#rift murmurs

[suetravelblog]

Visa, Food, and Birds Amman Jordan

Wadi Rum Cave Camping – planetofhotels So far, my time in Amman has been interesting, but also quiet and relaxing. There’s lots to see, so I’ve delayed exploring the desert – Petra and Wadi Rum – until the weather gets a bit warmer. Even though temperatures haven’t been extreme in Amman (40s to 60s), it’s been windy and quickly gets cold after sunset. I imagine desert nights are even more chilly.…

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#Africa and Asia #Angel Jibrīl #Bedouin Camp Wadi Rum Desert #Hummus #Iftar Buffet #Jordan Valley #Medjool Dates #Murmuration #Ramadan #Rift Valley-Red Sea Flyway Connecting Europe #Royal Society for the Conservation of Nature (RSCN) #Shrak Flat Bread #Tabbouleh #Wadi Rum Bubble Camp #Wadi Rum Cave Camping #White Storks #World Migration Route for Birds

[tojisun]

i would loveeee to see what was like the first time simon and reader were like.. together uhum fucked…. like after they went out of the bar that they met at, yk what i mean??? my english is shit im so sorry but i loveeee how you write simon, soft and full of love 😫💞

HI ANON OMG ITS BEEN YEARS SINCE THIS ASK!! im so sorry for how late im replying :(( and no omg ur english is good, pls dont apologize for it ^v^ and thank u so so much ahhhhh <33

prev (context of the ask) // biker!simon mlist

!! smut - minors dni; praises (might be a kink but its def just simon being in luv); purity kink n dumbification but only if u squint hard; unrealistic sex (cervix penetration); female reader

simon parks the car – johnny’s old dodge; fixed it up using scraps from the shop – in front of his place, silent as he listens to you breathe. you’ve been shivering since the entire ride, quiet puffs of your breath only breaking through when simon’s playlist lapses into silence.

he’s been eyeing you from the corners of his eyes ever since you two left the bar, watching as you played with the loose thread on your sweater, eyes darting between him and the expansive road. he licks the back of his teeth, unclenching his jaw to speak, only, you beat him to it.

“wanna kiss you,” you say, so soft that it almost gets drowned by the rising crescendo of the guitar rift rumbling from the speakers.

simon’s breath hitches, the grip he has on the steering wheel tightening, and he turns as you do, your shy gaze trailing from his fists to his eyes. there’s a spark somewhere there, an instant shift that has simon changing his gait, body rippling and before he knows it, he’s reaching out towards you.

you meet him halfway, body getting jostled until you freeze when the seatbelt snaps. simon takes over, reassuring as he brushes your hair away from your face, sure fingers trailing to click at the holster so that he can finally tug you close.

you clamber to his lap with his help, trembling legs going over the cup holders before settling on top of him, mindful of the horn. simon catches you anyway, big hands spanning your back, ghosting touches along your spine.

he feels your back quiver as you breathe in, memorizing the way you feel in his touch, on his lap, emitting warmth that tickles his skin. he stares at you for a moment, letting his heartbeat settle. then, he presses forward to catch your lips.

you gasp his name, a soft little thing that makes his lungs constrict. he holds you close, steadies you on top of him, slotting his lips easily against your own. your fingers fist his shirt, bundling the fabric tight, and simon groans when you melt on top of him, a pleasured sigh filtering through, splintering into the air, before being devoured by simon’s greed.

he nips at your lips, his tongue slick as it slide against yours, and it’s all too warm, too feverish, too good. and all parts not enough.

the clack of teeth echo in his ears, ringing so loudly, ripping him into needy shreds. you two separate with a whimper. simon blinks his eyes open, catching the way you chase his lips, your own throbbing and wet and plump.

“shit, baby,” he whispers and dives into you again, unable to stop himself.

smaller hands rove over his body, rubbing from his elbows to grip his shoulders, and settling atop his head to fist the strands of his hair. he growls at the first pull and it leaves you putty in his arms, swaying your hips like molten caramel – languid and tantalizing.

he needs more. desperately.

he breaks the kiss again, nuzzling his nose on yours in apology when you whined, and murmurs, “wanna take this inside?”

simon hears the ragged drag of your breath and feels the jostling of your head as you nod.

he hums. “use y’r words, sweetheart.”

“please,” you reply instantly. “i want to. take this inside, i mean.”

simon presses a quick kiss on your lips as a reward. “of course,” he says, gentle as he tugs you closer to him. “let me take care of you, yeah?”

-

you hiccup at the first slide of his cock, gentle and tentative as it strokes past the fluttering lips of your dripping pussy, and presses in between your plush walls. you cry, burying your head on the pillows, feeling full even when simon’s cock isn’t even fully in yet.

the bulbed head breaches further, carving out space for his thickness, and you go taut, breathing raggedly, tongue dry and wet at the same time. distantly, you hear simon curse, lilted litanies of your name spilling from gritted teeth.

you feel your heart beat in staccato, pounding within the cages of your ribs at the realization that he’s feeling the same way – devoured by the intensity of your bodies matching up. you push your hips back to him, eating up more of his length, and simon’s hold on your waist gains strength, stopping you from moving any more.

it’s not like you can, not with the way your arms snap underneath the weight of your body and pleasure, and you tip into the sheets, a cry spilling from your lips. simon pauses, one of his hands leaving your waist to let his warm palm glide along your back. his touch tickles the ridges of your shoulder blades before he presses down on the valley along your spine.

he’s everywhere, it seems – deep in you, warm against your back. you don’t know what it is but it makes you sob, crashing desire razing from the base of your neck to the tips of your toes.

“shh, my love,” simon whispers, his voice ragged and thick with his own desire. “y’r doin’ so amazing for me. so beautiful. so delicate.”

you whimper, tilting your head to the side as you gasp in a breath. you try to reply but your tongue feels so heavy and your mind is blank. it is only filled with a deafening static and simon.

simonsimonsimon.

it’s all so much. it’s still not enough. it’s a miasma of carnality – ever so expanding now that you’ve got a taste of it.

simon kisses the back of your head. “can y’take all of it f’r me?”

all of it? all of him?

he’s not- he’s not fully in yet?

you garble a reply, a mix of yes and please and simon’s name. simon, in return, peppers kisses on your back and murmured words on the trembling rise of where your lungs are. he holds you again, his hands leaving your waist to wrap your fists with his warm touch instead, and it makes you swoon, unintelligible cooing noises tumbling from your lips and into the space between.

the moment simon sinks himself deep, his pelvis hitting the flesh of your ass, you keen, drawn out and long. tears trickle from your eyes and drool spill from the corner of your lips, staining his pillow. but it doesn’t matter because simon, big and filling simon, ruts his hips once, twice, three times, before he’s pulling out again.

“si-!” his name dies on your tongue when simon snaps his hips back, his cock sliding into your pussy and breaching your tight walls again. you scream, a broken cry of your pleasure ripping itself from your throat.

simon doesn’t let up, doesn’t stop – why would he? it feels so good!

sogoodsogoodsogood!

“so tight f’r me,” you hear him rumble, his lips close to your ear. he sounds so drunk in his pleasure. so drunk in you. “so good, lovie.”

“feel where i am hittin’?” he thrusts in harder, kissing somewhere deep, the thick head snug in your cunt. “feel me ‘ere?”

simon punches in his cock again, the weight of his balls slapping against your cunt, and you realize. god you realize what it is he’s hitting.

you squeal, slick gushing along the length of his cock, pooling along the wet lips of your pussy, slicking you two even more.

“yeah,” simon laughs, nipping along your neck. “s’your cervix, isn’t it, love?” he ruts his cock deep again when he says this, exchanging his fast thrusts for slow humping, making you feel every inch. every press.

you sob, nodding because yes, yes it is!

simon croons, nosing along your hair, breathing you in. “y’r takin’ me so well. takin’ me so greedily. y’r so precious, lovie. so perfect, so beautiful.”

his words slur together as he gets lost to his own pleasure, sinking into the euphoria engulfing him. you moan, choked squeals of his name lolling out of your babbling mouth. you feel untethered. floaty. you feel so full and so stuffed, your belly fluttering at every deep kiss of simon’s cock.

you feel so-

“simon! si- ah!- si! si!”

the spray of your squirt falls on your unhearing ears, a stuttering white buzz that fills your mind muffling everything that isn’t simon’s cock and your pleasure. simon curses from behind you, his face falling to the crook of your neck again, shaking as he fucks you harder and faster, sporadic thrusts turning into shallow pumps as he chases his own peaking pleasure.

and you take it. you take it like the good girl he told you that you are, limp and overstimulated, because simonsimonsimon.

-

from: soap (02:13)

> so i dropped off your bike :D

> may have heard you fucking your date.

> how are your neighbours not calling to complain?

to: soap (06:23)

remind me to block your number. <

WHEW!! not my best work :(( but i enjoyed writing this holy shit??

tagging: @babygirl-riley @teehee-47 @comeonatmebruh

#suns.f #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley smut #simon riley smut #simon ghost riley #anon #ask #suns #kicking my legs bc i love smut trope like this

[jinjeriffic]

DCxDP Prophecy Universe Part 5

Part 4

After collecting their bags from the library lockers Jazz led him down the hallway until she found a small, unlocked, empty classroom. The room was barren except for desks and a whiteboard. I guess they don’t bother locking it if there’s nothing worth stealing.

Jazz sat her messenger bag down on the teacher’s desk and pulled a whiteboard marker out of a side pocket.

“Right,” Jazz began, “I don’t know how much you know about ecto-entities and since, as you said, the reports on them tend to be pretty biased, I’m just going to start from scratch. Sounds good?” she rambled.

Tim hopped up onto the front row desk and tried his best to look like an attentive teacher’s pet.

“Yes, Ms Fenton,” he said cheekily.

Jazz gave him an amused look.

“Careful Mr Taylor, or you’ll end up in detention,” she said lightly. She turned to the whiteboard and gathered her thoughts for a moment, then wrote ECTO-ENTITIES in large block letters, “Many people refer to all ecto-entities as ghosts, but this is actually a misnomer. Ghosts as most people think of them, i.e. the restless spirits of the dead, are only a small subset of the ectoplasmic population. There’s plenty of them that were never human to begin with,” higher up on the board, she wrote INFINITE REALMS, “Ecto-entities originate from a parallel dimension to ours, which is called the Infinite Realms by its inhabitants. Though my parents refer to it as the Ghost Zone, that name is woefully inadequate.” Jazz paused and glanced at him.

“Kinda like foreigners renaming places instead of using the one in the native language, gotcha,” Tim nodded. They had dealt with alternate realities before, so this wasn’t completely out of left field. He would go along with it for now. Jazz gave him a small smile.

“That’s right!” she said and tapped the whiteboard, “Now, the Infinite Realms and our dimension are closely interconnected, like two sides of the same coin. Large scale damage to one would cause similar devastation on the opposite side and vice versa,” she gave him a serious look.

“Which makes the hostile attitude of the paranormal research community rather worrying,” Tim mused, “If someone did something stupid the blowback would hit us too,” If he wasn’t trained to read people he would have missed the slight tightening around Jazz’s eyes.

“That’s the theory anyway. And it’s not like the US government ever dropped bombs on people just to see what would happen,” she chirped with false cheeriness.

There’s a story there, Tim thought, and not the kind you would find in a history book. What the hell has been going on?

“I’m guessing getting access to the Infinite Realms isn’t as easy as calling an Uber though,” he joked.

“You’d be surprised,” Jazz said wryly, receiving a raised eyebrow in response, “there are places where the barrier between worlds is naturally thin, allowing temporary rifts to form more easily, but they can pop up pretty much anywhere in the world. It’s what allows ecto-entities to enter our dimension. It’s also not unheard of for humans to stumble into the Realms either, though they’re lucky to return at all,” she twirled the marker between her fingers, “Time doesn’t seem to work the same way in the Realms as it does here. Just in case you ever come across one, make sure to leave through the same portal you entered. Otherwise you might find yourself stranded in the Middle Ages, or far in the future with everyone you know and love long dead.”

Tim had to fight to keep down a wince. The whole Bruce Lost In Time Debacle was still an emotional scar for the family, they really didn’t need a repeat performance.

“Duly noted.”

“Some entities are able to open and close rifts at will,” Jazz continued, unfazed by Tim’s dry tone, ”though that ability seems to be pretty rare. It probably requires an unusual level of power or incursions would be much more common.”

“That would explain the little disappearing trick Damian’s delivery guy pulled,” Jason murmured through Tim’s earpiece, “But does that mean we’re dealing with a fucking super ghost?”

Tim gave a thoughtful hum and drummed his fingers against the edge of the desk.

“Do you think humans could open a portal to the Realms?”

Jazz gave him a wry smile.

“You just summed up the bulk of my parents’ research over the last two decades. They managed to build a functioning portal about two years ago.”

Tim choked. Jason swore.

“What?! But that’s-! How is that not all over the news?!” Tim sputtered. Jazz just sighed.

“My parents have been ranting about ghosts since they were in college,” she said wearily, ”Most of the scientific community had written them off as crackpots years ago. It doesn’t help that large concentrations of ectoplasm generate some kind of interference that messes with recording equipment. Short of kidnapping the naysayers and shoving them bodily through the Fenton Ghost Portal it’s hard to prove anything. And thankfully even my parents aren’t that crazy,” she finished with an eye roll.

Tim buried his face in his hands. An interdimensional portal. What the fuck. He thought back on everything Jazz had told him so far.

“What’s ectoplasm?”

“You’ve been paying attention!” she smiled and added some notes to the whiteboard, “Ectoplasm is the basic building block of everything in the Infinite Realms, and by extension ecto-entities. Hence the name. It’s the equivalent of matter in our dimension; atoms, protons, quarks, etcetera. I’m not a physicist, so I can’t tell you exactly how it works, but that’s why ecto-entities are able to interact with our physical world in such fascinating ways. Flight, intangibility and invisibility are all common abilities for them.”

“Wow, what a fucking security nightmare. B is gonna freak,” Jason groused. Tim tuned him out to focus on Jazz’s continued explanation.

“My parents have been experimenting with using ectoplasm for power generation, but it’s proven extremely volatile. It seems like it’s affected by things like belief and emotion which is absolutely fascinating,” she said with a gleam in her eye, “not to mention its effects on organic tissue. Have you ever had your dinner come to life and try to eat you?”

Tim had a sudden, horrible suspicion.

“Can’t say that I have,” he managed to squeeze out past the lump in his throat, “Um… Jazz, what does ectoplasm look like?”

“Well that depends on what it’s been affected and shaped by but in its raw form it looks like a bright green, glowing liquid,” she tilted her head, “Why do you ask?”

Over the comms, Jason made a sound like someone had kicked him in the crotch.

“Lazarus water?! Is she talking about the fucking pits?!” he choked out.

Tim made a valiant effort to keep his own reaction in check.

“Oh, just wondering how I’ll recognize a ghost- er, ecto-entity when I see one,” he lied with fake casualness, “You mentioned something about powers?”

“Yes! All the entities we’ve encountered so far have exhibited powers which are common to their species, as well as additional powers that seem to depend on the individual core. I’ve theorized that powers develop as a response to stress related to either their Obsession or death trauma…” Jazz trailed off, “aaaaaand I’ve lost you.”

“Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, I know I have a tendency to ramble,” she said sheepishly and considered the bullet points she had written so far, “Let me backtrack a bit. Not all ecto-entities are ghosts. There’s personifications of concepts, which I theorize are formed through the collective consciousness of living beings. They are entities which represent Hope or Justice or-”

“Time?” Tim interjected. Jazz gave him a calculating look.

“...sure. They are among the most powerful entities and have powers related to what they represent. I suspect they may have even been worshipped as gods at some point. You definitely wouldn’t want to mess with them,” at Tim’s nod, she continued, “There’s also the Neverborn, which are formed when ecto-entities choose to reproduce. They are entirely of the Infinite Realms, and thus were never ‘born’ into our world.”

“Ghosts can have children?” he said, surprised.

“Yes, although I’ve never been able to get the details on how it works. They don’t like to discuss it with outsiders. And considering they can look like dragons or disembodied floating eyeballs I’m not sure I’d want to know the exact mechanics,” she joked.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people who’d disagree with you on that,” Tim muttered, then paused. “Wait, dragons?”

Jazz waved her hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. The point is that there’s way more to the other side than most people realize. There’s probably lots of things I’ve never even heard of. It’s quite exciting, really!”

Tim worried about it. A lot. Jason had also gone suspiciously quiet.

“So, ghosts are just the tip of the iceberg?” Tim hedged.

“Exactly. What sets them apart from other ecto-entities is that they are usually created upon the death of someone or something from our dimension, which gives them motivation to come back here,” Jazz added more notes and arrows to the whiteboard. “All entities have something they call a core; think of it as their central organ or brain. It houses their consciousness, and its nature affects what powers they get. There’s all kinds of elemental cores like fire and water, but also more esoteric ones like shadow or technology. An ecto-entity’s body is composed of ectoplasm and moulded by their core. Their physical form is malleable and heavily based on their self-perception. With experience they can change shape to suit their needs.”

Tim mentally added shapeshifting to the growing list of powers to worry about. So far it sounded a lot like a Martian’s.

“So can ecto-entities grow and age?”

“It depends. The Neverborn usually do, but a lot of ghosts have a bit of a Peter Pan thing going on where they don’t want to. They are often ‘stuck’ at the age they were when they died, physically and mentally. Though there’s always exceptions.”

Tim hummed thoughtfully. Something had been bothering him since ghosts had first entered the equation.

“Jazz, if ghosts don’t age or die, why aren’t they all over the place? Even if rifts are rare, shouldn’t there be hundreds of thousands of years worth of dead folks wandering the Earth?”

She gave him a sad smile.

“I never said ghosts couldn’t die, Adam,” she said carefully, ”And not everyone who dies comes back as a ghost. The ones who do typically have some unfinished business holding them back. Like an obsession they never got to fulfill, or a loved one they are watching over. Once they are done, they are free to move on to whatever Afterlife awaits them,” she sighed and crossed her arms, “It also takes a lot of energy for a ghost to do anything in our world. I think a majority of them never hit that level, or can’t keep it up for any significant amount of time. It’s also part of the reason my parents are so biased against them.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

“Think about it. Most ecto-entities are just like regular people, going about their business and keeping their heads down. The ones who are both motivated to cross into our world, powerful enough to manifest and tend to make themselves known are the troublemakers. It would be like an alien looking at the population of Belle Reve and concluding that the majority of humans must be super villains! It’s sample bias.”

Tim bit his lip. This all sounded worryingly plausible, which would mean a literal world of trouble about to come down on their heads. Fuck, just what we needed.

“You mentioned that ghosts can die. I assume you don’t mean from old age, right?” he queried. Jazz looked at him wearily.

“You’d be right. If an ecto-entity’s core is too badly damaged, they will cease to exist,” she said cautiously, “It doesn’t help that ghosts tend to maintain a strength based social hierarchy and are fiercely protective of their territory. Ecto-entities usually have a lair within the Infinite Realms, and those who cross over to our dimension often establish a haunt to call their own. Any intruders would be met with violence,” she sighed and rubbed her forehead, “My parents have also been developing weapons to fight ghosts with… varying degrees of success. A lot of their tech runs on ectoplasm which makes it pretty temperamental.”

Seeing Jazz’s obvious discomfort with the topic, Tim decided to switch tracks.

“Is there any way to tell for sure if my brother came back as a ghost?”

Relieved at the change, Jazz made a see-sawing motion with her hand.

“Kind of? My parents tried for ages to build a ghost detector but they never got it to work quite right. Too much ambient ectoplasm in Amity I guess,” she shrugged as if that statement wasn’t extremely worrying. “You could always grab a ouija board or something and try asking. Just… don’t ask a ghost about their death. It’s a major trauma for most of them and there’s no better way to send them into a frothing rage. If they volunteer the information that’s one thing, but to ask about it is like the social faux pas among ecto-entities.”

Tim nodded and made a mental note to get his hands on some Fenton tech. He had a feeling it was going to be a long week for him.

Jason and Tim didn’t speak until they were safely back in the car. Tim was mentally composing the report they would have to make to Bruce. He was not looking forward to his reaction.

“So,” Jason began with fake casualness, “an interdimensional portal in Illinois.”

“Yep.”

“Creatures made of fucking Lazarus Water.”

“Sounds like it.”

“And we still don’t know if our mystery meta is Bruce’s dead kid or not.”

Tim groaned.

“It all adds up though, doesn’t it? The camera glitching, the powers, the portal…”

“And that damned prophecy. The personification of Time, huh?”

Tim pinched his nose to stave off the growing headache. They contemplated the fucked up situation they had stumbled into in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jason sighed and started up the engine.

“Rock-paper-scissors for who has to tell B?”

Part 6

#dcxdp #dpxdc #dc x dp #dp x dc #danny phantom #batman #batfamily #jazz fenton #tim drake #red robin #jason todd #red hood #prophecy universe #the one where clockwork uses prophecies to mess things up (and set things right) #no beta we die like danny #jazz gets to infodump and worldbuild whoo

[ellecdc]

My love!! I have an idea for fic (only if you want to of course) james potter x reader where james is obsessed with reader’s tits and after a minor couple arguments james was still sulking and reader wants him to be the first one to talk to her so she wear very revealing clothes to tease him and he give in.

It doesn’t have to be a smut, just teasing and fluff!

hahaha awe this is so funny - the best part is, it would so work!!! Thanks for requesting 🫶

James Potter x fem!reader

CW: mention of boobs/tits/love of tits - no smut, joke about dying from suffocation on account of boobies

You were being petty; both of you were. In fact, the two of you seemed to be working overtime just to stay mad at each other at this point.

You can’t even really remember what you had argued about in the first place that caused this rift between you and James; all you knew was that you were not going to be the first to apologize.

It had been a few days since the big blow up that saw James uncharacteristically stern and firm in his words and left you feeling horribly defensive in response. Words were said, feelings were hurt, and now you were here.

Here being this awkward quasi-polite energy in your few measly interactions as you tried to co-exist in the same flat.

He made dinner one night - shrimp korma and a side of homemade naan - and you may have been mad, but you weren’t a jerk, so you thanked him for it.

You had been cleaning the flat one day and started a load of wash. You had more than enough room for more clothes, and not doing James’ wash just for the sake of it wasn’t worth the extra hit to your water bill (which wasn’t an issue, but old habits die hard in your case), so you threw his in too. And once it was washed and dried, well, you figured you might as well fold it and put it away for him. 

He had to begrudgingly thank you for that as well.

So now it was the weekend, and the two of you were clearly dying to update each other on your weeks. You couldn’t help but admit that you really missed James. You missed chatting with him, you missed laughing with him, you missed venting to him, and you missing cuddling with him.

There were other things you missed but... that was neither here nor there. 

All this to say, the feud needed to end.

But you were steadfast in your stance that you were not going to break first.

The idea came to you yesterday morning when James returned from his run sans shirt and muscles glistening with sweat in a way that actually had your mouth watering like some kind of deranged off-brand Pavlov experiment. The worst part was that James had noticed you ogling him and walked away to shower (alone, the bastard) with a self-satisfied smirk on his face.

No matter, this just served to give you your brilliant master plan to win him back.

You had something James adored... two things, as a matter of fact.

Anyone who knows James Potter knows that James is a certified Boob Guy™. More specifically, James Potter loved your tits. You had two assets free to use in this battle, and you weren’t going to let that advantage go to waste. 

The weather, it seemed, supported your master plan and was finally warm and sunny enough to break out some of your more... revealing clothing. Today’s ensemble consisted of a particularly low neckline and tight-fitting tank top. You gathered a book and a bottle of water as you walked towards the back door for the terrace. James, being completely unable to break his good mannerdness even in the face of petty feuds, jumped up to get the door for you when he noticed that your hands were full. 

You made a point to use your elbows to encourage the girls a little closer together as he approached, causing him to stumble in his steps as his eyes strayed from his destination.

“Thanks, Jamie.” You murmured quietly, making sure a cool sense of indifference still coloured your tone. That seemed to shake James from his reverie as he looked up at you, a look of regret seeming to cross his face briefly at not being able to do what he would normally opt to in this situation (i.e., shove his face between them and die due to suffocation). 

“’Course.” He offered instead of saying “oh my god I love your boobies” and cleared his throat, closing the door gently behind you as you made your way to a lounge chair. 

You knew James wouldn’t have gotten far, so you read a few pages before deciding to step up this little ruse.

You slipped your tank top off to display your torso, boobs only supported by a thin bandeau wrapping around your chest. You poured a little water into your hair and then onto your chest to cool off when you heard a solid thunk on the panned glass of your back door. 

When you turned to look, you saw James’ retreating form and the tell-tale imprint of his forehead against the window where he had been standing previously. 

Though you knew you made an impact today, James seemed resolute in his sulking. No matter, tomorrow was a brand-new day.

Being a brand-new day, your morning outfit was a pair of joggers that you rolled the waist band a few times to expose more abdomen paired with a cropped top that was probably a touch too cropped to begin with, let alone paired with your currently braless state.

You could have sworn you heard James try (and fail) to suppress a groan as you entered the kitchen. You hid a smirk as you offered him a faint ‘morning’ and began readying yourself a cup of tea.

Apparently, James’ self-restraint snapped when you stood on your tip-toes to reach the honey on the second shelf of your cupboard; the action of you raising your arm causing your shirt to also lift sinfully.

“Angel.” He keened, causing you to turn your (what you hoped to look like an) innocent expression on him.

“Yes, Jamie?”

He groaned again and stood from the breakfast table, taking slow, cautious steps towards you. “I’m so sorry, love I... I hate that I let us go this long upset with each other.”

Your mouth pinched to the side as you spread your arms – inviting James into your embrace which he was all too eager to accept. “I’m sorry too, bubs. I’ve been immature.”

He half-chuckled half-groaned into your shoulder as the two of you relished in the feel of being in the other’s arms. 

“You are a cheeky little minx, torturing me like this.” He muttered.

“Like what?”

James scoffed and pulled back to look at you incredulously, but any mirth in his face was completely curtailed by the fondness oozing from his warm brown eyes.

“Oh, I’ve missed you.” He said as he bent his knees to be at eye level with your tits before he shoved his face right between them.

You rolled your eyes though he couldn’t see it, asking “who? Me or my tits?”

He was quiet for a moment as he thought about his answer. “Both?” He said, voice muffled from his place in your chest.

“I’ll allow it on account of your withdrawal.” You conceded. 

Note to self: all future arguments can be solved by flashing a little under-boob. 

#ask elle #marauders era #marauders au #marauders fanfiction #reader insert #self insert #james potter #james potter x reader #james potter x you #james potter imagine #james potter fic #james potter fluff #james potter blurb #ellecdc fics

[bunniesanddeer]

Hi! I hope you’re having a wonderful day or night.

I saw your asks are open and I had an idea. What if it’s a protective Alastor x Reader who is the daughter of a protective Lucifer? Maybe she kept in contact with her dad so they are closer and she is older than Charlie. When Lucifer comes to visit the hotel him and Alastor cause some drama

Thanks!

W.P💚

I hope this is what you were looking for? I am very new to doing things like this!

Daddy's Girl

Pairing: Alastor X Lucifer's Daughter! Reader

Tags: Sisterly love, some sexual connotations, spoilers, some angst maybe? idk, swearing, Mimzy.

SPOILERS FOR "DAD BEAT DAD"

Word Count: 1,775

The hotel was eerily quiet when you awoke, so you made your way downstairs to see if anyone was awake. All you could hear as you made your way down the stairs was your quiet footfalls and weird murmuring. As you turned towards the sitting area, you realized the muttering was coming from your younger sister, Charlie.

Charlie was pacing back and forth in front of a pin board covered in colorful papers, and strings. She tugged at her hair, her muttering growing more frantic. As you took in the scene, you realized there were a few people standing and watching her. Niffty was bouncing on the couch, her face full of a strange glee. Husk and Sir Pentious were watching with mixes of bafflement and curiosity.

“Hey, Char Char? Are you ok?” You asked, walking around the couch to get a better view. You saw Angel and Vaggie approach from your peripherals as Charlie whipped around frantically.

“Nope! No. Not really! Haha. Hah…” Her false smile falls as she rips a page off the board. “I have been up all night trying to figure out why the hotel isn’t working! We’ve done every single trust exercise and arts and crafts project I could find! We’ve talked about our feelings and… nothing is working!”

You frown. You knew that things taking so long would eventually get to her, but it was sad to see just how severely. She needed more help. 

You walk up to your sister, and set your hands on her shoulders. “I think…”

Her expression collapses. “Please don’t say it.”

“We should call dad. And ask for his help.”

She winces. She clearly doesn’t want your dad’s help. You can’t exactly blame her, either. The two of you were raised a little separate, and it had affected her relationship with Lucifer pretty badly. Although, you were older, and it had afforded you time with Lucifer before Lilith had started to separate herself from him. Charlie had only had a handful of years before their relationship went south. It showed in her anxiety with him, and Lucifer’s inability to talk to Charlie openly. It made you sad, but you weren’t sure how to fix that rift.

“He’s the reason the extermination happens to begin with! He just let it happen! He doesn’t even like sinners! Why would he help me?” Charlie hugs herself, looking off to the side. “He’s always preferred you anyway.”

You hear some audible winces from the audience by the couch, but you ignore them. You pull her into a tight hug, her taller frame putting you at her collarbones. “You know I would change that if I could, honey.” You squeeze her tightly and say, “We can at least see if he can get you a meeting. Anything to give you the advantage, Char Char.”

She sighs, and hugs you back. “Yeah. I guess we can at least try.”

You pull back. “I think you should call him. I bet he’s dying to hear from you, even though he sucks at showing it.”

Charlie rubs her arm and nods. “Alright. I’ll do it!”

As she struggles to start the phone call, Husk makes comments about her having ‘Daddy Issues’, and you blanch. How rude! (Even if it was true). The others make comments about meeting Lucifer, but you and Vaggie just keep your eyes on Charlie. She seems so nervous, and it makes your stomach twist in knots. 

She finally calls. It rings three times before a faint, “Heyyyy bitch!” rings out on the other end of the line. You facepalm. Good going Dad.

When all is said and done, Lucifer announces he is visiting within the hour, after much cajoling and guilt-tripping on Charlie’s part. Although, from what you could hear, he seemed excited.

Charlie is excited, and so is everyone else in the hotel. You cheer for her, and then the realization hits you. 

Alastor. Fuck.

As the final touches are finished, you sidle up to Alastor with a small grin.

“Please, please don’t start shit. Charlie needs this to work. And I need this to work for Charlie,” you murmur to him. 

He barely glances at you. “Worry not, sweetheart! You know I would never do anything to risk the reputation of the hotel! Charlie will get the help she needs!” His arm wraps around your shoulders, and he squeezes you into his side. For just a moment, his head ducks down, and he whispers into your ear. “Just need to make it clear whose little girl you are now.” Then he perks right back up like nothing happened.

Your face burns hot. How dare he! But you don’t get to do anything in retaliation, because Charlie is opening the door.

“Chaaaaarlie!” Lucifer exclaims, immediately pulling her into a tight embrace. Your sister’s face is full of shock, and you just want to laugh. Ha! You were right! He continues talking to her in the slightest baby voice, and you can’t help but let some giggles escape you. Your dad could be just so silly! “Oh, it’s so good to see you!”

He lets go of Charlie as she welcomes him to the hotel. He spots Keekee first, and pets her. Then greets Razzle and Dazzle. You watch from the sidelines with a small smile. It was nice seeing your dad outside the home. He had been holing himself up for so long… You look up at Alastor, who hasn’t moved an inch since your dad came in.

You elbow him gently. “You okay?”

Alasotr’s expression is tight. His eyes flicker to you for a moment, before landing back on your father. He merely hums in response, making you frown. How odd… You knew the two wouldn’t get along, but for Alastor to dislike him already?

 Then your dad spots the bar. “Oh! What in the unholy Hell is that?” 

Alastor immediately shadow-walks to the other side of the room, and you know it’s time to intervene.

“Oh! Just some of the renovations we’ve made.” Alastor gestures with his mic, before continuing. “Adds a bit of color, don’t you think?” 

You wince, and make your way to Alastor’s side. 

“Hey, Dad,” you say, trying to prevent your dad making any further comments on the decor. That's a good way to piss off Alastor.

“Sweetheart!” Your dad runs up to you, and tries picking you up. You laugh at the tights squeeze. “How’s my girl?” His hands squish your cheeks, making it hard to respond.

You giggle through the ministrations, and finally push his hands back so you can respond. “I’m doing great, Dad. Figured I should introduce you to Alastor here.” You gesture to Alastor, who looks the closest to not smiling that you have ever seen. It makes your stomach feel like lead, as you keep talking. “He’s our facilities' manager, and my…”

Your voice trails off, and you look at Alastor, as if hoping he has the word you are looking for.

“I’m her lover!” Alastor exclaims, quite loudly. His static drops for a moment and then bursts back up in volume, making you wince. Great. He just announced that to everyone in the room. The ‘everyone’ being everyone who didn’t know. You can hear Charlie ‘whoop!’ in the background, and several variations of ‘what the fuck’. “She’s quite the darling. I just couldn’t resist this sweet face!” Alastor grabs at your cheeks, similar to how your dad did, and squishes them. “See?”

You risk a glance at your dad. He looks ready to kill. Fuck. This is absolutely not how you wanted to tell your dad. He nearly killed the last partner you had for ghosting you. You can see your dad’s horns growing, and you push Alastor back.

“Haha! Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I would have told you before now, but we’re kind of new! We were trying to keep it on the down-low for now but…” You glare at Alastor, but he just has this shit-eating grin on his face, and you know he doesn’t care. 

“Right.” Your dad continues glaring at Alastor. You wince, and decide to go over by the snack table. Angel is just giving you this look, and you know he will be asking about Alastor’s dick, which you have not seen, later. Husk seems disappointed in you, and you absolutely know why. You just give him an apologetic shrug, and watch as Alastor and your dad seem to start a pissing match. 

It ends with Alastor in his face saying, “Fuck you,” and your knees nearly give out. Holy shit. 

Charlie finally intervenes, and Lucifer, after some more glaring at Alastor, get her to introduce him to the rest of the residents.

Alastor lays a hand on your shoulder as your dad greets both the guests and the staff. You can feel his thumb rubbing back and forth, and it sends shivers down your spine. You look up at Alastor, but his gaze is still locked on your dad. Annoyed, you roll your eyes with a huff, and look back to the meet-and-greet. Your dad is looking back at you, his frown deep, and a barely audible growl making its way to your ears. Your dad is fucking growling at Alastor. What the Hell?

A rumble builds up in Alastor’s chest, and you can feel it against your back. This one sets heat back up to your face. Gosh, this man needed to get his shit together. No need to start stuff with your dad! Alastor’s hand tightens on your shoulder, before he lets go and stalks back towards Charlie, who is trying to convince your dad to help her. 

And then they’re singing. Because of course. Alastor joins in, saying some things that seem to really piss off your dad, but you can't hear much over the blood rushing in your ears. Sometimes these two could be so embarrassing. When your dad pulls out the golden fiddle, you nearly die laughing. (He still wasn’t over losing that one time!) Everything comes to a head, with the two men yelling insults in each other's faces, when suddenly-

“It’s ME!” A woman barges in through the lobby doors, yelling and calling herself Mimzy. She’s blonde, and dressed like a flapper. Alastor seems to recognize her, so you don’t worry. 

Later that night, when your dad has finally agreed to help your sister get that meeting, you all settle onto the couches, making a game plan. Alastor sits beside you, one foot resting on the other knee. You lean over and ask softly, “What did you say during that song, anyway?”

Alastor’s grin sharpens, and he presses his lips near your ear, again. “Charlie calls me dad, and your eldest calls me Daddy.”

If you nearly choke on your own spit, you refuse to admit it. 

#alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #fanfic #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #bun's short fics

[arcielee]

Ābrazȳrys

Summary: Aemond goes to see if the king is truly dead and finds his wife instead. Paring: dark!Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader Word Count: 1900+ Warnings: MDNI, dark[ish]!Aemond, Reader AFAB, noncon elements, ghostly voyeurism? rough sex, p in v unprotected, creampie, breeding kink when you squint. Author’s Note: So, this is not for the poll I just had, but something that came from rambling with my muses [thank you lovelies]. This is dedicated to @namelesslosers whose recent piece already had my mind thrumming with dark!Aemond ever since I read your story. Thank you, Mari, this is mostly your fault. 😆 Not beta read, my mistakes are my own and I am woefully sorry for them all. Also, Sȳz ābrazȳrys is Valyrian for good wife.

An accord was struck between the Warden of the North and King Viserys; you were then packed to be sent away to the capital, to wed his second son, Prince Aemond. Your purpose, you learned, was to placate the growing rift within the house of the dragon, but you soon realized it was not something that could be easily mended. 

Aemond was complexity carved from marble, both beautiful and statuesque as the blood of Old Valyria was rumored to be. You saw his ire was not unfounded when the crowned princess had returned to flaunt her sins at her side, their tousled dark hair as bold as the crimson curve that cut through the left side of your husband’s face. 

You felt the shift, saw the hatred now etched onto his sharp features at the sight of them. “Bastards,” he had murmured loud enough for you to hear. His tone was dark, his hold on your hand stopping the blood from reaching your fingertips.

The tension brought with their arrival was palpable, weaving through the Red Keep and pouring into the Small Hall where dinner was held, as per the king’s request. The pleasantries seemed forced and it ended with a scathing toast, an outburst, and when you tried to follow after Aemond, he had been quick to dismiss you.

You often struggled to find your place in King’s Landing. Aemond was courteous, but cold; both diligent and disinterested in the same breath. He treated you as his duty and it left your heart aching for more. It could not be sated with his family: Aegon was too lost in his cups, as was Helaena but with her dreams, and you had never met the youngest prince, as he was tucked away at Oldtown. 

This left you to shadow the queen, which was how you now found yourself quietly at her side, your gaze accompanying her own–her brown eyes were wide and wet and fearful all at the same time. Her handmaiden had brought you to her quarters to hear it firsthand: the king was dead. Now you watched as the Silent Sister finished the wrappings on the body. 

There was an attempt to mask the smell of death with the tapers lit, with the cloves and fresh herbs crushed for a smoldering incense that curled upwards into the air, but the lifelessness remained, prominent still. You could only assume it was something so intricately knitted with the late king, a man who had lingered so long on the precipice that life had long rotted away before he had taken his final breath. 

Alicent waited until they left before she took the crown and placed it on top of the body. You watched her shudder with a choked grief, her hands pressing onto the altar to hold herself upright until she could regain her queenly composure. She then excused herself without a word, leaving you alone with the dead. 

The body in front of you was not your family, but only your king. Your own unshed tears were from the fear you felt, from the loss that would come with the inevitable civil war; you saw flashes of red from the blood to be spilled, black from the ash that would rain over the kingdoms. 

“He is even smaller in death.” 

You knew the voice, so low but it still wrenched the air from your lungs. You looked up to see your husband poised in the doorway. “It is something that comes for us all, it is inescapable,” Aemond finished, his eye now trained to you.

It seemed a murmured thought and you were uncertain if he would continue it, uncertain if the words spoken were even meant for your ears to begin with. You swallowed thickly, your throat dry from the smoke. “My husband,” your voice cracked with compassion, “I am so sorry–”

“I am not.” 

It cuts through you, halting your tongue. You watched him carefully, warily, as his lips curled upwards. “For too long I have watched him slowly wither beneath the crown handed to him by a council,” and he looked back to the altar, a bitterness brewing. “He hid behind some want for a faux peace, but only because he lacked the conviction and the spine to speak the truth.” 

His tone clipped, his smile now cruel and cutting into his cheeks as he stepped towards you with his slow, distinct gate. You remained rooted, unwilling to wilt under the weight of the harsh truth that could now be spoken out loud and without repercussions. 

You tried again: “Are you certain of this? Of her misdeeds–?”

This time your voice caught once he was close enough for his fingers to trail along the side of your face, coming to cup your cheek and hold your gaze. His palm was callused from his sword, but gentle to touch, igniting a warmth that pooled towards your core. Your eyes flickered over his smile that remained, your breath knotting in your throat as you realized how tall he now stood, as if a weight had been removed from him. 

“Ābrazȳrys,” he murmured, his hold now moving to curl behind at the base of your neck and pull you closer to him. Your hands touched his chest, falling into him and his heat, his sandalwood and smoke, the amber scent that belonged so intimately to Aemond. 

You burned from his direct attention, something you had pitifully sought after since you arrived, and it was now being handed alongside the corpse of the king. 

And it felt so wrong.

His finger curled under your chin, tilting your head back to look at him. “Perhaps if I put a babe in your belly, you can see how strong the blood of dragon truly is.” 

And yet–

“Aemond,” you gasped as his other hand moved to clasp around your elbow, pulling you closer until his mouth captured your own. 

The room swam in smoke; you felt drunk from the warmth of his lips and with the way his hands roamed your backside, pulling you flushed against his chest. You could feel the swell of his cock pressing against the seams, a heat that permeated through and spread to ignite your nerve endings. 

You sighed sweetly with how you fit against his chest and Aemond deepened the kiss with a desperation that you matched against your own volition. Your arms lifted to wrap around his neck, pulling yourself closer still, and Aemond let out a low groan, a vibration that trilled and tightened in your core. 

“Aemond, we should leave…” 

His passion would not be abated and instead his mouth claimed yours again. Aemond wrapped his arms around your waist to lift you and pull you away from the dead with staggering steps back towards the enclave of bay windows the sun streaked through. His large hands tore through your layers to touch the soft divot between your thighs, until the pads of his fingers pressed to the wet patch that was growing; he hummed. 

You broke away and his mouth then latched to the curve of your neck, biting you, marking you, his passion reborn from the tips of his teeth. You cried out from the mixture of pleasure and pain, your body betraying you with how it responded, with how it craved for more. 

You tried again: “Aemond, we mustn’t–” 

His hand caught your jaw with a hold that dimpled into your cheeks. “You must know by now that the walls are thick, as my ancestors designed them to be,” his eye looked over your kiss-swollen lips and the blood that was staining your features. “Also, the dead also cannot hear us.” 

Aemond then surged against you; you could not fight back, you would not fight back. Instead, your hands balled into his tunic to balance yourself, to return the kiss until all the air left your lungs. You felt his smile against your mouth, his arms returning to snake around your waist and guide until you fell down to the rug that covered the floor; a delicious contrast of the warmth he emitted to the cold of the cobblestone beneath you. 

He rucked your skirts up around your waist, his hand moving to pull away the small clothes intimately wrapped around before he slotted himself between your thighs. You felt his length grind against your bare cunt and you gasped, only for the sound to be swallowed with another heated kiss that seared the blood now coursing through your veins. 

Aemond paused to look down at you. His hair spilled silver in the sunlight and he watched your corset push against your cleavage, the desperate rise and fall to catch your breath. His one arm propped himself up while the other tugged away at the strings laced at his crotch; your fingers slipped into his loosened waistband, pulling it down until his cock was freed. His fingers then wrapped around his base, flushed crimson with his passion, and you nearly cried as he rubbed his swollen head along your folds, silken with your arousal.

His arms caged you and he pushed into you, filling you with his slow thrusts to fit, until he was fully sheathed within your cunt. Your lips parted wordlessly as your pleasure began to kindle with the slow roll of his hips, something that spread towards the ends and returned to build within your core. 

You mewled as his paced quickened, the wet sounds of bare skin suctioning as he fucked you into the rug, bruising your backside against the stone with each snap of his hips; you lifted to cant your own, welcoming the bruising pace. You were breathless, your walls fluttering with the first waves of pleasure coiling tightly at the base of your spine.

“Touch yourself,” he rasped, his breath hot against the curve of your neck.

You hand moved between with a fumbling touch to your pearl, swollen and wet and wanting. The pressure was enough to elicit another cry from you, the tears pearling earlier now spilling. Aemond saw this with the black that possessed his eye and his head dipped to lick your tears; his murmured, “Sȳz ābrazȳrys,” scorching against your skin.

It burst forth with flashes of white, a euphoria brimming on too much as his pace continued, until he was spilling and pulsing within your velvet walls. His weight then rested against you, his head turning to place a sweet kiss to your neck before he pulled away to stand, reaching to bring you back onto unsteady feet. 

You swayed a moment and he grabbed you, waiting until you met with his stare. Your eyes were wet as they rolled from him and took in your surroundings; you let out a shaky exhale when you saw the body that had been prepared. 

Aemond let go to tuck himself away and then stepped to block your view. He leaned forward to press a kiss to your hairline; your lashes were clumped together from your tears shed, wet against your cheeks when you closed your eyes, savoring the softness of his lips. 

“We will win,” his confidence now laced his low tone. He repeated: “Do not worry, we will win.” 

And then he left you alone with the dead, with nothing but the remnant pulsing sensation of the pleasure he took, his pearly spend now spilling down between the insides of your legs. 

Tags (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond @annikin-im-panicin @watercolorskyy @sylasthegrim @fan-goddess @httpsdoll @theromanticegoist @assortedseaglass @theoneeyedprince @babyblue711 @girlwith-thepearlearring @theobjectofyourire @troublesomesnitch @multyfangirl @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowprincesa1 @officerbrowneyes

arcie's masterlist

#hotd fanfic #hotd fanfiction #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond x you #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen x reader #female!reader #dark!aemond targaryen #dark!aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x female!reader

[xirayn]

Like Biting Bats (Very Metal)

Read Ch 1 of the full fic here

1 | 2 | 3 | 4

Eddie is not too proud to admit that his singing isn't great. He can carry a tune, sure, but he doesn't have the control or confidence that he has with the guitar. There have also been times he has gotten lost in his playing and completely forgotten vocals. The rest of the band isn't much better. Gareth yells more than anything, Grant is notoriously pitchy, and Jeff's voice didn't work with the music they played.

It is a definite weak spot for the band, but Eddie has a plan.

The current song they are rehearsing comes to an abrupt stop when Steve starts down the driveway with his hands in his pockets. Eddie glances at the clock. His van is in the shop, so he is temporarily reliant on the Harrington Taxi Service the Party uses. Sure enough, it's his designated pickup time.

Eddie's eyes meet Steve’s. He smirks before launching into Master of Puppets. There is a beat before the band joins in. Steve rolls his eyes as the heavy rift growls through the air, but amusement tugs at the corner of his mouth.

They've listened to Metallica in the car as part of Eddie's attempts at improving Steve’s musical tastes. Other bands, as well, but Metallica is significant to both of them for obvious reasons. In return, Eddie has had to endure Steve's collection of new wave music. Considering he's getting rides for free, he doesn't complain more than the expected amount. 'Take on Me' also sounds a lot better to him in Steve's husky tenor.

Eddie steps back from the mic with his eyes sparkling with a dare. Steve accepts by walking up to the mic and Eddie practically vibrates as the first verse leaves Steve's lips. Eddie leans in to sing the echoes of the chorus into the mic with him. Electricity sparks and flashes between them; crackles through their skin as their hearts beat in time with the drums.

Eddie widens his stance. His hair flies as he gets fully into his performance. It takes him a moment to realize the rest of the band has stopped. They are staring at Steve with raw wonder.

"Fuck, I can't believe I'm saying this, but can Harrington join the band?" Gareth says it as a joke, only he is looking at the others as if to gauge their reactions.

Steve simply laughs it off. "Sure, I'll have my people call your people. Come on, Eds. Get your stuff." He gestures vaguely in no direction at all and heads back to the car.

The band speaks in low murmurs as Eddie packs up. When he waves and starts to leave, Jeff ducks forward to grab his elbow.

"Hey, talk to him about it," he says, glancing over Eddie's shoulder at where Steve is leaning against the driver side door waiting. "Our vocals are weak and that was- We need that chemistry, man."

The plan is going as Eddie had planned before the word 'chemistry'. It rolls around his head; gathers thoughts and memories to become too large to ignore. A skipped heartbeat at the crinkle of Steve's smile or a look lingering on the curve of his jaw combines with times Eddie's mind had drifted to the other man to become a realization.

"Huh." Eddie looks back at Steve for a moment too long. He turns back to Jeff with a laugh in his eyes and a grin that is all teeth. This will be interesting. "Yeah, I'll talk to him."

#steddie #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #corroded coffin #steddie fic #Let Steve be in the band #stranger things au #steddie au

[milliesdiary]

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐆𝐄𝐓 𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐓 — 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐒

𝐚𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐭; you get injured one day and your self-proclaimed "rival" has a problem with it.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬; rhaenyra, daemon, alicent, jace, aemond, aegon

𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬; "who did this to you?" trope, blood, kind of gory (?), fluff. female reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; this piece was based on this request! also i just had to use that line alicent said to aegon in that one scene... it was too fitting omg. enjoy :)

𝐑𝐇𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐘𝐑𝐀

you and rhaenyra have always had a rocky friendship. sometimes there was an unspoken sort of distaste, one that neither of you had a reason for; your views just did not align, and you did not agree on how certain events had been handled in the past. as these disagreements grew, so did the rift between you. but as a vital part of house targaryen, you remained there for years despite the hardships and helped her with tedious tasks. whenever you spoke with the princess, your words were clipped, short, and to the point: something you are sure rhaenyra appreciated as well. you assumed she hated you, and accepted this way of life — until the second you got hurt. 

you’d been watching ser criston training the boys in the courtyard, and on accident, a sword managed to get too close and sliced right into your forearm. the second you rush into the palace with a knight behind you — a palm clutching the wound to stop the blood from dripping onto the expensive flooring — has rhaenyra reeling from her place on the sofa. you expect her to grab someone, but instead she’s rushing up to you, an unknown emotion swirling in her light eyes. “dear gods,” rhaenyra whispers lowly, taking your wrist in one of her hands to inspect the damage, calling down the hallway for a maester to bring a cloth. when she locks her gaze with yours, you see it: worry. “what happened? who is responsible for this?” rhaenyra asks, her lips drawn into a taught line and lightly shaking your arm with every word. the second you tell her, she’s screwing up her face in both indignation and annoyance. “i must admit,” rhaenyra mutters, grabbing a cloth from a shocked servant woman and tugging you along to where you presume you’ll be getting medical attention. “i am sick of his incompetence.” when you lift your eyes to stare at her in wonder, you find that she’s already focused on you. with a sigh, she lifts her chin to look ahead, her steps down the hallway resolute and grip on your wrist secure. “at least we will have a scar to match,” rhaenyra murmurs, and her attempt to lift the mood is successful. the moment you smile at her, she’s doing the same. it’s warm. it speaks volumes: all those years spent together weren’t a waste. 

𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍

you and daemon never got along. perhaps it was his attitude that made your hackles rise, or his brash way of speaking that had you prickling with annoyance. either way, the prince was constantly antagonizing you. to your chagrin, you surrendered yourself to a world of teasing; however, things changed when you accidentally took a hard fall onto the floor, thanks to aemond and aegon rushing through the palace in a quarrel and knocking you down.

you make your way down a long stretch of hallway, waving away the boys’ apologies and trying to ignore the blood dripping down your knee under your dress. searching for your chambers with a wince falling from your lips, you presumed you were alone: but there daemon was of course, walking the opposite direction. he at first gives the slightest of smirks in your direction, though it falls when he catches sight of you limping. daemon stops in his tracks, eyeing you with that razor-sharp gaze of his. “what happened?” he questions coolly. before you can even say anything, daemon is sauntering over and aggressively lifting the hem of your dress. you make a surprised noise, one that he ignores, and clicks his tongue when he sees a chunk of skin missing from your knee. “and which inept cunt did this?” his voice rumbles, tone interweaved with venom and... anger?

it’s a reaction you weren’t expecting, and he knows it the second you stare at him in silence, mouth gaping open. a servant stops and gasps at your wound, turning to grab someone, but daemon stops her with his stern voice. “i’ll take care of it,” he barks out, before placing a protective hand around your waist and guiding you down the hall. his grip on you is tight, and you swear you see a slight quirk of his lips when he speaks. “the moment you are bandaged,” daemon says, voice deep yet almost a whisper. “i will have the head of whoever did this. and you are going to tell me.”

𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

you both had been friends at some point, but after you got into a fight with her father, it ended abruptly. from then on, you always butted heads in some way. still, both of you always tried to keep any sort of conversation between one another civil. it could be awkward, though, having to talk with her at meetings and avoiding eye contact throughout the day, or being in each other’s company without a single word spoken. so once you cut your finger on a blade after trying to rid a loose string from your dress, and alicent enters the room as you cover the cut in a cloth, you’re surprised to find that her brows are knitted together in concern. the gasp that falls from her mouth when she notices the red, raw slice on the tips of your fingers is loud — you swear she almost steals all the oxygen in the room.

in almost a motherly instinct, the queen rushes over, her green gown swishing behind her like a silk scarf. alicent takes your hand in her own before her focus flashes up to you. by the way her dark gaze flies over your face, you can tell she’s trying to analyze your expression, to gauge your pain level. “are you alright?” her hands quickly find themselves upon your shoulders and she aligns her face to yours so you look her dead in the eye. “who did this? was it jacaerys? lucerys?” she questions angrily, voice coming out fast and harsh once she mentions the boys names.

you tell her what happened, and her face softens a bit, the crease between her brows softening. “i thought you hated me,” you whisper as alicent takes a peek under the cloth, assessing the damage. the words has her head shooting up to stare at you; she appears shocked. after a few beats of silence, the woman’s hand comes to rest on your cheek and her lips twitch into the smallest of smiles — something you haven’t seen in a long time. it’s filled with something akin to friendship. no, stronger than that. love. “you imbecile.” 

𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐄

some sort of rivalry settled itself between you and jace as children. you both always competed with each other in almost every aspect; sword-fighting, your training, studying for the septa, literally anything. your chats were full of sarcastic remarks and rebuttals, along with stares of jealousy and frowns from losses.

when ser criston goes too hard on you training, however — knocking you down and causing your head to hit the ground — a hatred grows deep into his gut. his temper is a copy and paste of both his parents: upon seeing you sit up with a groan, he is placed into a chokehold by a force that’s scarlet, scorching, and nearly agonizing. it’s one of those rages that make your chest ache, almost as if your heart has been used as a pin-cushion. “is this what you do?!” jace spits, stepping between you and ser criston cole, glaring at the older man with fiery eyes akin to raging flame. “place harm upon your pupils?” he's upset, his voice much heavier to match the intensity of his furrowed brows and pinched gaze. it’s not the first time ser criston has gotten too heavy-handed with a sword or words: he has seen him egging aemond on to mercilessly beat luke in a practice duel. he’s ushered away by ser harwin, but you’re surprised when he holds his hand out to you to help you up. for some reason, you take it, and it feels right. jace’s palm leaves yours only to land on your shoulder as he leads you out of the courtyard; he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, it seems. in an effort to contain his fury, he scoffs and shakes his head mockingly.

“what a farse,” he grumbles, coming to a sudden stop: his gaze settles on you, and his words are suddenly soft. “is your head alright?” those lovely eyes of his bore into yours, crowned by brunette wisps of lashes as he awaits a response. when you nod, he forces a tight grin and takes you by the hand. he looks a little sheepish as he does it. embarrassed even. maybe jace didn’t hate you as much as you thought he did. maybe he didn’t hate you at all.

𝐀𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐃

similar to jace, there sits a rivalry between you and aemond. it started when you were younger — two children fighting to prove their worth — and sat with you until adulthood. while you did talk, your conversations were mostly teasing and emotionally provoking. he angered you in plenty of ways, doing little things he knew would be annoying: giving hidden smirks while walking by, jesting, throwing small insults here and there. naturally, you would have thought aemond holds an ill-will toward you. that being said, when you got hurt during a practice sparring match and escorted into the castle by a knight, aemond catches sight of you. having one eye has forced him to become more perceptive, more wary — so it isn’t difficult for him to see how you try to cover up the crimson-red seeping from a cut your palm. you don’t even realize he’s there until you hear the knight address him, and then you turn and aemond is at your side.

without even asking, his large hand is grabbing harshly at your arm to steal a glance at the wound. “gotten yourself into trouble, have you?” comes aemond’s voice. you instantly snatch your hand back, giving him a confused stare, and he returns it with a cool look of his own. something deep and primal has been lit within him; you can see it, and the knight can certainly see it as well, judging by how they decide to remain distant behind you. with a quiet rage in his eye (we KNOW aemond can give off the scariest silent wrath) he orders, “tell me; who is it from?” you try to explain it was an accident, but aemond is not having it. your rivalry has been about one-upping the other and making each other’s lives more difficult, so you’re stunned that he even gives a shit. “whoever dared to lay a single hand on you,” aemond says lowly, tone graced with deadly contempt, “will not live to see my brother crowned.”

you just gape at him with those pretty eyes of yours, puzzled, and aemond offers you a sly smirk. he says nothing else, but his body language holds the unspoken words: i will destroy them in every way i know how. aemond detaches himself from your orbit, walking away on a mission to find out the assailant. he knows you wouldn’t tell him, so “justice,” in his mind, needs to be served by his own hand.

𝐀𝐄𝐆𝐎𝐍

like rhaenyra, aegon’s distaste toward you comes from differing viewpoints. he finds your beliefs annoying — who says he can’t sleep with any maiden he can get his hands on? who cares if he gets drunk and lazes around? he just can’t fucking stand how intrusive you can be when it comes to his choices, so he avoids you whenever possible. sometimes you end up in the same room, sharing glances at one another, but not speaking much besides uttering each other’s titles in greeting. you manage to treat him well though; you make sure the servants remember to make his bed, have him eat properly, and even send him wine despite disagreeing with his drinking tendencies. still, he struggles to be in the same room with you — and you with him. you’re just being nice toward your future king, and even if it kills you, it may be worth it in the long run. besides, it’s not like he cares about you anyway. thus, you don’t think much of it when a hand-maiden bumps into you and knocks hot tea onto your neck, scalding the skin there. it leaves a blistering burn, one that you can’t hide.

when you are collecting the empty goblets from aegon’s room shortly after, he walks in; you can tell he’s ready to shoo you away, to tell you he does not have to be mulled over… but he stops himself after seeing the peeling red blotch on your throat. quick to judge, aegon’s face screws up in resentment and he takes multiple heavy steps to stand in front of you. “what is this?” he asks, staring at you with a frown until you explain.

“that whore,” aegon almost growls, taking a steadying breath before looking toward the door. “i ought to find her. teach her that she will get what she deserves.” when you grab him by the elbow and tell him it doesn’t matter, aegon rips his arm from your grasp and shakes his head, stark-white hair waving about his face; no one shall bring any sort of harm down on you — because unbeknownst to you, and perhaps even aegon, you’ve made a home in that heart of his. although he doesn’t want to admit it, he’s claimed you as his woman. “this is bordering on treason,” he states angrily. then, after shooting you a softer look, he snatches you by the arm to draw you close. “these commoners will have to learn not to toy with me. or my playthings.”

#house of the dragon #daemon targeryen x reader #aemond targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen x reader #alicent hightower x reader #jace targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #aemond x reader #rhaenyra x reader #alicent x reader #jace x reader #aegon x reader #jace velaryon x reader #hotd imagines #house of the dragon fanfic #millie’s works — 📓

[skz-streamer]

Why I Fell For You

Simptober Small Things You Do M-list

Pairing: Felix (skz) x fem!reader

Genre: Fluff, Hurt/comfort

Warnings:

Notes: literal sweetheart, :((((( I love him so muchhh. I dont rlly think this does justice to him but whateverrr :///

-please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people

Word count - 664;)

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The morning sun bathed the room in a gentle light, casting a warm glow over the stillness that had settled in after a night of unease. The argument from the previous evening lingered like a haunting specter, leaving both you and Felix in a state of disquiet. It was a restless night, marked by a conspicuous silence, and the awkwardness in the air felt heavy and oppressive.

The disagreement had begun innocuously enough, a minor misunderstanding that had unexpectedly snowballed into a full-blown argument. Your intention was simple – to express your affection and connect with Felix during his work hours, mirroring the love and attention he consistently showered upon you. However, it seemed like your well-intentioned efforts had crossed a line, and it left both of you feeling hurt and misunderstood.

With the dawn of a new day, you held onto a glimmer of hope that it would bring a fresh start, an opportunity to mend the rift that had grown between you and Felix. He broke the silence with a gentle but firm directive, "Get ready," and there was something resolute in his voice that compelled you to obey. You dressed up in a cute ensemble, the anticipation of the upcoming day carrying a hint of trepidation and hope.

Felix led you to a charming little restaurant, one of those hidden gems that seemed untouched by the hustle and bustle of the world outside. Delicate pastries, exquisitely crafted, beckoned from the display, and the aroma of fragrant tea filled the air. The ambiance was tranquil, with the soft murmur of other patrons providing a soothing backdrop. Despite the picturesque setting, the lingering tension seemed to be a stubborn guest, unwilling to depart.

As you both settled into your seats, the conversation was tentative, stilted at best. The burden of the unresolved argument weighed heavily upon you, and the silence between you two felt like an insurmountable divide. You were desperate to bridge the gap, to ease the awkwardness, and finally, you mustered the courage to speak.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—" you began, but Felix, ever the considerate one, gently interrupted you, his voice a soft murmur in your ear. "Shhh, don't worry about it, hon."

His arms enveloped you in a comforting embrace, and you could feel the steady rhythm of his heart, a reassuring beat against your chest. In that embrace, he began to speak, his voice filled with heartfelt sincerity.

"I'm deeply sorry for what I said last night," Felix confessed earnestly. "It was rude of me, and I really didn't mean it. I cherish your texts throughout the day, and I beg you not to stop."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you looked up at him, the emotion in his eyes mirroring your own. It became apparent that the argument had taken a toll on him, just as it had on you. The raw vulnerability at that moment, as you held each other close, felt profound and healing.

Felix leaned in to kiss your cheek tenderly, his lips a gentle caress. His gaze met yours, and you could see the glint of moisture in his eyes, a testament to the depth of his feelings. Your own eyes mirrored his, and you smiled, a small but genuine one, in acknowledgment of his apology and the love that bound you both.

He took your hand, fingers interlocking, and guided you to sit closer to him, abandoning the space across the table. The physical closeness felt like a bridge, spanning the emotional gap that had separated you earlier. Your fingers brushed against each other as you shared a delicate tart, the sweetness of it resonating with the newfound warmth in your relationship.

As Felix bit into a tart, a playful giggle escaped his lips, breaking the tension that had haunted you for so long. You couldn't help but ask, "What's so funny?"

His eyes twinkled with affection, and he responded, "I don't know. I just love you so much."

————————————

Tags:  @eee5533 @mixtape-racha @cherry-edibles @ren0325 @felixvsp @hwangrimi @sanriiolino @painstakingly-juno @herarcadewasteland @dabiscrustyfeet @kai-jilee  @sungiesoonie  @slvtty4channiee @revelaffee @buckys-pillow, @staygirl86 @chlodavids @jinnie-ret @bbygrlhannie @rebecca-johnson-28  @turtledove824  @interstellarairwaves @yearofthetiger25 @minhos4thkitty @fiqire @backintomykpopphaseagain @liknws @tinyelfperson @aaasia111

#lee felix #felix fic #stray kids felix #skz felix #felix x y/n #felix x reader #skz felix x reader #stray kids fanfic #felix fluff #felix x you #lee youngbok #simptober #skz streamer #felix skz #felix stray kids #stray kids #skz fluff #skz fic #skz imagines

[estrellami-1]

If I Should Stay

Part 1 | . . . | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19

Eddie sighs at the walkie and gives Steve a look. Steve replies with a shrug and a smirk, then motions Eddie ahead.

“You’re taking this really well,” Steve murmurs after a second.

Eddie fixes him with a disbelieving look. “I ran.”

“Right, because I’m a dumbass who doesn’t know how to explain things.”

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Shut up. A dumbass wouldn’t be able to orchestrate all of this. You explained it really well, it’s just…” he sighs and shrugs.

“Freaky as hell?” Steve suggests.

Eddie laughs. “Exactly,” he agrees. “No one else ran, did they? Just me.” He shrugs again.

“You said you won’t run again,” Steve reminds him quietly. “Doesn’t matter what you did. Matters what you do. And right now you’re in an alternate dimension, of sorts, looking for a kid you don’t even know. You’re not running.”

Eddie looks over at him with a little half-smile, then suddenly his face falls. “I’m about to,” he says, stepping in front of Steve and cocking the gun. “Cover your ears.”

Steve looks where he is and sees a demogorgon advancing on them. He claps his hands over his ears just before Eddie fires, hitting the demogorgon in its approximation of a face. It drops, and Eddie spins around to face Steve, scanning the area. “Run?” He asks.

“Run,” Steve agrees, and they take off, running until Eddie’s tugging on Steve’s sleeve to slow down, and they finally slow to a walk again.

Steve grabs the walkie as Eddie gasps for breath. “How much farther?”

“El says look for trees,” Dustin answers. “He’s got a clubhouse.”

Steve scans the area, then sets off for a clump of trees, ensuring Eddie is keeping up. “Almost there,” he tells them. “Ask El if she can hold off the demogorgons if we yell for him.”

“She says no, and to go diagonally to the right.”

“Diagonally?” Eddie murmurs, brows furrowed.

Steve thinks, then chuckles. “This way,” he says, motioning Eddie ahead and to the right. He brings the walkie up again. “How far to the nearest rift?”

“El says she can make one.”

“Oh thank God,” Eddie whispers fervently.

After that they fall silent until Eddie’s hand clamps on Steve’s arm. Steve looks to see Eddie pointing ahead at a small wooden structure. They exchange a look, then creep forward, Steve using his bat to lift up one end of the blanket covering the entrance.

He sees Will inside, cowering away from the entrance, ducking his head into his knees as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“Will,” Steve murmurs. “We’re here to take you home.”

“Trick,” Will mutters. “Trick, fake memory.” He sniffles. “Don’t know you.”

“No,” Steve admits. “My name is Steve, and this is Eddie. Right now all your friends are at my house, waiting for us to bring you back.”

Will sniffs again, peeking an eye out. “Jonathan? Mom?”

“Jonathan’s there too,” Steve nods. “Actually he’s in the car waiting for us. And we’ll call your mom as soon as you’re safe topside, alright?”

Will looks at him and Eddie, seems to determine they’re real, and nods before his face contorts again as he stares at something behind them.

Almost quicker than he can think, Steve whirls around with his bat out. It makes purchase in a demogorgon’s side, and he yanks, dragging the nails through its flesh. It roars and staggers back, and Steve advances, spinning his bat. He manages two more good hits before the demogorgon’s flailing arms score a lucky hit on his side. He hisses and curses, but advances again.

“Steve,” he finally hears. “Move back! I can’t get a clear shot!”

Right, he thinks, Eddie has a gun.

He steps back and to the side, and as he blinks, a shot rings out and the demogorgon drops.

He huffs and turns back to Eddie. “Thanks,” he says, then smiles at Will. “Ready to go home?”

Will hesitates. “How do I know?”

Eddie smiles kindly. “How else would I know I’m standing in the presence of the infamous Will the Wise, Dungeon Master to end all Dungeon Masters, if I haven’t been talking to your friends?” Eddie asks, sweeping low into a bow and winking. “And I am Eddie the Banished, and I think you and I are going to have lots of fun trading campaign tips.”

Will lights up. “You play?”

Eddie smirks and holds a hand out to Will. “You could say that.”

Will tentatively grabs his hand, then holds tight, allowing Eddie to pull him out.

“Call it,” Eddie murmurs to Steve, who nods and pulls the walkie back out.

A few seconds later, a rift appears a few feet away. “Nancy’s driving over now,” Mike says. “As soon as you’re through, El says she’s closing it, cutting the connection, and passing out.” He pauses. “She might be joking about passing out.” Another pause, “She wasn’t joking.”

Permanent Taglist: @justforthedead89 @ilovecupcakesandtea @madigoround @bookbinderbitch @suddenlyinlove @nburkhardt @artiststarme @paintsplatteredandimperfect @i-less-than-three-you @alyelf @quarble @messrs-weasley @littlewildflowerkitten @vankaar @starman-jpg @bornonthesavage @steddie-there @goodolefashionedloverboi @andienotannie @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @platinum-sunset @just-ladyme @steddiestains @swimmingbirdrunningrock @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @martinskis-lydias @notaqueenakhaleesi @sleepyboosstuff @bestwifehaver @m-owo-n @thatonebadideapanda @finalmoondragon @velocitytimes2 @callmeanythjing @ajeff855 @ilikeititspretty @knitsforthetrail @sillysparrow @that-one-corvid @ace-is-bored @muricel @harpymoth @weirdandabsurd42

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #eventual Steddie #slow burn #will Byers #they found Will! #also Eddie and Will’s relationship is SO perfect to me i swear #starambles

[eddiemunsonspantschain]

Things Change - Ch.3

Pairing: Eddie Munson x pregnant!reader

Warnings: mention of abortion, visiting an abortion clinic (does not recieve one), pregnancy

Word Count: 3.7k words

Tag List: @boomhauer @corrodedcorpses @wroteclassicaly @blackwidownat2814

“So, what do we do?” 

Nancy and you looked at Robin. Robin stared back at the two of you and held her hands up. “What do you mean?” you asked Robin.

“Well, like, are you going to have the baby? Cause if you are… your parents are probably gonna kill you. Or, make you marry whoever the dad is, and that means no college. Your life wou-”

“Robin!” Nancy hissed, and you sighed.

“No, Nance. She’s right.” you grabbed Nancy's hand and looked at her. “I need a plan. I…”

“I don’t wanna say the word but…” Robin started, and you looked at her.

“I know… It’s not exactly a bad idea.” you murmur, taking a deep, shaky breath.

“Are you sure you want to do that?” Nancy asks, “There’s no going back, and I doubt it’s exactly comfortable.”

“I know there’s no going back,” you reassure her.

“Why don’t we do this tomorrow? We can scramble what cash we can, and it gives you time to think?” Nancy suggested, looking at Robin for support.

It was decided. Tomorrow, you would go to the clinic and get this taken care of. It was for the best… right? That was what you tried to tell yourself all evening. After Robin and Nancy left, you tossed the boxes for the tests and the tests themselves into your backpack, knowing your parents wouldn’t think to open up your backpack for anything. You tried to go about your evening the way you normally would, but the cloud hanging above your head made it hard to do so. You found yourself sitting at dinner, gently pushing your food around your plate. Just nodding your head when your mother noticed and noted that she worried about your health since you were rarely eating now. You managed a few bites to placate her, wondering if the little being nestled in your uterus would let you keep it this time. Somehow, they had, as your small dinner didn’t make its way back up your esophagus this time. Thank god for small favors. As you laid in bed, you stared at the ceiling, wondering just how you got here. Of course, your mind rifted back to that night. The way Eddie had looked at you like a starving man looking at his first meal in months. The passion in the way his hands grabbed at your flesh as he pulled moan after moan from you. Your hands drifted down under your blanket, stopping to rest on your stomach. To you, it didn’t feel as if you had gained any weight. It had only been about a month since that night or so. So when did pregnant people start to show? It apparently was enough to get a positive on a test. You pushed the blanket down, pulling up your sleep shirt and inspecting your stomach. It all looked ordinary. Nothing out of place. You huffed and shoved your shirt back down. What were the chances of four tests being wrong?

Before you knew it, the sun was shining into your room, signaling it was the next day. You turned your head to look at the clock. Sure enough, it was the morning, and you managed to wake multiple times through the night not feeling like you slept much at all. Giving up on the notion of sleep, you slid out of bed and got into some comfortable clothes for the day. Nancy was sure that the procedure would be an uncomfortable one, even if she had no idea what it entailed. You went downstairs for breakfast, managing two pieces of toast and the tiniest bit of eggs that almost made you gag. Then you sat up in your room and waited.

By the time Nancy and Robin grabbed you, it was early afternoon. You slid into Nancy’s car. Robin sat in the back, counting up all the money they had scrounged up to pay for this. “You guys didn’t have to do that.” you murmur, all your allowance sitting in your pocket.

“Well, we couldn’t have you pay for it through insurance, and we wanted to be sure you had enough.” Nancy explained as she headed to the address for the clinic. The outside of the building was unassuming looking. Beige on the outside with a simple sign telling you the name and a phone number. The parking lot wasn’t empty, but you found your nerves spiking up. 

“Do you want us to come with you?” Robin asked, and you nodded quickly. 

The three of you went inside, each girl holding onto you‌. Robin held your hand while Nancy gripped the back of your jacket in support. You approached the counter, a woman looking up at the three of you and raising a brow. “How can I help you ladies?” she asked.

“Our friend is here to see a doctor.” Robin led, nodding to you.

“What’s the reason for your visit today?” the woman asked as she grabbed a pen and clipboard.

“Uh…” Robin glanced at you both.

“She has a… problem. We came here to get it taken care of?” Nancy supplied, cringing at how horrible it sounded.

The receptionist's eyes slid down your body to rest on your stomach. “I see. Fill this out.” she slid the clipboard over to you alongside the pen and you grabbed them quickly. 

The three of you retreated to the ugly teal and pink chairs that lined the room. You took a shaky breath as you filled out your information, trying to ignore the shakiness of your hands. You periodically had to stop as you filled out the forms. Just to help your sanity. The walls were the same ugly teal color. Not a bright, pretty teal, but more like someone had vomited up a teal color. The floor was white tiles with flecks of teal and pink embedded in the tiling. You wondered who you could file a formal complaint to for the decor and color scheme in this building. It was like it was mocking you that you were pregnant with gender specific colors. Your nose was also assaulted with the overwhelming scent of alcohol. Like the place was somehow too clean. Sterile. By the time you had finished the paperwork, your head was spinning from everything. Robin was gracious enough to bring it back to the receptionist. 

When your name was called, you stood on jello legs as you made your way into the back. The nurse led you to a room and motioned for you to step inside. “I’m just going to take some vitals.” she explained as she weighed you, took your height, measured your temperature and blood pressure before letting you know the doctor would be in soon. It thankfully wasn’t long until a man walked in and greeted you with a smile. 

“So, Ms. Y/L/N, tell me what brings you in?” he asked as he cleaned his hands and pulled on a pair of sterile gloves.

“I haven’t been feeling well. Randomly nauseous and I took four at-home pregnancy tests… they were all positive,” you explained, trying to look anywhere but at the pictures of mothers around the room and the diagram of a baby in a uterus. 

“Well, why don’t we do one ourselves, to be sure? When was your last menstrual cycle?” he asked as he pulled out what looked like a chemistry kit from a cabinet. 

“I missed it for this month. Should have been about two weeks ago, and I’m always regular.” you explained, and he hummed. The doctor was quick as he had you do the test. He asked more questions as it developed, and by the time it was done, it seemed clear to him, though to you it seemed confusing. 

“Well, congratulations. You are certainly pregnant, Ms. Y/L/N.” he watched you for a moment. “From your forms, you are unmarried. So I assume this was not planned.” he sighed and opened his arms as if he was offering something. “So, I ask you then, what would you like to do? We could offer care for your pregnancy or we could terminate it. It’s not a painless procedure, I will admit. But we could do it today. You would need sanitary pads and some pain medication as you will cramp and bleed for a time, but it is doable,” he explained. 

The more he explained, the quicker your breathing became. “I… I want…” you murmur, looking anywhere but at him. It was the right thing to do, right? To terminate it and just move on as if nothing happened? You shut your eyes as you took a breath, feeling the room spin. You vaguely heard the doctor call your name, but it wasn’t normal. It sounded like he was underwater, calling for you. Then, you couldn’t hear him completely. Thoughts rushed through your head of what your life could look like. Without a child, going to college and getting a good job. Eventually fall in love and maybe try again. Then you thought of how your life would be with the child you had nestled in your stomach now. Would they look like you? Would they look like him? Would they be smart? Or artistic and creative like their father? Something cold pressed to your head. Your eyes fluttered open, hearing someone call your name again.

“Shh, don’t rush now. You just had a fainting spell,” the nurse reassured you, dabbing your forehead again.

“Not the first time this has happened in this office, ma’am. I assure you.” the doctor spoke on your left, gently fanning you with a paper. 

“I can’t!” someone gasped, your hand clasping over your mouth. Was that your voice?

“You can’t?” the nurse questioned, looking at the doctor.

“I-I can’t do this. I can’t,” you breathed after moving your hand, “I can’t just get rid of them. I can’t, no.”

“It’s alright. Then we won’t… we’ll set up an appointment.” the doctor nodded to the nurse. “In a few weeks, we’ll have your first appointment to check on the baby. See how they’re growing. For now, let's get you some reading material.” The doctor motioned to the nurse, who quickly moved out of the room. “This is a big decision, but we’re here to help ladies like you in these times. These papers we’re giving you will tell you about some of the normal occurrences, things to avoid and if you have questions, just call the office,” the doctor explained, watching you as you sat up on the table. “First concern is, I need you to eat more. It will be difficult, but try your best. Everything you eat, baby gets.” 

The nurse returned, a bunch of papers in her hand. She held them out to you and you carefully took them from her. “We’ll see you in a few weeks for your first ultrasound.” she smiled, offering a hand to help you off of the table. Both of them watched as you slid off of the table.

“Thank you,” you murmured and quickly fled the room. You breezed past the waiting room and shoved the door open to head outside. You could hear Robin and Nancy call out for you and hurry to catch up to you. As soon as you got outside, you took a deep breath and tried not to vomit from the racing of emotions.

“Y/N? What happened?” Nancy asked, rubbing your back as you gulped down breaths.

“Is it me, or that was way too fast? I’m not a doctor or anything, but…” Robin spoke beside you.

“I couldn’t do it.” you gasped, shaking your head wildly. “I couldn’t get an abortion. I couldn’t.” you whimpered, feeling Nancy’s arms wrap around you tightly. She pulled you into her, hugging you hard as you took shaky breaths in an attempt to calm down, tears streaming down your cheeks.

“It’s okay. We’ve got you,” Nancy cooed, still rubbing your back.

“So you’re gonna be a mom?... Shit.” Robin breathed like she couldn’t believe it. Soon, Robin’s arms wrapped around you too and the three of you huddled there in a hug as you tried to make heads and tails of the decision you had made. 

Soon you nudged out of their hold, wandering back inside to make your appointment for your first ultrasound. The girls led you back to the car after that, taking you back home.

—----------------------------------------

One of the first things you did was go to the library. The public library as you wouldn’t dare use the schools. You checked out a couple of books on pregnancy, ignoring the look from the librarian as you took your newly acquired reading material home with you. You practically stayed up all night reading the first book you had grabbed, unable to stop reading about how your body was going to change. For almost two weeks, things had seemed the same. Robin and Nancy didn’t mention your pregnancy even once. Things went on as if nothing had changed. Save for them covering for you when you randomly get nauseous and have to run off. The only other person to check in on you had been Gareth, who had asked at a safe distance if you felt better or not. You apologized profusely for puking on his shoes and, thankfully; he had laughed it off. To your face, at least. Even Eddie had given you a weird look when you returned from the bathroom one movie night after puking up your guts. Robin slid you a soda when you sat back down beside her. You made a habit of turning the tap on when you were puking so no one could possibly hear you.

The hardest was at school. With how often you were having to run to the bathroom, it was hard for some not to notice. You silently prayed for the little thing no bigger than a pea to chill out. Yet here you found yourself, stooped over a toilet as your lunch greeted you once again for what felt like the millionth time. Despite your body yelling at you not to, you were trying to do as your doctor directed and eat more for the sake of your kid. You heard the bathroom door open, trying to be quiet as you spat into the bowl and grabbed a piece of paper towel. You wiped your mouth, tossing the tissue into the bowl and flushing. You could hear a couple of girls talking, recognizing the tennis shoes you saw under the stall door. You pull yourself up, dusting off your jeans as you grab your bag and slide out of the stall. The three girls in question pause as you walk out. You side eye them, moving to the sink and setting your bag on the ground as you go to wash your hands. The girls continue their conversation, quiet whispers about the upcoming graduation parties. One of the girls steps back and turns, intending to leave, but trips over your bag. You stop and look back, groaning, seeing the contents of your bag spilled on the floor. “Shit!” the girl curses and looks at you. “Watch where you put your crap.”

“Watch where you’re walking.” you snap back, grabbing a paper towel to dry your hands.

“It’s fine!” one of the other girls cut in. This one you recognize as Chrissy Cunningham, resident queen of Hawking High. She knelt down, grabbing some of your books and shoving them back into the bag. You kneel down with her, muttering a thanks as you shove some pencils into your bag. “It’s no problem, really.” Chrissy reassured you, reaching out to grab something else and stopping. “Oh…” she murmured, and you looked up from shoving your chapstick back into your bag. Her hand is paused over the familiar blue sticks. 

“Are those…?” one cheerleader asks, pointing down at them.

You quickly reach over, snatching up the tests and shoving them into your bag. You shove everything else in. “Thanks again,” you quickly murmur and get up as fast as you can, running out of the bathroom as you hear one of the other cheerleaders gasp and let out an ‘oh my god!’. You tried to quell the worry in your chest. What did those girls know? Nothing much, really. Just that you might be pregnant. The thing you hadn’t remembered, though, was a key detail. The way you and Eddie had been stared at when you left the upstairs bedroom at that party a little over a month ago.

—-----------------------------

Word spread quickly in a highschool but most certainly through a small town highschool. The cheerleaders had told the other cheerleaders, who told their boyfriends, who told their friends. Before anyone could realize it had spread like wildfire. Like someone had tossed a lit cigarette into some tall, dry grass on the side of the road. When the next day came, by then, the entire school had heard the secret. That there was a pregnant student in the school, and that pregnant student was you. 

Eddie was somehow the last person to hear about it. Though, he assumed, it was because he never really listened to gossip. It was hard to ignore when it was at his table, though. The guys were whispering to one another. They didn’t know about your and Eddie’s time together. He had purposefully kept it to himself to avoid the teasing from the guys. They had ragged on him more than once for purposefully ignoring what they deemed a ‘perfect girl’ for him and how Y/N had clearly liked him at one point. Not that he cared. As Eddie sat heavily in his seat, he looked at the group of boys at the table. Dustin and Mike looked unhappy, particularly Dustin, as the other boys whispered between themselves. 

“Would you knock it off?!” Dustin finally snapped at the other three older guys at the table. That made Jeff, Barry, and Gareth stop their conversation. Eddie had learned in his months with the freshmen that Dustin had a temper on him. Especially when it came to those who he cared about. That much he knew from the brief trip to the hellish dimension they had taken. He looked between the young freshman and the other boys, trying to assess what this was about.

“Relax, Henderson. We’re just… speculating.” Barry told him.

“You’re speculating about my friend. A good friend,” Dustin practically growled.

“We’re just curious, like everyone else.”

“I mean… it has to be true. She did puke on my shoes.” Gareth went back to the conversation as if Dustin had never interrupted them.

They were talking about Y/N then, Eddie surmised, because as far as he knew no one else has blown chunks onto Gareth’s shoes recently. “And why are we talking about Y/L/N being sick?” Eddie finally cut in, making all the eyes turn to him as if they only just noticed he had sat at the table. He snatched a tater tot from Dustin’s tray, popping it into his mouth as he waited for an answer.

“Cause according to people, Y/L/N is pregnant.” Gareth answered.

Eddie immediately inhaled pieces of tater tot. He coughed hard, beating on his chest as he tried to clear his airway. At the same time, Dustin stood up from his chair, sending it clattering to the floor. “It’s just a rumor! Okay! And if she is, so what?! That doesn’t warrant how people are talking about her!” the young man seethed, Mike standing and trying to get Dustin to sit back down.

“W-wait,” Eddie choked out, “According to who?”

“What?” Gareth asked him.

“You said according to people. Who said she’s…?” Eddie couldn’t even let the word slip past his lips.

“Like… everyone in the school….” Barry answered for him. “It started yesterday. Supposedly, some cheerleaders saw tests or something. Spread through the school after that. We only just heard it a couple minutes ago from the band kids.”

“And we know how unreliable the rumor mill is.” Mike reminded them, “According to the school, Eddie is Satan himself. Remember?” he scoffed, done with the gossip about you, as Dustin was. Eddie wasn’t surprised by that. He had always thought of you as stuck up. Good grades, normal parents and basically everything Eddie wasn’t. He had met you just after he had recovered from everything that happened in the Upside Down. Even though you had learned about everything that happened, you hadn’t had to see that place yourself.

“Come to think of it… is Y/L/N in school today?” Jeff questioned. “I wouldn’t have blamed her if she skipped out.”

“She was in the morning.” Mike murmured, “but I haven’t seen her since… this morning.”

“Her car was still in the parking lot.” Dustin added, stabbing at his ‘meatloaf’.

So Y/N was still in school. Eddie’s eyes slid around the room, searching out Robin or Nancy, since you’d most likely be with them. He managed to spot both girls, but the spots beside them were empty. After lunch, Eddie went searching for you. He knew he had to speak to you. As far as he knew, he was the last person to be with you. So unless you had hooked up with someone else after your time with him… he knew what it meant. He wanted to hear it from you, though. To know if it was true or not. Through the rest of the day, Eddie didn’t see you. After school, he searched the parking lot for you, but you had slipped away some time before the actual end of the school day. He knew your address. He had driven there before for movie nights with the party or dragged over there by Steve. Eddie heaved himself into his van, shutting the driver’s side door heavily. He sat there, thinking. Had he really been that distracted that night to think twice? Then he remembered you had told him you were on the pill. Did you lie to him? No, that seemed stupid. Why would you lie about something like that? While he wasn’t sure of you in that way, he doubted you’d screw your chance at a college education to have a kid now. Eddie watched the skull necklace dangling off of his rearview mirror swing as he thought about how he was going to do this. He couldn’t be a dad. He knew nothing about being a dad. His own father being one shitty excuse for a dad. He shoved his key into the ignition, heading to the trailer park.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson imagine #pregnant!reader

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived | Twenty-one

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, injuries word count: 2.8k a/n: gasp!!

pov: matt

"Hey pretty boy," Layla's voice rang through the cold air as I felt her arms wrap around my waist, her chest pressed to my back as she leaned up to kiss me on the cheek. I smiled as I placed my hands on hers before turning my head to look back at her smiling face.

"Hey," I murmured as I leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. She smiled against me before someone cleared their throat. She pulled away from me and I turned around to see Mia glaring at us from where she stood between Nate and Nick.

Layla moved to stand next to me but I grabbed her wrist, pulling her to stand in front of me as I leaned back against the side of the minivan. I wrapped my hands around her waist before I placed my chin on her shoulder. She placed her hands over mine as she leaned back into me comfortably.

I didn't realise how much I missed being close to her until I lost the opportunity to. The past week my mind had been in a constant state of purgatory, torn between trying to fix whatever rift was between us or deciding if I didn't want to talk to her anymore. Of course, the latter was at the forefront of my mind when I was initially angry but I knew it would hurt me more in the long run. It was a short-term solution and it wasn't what I really wanted.

What happened wasn't worth losing her over.

"You wanna come over?" I asked her quietly and she shivered from my breath fanning against her neck.

"I can't," she answered quietly and I furrowed my eyebrows as she turned to look at me, her brown eyes glowing in the small sunlight that peaked between the clouds, "Gotta help my dad with something."

"Can I come over then?" I asked and she pursed her lips, her eyes scanning my face before she shook her head.

"It's family stuff. I'm sorry," she leaned back, kissing my cheek gently before turning to face the group that was stood in front of us. As much as it bummed me out that I couldn't spend the rest of the day with her, I understood that I couldn't insert myself into her life with no boundaries.

I let my mind travel to tomorrow, realising it was our last game of the season and it was the deciding factor of whether or not we won the finals. I realised that I never updated Layla on our game last week.

"We're onto the finals by the way," I whispered, pulling her attention away from our friends once again and she whipped her head around to look at me, "Tomorrow's the last game."

"You won?" she asked excitedly and I smiled gently, nodding my head as I did so, "That's amazing!"

"What's amazing?" Chris asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked at us and Layla smiled as she turned to look at me.

"You guys are in the finals!" she told him with joy and he nodded, a proud smile covering his face, "Why did no one tell me?"

"Probably because you were being a bitch," Mia rolled her eyes and I let my face drop as I felt Layla's energy shift, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Can you shut the fuck up, Mia?" I spat, my built-up frustration towards her finally spilling over and she frowned as she looked at me in disbelief, "If anything you're the one being a fucking bitch right now."

"Are you serious?" she asked, her mouth hung open as she stared at me and Layla laced her fingers with mine. She squeezed my hand in an attempt to calm me down.

"Dead serious. I told you if you don't stop I'm not gonna be your friend and I'm getting real fucking close to following through with that," I deadpanned, not feeling an ounce of guilt as her face contorted into hurt, "You have no reason to be such a bitch to Layla so fucking stop."

"I can't believe you," she mumbled, her face turning sour as she spun around and began walking out of the parking lot.

"Matt, you didn't have to be so hard on her," Allie spoke softly and I raised my eyebrows as I looked at her.

"How else is she gonna know that I'm that I'm serious? She hasn't listened to me this far," I explained, anger laced through the words that came out through gritted teeth and Layla once again squeezed my hand. I sighed, placing my forehead on her shoulder to calm myself down.

"It's okay," Layla said softly as she ran her thumb across the back of my hand and I shook my head against her shoulder.

"No, it's not," I mumbled and she sighed, leaning her head on top of mine. I felt a sense of peace wash over me, the rest of the world fading away as I only focused on her.

The way she smelled, the way her hand felt in mine, the way her thumb gently caressed the back of my hand and the way her breathing began matching mine. I lost track of time when I was with her, the only time my brain truly shut off was when I was around her. I craved that moment of us alone again and I knew she could sense that.

"Matt," Nick called my name and I reluctantly lifted my head to look at him, "Mom said we need to go grocery shopping for dinner. We gotta leave soon."

"Oh for fucks sake," I grumbled and Layla giggled under her breath making me look at her with a frown, "What?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, a smile still on her lips as I continued to stare at her, "You're just funny when you're grumpy."

"Alright, Miserable Matt. Let's go," Chris rolled his eyes as he rounded the car to jump in the passenger side and I let my frown deepen at the nickname that had stuck anytime I was anything but happy.

"I don't wanna go," I grumbled quietly enough that only Layla could hear as Nick began climbing into the backseat and Layla slowly pulled away from me as I groaned. She spun around to face me as she gave me a gentle smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow, pretty boy," she leaned in, pressing a kiss to my lips before pulling away. She knew I'd get carried away if she let the kiss linger for too long, "Have fun, Miserable Matt."

"Fuck you," I rolled my eyes as she began walking away and I pushed away from the car to stand up.

"I know you want to!" she called cheekily making me snicker as I jumped into the car, mumbling a goodbye to Nate and Allie as they got into his car.

+++

I don't know how many times I'd checked my phone since I messaged Layla asking if we could Facetime. It had been 3 hours and she still hadn't read my message. I was checking my phone every 5 minutes to see if she had replied.

"Dude," Chris deadpanned and I looked over at him from where he sat on the couch, "What are you stressing about?"

"Nothing," I brushed him off and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he went back to scrolling aimlessly on his phone, not bothering to pry further. I picked up my phone again, the notifications still empty and I sighed loudly.

"If you don't put that fucking phone down Matt I'm gonna throw it in the pool," Nick deadpanned and I looked over at him with a frown, "She'll reply when she has a moment. Stop being a psycho."

"I'm not being a psycho," I rolled my eyes, locking my phone as I put it face down on the couch. I slouched further back onto the couch as I crossed my arms over my chest, my eyes drifting back to the TV where a random movie was playing.

"I didn't know you were so clingy," Chris joked as he continued scrolling on his phone and I ignored him as I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door and I frowned, looking between my brothers.

"We expecting anyone?" I questioned as I got up from the couch, knowing both of my parents were already in bed so it wouldn't be anyone here for them. Both Nick and Chris shook their heads and I hesitantly walked to the front door. I swung it open to find Layla standing there with trembling hands and shaky breaths leaving her mouth. Her hair was covering the majority of her face but when she looked up at me, my heart dropped.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," she choked out as tears sprung to her eyes and I froze for a moment, my body not knowing how to handle the situation.

"Matt, who is it?" I heard Nick's voice appear behind me for a moment before he gasped, "Holy shit. Layls, are you okay?"

"What's going on?" Chris asked and I ignored him as I grabbed Layla's arm to pull her inside. I didn't even close the front door behind me as I pulled her into the kitchen.

"Here, sit on the bench," I told her as shoved the various papers away from the edge of the island before I held her waist to help her up onto the cold marble, "Chris, get the first aid kit."

Chris didn't respond, I only heard him run down the hall to get the first aid kit from the bathroom as Layla caught her breath in front of me. Nick walked over to the freezer, grabbing out an ice pack as I placed my hand on her thigh.

"Baby, are you hurt anywhere else?" I asked, my voice shaking as I took in the pure terror in her eyes and she nodded her head, "Can you tell me where?"

"My back," she croaked out and I sighed when Chris returned with the first aid kit, quickly unpacking it on the bench beside her.

"Can I take this off? I just wanna check the rest of your body," I asked her softly as I grabbed the hem of the pink sweater that had drops of blood splattered over it. She didn't respond verbally, only nodded her head as she unravelled her arms from around her stomach.

I gently pulled the crewneck up as she lifted her arms up for me to slide the material over her head. She was only wearing a thin tank top underneath so it made it easier for me to scan her body for any damage. My heart cracked in my chest when I noticed the myriad of bruises littering her body as she covered her face with her hands. I moved around her, noticing the giant bruise on the lower half of her back. I tried not to stare too long knowing it would make her feel insecure so I let out a breath as I grabbed her wrists to pull her hands away from her face as she sniffled.

"Let me help pretty girl," I whispered as she continued looking down between us in shame and she once again nodded. Chris and Nick just stared at me in worry, their entire demeanour towards her changing now that they realised she was in some sort of danger. I could tell they wanted to help but weren't sure how. I let my eyes scan her face, the cut on her right cheekbone continued bleeding as it dripped down her face slowly and the split on her lip had dried blood around it.

"I can clean the cuts if you want," Chris spoke up softly and Layla turned her head to look at him as she tried to keep herself calm, "I know how to do it properly."

"You okay with that?" I asked her as I grabbed her hand and she hesitated for a moment before she nodded. Chris quickly grabbed the gauze and disinfectant wipes as I moved to stand to her left, still holding onto her hand to bring her any sort of comfort that I could.

"This might sting a little," Chris mumbled as he tore open the packet of wipes before unfolding it. Layla moved her hair out of her face, holding it back with a shaking hand as Chris moved to stand between her legs. As he began wiping around the small gash, she hissed from the pain, "Sorry. I'll try to be quick."

"Matt," Nick said from behind Layla on the other side of the island making me look up at him. He tilted his head down towards her lower back and I leaned forward, noticing the bruise on her lower back seemed to get worse by the minute before he asked Layla quietly, "Layls, does it feel like anything is broken?"

She took a moment to let Chris pull away as her face screwed up in pain before she muttered, "No. Just my back really hurts."

"Can I put the ice pack on it?" Nick asked and she hummed as Chris picked up the tweezers.

"This is gonna hurt," Chris let her know and she hummed once again as Nick placed the ice pack against her back. Chris began picking out small shards of glass that were stuck on the edge of the cut as Layla squeezed my hand. She let out a groan and Chris pursed his lip as he tried to work quickly before he mumbled, "Almost done."

He put the tweezers down before grabbing another disinfectant wipe, ripping the packet open and quickly wiping the cut gently once again. He grabbed another gauze and placed it over the cut before he leaned back.

"Hold that there until the bleeding stops then I'll tape a clean one on after," he explained, his voice calm as she nodded. She replaced his hand with her own, "I'm gonna clean your lip but if you put an icepack on it after it will heal fine."

She hummed in response as he used the disinfectant wipe to clean the cut on her lip before he pulled away and stepped back. She gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes as she whispered, "Thank you."

"Of course," Chris shrugged as he grabbed the wipes and the rest of the trash on the bench beside her.

"Here," Nick said as he leaned over the island and handed me another small ice pack. I nodded thankfully before I placed the ice pack on her lip and she looked at me with heavy eyes. I gave her a small smile as I leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"You okay?" I asked quietly and she closed her eyes, shrugging as she shivered.

"Let us know if you guys need anything," Nick said as he rounded the island and Layla looked at them both with sad eyes.

"Sorry for just walking in like this," she said quietly, her voice filled with shame and Nick shook his head as Chris stood in the doorway to go down the hall.

"It's okay. Just glad to know you're okay," he said softly and she gave him a small smile. Both of them exited the room and I moved to stand between her legs, still holding the ice pack against her lip as I looked down at her.

She didn't say anything, she just grabbed my wrist to pull my hand away that was holding the ice pack and she placed her forehead on my chest with a sigh. I let my shoulders drop as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her into me.

We stood like that for a moment in silence as I let her breathe, looking down at her back where the bruise seemed to now be fully formed. I felt a weight on my chest, an anger flushing over me towards whoever did this to her. I knew being angry wouldn't help her right now but I couldn't push down the feeling as it rose throughout my body.

"I'm so tired," she mumbled, snapping me out of my own thoughts as she pulled away from me slightly and I looked down at her once again tear-filled eyes, "This is just so tiring."

"I'm sorry, pretty girl," I whispered as I placed another kiss on her forehead, a few tears spilling down her red cheeks as she tried to steady her breathing, "Do you want to go to my room? We can just lay down for a bit."

She let out a shaky breath before nodding and I pulled away from her. I helped her off of the counter and she grabbed the pink sweater as I grabbed the large ice pack that was against her back. I threw it in the freezer, grabbing a bag of frozen peas since it would cover the surface of her back more before I grabbed her hand and we made our way upstairs slowly, her legs shaky as she walked. As we made our way into my bedroom the only thing that ran through my mind was:

Whoever did this to her, they're going to wish they were dead once I find out.

tags:

@dsturniolo @chrisstankyleg @lov3bug @pinklittleflower @thatcrazybitch-69 @trinity2058 @alorsxsturn @chrizznmetswife @ilovechrissturniolo1 @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @sturnfix @lilsstvrn @sturniololol @sturniolowhore @jebbie-project-blog @jaxyy219

#chris sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo smut #matthew sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #the sturniolo triplets #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets smut #the sturniolos #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo fanfic #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo smut #chris sturniolo x reader

[findingnemosworld]

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐬 - 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤 𝐬𝐳𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐥𝐚𝐢

• 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐦𝐞 ( 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧 )

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐚 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐞 𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐤𝐧𝐞𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐥 …

𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: 𝐩*𝐫𝐧 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚 𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐢𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐥, 𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲.

( 𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐩𝐮𝐫𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬 )

rare were the moments in which he found himself in his hometown, free of any attachments in regards to football; it was within these very moments that he truly relished in the atmosphere surrounding him, especially when he got to share those moments with her, the once vibrant girl he'd grown up with had transformed into somewhat of a siren like entity he just couldn't seem to resist, he faintly recalls the times in which he denied ever feeling something beyond the realms of friendship; somehow, as if fate decided to mock him - he'd been harboring this secret for the past three years since the pair last saw one another.

he was in love, no, he was obsessed.

it'd gotten to a point where he swore he could feel her in the dead of the night, a sensation that left him all too flustered and aching to be with her, thus fueling his desire to end said torture during his current stay, he'd been fortunate to spend time with his family, old friends and now he wanted nothing more than to spend every waking moment with her resulting in quite the interesting suggestion.

" tennis? " she echoed his previous statement, a confused smile across her lips. " you want me to play tennis with you? "

the hungarian nods with a soft smile before murmuring softly. " yes, i feel like i haven't seen you in ages baba "

she looks away, recalling the cause of their sudden rift, one that she didn't want to remember yet a single sentence of him had opened the floodgates of memories, reminding her that she was the one to have caused the rift given her blossoming emotions for her best friend, " i know, but why tennis? " she wonders.

he shrugs nonchalantly, " why not baba? it'll be fun " he states with a soft smile before adding, " in fact, let's make it more interesting "

" what do you mean? " she asks with a confused tone.

" i'll teach you how to play " he said, his lips curled into a smirk. " we play every thursday and friday, what do you think? "

she grows silent, contemplating the offer presented to her before shrugging, " ok, i'll bite but ... if i end up hating it, you'll leave your crazy idea alone "

he laughs, " alright, deal but if you end up loving it ... " he trails off, leaning in, his gaze falling momentarily to her lips before it went back up to her eyes, " it'll be our thing "

" our thing? we didn't have a thing before? " she wonders with a teasing glint.

he lets out a soft hum, shaking his head before playfully speaking in a hushed tone. " i had football; you had dance classes baba, and don't get me wrong, nothing brings me joy than seeing you dance but i always wanted something to do which allowed us to spend time together "

" alright, i guess now i do " she giggles, then added. " i mean, what's the worst that can happen? "

it turns out, that a lot can happen.

she knew that it'd be risky, murky waters in fact; spending time with dominik in normal settings was one thing, spending time with him in a setting such as this was an entirely different thing - their first session happened on a rather hot day; as much as she tried to wiggle way out of it, he wouldn't budge, had even promised to treat her with ice cream afterwards yet in that moment, ice cream was the last thing on her mind, halfway through the session, dominik had the brilliant idea of discarding his shirt causing her to finish the session with prominent slickness coating her inner thighs.

dominik wasn't just a handsome guy.

dominik was a god; she knew that he knew it, it's what he thrived on, he thrived on achieving great highs in every aspect, his physique was no different.

suffice to say, she did not sleep at all that night thanks to dominik and his need to be perfect, the following sessions did not differ, except as they rolled around she'd begun to notice his less than subtle manner of finding any and all excuses to touch her, be it showing her the proper manner of holding a bat, to helping her practice her swinging, each touch from him had planted a seed of desire watered by the insistent need to be around him every single day.

the tensions were rising, it was quite evident; their mothers had even joked about it during a joint dinner, claiming that the pair seemingly had found 'their way back to one another' this time, unlike the ones before, she did not deny, rather embraced the sensation, claiming that even if he didn't feel the same way, her fantasies had kept her company, little did she know of what was coming ahead ...

that night, she'd showered; situated herself on her couch to watch a movie, with a blanket wrapped around her snuggly. ultimately, she found herself barely paying attention to the film displayed, instead her mind traveling to quite an unholy territory thus resulting in a flutter to form in her lower abdomen, she bites her lower lip, silently chasing the images woven by her mind to no avail.

" fuck it " she mutters under her breath, removing the blanket to adjust her position on the couch, leaning back to spread her legs and push her panties to the side to tease her swollen pussy walls. " oh " she gasps.

every nerve of her body was set ablaze, the gentle touches were sending shockwaves across her body. " oh god " she whispers, further teasing her walls before her thumb began to rub her clit in a circular motion, further intensifying the pressure, " fuck " she whimpers.

her eyes were shut, brows knit in pure pleasure. " fuck, dominik " the moment his name escapes her lips, that was it; she'd slipped one digit into her walls, moaning quietly. " fuck, just like that ... fuck " she whined.

one digit soon became two; two had become three and before she could even make sense of things, her arousal coated all of her fingers as well as her thighs, she stills for a moment in order to catch her breath when all of a sudden, she hears the doorbell ring causing her eyes to widen, who could it be? ... she wonders as she hastily arranges the living room area; adjusts her appearance then walks towards the front door, she looks through the peephole; it seems that fate wanted to mock her as on the other side, he stood.

she catches her reflection in the mirror, her cheeks were still flushed, her eyes dazed from what she had done just now - realizing there was no way out, she tentatively opens the door, offering dominik a soft smile. " hey "

" hi baba " he beams, his face suddenly shifts into clear confusion. " i ... are you ok? "

she looks away then nods, " mhm " she steps aside to let him in then shuts the door behind him, " i thought you said you were going to spend time with the boys "

" they cancelled, so i figured spending the night with you wouldn't hurt " he responds, noting the messy blanket on the couch and the muted tv still on, he turns around to face her and ask. " were you asleep? "

" oh -um- ... " she begins, unsure of how to formulate her lie. " i was watching tv " she says meekly.

" just watching tv? " he echoed, his gaze traveling to her legs then back up to her eyes, " or something else? " her flaming cheeks prompted him to grin and walk up to her to lessen the distance between them. " your cheeks are flushed! " he exclaimed, a singular digit trails across the apple of her cheeks, " your lips are pink and ... " he whispers, " you have this look in your eyes, the kind of look one gets when they've made a fucking mess "

she avoided looking at him, prompting him to hook his digit under her chin to get her to look at him; that's when, she noted how his pupils had dilated significantly, showcasing that he too felt the exact same desire. " dominik " she said with a hushed tone.

he groans in response, his cheek rests idly against hers. " baba " he whispers in her ear, placing a featherlight kiss behind it eliciting a soft moan from her, " you have no idea how long i have been holding this in, how many nights i spent awake, wishing that my hand was your hand wrapped around my cock, wishing i could kiss you at all times, wishing that i would get a taste of you; now, i am done holding back, i need you baba, i need you so badly "

his words were all the affirmation she needed to throw caution out the wind, she cradled his face in her hands, pressing her lips entirely over his in an act of pure longing and desire, the mere flame between them grew so warm that he physically had to pull back in order to catch his breath, he rests his forehead over hers, one hand resting on the side of her neck while his other hand slip under t-shirt, caressing and kneading the soft flesh of her ass. " baba " he murmurs, pecking her lips. " this is the part where you tell me to stop, because i ... if i start, i won't stop "

she pressed her lips over his entirely, " i won't stop you " she whispers.

they stumble towards her bedroom, articles of clothing flying left and right as they freed themselves of the constraints; he placed her down once they entered her bedroom, he placed her down and lead her to the full length mirror, he stood behind her, his chest directly on her back, one hand caressed her waist whilst the other rests idly above her the valley of her breasts, his lips peppering soft kisses along the curvature of her neck, " tell me baba " he whispers against her skin, peppering feather light kisses. " were you touching yourself? "

she nods wordlessly and in turn yelps upon feeling a sharp sting against her slick pussy.

" use your words baba, want to hear you say it " he whispers hoarsely. " tell me, were you touching yourself? "

" yes " she sighs, inhaling a sharp breath upon feeling his thumb against her clit rubbing in circular motions. " yes, i was ... "

" why didn't you tell me then hm? " he asks with a mocking tone, pressing a kiss on the back of her neck, " why didn't you tell me that this slick and warm pussy needed to be taken care of? "

" i ... i don't - oh fuck " she whined the moment he plunged one digit inside of her walls. " fuck " she whispered.

" i knew it " he said, a deep groan soon erupting, " i knew this pussy would be tight, so warm and inviting, jesus baba, a puncidban akarok lenni, édesem "

" please " she whispers, inhaling another sharp breath upon feeling another digit diving into her walls, both digits curling in and out of her pussy. " fuck, dominik ... just like that, just like that "

" how did we waste so much time huh? you were always right there and i was too stupid to see it, it's always been you baba " he grunts, thrusting his digits at a rapid pace to match his thumb rubbing her clit. " it's always been you " he murmurs against her shoulder, alternating between kisses and gentle bites. " tell me baba, when was the last time someone fucked you senseless? "

" far too long " she half moans half whines, tilting her head; granting him further space to explore, " you're doing so good domi, so good "

he smirks, sinking his teeth over shoulder before muttering, " you're sucking my fingers so well, makes me wonder how you'll suck my cock into this inviting pussy "

the statement elicited a whine from her, spurring him on to continue stimulating her at an even higher pace up until a loud borderline obscene cry escapes her lips followed by his two digits becoming coated with remnants of her arousal, he swiftly pulls them out to lick them clean while he looked at her, " so fucking delicious " he whispers.

" domi " she murmurs, " please ... " she leans in, " fuck me like you mean it "

he smiles, " you don't need to tell me twice "

he leads her towards the bed, her back hits the mattress while he caged her between his arms, the chill sensation of his chain colliding with her warm skin elicited a moan from her which in turn made her smile, " sit up baba "

she tilts her head in confusion, " why? "

he playfully bites her lip and murmurs, " just sit up "

she grins then sits up, watching as he removed the chain around his neck, placing it around hers, her digits touch the skull before looking back up at him, he subconsciously licked his lips then closed the distance between them, " you look so fucking sexy with the chain on baba " he whispers, hoisting her up so that she'd sit on his lap, " want to see it bounce with those gorgeous tits while you ride me, think you can do that baba? think you can ride my cock? "

she nods, a bit too eagerly eliciting a chuckle from him; just then her expression shifts into faux innocence as she says, " but i might need a ... a little guidance, think you can give me a hands on private lesson? "

a hearty laugh escapes his lips; he pulls her into a soft kiss before muttering, " by all means, sit up baba "

he uses his free hand to stroke his hardened cock, aligning it with her pussy; the pair share a unanimous gasp, " fuck, dominik " she hissed, " you're big "

he smirks, tugging her in by using his chain, he pecks her lips then says through labored breaths. " you can handle it édes lány, i know you can "

she nods, biting down on her lip before she set a moderate pace - moving up and down, their hips colliding with each thrust, " domi, your cock ... " she whines, her eyes shut. " feels so good "

" yeah " he cooed, one hand gently caressing the apples of her cheeks. " you like how my cock is buried deep hm? you like feeling full don't you? "

" fuck, feels so nice" she moans, upping the pace of her thrusts. " i .. oh my, fuck!! "

dominik laid his head back, observing her through heavy lidded eyes, his hands gripping her waist each time she thrusted harder. " bounce on my cock, keep bouncing, you're doing such a good job baba " he grips her waist, tugging her in to kiss him. " such a good girl "

the praise sent shockwaves straight to her pussy eliciting a moan from her, " dominik " she whined.

" i know baba, i know " he cooed in her ear, followed by soft kisses on her neck, " i can feel it, you're squeezing my cock " he groans.

" i am going to cum dominik " she moans, " fuck " she gasps.

he tugs her in, one hand rests over her breasts, squeezing and kneading the flesh while their tongues engaged in a heated battle spurred by the muffled moans and groans emitting from the two of them, " come on baba, cum for me "

the knot in her lower abdomen explodes followed by another loud cry, " fuck ... fuck, that's it, that's it " she mutters.

" baba, i need those gorgeous lips around my cock, think you can do that for me? " he whispers.

she sits up then crawls between his legs, wrapping her hand around the sensitive skin eliciting a groan from him, he pushed his head back then reached over to thread his digits through her hair, " such a good girl, keep going ... "

she started off slow before swiftly picking up the pace eliciting another deep groan from him, his chest rising and falling rapidly to match the rhythmic pace of her bopping her head up and down, " i don't think i can take much longer, oh yes, just like that "

with a few last strokes, he thrusts his hips up, his cock twitching inside of her mouth, releasing a loud groan. " fuck baba, fuck!! "

mere minutes in she pulls back, a trail of spit connecting her lips to the tip of his cock. " what a session? " she giggles.

he laughs wholeheartedly, " what a session indeed? " he tugs her back up, her body lying entirely over his. " i hope you know what this means? "

she smiles, " what? "

" you're mine now! " he exclaims, pressing a possessive kiss to her lips.

" no where else i'd rather be " she smirks.

#dominik szoboszlai #dominik szoboszlai smut #dominik szoboszlai imagine #dominik szoboszlai fanfiction #dominik szoboszlai one shot #dominik szoboszlai fanfic

[vagabond-umlaut]

Bronzen Glaze

Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader; Arranged Marriage; Childhood Friendship To Complicated Feelings™️; Fluff & Angst; Implied Smut; Canon-Compliant; Contains Manga Spoilers, Gojo is High-Key Pathetic while Reader is Low-Key Pathetic Here— Author Loves The Dynamics Between Them So Much.

Oneshot From Series: One Day, Three Autumns

"Do we love each other, Satoru?"

The question isn't meant to be melancholic, nor is it meant to be one soaked in blame— the man knows, he really, really does— yet, he can do nothing to dodge the dagger your quiet curiosity plunges into him.

Breath stuttering and fingers slipping off the zip of the jacket, Satoru steals a look of you from the mirror before. Eyes blinking slowly, from the fatigue from yesterday's mission or from today's restless evening, he's not quite sure— but he reckons with every hypnotic flutter of the eyelashes against your cheeks, with every micron your mouth curves into that maddening musing pout, with every sliver of your skin open beyond your tank top and shorts– you may easily rival those Baroque and Rococo paintings you seem to admire so much.

And give them the most crushing defeat ever, while you're at it, too.

Carefully, Satoru offers your reflection a smile. "Is this you asking me if I love you or not, sweetness? I thought you were way more direct in your attacks, weren't you?"

"That I still am, Satoru," you respond without a moment missed. Feet kicking off the covers over them and landing on the cold floor with an audible 'tap', you stretch your arms overhead then shoot an absorbed look his way. If not for the way your eyes dance over him, he deems it would've been awfully difficult to know if you were here or not– apart from your alluring presence, both to his eyes and his Six Eyes, that is.

You sigh, cocking your head to one side. "My question isn't if you love me or not nor if I love you or not— it is if the two of us love each other or not. Tell me, Satoru," you say, inching towards him with small steps until you're near enough for your warmth to radiate off and reach him, reach the numb cold splits and rifts these years have gifted him– and inquire, in that silent voice strong enough to bring him, the strongest sorcerer ever, to his knees, "do you think we lo—"

"No."

You pause.

Satoru looks away from your image. Very painfully so.

For he does love you— oh, how much he does! Perhaps far more than those old tales like to drawl on for— except, he knows this isn't love—

For love must be scented with the cinnamon perfume you gifted him on his birthday, not with the pungent odour of blood and dark curses. For love must be walking home, exhausted yet cheek by jowl, not two meagre nods and murmured greeting in the living room before giving in to the fatigue. For love must be embracing you, beneath the gentle moonlight and tender sunlight, not hovering the skin of his palm over your sleeping form, one inch too away despite there being no Infinity.

For love must be letting go of you– the only one person the sorcerer's ever loved enough to bare himself before, literally and metaphorically, not keeping you confined by the ties you've always viewed as chains– in stark contrast to him deeming them to be threads linking you both together for this lifetime and many more to come.

Grim twisted feelings stream out from the man's brain into his blood, down to his poor pathetic heart– only to all but vanish from within on the brush of something soft against the column of his neck.

Satoru peers down to find your delicate fingers skim over the purple-red mark you've left on him, brows furrowed and eyes narrowed, as if you're wondering how you could have done this— Teasing comments threaten to erupt from him any time now; the sorcerer swallows them back– observing your far-too-careful touches, far-too-rigid shoulders, far-too-focused gaze— something tells Satoru, implores him even, to speak before he's too late.

Again.

Quashing his natural tendency to deflect, to escape, wearing a cloak of humor, the man clasps your wrist in his fingers and tugs you close to lift your eyes to lock with his. Then leans down towards you, every word escaping him in a flurry of fear, of love.

"No, we don't love each other— But we're together. And, in this shitty world we live in, that's enough— is it not, sweetness?"

You simply blink back. And, just when Satoru begins to wish he never opened his damned mouth in the first place, he never listened to that damned voice in the first place– he never allowed himself be damned by these feelings for you in the first place— the earth shifts on its axis before his icy-blue gaze.

You smile.

And, while it isn't as wide nor as bright as those which stretched your cheeks back when the times were much simpler; sure enough, it isn't anywhere close to the chillingly formal ones you wear too often these days— Your smile now is genuine.

Yes, the corners of your mouth tremble ever so lightly, Satoru can see that– the exact same way he sees– drinks in, basks in, revels in– your lips curving, your cheeks flushing, you growing closer to him, if not in a metaphorical sense, in the literal sense certainly. Resting a palm on his waist– so light yet heavy with undertones, the man knows you will never let see the light of the sun nor feel the caress of the breeze; you shift the other hand in his loose hold, moving to intertwine your small fingers with his– unintentionally carving yourself the deepest niche in the walls of his existence.

Not that he ever minds it, though.

Every atom inside him vibrating from the situation, from the position, from you, Satoru registers you say with that content hum of yours, he adores so much, "Give me five minutes and we can go on the mission together, 'kay? And don't worry," you add, the exact second the whole of your request clicks into place in his mind, and he moves to protest, you're way too exhausted to go on yet another mission!!— Squeezing his hip lightly, you continue, eyes growing a glint very familiar to him.

"Promise to buy me dinner from Ichiran, and I promise I'll stick to the fringes of the fight, letting you do all the dirty work— fair deal, isn't it, Satoru?"

Fair deal or not, the sorcerer finds himself nodding to your demand, smidgen too enamored with your scheming self, your gleaming self, your easily-eagerly-gladly-agreeing-you-and-he-are-together self–

He smiles. And carefully raising the silver chain from where it nestles on your skin, thumbs the band of sapphires hanging from it. A flicker of something terrifyingly similar to that fondness you showed him in your younger years, skitters across your face— Satoru honestly can't believe how he thought your curious question to be a dagger when it has led to this.

Satoru's smile widens into a grin.

"Hurry up, wifey. Nanamin said it's an emergency mission in Shibuya."

I do not own the characters used. Divider is by @cafekitsune. Please do not plagiarize or translate or repost this. Hope you enjoyed reading this! 😊

Please interact with This Post to be added to the series taglist! ❤️

Masterlist

#gojo x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo satoru x reader #jjk x you #jjk x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk fics #jjk imagines #gojo drabbles #gojo fics #gojo imagines #jjk fluff #gojo fluff #jjk angst #gojo angst #gojo satoru #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #kit posts 📝

[theminecraftbee]

After Grian’s done chasing everyone out of the cave by the Rift, he’s quiet. He goes to start cleaning up. Someone had placed water in his perfectly good concrete powder; some people had placed blocks while leaving; there are footprints and strange feelings everywhere.

And, of course, the Rift. It’s still open, at least for now. Grian stares at it for some time. It’s hot.

That had been what Grian had noticed when they went through it, and what he notices now: it’s hot. Almost, but not quite, hot enough to burn. It had been a searing sort of hot on the journey, but now it almost makes Grian want to take off his sweater.

Grian does not want to take off his sweater.

He continues cleaning. “I don’t know how much you helped, but… thank you, Grumbot,” Grian says quietly. He doesn’t press the button, and Grumbot’ doesn’t respond. Probably for the best. Grian’s not sure he wants to know Grumbot’s answer, all things considered.

He closes his hand. He opens it. Concrete powder stains his fingers as he does.

“Do you think—if you had a brother, do you think—”

There’s a whirring noise. Grian looks up. A piece of paper flutters out of Grumbot’.

Grian reads it. He swallows.

“‘A BROTHER WOULDN’T LAST. FATHER ONE DOESN’T HAVE TIME TO TAKE CARE OF THAT.’ Thanks, Grumbot. Really—really makes a guy feel confident.”

Grumbot’ is silent again.

“I suppose you’re saying I should stop doing—that’s fair. It’s fair. That’s—this is stupid, anyway. We both have far more important things to be thinking about. Stop staring at me like that. We do.”

He finishes fixing his floor and huffs, looking out the cave mouth where the emperors had left through.

“What am I gonna do with this,” he murmurs, and he’d like to think he’s talking about the emperors. He really would. Grumbot’ doesn’t try to say anything else, though, so he supposes he must be. “What am I gonna do with this.”

He folds the paper and puts it in his pocket. He should put it somewhere safe. He grabs his rockets to leave again. Can’t leave Jimmy unattended on Hermitcraft, after all. Imagine the consequences of leaving any of those guys unattended. They could build a missile or something.

Haha. Imagine.

He stops for a minute. “I love you, Grumbot,” he says, and he doesn’t get a response. He huffs. That’s—that’s fair too. That’s fair too. He leaves.

#hermitcraft #grian #hermitcraft spoilers #a bee fic #grian and grumbot’ get to be a little fucked up about emperor grumbot. as a treat.

[chilschuck]

— ONLY IF YOU’D LIKE ME TO:

(I COULD FALL IN LOVE WITH YOU.) ♡ chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw, ment. of n//edles (the sewing kind, lol).

꒰ wc: ꒱ 809 words. just a drabble!

꒰ note: ꒱ guys i can’t stop thinking about this repressed-emotions-having-ass man. i wanted to write something with the song “clusterhug” by iDKHOW as inspo. i don’t know if i like this or not, so maybe i’ll delete it later. i took inspiration from the mimic chapter in the manga. sorry if it’s a bit ooc, i just kinda let my heart go with this one. i hope you enjoy!

Little things lead up to big ones. In other words, small acts of kindness become forces to be reckoned with. There’s only so much someone can do to brace themselves for the impact of falling in love, which Chilchuck had learned the hard way. His efforts to keep work and private life separate were not enough. Despite his measures at bracing himself, the problem seemed to somehow build itself into something he just couldn’t fight; something he knows he’s not skilled at.

Your touch, so gentle when handling his wounds compared to others, was the first hit to his willpower. Chilchuck was used to leading and making sure others were safe in their steps, but even then he felt he couldn’t hold a candle to you. If there’s one thing you did for the party that he considered your skill, it was being a source of light. A source of delicate touches in which he had forgotten he craved.

Chilchuck believes he could blame this all on that single encounter with that mimic. You had beat Marcille to him, immediately dropping to your knees and making sure he was safe. The cut on his cheek was handled easily with delicate touches and small tuts under your breath. “I’m sorry,” he heard you murmur. “Someone should’ve gone with you.” The cloth in your hand did not bring as much relief to his wounds as your presence seemed to.

Later, he had tried to distract himself by mending his clothes, stitching the rifts in the fabric with precise hands. It was best to stay focused and squander any emotions he considered useless. The greater the attempt, though, the harder it came back to bite him in the ass. This was only one of many things he had to learn the hard way.

“Your stitches are really neat,” You had commented in that gentle voice of yours, the same pitch you always spoke in. It wasn’t syrupy sweet, but delicate in ways he couldn’t understand. It wrapped around his brain and inched into his chest. “It’s entrancing to watch you work.”

I could say the same about you, he could say. He pictured your bashful smile. Chilchuck reminded himself to breathe. You’re entrancing in ways I can’t explain.

There was something about your gaze that made him feel like the room rose in temperature. Rolling his shoulders, he flicked his eyes up to yours.

“Just something I had to learn.”

Just like the fact that you were winding your way around his heart. Could he even begin to comprehend what you were doing to him, what you were making him feel? The depth at which you were breaking his walls down scared him. Even the thought that maybe, just maybe, you reserved those sweet looks just for him sent him over the edge.

“You should teach me one day.” You whispered.

Only if you’d like me too. He could mumble back instantly. You waited patiently, smiling at him. He swallowed.

“Yeah, sure. Here.”

His fingers brushed against yours, the green fabric resting in your hands. Chilchuck held the needle, watching the thread cascade before setting it into your palm.

“I can teach you.”

Gods, don’t look at him like that. Don’t ever beam like that, not when he’s so close and looking over your shoulder as you thread the needle.

“There, now pull it through. Make sure the stitch isn’t loose.” You did as he asked, waiting for his next instruction. When you lit up at the progress, the rip shrinking in the scarf, he couldn’t help but smile.

Maybe while you’re at it, you could stitch up the rifts in his heart he let grow. He knew if anyone could, it’d be you. But before he knew it, you had repaired the hole, holding it up proudly.

“Thank you, Chilchuck! Now I can help next time, too.” You folded it, placing it into his hands. He felt his ears burn. There was something about how thankful you were to everyone, him included. Another shot to his willpower. It’s not like he really even did anything… It’s something anyone could learn.

Even then, as your attention was called upon by Marcille, he couldn’t stop thinking about you. Gaze locked on the fabric in his hands, he let himself get lost in thought while you watched Senshi and Laios prepare the next meal. If you kept shining so bright like that, he’d have no choice but to fall in love with you. There’s only so much kindness he could handle from you. You were giving him no choice but to swallow his pride and reconsider everything he knew about living a double life like this. Could he really make you happy?

Only if you’d like him to, he let his heart say. Whether or not he would listen is for time to tell. He could fall in love with you.

#⟡ lilia writes! 🌿 #dividers by cafekitsune #oughhhhhhhh my god. #posting this is making me nervous LOL #idk if i like it or not #chilchuck tims x reader #chilchuck x reader #dunmeshi x reader #delicious in dungeon x reader #going to go sit in the corner now #goodbye…..