#this came out like tooth-achingly sweet

[wisteriagoesvroom]

my first foray into galex - thank you for the prompt from the f1 wild side discord!

a galex drabble written from the following prompts: morning, window and cat. with the tone: content

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

Alex wakes to a terrible screech. It sounds like someone’s dying, or losing a tooth, or both. Bleary eyed, he drags himself out of the bed, kicking off half the covers off as he goes. When he makes his way to the hallway, George stands there, shoulders hunched. His morose expression is a jarring contrast to his fluffy bathrobe.

“What happened?” 

“Gucci.”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Alright. Gucci, as in resident menace, knocked the plates over.” 

Alex surveys the damage. It doesn’t look too bad, though whatever was on the plates - pancakes, from the looks of things, seem to be splashed halfway across the floor. 

His partner seems worse for wear.

“Typical ginger cat behaviour. Are you fine, though?” Alex asks. 

George nods, eyes all watery. Mouth pinched in a straight line, perfectly English of him, barely held together by his own tightly wound composure. He’s always been this way, since the days they’d been karting. Heart on his sleeve, feelings like rainclouds at the end of races.

Alex has seen him at his best and his worst, been there to hug him close or listen to him babble on about mechanical failures that were perfectly avoidable. Even let George drone for two hours with a PowerPoint on ways he could reform the GPDA for better driver solidarity until Alex had cut him off with a “you’re kind of sexy when you’re mansplaining to me. Even if I’m a man, and all”. Which had stopped George so short that he didn’t have anything to say for almost an entire minute.  

What happened after that was just natural, really. They'd clambred into each other's drivers rooms, held hands furtively at afterparties, kissed in the shadows of locations as exotic as Monaco and mundane as Milton Keynes. This was to none of the grid’s surprise, having seen their friendship blossom over the years, now into something else. Friends, however distant, who helped to guard their secret until they were ready.

“Today was supposed to be perfect.” George says, tugging Alex back to the present. It’s been two years since. Two good ones. 

George pinches his nose . “Christ, this is a disaster."

“We talked about this. No self-flagellating in the new year.”

“Right. Yeah. It’s just–”

Alex takes the other man’s hands. They’re large, and warm. Slender fingers roughened with callouses from gripping the wheel, capable hands for a capable man.

This close, George smells faintly like berries. Affection flutters in Alex’s stomach.

“We'll just start it over. It'll be fine, Georgie."

"I just wanted it to be perfect."

"Hey. This is my perfect. This is it, mate. You know that, right?”

George nods, softening under Alex’s touch. 

“Besides.” Alex continues. “It’s a little hard to take you seriously when your apron says do I look delicious. Which for the record, you do.”

George wipes his nose with the back of his hand, eyes darting down and up again. “You bought this, mind you.”

“I did.”

“And you love it. And me.”

“Yeah. I do.”

Alex pokes George in the side playfully, and George rolls his eyes. Attention diverted for the moment, smile finally back and starting to warm his eyes.

"Such an arsehole." George says, glancing at Gucci, who is walking calmy across the kitchen counter. Happily acting as if nothing has happened.

"I know. But he's our arsehole."

"Never say those words in that combination again."

"Our arsehole." Alex adds, emphatically.

To that, George only emits a long sigh.

And there is cleanup to come. Breakfast to be made again. But just for a moment, it’s the two of them. Spilled pancakes. Patience. tender love.

A miscreant tabby that happily suns itself under the window. 

Two of their hands perfectly intertwined. Room perfectly incandescent.

#galex #alex albon #george russell #aa23 #gr63 #f1 rpf #fanfic drabble #fluff #this came out like tooth-achingly sweet #i tried to keep the very bro-snipey galex essence in there #not sure i succeeded but there we have it #wisteriawritesstuff #if you’re being pedantic gucci isn’t actually a ginger cat #but I’m changing it #for the plot

[donatellawritings]

Would you ever do a part 2 to sweetheart reader and rafe’s breakup? I wanna see how they get back together 🥰

it had been about three months, since rafe had let you go, his oh-so doting sweetheart, the apple of his very eye. with the news of rafe cameron no longer having his latin sweetheart under his arm spreading around the island like a rancid wildfire, it didn’t take long for rafe to find himself regretting his decision. but make no mistake, rafe had made it his business to keep a watchful eye on your every move, and making sure to remain undetected while doing so. i mean, at the end of the day, you would always be his sweet girl and what kind of a man would he be, if he didn’t watch over you.

and sure, it took you a few weeks to find your footing as a now single and absolute knockout of a woman, yet you stood your ground — remaining tooth-achingly sweet to everyone who came your way, even when you’d politely reject their shameless advances towards you. and boy, did you make rafe’s sick little heart swell with pride as you made sure to keep a piece of him around you at all times, your gifted tiffany & co tennis bracelet constantly glinting against the north carolina sun with each passing day.

but, you were always such an emotional and overly-sensitive doll — and today just happened to be one of those days where you couldn’t seem to get your papi, rafe out of your pretty little head.

“i just — i want him with me!” you sobbed, streaky and watery black tinged tears rolling down your blush and concealer-enhanced cheeks as you pursed your puffy lips into a tearful pout, “he’s supposed to be mine!” you whined, your swollen tits stretching and heaving against rafe’s prized collegiate t-shirt as you took hiccuping breaths.

you poor cousin, kiara could only take so much of your incessant sobs and heartfelt rambles, until she’d taken the liberty of personally contacting rafe, a task that she wouldn’t even dream of doing, if it were for any person, aside from you, her doting and oh-so lovesick cousin.

you see, today was supposed to be a simple sleepover, the two of you had made it a tradition to spend one night together, where you could catch up on the latest gossip, prance around in nothing but pathetically poor excuses for panties and oversized t-shirts, while pampering each other with messily applied clay face masks and smeared mani-pedis. and sure, kiara missed those cherished moments with you, but she was painfully aware that you had been keeping up a facade since the moment rafe brought you back home. and she had to give you credit for it, you made it a point to keep your cool in public, you didn’t want to be a bother so you maintained your doll-like appearance and poise mannerisms.

yet, she couldn’t ignore the way you cried yourself to sleep at night — the walls that separated your bedrooms were far too thin.

it didn’t take long for rafe to respond to your concerned cousin — and it was crystal clear to him that it was time to bring you back home. the anxious young man had paid his dues, hell, the pain of not having you around was nearly enough to have him cave after the first twenty-four hours of him breaking things off. but, he had to make good on his promise — he had to become a man, not only for you, but for the sake of his own sanity, or what was left of it.

after about fifteen minutes of you struggling to put together a coherent sentence, you rubbed the tip of your button nose, with a defeated sniffle, licking over you dried lips as you wiped your watery bambi eyes with the back of your hand. you had cried yourself to exhaustion, your pretty little head throbbing from your hysterics as you dozed into a light sleep. you were so out of it, you didn’t even realize that kiara had left your bedroom.

rafe was careful with his footsteps as he entered your bedroom, dressed in a crisp button-up and ironed slacks as he sighed at the sight of you sound asleep. his bright blues didn’t miss the streaks of dried tears that clung to your cherub cheeks, your swollen lips slightly parted as crouched at your bedside, a soft smile on his pink lips as he ran a gentle hand over your messy hair.

letting his greed get the best of him, rafe pressed his eager lips to the apple of your cheek, his fingernails lightly scratching at your scalp as he soothingly lulled you out of your sleep, “hi, baby,” he mumbled, loud enough for your doe eyes to widen as your lips pursed into a wobbly pout, warm tears burning at your waterline.

bringing your small hand to knuckle away the troublesome tears that threatened to spill, you let out a needy whimper, “m-missed you,” you mewled, wispy lashes now clumpy with tears.

“hey-hey, c’mon mama, please don’t start cryin’,” rafe breathes out, pulling your hands away from your flushed face as the two of you finally lock eyes for the first time in months, “fuck — m’so sorry, my princess,” rafe sighs, each and every ounce of his resolve dissipating as he brings your knuckles to his lips, peppering soft kisses to the bony skin.

biting down into the fat of your bottom lip, you leaned up towards rafe, nudging his nose with yours, “can we go home,” you mutter, allowing your palms to cradle both sides of rafe’s chiseled face as his hold on your fists drop to your wrists, “w-we can talk about everything later, i just- i just missed you, papi,” you assure rafe, a soft smile tugging on your lips as he raises his glazed eyes to meet yours.

“yes, baby, we can go home,” rafe’s shoulders soften, his forehead leaning flushed against yours as he lets out a shaky breath, “i kept my promise, baby — i kept my promise,” he speaks, more so to himself than to you as you nod at his words.

rafe deserved to be heard, and you’d always be a listening ear for him.

“i stopped using, a-and i got that boat y’liked so much, i got it just for you, mama — gonna take you wherever y’wanna go,” rafe rambles, leaving you a smiley mess as you simply gaze into his eyes with nothing, but naive love and adoration, “m’gonna be home more, and i—” rafe continued, getting lost in his own thoughts.

“i love you,” you cut in, a giddy smile now playing on your pretty face as rafe can’t help but blush at your words.

“i love you too, let’s go home,” rafe brings his lips to your forehead, allowing his tired eyes to flutter close as he soaks in the kiss for a moment, taking the time to breathe in your smell.

bringing your legs to hook around his waist, rafe keeps a secure hand over your ass as he carries you out of your bedroom, making sure to send kiara an appreciative nod as the two of you exit the home. it didn’t take long for you to fall back asleep, once you were secure in the passenger seat of rafe’s truck, soft snores leaving your parted lips as your soft cheek remained mushed against rafe’s firm shoulder, your hand securely interlaced with his.

rafe couldn’t ignore the way his eyes kept flickering down to your empty ring finger, his heart swelling at the mere thought of him finally having you all to himself, forever.

and he wouldn’t fuck it up, this time.

#asks #anon #obx #rafe cameron #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron prompt #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #rafe cameron smut #sweetheart!reader

[tightjeansjavi]

Like Real People Do

Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: @peterhollandkait came up with this tooth achingly cute idea and I just had to write it ♡ ♡ ♡

Summary: You, Joel, and Ellie arrive in Jackson for the first time. Joel sees your real smile for the first time in months, all thanks to Jackson’s horses.

~word count : 2.0k~

Warnings: some angst, protective! joel, soft! joel, established relationship, so much fluff, comforting themes, joel is so soft! you will literally feel your heart clench and tears will fall on the screen! some swearing, banter, teasing. No use of y/n, (+18) minors dni !!

Songs used:

“Like Real People Do” by Hozier

“Kiss Me” by Ed Sheeran

“You and Me” by Niall Horan

Joel Miller has not seen your true, real smile in months. He doesn’t even remember what your sweet, infectious laugh sounds like. He hasn’t heard it in so long. The journey you, Joel and Ellie endured together, was a rough one. It started with Tess dying, Bill and Frank, Sam and Henry and just minutes ago, you and Joel almost lost Ellie.

You both felt numb, weak, vulnerable when the possibility of losing her, became very real.

The ride into Jackson was a somber one. You listened to the familiar sound of horses hooves crunching beneath the snow as the three of you rode into town for the first time.

You couldn’t help but lean down from the saddle, giving the horse you were riding, a gentle pat on its neck.

Joel was riding alongside you and you could feel his gaze fall upon your face. You had yet to speak a word, and he was visibly concerned.

You had met his gaze and gave him a slight nod. There was a smile tugging on the corner of your lips, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

Ellie had noticed your demeanor had changed gradually over the course of the months that you traveled together. It was slow at first. A change that didn’t take place overnight.

The thing was, you all had gone through some form of change. It was inevitable to evade.

Ellie held the same look of concern as Joel had. She pulled her horse up alongside his leaning over as she spoke.

“Hey, is she…is she alright Joel?”

Joel let out a breath of air as he looked over the kid that he had grown so fond of as if she was his own. He used to view her as a burden, cargo to transport. Now? Ellie was practically his daughter. His daughter, that he nearly lost today.

“I’m not sure, kiddo. She’ll be okay though. Don’t go worryin’ yourself alright?”

The three of you were visibly amazed when the tall, wooden gates of Jackson were opened as you rode through. You never believed that a town like this would work. That you would ever see a community thrive like this. Kids running, laughing. Smiles, people hugging, more smiles. It felt as though you were in a simulation. The sweetest dream that you never wanted to wake up from.

Joel had halted his horse suddenly. His eyes were focused on a man, who was hauling wood to build a structure. It was Joel’s younger brother, Tommy. You could see the shock, confusion, and relief wash over Joel’s features when he realized it was his brother.

“Tommy!” He shouted. His tone laced with disbelief that his brother was actually here, in front of him, and very much alive.

You watched them embrace, hugging each other so tightly. Joel nearly had tears in his eyes as he felt an overwhelming rush of emotions course through his veins.

“What the fuck you doin’ here?” Tommy asked. He was in equal disbelief that his brother was here, in front of him, and very much alive. The last thing Tommy expected was for Joel to come all this way looking for him.

“I came here to save you.”

They embraced again, Joel laughing, with the biggest smile on his face.

Maria and Tommy had shown the three of you all that Jackson had to offer. Ellie was sticking close to your side, with your arm wrapped around her shoulders.

Joel walked behind you, always feeling like he needed to be there to protect you, and Ellie. Even in this town, this paradise, he was on guard.

As soon as you heard a familiar whinny, your ears perked up in the direction of the stables. Ellie had zoned in on the beautiful brown foal with her head curiously sticking out above the open stall door. Ellie had grabbed your hand as you two quickened your pace, stopping just outside the stall door.

Shimmer, as you came to learn her name, softly nickered as Ellie had gently started to pet her, pressing her soft velvet nose into the teen’s warm gloves.

“What’s her name?” Ellie had asked Maria.

“Shimmer.”

Ellie had given the filly a kiss on the nose. Speaking softly to her.

“Shimmer, you’re so beautiful.”

You were gently petting Shimmer’s mom, a soft Palomino mare. She immediately reminded you of your old mare, Honey. You were holding in your tears and Joel could sense it.

“How many horses are on the property?” You asked.

“Thirty. Counting our newest member.”

Ellie had given you a little nudge, a genuine smile on her face. “Did you hear that? 30 horses! We should totally go and pet them all. C’mon.” This was Ellie’s way of attempting to cheer you up. You had taught her everything you knew about horses and she wanted to share this moment with you.

You had looked back at Joel for a moment and he had given you a small nod in return.

“Would that be alright, Maria? If we went inside and checked out all the horses?” You asked.

“Of course.”

Ellie had grabbed your hand once more, finding the opened door to the stables as you walked in together.

“So, what are we thinking? Are all these guys Quarter Horses, or Mustangs?”

“I’m thinking of a mix of both. It’s hard to tell with their winter fur being so thick.” You gently touched each horse's nose, as you walked past their individual stalls. The familiar barn smells of hay, grain, and horses washed over you. It took you back to your days on your uncle's ranch, long ago.

“This one is a Paint though, right?” Ellie had stopped in front of the next stall. “Woah, this guy has a blue eye, and a brown eye. That’s so sick!”

“That’s right kiddo. This one is a Paint.” You spoke with a soft smile. “You remember the different coat colors I taught you, right?”

“Yeah! So this guy is a chestnut Paint?”

“Bingo. You’re right on the money with that one kid.”

Neither of you had heard Joel enter the stables. You both were too immersed in the horses to hear him. He had quietly leaned against one of the stall doors, his arms crossed over his chest, with a big grin on his face as he watched his girls fawn over the horses.

His heart warmed at the sight of you smiling again. He killed to see it and now here it was, written across your pretty face, that he adored, loved, fought for.

Ellie had looked up from the horse she was petting and when she spotted Joel, she had that little mischievous grin as she walked over to him. She gave him a light punch to his shoulder.

“Dude, I know you got it bad for her but like, do you really need to stare that much? She might start thinking that you’re a creep man. You’re always staring at her.” She teased him.

Joel grumbled in response as he uncrossed his shoulders from his chest and gave his kid a begrudgingly light punch back. “I ain’t starin’ that much. What’re you talkin’ about? Just admirin’ her smile is all. There somethin’ wrong with that?”

Ellie let out a soft giggle, shaking her head. “Damn, admiring her smile, really Joel? You big ole softy.”

Joel gave her a slight warning look when she called him a softy.

“I ain’t a softy.”

“Okay, old man. Whatever you say!”

“Ellie–don’t you start with that shit–” he let out a sigh, rubbing his gloved hand over his face. “You little shit.” He muttered under his breath as she was walking back over to Shimmer.

You were further down the stalls, stopped in front of the last horse that was a leopard spotted Appaloosa. Only then you could hear the heavy footsteps of Joel’s worn boots approaching you.

“Hey.” You softly spoke, gently stroking the horse's forehead, while twirling a piece of its long forelock between your gloved fingers.

“Hey, darlin’ You–you alright?”

You let out a soft sigh, your lashes fluttering as you looked up at him, giving him a small, reassuring nod.

“I’m okay, Joel.” Images of Ellie getting mauled by that dog outside of Jackson, flashed through your mind. Ellie was safe, she was alive and petting Shimmer, you silently reminded yourself.

“Are you sure? We can–we can talk about it if you want?” he spoke softly to you, fumbling over his words because he too was afraid of losing Ellie. His main concern in his mind, at that very moment, was you.

“Joel, Please. I don’t–I don’t want to talk about it.” You looked away from him feeling the tears begin to prick in the corner of your eyes as you blinked them away.

“Hey, darlin’–honey?” He gently grasped your chin between his gloved fingers, tilting your head towards him so you were looking at him once more.

You let out a shaky breath when your eyes met his concerned ones.

“Do you remember what breed of horse this is?”

“Leopard Spotted Appaloosa.” Your man didn’t miss a fucking beat.

“Between Ellie’s shitty puns, and your constant horse facts, you think for a second I wasn’t payin’ attention? I love hearin’ her shitty puns and your silly horse facts darlin’ Could listen to them all goddamn day.” Joel’s words sent the tears you were holding at bay, free falling down your cheeks.

“You really paid that close attention to my horse facts? I never thought you really cared for them.”

“Oh, Honey. C’mere.” His heart was breaking deep in his chest when he saw your tears fall. He was already pulling you into his arms, wrapping you up in his warmth as he hugged you tightly. “I love ‘em, and you taught me everythin’ I need to know about horses darlin.’”

Damn this man. Damn him for being so gentle with you. Damn him for listening to your silly horse facts and remembering them. Damn Joel Miller for loving you so tenderly.

“You’re terrible. You know that cowboy? Damn you.” You spoke with your cheek firmly pressed against his chest, listening to his heart beat, and his deep chuckle that vibrated through you.

“You don’t mean that, sweet girl. You love me for it.”

“I do.” You whispered.

He gently lifted your head from his chest, holding your face in his gloved hands as he stroked your cheekbones with his thumbs. His forehead was lightly resting against yours, lips nearly touching.

“We’re gonna be okay. All three of us. What happened back there? Ain’t ever gonna happen again. I swear to you darlin’ I'm gonna keep you and Ellie safe. Whatever it takes.”

Your arms were loosely wrapped around Joel’s middle, feeling his warmth through his thick coat. “No. We’re gonna do everything we can to keep her safe. You and me. Whatever it takes, we’re keeping her safe. We’re a team Joel, remember? I got you, you got me.”

“I got you, you got me. Always.”

Your lips lightly brushed against each other, before the gap was closed. It was the softest, sweetest, heartfelt kiss you had shared together. Joel Miller kissed you, like real people do.

Ellie had seen the whole thing go down from where she was petting Shimmer and she let out a playful gagging sound.

“Oh my god, gross! Really you guys? In front of the horses? Shimmer, close your eyes! You don’t wanna see that! Yuck!”

You pulled away from Joel’s sweet embrace with a soft, heart melting giggle as you looked over his shoulder at Ellie.

“He started it, he kissed me first!”

“Oh yeahh, I'm sure he did! Y’know there’s young eyes watching! Gonna scar these poor horses man!” Ellie said with a laugh.

Joel kissed you once more, just for good measure, and you could feel his grin slowly appearing when Ellie let out another sound of disgust at her adoptive parents making out in the middle of the fucking stables.

How fucking adorable.

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #pedro pascal characters #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller blurb #joel miller imagine #joel miller the last of us #tlou #joel miller fic #the last of us fic #the last of us imagine #tlou fic #ellie williams #tommy miller #pedro pascal fanfiction #joel miller angst

[flowersandbigteeth]

I’m obsessed with Levi, absolutely smitten. Thank you for sharing him with us.

If you feel up to it could we get a snippet of someone maybe a rival vampire trying to plant doubts in Levi about the reader. Maybe accusing them of cheating on him and using him, only for Levi to laugh in their face because he knows how devoted and loyal they are to each other.

Just like the opposite of the miscommunication trope. Please and thank you🥺👉👈

I'm so happy you like Levi ^_^ This is just a little thing, but I thought it turned out cute and it's nice to do something lighter after the last one omg :D

Vampire (Levi) x female mom reader

Word Count: 1k

W: sfw vampire fluff

“Ugh,” Levi’s cousin Ivan and leader of his clan in Russia grimaced looking down at Meryl over his glass of blood, “don’t you have a nanny?” 

Levi nudged him away from the baby sleeping peacefully in the crib he’d put in his office so she could be nearby. He’d wanted to give you a spa day and he knew you weren’t yet comfortable with the nanny, so he happily offered to keep his favorite cinnamon roll with him.

He also wanted you out of the house when his cousin arrived. He didn’t like males seeing you and he knew how frivolous vampire’s could be. Their lives were long and got boring, rare jewels intrigued them, if only for a time. He’d sent you surrounded by a handful of Amazonian vampire bodyguards, so he felt confident no one would bother you. 

“(Y/N) and I have decided to keep her caretakers to a minimum,” he said, “she’s already been exposed to so many different germs and people, there’s no reason to add anymore.” 

Ivan snorted. 

“So she’s got you babysitting her brat?! Cousin, are you a fool?” 

Of course in his time, the idea of a vampire Clan lord carrying around an infant was preposterous, let alone one that was not his son, specifically. Many vampire mothers immediately gave their children to wet nurses so they wouldn’t look weak carrying a drooling baby around. 

Levi growled at his cousin, prompting him to lower his voice so as not to wake the baby. 

Ivan hissed lightly back, his eyes flashing. Vampire lords didn’t like being told what to do. 

“Who is this trollop anyway?” he snapped, though a bit quieter, “I’ve never seen you so wrapped around anyone’s finger.” 

Levi looked a little wistful. 

“Just an angel I came across in a fish store,” he murmured, his eyes resting fondly on Meryl. 

Ivan raised an eyebrow. 

“Fish…store…? And you’ve taken in her bastard? You’re babysitting it? Levi, I know losing Karen must have been hard but-”

Levi’s face hardened and his voice boomed. 

“Don’t say her name in my presence!” he snarled. 

Meryl cooed that she was waking up and started to whimper realizing she was alone. Levi looked distraught and hurried over to her, picking her up and bouncing her in his arm. 

“I’m sorry baby bat, did I wake you?” he cooed, and she gave him a gummy smile, doing her “daddy is picking me up” dance in his hand. 

Something about the happiness on Levi’s face when he looked at Meryl and how innocently she completely trusted him incensed Ivan. 

“This is absurd Levi. No one can be this happy! How do you know she doesn’t have some lover on the side and she’s just using you? Tugging a vampire lord on a leash?! She’s probably making another one of those things right now! Aren’t you concerned with how this makes the family look?!” 

Levi tipped Meryl’s head to his chest so she couldn’t see before he bared his fangs, transforming his face into a more animal version of itself as a warning. 

“Now you sound absurd, cousin,” he ground out, more offended that he’d say such a thing in front of his darling baby than taking it seriously, “(Y/N) is a devoted mother and wife. I won't listen to you slandering her in front of our child.”

Ivan snorted and crossed his leg with annoyance, spinning his blood around. 

“Goddess, modern romance is so disgusting,” he retorted, turning his face away from the tooth achingly sweet sight of Levi tossing Meryl in the air to make her giggle, “If it were me, I’d never see the thing.” 

“That’s why you’re a cold, lonely bastard,” Levi chuckled, “and I have a warm, beautiful family.” 

Ivan rolled his eyes. 

“Until she backstabs you like your mother,” he snapped. 

Levi growled more loudly. 

“I told you not to mention her,” he snapped, flipping Meryl over his shoulder by one foot so she wouldn’t see his anger and making her laugh out loud. 

“Ugggggh,” Ivan let out the longest groan ever at her pure joy as Levi pulled her back to his chest and found her one of the toys strewn on his desk to play with. 

“I’m back my loves!” you sighed as you walked into Levi’s office and breezed past the vampire sitting in one of Levi’s overstuffed chairs. You tossed your purse lazily on his desk, then tipped up on your toes and gave Levi a kiss, then smooched Meryl. 

“Feel my face,” you beamed, taking his hand and putting it on your freshly worked over skin, “they did some kind of laser thing to it! It’s super soft!” 

He grinned down at you, taking the opportunity to circle your cheek with his fingers. Maybe it was softer than normal, it always felt soft to him, but he was happy you wanted him to touch you. You'd been seeking out his touch more and more, each time delighting him more than the last.

A bit of a tug in the back of your mind reminded you the other vampire was still there and you glanced over your shoulder at him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I interrupt something?” you asked, looking him over. He looked a bit like Levi, as well, but with wheat blonde hair cropped short and bright blue eyes. 

“Uh…this is my cousin, Ivan,” Levi said with as little enthusiasm as possible, “he’s in town for the wedding.”

He was eager to see you since you’d been gone all morning, but he still didn’t like males looking at you, disappointed your spa treatment ended early. For Ivan’s part his mouth dropped and his eyes grew big. He hopped up from the chair and crossed the room, looming over you. 

He took your hand and gave it a kiss, smiling down at you with the eyes of a predator behind baby blue irises almost flashing green with envy. 

“Levi told me many things about you and I thought he was exaggerating, but he wasn’t lying when he said you are truly lovely. Now I think I understand his fascination. I look forward to seeing more of you, my dear,” Ivan purred, “Levi loves to throw parties so I’m sure there will be plenty of occasions for us to get more acquainted.”

You blinked up at him and extracted your hand from his. 

“Er...good to meet you,” you said, wondering if it was a generational gap thing that made him sound so weird to you. Many of Levi's vampires had odd dialects hinting to their time of origin.

Levi bared his teeth and handed Meryl to you, practically shoving his cousin from the room. 

“I’ll see you later, cousin!” he growled, slamming the door behind him.

#monster x girl #monster boyfriend #monster lover #sfw monster fluff #monster oc #vampire x reader #angst #yandere fluff #male yandere #yandere x reader #x reader #vampire boyfriend #vampire #monster x reader

[rustedhearts]

love bites (boxer!steve x librarian!fem reader)

summary: you and steve are up to no good at another munson party.

uses she/her pronouns and female anatomy.

♡ the king of the ring ♡

the rockstar eddie setlist by @carolmunson

tags: alcohol, biting!! this is a fic literally about biting!!, general horniness, blood (it gets briefly freaky), smut!

eddie munson’s rocker pad, california july 1991

The thick, humid air of Eddie Munson's living room (in the east wing, not to be confused with the others) reeked of smoke, sweat, and liquor. The black leather cushions, though tainted and creased beneath your bodies, became a place to rest when schmoozing with the models and rockstars became exhausting to yourself and Steve. When you came to a Munson fest (Munson ft Rink, though at this point they were one in the same), you always scampered off with Stella to meet her beautiful, long-legged friends and sneak expensive snacks from trays. She was always the first to hand you a sweet, tingly drink, and after a brief glance around to make sure Steve wasn't looking, you knocked them back like water.

But Steve always knew just what you were up to with your friend when you came back like this—glossy-eyed, swollen-lipped, cheeks flushed and a little bleary. You fawned over him, clingy and tooth-achingly sweet. It was hard for Steve to get upset with you when you pooled into him like putty; when you had your head in his lap like you did right now, blinking up at him with labored breath as he ashed a Marlboro into a steel tray on the arm of the sofa.

You had the sofa to yourselves, half-clothed bodies rotating leisurely around you. With your legs sprawled out across the cushions, you left no room for visitors—not to mention, Steve glared at anyone heading your way. Even in a room full of people, Steve only wanted to be with you.

"You look so handsome when you smoke like that," you mused, tone slicked with arousal. Something about alcohol roused you into a sweaty, mewling mess.

"Do I?" Steve grumbled mindlessly, cigarette returning to his lips for another drag.

You nodded dazedly, reaching up to skate your fingers along his jaw where stubbled collected. The musky smoke of his cigarette crawled from his mouth in a grey, misty cloud. You watched it dissipate into the air in awe, nails skating down his throat. He swallowed beneath your touch, feigning nonchalance. He cupped his hand against the swell of your thigh, caressing the bare skin with his scratchy palm. You struggled to swallow a shiver, thighs rubbing together in your little silver dress. Your heels were slipping off where they nudged against the opposite arm of the sofa.

"Mhm. I think it's hot."

Steve chuckled, shoulders bobbing beneath the brown leather of his jacket. You slipped a hand beneath the material, running your palm over his firm pec. You wished he'd take the jacket off—you wanted so desperately to see those broad shoulders. The sheer size of him above you made your stomach throb with want.

Steve moved his hand from your thigh to your cheek, cradling it with a firm touch. His thumb rubbed into your cheekbone, but you frowned when he ignored your comment, giving his jacket a tug.

He ashed his cigarette again, humming. "I think you're drunk."

You rolled your eyes, grateful you were lying down while you did. "I'm not drunk. I'm tipsy, Harrington."

The cigarette paused on its ascent toward Steve's mouth, the latter turning to tip his chin down and squint at you. His lips pursed with distaste, hand a little more solid against your cheek.

"And mouthy," he droned.

You snorted, fluttering your feet. Steve propped his elbow on the arm of the couch, pulling a drag from the cigarette between his fingers.

"You love it," you chirped back, grinning slyly.

Steve said nothing, unimpressed with your liquored attitude. Sometimes, liquor made you pouty—other times, it made you snarky. Steve wasn't sure which he preferred. Right now, with your head pressing into his thick, denim thigh, big, shimmering eyes blinking up at him (glasses abandoned at home), there were other things on his mind.

The music shifted in the room, something heavy on the bass and drums, low register and quintessential rock and roll—and for fuck's sake, you were horny.

"You know what we should do?" you practically purred, playing with the shimmers on your dress.

"What?" Steve mumbled around his cigarette, puffing out more smoke.

Tongue sliding over your teeth, your lips coiled into a mischievous grin. "Play bitey."

Steve sucked a breath through his teeth, seemingly uncaring but suddenly flushed pink in the cheeks. You waited, toes tapping together in your shiny new heels, rubbing your thighs together again. The music thumped through the floor below you. People chattered and giggled, filtered in and out of the room. Steve glanced at the masses of them, gazing toward the doorway where white light gave way to your friends in the entryway. Eddie and Stella, clinging to each other and half-drunk (shockingly sober on Eddie's part), were an earshot and a few feet away.

Only one of you seemed to care.

"Angel," Steve huffed, head shaking. "C'mon—"

"—what?" you squawked, shuffling to prop yourself up on your elbows and tip your head back at Steve. He tried not to stir at the way your neck bared in this position.

"It's...we're in public, baby."

You threw your head back with a groan. "Ugh, so what? What, are you scared?"

Steve cocked his head at you, slow and steady, stare ominously blank. "What d' you just say?"

Normally, you'd grow bashful at that grumbling tone. But the bubbly had you all turned around, and even though Eddie and Stella were slinking into the room to greet more of their guests, you were determined.

"You heard me. Are you scared, Harrington? Scared I'll embarrass you in front of our friends?"

Steve blinked. For a moment, you just stared. Steady, unwavering eye contact that seemed impenetrable. And then Steve stamped out his cigarette, setting the ashtray on the end table beside him. You readied to sit up, but his callused hands snatched at your biceps, using a tight grip on your limbs to hoist you into his lap. He yanked down your dress where it bunched at your hips, hands splaying across the globes of your ass to pull you as close as you could get. Your grin grew breathless and satisfied.

"You wanna play bitey, baby?" he practically growled.

You nodded, pulling a handprint-splotched arm to sit in front of Steve's mouth, forearm bared. "If you think you can handle it, baby."

Steve's mouth split into a grin, pearly white incisors suddenly a piercingly sharp sight. He sat up, shaking loose from the stiff leather confines of his sweaty jacket. He whipped it toward the other end of the couch, leaving you to stare at his broad shoulders and arms, straining in a tiny black t-shirt.

A chuckle hummed from his chest pressed against yours, and then his arm was just beneath your chin in line with yours: forearm bared. He eased back into the cushions again, spare hand resting on your ass.

"Ready, angel?"

You tipped your mouth toward his arm, eyes glinting. "Ready, champ."

Another laugh tumbled from his mouth, cocky and sharp, head shaking as he approached your arm with an open mouth. "1...2..."

The first chomp was always light. Teeth barely scraping the hairy surface of his warm flesh. A gentle pressure, almost nice. But when your eyes locked, shooting challenging daggers through lashes, you deepened the bite. Steve followed suit, delivering a jolt in your chest. The pain, though just a sting, stirred your insides.

You increased the pressure, closed your jaw a little more. Steve pulled you closer to his chest with the hand on your ass, fingers digging into the sequins of your dress. His arm muffled your yelp when he matched your bite.

Like a pair of dogs with a bone, you sat on the sofa in the middle of the room and gnawed on each other like no one else was home. Except the room was full, and your friends were standing on the other side of the couch, slack-jawed and furrow-browed.

"Okay, so...what am I lookin' at?"

"I don't...know. But...is it just me or is it kinda hot?"

Eddie tossed a bewildered look toward his girlfriend, who continued to nurse the drink in her hand, steadily fixated on the pair of you sinking your teeth into each other on the sofa. Cheeks a little warm, lip captured between her teeth, Stella seemed to be enjoying this more than Eddie thought.

On the couch, pain pulsed through your arm with a numbing thrum. Steve’s eyes crinkled in the cutest way when he scrunched his nose. You were sure to draw blood. You steadied yourself on his biceps, nails digging in, and Steve felt like he could bust in his pants. It had been a while since you played bitey, and in fact, you’d never played it outside the bedroom. But there was something enticing about the way you straddled his lap and lapped at the chunk of his skin between your teeth.

A metallic taste filled your mouth, blood drawn collecting on the edge of your tongue. You pulled away first, but only to lick away the crimson liquid boiling over in the ridged tooth-mark indentations on Steve’s forearm. He released you just the same, breath shallowing as your tongue made a circle around his throbbing wound.

“I win,” Steve remarked lowly, unable to pry his hooded eyes away from your red stained lips.

You pressed a gentle kiss to the shape of your mouth on his skin. “Good job, baby.” Cradling his arm, you blinked up at him with a doe-eyed gaze. “You wanna collect your prize?”

Steve hauled you into the air, legs wrapping instinctually around his waist. “Fuck yeah, I do. Let’s go.”

You circled your arms around his neck and latched onto the spot below his ear, giggling as Steve balanced you in one arm and used the other to collect his jacket. The room fell away in whoosh behind you, air whipping against your bare arms as Steve rushed the door.

Meanwhile, Eddie and Stella waved a futile goodbye as the pair of you disappeared through the door.

“There they go,” Eddie snickered. “Fuckin’ freaks.”

Silence swelled between the rockstar and his starlet. Stella eased into his side, fingers hooking into his belt loops. Eddie looked down at her, meeting her waiting eyes.

It only took a moment of staring for Eddie to bob his head excitedly and loop his arm around her shoulders. “Yeah, let’s take this party upstairs.”

"Way ahead of you."

♡ ♡

"Fuck, fuck—shit!"

Steve had you on your tummy, drooling into the sheets, ass hoisted high. It rippled with every eager pummel of Steve's hips, painted with splotchy handprints from Steve's sudden and animalistic excitement. You'd barely even made it to the bedroom before he had you naked, your mutual bite wounds still throbbing like pulse points. He had his hand shoved between your thighs the entire ride home, and your puffy clit was already sensitive and abused by the time you fell face first into the bed.

"Foul fuckin' mouth, baby," Steve grunted, hot breath cupping your ear.

You could only whine, gripping at the sheets with weak fingers. Your thighs trembled and your eyes watered, but it wasn't enough. Steve quivered with need, abs clenched tight. He slipped his hand between your stomach and the mattress, gliding it to rest against your sternum and pull you up. You eased into him, sticky skin clinging like Velcro to his chest. He slowly slid his arm to trap your body against him, pressed across your shoulders and collarbone like a seatbelt.

"Do it, baby," he murmured against your neck, teeth scraping the slick skin.

Gasping for air and struggling to find balance, you dropped your head down until your chin met his forearm. The shape of your teeth started to purple where blood pooled beneath the skin. You covered the wound with the hot dampness of your open mouth once more. Teeth sinking, tongue lying flat against salty skin. Steve's canines pierced the tender, veined meat where your shoulder met your neck with careful precision. You clamped down harder on him with a shriek.

Arms caged around you like ironclad restraints, Steve humped so slow and deep you felt like you could pass out. Stirring around, unnervingly meticulous. Waves of nausea overwhelmed you.

And then the room burst into flashes of white, and your own shrill scream popped your ears. The skin of your neck split, releasing metallic warmth across Steve's tongue. Muscles stretched and worn, he eased you back down to writhe against the bed, splattered like roadkill across the sticky sheets. Still buried deep inside you, pulsing milky spend gently in and out, Steve draped his tired body across your back.

It was his turn to lap at your bleeding wound, pressing kisses to the burning shape of his teeth. He smiled lazily at the swollen sight.

"Hmm," he purred, scraping it with his teeth to make you shiver. "Hope it bruises pretty for me."

♡ ♡

#rolly! #boxer!steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington x y/n smut #steve harrington x female reader smut #steve the hair harrington #joe keery #boxer!steve #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington au

[writingstreetspirit]

This Family Is Our Fortress

Summary: Years after the war against the sky people, your family have found peace

Pairing: Jake Sully x Fem!Na’vi!Reader

Warnings: Reader is a mom of soon to be 4, pregnancy, reference of war

Word count: 0.9k

A/N: I had a craving for something tooth achingly sweet, so a Sully family piece was born. In this Neytiri is essentially replaced by you, sorry. I love you Neytir, maybe next time. Thank you all for reading! If you enjoyed reading, please like/reblog/comment/follow to support me and to let me know if I should do more of this type of content! 🥰🫶🏻

—

You had many things that you felt grateful to Eywa for. Some where your clan - your family - the Omaticaya. For your Sa’nok (Mother) and Sempul (Father) and their love for you. For Eywa’s love for everyone and everything, for her allowance for you to to breathe and walk on her planet. 

You were thankful for Jake Sully. Former human, a sky demon, who came to Pandora and learned the way of the People, and in turn becoming one. You were thankful for Turuk Makto (Shadow Rider) who brought peace to Pandora by defeating the humans, despite having worked for and been one himself. You were thankful for Jake Sully, who became your mate. 

What you were the most thankful for was the blessing of your and Jake’s children. Neteyam was your first son, who was conceived just before the battle against the sky people. His birth was a beacon of hope and new beginnings, and the start of a family that would eventually become six. 

Around that same time came Kiri, the sudden and unexplained daughter of Dr. Grace Augustine. Grace had been part of your life since childhood, and her tragic death was a heavy loss on the clan. But her passing would then reveal itself to not be the end of Grace’s legacy. Jake and you took Kiri in without doubt the second you knew of her existence. Sweet little Kiri, your daughter in all but blood. 

After Kiri was the second and last son of yours, Lo’ak. His birth was a joy for the whole family, and a great happiness for his brother and sister that would become older siblings. With your second itan (son), you and Jake though that the family was officially complete. That was until you feel pregnant once again when Neteyam and Kiri was 7 and Lo’ak 6. You were currently almost halfway through the pregnancy, and you and Jake couldn’t be happier of your big family.

”Alright kids, it’s bath time!” Jake called out for Neteyam, Kiri and Lo’ak who were running around playing in the mud outside of the hammock. You were preparing the last of the food that you’d eat after the children had bathed. 

They slowed down, Neteyam and Kiri pouting while Lo’ak full out whined at the news that playtime was over. ”But Sempul (Father)! Please, just a few more minutes?” 

Jake shook his head, hands on his hips. ”Nope. Come on, food’s almost ready.”

They collectively groaned but obeyed their father, to which you smiled. With one glance at them, you realized that today Jake would need your help to bath them if you wanted the meat to still be warm when they were done. So with that you rose up onto feet and followed them down to the body of water, Kiri’s little hand creeping itself into you own. 

Bath time took a little longer than usual due to the excessive amount of dirt and small sticks in-beaded in your children’s hair, but with the help of Jake you all made it back to the kelku while the food was still somewhat warm. 

Dinner was as usual a time where everyone shared about their day. Lo’ak, Kiri and Neteyam did most of the talking, excitedly telling vivid stories of all the adventures they had during the day. You and Jake offered played out reactions to spur them on, asking followup questions to hear more of their excitement. That exited retelling steadily faded away to slow blinking and yawns escaping their small mouths. You smiled, getting the small ones to bed wouldn’t be hard this night.

”Lets get you all tucked in now.” Jake fondly said to the kids, and they did not complain this time. They instead nodded and rose from the floor. Kiri and Neteyam rose up their arms in request for their Sempul (Father) to carry them, which Jake did. Lo’ak looked up to you, arms asking for you to also pick him up. You did so with a coo, pressing a kiss to the boys forehead. 

Jake and you carried the children to the place your family slept, cuddling up into a nest of tangled limps. It wasn’t every night that you all slept tangled up like this, what with your children growing older, but tonight was one of those night. 

”Goodnight Ma’ite (My daughter).” You cooed, pressing a kiss to Kiri’s little head, which Jake copied. She smiled, murmuring a goodnight in return. You then did the same with Neteyam and Lo’ak. ”Goodnight Ma’itans (My sons).”

”Sa’nok (Mother), can you please sing?” Neteyam requested bashfully, Lo’ak going in with small pleading and Kiri nodded enthusiastically also in agreement. Jake laughed a little at the familiar request they had asked so many times before. You smiled warmly, agreeing instantly. ”Yes, Sa’nok (Mother) can sing.”

The children settled back, relaxing into their parents warm embraces as you started to sing the same lullaby that you’d sung over a thousand times by now. Barely halfway through the song, your children where peacefully asleep. Your voice faded away as you and Jake shared a loving smile. 

Jake lend his neck down to kiss you softly. You hummed against his lips, as content as can be. You relaxed back against his strong shoulder, closing your eyes. Jake’s hand settled gently against your swollen stomach, where it would remain as a protective blanket for the rest of the night. ”Night, [Name], sleep well. I love you.”

”Goodnight, Ma’Jake. I love you too.” You whispered before letting yourself fall asleep, safe and happy in the arms of your family. 

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar x reader #avatar neteyam #avatar 2009 #avatar kiri #avatar lo’ak #avatar x navi!reader #jake sully #jake sully x reader #jake sully x na'vi reader #avatar x na'vi reader #avatar x y/n #avatar jake #the sully family #the sullys #platonic sullys x reader #the sullys x reader #writingstreetspirit

[garnette-gal]

Off-Limits - A Diamond in the Rough Series - Part 1

Hangman x Fem! Reader

Lt. Jake “Hangman” Seresin knows you’re supposed to be off-limits, yet he just can’t help himself. Unfortunately for him, you’re determined to not be distracted by the handsome hot-shot fighter pilot. Good thing Hangman’s never been a quitter. Reader’s callsign: Diamond.

Warnings: Cursing

Word count: 2,227

Note: I am SO obsessed with Top Gun Maverick right now. So how else do I cope with an obsession? Write a fic of course :) Hope y’all enjoy! 

Part 2 is now up! Series Masterlist.

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

It was an unspoken rule of self-preservation amongst the next-gen military community that you never fucked with a close relative of an Admiral.

The potential fallout from a disastrous one-night stand or relationship could be enough to ruin a career before it even began. Most were wise enough to not take the risk.

Most.

Then again, Lieutenant Jake “Hangman” Seresin had never been one to back down from a challenge. 

To be fair, he would argue later, technically you weren’t blood-related to the Admiral.

“Who is that?” Jake had asked the moment he set his gaze on you. He’d watched you from the very instant you’d slid up to the bar, greeting Penny in a way that indicated the two of you were friends.  

He lined himself up along the pool table, glancing away when Penny looked in his direction.

Coyote scanned the area that Hangman nodded towards, and when he spotted you at the bar, Coyote did a double-take. A concerned look crossed his face. “Hangman, no. That one is off-limits.” Coyote warned, his voice low.

“Off-limits is not in my vocabulary, Coyote.” 

“I’m not joking, man.” Coyote glanced at you to make sure you weren’t listening, and he leaned in closer to Hangman to whisper conspiratorially, “She’s Admiral Kazansky’s goddaughter. Her father died during a dogfight while flying as Iceman’s wingman. She may not be a Kazansky, but the Admiral definitely sees her as one. Don’t even think about it.”

Jake contemplated this. It explained the occasional somber look that passed through your eyes, but he had a feeling the last thing you wanted was his pity. 

“Why not?” He pushed, unwilling to give the topic up.

“Beyond it being career suicide?” Coyote rolled his eyes, typical Hangman. Always chasing women. “She’s a fellow fighter pilot.”

“Is that right?” Jake’s curiosity was getting the better of him, and he knew it. He really knew better, but he couldn’t resist when such a pretty thing sat at the bar.

“She graduated from Top Gun last year. Her teammates claim she does exceptionally well in high-pressure scenarios, thus, the callsign Diamond.” 

Jake rose a brow as he turned to watch you accept a drink from Penny. He thought that your callsign was appropriate when it came to your appearance. Like a diamond, your rare beauty seemed to sparkle brightly despite the low lights of the bar.

As for you doing well under pressure, Hangman would have to judge that for himself.

Right at that moment, you released a laugh, tilting your head back in a fit of giggles at something Penny said. It did something funny to his chest, a twinge of some sort. Just like that, the dejected look from earlier disappeared. 

Good. The thought of you being in a sorrowful state affected him more than he was willing to admit.

The sound of your laugh was tooth-achingly sweet, reminding him of his mother’s homemade pecan pie. One slice was never enough, and he always wanted more.  

You would totally be worth the potential peril, he finally decided. Besides, Jake always considered himself a bit of a trailblazer in his own right. 

The temptation of having you was simply too much to ignore. Then again, who else would be fit for the challenge other than himself? He was the best there was.

There was simply no way you’d turn down the best pilot of your generation. After all, who could resist Jake Seresin? 

Despite his buddies trying to talk him out of it, he stepped away from the pool table towards where you sat at the bar. 

“Shit,” Coyote muttered from behind him because he already knew how this would go. You would see right through Hangman.

Jake couldn’t figure out what it was about you that drew his focus to you. Maybe it was the dazzling smile you gave Penny as the two of you talked, or perhaps it was the soft curves of your body that he was already picturing pressed against him, or it could be the self-confidence you exuded that seemed to attract the attention of other males within your vicinity.

But none dared to make their move on you yet, preferring to sit and admire your beauty from afar. They all liked to play it safe, to avoid the risk, but Hangman knew from experience that method was guaranteed to fail nearly every time.

None of them had the guts to approach you, but he did. And he would.

He’d make them all regret it. 

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

Penny’s knowing look she shot you just before a male presence shifted into the open seat on your right should have been a flashing red “WARNING” sign.

Leave it to Penny to not give you an escape route. The brunette bar-owner was always up to some sort of trouble. Her dark green eyes glittered with mischief.

“Lieutenant Seresin.” Penny greeted with a polite smile, “The usual?”

Seresin. You thought to yourself, the last name vaguely familiar for some reason. 

“That would be great, thanks, Penny.” The man’s voice had the slightest southern accent that softened his words. A muscular tan arm propped against the counter; judging by the beige you could see out of your peripheral, he was still in uniform. The guy had exceptionally good-looking arms, and you knew he had picked the seat next to you on purpose.

A subtle whiff of his cologne invaded your senses, hinting at a warm, woodsy, clean scent.

Your eyes locked with Penny’s and sent her a message through your expression alone. Don’t you dare leave me here with this guy. 

Penny’s lips twitched into a delighted look that she didn’t bother hiding before abandoning you to go pour his drink. Traitor.

All you wanted was to have a drink in peace. Was that asking for too much?

Probably, you mused while playing with the condensation accumulating on your cold pilsner glass. Returning to Miramar had brought back old memories you had desperately tried to repress. Memories of your late father, of what your family had been.

Your father had been gone for 10 years. Killed by a hostile enemy fighter over the Baltic Sea while protecting the now Admiral “Iceman” Kazansky. The traumatic experience left you fatherless at 16 years old. Kazansky attempted to fill in the gap as your official godfather, but not even Iceman could patch that hole.

You knew he still felt guilty to this day. It was why he eventually conceded to become your tutor when you insisted you would become a naval aviator, with or without his help. 

Your mother wasn’t exactly thrilled at your career choice. But it was your choice regardless. After graduating from Top Gun at the top of your class, one thing was clear, you were born to fly.

Diamond, you’d earned your callsign. You were forged under intense pressure and thrived despite it.

The golden gleam of a naval aviator pin on the male next to you reminded you of why you were back here. A new assignment. You had better things to focus on than deal with flirty aviators.

You were mentally rehearsing your usual line to shut him down when he beat you to the punch.

The sound of your name and your callsign in that smooth voice had you glancing over in surprise.

Your heart skipped; why did he have to be so good-looking?

He was handsome with his square-shaped face and perfectly combed blonde hair. His good looks directly contributed to the confidence he carried himself with. 

He was smiling at you, a full grin with dimples and all. The charm and sexual appeal oozed off him in waves.

Studying those sharp green eyes that shimmered with intelligence, you sensed there wasn’t much that escaped his notice. 

The corner of his lips turned upward in a smirk as if reading your mind.

He knew your name and guessing by his smug look, he probably knew your relation to Admiral Kazansky and was feeling lucky. Everyone on the base these days seemed to know your late father had been Iceman's wingman back in the day.

“I am.” You tilted your head, “And you are?”

“Apologies for my bad manners.” The man said, not seeming apologetic at all as he extended his hand to you, “I’m Lieutenant Jake Seresin.” The man flashed a smile with perfect white teeth at you. “They call me Hangman.”

You reached out, doing your best to be polite, as you tentatively placed your hand in his for a handshake. The instant your palm touched his, the contact felt like electricity, sizzling up your spine. The heat that followed afterward rushed to your belly.

He squeezed your hand firmly, his eyes darkening as you pulled your hand away a second too soon.

Penny brought by his drink, but you were too focused on putting the puzzle pieces together in your mind to notice Penny venture off once more.

Hangman, it finally clicked. You had examined the plaque that listed the names of all of the 1st place graduates of Top Gun while you attended last year. And Seresin was one of them. 

Needless to say, his reputation preceded him. Not in a good way.

Hangman was his callsign, and it seemed appropriate for someone who left his wingman to do whatever he desired. For someone like Seresin, winning was everything regardless of collateral.

Your eyes narrowed at him; you figured he was probably up to another competition this time. Trying to win over the pretty female aviator at the bar, who was, in many ways, off-limits due to your association with Admiral Kazansky.

You decided you’d ask him directly. If there was anything Hangman was known for beyond his arrogance, it was that he could also be straightforward. “What do you want, Seresin?”

“I want a lot of things that involve you, sweetheart.” He winked, and you did your best to squelch the way your heart fluttered at his attention, “How about we start with your number?”

...Was he flirting with you? With a garbage pick-up line? Jesus Christ.

Your earlier guess was confirmed. Seresin saw you as another opportunity to boost his precious ego.

Just another notch in the infamous Seresin bedpost.

You weren’t here to play stupid games. “Do you have brain damage, Lieutenant?” You bit back at him.

Hangman didn't seem intimidated by your insult. If anything, he was enjoying this.

“Not that I’m aware. Perhaps you ought to give me a full examination at my place? Just to be safe.”

Besides the fact that you were only qualified for CPR, that had to be the lamest line from him so far. 

You stared at him in disbelief as he watched you smugly. Verbally sparring with Hangman was not something you had prepared for. You despised the fact he was a step ahead of you in the conversation.

“Hard pass.” You rolled your eyes, deciding to return your attention to your drink instead. 

"Aww, darlin', you're breaking my heart." Seresin clutched at his chest dramatically as if you had wounded him. "C'mon, just one little number?" 

He hovered closer into your personal space, and you considered him for a moment before an idea came to mind.

Alright. Game on, Hangman. 

“Fine.” You exhaled an exaggerated sigh and found yourself smiling back when he grinned victoriously at you in a way that lit up his face.

He had an attractive smile. 

After scribbling a number on a napkin and you handed it off to the blonde fighter pilot, “Here. Now go bother someone else, Hangman.”

“Talk to you later, sweetheart.” He gave you one last charming wink and then swaggered off towards his friends. Immediately he was greeted with high fives over his accomplishment.

Hook, line, and sinker.

After paying for your tab, you made a quick exit. On your way out, you texted an old friend.

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

Watching you leave, Hangman grinned and pulled out his phone to call the number you'd given him.

He was surprised by how quickly you picked up but quickly recovered. “So, how about a date? I was thinking tonight at your place would be good.” 

There was a pause on the other end of the phone, followed by a snort and a familiar voice "I'm flattered, Hangman, but no thanks."

Hangman froze in his spot, eyes widening in disbelief at the voice he heard over the phone. 

Was that...Rooster? 

Hangman’s confident tone faltered, “Bradshaw?” Jake’s blood started to thrum with fury as he tried to recollect himself.

“The one and only,” loud music blared in the background, “Diamond gave you my number since you can’t take no for an answer. Guess you can’t have every woman you want, can you, Hangman?”

What the fuck? 

Hangman scowled in irritation and a tinge of embarrassment, quickly hanging up on Rooster. 

He’d bet his money that you had Rooster’s number memorized since you hadn’t hesitated while writing down the number on the napkin. 

Jake had underestimated your quick wit and wouldn't make that mistake again. Next time, Seresin decided. There would definitely be a next time. There was no way he was letting you get away so easily.

The very idea of someone else, like Rooster, making you laugh or smile squeezed him with jealousy. Hangman refused to give up, not when he had finally met a woman that truly captivated him. 

Fine then, he gripped his phone tighter. He always enjoyed a good chase.

You had a head start.

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

Notes:

Goddaughter - “A goddaughter is a girl who’s the godchild of one or more godparents—people who have pledged to help with her upbringing....A godparent can still refer to their godchild with that term even after the child becomes an adult.” (Dictionary.com)

#hangman #hangman x reader #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x reader #hangman x you #top gun maverick #fanfiction #hangman seresin #hangman seresin x reader #hangman x female reader #hangman x f!reader #jake seresin x f!reader #jake seresin x fem!reader #hangman seresin x f!reader #top gun #top gun: maverick #glen powell #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin fanfic #hangman fanfiction #hangman fic #jake seresin x you #hangman top gun

[because-she-goes]

summer girl

warnings: tooth achingly sweet fluff, domestic!matty, them being heckin adorable. Enjoy!

“Matty, put down the camera for two seconds and look around you! We are in the most beautiful city in the world with some of the best art in the world. The land of Pablo Picasso, Antoni Tapies, Manolo Valdes and Joan Miro!” Nora, clearly, was elated to be on their honeymoon. Matty and her had thrown around ideas for the trip for a full 3 months before making a decision: Rome, Paris, Greece, Australia, Japan, Amalfi Coast, Ireland, Miami… until they landed on Spain. It then took another two weeks to narrow that down to Barcelona and come up with an itinerary and to-do list. La Sagrada Familia, Park Guell, The Picasso Museum, La Boqueria all being Nora’s picks. Matty decided on a sunset walk on La Rambla, the aforementioned Fundacio Joan Miro, Parc de la Ciutadella, and going to see a FC Barcelona game at Camp Nou. At every art museum, Matty would make the comment that Nora’s art was leagues better while she wandered around in awe - it never failed to make her giggle and blush.

The pair had been running around for a week or so now, Matty taking every opportunity to photograph Nora at their various stops and compliment her outfits and hype her up a bit. His favorite of these photos was taken at a secluded quiet beach they had found one afternoon, and it was like something out of Baywatch. Nora, in all her bikini-clad glory coming out of the crystal blue water. He thought his heart stopped at that moment and almost dialed for an ambulance. How was he this lucky? Not even in his dreams did he imagine this perfect of a wife, of a vacation, of a life. He was brought back to reality by her waving a hand in front of his face and giggling at him. “Like the bathing suit, Handsome?”

“O-oh god yes, Honey. You look positively drool-worthy in it.” He stuttered.

They took another dip in the water, dried off and changed into their walking clothes. She had gotten the most beautiful white sundress for the trip, lacey and delicate. Matty was in his summer uniform of a tee shirt, some sort of dress pants or jeans and sneakers. He currently was wearing Nora’s favorite of his to steal: it was a white shirt that had “I’m a little devil from Niagara Falls, Canada” written across the chest with a little cartoon. It had been put through the wash so many times now that the collar was starting to get loose and holes dotted the hems. The comforting shirt also allowed for his arm tattoos to be out on display, Nora was going a bit insane ogling them as they walked holding hands. Deciding they both needed to cool down a bit after being in the blazing spanish sun all day, they stopped for some shaved ice and coconut water.

That night for dinner, they went to a tapas bar and drank red wine like it was water. They sat in a quiet corner of the restaurant and giggled away as they recalled the early days of the relationship and their trips to London and New York to visit each other - always greeting the other with a ridiculous sign and flowers at the arrivals gate. The band in the bar was playing some Pete Rodriguez and basa nova as the two spent what felt like an eternity talking.

“You know, I have that Mets hat framed somewhere in storage from your first trip to London… kept it all these years later.” He confesses bashfully, half drunk.

“Well, good thing I still buy that candle from the time you came to New York for my birthday.” She reciprocates. The idea of the other keeping mementos of each other and their early love is enough to make them cry.

“Okay, before we get too emotional here, wanna go back to the hotel, Handsome?”

“I’d love nothing more, Honey.”

When they stumble back into their room, Nora runs for the closet where she was keeping his surprise wedding present. Matty was fixing them both glasses of kalimochos - red wine and coke from when they met, still being their drink of choice.

She grabs the guitar case and walks back to the small suite’s living room. “My love, come here for a minute… got something for you!” Nora’s voice rings as she calls him over.

“One second, Darling… just gotta grab something as well.” A devious giggle follows. He walks to their bedroom and grabs a neatly folded printed receipt from the side table.

“Alright, buttercup… let’s see what you’ve got.” She unsuccessfully hides the guitar case behind her back and giggles when she pulls it from him as he makes a reach for it. “C’mon don’t tease, baby. Lemme see what you’ve got in that… I wonder what it could be.” His eyes glimmer in the light and a smirk falls on his stupidly perfect lips.

“Here you go, baby… Had the hotel people drop it off while we were at the beach earlier.” She holds out the case and he gives her a wink as he grabs it. Opening it quickly, his face drops. Within it is a beautiful black Spanish guitar with cowboys sitting around a fire carved into it and “Singin’ Cowboys” engraved and covered with red paint. Matty’s heart stops and his eyes mist over. It is the most stunning, well-crafted instrument he’s ever held in his own hands. He takes it out and begins to play the start of “Iris” by The Goo Goo Dolls and his stomach sinks - it sounds even prettier than he could’ve imagined.

“My love… this is the greatest gift anyones ever gotten me. I love it so much, gonna treasure it for the rest of my life. I love you, baby… so so much.” He tells her as he looks up at the angel before him. How could she possibly be real? He wipes some tears from his eyes and kisses her with such tenderness and warmth that it takes her back a bit and knocks the wind out of her. When they disconnect for air, she holds his face for a moment before kissing his forehead. “My sweet boy.” She whispers.

“My sweet girl.” He kisses her nose and taps it quickly. “Now, beloved, here is yours. I couldn’t physically get it here because it’s being shipped to New York currently, but I made sure to print out the order and a copy of it to give to you while we were here.” He nervously twists his rings around his finger… a habit he’s picked up since their New York wedding months ago.

“Oh, please Matty you didn’t have - oh holy shit… is- is this real?” She quickly asks, reading the paper over and over again to verify its real. An authentic Antoni Tàpies, one she’s always dreamt of since she learned about Spanish art in high school. She must’ve told Matty a hundred times about the art in Barcelona and all her favorite artists in Spain.

“Very real, baby… Hopefully you like that specific piece. I thought it had a cool energy to it and matched some of your work. What with the the hands and semi-heart above them.. Plus it’s from the 60s which I remember you always saying was one of your favorite decades in art!” He scratches the back of his neck as he rambles and tries to remember what she’s told him over the years and the information the seller gave him.

“Matty… Les Mains is one of my favorite pieces of art like ever… You’re insane oh my god! I love you and thank you thank you thank you, Handsome!!” She runs into his arms, still clutching the piece of paper in her hand. She knocks him back at first from the force of the hug, but quickly his arms wrap around her waist and he kisses her head.

“Love you too, baby. Can’t believe I am lucky enough to spoil you for the rest of my life and have you forever.”

“Me neither, Handsome.. and for the record, having you as my husband is the greatest gift I will ever receive.”

“Couldn’t agree more, Wife.” He kisses her again and in that moment it feels like time and the world ceases to exist. Just him and Nora in Barcelona… husband and wife.

#the 1975 #matty healy #matty healy fluff #drew’s writing :) #matty x nora #an encounter #HONEYMOONERS BABY #theyre so stinking cute omfg

[cyaranide]

mighty glad you stayed

for the prompt icemav + karaoke!

.

.

.

“no.”

ice has raised an eyebrow at him from the threshold of their backyard, impassive and unimpressed. but maverick only grinned, long immune to the icy exterior of tom kazansky to actually give a damn. his fingers danced lightly on the piano, deft and graceful, the notes ringing beautifully in their shared home.

“come on, ice,” he crooned, one-two-one-two notes accompanying his voice. his grin split his face, carefree as always. “has anyone told you you look like jim morrison?”

“i have no idea where did that come from,” ice frowned, but he walked closer nonetheless, eyes seemingly transfixed on maverick's hands constantly weaving the melody. “and if that's your way of telling me to sing, that's the most terrible one yet.”

and that's the thing with pete mitchell, see. he has this laser eye focus on his target; as sharp as a missile lock, as relenting as a barrage of ammos. ice hummed a song once in the shower and maverick had made it a lifelong mission to get iceman to sing.

the piano now was a nice touch, tad better than the last time maverick tried to cajole him to karaoke along to 'footloose' on the crowded o club. maverick never played the instrument often, only when bradley came over to teach the young kid to play, and it was evident from the way he warmed up to the tuts, feet still wiggling a bit awkwardly on the panels. but the slight frown between his eyes was a proof of his concentration, and ice would find it endearing if it's not for his expense.

“why are you so fixated on this?” ice stood beside the piano now, staring down at maverick—not giving up, yet, curious still. “it's just singing. not a big deal.”

“but that's the thing,” said maverick, stubborn and headstrong in his conviction. if only he showed this kind of enthusiasm for paperwork and not for mundane stuffs such as this. “it's your voice. i wanna hear it, ice. properly, not in the goddamn bathroom.”

“you got a kink for my voice, mitchell?”

“maybe i do,” maverick grinned wider then, the music slowly taking shape in a familiar melody that ice recognized. “come on, i'll sing along to sooth your nerves.”

“please don't, your voice is terrible.”

“then you might just start singing before i rupture your eardrums,” he smiled, wider again, so sure of the victory in front of his eyes. when maverick opened his mouth, he started to hum, “i've got this feeling down deep in my soul that i just can't lose."

lionel richie, how classic. maverick stared down for a moment before he looked back at ice, green eyes bright and smile almost bashful. “guess i'm on way.”

sappy bastard.

“needed a friend, and the way i feel now i guess i'll be with you till the end,” maverick continued on, his voice lulled softly with the accompanying melody. maverick's voice might not be the best out there, but—he played the instrument naturally like it was an extension of his limbs, a display of heartfelt emotions and gentle melodies.

there was always this heat, being around maverick. a great ball of fire, coming from the sky, melting down those who dare to stand in his way. or the crackling ember in the hearth, bright and comforting in a middle of the night.

and the flame would always melt the frozen.

“i'm stuck on you,”

and ice—tom, because maverick had that way with him, chipping away at the cold armor with endearing stubbornness and earnest feeling, until he was iceman no longer and just tom; tom, who loves quietly. tom, who would never deny those bright green eyes anything. tom, who learnt to live with his heart on his sleeves because pete has trusted him enough to do the same.

“been a fool too long,” maverick's eyes widen in delight when ice started to sing along, “i guess it's time for me to come on home.”

it was sappy, tooth-achingly sweet, but the words was sung softly; like a secret, like a confession.

“cause this time, little darling,” ice leaned down on the wooden piano, gazes never leaving each other. maverick missed a few notes, but neither one cared enough, too lost in each other. “i'm coming home to stay.”

“guess i'm on my way.”

mighty glad you stayed.

#drabble #top gun #icemav #tom iceman kazansky #iceman #pete maverick mitchell #maverick #they're disgustingly in love your honor #i want what they have

[dontwantnoneunlessyougotmunson]

Number 57 you sweet writing bb you 💜 please make it tooth achingly sweet like I know you caaaan.

ahahah welcome, bby 💛 I will do my best~

#57 I’m sorry, I wasn’t catcalling you, I was catcalling my buddy.

You sighed as you walked to your car. Your first day at the new school had not gone as well as it could have. Finding the place you fit was always the worst part of any move and it had proven so today. You looked down feet shuffling along the pavement.

"Oooh hey baby!" Called a voice from behind you. A wolf-whistle followed immediately.

You stopped suddenly, confused and a bit miffed. Cat-calling definitely hadn't been part of the plan today. You turned, ready to give the jerk a piece of your mind when you stumbled back. A body had rammed into yours and arms gripped your biceps, steadying you back on your feet. Your brow furrowed as you looked at the shaggy-haired guy who'd been calling out behind you.

"What the hell was that?" you spit out.

His eyes darted to yours. "Excuse me?"

"First you harass me and then you run right into me? It's my first day here and I'm just trying to go home!"

His eyes widened and he held his hands out placatingly. "First of all, I am incredibly sorry for running into you. Second, I was not cat-calling you, I was cat-calling my buddy."

He gestured past you to a small group of people heading your way. You grimaced and gave an awkward wave before turning back to him. He rubbed the back of his neck, sheepishly. "I really am sorry. And it's not that you aren't worth cat-calling, you just.. I wasn't talking to you.. But I could.. if you want to."

You put a hand up to your cheek, feeling the heat of your skin as you blushed. A playful look came over his face as he noted your expression.

"Aww look, Eddie. You made her speechless," one of the younger guys chuckled.

Your eyes met his again, one side of his lips curling up. He held a hand out to you and said, "Eddie Munson. Pleasure to meet you m'lady."

You placed your hand in his and said, "Y/N. Nice to meet you."

His hand squeezed yours gently, careful not to pinch you with his ring. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

Your nose scrunched up, confused. "Well yeah.. it's school. I have to be here."

"School rules don't mean a thing to him," one of the girls snickered.

"Ah, ah, ah." He wagged his finger at her. "This year is different. It's my year."

She rolled her eyes good-naturedly and the group turned to walk to their cars. He winked and jogged to catch up to them. Halfway to the cars, he turned and walked backwards. "Hey, Y/N!" He waited until your gazes caught and wolf-whistled. He cupped his hands around his mouth to yell back to you. "Respectfully!" He stumbled when you beamed at him, almost landing on his face.

You hid your red face behind your books, rushing to your car so you could sit for a moment and cool off. Maybe the new school wouldnt be so bad.

#Eddie munson #eddie munson fluff

[wanderbreadsworld]

For the fic directors commentary, I would ask for commentary on the Kenny x reader X Claudio one but I'd é be happy with whatever you choose ⭐<3

I had to think of my favorite parts to comments on. Parts of the story will be italicized, while commentary will be regular text in (parentheses). It's a lot longer than I thought it would be, I'm so sorry 😭. But I'm glad I did this instead of redoing and commentating the whole fic jhdbsgker.

Backstage, their own fighting was putting me on edge. But, then the bell rang, and Claudio had pinned one of the bucks. With a sigh of defeat, I didn't realize that Kenny powered out of the ring, Claudio hot on his tail. It just looked like Claudio was going for another victim, so I didn't think twice about it.

But when I opened the door, two large men stood in front of me instead of the one I was used to. Claudio was right behind Kenny, both of their chests heaving from the run back here.

"Hi guys, awesome match. You gonna come in?" I wasn't sure who my question was directed towards, but they answered by turning to each other, a quick mumble of some french from Kenny, making Claudio nod and walk away to his own dressing room.

(This part for some reason took me a HOT minute to write. It was one of those things, where I knew what I wanted for the smut, but I needed to write the intro to get there lol. It worked out though! I think it's pretty okay to get us to where I needed to be!)

And when Kenny came out he gave me a warm smile. The kind that made his face look so soft and warm. The kind I fell in love with. (This is one of my favorite lines. It still feels a little out of nowhere in the story I feel, but it's so fucking tooth-achingly sweet, that I had to keep it.) But before I could tease him for "taking so long", there was a knock on the door. It wasn't totally odd for someone to stop by, but it still caught me off guard.

"Can you get that baby? Let me put a shirt on." (Noooo, don't put the tiddies away!) I hopped up while Kenny threw on a shirt real quick. I hummed to myself, hastily opening the door because if anyone, I expected the Bucks to be there. (It's not them though, now is it 👀)

But instead, Claudio stood in the doorway, freshly bathed himself. My face scrunched in confusion at the sight. It wasn't often that Claudio played games with Kenny (haha! Because you won't be playing games. It'll be something much more fun 😏), and not usually on Wednesday nights.

I went to turn to look for Kenny, only to bump into his warm chest (mmm, boobs). All I could do was look up and back at him as his hands moved to sit on my hips, keeping me there for the moment.

Kenny and Claudio shared a look. The taller man stepped inside, Kenny pulling me back, so the door could close.

With the door shut, both men stood incredibly close (Oh, to be sandwiched between those two BIG men🤤). The only thing that broke me out of my thoughts was Kenny clearing his throat to grab my attention.

"I may have made a bet with Claudio the other night. One where the prize would've been your body for the night." A blush heated my face at his words and what they meant (Just for reference, apologies for not implying it better, but this is something that these two have talked about before and teased. In the future, any Kenny x reader x ((insert third person)) will take place in the same universe, so this sharing kink has been discussed. I may even make a fic where they discuss their kinks and I can give my own two cents on what Kenny's into). So that's why Claudio was so eager to follow Kenny after the match. That's why they fought particularly hard against each other.

"The bet was one of us had to pin the other, but I can't go back on my word completely. So I told him I'd share. I should've told you first, but I knew you'd love the surprise." (Damn right I love the surprise! Who DOESN't want a surprise second dick!) Kenny smirked against my ear before pulling away, standing up and pressing himself against me. His growing erection pressing against my lower back. (Fucking hell man. You know that dick is B I G too. I wanna feel that against me.)

(I will skip around some, and auto translate the bits of French. I love the dirty talk in this story. Really plays into my kink for foreign languages, and a good touch of dumbification is just 🤌 The translations are under the cut, because they take a WHILE to get through, it took me forever lol)

"N'hésitez pas à l'emmener au lit." ("Feel free to take her to bed") His smooth voice easily switched to French. I wasn't sure when he learned, as he had never told me, but I didn't question. Nor did I get the time to ask when Kenny pulled away, Claudio swooping in and sweeping me off my feet. (Yes Claudio, lift me off my feet with so little effort, you strong bastard 🤤)

"Sait-elle ce que nous disons ?" ("Does she know what we're saying?") He asked, a smirk on his face as he looked at Kenny.

When my boyfriend shook his head, Claudio looked back down at me, tutting with feigned pity. (God, need that man to feign pity on me. Also, who needs to know what they're saying? It's gonna be a good time no matter what they say!)

"Pauvre petite chose." ("Poor little thing") With those last words, I was dropped to the bed below, squeaking from surprise.

"Voulez-vous qu'il vous utilise?" ("Do you want him to use you?" God, I need Kenny to use me too) Kenny's smooth voice sounded, and I tried to make sense of what he was saying. My confused look earning a dark chuckle from him.

"Tsk tsk, tu dois lui demander bébé." ("Tsk tsk, you gotta ask him baby") That fake pity was back in his voice, and it made me shiver with delight. Being their stupid little toy that didn't understand, and only wanted more. (All I want is to be filled with Kenny. It's all I ever need, and knowing when it'll happen next is all I ever need to know🤤) It was too perfect.

Without another word, Claudio worked my underwear down my thighs and licked his way to my clit before sucking on it gentle, groaning to himself at the taste. (Also wanted to put this here, because I just feel Claudio is very good at eating out.)

"Si ça la rend comme ça, on pourrait la briser." ("If it makes her like this, we could break her") Claudio teased to Kenny, both men chuckling.

"Vous n'avez même pas vu comment elle est sur votre bite. Attends, ça va mieux." ("You haven't even seen how she is on your dick. Wait, it's better". Pls Kenny, slut me OUT)

"Maintenant soyez bon. Je lui ai dit de ne pas être gentil, alors écoute. D'accord?" ("Now be good. I told him not to be nice, so listen. All right?") The lilt in his voice that told me he was asking a question prompted an immediate nod to me. Not fully knowing what I was agreeing to was turning me on more than I thought. What made it even better, was no matter what I knew I'd have fun, because Kenny would never do anything that I wouldn't want to happen. (Gotta keep that consent in there! Kenny would never do anything to actually hurt you)

"Regarde-le. Il a laissé cela vous arriver. Tu vas être ruiné, petit agneau. Soyez une bonne salope et rendez-la heureuse." ("Look at him. He let this happen to you. You are going to be ruined, little lamb. Be a good slut and make her happy". Claudio teasing like this just came so easily, and I hope it is as enjoyable to others as it was to me!)

"Nous parlons de vous. En parlant de ta stupidité, petit agneau. Regardez-moi." ("We are talking about you. Speaking of your stupidity, little lamb. Look at me". God, I love that. The whole "little (insert name here)", it gets me every time) He pulled me closer to make me open my eyes before continuing. "Vous vous débrouillez si bien. Maintenant tais-toi et prends le reste." ("You are doing so well. Now shut up and take the rest") With his last words, Claudio's body left mine, and I nearly cried at the loss of being filled.

"Vous avez si bien réussi. Viens maintenant, ma chérie." ("You've done so well. Come now, my dear". Kenny helping you to the finish ;) man won't leave us hanging after all!)

"Maintenant dis merci." ("Now say thank you") Knowing what "merci" meant, I figured what he wanted me to say.

"Thank you, Claudio." I said before I took a sip of water to wet my dry throat, not realizing how painfully dry it was.

He just smirked, nodding before he replied.

"Anytime." Hearing him speak in English almost made me angry I couldn't understand their earlier conversations, but I let it go. I'm sure Kenny would happily recount, and then relive some of his favorite phrases and moments. (God, Kenny will not hold back recounting what was said. I know he'll tease even more for you asking too. But that's part of the fun 😏)

#i hope you enjoyed! #it was difficult #but interesting to go back and try to remember what I was thinking/my new thoughts on it #claudio castagnoli #kenny omega #kenny omega smut #kenny omega x reader #kenny omega x reader smut #<3 anon

[magicalara]

All He'd Ever Need

Hello, hello again and welcome back to Em's Week of Requests! Another fluffy one once again involving William, this time we have a cuddly Grelliam with the prompt "You haven't heard a single thing I've been saying, have you?" as requested by @hobbit-in-kuroshitsuji. I've made it reflective of my chubby William au, Mindful, but you don't need to read it first. Hope you enjoy!

| masterpost |

TW: slight mentions of body negativity, idk if chubby William is TW worth but I'm saying it again. that's all :)

It was nights like this that William loved most: a slight breeze coming in through the cracked window while the voice of his lover mixes with the midnight sounds in such a perfect way that makes his brain fuzzy. He might’ve complained about the warmth that he and his red-headed beauty exuded under the massive amounts of blankets she insisted they had on the bed-not to mention the way she pressed herself against his form closer and closer with each passing minute, but he just couldn’t bring himself to. Rather, he preferred to put his complaints aside for the night and stare at the woman he almost couldn’t believe was in his bed; the woman he came home to each night that would suffocate him in her love in only the best ways.

“You haven’t heard a single thing I’ve been saying, have you?” Grelle looked up at him and asked. She laid perfectly in William’s arms, her own tightly squeezed around his plush figure, as they so often were. If there was one thing that he knew whenever Grelle Sutcliff was in his vicinity, it was that even with all the extra insecurities that piled on top of his weight, she would always love him.

“Of course I have, my dear,” William said, his voice lowered to a whisper. He knew full well that he hadn’t and, judging by the adorable pout she now sported, so did Grelle. 

Could she really blame him, though? How could she expect him to focus while she held him so tightly, causing those delicious shivers to run down his spine with every swipe of her thumb on his skin? Even if he was void of her sweet caresses, just her very being next to him was enough to enthrall his mind. The way her bright hair fan out over the pillows; the slight curves on her figure; the way her face would morph with each expression as she told her stories; all reasons to just want to stare at the absolute goddess he was blessed to have. William felt as if he could spend hours just admiring her beauty. Knowing that he was allowed to touch her, to worship her? Well, that was just the icing on the already tooth-achingly sweet cake.

“Oh Will,” Grelle drawled out again in another attempt to get his attention, a finger starting to idly trace the stretch marks around his stomach causing little ticklish sparks to shoot through his skin as she got closer to her self-proclaimed favorite one just underneath his navel.

William stared at Grelle for a second more, then moved his face closer to hers, kissing her gently. Two reapers meant to serve punishment for all eternity, and yet here he was, demonstrating his love to the angel of his dreams; it was ironic, really, yet, again William found himself void of being able to care.

Separating from their kiss, William felt as Grelle entangled their legs further under the blankets, her grip on his midsection tightening. He lay his forehead against hers, closing his eyes as he felt himself slowly drifting off to sleep. William had his savior, his Grelle, and that’s all he’d ever need. 

#em's week of requests #kuroshitsuji #black butler #william t spears #grelle sutcliff #grell sutcliff #kuroshitsuji william #kuroshitsuji grelle #kuroshitsuji grell #grelle x william #william x grelle #grelliam

[hailtheknownworld]

I can't choose a single oc for the piping hot asks but all your ocs: 👃🔥😍 i wanna take notes pls

SIS!!!

👃 : Does your OC smell good? Do they have a signature scent?

Most of my OCs are nobles 🙈 so yes, they're more or less bathed in perfume lol But Amund and Svana both come from cultures that prioritize bathing a lot!

Alaric likes woodsy, musky scents, with a hint of spice. Very fitting for the Prince of Autumn, no? He needs to smell like he just stepped out of a Mercedes and he's about to treat you to an eye-wateringly expensive dinner.

Camille likes light, citrusy scents-- basically if it smells like he just came out of an expensive bath, that's him. Basically the smell you think about when you fantasize about a romantic summer fling.

Amund and Svana come from humbler stock, but~ Svana often smells like fire and smoke. She works as a blacksmith, so it's something that just can't be washed off. Her mother makes little bath oils from local wildflowers. The scent is very light, only detectable when you're within kissing range ;)

Amund usually smells like a mix of old books and baking bread. But those freshly cut florals linger on him too after a long thoughtful bath.

🔥 : What’s a surefire way to make your OC get flustered?

Alaric loves confidence, and is sure to melt in your arms if you can give as good as you can take. He likes to be wanted and adored, and a good round of dirty talking will have him hot and bothered all day.

Camille likes it when someone is in charge and shows it. He isn't nicknamed the 'pillow princess' for funsies. He likes being spoiled and will get absolutely flustered if you make him promises of spoiling and pampering.

Amund gets flustered easily from romantic attention, so even just going up to him and tell him he's good looking is enough to get him blushing madly.

Svana doesn't fluster easily, not outwardly at least. She's used to men making lewd advances to her. But... if you're tooth-achingly romantic to her? Flowers and hand kisses? She won't admit it but she will get soft and blushy.

😍 : What does your OC find irresistible in others?

As mentioned above, Alaric loves confidence. He recognizes confidence is more than just being boastful and loud however. He also likes people who are adventurous and fun, willing to try new things with him.

Camille likes the finer things in life and it'd be hard pressed for me to admit that he can sometimes come off as a gold-digger. But beyond that he likes people who can also enjoy life in a Big Picture kind of way? Expensive wines and lavish dinners, making love that leaves you breathless, followed by a luxurious bath and then bed time together? Sign him up NOW.

Amund is very romantic in the sense that most of his ideas of love and courtship came from the many, many books he's read in secret. Coming from a small village, he's not exposed to a lot of different folks, but he can't lie that he isn't swayed by a handsome face that packs a whole lot of charm behind it.

Svana isn't really one for romance, per se. At least, not in the way she thinks girls ought to? Like, most girls (and some boys) in her village wish for a handsome stranger to romance them by the lake, sing them sweet songs and bring them gifts. Svana is more likely to be swayed by a set of muscles and big, kind heart. She will never, ever admit this, however.

#ask memes #ask games #asks #THANK YOU SAYANG #alaric allard #camille allard #svana dragonheart #amund stormsinger

[tropes-and-tales-archives]

Bryan Kneef:  Breaking Point, Part Four

Word Count:  2350

TW:  Dub con (a kiss); mild violence (Bryan gets slapped).  18+ only to be safe.

AN:  Part four of a nine part series.  Other parts can be found here.

Christmas was only two weeks away, and throughout the firm, offices started going dark.  Depending on the department, STR Laurie could be generous with their end-of-year time off.  Depending on the department…and the litigator who led it.

Offices were going dark, people were leaving for the rest of the year, but Bryan Kneef’s department was fully staffed and working the same grinding hours as ever.  You were glad you were going to leave within a few months, hopefully shuffled off to work under a more sympathetic manager which - considering how ill-mannered and impolite Bryan was – wouldn’t be much of a task.

Still, you and your coworkers tried to make it as cheerful as possible.  You ordered in and took group lunches together.  You decorated your desks and the shared spaces, like the copier room and the conference rooms.  You planned your own department-only holiday party at a nearby pub for the weekend, with a gift swap.

“Should we invite the boss?” asked Caleb, another paralegal.  He turned and glanced at Bryan’s closed office door and frowned a little.  

You thought about it.  It would be rude to not invite him, but Bryan forewent any polite societal rules.  Even on good days, he was sarcastic, and he’d been increasingly rude and downright mean as the holiday season approached.  If it hurt his feelings that he wasn’t invited (a mighty big if, since you assumed Bryan didn’t have feelings), tough shit.  You hated to see anyone left out, but Bryan had used up any warm, seasonal feelings you may have had for him.  

What did he say at the STR Laurie party?  We aren’t friends.

“Nah,” you told Caleb.  “We’re beneath him anyway.”

*****

Bryan had his admin put a meeting on his calendar with you for late Wednesday.  You were hard to read:  furious when you had thrown snowballs at him, coolly snide when he went to your apartment to ask you to return to work.  Tooth-achingly sweet at the holiday party, until he soured the moment and ran you off.  You seemed friendly and easy-going with others around the office.  It was hard to know which side was the real you.

He was certain of one thing:  if he didn’t find you a new placement by the end of January – February at the very latest – you would leave the firm.  Bryan had already lost two other people this month.  H.R. was getting clued in to his lack of people skills.  He would readily admit that he only had a modicum of charm.  His success in his career was due to a certain cut-throat demeanor that was nearly a cliché for lawyers.  His success with women was due to his money and his looks.

Still, maybe he could use that small bit of charm now.

You came into his office and shut the door, and you started to sit in the chair across from his desk, but Bryan stood up and gestured at the couch instead.  He reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out a bottle of Macallan Rare Cask, holding it up to you in an unasked question.  You shook your head, and you watched him pour a double into the coffee mug – World’s Okayest Boss – that you and his team had gotten him.  He noticed you watching him, noticed you noticing the mug in use, but your face remained blank, giving him nothing.

He picked up your personnel file and joined you on the couch, noting the way you shifted a few inches away from him as he sat.

He sipped his bourbon and looked you over closer.  You had a standard uniform for the office:  pencil skirt, thick stockings (in the winter only), button-down shirt, everything in bland neutrals.  A strand of pearls (probably fake) peeked out from where your collar gaped open a bit.  Pearl studs in your ears, also likely fake.  

Your sole nod to personal taste were your colorful flats (nearly childish, and they put him in mind of the shiny, plastic shoes his half-sister used to be crammed into for family portraits) and your perfume.  If Bryan leaned forward and took a deep breath, he could just make out the subtle, earthy scent of vetiver.  He preferred his women to smell like women – sweet or floral or powdery – but it suited you, somehow.

“Why didn’t you go to law school?” he asked, blunt, as he flipped open your file.  “You took your LSATs.  Did really well.”  

You shrugged at him.  “I changed my mind about law school.”

Bryan tapped on the top page of your file – your updated resume.  “There’s an unexplained gap between graduation and work.  Why?”

That got a reaction:  your eyes narrowed a bit and you pursed your lips.  “Personal reasons,” was all you offered.

“Explain.”

“They’re personal.”

Bryan took a sip of his bourbon and narrowed his own eyes back at you.  “Pretend we’re friends after all.  Let’s chat about the year between graduating from undergrad and getting a job with – “ He broke off to consult your resume.  “ – Keller, Morgan, and Morgan.”

It made you snort.  “If we were friends, you’d already know that about me.  I’m pretty open with my friends.”

“Quid pro quo then.  You tell me, and I’ll tell you something personal about my life.”

That made you laugh – an honest, surprised laugh that made you throw your head back.  “I think I have a pretty good read on your life, but okay.  I’ll bite.”  Your face turned serious, and you added, “I had a family member get sick.”

“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand.  “What do you mean, you have a good read on my life?”

You gave that same shrug of yours, a lazy sort of “what can you do?” gesture.  “You know…”

“I don’t,” he replied, his jaw tightening.  “Enlighten me.”

“Okay.”  You turned and faced him a little on the couch, studied his face.  “You have some glib little motto you live by, like work hard, play hard or live fast, die young, leave a good-looking corpse.  Something like that.  Everything is calculated.  The right job, the right condo at the right address, the right car.  The right woman for the right moment.”

“That’s called success,” he retorted sarcastically.  “Stellar profiling.”

“But what no one knows, maybe not even you – it doesn’t make you happy.  You’re miserable.  Which is why you take it out on everyone around you.  You don’t lash out at people at your level or higher.  You’d never dare speak to the senior partners the way you speak to us.  Which makes you a bully.  And bullies are, almost always, miserable with themselves first and foremost.”

“You sound like a fucking after-school special.”

You tilted your head and peered at him a little closer.  “So you are unhappy.”

“The fuck I am.”  He drained off the rest of his bourbon and plunked the mug down on the coffee table, and he turned to face you.  “I pull in six figures.  I have a condo that overlooks the fucking lake.  I’m a member of the Sky-Line Club.  What was the other thing you said?  The right woman for the right moment?  Yeah, I’ll give you that one.  After this, I could head to the Underground or the Aviary and have any woman I want, just like that.”  He raised his hand and snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“Oooh,” you replied.  “I’m sure your date for the evening is just enthralled by your personality too.”

“Personality is just a nice word to give ugly people hope,” he informed you.  And because your assessment of him hit just a little too close to home, especially in light of the brewing disaster with Cara and the St. Kitts trip, he looked you over pointedly and added, “For example, I imagine you have a sparkling personality.”

The slap came so fast and so hard that Bryan swore he never even saw it.  His head whipped to the side, and fuck if it doesn’t make some of the blood in his body turn southward.  Maybe he had an unexplained pain kink he never realized before.

“Fuck you,” you hissed, and Bryan turned back to face you.  Your color was high, just like the night of the snowball fight, but your eyes were narrowed to slits.  You weren’t just fed up like before – now you were furious.

Just like the night of the snowball fight, he found himself getting unexpectedly turned on.  The longer the moment stretched between the two of you – him staring at you, you staring back with your hand half-raised to deal him another slap – the harder he got.  If your eyes drifted down to his lap, the situation would become clear to you.  But you only glared at him, your eyes boring into his own.

He ached for you to hit him again.  Call him an asshole.  Hold him accountable for his own unforgivable behavior.

“Don’t worry about it, sweetheart,” he said in his most insouciant tone.  “I’ve fucked plenty of girls with personality.”

You did it – you raised your hand again, but some self-defense part of his lizard brain made him catch your wrist in mid-swing…and then some cave-man part of him used your own momentum against you, yanked you forward into him, and he caught your mouth, half-open in surprise, with his own.

Bryan swore there was a moment when you kissed him back.  Between the gasp of surprise against his mouth and the moment you shoved him away, a scandalized look on your face.  There was a moment, brief though it was, where you seemed to melt into his grasp, and where your own tongue crept out to lick against his own mouth.  

He swore he felt your hand on his chest, palm flat against shirt, achingly close to a loving gesture but not quite.

But then you were shoving him away, and trying to stand, and Bryan had to tighten his grip on your wrist, and suddenly he was worried that he was bruising your wrist, holding you too tight, holding you against your will…shit, this was bad.  Bryan was good, a top litigator, but he wasn’t invincible and he wasn’t irreplaceable.  A sweet little paralegal, sporting a bruised wrist and an angry flush of red from where his beard rubbed against her mouth, could march into H.R.…

“What the fuck, Bryan?” you yelled.  You yanked your wrist out of his hand just as he was letting it go, and you flailed backwards, momentarily unsteady, before you righted yourself.

He didn’t answer.  The enormity of the situation was dawning on him, and he only muttered “fuck” to himself before standing up and striding to his desk for the bourbon and a clean glass.  He sank into his chair and poured a shot, tossed it back, and poured another.  It was early evening – everyone else was likely gone for the day.  And his office door was closed.  Fuck.  Fuck.

Long moments passed, and the office was thick with tension.  Bryan hung his head, focused on his glass of bourbon.  He chanced a look at you – you were still on the couch, your face flushed, your eyes fixed on him.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and the word practically stuck in his throat despite the truth of it.  He was sorry.  He hated how Marcus, a fellow litigator, took liberties with his interns.  He hated men who did that at all, felt a sick twist in his stomach.  Bryan preferred to make women beg him for it, yet here he was – forcing himself on you.  A sweet little paralegal, truth be told, who he had insulted out of sport and then assaulted.  It made the bourbon churn in his gut.

“It’s…it’s fine,” you finally answered.  You reached up, maybe unconsciously, and wiped your  mouth, and that hurt some point of his pride too, the thought that he had been disgusting, had tasted disgusting to you.

He didn’t say anything.  He watched as you reached down and picked up your personnel file, its contents scattered on the floor from when it slipped off of his lap.  He watched you reassemble it, and then you stood and carried it over to him.

“We can pretend it never happened,” you murmured as you sat the file on his desk.  “We both acted in ways that could get both of us fired.”  When Bryan arched an eyebrow in confusion, you pointed vaguely at his face.  “I hit you.  Assault.”

He chuckled mirthlessly.  “I doubt any jury would blame you, once you march out character witnesses.”

That made you smile – a real one, it seemed.  “Well, when all you have is personality going for you, it helps to cultivate a mean right hook.”

“That’s not true,” he said.  “I shouldn’t have said that.”  He didn’t apologize for it, of course (one “I’m sorry” was his absolute limit for the month).  And he didn’t elaborate that of course you weren’t ugly.  You didn’t have the high-polish and poise of his usual conquests (those awful flats of yours, for example), but you were appealing in a down-to-earth way.  Certainly none of Bryan’s past girlfriends would ever slap him so hard, since they would risk marring their manicures.

“It’s fine,” you repeated.  You glanced over your shoulder at the door, probably yearning for an exit from this terrible, awkward moment.  You turned back to face him.  “Can I go?”

Bryan nodded, and he watched you leave.  He sat there a long time afterwards – long after you gathered your coat and left, long after the sick churning in his gut receded.  It would probably be fine after all.  You had hit him, and STR Laurie had a zero tolerance policy about workplace violence.  You mutual bad behaviors could cancel the other’s out.

So he thought about the kiss instead:  the way you tasted like peppermint, probably from those candy canes you were always sucking on thanks to the season.  The way your pulse had jumped in your wrist, circled by his hand.  

The moment where he swore you kissed him back.

#bryan kneef #bryan kneef imagine #bryan kneef x reader #bryan kneef x you #the good fight #the good fight fanfiction #tropes-and-tales

[midsumrs]

velvet  in  her  hair  and  rope  around  her  throat . . .  or maybe  it’s  lace  and  she’s  only  imagining  it  that  way .

keira  st.  cloud  .  twenty -  five  .  run  away  runaway  model  +  university  student .  dark  academia  +  thriller  oc  .

chapter one…

wednesday,  december  of  1999  -  born  underneath  the  austrian  half-moon  was  a  red-faced,  ocean-eyed,  pink  flowering  baby.  conceived  in  the  midst  of  a  lilac-misted  spring,  your  grandmother  once  said  some  of  that  bloom  still  lingered  deep  within  the  vast  meadows  of  your  heart  -  it  blossomed  so  rampantly,  she  was  certain  you  would  become  more  wildflower  than  you  were  a  girl  someday.  your  mother,  vivienne  st.  cloud,  couldn’t  bring  herself  to  care  about  the  frivolities  of  your  grandmother’s  predictions  -  not  when  you  had  become  the  final  addition  to  complete  the  greedy  inner  world  of  her  nouveau  riche  family.  known  for  being  the  genius  behind  the  renown  fashion  house,  st. cloud,  critics  say  vivienne  struck  gold  when  she  unearthed  millions  of  dollars  from  the  billowing  flow  of  couture  designs  that  revolutionized  the  future  of  the  fashion  industry  overnight.  

the  origins  of  your  mother’s  wealth  didn’t  matter  much  to  her,  not  when  image  meant  everything.  all  she  knew  was  that  you  were  the  newborn  daughter  born  from  her  new  money  aspirations,  sculpted  from  clay  not  for  a  real  desire  for  a  family,  but  rather  for  a  glossier  picture  in  the  paper.  you  were  a  st.  cloud  now  -  influential,  fame-ridden,  and  above  all  else,  idolized  by  fashion  critics  and  high  society  alike;  a  family  that  consisted  of  an  elite  matriarch,  an  elder  son  born  beneath  the  blazing  sun  and  you,  her  youngest,  keira  faye;  moon-eyed,  sweet  yet  heart-achingly  sad  if  you  look  at  the  family  portrait  for  too  long.  

you  hardly  remember  anything  about  your  childhood  in  south  london  other  than  the  feel  of  designer  ribbons  wrapped  so  tightly  around  your  neck,  it  felt  more  like  rope  to  you than  anything  else.  so,  what  was  it  about  your  girlhood  that  you  fought  tooth  and  nail  to  forget  about?  when  you  have  more  wealth  than  you  could  ever  begin  to  count  and  a  stable  roof  over  your  head,  it  becomes  impossible  to  justify  feeling  as  though  something  was  ever  wrong  in  your  life  -  at  least,  that's  what  you  grew  up  hearing  from  your  tutors  whenever  you  breathed  out  even  the  slightest  whispers  of  dissatisfaction  to  them.  you  could  only  suppose  the  origins  of  your  gloom  had  something  to  do  with  the  fact  that  you  were  raised  purely  by  a  brother  barely  older  than  you  -  or  did  it  have  anything  to  do  with  the  absence  of  maternal  affection  altogether?  the  older  you  got,  the  more  difficult  it  became  trying  to  pinpoint  it  all.  

you  liked  to  reimagine  all  those  stifling  family  dinners  where  the  three  of  you  picked  at  immaculately  prepared  five-course  meals  with  images  of  love  and  laughter  -  you  swore  if  you  looked  between  the  lines  of  your  monthly  dinners,  you  lot  resembled  a  normal,  happy  family.  while  those  daydreams  were  enough  to  fuel  you  throughout  the  majority  of  your  youth,  nothing  truly  eradicated  the  unhealthy  amount  of  hours  you  spent  in  the  gym  for  a  career  in  modeling  your  mother  thrusted  upon  your  little  shoulders.  being  a  girl  shy  of  ten,  with  a  heart  full  of  yearning  for  something  more  profound  to  the  visible  eye,  you  came  to  realize  modeling  was  your  best  chance  at  obtaining  some  form  of  affection  -  not  that  you  knew  what  it  felt  or  looked  like  to  begin  with..

chapter  two…

every  night  since  your  modeling  debut,  you  scribbled  wishes  of  unity  in  your  journal  until  it  tore  clean  through  the  pages;  thinking  that  if  you  wrote  your  wishes  hard  enough,  made  the  letters  big  and  bold  enough,  maybe  they  would  finally  come  true.  it's  never  going  to  be  enough  -  you  learn  that  the  older  you  get,  when  the  rose-colored  lenses  begin  to  fade  and  the  red  flags  aren’t  as  pink  as  you  initially  thought  them  to  be.  instead  of  harnessing  your  mother’s  affection,  you  discover  a  wider  audience  captive  in  the  palm  of  your  little  hand  -  an  audience  that  loved  you  so  dearly  and  so  purely,  they'd  take  a  bite  out  of  your  plump  rosy  cheeks  and  eat  you  alive  if  they  could.  you  are  a  fashion  icon,  known  to  the  world  as  vivienne  st.  cloud’s  reflection  in  the  mirror.  successful,  beautiful,  and  pioneering  for  your  age  -  but  there  is  no  straying  from  the  fact  that  you’re  starved  for  connection.  you  are  underweight  for  a  love  so  essential,  it’s  almost  too  grotesque  a  reality  to  behold.  the  solution  to  your  loneliness  in  a  tempestuous  world  is  unearthed  where  you  least  expect  it  -  in  the  company  of  dead  poets  and  literature.  

born  from  the  introduction  of  shelley’s  frankenstein’s  monster  was  a  special  kind  of  understanding  of  the  world  you  belonged  to..  you  supposed  you  were  your  mother’s  very  own  post  modern  prometheus  if  you  looked  closely  between  the  break  lines.  a  creation  made  naught  for  individualism  nor  freedom,  but  rather  for  the  company’s  pristine  image.  you  are  chained  away  from  attaining  a  true  sense  of  self  and  your  mother  held  the  key  tightly  in  her  grip.  your  newly  blossomed  love,  still  ripe  and  sickly  sweet,  is  stolen  straight  from  your  fingertips  the  moment  you  are  found  with  your  nose  in  a  book  rather  than  attending  an  important  rehearsal  —that  to  you—  was  as  unnecessary  as  rhyming  was  in  a  free  verse  poem.  it  is  then,  at  the  tender  age  of  thirteen,  that  you  learn  you  have  no  corporeal  identity  outside  of  the  st.  cloud  name,  and  though  your  mother’s  disappointment  stung  more  to  you  than  anything  you’ve  ever  come  to  know,  it  was  fiction’s  affection  that  awakened  the  sleeping  wilderness  nestled  perfectly  within  the  cracks  of  your  soul ��-  the  very  thing  your  late  grandmother  once  foresaw  when  she  first  held  you  in  her  arms.

chapter  three…

much  to  your  mother’s  dismay,  you  turned  out  to  be  a  lot  more  clever  than  the  world  gave  you  credit  for  -  smarter  than  she  would  have  ever  preferred.  you’re  fourteen  when  you  realize  just  how  important  being  yourself  was  in  a  household  as  absent  and  domineering  such  as  your  own.  by  the  time  summer  rolled  along,  you  began  to  resemble  a  shakespearean  nymph  in  the  woods  more  than  you  did  a  runaway  model;  feral,  hungry,  and  more  alive  with  the  garden’s  soil  between  your  toes  than  you  were  in  diamond-studded  heels.  you  realize  there  is  power  in  rejecting  everything  your  mother  wanted  you  to  be,  a  beauty  in  taking  the  reins  of  the  chariot  you  liked  to  call  your  fate.  

alas,  mother  hamsters  eat  their  young  when  they’re  penned  in  together  for  too  long;  you  had  become  far  too  curious  for  your  family  to  manage,  too  restless  as  you  passionately  recited  emerson  and  tolstoy  to  your  brother  and  the  maids  atop  of  expensive  kitchen  counters.  you  were  too  hopeful.  too  eager.  you  were  too  much.  it  wasn’t  acceptable  for  a  member  of  the  prestigious  st.  cloud  family  -  you  just  didn’t  belong  amongst  the  new  gods  in  the  gilded  heavens.  you  still  remember  the  chagrin  in  your  mother’s  voice  when  she  spoke  about  you  to  an  unknown  man  -  a  lover,  you  presumed.  it  had  always  been  that  way  for  as  long  as  you  could  remember;  vivienne  against  the  world,  even  against  her  own  flesh  and  blood.  to  her,  fixing  what  she  ignorantly  called  teenage  rebellion  was  as  easy  as  forcing  you  to  skip  a  meals  to  look  perfect  for  the  catwalk  or  as  easy  as  the  grass  was  green  and  the  sky  was  blue.  

before  you  could  muster  up  the  courage  to  utter  out  a  word  defiance,  you  found  yourself  becoming  yet  another  package  on  your  mother’s  delivery  invoice,  priority  shipped  to  a  prestigious boarding  school  in  the  upper  east  side  of  new  york,  somewhere  out  of  sight  and  out  of  worry.  it  was  only  natural  that  grief  stemmed  from  the  wound  in  your  heart  that  once  poured  love  so  effortlessly  into  the  world.  even  though  you  suffered  in  the  face  of  your  desolation,  fitting  in  with  the  crowd  failed  to  be  a  concern  of  yours,  not  when  you  were  the  shiny  new  toy  all  the  other  boys  and  girls  wanted  to  play  with  -  like  something  dropped  from  a  magpie’s  beak  only  to  be  swiftly  snatched  away  the  moment  it  touches  the  ground.  and  as  quick  as  that  grief  overshadowed  you,  three  years  had  somehow  passed  by  in  the  company  of  your  poetry  and  an  old  typewriter  your  english  teacher  gave  you  on  a  loan.  

you’re  three  years  older,  three  years  wiser  and  out  of  that  time,  you  learned  never  to  give  yourself  away  entirely,  to  never  wear  your  heart  on  your  sleeve  again.  unfortunately,  luck  was  never  meant  to  be  eternal,  and  on  the  eve  of  your  eighteenth  birthday,  your  mother  arranged  for  your  eagerly  awaited  return  to  the  industry.  what  you  didn’t  know  how  to  voice,  however,  was  that  you  weren’t  so  sure  you  fit  into  the  st.  cloud  mold  any  longer.  the  future  beckoned  you  to  become  a  poet  someday  -  you  wanted  to  attend  columbia  and  follow  in  the  footsteps  of  ginsberg.  you  wanted  to  spin  stories  about  girls  with  hungry  hearts  and  scuffed  knees  who  grew  up  delphic  and  half-wild,  just  like  yourself.  

chapter  four…

upon  sending  your  applications  all  the  way  from  boarding  school  and  returning  back  to  south  london,  the  first  thing  you  do  is  come  face  to  face  with  your  mother’s  relentlessness.  while  you  were  steadfast  in  your  method  of  approach,  nothing  could  erase  the  memory  of  your  wrathful  matriarch  stomping  on  your  dreams  like  wildflowers  growing  amongst  the  cobblestones.  in  the  face  of  a  grotesque  tragedy,  you  realize  you  have  reached  the  limit  of  your  patience.  it  was  only  when  you  uprooted  yourself  from  the  st.  cloud  lineage  to  pursue  an  education  away  from  the  fashion  industry  that  your  mother  knew  she  lost  all  semblance  of  control  over  you.  she  wasn’t  sure  what  felt  worse:  losing  money  from  the  loss  of  her  fashion  company’s  mascot,  or  failing  to  maintain  that  fraudulent  image  of  a  perfect  family.  whatever  it  was,  you  knew  that  wasn’t  your  problem  anymore.  

for  a  moment  too  long,  you  resembled  a  compass  spinning  out  of  control,  but  it  was  that  raw  hunger  for  love  and  autonomy  that  led  you  anywhere  and  everywhere.  with  a  pretty  simper  and  a  spark  in  your  eyes,  you  caved  to  your  desires  and  ran  to  the  edges  of  the  world  in  hopes  of  filling  the  hole  in  your  heart  with  whatever  you  could  get  your  hands  on.  in  new  york,  you  lived  for  modernism  and  the  arts,  in  france  you  learned  about  film  and  music.  by  the  time  you’re  in  japan  at  the  end  of  the  year,  you’re  in  love  with  little  white  pills  and  the  surreal  feeling  you  swore  was  a  reflection  what  you  imagined  love  felt  like.  the  snow  was  crisp  in  december  when  you  realized  melancholy  adds  depth  to  being  a  writer.  if  you  repeat  the  names  of  all  the  best  writers  followed  by  your  own  then  perhaps  you’ll  become  one  of  them.

#. ˚ biography — keira st. cloud.

[ikehoe]

Just a Regular Saturday Morning [Licht Klein x Reader][Ikemen Prince] - Fluff

Tags: Pure Fluff, Licht being a sweetheart

Description: It's become routine for you, Licht, and Yves to participate in regular tea parties with tooth-achingly sweet desserts. However, when you don't show up one Saturday morning, the charming crimson-eyed Prince takes it upon himself to find you and figure out what happened. 

A/N: Ya'll... I'm not even halfway through Licht's route in Ikemen Prince, and this man has wholly captured my heart. MC's HAIRCLIP?! His sudden disappearance to go into town to find a replacement? Goodbye. 

Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Ikemen Prince or any of the Ikemen series games. I'm merely an avid fan of being MC.

WC: 1.6k

Fic is located under read more. 

It was like any regular Saturday morning in the garden. The sun was beaming down, the light floral fragrance coming from the beautiful flowers was wafting throughout the area. Not only that, there was a table set up in the middle of the garden laden with sweets and delicacies that could render a dessert-lover speechless. Two regal young men occupied a chair at opposite sides of the table. 

Yves Kloss and Licht Klein had long made this an unofficial tradition of theirs – sharing sweets and lighthearted talk on Saturday mornings. However, that changed once you joined the castle in your official role as Belle. The three of you quickly became fast friends, at least that's what you told yourself. The friendship between you and Yves had come simply. After all, the beautiful blonde Prince was clear with his actions, despite his vehement denial when it came to caring about you and Licht.

On the other hand, your relationship with the other Prince was a little more nuanced than you'd like to admit. From the outside looking in, anyone could tell that you cared deeply about Licht, perhaps crossing the line of romantic feelings. To the select few that cared about the crimson-eyed Prince, they would say the same about his feelings towards you as well. However, the closest you two had gotten to bridging the gap about your feelings were long, tender stares in which Licht would immediately break eye contact and warn you from getting any closer. 

"Where is she? I can't believe she'd be so late! I know she's a commoner, but I thought she'd have at least a little more respect for time than this," Yves huffed out, staring pointedly at his dining counterpart. "I told her that we were meeting this morning! I even told that annoying attendant of hers just to make sure she wouldn't forget." 

Licht kept quiet at the other Prince's outburst. He knew that Yves was often rough with his words, but for those who truly understood him, every one of his complaints about you was laced with care and concern. 

"Yves, I think I've had enough for today," Licht stated, getting up from his chair. He'd never admit it to you, but your absence from the weekly tea party was going to put a significant damper on his day. Not only that, it was highly uncharacteristic of you to miss anything related to sweets – or anything at all, for that matter. You were always punctual and earnest with your words. That was something Licht relied upon to ground him; he knew that no matter what happened, you'd always be there with your kind eyes and carefree smile.

"Licht, you're going to go find her, aren't you?" Yves looked up with concern at his friend. The blonde Prince had long known about Licht's repressed feelings for you, but it was a conversation that neither dared to broach. Yves wasn't one to push Licht for answers, understanding that privacy was a huge basis for the two's friendship.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Yves. I've merely had enough of the macarons for now," Licht responded, blank stare trained at the other Prince. "But thank you, they were delicious, as usual. I think I will take some to snack on later today." 

Meanwhile, in the library…

"Belle? Belle? Wake up, Belle." 

With a start, you sat up from the study desk littered with books detailing the extensive and complicated history of Rhodolite. The last you remember, you had tried to cram in as much knowledge about the country as possible. So you'd stayed up studying until the wee hours of the night. Sariel warned you that he would be quizzing you very soon and to take your studies seriously. Unfortunately, it seemed like you heeded his warning a little too well.

"Belle? Are you feeling unwell?" A familiar monotonous voice asked. 

"O—Oh, Prince Licht!" You cried out, eyes focusing on the handsome but cold Prince in front of you. All of a sudden, your promise to Yves flashed in your mind, and you grimaced. "What time is it?! Am I late for the tea party? I have to apologize to Prince Yves!" 

An amused look behind his eyes, Licht silenced you with a quick finger to your lips and shrugged. "He'll live. More importantly, are you feeling alright? You look a little feverish right now." 

It was true – but not for the reasons the Prince thought. Lately, every time you stared a little too deeply into Licht's eyes, you began to feel your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. It was to the point that even Nokto had started to tease you about your hidden feelings towards his twin brother. Of course, you never meant to develop feelings for Licht or any of the royal family members. Still, it was hard to deny the attraction you felt for the sullen Prince. How could anyone resist when Licht noticed things about you that other people, even Rio, didn't? 

Ever since the incident that happened a couple of weeks ago, Licht's gift to you, a beautiful hair clip, had been your accessory of choice. You didn't miss how Licht's eyes briefly landed on your hair the first time you'd worn it – the faintest of smiles appearing behind his usual stoic expression.

"I—I'm fine! I just fell asleep studying. Sariel can be really scary, y'know!" You stammered out, avoiding Licht's eyes. 

"I see; I'll speak to him about giving you a break. I know how he can get," Licht responded. "What exactly were you studying?" 

"Well, I think I was on Rhodolite Military Affairs when I… er… I stopped reading…." You trailed off, not wanting to admit that Licht's area of expertise was something you were having difficulty grasping. Although the thought of asking Licht for an overview had crossed your mind quite a few times, you didn't want to bother the Prince. 

An awkward silence fell upon the two of you, and you were a few seconds away from breaking it by excusing yourself when you heard Licht's voice cut through your thoughts. 

"Do you want me to help you with that?" Licht asked quietly. "I don't know if I can make it interesting for you, but it might be better than reading entire volumes of books on military tactics and successes." 

The astonishment in your face at his question was enough to cause the 6th Prince to look away, tips of his ears slightly pink in embarrassment. 

  "Yes!" You responded enthusiastically. "If you don't mind, Prince Licht! I don't want to trouble you, but I would be greatly appreciative if you could spend some time going over this with me!" 

The next couple hours were spent with Licht patiently and calmly explaining the history of Rhodolite's military affairs. He never once chided you when you got an answer wrong, merely correcting you gently and explaining his rationale so that you'd understand and remember. It was a moment between you and the Prince you were sure you'd never forget. That is until you heard a rumbling emit from your stomach.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Prince Licht! I didn't have breakfast, and I had to skip out on dinner yesterday to study. I meant to eat with you and Yves, but I didn't have a chance!" You explained while clutching your stomach. If there was any benevolent creature out there, they'd surely snatch you up in this instance so you could remove yourself from this embarrassing moment. Your cheeks were covered in pretty pink, and you willed yourself to stare anywhere except the Prince's face.

After another couple of seconds of silence, you looked up to find Licht giving you the most peculiar expression. The Prince didn't often smile or show any joy. Still, it would be adoration and amusement if you could liken his expression to anything describable. 

"Here," Licht said, shoving a delectably sweet object into your mouth before you could protest. "I knew you'd be hungry somewhere, so I nabbed a couple of macarons from Yves before I left."

"Oh my, these are delicious! Again, I am absolutely mortified you had to hear that. I am so sorry, Prince Licht. And now I've taken up so many hours of your time when I know you hate talking to people and…." You trailed off, unsure of how to show your gratitude.

Licht sighed and reached out to gently grasp your chin. A gloved finger slowly caressed your cheek in a consoling manner as if to assure you that there was nothing to apologize about. Although that action in itself was already shocking compared to how much Licht usually expressed himself, what came next was astonishing.

You felt Licht lean in, and his soft lips press against your forehead gently. Before you could respond, Licht had already drawn back, and now the colour on the tips of his ears nearly matched yours in a vibrant vermillion shade. 

"Stop apologizing already. I'm the one that came to find you. And… you're right, I hate talking to most people… but I don't hate talking to you." If you hadn't been acutely focused on Licht, you wouldn't have heard the last part of his sentence. However, thank the lucky stars you did as your face broke out into a brilliant smile as you gazed at him.

"Now, let's go find Sariel. It's almost time for lunch." 

Licht got up gracefully and offered you his gloved hand. You gratefully accepted and were quickly pulled up to your feet by the surprisingly strong man. It would have been natural for him to let your hand go now that you had gotten up, but instead, you felt his grip on you tighten more. The tips of his ears continued to glow in a bright vermillion shade as he led you out of the library, hand in hand, seeming as though he never wanted to let go. 

"Oh, and Belle?" 

"Yes, Prince Licht?" You asked, meeting his gaze. 

"Don't miss Yve's tea party next Saturday. It doesn't feel like a regular Saturday morning when you're not there."

"Yes, Prince Licht." 

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