#like i try mirroring it and cutting and pasting and it just does not make tha cents luh <3

[jupiterswasphouse]

BUGSNAX - A REVIEW

A few days ago, I fully finished and 100% completed this game, and I'm very happy to have finally done so! Here are my thoughts, under the cut! (Skip to the end if you just want a quick overview of each point)

-

As evidenced by the fact I completed the game, I enjoyed Bugsnax a lot! Which I'm happy to be able to say upon playing it myself after having watched other people (Namely Snapcube, all the way back in 2021) play it in the past. It's a nice change of pace from the other kinds of games I've played in recent times, and a type of game I can't say off the top of my head that I've really experienced before. I've played my share of creature collectors but those were mostly RPGs, like the Pokémon games, whereas Bugsnax takes the concept into a full 3D space where you don't exactly battle the Bugsnax but, rather, you trap them!

Forgive the comparison I'm about to make but it's almost like you're pranking the wildlife of this island, tricking them in various ways to get them into your backpack. It starts off as simple as just waiting for Bugsnax to wander into your trap, and for a handful of species it stays that way, but with the wide variety of them available to you and which you're expected to catch, it becomes more complicated very quickly! The game can become slightly repetitive at points, especially having to refight bosses for 100% completion, but they vary things up enough with tools and specific catching conditions that it never became boring for me. I'd say that Bugsnax is almost a puzzle game in that way, trying to figure out what combination of things catches what Bugsnax. Although some of said 'capturing puzzles' are easy to cheese, or come up with multiple solutions for.

Despite that, though, Bugsnax can be a challenge for the brain! Like any good puzzle, the solution can be difficult to piece together right away at times, making for engaging gameplay that keeps you thinking. That's a great thing, as it's really the only challenge there is in the game. Bugsnax does not have a fail state nor any lives to lose, no matter how much the aggressive Bugsnax try and no matter how many times you light yourself on fire in the middle of Snaxburg. Bugsnax simply isn't a very difficult meal to swallow! Which isn't a bad thing.

As a side note on the gameplay too, the game does keep you busy with a multitude of main quests, side quests, and letter quests, giving you many reasons to want to catch all of these Bugsnax!

Speaking of the titular Bugsnax, though, they're a very interesting bunch! With 112 of them to find (after the release of the free DLC), the variety of designs on display is wonderfully creative and charming. Yes, some of the designs are reused and retextured, but that's perfectly acceptable and to be expected when you're capable of transforming almost every NPC using said Bugsnax!

They're certainly interesting to observe and speculate on how they came to be! They're not anything that could exist in our world, but that's kind of the point! They do, however, interact with each other in some ways you might expect from wild beasts, fighting with each other and accidentally running into each other on occasion. Bunger, Spuddy (Beetle-like Bugsnax), Preying Picantis (A mantis-like Bugsnak), and Scoopy Banoopy (A giant water bug-like Bugsnak) being as aggressive as they are, while played up for gameplay purposes, does mirror how strong and combative these insects are in the real world! Although, you never see these Bugsnax eat each other, nor at all apart from when you specifically toss sauce at them, making it unclear how they survive apart from eating said sauce, even though the ending goes some way into explaining that, to an extent. Even still, not much that truly needs to be explained goes unexplained when it comes to them

Of course, the creativity and good design of the Bugsnax would mean nothing without an equally charming world and set of colorful characters to go along with them! The game does not disappoint there either, making for quite the feast for the eyes. The biomes are lovely, and environmentally tell you quite a bit about the history of the island, from the crashed ship on the beach of Boiling Bay to the cave scrawlings of Garden Grove and the clear existence of a long gone civilization in Scorched Gorge and the isle of Broken Tooth! Meanwhile, the NPCs, the Grumpuses, have wonderfully charming designs, resembling muppets to an extent, all distinct and fun designs but still simple enough to fit in with the impressive mechanic of 'Snakification' without being too disturbing... Most of the time

Heads up! The next section goes into SPOILER TERRITORY, if you want to save the story for when you play it yourself, skip to the next chunk of bold text

When it comes to the story that surrounds all of the Grumpuses, it continues to be quite the charming game, with its comedic flair, colorful personalities, and sweet personal moments. However, it's not a conflictless experience (Nor should it have been!), with many characters fighting and having problems that range from Wiggle being afraid of being a one-hit-wonder and struggling to create her next masterpiece, to Snorpy struggling to communicate his feelings to Chandlo while Chandlo worries about the unhealthy amount of stress that Snorpy is going through, to Beffica being unable to hold a friendship because of her own actions and being afraid that she won't be able to ever have anyone close to her. It doesn't pull its punches, especially once you get around to helping them with some of these issues in the sidequests!

The biggest issue that requires being solved however is the driving force of the game, getting everyone back to Snaxburg, and especially the adventurer who invited you to the island in the first place, Elizabert. The search for Elizabert takes essentially the whole game, searching for clues and interviewing Grumpuses, watching tapes that display the relationship of Elizabert and her girlfriend/wife (unclear whether or not they're married), doctor Eggabell.

This search concludes in quite possibly the most unsettling muppet body horror way it could have, with Bugsnax being revealed to be parasites, composing essentially the entire underground of the island, with Elizabert herself being turned into a giant but somehow still sentient and sapient beast made of multiple different legendary Bugsnax, among other species! and the final sequence of the game is spent essentially killing Bugsnax in a brutal saucy massacre across Snaxburg before making your escape.

Now, does this make Bugsnax one of those "Oops, it's a horror game actually!" games? Not in the slightest. This is not as overtly horrifying and gorey as something like Doki Doki Literature Club, although it is possible to lose Grumpuses to the influence of the island in the final sequence if you play your cards wrong, this is more like an Undertale situation in the sense that the game is mostly perfectly fine but has some disturbing undertones and moments! It is a super unexpected moment but I like it, and the ending provides a very satisfying resolution to everyone's problems while still leaving enough questions about the island for a Bugsnax 2

[END SPOILERS]

The game is also very well scored with a mostly electronic sound track that fits the charming and mostly relaxing atmosphere of the game! Seth Parker's smooth synths filling the space perfectly between Grumpus dialogue and Bugsnax yelling out their names Pokémon style, with an adorable credits theme done by Kero Kero Bonito, which fits in perfectly with the rest of the music.

Now, in terms of game stability, having played after patches, I'd say this game is stable enough for the average player, some things being a bit easy to break for people who are looking to do so, with very few glitches being detrimental to the experience. I did have some Bugsnax get stuck or disappear, but it wasn't enough to really effect things much given there are a couple ways to respawn them (sleeping, leaving the area and coming back).

One funny thing did happen to me though, and it was my fault entirely! I saw the broken bridge in Scorched Gorge and was like "Hmmm, I bet I could get across that when they don't want me too" and I did! Then the game autosaved and I had accidentally set several flags in the game skipping Snorpy and Chandlo's quests. I had to find the save file and manually edit it so that I could fix my hubris and unskip the quests! Which was thankfully not very hard to do, and I got to experience those quests without issue.

Now, finally, what would I add to a Bugsnax 2? Well the obvious answer for me would be some form of wasp Bugsnak, I just want more representation of my favorite guys!! But for a bigger suggestion, I'd say that there are tons of different real world bug features and behaviors that could make for interesting gameplay elements and designs! With mimicry, pollination structure building, symbiotic relationships, resource gathering, pheromone communication, multiple stages of life, etc etc. I'd just really like to see what the Bugsnax team can do with things like these! Even down to more species or family specific things!

-

All in all,

Gameplay: Fairly unique! Can be repetitive at times but stays varied and interesting enough to be engaging for most players.

Difficulty: Catching Bugsnax can be challenging but it's still fairly easy, with very little punishment for failure outside of the very end.

Graphics/Design: Extremely charming with varied Bugsnax and cute NPCs that fit with the biome they're in very well, providing a lovely atmosphere to the game, even if Snakification can make things clash at times.

Story/Lore: Very good, keeping you interested in the world and characters of the game, and at times delving into more serious, personal topics and problems, as well as setting up a world that shows plenty of its history, while leaving some questions to be answered

Soundtrack: Rather smooth, synths filling the space in nicely and not leaving much awkward silence, with a very good guest track

Stability: Rarely detrimental, not giving the player any major issues, while still being breakable if one were to try to do so

Completion Time: 29 hours

Overall: Recommended

#Wasp House Review #bugsnax #Review #long post

[capslocked]

KINKVEMBER DAY: 4

[prompt: roleplay] male reader x kang hyewon 8k words

“I need you,” Hyewon says in the uneasy dark of a hotel room, with two urgent fistfuls of your shirt, “need you to do to me all the things my husband never will.” “Yeah, I know,” you tell her, “you said that,” and her eyebrows move in all the wrong directions, “I’m just wondering if, you know, maybe we should give him a little more credit.”

-

Here’s the truth:

Hyewon doesn’t believe in leaving evidence behind and you don't find it particularly productive to doubt her; you’ve been talking in code for years. Parts and pieces of yourselves reduced down and bottled into set phrases that, to anyone else, would be totally incomprehensible.

"i've been thinking," she texts you, which you've come to understand means she's already made up her mind, "maybe we should do that thing we were talking about. tonight."

(You're not always so fast on the uptake.)

You send two back two texts, both of which ask "which thing?" because the hallway from the breakroom to your desk has poor reception and it never lets you send just one.

Then, right after you cross the threshold between signal-drowning-concrete and the glitzy glass-walled arboretum they've built to make you feel like you're not a total cog in their corporate machine, your phone pings the receipt of Hyewon's reply: a picture - her laptop, propped up on your coffee table with its screen angled for perusal, of a booking site that's filtered to show results for their 'king bed & view' room at a midrange hotel a forty-five-minute ride from your apartment.

"not really doing much narrowing down here hyewon."

She replies to you - her text bubble appearing over another couple still images, of herself in the vanity mirror as she curls her hair around her finger and holds this little black slip of a dress over her shoulder, black lacy lingerie in tow, the whole nine - with:

"i'm feeling kinda adventurous."

-

Five o’clock rolls around but you never really do figure it out. You spend the last three hours at work deciding which kink of hers (oh, does she have a few) this is all in service to.

There's nothing overtly sexual about her pics in the first place - not more than usual anyway, more showing off her curves and cut jaw than showcasing anything for her 'adventurous' intent. So that can't be the tell - you'd seen her in a corset once (you can't unsee it) and the angle of her hips to the mirror makes you think that if she was planning on pulling on a  pair of crotchless panties then she probably would've found her thigh high stockings, too.

You try and think of what the two of you had even talked about when discussing these little scenes - how many times you'd ended up 'in the mood' during or after such a meeting of the minds, how it'd snowballed from there, a whole list of filthy what-ifs that she'd probably put more thought into than you ever have - but you draw a total blank. It could be any of a number of things.

Until,

"i left you instructions on the kitchen island," reads a text on your phone which you definitely don’t check while you’re driving -

And then it hits you.

"ah."

"yeah, 'ah'," she replies.

-

A quarter past seven at the hotel bar is way too early for any real promiscuous activity, but then again, you're here playing at pretend and half the fun of games like this is in the setup.

Meet me at the bar, your instructions read, introduce yourself, and play it by ear.

There's some couples at the other end, some friends downing shots by the round, people musing over their aperitifs, and a woman sipping alone at the bar - Hyewon, appearing to you from the back first:

The pointed edges of her shoulders narrow out over this tiny cocktail dress that somehow covers less of her than if it weren't there at all, skin tight, accentuating even her softest curves. She has her hair fixed a particular way - teased enough to flip at the ends but still a single sweep down her shoulders, pulled together softly by a ribbon in the back, tied like a fantasy, allowing a wispy strand to fall to her face - glossy and dark and glowing to this rich, deep mahogany where it's cast in the lamplight.

The line of her throat, of her chest. Where her hips meet her waist in a rounding flare. The effort and beauty she's gone to, for you - that she puts in every day just because she knows it gets your attention, can do more than turn a head or two; Hyewon's appearance is almost indifferent of you, only coincidental, but she puts on a damn good act.

(You look a lot more worn in comparison: jacket thrown over dress shirt and khakis, tie loose at the neck. Standard office attire with just a step-outside-regulation. Disheveled.)

A drink, you suppose - approaching the bar to try and catch the bartender's attention to order a single malt.

But if Hyewon's been waiting long, she doesn't complain when you pull into the stool beside her and sit for a long moment.

"Do you mind if I join you?" you say over a pair of politely folded hands - and that's generally where her 'instructions' end.

The look she fixes you with is just this unashamed smoldering, her body language this contradictory kind of lazy - cool, like her night was going exactly the way she planned but she still had places to be.

"It depends," she replies, one slender finger curled around the stem of her martini glass - which historically, is a drink she hates. "Who's asking?"

"Just me," you offer, letting the gesture and your tone leave it up to her. And then slowly, perhaps awkwardly: "ostensibly a complete and utter stranger who knows a gorgeous woman when he sees one - and who could never pass up a chance to see how the rest of her is."

"Smooth."

"I guess it is, considering you didn't immediately run for the exit."

Hyewon nearly snorts.

"Hard not to." She tilts her head back at you, assessing. Her cheeks are rosy pink. "A handsome thing like you doesn't usually buy themself a girl's time with flattery -"

"Buy your time or your drinks?" you tease, and you can tell she wants to roll her eyes - but she keeps them carefully lowered. Eyelashes dipping down like blackened fans.

Hyewon shifts slightly, resting her chin onto the heel of her wrist like she's leaning against an imaginary windowpane and tipping her face a little sideways. It makes you smile. "One gets the other, if you catch my meaning."

Maybe it takes you a little too long to lift your gaze off her lips to find her eyes, or off the sweeping curve of the hemline sitting high across her long legs, but she watches you for just a breath. It's a more telling moment that she pretends she doesn't know you.

"You can look at me if you like," and then without further preamble, she introduces herself with a slight tilt of the head and an expectant expression: "call me Hyewon."

You figure that if you've gotta say one word to get the ball rolling you want to say her name, and as a little revenge for forcing you to think on this scene and think on what to say, what your character would say, how exactly she wanted you to go about 'meeting' her in a hotel bar, how her fucking scenario's been building up in her head for god-knows-how-long (even though, in the scheme of the two of you and your relationship, it’s nowhere close to being the most demanding sex you've had), you reply simply with:

"Pretty."

It's satisfying, how she hesitates - pausing a little longer on your face to gauge exactly what you meant. Studying. But the next beat of your heart - or hers - is effortless, easy.

"I know. That's what my husband calls me."

"Husband?" You keep yourself from raising an eyebrow. "And I don't suppose I'm also... married?"

"Different day, different you."

"Meaning I have a wife or a mistress of my own," and you flick your wrist at the barkeep for a top-up of what's in front of Hyewon. "You're telling me I'm the kind of man who'd only settle for two."

It doesn't sound quite right, though Hyewon picks up on it. Doesn't let on. "Aren't men like you always? Charming to a fault, but always voracious - insatiable, especially with women like me."

"Women like you."

"Married women. Unavailable," she simpers, and in a practiced little motion, draws her hand out to where you can see it properly, this sparkle on her fourth finger that catches the lowlight of the bar. The diamond looks real - not that you'd actually know - and your stomach flexes up mid-somersault thinking about the financial impropriety for what amounts to a gag. A practical joke. Hyewon the comedian.

Still, you go with it and take her hand in yours, admiring. "What a pity." The glint off its faceted surface - Hyewon's watchful as she allows it.

"Isn't it," she agrees.

The more unnerving thing - besides how composed Hyewon can make herself be - is how the narrative quickly becomes a whole hell of a lot clearer with the context of marriage in play. She's mentioned it before: the infidelity thing, the way it leads to the raunchiest, filthiest bits she'll dare to explore. In some ways, her desire for the untouchable makes a lot more sense -

And maybe that's what had been nagging at your mind since she brought up the idea of playing the part: you always end up kissing in that stupid 'caught up' sort of way. With an intensity that's hard to beat. Even though you wouldn't ever cheat on her. Not in a million years. You'd watch her leave before doing anything like that.

But it's thrilling, almost, and even more thrilling that this isn't entirely improvisation: how well the two of you might actually play this off, as two total strangers to this illusory little roleplay that you'd normally say was your very last interest.

"But you know there's something I've come to appreciate about married men," Hyewon continues, her voice in this conspiratorial sort of hushed.

You blink, drawing her out.

"They know how to tie a knot."

There's the flirty wink, an upward flick of the chin that draws your eye to the span of her chest. To her body in that skin-hugging dress and your fingers entangled in hers - the gentle bump and shift of the bodies behind her, moving between the tables - Hyewon a queen of circumstance, playing to the moment as it bends; as her lips part in a pleased smile, red and smooth, almost innocent, and you can't help but imagine tasting her on your tongue, the force that'd take for her to yield when you finally got your hands in her hair.

(What a character, honestly.)

"Tell me something," you say, "why would a married woman, this pretty little thing like you, be all alone in a place like this - without her charming husband."

Hyewon's smile curls at the edges like smoke. "I never said he was charming."

You raise an eyebrow. "Good-looking, then."

"Never said as much either."

“Why are you with someone you find neither attractive nor charming?”

Hyewon makes a face, slightly pitied. “If that Isn’t what I’m asking myself everyday.”

"Hm." You narrow your eyes into something more quizzical than suggestive. It works on her anyway. "That doesn't feel too much like it's in character, Hyewon."

She shrugs, but it's that coy kind of shrug. She thinks you'll let her off easy - you usually do. All considered, she's the type who thrives off the chase and, as of today, so do you.

"But he is cute." Her expression is just this side of sweet, as she takes a dainty sip of her drink. Like the taste doesn’t bother her, like she isn't pretending she doesn't hate it with every fiber of her being. Like this is easy. "And maybe -" she quirks an eyebrow at you, withholding a smirk. "-you're right. Maybe, I was looking for someone cuter to fill the bill. And luck would have it, here he is."

So - apparently - her character doesn’t mind a little light infidelity.

Hyewon takes in the vague sense that the message wasn’t as clear as she might have liked, her forehead scrunching as she tries to convey - in a way that would communicate even to an airhead - some realization to play your part.

"Maybe it's the wrong question,” you start over, taking it from somewhere near the top, “what are you doing here, with me?"

That's when Hyewon graces you with one of the soft, slow kind of smiles: the kind that manages both an air of 'you dimwit' and 'good question'. Her fingertips barely graze yours but it's noticeably electric. Just enough to feel your pulse fluttering.

(You don't care that none of it’s real - Hyewon looks to you through thick eyelashes like a goddess of temptation and sin - and it makes something wicked coil up warm at the pit of your gut. A curious thrill and a recklessness that you have to admit feels a little nice - being the man trying to talk this woman into bed. The challenge and the buildup, the want to work for it. It's new. It's fresh. Lo-and-behold, it's kinda hot.)

When you catch her stare, she fidgets. So slightly, so briefly, your chest is on fire and you're barely into the pages of her plans, of this night ahead.

"Wish fulfillment, let's say," and that is no less true. "See it’s my husband."

"Mhmm."

"He respects me too much to do the things I'm going to ask you to do."

"Like?" you continue to prod.

Hyewon lets out the tiniest shiver of a sigh, like a trickle of cold water down the length of her spine. "Take a good guess."

You finish the rest of Hyewon's martini, slow. Savoring the warmth and bitterness sliding down the back of your throat. The night's young, sure - and if you're supposed to be spending it all wrapped around Hyewon's finger. This means you can take your time.

"Show me your room?" you propose, gesturing to the empty glass.

"I thought you'd never ask."

At your offering, she stands up and throws on her coat - long, double-breasted, chic - but only really just off her shoulders to have the hem hit her legs mid-thigh. One of her many personal quirks. Hyewon knows how to move like there aren't two eyes staring at her wherever she goes: not the awkward side-to-side of a girl who wasn't made to wear heels - a loping gait - nor the assured click, click of the taller kind that totter like it's all they've got going for them.

Something totally different: a little careless and a little haughty and an assurance of the highest confidence.

She winds an arm round yours like they do in movies, this parody of a leading lady - Hyewon not a seductress as much as she is someone who'll look the part just to convince you otherwise. There is a pretty big discrepancy, you find, between her bravado and her smile, her figure and her artistry - you couldn't act if you wanted to; meanwhile, she does whatever she damn well pleases. And somehow that doesn't even begin to cover the things that turn her on.

The two of you make for the stairs, winding up floor after floor until it's perfectly quiet, perfectly out of sight - hidden away from prying eyes and ears.

The silence of an empty hotel stairwell is thick - Hyewon's hand comes off the railing, as she takes to the wall and turns to face you. It's a gentle tug at the tie loose around your neck, barely any give before you're already there, holding her by the hips.

"Might've gotten us lost there," you whisper, as her finger plays at your chest and finds its way round the collar of your shirt. Your top button is already undone by the time you notice she's not fond of it. "The elevators would've gotten us where we're headed faster."

"Don't worry." She hums, leaning in close - like a magnet, like gravity. "You're getting the scenic route."

"Anything to stall the inevitable," you tease, but it isn't a thread she seems interested in developing.

"Something like that."

Hyewon shifts her weight back onto her right foot, her skirt riding up just barely. The dip between her inner thighs and the smooth curve of her leg is open and bare to your sight, her dark stockings like an unspoken challenge: the panties, lacy, loose, no crotch.

And it gets... indecent, the way your lips connect, how you realize half-way into that kiss, she's still smiling. It isn't any one way that does it; maybe it's the clever use of her tongue, or that particular position you've coaxed her up against the stairwell wall that makes it seem like Hyewon can't be any more in danger - it's too much to handle and your mouth goes slack on the reflex of an apology; her hand has a hold on you by the jaw and it won't budge.

"My husband," she murmurs into you, the trace of the words ghosting into the breath between the both of you. "Never lets me."

"What," you rasp, barely recognizing your own voice, your hand heavy on her side - the very real fear that you might tip over a banister because Hyewon's got her heel half-way into the back of your calf and any less bracing would bring you down. Your thoughts are a fog, with her cheek in one hand and your knee already up between her thighs.

"His wife," she almost swallows down, kisses turning chaste because maybe it's just easier to gently peck out her intentions, how she looks to you with dark eyes, heavy-lidded and wanting, a thumb trailing down the plane of your cheek. It'd feel like pity if you weren't thinking exactly the same.

You try to finish it for her:

"She likes it rough."

"No." Her nose traces yours before she connects you again - gentle and slow, and a shudder rolls all down the expanse of her shoulders; you think you have it about right. Until she makes the slightest adjustment and her grip in your hair turns agonizing, perfect and burning on the edge of too tight - too much. You are straining against the wall of a hotel hallway and she's saying, "not rough."

She kisses you. Hard. Until you gasp for the stolen air in her lungs.

"Filthy," she manages against the heat and sting at the side of her cheek.

(Damn.)

Your voice has gone and lodged itself firmly somewhere between her lungs - but there's something that says she knows. That you've got it in you, the brimming potential that might just say everything you ever wanted but couldn't figure the right way to put it.

It's the tone of her voice or the spark in her eyes, but one moment into the next - you're caught in this pull - like gravity's increasing tenfold at her will; her heartbeat's so strong you swear you feel it against your ribs as she's demanding:

"Messy. Dirty. A little uninhibited," and the obvious thrill of that must flare up like lightning under her skin - the way it makes her moan, soft and breathless: "fuck me like my husband doesn't."

She’s not even waiting for the comfort of the room yet, which in hindsight is probably checking more of Hyewon's many boxes - it's the sex in public thing, the fear of discovery thing, the desire to have you ravish her out where anyone can come upon you sort of thing - the thought of which has your jaw go a little slack too. Her leg up is coiled up around your hip, your fingers tangled in her hair and sliding up the length of her thigh, until you're fucking kneading up her ass and drawing out that desperate whine in her.

"Fuck," she exhales into your shoulder - a hand on the metal bannister to brace against those little circles you start to rub inside her, pushing - slowly - one, two, three knuckles deep, testing - before drawing back, and plunging forward again. This ache, slow and purposeful, pressing just enough into her until there's a wet sort of friction that has your hand slick all down your wrist.

It never takes long, with your fingers on her clit, fingers inside her, a palm covering the moans out of her mouth -

She cums just like that.

Whining and broken and bent under you, and with an elbow hard against her ribcage to make the breaths come shallow.

"Stay quiet for me, sweetheart," you find yourself murmuring, as your teeth graze the shell of her ear - the short burst of hair and silky strands across the back of her neck; you're undoing the neat ribbon tied round the length of her hair and letting her waves settle on her shoulder in time for you to swallow down the sound of her sighs, the tension in her lips, and the frantic jolt when your fingers push through the wet, heat of her pussy again, merciless and quick. You have to be careful; she nearly bites your fucking tongue out.

"Can't." Her jaw's tight on it, the slight staccato to her breathing, murmuring and slightly dazed: "if we get caught, someone will see. Someone will notice."

Her next exhale is more shaky. "Anyone could see us like this," with just her toes curling and her stomach tensing on every second beat. Your grip leaves a bruise. "Please-"

"We're not supposed to be doing this at all, are we? If you've got a husband waiting somewhere?"

You hear yourself, and it sounds sorta degenerate, though in all the right ways, you figure, like something straight out of one of Hyewon's romance novels, the dirty, smutty ones that she swears up and down she simply reads for the plot, but the dazed, hazy kind of mood they get her worked up into suggest otherwise.

You trace the rough pad of your thumb over her pussy, this delicate, ghost of a touch. One you'd have to strain to even tell if it was there or not until she whines - eyes screwed shut like she doesn't mean to, just does. The sound of it bouncing around the stairwell.

And then, all this wet: her skirt's ridden all the way up to her stomach, damp and near-transparent with slick, and you can just imagine the puffy pink between her legs - between her stockings in the afterglow of an orgasm, spent and sensitive and sore and wanting for more. Your eyes linger a little too long -

"I shouldn't let you," she manages, half a moan on it - one of her heels comes up the stair you're standing on and the way Hyewon clings onto you for balance says enough, but still, she demands, with all the strength her throat allows: "make it fast. You're lucky I let you see me like this at all -"

And she cuts off abruptly, looking at you.

(She'll play coy for a while longer. Which, Hyewon being Hyewon, will look like as much an effort as her sprawl out on the bed for you is.)

"The room," you say to her, harshly, "where is it."

"Four more floors."

-

Room 1014 as it turns out is like every other room you've ever been in, each one perhaps a little more identical than the last - except this one has Hyewon sitting in your lap while you get comfortable on the bed, and there's also the way she looks in the mirror above the headboard, the desperation in her stare, right back into the reflection.

"What all," she says, "do you want to do to me?"

This time - no explicit instructions - just an implication. You have to figure it out.

See, the image of her is like every fantasy rolled into one, wearing this thin black bra that has her breasts just about spilling over. They're amazing - the color and shape of her skin. Soft. Cradled between the cups like a godsend, and maybe that's why it drives her a little crazy how good you look biting down the ridge of her breast and flicking your eyes back up to catch her expression.

It has you feeling, if nothing else, a little ‘adventurous,’ too.

Her belly tenses on a heavy sigh and it's one hell of a thing to have Hyewon staring you down, like you're an animal or an idiot, with her eyes flashing and a thinly veiled anger in the purse of her lips. There's a thousand things she'd like to do to you - for you to do to her - but it's about the predicament: the silk necktie she'd pulled off you as you both stumbled through the door has ended up around her wrists, pinning her arms behind her back in a way that suggests a loss of control. Just the mere suggestion of a little playacting, but she's almost keening.

You feel the touch of her right calf keep rising - curving down your waist, hooked behind the small of your back - her thighs smooth, and a hot line along your sides.

"I should fuck that pretty mouth of yours," you say against the shell of her ear, because you know better than anyone, the very concept gets her wet. Uncomfortably so.

And she leans her head against your temple like she'd love it. You could be imagining the little whimper as she clenches up round nothing - until a growl escapes the back of her throat and she's saying -

"Is that how you're going to cum? With me on my knees and nothing else? Cover my pretty face? How you’ll completely ruin me?. You’re more creative than that."

“I don’t know that I am.”

Her hips move to find some friction where there isn't any until you give her some, pulling your cock out through your pants and feeling it brush, once, twice against the seam of her. Hot, and hard. Ready. And if she only tried a little, the angle was made perfectly to slot your head in, but neither of you move. She doesn't yield.

"Let me fuck myself on you," she suggests, strained, almost pleading. "Then perhaps I will."

You could take her like she is. Any which way. But this is about getting a particular reaction - one that'll leave her spent and trembling - and nothing like that will happen without a little bit of preparation and prelude. You want to watch her writhe for hours. Until she forgets she's playing a character at all, until she's panting your name and whimpering for release, her cheeks burning.

But at least it gets her writhing on you, the heat and press of her body as she leans in close, your eyes locking:

"Get your cock inside me-" the urgency in her voice. "-fuck me right now, this second-"

"Say it again."

"Fill me with your perfect cock." The words land right on your lips, frayed at the edges as the tether to her control slips another notch. "Push my thighs apart until you break me," Hyewon tells you - and then with her legs twisted up in the comforter, the creaking mattress and the sweat on the sheets: she rolls her hips like they're pleading for it.

"Pushy."

"Gentle's got no appeal for us."

"Apparently not," you reply - but then it's suddenly a lot easier, to slide one hand in Hyewon's hair, and grip at the knotted silk wrapped tight 'round her wrists to hold her. There's no hiding the subtle arching of her spine, how the pressure off her arms pulls her chest in or makes it all the more comfortable, she doesn't let on, she'll probably keep pretending she doesn't like this, that she hasn't always wanted -

You run your tongue over her collarbone and thrust up inside her, once - a warning that you're not giving in to her quite yet.

The smile that runs her lips is brittle. Like her patience isn't what it used to be - she makes a quiet little noise, pained. A flash of discomfort. But there's a moan and a curse out of her:

"Like that. Harder."

"What does harder mean?" you ask, with a deliberate repetition in motion, thrusting upward, forcing her hips to shift a few degrees further back - her knees clenching around the sheets as you're met with no give - Hyewon's resistance through a dark smile, and her grip slackened in her hands, despite you keeping a fist wound tight in the hair on the back of her head, tightening the other around her restraint.

Her throat flinches: this shudder.

She takes a couple heaving, open-mouthed breaths, before she has it in her to glare at you again.

"Harder-" The way her mouth shapes around the word gets the better of you - cute little cupid's bow in pink, full and swollen and pursed up as if in pain. Or desire. Or both, the way her head is tipped back, hair half undone - an idea is already coiling at the back of your mind. "-until I can't stand."

"Or talk?"

And when your hand loosens on her wrists, her posture slumps like it's relief, that you're finally going to move along in a direction she's getting some satisfaction from -

Hyewon shakes her head in a moment that's almost blissed.

"You," her voice breaks on the tail end, "fucking wish you could shut me up that easily -"

In a motion almost gentle, you twist the length of hair down around her, from her scalp to her jaw, and wrap it around a hand. "Let's see if you'll change your mind, shall we."

There's a sharp draw of air in past her lips, just one sound, not a word. No proper rebuttal. She bites down, teeth clicking.

So you pull.

And this isn't some revelation, that Hyewon's cunt is heaven. Slick and tight, the fit around your cock and the gasp escaping the base of her throat - that isn't new. You've been here countless times, fucked her past her breaking point, beyond what should reasonably satisfy her or satisfy you, but that still doesn't take away from this incredible, heady rush that pulses through your entire body. It never stops getting better, not inch-after-fucking-inch the way you're bottoming out inside Hyewon's body and feel how hard the rest of her muscles tense up in the contact, how her pussy tightens and quivers, and grips around the entirety of your cock, the briefest taste of pleasure and release before it's pulled back just out of her reach - overstimulated, until Hyewon cries out.

You expect, predict the fight, the whimpers that spill out of her mouth with every slap of your skin and the breathless way she begs, pleads, like she'd rather her pride take it from her than have your fingers tug her hair up, right out of her scalp, with your arm locked around her lower waist. With your cock pumping faster, faster and a pressure, hot and inescapable, right there - the friction building - the slippery-wet heat sliding along your shaft with every stroke until you bottom out and her next exhale is a sob.

A goddamn fucking sob and the warm gush of liquid down her thighs - all on you. You fingers are pressed into her ass, pulling onto you, steading her bounce - and Hyewon finds her breathing uneven, as you smear wet across the curve of her backside, rubbing circles into her lower back as you catch up on the rhythm she'd lost.

"This tight little cunt, huh," you tease, and she nods so desperately it seems like she might snap. Like she might cry again and this time for real, a drop of her eye color past the blush, streaking down her cheek. You have the wherewithal to remember your character, your blocking, your lines: "this is what your husband won't do? Won't fuck you on every piece of furniture until you're a ruined fucked-out mess? Doesn't have the decency to work over his little slutty-wife until she's passed out, dripping with cum?"

Hyewon's fingers curl up into two balls of white knuckles and she chokes on her reply. "He won't."

"Tell him. He has a hot and dirty little piece of ass right under his own roof-"

"You think," and the string of words trails off when you manage to grind in, at this angle that has her reeling, trembling at every shift and jerk in momentum. Your knuckles drag against her soft and giving curves, almost gripping at her in the attempt to hold her down on you. "-my husband isn't enough."

"Well you wanted me to fuck the domestic housewife out of you," you murmur, taking two greedy handfuls of the ass bouncing in your lap, rubbing your palms along her hips, up and around the shape of her abdomen and her ribcage like you'd map it, memorize it. She wants this, you know this: your palms come around and over and brush your thumbs against her rising gooseflesh - she's putty in your hands. "No strings attached, remember, a one night kind of thing-"

"My husband loves me."

"Then it seems-"

"He makes me cum with his hands alone."

Your jaw works tight - Hyewon's cunt feels as good wrapped around you as she says your cock feels making a mess of it.

"Tells me he'd die happy hearing me moan his name."

"Oh, because no matter where he goes," you say, fingers wrapping under and around the back of her neck, forcing her to look you in the eye, "no matter what, your sweet cunt's the only one his mouth is ever watering for, isn't that right-"

A blink, lashes thick and feathering down and over the pools of her pupils as you have a hold of her tight. 

You're having a hard time with this, and you want to give it to her, the toe-curling-crescendo that would see her cumming at your will, or worse, losing the plot completely and your entire setup falling away from the charade of characters you'd both conjured. But she looks at you like she's never loved anyone like she loves you, the naked, barefaced devotion, the tenderness - a quick breath, a second - and the game is suddenly something far more personal, a truth. It isn't exactly fair: how your heart stutters. How much her heartbeat makes your pulse flutter, the electrifying rush you get when you fuck roughly up into her tight, wet cunt and make her bite down on nothing in the throes another orgasm.

You barely have a second to think of something coherent, let alone an out before she kisses you. If that isn’t totally disarming. So you move her into the next, flipping her onto her stomach, and she does nothing to fight back: Hyewon just lies there - the side of her face plastered to the comforter - exhausted, and gives a willing, malleable moan at the contact where your hand digs into the shape of her upper thighs, spreading them out as her elbows struggle behind her back.

"Here, baby," you say, finally unwinding the silk knot between her wrists, "I'll have you like the little desperate fucktoy you really are."

There's the bite to her bottom lip, the whole five seconds it takes for her hands to spread out and twist her fingers tight in the bedspread, before she whines - full-throated - and rocks back onto her toes to arch her back.

(See, the thing: Hyewon likes being fucked within an inch of her life. On all fours and pleading for more.)

With your free hand, you reach around her to run over her inner thighs.

Hyewon brings her grip to the bottom of the bed frame, for purchase, or leverage, you don't know, and in one simple motion, you slip your cock back deep inside her pussy.

You curse under your breath.

Hyewon fucking collapses.

It's a dangerous combination, having her begging and you nearly fully clothed while she's wearing barely more than this thin strip of black silk around her waist and a stocking on one leg, but you can't help it - she looks good this way.

"Fuck," she spits out, voice lost when your hips find hers in this wet, sloppy crash of skin that gets louder, faster and more punishing on each beat. "Like that, oh my God-"

Her whimpering only gets worse - when you start only pulling out halfway, until she's gasping like she can't breathe. You think there isn't a more wonderful, more obscene, more gorgeous thing than Hyewon spread out in front of you - the curve of her spine defining each and every one of the lines, dips, and rises of her body - and you would thank God or some higher deity right about now.

It’s fuck and please and every other little pliant utterance of “fuck my brains out, use me, make me beg, I'm so turned on right now I'll let you fuck me anyway you want - harder, faster, I can do whatever, just show me how, make me, push and fuck me hard until I'm raw and aching - god - like this, let me cum, please, let me - keep fucking going, oh my god, please, like this, fuck, just like this-"

You do thank God, actually - there's mirrors everywhere in this room, and you can catch the circular swing of her tits every time you force a curse and a sigh out of her: the bared teeth and the effort to push herself back on her arms, bracing for every thrust, fighting and fumbling to keep her balance and to make sure you have to pound her into the mattress until her cries reach a pitch.

Then, the thing you'd learned she'd never ask for but oh-so-dearly-wanted - you open your palm and bring it down hard on her backside. The impact of your flesh to hers, a crack, a moan and her whole body flexes - and it's then you do it again: matching the hit to the visible red outline of your handprint. The third time, she hisses, biting into the bed sheets so as not to cry out.

"Right? This is what you want? To be fucked and used?"

She doesn't reply with words, because she may in fact be biting her teeth into the cotton threadcount at the end of the bed, but she lifts her ass higher, angles her hips like she's waiting for more. Her brow is creased in a smile, even though a frustrated groan escapes her lips - so you give her that again, and again, until the back of her thighs are turning red and she's clawing one hand back along the length of your legs - pushing and pulling.

"You want me to fuck you senseless, sweetheart?"

And then, so needy and desperate she's just saying the first word that come to mind:

"More-"

"-when I've been railing into you so hard and your husband probably knows already, has to have seen, maybe he's listening at the door- oh," and your whole train of thought comes to a sudden halt upon seeing Hyewon's hand land on the perfect round of her ass, fingers pulling her soft, reddening skin taut, up and away from where your cock is disappearing between her cheeks - to allow more of your shaft into her hot, wet cunt - allow you to fuck her and fuck her up - allow the length of your shaft to slide deeper and hit all the spots that will send her reeling into this orgasm and the next.

Your gaze is stuck however, not to her curves rippling in excess, the damage of your thrusts pounding her body to ruin, or the look of flawless pleasure twisting up the pretty features of Hyewon's reflection, but instead it's the fucking flash and catch of the diamond that adorns her fourth finger. Even when you have her completely helpless, bent on your mercy, she's still wearing that promise, that intention to have and to hold, and you think, for at least a second, this whole roleplay thing isn't the worst idea: being a surrogate to fulfill someone's wildest fantasies. It might even be enough to make you hard all over again - the thrill and the debasement of your girl, lines quickly blurring between the Hyewon you'll take home and put back together and the Hyewon you're fucking pouding into a mattress - the here and now.

"Fuck, Hyewon," you find yourself swearing - steadying the hips rolling back in your palms, bending down until the flat of your chest meets her back, until your nose is in her hair, the long strands sticking to her lips and the back of her ears. Until you feel her shaking as you suckle against her skin, at her neck, hot kisses between the shoulder blades, finding a grip in her hands. Her grip in yours - as she's muffling these exquisite, needy sounds; she is perfect. Hyewon is perfect.

The first time you cum, it's this hot splatter of white: smeared across her ass and the crease of her lower back. It feels almost dirty to think that's just how you feel about it; your heart is stuttering in its erratic pace, but your eyes are drawn and enraptured, the sight of it all.

Then second, maybe your favorite: when she slips her hand to your aching shaft and simply takes you back inside her. This soft, wet, inviting heat that pulls you back to her.

"God- please," her head tips back, you feel the arch of her back through her ribs and stomach, the way her breath catches as you slide your cock through her creamed-out-cunt so much harder and smoother. "It feels so fucking good, baby," and there are tears now, welling in the corner of her eyes, "don't stop, God don't ever stop-"

She can barely finish her sentence before she's cut off, a moan ripped from the bottom of her lungs and a gasp straight from the pain-pleasure that has your balls slapping against her pussy every other stroke. And suddenly she's sitting, or rather, squirming into your arms, her face buried in your shoulders as she starts riding you, and not-quite crying and saying again - again, the whole filthy lot of things: about her wanting you to fill her, to plug her up with your cock. Every thrust she whines in your ears, clutching onto the fabric of your shirt and making a mess of herself in you.

It's this wild and reckless thing that makes its way around the room, on every surface and bit of furniture. You fuck her over the counter, let her ride you on the sofa, the chair, the two of you managing to find some sort of assistance in the wall even, the door frame, her legs up your sides and the slippery-sticky-heat of your mouths connecting and everything that isn't exactly meant to support that kind of strain buckling and nearly giving way - once when the wooden joints in the door-frame shift, once when she begs for release in that frantic voice that doesn't sound a thing like her. And the way she comes apart under you after, on top of you - is even sweeter; you imagine there's this endless possibility for love, for pleasure, a whole world in bundled in the notion that you could do it for her again, that it was always a question of Hyewon letting you have her that way, and the rest was mere foreplay - a stretch.

Only, on the bed again, Hyewon shivers beneath you, this full-body response, and you've got her stretched as she opens up - that the slightest of movements has her already whimpering out "fuck," and "please," and "right there," and "fuck you're going to make me come like this. You're so good, just fucking," and "more, harder, please, you feel so fucking good-"

The desperation for release is so palpable in her that it's curling into your stomach as your press Hyewon's knees into the points and edges of her shoulders and fold in her half - this perfect angle of leverage. Fucking her like she's yours and no one else's - the absolute delight of her cunt, wet, hot, and desperate to milk you empty - her body quaking at the force of each thrust, and the hungry grind of your hips into hers. Her fingers digging and knotting in the sheets around you until her knuckles pale, and your own grasp on her skin threatens to bruise.

"Inside me," she gasps out, because she can feel that edge just as well as you, "I want you to fill me, just cum inside, God, you always feel so amazing, fuck, like that, cum inside me, cum in me-"

"How could I say no, especially when you ask so sweetly," you tell her, kissing into her smile, "can you take another? Baby, look at me, look into my eyes, yeah? Look right back at me."

Her eyes blink and roll back a bit, almost losing focus and her eyelashes flutter - the creases in her brow, the elegant lines of her face locking up in the overwhelming tension, then, a peak.

And a demand, meekly asking you to fill her up. Until there's nothing left. "Cum," Hyewon moans, "for the love of fuck-"

You push her past her climax until she's practically weeping, sobbing through a litany of nonsense and slurred, unfinished sentences and almost howls, struggling beneath your weight and coaxing her fingers over the surge at the base of your spine. Before a hot liquid mess bursts out of you, into the deepest reach of Hyewon's throbbing cunt - cumming inside her, while you hold her down, not allowing her to move as your hips lock and you're both left groaning in utter agony.

(This was the thing you'd told her once - cumming inside her was almost always worth the effort it took to clean it all back out. You like the possessive aspect of it, maybe the slight humiliation, and more than anything, she'll just melt: once she's gone past the immediate discomfort. If anyone could really learn to get off on feeling a little filthy, it's the two of you. And she knows that too, Hyewon's eager little pout intimates, as she blinks down to watch where the two of you connect.)

You don't say much for the next while. If there's a line where this particular escapade blends back into your normal life, where the Hyewon curled up in the sheets is your own girl and not some half-conceived entity that didn't fit the reality of the rest of the evening, or how you see Hyewon everyday, even then, it’s not clear.

She's utterly boneless - this fragile, dazed thing that runs her palms all the way around her breasts and pulls up her stockings a little further up the line of her hips, as if you weren't going to peel them back and slip them all the way off when you had the wherewithal to handle it. But the strength in her isn't entirely lost either, she looks ready to burst: this air of pride and smugness - victory, right in her grin, which isn't totally surprising. Hyewon usually gets an odd satisfaction out of your participation in whatever hedonistic or obscene thing it is she wants to try.

This was her fantasy - maybe not a deeply rooted or unattainable one, but she'd worked out some kinks of hers and has walked away a far better woman for it, knowing what a sight she is to you. Like this.

"That was... fun," Hyewon eventually says, collecting articles of clothing strewn about the room.

Her shoes are one of two sets in the shoe-rack, but she'll have to look around and under the bed to find her dress. It would probably be some strange level of easy to play dumb and wait until she comes to the conclusion on her own that she should bend down and check down there, but she looks a little too worn out to really be interested in her clothes, more like, ready for the next part.

"We should do it again," her gaze lands, intent, and serious, back to you.

"Which part?" you have to ask, because you're probably still, a little slow on the uptake.

A small laugh, the sly smirk to herself; she knows she has you wrapped so perfectly around her finger, ready to bend to whatever game she can come up with: "whichever part you like."

#hyewon smut #izone smut #izone hyewon smut #kpop smut #male reader #capslocked kinkvember

[hazelfoureyes]

A Doe in Fall (Part 3)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

Part 3 A tragedy 

So enraptured with Alastor, you forgot how you left work on Saturday. Tommy didn’t forget. And he made sure you remembered. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for you, your paramour made a habit of helping quicken karma’s balancing act.

「warnings/promises: immediate physical assault (let’s be up front about that), allusions to sexual assaults having happened in the past to non-reader characters, HumanAlastor x FemReader, penetrative sex, Protective Alastor, bruises, somewhat graphic descriptions of murder, mentions to coerced prostitution, sex near a corpse (words that have the FBI watching me), stabbing, knife, bad burlesque names, gambling, my own new HC for the Radio Demon’s origins, another deer reference thanks to @n-after-me , chin quivering, Tommy doesn’t know French and it shows, posted early for @jazzmasternot, wrath」

Minors DNI 🤺

You walked into the theatre for rehearsals with a pep in your step, body still humming. It was like the usual adrenaline rush Alastor brought couldn't fade this time.

But it did, when Tommy grabbed you by the hair out of your makeup chair and threw you into the wall. 

You couldn’t react, head ringing after it left a small indent in the drywall. Unlike before, you didn’t try to stand. Make him work for his second hit. And he did. Leaning down he yanked you off the ground by your arm and dragged you to your feet. 

“Do you think you’re funny?” He shook you, you were sure you could feel your brain jostle. It was rhetorical, but you replied anyway.

“No, Tommy.”

“No. Exactly.” He backed you up onto the make up table, head pressed into the mirror. “Mr. Wilson was not happy. He pulled his contribution. I know you don’t have that kind of money. Do you know what you’re gonna do?”

His fingers dug into your cheeks, “No.” You genuinely didn’t. He was talking to you like you had been in the loop on whatever it was he had been doing on the side. All of this was as shocking to you as your actions were, apparently, to him. 

“You’re gonna take whatever meetings I make until that money is back.” He let go of you and turned to leave but changed his mind. Coming back, he swung his fist and clocked you on the left side of your face.

You didn’t see it, but you heard the other girls running and pulling Tommy off of you, yelling and pleading for him to calm down.

“I worked really hard for you!” He shouted, jerking his shoulders out from under the hands of the other performers. What was he talking about? You hadn’t discussed any of this, asked for any thing from him. “I waited for a high roller for you. Real classy guy. Just wanted a private show! That was it!” He spit, “No, every Tom, Dick, and Harry is welcome now to ask for your time.”

You just held your face, unsure if you had the right makeup to hide the bruise before stage call. 

“Well?! Say you’re sorry.”

You considered not saying anything. No response. When you looked at him, you could see the half a dozen other girls staring back at you, just say it. We have to rehearse.

“I’m sorry.” Eyes cast to the floor.

“For what?”

It hurt when you rolled your eyes, “For being ungrateful?” 

He shoulder checked a few girls on the way out. A couple came to you.

“He’s got some gambling debt, he’s just using us to get ahead.”

“I have some stuff to cover that up for tonight.”

“He usually cuts us in.”

Tears stung your eyes, you were angry and humiliated. You could work elsewhere, with a little luck. Take a job at a diner out of the area where no regulars would stir up trouble. Maybe leave until Tommy got his debts paid off or whatever was motivating this recent streak of cruelty. But you didn’t want to run away. No one applauded waitresses. Maybe if you made yourself as unattractive as possible, no one would request you. Dirty your teeth, talk about other men, speak crudely. 

“What exactly was he talking about?” you asked no one in particular. The girls were quiet for a beat.

“Well ya know, private shows for clients who can afford it.” High pitched and nasal, Florence spoke as she searched her make up station.

“That’s it?” Incredulous.

“Sometimes. You know how it is… woman left alone in a room with a man who has too much money or ego or drink. Doesn’t always stop at a dance.” Minnie had much more experience than you, “It isn’t our jobs. It isn’t normal. But, well, ya heard about New York right? They’re trying to make burlesque outright illegal…”

“Gotta enjoy the art while it’s just misunderstood.” Florence wiped down your mirror before setting her supplies down for you. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

By the time patrons began to stream in, you had blood staining the white of your left eye. Nothing you could do, but maybe at a distance it wouldn’t be noticeable. The bruise under your eye from his fist was easy enough to cover. The contusion from where your right cheek hit the wall was a little harder. 

Luckily, the stage offered a buffer of space and the rest of the room was dark. 

During your show, you tried to keep your eyes moving so the red sclera never stayed in one place too long. For the first time, the cheers did nothing for you. You felt your chin quiver, fighting back tears. You wanted to scream, to tell them to hate you and leave. Stop fucking clapping.

Ruth was naturally the first to come to you after your performance, “Want me to do the tour with you? Arm in arm around the hall.”

You took her up on the offer. It lightened the load, her taking charge of the conversation when people approached or bought you drinks. Luckily the bartender always poured the performers weak cocktails and watered down liquor to keep their heads on straight. 

Ruth’s companionship afforded you precious time to plan, to consider how quickly you could find new work or at least a way out of this.

“What a treat. Two for one. Can I buy you both a drink?” 

Ruth turned first to greet the customer, “Ooh yes sir! Gin and tonic, please and thank you. Autumn?” Your stage name drew your attention back to the world, turning finally.

“Alastor.” It fell from your mouth like a lead balloon.

He smiled down at you, his hand offering a little wave, “Hello. Surprise.” 

Your face fell, a frown pulling down your chin. It took you too long to recover, batting your eyelashes and turning the corners of your lips up unnaturally. 

“So you do have a beau!” Ruth slapped your arm, “I’m Skye, Skye Scraper. Pleasure to meet you, Alastor.” She extended her hand, Alastor planting a kiss on the back of it, concealing his smile at the name.

You tried to keep your eyes on the floor, head turned slightly away from him to obscure the neon sign of an eye shouting, ‘Weak!’

Unfortunately for you, Alastor wasn’t an oblivious man. Unless he was dancing or drunk. “May I have a moment alone with her?” Alastor asked Ruth. Ruth looked to you for your okay, and you just nodded. She gave a little nod of her own to Alastor and slinked away. 

“Are you unhappy to see me, dear? Did I overstep by coming by unannounced?” You hadn’t heard him worried before, it pained you. 

“No, no! I am… so happy to see you. I just had a long day.” You scanned the room for the darkest area to bring him. A booth would be best, you could keep him on one side of you. You gestured with a nod of your head.

“Ah, I kept you out too late.” Alastor didn’t move.

“Not at all, come on let’s sit down.” You reached back for his hand without looking at him, but when you pulled he still didn’t move. He remembered the way you pulled at the hand of that man in the alley the first night you met. Desperate to escape somewhere. 

“Is there a reason you won’t look at me?”

Lie. 

“Uh, no, I’m just embarrassed about this heavy stage makeup.” 

Alastor paused, hand slipping from yours to adjust his sleeves. It was a nervous action, an attempt to self soothe, but you didn’t know that. “I should have asked before coming.”

“Alastor, it’s not…,” you kept your eyes down at your hands.

“Then look at me.”

Would he think you were incapable of protecting yourself? His pity would kill you. Perhaps he would decide a second rate burlesquer wasn’t worth making time for anymore.

You could intentionally wound him, say you don’t want to see him so he leaves. But that sword was double edged and you weren’t sure you’d survive that either. You weren’t making it out of this.

You finally looked at him. He leaned in, “What happened to your eye?” A slender finger gently tilting your chin upward.

Lie. 

You thought too long for an answer. Why were you getting worse at lying? It used to be one of your best shields and swords but now you were so slow on the draw you were left defenseless. Vulnerable. His hand took yours, gently pulling you into the lobby and through the glass doors of the theatre.

Under the bright lights of the marquee and the street lamps, Alastor inspected your face. He reached into his pocket for his handkerchief, wetting it in his mouth before wiping the makeup off of your under eye.

“Alastor, people are staring.” 

His eyes fell down, soft hands lifting your arm where a bruise was already formed. You hadn’t noticed that one.

“What happened?” He wasn't looking at you when he said it, instead cautiously wiping the makeup off your cheeks in search of more marks.

“The truth or wh-“

“Always. Never give me anything else.”

You sighed, and explained, “Tommy, the manager, he’s been shifting tactics for bringing in money because he owes some big bads a lot of debt. Private shows with performers that sometimes get hands on…,” his hands stopped moving but his eyes didn’t meet yours, “I never asked to be included in it. I wouldn’t do it. I was rude to a man Tommy introduced me to and I ran off Saturday. Yada Yada. He got me as soon as I got to work.”

Alastor didn’t reply, just turned on his heels and marched back into the theater. You chased after him, “I don’t need you to fight my battles!” You tried to get in front of him but he walked right past you.

“Not about what you need, dear, it's about what he deserves.” 

Alastor asked the bartender for Tommy, who pointed to the short but stocky man talking to a group of guests. Alastor approached so quickly Tommy didn’t have time to greet him, instead just backing up until he fell ass first into a booth. Alastor boxed him in, one hand on the wall and one on the table, towering over Tommy as he sat.

“I hear you sell dancers by the night.”

You paced the lobby nervously. Would you be fired? What would Alastor say? Would Tommy hit him, too?

He re-emerged, “Come to my car, please.” He didn't stop walking as he said it. 

You followed a few blocks down to his car, parked on the street. He opened the passenger door for you and closed it behind you. You wanted to ask if you were going somewhere, but thought better of it. A tight u-turn, he pulled the car into the side street where you’d first met each other.

Wordlessly he got out of the car, you opening your door before he could. Popping the trunk, he set the folded canvas inside a paper bag. Checking first, he placed it inside one of the tin trash cans. 

You stood, waiting for an explanation.

Finally he stopped and made eye contact with you. “You have a date tomorrow, with me. Bring this to the apartment above the theater before Tommy and I arrive.” Opening your mouth to speak, he didn’t stop to let you add anything. “Preferably near the bed.” He closed the trunk, “Wear red, please.”

You searched his face for some kind of discernible emotion but found none. Those constricted pupils again, an animal staring back at you from behind a pair of glasses. There was no reason to ask him, it was obvious what was going to happen. Did you want to stop it? 

Did you want to see it? Alastor at work?

“Okay. On all the points.” You looked back at the trashcan, “Canvas hidden near the bed. Wear red.”

“The extra clothes can go anywhere out of sight.” He leaned down, kissing your forehead, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Your voice cracked a little, “Wait, you’re leaving already?”

He nodded, “I can’t stay here.” Before getting into his car he turned and added, “Don’t cover the bruises tomorrow. He should see them.”

You nodded in return, “Are you doing this for me?” So quiet you almost hoped he didn’t hear it.

He paused, one leg already in the car and his back to you, “No. I’m doing it for everyone.”

You watched his car light up and leave the alley.

It’s not that you felt abandoned, you felt…. Stranded. You had to go back in there, alone, and put on the normal act but under abnormal conditions. 

So it was happening. You hadn’t seen the first time. Just felt it. You didn’t see the second. You were going to actually see a man die. Not just a man, someone you knew. Someone you used to consider a friend of sorts. Before he got into whatever trouble was driving him to act like a flesh peddler. Could you do it? Could you watch a man be killed? Was that even what Alastor had planned?

Tommy found you the second you were back in the room, hand pressing too hard on the bruises he left on your arm. “You have a meeting tomorrow after your show. If you don’t show up,” he yanked you close, putrid breath of dead teeth you’d never been bothered by before this moment and bad booze assaulting your senses, “I will fucking kill you.”

You almost started laughing, bringing your hand to your mouth to hide your smile. “Okay Tommy.” 

Fuck it. He was going to die anyway, might as well make it a date. 

Ruth saddled up beside you as soon as Tommy was out of earshot, “Look at that smile. Quickie in the alley?”

Disgust, “Jesus, Skye, I was gone like, 5 minutes.” She shrugged. “Why does everyone think — is everyone fucking their daddies* in the side street?” She nodded. “Well, I’m not.”

“Prude.” She joshed before linking your arm in hers again, “We’ve got at least another hour of schmoozing. Tits up!”

Your smile came effortlessly that night, a thrum of excitement keeping you light on your feet. Not excitement for death, but for the very concept of being closer to Alastor. Would you see it happen, in front of you? Or would he have you leave? Either way, you were an active participant with a task list.

He trusted you, even if in a small way. Trust was so rarely given from the people who mattered. Men trusted you often; to be sweet when they tell you they were embarrassed about something, to lie when they ask if you orgasmed, to not steal their cash when they blacked out with their pants still on. Pulling it from strangers was one of your greatest pleasures. But it was easy. You were skilled. 

Yet again, like so often now, Alastor was the exception. He didn’t toss himself at your feet. He stood tall in front of you and on his own terms offered you the things you wanted. You didn’t have to pretend to be demure, you didn’t have sit on his lap in silence and nod and laugh. Just yourself, as much as you could allow yourself to exist in the world. No tricks. If his trust was presented wrapped in a bloodied bow, well, you would thank him dearly and wear the ribbon round your neck like a trophy.

Many men spoke to you, but luckily your participation in conversation wasn’t something they really cared about. As they spoke, your eyes were looking past them and into the future. 

However there was a sense of dread when you lied in bed that night. The excitement of getting closer to Alastor had melted into the fear there was no going back from this. 

Something in your chest stung, a thorn growing from somewhere unknown. Three encounters (that he knew of) and already it seemed your thoughts were more Alastor than yourself. No person had ever made such an impression before. You didn’t like it, but it made you happy. Which is why you didn’t like it. Tying your happiness to another person was a reckless thing to do. You’d seen your mother and half sister both use a man’s attention as a replacement for being happy with themselves and it made them brittle and hollow.

Thinking of what would happen the following night, oddly, you were reminded of losing your virginity. You were a “late bloomer” and were terrified you’d never be you again after. Like something would be taken from you. You fell asleep to that thought, of what you’d lose.

Then you woke, uncharacteristically early, feeling none the bit rested. No dreams. No nightmares. A few seconds of darkness and suddenly it was morning. With the extra time you had you wandered into a department store before going to the theater.

When a sales woman approached you, asking what you were looking for, you were too tired lie.

“A red dress.” You didn’t have the makeup at home to cover your marks, and gave up being worried about it. 

Unfortunately, it seemed it wasn’t so odd of a sight; a woman with a black eye.

“What’s the occasion? Apology dinner?” The woman fidgeted with the hangers while looking at you.

You grimaced, “No, a murder.”

She howled, “You are a hoot! Don’t we wish, huh? Let me pull you some options.”

You put the dress on the top of the paper bag, having hidden it under your make up table the previous night. Your fingers were trembling, applying your makeup needing deep breaths and concentration.

“Ruth, can you do my lips?” You turned and handed her the brush. 

“The eye looks better.” She took your chin in her hand and painted your mouth a pretty shade of red.

“Thank you.” You offered her a smile but she didn't let go, “What?”

“You ever seen a cornered raccoon? Like one got in the house and your mom boxed it into a corner with a broom?”

A nod, yes, actually, you had.

“Who’s got the broom?” She asked. You knitted your brow, not understanding. “Who’s got you in a corner? Is it Tommy?”

You took your chin back, deep breaths. “No brooms. No corners. Just rattled still from last night.” Not a lie, surprisingly. “You thought of a raccoon? Really? Is it because of the eye?”

When you took your bow for the evening and turned to escape the stage lights for the darkness of backstage, you found Tommy leaning just outside the dressing room.

“Get changed, doors unlocked upstairs. Room 504.” 

Grabbing the paper bag you ran through your mental checklist. Wear red, take off your make up, hide the canvas by the bed. An odd to-do list for murder.

The theater had two floors of modest apartments above it, the owners keeping two of the open for the theater’s use. One was for the owners should they ever visit New Orleans, and the other was multi use. Storage and a crash pad for performers or Tommy when he worked late.

The bag crinkled as you hugged it, looking over the small apartment. Boxes, decorations, a modest kitchen and a bed. The bathroom was quite large, a tub and shower head. Was this where the other performers went?  

Why hadn’t anyone said anything sooner? Why didn’t anyone leave yet?

Taking a second, you got to work. You opened the canvas and slid it under the bed, the smallest bit of edge sticking out for easy retrieval. Dizzy with the quickly settling reality of what you were doing, you sat on the floor for a moment. Trying to calm your breathing, you closed your eyes.

The fear of the unknown was suffocating you. There was a possibility Alastor failed and ended up hurt. Or, that he changed his mind and Tommy left you two to just hold hands on the bed for a sex-appropriate amount of time.

You patted your thighs and stood up. No time now for a panic attack. Alastor had a change of clothes in the bag, neatly folded and tied in twine. They were set onto the shelf above the closet.

And finally, yourself. Your dress was on and you stopped to wipe the make up off your face in the bathroom mirror. Still bruised, still nasty. The dress was nice though, carrying some of the weight for your battered mug. Red cotton, sailor neck and little gold buttons down the front. Flashy, brighter than the dark number you usually wore.

Would he like it? Most men looked for how a dress accentuated your curves (or hid them) but you had a feeling Alastor didn’t care so much about that.

You took your seat at the edge of the bed, thin mattress sagging from your weight.

The clock ticked, until finally the door opened and you saw something you hadn’t seen before and knew you’d never see again. Tommy and Alastor.

“Here she is. Autumn, this is Mr. Cerf. He's asked I stay in the apartment, apparently word of your attitude already spread among the upperclass.” Tommy wagged his finger at you in a playful way that was entirely out of place.

“Look at her. Pouting. Not very excited, is she?” Alastor smiled at you, softly. You felt for a second that maybe you entirely misunderstood. He looked calm, normal. Even peaceful.

“It’s always nice when they fight a little. But she won’t cause you any trouble.” Tommy patted Alastor’s back, who immediately shirked away.

“Do you like it when women try to fight you off, Tommy?”

A dry laugh, “Ya know how it is. They gotta act like they don’t like it so people still respect ‘em.”

A hum. Alastor’s smile falling entirely. A shadow settled over his face. “I see. That does make things easier.” He slipped on his short black gloves. “I always tell her she looks lovely in red. She rarely listens to me, but I’m happy to see she did tonight. It’s a special occasion.” 

Once, you thought. You didn’t listen once. 

Tommy nervously chuckled, looking from Alastor then to you, “What?” Alastor grabbed him by the back of the neck, pushing him to the ground and onto his knees. Hand fisted in his hair, knife pressing across his throat. 

Alastor dug his knee into the small of Tommy’s back, “Tommy, I think you owe the lady an apology.” You let your feet find the edge of the canvas and slid it out with a kick. It glided across the wood and stopped where his knees met the floor. 

“I’m sorry! Fuck, I’m sorry.” Tommy was staring at the waxed fabric in front of him. 

You felt your eyes sting with tears, a smile breaking out against your will. “For what?”

“I—,” his eyes searched the room for an answer, your words bringing a pulse of Deja Vu, “It’s about yesterday?” He seemed to relax a little, “Come on. I said sorry. ” Looking back to Alastor. “I didn’t know she had a guy.”

Alastor yanked his head back to look him squarely in his eyes, “Wrong answer.” He pushed him down onto his stomach, “Come on Tommy. I like when my victims fight a little, too.” Sensing the taller man towering over him with the knife, Tommy scrambled onto his back to look at Alastor. Tommy started shouting, “Hey!! Someone!” But there was no one to hear him. That was the beauty of the space he always brought his dates to; it was too loud to hear anyone scream. 

Funny how that works both ways.

Alastor shrugged, “Well that didn’t last long.” As Tommy backed up, trying to get traction on the slippery canvas and failing, Alastor straddled him. Tommy’s hands came up, one pushing against Alastor’s face, the other against the arm holding the knife. Alastor put both hands onto the knife’s handle, staring down into Tommy’s eyes as he inched closer to the man’s neck. “You look scared, Tommy. Are you scared?” 

The other man shouted, eyes trembling as he watched the knife come down.

Alastor pushed through, metal sinking into Tommy’s throat. No pause, he withdrew and sank it again and again. Tommy’s hands fell from Alastor’s face, flailing slightly at his neck before slumping down. He was frenzied, stabbing at his chest and upward with wide eyes. You recognized those constricted pupils. They made sense in this setting. Alastor was panting, taking a second to split the skin from ear to ear in the middle of his melee. 

You brought your knees to your chest, watching the crime unfold. Was this anger for you or truly for everyone? No one ever got so angry for you before, if you could be so conceited as to say this was for you. Your mouth opened and you spoke without thinking, no filter. “You look like an angry God. A jazz demon of wrath.” You smiled, the morbidity not lost on you.

Alastor stopped, frozen as he stared at you. For a second, he had forgotten you were there. He was always alone during these hobbies of his. Until recently. You looked like an angel in red and gold. Had he dyed your heavenly robes crimson? Or had you been made that way?

He dropped the knife, peeling his gloves off and stepping over Tommy’s decimated torso before kicking off his shoes.

You scooted back onto the bed and opened your arms, welcoming a strange after-kill cuddle. Your reward.

Alastor took off his bowtie, then his shirt. It took you a second, not realizing what was happening until he began to unbuckle his belt. “Now?!” 

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“What the fuc— okay,” your hands flew to unclasp your stockings and roll down your panties. You mumbled to yourself, “Jesus Christ.”

As he crawled over you, warm gloveless hands tracing along your legs, hips, waist, you looked at up him with your now dilated pupils, “It’s murder? You need murder?”

He laughed, embarrassing you a little, “No it isn’t that.” His face nuzzled into your neck, “You’d go to hell? For me?” 

You froze, you hadn’t really seen it like that.

“You’d damn your eternal soul,” his hips pressed into you, an unfamiliar hardness there that made you gulp, “just to spend time with me?”

How were you so heated over an erection? A dime a dozen, men practically threw them at women who offered them the slightest smile. Yet feeling him so hard against you, something you had been practically praying for, made you weak. A trembling virgin all over again. 

Don’t lie, he always told you to be honest so you decided to try it out even if it made you feel at risk of harm. Your hands slid up and into his hair, gripping gently, enough to elicit a groan from him, “Well I was worried heaven wouldn’t have jazz, so… yeah.” You had to always say something a little in jest, to hide from the vulnerability of honesty, “This seemed like a better option.” The truth was, if you had to state it plainly, you would dive head first into hell in exchange for his smile. To hear his laugh. To feel his breath over your mouth. You were quite sure hell was more your scene, anyway.

“I’ll be sure to fill your afterlife with jazz every day, dear.” 

How could he make hell sound so sweet?

“It’s a deal.” Fingers playing with his hair, basking in the warmth of skin on skin. 

He leaned up, eyes scanning your face as he always seemed to do in these intimate moments. The feeling spreading down his chest was one wholly foreign to him, one he was struggling to put into his own words. You hadn’t run away. You opened your arms for him even still, welcoming your own damnation in exchange for… affection? Attention? Him? The reason didn’t matter, not to Alastor, and not now to his growing need. You didn’t even push him for more than he wanted to give, not yet needled him for details, secrets, sex. Could you really just be there for Alastor? Take him for what he was and what he wasn’t?

His mouth was salivating at the thought you’d give him anything. Reality was, you already had. His finger caressed the purple welt on your cheek. You were given pain and he returned it ten fold to its owner. A demon of wrath. He felt his cock twitching, underwear tented around him. 

You smiled up at him, wiping a little streak of blood from his jawline, “You look quite pretty in red yourself.”

His head came to rest on your collarbone with a shaky sigh.

Had you said something wrong? 

“Please, you’re already pushing me to my limit.”

Making a show of it, you zipped your mouth and pretended to toss the key. You wanted to reach down and pull off his remaining bit of clothing, to rub yourself against his manhood. But, you weren’t sure if that was something he would appreciate. You didn’t want to ruin his experience, to make him regret offering you something he so clearly didn’t need to give.

He removed his underwear, watching you unbutton your dress and pulling your arms free. Your bra, garter, and stockings were still on. Somehow he found it more scandalous than if you were completely naked.

Your breath was shaking, uneven as the excitement took control of you. There was a not totally unfounded fear you'd black out from hyperventilating.

Alastor lined himself up with your heat and pressed in, making a hard to decipher face as his brow knit up and he bit his lip. You were already so wet, not a hand or mouth needed from him. He wondered if you shared more than an acceptance of justified homicide; your body so relaxed and welcoming to him. 

With a few shallow thrusts, he was fully sunk into you. You may have let out a cry. An emptiness you hadn’t clocked was suddenly gone. Was this what Zeus meant when he said the two souled humans were too powerful and tore them apart to weaken them? 

Was this sex, or love? The word made you nervous. But—- if he offered it to you in both palms, you’d suffocate yourself in his hands.

He began to move in earnest, thrusting in and out slowly. You had expected the frantic moves of a horny virgin. Instead he was moving with control, hips rolling into you like waves gentle and steady where the lake met land, not slamming like many men before him. 

Had it been any other dick, you’d whine and begin moving yourself against it for that needed speed. This was Alastor. Dripping pleasure into your open mouth like a drought-breaking summer shower.

You didn’t recognize your own sounds, already panting and moaning as a warmth spread from the place where his cock was sliding around inside you.

Alastor tried to keep calm. Even when his body was sensitive, he wasn’t used to the mental work needed to fight off his orgasm. Usually he had the opposite issue, struggling to stay focused enough to finish. Mind wandering to more productive chores. 

But you were so wet, so accepting in body and mind. He watched your eyes close, one hand gently clawing at the blankets, the other reaching down to touch his lower stomach every time he thrust back in. For the first time in a very long time you really truly wanted to remember who was at the other end of the dick you were enjoying.

Languid moves. Swollen cockhead hitting the bottom of your walls, the top, the end, pushing still a little further.

“I’m sorry,” Alastor leaned down over you, kissing at your jawline, “For making you wait so long for so little.”

His rhythm picked up then, burying himself deeper into your sopping cunt and dragging out enough to pull back that quiver of his release.

You shook your head, lips tingling. “Nothing little here.”

He attempted a laugh, losing his breath. He wanted to last longer, to make the experience worth your while but he could feel you dripping down his balls and it weakened him with alarming efficiency. Finally the frenzied speed you witnessed earlier was turned to you, you brought your legs up, holding at his sides. “Darling I need to-,” he moaned into your ear.

“Please stay.” You clung to his neck, nails grazing at his shoulders.

Alastor’s voice was soft and sweet, a small moan and a gentle grunt. His legs spread more, trying to get every centimeter of himself into you. Hips now grinding in a small circle, but not losing any of the comfort of your warmth. You felt him still pumping that welcomed heat into you, and you tightened around him, drawing out your own moan. He hissed, “Sensitive.” Your legs were shaking like leaves in a storm, no orgasm but the pleasure nonetheless intoxicating.

The front of your brain felt like static, perhaps from the lack of oxygen as you had uncharacteristically lost your breath under Alastor. 

Like losing your virginity, after the fear faded and you were able to find a moment for introspection, you found yourself larger than before. The edges of your canvas expanded out, new parts of yourself unfurling for you to explore. Nothing had been lost, only gained.

Alastor kissed at the dark circle under your eye, at the bruise of your cheek, he lifted your arm and kissed gently at the purple and blue spots there too. He had lied, and he wasn’t sure why, but maybe he’d find the will to admit it to you someday.

He had left yesterday to keep from strangling Tommy in the center of the theater, finding himself in a rage. He rarely felt anger. His killings always about retribution, about karma, about righting the scales. He needed to leave to keep from losing his composure.

He lied to you in the alley, unable to look you in the eye when he did it for fear you’d see it. You always seemed to see him with a clarity others didn’t despite such a short time together. He struggled to hide from you and it was as exciting as it was frightening. A testament to your similarities.

He hadn’t done it for everyone. No. His personal moral code fell to pieces when he saw your bloodied eye and bruised skin. He would have killed Tommy even if he had been a good man, even if you’d been the instigator. None of his murderous rules mattered. And it scared him. 

(Next Part Next Week, orz)

*slang for boyfriend, often a rich one

༻Masterlist༺

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay /

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan ,@valkyrie-expeditions

#alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader smut #hazbin hotel smut #alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor x you #hazbin #the radio demon #human!alastor #human alastor

[wooyoungmybelovedhusband]

Can you please do a wooyoung smut where y/n and him having a fight at a family event than he make it up for her at home

Love you and your wonderful work 💗💗💗

Ik this took like forever to post but here I am lovely! 😭 I hope you like it tho :33

ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴜᴘ

PAIRING: Husband! Wooyoung x f! Reader

SYNOPSIS: An argument with your husband always led to kissing and making up.

GENRE: Angst in the start, fluff and smut

WORD COUNT: 1.8k

WARNINGS/CONTENT: Couple arguments (it's not mentioned what the fight is about-), y/n and Wooyoung are rude to each other in the start, a little bit of crying, making up, praising, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, body worshiping (slightly)

   The atmosphere was tense, it was suffocating you, but obviously you couldn't get out of there. You could sense the rage coming off of Wooyoung as he started daggers to the back of your head which was quite perfectly visible through the mirror. 

   The both of you had visited your parents house out of the blue, and you currently stayed in your old bedroom. None of you wanted to cause the tension that was created at the moment, but the guilt of having to fight in front of your parents was eating you up. 

   “Will you fucking talk to me, Y/n? We can end this fight for the sake of us and your parents.” Although his tone was masked with anger, you could hear the desperation in him to want to be in your arms again, to hold you close just like he had two nights before. 

   Your shaky hands manage to fix the earrings onto your ears. Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked back at the man you swore in front of your family to love forever. “What is there for us to talk about? What do you want me to do, Jung Wooyoung?” Your voice cracked unbearably, and soon, unbeknownst to you, a lone tear escaped the corner of your eyes. 

   “There really isn't anything we can talk about? How is this gonna end up? Giving silent treatment to each other till the other person decides to give in and we never solve the damn argument? We're not fucking teenagers Y/n!” His voice raised with every single word he spat out, his eyes mirroring yours as desperate tears escape both of your eyes. 

   Before you could get a word out, there was a knock on your door that interrupted the both of you. The door opened to reveal your parents standing in the doorway, “Mom?” 

   She took a few steps into the room, I- um- was just wondering if the both of you were ready-” Before your mother could finish her sentence, Wooyoung unintentionally cuts in between. “Mom, We'll be leaving.” Hearing his words, your hand snaps towards him. “WHAT?”

   Your mother was caught off guard by your screech but decided it was best to not interrupt the two of you. “We- kinda have something to take care of back home, We apologize for the inconvenience.” You didn't have the opportunity to retort back to him once your eyes noticed the way he looked at you, desperately trying to get you to say ‘yes’, trying to make it up to you. 

   There was thick silence settled around the both of you, your hands twisting the fabric of your dress in your hands while you leaned back in the seat. There was not one exchange of words between you, while your glassy eyes stared out of the window. 

   Wooyoung sent quick glances your way, in hopes you did not notice, or at least that's what he thought. 

   You knew the guilt would be crawling up your neck for slamming the car door shut in front of his face before he could come up to you or for walking away without a word nor a glance towards him.

   Wooyoung clenched his fist due to that, he was hurt by all the cold actions you directed towards him for the past three days. But he had had enough of the cold shoulder, he needed to show you how much he loved you, how much he cared. 

   Thus, he follows you into the room, to be welcomed with the sight of you washing the last remnants of makeup on your face. He does not refrain from sprinting towards you to wrap his arms around you.”I’m so fucking sorry baby, I’ve been nothing but an asshole to you. But it hurts to have you like this, to have us like this- fucking hell- it feels like I suffered decades without having you in my arms although it has barely been a week.” 

   Tears soon well up in your own voice when you hear his voice break next to you, and you swiftly turn around in his hold, wrapping your arms around his torso. “I missed us too.” 

   There were no loud cries or sobs, just the tiny sniffles here and there, all while the both of you leaned against each other in the warmth of your own house. 

   Pulling away, you raise your head to meet your lips to his, your arms tightening around his neck. His hands around your waist pull you closer as he deepens the kiss. Your soft lips fit so snuggly against his plumpy lips like usual – you smile contently into the kiss. 

   The both of you slowly part away but his lips do not leave your skin as he trails down to your jaw. You huff out a long breath – which you had kept in for who knows how long – “Woo” Your hands caress his shoulder softly. Wooyoung hums against your skin, and he allows his tempted lips to leave a few wet kisses before he pulls away to be inches away from your face. 

   “Will you let me make it up to you, princess?”  His voice and tone was so gentle, so keen on just giving you anything you wanted. A relieved exhale leaves your lips again and your lips part in a smile. “Be gentle” The phrase was almost like a question rather than a request but Wooyoung nevertheless hoisted you up in his arms, with the softest smile painting his face. “Gonna show you how much I love you princess” He utters as he moves you to your own comfortable bedroom. 

   His arms slowly place you down on the mattress, so gentle that he probably mistook you for glass. The tip of his nose wiggles against your nose drawing a small giggle from you before he trails down to your cleavage. His hands had already sneaked under the straps of your minidress. 

   His fingers slowly push your dress down to your waist, hunching the cloth around your torso. “So fucking pretty” His lips pucker as the kissed down to your breasts, leaving behind a wet trails on your body. The soft contact had you whimpering in pleasure, the touch was neither long nor rough but rather they felt like a feather being drawn over your body – ever so softly and gently. 

   A loud whimper is all you could get out when his fingers finally make contact with your wet cunt over your soaked panties, it was barely a graze but your long ignored cunt was luring him for a taste – which he'd rather die than pass upon. 

   With that said, Wooyoung's face was in between your thighs within the span of a mere seconds, his fingers quite impatiently pulling off the slick covered fabric. His equally impatient tongue licks up a strip of your slick and a groan sweetly falls off your lips. Wooyoung beamed at the reaction, taking it as a cue to press his tongue against your lips, lapping against them like a starved man – which he quite literally was for you.

   It hadn't taken Wooyoung much long to have your back arching against the bed, your fingers intertwining with his hair strands as your lips left loud babbles. “W-Woo- fucking hell- gonna cum!” You barely got those words out of your mouth before his hands wrapped around your thighs, his nose pushing further into your clit making finish around his tongue in a second. 

   And Wooyoung took it all, his tongue slurping at your climax while you laid there for a few seconds. Make-up sex with Wooyoung might be different most of the time but one thing was sure – he gave you orgasms that had you brain-dead for a few seconds. 

   A small smile dances on his lips – content with his mind blowing eating out skills – before his hand reaches down to your hair, brushing it softly. “You okay, princess?” 

   You nod swiftly, coming down from your high while your panting still resonated throughout the room. “Want you- right now, Woo, please-” Your sentence was interrupted by his index finger pressing down on your lips – shutting you up. “Ah Ah princess, you need to lie back and enjoy alright? I'm gonna take my sweet time with you tonight.” 

   If you had the brain cells to think, you would be pissed at him for teasing you in your “vulnerable” state but all you could do right now was give him a nod.

   Wooyoung's fingers slid over your folds, “So worn out yet so wet already. I think you're ready for my cock already princess.” You barely think of speaking up in agreement when the clinking noise of his belt unbuckling sends excitement rushing down your spine. 

   You had to admit, Make-up sex with your husband equalized the adrenaline rush the jealous sex with him gave you. His soft words and touches always contradicted his rough and hard thrusting during this – and you savored it all up. 

   Wooyoung didn't need to scan your face to know your eager eyes looking down at your bodies as he slid his cock in between your pussy. Your lips threatened to give up and beg him to just stuff his cock in – until he did it. He pushed in between your inner walls ever so smoothly, all while your nails found comfort in digging into the flesh of his back. 

   There were loud groans from him while his – accordingly impatient – hips rammed into yours. His lips only curl up in a satisfied smirk watching the way your face twisted in pleasure. “if your slutty cunt wasn't enough, your fucked out expressions make me want to fuck the daylights out of you, princess.” 

   His words surely had your cunt tightening around his dick, his hips turning strained for a moment before they picked up a faster pace. “Got all weak for a few words, that you’re clenching around me baby?” 

   Wooyoung’s dick always had an impact on you – and that was to turn you into a mindless babbling mess. You could barely pick your brain back up to respond to his words when your hips shook from the sudden orgasm that hit you faster than a train. 

   You yelped and buried your face into his shoulders, while Wooyoung chased his own orgasm which was soon followed by yours thanks to your clenching cunt. 

   “I love you” The sudden confession escaping your lips felt surreal to the both of you, but Wooyoung was not phased a bit. “I love you too, princess.” Your eyes sparkled up at him, a silly smile painted all over your face. The same one that never changed ever since you met him. But they never failed to turn his cheeks flushed red. There may have been or will be a lot of arguments between the two of you – but it won't take long to Kiss and Make up. 

#ateez #ateez smut #ateez smut imagine #ateez imagines #ateez smut imagines #ateez x reader #wooyoung #wooyoung smut #wooyoung smut imagine #wooyoung imagines #wooyoung x reader smut #wooyoung x reader #ateez angst #ateez fluff #ateez oneshot #ateez x reader smut

[dimepdf]

★  𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓. + 𝐌𝐈𝐆𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐎'𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀

masterlist. / taglist. / tip jar. synopsis. miguel o’hara and the nsfw alphabet challenge.

─── ☆ notes. anyone got a slime tutorial link to the new movie yet? . | — feedback is always welcomed & don't forget to reblog 🤍

─── ☆ length. 1.5k (11 min read).

─── ☆ genre and warnings. +18 nsfw under the cut. minors dni | headcanon's | not movie canon | no movie spoilers | creampies | facials | cum play | jerking off | oral sex | eye contact | body worship | size kink | height difference | over stimulation | edging | jealousy | teasing | possessiveness | marking | biting | slight sub/dom | cuddling | let me know if I missed any | not beta'd.

A= Aftercare (what they’re like after the act)

Miguel isn’t the type to wind down that quickly, but he is extremely considerate of your feelings and well-being, most of the time he’s making sure you're okay. Especially since the last thing he ever wants is to make you seem unwanted after having sex with him.

That being said, it did take him a while to get used to the whole cuddling and comfort thing. You swear, at the beginning of your relationship, it was like trying to hug one big bear, but as you two spent more time together, he started to crave just having you wrapped in his arms and listening to your heartbeat every now and then.

B= Body part (favorite body part their own or their lovers)

He could go on and on about how much he loves every part of you; seriously, you could tell because of how much he cannot keep his hands off of you, but realistically, his answer in the back of his mind is your mouth and thighs. He’s so down bad. 

Whenever you try talking to him, you always catch him staring at your lips like he’s just starving to kiss you. It's the same situation with your thighs as well. Sometimes you would be standing around the house in the mind of a conversation and suddenly feel Miguel’s fingers groping the plush of your thighs, gawking at your legs like he has no home training.

C= Cum (anything that has to do with it) 

Oh brother, this man is a mess in the head, he loves, I mean loves, to see you covered in his cum: facials, creampies, you name a place on your body for him to cum on, and he’ll do it with pleasure.

There’s just something about seeing your soft brown skin painted with traces of him all over your body, especially when he would cum inside you. His favorite thing to do is spread your legs and watch it spill out, only to push it all back in and give you another load. 

D= Dirty secret (pretty self-explanatory)

Miguel is a very pent-up possessive man, no matter what he does, he just can't get enough of you, which leaves him feeling extremely needy whenever you're gone or just don't feel in the mood. He would just jack off at the thought of you to relieve himself.

E= Experience (do they know what they’re doing)

You had expected him to come from around the entire block from the easy he would pick you up and fuck you, but surprisingly, Miguel only really had a handful of partners in his past—nothing too extreme. 

F= Favorite position

He says he isn't really picky, yet somehow you always end up with your stomach pressed against some surface. Most of the time he sees no point in containing himself, plus weight isn't really an issue on his behalf. Whenever your legs give out from standing, he’ll just pick your ass up as if you weighed absolutely nothing and keep the same pace.

G= Goofy (how serious are they)

He likes to completely mirror your emotions or help you ease up more. He's very big on paying attention to the smallest detail, so if you're someone who feels a little anxious or nervous, no matter how many times you two have had sex, he needs to break that broadening act to crack a few dry jokes or shower you in compliments to make you feel more comfortable.

H= Hair (grooming habits)

This man is covered in dark hair from chest to toe. He doesn't really find the amount of body hair alarming, but he doesn't like to upkeep his pubic hair a bit, especially giving himself a trim whenever he wears his spider suit. He just doesn't really care that much to shave it all off, but if you asked him too, he wouldn't mind much.

I= Intimacy (in the moment romantic or rough/dirty) 

He’s pretty reluctant to be overly smothering, with his inmate moments just coming out of the blue, especially with his cold attitude. Most of the time, when you think he’s tense, he’ll switch, turn around, and start praising you. Sometimes he doesn't realize it, but most of the time it's always after he feels like he went a bit too far with degrading you, so he switches up just to even it all out with praise and saying how good you make him feel while holding eye contact.

J= Jack off (do they masturbate and how often)

Miguel just has the habit of stressing himself out all the damn time, and half of the time it's always over him being too worked up. Whenever he has a moment alone and you just can't be there, he likes to turn to his memory of you to help work off some of his tension.

K= Kink (kinks what they like possibly unusual)

Marking. I’m talking biting, scratches, hickeys, and God forbid Miguel sees the fingerprint bruises forming on your hips after he lets you ride him. Just the thought of having traces of him all over you makes that possessive switch in him go haywire.

Size kink. He’s a big guy through and through, and no matter what, he makes sure to remind you of your size difference. Blessed tall and broad, standing next to you, he’s practically a brick wall with the audacity to have a big dick.

Eye contact. Dear Lord, you better hope you laid down in one of his favorite positions and he hasn't fucked the common sense out of you by the time you're about to cum because Miguel will twist you like a hot pretzel and have you begging like your life depended just to hear you say his name and while you look into his eyes.

L= Location (where they like to get it on)

Anywhere with privacy and on every surface he could reach—floor, wall, upside—doing the splits, Miguel damn near used webs to find a way to have you against him.

M= Motivation (things that makes them tick/turn ons)

Miguel will get turned on by the smallest of things: you stretching near him, you wearing his clothes, you looking at him, you saying his name in a certain way, you, you, you. It's like he has brain rot, and you're all he can think about.

But he also likes it when you get angry or annoyed with him; there's just something about you snapping at him and trying to put him in his place that gets him going.

N= No (turn offs or absolutely won’t do)

Pegging, piss and poop. 

O= Oral (receiving or giving and how skillful they are) 

He loves giving more than receiving, mostly because he prefers it. There’s just something about teasing and edging you until you can't handle it anymore that leaves him wanting to lay you back and spread you open for hours on end.

But if you're offering, it's completely your loss. Miguel loves sitting back and watching you struggle trying not to gag or fit him entirely down your throat; either way, it's a free show for him.

P= Pace (how fast they are and how long they last in bed)

Whenever he’s feeling less merciful and wants to spice things up from the usual fucking you until your lace sweats off type sex, he loves to just see how long he can push you to the edge (which is a lot more days than you’d like to think), and he will be petty and take it super slow just to see your body twitch and squirm for more of his attention.

Q= Quickie (do they prefer fast and hard)

Even if you're the one offering quickies, it always ends up with you having to reschedule your plans.

R= Risk (do they like to try new things)

He’s open to new ideas but never really offers any himself. Miguel completely trusts you and is willing to do whatever you want for your pleasure, but just know that nothing at the end of the day will get him off but you.

S= Stamina (how many times they can go and how long each round lasts)

You have to remind him most times that you don't have the same enhanced superhuman abilities as he does. No matter how many times he tries to make you cum in just one night. You swear sometimes it's like you're fighting for your fucking life just to catch one five-minute break.

T= Toys (are they game for using sex toys on themselves or lovers)

Is the type to feel a bit insulted if you ever mentioned having one or using one until you would regret offering him to use a vibrater on you. Like you handed a murder a knife the moment he found your rose toy and figured out how to use it. 

U= Unfair (how do they tease or do they enjoy suspense themselves)

There is no sex without a bit of teasing with Miguel; he definitely pushes you a lot just to get a reaction out of you normally, so doing it in bed only comes naturally to him, and if you're not begging, he ain't giving. 

V= Volume (are they loud, what sounds, and do they talk)

He does not shut the fuck up! You will hear him, whether it's grunting on top of you, raspy whimpering in your ear, or talking you through it. Miguel is very vocal, just not as loud with his moans since he prefers to hear yours instead.

W= Wild card (random sin cannon of any sort)

Has absolutely no issues with letting you ride him with the suit on. 

X= X-ray (what’s down below in dem pants)

Slightly less tanned than his skin tone, with a slight curve to the left, and too girthy for his own good.

Y= Yearning (sex drive level)

Surprisingly, not that high, especially since he isn't a really big PDA person and the only time he ever gets worked up is in the comfort of privacy.

Z= Zzzz (do they sleep after if so how quickly after)

Sometimes you have to trick him into falling asleep with you. Dude has really bad insomnia, but having you all cuddled up next to him really helps with his shit sleeping schedule.

🔖 ...

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#[ ⇢ ˗ˏˋ ★ — t.wrks. ] #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara smut #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman 2099 #spiderman #spiderman smut #marvel #into the spider verse

[daycourtofficial]

Freaky Friday

Summary: based on this request - you and Azriel swap bodies, chaos ensues.

Warnings: allusions to sex.

Author’s note: this is just a silly goofy time for my silly goofy geese. Is this my best work? No. But it’s fun and goofy and who cares

You wake with a groan, your muscles feeling incredibly stiff and heavy. You drag yourself to the bathroom, eyes half closed with sleep.

Everything feels wrong. Your body feels so, so heavy as you open the door to the bathroom. You run some water, splashing it on your face as some fae lights come on.

You sigh, the water making you feel a little more alert. You shut the water off, bracing your hands on the sink, thinking about the mission from yesterday.

It wasn’t this bad - you really didn’t have to do all that much. You and Azriel spoke to a witch for cauldron’s sake - it was more of a test of your mental sparring than anything.

You brace yourself against the sink, remembering the nasty cut on your face. Right now you can’t even feel it, but you should still check on it, make sure it’s healing properly.

You look into the mirror, prepared to see a nasty gash across your face.

Instead you’re met with hazel eyes, tan skin, and onyx hair that are not your own.

And you scream. A deep, bellowing scream.

A moment later the door is shoved open, someone’s body making direct contact with it.

Rhys comes running in, having grabbed a knife on his way in, prepared for any threat that lingers. His violet eyes scan the room, searching for anything that can make his brother scream like that.

You turn to face Rhys, the weight of Azriel’s wings bringing you down. You’re able to look him eye to eye, the height of difference between you and Azriel making Rhys seem much smaller than he used to.

“Az?” Rhys ask, “what’s wrong?”

“I’m not Azriel.”

Moments later you find yourself in Rhysand’s office, not sure what to do with yourself as you try to sit on the couch, the large wings behind you making it hard to sit comfortably.

You accidentally sit on the end of a wing, yelping at the sensation and get up, delicately holding the wing so you can sit.

“Tell me everything that happened on your mission,” Rhys said, and you did. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary and everything went fine.

The two of you looked at each other, and Rhys decides to call Azriel and Cassian into his office to see if he can figure out what happened.

-

Cassian pats you on the head as he walks past you, much like he always does. You were much shorter than everyone else, not as short as Amren, but still quite small comparatively.

Then again, Cassian hardly ever met anyone he could look in the eye and not have to crane his neck to make eye contact.

It was your thing - he patted your head, you swatted his hand away, but that was it.

Until this morning, when you whirled around and landed a punch right on his jaw, taking the moment of deflection to grab his arm and flip him onto the ground.

He held his jaw in his hand, your name on his tongue. “What the hell was that for?”

You looked down at him, but Rhys’s voice breaks through both of your minds.

Come to my office please.

-

Cassian laughed. And laughed. And laughed.

Then he looked at the two of you, and laughed some more. You two sat next to each other on the couch in Rhys’s office, but so unsure of how to hold yourselves. His brother looked unable to hold up his own wings, and you looked so lost and alone, likely due to the loss of the shadows.

Feyre had joined the impromptu meeting in Rhys’s office, where no one could figure out why this had happened. And Cassian was certainly not helping things.

“Look I’m just saying if I swapped bodies with someone I’d fuck myself.”

“Cassian,” Feyre hissed, nodding her head to the door.

“Okay, okay,” he says, walking towards it. “I’ll go.”

Cassian leaves the room, but his laugh can still be heard down the hallway.

“Are the two of you going to be okay?” Rhys asks, looking over the both of you. You shrug, knowing there’s not really anything else you can do, meanwhile Azriel nods.

The two of you were taken away from your duties for the time being, which was probably for the best seeing as how you have no idea how anyone manages to hold their wings off of the ground and walk at the same time.

You were going bonkers in Azriel’s body.The shadows had no idea you weren’t their master, so they kept telling you everything. You had no control over them, so a good portion of them kept wandering over to Azriel stuck in your body. Their presence seemed to soothe him, and you wonder just how alone he feels without them.

You could hardly walk without dropping the massive wings behind you on the floor, so you mostly opted to stayed seated or lying down for the rest of the afternoon, staying in the library trying to figure out how you woke up in Azriel’s body.

You walk past Nesta on your way to dinner, the hulking mass you’re carrying around needing much more food than you were used to. You had the house give you an ungodsly amount of food during the afternoon, from snacks to fruits to nuts. You go to walk by, unaccustomed to the new body and slam into her, apologizing profusely.

She looks you up and down smirking, and you realize that everyone likely found this situation much funnier than you did.

Azriel came up to dinner not long after you did, and Cassian began making fun of you two again. Nyx turned to his mom, clearly confused about his Uncle Cassian’s jokes, when she explains to Nyx that the two of you had swapped bodies.

Nyx clapped his hands, the little princeling quite pleased with this turn of events.

“My wish came true!”

Everyone stops what they’re doing, utensils clattering on plates.

“Er what wish, sweetheart?” Feyre asks, her full attention on her son.

“I wanted them to switch bodies!”

Cassian bursts out laughing, throwing his head back as Nesta swats him on the chest.

Rhys is trying not to laugh at the predicament his son has created as he asks, “and why is that, Nyx?”

Nyx looks at you as Azriel and says, “she told me she wanted wings like Uncle Az’s so when we went to the fountain I wished she could do it!”

Cassian looks at Mor, asking, “so wishes actually come true from that fountain?”

After dinner you find yourself standing next to Cassian, looking him in the eye. You never realized that Azriel was a few inches shorter than Cassian. Cassian looked at you, watching as you move around, unable to stand still and he knows it’s you and not his brother.

“What are you doing, sweetheart?”

Nothing brought Cassian more joy than calling the shadowsinger ‘sweetheart’.

“It’s odd being this tall. I can look you in the eye just standing straight.”

The shadows dart around you two, constantly whispering to you. You would be able to understand them if it weren’t for just how many of them were trying to talk to you.

You swat at them, but even more come back to you, some hitting you in the face.

Cassian laughs, clearly amused at this entire situation. Feyre had taken Nyx back to the fountain to make another wish right after dinner, a wish that everyone go back to their original bodies, but the rest of you were left to wait.

You head into Azriel’s room, leaving Cassian and his teasing remarks behind. You leave Azriel’s bedroom door open just a crack so he can slip in moments later, still in your body.

You run your hands through your hair - his hair, the length reminds you. You look at yourself, not used to this arrangement.

“So uh, this should wear off at some point, right?”

“Right.”

“This is erm weird.”

“Yes, yes it is.” Azriel says, leaning back on his bed. The air in the room shifts, and a sickly sweet smell overtakes the room.

You gasp, hitting Azriel’s - your - leg, “Az, we are stuck in each other’s bodies and you’re getting horny.”

He moves up to you, sitting in your lap. “I can’t help it - it’s your body. You’re so needy.”

His legs straddle your lap, and as he sits down he lets out a quiet moan. You lean closer to him, smelling him, “oh gods, you reek of sex!”

A light blush coats his - your - cheeks, and he responds, “well if I’m stuck in your body, might as well enjoy the company.”

You roll your eyes at him and he starts grinding on your lap, “okay, I-I get it now why you like this so much.”

You laugh at him, as you begin to feel your own arousal in a way that is new.

The two of you spend the night tangled in Azriel’s sheets, exploring this jewel reality you’ve found yourselves in.

-

You woke up in your own body, thank the mother, and the two of you go to Rhys’s office to find Rhys, Feyre and Cassian already in there.

They all peer at you, the unspoken question in their gazes.

You beam at them, “I am myself again.”

Azriel huffs, “I’m glad I can actually reach things again.”

You pout, hitting him on the arm, “hey, it could have been worse. You could have been stuck in some ugly person’s body.”

“Yeah, like Cassian.”

You two chuckle as Cassian’s face gets an irritated look on it.

You and Azriel leave the room, and Feyre turns to Cassian.

“Do you think they had sex last night?”

Rhys turns to Feyre, “there is no way they didn’t. They’ve been sneaking around for months.”

Feyre gasps, “no they have not!”

The two bicker back and forth over whether or not the two of you have been hooking up, and Cassian is uncharacteristically quiet.

“Did you hear anything, Cass?”

Cassian is brought back to the present, telling them he hadn’t heard anything. Truthfully, he knew you two were sneaking around, but he kept it to himself, worried the teasing might mess things up for you two.

You and Az skip off down the hall, both of you going into your room to explore all the things you found out about each other, and Cassian laughs lightly to himself, thinking about all the ways he’ll tease the two of you.

But that’s for another day. Another day when he feels like his brother’s insecurities won’t eat him alive. Another day when his brother will feel like he deserves you.

Another day.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel fluff #acotar writing #azriel x y/n

[kneelingshadowsalome]

I Never Missed You 2/3 (Bodyguard!Ghost x F!Reader)

Word count: 7.3 k

Tags/warnings: 18+ only. Romance, eventual smut, fluff, light angst, banter, pining, flirting, minor injuries, major character death, HFN ending. Lady/Knight dynamic. Unequal pairing trope. Bodyguard AU. Reader is a rich bitch (how else could she afford a PPO?)

Summary: You hire a bodyguard to protect you and hunt down the one who's been sent to take your life. This man was your lawyer's first recommendation, and you never even looked through his file because you had better things to do. But it soon turns out that this man – this Simon Riley – is very talented... Talented in driving you crazy.

A/N: A three part fic based on this request. Smutty smut ahead in this chapter. Brace yourselves for impact.

Part 1

You have to admit that you look dashing tonight. 

And not because you want to turn people's heads at the party… But because you want him to look at you like you're the most forbidden snack he will never have.

It's selfish and petty, and you're just seeking attention. But at least you have the balls to admit it: you want Simon Riley to drool after you. You want this man on his knees. And nothing else has worked except that bra.

So you turn to the world's oldest weapon. A woman's weapon. Seduction.

"I'd suggest you keep a low profile until we're done."

He looks at you through the mirror while you finish your hair. Uses the word we instead of I. It makes your heart ache… And you take even that lecturing comment as a compliment. So he does think you look nice, or at least nice enough to stand out. You read into every look, every little tone of voice he gives you.

"I thought we were supposed to lure him in," you say while you neaten your necklace. Of course you look nice. You have done everything you can to look ravishing tonight: a deep-cut, thigh-revealing dress, cat eye makeup, red lipstick...

"Yeah but not like this."

"I'm not locking myself inside the house because of this," you announce pointedly. "I'm not afraid to live my life." 

You turn and look him up and down, give him a little tilt of the head. "Don't you have anything else to wear?"

He doesn't shrink, doesn't bat an eyelash. Just looks down on you from that ivory tower of masculine prowess and makes you feel like a fool for being so dolled up.

"There's a difference between courage and foolhardiness," he states, not falling for your attempts to make him feel small in your world. You suspect there is so much more to this man, but you don't care to know about the circumstances he grew up in, the situations that gave him that broken nose and lip. You don't want to know about his broken soul.

Or perhaps you do...

"I suppose you know everything about that," you say while looking straight at the uneven scar on his jugular.

"I do."

"Tragic past?"

"You could say that."

You feel even more silly, standing before him in all your glory, pearls in your ears and silver around your neck. You pay this man for his services; he's supposed to protect you. But something in his eyes told you from the start that there lies an abyss inside this man. And you didn't pay for that: a peek inside his heart. But a door is open a creak now, and what's inside is pure darkness.

"Well, whatever it is, I'm sorry you had to deal with that."

Your cultured attempt to dance around his chasm makes those brown pools melt. Finally, he melts. But not to compassion, or mercy, or anything that would make you believe that you two understand each other. 

He looks at you like you're a stranger from another planet. He's intrigued but doesn't quite understand how a creature like yourself has come to be. You're not only a child in his eyes but a coward as well for not daring to open that door to hell.

"What do you think," you hurry to change the subject. "Will I do tonight?"

He’s always so hyper-vigilant, his stare fixed on everything else but you. It feels childish, to be jealous of his attention when all he’s trying to do is protect you. 

But now… Now that alert darkness bores straight into you.

"You look good in everything, ma'am."

A breeze of arctic wind goes through your scalp, and a fainting warmth settles in your belly.

You tiptoed your way to the fridge yesterday morning, before official breakfast, in your knickers and an old band merch from your youth - the one you still slept in sometimes because it was far more comfier than your silk pajamas. He walked in fully dressed and mighty while you were sneaking back upstairs with a glass of apple juice. The humiliation was overwhelming, especially when he dared to look you up and down in your state of underdress.

"Goodness… Sorry."

It should’ve been he who was supposed to say those words. But you felt like an intruder in your own house. It was a dangerous slip: to look so homely, with no brush stroke gone through your hair, with no toner on your skin. With no makeup and standing there before him in all your…you.

"No harm done."

He had never looked at you like that, and you swore right then and there that you would only descend those stairs with your full battledress from now on.

"Even in an old t-shirt…?" You ask with a tight voice. Desperate. Longing…

"Especially then."

Simon Riley strips you from your weapons and charades in a second. Your tight, seductive smile slowly falls off your face, and from behind it, a fragile, naked hope arises to gape at him. He clears his throat as if he just offered you an entire bowl full of ice cream when he was supposed to give you only a little scoop.

"I'm gonna go take a shower," he says, calm and adamant, like a statue you would go to see at a gallery.

"I'm afraid we should be going already."

"Takes 5 minutes."

You purse your lips, and he's on his way to the bathroom before you can even give him your nod. The guy is used to military showers, then, and perhaps it's for the better that he puts on at least some effort.

When he comes out, you're sitting in the hallway, and he's only wearing a towel. It's the one you gave him when he arrived, the softest you could find from your closets. You remember how the first odd thought you had upon seeing this man is that he probably isn't used to softness.

And now you see why.

You can see the prominent veins and the sketchy forearm ink, his muscles are magnificent to the point of unholy, he has a delicious, thin layer of fat on top of his belly, and the eyelashes aren't the only breath of hair that's pale on this man… But he looks like he has gone through an inferno.

His back is full of scars, and half of his shoulder looks like it has been dipped into a deep fryer. You catch a hollow dent between his ribs, and there's more, but he walks to his room before you see the rest of it.

The taxi drive to the party is filled with silence as you try to digest what you just saw. You want to call your lawyer and demand him to tell you where the hell did he find this man and who Simon Riley truly is. Who exactly does he work for when he's not taking bodyguard jobs? 

But the first thing you do when you arrive at the large party held in a small palace is to go to the punch bowl and down a glassful in one go.

He's on your heels the whole night, eyes everyone with a hawk stare, and does his job perfectly. He grabs your arm occasionally and whispers in your ear if someone seems suspicious. After one and a half hours, he comes to you and practically demands that you two leave. Normally, you would start an argument, but not tonight.

You kind of want to go back home, too. The people at the party seem tedious, and his scars have reminded you that even if you live in a world where violence is not the norm, it doesn't mean that other worlds don't exist. Otherworlds - where people get shot, stabbed, and blown apart. Whipped and cut and deep-fried. You're in danger, and it took his suffering to see that.

You have been so stupid that you just about wish someone would slap you.

Simon has been so patient with you that you nearly apologize on the ride back home. You want to beg his forgiveness and confess you have been a spoiled little idiot.

But again, that's not an easy thing to do. You turn to look at your forbearing bodyguard, ever silent in the taxi, and turn your voice to silk.

"You really should smile more," you suggest. He doesn't answer, just looks out your window as if there were perils there too. You suddenly realize anyone could shoot through the glass or the door at any given time. With a proper caliber, a bullet could pierce that window and coat his black shirt with the insides of your skull.

No. No. I'm not ducking my head.

There's no one there.

"Have you ever tried?"

You turn to humor and flirt to drive those intrusive thoughts from your head. He doesn't yet know that you're afraid, that you have been afraid this whole time. You should have bought that armored car.

"Am I your most annoying client ever…?" There's a smile on your lips, a little pardon for being so infuriating. His eyes drop there, then lift back up to your eyes with surprising seriousness.

"You're my first client ever."

Well… This was news.

"Oh. Why did you accept this job?"

His stare sails away from you and back to the London night. You stifle the urge to grab his hand, a fistful of his shirt, to draw his attention back to you. Every time he's around, you feel safe; every time he looks at you, everything else ceases to exist. 

You want him so badly you could cry.

"They don't teach you manners at the SAS…?"

"No. They teach us how to kill."

You scoff and turn to look through the window, too. 

"Brute."

"You're entitled to your opinion, ma'am."

When you reach your house, he uses that term again. You're 110 % sure he's only trying to annoy you. 

"Good night, ma'am."

"Stop it," you nearly slam your purse on the table in the hallway.

"What?"

"The ma'am thing…!"

You sound like a wife who's looking for an argument after putting on a charade all evening. When the door to your home closes, volcanoes erupt, and bombs drop, your husband-like bodyguard gets the blunt of your fear and frustration.

But how do you argue with someone who never argues back? He's calm like the Pacific during a stormless season, always, always gets calmer when you're going berserk. He walks to the armchair in your living room like he owns the whole goddamn place and sits down with a sigh. 

And there is a smile playing on his lips.

"What should I call you then?"

You look at him, dumbstruck, on that chair, spreading his legs like there's no tomorrow, arms comfortably on the armrests, and mouth drawn into a genuine, peaceful, thoroughly naughty smile.

"Oh, now you're smiling," you huff. The unbelievable audacity of this man… "Some ideas on what to call me popped into your head?"

"Verily."

"Go on then."

"Nah. You should go to sleep."

"I'm not going until you tell me."

You cross your arms over your chest to underline that ruling. His smile only widens. He looks wickedly delicious in that seat with his legs spread, and the chair doesn't swallow him like it swallows you. Actually, his shoulders are wider than the back panel of this enormous chair.

"Well," he begins, "’princess' came up first."

You try to catch what he just said through the stupor of wanting to climb on that wide lap.

"Truly? How original."

"Or spoiled brat."

You stop breathing for a second, then reel straight toward a spiral of–

"How dare you?"

You notice his eyes dropping to your heaving breasts again. This man is so different from a dinner-offering, cunning man in a suit. He has no pretenses whatsoever. He looks at you with that little smile, eyes burning, legs drifting apart even more, probably his cock stirring from how you are trying to chastise him. If you had pearls around your neck, you would clutch them. Or throw them at him.

"You son of a–"

"Pretty."

His next choice renders you speechless; it cuts through your insult before it even flees your mouth. You gape at him, jaw open, breathing and cheeks burning, pussy throbbing - soaked so thoroughly now that you feel a tiny droplet cascade down your thigh.

"Yeah. That's better," the man says as if he's also blessed with a Superman stare, knowing you're seconds away from drenched. "Better than brat or princess, anyway."

The darkness conceals most of him as he settles inside that massive chair he dwarfs. You are falling, or at least that's what it feels like. A tumble, a slip inside his Styx. But there's no bottom, and the water is warm ink, despite the fact that he's so blanched.

"Pretty…?" You whisper into that water, breathe onto the surface of his depths. The darkness answers immediately.

"Very."

Your swallow is a wet, nervous roll inside your throat when you sink into that river of lust and smoke. 

You take your jewels off first, because you know he doesn't care for them. Money's not his chief interest, even if he's being paid. And fat, at that. But he's not here for riches, he’s not here for the jewels – or that's what you desperately wish.

The necklace and pearls are gone soon, tucked away on the table with your trembling digits, and he's sitting there like a statue.

You have no trouble with this dress: the zipper seems to cascade down on its own as you reach behind your back. He's motionless as you slip out of the straps that keep the dark velvet up. You feel like you're the Styx: but the darkness of the river pools at your feet as you let go of the gown, let go of everything and continue your freefall.

He doesn't move, doesn't give evidence that he's even breathing; he just sits there like a long-forgotten king.

The panic snares you with a drool-wet throat: you salivate not because of him but because of your nerves. 

Are you… harassing him?

Does he want this…?

At least he thinks you're pretty – and you could laugh out loud; your thoughts are vain and petty, even when you're baring yourself before him in more ways than just one. Your breaths are audible distress inside that darkness, and he's still: everything's still.

But he moves when you reach for your bra.

It's just a hand that soars through the darkness, an involuntary reach for support and gathering of composure as his fingers find his jaw. They swipe across imagined stubble before he leans his head on that hand, just an ounce's worth of weight placed on his thumb and pointer as if he's simply in his thoughts. But the hawk stare is fixed on the lace covering your breasts as it falls on the floor too.

You hear his breaths now. Quicker on the inhale, heavy on the exhale. Your thumbs slide under the hem of the last piece of your veil, something you got from the store when you were feeling down. Now the underwear makes you feel better than ever - who would’ve guessed it's the moment you slither it off? Slowly, too: you’re being a tease, hip bones giving a two-second dance for him as he continues to watch you strip before him like the queen of the night.

You breathe in sync now, and your nipples perk up – he hasn't even touched you yet and you're more aroused than ever with a man.

Not a word spoken, and you fear you’re being delusional – if you've just imagined the heat between you two, but then those legs flare a hair's breadth more. His voice is the softest whip as it crackles through the void.

"Yeah... You're pretty. Now what?"

You breathe in gusts now. It's exhilaration, damnation.

"Jesus Christ, Simon."

The chair gives a creak as he rises, like an ancient shadow. Intimidating – intense, always, always, and you've been trying to coat him with soft towels and feed him toast. You wonder if he prefers black tea simply because it tastes more bitter than coffee rounded with milk.

Does he want this? Silly softness and toast and–

You get all your answers as he bends just enough to match your height, just enough to sweep you off your feet. Your hands go around his neck on instinct as he lifts you up from your rich, opulent Styx and into his sea.

You're quiet all the way upstairs – he can't fuck you downstairs, then, has to intrude on your luxury and privacy. You don't mind, especially when the steps give a desperate wail under your combined weight. He lets it sing its music to the night: your ruining already makes so much noise.

He reaches for his gun right after he’s placed you on the mattress. The sound of it is heavy when he sets it on the nightstand that has only seen glasses of water and apple juice and perhaps a few books. 

He undresses with soldierly sharpness, no seduction there. But he doesn't have to seduce you: his stare and heavy-cold demeanor have already done that.

He's so, so different from the others… Looks at you on the bed like you're both a piece of tender sirloin and something akin to garbage. That's an accurate depiction of a princess, perhaps. You know wasps gather around both honey and bloodied meat. 

He looks at you like that because you know nothing. And he's not here to ruin you… he's here to insert himself inside you like you're a foe that needs to be infiltrated, plundered and burned until you understand. 

He's big. Daunting. A brute while you’re the princess, could be the sleeping beauty, the way you stay immobile and try to take in this man's sheer power. You saw him half naked already when he came from the shower, but it's nothing compared to seeing all that taut, scarred flesh up close, soon about to fall upon you like a broken mountain. 

And what's between his legs is wholly proportional to the rest of him. That thing is a menace, and it's not even fully erect - hanging thick between thick thighs, foreskin revealing a fat, sloping tip, and he's veined all over… 

Finally, your mouth goes dry.

His gaze sweeps your beauty, and that cock gives a throb – a good, hard pull that stretches out into the open air, and your eyes go wide. Then he prowls, like the king of the jungle, moving with a fluidity that must be scary to those who meet their end by this big brute’s violence.

You are able to take in air only when his hand falls next to your head. The other claims you by the middle as if to soothe you - but the truth is you're caged in like a tiny, quivering animal.

The hand is heavy as it slopes across your stomach and scales your mound. It doesn't cup or probe, only rests there over your most sacred place, like an enemy surrounding a city. Your thighs part slowly, hoping he would just sweep right in.

"This wasn't in the deal," he rasps as he looks down at you: heavy iron judging a diamond.

"Oh shut up," you breathe, thoroughly thrilled and shy. If you weren't lying down, his intensity would buckle your knees.

"Nor do I take orders from you, ma'am."

"I'm not- Don't call me a-"

His eyes spark as the hand dips down like a deep diver into the blue. You gasp a stunned whiff when he's met with a mortifying amount of slickness. Your arousal sings a pretty song as he draws a finger over your slit, the moist sounds followed by another stuttering sigh. 

"Look at you all wet," he remarks, and you grit your teeth.

“Shut…up…”

"You know why I accepted this job?"

He wrecks you with one thick finger, rough skin lathering you with your own juice like he's trying to make a point here. And he is making a point: it comes across perfectly. The princess is a filthy mess for brutes…

And of course he was given a file on you too. With more than just one photo.

"Yeah," he rasps when you only look back at him with your felled deer helplessness. You could swear that he just heard your thoughts. "I think you know."

"You're–ah– a brute," you whisper, eyes shining. Your thighs part even more, feel yourself leaking over his fingers that stroke you agonizingly slow. You swallow with hunger, the need pangs on your cheeks. Your whole body is throbbing for him.

“Sticks and stones, love.”

He's so infuriating that you could slap him. Claw him, rip him apart. But you nearly laugh instead… It's far better an option to let him claw and rip you apart. He's tearing you apart right now, with those eyes and his hand, exploring you like you're the first course and he's here for the whole dinner. How can he be so calm?

"Could you…" You start, then realize you've never begged for this man.

"Hm? Talk to me," he commands. "Whatever ya want."

You whimper – from bliss or relief, you can't tell. The frantic need to serve is fully fleshed out in his tone. It surprises you. You thought he was here for his own pleasure. 

You try to think through the bliss of his fingers. You've had all kinds of things... All you could ever want, most would say. But that's not entirely true. No man has ever promised to please you however you want.

"Could you go…"

"Go down on you?" He places a thumb, broad and hard, on your clit. Teases it with the slightest pressure and a circle.  "Lick your cunt?"

Fuck…

He has no trouble saying it as it is, and you nod, still helpless.

"Sure. 'N after that I'll fuck you nice and good."

He's never, ever sounded like that before. Dark, and rich, the baritone reaching a level that speaks of hunger – no, need.

A brute, a pussy-drunk brute, the blood in your veins sing as he goes down. Nothing can prepare you for the way with which he manhandles his way between your thighs like they're only a petty distraction in the way. They're forced wide apart with a tight grip that speaks of urgency, but he takes his time to admire the sight bared before him. He’s drinking you in like ambrosia, towering above you while you’re being held open for him to just observe you like you’re a center-spread girl in a filthy magazine. 

"You're fucking pretty down here, did ya know that?"

You don't even know what to say - his tone, his observation is base, and still, they're the most beautiful words anyone has ever said to you.

"No…?"

"Well now ya know."

He steals a final glance at you, and the fire in his eyes already makes your legs feel weak. He dives between your parted legs, right into your leaking, glistening folds, and you're suddenly glad that you've done all that yoga… Those shoulders are so broad they force your thighs even further apart as he makes himself home there between your legs. 

A hot mouth presses against you like this man has been starving, even if you've fed him the best delicacies for days. An even, fat stroke is the first thing you feel before your toes curl and your head falls back.

"Goodness, Simon..." You try to keep yourself from stuttering as his mouth opens you like a flower. You should be quiet, for once, and let him do the job. He seems like an expert, even and especially there between your legs. "Do you-ah, always shag your clients?" 

"Told you you're my first," he rasps a husky sigh on your folds. He could ruin you with that voice alone.... He gives you another sweep of his tongue, full and ample, and your fingers curl around the sheets, your hips buck; your ass drives up on instinct, trying to both escape his mouth and rub your pussy against those thin but eager lips. 

"Don't worry," he tells your pussy with a warm chuckle. "This is free of charge."

You sigh, the first laugh of many up into the air. You're supposed to get angry, but you can't. You can't. 

"Have… no words for you."

"Good. It's about time you stopped talking, love."

He grabs your hips to punctuate it that you should indeed shut up. Fingers sink into your flesh like you're a whole goddamn feast - no more fucking toast and teasing. His hands look so huge as they dig into your skin - so different from the hands of men who work in offices or wait for people to serve them. You upvoted those hands to be the best part of this man long ago.

And that bulk of muscle… Some of those men in suits might go to the gym, but they couldn't forge a body like his in a million years: that breathtaking mass built to work and endure harsh conditions. It's not a flex or a sculptured piece of art: it's simply survival - ancient and primal.

He's got darkness, and you got diamonds, but something tells you his depths are infinitely more valuable. You couldn't buy his intensity even if they sold it in the streets. The skull mask was self-made, everything in this man is self-made, and he's sampling what diamonds taste like, and you wonder… Does he think you're cheap, some fake piece of worthless junk? Does he laugh at how easy you are? That under your manners, you're only a spoiled brat and a promiscuous maneater…? Or that he couldn't care less, as long as he can push his cock inside you?

He gives you his best, that's for sure. A working man, with you as his assigned mission, and the feeling of being a spoiled little princess only increases. And how are you supposed to stay still if he's slow and attentive like that? You might be his first client, but you're not his first shag…

His lips seal tightly around your nub, suck it, lap it, sigh on it - he's already breathless from the need to make you moan and cum. A purpose-driven, ravenous man, and when he dips his tongue inside your cunt, your mind finally goes blessedly blank. Your legs shake and stretch, and you can’t prevent your hand from skimming down to grab his hair when he gives you deep, unhurried plunges with his tongue, huffing against you from the mad want to make you feel good. 

You would never have guessed that Simon Riley would get such pleasure from licking a woman.

One hand disappears from around your thigh, and you guess it's one of his fingers that arrives, wide and thick, to tease your entrance. You can feel the smile on your folds as he slips it in, making you nearly jolt on the sheets. Your fingers instantly curl to tug that pale hair, to grab hold of something, and it makes him rumble inside you. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to catch your breath as he adds another finger. Goes shallow at first, then pushes those fingers in to the knuckle. The feeling of being filled - and not being filled enough - is going to drive you crazy any second now.

"Simon…"  

"Yeah?"

“I want you to… want you to…" you hear yourself choking on your beg as he works those fingers in and out of you while his lips are tight around your clit. He knows exactly what you're trying to ask.

And suddenly, it's he who breaks… 

"Right. 'M gonna fuck you now, yeah?"

The spread is gone, and you're being moved - on your belly, and you briefly think whether it's because he can't bear to look into your eyes when he takes you. You don’t even have time to whimper from the loss of his fingers and mouth before heavy thighs force your legs aside. You’re being spread again, crudely, obscenely, like it’s just a procedure that has to be done. He’s both methodical and impatient, and you wonder - has he wanted to rail you like this ever since he saw you? Force you to lie down on your belly while he takes you from behind like a helpless damsel?

His hands come to your hips as if to make sure that you won’t run away from under him. As if you ever wanted to… 

Something far fatter forces its way between your folds and straight onto your opening. He glides over your folds a few times, spreads your wetness all over his tip. Methodical still, but it makes you moan and swallow.

"Jesus…"

The lathering stops, the jutting cock settles right where your depths lie, and he chuckles. "Not quite, love."

Fuck… 

Fuck this man's cheek and audacity. Fuck his size and pride, the way he knows what he's doing all the fucking time. 

“Desperate for it?” 

That stupidly fat cock just resides there, teasing your aching, leaking hole without going in. But it’s like he answers his own question because you feel the thick of him give a notch against your folds. So impatient. Thoroughly needy. It sends you further down the whirpool of desire, a searing white, fathomless deep..

“Yes..”

When he goes in with a leaden grunt, your muscles go into a spasm - he's too big, he hasn't prepared you right, and still, you force yourself to relax.

"Not what you expected?" 

"It's… too much," you admit. He stops, realizing that for once in his life, he might've been an impatient man. Then he crawls forward, and you feel like you're about to be buried under a boulder as his weight bears down on you. Hands sink into the mattress on both sides of you, forcing you further up against him - you're floating, almost, to where you belong.

"Yeah? C'mon… You can take it."

You shudder. It's not even fully in yet?

He speaks too softly for it to be a demand, even when he's hovering on the brink of wanting to simply ram himself into your cunt. It's an encouragement. He’s cheering you on, like a coach. Or a leader... It’s leadership. 

When you don't object, he starts to feed more of himself in. You try to remember how to breathe because you were wrong, you were so, so wrong - it was barely just the tip, and now you're stretched wide and tight. He's endless, and sinking in deeper, deeper….

And you want it so much - all of him- you want to grip him and never let go. One hand comes to sweep over your hip again, it caresses the swell of your ass, and you know he's looking down at how well you can take him after all.

"How are we doin'?"

Your lips are swollen, and your brows are creased tight. It's still not in…? 

You’re fucked. Literally. But you can take him... You must.

You whimper when he slows down almost to a halt.

"Love. Tell me to stop 'n I'll stop."

"Just–gently," you whisper, brittle and shivering from joy.

"Don't worry. I got you."

Slowly, he arrives to the end of him and you. Hips flesh against yours, he’s out of breath before he even starts the thrusts. His length caresses places unfathomable in this position, and his weight is crushing you, even when he's supporting himself. It only feels like the safest place to be. Trapped there between your safe, soft bed and his safe, hard body. 

The first thrust punches the air out of your lungs. It doesn’t hurt, and it’s not uncomfortable; it’s just too much to take. You’ve never been so filled. 

"Fuck…" He swears, somewhere between the third or fourth thrust. "You're…"

"Good…?" You offer him when he doesn't continue. You know he was possibly going to say tight or something crude like that and corrected himself before it spilled. He merely grunts as an answer - a barbarian through and through, you decree. And then the brute speaks…

"The best."

God. You feel like a diamond after all, but you've never been under so much pressure, fearing you might break.

"You-too…" It's a sad little mewl. You sound like a child trying to make friends. Latching a hook on him, no matter how tiny it is. One shake, one ripple from the behemoth, and it will fall loose.

"Don't go lying with that pretty little mouth," he warns.

"I'm not lying."

"Yeah…? Keep squeezing me like that and perhaps I'll believe you."

It's a strange feeling, to meet your mistrust and jealousy on him. He has no pretenses, but he has secrets, camouflage, and flash grenades that blind you from the truth. But even he can't hide it all when he's moving inside you, so close, so terribly close.

You melt into a pool of heat and want, trying to meet him midway by offering your cunt, arching your spine, driving yourself up to give him better access. What was possibly meant as a desperate fuck turns into a sweet, weightless rocking, a rhythm of him and you. The hands on your hip start to gain weight as he holds you still for him, at times even pulls you against his cock.

"C'mon… wanna hear you," he huffs, then slides one hand to your butt and gives it a fond squeeze when you won't instantly make noise. "You're always givin' me that cheek and now you're silent?"

It's a warm question, a thick baritone that settles into your stomach, then shoots downwards and makes you clench. 

"Wh-what do you want me to say?"

"Want you to sing."

Of course the man who never talks won't shut up in bed. But he's not bullying you into submission, nor is he being mean. If anything, he sounds like he's finally on his knees. 

And you don't want to be mean either. Not anymore. But you just can't help yourself from having a little fun now that he's finally desperate and inside you. 

"Make me," you whisper, delivering your cheek with a wicked little smile.

The response is immediate: he dares to land a flat palm on your ass. Like you're a broodmare, a sirloin steak for him to feast on. And it does the job: you almost shriek, or at least that's how it sounds like when a parched little whine pushes through your vocal chords with violence.

"That's better," he barks, pleased with his work.

"You're horrible," you gasp. You're glad he put you face down on a pillow: you can only hope he doesn't see how happy you are in the darkness of his night.

"Yeah? And you're sweet." 

It's said with gravel wrapped in silk. It hits you and ignites, starts a flame inside you without permission.

You want him in ways you shouldn't. You want… more breakfasts, him carrying you up the stairs, taking in the way you tip-toe around the house in an old t-shirt. You want to serve him back rubs and tea and see who he is when he's not being paid. You don't want a lap dog or a guard dog, you simply want... 

Simon.

"I'm– I'm sorry that I've been such a bitch," you whisper. He sinks back on top of you until his nose nuzzles the back of your ear. He leans on his elbows, trying not to break you into too many little pieces, but the feeling of being confined couldn't be more blissful.

"Cock's that good?" He drags the following thrust, sparking your nerves aflame as he hits your core. But it's not brutal; if it is, it's the sweetest wrecking you could ever have imagined. 

"Don't make me take my words back," your lips pull to a smile and a silent, inner laugh. 

"Wouldn't dream of it." 

He's smiling too. Inwardly, perhaps, but you can hear the mirth. His weight on top of you while you're lying under him on your belly, unable to move, unable to do anything other than take the full brunt of his cock as it spreads you open, is pure heaven.

"Want you to cum when I'm inside you," he rasps in your ear, lips brushing the underside of your jaw. "Think you can do that, princess?"

Being told to cum on command is a bit ridiculous, you think. But not when it comes from that Cockney mouth. Not when he asks so nicely. Your cunt pulls, claws at him. 

"... I'll show you princess," you sigh, but it's only a second away from laughter. His fingers dig into your skin, the flush flesh of your ass. It feels possessive… Fond.

"Yeah. Show me. C'mon."

The camouflage gets slightly torn off by a wind of a smile. You can hear it on his lips. Sex should be fun, one of your friends always says. You had never thought about it like that. Bed is not the place for laughter and humor, you had thought. But now you are both on the brink of bursting with it.

"You're a fucking pretty one…" He grunts: a breathless, silent joy. "Know you want this as much as I do. Ain't that right?"

"Yes." 

"That's what I thought. So cum for me. Wanna hear the sounds you make."

You dance on the precipice already, and his voice causes your hand to shoot out to his. You drag that heated palm across your hips and your ribs, curl it next to you as if you were drawing a blanket over youself. It's a lover's caress, and his fingers slip between yours as he wraps around you like the protector that he is. 

Your walls flutter, the thickness inside you makes you swell with every thrust. His hips are relentless as he buries himself into you with blunt force, his flesh clapping against yours and making your cunt clamp down on him. Sweet, sweet, sweet, your blood sings as your lids drift closed. The wave is coming, the final tsunami that will sweep you with it, and you will only succumb with joy.

"Don't-stop," you hear yourself beg through the heavy pants he's grunting on your neck.

"'M not gonna stop," he grunts into your ear, serious now.

"Fuh–Fuck me good and… hard," you're hiccuping through dry tears. It feels like there's a hammer and an anvil placed between your ribs. "I need you hard-"

"Shit…"

You barely grasp that he's about to lose his precious control before the midnight sea takes you under. The world fades into a tight know of blue and white and black, electric, ambient, something soft and hot at the same time. You're choking on your tears, moaning into the pillow like a poor, broken, tortured cat. 

"That's fucking pretty," he swears on your neck as you cum. All humor is gone now, but he's not mocking you. He's just… emotional. The bulk of him rides you through the wave, but the rhythm of his hips becomes erratic. 

"That's it, pretty… I'm gonna…Fuck," he huffs on your skin, a mist of want, and the cockhead rubs something profound inside you and makes you jolt in the middle of your molten euphoria. He grunts, swears, and does it again - bludgeons so deep it forces out a sob, just before he breaks too with a choked, wet swallow and a groan. A trembling colossus, you think, as he thickens and bursts inside you.

You're an aching mess when he comes, his thighs pressing over yours and forcing them far and wide as he buries himself into you to the hilt. He's a behemoth, spasming and crumbling right above you. The broad abs bunch against your back while his hips pin you down and spread you open. The cock pulses inside you, and you are barely able to think how it's a miracle that both his thick flesh and the pool of cum, all of it, just somehow fits there inside you…

A gentle brute until the end, he swallows again, thick and breathless, before giving a few tight rolls of his hips, emptying himself to the last drop. Slowly, you both still inside your bubble of warm, dark blue, something akin to a sea between a tropical storm and a calm sunrise, a drowsy reef shifting with the waves. 

He's broken into a light sweat from the toil when he finally untangles your fingers. Your hips are kept in place with one hand as he slowly pulls out. You feel like you're left emptier than before, even if you feel the cum welling up inside, about to spill over.

Your bodyguard - your late-night fuck - collapses beside you, then reaches to pull you close again. Still back against his chest, still unable to look into your eyes when you're both vulnerable. 

"I'm gonna get you a towel," his fingers tremble as he caresses your arm with the most delicate touch. 

"No–don't, don't go," you whisper, then grab his hand and bring it back over you. You almost squeeze yourself with it. "Please?"

The tension behind your back decreases as he slowly falls back into bed.

"Alright love. I'll stay right here."

It's so peculiar how he reminds you of large water masses. A night sea under a pale moonlight. Not a stormy, roiling one, just a vast depth in an ever-swelling motion.

"I want… I need you to keep me safe," you whisper inside that swelling sea. You never want to come to the surface. You want to learn to breathe underwater. The heavy arm is draped over you; it covers nearly half of your chest as he sighs.

"Then let me do that."

His plea is not humble - nothing in this man is. He's not on one knee, swearing his allegiance and vowing to always protect you. He's not your Lancelot.

But in a way, his plea comes far too close to a beg. You feel a sting near your heart. It's electric, pure pain - the sweet kind, though, as you realize he doesn't only want to do his job… He wants to protect you. He has already tried his best to protect you while you run around like nothing is wrong. 

"Simon… I'm sorry."

"I already forgave you," he hums on your skin, evidently glad that you two finally understand each other. It should send you laughing, the thought that you needed his scars and his…treatment to find common ground. And free of charge, no less.

"Do you still wish you were somewhere warmer…?"

He bows his head against the nape of your neck, and the gush of air from his nose is warm and jovial. "No."

It's hours till dawn, but you wish it would never come. The beauty of the night is only now unfolding before you. It feels far more safe than the violent dawn. You wonder how he would react if you moaned his name as you cum. If he would shudder. You wonder what the hell is wrong with you that you didn't already do it...

"Simon…?"

"Mm..?"

"What happens now?"

There's a pause, but he doesn't shift for more comfort. Still, the bullet vests and battle gears are back on; you just sense it.

"We're gonna get some sleep."

"No, I meant… What does this mean for us?"

"What do you think it means?"

Now he shifts, but only to draw you closer. You feel like jello as he pulls your scent deep into his lungs, then exhales the grace on your skin like you're the only tobacco he needs after a good round of sex.

"Don't worry about it, princess," he murmurs on your skin. So delicately that you could claim this man has never even seen the army, never barked and shouted and smoked his throat dry. "We'll talk in the morning."

You settle into his sea, an embrace full of gentle, heavy safety. It's the sweetest oblivion to slip in as you begin a dreamless sleep, soft and snug. But it's not merciful enough to make you forget that you two… 

You never even kissed.

............................................

Taglist: @lialacleaf @cumikering @val-srz @glitterypirateduck @clear-your-mind-and-dream @milfs4lifee @regatoni1 @glossygreene @raf4el4 @xxmattyboixx @frozenballsack69 @gabygykss @chxrryp0p @sinnisterr @clairdelunelove @megumilover69 @littleobsessionsandlifeslessons @ayavaiia @thedevillovesflowers @tiny-kasper

#ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley imagine #ghost x you #simon ghost riley #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost smut #simon riley smut #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x female reader #ghost x female reader #bodyguard au #Bodyguard!Ghost

[cleabellanov]

"But Lokius isn't even canon! Stop making everything gay!"

...

The Loki series isn't just about romantic relationships and shouldn't be seen as so. However, there is a lot of subtext. Maybe this ship is not canon, but it was intended to be seen as so by the fans.

If Lokius isn't canon, then why were the last two shots of the series showing Mobius and Loki?

If Lokius isn't canon, why would there be so much touching and scenes so physically close to one another? (believe me I know they're friends. that just offers a solid base for something more)

If Lokius isn't canon, why is there an OFFICIAL track named like that?

Why is said track played or incorporated in different scenes of the series? like

-the first McDonalds meeting with Sylvie,

-the back-in-time conversation with Kang

- the ASCENSION to the throne?

Why is the Sylvie and Loki kiss never mentioned, by the producers, in the series per se, or even in the season 1 recap?

Why is Mobius the only one looking at Loki when he leaves down to the temporal loom?

And the other way around, why did Loki only make eye contact with Mobius in that scene?

Why is Mobius the only one to notice there is something wrong when Loki is still trying to fix the Loom?

Why did Mobius/Don on the original timeline, mention he's single, trust a complete stranger, invite him for a drink, AND offer to sell him a quite personal jet-ski?

Why did Loki, the LITERAL GOD OF MISCHIEF stutter and fix his hair and coat for no one else but Mobius (who by the way is just a jetski salesman on that timeline)?

Why is the timeslipping Loki had to go through directed to Mobius twice, him being the the only one he doesn't need a TemPad to "recruit"?

Why would Loki bring up Thor and Jane if it wasn't to mirror him and Mobius? (because, as he already was talking to Sylvie, he certainly wasn't implying it's about her. They were arguing, AND Mobius was implied in the conversation. Loki defended him in front of Sylvie, in case you forgot.)

Why would Mobius's voice be the one to echo back to Loki on his throne? let time pass time pass time pass

Why the RAINBOW?

WHY DID LOKI LOOK AT MOBIUS RIGHT BEFORE THE FAMOUS LINE "IT'S ABOUT WHO"? (important mention: Sylvie was behind him when he said that. why didn't he just turn around when saying it? nope, they know what they're doing)

Why is the shot cut to Mobi after Loki's "it was more about what I wanted" line?

Why the shot where 7 characters could've been showed (Mobius, Loki, Sylvie, B-15, Casey, O.B., Victor Timely) there are only 2: Mobius and Loki?

Why is Mobius the only one to tell Loki he can be someone good, and the first one Loki actually believes despite his tendency to do the other way around in the past?

Why does Mobius finally find insight, and reinvent his whole life at the TVA because Loki helped him do so? (they're not even the first Loki variant he faced, but something clicked this time)

Why does the bloody sleeve, representing Loki being hurt by Sylvie just because he "wore his heart on his sleeve" disappear on episode 2? (because he finally understands who he needs to be next to)

Why did Mobius risk his life on the first episode?

Why did Loki go to past Mobius for the final advice, not to the present one, not to Sylvie?

Why did Loki ultimately sacrifice his life for the ones he loves?

And why is Mobius left alone, with the door locked, after Loki leaves in the Loom's radiation?

Why would there be so much endearing looks, and smiles at each other, if not for a conscious acting choice?

Why why why why why if it isn't canon?

Nothing is for nothing. Especially in television, where everything counts from the light to the angles and the way the lines are spoken.

We don't need to see two characters kiss to know they are made for one another. In fact, I think implied canon is so much better for now, because it leaves free interpretation for the fans, and nothing to strike on for the haters.

Of course, that doesn't change the fact that the ending is still tragic, although it holds its sweet from bittersweet. But remember: there aren't tragedies without love.

#yeah that's my rant about these two because we can't just ignore how implied canon they are #there is probably much more I didn't grasp #loki series #lokius #marvel #mobius #loki #owen wilson #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston loki #comics #art #cinema #mcu #writing #fun #a tragedy #with nothing greek in it #midnights #miss minutes #sylvie #sylvie laufeydottir #frigga #odin #variants #lady sif #theater #time theatre #queer community

[moonstruckme]

would u maybe be willing to write remus with a reader who also has scars? not from anything in particular just more than the average joe (i personally have quite a few scars from years of sports and having acne and a skin condition, so really the cause can be anything u want) and they take care of eachother? they have a routine they do together and they put lotion and bio oil on for eachother <3

Thanks for requesting!

Remus Lupin x fem!reader ♡ 831 words

“Remus?” He looks past himself in the mirror to find you standing in the doorway to the bathroom, hair wet from the shower you’d taken before his. You’re holding your hands the way you do when you’re feeling tentative. 

He turns around and makes his voice extra soothing to assuage it. “Yeah, dovey?” 

“What do you…what are you doing, when you rub that stuff on your face?” 

He blinks, looking down at the small container in his hand. “This? It’s oil. It’s for my scars.” 

You take a hesitant step forward. Your brow wrinkles. “Like, to make them go away?” 

He smiles wistfully. “No. I don’t think anything can make them go away, honey. This just makes them less…obvious.” 

You smile, walking up to him with a bit more confidence. “Oh, good. Can I try some?” 

Remus raises his brows. “What for?” 

“I have scars,” you say, almost defensively. “They’re not as cool as yours, but I have them.” 

A little laugh escapes him. Cool. “You mean like the ones on your knees?” 

You nod, taking the oil from him and reading the bottle. “Yeah, like those.” 

“Sure, hop up here.” He pats the counter, and you follow his instructions readily, twisting around to jump up and setting your back against the mirror. You’re wearing your pajama shorts, your bare knees brushing the material of the towel around his waist. 

“This better not be an excuse to get me alone half-naked,” he says quietly as he gets his lotion back out from inside the cabinet. You go bright red at the suggestion, and Remus huffs a laugh. “I knew it.” 

“Stop,” you plead, nudging him reprimandingly with your foot. “I’ll go, if that’s what you want.” 

“Only teasing,” he reaffirms what you already know. He crouches in front of you. “It’s lucky you just showered, because that’s usually when your scars need it most. Your skin is all dried out from the water.”

“Gee, thanks,” you say sardonically, but there’s a bit of real self-consciousness to your voice. Remus strokes his thumb over your knee placatingly. 

“It’s okay. That’s why we start with lotion, to moisturize it first.” He places a dollop of the lotion onto your knee, rubbing it in with his fingers. You hum in understanding, and he does the other knee too. “And then the oil, which should make the marks a bit less angry if you use it consistently.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly as he smooths the oil into the scars on your knees. Remus looks up to find you giving him a soft, open look, and he smiles, squeezing your calf lightly. 

“Of course, honey. Any other scars that need attending to?” 

“There’s some on my hands.” You’re looking at him the way you look at the moon, with a tender sort of reverence. He suspects that you don’t actually care so much about the appearance of scars on your hands so much as you want him to keep touching you, but that’s more than alright with him. 

“Yeah?” he prompts, and you hold them out in front of him. “Mm. I’ve never noticed these before.” 

“They’re not huge,” you say with a shrug. 

Remus sets to work, massaging lotion into the skin of your hands and wrists. He takes the oil again and begins applying it to the marks he can see. “Where’d this come from?” he asks, rubbing it into a cruel line down the bottom of your palm. 

“Oh, I cut myself cutting something in the kitchen one time,” you explain, somewhat embarrassedly. 

He hums sympathetically, moving to another scar just shy of your knuckle. “What about this one?” 

“I’d forgotten that a pan I’d set in the sink was still hot.” Your voice gets softer as his fingers soothe over your hands bit by bit. “I brushed the back of my hand against it without thinking.” 

A small sound escapes him, equal parts fondness and exasperation. “And these?” He thumbs over two nearly identical white lines, one just above the other on your wrist. 

 “Burned myself on the oven rack.” You look at them sheepishly. “Twice.” 

Remus huffs a laugh, finishing with the oil and bringing your arm to his chest. “So what I’m getting from this is, you’re never going into a kitchen again.”

“Hey,” you say with a smile, “a girl’s got to eat.” 

“I’ll cook for you,” he bargains. 

“Every meal?” 

“If it means keeping you from injuring yourself, yes.” 

“I might be amenable to that,” you say, looking at him consideringly, “if…you let me put this stuff on your scars for you sometimes.” 

Remus’ lips curve slightly as he leans forward, stamping them on your forehead. “It’s a deal, lovely girl. We can do it for each other, yeah?” 

“Sounds good.” You peck his cheek in return, hopping down from the counter. “So, what’s for dinner? I was going to make myself a grilled cheese, but if you’re cooking I’m thinking more along the lines of lobster bisque.”

#remus lupin #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin x y/n #remus lupin x self insert #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin scenario #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin one shot #marauders au #marauders #the marauders #marauders fanfiction #marauders fanfic #marauders fic #marauders fandom #hp marauders

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It was your wedding day, and Bradley realized he was getting everything he wanted... not just a perfect wife, but a perfect family of three. After exchanging vows and promises, you and Everett take him home, because there's something important you want to ask him. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"I can't believe you're getting married tomorrow," Molly said from the spot where she was lounging in the middle of your bed eating tortilla chips dipped in marshmallow fluff. "I remember when you married Danny. God, you looked fucking miserable that day."

"I was miserable that day. Young and stupid, too. Thanks for reminding me." You tried to take the bag of chips away as you said, "I hate crumbs in my bed. Can't you at least sit on the floor or something?"

She whined and reached for the bag. "It's not for me! It's for the baby. Now be a nice auntie and let me have my little snack."

You weren't sure of all the details of what had gone down. All you knew was Molly and Bob were still together, and she was keeping the baby. Apparently there had been some pleading on his end. Molly said he begged her not to leave him, and then he promptly told her about a million times how much the idea of having a child with her thrilled him. And slowly but surely, over the past few weeks, she seemed to become attached to the idea of being a mom.

"Fine," you sighed, handing her the chips. "Have your snack. But just remember, I'm not doing it for you."

"The baby thanks you," she said, rubbing her tiny bump as she shoved four chips into her mouth. "I wonder what the guys are up to," she said after she was done chewing.

"Watching the Phillies game. Or at least that's what Bradley texted me a few minutes ago."

"Give me your phone! You're not supposed to be talking to him! Bob was supposed to hide Bradley's phone under our bathroom sink. My god, I can't trust him to do anything right," she said with a soft smile on her face. She yanked your phone away and tucked it behind her back. "Now try on your dress one more time. Your tits look so good in it."

"I need you to zip it. Go wash your hands."

She rolled her eyes so hard, it was like she was fifteen years old again, and then she went into your bathroom like she was told. "What's it like living with Bradley?" she asked, moving his stuff around on the counter. "Does he like belch all the time and scratch himself?"

You started laughing as you tried to pull your dress on. "No! He's perfect. It feels like he's always been here. He takes care of almost everything for Ev, and he's actually quite tidy." You skipped over all the parts where you and he had been making love all over the house just because you could, but you did add, "I love having him with us."

Molly turned around and smirked as she came to zip your dress. "If I ever marry Bob, which I might not!" she said, cutting off your excited look. "If I do though, it'll be in the middle of a wildflower meadow just after sunset. And I'll make my own bouquet with the flowers beforehand. Oh, and I'll have to make sure Bob takes his allergy pills. But it'll be so dreamy."

You were gaping at her in the mirror as she zipped the dress. "Really?" you asked, flabbergasted. "That's literally nothing like what I thought you were going to say."

Molly sighed and made her way back to the bag of chips. "It's these fucking hormones. Fuck! I want to get married in the middle of some flowers now! What the hell?" She was wiping at her eyes as she told you, "Pull your dress down a little bit. I'm telling you, Bradley won't even be able to focus on the ceremony with your boobs looking like that."

"The ceremony is only going to be like ten minutes long. If that," you reminded her. But damn, she was right. This dress fit you very well. "Thanks for having an emotional breakdown in the middle of the dress shop and kind of forcing me to buy this dress after I sat on the floor with it on."

She smiled at you as she dipped a chip into the fluff. "That's literally what I'm here for."

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

The following morning, Bradley pulled up to Petco Park with Bob and Everett in the Bronco just as the sun started to warm everything up for the day. He was getting married in an hour and a half. He felt jittery, but he wasn't nervous. He felt warm, but he wasn't uncomfortable. He felt like everything was the way he never knew, until very recently, that he wanted it to be. 

"Ready, kiddo?" he asked Everett as he opened the back door. Everett scrambled into his arms and wrapped him in a hug around the neck.

"Yep!" he replied, and then the three of them were making their way into the Players Only Entrance where a security guard was waiting for them. "This is so cool," Everett whispered. The ballpark was basically deserted since the game didn't start until three o'clock, and they only passed a few other staff members as they entered the Padres locker room.

"Remember that fun tour we went on?" Bradley asked Everett as Bob held the door for them. He kissed his stepson on the cheek before setting him down on one of the benches. 

Everett muttered, "Yeah," as he looked all around the room in awe. "But we went in the visiting team locker room."

Bradley laughed and looked around as well. "We sure did, because we wanted to see all the Phillies gear."

"Can we all go to Philadelphia?" Everett asked.

"Well, Philadelphia made it to the short list of vacation spots when I talked to your mom. We'll work on her. We already got a Phillies room out of her."

Everett was smiling nonstop as the three of them changed into their baseball jerseys in the same room where the Padres players would be putting on their uniforms in a few hours for their game against the Rockies. Bradley checked himself out in the mirror. They all matched, more or less, in their white jerseys with gold stitching and letters. Molly had been in charge of ordering them from a small boutique shop. Everett's said GRAND SLAM on the back. Bob's just said BOB. And Bradley's said GROOM; he was a little surprised his didn't come back saying TURD-IN-LAW to be honest. 

When the security guard poked his head inside and said, "You can go out onto the field now," Bradley's heart started pounding. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he put his Phillies cap on backwards. Then he put Everett's on him backwards and picked him up again. 

"I love you, Ev," he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. Bradley was in some ways more emotional about becoming Everett's stepdad than he was about marrying you. Because it was like a bonus. A little extra responsibility he never planned for. Falling in love with you was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Every time he looked at his kid, he saw innocent trust returned to him, and all Bradley wanted to do was make him feel safe and loved.

"I love you, Dad," he replied, like it was already the most natural thing in the world. And Bradley supposed it was. Because the two of them seemed to be cut from the same cloth. And Bradley was more than happy to step into the role of a father for this child.

When Bradley turned to Bob, he asked, "You have the rings?"

"In my pocket," he promised, and then the three of them were on their way. They walked quietly through the tunnel and out onto the turf. Everything smelled fresh, like grass and damp earth. Everett's head was on a swivel, looking all around, just like when they took the ballpark tour months ago. 

They were being waved over to home plate by John, their tour guide from that very special day. "It's nice to see you again," he said, shaking hands with Bradley. "I've just been informed that your bride is on her way up from the other locker room."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered, anxious to see you and be with you. He held onto Everett a little tighter as they waited, and he laughed softly. Somehow you managed to pull off this wedding, and the fact that Jake was the one who helped you do it was almost too funny.

"Hi, Mommy!" Everett called, waving his hand as Bradley whirled around to find you walking out onto the infield. A strangled noise escaped him as you made your way closer with a soft smile on your lips. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. It was the only word to describe the day and how he felt and how you looked with Molly holding the bunched up bottom of your wedding dress.

"Kitten," he whispered, feeling short of breath as you joined him on home plate. Your dress was simple but beautiful, and Bradley wasn't ashamed to admit that he couldn't stop glancing at your tits. But it was the smile on your face that had him grinning, too.

When you leaned in to kiss Everett's cheek, Bradley took your chin in his palm and tried to kiss you. "Stop it!" Molly screeched as she finished straightening out your wedding dress. Bradley froze as she added, "You're not supposed to kiss her until John says it's time! Have you never been to a wedding before?"

"I'm so happy I'm gaining not only a wife and son today, but also such a lovely sister-in-law," he told her in response. 

Molly smiled sweetly at him. "You should be delighted."

"Can we get married now?" you asked with a laugh, and Bradley set Everett gently down next to home plate. 

"It's the only reason I'm here," he promised, taking your hands in his. "To marry my beautiful Kitten and live happily ever after."

You smiled at him as he pulled you a little closer. Everett was practically standing between the two of you, so excited for what was to come, and Bob and Molly stood next to John.

"Ready?" When everyone nodded, John said a few words about how he was pleased that he could perform this short ceremony today after being the one who gave them the tour of Petco Park. He told them that they made him smile so many times that day as they interacted with each other. And then he asked if you and Bradley wanted to say anything to each other.

"I'll go first," you said, ducking your head for a beat before you looked Bradley in the eyes. "The first day we met...the first day of tee ball...I took one look at you interacting with Everett, and I thought maybe there was a small chance that it wouldn't have to be just the two of us forever." You let go of Bradley's left hand and smiled at Everett as you ran your fingers along his cheek. "Not that there was anything wrong with the two of us, Ev. You know that, right?"

Everett nodded and told you, "I know."

"We were so close to perfect. But Bradley makes us even better," you said, looking up to meet his eyes again. You studied him for a beat, and Bradley watched your eyes fill with tears. "It's hard to explain how you make me feel so confident, when at the same time, you make me feel like you'll be strong when I can't."

"Kitten," he whispered, wiping your tears as they fell. 

"I love you, Coach," you said with a soft laugh through your watery eyes that had him smiling and shaking his head. "You belong with us."

"I really do," he agreed. 

"Your turn," you whispered, and with a nod, Bradley knelt down in the dirt next to home plate, his jeans getting messy in the process. 

"Hey, kiddo," he whispered to Everett, loud enough that you could still hear him. 

"Hi, Dad," he replied, and Bradley wrapped him up in his arms as he started to cry.

"Thanks for letting me marry your mom," Bradley told him, his voice a little rough as he kissed Everett's forehead. "And thanks for letting me be your dad. I'm going to make some promises to you, okay?"

"Okay," Everett said with a little shrug that made Bradley chuckle. 

He wiped at his tears as he said, "I promise to play baseball with you in the park all the time. At least until your mom gets annoyed. And I promise we'll watch the Phillies together in Philadelphia, because it's the only way to see the Phanatic up close."

"Yes!" Everett said, clapping his hands.

"And I promise to help you with your homework and make you pancakes and collect baseball cards together. And we can do anything else you decide you want to do, okay? Because I love you, kiddo."

Everett hugged him again, and when Bradley stood and looked at you, he was crying in earnest. "Kitten, I love your son just as much as I love you."

"I know it," you whispered, crying as well. 

He took a deep breath and laughed. "Are you ready for your promises, Kitten?" When you nodded he took your hands in his again. "In front of Ev, Molly and Bob, and this immaculate turf at Petco Park, I promise I love you more than baseball."

You started laughing through your tears, and Bradley turned to see Molly wiping her own tears on Bob's jersey. 

"That's a lot of love," you told him, squeezing his hands. 

He nodded, pulling both of your hands so they were around his waist. "I promise I love you more than the Phillies. And I always will." He let his forehead come to rest against yours and said, "And if you'll let me be strong for you sometimes when you need it, then that's an honor, Kitten. Because you're the strongest person I know. But I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." Your eyes closed as Bradley's lips brushed your forehead and his hands slipped around your waist. "John, I'm ready to kiss my wife."

"By all means," he replied, "go right ahead."

Your hands were around Bradley's neck, nudging his backward cap and pulling him closer, and then he was kissing you while your little cheering section of four people went wild. 

"I love you," he promised against your lips, but you pulled him in for more with a smile. He brushed your nose with his and kissed you one last time. Then Bob was holding out one ring on each palm, and you let Bradley slip yours on before you took his left hand in yours. His ring looked perfect after you slid it into place. And then Everett was reaching for him, and Bradley scooped him up while you hugged your sister and kissed Bob's cheek.

"You're really my dad now," Everett said, letting his head come to rest on Bradley's shoulder. 

Bradley held him close. "I think I already kind of was."

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

The fact that your wedding reception consisted of ballpark food and cheap beer in one of the Padres' suites had you and Bradley smiling nonstop. The two of you had taken wedding photos while the park was still empty, and most of the shots were of the three of you.

"Could I interest you in some nachos, Kitten?" Bradley asked, stealing a chip as he handed you a tray.

"Thanks, Coach," you said, kissing his cheek. "You know, I don't think we give Bob enough credit."

"What do you mean?" he asked, dipping another chip into the cheese and eating it. 

"Well, we only met because he got you to coach the team with him in the first place. And he kind of let you bully me into being the Team Mom."

Bradley shook his head. "That seems like ages, not just just five months. You'd wear your little black skirt to practices and prance across the grass in your high heels. Fuck, you're so sexy." You giggled as he kissed you behind your ear. "And your tits look amazing in your dress."

"You can thank Molly for making me buy this one."

Bradley glanced toward where Molly and Bob were making out in the corner. His hands were all over the barely noticeable swell of her pregnant belly, and she was raking her fingers through his hair. "Nah, Bob's busy thanking her himself at the moment."

As more guests showed up just before the game started, you watched Nat squirt some ketchup onto a hotdog for Everett. And then you watched Bradley hold a napkin up while he ate it, just like he always did. The two of them were so shockingly similar, it was jarring at times when you remembered that Danny was Everett's biological father. 

"Talk about an upgrade," you whispered, taking a sip of beer before you went to greet Maverick. You barely watched the game, too busy chatting with your friends and kissing Bradley nonstop. But the Padres won which made Bradley and Everett happy, so it made you happy, too. 

And then by six o'clock, you had an exhausted seven year old son on your hands. He was crashing from all the snacks and the excitement of the day. "Time to head home," Bradley said, picking Everett up and kissing your lips. "And then we can send Ev off with my delightful sister-in-law."

You looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean? Ev's going to their condo for the night?"

"Two nights. I'm taking you to Palm Springs," he told you with a smirk. "We're having a real honeymoon now, and then I was thinking over winter break, we could take a family trip to Disney World?"

You threw yourself at him, and he collected you in his other arm. "That sounds perfect." You'd never been to Palm Springs or Disney World, but suddenly you wanted to go everywhere with him. 

"You said Philadelphia," Everett whined in Bradley's grasp.

Bradley kissed his forehead. "That'll be in the spring, silly. Gotta go when the Phanatic is active in his natural habitat."

Your heart pounded as you walked out across the parking lot to the Bronco. Because it turned out Molly had been keeping two secrets today: one for Bradley and one for you and Ev. You didn't expect to be this nervous, but here you were, barely able to get your seatbelt buckled around your dress.

Bradley was sweet and gentle, taking the buckle from your shaking hands. "Are you okay, Kitten?" he asked, the dying sunlight turning his eyes a deep amber. 

"Yes. Just can't wait to get home. Ev and I have a special wedding gift for you."

"Well, I can't wait either."

You bit your lip and looked out the window as you muttered, "Hope you like it."

Because Molly was the one driving her car, she and Bob got back to your house first. She was unlocking the front door so Bradley could carry Everett inside while he yawned. "We'll be out on the back deck," Molly said, taking Bob by the hand. "Let us know when Ev is all ready for his sleepover."

Now Bradley was the one who looked confused as they closed the back door behind them, leaving the three of you alone in the living room. "Ev's bag is already packed," Bradley said. "He can go with them anytime." 

"That's true." You felt too hot in your wedding dress now, thinking you might need to take a minute to yourself. But then Everett was climbing out of Bradley's arms and reaching for the box you'd stashed under the couch. 

"Can we give it to him?" he asked, looking up at you for permission with wide, innocent eyes. 

"Yeah," you whispered, running your hand over your chest, trying to calm the pounding of your heart. Your eye caught on the baseball covered in hearts that Bradley had used to propose to you where it sat on your mantle. He belonged here with both of you, and you wanted Everett to have every opportunity to live his best life. "We can give it to him."

Then Everett thrust the wrapped box into Bradley's hands, and you realized you were both staring at him. You reached for your son, pulling him closer to you as Bradley shook the box a little bit. "This is for me?"

"Yes," you and Everett said in unison, but now you felt like you were going to be sick as he started to rip into the silver paper. And then he was opening the box. 

A smile lit Bradley's face as he set the box aside and held up a Phillies jersey, examining the front of it. "I love it," he said, nodding his head. "But it looks a little small for me, doesn't it?" 

You pressed your lips together as you squeezed Everett's shoulder. "Look at the back," you told him, your voice a little shaky. 

Bradley turned it around and read it. "Bradshaw. But it's a child's size." When he met your eyes, you could barely see through your tears, and you even sensed that Everett was anxious now. 

"It's not for you, Coach," you informed him softly. Then you looked down at your son for a beat as you said, "It's for Ev. This is just our way of asking you if you'd like to be Everett's father. If you'd like to adopt him."

You watched Bradley's lips part, but no words came out. He was looking between the two of you in awe as tears seemed to fill his eyes. Then he read the back of the jersey again as he sobbed. "Come here," he whispered, kneeling down in front of Everett and tucking the jersey under his arm. "Is that what you want, kiddo?"

Everett wrapped his arms around Bradley's neck and said, "Yes."

Then Bradley looked up at you with tears in his eyes. "You'd let me?"

"Yes!" you said, now crying as well. "It's what we want."

He buried his face in Everett's neck and squeezed him. "Yes, I want to adopt you, Ev," he managed. As he stood with Everett in his arms, he kissed you and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"We can do it soon," you told him, hugging him a little awkwardly as he held Everett. "I'll have my lawyer change my petition from child support to adoption. We can get new papers served. No more Danny. We don't need the money anyway. Not like we need you, Coach."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you. "First thing when we get back from Palm Springs, Kitten. Let's get this ball rolling. You won't have to worry about custody or Danny anymore. You won't even have to think about it. And I'll get my bonus," he told Everett with a grin. "A son to go along with my wife."

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

Married! Adopting Ev! Happiness! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 30

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster fanfic #rooster x you #rooster x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x you #rooster bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x female reader #top gun imagine #top gun maverick imagine #top gun maverick #top gun maverick fanfiction #batting practice #roosterforme

[rorywritesjunk]

I won't treat you like you're oh so typical

Buggy wakes you up to help him with his makeup and he sometimes get grabby.

Rating: Soft R? Idk. Some swearing, and uh, innuendos. No sex. I plan to write sex at some point but I just wanted to keep this kind of fluffy for now.

Warnings: Insecure!Buggy because that's my anime husband right there, needing assurance while his lady does his makeup. Some swearing. Buggy is kind of a brat in this.

A/N: Inspired by the image of that woman sitting on top of another doing her makeup. The title comes from "Closer" by Tegan & Sara. Part Two is here!

“You have got to stop moving, Buggy.” You warned as you held the eyeliner pencil near his eye. “Do you want to be known as Captain Buggy the One-Eyed Clown? Because that’s what’s going to happen if your hand grabs my ass again.”

“But baaaabe!” He whined underneath you. You sat up and crossed your arms as you looked down at him. Currently you had him laying underneath you on your shared bed while you straddled him to do his makeup. Barely twenty minutes ago he woke you up from a deep sleep, demanding you help him with your makeup. You were still in your damn pajamas as you sat on top of your silly boyfriend.

“Buggy.” You sighed. “I can’t get this done if you keep groping me.”

“I can’t help it!” Buggy pouted. “Why are you trying to seduce me while doing my makeup? I can’t control myself when you’re dressed like this!”

You rolled your eyes. This being your pajamas. Light green boxer shorts with bananas printed on them and a shirt you cut the sleeves off of. Of course he’d find that sexy. You held the pencil up threateningly. 

“Let me continue or this is going to take all day.” You told him as you leaned back down. He sighed and settled back down on the bed. While you managed to keep his arms pinned to his sides with your knees, his hands still could wander. You cursed his Devil Fruit powers when it came to situations like this. Sure, they were great for getting things off tall shelves or scratching your back when he was busy, but times like this you cursed it.

“Oh, what big plans do you have?” He asked as you worked the pencil around his eyes carefully. You didn’t respond at first, being careful not to jab him in the eye either on purpose or on accident. You sat up just enough to make sure the job was done well before you sat back up to grab the next bit of makeup. “Does it involve getting naked at any point with your fearsome Captain boyfriend?”

You gave him an unamused look as you grabbed a different pencil, the one you used to draw the skull on his forehead. “I was planning on going back to sleep because my silly Captain boyfriend woke me up to do his makeup and won’t stop trying to feel me up.”

He grinned cheekily at that as one of his hands did grab your ass, giving a sharp pinch to your left cheek. You yelped and reached back to swat at his hand before looking back at him. “Come on!”

“Stop seducing me then!” He whined. “Why do you have to be on top of me every time anyway?”

“Because… of the lighting, Buggy.” You told him as you lied through your teeth. This wasn’t the first time you’ve done his makeup like this. In the past you tried while he sat at his vanity, but found it hard to get the right lighting. Not to mention there was a mirror there and he could see everything you did. He made it a point to give a running commentary about what you were doing wrong and it drove you crazy. You finally gave up and had him lay down on the bed where you could see his face better and have better angles for his makeup. “And the shadows on your face throw me off when you sit down. If I do it this way, I can see your beautiful face more clearly..”

He fell silent as you called his face beautiful, and you noticed his cheeks were a little red. You smiled and kissed him on the forehead before you finished drawing the skull and crossbones. You looked down at him and grinned. So far the makeup wasn’t looking half bad. The last bit was applying the red lipstick. This was actually your favorite part because it was the easiest, and honestly, his lips were so soft to touch that every time you did apply his lipstick, you couldn’t help but kiss him afterwards. 

You grabbed his chin gently to keep his head still as you dabbed it over his lips carefully, making sure to apply it thick. He looked up at you as you did, taking notice how focused you were and how you even stuck your tongue out in concentration. It was… it was cute. He liked seeing you like that. He managed not to pout when you let go of his chin, but when he felt your thumbs on his lips, no doubt to smear the excess lipstick around his mouth, he couldn’t help but kiss at the pads of your thumbs. 

You smiled and cupped his head in your hands gently as you leaned down to kiss him. Fresh makeup on Buggy was always a glorious sight to see, because you knew in a few hours it would start to fade, smear, and look unkempt. You had the honor of seeing him first each day.

After a moment, you nipped at his bottom lip gently before you pulled back from the kiss. You reached up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, looking surprised to see so much red lipstick on it. You must have overdone this time. When you looked back at Buggy, however, you saw the look in his eyes and began to have regrets.

“Buggy…” 

He wasted no time pushing you on your back and rolling on top of you, forcing your legs apart as he grinned down at you. He reached up to touch your lips, dragging his thumb over them slowly, and when he pulled his hand back you could see there was still lipstick on you. You rarely wore makeup, not really enjoying it on yourself as much as you enjoyed seeing it on Buggy. He stared at your lips for a moment longer before he pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, working his way to your jawline and to your ear, humming in appreciation as he saw the red marks he was leaving. 

He pressed a kiss to your earlobe before whispering, “You really think I’m beautiful, or are you just saying that so I fuck you?”

Honestly, it caught you off guard. He was beautiful. Fuck, his eyes, hair, nose, everything about him was beautiful. His personality, at times, drove you crazy, and he knew that, but you also knew he still had insecurity about his looks and being a pirate and, well, everything. He was just insecure. You reached up and put your hands on his cheeks, smushing them forward and making his lips pucker; he was resembling a goofy fish at that moment.

“The most beautiful person I’ve ever known, Buggy.” You assured him as you pulled him down for a kiss, holding on for just a moment before pulling back and pressing your lips to his nose. You could feel him tense up, and you were proud of him for not pulling away. After letting go of his face, your hands removed his bandana and your fingers began combing through his hair. “Fearsome and flashy, Captain Buggy.” 

“That so?” He grinned, the moment seeming to pass now. “Tell me more then.”

“I’d love to.” You replied. “If you get off me and let me finish your damn makeup.”

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy x reader #buggy x you #buggy one piece #buggy opla #buggy the clown x you #one piece headcanons #opla buggy #opla buggy the clown

[sleepyeye17]

Is this yours?

Words: 768

Warnings: None

Summary: There’s a bra in Steve’s back seat. He has some explaining to do.

“What’s this?” Lucas says in the back seat of Steve’s car. “Ooooooh it’s a bra!”

Steve looks in the rear view mirror and his eyes go wide.

“Shit.”

Eddie turns around in the front seat to see Lucas holding up an enormous bra. It takes a moment for the implication to hit, and then it punches him right in the nuts. Fuck.

“Don’t touch that, Lucas,” Steve growls. 

“Steve had a girl back here,” Dustin crows. 

“I did not!” Steve says. “Put that down!”

“This is huge,” Max says, grabbing the bra from Lucas and feeling the enormous padded cups. “Jesus what is this, an F cup?”

“Who’s the lucky lady?” Lucas asks. 

“Who do we know with enormous tits?” Max says. She holds it up to herself. “Dustin, is this your mom’s? Ow!”

They’re all laughing and smacking each other and shrieking. Eddie looks out the window and tries to put on his most aloof face.

Steve and Eddie have only been hooking up for a few weeks, and neither of them have said that they were exclusive. If Eddie had assumed, well, that's on him. Always the idiot, and matters of the heart are no exception. He fell in love with Steve like it was breathing. He should have known that King Steve would have a whole flock of women to choose from. Eddie is clearly just an experiment. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’s had a few partners in the past who believed that they could be with a man once and get it out of their system. Eddie is usually happy to oblige. But he really thought that this was different.

“Settle down back there, okay?” Steve says. He’s bright red, and clearly irritated. “It got mixed up in my laundry at the laundromat. Jesus, get your minds out of the gutter.”

The kids calm down a little bit, and they’re friends again by the time Steve pulls into the arcade. Eddie is about to follow them out of the car, but Steve reaches out and touches his arm.

“Wait, Eddie. Can we talk?”

“Sure. Whatever.”

Eddie looks wary as he sits back down. He sneaks a glance at Steve, who’s still bright red. Eddie knows that Steve does his laundry at his parents’ house, and the bra is clearly too large for Steve’s mother.

“I can explain–” Steve starts, but Eddie cuts him off.

“You don’t have to.”

“I didn’t–”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Steve looks surprised and almost a little hurt.

“Doesn’t it?”

Eddie shrugs.

“We never said we were exclusive.”

Now Steve definitely looks hurt.

“I thought– Well. No. I guess we never did. Have you–” 

“If you have another–”

“I don’t–”

“I just want to know–”

“I don’t!”

“--so I can get tested–”

“The bra is mine!”

That stuns Eddie into silence. He stares at Steve for a second, but Steve can’t meet his eyes. Steve is looking at the ceiling, biting his lip and blinking fast. His fingers drum on the steering wheel.

“Sorry, what?” Eddie asks.

“I’m not– It’s just a thing. It’s just something I do on some weekends. There are these performances. Like shows. On the first Saturday of the month, in Indy.”

“Do you…” Eddie is trying to wrap his mind around this. “Are you a… A woman? In your heart?”

Steve shakes his head fast.

“I don’t think so? I’ve thought about it, and I’ve talked to some people. I still like being a guy, and I like my body and I feel good as a man. But sometimes… I dunno. I just want to be…” Steve gestures vaguely.

“A queen,” Eddie finishes.

“Yeah.” Steve sniffs hard. “I’m sorry. If this is too much–”

Eddie lets out a surprised little giggle, then covers his mouth. Steve looks miserable.

“Sorry!” Eddie says. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just… God, Steve, you really couldn’t be more perfect.”

“Don’t fuck with me,” Steve snaps.

“I’m not! I’m not, I swear. I thought you were seeing someone else! Fuck, man, this is better than my wildest fantasies.” 

“Really?” Steve has a gentle look of hopeful surprise on his face that’s so open and vulnerable it makes Eddie want to bite his own fist. 

“Yes, really. What’s your name, then?”

“What?”

“Your drag name.”

Steve smiles shyly and bites a fingernail. Eddie wants to cry, he’s so pretty.

“It’s still in progress, okay. So you can’t laugh.”

“Okay.”

“Connie Cushion.”

Eddie gasps like Steve just dropped to one knee and proposed.

“Concussion!?” 

“Connie Cushion, yeah.”

“Can I… meet her some time?”

Steve bows his head, rubbing the back of his neck and beaming.

“She’d like that.”

#steddie #steve harrington #steve x eddie #drag queen steve harrington #eddie munson #Max Mayfield #dustin henderson #Lucas Sinclair #stranger things #communication

[ma1dita]

🐥hey babe, thoughts on sirius x reader during hogwarts years? sirius is known for being a huge playboy and reader's a gryffindor and good friends with all the gryffindor girls n marauders. think (best) friends to lovers? he's going out with all these girls all the time searching for a connection and physical affection, but doesn't realize that he has feelings for her until he sees her with another guy (asked to hogsmeade, hanging out at a party, slug club, etc). love ya <33

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

sirius black x reader

a/n: for my lovely nini!! i hope you like it LOL sirius was always hard for me to write

wc: 1.5k

—

Sirius Black has everything he’s ever wanted in life.

It’s a bold statement to claim at 17, but after leaving his hellhole of a house, getting good ol’ Uncle Alphard’s inheritance of gold with enough to swim in at Gringotts if he so wishes, and having the best of mates he also has the privilege of calling his family— some may ask what’s next for him, and that’s what he’s trying to figure out too.

Everything will be easy from now on, he thinks— smoothing down his hair and spritzing some cologne while he gets ready to find another girl to get under so that his weekend will have some merit.

“Looking good, Pads,” James grins from his bed as he tosses a quaffle back and forth between him and Peter. The impish boy almost gets nailed in the face, huffing, “Who’s it this time? The girl from Ravenclaw? What’s her name again—Venetia? Violet?”

“Something like that…”

Sirius straightens out his shirt collar and flicks off a speck of imaginary lint from his shoulder—there’s physically nothing wrong with him, but something is still missing.

The door opens with a bang and you brush past him like a hurricane, the boys cheering at your arrival.

“Pretty girl, give us a twirl!” James hollers, and Remus gets up from his bed to spin you around as you giggle with your dress twirling in the wind.

“M’gonna be late because of you lot!” you grin, grabbing James’ bottle of Sleakeasy’s off his dresser and sidling up next to your best friend who’s silent as he stares at you through the mirror with amusement in his eyes.

“What?” you mumble, cheeks flushing as you lather the potion between your fingers to smooth it into your hair, “Can’t let you be the only pretty one around here, Pads.” He’s pulling on the fabric of your dress teasingly, inspecting you from head to toe, “Mhm, and who exactly are you going on a date with, lovie?”

“None of your business! Don’t want any of you boys meddling,” you say exasperatedly, elbowing him when he laughs, and Peter yells out in protest from the floor behind you. You squeeze Sirius’ shoulder, looking at the both of you in the mirror and noticing that his silvery eyes are still glued to you, cool as steel.

“Do I look bad? Borrowed it from Mary, but it doesn’t really fit me as well as it fits her, no?”

He notices the low cut of your dress and the way it frames your body just as well as he can draw it from memory—from the curve of your collarbones to the plush of your hip it certainly doesn’t leave much to his imagination, he’s just never seen you like this before. Sirius is blatantly ogling you now, and Remus throws a pillow at his head sending every perfectly combed piece of hair in different directions. He doesn’t even move to fix it, his breath growing quicker the more he takes you in.

“Lucky bloke. You’d look pretty even if you wore a sackcloth though,” he mumbles, eyes unseeing when you reach up to smooth his strands with a gentle smile. Sirius moves closer so you can reach, lips grazing against the powder blush you applied on your cheek— though if he got any closer he might’ve felt the heat reverberating from your skin. His finger plays with the tie at your bosom, almost in hesitation, or was it contemplation?

When does Sirius ever hesitate to do anything?

“This dress is just….hmmm…”

“What? Making me nervous… Is it too much?” You turn away to ask the other boys, who watch the two of you dance around each other like an old Muggle film Remus’ mum would send them to watch (Hope Lupin wants to teach these boys a thing or two about how to woo women in a respectful, romantic manner, mind you).

“A bit,” Sirius swallows, pulling at his shirt collar like it’s suddenly hard to breathe. Behind you, Peter grips at his hair almost comically while Remus throws his face into a book and sighs. James is watching through his fingers, eyes darting between the two of you two in anticipation. Groaning, you jab at his torso, taking out the rest of the air in his lungs (though he tries not to choke when he pulls you in and feels the smooth skin of your thighs as your dress rides up in the struggle).

“Shut up, you tosser! And I better not see any of you in Hogsmeade later trying to ruin my date—I actually have high hopes for this one…” you giggle, tossing your head against your best friends’ shoulder as you look at the varying faces of shock that surround you.

“Who said we were going to meddle?”

“Us?”

“We’re good boys, doll, we’d never!”

Sirius’ voice rings clearer over the rest of the Marauders as he whispers in your ear, “My girl’s looking forward to a date? Who would’ve thought….”

You spin in his arms and correct him, one arm wrapped around his neck and the other playing with a button on his shirt, “Your best girl…I’m allowed to have fun too, Pads!”

“That you are.”

He presses a kiss to your temple, inhaling the perfume you spritz on for special occasions and feeling like he’s lost you already even before you walk out the door. You send him off on dates all the time with an encouraging smile on your face. So why is it that after you leave the boys watch him flop into his bed and stare at the ceiling?

Sirius could’ve been there for hours for all he knows— ignoring the boys when they tell him they’re going to badger your date at Hosgmeade, unmoving when his date (who’s name turned out to be Vina) banged on his door for skipping out on her, he laid there, arms crossed and brooding. It’s like nothing made sense anymore.

You come tiptoeing into his room with your heels in hand a little before dinner, pulling back the curtains of his poster bed whispering, “Pads? You okay? What happened to your date?”

Sirius rolls over, looking at your wide eyes glinting in the candlelight, “What happened to yours?” he counters.

“It was okay. The boys sent a Bat-Bogey Hex to my date and snot landed in my butterbeer. He thought it was weird when I laughed.”

“M’sorry, lovie,” he sighs, grasping your hand over his duvet and playing with the rings on your fingers.

“S’okay! Don’t wanna be with someone without a sense of humor. Grown man that can’t take a prank. How awful is that?” you grin, before slapping his thigh, “Move over, I’m coming in.” There should be nothing special about the way you easily find your place against his body, molding against his form in both of your wrinkled dress clothes but Sirius can’t help nuzzling against the crown of your head, pressing a kiss to your scalp like it’s second nature.

“Why didn’t you go on your date? Heard Vina almost set the common room on fire.”

He doesn’t have an answer to that, nor the way he questions why his heart is beating faster when you draw stars along his spine.

“D’you at least have a good time today? Looking so pretty and all,” he whispers, pulling your chin up so you can look at each other eye to eye.

“Rem said you weren’t feeling well, so I had one foot out the door the entire time. Besides he was boring. Much rather spend time with you here,” you say like it’s nothing of the sort. Shiny lips press a pink kiss onto his nose. Your lipgloss smells like strawberries, leaving a mark on his aristocratic features.

“Doing nothing?”

“Mhm. Already having more fun, aren’t you?” you breathe out a laugh into his neck, unknowing of the way he looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky. He comes to the realization then that there’s no other place he’d rather be without you by his side. Nothing’s missing, or wrong with him—he has all he needs as long as you’re pressed against him like this, fingers in your hair and legs tangled under the bedspread.

“I didn’t want to go on my date because I wanted to be with you today,” he whispers into the air. You don’t freeze or jolt back like he expects you to, instead pursing your lips against his jaw.

“Yeah?”

“Is that okay?” he mutters, closing his eyes with the feeling that he’s said something awful, shoulders tensing like how they would when his mother would turn the corner.

“Why wouldn’t it be okay? Siri…” you sigh, grabbing his face to look at you and when he opens his eyes, you suddenly know.

“I don’t know how to do this,” Sirius says shakily, putting his hands over yours in case you’re an apparition or want to leave. There’s a space in his heart that’s in the shape of you, and you smile at him like he wasn’t in on the joke, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“S’okay. You have me.”

And he nods, knowing that’s all he needs.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩ #sirius black x reader #sirius black fluff #marauders x reader #made by ma1dita ♥︎ #harry potter x reader

[webshooterrr9]

based on @nymphomatique's nerd!miguel au

CW: afab!reader, nerd!miguel, slapping, oral sex (f receiving), degrading, praise, got carried away, body worship, college students, smut under the cut!!!

"It's good enough, I guess."

Miguel just finished typing up a biology essay for you, his eyes slightly hazy from staring at a laptop for the past 2 hours. You were standing in front of your floor-length mirror, getting ready for the frat party you were planning on attending.

It took everything in his power not to stare at your body. The way the skimpy, black dress hugged your curves was a mouthwatering sight. Your freshly curled hair fell neatly over your shoulders, allowing Miguel perfect vision of your skin under your backless outfit.

His heart is racing faster than ever before as he watches you from the corner of his eyes. He places his laptop back in his backpack, before deciding that he has to say something.

He has to.

"You look... good" he manages to whisper out, half-hoping that you didn't hear it.

"Thanks." it was almost a mindless reply, like you weren't paying much attention to him. "Now get the fuck out."

"W-wait a second," Miguel suddenly gathers some courage as you brush aside his compliment. He knew you were somewhat of a mean girl, but he wanted to see this transaction through. "I... I deserve something - payment for finishing your homework for you."

You turn your head around to look at him, lifting an eyebrow.

"Yeah?" There's a bit of intrigue in your voice, but you're still harsh. He watches as you cross your arms and look at him in a demeaning fashion. It wasn't often that this nerd got the confidence to ask for any sort of reward. "And what exactly do you want? I'm not giving you money."

Miguel is a little shocked that you were willing to hear him out. "I-I'm sorry... I'm just..." He sighs cautiously.

You stare impatiently. He hesitates before forcing out his next words. "I just... I really like the way you look and-" his voice shakes when he notices the rude stare you're giving him. But he won't give up.

"Can I kiss you?"

"Just- you know, for doing your essay for you?" just as quickly as the words leave his mouth, he covers his face in shame. You laugh a bit at how dumb his request is.

"That's it?"

Miguel lowers his hands to look up at you. You can see the embarrassment painted all over his face. "You got all shy just to ask for a kiss?"

Your expression calmed and you relaxed your body language. He looked humiliated, feeling stupid for even asking that from someone as stunning and popular as you.

"Fine. C'mere." you wave him over dismissively.

He's taken by surprise, but doesn't hesitate to cross the room and approach you. His heartbeat is racing faster than ever before. Despite how he towers over you by almost a foot, he's staring down at you with doe eyes, like a lost puppy.

I can't believe I'm doing this.

You raise your hands to gently cup his cheeks, then bring his face in for a small kiss. Miguel's heart leaps into his throat when your lips make contact. It's so casual for you, but it's everything for him. A wave of euphoria washes over him, it's almost too overstimulating - to know he's finally able to kiss you.

He moans quietly and leans forward, trying to deepen the kiss. His mind races, his head spins. He's so giddy that he feels like he's going to die. All he wants now is more... so much more.

Your hands find his chest, pushing him back. His eyes shoot wide as you break the kiss.

"There. You got your reward. Happy?" Your hands rest on your hips while you speak nonchalantly.

"Y-yeah... super happy..." he chuckles nervously and runs his hands through his messy hair. It was kinda hot.

"Can I... can you do that again?"

"No, you've had enough." You return to your mirror, adjusting the little details of your outfit. "You got what you wanted. Now get the fuck out of my room."

"What?" despite how you were typically mean to him, he seemed to be surprised by that. "You can't... just be heartless like that."

That struck a nerve with you. "Heartless? You're calling me heartless?" There's a desperate look in his eyes, but you can tell that he doesn't have much courage to push the issue further. After all, he's just a nerd. But he can't shake the feeling your kiss gave his mind, his heart, his stomach, his cock...

"I did everything you wanted - I did your homework. I want something more... please." His body language shows that he's almost afraid of you and your dominatrix attitude. "Please, just one more."

"God, you're so pathetic..." you sigh, shaking your head. You can't help but laugh at his desperation - he clearly has never touched a woman in his life.

"Please..." he begs once more. "I want it more than anything..."

Something in his voice sends electricity up your spine. This is much more entertaining than that dumb party. "Mm, yeah? More than anything?"

You shove him back, causing him to stumble and fall onto your bed, his back making a thud on your mattress. "I don't think you deserve it, Miguelito... you haven't done anything for it."

His heart leaps into his throat. "I... I'll do anything. Please..."

"I want you to do something for me..." you grin with lowered eyes. "Can you guess what it is?"

"I don't know... I'm nervous." he didn't know what you meant. It made you roll your eyes. I mean come on, he was laying on your bed, with you practically on top of him - how could this dweeb not get the message?

You slap him across the cheek, hard. His cock twitches when he feels the sting, causing his cheeks to burn up in embarrassment. "You want another kiss? You have to earn it."

"Make me feel good."

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

He lets out a pathetic whimper when you sit on his dick, still clothed by his boxers. You haven't even started moving yet and he's already turning to mush. Virgin loser.

He watches anxiously as you reach for the elastic waistband of his underwear, sexily pulling them off. Fuck. What a sight. Proportionally, his dick is a pretty average size. But there was no way that it would fit all the way in.

A mean smirk forms on your lips as you stare at his boner, palming him gently and eliciting a frustrated whine from Miguel. "Your dick is so fucking pretty..." you mumble. "I don't know why you're so shy about it."

"Wait, re-really? You think so?" no one had ever seen his dick before, let alone call it pretty. His breathing shallowed.

"Mhm." Miguel whimpers again when you begin to stroke him, coating his entire shaft with all the precum he's releasing. "Aww, you poor thing..."

"You're already so whiny and I'm barely even touching you. You're such a baby."

"Please..." he breathes out.

"Please what? Use your words, baby." you don't call him "baby" as a pet name, you're mocking him. He tries to hide his face from you, but you grab his chin and pull it towards you so that you two make direct eye contact.

"Tell me what you want."

"You want me to use you, hm? You wanna be my little sex toy?"

Yes. Yes. Yes. He'd love that.

"Yes... please..." he whispers. He desperately needs your attention, so he'll take anything he can get. He'll be your toy, your lap dog, anything you want him to be. All those nights where he laid in bed alone, jerking off to the thought of someone wanting him, was finally becoming a reality.

Miguel's eyes shoot wide when he sees you lift up your dress, letting your panties drop to the floor. The frat party was long forgotten by you, since this was so much more fun.

"You wanna kiss me, yeah?" You smirk, crawling further onto him. His hardened cock leaks with pre, making you giggle a bit.

You hover over his face. "Then kiss me here."

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

He eats you like a man starved, needy for attention. Your hips roll firmly against his face, his mouth closing around your clit and suckling on it.

"Fuck- Miguel... so good." the nerd groans when your nails scrape at his scalp, gripping his dark hair tightly. His tongue explores every inch of your cunt, leaving behind traces of saliva as he licks and kisses the sensitive flesh.

Miguel feels his entire body tingle with joy. He's so excited to be pleasing you, to prove how good he is for you, that he's completely ignored his own needs. Lucky for him, the sound of your sweet moans are enough to get him off.

His hands grip your hips hard, pulling your wet cunt closer to his face as he feasts. His hands were sure to leave bruises later.

"Mm, god... yes..." he mumbles, the vibrations of his voice making your pussy throb even more. You grind against his face even more feverishly.

"Mig, I'm-" you sigh, trying to contain your moans as he gets more excited with his ministrations. "... 'm so fucking close, baby."

His hands run all over your hips and thighs, worshipping you like the goddess he thinks you are. His dick twitches some more, and his tongue becomes more furious around your hole.

"Mm- fuck!" you let out an unexpected wail as you feel your orgasm wash over you, your mind clouded with white. He eagerly laps up all of your juices, drinking in all of your release.

When you pull away from his face, you notice that he came too.

Miguel snaps back to reality after a moment, his cheeks flushing in a sort of embarrassment. He looks so fuckin' pretty. His hair is all messy, glasses discarded to the side, and of course, your sweet cum coating his puffy lips.

After you've caught your breath, you flash him a wicked smirk. He looks at you in panic. "Wh-What? Why are you looking at me like that?"

You sink down on the bed, lowering your face towards his cock - which was dripping with his release. His face looks worried, he knows what you're doing.

"Since you've been so good for me," you start, letting your lips hover just above his aching cock. "I figured I'd help you out too. It's only fair..."

He was gonna be in for a long night.

Poor little thing. Such a sweet boy.

CREDIT TO @nymphomatique FOR THE NERD!MIGUEL

#i love subby men #miguel o'hara #webshooterrr9 #fanfic #atsv miguel #smut #im in love #omg #he's so hot #gonna cry

[sins0fthefather]

Wrath.

Jeff the Killer HCs:

General HCs:

Full Name: Jeffrey Alexander Woods (Only responds to Jeff though. Best case scenario if you call him his full name is he’ll ignore you, worst case scenario is him flipping his shit on you)

Age: 22-25 (Based on where in the story a character study/fic takes place)

Birthday: September 22 (Older than Liu by 2 years)

Wasian— Father is Chinese, mother is a born n’ raised Texan

Biromantic, Demisexual

Has autism, C-PTSD, BPD (contributor to his auditory hallucinations), NPD, ASPD, and BDD

Right Handed

6’1 (185~ cm)

Covered in burn scars, most noticeably on his chest, forearms, and back

He uses white facepaint, it makes his face’s silhouette look “cleaner” in his eyes

His cuts have healed up for the most part, although he’ll have moments where he relapses and cuts at them again. The ends will also sometimes tear if he does something like laugh too hard.

Very touchy with other people, but he despises being touched first. He prefers to initiate physical contact- both because of the control aspect of it and because of his general distrust of others.

His sense of humor waxes and wanes from extreme condescension to the most morbid sentences you’ve ever heard. Half of the time it doesn’t even sound like a joke.

Reckless driver, cursed with terrible road rage

Smokes cigarettes, his brand of choice is Marlboro

Drinks vodka straight as if it were water

I feel like his favorite band would be Tool or Slipknot. His music taste is just metal and dad rock.

Was brought up in a Catholic school for most of his life, although he obviously doesn’t keep up with the practice anymore. This is a big catalyst for why he develops a god complex however since he “has authority over life and death”— something unique only to gods from what he was taught.

Very observant of the people around him. He memorizes speech patterns, demeanors, even the way people walk. He’s gotten to the point where he can read people and their intentions well before they’re explicitly stated, making it much easier for him to spot a lie. However this also makes it much easier for him to tell when he’s truly pushing somebody’s buttons, and there’s nothing he loves more than pushing people past their limit.

Always stealing glances of himself in any mirror he walks past

He’s an opportunistic killer. Limiting himself to patterns clashes with the creativity and the thrill of the moment to him. However, there are specific elements of a kill he will often repeat if the mood strikes him. An example of this would be often including strangulation (albeit usually not the direct cause of death) to reflect his acquired need for control in all moments of his life. Sometimes he will also pose bodies in a “prayer” position to call back that god complex I mentioned.

He doesn’t always kill people immediately. If someone catches his eye, usually because he finds them beautiful in some aspect, he’ll take it a step further. He has no problem with being patient when the situation arises for it- stalking the person, learning their habits and schedules, the whole shebang. He’ll then slowly start to ruin said person’s life, isolating them through the slaughter of those closest to them and destroying any sense of peace and security they once had. He’s the sound that goes -bump- in the night. He’ll toy with his food until he eventually grows bored, disposing them like all the rest. After all, how dare someone else try to be beautiful in his presence- a punishment of the highest order is necessary.

His anger can be very… explosive. He doesn’t stick around very long for enough people besides victims to see it, but it can be as unpredictable as his own kills. It’s worse when he’s silent in his anger however, since with the former you at least have enough of a warning to brace yourself.

Backstory-Centric HCs:

(TW: csa, murder, mutilation, religious trauma, general stuff)

Takes place in college. Jeff is 22 at the start while Liu is 20.

Instead of being a one-off instance, Jeff and Liu have been subjected to bullying/borderline harassment since middle school. This builds up Jeff’s gradual distrust of others and leads to him shutting himself off from his peers.

Most of said bullying revolved around their mixed race situation. It only got worse as Jeff shut himself off and Liu became a people pleaser.

The two didn’t even have peace at home, since their parents were sexually abusive and excused it through their religion. It was “all apart of god’s love” as they said. This + the bullying leads Liu to develop DID and kickstarts Jeff’s resentment towards their parents. It also led Jeff to develop a twisted belief on what love and beauty is since god apparently “favored” the beauty of his parent’s form of “love.”

On one particular instance of bullying/harassment, a small group of people he grew up with planned on jumping and mugging Jeff behind a bar. Things escalated when Jeff retaliated in self defense, beating his aggressors with a nearby pipe found laying against a dumpster. He didn’t leave unscathed however, since one of the attackers dropped a lighter into the flammable materials (alcohol, trash, etc) that had been scattered in the fight, planning on making everyone go down in that moment. Jeff managed to survive (albeit with severe burns along his body) after being found by an employee who went to go check out the noise/smell of smoke, but the others succumbed to their wounds.

While in a heavy state of shock and psychosis (paired with being drugged up out the wazoo at the hospital) his usual unchecked auditory hallucinations worsened, leading his mind to trick him into believing this situation was a sign from god- that he was supposed to survive while his tormentors burned. Paired with his already twisted concepts of love and beauty, he began to believe that his burns were part of god’s plan to make him more beautiful- because he was favored.

This only gets worse when he’s released from the hospital’s custody due to a neglect in checking his mental state. After being sent home with his family and therefore being thrown back into the abusive environment he hoped to escape when going to college he ends up experiencing a psychotic break, mutilating himself in the process.

When his parents catch him, they attack him. In their eyes he had disgraced them, no longer upholding the “beauty” of heaven that they enforced. He ends up killing them in self defense, but furthers it by mutilating their bodies in an act of defiance induced by his break. He believes he’s outdone god in this moment, deluding himself into thinking he’s on the same level (or even better) than god.

While overcome by his psychotic break, he ends up severely wounding Liu after he wakes up to check out the noise. It becomes a conspiracy on if Liu survived or not since his body was never found by authorities.

The reason why Jeff continues on his spree after these instances is the feel of control he gets. After being forced into submission by those around him for so long, he finally feels a stable sense of power over those he deems as less than him.

He ends up wandering throughout the states after this, hopping from town to town. He never stays in one place for long, although sometimes he’ll revisit his home town to give the urban legend fanatics something to fear again.

#long post woo #questions encouraged teehee #jeff the killer x reader #creepypasta x reader #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta headcanons #creepypasta/you #creepypasta #headcanon #headcanons #jeffrey woods #homicidal liu #rewrite #writers on tumblr #the autism is autisming

[iovetecchou]

That Funny Feeling ⧸ Dazai Osamu

༞ Contains...! !TW! this fic contains heavy topics such as: suicide, depression, anxiety, and self-deprecating thoughts. hurt/comfort type beat, hugging, gentle touches, hand holding, swearing, suggestive implications but NOTHING actually happened! kunikida is just silly, dazai really is a sweetheart in this ):

༞ GN Reader.

༞ 2,494 words.

a/n: if you have struggled with your own mental health past or present, just know that you are not alone. i love you and am so proud of you for still being here and pushing through each day, no matter how difficult that can be. never be afraid to rely on someone close to you when things become too much to bear, you are worthy of living and deserve to be loved.

Some people just aren't cut out for life. We are all dealt a hand, some cards interchangeable. But for the most part, they mold us; and make us who we are. They map out the rest of our lives. So what are you supposed to do when all the cards you've been handed don't play in your favor?

Even the interchangeable cards; you discard them only to pick up more rotten ones. Your judgment is poor, and your decision-making only gets you stuck between a rock and a hard place. 

You envy the people who were gifted better cards. People who were not condemned from the start. Those are the people who make something out of their lives, the ones who are deserving of taking up space.

You know this sounds self-deprecating, and yeah, it is. But to you, it's also logic. You think that's why you dislike Dazai Osamu.

When he talks so freely about death, his desire for a perfect suicide. It makes your stomach turn, not for obvious reasons, but for selfish ones. He plays off his pain as a joke so no one thinks twice about it when he asks a pretty stranger to "commit a double suicide" with him.

You try so hard to conceal your suicidal thoughts, hiding your depression behind a pretty mask. Showing up to work each day with a smile on your face and a "can do!" attitude. 

You and Dazai really are the same in that aspect, masking your pain so it's less noticeable to others around you. 

Your abdomen twists into knots when he talks so freely about suicide because it causes your mind to wander and your mask to slip. Dazai always seems to pick up on that slight change in you when it happens, too. His chestnut eyes bore holes into your profile from where he sits beside you. You can feel his eyes on you as you try to smile brighter, putting on a chipper face as Kenji updates you on how the cows on his farm are doing.

You hate it. It feels like he's reading your mind; retaining all your deepest darkest secrets. Does your face really give you away so easily? No... It can't be that. You've been working at the Detective Agency for a long while now, and since then, no one else has ever assumed something was wrong with you. 

If they only knew how pitiful your life really was. As much as you love all your colleagues at the Agency, you hate working. Waking up is exhausting, and you dread the repetitive daily routines you're forced to accomplish. On your off days, you sit at home alone- by choice. Interacting with others is draining, and when you're urged to participate in social activities, the anticipation and anxiety eat away at you until the day finally comes. 

Much like today, the day you've been letting eat away at you since the mention of a work party was brought to your attention. You practiced different smiles and laughs in the mirror, shaking your head and trying again when your "act" seemed too unnatural. You probably changed your outfit ten times before ultimately deciding on the same old thing you usually wore. 

Your hands were coated in perspiration as you balled your fingers, making a fist. You took in a shaky breath as you brought yourself to finally knock on Chief Fukuzawa's door. He welcomed you with a tight-lipped smile and a nod of his head, stepping aside to let you through. Immediately, you felt his eyes on you. Dazai watched your little performance as you greeted everyone, and when it was finally his turn to watch your act up close and personal- you froze. 

His eyes were too intimidating. You felt exposed in front of him. It irked you that he had such an effect on you. Why was it so easy to pretend with everyone else but him?

"Aww, where's my greeting?" Dazai smirked devilishly at you, raising his eyebrows slightly as he leaned in close. All-encompassing, invading your personal space. 

You remained quiet. You were on the outside looking in, screaming to yourself to say something- anything. Your gaze shifted to the floor as your hands came up to bunch up the hem of your shirt, rolling it between your fingers; an attempt to self-soothe. 

"I..."

"Oi! Stop teasing them, Dazai," Yosano shouted from the kitchen, plum-colored eyes still fixated on the fizzy concoction she began making for herself.

The sound of Yosano's strong voice ripped you from your stupor. Your head shot up, only to notice Dazai was still gazing at you- studying you. 

"I would do no such thing! I'm hurt that you think so low of me, Yosano!" Dazai's intense gaze finally eased up on you as he whipped his head around to face Yosano. The tall brunette man clutched a hand over his heart in feigned affliction. 

You took that as your opening to slip away, excusing yourself to the restroom. You hardly noticed the way Dazai's attention was drawn back to you at the sound of your hurried footsteps. "Hey- wait up!" 

You quickly pulled the bathroom door shut behind you. You could hardly look at yourself in the mirror, too ashamed of yourself for freezing up back there. The cool tile floor welcomed you as you sunk, curling into yourself. You hugged your knees as they drew closely into your chest. You could feel your rapid heartbeat in your throat, anxiety rising by the second.

"You know, I wouldn't be sitting on the floor if I were you. Let's get you up." Nothing registered until you felt firm hands grasp your biceps. A strong force drawing you up to rely upon your shaky legs. 

"Why- what are you..?" Your sentence fell off. You weren't entirely sure what you were trying to ask. Your mind was too convoluted with disappointment; shame for yourself. 

"The door was unlocked so I figured I'd let myself in! You weren't looking too hot out there, and I wanted to check up on you." Dazai's warm hands still cradled your biceps, untrusting the support your trembling legs half-heartedly gave you in your current state. 

"I'm fine," You chuckled out of nervousness before continuing, "I'll be out in a minute, so you can just go." You could tell by how Dazai looked at you that he didn't buy your lie, not even for a second. 

He let out a deep sigh, large palms moving up to your shoulders before he blurted out, "Stop, just- just stop. You're not fooling me, so quit it with the peachy-keen act. Why do you insist on hiding behind a facade?"

"Why do you?!" You shouted back. You brought your hands up to swat his hands off your shoulders. The shift between distress and rage made your legs feel more grounded. 

Dazai gaped at you for a moment. He genuinely looked taken aback before his face shifted into a tepid expression. He let his arms settle against his sides, his demeanor appearing more taut than usual.

"This isn't about me. Stop deflecting." His voice was eerily calm, making you feel unsettled. Seeing a more serious side to Dazai was far and few between for you. 

"But it is! I hate you... I hate you so much. You- you..." Your vision began to blur as tears spilled past your lashline and down your sullen cheeks. How embarrassing, you thought. Crying in front of the man that made your stomach turn. 

Dazai brought his hand up to your cheek, brushing away the onslaught of tears with the pad of his thumb. "I believe that hatred is displaced. You just don't want to acknowledge that."

Your eyebrows scrunched up in confusion as you drew your hand to grasp his wrist. You tugged with all your might to pull him from your cheek, but no give. Dazai stubbornly kept his large palm on your face. The warmth from his hand seared your skin. It was neither comforting nor unpleasant. Just... unfamiliar.

"You're wrong, I hate you-"

"No, you hate that you see yourself in me."

Your hand fell from his wrist. He was right, and deep down, you knew that. But you refused to admit it. It was shameful. You liked to hate Dazai because it took attention away from the real problem at hand, yourself. 

Dazai let out a sigh as he continued to wipe away your tears. "Tell me to stop if you hate it, but I'm going to hug you now." Before you could process, Dazai embraced you. His hand that was caressing your face only moments ago now cradled your neck. His other arm wrapped around your frame, enveloping you.

"I understand your pain well... I can see myself in you too. But I don't despise you, you know. I actually... worry for you. You try so hard to pretend that everything is fine. It must be exhausting."

It felt like your heart was being squeezed, as if your ribcage was collapsing in on itself. His words shot right through you, as did the guilt. You had been so unfair toward Dazai up until now. Using your displaced disdain for him as a distraction because you were too much of a coward to hold yourself accountable.

It ached so much to come to terms with. Your arms felt heavy as you pulled them up to wrap around Dazai's lanky frame. You quietly sobbed into his chest, grasping your hands into the back of his shirt desperately; as a small child would cling to their mother. 

Dazai hummed softly into your hair, welcoming the silence with open arms; as he did you. You were sure all your colleagues were wondering why Dazai and yourself had been in the restroom for so long, but you hardly cared at this very moment. 

For the first time, in a long time, you felt seen. Like you didn't need to hide when Dazai was in your presence... because even if you did- he would know. Being vulnerable felt similar to what you imagined walking a tightrope hung across two tall skyscrapers entailed. So, to say you were apprehensive about this was an understatement. 

However, in the same breath, it felt freeing. It took a little bit of weight off your shoulders to share your burdens with another person. But never in a million years did you think the person who brought you solace would end up being Dazai Osamu. 

"I'm sorry, Dazai- I'm so fucking sorry. I-"

"It's okay. Believe me, I treated people a lot worse than this from my own displaced hatred," Dazai interrupted. Caressing your hair softly, hyperaware of the wet feeling seeping through his shirt and smearing over his skin from your tears before he continued, 

"Just... just promise me you'll talk to me if it ever becomes too unbearable to handle on your own. I know how it sounds coming from me, I'm a hypocrite- huh? But trust me when I tell you… you are deserving of this thing we call living. Even if you can't see it yourself, I can... and I will remind you of that fact until I'm blue in the face if I have to." 

You pulled back from Dazai's chest as you sniffled, eyes scanning his stoic face. He smiled at you softly, rubbing up and down the sides of your arms in a comforting way. "There you are. I was beginning to think you cried your face off!" You chuckled at his dumb quip, letting your fingers untangle from the cloth adorning Dazai's back.

"Well, this is embarrassing... and I'm sure at this point all the others think were up to no good in here." It was Dazai's turn to laugh as his hands drifted lower, grasping yours softly. Your fingers intertwined as a lopsided grin painted your face.

"So let 'em! Who cares? The only thing that matters is that your heart is beating and you're here. Still standing in front of me." Your smile dropped slightly, the urge to cry bubbling back up, making your throat tighten.

"Dazai," You tightly squeezed his hands within your grasp. Scared that if you loosened your grip for even a second, this moment would be gone before you could say everything you needed to. "I'm really glad you're still here, too."

Dazai closed his eyes for a moment, his smile wavering. "There's so much pain in the world... sometimes it's hard not to notice it. I couldn't shut it out every time I felt your distress. That's why I kept a close eye on you all this time. I'm not just some creep with a staring problem,"

You both laughed at that sentiment before he continued, "I know with each day those painful thoughts are waiting for you. But it's not only that, there's also possibilities. Possibilities you can only discover as long as you're alive."

Your hands still clutched his with great force. His words caused you to cry once more as Dazai's eyes softened. He quietly cooed at you, whispering "don't cry," so gently, it was almost inaudible.  

"Dazai... I hope you know the same can be said for you, and your life," You paused, trying to swallow that lump in your throat before you continued. "I... want to help you- help you live. I know it doesn't mean much coming from me, but as long as you're still here I will do whatever I can to help you. I swear it."

Your tear-filled eyes bored into his chestnut ones. Desperately hoping your words got through to him. Dazai inhaled a shaky breath, eyebrows raising slightly. His lips curved into a tight-lipped smile before he let out a small chuckle. "You're really something else, you know that? Not even ten minutes ago you were shouting about how much you hate me. Now we're best buds... how cute!"

You knew he was deflecting, you guessed being vulnerable was just as daunting to him as it was for you. Before you could say anything more, the door flung open. Both Dazai and yourself whipped your heads in the direction of Kunikida shouting. 

"Dazai! Just what do you think you're doing- wait a damn minute! What did you do to Y/N to make them cry?! Get away from them this instant you damn pervert!"

Kunikida gripped Dazai by the collar, dragging him out of the restroom. When your hands untangled from his, you felt uneasy. There was so much more you wanted to say, but it would just have to wait... for now. 

You couldn't help but chuckle to yourself at the sound of Dazai shouting for you to help prove his innocence from presumably the living room. For the first time since you stepped into the bathroom, you looked at yourself. Taking in your disheveled state.

Ah, there it is again. That funny feeling. 

don't accuse me of making this a self-insert, i will cry!

#dazai osamu x reader #dazai osamu x you #dazai x reader #dazai x you #osamu dazai x reader #osamu dazai x you #dazai angst #dazai osamu angst #dazai osamu bsd #bsd dazai #bsd dazai osamu #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungou stray dogs #bungou stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x you