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vanteguccir · 1 month

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Quality time | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader

Summary: Where Matt skips Tara Yummy's 1M party to have quality time with his girlfriend.

Warning: None.

Requested?: Yes, by anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism, copy, or "inspiration"! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Matt's car glided through the moonlit streets of Los Angeles as he headed toward Y/N's apartment after dropping off his brothers at Tara Yummy's 1 million celebration party. The radio played the playlist created by him and Y/N, which they constantly fed with new songs that reminded themselves of each other.

Matt smiled as he looked to the little surprise he had prepared for his girlfriend. He made a brief stop at a flower shop on the way, where he bought a simple bouquet of pink tulips - Y/N's favorite. His eyes momentarily found the bouquet carefully wrapped and placed on the passenger seat before returning his gaze to the road.

Upon arriving at the building where Y/N lived, his access to the parking lot was quickly granted, the doorman already knowing him very well. The boy didn't take long to take the bouquet in hand, locking the doors and taking the elevator to the corresponding floor.

The sound of the keys against the front door lock sounded faintly through the living room, followed by the sound of the door opening and closing seconds later, Matt quickly taking off his shoes and resting them against the wall.

"Baby?" His voice echoed through the walls, expanding to the nearest rooms, while his eyes quickly surrounded the space, searching for the girl.

"Kitchen!" Y/N shouted back, an involuntary smile growing on her face almost automatically, her body reacting to Matt's presence.

Matt made his way to the kitchen and found Y/N with her back to him, focused on the counter as she moved her arms over the ceramics. With a smile on his face, he approached her silently and hugged her from behind, wrapping his arms around her waist and resting his hands on her stomach covered by her hoodie and little green apron.

"Hi, pretty boy." Y/N murmured softly, rubbing her hands together to shake off the flour before wrapping her arms around his, caressing the hoodie-covered skin. "I thought you were going to Tara's party."

"Without my girl? Never." He responded in a low tone against her neck, laying his head on her right shoulder so that his face was facing her neck and sealing her jaw gently. "I brought you something." Matt pulled away slightly and retrieved the bouquet he had rested on the table.

Y/N turned to him with eyes full of curiosity and confusion, which soon turned into pure ecstasy, her heart overflowing with love.

"Oh my... Matt, they're beautiful!" The girl beamed, accepting the bouquet and cradling it in her arms as if it was a newborn.

"I always bring you flowers, I don't know how you still react so surprised." Matt murmured jokingly, smiling as he watched her enjoy the little gift.

As Y/N carefully arranged the tulips in a new ceramic vase, Matt approached the oven to peek at what she was preparing. The delicious aroma of freshly baked cookies filled the air, making his stomach growl with anticipation.

"Did you make cookies?" The boy asked excitedly.

"Yes! I was baking it to take it to you tomorrow." Y/N nodded quickly, returning to her starting position. "Do you want some, hon?"

"Yes, please."

Matt watched in awe as Y/N bent slightly, opening the stove door and carefully taking out the baking tray with her hand covered in the soft yellow fabric glove, resting it on the counter.

He knew he was lucky to have someone so incredible in his life, someone who cared about making every moment special.

The girl rose to her tiptoes after closing the oven, opening the cabinet above the stove and retrieving two dessert plates designed with little strawberries. She placed them side by side next to the tray before taking a small spatula and moving two cookies to each plate carefully, afraid of breaking or dropping them.

Matt walked over, taking one of the cookies from the tray with the tip of his fingertips, ignoring the slight burn from the high temperature. He lifted his own hand, blowing on the sweet before biting off a piece, closing his eyes automatically and letting out a sigh of pleasure through his nose. The way the cookie was still warm made it melt in his mouth, the chocolate exploding against his tongue, multiplying the variety of flavors.

"Is it good?" Y/N giggled, watching him with a smile gracing her face, receiving a quick nod with wide blue eyes. "Come on, baby."

She took the plates in her hands delicately, leaving her kitchen and walking to the balcony with Matt following close behind as he licked his fingers, removing all the chocolate residue.

The night was cool and clear, with the sky dotted with twinkling stars. The couple snuggled into the cushioned chairs that decorated the small space, Matt quickly reaching for the pink blanket that was folded on the small table on the right corner, opening it and throwing it over his and his girlfriend's legs, protecting them against the light breeze.

"Oh! Matt, remember the dog constellation I was telling you about the other day?" Y/N's excited voice cut through the comfortable silence, her eyes lighting up just like the stars above them.

"Sirios? No, wait, Sirius... Right?" Matt frowned, a cute look of confusion spreading across his face as his eyes darted from Y/N to the sky and back again.

"Exactly! Sirius, the brightest star in the night sky. Right there." The girl raised her arm that wasn't holding her plate, pointing her index finger upwards.

Matt looked in the indicated direction, navigating through the stars for a few seconds until he found it.

"Wait, it's actually beautiful. What else do you know about it?"

Y/N smiled truthful, her heart warming at being able to talk more about something she loved so much, without having restrictions or feeling ashamed for her excitement.

"Well, Sirius is a binary star, which means it is actually two stars orbiting around each other. It is part of the constellation Canis Major, the Greater Dog, and is known as 'The Dog Stars'. Oh, oh! Do you remember Sirius Black? My favorite Harry Potter character? So, this star..."

Matt listened intently, slowly chewing the small cookie pieces while keeping his eyes fixed on Y/N. Her passion for astronomy and the universe always fascinated him, and there wasn't a time when she brought up the subject that he wasn't willing to give her his full attention.

As the night progressed, Matt and Y/N continued to stargaze, lost in conversations about the cosmos and its mysteries.

As the last cookie crumbs disappeared from the plates and the sky began to brighten with the sun that appeared over the horizon, Y/N felt a wave of comfort and contentment envelop her body, resting the ceramics on the corner table and moving gently towards Matt, settling on his lap.

The boy opened a big, involuntary smile, automatically wrapping her with his arms and the pink blanket, protecting them from the slight cold of dawn, while she laid her head on his chest, feeling the peaceful rhythm of his heartbeat and serene breathing.

Together, they kept their eyes fixed on the sky that was beginning to take on color, the sound of the first cars on the street, and the laughter of children going to school filling their ears.

Little by little, Y/N began to feel the effects of exhaustion after staying up all night, her body relaxing against Matt's comforting warmth. Sleep came like a gentle wave, enveloping her senses in an embrace.

Her breathing became slow and regular, while her body became limp and light. Her brain shutting down and giving in to deep sleep, to the point where she didn't hear the little whisper of "good night, petal" from her boyfriend, let alone his arms carrying her to her bed, where they finally slept in each other's arms.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @thebottledwatersupplier @bellasfavbisexual @soso-scarlettolivia @maryx2xx @iammattswife

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

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sadnymi · 13 days

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「 ✦ Slytherin Boys' Reaction to Another Boy asking you to the yule ball : ✦ 」

[Mattheo Riddle / theodore Nott / lorenzo berkshire]

Mattheo Riddle :

Mattheo had been waiting for the right moment to ask you to the Yule Ball, rehearsing his words and planning the perfect approach. However, his plans were dashed when he heard that someone else had beaten him to it. Frustration and possessiveness surged through him, but he decided to take a mischievous yet playful approach to address the situation.

With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Mattheo orchestrated a playful kidnapping of the boy who had asked you to the Yule Ball before him. Confronting the boy, Mattheo made his feelings clear.

"So, I hear you've asked her to the Yule Ball. A bold move, I'll give you that," Mattheo started, his voice carrying a warning tone. "But let me make something very clear to you. She's not yours to take. She's mine. You've stepped into a game you don't understand, and trust me, you don't want to be on the losing side."

The boy, startled by the sudden turn of events, stammered out an explanation, but his gaze remained firm.

he spotted you across the ballroom, and with a contrite expression, he approached you, a single red rose in his hand.

"I'm sorry. I should have asked you to the ball first. You deserve better than the way I handled things," he admitted, his eyes filled with regret.

You smiled softly, accepting the rose. "If you had asked me first, I wouldn't have said yes to him."

His determination shone through as he promised, "I will make it up to you, baby. I promise."

Dancing under the shimmering lights, the tension between you melted away as you talked and laughed, reconnecting in a way that felt natural and comforting.

Stepping out onto the balcony for a breath of fresh air, Mattheo gazed into your eyes. "The moon is so beautiful tonight," you remarked, your eyes fixed on the sky.

"Yeah, very beautiful," Mattheo whispered, his gaze shifting from the moon to you. Unable to resist any longer, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a gentle, soft kiss under the moonlit sky—a kiss you had been waiting for, a moment of clarity and realization of mutual feelings that had been brewing for years.

theodore Nott ;

Theodore Nott's dark smirk intensified as he processed the news, his competitive spirit igniting a fire within him. He wasted no time and confronted the boy who dared to ask you to the Yule Ball, his aura exuding authority and a hint of danger.

"I hear you've extended an invitation to her for the Yule Ball. Interesting choice," Theodore began, his voice carrying a veiled threat. "But let's get something straight. She's not just any girl you can whisk away for a night. She's special, and she's mine to protect."

The boy, trying to defend himself, replied, "That’s for her to decide. I just thought she might want to go with me."

Theodore's eyes flashed with warning, his patience wearing thin. "Think again. You're treading on dangerous ground. If you know what's good for you, you'll rescind that invitation before things get messy."

The next day, when Theodore discovered that the boy hadn't complied, he took matters into his own hands. He arranged for the boy to have an unexpected "vacation" under Madam Pomfrey's care in the hospital wing, ensuring he wouldn't be attending the Yule Ball.

Approaching you at the ball with a sheepish smile, Theodore revealed, "He's not coming, love."

Confused, you asked, "What—why?"

"I made sure he won't be able to walk for a week," Theodore admitted, his tone apologetic. "I owe you an apology. I should have been the one to ask you to the ball first."

Surprised by his confession, you started to speak, but he gently cut you off. "No, I was just nervous to ask you."

"You—nervous?" you echoed in disbelief.

"Imagine that? Yeah, me too. I'm still trying to figure out what you have done to me, love," Theodore admitted, a genuine smile breaking through his earlier intensity.

Later that night, as you found a quiet corner of the ballroom, Theodore took your hand, apologizing again. Without hesitation, he leaned in, capturing your lips in a hungry kiss, his emotions laid bare in the passionate embrace.

Lorenzo berkshire :

Lorenzo watched from afar as the boy approached you, asking you to the Yule Ball. His jaw clenched as he felt a surge of jealousy and possessiveness. Determined to make his feelings known, he waited for the right moment to act.

During a Quidditch match, Lorenzo saw an opportunity. As the boy flew past, Lorenzo angled his broomstick just right, causing a collision that sent the boy tumbling. Everyone else thought it was an accident, but you knew better.

That night, Lorenzo sought you out, his expression dark with intensity. "You say yes to any other boy, and God help me for what I will do," he said, his eyes locked onto yours.

You smiled softly, meeting his gaze. "If you had asked me, I would have never said yes to him from the start, Enzo."

On the day of the ball, Lorenzo didn't leave your side, his hands possessively on your waist as you danced. "Call down, Enzo," you said gently, trying to soothe his intense emotions.

"I can't, not when I can't get the face of that stupid boy asking you first out of my mind. I'm sorry," Lorenzo admitted, his voice filled with regret.

You continued dancing, trying to distract him. As the music swirled around you, Lorenzo suddenly pulled you towards a secluded area, his hunger and desire evident in his eyes. Pressed against a tree, he kissed you passionately, his emotions overflowing.

You gently reminded him that you were there with him and no one else, calming him down from his intense emotions from time to time throughout the night.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

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targaryenrealnessdarling · 30 days

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Between Fire and Stone

Daemon Targaryen/Strong!female

summary: anxious about her approaching union to Aemond, the only daughter of Rhaenyra Targaryen seeks comfort | word count: 2.8k~ | warnings: incest, reader is described with strong features, fingering, p in v sex, arranged marriage, Daemon being a cheeky cunt

A/N: idek what I was on to write this cos I'm not usually a Daemon girlie but here we are besties. Tysm @em-writes-stuff-sometimes for beta-ing 😘 appreciate you

The cold mist nipped at the skin around her ankles, a shiver running up her spine as she struggled through the jagged rock towards the Dragonmont. Her fingers brushed against the stark stone for balance, the other holding the lit torch to light her way before her in the darkness.

It was one of her favourite things, taking a stroll through Dragonstone in the hour of the wolf. Peaceful. Quiet. Something she could have all for herself. Away from the prying of her maidservants and the overbearing boisterous nature of her brothers. Though Jace, now a man grown, still held onto those immaturities.

Yet another thing that set her apart from her siblings.

For she, only a mere year younger than Jace, was considered a woman, ripe for marriage and bearing children, whereas the same hastiness was not pressured upon him. She knew her mother had never intended to bestow such responsibilities on her, but she understood, it was inevitable. As that time loomed ever closer, she found herself roaming her home more often, as if to savour the feeling of once being a child.

Where her brothers could seek adventure with their dragons once they were big enough to saddle, her egg had not hatched in her cradle. She would not inherit the birthright of the blood of Old Valyria, yet another judgement cast upon her that only inflated her sense of belonging at her mother's side. With her moonlit hair and pale lilac eyes, each of her children could not have looked more different.

Before the incident, there existed only one other soul who could truly fathom the depths of her solitude. No dragon. Ceaseless taunts. The notion of isolation, even amongst one’s family. Any semblance of camaraderie had been extinguished the day Lucerys took his eye. That defining moment when Aemond—her uncle—seized his birthright had marked the fracture in their familial bonds. In the aftermath, her mother, alongside her new husband Daemon, orchestrated a grand scheme to mend the shattered relations, a plan that involved her betrothal to him at an opportune moment.

Try as she might, she couldn't conjure the image of herself as his wife. The thought of residing in King's Landing under his roof refused to coalesce into a coherent vision. It remained an elusive spectre, haunting her thoughts with its intangible uncertainty.

Whispers of tradition and duty echoed in the hallowed halls of her childhood, spun by the gentle tongues of Septas who spoke of the sacred rites of marriage. Tales of Lords and Ladies, of the solemn exchange of vows, and the anticipated consummation on the wedding night. Some stories painted a picture of pleasure and intimacy, of unions founded on mutual desire and affection. Others whispered of duty, of sacrifices made for the sake of one's spouse, regardless of personal inclination.

Caught in the web of uncertainty, she pondered which version of Aemond awaited her, a tender partner or a distant lord, bound by duty and tradition. The unknown loomed before her like a shadow, casting doubt upon her heart and stirring a quiet fear within her soul. She knew not what to expect, but the uncertainty itself was enough to unsettle her, to sow the seeds of apprehension in her mind. And as the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, she couldn't help but wonder, which path would her marriage tread, and would she have the strength to endure whatever lay ahead?

Amidst the towering peaks of Dragonmont, she sought solace in the embrace of ancient flames and the soothing hum of Vermithor's slumber. Here, amidst the rugged terrain and the ever-watchful gaze of the dragons, she found a fleeting sense of peace.

But it was not the Bronze Fury that sang to her.

“Hen ñuhā elēnī:

Perzyssy vestretis,

Se gēlȳn irūdaks…

Ānogrose.”

She felt the rush of heat at the nape of her neck. Daemon stood straight, back facing her, his voice near-matching the hum of Vermithor’s deep exhales.

“It is late, Princess.” Unlike her, Daemon remained as he dressed during the day, shown when he turned to face her, with the self-satisfied smirk on his lips. “What troubles you?” he asked.

She tried to raise her chin, but her eyes betrayed the turmoil that stirred within.

“My fate,” she said, her careful steps drawing ever nearer. "I am to be wed to Aemond, but I fear what awaits me in that union.”

Daemon hummed, as if curiously amused.

She had known no father figure since Laenor. And though she knew sooner than her brothers the truth that lay beneath the careful picture her mother had forged, since she had been wed to Daemon, he had taken practice with his own daughters and become almost a father to her alike.

She felt his eyes sink over her once before returning to her eyes.

"Marriage is a weighty matter," he said. "But is it the marriage itself that troubles you, or something more?”

She did not miss the lilt to his voice. The one, that like his eyes had done many times before, made something squeeze in her gut. A fire burning bright. A feeling that brought her shame.

He was her mother's husband.

“I cannot say exactly,” she confessed. “Perhaps it is leaving Dragonstone. Mother and my brothers. And being alone in the capital with no face I recognise with trust.”

Daemon nodded almost indistinctly, his fingers reaching out to brush a lock of hair back over her shoulder, admiring her hair loose of its usual braids. His touch sent a shiver down her spine, a sensation both familiar and disconcerting. She fought to push aside the conflicting emotions that threatened to overwhelm her, the warmth of his touch conflicting with the knowledge of their complicated relationship.

"Leaving behind the familiar can indeed be a daunting prospect," Daemon acknowledged, his voice a velvet caress, “But fret not. Within you resides the same fire that fuels your mother's resolve. Embrace it. You are as much Targaryen as any of them.”

She felt a blush creeping up her cheeks at the intensity of his gaze, at the way he seemed to see straight through her defences. She knew she should be wary of his advances, of the way he danced on the edge of propriety with his words and his touch. But there was something undeniably alluring about the way he held her gaze, about the way he made her feel desired and understood.

"Thank you, Daemon," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. "Your support means more to me than you know.”

Daemon's smile was a slow, seductive curve of his lips, his eyes alight with a fire that mirrored the flames of the Dragonmont.

"Ah, but my dear Princess," he replied, his voice low and husky, "you have yet to discover the true depths of my support.”

She felt her throat close up, the feeling mirroring somewhat what happened between her thighs.

What could he possibly mean?

“Do you fear it?” he asked. “The act of consummation?”

Her cheeks flushed crimson at Daemon's bold question, his words sending a jolt of both arousal and apprehension coursing through her veins.

“It… is perfectly normal, I would think,” she answered, words failing her.

"Princess," he murmured, his voice a soothing caress against her skin. "There is no shame in feeling uncertain. It is only natural to have doubts, especially when faced with such intimate matters.”

She felt he was circling her, as dragons did their targets. And felt her heart thumping in her chest.

“With Aegon, I dare say, I would join you in your uncertainty. But Aemond, on the other hand… is a different matter entirely.”

“How so?” she asked, breathing out when he disappeared out of her line of sight, his presence at her back, fingers draping past the material of her dress.

“I am afraid he may be less… forthcoming with expressing his desires,” he purred. “He may be cold, or at least that is how it may be interpreted.” Her eyes met his with bated breath as he appeared on her opposite side, closer. “He may not be so adept with the pleasures of a female body.”

She swallowed, a chill settling on her front, her body reacting thus. He remained silent, as if daring her to say what he knew was already on the tip of her tongue. So, she took the plunge. “And…you are?”

Daemon smirked smugly, and she knew she already had her answer., “What do you think?”

Her heart raced. Her mind struggled to contemplate whether she should be honest or not, for she had heard stories and rumours. She knew she was treading dangerous waters, playing with fire in the form of her mother's husband, but there was a part of her that couldn't resist the allure of his confidence, his charm, his undeniable magnetism.

"I... I suppose I never considered such matters," she said, her voice barely above a whisper, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at the admission.

Daemon's eyes danced with amusement as he stepped closer. "Perhaps it is time you did," he murmured, fingers trailing lightly down the curve of her spine.

Her skin vibrated with anticipation as she fought to maintain her composure in the face of his overwhelming presence. She knew she should pull away, should put an end to this dangerous game they were playing, but the lure of Daemon's charm was too strong to resist.

“Mayhaps I could demonstrate and put your worries to rest,” he suggested, crossing the imaginary but daring line seemingly without fear. “Rest assured, my experience in such matters is... extensive."

Her heart pounded in her chest as she struggled to maintain her resolve, her body betraying her with every flutter of her lashes, every quickened breath. “But… you and Mother—”

Her lips clamped shut with the bruising of his grip in the softness of her waist, urging her back to the rocky, hard wall. Only now, when faced with the Rogue Prince, did she realise just how small she truly felt.

“Your mother is preoccupied with her own affairs," he replied, his voice dripping with a dangerous allure. "She won't concern herself with our little... indiscretion.”

The realisation sank in that she was alone with Daemon in the secluded confines of the Dragonmont, far removed from the prying eyes of the world. And yet, she still felt her lips go dry when he hung the torch and trailed his touch upon her skin where he was taking her skirts with it.

She could not hide her nerves, or the beating rush of arousal, “Bu—but… with Aemond, I must—”

The air felt warm as her skirt was rucked around her hips. She squeaked when his calloused fingers swept through her folds, ashamed to find she was affected by what he was doing to her as her slick coated them easily.

Daemon chuckled, a pleased hum in his chest that she was wet and ready, while his other hand busied with the laces of his breeches, “Sweet girl. When my dear nephew has his cock buried inside you on your wedding night, he will not know the difference.”

His words, combined with the tight circles he applied to the forbidden bud tucked between her legs, had white hot pleasure burning in her veins. Her lips were parted, but no sound came out. All she could do was look upon his pleased face with a hedonistic expression, feeling very much like they were doing something deliciously wrong but could find no reasonable excuse to cease.

“Do not look so surprised. I have seen the way you watch me. Are you not ashamed for looking upon your own mother’s husband with lust?”

The more he touched her, the more arousal he coaxed forth, the sound lewd and forbidden in the raw silence of the Draognmont. She could not answer his question without subjecting herself to further embarrassment. Even so, attempting to concentrate enough to form words as his two forefingers slid within her tight, hot walls, was near impossible. She gasped quietly, the feeling so foreign and yet not unpleasant. And like Daemon in any other scenario, while his motions were forceful, somewhat brutal, they were calculated, without effort. Like it came innately. Her hands found purchase on his shoulders, his digits buried deep inside curved towards him, stoking a fire at the hearth of her.

“Answer me.”

She nodded frantically. “Yes—I am ashamed—”

It was all she managed before the feeling began to crest, building and building as if she were climbing some great height and was about to tumble off. But she only exhaled shakily as Daemon withdrew his fingers from her fluttering, sensitive walls, using the moisture to lubricate himself with a careful caress of his manhood.

He chuckled at the wounded expression on her face. “No need for shame, Princess.”

She caught the glint of his ring as he wrung the fabric of her skirts in his fist. Her eyes widened as the head of his cock disappeared easily between her swollen folds, with no real full feeling until he pushed forward, both with hesitation and a sort of evil excitement.

Her back pressed against the jagged stone, her lips only parted to suck in air where it had left her lungs. It was a feeling she could describe very little, the sting of being stretched around him painful and yet once sheathed fully inside her, hips pushing against her own. Daemon wrapped his fingers around her fleshy thigh to tug her leg over his hip, a flash of white hot pleasure creeping up her spine. He only grunted, her slick ridges gripping him greedily without any effort on her part.

For a few moments, he stayed like that as if waiting for any complaint, but when he found none, began a steady rhythm, fingers creating crescent-moon shaped welts in her skin. He did not share in her reaction. He simply raised one corner of his lips in a pleased manner, watching her face, treating it very much as a lesson in pleasure more than anything else.

She could scarcely think with the violent push of his hips, the notch of his belt stabbing into her each time.

“My nephew does not deserve this perfect. little cunt.” He grunted from the effort. “Tell me, Princess—when he is fucking you with his narrow little prick, will you be thinking of this instead?”

Her eyes slipped shut, her head tipped back and fingers coming to her own mouth to muffle the lewd sound that threatened to come out. Her perceived embarrassment at her own enjoyment of this only seemed to motivate Daemon further, and he widened her hips with a soft nudge of his knee against her leg and groaned at the way she tightened around him.

“You liked that, didn't you?” He breathed against her face, looking briefly down between them to watch how he rooted himself inside her over and over, as if unable to believe this was really happening. “I bet he won't make you this wet. I doubt the little cunt will even know how to make you come.”

Her skirt fell from his hand as it drew down between them, and she resisted the urge to squeal when he began to apply pressure in tight, sure circles around her bud.

“You shall have to teach him those pleasures.”

Her fingers gripped his forearms tight as she climaxed, her tight, hot walls spasming around him uncontrollably. It was so utterly different to the way she had pleasured herself before. This time, the forbidden combination of Daemon stretching her open around him and the pleasure he coaxed from her with his fingers meant that this peak seemed to drain her entire body of energy. Her body feeling boneless in his hold, that if he let go, she would surely lose her balance.

A flash of fear cracked like lightning across her subconscious. Surely he did not intend to spill inside her?

He did not overstimulate her for much longer as he neared his own end. Rather, he savoured the feeling of her warmth sucking him in for just a few moments more before pulling out, stroking himself vigorously to completion, warm ropes of his spend coating her lower stomach.

In the quiet dead of night with only her laboured breathing to echo within it, she felt her eyes could not keep up with her mind as she glanced back up at him. His rapidly cooling seed began to dribble towards her thighs, swiftly covered by her skirts once more as Daemon lowered her clothing back into place. The reality of the dangerous and yet delicious sin she had committed with him began to rise into clarity.

Upon his fingers shone the damning proof of his sordid claim on her, pearly in the glow of torchlight. “What a waste. I’d have liked to see it dripping from you.

But that pleasure… I shall save for my nephew, sweet girl."

General Taglist: @aemondsfavouritebastard @bellstwd @blairfox04 @buckybarnesb-tch @castellomargot @hb8301 @jamespotterismydaddy @mochi-rose @natty2017 @nenelysian @risefallrise @thelittleswanao3 @theoneeyedprince @thetrueblackheart @tsujifreya @urmomsgirlfriend1 @valeskafics @valleyof-goldenlilies

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floatyflowers · 6 months

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Dark! Platonic Father and Mother Faerie x Human! Reader

Seraphina, was surprised when her husband, Sylvanas brought, you, a human child to their home in the faerie realm.

But was delighted when she got to know that he did this for her, because she was infertile.

Just ignoring the whole fact that her husband stole you from a human couple.

Your faerie parents, being creatures of magic, would enchant your surroundings with a touch of their otherworldly essence, creating a home filled with ethereal beauty and a sense of perpetual wonder.

They'd teach you the secrets of their enchanted realm, sharing ancient tales of mystical creatures, hidden realms, and the delicate balance between magic and the mortal world.

Despite their ethereal nature, your faerie parents would express love in unique ways – perhaps through the shimmering glow of their presence or the gentle touch of their wings as they embrace you.

As a part of the faerie realm, celebrations would be extravagant and filled with enchanting rituals, like dancing under the moonlit sky or sharing laughter that echoes through the enchanted woods.

Your faerie parents might gift you with magical items, each imbued with a specific power or purpose, serving as both a connection to their world and a means to protect you in the human realm.

While they understand the nature of human life, your faerie parents would instill in you a deep appreciation for the beauty of fleeting moments, emphasizing the importance of cherishing every experience.

Communication might involve a blend of spoken words and telepathic messages, creating a unique form of connection that transcends the limitations of mortal language.

Your faerie parents would guide you in developing a strong connection with nature, teaching you to communicate with plants and animals, fostering a harmonious relationship with the natural world.

They would be protective, using their magical abilities to shield you from harm while imparting wisdom to navigate the complexities of both the mortal and faerie realms.

The bond you share with your faerie parents would be enduring, transcending the boundaries between worlds.

And as you grow, they'd stand by you as guardians and mentors, always ready to offer guidance from the enchanting depths of their timeless existence.

#tw: toxic relationships #platonic yandere #reader insert #daughter reader #dark #faerie #fae folk

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joelmillerisapunk · 2 months

Text

Late night devil put your hands on me

Sugardaddy!Joel Miller x F!reader

Masterlist ☆ Sugar Daddy Masterlist

Wordcount: 2,139

Warnings: 18+, male oral receiving, reader is blindfolded, unprotected p in v. I can not ruin the rest, but there's nothing triggering. If I did miss anything, please lemme know 🥰

Summary: Your sugar daddy treats you to a surprise trip, gifting you with three sensory delights: one for touch, one for smell, and one for taste.

Notes: I hope you enjoy your first trip sugar babies

You've been chatting with Joel for the past week or so, getting to know each other and exploring a mutual attraction. It's been exciting and a little nerve-wracking, but you're enjoying the rush of new emotions that come along with having a sugar daddy.

So, when Joel calls you up unexpectedly and asks if you want to go on an overnight trip, you're caught off guard. "Tonight?" You say, looking up from your desk where you're working on a graphic design project for a client. "But that's so soon."

"I thought the terms of our agreement were clear," Joel says, his voice low and commanding. "Spontaneity is key, and I’m already down here, waiting."

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm, enjoying the rush of this commitment. "Okay," you say, a little cautiously, knowing you're going to be cutting the deadline close. "I'll go pack a bag."

You quickly gather some clothes and toiletries, your heart racing with excitement and anticipation. When you're ready, you head outside to meet Joel.

He's waiting for you by his car, blindfold in hand. "Just trust me," he says, as he gently ties the soft fabric around your eyes, heightening your sense of anticipation and your senses in general.

You feel the cool night air against your skin as Joel leads you to his car, helping you climb into the passenger seat. You hear the trunk of the car close, your luggage now secure. The engine roars to life, and you brace yourself for the familiar sensation of the car pulling away from the curb. As he drives, you feel the smoothness of the leather seats and the gentle hum of the engine. The drive is a blur of twists and turns. The sound of gravel crunching under the tires and the occasional rustle of leaves as the wind blows lulls you into a state of excited curiosity. You feel Joel's hand on yours, gently holding it as he navigates the roads.

After what feels like hours of driving, Joel brings the car to a gentle halt. He steps out, and you can hear the faint rustle of leaves as he moves around the car to open your door. Gently, he guides you out of the car, taking your hand in his. The air is crisp and clean, filling your lungs with the scent of pine and earth.

As Joel leads you forward, you can feel the ground beneath your feet change from smooth pavement to a softer, uneven terrain. Your senses are heightened, and you can hear the distant sound of a babbling brook and the hoot of an owl echoing through what you can only assume is a forest.

Finally, just as you're about to question yourself for letting a man you barely know willingly take you to the woods, Joel removes the blindfold, and you gasp at the breathtaking view that greets you.

The moonlit sky stretches out above you, a tapestry of stars twinkling like diamonds against the inky blackness. Below, the mountains loom, majestic and timeless, their snow-capped peaks kissed by the silvery moonlight. The world seems to stretch out before you, a canvas of endless possibilities, and you can't help but feel your heart swell in awe at the beauty of it all.

"Wow," you breathe, taking in the snow-capped mountains and the endless expanse of stars overhead.

Joel smiles. "I'm glad you like it, but there's something else I want to show you.” He takes your hand and leads you towards a cozy cabin nestled in the heart of the forest. As you approach, you can see the warm glow of lamplight spilling out from the windows, casting shadows on the ground.

Joel opens the door, and you step inside. The cabin is breathtaking, with soaring ceilings and exposed wood beams. The walls are adorned with vintage skis and snowshoes. In the center of the room, there's a large stone fireplace, the logs crackling and popping as they burn. The scent of burning wood fills the air, mingling with the faint aroma of vanilla and cinnamon.

"This is amazing. How did you do all of this?" You say, your voice filled with awe.

"I thought you might enjoy it here," Joel replies, his voice low and husky. "Now, come with me." He completely ignores your question, leaving you with more questions than answers.

He takes your hand and leads you towards the bedroom. The room is dimly lit. In the center, there's a large four-poster bed adorned with plush velvet blankets and rose petals. A bottle of wine and two glasses sit on the bedside table, along with a selection of chocolates and fruit.

"This is...incredible," you say, your heart racing with excitement.

"I wanted to make this night special for you," Joel says, his eyes dark with desire. He takes your hand and leads you towards the bed, where you take a seat. “Close your eyes and put out your hands, I have a surprise for you."

You do as you're told, and then you feel the weight of a small box being placed in your palms. “Okay, open.”

You look at Joel for a moment before taking in the beautifully decorated box. You're feeling a little nervous, but ultimately, your excitement outweighs it, and you dig into the box, opening it to see an extravagant gift - a delicate gold necklace adorned with more diamonds than you knew could fit on such a delicate necklace. It's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen, and you can't believe that it's yours.

“Joel, this is - it's beautiful. I don't know what to say.” You smile in awe, staring at the necklace.”

“May I?” He gestures to the necklace.

You nod eagerly, handing Joel the delicate necklace.

Joel carefully takes the necklace out of the box, holding it up to the moonlight to admire its beauty. He then turns to you, his eyes filled with desire and longing. He steps closer, his body just inches away from yours, and you can feel the heat radiating off of him.

His fingers gently brush against your skin as he reaches around to clasp the necklace. His touch is soft, yet firm, and you can't help but shiver with anticipation. His hands linger for a moment, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck before he finally clasps the necklace.

You can feel the weight of the necklace against your skin, the cool metal a stark contrast to the warmth of Joel's touch. He takes a step back, his eyes never leaving yours as he admires his handiwork.

The necklace sparkles in the moonlight, the diamonds catching the light and casting rainbows across your skin. Joel reaches out, his fingers gently brushing against it, sending a jolt of electricity through your body.

His touch is intimate, and you can feel the desire building between you. His eyes are dark, filled with want, and you can't help but lean in closer to him.

Joel's hands are strong and sure as they move to your shoulders, his thumbs gently tracing circles on your skin. His touch is intoxicating, and you find yourself leaning into him, your body molding to his.

"Your next gift," he says, his voice low and husky, "this one is a little different. Close your eyes."

You do as you're told again. You can't believe this is even happening. How many gifts does he have for you? You feel Joel's hands leave your shoulders, and you can hear the rustle of fabric as he grabs it from a bag.

"Okay, open."

You open your eyes to see Joel holding a small, velvet box. You recognize it as the kind that perfume comes in, and your heart skips a beat with excitement.

This is a very special perfume," Joel says, his eyes dark with desire. "It's made with exotic ingredients, and it's said to drive people wild with desire. I want you to try it."

He opens the box, and you can smell the intoxicating scent of the perfume even from where you're standing. It's a rich, musky scent, and you can feel it already starting to affect you.

"Here, let me put it on for you."

Joel takes the perfume bottle and sprays a little on your wrist. You can feel the cool liquid on your skin, and then the heat as it dries. The scent is intoxicating, and you can feel yourself getting lost in it.

"Now, there's one more gift I want to give you," Joel says, his eyes dark with desire. "But this one is a little more... personal. How ‘bout you sit on the bed for this baby.” He takes your hand, guiding you to the edge of the bed. “Close your eyes.”

You do as you're told once more, and then you hear more rustling and zipping, and then you can feel Joel's hand under chin. “You've had a gift for touch, a gift for smell, now a gift for taste. Open your mouth.” He orders and places his thumb on your bottom lip, gently guiding it open.

“Good girl, now, stick out your tongue.” Joel's voice is low and husky as he speaks, sending shivers down your spine. You stick out your tongue and feel the weight of his expectations. You hear him shift closer to you, and then you feel the tip of his cock brush against your tongue.

You gasp in surprise, but Joel's hand is there to steady you, guiding you as you take him into your mouth. He's large and hard, and you can feel the heat of him against your tongue. You wrap your lips around him, feeling the soft skin of his shaft against your mouth.

Joel moans softly, his fingers tangling in your hair as he begins to move his hips. You follow his lead, your mouth moving up and down as you explore him with your tongue. You can taste the saltiness of his skin, the musky taste of his arousal.

Joel's thrusts start to become more urgent, his hips moving faster as he fucks your mouth. You can feel the tension building in his body. The muscles in his thighs are tensing as he gets closer to climax. Suddenly, he pulls out, his cock glistening with your saliva. He looks at you with a dark, hungry gaze, his eyes flashing with desire.

Before you can react, he reaches for the necklace, his fingers wrapping around the delicate chain. With a swift, brutal motion, he rips it off your neck, the clasp digging into your skin as he tears it away.

You gasp in surprise, your hand instinctively going to your throat to protect it. But Joel is beyond reason, beyond control. He's consumed by his desire, his need to possess you, to claim you as his own, his need for human connection.

He throws the necklace aside, the diamonds scattering across the floor like stars in the night sky. His hands are on you again, his fingers digging into your skin as he pushes you back onto the bed. Before you can think he's swiftly removing your clothes and his, and then you can feel the weight of him on top of you, as he climbs onto the bed like a wild animal on the hunt, you can feel the intense heat of his body as he covers you. His cock is hard and eager, probing at your entrance. You're wet and ready for him, your body aching with need.

With a thrust, he's inside you, filling you up. You cry out, your nails digging into his back as he starts to move. He fucks you with a raw, primal need that you've never experienced before, his hips slamming into yours as he drives himself deeper and deeper. You can feel the pleasure spiraling higher and higher.

Joel's thrusts become more urgent, his hips slamming into you with the fierce, desperate need of someone longing for any kind of connection. You can feel the bed shaking beneath you, the headboard banging against the wall as he fucks you with a primal intensity.

"You like that, don't you?" he growls, his lips brushing against your ear. "You like feeling me inside you, filling you up?"

You can only moan in response, your body trembling with pleasure as he drives you higher and higher. His words only serve to fuel your desire, to make you want him more.

"Tell me you want it," he commands, his fingers digging into your hips. "Tell me you want me to fuck you harder."

"Yes," you gasp, your voice hoarse with pleasure. "Harder, please.”

And with those words, Joel loses control. he drives himself deeper. You can feel the spiraling higher and higher until it threatens to consume you. "Come for me," Joel growls, his fingers digging harder into your skin. "Come for me, baby. Wanna feel you come apart beneath me."

And with those words, you do. You come harder than you ever have before, your body trembling with pleasure as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes over you. And with a final, brutal thrust, Joel comes alongside you, his cock pulsing deep inside your belly. You can feel the warmth of his release, the way it fills you up and completes you.

For a moment, there's nothing but the sound of your breathing, the feel of your bodies entwined. And then, with a gentle kiss, Joel pulls out, his eyes filled with a soft, tender love.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his fingers tracing the curve of your neck. "I'll buy you a new one, but I want you to remember this moment - the way I made you feel the way you came apart for me. The way you belong to me."

You nod, your heart still racing from the intensity of your orgasm. Joel reaches down and picks up the broken necklace, his fingers brushing against the shattered gold.

"I'll make sure to get you something even more beautiful this time," he says, his voice full of promise.

#joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #sugardaddy!joel miller #joel miller smut #pedro pascal #joel miller #tlou fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller x you

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musicforastylesrestaurant · 10 months

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Airport Chaos.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

blurb masterlist is here.

authors note - seeing how agitated that harry looked when he was just trying to get out of the car actually made me so cross, just be grateful that you got to see him, learn to give people personal space.

word count - 2.5k

in which, harry’s just finished his show in barcelona, and is en-route to madrid, but there’s one more hurdle that needs to be jumped when fans bombard him, you and your one year old son finley. this results in a very agitated harry, a tearful toddler and a wife that’s claustrophobic.

As the car glides through the vibrant streets of Barcelona, a serene ambiance envelops you and your family, casting a veil of tranquillity over the world around you. The bustling energy of the city has retired for the night, leaving behind an exquisite symphony of solitude.

As your car glides along the deserted thoroughfares, the city unveils its timeless secrets. The ancient buildings, guardians of Barcelona's rich history, stand tall and proud, their façades adorned with intricate details and ornate balconies. Illuminated by the soft glow of streetlights, their colors dance in harmony with the moonlit sky, creating a spellbinding kaleidoscope of hues.

The streets, devoid of the usual crowds, are yours to explore, each corner leading you deeper into the heart of this vibrant metropolis. The gentle breeze whispers through the leaves of towering trees, lending a symphony of rustling whispers to the nocturnal symphony. Their branches reach out like gentle arms, swaying gracefully overhead, creating a celestial canopy above the cobblestone lanes.

Occasionally, you catch glimpses of life seeping through the silence. A few solitary figures make their way along the sidewalk, their silhouettes casting elongated shadows upon the ground. Some are still adorned in the attire of a long workday, their weary steps echoing the rhythm of a day well-spent. Others, just beginning their nocturnal duties, are cloaked in the promise of a vibrant night ahead. Their presence adds a touch of mystique to the ethereal scenery, reminding you of the shared humanity that underlies the city's nocturnal tapestry.

The intoxicating scent of the sea lingers in the air, carried by the zephyrs that dance through the city streets. It mingles with the aromas of nearby cafés and restaurants, teasing your senses and igniting a hunger for adventure. The distant echoes of laughter and faint strains of music beckon, hinting at hidden pockets of life that come alive when the sun sets.

The drive continues with you cradling your sleeping one year old son, Finley, in your arms. His tiny mouth remained gently attached to your breast, having drifted off while nursing in the backseat after Harry's exhilarating concert. The rise and fall of his contented breaths provided a soothing soundtrack to the journey ahead.

You, Harry, and Finley were en route to Barcelona–El Prat Airport, preparing to catch a flight to Madrid. The excitement of the concert still lingered in the air, yet a hint of apprehension crept into your thoughts. The prospect of manoeuvring through a bustling airport with a sleeping baby nestled in your embrace weighed on your mind. Your nails became the focus of your nervous energy, as you absentmindedly picked at them, a telltale sign of your discomfort in crowded spaces.

Aaron, the driver, broke the silence, his voice cutting through the air with concern. "There's quite a crowd near the parking area," he informed you and Harry. "It might be a bit tricky to navigate through when we arrive."

The words sent a ripple of anxiety through your body, tightening your grip on Finley. You couldn't help but feel a sense of vulnerability in the face of such a boisterous crowd. The conflicting emotions swirled within you, knowing that your partner, Harry, thrived amidst the adoring masses that followed his every move.

As if sensing your unease, Harry's gaze shifted from the passing scenery to your nervous gestures. His touch was a lifeline, lifting your spirits and grounding you in his unwavering support. He reached out and gently grasped your hand, lifting it to his lips.

With a voice filled with reassurance and tenderness, he murmured, "M’love, don't worry. Everything's going t’be fine."

His words echoed in your ears, resonating deep within your heart. Harry's touch, warm and comforting, conveyed a sense of security, reminding you that you were never alone in facing your fears. Even though he was accustomed to crowds, he understood your anxieties and was always there to offer solace.

A soft smile danced upon your lips as Harry pressed a gentle kiss to your knuckles, his lips grazing your skin with tender affection. In that moment, the outside world faded away, leaving only the connection between the two of you—an unbreakable bond forged in love, trust, and understanding.

And as the car continued its journey towards the airport, you clung to the strength and reassurance Harry provided. The touch of his lips upon your knuckles served as a soothing balm, instilling you with a renewed sense of courage and confidence.

The car slowed down as it approached the bustling parking area, the clamour of the crowd growing louder. But in that moment, with Harry's kiss lingering on your skin, you felt a surge of determination. The chaos outside the car could not overpower the love and support that encompassed your little family.

Gently shifting Finley off your breast, you carefully disengaged him, causing him to let out a soft whinge in protest. Worried that he might fully wake up, you quickly began to sway and soothe him, hoping to lull him back into a peaceful slumber. As your soothing motions took effect, his eyelids fluttered, and he settled once again into a deep sleep.

Glancing up from Finley's serene face, you caught Harry's attention. His eyes met yours, and you could see the concern etched in his features. Taking in the scene outside through the tinted windows of the Mercedes, he turned back to you, his voice filled with determination and care.

"I'll get out first, sign a few things, and then I'll come back t’help you and Fin," Harry explained, his unwavering support shining through his words.

As he prepared to step out of the car, a surge of fans already surrounded the vehicle. They clamoured for a glimpse of their beloved idol, desperate to show their adoration. Harry's body shifted, one leg still anchored inside the car while the other extended towards the crowd, his calm demeanour serving as a shield of tranquillity amidst the chaos.

With a graceful balance of firmness and kindness, Harry skillfully kept the fans at a distance, ensuring their safety while maintaining his own. He exuded a rare sense of composure, navigating the sea of adoring faces with a genuine smile and a genuine touch, making each person feel seen and valued.

As Harry prepared to fulfill his promise of signing an album for a dedicated fan, the crowd's energy buzzed with anticipation. He stepped out of the car with a gracious smile, navigating through the throngs of adoring fans who eagerly stretched out their arms, hoping to catch a glimpse of their idol.

Amidst the excited voices and outstretched hands, one fan appeared particularly adamant about getting close to Harry. They pushed forward, disregarding personal boundaries, driven by an overwhelming desire to be near him. Sensing the fan's persistence, Harry raised a hand, creating a barrier between them.

"Chill out, mate," he spoke firmly, his tone laced with a mix of assertiveness and exhaustion.

You observed the situation unfold from the comfort of the car, your heart filled with concern. As the encounter unfolded, you could see glimpses of Harry's fatigue creeping in. The long hours of performing, travelling, and constant interaction with fans were undoubtedly taking a toll on him.

His initial patience and composure began to waver, replaced by a growing agitation. Lines of weariness etched themselves upon his face, and his eyes betrayed a longing for a moment of respite. Despite his efforts to maintain his poise, the relentless demands began to chip away at his stamina.

And as the crowd's clamour continued, you sent a silent message of understanding and support to Harry, hoping he would find solace in your presence. In that moment, you yearned to offer him the calm and tranquillity he deserved, to shield him from the world's demands and allow him to simply be himself, away from the spotlight.

The image of Harry, his hand held up in a gesture of boundary and weariness, remained etched in your mind. It symbolised the delicate balance he maintained between his role as an artist and his own need for rest.

With a resolute expression, Harry addressed the persistent fans surrounding him, his voice carrying a blend of urgency and determination.

"I need to get m’wife and m’son out of the car," he asserted, hoping to convey the importance of their privacy and the need for a moment of respite. “Could y’please step back a little please.”

Some fans responded to his plea, relenting and creating a bit of space, while others continued to plead for photos and autographs. Recognizing the challenge at hand, Harry turned to the security team, issuing a request for them to create a pathway, guiding you and Finley safely through the crowd.

After ensuring that the security team was in position, Harry returned to the car, a mix of concern and weariness etched upon his face. Sensing his presence, you looked at him, seeking his guidance and reassurance.

"Is it okay for us to get out?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of anticipation and anxiety.

Harry's gaze met yours, his eyes reflecting the immense love and care he had for his family.

“As okay as it can be," he replied, his voice holding a gentle understanding of the challenges that lay ahead.

Reaching out, he took Finley from your arms, his touch filled with tenderness and protectiveness. As Finley nestled his face in the crook of his father's neck, the exhaustion and overwhelm washed over him, causing tears to well up and spill forth. The flashing lights and the cacophony of the crowd became too much for the little one to bear.

Harry's embrace tightened, one arm wrapped securely around your waist, the other ensuring that Finley was cradled with care. His fatherly instinct kicked in, providing a sense of security amidst the chaos.

As the crowd pressed closer, their excitement reaching a fever pitch, one fan extended a hand towards Finley's tiny arm in hopes of capturing Harry's attention. But the innocent gesture had an unintended effect. Finley recoiled, pulling his arm back with a sudden jerk, his wide eyes filled with fear and uncertainty.

Witnessing your son's distress, a surge of protectiveness welled up within you. Your heart ached for Finley, his innocence disrupted by the intrusion of a stranger's touch. At that moment, the proximity to the airport entrance offered a brief respite, as the number of fans thinned out. However, the incident had stirred something within Harry, a mix of concern and frustration that flickered in his eyes.

Harry, usually known for his composed demeanour, could no longer suppress his emotions. He addressed the fans, his voice tinged with a touch of agitation.

“Please, don't touch m’son," he implored, his words a plea laced with a protective urgency.

Rubbing his hand up and down Finley's back, Harry sought to soothe his distressed son. His touch carried a mixture of tenderness and firmness, a comforting gesture aimed at calming Finley's frayed nerves.

In that fleeting moment, the world seemed to pause, the weight of the situation resting heavily upon Harry's shoulders. The love he had for his son radiated through his touch, as he tried to ease Finley's unease and offer a sense of security amidst the unexpected turmoil.

As you finally made your way into the airport, the bustling atmosphere shifted to a slightly calmer pace.

“I’ve just got to go to the loo, quickly.” Your fiancé told you and the rest of the security who nodded their heads as he quickly handed Finley into your waiting arms. Fatigue and weariness were evident on his face, etched by the demands of the day.

In a tender exchange, Harry spoke softly to Finley, their bond evident in every word.

"I'll be back soon, little one." he murmured, his voice filled with affection and a touch of exhaustion. Finley looked up at his father, their connection palpable even at such a young age.

You couldn't help but feel a pang of empathy for Harry as you observed the tiredness etched on his face. He had given his all on stage, then faced the excitement and challenges of the crowd. Yet, even in his weariness, he remained attentive and loving, making sure to reassure Finley before attending to his own needs.

Leaning in, you pressed a gentle kiss to Harry's cheek, a gesture of support and understanding.

“We’ll be waiting here for you," you whispered, letting him know that you were there, ready to provide the stability and comfort he deserved.

Harry swiftly made his way to the restroom, seeking a momentary escape from the clamour and demands that surrounded him. He entered a closed cubicle, the solitude offering a brief respite from the outside world. The heavy door closed behind him, enclosing him in a quiet space.

Seated on the closed toilet seat, Harry took a deep breath, his thoughts swirling in his mind. The facade of composure he wore for the public began to crumble, revealing a vulnerability that few had the chance to witness. He reached into his pocket, retrieving his phone, and with a trembling hand, he unlocked it.

The screen illuminated with a picture that held his heart captive—a snapshot of you and Finley when he was just born. The memory flooded his senses, the pure joy and love captured in that moment forever etched into his soul. The time displayed on the phone read 12:06 am, a reminder of the countless sleepless nights he had spent caring for his family.

Overwhelmed by a surge of conflicting emotions, Harry's composure shattered, and he silently sobbed. His tears fell in solitude, unheard by the world beyond the closed cubicle. He held his phone against his chest, clutching it over his heart, seeking solace in the tangible reminder of the love that anchored him.

The weight of his responsibilities and the unrelenting demands of fame bore down upon him. Despite his unwavering love for his fans, a sense of suffocation enveloped him at times. Guilt gnawed at his heart as he grappled with the fear that his son, the embodiment of his deepest love, had been placed in harm's way due to the adoration of his supporters.

Feeling the weight of his emotions and the need for comfort, Harry pulled his phone away from his chest and dialled a familiar number. The phone rang, each passing second heightening his anticipation.

Finally, the call connected, and he heard his mother's voice on the other end.

"Mum... I'm sorry. I know it's late, but I just needed to talk to you," Harry spoke softly, his voice laced with a mix of vulnerability and relief. Despite the unwavering support he found in his partner and in you, he longed for the familiar embrace of his mother's understanding.

His mother was one of his best friends, and he knew it was late over in England but he just needed to hear her voice. He knew you would always listen to his thoughts and feelings but there was something about hearing his mothers voice that made him feel better.

Don’t get Harry wrong, this was undoubtedly one of the best tours he had ever done in his life, but he desperately needed a break.

He was craving the feeling of his own bed, with Finley laying against his chest and you laid asleep in his arms.

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ossyria · 9 months

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merry kagepro, the most important holiday of the year

#harutaka #takane enomoto #haruka kokonose #kagerou project #mekakucity actors #kagepro #ene #konoha #disabled art #fanart #digital art #artists on tumblr #moonlit artwork #moonlit echoes #this art is just me and the bestie #um ok thats all yay #please enjoy this doodle i am projecting onto

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itsphoenix0724 · 3 months

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All Things Vile (Eris x Reader)

Summary: A recon mission to the Autumn Court gets more heated than you intended. They say Autumn males fuck like they have fire in their veins-you guess you're about to find out.

Warnings: ROUGH SMUT (this is pure filth and I'm not sorry), kind of dark, oral (m!receiving) choking, bondage

Word Count: 2.7k

A/N: It's been a while since I wrote for him, been a while since I wrote in general since I'm adjusting back into my school life. Chapter 3 of MMOTI is drafted and will hopefully be released soon! But anyway here's a smutty Eris fic for all of you <3

The Autumn Court was ablaze in moonlit revelry. The scent of spiced cider and ale consumed the grove along with the smell of the blazing campfire. Fog weaved in and out of the shadow-drenched trees, urging the partygoers to follow its trail into the darkness. You could make out bodies against trees, males and females losing themselves in one another, as you jumped silently along the oak’s branches. It was a simple mission; Get in and get out, that’s what Rhys had said, and that’s what you fully intended on doing. Cloaked in darkness, mask pulled up to hide everything but your eyes, you found your target.

A drunken blush stained his pale cheeks, and the blood-red silk shirt he wore was unbuttoned so obscenely low you could see the dappling of freckles along his chest in the firelight. His auburn hair was unruly; the waves held down only by the circlet of gold leaves that marked him as the firstborn son of Autumn. His lips were stained from the wine he was sipping and his eyes had taken on a seductive half-lid as he somehow fixed his burning gaze straight onto you.

Fuck, Rhys was going to kill you.

Eris stood from his chair in one smooth motion, prowling towards your spot hidden in the woods like a mountain cat, amber eyes burning. You jump down from your tree, weaving through the branches like smoke to try to lose the lordling who’s hot on your tail. Nothing but the sound of your labored breathing and the sounds of footfalls echo through the dark wood. You just need to get to the border, Eris won’t have the gall to cross after you. You can see the green grass of Spring, the pastel pink of the cherry blossoms grotesquely clashing with the russet hues of the forest that currently surrounds you.

You can almost smell the sickly sweet air when a hand encircles your wrist like a hot brand.

The world tips and falls, the grass slipping out from under your feet as you’re dropped into a room, landing on all fours against a hardwood floor. Bands of fire wrap around your wrists and ankles, pinning you to the ground, not burning but holding you there. The tell-tale wave of nausea that means you’ve been winnowed somewhere quickly overwhelms you as you try not to heave onto the plush burgundy rug infront of you.

Eris has taken you to his room at Fir Hall, his private estate away from his life wrapped in court politics, you’re familiar with the home after many spy missions here. Your eyes fix on the Autumn Prince with a burning ferocity, and he does nothing but glare back down at you from where he looms above you.

“Well, well what has fallen into my trap,” He fixes you with a wolfish smile as he pulls down your mask, and your lips peel back into a snarl. “Hello Sweetheart,” he purrs as he tucks a loose hair behind your ears. “I’ve missed you, it’s very nice to see you again.” He tries to run a thumb over your bottom lip, but you snap your teeth in his direction like a feral animal and he wisely pulls his hand away.

“Bite me,” you growl out as Eris crouches down until he’s at eye level with you. A hound cornering a wild fox, it seemed the hunter had won tonight as he lets out a laugh that leaves a burning caress down your spine.

“Oh, I intend to.” He promises, stroking his hand along the back of your hair, pulling out the hair tie, and letting it fall around your face. “Now will you mind your manners?” He raises a copper brow, eyes dancing with amusement. The bond buried deep in your chest tries to wiggle free of its restraints, begging you to let it play with the other half of your soul.

“Never,” you vow to him even as the mischief in his eyes turns to longing. This is torture denying yourself of him.

But how could you not?

Beron is still High Lord, if you were to tie yourself to him you would have to abide by his rules. You would rather claw your own eyes out. And if your family ever found out, if Mor ever found out, the shame and guilt would burn more than the roaring fire in the hearth.

So you have this, you take every mission you can to Autumn and collect all the broken pieces and scraps that you can get. This is what you will allow yourself.

“I thought that would be the case,” Eris gets up and languidly strolls away from you, plucking the bottle of bourbon from the cabinet and pouring himself a drink. You watch with adept interest as his ring-clad fingers tighten around the crystalline glass, he strolls over to his bookshelf and plucks a well-loved novel off the dark shelf.

Then the bastard settles himself into one of the plush armchairs and starts to fucking read. He ignores you as though you’re nothing more than a potted plant in the corner, he doesn’t even so much as glance at you, fully enraptured in his novel. A few minutes pass when you clear your throat. Eris deigns to look bored as he lazily turns his head toward you.

“Yes?” He asks, propping the book against one knee and taking another sip of his whiskey. Your eyes track the movement of his throat involuntarily.

“Aren’t you going to do something?” You push, urging him with your eyes as you lift your head through the curtain of your hair. You hope your gaze communicates everything you cannot bring yourself to voice, fearing your body will refuse to allow you air if you try.

I love you, please don’t ignore me, I need you, play with me

He chuckles a dark sound and picks up his book again, pointedly flicking a page as the rubies on his hands glint in the firelight.

“I’m not in the business of playing with unwilling toys,” Eris supplies, purposely staring at the fire instead of you. “Perhaps I should call Rhysand to collect you and tell him I don’t appreciate being spied on. Perhaps, he will never send you back here.” His brows scrunch in frustration but you both know that the threat is empty. It seems he is tired of your games.

“What do you want?” You barely grind out, still refusing to relent to the signing inside your soul. “Do you want me to beg? Is that it? Princely bastard.” You practically spit, and faster than the blink of an eye Eris is in front of you, fisting your hair in one hand and tilting your chin to meet his smoldering gaze.

“Are you ashamed of me?” He questions, and you can see the vulnerability dancing in his eyes. You shake your head as the fire binding your wrists recedes and you move into a more comfortable kneeling position, hands now bound in front of you. He soothes his hand along your cheek again as your brows knit together. You thought that the two of you had a kind of understanding. You had no idea where this was coming from. “I tire of this ruse, my love.” If Eris notices the mournful look in your eyes he says nothing. He strokes a warm hand through your hair, admiring your eyes in the firelight. “Why don’t you show me how much you missed me huh?” The wolfish grin is back and you hum your agreement as he runs his thumb along your bottom lip again, pleased at your cooperation as he slides his finger into your mouth. He thrusts it into your mouth and as you teasingly run your tongue over the pad he lets out a moan that shoots straight to your core.

He undoes the belt at his waist, pulling his cock out with his hand, and your mouth waters at the sheer size of him.

“I’m going to fuck your mouth now,” he rumbles, pure authority and power radiating off of him. A glimpse at the future ruler he will become one day. You nod your enthusiastic consent as he grips the back of your head and thrusts into your mouth at a merciless pace. Your head empties as he hits the back of your throat, the hand cupping the back of your hair surprisingly gentle compared to the way he was brutalizing your mouth. “That’s a good girl, take me down your throat.” It spills out of his mouth like he can’t even control it as your eyes roll back in your head at his praise. Eris pushes your mouth all the way down to the base of his dick and holds you there for a few seconds as your nose connects with his pelvic bone. He’s relentless as he uses you for his pleasure and you think that he might bruise your vocal cords.

He spills down your throat as your binds dissolve into nothing, leaving behind a warm tingling sensation where the fire licked at your limbs.

You swallow what he gave you, opening your mouth in emphasis as whiskey eyes blow wide with lust. You’re drenched at the sight of his cock already stiffening again. He walks to the mountainous bed in front of you, making himself comfortable against the pillows.

“Come here pet.” He growls fisting his cock in his hand and crooking his fingers with the other. You start to rise to your legs on sore knees, but you freeze when Eris tuts–holding his hand out to stop you. “No. I want you to crawl to me.” The order wraps around you like warm silk, voice sliding against your bones. You lower yourself back down to the floor, humiliation burning hot on your cheeks as you sway your hips in what you hope to be enticing. He stops you quickly and you look up at him from under fluttering lashes. “Strip. Slowly.” Your face burns even hotter and Eris can’t take his eyes off you as you rise, slowly undoing every single buckle on your leathers and letting them fall to the floor, leaving you entirely exposed to him before climbing onto the bed. His body is so warm against your skin as he draws your mouth to his, the burning taste of cinnamon whiskey floods your mouth. He dominates you even here, claiming you as his tongue wrestles with yours. The moan that slips out of you comes out scratchy from the abuse of your throat, and in a flash, you’re below him as he grinds his hips into yours.

“Eris,” you whimper as his cock brushes against your folds. You need him to fill you to the brim, wanting him as close as possible. He shushes you gently as he bites at your pulse point, the only goal in his mind is to claim as he sucks dark marks into your neck.

You’ll surely be wearing only turtle necks for a few weeks after this.

His warm hands skate down your body, pulling and prodding at your sensitive nipples, letting out a dark chuckle as you whine at his ministrations. Eris mocks your moans as he rubs a finger at your center, rolling the sensitive bundle of nerves between his fingers. Finally, he slips a finger inside of you rubbing at the spot that makes you see stars. He knows exactly where to touch to get you to dissolve, his beautiful mate bending to him like water running through his fingertips. That ring-clad hand curls around your throat, cold metal contrasting with his warm hands, and you keen as the pleasant dizzy feeling takes over your whole body.

That feeling combined with the addition of another finger in your core sends you hurtling through gold-flecked oblivion.

He pulls his fingers out of you, sucking them into his mouth and moaning as he relishes the taste of you on his tongue. Staring down at your shaking form with smugness in his eyes as he circles the skin of your inner thigh, enjoying the way the muscles quiver under his touch. Eris sinks himself into you, inch by tortuous inch until you can’t tell where your body ends and he begins. He strokes slowly and deliberately, bruising you with his intensity as your vision goes white with searing pleasure every time he moves his hips.

You want him to leave his imprint everywhere on your body, that unanswered bond begging you to never leave this bed again. Eris must feel it too, that golden thread wrapping around his heart begging him to keep you, to never let another male so much as look at you. That makes something ugly twist in his chest and he almost snarls at even the thought of another male near you as his instincts take over and he draws your legs over his shoulders to hit an even deeper part inside of you. Your walls are clenching and fluttering around him as his pace turns ravenous, all you can do is try to hold on as your nails scrape jagged lines down his back. Eris scrapes his teeth over your neck, then he moves down to your nipple biting down as you scream his name before giving the other one equal attention.

“Who do you belong to pet?” He murmurs in your ear in time with a thrust that's so deep your vision turns white. “Who’s the only one that can make you feel like this?” You can barely give him anything but a whimper as he devastates your body, pinching your clit in a way that elicits a pleasure-soaked sob. “Scream it for me,” he punctuates it with a slap against the apex of your thighs.

“Yours Eris, I’m all yours!” You scream as you orgasm, tears running down your flushed cheeks, Eris follows soon after you spilling himself deep inside of you.

He pulls out, disappears into the bathroom, and returns with a clean rag to wipe up the mess he made between your thighs. He collapses onto the mattress next to you and pulls you to his chest, warming his hands with his power as he rubs slow circles into the small of your back. You look up at him and he’s taken aback at the vulnerability in your eyes. “Eris I-” you choke, unable to force the words you so desperately want to say past your lips. He shushes you with a kiss against your forehead.

“I know,” he mutters into your hairline “I know.” You hold him tighter, blinking back tears as you lock the bond back down in its obsidian shackles,“I’ll wait an eternity for you.” It’s the last thing you hear before closing your eyes as you let him soothe you to sleep.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I trust everything went well?” Rhys asks, raising a dark brow at your form where you stand across from his desk. You subconsciously pull the dark turtleneck further up, the deep purple marks burning like a brand. You scrubbed yourself raw as soon as you winnowed yourself to your apartment, and you’re praying to the Mother that Rhys doesn’t even catch a whiff of Eris or the frankly copious amounts of sex. The thought of Eris enjoying it this morning, pressing his nose against the crook of your neck to make sure it really stuck, before crawling his way down your body to settle in between your thighs makes you triple-check that the steel of your mental shields was still in place.

“Nothing to report,” You rasp, voice destroyed after last night's events. The attempts to clear your throat are doing nothing to help you

“Are you alright?” Rhys questions, wringing his hands together on his desk as he shoots a concerned look.

“Must just be a chill I caught in Autumn, those woods get cold at night.” You supply and he hums his agreement.

“Well go rest, you’ve earned it. Perhaps you should see Madja for something to soothe your throat.” Rhys says and you nod your agreement, taking the cue for your dismissal. You wait until his office door clicks shut behind you to let out your sigh of relief, thinking of nothing but soft sheets and warm hands.

You can only hope you get another mission there soon.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acosf fanfiction #acotar imagine #eris vanserra #eris imagine #eris x reader #eris acotar #eris vanserra smut

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shadesofblades · 1 year

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VIRGO - can they withstand and calculate chaos? (For Baatu!)

If Baatu tried to calculate chaos, he likely wouldn't be able to- or be able to in a very... simple way. But he can surely withstand it. He has gone through a lot of different difficulties and challenges, including things that have very little order or reason. You can through the largest of rocks at him, he is very very resilient.

#thank you!!#this is such an interesting question #asks #the moonlit shield// baatu ardakium #permanent-statis #echoes-of-blue

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nsharks · 1 year

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weyy idk if ur taking reqs rn but if u are… ik youve already wrote this prompt like twice but can we have more argument angst w ghost 😭😭

simon struggles with anger (you struggle to help him) —tags: brief gore mention, cursing, angst, argument, established "situationship" —part two here

His fingers find the crest of your waist in the dark, holding you against the side of him as shallow breaths pound in his chest. Your lips are puffy and red. You wipe your hand against your used mouth and curl up into the warmth radiated from the colossal form beside you.

"Fuckin' hell," he murmurs, a low rasp. "I swear... Where'd a pretty thing like you learn all that, huh?"

But, with a flush to your cheeks, you barely have time to part your lips before he grumbles into your hair:

"Don't answer that."

It's a quiet order. One that rumbles low under his heavy breathing. Because Simon is full of orders. Demands. In bed, it thrills you, incites a thrum in your veins, an urge to follow and please him. He will take, and demand— until your legs are sore and your skin is chafed. But sometimes this persona bleeds into life outside of his bed. You try to be patient. You try to understand how difficult it must be to adjust to being just a person, here with you, and not a SAS lieutenant.

Especially for him.

But where Simon is rough and demanding, he is also quiet and thoughtful.

He moves his hand to the underbelly of your jaw. Softly now, he mutters, "Need water?"

"Yes, please," you answer, hoarseness in your voice.

And soon the warmth beside you ghosts out of his bedroom to fulfill your request, leaving you with a few moments to feel the tiredness in your limbs. He'd kept you up longer than you anticipated. He usually did.

But a sharp ding from your phone widens your eyes.

A message.

Your phone— casually placed on his desk in the corner of his room.

You hadn't meant to leave it there, not when his desk was particularly off-limits to you. Another order of his: don't touch my stuff. Even though Simon wanted you over every night, he didn't want you meddling in the crevices of his privacy. You did your best to respect that, but in the heat of removing your clothes, the phone in your pocket had ended up on the nearest surface.

You tug on just your shirt. Bare feet against cold floor. But when you reach for your phone, you carelessly brush a hand against the notebook beside it, nudging it off the desk.

It sits on the floor with the spine propped up, pages parted.

It's terrible, the curiosity that itches from the sight.

You reach for it with your tongue poking your cheek. You shouldn't look. A whisper of warning echoes in your mind. His privacy, his trust— you valued those things. But perhaps it's the fact that Simon is still such an enigma to you, or perhaps the fact that you immediately notice penned sketches on the paper, but you pick it up and can't stop yourself from taking a peak at the opened page.

The inked images stun you.

Only for a second can you bear them.

A brief second filled with... horrid things. Gruesome things. Things you knew, deep down, he'd seen, but you never wanted to entertain the detailed reality of. The sight spurs something in your stomach: nausea, maybe. An unease that twists and churns and urges you to clamp the notebook shut with a gasp.

You shouldn't have looked.

And you're about to set it back down—

But a presence makes itself known behind you.

"What are you doin'?"

His voice is quietly tense. Enough to snap you out of the images brandished in your mind. If the moonlit room is a river, then his words are a stone— splintering the surface.

"Oh, I—" you stutter, looking at the notebook in your hand. "I was just—"

But you can't finish. No— there's a hand ripping it from you.

"Just what?"

In the dark, you turn to face him. He sets down the glass of water on his desk; flicks on the small lamp. The light reveals to you the pits of inky black in his eyes, notebook gripped tightly in his hand.

"I was just trying to grab my phone, Simon," you explain in a murmur.

"Right," a click of his tongue. Animosity presses against his teeth. You see it, you feel it. And you wish you could clamp your eyes shut and return to the moment, not so long ago, when he'd been holding you with warmth.

He holds the notebook up. "Does this... look like your phone?"

"No, it just fell—"

"Liar," he interjects, cold and low. "You were going through my stuff."

"I wasn't," you insist, shaking your head. "I mean... I may have taken a peek but only because it opened—"

"You..." a sharp inhale. "Took a peek, huh?"

"I'm sorry."

"How many times do I have to—" he closes his eyes for a moment, but they reopen with a hollow flame. "You never fuckin' listen, I swear. Do you have a thick skull?”

And maybe it's the way he is staring at you, or the lick of venom in his insult, but you mumble: "Well, maybe you shouldn't have me stay here if you can't handle people touching any of your things."

"No," he grits. "Maybe you need to be more obedient."

He holds your stare.

A presence that nearly smothers you.

But you squint your eyes through the tension. "Obedient? Really? I mean— do you hear yourself? I am human and I accidentally dropped your book—"

"Don't," he breathes through his nose, a flare under the mask. "Don't give me that. Goin' thought my shit when I told you not to. Now you wanna stand here with bloody excuses. You are so..."

"So what?" you snap softly. A hand grips the end of your shirt to properly cover yourself because right now, you're not sure if you want those eyes looking at you.

But he doesn't finish, just pinches the bridge of his nose and stares off at the wall behind you. Muscles beneath the fabric of his mask twitch and ripple and shudder with a curl of rage.

"I told you," he repeats, more to himself than to you. "I told you so many goddamn times. Fuckin' hell, you make me... I want to just— Jesus Christ. Why can't you listen to something so simple?"

"You know, Simon," you retort under your breath. "You have so much to say when you're pissed, don't you?" You huff out a breath. "Somehow you have no problem finding the right words to tell me I've done something wrong. But when it comes time to tell me you care, that's so hard, right? When was the last time you even said it? You can't find the words for those feelings?"

"Shut it," he orders— no, barks. The curl of anger flickers and seethes and looks back at you, staring you down as if you are an enemy who has gotten in his way. His free hand clenches. You regret everything you've said. "Shut up, I swear to God. You went through my shit. You have no fuckin' right to talk about how I feel."

And then he is pacing around, a short trajectory of thunderous footsteps. His chest heaves. Ragged breaths claw up his throat until his voice raises to a level you haven't heard before:

"You want me to talk about how I fuckin’ feel? I feel nothing."

The snarl of his words is loud but easily drowned out by the sound of the notebook hitting the wall. It's a sudden sound that jolts you.

And maybe, maybe now you see it— how much of a lie he has shouted. I feel nothing. But there is so much feeling, so much unadulterated anger and pain thrown against the wall that it causes tears to quiver at the rims of your eyes. And your stomach churns, not with nausea this time but with something else, a feeling that grips your shoulders and tucks you a few steps further away from him.

Because at this moment Simons scares you.

And with all his orders, all his demands, he has never truly scared you before.

And if the fear wasn't there, you might've realized why he felt this way. You might've realized the images in his notebook were pieces of himself he was so terrified for you to see, and it angered him more than anything that, despite his efforts, he couldn't hide them from you forever.

He only snaps out of it when he sees you.

Moments pass, and then Simon is looking back at you with wild eyes. Eyes that flicker over you— your hunched body, your hands pressed against the wall behind you because you've backed up so far, the tears in your eyes.

"Oh, Jesus Christ," he mutters, quieter now. He drags a hand over his eyes. "Babe, I—"

But when he tries to take a step closer, you flinch further.

"Please," you whisper. A few tears escape. "I want to... I want to go home."

I want to get away from you.

"It's late," he argues weakly, still struggling to control his breath. His anger fizzles rapidly, leaving behind a shell of regret and pain and worry as he watches you reach for your pants.

You're tugging them up your legs with fingers that fumble.

"Y/N," Simon swallows, pressing his hands over his veiled forehead. "Don't. I will— Fuck, I'll go."

And you don't have time to protest. With hands that tremble, Simon begins pacing around the room again, this time not in anger. No— something that has him mumbling quietly under his breath over and over: "I'll go, I'll go."

He grabs his keys and keeps his eyes on the floor. "You stay here, yeah? Don't... don't go out so late."

A bob of his throat.

This order arrives in a voice that sounds frail and hollow.

"Okay," you whisper, nodding.

And he leaves. Tugging on his coat and within seconds, you hear the sound of his front door shut. Simon, the man who was just blistered with anger over his privacy, leaves you here to sleep in his own home without him. And you're too shaken, too exhausted, to wonder where he could possibly go for the rest of the night.

------

Simon was always saying he would quit smoking.

Bad for my lungs, pet, I know it. He would mumble against your lips in a kiss that tasted sour. It didn't bother you, but you noticed how the taste turned thicker during those days he'd shut himself away in his room.

Got to help me, pet. He had said one time into your neck, tucking a pack in your hand. Hide 'em from me, yeah?

(The only request for help he's ever uttered.)

But it didn't really matter where you hid them—

—Simon could always buy more.

And when he returns the next morning, the smell is pungent.

You're already awake. A small bag stuffed with your things, but you are quick to hide it when you hear the front door creak open.

A shuffling of boots.

While his footsteps had been thunderous before, a solemn calm now replaces the storm.

Wordlessly, he searches for you. He finds you frozen in place near the bathroom where you'd just been collecting your things— a toothbrush, a tube of makeup. But your bag is placed on the counter where he can't see.

"Hey," he offers a soft, hoarse greeting. "Didn't expect you to be here."

And then he holds up a bagged pastry and a to-go canister of tea. "Got you breakfast, jus' in case."

It shouldn't be so strange. The sight. His large hands gripping food from some nearby cafe. His eyes: red, worn. He looks like he didn't sleep. The air outside is brittle and already wintery: had he just walked around all night in the cold? And even now, with the hollow pit in your stomach left from your crying, a touch of concern finds you when you notice how pale his exposed skin is. A slight pink creeping from under the mask.

"I don't want a pastry and tea."

Your voice. Is it—?

Defeated.

Because your care and concern can only go so far with a man who slips so easily into anger, but with even greater ease, isolates himself from care.

“Right,” he clears his throat. “I’ll jus’ leave it in the kitchen, then. You could have it later.”

Avoidance.

Is he really just going to pretend—?

“You scared me last night.”

The admission slips out in a whisper. But it's enough. It's all he needs to hear for his eyes to dig shut, a visible flinch rippling through his broad shoulders. His avoidance cracks.

A gruff, "I know."

"You were so angry, Simon. I—"

Dark eyes flutter back open. Gently now, "I would never hurt you."

"But you did. You do." A swallow that tastes salty. "You shut me out. I mean— your notebook. It was... You—"

"Think I'm fucked then, huh?"

Hollow words. The shell of a man speaking to you, with only a little boy inside. And you flutter your eyes because the backs of your lids remember the gore you'd seen. But your stomach has already swallowed and digested the sight, whittled it down to empathy.

"No, I don't," you whisper with a firm shake of your head. "I just think you need help. You deserve it, Simon. And I—" Hushed like a secret that rattles with defeat: "I don't know if I can give you that help."

There's just not much else to say.

The look he gives, pitiful and strained, tugs at your reserve. You have to walk away— you turn around to grab your bag. He sees it now. A sharp inhale sounds from his chest as you begin your journey to the front door with your belongings.

He follows. Sets the food on the table.

You don't really know what you want or what you need, but at this moment all you can think of is space.

"Don't," a quiet, rough plea.

A ghost hovers behind you as your hand wraps around the doorknob. A phantom cloaked in guilt and perhaps, the realization that what he'd expected you to do for so long, was finally coming to fruition.

"It's just space," you tell him in a murmur. "Simon, I just need space."

"Space from me?"

"From this."

"M' sorry," he breathes. "Please... I— it won't happen again. Fuck, I swear it. I'm so..."

And he struggles with the words because, fucking hell, you were right. Words of care, words of apology, always seem to evade him. But military jargon and sharp commands come with ease.

"I'm so sorry," Simon finally says, choppy. "I didn't want you seein' all that. But... bloody hell, I overreacted, didn't I?"

Salt lines your vision as he continues, urgently now, because your hand refuses to let up off the knob.

"Jesus Christ. I didn't mean to. You can't just— Pet, please. I'm sorry, alright? So fuckin' sorry, I mean it."

But his apologies don't do much to soothe the defeat in your chest. You can't look at him so you open the door instead.

A touch to your shoulder, perhaps firmer than he intends—

And you pause only because you think finally he might say what you were hoping he would. Something about care. Maybe even, a tinge of hope for— love.

(But no— he'd given you a clear warning from the beginning that he couldn't give that.)

So instead, he just shakes his head and drops his hand back to his side. The words die on his tongue, turned the same color of ash as his lashes, and he lets you leave.

#angst #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod

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cammys-imagines24 · 4 months

Text

°•Mizu Being Jealous•°

Mizu isn't naturally a possessive person by any means. She knows the shit women have to go through, being controlled by others and the world.

So, she'd never be dominating towards you or think she has any say in what you do.

That being said, while she trusts you wholeheartedly... she doesn't trust other people. Particularly other men.

Men who view you as just a pretty face. A prize they'd want nothing more than to steal away from her.

Now that just won't do.

See, if it's an easy matter such as someone touching you or groping you without your consent, say no more.

Their fingers? Gone. Their arms? Sliced clean from their body.

If some sleazy flesh trader sets their eyes on you and begins chatting you up, their hand sneaking to places on your body only meant for her touch alone, well...

They're dead. Plain as that. She'll waste no time in tearing them to shreds with her sword, their viscera painting the walls.

And, with blood stained hands she'll cradle your face, her cold demon exterior vanished.

She'll look at you like you're her whole world, which you are. She will protect you to the ends of the earth.

When it's a lascivious man vying for your attention, Mizu doesn't get jealous. She gets protective.

But, when it's not? Well that's another story.

Sometimes it's a girl at a brothel and she takes a liking to you.

The girl will be sweet where most men aren't. She'll smile at you and gingerly slip her kimono off her shoulder.

The sex worker will talk with you, with the hope of something more. Her eyes shining and all the while you seem to be enjoying yourself.

That sets Mizu on edge. Leaves her feeling twisted inside.

Because you should be with someone else.

Someone not hellbent on revenge. An impure demon with a vengeful, angry soul.

The girl would be a better match maybe or someone like her.

Perhaps not a sex worker but someone who can take care of you better than the blue eyed Samurai. Give you a normal life in ways she cannot, at least not until her revenge is complete.

Mizu won't rescue you from the girl because you're smiling and content. Instead she will let you be, never mind the hollow ache in her chest when she sees you start to laugh.

You were just chatting with the sex worker, conversing on friendly terms, regardless of the girls intentions. But, how could your beloved Samurai know that from a distance?

Like an internal echo in your body, you'll feel Mizu's absence immediately and you'll go out into the snow capped village to find her.

She'll be alone beside a natural hot springs, sapphire eyes sad behind her orange lenses.

You'll curl up at her side as if she were your shelter, your blanket.

You'll know right away how she feels. Having learned how to read her slight expressions like the back of your hand.

Mizu is jealous but more than that. She's feeling like she's not good enough for you.

A ridiculous thought really. She couldn't be more wrong.

You'll reach out to take off her glasses and thread your fingers through her hair, undoing her up-do.

"I love you, Mizu. Only you. It will only ever be you who holds my heart."

Her gaze softens from your tender touch. She'll take your hands in hers and kiss every knuckle.

Her mouth, warm against your skin, travelling up your arm until her tongue reaches the moonlit column of your throat and she plants a wet kiss along your necks pulse.

Mizu doesn't deserve you, she thinks. Still, with you in her arms, open to her, your pupils blown wide with sudden lust... who is she to disagree with your choice?

Perhaps the gods gave you to her. A gift for her cursed existence.

"Say it again." She'll whisper against your flesh, hot to the touch despite the winter. Hot from her.

Her fingers deftly untying your kimono, her hands grabbing at your hips as she pulls into her lap.

Her calloused digits digging into your thighs to spread them for her, your chest pressed against hers...

Her fingers tracing your hipbones, making you shudder...

You gasp when they ghost over your navel and down... and further.

To in between your legs. The spot that craves her and is glistening like the hot springs rippling surface beneath the moon.

"I love you, Mizu." You'll moan.

She can't get enough of the sounds you make. Just for her.

"I belong to you." You'll whimper.

Ah, like music to her ears.

Despite Mizu's feeling of jealousy and her worry of being an undeserving partner, she believes you above all else.

You chose her, a miracle really, so she'll do anything to make you happy.

"You're only mine, huh?" She'll rasp, seeking reassurance, between kisses and gentle bites along your skin.

"Y-Yes. Only yours." You'll pant, her expert fingers bringing you to the edge.

Mizu smirks and holds you even closer. She could tease you longer, draw it out like usual but she wants to be good for you. Give you what you need.

In a moment of softness she brushes her lips against your collarbones...

"I love you. You are my life." She'll say to you before making you come.

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