his black briefs down to give himself more room and he tugs the hem of his shirt up, his eyes staying right on you, watching.

His fingers are practiced in this hold, even more so since you’ve started coming around and though sometimes he uses the lube he has in the drawer beside his bed to give it an extra slip, he makes his palm work for him. Not as soft as your hand, but enough to get relief.

And Jesus he needs it.

His fingers curl around his thick length, his eyes focused on the subtle sway of your breasts as you move your hips in time with your hand. Your mouth is open, the memory of the sounds you make flooding through his mind and when he thinks about how wet you must be right now, he strokes himself tighter, faster.

You were soaked when he slid into you, taking his cock effortlessly down to the base. He imagines the tight clutch of your cunt now, what your fingers must look like disappearing into it and when you jaw tenses on camera, another moan flexing from your taut throat, he needs to hear you; his cock stiff and aching.

“Turn your sound on,” he groans quietly, the rhythmic, fast, audible sound of his fist working his cock in the background. “I wanna hear you when you come. Please.”

You nod, your back arching on the bed into your own touch before you reach for the camera to tap the button and when the first unfiltered sound of your moan breaks through, he squeezes his dick in order not to come. Not yet. He wants to see you do it.

“Tell me,” he urges. “Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

“You,” you whimper, your hands just out of the frame as you work yourself higher and he doesn’t even care that he can’t see your cunt right now; the filthy image of your naked, writhing upper body and your open panting mouth more than enough. “About how you fill me up. About how I feel so full. About – oh god – about how you make me come with your mouth. I like when you fuck me with it.”

He wants to keep you talking and he wants to talk to you, but the walls in this house are thin and he tries to keep himself in check. The strain of his silence is evident in the clench of his jaw, the tautness of his neck and you glide your fingers faster over your clit, your thighs trying to shut around your hand.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you pant, your cunt clenching around nothing as you feel the fluttering heat build between your legs. You’re so close. “Just – fuck, just watch me and show me. Show me, Ezra.”

You cry out for him when he shifts the view to his cock, the stiff, heavy length held tight in his grip as he strokes it faster for you and even more arousing is the peek of his belly above it, the dark curls around the base, the sounds he is making in the background: all heavy breathing, low grunts, barely there groans.

You can feel his cock inside you, your fingers slipping in to replace the phantom weight of it and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to make you feel full like he does, but the sight of his fist working that cock is enough.

“I’m gonna come,” you whine. “You’re gonna make me cum and I wish you were here. I wish –”

You don’t get the words out before you do it, your body arching in that familiar way he’s come to love and the sight of your open mouth and your pleading expression builds a tension filled warmth at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up so tight it almost hurts. It sounds like it hurts when he comes too, whimpers leaving your throat at the grainy, dim image of hot ropes of spend splashing on his skin.

He keeps tugging every last drip out and your hands keep working as well, until he shifts the camera back to his face.

“You –” his breathing is heavy, a sated smile slowly spreading. You grin at the peek of his dimples, wishing he were here so you could fit your thumb into one. “You’re so fucking amazing.”

You giggle, hiding your face after all you just did in full view and the sight of it makes him laugh quietly, the sound blending with yours.

“I wish I was there to help clean you up,” you say sleepily, shifting onto your side and he groans, a huff of a laugh leaving him.

“Don’t say stuff like that. You’re gonna make me hard again.”

You hum in contentment. “Yes please.” You look so warm and soft, your face relaxed and the image brings him back to your room, back to that afternoon you shared. His palm itches with wanting to touch your skin, knowing how soft it is.

“You’re gonna kill me, Birdie,” he says, smiling at your proud expression. “I know it.”

#ezra #ezra/you #ezra/reader #ezra x you #ezra x reader #ezra prospect #ezra smut #pedro pascal

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ymaohoh · 2 months

Text

“We could always just…do it anyway?" - Fic - Oneshot

"Packet’s ripped, sweetheart. We seem to be without a condom.” His fingers stilled and Chrissy was biting her plump little lip that tasted of strawberries and magic. She was watching him closely, her cheeks flushed and panting from being so close to what promised to be a world-shattering orgasm. “We could always just…do it anyway? Without a condom, I mean.” Eddie and Chrissy have unsafe sex against a wall. Eddie's POV

Porn with very little plot. Oneshot. Rated very Mature. Use protection kids.

Word count: 3,630

Also available at Archive

-----

So Chrissy and Eddie are animals, right?

For some wild crazy reason Chrissy can’t get enough of Eddie, and Eddie believes firmly that any time spent not kissing or touching Chrissy Cunningham is…well, a fucking travesty really. They’d only been together as boyfriend and girlfriend for a few months but already it was ride or die and they both submitted to this without reason or logic or hesitation. They’d bought non-refundable one way tickets for the ride of their lives and they were so fucking blissfully messed-up happy.

They couldn’t do much about it in his crappy trailer (the walls were so thin, man, and Wayne worked random hours. He wanted his baby to scream and pant without worrying about being overheard, okay? And besides…it was cramped. Chrissy was a champ but it must’ve been embarrassing sneaking into the shower, freshly fucked and bow-legged - fuck yes, while his uncle slept nearby)... so that meant having to think outside the box if they wanted undisturbed one on one time. And…boy… was Eddie crafty. Creativity had always been one of his strengths and he rose to the challenge like the DM he was born to play.

Hotels and motels and all that sneaky stuff cost money and he was saving for his future now (their future) so they were out. His van was okay but the suspension was taking a pounding and there wasn’t room in the back for all the crazy shit Eddie wanted to do to Chrissy’s perfect and flexible body. Chrissy’s place was also ruled out because (you know) her parents despised him entirely and were one shit-eating grin away from kicking Chrissy out which wasn’t the worst idea (he would never ever forgive them for the spiteful lies they twisted into Chrissy’s brain about food and her body and…ugh) but they were so close to graduating and Chrissy wanted to go to college so…yeah, her place was a no go.

(Not to say they hadn’t fooled around there when Eddie braved the trellis beneath her window (like Romeo and Juliet right?) but Chrissy could never really relax and it wasn’t as fun. He would love to fuck her in her parents bed as a solid fuck you but Chrissy wasn’t quite there yet. Maybe he’d suggest it right before they fucked off to California or wherever she wanted to study. Eddie would follow her wherever, obviously.)

So really that left sneaking around and finding whatever stolen moments they could. Rick’s place by Lover’s Lake (still in prison - hang in there buddy), their picnic bench in the woods, the empty locker room after cheer practice, backstage at The Hideout. Fucking whenever he could get her alone really…and all the other spaces in the inbetween? Well they were filled with making out, groping, sucking purple marks on their necks. You get the drift. Chrissy was like a strawberry sundae with whipped cream and sprinkles and he was starving.

So yes they were the queen and king of PDA (Queen takes King, naturally) but their friends, to their credit, didn’t protest too much because honestly it was a long time coming and they were just happy they didn’t have to put up with anymore longing glances or Eddie’s soft eyes. They still mumbled words like disgusting and perverts and can’t you at least have lunch before you start sucking face, Jesus when Eddie and Chrissy got really ramped out…but it was cool.

They were sex crazed maniacs riding the waves of hormones and lust and love, falling deeper and deeper into whatever sin your chosen deity prescribed to.

(Chrissy had hang ups like this at first - another gift from her mommy dearest - but when Eddie ate her out for the first time she’d cried out such wicked delightful things that made even Eddie blush).

However, they might be dumbasses in love for the first and last time but they 99.9% of the time practiced safe sex. Despite giving much evidence to the contrary, Eddie wasn’t a complete fucking idiot and he always made sure to have protection ready to go. Like he said, they had big plans after graduating, and though it might’ve been hilarious to invite Mrs Cunningham to a shotgun wedding (trailer trash all the way, baby), he knew Chrissy wanted to wait for all that stuff and what she wanted she would get. As for Eddie? Well, he was a simple fellow - he’d knock her up and marry her tomorrow - but liked the idea of driving Chrissy around California and chasing their dreams even more. All that romantic stuff, right? He wanted it. Fuck, he loved her so much.

Yet, even the best laid plans sometimes get a little crooked and maybe Eddie was a bit of a fucking idiot. Chrissy would afterwards blame the weed and Eddie blamed Chrissy’s perfect tits, but that’s besides the point.

The night in question took place after a spectacularly awesome gig at The Hideout. It was the first time Chrissy brought along her cheerleading friends from the team (which made his bandmates fucking gag) and the twerps from his D&D circle came too with their babysitting club which meant Harrington, Wheeler, Buckley. Besides those fun new additions, there was an actual crowd. Not huge by any standards, but it was a decent turn out for Hawkins. Word seemed to have traveled that watching Corroded Coffin might actually be a good night out and for the first time in decades The Hideout staff had to earn their wages. Enthused, the band were on their A-game and Eddie had never played so fucking well.

Plus Chrissy was standing front row jumping around like a freak and whooping (like his own personal cheerleader) and looked so pretty and wonderful and fuck. What a rush. He was riding a high.

So afterwards they rolled some joints backstage to chase another illicit high and ordered more beers. It wasn’t a party exactly but they had some well-earned fun. By the time last orders were called Gareth had to be carried to his car. It was so rock and roll.

Which left Eddie and Chrissy utterly and blissfully alone. You can see where this is going, right?

It was actually impressive that they managed to clear up and carry the rest of the band's equipment outside to his van, before totally sucking face. Eddie was amped up and grinning like a maniac because Chrissy was singing his songs under her breath and wearing the shiny strawberry lip gloss that drove him wild. She was wearing a baby blue summer dress that made her look like a fairytale princess (floaty sleeves and all) but it was short enough to show off her creamy thighs. It was one of his favourites (and when he asked if she’d worn it on purpose, just for him, she’d blushed and said of course, dummy he’d felt on top of the world).

So Eddie pushed Chrissy back against the alley wall and kissed her until they were breathless. He became totally lost in the magic of her like he always did, and melted when her talented little fingers slipped beneath his heavy belt.

“You witch,” he said. His voice sounded loud and heavy. “Weaving your dark fairy magic on me.”

Chrissy laughed and it sounded breathless and happy. Christ, maybe she really was a witch? He was in her fucking thrall, alright. She looked like a fairy in that dress and with those big twinkling blue eyes. Her long blonde hair (kissed by fire and sunsets and summer so it looked pink) fell down her back in waves. Seriously, how the fuck had he ever ever managed any of this?

His fairy-witch-elf-angel kissed him again. “I thought you were supposed to be the one with powers. Didn’t you seduce me away from my perfect wholesome boring life with your black magic?”

“And blood sacrifices to Satan. Don’t forget those,” Eddie reminded her. Her fingers roamed lower and traced against the length of his cock which of course was already hard and ready. “I’m not some cheap date you can seduce and fuck in an alley, you know.”

“You sure about that?”

Eddie cradled her face in his hands and dragged her mouth up so he could kiss into it slow and deliberate. She goddamn sighed into his mouth and he felt her body uncurl like a fucking flower for him. He didn’t think he would ever get enough of doing this to her and it still blew his mind that he was the one who could coax and draw out such reactions from her. Chrissy was so wonderfully responsive to his touch and well…him.

He moved one hand beneath her skirt (dresses were the best) and against her panties and yep…Chrissy was already so so wet for him.

“You’re such a groupie, Chrissy Cunningham.”

He pushed aside the thin material and traced a finger around her clit in a way he knew made Chrissy melt into a puddle of syrup and honey and all things sweet.

“Only for you, Eddie,” she whispered. She shut her eyes and let her head roll back against the brick wall. “You played so fucking well tonight, baby. You looked so good. I was so proud of you.” And just like that she was no witch or fairy but a goddamn angel. Eddie pressed kisses against her jaw, her chin, her nose.

She was like an arrow to the chest, seriously. Bullseye.

“You were?” he murmured. “You my number one fan, Chriss?”

“I’ve got the band shirt to prove it. If I’m real lucky the hot guitarist might just sign my tits.”

Eddie huffed a laugh against the crook of her neck. He loved it when she cursed.

“I can arrange that. Hear he’s got a thing for girls with big blue eyes and a pretty wet cunt that has his name written all over it.”

Chrissy actually moaned at that and Eddie quickened his fingers. He pressed his hips against her so she could feel just how hard she made him.

“I fucking loved watching you dance in the front row, right where you belong,” he said. “God, you know I only play for you, baby. You’re my inspiration, my fucking muse. None of this matters without you, Chriss.”

He slipped a finger inside her wet pussy and then - because she really was getting off on this, so was he - another. Chrissy told him once that she loved the feeling of his metal rings against her clit so he made sure they scraped against it just enough.

“Eddie!” she hissed.

“Yeah baby?”

“I just…just fucking love how you easy you get me off. Fuck. I fucking love you, you mean and scary freak.”

He kissed the corner of her smiling mouth and then pressed another to her neck.

“I love you too, baby girl. Going to practice my ass off so when we leave this dump I can find work and buy you all the pretty things you deserve.”

“Told you I don’t need any of that.”

He nipped her neck this time and she hissed again.

“Want to take care of you.”

“Eddie…only need you.”

He added another finger - three now, fuck yes - and took hold of her perfect ass with the other.

“Going to buy you a diamond. Size of my fist.”

Chrissy had to bite down on her lip to stop herself from fucking screaming.

Her hands moved against his cock again and felt that it was weeping and ready for her. Her hands were trembling but she made short work of unbuckling his belt (she was so perfect).

“I need you to fuck me, Eddie. Need to feel you inside me.”

“Already?”

“Mmm.”

“You don’t want to ride my knuckles ‘till you come first?”

“I’m seriously going to lose it if you don’t fuck me against this wall right now, Eddie Munson.”

Eddie didn’t need anymore convincing (crap it was hot when she started bossing him around. Was this a new kink to explore? Chrissy could tease just about anything out of him honestly and he was living for it). He removed his hand from her ass and dug around in his jacket pocket for…Ah. There it was.

He looked away from the vision that was her for a millisecond so as to rip open the foil packet, but then noticed…

Oh for fuck’s sake.

Well things had been going far too well for him recently - maybe he deserved some cosmic retribution or kick up the ass to remind him he wasn’t actually living in a dream.

“Uh…Chriss? Bad news on that front.”

“Mm?”

“Packet’s ripped, sweetheart. We seem to be without a condom.”

“Oh…”

His fingers had stilled and Chrissy was biting her plump little lip that tasted of strawberries and magic. She was watching him closely, her cheeks flushed and panting from being so close to what promised to be a world-shattering orgasm.

Eddie could feel her trembling and threw the packet away, intent on getting back to her and her needs right away. He was just about to drop to his knees and eat out her pretty wet cunt, when she said very hesitantly…

“We could always just…do it anyway? Without a condom, I mean.”

Eddie pressed a kiss to her lips. “Baby, no. We’ve talked about this…you know?”

“Amanda from the cheer team told me there’s a morning-after pill I can take. She told me where to get it from too. You can drive us tomorrow, easy…use a fake name…”

Chrissy’s hands were once again moving across his cock and he felt himself instinctively lean into her. He began moving his fingers again too and was rewarded by a soft moan that sounded like a fucking melody of everything good and perfect.

Eddie felt like his brain might explode. He was a guy, okay, who had a beautiful angel coming apart on one hand (literally) and on the other the idea of stopping this and saying they could wait, they could fuck tomorrow after he went to a store. But Eddie wasn’t capable of really resisting Chrissy anything, you know, nor could he resist the way her eyes were fluttering shut in pleasure or the way she was gripping so tight around his fingers. It wasn’t like he was pressuring her into this either - Chrissy said she wanted this.

And yeah, he’d be lying if he said he didn’t either. A part of him fucking loved everything about the idea.

“You sure, Chriss?”

“Yeah, baby…” she nodded and licked her lips. Oh yeah, he was gone. “I want you to fuck me right now, Eddie.”

She must have seen the exact moment the sensible part of his brain totally shut down, because she kissed him hard and licked her tongue against his. Eddie groaned against her lips and his fingers were again digging up into her causing her to gasp.

“Fucking hell, sweetheart, okay…I’ve got you.”

Eddie withdrew his fingers (causing her to pout in a way that made his knees almost buckle) and grabbed hold of her thighs, before lifting and pushing her hard against the brick wall. Chrissy twisted her legs around his waist and seemed to pull him even closer with her thighs.

“You are a witch,” he murmured against the shell of her ear. “You know I’m your slave, baby. You say jump and I fucking jump.”

“You just make me crazy, Eddie. Can’t help it. Don’t want to wait another second.”

God this was irresponsible, but at the same time Eddie’s heart was shaking and he was overcome with a giant wave of fucking need and want. The fact Chrissy wanted him so badly as to forgo being sensible and safe was a huge fucking turn on. He was going to fuck Chrissy Cunningham bareback.

Bareback, raw, like a damn caveman.

Chrissy was shifting in his arms so the head of his dick pushed against her hot dripping opening and that was all Eddie needed really, and he moved his hips and pushed right into her. Right up to the fucking hilt.

“Holy shit.”

One of Chrissy’s hands wound into his hair and the sharp tug made him curse again. Her other hand pressed flat against the wall behind them, nails scratching at the brickwork as if she couldn’t contain just how much shining hot pleasure was currently coursing through her body.

Like bottled lightning, baby. Plug him into a power cord because he was going to light her up.

Eddie rocked against her again, using his weight to pin her up. He brought his face down into her neck where he hissed and fucking spat kisses against her skin. He began fucking up into her fast and careless.

“You feel so unbelievably good, Chriss. My god. Just so hot and warm and…like velvet or silk, baby. It’s fucking addictive, is what this is.”

This was fucking dangerous because he was right, it was insanely addictive (and he knew addictions). The greediness was already taking root inside him and he knew he would miss this desperately when it was gone. He’d have to store away every sensation in his memory like a treasured jewel. What a difference that little bit of rubber made, right? He suddenly wanted to set fire to the store and buy these pills in bulk, if it just meant he could do this to Chrissy every day and every night.

“Can feel you so deep and warm inside me, Eddie,” Chrissy was moaning. “There’s literally nothing between us. Just your skin and mine, and I’m riding your bare dick.”

“Feels fucking amazing, baby. Too good.”

“This is so so hot.”

“You like me fucking you bareback?”

“Yes…”

“This is gunna be feeding my dreams for weeks, sweetheart. You going to think of my bare naked cock when you touch yourself too? Think about how close we are right now?”

Chrissy cried out then and threw her head back. Her hair fell around her shoulders like a halo.

“God, Eddie. I’m so close already.”

“I know, I can fucking feel you are. You’re so hot and tight.”

Her words were encouraging him onwards and he began holding her thighs so tight he might’ve been worried about making bruises if he wasn’t so distracted.

“Chrissy?”

She whimpered.

“You going to come on my cock, sweetheart? Squirt your pretty pussy juices all over my cock? You’ve not done that before.”

“Yeah…”

“An’ then I’m gunna’ come inside you, Chriss. Going to come inside you so deep you can feel me there tomorrow. I’m going to fucking drown you.”

“Yes please, baby. I want it so bad. Oh Eddie…I want this so much…”

“You do? Let me hear it.”

“Want your cum in me so bad. Where it’s supposed to be, you know? Right where it belongs.”

“God Chriss! Fuck. Really do wanna knock you up when you talk like that.”

Eddie the Freak knocking up the goddamn prom queen herself. Had an excellent ring to it honestly.

“Oh Eddie!

Chrissy screamed out as she came and her nails dug into his scalp. Eddie kept thrusting up into her as she rode out her waves and waves of pleasure and the feeling of her tight dripping cunt pulsing around him soon dragged him over the edge too.

“Come inside me Eddie. Let me fucking feel you.”

Eddie swore into her neck as she fucking milked his cock and he came so hard and fast that he thought he might drop her. Fucking hell. This is fucking heaven. Chrissy’s pussy is fucking heaven.

She squeezed every last drop out of him.

Trembling, Eddie kissed her when he was done and gently lowered her down. Chrissy’s knees nearly buckled and she had to hang on to his jacket for support, but she whispered she was okay. As he pulled out from her, his cum trickled freely down her thighs. He looked down at his softening cock and saw it glisten with Chrissy’s wet juices.

“That was…”

“Fucking hot.”

Chrissy giggled and she leant back against the wall again. Eddie tied his belt back in place and joined her so they were leaning side by side. He struggled to catch his breath.

“Want my shirt to…you know? Tidy up?”

“No. I…” she tucked a strand of (tangled, freshly fucked) hair behind her ear. “I kind of like it. I know that sounds weird but it’s…you…you know? Reminds me what the fuck we just did.”

Eddie felt like his heart might just burst again. Chrissy’s fingers laced through his own.

“We should get back. We need to get up early for the…”

“Yeah. Amanda says we’ve got some time, but it’s more effective against a pregnancy the sooner you take it, you know?”

Eddie found himself bringing their clasped hands up to his lips. He looked at Chrissy - this witch, elf, fairy, minx - who had so thoroughly and effectively became such a huge part of his life. Sure he had a life before her but nothing really stood out, you know? She came along (came back into technically) and made everything just click. Suddenly he had his person, and a life and a fucking future infront of him. He wanted it all - everything - with her and he wanted it all right now. He was greedy, needy, for it. He couldn’t fucking wait.

Chrissy was watching him with a soft look in her eyes. Could she read his mind now? He wouldn’t put it past her.

“...one day, Eddie,” she said quietly. “We’ll do that again one day for real.”

Eddie nodded and slid his arm around her shoulder as they walked to his van. "Yeah, I'd really like that, Chriss."

--------------------

A/N: Full disclosure - I have no idea about contraception history but a very quick google tells me the morning after pill was available for access in 1984 in the UK. Who knows about Hawkins/the US. I imagine it would be tricky for Chrissy to get it honestly, but this is basically just porn without plot. Go with it. But not too much. Use protection. Stay safe kids.

#chrissy x eddie #edssy #hellcheer #eddie munson #eddie x chrissy #eddissy #hellcheer fanfic #hellcheer headcanons #chrissy and eddie #chrissy cunningham #eddie wants to knock chrissy up someday #but no plot really seriously #ymaohoh #stay safe and do not do what eddie and chrissy do #sorry

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woman-of-balnain · 1 year

Text

Undone in Sorrow Part 4/10 (Alpha Rick x Omega Reader)

Previous Part | Collection Masterlist | AO3 Ver. | Next Part

Pairing: Rick Grimes/Fem!Reader

Summary: While unconscious, things continue to move around you. Maggie and Carson discuss what is wrong with you, while Negan continues to assert his authority over Rick in Alexandria.

A/N: I don’t really have anything to say other than I hate myself for ever deciding to write this story cos I am really struggling with writing it 😭 Hopefully with this chapter out of the way, it'll get easier 😅

Also, in order to not just throw this story out the window, I’m pretty much just giving myself full creative license because every time I try to follow the show it just gets in the way. So you’ll have to suspend your disbelief a little, sorry! It’s meant to be a bit ambiguous, regarding when the present scenes of this chapter take place.

I’m not a doctor, so if there’s any way to improve that particular section of this chapter just let me know.

Warnings: Sick and unconscious reader, angst, pregnancy, Negan has some pretty crude dialogue, you and Rick are true mates but that is extremely rare and considered a myth, there are consequences to Rick’s behavior that are linked to the true mate bond.

Word Count: 3496

Dividers by: @cafekitsune + @newlips

And am I born to die?

To lay this body down?

And must my trembling spirit fly

Into a world unknown?

Now

Maggie’s panic and distress over your unconscious form alerted some of the other Hilltop residents and eventually Jesus was there, helping to carry you over to Carson’s trailer.

“What’s wrong with her?” He asked Maggie as he shifted your weight in his arms to knock on the trailer door. “She’s freezing, what happened?”

“I don’t know,” Maggie replied worriedly.

Before Jesus could say anything else, the door opened, and a sleepy looking Carson appeared.

“Come in,” was all he said, stepping aside after taking in the sight of you.

Jesus set you down on the medical bed before giving Maggie’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze and heading back outside, giving her and Carson some privacy. The doctor was quick to get to work, despite how tired he looked. Maggie couldn’t do anything but watch as Carson pulled your eyelids up and shone a light into your eyes.

“Is she okay?” Your sister couldn’t help but ask.

“When did she start feeling cold?” He asked, ignoring her question for now.

“I don’t know, but I think it might’ve been a while.”

“She’s too cold,” Carson replied, moving to get some other equipment. “I need to check her vitals.”

His words did nothing to ease Maggie’s troubled mind, but she gave the doctor the space he needed to check you over. She watched silently until he was done and when Carson looked at her again, Maggie’s stomach filled with dread.

“What is it?” She asked with trepidation, seeing the grave look on his face.

“I don’t know,” he sighed, seeming frustrated by the fact.

“What? How do you not know?”

“Technically, she’s fine. The only thing out of the ordinary is that her heart rate is slightly low, but not enough for it to really be concerning.”

“So medically, there’s nothing wrong with her?” Maggie asked, confused.

“Aside from how cold she is, no, there isn’t.”

Maggie processed his words, wondering why your skin was so icy. Like touching a corpse, as though all the warmth and life had been sucked out of your body. You had clearly felt it as well, due to the way your teeth had been chattering and your arms had wrapped around yourself. Until she felt your skin touch her own, Maggie hadn’t paid it much mind.

Now, she felt guilty for not realizing sooner that there was something wrong with you. She’d had her own things to deal with of course, but she also knew that you had become more withdrawn due to Rick leaving the way he did.

Thinking of the alpha made Maggie angry. After everything that had happened, everything you’d all just endured and lost, how could he have just left you like that? She had lost her husband and now had to try and keep going with the knowledge that he was never coming back. But you were still here, and you were carrying his child. How could he go and take that for granted, leaving you behind?

He was supposed to be your true mate or whatever the hell the link was that you shared. If that bond was so special and difficult to ignore, then she just couldn’t stop wondering how. But the thought of your bond gave Maggie an idea and she got Carson’s attention.

“Could it be because of her mating bond with Rick?” Maggie asked the doctor. “Because he’s not here?”

“No,” Carson frowned. “Mating bonds aren’t strong enough to do something like this.”

“They aren’t just mates though,” Maggie explained. “They’re true mates, so if their bond is deeper than most, maybe that has something to do with it.”

“True mates?” Carson asked in disbelief. “That’s not possible… it’s just a myth.”

“It’s possible, trust me,” your sister argued. “It’s what they are and if you can’t find any medical reason, then I’m pretty sure it’s what’s caused this. He left her behind and she hasn’t been herself since. Wouldn’t that impact their bond?”

The doctor thought about it for a moment before slowly nodding his head.

“I’m not exactly an expert,” he huffed out a humorless laugh. “But it’s possible… I mean, just based on the stories about true mates, if she feels rejected by him in some way, then maybe her body is reacting to that.”

“So, what do we do then?”

“Without Rick here, it’s hard to say. But we should focus on warming her up somehow.”

Maggie nodded, feeling like it was as good a place as any to start. So, the two got to work, trying to find anything that might bring some life back to your cold and ashen skin.

Then

“Ow!”

You laughed softly as Rick’s leg pulled away from you beneath the covers of your shared bed.

“Damn it, baby, your feet are freezing,” he complained, though there was a teasing look in his eyes.

“Well, then let me warm up,” you retorted, seeking out the heat of his skin again.

Before you knew it, Rick had moved until he was covering your body with his own.

“You’re cold?” He asked, gazing down at you lovingly.

Your feet were usually colder than the rest of your body while in bed, but right then you were affected all over from the slight chill in the evening air.

“Yeah,” you replied with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck, and trying to pull him closer. “Come here.”

He obliged, letting you pull him down until his chest was pressed against yours and some of his curls hung down, tickling the skin of your forehead. Slowly, he dipped his head and met your lips with his own.

Your hold on him tightened, as his hands explored your body, heating it back up in the process. His fingers seemed to leave fire in their wake, stoking the embers of desire within you. The chill of the air that had previously caressed your skin was now replaced with his comforting and familiar warmth.

The movements of Rick’s mouth were soft and passionate as he tantalized every sense in your body – just by touching your lips with his. It didn’t matter if he kissed you desperately, possessively, or in this slow and affectionate way. Every time his lips met yours, it sent your mind reeling with happiness and caused all thoughts and worries to leave your mind.

His tongue languidly moved against your own, deepening the kiss (and your desire too). Your legs spread automatically, and he settled down between them like he belonged there. Rick’s hands moved up your sides and then along your arms, bringing them down from around his neck so that he could entwine your fingers with his own.

His lips pressed a little harder against yours before he pulled back slightly to look down at you.

“Better?” He asked, causing you to frown in confusion.

“Hmm?”

“You’re not cold anymore?” He asked, unable to stop the smile that spread across his slightly red and swollen lips at how distracted you were by his kiss.

“Oh,” you let out a soft laugh. “No...”

His gaze softened from playful and amused to affectionate and smitten. He dipped his head to rub his cheek against yours, comforting you through the scent gland there and his thumbs soothingly rubbed against the back of your hands where he still held you.

“I love you,” he murmured, turning his head to press a kiss against your cheek.

You opened your mouth to reply, to tell him the same, but he captured your lips again with his own before you had the chance.

Now

Simon stood in Hilltop’s medical trailer, looking down at your still and lifeless body with a bemused smirk. He’d only stopped by to make sure Gregory would keep himself in line. He hadn’t expected the other man to tell him that you were there, taking up valuable space and resources. He also hadn’t expected that Gregory would ask him to take you, so that you would no longer be Hilltop’s problem.

He had very little interest in taking you anywhere, least of all back to Sanctuary. But the knowledge that you were at Hilltop, in a comatose state, while reeking of Negan’s scent… it was an interesting development, and he knew that the boss would want to know. If only just to also keep Rick right where he wanted.

He wondered if that would work, though. Since you were there, at Hilltop, sick and weak, with your alpha far away. Either way, Negan had some kind of interest in you. Enough to have scented you to the point where his smell dripped off your skin. Simon didn’t remember it being that strong when he held you at knifepoint, back when your friends were getting their skulls bashed in. But that didn’t matter. Negan would likely appreciate the knowledge of your whereabouts, even if Rick seemed to have abandoned you.

“Looks like the prick doesn’t want you anymore, omega,” Simon observed with a cocky grin.

His eyebrows shot up as your body gave the slightest reaction to his words. Your brow furrowed a little and your fingers twitched, but other than that, you remained motionless. Simon didn’t care, he only cared about giving Negan something good. So, he turned and walked back out of the trailer, leaving you there to remain in your dreamless sleep.

Then

The cell block was dark and almost completely silent as you stood with Judith in your arms, trying to settle her back to sleep. It had taken getting used to, but eventually you’d become accustomed to her cries and the need to get up during the night and take care of her.

She was a sweet little thing, and so very tiny. She fit so snugly in your arms, wrapped up in her blanket. Her eyes began to droop, signaling that she would be asleep again soon. You hummed some made up tune, while lightly bouncing and rocking her.

“You should’ve woken me up,” Rick spoke groggily, coming up from behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, careful not to disturb Judith as he did.

His voice was a little gruff and gravelly from sleep and your body responded instantly, suddenly hyper-aware of his presence. You loved when he sounded like that because it was usually only in your private moments.

“It’s okay,” you said softly. “She’s almost back to sleep.”

Rick pressed a kiss to your temple, his fingers tracing soft patterns across your skin, through the material of your shirt.

“You’re good with her,” he observed.

“She makes it easy,” you smiled down at Judith. “I can’t resist that adorable little face.”

The little girl’s eyes had drifted shut when Rick embraced you from behind, and they’d stayed like that since. So, you carefully moved away from your alpha, putting her back down in her crib. When you turned back around to face Rick, he was right there, ready to pull you back into his arms.

“I can’t wait,” he murmured, reaching up to stroke softly against your cheek.

“For what?”

“For when it’s our baby you’re holding.”

“Judith is ours,” you replied, because she was, even if you weren’t her biological parents.

“She is,” he agreed. “But you know what I mean.”

You looked away, biting your bottom lip and he was quick to gently take hold of your chin, bringing your gaze back to his.

“What is it?”

“I think…” you hesitated, but ultimately saw no reason not to tell him. “I think I might actually be pregnant…”

He just stared at you for a second, taking in what you’d just said, before his lips curled up into a wide grin. His eyes conveyed his shock, but also the overwhelming happiness he felt at the possibility.

“Really?” He breathed out, his hands automatically falling to your stomach.

“I’m not sure, but the signs are there,” you admitted. “I’ve been waiting for the right time to tell you.”

“We’ll find out,” he promised. “Go on a run, find some tests… whatever we need.”

“So, you’re happy?” You found yourself asking.

It didn’t really need to be asked, his expression and his words had told you everything you needed to know. But you had been nervous to tell him, for whatever reason, and wanted some verbal confirmation of how he was feeling about the possibility.

“Sweetheart, of course I’m happy,” Rick assured you.

You smiled with relief, and he pulled you closer, letting his scent wrap around you and show just how excited and amazed he was by the idea. But from the way your scents mingled together, he could also tell that there was some trepidation within you.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, brow furrowing in concern.

“Just… I know it’s probably nothing to worry about, but I keep thinking about what happened with Lori.”

“Hey,” Rick’s tone was gentle and comforting. “We have the infirmary set up now, and things are a lot more stable here. You’re going to be fine. I’m not going to let anything to happen to you. Ever.”

You just nodded, moving forward to wrap your arms around his waist and bury your head against his chest. He hugged you tightly, holding you to him with one hand on your back and the other cradling your head. Rick pressed a kiss to the top of your head and felt the tension and worry leave you at his words and touch of reassurance.

Now

“You know, Simon paid your little omega a visit,” Negan told Rick with a cocky grin, getting right up in the other man’s face.

Rick had already been on edge, thanks to the other alpha’s abrupt visit to Alexandria, but now he felt his eyes narrow, and his chest tighten at the revelation. Negan knew where you were, and it just made Rick’s sense of helplessness grow worse.

The thought of any of the Saviors near you made his hackles raise, let alone that asshole.

“If he hurt her –” Rick growled out, his anger replacing his fear.

“Calm down,” Negan cut him off. “Simon’s not interested in your bitch. Besides, he said my scent was dripping off her, and I doubt that’d get his dick hard. But hey, I’m a pretty damn irresistible guy, so who knows?”

Now, Negan was laughing, and Rick clenched his fists as he tried to restrain his anger and stop himself from attacking the other alpha. He was forced to remember that Negan had scented you, but the fact that it still lingered caused a pit to form in the bottom of his stomach.

He left you at Hilltop in the hopes that you’d be safe and far away from what was happening in Alexandria with the Saviors. But it was also because he hadn’t been able to face you after everything that had occurred that first time you all met Negan, face-to-face.

And the way Negan’s scent had clung to you had just made all the memories and emotions that much more raw and prominent. Rick had just needed to get away, and once he did, it was easier to simply tell himself that you were safe and fine, that he didn’t need to be concerned about you, because he had other things to deal with.

But now, knowing that Negan knew exactly where to find you and that he had the perfect way to get to him… that made Rick’s blood boil and a fiery sense of protective fury swelled within him as he thought of the endless possibilities of what Negan could do to you if he pissed the other alpha off again.

“I know exactly where she is,” Negan reminded him, suddenly serious. “And she’s not going anywhere any time soon.”

The words pulled Rick out of his thoughts, and he realized that he was shaking again. It was involuntary and uncontrollable, just like it had been that night. His body became hot and sweat appeared on his skin as he considered the threat that was underlying in Negan’s tone.

“So, I wouldn’t go gettin’ ideas in your head,” the older alpha continued lowly. “Because if you do, I’ll take her, no questions asked. And maybe then it’ll be more than just my scent all over her.”

Rick’s nostrils flared and his upper lip twitched as he tried to restrain himself.

“We’ve got a lot of alphas and there’s a pretty big damn shortage of omegas nowadays,” Negan grinned sadistically. “I could make her one of my wives. Or I could just let her be passed around. Keep all the alphas at Sanctuary satisfied. What d’you think?”

Rick lunged for Negan, no longer caring about the repercussions as his inner alpha was pushed over the edge at the idea. He only got one solid punch in before he was pulled back by some Saviors and pushed down onto his knees.

Negan touched his bottom lip with his ungloved fingers, noting the blood there before he looked down at Rick with a disbelieving chuckle.

“Hell, I guess I did get a little too descriptive,” the older man admitted with a false sense of self-admonishment. “But don’t forget, Rick. Because that’s exactly what’ll happen if you decide to try and resist the order of things. I’ll let your little outburst go this time, because you’re useful, and I get it, she’s your omega. But you do that again? There’s gonna be big fucking consequences.”

Rick hated the power the other man held over him, and he loathed the fact that he couldn’t do anything but submit. But that didn’t stop him from nodding and showing his compliance, even with how much the action went against every fiber of his being.

“Speak up!” Negan yelled, getting right up in Rick’s face as his frustration grew.

“I understand,” Rick replied, trying his best to hide the disdain he felt.

“That’s it?” The older alpha snapped. “You just had the hide to punch me in the god damned face and I’m being pretty fuckin’ charitable by not bashing your skull in. So, are you sure there’s nothing else you want to say to me?”

Rick’s nose twitched in annoyance, but his mind worked to constantly remind him that it wasn’t him who was at risk if he pissed Negan off. It was you, and Rick had always been able to do anything if it meant protecting you.

“Thank you,” Rick answered, hoping the disgust he felt wasn’t evident in his tone.

“Good,” Negan gave Rick’s cheek a light tap with his hand before moving away. “It’s not hard, Rick. You’ll get used to it. You will, because you don’t have a choice. Not anymore. Now, I want you to have some real god damned shit for us when we drop by again. No more excuses.”

Negan didn’t wait for an answer and Rick didn’t have one for him anyway. He didn’t move as the other man and the Saviors started to leave. He stayed there, on his knees, with his fists clenched as the shame and self-doubt wrapped around him.

“Rick.”

It was Aaron, bringing him out of his thoughts. He stood up, suddenly feeling determined as his mind focused on one thing – getting to Hilltop.

“Stay here and keep everyone safe,” he told the other man, already heading for one of the cars.

“Rick, where are you going?”

“To Hilltop. I need… he knows where Y/N is, I can’t leave her there.”

“I know that, but we need to get supplies first,” Aaron reasoned, halting him. “We don’t know when he’ll be back.”

Rick let out a deep, frustrated sigh, knowing that the other man was right but hating it all the same. He had tried to keep himself distracted, tried to just convince himself that you were okay so that he could focus on everyone and everything else that needed his attention.

But hearing Negan talk about you like that… he was on edge, the claiming bite on his neck itched and felt irritated, the blood in his veins seemed to turn cold, like his body was trying to tell him something.

He had felt off ever since leaving you at Hilltop, but now that you were in the forefront of his mind again, it was as though his body was screaming at him to go to you.

“She’s okay,” Aaron told him gently, trying to calm him down. “It’s just threats. As… as long as we do what he wants, he won’t hurt her. So, we need to do this first. I’m sorry, Rick, but we do.”

Rick dipped his head, one of his hands moving tiredly over his furrowed brow and then up into his hair in frustration.

“Yeah,” he relented. “We should head out now.”

Aaron nodded, agreeing.

“But once it’s done, I’m going to Hilltop,” Rick continued. “Don’t try to stop me.”

“I won’t,” Aaron assured him. “I understand.”

Next Part

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