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sp0o0kylights · 2 months

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"Valentines Day is a capitalistic scam made to sell chocolate and flowers!" Eddie Munson bellowed, leaping to the top of a cafeteria table not even ten minutes into lunch.

"Do you think he was born like this, or just dropped on his head as a baby?" Heather asked, rolling her eyes as the super senior began waving his arms around, getting way too into his annual “anti-valentines day” rant.

Steve, who'd tuned out the dramatics in favor of trying to figure out how he could ditch school, only heard her because she’d begun running her foot up his leg.

Directly in front of Patrick.

As if half the school didn’t know he planned on asking her out after school.

Long over being a part of these kinds of games, Steve kicked out, forcing Heather’s leg off his.

He did it harder than he intended and immediately winced, as if he hadn’t meant to do it at all. Aimed a sad little look at her, softening his eyes in the way he knew ladies loved while murmuring a quiet "sorry.”

A pudding cup was offered as an additional apology--which Heather, thankfully, accepted.

Crisis averted, Steve used the movement of handing the cup over to get his legs well out of Heather's range. He had other things to think about today, and getting drawn into whatever drama Heather was trying to brew wasn’t on the list.

Particularly given the basketball team as a unit had started snubbing him out.

"Newsflash ladies! Your man isn't taking you to some shitty restaurant because he loves you, he's doing it because he hopes you'll give it to him in your car!" Munson continued, voice growing impossibly louder.

A crude gesture followed, involving hip thrusts and hand jabs.

Several of the cheerleaders shot him disgusted looks as he did it.

"Definitely dropped on his head." Carol said, glaring at Munson as his little group of freaks and geeks cheered him. "More than once."

Steve hummed an agreement, more on automatic than from actually listening. He knew how to look like he was paying attention, even if his head was deep in possible escape plans.

If he dipped at the last minute to the bathroom on the way to fifth period, Tommy wouldn't have time to stop him and he could make a break for his car…

That just left making up a plausible enough excuse as to why thee Steve Harrington, whose single status was the current hot topic of the school, left school early on Valentines Day.

("Candy, sex, the overwhelming affection of all the ladies." Tommy drawled out that morning, practically preening. "Valentine's Day is the best holiday man. Just look at all this!"

He waved a hand at his locker, which was absolutely covered in paper hearts.

"The rally squad put hearts on the lockers of everyone on the basketball team, Tommy." Carol argued, rolling her eyes. "Steve’s is practically buried in them.”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond, no doubt with something else teasing and rude, but Carol’s elbow caught him in the gut first.

“If you keep acting like this you're not getting any sex." She warned.

"Aww baby, don't be like that. You know you're the only one for me." Tommy teased, with a wink that prompted Carol to smack him on the shoulder.

Laughing, he added: "Besides we can't fight or we'll miss our favorite game. Which poor gal thinks this year is the year Steve will take her out on a date!"

Carol allowed Tommy to put an arm over her shoulder, the two of them turning knowing grins on their friend as a singular unit.

Even if Steve hadn’t felt like their friend in a hot minute.

Not in the way he used to.

"I do love watching them stutter through their little confessions.” Carol admitted, like this wasn’t something they’d loved doing since middle school. “I wonder if anyone will ever top Cindy Komer."

Steve almost wasn't fast enough to cover his wince--that particular incident had been painful for him and Cindy.

Steve still had no idea what he'd said to make the then-freshman cry.

He thought he'd been nice about turning her down, but judging by Carol constantly quoting what he'd said, Steve had a feeling he'd accidentally been an asshole again.

Not that anyone ever thought it was accidental.

“Steve? Hel~lo? Are you listening?” Carol said, snapping to get his attention and God did Steve hate that.

Never realized just how much until Nancy but after she’d pointed out that Carol treated him and Tommy both like her dogs, well.

It was hard not to notice--and be a bit resentful.

“God you keep doing this, you’re turning into such a space case.” Carol continued, the edge back in her voice. The same one she’d been using for a while, like Steve was on her last nerve. “Please tell me you’re not still mooning over Nancy fucking Wheeler.”

“No.” He snapped, only to know instantly that was the wrong move, and try to fix it before Carol blew up. “No--I’ve just already had to fend someone off today. Like first thing--I was barely out of my car.”

There, that should keep Carol and Tommy both off his back for being “angry” and it wasn’t even a lie. He really had been asked out earlier, though the girl had been gracious about his rejection.

Of course, this kind of instant redirection came with a price--and in this case, it was being absolutely hounded for more information.

“Oh shit who!? Was it that Buckley girl?” Carol perked up immediately, like a hunting dog scenting prey. “I swear she stares holes in your head, she’s so weird…” )

"This isn't about romance! It's about showing who has the most cash, gets the most sex! It's a pathetic social ritual you're all falling for!” Munson yelled, jolting Steve back into the present. “I bet none of you even enjoy it!”

"Tell that to all the girls Steve’s dated!” One of the younger basketball guys hollered, prompting a wave of laughter from the rest of the cafeteria. “They seem to enjoy it plenty!”

Steve couldn’t see who had said it, and should have felt the normal wave of smug warmth that the team had his back.

Except his team had already proven they didn’t.

Were in fact, siding more and more with Hargrove, just as Tommy was.

They were rapidly approaching a watershed moment. Steve could feel it, the same way he’d always been able to tell when a crowd was about to turn.

He was losing, but was still on top of Hawkins social spaces enough, had caught it early enough, that he could turn everyone’s favor--if he wanted.

Emphasis on ‘if.’

Munson spun to face his table, hair whipping to smack him in the face. The guy had clearly been trying to grow it out, but right now he looked like one of those poodles Carol's mom loved so much.

So said Carol, anyway.

"You sure about that?" Munson challenged, a crazed grin breaking across his face. "Rumor has it King Steve lost his groove ever since Wheeler dumped him!"

Steve grimaced, though he was secretly thankful Munson went with "dumped" instead of "cheated on" (or any of the other vile words Billy had flung around, spreading across the school in the sick, crawling way rumors moved.

Hargrove had been positively brutal about the whole Jonathan and Nancy thing, and the only reason he wasn't here now to spin this whole situation against Steve was because the guy always vanished at lunch.)

Tommy's face morphed into an affronted snarl, hands slapping down on the table. He turned expectantly to Steve, waiting for "The King" to get up and "handle" Munson.

Like Steve even cared about this dumb high school shit anymore.

It took him a moment to realize Steve wasn’t planning on doing anything. Was in fact, going to remain perfectly quiet, other than an eyeroll and half-assed middle finger in Munson’s direction.

Tommy let out a disgusted scoff in his direction and then decided to handle things himself.

(Like that had ever been a good idea.)

“Shut up, Freak. The only game you have is in the prison showers.” He snapped, half rising from the table. “Isn’t that why you keep your hair long? So all the boys will actually fuck you?!”

Whistles and yells lit the air, though Steve didn’t miss how the girls at the table looked taken aback at the sheer vitriol in Tommy’s voice.

Even Carol looked startled, eyes sliding to meet Steve’s as if to confirm she hadn’t just imagined it.

The three of them had always been good at this kind of mindless high school banter, but this over the top, crude shit?

It wasn’t Tommy’s style.

It was Hargrove’s.

(That was its own growing issue.

The way Tommy was gravitating towards Billy.

How Carol kept expecting Steve to act like he used to.

That she blamed his “outbursts” on Nancy, snidely mentioning that Steve had better have learned his lesson about “changing his personality for pussy.”

Even now Steve knew they were only defending him because Munson was the one saying it.)

“I didn’t realize Harrington still had his attack dog!”

Munson put a hand against his heart as though injured, staggering dramatically backwards.

“I thought you were too busy putting your tongue up Hargrove’s ass to bark at people!”

Tommy immediately fired back, letting loose an uninspired string of curse words and something about Eddie being queer again. Steve didn’t hear the specifics--didn’t care to hear it, even as things started to spiral out of control.

All he wanted to do was go home.

Ideally before Billy got back from lunch and decided to make a spectacle himself, because Steve could feel that coming just as he could everything else.

He was running out of time to come up with an excuse to get out of here without making a production out of it, and Munson wasn’t someone he wanted to piss off today, given he’d half hoped to buy weed off the guy before he ditched.

…Which was looking more and more unlikely given Tommy had just screeched some insult that had put Munson’s sights back on Steve.

“You sure? Cause Harrington looks like he’s just gonna sit there and take it, just like he takes everything Hargrove and Wheeler and anyone else throws at him.”

He leered, leaning forward as if to see into Steve’s very soul.

“I don’t know if anyone else has noticed, but our beloved King here hasn’t exactly been defending his crown. If anything, he’s abandoned it.”

The world stopped.

This was the first time someone actually called him out on the fact that he often let whatever crap Billy spewed go. That Nancy and him had a few awkward encounters publicly, with at least one of them starting a rumor that she’d told Steve to fuck off.

(She hadn’t of course, but Carol had stopped running damage control, and Steve was feeling the effects of her ire.)

Silence echoed, and Steve realized with a dawning sort of horror, that Munson was waiting for a response from him.

Just as the entire cafeteria was.

The catalyst was here, brought on early by one Edward Munson.

With a startling amount of clarity, Steve realized he was done.

With his so called friends, with the girls who’d tried corning him all morning, with Hargrove and just--everything.

He was over it.

If Billy wanted the crown so bad he could fucking have it.

(If Tommy wanted to pretend he was tougher than he was by mimicking the dick, then he could have that too.)

“This is stupid.” Steve announced, dropping the masks he so carefully wore. The ones he kept having to fix, because the Upside Down and its related demons (human and non) kept taking chunks out of it.

He stood, feeling the weight of the room press down on him as he faced them all down.

“Yeah--!” Tommy started to pile on, seeming to think Steve was about to unleash hell, and got the surprise of a lifetime when Steve turned and jammed a finger in his face.

“Shut up.” He snapped.

Knew instantly he only got away with it by the fact that he’d caught everyone off guard.

King Steve did a lot of things, but he rarely blew up.

“This is stupid.” He reiterated, voice booming across the lunch room, “ You wanna fight? Fine, but leave me out of it.”

“The King doesn’t want to play? Why I never thought we’d see the day!” Munson clucked his tongue, and without missing a beat Steve turned to him.

“For someone who is always screaming about nonconformity, you sure are happy to attack anyone who doesn’t do what you want.”

Steve’s voice was loud, but he wasn’t screaming. Wasn’t yelling or throwing his arms around.

He didn’t need to. Had never needed to.

“I heard you going off on that guy whose lunch you're standing on yesterday, because he wanted to watch the Colts play.” Steve continued, voice cold. “Half of your friends are terrified of you, because you’ll scream at them just like you accuse us of doing--and let’s be real here, Munson, you do it more.”

In a dramatic move that absolutely, 100% came from Dustin and his theatrics, Steve shrugged his letterman jacket off and bunched it into a ball.

“You might as well crown yourself King, because you’re the exact same as the rest of us. Here--you can start with this.”

Cocking back an arm, Steve let the jacket fly. Watched with everyone else as it landed neatly right at Eddie’s feet.

Shell shocked, Munson’s eyes drifted from Steve down to the letterman jacket and back. They were massive, those stupid eyes of his, but at least it meant Steve could see the realization wash over the guy in real time.

Steve should have felt smug about it. His past self would have.

Presently?

He just felt tired.

“You’re welcome to jam it up your ass.” He finished, before giving his own sarcastic half bow to the room.

The cafeteria was dead silent. Not a fork was scraped, or a loud piece of chip chewed. All eyes were on Steve, some waiting to see if Eddie would let him have the last word, others just shocked to see Steve lose his shit in front of them.

Idiot he was, he tried to rally anyway.

Even Tommy, who’d partly stood up, hands pressed against the lunch table looked shocked.

“What the fuck Steve!?” He sputtered, and it wasn’t long before half the basketball team was muttering similar remarks.

They were ignored.

Whispers ripped across the room when Steve turned on his heel, striding towards the exit and making it clear things were over, but Tommy didn’t give up.

“Fuck you Harrington!” He hurled at his back, Carol now standing and placing a restraining hand on his arm. “You’re not fucking better than any of us!”

Steve didn’t even look back.

"That's my point Tommy." Steve said, loud enough to be heard. "No one is better than anyone else. You lot are all just buying into your own bullshit.”

Then he was slamming through the doors, and out into the sunlight.

xXx

He didn’t want to go home.

Not anymore, which was ironic in a way that made Steve’s face screw up in a grimace.

Here he’d been dying to go to his stupid house all day, and now, after losing his shit and undoubtedly, the last of his social standing, he just didn’t feel like being by himself.

All alone, in a house too big for him, full of nothing but dark corners and a phone that never rang.

So instead, he wandered, reminiscing on how Valentine's Day used to be his favorite day of the year.

Steve loved the gesture of it all--the romance, the wooing. The butterflies floating in one's stomach, mixing with fear of rejection and a burning kind of hope towards starting something new.

Of course, Steve also had always had a girl in mind, when he celebrated. Now, after Nancy…

He did not.

It felt weird to go to Skull Rock--the place he himself had made into Hawkins hottest makeout spots. Likewise all the local restaurants were off limits--too many adults knew how much he loved the holiday.

Steve didn’t want to face that. The expectations, the knowing winks that would slide into uncomfortable frowns. Any possible advice given wouldn’t be appreciated, and the last thing Steve wanted was to get the “everyone has an off season, son” speech.

So he’d stayed away from his usual haunts. Explored some storefronts instead, the Beamer parked in front of Family Video as he wandered.

Had an entirely too peaceful two hours, which of course, meant he had to bump into someone.

At least, Steve thought dully, whole body tensing in preparation, it was Munson.

Not Hargrove, or Tommy, or hell--the children, demanding he help them fight some other fucked up creature the government had accidentally summoned.

“Hey Harrington.” Munson said, and it took a moment for Steve to realize the guy was embarrassed. “I uh, I need to talk to you.”

Steve just stared at him.

“If you couldn’t tell from earlier,” He warned, “I’m a little done talking for today.”

Or any day, for the foreseeable future.

“Yeah no--I, I got that. I--okay.” Eddie stopped rocking on his heels, before giving his entire body a shake, like the guys sometimes did while prepping for a game. “Hear me out, and then you can deck me or leave or whatever makes you feel better.”

“I’m not going to deck you.” Steve said, exasperated and frazzled and not wanting to do this whole song and dance a second time.

Not that it mattered, because Munson had already launched right into whatever it was he needed to say.

“There’s this book right? My Uncle got it for me. It’s a fantasy book all about this big battle and there’s these wizards in it, and--” He stopped himself, shaking out his hands.

Like he realized he was rambling and needed the movement to get himself back on track.

“I always--I guess I saw myself as a Gandalf kinda guy? Like I was this shepherd herding these lost sheep. A person who intimately knew all the dark forces of the world and could be a shield for them. Do not pass and all that.”

He chuckled, but it was weak, and he killed it almost immediately.

“...Okay?” Steve said, knowing he was supposed to say something here, even if he had no idea what.

Maybe something about how Gandalf the Grey wasn’t exactly a shepard given he’d led the hobbits straight into Mordor, but saying that meant admitting Steve knew what Lord of the Rings was, which wasn’t a conversation he felt like getting into.

Particularly not because he’d only read the damn things after losing a bet to Dustin and Mike both.

Munson nodded, as if acknowledgement was all he needed.

“I thought that’s what I was doing. I wasn’t and I didn’t realize I wasn’t until you pointed it out. You shouldn’t have had to point it out. You shouldn’t have had to say any of what you did.” He rushed to add, oddly sincere.

"Is this…" Steve might be confused but catching on, an uptick at the corners of his mouth as the tiniest spark of amusement leaked through. "an apology? Are you trying to apologize right now?"

Eddie groaned, flinging his head back. "No!”

Then immediately;

“Actually yes, but--”

Which caught Steve off guard enough that he laughed, and had to hide it with a cough.

“I am sorry, man. I shouldn’t have said that shit about you, especially not about you and Wheeler. It's more than that though.” Munson swallowed, before squaring his shoulders. “It’s that you were right."

“I was right?” Steve repeated dumbly, because fuck, he couldn’t believe it either.

Not that Munson heard him. Eddie always had been hard to stop once he started, and Steve had been in enough classes with the guy to know the train had left the station.

"I did yell at Jeff because he wanted to watch that stupid football game.” He began, and Steve got a front row seat to watch as one Eddie Munson word vomited his way through a myriad of emotions.

“I fuckin’ lost it on Grant because he missed band practice to drive his sister to some thing. Gareth looked like I was going to hit him when I asked if I had really been that bad--same exact look he gave Hagan and those other assholes that cornered him in the bathroom two weeks ago!”

“Tommy did what?”

Steve was promptly ignored.

(Or more likely, Eddie simply didn’t hear him, too lost in his own voice to realize Steve had said something.)

There were a lot of mentions of the Gandalf guy. Where Eddie thought he’d gone wrong, and even something about a glowing eye thing that had Steve a little concerned until he realized Munson was talking about Sauron (and also made Steve realize that he’d been pronouncing Sauron in his head wrong, oops.)

“I called up this friend of mine who graduated. She’s always been no nonsense, so I asked her for her advice.” Munson said, finally seeming to slow down a little. “She told me I might as well eat my own doctrine because I sure wasn’t living by it, and that if I wanted to fix it then I should start by apologizing. To everyone but--to you, first.”

Eddie took a step back, winging out his hands as if to present himself.

“So here I am. Apologizing.”

A pause wherein neither of them did a thing, which caused him to awkwardly add; “To uh, you. Harrington.”

“Yeah I got that.” Steve said, because what else was he supposed to do here? “Good for you? I guess?”

“Most people either forgive a guy or tell him to fuck off.” Munson pouted, and mimicked like he was kicking at a rock.

It made Steve want to laugh again, though he shoved the urge down.

“Someone once told me,” He said instead, speaking slowly to make damn sure he didn’t let slip this piece of advice came from a middle schooler. “that apologies without actions don’t really mean anything. They’re a start--they let people know you’re aware you screwed up, but no one’s going to trust you if you don’t follow through. So I can forgive you, but I think you’re better off doing this with one of your friends.”

Someone who would hug it out, or at least tell Eddie how he could be better, at least.

Rather than argue, Munson just titled his head back, eyes to the sky. Like he was really thinking on the words, before giving a sort of accepting sounding noise.

“Trying too.” Steve admitted with a sigh.

“That’s what you’ve been doing, isn’t it?” He asked, head coming back down so he could stare at Steve.

“The thing in the cafeteria was a good start.”

“Yeah?”

Eddie grinned.

“Yeah. Don’t think Hagan’s gonna see it the same way though.”

“We were falling out anyway.” Steve admitted, and hated how easy it was to say.

That they really were just going through the motions of friendship. Had been, ever since Jonathan had punched Steve in the face.

“Think you lost more than just him as a friend, to be honest.”

“Pro tip about the actions thing, Munson?” Steve said with a snort, once again unsure of where this conversation was going, “Nice people don’t typically point out when someone’s turned into a social pariah.”

“No, I get that. Say,” Eddie’s grin had grown, which Steve would have taken poorly except he invaded Steve’s space with a goofy little hop. “I think you might be in need of some new ones!”

“New…friends?” Steve hesitated, very unsure of what was happening.

Munson promptly stuck his hand out. “Yup! So--hello, my name is Eddie Munson, and I am here to apply for the position as your friend!”

Steve snorted, but the harshness of it was taken away by the grin on his face.

He took Eddie’s hand, noting how doing so made the older teen’s smile widen.

“Nice to meet you Eddie, I’m Steve.”

Excited, Eddie waived their arms up and down, with far more enthusiasm than the gesture required.

“How about we cement our new friendship by renting a truly terrible horror movie and drowning our woes with my other good friend, Mary Jane?”

Then he waggled his eyebrows, like that was something scandalous.

“Tempting me along with weed, huh?” Steve mused back, sticking his hands in his pockets once Eddie let him go. “Guess you’re a little like Gandalf the Gray after all. Just don’t send me on any missions.”

“Steve Harrington.” Eddie gaped, pure delight spreading across his face. “Have you read Lord of the Rings!?”

He got a shrug and a sly; “Maybe.” in response.

It was worth the barrage of questions, even if the rapid fire pace of them nearly gave Steve a headache.

(Just as it was worth it several months later, when Steve was comfortable enough to instigate wrestling matches with Eddie over the dumbest of things.

One particularly semi-drunk tussle over the remote led to an interesting discovery when Eddie popped a boner, and then frantically tried to escape when it brushed against Steve’s leg.

Instead of panicking--or letting Eddie bolt in his panic, Steve just dropped his whole weight down, effectively pinning the slimmer man to the floor.

“Steve.”

Eddie said it so quietly he almost didn’t hear it, the word filled with desperation.

The kind of tone someone whispered a prayer in, a sort of pleading that Eddie did better with his eyes than his voice. Or would have, given his own were firmly scrunched closed the second he realized he’d been caught out.

Except--

“Not right now I’m thinking.” Steve told him absently.

Which he was. Speed thinking even, if that was a thing.

Because if two plus two equaled four (which it did) then feeling the exact same, fluttering excitement about Eddie’s boner as Steve had Nancy’s breasts, equaled…

“The fuck? Steve--”

Steve shushed him.

That pulled a frustrated, embarrassed groan from Eddie that went directly to Steve’s own dick, not that it needed much help waking up.

“I think I’m having one of those crisis’s Robin is always accusing the basketball team of having.” Steve informed Eddie dutifully, the dots done connecting.

Eddie, still refusing to open his eyes, snorted.

“Whatever man. Can you at least be decent and hurry up with the beating? This is embarrassing enough.”

“I’m not going to beat you up.” Steve said, thankful that his brain managed not to add some shitty comment about the entire town being awash in rumors of Eddie’s sexuality. That he’d confirmed it here wasn’t exactly a surprise.

“I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it, let me know.” Streve added, before screwing up his courage and leaning down.

That of course, got Eddie to open his eyes.

“Wha--” He managed, before Steve’s lips were on his.

For one single, blissful moment, Eddie Munson’s mouth was too busy to talk.

“Yeah?” Eddie said, voice wrecked, and oh, Steve liked that.

“Huh.” Steve muttered, when they broke for air. “Well that’s new.”

Liked the way Eddie looked at him more, hesitant, but with heat in his gaze.

Steve had always been good about knowing what to do with heat.

He leaned back down, pecking lightly at Eddie’s lips, and was delighted to find Eddie not only let him, but kissed back.

“Not bad, Munson, but I think I could give you a few pointers.” Steve muttered, nose ghosting alongside Eddie’s. “Let me show you…”

One boyfriend, several weeks, and another interdimensional monster later, Steve found himself socked in the arm by none other than his coworker, Robin Buckley.

In her defense, she’d confessed her love for Tammy Thompson, still somewhat drugged on the Starcourt bathroom floor, only for Steve to tease her that at least his boyfriend could actually sing.

“God you and Eddie Munson.” She muttered after, smile on her face. “How did that happen?”

Steve knocked his shoe into hers, returning the grin unabashedly.

“So remember last Valentines Day?” Steve started, all too eager to finally tell someone who understood about the best thing to ever happen to him.

Robin of course, would soon also be ranked in that same chart, but Eddie didn’t need to know that. )

#DADDYS BACK #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #pre steddie to steddie #0o0 fanfics #be gentle with me I JUST got my computer back lmao #this was a warmup I finished out #Ive been writing at work on my lunches #yes I have been working on adopt a jock #and the third part of the holiday hellfire fic #I think I stared at that steddisy one once #maybe #IDK this whole ass month has been a blurr

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mikeystrawberry · 3 months

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Today is Dungeons & Daddies’s 5th Anniversary!

I haven’t been listening for nearly that long but the podcast and all its characters means a lot to me. Happy Anniversary!!!

Throwing the cropped sections under the cut because there’s a lot of stuff going on and I know Tumblr likes to throw half the pixel quality out the window. And also so I can ramble a bit about this piece!!!

This piece has been months in the making, possibly an entire year. And by that I mean I’ve had a sketch of the comp scribbled on my whiteboard for ages because I wanted to save this specifically for 5th anni art. Now onto design stuff!

(First off a random thought: I really love how the garlic knot came out, I kind of want it as an enamel pin.)

I knew I wanted to make this a stained glass piece since the beginning, but I was also going to add flowers at one point but quickly dropped the idea. It felt like too much and I also didn’t want to fuss over flower language assignments for everyone. I was also going to add Doodler tentacles, but also dropped that idea pretty early. Kind of on accident, right at the end, I figured out how to make it even more stained glass-like but taking a duplicated lineart underneath the regular layer and turning the brightness all the way down, then setting it to overlay and adding a guassian blur. It’s very subtle but it adds that tiny bit of depth that makes it look more real. As for shading on the lineart/gold, I tried adding more highlight on the characters who died but once I evened everything out it wasn’t as noticeable anymore so I’m throwing that thought here so the attempt at least known lol.

The order of characters only changed a little bit from my original comp, I flipped the Wilsons and the Oaks so the rainbow could work. As for the anchors, specifically in season 2, I lined them up to the teens since the season 1 anchors lined up with each dad:

Tony —> Scary: his death was the beginning of Scary’s betrayal arc and also Willy killed him.

Guitar Pick —> Taylor: it’s not really aligned with Taylor at all, but the anchor was with Glenn so I put it next to his blunt.

Scroll —> Normal: was only because it was the last left to give him, but there’s the whole scene of him and Hermie in the Green Room so it still works!

Garlic Knot —> Link: one of two that he broke, but the more significant of the two with him telling Grant he never wants to see him again.

Small notes on the season 1 anchors: I put the layer of mold in the overnight oats but you can’t really tell with the overlay. And to make the supper bowl more interesting I added the fantasy sodas mix they dumped into it. The lure of actually drawn before so I just traced my own art lol.

As for the other smaller triangles, it took me a bit to figure out what I wanted to put there. I didn’t even think of adding the vehicles until two days ago but I’m so glad I did. I don’t really have my own take on the mascot version of the Doodler (yet?) so I borrowed the design from one of the stickers in their merch shop. Teeny was terrifying as just a front facing head so I made him cute again.

In the outer circles, I put what I felt was the most significant quotes for each family. I really wanted to use “It’s okay to be angry, it’s not okay to be cruel” but it was just a little too long.

That’s all I can think of! If you read all the way through, thank you for indulging me in my excitement to gush over this piece.

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diejager · 4 months

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Hi! In your Only Human AU what would happen if TF 141 + König and Horangi go into a something like a “rut”? Or is that possible in this universe? If it is would they ask Y/N for help? If possible can it be in the form of a Drabble🥺?

Rut Cw: rut/heat cycles, mention of sex, possessive behaviour, obsessiveness, mention of knotting, implied smut, tell me if I missed any.

Ruts were odd phenomenons, it reduced hybrids and monsters to desperate and horny men, clinging onto the person they considered their mate for relief and pleasure. Some hybrids had ruts, like canid and felid shifters or shifters in general, a monthly cycle that incapacitated them. Others were luckier, having a few ruts per year, sometimes once every few month or once a year; these could range from a dragon to a harpie or from a percht to a gorgon. There, however, were some exceptions, spectral beings and the undead were without ruts, their body long dead and able to function without it, yet they could impregnate and be impregnated as any other hybrid and monster could. They suffered from bouts of occasional arousal, little flares of pleasure when faced with a situation that turned them on or by strong emotions towards someone or something.

You were unfortunately enough to be thrown into a group of rutting hybrids - with the sole exception of Ghost - unprepared and without a forewarning on how to deal with them. You had to deal with a clingy werewolf, howling at the moon and whining in utter heartbreak because you told him off for humping your leg in the rec room, huffing and gasping down your neck. A hissing and possessive tiger, stalking you down the halls and jumping you whenever you were alone to ravage you against the wall, mouthing and nipping at your neck, making sure his scent would stick over the wolf and nagual musk. And a protective nagual, looming over you like a shadow, arm slung around your shoulder and ready to start a fight with the other shifters if they tried masking his scent.

Luckily, their ruts never overlapped, it might’ve been a fortunate coincidence, but one that you wouldn’t take for granted. You had a schedule drawn up in the first year after they accepted you into their pack, Soap’s was always after the full moon, the silver disk being the catalyst to his urge; Horangi had his in the later days of each month, oftentimes beginning on the last day of the werewolf’s rut; and Alejandro took the first week of the month, starting slowly on the third or fourth day and ramping up on the following day.

Unfortunately, you hadn’t put in consideration for the others. Price, Gaz and König also had their moments in the yearly cycle, falling victim to the throes of instinctual need. You thanked your lucky star that Gaz rutted once or twice a year - thrice on rare accounts - with little to no change in his character. He might’ve been more hands, wanting to keep a hand around your waist, to give you soft and loving kisses on your lips as much as he did on your cheek, nose and forehead.

Price and König were a handful, one hoarded you to his office and had you follow him wherever he went, and the other was deathly possessive and deep into his instincts. König was on the extreme side of his type, breaking out nearly six to seven times a year, stuck mid shift with broader shoulders, red eyes and a monstrous appearance, and he had half the mind to stay considerate to other. A danger stumbling on two feet. Price was the medium, a perfect balance with three or four ruts yearly and a the self control to let you go if the situation demanded it. Despite his self-control, he was still a dragon, controlling and possessive, ordering you to come straight back to him whether or not you were knotted to Soap or Rudy was balls deep inside of you.

Despite Rudolfo being considered a monster, he was simply a human with the ability to control cadejos, as vulnerable and as resilient as one. And being human meant that he got aroused, coaxing you into his room for the night and taking care of the heat brewing between your legs. Much like Rudy, Ghost retained his bodily function - human wise - and came back as a monster, but he was a stranger to ruts, scoffing at the neediness and vulnerability of one. That, however, never stopped him from indulging in his sexual kinks and dark fetishes, having you as the subject of his exploration if no one else hit their cycles.

They were a handful, from Soap’s mutt-like character to Rudy’s calm demeanour, they had you exhausted, wringing you dry and panting, always ending up face down or backed against the wall. You were grateful - truly - that the others would willingly jump in and take over for you, helping whoever it was spend his rut. Now, you’d have to redraw your calendar, tired and clinging to your bed to stand up.

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poshmina · 4 months

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A Tale of Two*Very Sensitive* Wings

Azriel X !Fem Reader

Warnings: (18+ Mature) wingplay, size kink, light angst, getting caught

Word Count: 5k+

Background: You are a long lost Archeron half-sister and your dad sends a message asking if your sisters will provide you with refuge. They oblige, bringing you back to the night court to reside with them and the rest of the inner circle. The story begins after A Court of Mist and Fury when Nesta lets slip to you at dinner that Azriel thinks he’s your mate. At first, this shocks you, as you are still human and are not accustomed to the traditions of the Fae. However, as time goes on you’ve begun to feel drawn to him. You spend your time in the Night Court learning healing practices, since you have no magical power and cannot fight with the rest of them. You’ve been staying in the House of Wind with Azriel, and though you see him often and want to get closer to him, he is always quiet and withdrawn, leaving you confused wondering how someone so distant could be your mate?

The floor of the House of Wind shudders as an Illyrian male lands on the balcony. You look up from where you’d been sitting at the table, enjoying dinner, and watch his shadow cross the balcony. You can’t make out his face in the darkness, but you know who it is anyhow.

Azriel crosses the threshold of the doorway into the dining room, his long wings tucked against his back. He hardly casts you a passing glance as he breaches the room, shadows swirling around him, seemingly not in the mood to chat tonight. You’ve gotten used to the quiet, brooding demeanor of your housemate, and usually you don’t press. Except tonight there’s blood on his face, in his hair, and on his clothes. As he walks, pieces flake off and scatter across the floor, meaning it’s been there long enough to dry. Meaning he likely left his wounds untreated the entire flight here, meaning he risked passing out mid flight and tumbling to his death due to blood loss.

You shove your chair out from behind you and stand, the sound echoing across the hall. “How long have you been bleeding?”

He doesn’t pause, or even look over his shoulder to address you. “It’s not mine.”

By this point, he’s halfway across the room, apparently planning to head to his quarters without having someone check his wounds. That’s when you notice it, a myriad of tears across his wings as if he’d been struck with arrows and then yanked them back out. The blood on his wings is most definitely his own.

“Azriel!” It comes out as a mix between a shout and a plea. You can tell yourself you don’t really care about him, that you would harass anyone until they got treated, except this is more than medical obligation. You’re beginning to care for him.

He stops in his tracks, but doesn’t look over his shoulder. “Y/N, I’m fine,” he insists.

You cross the room towards him. “Clearly you’re not! There are holes in your wings. You’re so covered in blood there’s no way even you could tell if there were wounds hidden beneath. You have to get treated!”

He lets out an irritated sigh and finally turns to face you. “Y/N, you don’t have to involve yourself in this. It’s none of your business.”

Gods, you can’t believe him. “You made it my business when you came in tracking blood across the house. Either go see a healer, or let me take a look.”

You don’t know why you’re so insistent. He could be fine. He’s been alive for hundreds of years and surely knows his physical limits. Except you’re so tired of him keeping you at arm's length, so tired of his closed off, brooding attitude.

He hesitates, jaw clenched, but doesn’t agree.

“Just let me help you,” you plead.

For a moment, you think you see behind his mask, the cold exterior he keeps up around you. You think he’s going to say yes.

Instead he draws further on himself and pushes you further away. “I’m fine, Y/N. Worry about yourself.” He turns to disappear down the hallway, but doesn’t get two steps before you’re walking after him. You don’t know what’s gotten into you tonight, but you’re sick of his games. Sick of waiting and wondering if he’ll ever make a move. If he even likes you. Every feeling you bottled up from the past few months comes to a head, tumbling out of you.

“What is wrong with you?” You ask, exasperated.

He wheels around to face you, unable to mask the surprise on his face, “What?”

“I said what is wrong with you! You’re always irritated, or distant, or avoidant. You actively avoid me even though I’ve done nothing but be kind to you. You act like I’m a thorn in your side even though I have every right to be here in this house with you.” You jab a finger towards the floor to solidify your point. “Do you think I asked to be here? To be taken from my home and thrust into this strange kingdom, with your strange Fae traditions, where everyone is older, and faster and stronger than me?” He blinks, stunned into silence by your sudden outburst.

“Do you think I asked to have you as my mate?”

Immediately, you wish you could take it back. You hadn’t meant for that to come out at all, let alone in such an accusatory tone. Really, you don’t mind the thought of him as your mate. That is, if you could explore the bond together. If he would quit shoving you away.

His shadows flare, and the scowl you've become so accustomed to returns. “Who told you that?”

“I—” You fumble over your words, “I didn’t mean to tell you that.”

He takes a step closer, and all of the sudden you get a very real sense of his height as he towers over you. “Doesn’t matter, you already did. Now who told you?”

You reel to find something to distract him, not wanting to put the blame on Nesta. Your relationship with your new sister is so new and fragile, you can’t drive a wench in it. “I deserved to know Azriel. It’s not like you were going to tell me.”

His gaze flickers, and you swear you see a flash of pain in those eyes. “I didn’t want you to find out this way.”

The sting of rejection pangs sharp in your chest. He didn’t want you to find out this way, or he didn’t want you to find out at all? All these months avoiding you, acting like he wants nothing more than for you to poof out of his life and return where you came from. You tried to ignore the fear, tried to push it away, but now the reality crashes over you. Your mate doesn’t want you at all.

“Well now I know and I don’t expect anything from you.” You jab a finger towards his chest. “I know I’m human and I’m weak and you didn’t ask for me either. But it wouldn’t kill you to be a little nicer to me.” You take a shuddering breath, and a weight seems to fall off your shoulder with all of those words out. You realize you’ve moved closer to him and take a step back.

“Nicer,” he repeats, watching you intently.

“Yes,” you huff. “We don’t have to be anything more than acquaintances. Housemates, even. But you don’t have to be such a dick.” You cross your arms and level him a stare.

He sighs, shaking head in disbelief. “Fine. What exactly does this relationship of acquaintance entail?” One of his wings shudders behind him, and from the wince on his face you can tell it wasn’t on purpose. You look at it pointedly.

“Letting me help you would be a start.”

There’s a final moment of hesitation, drawn out long enough that you think he might actually turn you away. Except then he shakes his head, and as if it physically pains him to do so, says, “As you wish.” Without another word he turns down the hall to head to his rooms. You take a moment of pause, wondering if you pushed too far. The male in front of you is not just any man, he’s a centuries old Illyrian warrior with power beyond your comprehension. Any relationship with him could be dangerous, acquaintance or no.

But he turns back to you. “You coming?” And for some reason you can’t help but follow.

—

“Fuck.” He shudders beneath your hands. The blood was not, in fact, entirely his opponents. He had two gashes, one across his abdomen and the other along his bicep. Although his fae blood was already beginning to heal them, you insisted he let you stitch them up in order to avoid scarring.

You thread the needle through his skin and finish the final stitch, clipping the string you used to sew him up and sitting back to admire your handiwork. You may not have magic, but you quickly excelled in the healing arts.

“All done,” you tell him. He lifts his head from where it had been bowed against his arms and inspects your work. If he’s impressed or not, you can’t tell. He shows nothing on his face, not even a hint of pain from the wounds still remaining on his wings.

“Now for your wings,” you shift to stand behind him, biting your lip as you try to decide a course of action. Wings can’t be stitched up, they have to heal naturally, and take longer than most ailments to close. The best you can offer is to apply a numbing salve to curb the pain for now. You’re about to tell him that when he says—

“I can handle it.”

You knit your eyebrows. “I’m already here. You won’t be able to reach behind you. If I don’t numb them you’ll be in serious pain all night.”

Put so plainly you’re unsure how he could refuse. He does anyhow. “I don’t need numbing salve. You’ve done plenty, thank you.” And just like that he dismisses you. Except now that he’s washed the blood from his skin you can see just how pale he is, and with the pain he won’t be able to get a lick of sleep, slowing the healing process altogether.

You prop a hand on your hip. “As your healing professional I would strongly advise against that.” You don’t understand his reluctance, and every time he says no to help, it only makes you want to push further.

He looks up at you, and for the first time in maybe forever, one side of his lips quirk up into a smirk. “Healing professional, huh?”

You shrug. “The closest you have to one, at least.”

He tilts his head back and mutters a prayer to the Mother. “You’re not going to leave until I let you do this, will you?”

“It’s unlikely.”

He gives an exasperated sigh, then leans over the desk he’d been sitting at, baring his wings to you. “Make it quick.” His voice is muffled by the cradle of his arms. You can’t help but smirk at the success. Progress. This is progress.

A few minutes later the house has summoned a jar of numbing salve for you and you are standing over him, preparing to begin your work.

“This may sting for a moment, but once it settles it will fade.” He grunts in response. “I’ll be gentle,” you add. You scoop a generous portion out of the jar, warming it between your fingers before applying it. You decide to start at the outskirts where the tears are thinner and not as gruesome. Hovering a hand over his wing, you pause for a moment before gingerly spreading the salve on him. He tenses immediately, hissing through his teeth before relaxing as it settles in.

“Okay?” You ask.

“Fine.” His tone is clipped.

Taking that as permission, you continue along the edges of his wings, applying and waiting for him to adjust before moving to the next. As far as cooperation goes, he is the ideal patient. He doesn’t so much as shift a muscle while you work, and remains deadly silent. If it weren’t for his fists resting on the table clenched to the point his knuckles are white, you would think it was painless.

Once you finish the outer ring of his wings, you pause. “I’m going to tackle the deeper ones now. Do you need a break?”

“Don’t bother.” His voice comes out muffled, and you notice one of his hands has disappeared into the space between his arms where his head is caged. He’s likely biting at his finger to distract from the pain.

“Would you like something to bite on?”

For a moment there’s no response, then his hand returns into sight on the desk. “I’m fine, Y/N. Please continue.” He says as if you’re a nagging insect buzzing at his ear rather than the only person trying to help him.

With a huff, you dip your fingers into the jar again, and begin to spread the salve near the base of his wings. This time, you aren’t quite so gentle.

He lets out a strangled sound beneath you, somewhere between a gasp and a groan. Immediately, you feel guilty, and start to take more care with the application, massaging slow, deliberate circles into the muscles of his wings. You can feel the muscles around the tears shudder and relax as you go. He curses beneath your hands.

You’ve almost reached the last, and nastiest, of his wounds when he abruptly shoves his chair backwards and stands, causing you to lose your balance. You nearly fall on your ass before catching yourself on the desk.

“That’s enough,” he nearly shouts at the same time you say, “What the fuck, Azriel?” His eyes are wild, chest heaving as he glares down at you. He distinctly seems to angle his body away from you.

“I wasn’t finished,” you argue.

He looks up at the ceiling, anywhere but directly at you. “You’ve done plenty.” Instinctively, your eyes fall to his stomach to double check the work you’d done earlier. Instead, your eyes snag on something a few inches lower.

Your eyes widen as you take in the obvious bulge straining against his leathers.

Oh.

One of the first things you’d learned about treating the Fae is that wings are very sensitive. They are to be handled with the utmost care, their delicate construction requiring practiced healing applications. However, in all your training, nobody had deigned to mention sensitive goes hand in hand with pleasurable.

His eyes flare as you look back up at him, cheeks heating. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but words don’t come. He merely continues to stare at you with that heated gaze.

“I should go,” the words come out of you in a frenzied rush. He doesn’t agree, but he doesn’t disagree either. “I just— I didn’t realize,” now that you’ve started, you can hardly stop yourself. “This is all so new to me. I wouldn’t have if I’d known—”

“Now you know.” If he means it to be harsh, it doesn’t come out that way, but rather like a plea.

“I should go,” you say again, but can hardly move a muscle. With him standing there and looking at you like that, with the distance between you so small. You feel as if you're drowning, and he is the current pulling you further under.

You let out a small gasp as you feel a featherlight touch on your cheek. One of his shadows has crept across the room, and whether he intended it or not, is caressing you gently. Instinctively, you lean into it.

A few paces away, you watch his lips part as he watches you. He doesn’t recall his shadow. Instead, it inches closer, brushing across your lips. You don’t dare move, you don’t dare breathe.

“Azriel,” you whisper.

In a moment he’s upon you. The shadow dissipates, replaced by his hands cupping your face, his hips pushing you backwards until you're pressed against the desk. He kisses you with a hunger you’ve never felt before, his lips moving desperately against yours. You let out a whimper as he guides your lips apart, running his tongue across your own.

With every ounce of self control you have left, you manage to shove him away for a moment.

“I thought you hated me. I thought you didn’t want me as your mate.” You search his eyes for answers, for the cold, closed off man you’d known up until now.

“Hate you?” He tips his head back and laughs humorlessly. “If hating you means thinking about you every waking moment. If hating you means desperately wishing you’d appear outside my doorway every night. If hating you means not being able to even think about you without—” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. “If that’s what it means then sure, Y/N, I hate you.”

Your mind reels trying to process what he’s telling you. “You sure as hell acted like it.”

A flash of regret crosses through his eyes. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. I wanted to give you time to adjust.”

Faintly, you remember what had happened when Lucien had sprung the mating bond on a newly transformed Elain. She can hardly stand to be in the same room as him, let alone pursue a relationship.

In a moment of boldness, you reach down and palm him through his leathers, watching as his eyes flutter closed in pleasure. “Consider me adjusted.” You yank him back down to you, crashing his lips against yours. He meets you with the same intensity, tongue and lips and teeth clashing in a heavenly dance. His hand slides up to your throat as he kisses you, holding gently. It’s only when you pull away to gasp for air when you realize his shadows are floating around you, cradling you both.

Your lips part in wonder. It’s beautiful, but you hardly get the chance to tell him so before he lifts you up on the desk and resumes the contact. His kisses stray from the side of your mouth, to your jaw and neck. He takes your ear between his teeth and tugs lightly, sending shivers of pleasure through you. His hand cups your breast, and when the attention of his mouth lowers to your collarbones, you lean back to shuck your shirt off. He palms your breast greedily, reaching behind you to undo your bra clasp before taking a moment to stare. You feel your cheeks heat at the intensity of his gaze, and have the urge to cover yourself again.

“Perfect. You’re fucking perfect Y/N,” he mutters before lowering his mouth to your nipple and closing his mouth upon it, sucking and swirling in a way that makes you arch into him. He gives your other breast equal attention until you're moaning and panting beneath him.

He retreats to relive himself of his armor. If there’s any remaining pain in his wings, he doesn’t show it. He steps close and positions himself between your legs, peering down at you. You reach out a hesitant hand and hover it over the tip of his wing. He watches your movements with rapt attention, nearly holding his breath with anticipation.

You brush a featherlight touch along the crest of his wings, and that touch alone is enough to cause him to shudder and groan under his breath. You can’t imagine how he stood still for so long earlier.

You reach down and tug at the hem of his shirt, wanting it off. He obliges, tossing it aside, returning his attention to you. You take him in slowly, dragging a hand down the hard line of his abs, tracing his tattoos with your finger. He waits patiently, letting you have your fill. Unable to help yourself, you glance down at his hardness again, breath faltering as you take in exactly how big he is. From a distance, it seemed reasonable, but from this close…

He reaches out a hand to cup your face, peering into your eyes. “Are you sure you want this?”

Without a moment's hesitation, you say. “Yes. I want this Azriel. I want you.”

You watch relief flash in his eyes before he resumes his movements. His hands go to your waistband, and he unbuttons your pants before leaning in to whisper, “Lift your hips for me, “Y/N.”

You do as he says, positioning yourself so he can slide your pants over your hips and cast them aside. He repeats this motion with your underwear, baring you completely to him. And before you can even consider what’s to come next, he lowers himself to his knees in front of the desk, bringing his face directly in line with where you need him most. He places one long lick from your entrance to your crest, drawing a ragged gasp from you, then pulls away.

“Y/N.”

“Yes?” Your mind spins, because as he’s talking, his mouth is hovering over you and you can feel his breath as he speaks.

He dips a finger between your folds, dragging it up to circle your clit. “I’m gonna get you ready now so you can take me comfortably, alright?”

You hardly register what he’s saying, because his finger is moving fervently against you and you can already feel that coil of pleasure within you. You give a short nod in response.

Then, as quickly as it came, the pressure on your clit is gone. You look down to see him peering up at you, waiting for an answer. What did he say again?

He must sense you drawing a blank, because he smirks and repeats himself. “I need you to be good and do as I say so you can take me fully. Okay, Y/N?”

“Oh… Yes. Okay,” you nod fervently. It’s then you realize exactly what he’s saying to you. You heard rumors around the inner circle that Azriel had the biggest… wingspan… but you never imagined anything close to this.

Satisfied with your answer, he resumes again, lowering his mouth to take the place of his finger. He circles his tongue around your clit, then sucks gently. You’re already seeing stars when you feel his finger at his entrance and he slowly slides it into you.

You moan and arch off the desk, hands flying to his head to tangle in his hair. You chance a glance down at him, and the sight of him kneeling before you, wings looming over his shoulders, eyes dark with lust, almost sends you over the edge then and there.

He begins to pump into you slowly, curling every so often to hit a spot that makes you writhe and moan. You’re just at the crest of your orgasm when he adds another finger. You hadn’t expected it, and the new sensation causes your hips to jerk as you gasp in pleasure.

“Azriel I’m gonna—”

“Not yet,” he murmurs. “Hold on a little longer for me, Y/N.”

You curse, trying to dampen the pleasure growing inside you. It’s all too much, and you have to bring your hand to your mouth and bite on your knuckle to keep from coming. He slows his movements for a moment, purposefully torturing you and keeping you on that edge.

A moment later, everything resumes with increased intensity. He pushes a third finger inside you, stretching you in a way you’ve never felt before. You gasp, shutting your eyes against the pleasure, and when you open them again, he is standing in front of you, never stopping the pace of his fingers. He raises his other hand to circle your clit. The pleasure reaches a new crest, and you find yourself grasping onto the desk just to find something to ground you.

“That's it. Come for me now,” he whispers, eyes never leaving you as the orgasm washes over you. You shudder as you come down from it, hips bucking against his hand. When you finally open your eyes you find your hand intertwined with his.

He gazes down at you, and the hint of a smile crosses his face. “Beautiful. Fucking perfect, Y/N.”

You blush and attempt to catch your breath as he rids himself of his pants and aligns himself with your entrance. You cast a glance down, taking him in in all his glory. He rubs his tip through your folds and sighs at the contact, before leaning in to give you a kiss.

“Tell me if it hurts and we’ll stop,” he promises. You nod, dismissing his worries. You sincerely doubt he could do anything to hurt you based on how amazing you’ve felt so far. And regardless, you trust him, trust the rigid self control he’s shown you all these months in the house together.

You feel his tip prodding your entrance, then he sinks the first few inches in. You sigh at the sensation, tilting your head to steal a kiss. With that for motivation, he pushes in a little further, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

“Okay?” he asks.

You let out a breathless laugh, “Better than okay.”

You watch his face soften, and he pushes the boundary a bit further. You look down to watch him sink in, and are shocked to see he’s only halfway sheathed. You can already feel yourself beginning to stretch around him. The feeling is foreign, but not painful.

When you look back up at him, his face is strained in an expression that nearly looks painful. He’s holding himself back, hesitating to keep a firm grip on that iron self control of his. You reach up to run your hand through his hair, catching his eyes.

“I’m okay Azriel. I’m not going to break,” you reassure him.

You can tell by his curt not that he doesn’t believe it. He advances another slow, languid inch, and you buck against him impatiently.

“Azriel,” you level him a look.

He sighs. “I know. I just don’t want to hurt you. You’re still human and—”

“And I’m okay. This is okay. This is good.” You rotate your hips enjoying the pleasurable sensation it brings. He hisses through his teeth above you, and his hips jerk forward only slightly. You enjoy pushing him, enjoy making him lose control.

But there's still so much of him left, and you can’t stand the delicate line he’s walking. You want him fully, and you want him now. You reach behind him, grabbing his ass to shove him the rest of the way in. You gasp as he makes a strangled sound above you. There’s a hint of the pain he was so worried about, but it falls to the wayside as you're entirely overwhelmed by pleasure.

“Fuck,” he groans as he finally starts to move freely. Slowly at first, then with increased urgency. He pulls his hips back and rolls them into you, hitting a spot so deep within you it feels like you’re one in the same. You watch as his control slips, and his hips snap into you, inching you backwards on the desk.

“Yes, Azriel, yes,” you tell him as he picks up the pace, fucking you so hard the desk begins to bang against the wall and your eyes roll back in your head. Fucking Azriel is a sensation unlike any you’ve known before. He fills you perfectly, bending to place kisses along your breasts and collarbones. Holding your hips to slam into you at an impeccable pace.

He shifts, looping his arms under your knees, and then there’s only air beneath you as he picks you up and presses you against the wall, fucking you into it. You gasp and weave your hands into his hair, tugging lightly. You feel his thrust getting quicker, jerkier, but before he comes he switches you again, bending you over the desk and fucking you from behind. You cry out at the change in angle, and your hands fly to the edge of the desk, holding tightly.

You feel him leaning over you as he places a kiss on your back. “This is what I wanted. Everytime I avoided you, everytime I pushed you away, it was because of how badly I wanted this.” He punctuates the last word with a particularly hard thrust and you cry out as you feel his hand intertwine with your hair. It all becomes too much, and you feel yourself approaching the edge again when he wraps a hand around to your front, finding your clit and sending you spiraling. He fucks you through it, steady, hard, barely giving you a chance to come down before his hips jerk and you feel him finish. He curses, seating himself fully inside you as he rides out his orgasm.

When he pulls out, you are panting and breathless and sated with pleasure. You turn around to see his shadows scattered across the room, filling every crevice and corner.

It’s then that you both hear footsteps coming down the hall. His eyes widen, and he hurriedly steps in front of you to block you from view, covering himself with his hands.

Cassian round the corner, fury in his gaze. “What the fuck Azriel. The entire city is covered in shadows. Rhysand thinks you’re– Oh.” He stops in his tracks, cheeks turning pink as he lifts a hand to cover his eyes.

“Cassian?” Azriel says, his voice strained.

“Yea?” His voice sounds choked in his throat.

“Get the fuck out.”

#azriel shadowsinger #acotar #azriel acotar #azriel spymaster #azriel x reader

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hoshigray · 1 year

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Now look here, it's sugardaddy! x sugar baby! reader time >>:3 So here's the rundown: the reader is a college senior who works part-time in a diner and finds out that their favorite customer, Toji, is a sugar daddy and wants to initiate courtship. Although it is a proposition you fail to see yourself saying no to, is this something you can see yourself being in the long run?

A/n: This prompt was picked on a poll to celebrate getting over 50 followers, only for me to get to 100 right after!!?? Y'all...can I give you a hug? ;w; No, oh okay. Anyways, I won't make another poll, BUT I'll be opening thirsts/requests soon!! >:D I just gotta make myself a disclaimer list before we let those lil fantasies of yours fly, lol. But yeah, this is my first time posting a fic over 1k+, so I hope y'all like it. Also, bonus: there's art drawn by Moi (@hoshigaby)?? You'll have to scroll down to find it tho :33 Okay, I'm sorry, go ahead and read!!!

Cw: soft dom! Toji x fem! reader - implied age gap (the reader is in their early 20s, Toji's around early or mid-30s) - mating press - cervix fucking - oral (fem! receiving) - pussy drunk Toji - breeding - daddy kink - overstimulation (fem! receiving) - pet names (baby, babygirl, darlin', good girl, honey, kid/kiddo, mama, princess, sweetie, sweetheart) - praise - clitoral play (Toji pinches your clit) - reader isn't a virgin but, it's the first time you and Toji have sex.

Wc: 4.9k

"Oh look, your favorite is here."

10 o'clock, it's closing time. All the servers and bussers are ready to buss down tables and sweep the floors, hosts at the front split up tips and head straight home, and the cooks clean the kitchen and throw out the trash. All there's left is the silence of the dining area, where not a single customer is in sight.

Well, minus the one Utahime points out to you.

You turn to the bar area, where almost all the tables are empty, and all the high-rise televisions are turned off. All but for one, which was showing a football game.

A man is watching the screen, sitting in a booth at the far end with a glass of beer on the table. He's wearing a black turtleneck covered with a denim jacket, white fur on the collar, and a silver chain contrasting the black clothing. You gaze downwards to his black jeans pants, where his left foot seems to be tapping the ground. He's waiting for someone.

Once his eyes catch your approaching figure, his deadpanned face shows a smile in recognition. He was waiting for you.

And you smile back as you walk towards him.

The familiarity with this man comes from a year working at the diner. His name is Toji Fushiguro, and he's been a regular even before you started working here. And to make things funnier, he was the first customer you served after a week and a half of training. You can recall when you accidentally put milk and sugar in his specifically requested black coffee, to which you apologized profusely ("Heh, it's alright, darlin'" He flashed a smile that was meant to reassure you. "The first time that's ever happened to me.").

It was there that you found yourself being the only person that's served him. At first, you thought of it as some sort of joke after the coffee mishap, but now, unless you're there to take his order, he'll only have a beer or black coffee with all the other servers. The crew often pokes fun at you, stating you're the older man's favorite. And you gotta admit, it makes your heart swoon knowing this is true.

"There she is," Toji watches you approach him with his foot finally stopped tapping the checkered floor beneath him. "My adorable lil' server."

You giggle as you sit on the cushioned booth seat across from him. "It's good to see you, Mr. Fushiguro. I hope life's been good for you." You wave goodbye to the guy behind the bar counter, who turns off the TV still on as Toji focuses on something else. You promised to be the last person to turn off the lights and lock the doors before leaving, so now it's just you and Toji.

"I thought I told you to drop the Mr. Fushiguro, kid." He reprimands you with his playful smile, the right corner of his lip quirking his scar upward. "And I could ask you the same thing. How's college goin', darlin'?"

An exaggerated sigh leaves your system. "It's going alright. Can't believe I'm about to be done after the next semester, but the senioritis hasn't hit me too strong yet, thank God. And I can't wait to graduate with all this debt on my back~!" You flash the fakest beaming smile with two thumbs up.

Toji chuckles at your fraud enthusiasm. "Mmmm, I bet. But I know you're smarter than me and most people who work for me, so I'm sure you'll do just fine."

"Yeah, I'd like to think so, too." Your chipper attitude dwindles, and Toji notices the change in tone.

"What's up? You don't think you'll get yourself a job?"

"Umm, well," You cough to clear your throat from awkwardness. "I tried signing up for plenty of internships. Some of them shut me down, others just haven't replied back. And I guess it's just me overthinking, but I worry that I won't get a job in something I like..."

"Aww, princess," Toji rises from his cushioned spot to move to your side, sitting close to you with his big jean-covered thigh brushing yours. He places a hand on your back to rub comforting circles. "That's just the thoughts in your head."

You groan into your hands. "I know, that's why I don't know why I'm beating myself up about it so much... But it's okay! I know I'll be fine because I still have this job keeping me going for a year."

Toji raises a brow. "You wanna be a server all your life? Wanna serve me my black coffee and BLT sandwich til my last breath?"

You hit his chest in amusement. "Well, no, but if it comes down to it, I don't mind. I'll just take up more jobs or maybe make a side hustle. Either way, I know Mei Mei will help me out. I'm sure everyone here will if they have the chance."

"I could also help you."

Your hands instantly go up defensively. "No, Mr. Fushiguro, I wouldn't want that! I'm sure you're pretty busy, and I don't want my troubles to burden you."

Toji's eyebrows knit together, his sharp eyes surveying your defensive stance. "It wouldn't be trouble if I'm the one offerin' to help you, honey."

"Yes, but even so..." You look at your lap as your fingers dance with each other to ease your anxiousness. "It would feel unbefitting to have a customer — a valuable one such as you — to help me with my financial problems. Seeing you smile at me when I serve you your coffee...I'm perfectly content with just."

Your gaze locks into your fidgety fingers, saying the last part was probably unnecessary. Yet it was true; Toji had always been patient with you whenever he stopped by, even going the extra mile by giving you a seriously generous tip after his meals. You know you didn't deserve it, but he's already at the door before you can argue with him. If his gracious action was just a mere small percent of what he could do, then he's done plenty for you than needed.

Toji, however, didn't see it that way. He hums as he leans back onto the booth seat, his hand now snaking to the back of your neck, his thumb caressing the nook of your neck and trapezius.

"Well," He breaks the silence, you're listening. "What if we take this outside of customer service?"

The brows are pulled together as you turn to him in slight confusion. "What do you mean by that?"

"I've been thinking for quite a while," with his hand maneuvering to rest on your shoulder, he sighs and straightens himself up. "Your manager, Mei Mei, right? I talked with her not too long ago, telling her how much of a hard worker you are and how even while still in school and suffering with assignments, you still smile and make sure the customers enjoy their time here."

You give him a thanks, and he continues on. "Which is why I told her about what I wanna do. So here's my proposition: I'll pay for everything for you. Your debt, bills, clothes, whatever it is your pretty lil' head is worryin' 'bout."

Toji's promise does sound comforting to the ears, but you think about your part in all this. "So, do I have to work for you?"

He chuckles. "No, baby, not working fr' me. But there is something I want you to do."

"Yes?"

Toji doesn't give you a clear answer, staring at your face with a soft smile. You wonder why he's being odd until his face leans forward, and the hand on your shoulder pushes you into a kiss. You let out a yelp into his mouth, but the shock diminishes once you succumb to his warm, intoxicating lips. He tastes like beer, definitely from his drink.

He removes his lips from you, and you faintly exhale in an unsteady breath. "Mmmm, yer too much fr' me, sweetie." Toji groans and kisses down your neck while you place a hand on his chest to grip his turtleneck for support before you dissolve into his arms. And although you shouldn't be at your work at this time of night doing this, it felt too good to end.

"I want you to be with me," Toji says in-between smooches on your neck, moving to paint the other side with his pecks. "You're so good to me, darlin', always being such a good girl." He nibbles on your clavicle, and a soft gasp rewards his eardrums. "Lemme take care of you, y/n."

All that's going through your head is the feeling of his lips on your body and the arousing throbbing sense happening in your nether core.

"Hmm, whaddya say, baby?" His lips are too close to your ear as he playfully bites the lobe. Your thighs rub against one another, and you know there's a wet spot in your panties. "Gonna be my perfect girl?"

If you don't give him an answer quick, you're bound to melt right on this seat, and being a whimpering mess to his touch is embarrassing enough.

"Haaaah...Y-yes," You finally answer in weak whispers, mind spinning and eyes glossy. "I wanna—Ahaaa...I wanna be yours."

You can feel Toji's lips curl into a smile. He lifts his head to look at you, and a hand comes up to cup your face before he gives you a soft kiss on your quivering lips.

"My good girl."

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A few months have passed since you and Toji formed this new relationship. And getting used to certain things is still a challenge.

For one: covering up your new lifestyle is never easy when you're out with people you know. During winter break, you went to dinner with your friends and offered to pay for the whole table. They looked at you as if you were talking nonsense ("Girl, where the hell you get that kind of money to be covering for all of us?" "For real, is this the same diner you've been working at? Are they hiring?").

Another thing that wasn't easy to get accustomed to was Toji spoiling you. Since you're a college student, Toji only sees you every other weekend when he has time. During those days, Toji doesn't hold back in showering you with gifts and affection. Between the fancy dates in expensive restaurants, riding rides at fun amusement parks, or the bags of new clothes you bring back to your dorm, it was something you didn't expect to happen so quickly. Your roommates constantly tease you about this "mystery man" who makes it known you're his special lady.

But outside of that, the most significant change was you and Toji. To say you two got closer was too easy to put into words. Sure, the money was there, so you could finally get a good night's rest without worrying too much about your school debt or bills. However, you knew this went beyond the dollar bills and the fancy clothes.

Come to find out, Toji knows and remembers things that amaze you. There was a time he bought you a whole wardrobe worth of dresses because he remembered you had to cancel dates with your friends since you had nothing cute to wear. Or the time he got you a box of your favorite teas, even though you briefly mentioned them to him during a talk way back from recollection.

And even away from the materialistic things, you can feel how much Toji loves you. You can feel it in his eyes whenever he's looking at you. You can feel it when you try to argue yourself out of trying an outfit you don't think will be good on you, but Toji coaxes you into it because he knows — not thinks, knows you'll look good wearing it. You can feel it in his hands when they hold yours, when he places a hand on your thigh and rubs it in loving warmth, or when he caresses your cheek when he kisses you goodbye when you two have to return to your own lives.

It's a type of love you didn't see yourself being on the other end of. The more immersed you are, the harder it is to imagine yourself out of it.

Spring break is now upon us, and Toji has invited you to join him overseas for a business trip. You tried to decline, saying it's his trip and you don't want to intrude on his business. That argument was immediately shut down ("Tch, believe me, sweetheart, you're saving me from bashing someone's head in if you're close to me than not. Plus, I wanna see you wear that cute swimsuit I got you."), so he dragged you on his private jet, and now we're here.

During the day is when he's away for work, so you spend the morning either in the penthouse suite you two are staying in, outside taking pictures to show Toji later or looking around at the little shops nearby. Toji is done with work around the early afternoon, so you two spend time together exploring the country, trying new foods, and taking walks around the area while talking about how your day went until the sun goes down.

Everything goes well until Thursday when Toji texts you saying something happened at work and that he'd be at the suite later than usual. Well, it's 7:45, the sun is starting to go down, and Toji is still nowhere in sight. I hope everything is alright on his end.

You're unsure about going outside for a walk on the off-chance you stay out too late. And if something happens to you while Toji isn't close by, that'll give him more to worry about on his plate, and you definitely don't want that for him.

So, you look around the penthouse to see if there's anything to keep you occupied until Toji's return, and then what catches your eye is the swimming pool outside on the terrace which you haven't tried yet. That'll do!

You go to change into a swimsuit, a cute two-piece that Toji bought for you when you two went shopping together. After a quick shower, you enter the pool and enjoy the calm waters while watching the sunset, leaving a beautiful array of colors painting the sky over you.

Tomorrow is your last day here while Toji will do business, and then you're back to school on Monday. The fact that you'll be graduating debt free still blows your mind. Toji really fulfilled his promise and took care of your worries.

Is that to say that your relationship ends once you touch that diploma?

You lift your feet and lay on your back to allow the water to hold you up, ears covered in the water and face looking into the sky as you're lost in your thoughts.

It wouldn't be too far off if Toji wanted to close this whole thing off when you graduate, as the point was for you to not worry about debt and such. That much you understood from the very beginning. But what happens after that? Do you two just go back to being acquaintances that only meet at the diner? And what about the stuff he got you? Do they stay with you forever? And do you have to fight memories of him every time you see them?

What about all the touches, all the hand-holding, all the cuddles, and all the kisses? Are they supposed to mean nothing to you the next time you see his face?

You're thankful for the water keeping you afloat in the pool, but having these thoughts attack your brain just makes you want to sink in loathing.

Until you feel something tickle your feet, having your body react in a state of panic. No longer floating on your back, you search for whatever is torturing your feet. Only to find Toji in front of you wearing black trunks, he chuckles lowly, and your heart sinks in embarrassment.

"T-Toji," You swim up to greet him. "How long were you back from work?"

"For about 10 minutes," He watches you move through the water, following you to sit in the shallow part of the pool for you two to talk. "I saw you in the pool and thought I'd join. I tried callin' out to ya, but the water was blocking your ears."

"Hehe, sorry about that. I was thinking about something. How was work?"

His face went into a deep scowl with rolled eyes, and you giggle at his nonverbal response. "Had I not known I was comin' back here to see you, I'd probably fucked that rookie up."

"That bad?"

He hums and brings you closer to him with his hand on your shoulder. "But don't worry 'bout it. And you? What were you thinking about?"

"Hmm? Oh, it was nothing," your encouraging response is fictitious.

Toji lowers a brow. "Try again."

"No, honest! It was nothing, Toji."

"Don't make me tickle you again, kiddo." You freeze and look at his face. His sharp gaze and slight grin speak for themselves about his seriousness.

A sigh is withdraw from your lips. "I was just thinking about how I'd be leaving on Saturday and being halfway done with my senior year of college."

"And?"

"And, uhh," You gulp and avert your eyes to your lap, your fingers swaying with the pool water. "I was also thinking about me... and you?"

There's silence, the lack of response eating you alive. Then you feel Toji's hand grip your shoulder.

"Are you scared I won't be with you after you graduate?"

He hit the nail because you don't answer for a few seconds. Your eyes still avoid him.

But Toji still persists. "Do you not want to be with me?"

Your head turns to face him in haste, taking you aback at how fast you were. "No! I don't want this to end. I'm grateful for how close you and I have become. I want... I want..." You fall silent once more as your head moves back to your lap as if you'd find the words you want to express lying there.

Using his free hand, Toji grabs your chin to look his way again. "What do you want, baby? Use your words fr' me."

The intense gaze of his jade-green eyes captures your attention, practically daring you to look away from him. The warmth of your cheeks spreads around your face, and you gulp before answering.

"I really appreciate all that you've done for me. And I...I really like you, Toji. I want to be with you." His face doesn't change as you ramble on, causing you to move your eyes to avoid the awkward stare. "But I wouldn't blame you if you want to stop with where we—"

Your sentence was interrupted by Toji's kiss, and a squeak was suppressed between the two lips. You exhale in bliss as your hands find purchase on his solid chest. He deepens the kiss when his hand is posted at the back of your neck.

You break the kiss to breathe, Toji's gruff chuckles fills the warm air.

"You're too adorable, princess. Do you really think I'd want to let my precious girl away from my sight?" You open your mouth to interject, but Toji lifts your hand and brings it to his lips, kissing each knuckle. "Listen here, darlin'. I didn't offer to take care of your debt on a whim. I adore the fuckin' shit out of you, and I was gonna wait til your graduation to ask if you'd still want this thing to be official."

"But now that I hear you're interested," his big hand holds yours, fingers intertwined as his thumb brushes your forefinger. "Are ya up for it?"

You breathe slowly to ease your heart, beating at an irregular tempo. You grip his hand in return and offer a sheepish smile.

"Yes. I'd like that very much, Toji."

He smirks and kisses your cheek. "Good girl." Toji has his arms placed behind your back and under your legs. Then he stands up while picking up your figure bridal style. He grins hard when you squeal in surprise as your arms sling around his neck.

"Let's shower," he walks out of the pool and into the suite. "And then afterward, I'll show you how much I've been itchin' to make you be my girl for real."

The heat on your face grows tenfold, and Toji barks a laugh when you hide your face. You can only mentally pray for yourself for what's to come.

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That little prayer did absolutely nothing!

Now you're lying on the bed nude and wet from the shower as the water droplets on your body slide down to the satin sheets beneath you. Your hands cover your mouth, trying to suppress the moans and sobs from exiting your lips.

And the cause of this is the man currently nestled between your legs. You can see the raven hair between your inner thighs, but you feel a wet muscle lapping around your vulva. The lewd noises of Toji eating you out fill the room and has you writhing in discomfort, and you try to slowly move your lower region away from his ravaging mouth.

"Aht aht, you're not goin' anywhere, mama." Toji's rough hands grip your waist and pull you back down, his nose brushing your clit as you jerk upwards. He lifts his head to look at you, and the image of your slick smeared all over his mouth and chin almost makes you faint.

"Put those hands down, baby. Let Daddy hear that sweet voice of yours." He uses one hand to play with your pussy, middle and forefinger abuse your inner lips as his thumb grinds down on your sweet bud. Your eyes shoot up for the stars, and you're forced to do what he says, hands gripping the sheets while your cries are out for him to hear.

"Aahhhh!! Haaah, T-Toji!! 'S too much, too—Ooohh!" His tongue returns between your cunt, licking and tasting the sticky fluid coating your pussy. Your eyes are watering, your mind starts to feel dizzy, and your legs can't stay still to save your life. He's been doing this for 15 minutes!!

You clutch his hair and wail out his name in pleasure, earning a moan from Toji as his grip on your thighs gets tighter.

He can tell you're close to finishing, so he helps you. His tongue slides from your wet center to your clitoris, licking and sucking on the extremely sensitive bud, his teeth lightly pressing down on the pearl.

Your release comes instantly, and your walls spasm as you cry in pure euphoria. Your head pushed deep into the pillow below you, letting your body finish reacting to the climax. However, Toji doesn't wait for you when his mouth drinks your essence. His tongue attacked your sore velvety walls, having you gasp for air.

When he's done, he finally withdraws from between your legs and kneels before you, taking in your disheveled figure. Your tear-stricken face and hooded eyes peer up at him as he wipes his face of your excess come, licking the rest from the back of his hand.

Toji snickers hoarsely. "Sorry, sweetheart, you tasted so fuckin' good I couldn't help myself. Besides," you watch his hands trail down to his dick as he places himself on your messy vagina. "Gotta get you prepped up fr' me."

He puts a pillow under your lower back to raise your hips more. Seeing his dick for the first time has you in mental turmoil. Toji notices you looking and sneers, pulling your hips to him so his balls practically kiss your opening, his dick on full display on your lower abdomen. The girth alone has your cunt pulsating in anticipation, and good God, the length of that thing. It's not the first dick you've seen in your life, but it's definitely the biggest challenge you've come across.

I hope those 15 minutes of prep were enough.

You come back to your senses when you feel the tip of his hefty member circling the corners of your folds, and your slick aids him as a lubricant.

"Ready, babygirl?" You exhale a nervous breath and nod for confirmation. "Okay, we're gonna start real slow."

Toji began to push the tip in, your folds being spread open to accommodate the foreign object intruding into your tight hole. You close your eyes and hold your breath, the pain worsening by the second. You take one breath, and Toji pushes further. With another breath, he goes further. Another-

A giant gasp takes over you as the tip of Toji's cock enters you. And Toji takes his time pushing himself further into you, using every fiber of his being not to rut into your tight walls off the jump.

"Haaah, hmmm, oh fuck," That's easier said than done with you gripping onto him like your life depended on it. Once he's pushed his whole cock into you, your words come out as a babbling mess, gripping his arms for support. He looks down at your disarranged self, chuckling at such a wonderful sight. "You look really fuckin' sexy layin' under me, baby."

"God...Toji," Tears stream down your cheeks, wincing at the pain down south. "'S too muuu-ch, too big for—Hnnngh!!" A sudden thrust of the hips has you biting down on your bottom lip.

"C'mon now, I thought I told you about that. I already let it slide once or twice." Toji places your legs on his shoulders and leans close to you, his body weight adding onto yours as the base of his cock grinds into your sex. "What's my new name, mama?"

"Ah!! I'm sorry, Daddy." The title comes through sobs.

Toji grins from ear to ear, wiping your tears with his calloused fingers. "Good girl," he kisses your forehead as you adjust to his girthy length. "So fuckin' pretty fr' Daddy." He takes your lips with his soft ones before moving his hips in a slow yet rough rhythm.

The mating press has your body submit to him, taking in his cock as it sinks deep into your swollen core. And it only gets worse when his pace gets faster, hitting your sweet spots accurately. At this rate, you're bound to cum earlier than necessary.

Then you feel his tip abruptly touch your cervix, and the wail you let out is picked up by Toji's ears. "Oh? Think I found what I was lookin' for." His hips grind deep in you, his tip abusing your poor cervix to the point you speak in tongues. "Feelin' good, princess?"

"Fuck, Daddyyyy, please, I'm-Ahaaah, Ohhh!" His irrational pace has your brain turning to mush, his cock bullying your insides. The sound of his balls slapping against your squelching folds has you squeezing him harder. "I'm gonna cu-cumm!!"

Toji hisses into your ear, the tone of his voice dominating your senses. "Oooooh, don't grip on me like that, sweetie. Gonna end up — Mmmph! Shit, shit, shit, shit...Gonna give you a baby."

You reach to cup his face through watery eyes glazed in a haze. "Please, Daddy, I want it," You know you're talking nonsense, but why care when you're feeling this fucking good. "Inside, I want it, inside!"

"Heh, be careful with what you wish for, mama." He kisses you again as his hips become erratic, and he moves a hand to your clit and pinches it, whining into your mouth when you're cunt clutches onto him one final time.

You cum around his cock and push your head back on the pillows, your gushy walls spasming around his length, prompting Toji to cum inside you after a few more thrusts. You two moan into each other's mouths, riding each other's high until your bodies calm down.

The two of you pant heavily once the kiss is broken apart, and his deep emerald orbs take in your dazed expression. He smiles when he notices drool on the side of your mouth, using a thumb to wipe it off for you.

"My sweet darlin'," Toji kisses your cheek and sighs deeply into your embrace. "You're too good fr' me, baby."

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"Did I say that I want your babies?"

You're resting with Toji, your head relaxed on his chest as you sit between his legs. The television in the bedroom plays an episode of a sitcom, anything for you two to look at and enjoy a moment of peace together.

He snickers at your question, his chest rising and falling as you lay on him feels nice. "Yeah, you kinda did."

"Wow, that sex must've screwed something up in my head."

"Yeah, my dick had you wanting to risk it all." He snorts when you playfully hit his arm. "Don't worry, we can find some plan b in the morning."

Turning to face Toji, still watching TV, you furrow your brows. "We? What about work?"

"I have tomorrow off. It's your last day, and I don't feel like going back to work, or else I'll be sour all fuckin day. Much rather spend it with you than with some morons."

You look at Toji for a little longer before you smile and kiss his cheek, catching the older man off guard as you nestle into his warm body. "Thank you, Toji. For everything."

The thanks carry a deeper meaning. Not a single ounce of doubt clouds your mind now that you've gotten the closure you wanted. Thinking about how your life brought you to this moment, you're happy with your decision to pursue this relationship and more. And it's thanks to this man for making it possible.

Toji still stares at you before he scoffs and kisses your temple.

"No problem, kiddo."

4K notes · View notes

verbenaa · 4 months

Text

air so deep and sweet

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦: “You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.”

Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

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𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔: Astarion/Reader 𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒: smut, fluff, slice of life! 𝑤𝑜𝑟𝑑 𝑐𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑡: 7.1k 𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠: body worship, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, hand jobs, vampire bites, mentions/discussions of anal, vaginal sex, vampire sex, soft dom astarion

MDNI, 18+ CONTENT

𝑎/𝑛: This is my first ever fanfiction despite a literal 20 years of reading them LOL i truly have lost the plot. Find me on ao3 too, my username is leadii 💕

ao3 here

masterlist

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Dim candlelight plays along the walls of Astarion’s studio, illuminating the discarded bolts of fabric leaning against the wall with haphazard grace, the threads of linens, silks, and cottons a riot of color against the muted walls. Spools of silken thread and tangles of ribbon lay sprawling across the work table, interspersed with pincushions and stray needles waiting to be threaded.

The studio itself is small, humble in its nature. Set aside on a small street within the city walls it wasn’t a far walk from your shared home, making it an easy decision to join him on the nights he decided to work.

Lush velvet draperies hang heavily across several leaded windows, while multicolored rugs layered themselves over the floor. Fat pillars of candle wax sit haphazardly upon several surfaces, filling the room with moving pockets of light, their dance helped along by the light summer breeze blowing through the open windows. It was undeniably one of your favorite places to be.

Despite Astarion’s initial claims to the contrary (if you could even call his half-hearted condescension to the concept such a thing), he was decidedly well suited for a life of domesticity. Much like a spoiled cat, he very much enjoyed his luxuries. Vials of scented oils, a soft bed covered with blankets and quilts, piles of books in the corners of rooms waiting to be read at his decision. You were very quick to learn that Astarion was nothing if not a creature of comfort. And he made it so very easy to spoil him, accepting your love and affection with open arms.

You nestle deeper into the nest of pillows that made up the corner you had decided to call your own, novel discarded beside you and your goblet of wine long emptied of its contents resting against the floorboards. With a small huff your attention turns from your surroundings to said owner of the studio, watching him weave the needle in and out of the fabric in his hands, focus intent on his art.

He had such beautiful hands, you couldn’t help but think. Hands as well-versed in sowing chaos as easily as they could thread a needle to create the tiniest of embellishments upon a single piece of silk. Hands as intimately versed in the art of death as they were in the art of drawing pleasure. Sometimes, you think, he is secretly desperate to prove that his hands no longer have to steal, cheat, or seduce for others and instead were capable to creating something soft and vulnerable for himself instead.

With a small stretch you sit yourself upright, adjusting the lovingly embroidered straps of the light linen dress you wore to compensate for the overbearing warmth of summer. You were always content to accept any creation Astarion made for you and your dress was no exception, tailored to perfection to sit on your curves perfectly with small decorations of lace and embroidery as he saw fit.

As though drawn by your thoughts, his carmine gaze glances up to meet your own. Astarion’s eyes linger upon your form as you slowly stand and stretch your arms high above your head, back arching slightly with the motion before you step to the nearest open window. A light breeze ruffles your hair as you rest your elbows on the sill, careful of the several plants currently residing there as your eyes move to watch the people below weave through the streets in the darkness.

“Dearest, do you mind lending me those ever-so-lovely eyes of yours for a moment?” His voice is a casual drawl. “I wish to seek your opinion on this particular color scheme.”

You turn to face him from your spot at the window as he gestures to the work in his hand with a small movement of his wrist, and quickly step across the floor to stop at his side. You glance down to see the wooden embroidery hoop he holds with measured regard in one hand, the other carefully grasping a small, sharp needle. You lean in slightly to see better, your breasts adding the barest of pressure against his arm.

You focus your vision upon the delicate pattern of his needlework, the threads weaving together to create an intricate pattern of scrolling vines and abundant spring blossoms in a warm milky white adorning the collar of a cream colored linen shirt, the colors almost ethereal together in their similarity.

“I hate to break this to you, but…I do believe it is simply cream upon cream,” you say with a small smile gracing your lips. “What ever is there for me to even give my opinion on?”

“It’s called monochrome, my dear.” Astarion gives you a look of affectionate exasperation before continuing, “Despite what everyone seems to think, I am capable of subtlety when the occasion permits.” You briefly turn to look at him, an elegant eyebrow arching in amusement.

He rolls his eyes and scoffs slightly before murmuring, “Certainly those pretty eyes of yours can see the differences despite the similarity of color?”

Sure enough, upon further inspection you could pick out the slightest hint of metallic gold threaded throughout the creamy colored delicate flowers and surrounding vines, the only detail differentiating the colors from one another. The subtle shine of the golden threads were mesmerizing to follow with your eyes, the candlelight bouncing off of them creating fiery highlights on the raised embroidery. Like everything Astarion touched, it was undeniably beautiful.

“I suppose it looks decent.” You tease, pressing your chest further into his arm while your attention shifts to the elegant planes of his face. He was simply so easy to admire, the way his hair always seemed to fall so perfectly into place, his mouth held soft in concentration looked so inviting.

A noise of protest leaves his lips at the mere thought his creation was only ‘decent’, and you can’t help but laugh at the reaction while leaning in to press a soft kiss to his pale cheek.

“It must be so hard to have such artistic merit, Astarion. I’m afraid such a talentless individual as myself can’t fully appreciate such craft and workmanship.” You playfully lean your body back and throw a hand up your forehead in mock distress, earning a short laugh from him.

“Despite such questionable opinions, you are far my talentless, my dear.” Astarion sets aside the hoop and needle to the far edge of the worktable and turns in his chair, settling his full attention on you.

“In fact, I would be more than willing to remind you of the several of the talents you possess.”

Slowly, he draws his eyes from your features to glance down at the twin pinprick scars decorating your neck before slowly continuing lower to finally rest on a spot above your breasts. He brings his fingertips to brush lightly against the skin, pressing against the delicate lace trim of the neckline, sweeping slowly and softly back and forth against the swells. He watches the sudden intake of your breath with interest before his eyes glide up to meet your own again.

A slow, feline smile graces his lips. “Such a distraction, dearest. Especially when you press these lovely breasts of yours into me.”

You match his smile with a sly one of your own.

“Can you blame me?” You give a half-hearted shrug, hardly caring that you had been caught in your so-called crime. “It’s quite hard to not want to be close to such a beautiful individual like yourself.”

“Ah yes, there it is. Talent number one: flattery.”

He moves the hand tracing patterns against your skin upward, glancing touches against your neck, before curling his fingers underneath your chin to bring your face closer to his own.

You knew he could easily see the effects of his relatively innocent ministrations, could view the inevitable pink beginning to decorate your cheeks.

Could smell it in the blood beginning to race through your veins.

Astarion had always known exactly what to say made you breathless and had never held back on using that knowledge to his advantage to make you weak to his whims.

“Now be a good girl and take a seat.” His voice is low, hungry; he leans forward and both his hands find your waist and pull.

You feel your body relax easily into his touch, letting him smooth your skirts out of the way as he brings you towards his waiting lap. Your hips instantly connect together, fabric the only barrier between you. You feel a telltale twitch beneath you, signaling his pleasure at the slight friction created by the connection and your hips grind against his own instinctually, the friction and pressure adding to the growing warmth deep in your belly.

Astarion leans forward, connecting his mouth with your own in a scalding kiss, moaning into your mouth as his hips roll against your own, his growing erection pressing closer to your covered center.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pull yourself even closer to him as your hands card through the silver curls sitting at the back of his neck. Opening your mouth, you lick against his lips hoping he will open them for you. Astarion obliges, meeting your tongue halfway.

Your tongue brushes against a sensitive fang, drawing another moan out of him and he slowly pulls away from the kiss, lightly nipping at your bottom lip as he leaves before moving to press small, sweet kisses across your jaw.

“Would you indulge me a snack, dearest?” He presses a quick kiss followed by a small lick to the skin behind your ear, sending a shiver of pleasure down your skin.

“I suppose I could be convinced…” Breathy sighs fall from your lips as he peppers kisses down the elegant column of your neck. “Quite easily perhaps, too.”

“Will you give me a small taste, my dear?” he mouths the words against your skin, lips hot.

Your eyes fall closed at his kisses. “You know you don’t even have to ask to have my blood. I give it to you, freely, and I always will.” With a tilt of your head you grant him more access to continue his search.

“I don’t deserve you.” “Absolutely false. You deserve everything.” The words roll off your tongue with quick ease, certain you’ve never spoken truer words.

As Astarion moves the straps of your dress aside to hang off your shoulders and free the expanse of your neck and collar he finds the spot he had been looking for, laving the area with his tongue briefly before he bites down.

A split second of burning heat as his fangs dig into the flesh of your neck with as much delicacy as he can manage before he finally begins to suck, the pull of the blood leaving your body as he drinks brings a decidedly indecent moan to your lips, the heat of your core growing wetter with every draw of his mouth.

As Astarion drinks in your lifeblood in slow gulps, you feel his hands moving to the neckline of your dress and he grabs at it, pulling the fabric down across your chest, exposing more and more of you with every pull of the fabric. You had forgone a corset today in an attempt at comfort in an unending battle against humidity, trusting the bodice of your dress to instead keep your (somewhat questionable) modesty in tact.

The rush of cold air combined with the sudden brush of his chilled hands against your breasts as he lets the dress fall to hang freely around your waist draws a surprised gasp from your lips. You move your arms out of the straps before burying them again in his silver locks.

He quickly brings a free hand up to grasp a breast, brushing his thumb over a newly hardened nipple. Extricating his fangs from your neck, his tongue moves to lick up the blood tracing down from the wound, not letting a single drop go to waste.

“Such a delightful little treat,” he murmurs against your skin, lips brushing with every movement as your hips grind downward against his growing erection in slow rolls.

His lips move further down your chest, no longer following the trail of fresh blood but that of the blood in your veins leading to your heart.

Astarion presses a chaste kiss over the place where your heart beats, your back arching with the movement of his lips as he moves lower to capture a hardened peak. A soft cry at the touch of his mouth falls from your lips, the motion of his tongue drawing circles around the bud sending a flash of heat straight to your core.

He laves at the bud, alternating licks and soft bites in a bid to stoke the fire inside you even higher, his free hand coming up to massage its twin with delicate motions.

Astarion cants his hips up into yours as he sucks hard at your breast, his prominent erection pressing into your growing wetness before his mouth moves to your other breast, continuing his ministrations.

“Astarion, please, I need more.” You whine, attempting to press harder against his erection in hopes the touch will grant a reprieve from the building heat between your thighs.

“As you wish, my love.” He grants your request with a whisper, his hands falling on your thighs to support you as he moves to stand, bringing you with him. Chair pushing back with the movement, he places you on the desk in front of him as his hips spread your thighs.

Desperate to keep the connection between the two of your bodies, Astarion stands between your legs, pressing close. His hands skate up your body to land on your cheeks, tilting your face to look up at his own as a thumb brushes absentmindedly against your bottom lip. He leans down to press his lips to your forehead, your eyes, cheeks, nose, and finally your lips.

“Lay back, love,” His words are a whisper as one hand makes it way from your cheek to rest on the back of your head. “It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

His eyes never leave your own as your body relaxes, trusting him, and he leans you back onto the tabletop with care until your body meets the wood.

Barely breathing, you watch as his hands made their way teasingly downwards, skating over your bared breasts to find the skirt of your dress, moving to push the thin fabric tantalizingly up your thighs to settle around your waist and out of the way. Astarion’s eyes settle upon a tiny, lacy pair of panties, the fabric the only thing keeping you from being completely bared to him.

“You’re just utterly shameless, aren’t you?’ He tsks, “Seducing me away from my work like this.” Astarion’s eyes rove your form laying beneath him in reverence, the silken strands of your hair spread like a halo around your face and your dress a mess around your waist.

He was so beautiful it made your heart feel like it was going to beat out of your chest.

With bated breath, you raise a hand to draw your fingers softly over his cheek, capturing his attention.

“Promise me that you will tell me if this gets to be too much for you,” Your eyes meet his as you watch his expression fill with sudden affection at your request.

“What a sweet thing you are,” Astarion brings a hand to cover the one you had placed over his cheek. “Thank you for always taking care of me so.” With a small movement, he turns his head to bring his lips to press against your palm.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” Astarion moves the hand that covers yours to flit down your body, teasing touches over your peaked nipples, down your belly, before brushing against the line of your underwear. A sudden intake of breath escapes your lungs as he watches your stomach jump with the touch.

A smirk graces his face as he moves those same fingers lower, brushing lightly against the gusset of your underwear before pressing harder against the growing damp of the lace. His touch creates a sweet friction, your wetness mixed with the texture of the lace and the pressure of his fingers drawing a soft moan from you.

You whine as his fingers pull your underwear to the side, Astarion moving to slide his fingertips up and down your exposed slit, spreading your wetness. He makes teasing passes around the small pearl that rests above; close but never quite touching where you need him, your arousal aiding the smooth glide of his motions.

“I’ve barely touched you and you’re already this wet for me, darling?”

“You know I always aim to please.” The words are hard won but you manage to give him a haughty smile nonetheless, trying to maintain the last shred of willpower you have left to pretend to be unaffected.

He moves to pump a finger shallowly inside you, not nearly deep enough to provide any relief. You gasp at feeling, attempting to roll your hips in hopes to bring his finger deeper. But just as quickly as he enters he leaves, eliciting a noise of frustration from you.

“Patience, patience.” He tuts, hands moving to your hips to tug at the lace resting over them. He yanks at the fabric, and you raise you bottom to aid him in finally removing them. Astarion pockets the pair with a smug look as his hands move to spread your thighs further apart.

With every push of your thighs Astarion bares you to him, your arousal glistening against your center in the low light.

“You know, dearest, I think I would maybe like to have a taste of something else as well.” You feel your cunt clench at the prospect, adding to the building heat deep inside you.

“Consider me at your mercy, then.” A smirk from him at your blessing as he slowly lowers himself to his knees before your spread legs.

Astarion is supplicant before you as he rests his head on your upper thigh, unfairly close to where you want him most. Your hips jump in anticipation as he begins pressing tantalizingly soft kisses into the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

You feel his fingers touch you finally, delicately spreading your folds as he watches your most intimate place open for him. His thumb comes to rest against your clit, rubbing lightly at the small bud and you release a contented hum at the warmth of the pleasure inside your body growing with the movement of his fingers.

Your eyes fall shut at the sheer relief of his attention, his expertise in knowing exactly how and where to touch to drive you wild drawing a moan from you. Your hand falls from its place in his hair to land beside your head, jostling errant sewing supplies from their resting place next to you.

“Careful, darling. Watch those lovely hands of yours to not catch on a needle. I would so hate for you to bleed so needlessly.” A roguish smile alights his lips as he lowers his mouth to lick a slow stripe up your center, intent to collect as much of your wetness on his tongue as he can.

Your hand immediately finds its way back to his hair, gripping his silver curls mindlessly as he begins to work his tongue up and down your center, tracing patterns against your sex as he goes.

His tongue moves to finally circle your clit with small movements, intent to drive your pleasure higher and higher with every pass. His mouth moves lower, licking across your folds as he finds your entrance, tracing around it with agonizingly slow motions.

Astarion is quick to move a hand to rest over your belly as your hips jut up, applying soft pressure as he grows bold in his motions and his tongue moves to push inside of you. Your grip on his curls grows harder with every thrust of his tongue inside your body, head thrown back and moans growing louder as he brings you closer and closer to completion.

The hand resting on your stomach moves to press lightly at your clit, once again resuming the small circles round and around as his tongue continues its exploration deep in your core, eating you out with fervor.

Astarion continues to lave inside you, his soft tongue whorling against your walls as his fingers expertly work your clit in tandem with your cries as your hips ride his face, thighs shaking as your orgasm barrels towards you.

And it’s just like that when you cry out and finally come, his tongue moving deep inside as his finger strums your clit with practiced motions and the feeling is white-hot as you plunge into your ecstasy. He licks up your come greedily, tongue never stopping its endeavor as you ride the wave of your orgasm, breathy cries leaving your lips and hips rolling until your body finally relaxes.

Shaking in the aftermath of your orgasm, your hand falls from Astarion’s hair to rest over your eyes as your breathing begins to even out and you finally come down from the high, Astarion cleaning up your cum until you can take it no longer, hips jerking in overstimulation away from his mouth.

Astarion places a light kiss over your clit before raising up from his knees back to his full height, your slick glistening on his chin and lips in the light of the candles as his still clothed cock brushes against your empty center.

Astarion leans forward, arms caging your head as he leans down to nuzzle your cheek whispering ardent words, “Out of all the beautiful things in this room, you are by far the most gorgeous.”

His admission momentarily stuns you. Astarion had never been shy in his admirations of your beauty and while you had grown more used to them during your time together he still managed to catch you off guard with such compliments from time to time.

“Can I please touch you? Taste you?” You pant, desperation coloring your words in the wake of his earlier admission as you begin to push yourself up onto your elbows. Astarion’s hand comes down and gently presses on your chest instead, and you lower yourself back down at the gentle command in the gleaming red of his eyes.

“You can put that clever mouth of yours to use later, my dear. I have other plans for you, I think.” His eye rove your features before pressing his mouth upon yours in a fevered kiss, his tongue licking against your lips asking for entry. You can taste the essence of yourself on his lips and groan at the taste, opening yours to tangle his tongue with your own.

Astarion deepens the kiss as his hands find your own and grasping them gently, he brings them down his body to rest upon his still-clothed cock.

“You said you wanted to touch. Indulge me, lover.” His lips never leave your own as he speaks the words, tongue sneaking out to lick at your bottom lip.

Your hands spring to action immediately to palm his cock through his leather pants before you find the laces holding him and undo them with deft fingers familiar with the task.

Astarion’s thick cock springs free of the confines of the pants and your fingers find the beads of precum decorating the tip and spread the wetness down his length. your fingers glide from top to bottom in smooth motions over the veined velvet of him, his essence aiding your ministrations as his mouth falls open from the sheer indulgence of your touch. His head falls heavily onto your shoulder and his lips move over the spot he fed from earlier, kissing and licking the area as your hands work him closer to closer to the edge.

Lifting a hand from him you bring your fingers to your own wetness, drawing your fingertips through your slick before pumping two of them inside yourself in an imitation of his own motions earlier as you moan at the feeling.

Astarion glances down to see your fingers buried in your own cunt, the sight making him go impossibly harder as he watches you briefly pleasure the both of you. With a whine, your fingers leave your body to return to Astarion, a mixture of your arousal and come coating your fingers as your spread it onto his waiting cock, increasing your rhythm to rub him faster.

“Gods Above, you really are something else.” His pupils are blown out in lust as he groans at both the sight and feel of your hands working his shaft, one hand massaging the crown of his cock while the other works him closer to the base in quick motions.

A wicked thought strikes your mind, and you almost feel badly for even entertaining the idea. Almost.

You can feel his breath fanning your neck with every pass of your hands, his moans growing more unrestrained as your ministrations draw him to edge of completion. Without warning you withdraw your hands from his weeping cock, cruelly denying him the climax he was so close to.

Astarion’s head flies up from where it rests on your shoulder as a noise of disbelief leaves his lips and he shoots you a look of pure shock. The knowledge you caught him so unaware has you riding another kind of high, one you rarely had the privilege of reveling in.

“You little minx! Who knew you were capable of such cruelty. You’re going to pay for that, you know.”

Mischief settles on your features. “Maybe that was the goal.”

“Ask and you shall receive, little love. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” His lips curve with a devilish grin, eyes glinting in the candlelight as his hands move to grip your waist, fingertips pressing hard into the soft skin.

“How should I make you pay for it, then?” He muses. “Should I shove my cock into that tight, sweet cunt of yours and fuck you so hard you won’t be able to stand? Or maybe I should make good use of that wicked little mouth of yours and fill it instead?”

His darkening eyes bore into your own, your cheeks heating at his suggestions as you shift under his contemplation.

“You do look quite beautiful like that, you know. Mouth stretched around me as I fuck your throat. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” You give an enthusiastic nod at the prospect, excited for whatever punishment he deems appropriate to hand out.

Without warning, you feel the hands upon your waist move to lift you up and flip you over, your stomach making contact with the table as your bare breasts press tight against the wood grain. His hand comes to rest in the center of your back, pushing you further into the surface. You move your head to rest your cheek upon the table, the coolness of the wood a welcome sensation to the quickly rebuilding heat inside you as your eyes glance up to meet his own in curiosity.

“Too bad. I have another idea instead.” His voice is deep with promise.

Such trouble you had gotten yourself into, it seems.

Cool hands move from your back to the forgotten skirt of your dress to flip it upward to rest around your waist once more, exposing your ass and glistening center to the warm air.

Astarion brings his hand down hard against one of your cheeks, the sharpness of the spank making you cry out as surprise and pleasure mingle into one. He rubs the growing red mark left on your skin before bending down to press a his lips to it, soothing the area with barely-there kisses.

He brings both hands to your ass now, rubbing soothing circles over the area before moving to pull your rear cheeks apart, allowing Astarion to see absolutely everything.

A wave of embarrassment hits you to be put on such display for his vision despite his knowledge of your body, and you fidget slightly under his intent gaze of your most intimate areas.

“Astarion…” you let out a moan and he is quick to shush you as he moves a hand off your asscheek to brush his thumb in light circles over your asshole.

“Maybe I should take you here instead, I know how much you love when I play with your pretty ass.” His voice is deep, eyes impossibly dark.

“Oh fuck,” His words draw a ragged moan from your lips at the mere thought, setting your neglected pussy on fire with need.

“Prove to me you can be a good girl.” His thumb applies soft pressure before it leaves you to be replaced by his lips. He presses a soft kiss to the tight hole before kissing downwards and licking deep into your cunt without warning, lapping at your waiting wetness.

“Gods, Astarion…” your hips press backwards towards his waiting mouth. “Whatever you want, wherever you want, my love. I’ll do anything. I just want you inside of me.” Your voice is hoarse with need, no longer caring to win this little game you had started.

You feel Astarion’s mouth leave your pussy and whine at the loss, but he is quick replace your empty cunt with two of his elegant fingers instead, sliding them in and out at slow, measured pace.

“Do you think I should let you come one more time before I fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly?” You are helpless to do anything other than nod your head in insistence, hoping he won’t rob you of your orgasm the way you had done to him. “I don’t know if you deserve it yet.”

Astarion slowly pulls his fingers out of your body only to add a third finger on the plunge back in, drawing a cry from your lips at the sudden fullness.

His fingers push deep and curl inside of you pressing against that special spot over and over again, driving you to new heights as the lightest veil of tears begins to dust your lashes at the sheer bliss of the feeling.

Noticing the tears, you feel Astarion immediately stop his ministrations and lean over your back to look into your eyes with concern, a noise of protest at the lack of motion falls from your mouth as his fingers slowly leave your body to rest on your hip, brushing calming circles on your skin.

“Is this too much, love?” Any trace of his teasing dominance is gone from his voice as he speaks the words to you clearly, looking intently for any indication you needed him to step back from the scene the two of you had created. “We can stop, darling, if you need to. I don’t want you to push yourself too far to please me.”

You smile at genuine concern evident on his face, blinking away the sheen of tears.

Pushing your hips back into him with as much motion as you can manage in your prone position against the table, you lean your body up in hopes to press a kiss to his lips. Astarion leans in, mouth quick to meet you halfway in a kiss as his spare hand moves to cup your cheek.

“The only thing you are pushing is my patience, love. Please don’t stop.” You beg, hoping he will acquiesce to your desire to continue as you lower your body back down onto the table. “The only thing I want in this moment is to come so hard I can’t think straight and then to have that beautiful cock of yours inside of me in whatever way you wish to give it to me.”

“Insatiable. Who taught you such language?” His body follows yours down, back pressing against your own as his lips brush against yours as he speaks the words, the concern leaving his eyes replaced with mounting desire.

“Believe me, there is nothing I want more than to be buried deep inside you,” The hand on your hip makes its way back towards your center. “Make me the same promise I made you earlier.”

The words come to your mouth effortlessly.

“I promise you that anything and everything I do with you is my choice.” You recite the words softly, with ease.

Quieter now, you whisper. “I trust you, Astarion.”

You know how much your words and trust mean to him, can see it in his unguarded expression. Astarion didn’t put much trust in the Gods, but he would never stop thanking whichever one it was that brought your paths together. His fingers gently graze your pussy, ringing around your entrance with soft, teasing touches.

“I love you.” Astarion says before pressing his lips firmly to your own, those same three fingers finally slipping back inside.

Astarion renews the pace of his fingers right away, pressing and curling with precise motions meant to bring you to the brink.

You give into the sensation of every movement of his fingers, mouth open and eyes falling shut at the feeling and it’s not long before he has you once again close to your orgasm.

“Please, don’t stop,” you whimper as your thighs begin to shake.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Astarion brings his other hand down your body to brush lightly against your clit. He sounds as lost in desire as you feel. “Want to feel you come on my hand. Can you do that for me, sweet thing?”

His words have you clenching hard on his fingers, the pressure of them against your insides combined with the fingers of his other hand brushing light, concentric circles over your clit have you coming within moments of his request.

“Such a good girl to give me what I want so easily.” You barely hear the words that fall from his lips through the haze of your ongoing orgasm, the feeling of his breath on the skin of your ear serving to only enhancing the moment.

Your body spasms around his fingers and cries of ecstasy fall from your lips as he continues, working you through your orgasm while his lips press soothing kisses anywhere his lips can reach—your face, your neck, the tip of your ear.

“That’s it. You always look so beautiful when you come for me.”

Slowly, finally you feel your body begin to relax through the haze of your orgasm. Your mind comes back to you and you release a small laugh as your breath starts to even out, feeling him leave your body. Without breaking eye contact, he brings the fingers that had filled you so deeply to his mouth and licks them clean. The sight of it sends a wave of heat right back to your cunt, a shudder of anticipation running through you.

“I think you already succeeded in your wish to make me unable to stand.” You pant.

“And to think I haven’t even fucked you yet.” His cock is hard as his eyes scan your form from the flesh of your core to the flush of your cheeks, your eyes glassy with a haze of lust.

“I think I want to fuck you just like this.” He whispers into your ear as his hands run soothingly over your back. “I like you this, on display as you wait for me.” You desperately attempt to push your hips back to brush against his uncovered cock, looking for any bit of friction.

You watch him from your place on the table, the lithe way his body moves as he takes off his luxurious silk shirt to expose his chest.

His beauty was almost otherworldly as the dancing candlelight illuminates the carved marble of his skin, light and shadow creating a moving chiaroscuro upon the planes of his body.

He looked like a god.

“You are so beautiful.” Your words are a mere whisper as he moves his thick cock to finally brush against your center, slicking himself in your spend as the tip catches against your clit, drawing twin moans from you both.

Grabbing your hips, Astarion positions himself at your entrance and begins to slowly push inside, so familiar with your body he barely needs to guide his cock.

His head drops to press a kiss to your shoulder before righting himself again, hissing in pleasure at the feeling of your walls closing around him as he slides in, your wetness aiding him as he bottoms out and his hips press hard against your own.

Low moans escape you at the sheer feeling of his cock stretching and sliding home and your hands move grasp for purchase on the desk as he slowly begins to rock back and forth.

“If only you could see yourself now,” His voice is deep as he watches himself pull his cock out of your body almost completely, only the head left resting shallowly inside you before pushing forward with a hard thrust, hitting a place so deep you let out a ragged cry at the feeling.

“Gods, Astarion, just like that.” He fucks you hard, the force of his thrusts pushing you back and forth with small motions, breasts pressing hard against the wood of the table as one of your hands finds his own still holding your hips. You grab at his wrist in hopes he will take it, needing to touch more of him. Sensing your need Astarion takes your hand, bringing it to his lips to press a soft kiss on the back of it before resting your joined hands on your lower back.

“No one takes my cock like you,” He pants through his thrusting. “You were made for me, weren’t you?”

Supplications fall from his lips as he moves in and out of your body, showering you with worship as if you were his own private deity. His words further kindle the rising flame inside your belly, every touch of his cock against your walls serving to push you closer and closer to your third orgasm.

“Only you,” you pant, hips canting back into his own to match the rhythm of his thrusts. “No one else.”

You feel so incredibly full with your body positioned like this, every movement of his cock has him pressing hard against your sweet spot, the feeling like heaven as cries fall from your lips.

“I love how wet you get for me, darling,” Astarion can feel you tighten around him as you grow nearer to your orgasm, your body trembling and cunt pulsing with pleasure as your hips drive back into his own. The feeling of you so close to your orgasm has hips losing their rhythm, his eagerness at the two of you reaching your end together driving him to move harder with every press inside you.

You love seeing him, feeling him like this. His hips finally moving with wild abandon, chasing pure instinct as he moves fast and deep inside your body. A hand comes up to settle in your unbound hair, softly gripping the silk-like strands in his fingers and in his passion he pulls softly, the motion lifting your head. His lips lower to your ear as his back presses fully against your own, the feeling of his cock moving even deeper inside you unmatched. Between his chest against your back and his cock moving so deep he was practically rutting inside, you were almost certain your cunt had never felt so full. Breathless whimpers escape your mouth at the feeling, eyes closing in complete ecstasy as the sound of his own moans against your ear leaves your cunt clenching hard as he hits your g-spot over and over again with each deep thrust.

“Beg for it. Beg for me to let you cum.”

And beg you do.

“Please, Astarion!” A chorus of pleas rise from your throat voicing your desperation as his tongue licks the shell of your ear, the hand in your hair tightening slightly with every word and moan that falls from your lips.

You can barely think as you feel your orgasm careen towards you, unintelligible in your words as you lose yourself in the feeling of your bodies. Astarion’s cock hits that deep inside spot at your front wall once more, and you finally let go, orgasm taking over your body, stars behind your eyes in all-consuming pleasure. You recognize Astarion nearing his own end, his hips rutting into yours as you ride out your orgasm on his cock, cunt squeezing him in a vice. He comes with a drawn-out moan as he paints your insides with his cum, hips shuttering until his thrusts slow down.

Astarion stays inside you, cock softening as he rubs his hands up and down your sides as you both come down from your high, his cold cheek pressed against your shoulder. With deep breaths you take air so heavy and sweet with your shared lust into your lungs, the weight of Astarion on your back an anchor to the world.

With one final pump Astarion pulls himself from your body, watching as your empty cunt weeps with a mixture of his and your own cum. Before he can stop himself, he reaches two fingers up to catch the cum on his fingertips, gently pushing it back inside you before it can fall out onto the table resting below your hips.

“Wouldn’t want you to waste a single drop, my love.”

You whine and buck your hips, overstimulated after coming so many times in a row. With one last press of his fingers, he leaves your cunt, leaning forward to place a kiss on the small of your back.

Astarion grabs a discarded piece of silk off the table beside your head and he gently wipes at the mess that threatens to leave your body before cleaning his own spent cock. As your breathing returns to its normal pace, you push yourself up slightly.

“Silk. Really, Astarion?”

“Only the best for you, my love.” Astarion is quick to help you off the table, steadying you as you sway slightly after being in the same position for so long. He presses a kiss to your lips as he helps pull your dress back up over your breasts and into place.

“I would ask if I was too rough, but I know you better than that.” His remark makes you laugh as you lean into him, throwing your arms around his neck with a wide smile.

“You know, I think I’m missing a tiny piece of my clothing,” Your eyebrows raise as you gesture to his pocket where a tiny piece of darkened lace sticks out from. "You wouldn’t happen to know where it is, would you?”

“Why bother?” Astarion gives a casual shrug as he waves off your query. “I’m just going to take them off of you again when we get home.”

He stuffs the underwear in question deeper into his pocket, patting it securely before flashing you a crafty smile.

“After all, I haven’t even had my dinner yet.” He leans in, setting your heart aflame with a passionate kiss before grabbing your hand to lead you out the door and into the waiting night.

#i have lost my mind and i have no regrets #astarion #astarion bg3 #astarion x female tav #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #astarion x you #astarion x f!tav #astarion x f!reader #my writing

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yelena-bellova · 1 year

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Twenty Years Later: Joel Miller x F!Reader - Chapter One

Chapter One: Reunited

Plot: People who once loved each other didn’t end up in a bloodstained hall, guns pointed at one another.

But Joel and Y/n weren’t people.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: tlou ep.1 spoilers, language, canon-typical violence, blood, guns

A/N: For a fandom I had no intention of writing for, I’m writing a lot loo. I’m half considering turning this into a series, depending on what y’all think, so don’t be shy…UPDATE: we’re a series now! See more on my masterlist ☺️

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Joel exhaled as he and Tess crept through the guts of the building. The things he was going to do to Robert…screwing them over with the battery and beating on Tess. Joel would make sure the punishment was slow and agonizing.

It was an understatement of gargantuan proportion to say that Joel Miller was a different man than he’d been twenty years ago. He’d always been quiet, reserving his words only for the people he truly cared to have hear them. He was rough around the edges then too, but his edges hadn’t been razor sharp. More like a dull pencil. Prickly, but it couldn’t draw blood.

But his heart? That had been the most severe of the changes. He’d held his heart in his arms and watched it, felt it, die. He had no use for the organ anymore. There was nothing worth feeling, let alone loving, in the world that refused to let him die too.

Joel and Tess moved out of the frame of the building, guns pointed. Joel was the first to spot the dead bodies, but Tess was the one who found the battery. And Robert. There was a part of Joel that was angry he didn’t get to take the fucker out himself.

Pained grunts and groans drew their attention, the pair moved down the hall carefully. Joel went ahead with his gun drawn, his nerves used to fry upon walking into a fight. He might have missed that innocence if he allowed himself to look back.

As he turned the corner of the hall, he connected the voices to the bodies in front of him, one helping the other one up. They were injured, but that didn’t mean they weren’t infected or the attackers themselves. Joel kept his gun raised, slowly approaching until-

A small, but powerful, scream sounded off, a little body charging out of the nearest room and heading straight for Joel. He used her momentum to slam her into the wall, switching the aim of his gun to the girl at his feet.

The two who were injured turned around, pointing their weapons at Joel as soon as they saw the position he’d put the girl in.

“Fuck,” the girl panted.

“Joel?”

Joel focused on the woman’s face, “Marlene?”

Marlene looked to the girl, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she responded, eyes still on the man with the gun pointed at her. She reached for her knife, the one currently under his boot.

“Ellie,” Marlene warned, “Ellie!”

Ellie listened, her mind going to scarier places than what was in front of her. “Where’s Y/n?”

Joel’s eyes flicked to Ellie, a quick shot of adrenaline running through his chest. “What’d you say?”

The words couldn’t have left his lips and had more perfect timing. Down the hall, a female voice called, “Ellie! Ellie!”

And then she was there.

Never before in twenty years had Joel been so easily transported back to the past as he had in that moment. Seeing her face for the first time in two decades took away all the pain in his knees, exchanged his salt and pepper hair for deep chocolate brown, and threw on five pounds of weight given by eating enough food. He was 35 again, staring into the eyes of the woman he had once loved.

Who looked back at him with nothing but hatred.

“Oh, honey,” she bit out, “Thank goodness you’re home.”

Y/n’s eyes looked past the man she’d been spending twenty years trying to erase from her mind and down to where his gun was pointed. She immediately raised hers, aiming it at his head.

“You drop the gun now,” she warned.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Joel asked, dumbfounded for the first time in a long time.

“Sight seeing,” Y/n replied sarcastically, “Drop the fucking gun, or I swear, I’ll do the world a favor.”

“Y/n,” Marlene said with so much force, it made Ellie sit up straighter, “Now is not the time.”

More consumed by her duty to Ellie than her fury with Joel, she lowered her gun and looked to the girl. “Are you okay?”

Ellie nodded, concern all over her face, “You’re hurt.”

Y/n looked down at her exposed arm, the first few layers of skin painted with blood that was beginning to dry. “Just a graze,” she assured her.

Tess finally announced her presence, “So this is who Robert screws us over with? The Che Guevara of Boston? I mean, war must be going pretty shitty to be buying from scumbags like him.”

“Yeah, it kind of has been,” Marlene exhaustedly replied, “The merch was bad and he obviously didn’t take “fuck off” for an answer.”

Joel and Y/n barely heard any of the conversation that was going on around them. Their eyes were locked in a stare that neither one of them could have broken if they’d tried.

“Give me my knife,” Ellie demanded of Joel.

That snapped him back to reality, “What do you need a car battery for?”

As Ellie reached for the knife, Joel pivoted his torso to point the gun right back at her. “Don’t.”

Y/n and Marlene moved just as fast, aiming their weapons at Joel once more. “Not at her,” Marlene warned, “Point it at me.”

Ellie trembled, her hands raised in0 surrender as Joel hesitated to move his position. That infuriated Y/n to the point that she took a step forward, Joel’s instincts took over and he turned the gun on her.

It was the last place either of them had ever thought they’d be.

“And to answer your question,” Marlene continued, having lowered her own gun, “I need it for a better reason than you do. No offense, but Tommy’s just one man.”

Y/n watched Joel’s face change, the worry lines in his face became even more prominent. Had something happened to Tommy?

“It’s our business to know things,” Marlene explained, though it didn’t explain why she hadn’t felt the need to tell Y/n. As if Tommy was just another survivor…

“‘To know things,’” Joel repeated, the venom practically dripping from his lips, “You’re the cause of it. You turned my own brother against me.”

“Okay, Joel…”

“That was a lot of gunfire,” Kim finally spoke up, “FEDRA’s gonna be on the way.”

Marlene sighed, “I know.”

Ellie rubbed at the shoulder that had slammed into the drywall, her eyes darting up to Y/n as if to ask if they were okay. Y/n removed her glare off of Joel for a few seconds to soften and give Ellie a nod. They would both make it out of this moment.

“We were gonna move Ellie out of the zone tonight,” Marlene stated, “But we won’t make it anywhere like this. Not for a while anyway. So now I’m thinkin’…” she paused, “You’re gonna do it.”

“The hell we are!” Joel exclaimed.

“I’m not goin’ with them,” Ellie said at the same time.

Y/n bitterly chuckled, “No way am I letting you make that call.”

Kim volunteered, “Let me take her.”

“Tess,” Joel turned to his partner, “We don’t have time for this.”

“Oh, you don’t have time?” Marlene sarcastically asked.

“Who is she?” Tess asked.

“To you, she’s cargo,” Marlene replied.

“We don’t smuggle people,” Joel firmly stated, his eyes flicking to Y/n, “Sorry.”

“I can do it,” Kim insisted.

“Kim, you don’t have a fucking ear on your fucking head,” Marlene gritted out, “Could you please?”

“I’ll take her,” Y/n raised her voice, “That was the plan anyway.”

“No, the plan was for us to do it,” Marlene replied, “You can’t do it on your own.”

Y/n was losing patience with the Fireflies leader, “And why the fuck not?”

“I’m not having this conversation,” Marlene snapped, “You’re not ready.”

If they’d have been in any other situation, Y/n would have let the comment hurt.

“I’m not leaving without Y/n,” Ellie stated, drawing all the attention of the room to her, “She takes me.”

Joel’s eyes went back to Y/n, his mind flashing to every possibility of why the girl was so attached. Was she her daughter?

Marlene sighed, looking to Y/n, “You go with them.”

Y/n was ready to punch, scream, gnash and kick her way out of the situation. She wanted nothing to do with Joel Miller or anyone who worked with him, hadn’t for twenty years. But her loyalty to Ellie, and Ellie’s earned trust, in turn, could force her to do a lot.

Joel’s head was spinning enough just from being in the same room as her again. Now they were working together? He didn’t want that any more than he suspected she did.

In the uncomfortable silence, it was decided.

“There’s a team of Fireflies waiting for her at the old State House.”

Joel scoffed, Y/n internally grimaced.

“I know what’s out there,” Marlene addressed both of their reactions, “We were going with an entire squadron for that very reason. But now, I don’t have a truck, I don’t have a squadron. FEDRA’s five minutes away. What I do have is you. And I know what you’re both capable of. For better of worse.”

Y/n kept repeating the mantra in her head, Ellie comes first, Ellie comes first…Before anything else. Her purpose in life was to ensure the girl’s safety, and she’d continue fulfilling it until her last breath.

“What are they capable of?” Ellie asked, innocently.

Joel was capable of reaching into someone’s chest, ripping out their soul, their heart, their reason to live, and discarding it like trash in the street. That much, Y/n knew for sure.

“You get her there safely, and they’ll give you what you need,” Marlene sweetened the deal a little, “Not just a battery, the whole thing. Fueled up truck, guns, supplies, all of it. I swear.”

Joel’s face hardened, he either didn’t believe her or didn’t care. It unsettled Y/n and made her keep the pistol aimed directly at his head.

Marlene insisted, “I swear.”

Joel glanced back to Tess, who nodded for him to come have a private discussion. She wasn’t the difficult one to read. He turned back to Y/n, his gun still pointed at her shoulder. He’d once known what the slightest change in her expression meant, now it felt like looking at a blank canvas. He had nothing to go off of from the look in her eye other than the fact that there was one.

Before Joel went to Tess, he slid Ellie’s knife away with him. “Asshole,” she exclaimed. It was the first almost-smile Y/n had cracked all day.

When Joel and Tess began to converse, Marlene came and stood at Y/n’s side.

“Look, I don’t know the details of what happened with you two and quite frankly, I don’t give a shit. But she,” Marlene pointed her gun downwards while she gestured to Ellie, “She needs you. You’re the only one that she’s opened up the slightest bit to. Don’t throw away that girl’s trust just because you two are fucked up.”

Ellie’s eyes were already on Y/n when she looked over. She was concerned, scared, angry, and way too young for any of this. Now wasn’t the time to get sensitive about a broken heart and especially over Joel Miller.

“Y’all talk it through, but please remember,” Marlene said to Joel and Tess impatiently, “That I’m bleeding out.”

Joel looked over Tess’ shoulder at Y/n, the two of them stared each other down. Y/n slowly lowered her gun but her eyes retained their fire. Joel didn’t feel the need to soften his glare either. Shock had passed and reality had sunk in, they were about to reenter each other’s lives.

“Okay,” Tess stepped forward, taking the role of grown-up from both of them, “Here’s the deal. We’ll get her to your crew at the State House. But before we hand her over, they give us everything that we want. If not, we kill here then and there.”

“That’ll be hard to do with my hands wrapped around your throat,” Y/n said, her voice like sweet steel.

“Y/n,” Marlene ground out, “Deal.”

“Really?” Ellie almost laughed, “That fast?”

“You are all that matters,” Marlene’s voice lowered, “My team will not jeopardize that. Remember what I told you? Now, go get your backpack.”

Ellie didn’t move, instead she looked up at Y/n. Agreeing with Marlene, she gestured to the room they’d been keeping her in and Ellie obeyed.

The first steps in anything were always the hardest to take. Fear had to be overcome and bravery needed to take the wheel. Y/n had fought for her survival relentlessly for twenty years, she’d seen the worst humanity had to offer and still found it in her to sleep at night. There was very little she was afraid of. But the idea of walking alongside Joel again sent a cold strand of fear through her spine. He was the scariest thing she could face.

Ellie came out of her room with two backpacks, handing the second one to Y/n. Maybe she was afraid, but faking courage for Ellie made it easier to leave Marlene and Kim’s side. Tess led Ellie off, leaving just Joel and Y/n in the hall. Y/n didn’t hesitate to bump her shoulder against his, pausing upon impact.

“You even think about hurting that girl,” she lowered her voice till it was sharp like a dagger, “I’ll break your legs.”

Joel’s smirk acted as a barrier between him and his true emotions. ”I’d like to see you try,” he rasped.

“Hey,” Marlene interrupted them, “Don’t fuck this up.”

The two ex-lovers looked back to one another, their final glare setting the stage for what was to be a horrendous journey. All was fair in love and war, but there was nothing fair about what had become of them…

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #twenty years later

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bits-and-babs · 1 year

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𝐌𝐮𝐥𝐞 || 𝐉𝐨𝐞𝐥 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Other Joel Fics: Atta Girl [10.2K], PlayBoy [3K]

Summary: A betrayal causes both you and Joel to fight for your life.

Word Count: 5.1K!

CW: In order: Horror themes. Bodies. Gory imagery, fighting infected. Wearing Joel’s clothes. Fluffiest, softest, sappiest, most tooth rotting smut. Orgasm denial. Fingering. I have been a fan of the game for YEARS, given it is the first episode of TLOU TV I am basing most of Joel’s character off game Joel. Gif credit unknown.

Tease: “… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers.

The static firework-like display of spores ejecting from the corpse slumped against the opposite wall had captured your attention despite the delicate situation you found yourself in. The tendrils of fungus creep up the walls, painting them with streaks of muted peaches and reds, not unlike human flesh. It bursts from the fruiting body as violently as a bomb going off. You suppose that’s what it is, a bomb detonating slowly, killing those that breathe in the cordyceps spores.

Your gas mask sits tight on your face, digging into the skin of your nose to effectively create an airtight seal to prevent the malignant disease from entering your lungs and turning you from the inside out. Even through the dirtied visor of your mask, you can see that the corpse has fused to the ground and wall it was once sat up against, calcifying to the brick and plaster. It’s reaching its final stages of the infection: complete takeover, encroaching upon any space it can find. You didn’t doubt that in 6 months it would fill the whole room.

Despite the crawling sensation that itches across your skin at the idea of fungus creeping from your body in the cover of darkness, you couldn’t deny the morbid beauty of the scene before you. It oddly reminds you of different breeds of coral, like the kind that clings to the Great Barrier Reef. There are tan-coloured, fan-like protrusions, long strands of crimson and tubal fungi that bust directly from the chest of the deceased. Silvery dust spores glisten under the beam of your flashlight, giving the abandoned house you had entered an almost glittery effect.

“Oi. C’mon.” Your smuggling partner's Texan typically cold baritone cuts through the uneasy hush in the room. “We stand in this shithole any longer and we’ll be ambushed.”

Peering up from the putrefied body, you find Joel Miller gazing back at you, jerking his head to the door in a silent order to urge you out of the rotten room. Stepping away from the body, you walk towards the exit.

“How much longer?” You ask, studying his weary expression. The two of you had been travelling for hours, on red alert for infected or human danger alike. Outside of the quarantine zone was a death trap, and Joel always insisted you both never get too comfortable. Always be cautious.

“Half an hour tops,” Joel rumbles, holding the door open as you step through. His hands smear it with blood as you walk by, the ghost of his fingerprints leaving ribbons of crimson against the surface.

The blood had belonged to a medicine dealer called Cain. Joel had been working for him, the two of you smuggling the precious supplies into the quarantine zones in return for ration cards and weapons. You and Joel must have made ten, hell, fifteen runs for this crooked fuck, only for Cain to send the two of you on a dodgy mission. You’d both been jumped by the middlemen who were meant to hand off the medicine- when under duress, they admitted to ‘just following orders’.

It hadn’t taken you both long to find Cain and took even less time to dispatch him. Joel had taken his time and, as always, you turned your back on the shrieks of agony as Joel delivered justice. Though he had been particularly brutal this time around, the crunching of bones and cartilage was loud enough to be heard over the dying screams.

Said cries of pain and the extended period of torture had drawn the attention of several Runners and Clickers. They’d overrun the smuggling tunnels somehow, obstructing your return to the quarantine zone and safety. It had been the fight of your life, and the two of you were damn near out of ammunition and energy to battle the waves of infected.

“You okay?” You croak, almost afraid to speak into the silence between the two of you as you stumble through the darkness, navigating using only the dying light of Joel’s torch. A small reprieve from the onslaught of runners.

“Yeah,” he grunts, his eyes drifting over in your direction. “Wanna get home. Think I hurt my ankle back there, fighting the clicker.” If it hurts enough to admit it, it must be bad. Yet Joel maintains a strong pace, refusing to allow the pain to slow him down. He was stubborn like that, the two of you always arguing about his thick-headed disposition.

You nod in silence, eyes on the floor and focusing on not tripping over loose bricks despite running this smuggling tunnel with Joel for years. It was probably so familiar that you could walk it blindfolded. The walls of this small passage had seen the slow and subtle changes in the dynamics of your relationship.

It had seen the beginnings of your partnership and witnessed you constantly vying for Joel’s approval to extend the coalition you had fought so hard to convince him for. The cracks in the walls had observed the slow-growing kinship between the two of you, jokes told and three-sentence conversations shared. The shards of glass swept into the corners of the floor had heard the difficulty you both had continuing those discussions after you had stupidly gotten drunk on this old whiskey Joel had found, kissing him in the early hours of the morning when he finally carried you to bed.

That was a few weeks ago, and he still hadn’t been able to maintain eye contact with you for more than a few seconds. Like a child unable to look into his mother's eyes when telling a lie.

Grabbing ahold of the cold handle of the metal door ahead of you, you force it down to open it. The door jams on the opposite side, not moving despite putting all of your weight behind it to the point the edges of the handgrip leave a rectangular imprint in your palm.

“Joel?” You call him, “Gonna need you to open this.”

“Yes Ma’am,” he responds, the same way he always has. He steps forward, the soles of his boots scuffing the floor as he approaches.

Joel shifts his shoulder against the flat of the door, hooking the handle downwards with his calloused, bloody palm and uses his strength to push against the blockage. The hinges of the door strain under the pressure, squealing in the silence as Joel grits his teeth.

He grunts loudly, heaving the door so the obstruction falls away from the entrance, clattering to the floor with a racket that ricochets off the wall. It echoes all the way down the corridor. You freeze, the deafening sound causing the hair on your forearms to stand on end.

The chill on your skin only intensifies with the blood-curdling groans that sound from the blackness.

“Fuck-“ you stammer, Joel’s hand quick to settle between your shoulder blades to push you forward through the open door. Adrenaline courses through you like a live wire, singeing your extremities and curdling your stomach as Joel forces his way through the door and pulls the pipe from his backpack.

Amongst the panic, you still manage to note that a metal storage unit that had once been set against the wall had been tipped on its side, forcing the door shut. Joel had used it just this morning to grab ammo before heading out for the medicine drop. Someone had forced it over- didn’t take a genius to figure out who.

“Gonna have to run,” Joel pushes you forward, causing your feet to stumble as you desperately grasp for your rudimentary shiv. It slices your fingers open as you grab for it in the darkness, terror pushing your body forward in a sprint. You can hear the thudding of Joel’s boots just behind you, and the screams and wails of the infected as you chase you down the tight corridors.

It feels as though seconds and hours pass simultaneously, your lungs burning as you suck in gasps of air through your gas mask. Your muscles are seizing, cramping up and your fingers sting with the cuts that you sustained from your blade. Over the all-encompassing sound of shrieking from the creatures and your sharp, shakey inhale, you can hear Joel urging you forwards. “Go Go Go! You got it darlin’ keep goi-“

It hits you like a runaway freight train at top speed. Thundering into you, a Clicker knocks you from your feet with an utterly horrifying scream. Pain shoots up your ribcage as you slam into the uneven floor, a discarded glass bottle shattering beneath your body and cutting into you. You’re scrabbling with the beast, its nails digging into your flesh as you stab blindly at its shoulder, your other palm on its sternum to hold it away from your throat while you scream for Joel.

“Joel, fuck!” You sob in fear, the clickers jaws gnashing at your exposed jugular, growling and snapping. In the pitch blackness, you can smell the damp, mouldy scent weeping from the fungus on its skin, the metallic, bloody twang of human meat on its tongue that wafts over your face as it heaves its breath onto you.

Your biceps scream under the strain of its weight as you feel the fungal growths on its face lightly brush at your throat as the creature goes in for the kill. Just as you feel its teeth skim your flesh, a sickening crunch sounds, and a hot splatter of viscous blood drenches your face as Joel removes the blade of the shiv he had plunged into its skull.

“Fuck, y’alright?” His gruff voice shouts over the din the approaching runners make from down the hall. He doesn’t really give you the chance to answer him, grabbing ahold of your hand and wrenching you out from underneath the limp body of the Clicker before pulling you along in a sprint.

You sob with relief as you both turn the corner to the exit. Joel wastes no time, running ahead to force the door open so it’s ready when you approach. It swings open so easily as if it senses your desperation, and you launch yourself into the safety of the building that serves as an entrance to the tunnel. Joel isn’t far behind, slamming the door shut on the hoard and bolting it shut with a thick wooden plank that you’d both been using as a stopper.

The room swims, the image of the door swirling in your vision as you lean your back against the wall, taking deep, heaving breaths in what both was an attempt to feed oxygen back to your lungs and also to alert your body to the fact you were alive.

You barely have a moment to thank God when Joel is on you in an instant.

“Good Christ,” he heaves his gas mask off his face, blood-soaked palms taking ahold of your chin as his deep, earthy irises flit over you, searching for damage with a panicked expression. You note it’s the longest he’s looked at you in weeks. “Sure you’re okay? Jesus fuck, I thought-“

He’s twisting your head from side to side, checking your throat for bites. The infected are pounding on the secured metal door, but the noise is drowned out, faded as you watch Joel tend to you. You like him this close, you can see the freckles under his eyes. You’re not sure whether it’s the adrenaline of survival or if there was a crack in your mask and the spores had driven you crazy, but you are almost certain that Andromeda lies somewhere within the constellation of the minute spots of melanin.

“Joel,” you whisper, breathless for a whole other reason than the fact you just fought for your life, “Joel, I’m okay.”

You watch your partner hesitate for a moment, checking over you one last time before setting his lips in a firm line, his panicked eyes growing protective in an instant. “Don’t fuckin’ scare me like that again. Y’hear?”

Cross-legged in Joel’s bathtub, hours after escaping the tunnels, you use rainwater and a sponge to scrub the Clicker blood from your skin. Even now, years after the outbreak, you found yourself silently pining to the walls in the bathroom for hot, running water. They were no genie, and never responded to your wishes, but your wordless complaints often made you feel better as you scrubbed cold water over your body.

The droplets are tinted maroon as they run down your legs, seeping down the drain beneath you as you meticulously work each disgusting patch of blood from your skin. Despite telling Joel that the Clicker hadn’t bitten you, it still came as a palpable relief to scrub away the grime and not see a single mark in the crescent shape of teeth anywhere.

You did, however, have some brutal cuts across your ribs from falling into the glass bottle in the tunnel. They’re like lightning slashes, open and sore as you run a fresh washcloth over the wounds. At the very least, they were superficial and didn’t need stitches. The last thing you needed was to be burdensome right now.

Stepping out of the bath, you wrap yourself in a towel, scrubbing at your face with your sore hands. At least the slices on your fingers from your blade had stopped weeping blood. You’re sore, and mildly damaged, but otherwise alive. Alive. The proof is in the reflection that stares back at you when you glance in the bathroom mirror. Though- you certainly look as though you had just stared death in the face.

You open the door of the bathroom slowly, tentatively stepping into Joel’s bedroom. He’s sitting on the bed, slowly easing his boot from his sore ankle with a hiss of complaint. It does look painful, swelling until the definition in the bone was encroached upon by inflammation, and you have no doubt it’s been throbbing with pain inside his boot the entire journey back home.

“I think you’ll need to take a break for a while,” you gently urge Joel from your place in the doorway, who nods simply in return. Yes, he was stubborn, sometimes downright pigheaded, but he would never be stupid enough to go outside hindered by an injury. There were more than enough ration cards to tide you both over until Joel was fit enough to do another run safely.

“You can- uh, grab some’a my clothes from my closet, if you need,” he rumbles, moving to untie the boot on his other foot and avoiding your gaze. “Don’t want you to have’ta put your clothes back on. They’re covered in clicker brains.”

“Thanks, Joel,” you whisper, despite the shiver of disgust that runs down your spine. Slowly padding your bare feet across his wooden floor, you approach his closet. All of the shirts and flannels he owns are thread-bare, soft to the touch from wear. You grasp at a grey and black flannel, dropping the towel to the floor as you pull the comfortable clothing over your head.

Joel is silent, his back turned to you as you dress. Perhaps it’s from years of knowing him, or it’s seeing how tight the muscles of his back are through the fabric of his shirt, but you know something is amiss. The discontent rolls off him in waves.

Wordlessly, you climb onto the mattress, approaching Joel from behind. He seems to tense up further, even if momentarily before his muscles ease again. You stay seated firmly behind him, just outside of his peripheral vision as you attempt to breach the topic of conversation in a way that the stubborn mule of a man won’t shut down.

“Is it the pain?” You ask delicately, voice soft as a feather as you watch him feel his swollen ankle with the tips of his fingers.

“No. No, it ain’t, I just-“ he exhales sharply, as though he’s urging the words from his mouth, expelling them from his lungs. “No I just really thought that I’d lost you for a minute there, ‘n’ I just…” He trails off, leaving the unspoken words to admit what he couldn’t.

That he couldn’t bear to lose you.

You nod slowly, despite knowing he can’t see you, as the realisation sets in. He cares about you more than he shows, more than he lets on.

Softly, you lay your palm against his back, between his shoulder blades. In the low light of the bedroom, Joel’s silver hairs gleam as he turns his head around to look at you. You feel his nerves before you see them, feel the shaky exhale he lets out against your hand.

“I’m still here,” you whisper to him, capturing his gaze as you attempt to bring him down from the fear that must have seized him. You drag your palm down his back slowly, and in turn, he leans his body towards you at an achingly slow pace. Your stomach is doing somersaults thanks to the way he gazes at you, watching the nervous trail of your tongue over your lower lip.

“I know,” he answers back, his gruff voice so much softer sounding in this fragile moment. He inches towards you, and you can see the fine creases in the edges of his eyes, the constellations of his freckles even in the limited lighting. “I know I just-… Wanna feel it.”

It’s almost as though there’s a static moment, fizzling in the air as the tip of his nose brushes yours. He parts his lips softly, ghosting them over your own in a touch CW that’s barely there but sets your blood ablaze. His breath, exhaled through his nose, tickles your red-hot cheeks and you grip onto his t-shirt until your knuckles turn white. You wait for the plunge, for the powder keg of your heart lodged between your ribs to burst with his kiss.

Cautiously, Joel touches his lips to yours in a kiss that sparks up your spine. His lips are slightly chapped, his moustache and beard scraping gently against your skin as you lean into the kiss, letting out a soft moan of relief.

Your fingertips are tingling as you brush them up Joel’s neck, cupping his face to hold him there. He’s so gentle with you, like he’s afraid you’ll turn to dust in his hands. Joel has lived the past 20 years surviving, trying so desperately to stay alive. You’re not sure what that meant for him- the horrid things he had to do- but in this moment he’s so delicate with you, his knuckles brushing across your jaw as if those same fingers hadn’t squeezed triggers for two decades.

Working your own fingers into his curls, you feel the vibrations of Joel’s moans against your lips. It isn’t overtly sexual, it’s as though it’s a sound of comfort- of appreciation for being shown some tenderness. He responds to your touches by tracing his tongue over your lower lip, deepening the kiss and pulling you closer.

“Joel,” you whisper against his open mouth. He’s panting softly, hands moving to your hips to hold you in place like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. “Joel, lay back.”

“… Yes Ma’am,” he murmurs, a hint of a smile spreading against your lips. You find yourself relieved he didn’t argue, finding this nerve-wracking enough. It’s as though the two of you are inexperienced teenagers, fumbling with each other and fighting the butterflies in your guts. As brutal as the world you both fought to survive in was, there’s an innocence settling between you, nervous laughs shared as Joel lays back slowly against the pillows.

He gazes back at you as the crown of his head settles, holding his breath as he awaits your next move. Swallowing thickly, you watch Joel’s hand slowly reach for your knee. He swirls his thumb in uneven circles over your patella, gently coaxing you out of your shell. “You good, darlin’?”

“Yeah,” You whisper breathlessly, the soft and innocent touch leaving tingles in its wake. “Yeah ‘m fine.”

Joel, the hardened bastard that he is, doesn’t give much away. However, you see the edge of his lips lilt upwards at your less-than-convincing answer sliding his palm up the bare skin of your thighs. His hands are warm, calloused from hauling ass across the country and slicing open Clicker throats to protect you.

Swallowing thickly, you loop your thigh over his hip to straddle his waist. He watches you, his dark lashes dipping low as he witnesses you seat yourself across his abdomen. As you sit, the leather of Joel’s belt bites into the soft skin of your flesh.

“… You’re not wearin’ anythin’ under that, are you?” He whispers. It’s less of a question than it is a statement, those dark, mahogany eyes gazing up at you with a knowing expression. It’s intimidating, and you find yourself unable to answer with anything other than a slow shake of your head.

Joel responds with a low chuckle, tutting slightly as he brushes his palms further up your legs. They disappear under the worn fabric of his flannel, settling against your hip bones as his fingertips brush the curve of your bare ass.

Ever the gentleman, Joel stills his movements there and awaits your next orders, his eyelids heavy. You let a shaky breath escape your lips despite trying so hard to appear cool and collected, and you can practically feel the amusement emanating from the man beneath you.

Taking control, you trace the hem of Joel’s shirt and ease your fingers beneath it. Again, he’s warm to the touch, a human bonfire. It reminds you of the same level of comfort, the heat of the flames licking the skin of your cheeks in the cold autumnal air and providing relief from the numbing chill.

You don’t rush this, dragging the shirt from his body achingly slowly. Scars litter Joel’s skin, silver against the melanin. Sometimes large, wide and brutal across his ribs, others small and circular, barely noticeable. You notice them. You love them all.

Joel lifts his arms for you to raise the fabric over his head, and you reward him by pressing gentle kisses to the exposed skin of his neck. He hums softly at the gentle touches of your lips, his fingertips squeezing into the soft flesh of your hips. You’re almost certain he can feel the way you’re smiling.

“Mhm, Darlin’” he grumbles softly, using his hold on you to slowly grind your hips down over the soft flesh of his stomach, angled perfectly. It causes you both to stutter to a halt, your own pause caused by the spark of arousal that blooms through your abdomen at the friction to your clit.

Joel slowly uses one of his hands to grab the back of his flannel that you wear, sitting you up. His irises are inky black as he looks up at you, startling you into submission. Stoic, he says nothing, but looks pointedly down at his stomach to divert your attention. Uncertain, you follow his gaze.

It’s utterly mortifying. Across the tanned, freckled skin of his stomach is a silvery-pink scar. Following the same direction, a wet steak of your slick traces where Joel had pushed your hips down onto him. Shock and humiliation flood you all at once.

“Oh my God, Jo-! I’m so sorry-,” you stammer quickly, but Joel is grabbing ahold of the collar of his flannel with both hands, using very little of his impressive strength to pop the buttons on the stupid thing. The buttons go flying, rattling as they roll across the wooden floor and banging as they ping off the wardrobe. He exposes your breasts to his eyes, drinking in the view like he does whenever he sees a beautiful sunset while smuggling across the state. He stops and stares and takes it all in, just like he does with you.

“Ain’t nothin’ to be sorry about,” he insists, not allowing you to feel embarrassed a moment longer as he uses his grip once again to push your hips against him. Perhaps it’s the shock of his unfiltered satisfaction, or the arousal he draws from you once again, but you don’t find yourself fighting with him. Instead, you lean your head back as he directs your body exactly where he wants it, pushing your cunt against him and drawing delicious swirls of pleasure throughout your abdomen.

“That’s it Darlin’. Just relax,” he murmurs, clearly pleased as you begin to match his movements by rolling your hips along with his touch. Your palms rest against his muscular pectorals, nails digging in whenever he catches your clit just right. Sometimes he hisses in pain, sometimes he groans in delight.

The muscles of your thighs clench against his waist as the walls of your cunt flutter around nothing. Your jaw is slack, your mouth falling open as you crease your brows together and feel the surge.

“Fuck,” you hear Joel curse, the gravel of his voice tipping you ever closer, “I can feel your pulse.” He sounds incredulous.

“D-Don’t-“ you gasp, teetering on the edge of an utterly devastating orgasm. Your eyes are squeezed shut, focusing on that feeling that barely holds the seams of your soul together when he shocks you completely, using his strength to lift your hips from him just as your release bubbles up.

A sound of utter anguish reaches your ears, and it takes a moment for the pulse of your heart in your ears to subside before you realise it came from you. Joel is chuckling, kissing your trembling hands in an uncharacteristically soft move. Though- you suppose all of this is out of character.

“Nuh-uh,” Joel chastises you gently, in an almost mocking tone. He’s enjoying seeing you fall to pieces for him, even if it is just because you look so pretty over him. “I want you to look at me. Want to see it in your eyes when you cum.”

“Joel,” you wail, in utter disbelief as he shakes his head at your complaint. He’s not listening. Instead, he draws tight circles on the inside of your thigh. His touch is wet, your slick drenching the inside of your legs and showing how desperate you are if your impassioned whining wasn’t enough to convince him of your need to come undone.

“Listen here, Darlin,” he orders in that same tone he uses when on supply runs, the kind that makes you warm and fuzzy, “I ain’t gonna ask you to do nothin’ for me. Want you to feel good. The least you can give me is that pretty face.”

You swallow again, like you’re parched and only he can quench your desperation. Silently, in bitter defeat, you resign to a nod.

“Yeah?” He urges, wanting to hear you say it.

“Yeah,” you choke out.

“Good girl.”

Again, you moan out like you’re in pain, Joel rewarding your vulnerability by slowly slipping two fingers into your drenched cunt. You’re so worked up, so slick he doesn’t need to open you up. Your cunt takes the intrusion of his digits greedily, and your thighs begin to shake at the intense relief it grants you.

Agonisingly slowly, Joel eases his fingers out of you before plunging them back in. He doesn’t need to go fast, the drawn-out drags of his fingertips against the walls of your cunt enough to work up your arousal, but you know that he’s setting this pace to watch the micro-expressions on your face.

Your brows pinch together, and your lips form subtle shapes that indicate his technique is working. He’s watching your pupils dilate, your nostrils flare as you inhale sharply when he touches that spot inside you that makes your vision go fuzzy.

“Joel,” you wheeze, the dexterity of his fingers driving you very quickly to the precipice of something soul-shattering. The pads of his finger focus on that spot that makes your body tremble, and you’re sobbing above him, tears streaking your face. “Oh God, Joel, I can’t last-“

“It’s okay,” he urges you, so calm that he almost appears lazy as he curls his fingers inside you. “You know what to do.”

The bastard hurls you over the edge of the cliff he’s built for you, pushing the pad of his thumb against your clit. The most intense burst of pleasure explodes beneath your skin, streaming through your blood vessels as your body crumbles inwards. You’re not sure if he’s even circling your clit, if he’s moving his fingers because it’s so visceral that you can’t see, can’t hear, don’t experience anything other than the liquid heat that drips through you.

When you come to, Joel is humming softly, stroking his palm over the back of your head and easing you down from the clouds he sent you to with a gentle touch. You’re lying across his chest, his arms seemingly having pulled you against him during your blinding relief. You’re sticky with sweat, as though you’re coated in honey.

Joel smells like the apocalypse. Like earth and mud that has been wet with rain. The sharp smell of gunpowder clings to his skin, having coated the shirt he wore only minutes before. There’s the musk of his sweat, the tang that sticks to his skin despite the rain that you had walked home in after leaving the tunnels. It had washed away the smell of the blood and the grime but left every part of Joel.

“Oh fuck,” you choke out, and Joel can’t help but chuckle at the way you sound so fucked out. He presses a gentle kiss to your temple as he soothes your aching muscles from their contractions.

The rise and fall of his chest ease you down from your heightened state of shock, and your partner slowly peels the destroyed flannel from your skin. The thin bed sheets float across your body to give you some privacy, Joel wanting you to feel comfortable and respected despite him utterly destroying you literally moments before.

“That good, mhmm?” It’s said with Joel’s typically flat intonation, but you know he’s amused.

“Shut up Joel,” you whisper, still breathless. God, had he just stolen the air from your lungs? It’s as though every functioning part of your body has stalled, taken up entirely with bliss.

“Hell, you’re stubborn,” he mumbles, and it’s like he puts a spark up your ass, body jolting into action.

“Excuse me?! I’m stubborn-?!”

END

🏷️ Taglist: @hoeneey @howaboutcastiel @welcometostayingawake @syrma-sensei @ethanhoewke @polaroidpetal @foxilayde @bookfrog242 @wh0reforbucknasty @zakizigekwe @ahookedheroespureheart @buckys-other-punk @anxious-sappho @alexloveskili @captainrexstan @astroboots @knights-power @southcrnbelle @niallsbunny @ofmortems @hold-our-destiny @xcatnapsx @vermillionwinter @stormkobra-5 @erenbissexual @alwritey-aphrodite @maggotzombie @deadpige0n @bakerstreethound @whatthehekko @moonnaught @cottagebunny9 @bit-dodgy-innit @peachyproserpina

#Joel miller #joel miller x reader #Joel x reader #joel miller x y/n #Joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #Joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel the last of us #the last of us #TLOU #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #1k+ club

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uniquedinosaurdreamland · 4 months

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Ingrid Engen & Mapi León x Reader -Nap-

Hi everyone, this is my first post on here so I really hope you like it and give me some requests please 💛

Ingrid Engen & Mapi León x Reader -Nap-

🌼

It was very rare to be home before your girlfriends got back from training when you were called in for shifts. Being a paramedic in Barcelona meant that when you were on call it was for long hours though the whole night or the whole day. Growing up in London, England, you were immediately drawn to human anatomy and seeing the work paramedics drew you to the adrenaline filled job.

You first met Mapi and Ingrid about a year and a half ago when you were visiting your childhood best friend Keira Walsh when she first moved to Barcelona. Unlike the midfielder you knew Spanish very well from taking it in your GCSEs, and on a night out with Keira’s new teammates you had spent pretty much the whole time speaking to the couple who had taken an interest in hearing about you and what you do for work.

Fast forward about a year of dating the two women. You couldn’t be happier, going through long distance for the first couple of months until you secured a position as an EMT in the busy city and there was never a dull moment.

In the early morning you had left the house before either of your lovers were up, saying a quiet goodbye before leaving to start your predicted twelve hour shift. You drove around with your partner Gabe who had grown up in the city, no major calls starting out making it pretty easy. Though every single time the Q word came up what happened after would never be good.

“Quiet today.” Gabe said causing you to groan as not even a second later you were called to a car accident with multiple vehicles and injured people.

“Idiota.” You said as you turned the ambulance around to the place of the accident. Getting to the scene you were immediately pulled to work taking note of the multiple emergency personnel and blood and bodies scattered around the road with people trying to aid.

It took a long time to calm down the chaos, working on multiple patients that needed to get to the hospital quickly. You worked purely off adrenaline, split from Gabe as you worked on a five year old girl who had pain in her chest and a broken arm. It seemed like the driver of a truck had gone out of control going down a busy highway taking out a lot of cars on the way.

You were used to traumatic calls, you had time to think about everything later but in the moment you had to save the patients that were still alive. After a couple more hours and dropping off patients at the hospital you and Gabe were driving through the streets. The two of you didn’t talk as images flashed through your brain.

The memories of patients some it which you could save but others where people were to far gone to save.

“Podemos traernos del turno? No podemos continuar.” (Can we brought of the shift? We can't continue.) Gabe said to the emergency base knowing that both you and himself were not mentally okay to continue the shift.

Once you got back to the Ambulance base you said goodbye to Gabe and headed back to your apartment, you were called off five hours before your shift was to end and now had the whole apartment to yourself as your two girlfriends were still at training. You made sure to send a quick text to them both telling them what had happened and how you were going to shower and sleep once you got back, knowing they probably wouldn’t see it for another couple of hours.

Unlocking your front door, putting your bags down and heading straight to the shower to scrub the dried blood and sweat off your body from the day. After twenty minutes you were out and dressed in one of Ingrid’s shirts and a pair of Mapi’s old Barcelona shorts, climbing into bed under the covers and immediately falling asleep.

…

Mapi read your text once she pulled her phone out of bag after training, eyebrows furrowed as she read what had happened showing Ingrid who looked over her shoulder. The two quickly showered trying to get home to you as quick as they could, saying goodbye to their teammates before driving to their apartment.

The two women's eyes softened as they landed on your sleeping form snuggled into the covers. Ingrid grabbed your uniform that was on the bathroom floor, taking it to wash while Mapi walked over to your sleeping form. “Hola mi amor.” Mapi whispered, pressing a loving kiss to your forehead.

Mapi smiled gently as you cuddled into her side, still half asleep. Ingrid came in not long after immediately hoping on the other side of you and wrapping her arm around your waist. At this point you were just pretending to be asleep wanting to stay like this forever with your two favourite people.

“We know you're awake.” Ingrid whispered into your ear, causing shivers to run up your spine.

“Leave me be.” You muttered back burying your head further in Mapi’s side, the two women laughing lightly choosing to just let your rest. Mapi moved from her sitting position of the bed to move further down making sure to settle your head into a comfy position on her chest, taking her other lover's hand resting them over your waist.

Ingrid stayed awake scrolling through her phone as you and Mapi fell asleep once again, the warmth taking over. An hour and a half passed and soon dinner time was fast approaching and Ingrid needed to know what you guys wanted. “Min elsker tid til å stå opp.” (My loves time to get up.) Mapi woke up as soon as she heard Ingrid’s voice but like always you stayed asleep.

“Just leave her.” Mapi said, looking at Ingrid.

“I need to know what she wants for dinner.” Ingrid said, sending a pointed look to the defender.

“You know she’ll eat anything you make.” Mapi said as she manoeuvred herself from under you to enter the kitchen, pressing a sweet kiss to Ingrid’s cheek as they started to get dinner ready for the three of you.

Thirty minutes passed and you were brought from your nap by the feeling of being alone in bed, and you were right as you noticed that neither of your lovers were next to you and both sides were cold. Grabbing your phone from the bedside table you saw a message from Keira and others notifications from other apps, moving to respond to your best friend planning some breakfast plans for the two of you.

Walking out of the shared bedroom your senses were met with an amazing aroma of fresh food and your two beautiful girlfriends standing in the kitchen making the food (Mapi messing around more than helping). “Morning sleeping beauty.” Mapi teased, smiling brightly as she realised you had woken up from your nap.

“You're so funny.” You joked back, teasing her even more by dodging her kiss to land on your cheek instead of your lips.

“Oi.” Mapi yelled, grabbing both of your cheeks and pulling her lips to meet yours, giggling into the kiss as she poked at your sides.

You took your seat at one of the chairs at the kitchen island, each of you talking about your day. Not long later Ingrid had finished dinner asking you to set the table, quickly complying so you could eat the perfectly prepared meal. Eating in comfortable silence, with conversations flowing around every so often.

Since Ingrid cooked it was either Mapi or you cleaning up and of course it was decided by a simple game of rock, paper, scissors. “Suck on that loser.” You laughed as you showed scissors while Mapi had paper.

“No best of three-” Mapi tried to argue.

“Elskling.” Ingrid said looking up from her phone, knowing that Mapi had suggested whoever won first had to do the washing up, shutting your idea down of best of three. Mapi pouted as you pressed a light kiss on her cheek before moving to snuggle into your other girlfriend who was waiting with her arms open.

Ingrid was very used to her girlfriends' childish fights, always there to diffuse them, but secretly she loved seeing either you or Mapi’s pouts when you were told off. It took Mapi ten minutes to clean up so soon enough she was back in the living room jumping onto the couch taking you and Ingrid by surprise.

Ingrid had settled herself with her book with you tucked under her arm with your back resting against her side, Mapi slotted herself in between your legs resting her head on your stomach while also grabbing your hand to intertwine your fingers into her hair. Love Island was on so that was playing on the TV. Neither one of your girlfriends liked the show but couldn’t bring themselves to tell you to turn it off due to how much it made you laugh and just how much you enjoyed it.

Your giggles were heard through the room, Ingrid smiling to herself at how happy you were and Mapi finding comfort in your joy as your fingers continued to comb through her hair and glide over her tattoos. You would never grow tired of the warmth Mapi and Ingrid gave you and their ability to make any day 100% better.

#woso x reader #ingrid engen #mapi leon #barca femeni #ingrid engen x reader #keira walsh #mapi leon x ingrid engen #mapi leon x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso community

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dyaz-stories · 4 months

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anywhere else is hollow || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

word count: 1.4k

warnings & tags: mostly fluff, some angst because it's sweet home, sharing a bed.

first one-shot · previous one-shot

A/N: Third entrance for @neohumanmonster's fandom event! The prompt was: Peaceful Pillowtalk. For context, reader and Hyun-Su were in high school together, reader was only there for a year before going to another high school, and therefore has no knowledge of the bullying which hyun-su was a victim of. this one-shot can be read independently (there's nothing intense plot-wise that requires having read the other parts), but I do recommend reading them for context.

Hyun-Su stays over at your place quite often now. Long gone are the days when he would drop by for no more than a couple of hours and flee the scene, as though he was scared that you spending time with him would make you despise him. Now he helps you out around the house, and, when he offers, the two of you go out on ‘dates’ around the city. It still makes you nervous, being out in the open, but Hyun-Su doesn’t hesitate anymore to take your hand in his and guide you through the empty streets.

When you’re both in your apartment, you can almost tell yourself you’re two college students living together. Almost. If it wasn’t for your blinds being always drawn to ensure no monsters could see you from outside, or your parents’ former room being turned into a laboratory by your dad before his disappearance, the illusion would be close to perfect. You do like the thought of it. Imagining you and Hyun-Su, sharing a place in a world where the Apocalypse hadn’t happened… It would be sweet.

That being said, despite your developing relationship, that you still haven’t put words on, Hyun-Su keeps sleeping on the sofa. You’d prepared a blanket and a pillow, ‘just in case’, in the very beginning, and that is where he still collapses every night. You’ve been waiting, hoping he would ask for another— arrangement, but he hasn’t said anything, and now you’re wondering if you should.

It isn’t always easy, being the one taking all the steps in the relationship. Makes you wonder if you’re pushing too much, too fast, makes you wonder how much he wants it. And yet, if he does want it but doesn’t dare to ask, how stupid would it be to lose that much time, when you never know how long you have?

“Um, Hyun-Su?” you say that night, as you’re about to leave for your room. He looks up at you with these beautiful dark eyes of his. “I was just thinking— you know you don’t have to sleep here, right?”

He blinks at you.

“Do you— are you asking me to leave?” he asks, and you immediately want to slap yourself. A few months ago, you think he’d have been half-way to the door already. Now, he sounds cautious and a little worried, but he doesn’t seem to have jumped to conclusions just yet.

“No,” you sigh, resisting the urge to bang your head against the door frame because, yeah, it makes sense he’d interpret it like that. “No, I just meant you could, uh—” you glance towards your room. “Just meant you have other options. Here. If you— if you want to.”

You don’t know why you’re so nervous all of sudden. You think a part of you cannot forget how beloved Hyun-Su was in high school, while you were— no one. If the world wasn’t ending, you don’t think he would have looked at you twice. So, sometimes, you wonder if he wants you the same way you want him. It doesn’t help that he doesn’t initiate much of your more intimate moments, and isn’t much of a talker in general.

Hyun-Su’s eyes slowly move to the open door to your room, then move back to you, going wide.

“Are you—” His voice cracks. “Are you sure?”

You nod, not really trusting yourself with words right now. You don’t want to sound desperate for affection, but you also don’t want, even for a second, to make it sound like it’s something you’re nonchalant about.

“Okay,” Hyun-Su mumbles. “Okay.”

He gets up from the couch, walks over to the door, where you’re still standing. You’re both quiet when you take his hand in yours and pull him towards the bed. It feels awkward, but you don’t have enough experience with this sort of thing to tell if that’s how it’s supposed to be.

For a while, you just stay laying on your back, staring at the ceiling, with Hyun-Su doing the same thing next to you. The atmosphere feels heavy, your whole body warm and tingling. This is all just so new to you. There have been lots of moments between the two of you, mostly spontaneous, just doing what felt right in the moment. This is different, probably because you asked, and you’re not sure what to do with it.

After a while, you roll over on your side, looking at Hyun-Su’s profile, until he turns his head to look at you. You press your lips together. Your mind is going into overdrive, trying to figure something to say — what do you even say in these circumstances? You’re drawing a blank. At least until Hyun-Su raises a hand and his fingers start slowly tracing your cheekbone, then your jaw.

You feel your breath catching in your throat, and your lips part as you do your best to keep yourself perfectly still. It’s like you’re finally being approached by a shy cat that you’re trying not to scare away.

Gently, he tucks a lock of hair behind your ear.

“Aren’t you afraid?” he asks, soft voice echoing in the dark.

Afraid of what? Of him? Of someone who touches you like you’re made of porcelain?

“No,” you answer.

For a while, there’s just the sound of the two of you breathing, and the feeling of his hand on your cheek.

“What if I hurt you?” he asks finally, voice weak and fragile.

“You wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

You swallow. You know he can feel it.

“Yes, I do,” you whisper, and you genuinely believe it to be true.

Hyun-Su’s hand stills. You hear him breathe out, before there’s the sound of rustling and then the feeling of his lips on yours. As usual with him, the kiss is brief and soft, a simple press of his lips against your own. What follows isn’t usual, though, the way he wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest, so he can put his chin on top of your head. It has your heart beating erratically, even if it’s not the first time he’s that close to you.

It’s just that that happens mostly when the two of you are kissing. The fact that he’s seeking that kind of closeness without that happening is a whole other kind of intimacy, one that almost makes you shiver.

“Is that okay too?” he checks. “You— said I didn’t need to ask, but…”

“It’s more than okay,” you answer, closing one arm around him however you can. “And I meant it when I said that.”

“I—” A sigh. “I don’t want to impose on you. Sometimes I— I feel like I need you too much.”

It becomes hard to breathe all of a sudden. Hyun-Su isn’t one for that kind of confession, not usually, but you desperately want to hear more. He keeps talking, and you feel his voice rumble through his chest and through you, while he plays with your hair distractedly.

“You’re so— independent. You look like you’re doing so well on your own, here. But it physically hurts to be away from you,” he mumbles into your hair. “But I— know what I am. I never want you to think you can’t— can’t push me away because you’re scared of that— that part of me.”

Your eyes sting, and you hold him a little tighter against you.

“I know who you are, too, Hyun-Su. And I don’t want to push you away.”

“Not now,” he admits. “But if one day—”

“Hyun-Su,” you call softly, trying to get his attention back on you instead of this distant, nebulous future. You live in a world where you may not know tomorrow, where a simple infection could be the end, not to mention the ever looming threat of monsterization taking you over. “I want you here. With me. I promise.”

Finally, you seem to be getting through to him. He relaxes into you, and his breathing turns deeper, more even.

“This feels nice,” he whispers after a while, and you smile against his skin.

“It does.”

You drift into sleep not long after that, you think, and for the first time in forever, you don’t wake throughout the night, startled by the smallest sound.

You just feel safe.

i hope you liked this one! i love developing reader and hyun-su's relationship through small steps, but just to let you know, we're getting closer to some smut taking place 👀 i hope people won't feel let down by that. i do think it would be out of character to write something super intense for them at that point so don't expect anything hardcore, but the 'porn with feelings' tag on ao3 is my shit so if you like that you might find something to enjoy in there! okay i think i'm done with this lil ramble.

Comments, whether here, in the tags or in a reblog, are greatly appreciated! interactions really motivate me and keep me writing :)

#hyun su x reader #cha hyun su x reader #sweet home #sweet home netflix #cha hyun su #sweet home x reader #sweet home season 2 #cha hyunsoo #cha hyunsoo x reader #hyunsoo x reader #sweet home imagine #sweet home fanfic #my writing

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bbunisre · 4 months

Text

02: MEGUMI IS LIGHTWEIGHT (1.3k words)

Panda’s parties are always the same—borderline annoying, misogynistic rap music pulsating in your ears and a lot of dancing. A lot. So when you enter the party, swinging your car keys with your fingers and shooting acknowledging nods at mutuals, you’re not surprised to see the same once again.

“They’re here!” a rogue Panda yells, coming through with a red cup.

He hands another one he's holding to you, an unspoken understanding of your frequent drinking habits. It wasn’t that you were an alcoholic (past you would say something else) but you were known for your high tolerance.

“Where’s that bastard Toge? I need to have a word with him.” I ask Panda.

“Oh, I think he’s upstairs. Probably making out with some chick, I don’t know.” Panda shrugs easily.

Even if Panda is the closest to Toge, you know in a heartbeat that Toge is not easily drawn to the temptations of lust as easily as Panda thinks he is. In fact, you guess that Toge's most likely playing on his Switch upstairs, avoiding the party that Panda’s forced him to come to.

You turn to Tsumiki, “I’ll go. Will you be alright?”

“Yeah, all good,” she smiles at me, “Come back soon though. Don’t kill Toge.”

Megumi’s listening to your conversation whilst Yuuji and Nobara argue about who’s the beer pong champion out of the two of them at the entrance of the house. You pull them by their sleeves so they’re not in the way of passing guests anymore.

Sometimes, it feels like you’re babysitting them.

“Can’t promise, babes,” you tell her with a half-shrug.

Tsumiki’s phone starts ringing, “One second.”

She steps out to take the call, leaving you and Megumi a foot apart from each other, “Megumi, how about you?”

“Sorry?” he asks.

Forgetting what Toge's said is a lot more challenging than you expected. You push down the uneasiness in your gut.

“It’s your first party, is it not? How are you feeling?” you ask.

Megumi's expressions are hard to read but after being around him for so long, you’ve become accustomed to his body language.

“I will be alright. Thank you.” he replies politely.

You smile, patting his shoulder, “I’ll come and check on you later.”

Megumi nods and you take your leave to the second floor, a breath of fresh air coddling you at the escape. When you see the familiar Toge in Panda’s bedroom, your estimate is correct. Toge is sprawled on Panda’s bed, playing some Otome game on his Switch. He says he plays it because it’s cringe and he wants to make fun of it...you're starting to think that he really does enjoy it.

“Y/N.” Toge notes.

“Toge.” you reply, sitting on the bed next to him.

He switches off the game and turns to you as you take a languid sip of the drink, “Has Megumi asked you out yet?”

You almost choke in the process, furrowing your eyebrows and swallowing properly. Setting the drink aside, you hit Toge, “You’re out of your mind. He doesn't like me.”

“I mean, it’s always been kind of obvious if you ask me.”

“What are you talking about?” you sigh, “There’s nothing. You’re being delusional.”

Toge rolls his eyes, “No, you are. And he does have a massive crush on you because he was so desperate to believe that you didn’t like girls.”

“That’s a huge sentence coming from your mouth,” you comment, laying down next to him.

The reverberations of the music downstairs make its way up Panda’s creepy staircase and into the bedroom walls.

“He does,” Toge affirms, “I’m sure of it. Besides those tweets, there’s definitely something there.”

“Why are you so insistent about it?” you ask, turning to the white-haired boy.

It’s odd; Toge is usually reserved and calm so when you see him ramble passionately about Megumi, you’re not too sure what it can mean.

“I don’t know,” he answers, turning to you also, “But remember when you broke up with…?”

He waits with bated breath for you to approve.

You sigh, “You can say Choso, Toge.”

“Yeah, Choso...” he nods along, “When you broke up with him last year, he always asked about you through me. You were a mess, a really bad mess, like a really, really, really—“

“A mess. Got it.” you state, remembering those tearful nights.

“Don’t know why he didn’t ask Tsumiki. Maybe he was scared of being found out. Maybe—“

“Maybe he didn’t want Tsumiki to keep thinking about me. Don’t you remember how worried she was about me then? He probably didn’t want to pressure her and he couldn’t ask me because I wasn’t talking to anyone.” you theorise.

“I mean, you could be right but those Tweets.”

“The kids were probably just making fun of him.” you say, getting up.

“Where you going?” he asks.

“Chill, princess. I'm not gonna leave you now.” you respond, walking towards the opened balcony. You can’t believe Panda gets this whole view to himself.

Toge follows you outside and the two of you sink onto the couch outside, watching the neighbourhood as Toge passes you a joint from Panda’s secret stash.

An hour later, you remembered that you’d go check on Megumi. Sure Tsumiki is there too but she’s super popular, everyone will be talking to her while Megumi explores the unfamiliar terrain by himself.

So you say goodbye to the high Toge and walk back downstairs. Everyone’s dancing and hands drag you to dance but you push them away, saying you need to use the bathroom.

“Where is he?” you ask yourself, wondering around Panda’s house.

You see Tsumiki and Panda talking on the couch, Yuuji and Nobara playing beer pong but where’s Megumi? He's gotta be here somewhere.

“Y/N…”

A heavy hand lands around your shoulders.

“Megumi! Are you okay?”

Megumi’s lids are heavy as he leans onto you.

“Did you drink?”

“I…I thought he said it was a mocktail. I think I had too many cocktails.”

Of course he did.

“Okay, relax. I can’t drive right now because I drank too, but we can go out for a breather, how does that sound? There isn’t much space here for you to sit down.”

Megumi nods, barely processing your words with his eyes closed.

You inhale and prepare for the journey through the pushy and overly welcoming crowd as you make your way to the front door. The excited partygoers ask about his conditions but you give them brief summaries as you battle through the crowd. Finally, when you’re through the front door with a heavy Megumi, you make him sit on the porch’s stairs, “Wait here. I’m gonna get Tsumiki to drive you home.”

As you’re about to leave, he grabs your bicep, “Don’t go.”

You’re staring.

Very obviously staring.

“Please…” he whispers weakly.

“Okay, I won’t.” you answer, sitting next to him. There aren’t many people coming in and out of the party now. Most of them are getting drunk.

Right now, you’re trapped in your own world with Megumi. The last thing you wanted to do tonight, especially after what Toge told you. You didn't know he cared for you that much.

But it can't be true. Megumi can't like you. You're his sister's best friend.

The silence is louder than the rap music playing inside.

“How are you feeling?”

“I regret coming.” he responds.

Slowly, his head tips to your shoulder. You’re not sure if he’s realised he’s done it or the alcohol has consumed every working thought in him.

All you can muster is a nod as you’re glued to his side—thighs pressed together, shoulders smashed and his unruly hair prickling your cold neck.

If what Toge says is true, which it’s not, what would you do in this situation? Would you confront Megumi or would you flee?

“I can go get Tsumiki—“

“Y/N.” he states.

“Yes, Megumi?”

You can’t stop that gut-wrenching sensation in your stomach. Megumi looks up at you, long eyelashes fluttering open. You know what’s coming before it even comes.

“I like you. I like you a lot.”

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LENA'S NOTES - another chapter because ily guys <33

#jjk crack #jjk x reader #jjk smau #jjk smut #jjk fluff #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #jjk reactions #jujutsu kaisen smau #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #megumi fushiguro fluff #megumi fluff #megumi smau #megumi fushigure smau

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someonegoood · 1 month

Text

MY WHOLE LIFE pt. 1 ✫ mason mount

part 1, part 2, final part.

in which you have a fat crush on your brother’s best friend, without getting much success. (brother’s best friends troop).

CONTAINS: brother’s best friend troop, angst & fluff ! age gap, arguments...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this is my first work here but anyways i hope you guys like it ! maybe I'll do a part 2...

You watch proudly in his shirt as you clap in the game's first minutes, chanting while taking pictures of him.

The first half was pretty equal, with some shots from both teams but neither could score. You could see that Mason was getting nervous. He stopped his movements abruptly when the referee called for a corner and looked at the crowd, his eyes sparkling with tenseness.

He gazed down at where his family (and therefore also yours) was and licked his lips. You couldn't help but wonder what would your brother think of your little —huge— crush on his childhood best friend.

In the 34th minute, he passed the defenders and tried to score with a pass from Ben Chilwell, making the goalkeeper lose his balance and thus scoring.

You celebrated the goal screaming it to your brother's face and he couldn’t help but smile at you, happy that you were having a good time. Your cheeks were red after Mason approached the stands and celebrated the goal, dedicating a kiss to where you were.

And that was the effect that Mason Mount had on people, especially you.

Mason was your brother's best friend, you had known him for years. It was a stupid crush that all your friends grew out of but not you. You had to keep drooling every time he was near you, that being almost every day because your brother had him over to dinner nearly every night.

You remember the day the Mount family moved next to your house, a loud and proud British family— Debbie and Tony, Stacey, Lewis and Mason. The day after they had moved in, Debbie and Tony turned up outside your door, asking if your older brother was interested in playing football with Mason.

It didn’t take long for your brother to become close to Mason, both at the cusp of boyhood. Their friendship only bloomed from there.

After spending almost every weekend watching your brother and Mason training, to spending most afternoons around the Mount house playing, you felt like family.

You always found yourself drawn to the boy next door although he was away a lot of the time, playing different matches and training. Mason’s natural affinity and talent for the game, ensured the quality of his skills.

He was slightly older so no doubt he found you childish and would always moan when his parents made him spend time with you.

—Mom, not again! I don't want to play with her, she's boring! —Mason exclaimed with an expression of obvious annoyance on his face.

Mason's mother was the first to figure out your crush on the boy. She first noticed it when you joined the Mounts at a family dinner when you were around thirteen.

Both families were playing football, as usual, while the adults were preparing supper. When you had the ball you felt your body lean way too far back and Mason tried to act on impulse, stretching his body to catch you in time.

—Hold on to me! —Mason exclaimed, extending his arms towards you. However, the weight of the fall was too much, and in an instant, they were both on the grass, in some sort of mess.

—Mase, God, I'm so sorry! I dragged you with me! —you apologized, feeling the blood rise to your cheeks, turning them crimson red.

He brushed the grass off his jacket with an angry expression. —Well done. First minutes into the game and you're already annoying.

—Thanks for trying! —you laughed, shyly. When there was a long silence, you realized that Mason was not joking and was serious. —Sorry, I…

Debbie looked from afar at the little girl carefully while she kept her eyes glued to her son's. She watched her cute little cheeks tinted red as Mason scoffed and begged you to stay away from him.

Debbie would soon get used to it as she watched you fall in love with her son over the next few years.

Until your first boyfriend. An age difference of three years was not a big deal since it was a common factor among your friend's partners. You had recently turned sixteen years old and you thought that you had met the boy who could take you out of the charm that had her wrapped around Mase.

Lyon was older, he was eighteen years old, like Mason. You had met him at school on a spring afternoon. You walked through the school hallways, books clutched to your chest. A gust of wind caused some of the books to fly out of your hands, scattering them across the hallway floor.

Lyon was passing by and noticed the scene. He approached you with a smile and that is how the story started.

Your brother didn't approve of your new boyfriend. He knew that her sister just wanted to show his best friend that the age difference wasn't that important.

Being with Lyon was great at first. You knew that he was not the love of your life, but for the moment he seemed to play the role quite well, so that was fine with you. It was a Friday night and you and your brother were at a party at the house of one of your brother's friends.

You were downstairs in the kitchen while your friends watched you drink alcohol like there was no tomorrow. They realized something was bothering you, but decided not to mention it.

—Where is the lover boy anyway? —Spoke one of your friends.

Your lack of response was when they realized that Lyon was the reason for the sadness that was painted on their best friend's face. He abandoned you, once again. This seems routine, they thought.

You slammed your empty red glass against the kitchen counter, wiping the drip from your chin as you decided that was enough.

—I'll go look for him.

From the corner of the room, your brother wished you good luck and with courage, you stumbled through the party. The house was huge. Enormous windows covered the entire house. From the kitchen window you could see the river of lights going down to the beach.

And there he sat, on the stairs leading to the illuminated outdoor pool, Lyon. A thin blonde girl was sitting on his lap, probably older than you. She took the cigarette from Lyon's lips and placed it on top of her painted red lips.

Tears welled in your eyes as you returned to the house with your heels in hand. With all the bad luck in the world, as you returned, you heard in the background:

—Baby, relax. —You ignored your boyfriend's call as you made your way through the crowd to return to the kitchen, hoping that your brother was still there.

You made it to the kitchen before your boyfriend grabbed you by the back of your arm and pushed you against the kitchen island.

—Come on, I didn't even do anything—

—She was on your lap.

—It's not that serious, okay?—

—It's a big problem! I'm humiliated! —You shouted back, creating a scene you desperately wanted to avoid. Lyon's grip tightened around your arm as he tried to wriggle out of your grasp.

—Let go of me, you're hurting me. —That only made his grip tighten around your arms.

—Let her go, mate. —Your vision was too blurry to focus on what happened next, but you felt Lyon back away.

—Oh yeah?… and what are you going to do about it, Mount? —That's when the punches were thrown and Lyon was left hunched over holding his split lip. Your now ex-boyfriend was grabbed by someone else before he could lunge at who you assumed was your brother, but when you turned your head you saw Mason shaking your hand out of pain.

His knuckles were red and his eyes were darker than what you were used to.

—Let's go to the car. —Said Mason, you nodding your head. —Get in the car. —He said. His tone was strong, not what she was used to.

Still, the ride to your house was silent, you sitting in the front with Mase, while your brother passed out in the back seat. Faint English music played on the radio as Mason's eyes were firmly fixed on the road.

Mason finally spoke. —You really don't know how to choose them, don’t you? — You could only sob again, unable to answer him mainly because he was right and you were ashamed. When the car stopped, he unbuckled his seat belt and murmured that he would walk you to your door.

Mase rocked on his heels as he watched the moonlight highlight the tear-stained cheeks of his best friend's sister. He thought you looked beautiful that night even though you had been crying for the last half hour, your hair hadn't been brushed, and you were digging through your purse like crazy.

Although he would never admit it.

—I got them! —You laughed, waving your keys in the air before bumping your nose with the keychain. You paused as you pushed the key into the door, turning to look Mason in the eye for the first time since the party.

—Thank you. —Mason didn't want to hear it. You were just her best friend’s sister.

—It's no big deal. —

—No… really thank you, Mason. —you smiled and Mason listened too, mainly because it was probably the first time you had called him Mason and not Mase.

After a moment, you dropped your bag to the floor and wrapped your arms around the boy's waist, your head resting on his chest as he quickly moved his hand and rubbed your back.

—Just... make sure the next one isn't a complete idiot, yeah? —he whispered, his chin resting on the top of your head.

That sentence broke your poor little heart.

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izurou · 1 year

Text

most nights, katsuki will sit under the covers with his debriefing file and a blank, uninterested stare—flipping through the documents as you prance around the room getting ready for bed.

he’s seen you do this an endless amount of times, and has even been dragged into the commotion on numerous occasions—ending the night with a green face mask and a faux frown.

still, he doesn’t really get it.

of course, brushing your teeth is a given, and he won’t fuss about you washing your face—but the line has to be drawn somewhere, right?

pillow mist—the latest villain.

“babe, seriously?” he coughs, sitting up a bit as he sticks his tongue out and holds a hand over his throat. maybe, you went a little trigger happy with the black chamomile, but he’s being dramatic. “it’s in my fuckin’ mouth!”

“there’s an easy fix for that, y’know,” you smile, running your thumb and index finger across your lips in a zipping motion.

his eyes grow wide—not out of anger, or shock, but amusement. your smug comments are never ending and supremely annoying, but he fucking loves them—they’re cute. you’re cute.

he watches, tonguing at his cheek as you plop down in front of the large floor length mirror like a heathen—skincare splayed out in front of you.

you would do this in the bathroom, but you’ve been told not to by your boyfriend—who’s just looking to maximize his precious time with you, even if it means choking back the polluted air.

though he’d still argue that you are the only one who should be choking on anything while in the bedroom—not him.

“katsuki, stop that,” you laugh, catching his gaze through the reflection as your fingers run along your cheeks, working in your moisturizer.

“huh?”

stop what? existing? he’s just sitting there, hasn’t moved a muscle or opened his mouth in almost two whole minutes, and you’re telling him to stop? what the hell do you want from—

“you’re staring.”

oh, well—you’re wearing his shirt, the black long sleeve that hangs off your shoulder just a tad and drowns your hands in excess fabric. he gave you this shirt after your first night together, and while it’s no more than a piece of cotton—it’s special.

it reminds him of that morning, when you padded into the kitchen and asked what he was doing. he was making breakfast, obviously, but you insisted he come back to bed.

you were annoying, selfish—he had no more than an hour before he had to be at the agency, and you were asking him to skip the most important meal of the day to cuddle with you. unbelievable.

nevertheless, it was then that katsuki knew he was in love—with you passed out on his chest, in his shirt, just ten minutes before he had to leave.

so yes, he’s staring.

“am not,” he scoffs, keeping his eyes glued to you as you dab yet another cream onto your fingers. what the hell are you concocting over there? “i’m makin’ sure you don’t kill us with all that shit.”

if anyone were going to kill us—it would be you. the sentence pops into your head, but dies before it ever has a shot at tumbling out of your mouth.

maybe, that would’ve been something you said to the katsuki you first met years ago—but never to the one sitting in your bed right now. if you told the public what you did on that morning, you’re almost certain that half the population would be wondering how you lived to tell the tale—because no way in hell would the dynamight let that slide, right? everyone and their mother knows that his job as a pro hero is incredibly important to him.

but, not once in your relationship have you ever felt an ounce of unease, anxiety, anything, that’d make you doubt your safety for a single second—because you are more important to katsuki.

“you still with me?” he interrupts your selfish train of thought, pushing himself off the headboard to get a better look at your face. you’re a little zoned out. “fuckin’ fumes are gettin’ to you, huh?”

“i’m fine kats,” you grin, stepping back into reality as you screw the lid back onto your eye cream. you turn, sharing your smile with him.

“c’mere,” he rasps, leaning back onto his freshly scented pillow and discarding his papers onto the nightstand.

“or what?” you challenge, looking to rile him up a little before you inevitably go over there.

“you wanna find out?” he smirks, mind flooding with a tidal wave of lewd thoughts that he’s most definitely going to share with you later.

the voice in your mind screams yes, and you rise to your feet—shuffling over there in your slippers a little too eagerly, you’re sure.

you climb atop the covers and sit beside him—milliseconds away from opening your mouth to say something that would’ve gotten you into even more trouble—but he pulls you down for a kiss.

maybe he knew what was coming and saved you, or maybe this is you finding out. reason aside—he’s kissing you. slowly, his mouth moves against yours, and subtly, he tugs on the collar of your shirt—pulling you impossibly close.

“katsuki,” you sigh, running a thumb over his cheek as you lean your forehead against his. he’s pretty—strong, sharp features contrasting the softness behind his eyes. you know this look, it’s the same one he gave you that morning. gosh, how did you get so damn—

“hey,” he barks, grinning wide as he wraps a hand around your wrist. “you starin’ at me?”

#izurou #bakugo x reader #bnha x you #bnha x reader #bakugo x you #bakugo fluff #bakugo hcs #bakugo headcanons #bakugou x reader #bakugou fluff #mha x reader #bnha fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader

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demonicbaby666 · 3 months

Text

Daddy’s Home

One Shot | Criminal Minds Masterlist | Masterlists

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Jennifer Jareau x fem!Reader

Genre: Smut

Words: 2k+

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI, top!JJ, bottom!reader, daddy kink, cursing, asphyxiation, strap-on use (reader!recieiving), face fucking, rough sex, face slapping, brief mention of blood, little bit of degradation in there also

Summary: JJ comes home and needs to blow off some steam...

A/n: This was a little rushed and proofread at like 6am but I hope y’all still enjoy! <3

This was the way you liked it. You craved the hard pounding, the force of scolding slaps and the sizable bruises they left behind. Love was a language you knew to be best spoken in pain, and you were happy to have found someone who thought the same. JJ had surprised you many a time before, but the first time her fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing so tight you felt your eyes bulge, was the moment you started seeing things through rose-tinted glasses. Now, a year and a half later, JJ still applied as much ferocity to the way she fucked you.

When you heard her entering the house, the digital alarm clock beside your bed read 11:43, and it was an easy conclusion to come to that it would be one of the nights JJ would find her way to bed and crash out. You were sorely mistaken. With a click of the nightstand lamp, you rolled over to see your fiance's radiant look of hunger glow ominously over yellow light. In a split second, she pounced, flinging the duvet to the floor. JJ allowed herself two seconds to watch the sudden pebbling of your nipples before she forcefully pushed your negligee up, silk gathering in folds just above your breast, and placed her lips around a raised bud.

She suckled hard and sought the help of her teeth to bring pain into the fold. With a drawn-out tug, your nipple was pulled further and further away from your chest, so far your stomach tensed, and a small cry broke from your throat—the sting resembling that of a sharp needle. You were held in place by the firm pressure JJ was applying to your shoulders and the weight of her body resting on your hips, but that didn't last long. Once satisfied she had paid equal amounts of attention to your breasts, leaving them both wonderfully sore, the blonde got back up to her feet. Standing above you again, she admired her handiwork, looking over forming and fading hickeys alike; she gleamed with pride.

"Take it off," JJ ordered, nodding to the thin fabric still gathered below your neck. An arrogant smile crept over her lips as she continued. "Daddy's not going to fuck you unless you're naked and spread for me."

The fact would always remain: no matter how many times you'd seen the ethereally nude form of your fiance, you would always be left breathless. Of course, this was known not only by yourself but by the woman who stood confidently undoing buttons, unfastened zippers, and removing article after article of clothing that fell to the floor with a dull thud. Beautifully bare, JJ looked down, an arrogant curling of her lips forming an elusive smile. She took fluid steps away, and with an added sway to her hips, the blonde turned and padded over to the closet, where she bent down to open and rummage through your sizable toy box.

In favour of meeting earlier demands, you turned your sights to the slim spaghetti straps hanging off your shoulders. The faint sound of rummaging dulled by the delicate swish of silk passing overhead, and, if only for a few seconds, the blanketed feel of its balmy texture removed the trepidation that was forcing its way into your stomach, churning and squeezing at the contents of your dinner. By the time your teddy drizzled off the side of the bed, pooling on the bedroom carpet to join the rotting duvet, JJ had found what she needed. You saw little with her back to you, but it was still enough. The click of a lid, the squeeze of a bottle, a familiar sultry moan and then, in the blink of an eye, JJ stood at the end of the bed, harness-free, cocky as ever.

With only a pat of her palm to the space in front of her, you were up on your knees, scurrying forward, ready to serve.

"You know what to do," JJ spoke sternly, expectantly.

Your bemusement, understandable as it was, was taken as an insult. A stinging slap of silicone greeted the side of your face, shocking your mouth open, in turn allowing JJ to freely glide the length of her cock through your parted lips. She wasted no time, fingers immediately in your hair, nails scraping along your scalp, until finally, with her grip secure, she yanked you forward.

This was something you had yet to do, the logic being neither the recipient nor the benefactor garnered any pleasure. So the immodest act of giving head had never entered your and JJ's love life. Yet, as the blunt end of the dildo prodded the back of your throat, causing you to gag, a sound came from above you—a sound that was far from dissatisfaction. A rising heat spread across your chest the second time you let JJ fuck her length into your throat, once again hearing her make the same sound. By the third time, the tremors in your hands had evaporated into the charged air around you, giving way to the opportunity not only to relax your throat and allow yourself to be used but in addition encourage it.

Quickly enough, with your hands posted on JJ's hips, you guided her fastening movements, hoping to convey your approval without the feeble need for words. However, if the implication was received, JJ showed no thanks. She only worked her cock harder into your mouth till tears were dripping down your face, and even then, she continued to thrust along to every cut-off whimper, growling as though the 9 inches filling your mouth indeed was an extension of herself. Admittedly, in a way, they were.

Your windpipe felt raw, tender and bruised. Your head was light, fuzzy and in need of sufficient oxygen. Still, you made no complaint, took what was readily given, and even prepared your thanks. It was when your watery eyes had, of their own accord, met with the winter grey of JJ's that she snapped back to her senses. Slipping out, your fiance used the pads of her thumbs to wipe away the mess of saliva surrounding your mouth, and the funny thing was, there was so much care in the way she did it that you didn't even glance at the possibility of feeling embarrassed.

"Thank you," you croaked, eager to appease even if it was detrimental to the recovery of your vocal cords.

"You did a good job, baby," she praised from above, the sincerity in her voice so clear and bright that the capillaries of your cheeks filled red. JJ lined her middle and forefinger to your bottom lip, dragging it down in liquid motion, her eyes predatorily filled black. "Now, you get your reward."

The pop of your lip set in motion the whirlwind of movements that next occurred. First - hands moved from taming your mane and cleaning your face to your shoulders. Second - a force had you reeling back. Your neck protested with a soft click as the thudded collision of your head hitting the mattress breathed life to - third - JJ's fingers, calloused yet soft, harsh yet gentle, demanding yet patient, roaming all over you. They started at your legs, prying them open to make room for her toned body to lay. Then, flittering over your stomach, up and up, blunt nails skirting over the ridges of your ribs, to finally mount their attack of piercing pinches to your nipples. Throughout, the presence of her additional appendage did not go unnoticed—enticingly weighing on your pelvis. The spluttering moans, whimpers and mewls only grew louder when the slide of JJ's hips had her length sliding into wet heat, running along your slit, offering the slightest of relief to the burning embers of desire low in your stomach.

A shudder rode the column of your spine, rattling each vertebra, an appropriate response to another slide of hips and an accompanying bite to your throat. By the time the sporadic spasms of your cunt walls grew too much, ceaselessly reminding you that you were clenching around thin air, and led to pleading murmurs, JJ relented. She pulled back, only to quickly line herself up and catapult forward, hipbones crashing into the sides of your ass with a smack. All the air in your lungs left you with your next breath, so shallow you felt your stomach dip. It was big, she was big. And the sheer stretch of her penetrating your pulsing pussy told you that, indeed, this toy was being christened. A vague memory of a drunken purchase between two giggling adults flashed in your mind. There were no giggles now, only grunts, bated breathing and wistful cries.

"Daddy's little cock sleeve," JJ whispered into the shell of your ear. Her smirk was not visible, but you needn't see when it licked each syllable that slid off her slippery tongue. It was a vile comment, heavy and grotesque, sickeningly and perfectly demeaning. It had you nodding your head and drooling like one of Pavlov's dogs.

The submergence into deep water was a quick one. The muffling of your cries, the ringing in your ears, seeing only the black behind your closed eyes resemble the night sky so far out of reach, had you falling faster and faster, deeper and deeper into the abyss. You swayed and shook, breathed and breathed and breathed, but took in no air. Your lungs burned with effort as your body sweltered under the freezing jab of each savage push of JJ's prick. It was everything at once: pain, pleasure, love, carnal lust. It was the way you liked it: the hard pounding, the rough kisses, the hand wrapping around your throat to squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

"Yes, yes, fuck!" you screamed through the gaps of your teeth. It was raw and broken, rasping and bouncing off the lining of your abused throat. Your following sentence forced its way out in the same manner, this time interspersed between harsh bursts of breath. "Needed to be filled with daddy's big cock so bad."

JJ read you better than anyone ever had or ever would. She read the different pitches of your moans like music, following the crescendo with rapt recognition. She knew from the pink flush spindling across your chest, rising to your neck and cheeks, the sudden quiet that filled the room, and the vacant cries coming out of your mouth like condensation that you were nearing your end.

"Wait," JJ spat.

Your eyes flew open, revealing the unyielding bite of a piercing gaze. Then came the sting of her slap, both poisonous and arousing. It tore a hole through the tension in your stomach, successfully distracting you long enough for JJ to fall onto her elbows. The whole length of her cock penetrated you—so deep it skirted along the edge of unbearable. But as the slow grind began, and the sound of low moans rumbled by the side of your head, when the suppressed sound of your cunt juices mixed with JJ's filled your ears, you knew. You knew you'd do this ten times over if only it meant the body above you was attaining even the slightest bit of pleasure. And, if the increasingly occurrent noises were anything to go by, JJ was indeed in a state of bliss, the dual end of her cock rubbing perfectly against her g-spot with every languid slide of her hips.

Tension was building again. Pulsing. Consuming. Suffocating. The world was still again as you sunk. The current moved your body for you, pushed your tailbone into the mattress, only to move it up again and force another circulatory orbit to the prodding length that caressed your sweet spot. Your hands found their way to tender flesh, marring crescent moons so deep they may have hindered JJ's ability to sit without pain.

JJ grew louder. You grew quieter.

Your back arched, and you scrambled for JJ. You found her lips, took the bottom between your teeth and forced her to endure a modicum of the pain you were enduring just to abide by her rules.

Defiantly, JJ yanked her lip back, ignoring the drops of red that fell to your cheek. Her hand, previously hellbent on turning your face blue, gripped your jaw, and she teased her ability to crush it, squeezing so tight you heard the whisper of a crack. Lips swollen, eyes fierce, body rocking, she uttered the phrase - sultrily, dominate and firm - that was to be both of your undoings.

"Come for daddy."

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chronicowboy · 19 days

Text

but when i tried to love him i loved at the wrong time

this is a two for one spec inspired by this post and my long lost love trapped dads

any complaints about this fic can and should be directed to @evankinard who bullied me into writing this for her after i ruined her day with a single dm. love you bby <3

Eddie breaks apart a little the moment Buck disappears from view, lets himself feel the wound in his side as an excuse not to feel the big unwieldy thing unfolding in his chest like a colonising panic. He hadn't wanted to leave him, not after half an hour trapped in that smoky room clinging to each other to ground themselves in the reality they were trapped in, but Buck had made several stubborn and convincing arguments about Christopher before announcing he wouldn't move if Eddie didn't. Eddie had tried, had tried to get Buck out first, Buck who had just found happiness with—with Tommy, Buck who has always deserved to live. But Hen and Chim had come in with the clinical wisdom of paramedics and said a rebar through the abdomen was always going to take priority over a fractured leg.

Now, Eddie is rolled out of a collapsing building, leaving behind Buck—a bird with a broken wing, incapable of moving.

God, the noises Buck had made when he'd dragged himself over to Eddie's side. They'll be haunting him for years, for whatever lifetime he has left. Worse somehow than the first time with an entire engine on top of him. Except this time, Eddie couldn't hold his hand. Not now, but not before either because... Because that was someone else's job now. And like a laugh from the universe, Tommy appears just as Eddie reaches down to put the brakes on the gurney before Hen and Chim can get him into the ambulance.

"Kinard?" Bobby greets him with a grim-faced nod. "What are you doing here?"

"Heard you might need an assist from air support." He shrugs, but the breathlessness in the voice and the way his eyes keep jumping around the gathered 118 like he's only counting the one man not there reveals his nonchalance as the act it is. "Thought I'd swing by."

"Isn't that a conflict of interest?" Chimney asks.

"Fine, so I stole a helicopter again. Sue me for wanting to offer a hand." Tommy's face draws as soon as he stops speaking, and he glances back at the building waiting to swallow Eddie's heart whole. "How is he?"

"Holding in there," Eddie answers, voice tight enough to have Tommy really seeing him for the first time. "Think his bad leg is fractured."

"Shit," Tommy hisses, clenching his fists at his side.

"Yeah," Eddie breathes out. "Can't get himself out because of it. I wouldn't have left him, but—"

"He insisted," Tommy says, something entirely too knowing in his voice and his eyes. Eddie swallows thickly.

"And, well..." He gestures weakly to the rebar in his side, Buck's undershirt, now soaked through with Eddie's blood, wrapped around it as a makeshift bandage.

"Shit, Diaz." Tommy grimaces. "Shouldn't you be getting to the hospital?"

"He's refusing care until Buck is out too," Hen deadpans, pressing a new pad of gauze to his wound a little too firmly for it not to be intentional. Eddie just grits his teeth.

"Of course he is," Tommy murmurs. Eddie is too much of a coward to face up to whatever expression is on Tommy's face when he says it, so instead he focuses on the Incident Commander approaching Bobby.

"Site's been deemed too unstable," he announces. "No more personnel are to enter until we've found a way to stabilise it."

"My..." Bobby calms himself when his voice comes out in a growl. "My man is in there."

"And sending another man in there would be a suicide mission." The Incident Commander grimaces apologetically. "Sorry, Captain. That's an order."

Bobby turns his gaze back to the building, something so tightly drawn in him that it makes Eddie hurt all the worse. He knows without a shadow of a doubt what Bobby's thinking. He can't lose another son to a burning building.

And here, maybe this would be where Eddie runs back into the building and drags Buck out all on his own, maybe this would be where he finally gets to repay the favour for the gravel burn on his back, maybe this is where he'd get to redeem himself from the helplessness he'd felt just lowering Buck down to the ground. Except. There's a rebar in his side. Even with the adrenaline, even with the love... Eddie doesn't think he'd make it three steps before falling to his knees—a prayer in and of itself.

Instead, Eddie turns to look at Tommy. Tommy who is already looking at him, something determined and understanding and loving trapped behind the wildness of his eyes. A beat passes between them, silence saying more than they ever could.

"Bring him back to—" Me. But. Not to me.

Because that's not Eddie's place anymore. Eddie doesn't get to ask that of Buck's boyfriend. Eddie doesn't get to ask that at all. He's no longer the person that will be shaking Buck's pain pills into his hand and fetching him a bottle of water. He's no longer the person that will be wrapping Buck's cast in a bin bag for a shower and listening to him lament about the indignity of it. He's no longer the person that will be pulling Buck out of bed on his worst days to remind him that he's real and valued and loved. No, that's not his job anymore. But, fuck, Tommy's the only better man for the job.

"Bring him back to us," Eddie tells him then, and it feels like he's finally let go of the baton in the relay race, sure Tommy's got a hold of it now. And Tommy looks as wrongfooted by this as Eddie feels, but he nods anyway and grabs Eddie's discarded helmet from his lap, strapping it on.

"Kinard, no one goes in," Bobby warns him. "That's an order."

"You're not my captain anymore." Tommy only smiles and shrugs before sprinting towards the doors.

Bobby curses, but there's relief in it. Hen and Chim just watch him go with something hopeful on their faces. And Eddie. Eddie's eyes start to droop.

"Hey, hey, Eddie." Chim snaps his fingers in front of his face, jolting Eddie back into semi-consciousness.

"Eddie, we need to get you to a hospital," Hen says calmly, reaching for the brakes.

"Move me an inch and I rip this rebar out of my side," he says lowly.

"Jesus, anyone ever tell you you're a drama queen?" Chim huffs.

"Yeah." Eddie chokes on his next breath a little. "The man trapped in that building."

A solemn silence settles over them then. They redirect their attention to the doors Tommy had disappeared into, and Hen lays a grounding hand on his shoulder as they wait.

It's not long before Tommy comes stumbling out of the building, looking every bit the action hero Eddie has never gotten to be for Buck what with his soot-stained face and Buck himself slung over his shoulder, splinted leg bouncing against his sternum. Hen and Bobby spring into action immediately, racing to meet them. Chim just unlocks Eddie's gurney and loads him into the ambulance, raising him up just enough to catch a perfect view of Tommy lowering Buck onto his own stretcher with a kiss to his forehead. The ambulance doors close, Chim knocks twice, the sirens begin to whine, and they lurch into motion.

"Did you draw the drama queen straw?" Eddie asks to distract himself from the tenderness of Tommy's kiss.

"Higher ups are a little more serious about conflicts of interest now Buck is officially my brother-in-law," Chim mumbles as he works on getting Eddie's IV in. "But also I'm better acquainted with rebars than Hen, so..."

Eddie huffs a weak laugh as his eyes drift to the ceiling, the clean white of it stinging his eyes.

"Chim?"

"Yeah?"

"Tomorrow isn't promised to anyone, right?" he chokes out. He doesn't take his eyes off the ceiling, but the sudden silence in the ambulance is as deafening as the siren overhead.

"No," Chim says eventually. "No, it's not."

"But what happens if the person you love..." Here, his voice breaks. An almighty crack right through the middle. It sounds like the building behind them just came crumbling down in his throat. "What happens if someone told them first?" He turns to face Chim's wide eyes. "Should you still tell them?"

"I-I don't know..." Chim opens his mouth a few times, a fish out of water, before he makes a decision. He takes a deep breath and squares his shoulders. "But what I do know is." He clears his throat. "If you let a wound like that fester... It'll kill you, Eddie."

"Yeah." Eddie lets his eyes fall shut.

I can feel it already.

#sami rambles #i hope you like it dearest wife #and i hope you don't blame me for a fic you made me write <3 #buddie #evan buckley #buck x eddie #eddie diaz #911 spec #tommy kinard #bucktommy #buck x tommy #911 fic #911 ficlet #911 spec fic #buddie ficlet #bucktommy ficlet #bucktommy fic #buddie fic

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