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ohbother2 · 4 months

Note

Tha hazbin hotel brainrot is so strong, your writing is so good im kicking feet hsujsjsn

May i request a Lucifer X reader where they are pining so badly for each other and ends up in a situation where they are very close to one another? Like the classic " oh shit we're stuck in a small space together and so close" or "whoops tripped and fell now I'm pinning you down and panicking" kind of thing but it's really all up to you <3 and then they end up just full on making out lol, cause yearning,,

(I simply need making out fics with the short king he's taking over my brain😭)

Thanks for requesting!! I had a lot of fun with this one :) Hope you enjoy! Also, I only realised when I went to post this that this ask didn't specify a f!reader, but I thought it did so just a warning for you guys. It's not too specific but... not entirely gender neutral.

This probably borderlines smut, so... minors DNI.

Lucifer x f!reader

PART II

You had been Lucifer's secretary for many years now, joining him just after the disappearance of his ex-wife Lilith when he had decided he needed more help with his duties. You had been there for some of the worst years of his life, assisting him through the highs and lows of being the King of Hell, had seen him at his worst, and at his best. You had helped guide him from the deepest depths of depression, and for that he was eternally grateful, batting away the darkness with a smile enchanting enough to light up the dingiest corners of Hell. He truly didn't know what he would do without you, and today that was evermore apparent.

It had been a long day, and Lucifer found himself sat at his large desk, dark bags sitting heavy underneath his tired and bloodshot eyes, jacket and hat discarded and head resting in his hands as he tried to focus on the mountains of paperwork scattered along his ornate desk. He had been stuck in this position for hours, and he could feel his back creak and something in his neck twinge whenever he shifted. He truly desired nothing more than to crawl into bed, but he had duties that he couldn't just abandon.

A soft knock at his door signals your presence, and only his gaze lifts when you enter, tray in hand and that familiar comforting smile adorned on your rosy lips. Your smile morphs into something more fond as you approach the hunched man, who runs his hands through his disheveled locks and leans back in his plush chair, hands rubbing at the tiredness of his eyes and dragging down his cheeks. He looked tired, he looked weary, his waistcoat unbuttoned, his shirt wrinkled and rolled to his elbows, blonde locks falling across his forehead. You always loved when he looked a little disheveled, appreciating his strong forearms that flexed as he clenched his hands into his hair. It was more rugged than he ever let himself look in any other situation, and you couldn't get enough. You had to fight a frown at seeing how utterly exhausted he was, however, not enjoying the darkness encircling his bright eyes. He didn't hide these things from you, he had no need to; you wouldn't threaten his power at seeing this display of weakness, you would just smile and offer reassurance, appearing with a cup of steaming tea to quell his nerves.

"Good evening, sir." You place the tray against the edge of the desk, trying not to disturb any of the numerous documents that lay strewn about, though you doubted there was any system to the disarray.

"'Evening." He leans further back in his chair, watching you tiredly as you shuffle some of his papers to the side. "How many times do I need to tell you not to call me that? We're good friends, 'Your Royal Highness' is more than fine.''

"Apologies, 'Your Majesty'." You attempt a curtsy, though that was hard with the tight pencil skirt you had chosen to wear today. He laughs at your efforts, taking the steaming tea from your hands with a grateful nod, sighing as the scolding liquid reaches his lips.

"You're marvellous, you know? I don't know what I'd do without you."

"I brought you some tea." You back-hand his compliment away, as you always did, gaze turning to try and decipher some of his scrawling writing. You always found it easier to fight away the blush rising to your cheeks by confusing yourself with his work, that method hadn't failed you yet.

"You're here on a Friday night, looking after some tired old sod, when I'm sure you had many potential plans to go to." His gaze travels up from your hip that you had propped against the desk to tidy some books, up past the curve of your waist, the swell of your chest, gaze lingering a little too long on the collarbone that peaked from beneath your blouse, before finally resting on your face. He stares again, sipping slowly from his cup, far too long for a boss to appreciate an employee, mapping the curve of your brows, the light downturn of your lips as you tried to read something on the desk, the way your hair cascaded around your features. He was tired, he usually controlled himself better. "I wish you'd take a weekend off some time."

Your gaze finally returns to him, satisfied with the state of his desk and you lean back, both hands gripping the desk ledge. "Hypocritical coming from you, don't you think? When did you last have a weekend off?"

"Hmm," He hums, finishing his drink and placing it onto his desk. He rolls his neck in an effort to rid of the crick that was increasingly bothering him. You notice, you frown. "If I am nothing else, call me a hypocrite. You should be out - I don't want to see you here tomorrow night, I want to see you on Sunday morning with a horrendous hangover and stories to tell me."

You laugh, the King of Hell instructing you to go and shirk off your responsibilities and get smashed? Only Lucifer would tell an employee that.

"We both know that won't happen." You grin, taking the opportunity to reach forward and push some of his blonde locks back from his forehead, attempting to push them back into their usual immaculate style. He swallows tightly as you do, having to fight himself from leaning into your touch. You were so gentle, and that fond smile remained etched onto your face as you did so, and God he wanted you to keep caressing his face until he fell asleep right then and there. "Come on now Luci, this place would fall apart without me."

"I can cope one day without you." He bluffs, leaning heavily onto his right armrest and closer to you, legs crossing as he fully relaxes - work didn't matter right now, you did.

"You're so sure?" You shift your stance, and he notices in his peripheral how your tight skirt lifted slightly, exposing more of your milky thigh.

"Not at all." His confidence in the statement has you laughing lightly, the King of Hell grinning up at you and admitting how royally screwed he would be without you. "In fact, I'd probably be dead the next time you walked into work. But wouldn't that be a fun story?"

"I would much rather you be alive." You slowly leave your position leant against the desk, deciding enough was enough as he winces again and rubs at a sore spot in his neck. "I do quite enjoy your company, you know."

Your hands suddenly fall against his shoulders, and he lurches in his seat, shrinking away from the cold pads of your fingers that pressed delicately against either of his shoulder blades.

"Uh-" His voice is uncharacteristically high pitched, and he has to clear his throat to stop it from breaking embarrassingly. "Y/N, what are you-" His fingers grip at his thighs as your fingers move, pressing firmly against his worn muscles. Oh heavens, that felt good.

"You've been rubbing your neck since I walked through the door." You explain, completely focussed on your task at hand and unaware of the red hue that was steadily growing on Lucifer's rosy cheeks. "You need to give yourself a break."

This was rather a bold move from yourself, but you were nothing if not opportunistic. That's how you landed this job in the first place. Your hands work steadily, finally reaching the centre of his back and gliding your thumbs up his spine, up the centre of his neck, and directly into the base of his skull. His head rocks forward lightly at the movement and he groans at the action. You continue to work at his neck, and he remains sat, eyes closed tightly, clawed hands nearly tearing through his own trousers, bruising his own thighs, feeling as though he were back in Heaven. He could feel how close you were, the heat of your body wafting across his neck and shoulders as you worked, and he had to concentrate immensely to control the sounds that wanted to escape his throat. He had nearly combusted on the spot when he had audibly groaned, but you hadn't commented on it, for which he was eternally grateful.

After several minutes, that both felt like an eternity of torture and mere seconds of bliss for Lucifer, you pull your hands back, finishing with one final carding of your fingers through the short tufts of hair at his nape. His eyes open blearily at the loss of contact, blinking heavily as he watches you gather the tray into your arms, adorning his empty cup, and a stack of paperwork.

"Y/N what are you- absolutely not, leave those here." He reaches for the papers now stacked on your tray, and you lift it higher out of his reach unless he stood. He realises his dilemma, firmly rooted into his seat unless he wanted to make an incredibly embarrassing and inappropriate reveal.

"It's only the menial stuff I do sometimes." You step away from the desk slowly, heels clicking as you go. "Besides, it's barely made a dent. I'll have them finished and with you tomorrow morning."

"You should be sleeping." He warns, leaning his elbows against his desk and watching you leave.

"No no." You mock, pausing with a hand on the handle to the door. "We should be up and having fun, making embarrassing stories to share tomorrow. I, for one, can't wait to hear about the hilarious tales of Lucifer and his mountains of paperwork. I'll make sure my story is juicy, these accounting papers are always full of gossip." You lie plainly, and Lucifer shakes his head with a grin.

"Thank you." He calls as you open the door. "I mean it."

"I always have you to thank for a wild Friday night." You grin, finally leaving through the door you had entered from with a bow of your head.

Lucifer sinks into his seat, sighing heavily as the room plunges into silence once again. He stares at the papers that still littered his desk - you had lied, you had taken a sizeable amount. Your presence had helped, and your fingers had fully relaxed the tight muscles in his back and neck, and he felt immensely better than he had mere minutes before. However, you had created an entirely new problem. He shifts at the uncomfortable tightness to his trousers, hands dragging through his hair as he thought, hard. There was no point sitting here if he wasn't able to focus. He raises from his seat, cursing his inability to man up and just tell you how he felt.

Bathroom first, and then he would focus on his paperwork.

---

A month later, Lucifer had been in charge of organising a fancy ball with some incredibly important guests - the 7 Sins of Hell and a smattering of other Royal households, as well as general persons of influence from all 7 rings. The event was to be held in the Pride ring, and as soon as it had been organised he had practically pleaded with you to attend. You hadn't been able to go to the previous events, being stuck in the Pride ring due to your human-soul. Lucifer had been ecstatic when he realised you could attend, and had nearly cried when you had agreed to go with him. Not as a date, no, definitely not, but as friends.

"We're late!" Your voice shouts as you hurry through the door to Lucifer's office, heels in one hand and your purse in the other. Your eyes land on Lucifer, who was stood fiddling with his tie in front of a mirror on the wall, forked tongue stuck out as he concentrated. "Luci, the driver's outside."

"I know, I know." He stresses, finishing off his tie and attempting to smooth down the lapels of his jacket, finally turning towards you as he arranged his cuff sleeves. "It's fine, he'll w-wait-" He stutters as his eyes finally land on you, pupils widening significantly as he forces out "for us."

You never really dolled yourself up that much, usually wearing typical office attire, and sometimes even wearing casual clothes if you were in the office particularly late. Tonight, you had gone full out - you pretended it was because of the nerves about being around such powerful figures in Hell, in reality, you wanted to impress Lucifer, you likely wouldn't get another opportunity to doll yourself up so much again, and you wanted to make the most of it. Even if nothing happened, you wanted to prove you could be just as beautiful as the Overlords and Royalty he frequented.

As you stand, hesitantly, reapplying your rouge lipstick with your small compact mirror and fluffing your hair, Lucifer stands star-struck, eyes glued to your figure. You wore an elegant black velvet dress that clasped around the back of your neck. The elegant midnight coloured dress hugged your torso tightly, and Lucifer's gaze hovered heavily. The fabric was tight and emphasised your curves, with the neckline dipping down sinfully low and exposing the rivulet between your breasts, a beautiful ruby jewel hanging from a silver chain right between the valley of your breasts, the dress cinched tightly at your waist and fell elegantly from your hips. He could see one of your smooth legs from a slit in the side of the dress. You close the mirror and pop it back into your silver purse, smiling brightly at the stunned man.

"My- Y/N you look stunning." Lucifer compliments, leaning back against his desk as he finishes clasping his cuff links. "A vision. Dare I say, I'll be having to fight away the suitors all evening."

You blush furiously, thankful for the makeup that covered your cheeks. He pauses, swallowing thickly as you bend down to begin fastening your shoes.

"Please stay away from Asmodeus."

You laugh as you continue to fiddle with your shoes, glancing up at him as you tie the clasp. "You flatterer. Should I expect to see you pulling these moves on all the girls there tonight?"

You jest, but Lucifer is so enraptured by you he cannot help but feel insulted you would even think he would entertain the notion of other women. He speaks quietly, watching you struggle to gain your balance as you try and put on the other heel. "Not at all."

He didn't know what compelled him to do it, maybe it was the way you wobbled as you tried to get into your second shoe, likely it was the fact he'd already had two glasses of wine to quell his nerves, but before he realises it he's kneeling in front of you and grasping your ankle in a feather-light grip.

You freeze as his hands replace your own, sliding your foot easily into your heel as your hand comes to rest on his shoulder to regain your balance. He works slowly, gently fixing the clasp of your elegant heel, head turning up towards you and smiling up at you. Your breath catches in your throat, Lucifers hands resting against your ankle and calf, disarming you with a charming smile and lidded eyes, and kneeling directly in front of you. His hand slides up your calf as he lets you go, standing back to his full height easily, now a little shorter than you with your heels properly on.

"T-Thank you." You breathe, fixing the slit of your dress that had become creased. Your own hands reach forward, straightening his tie and smoothing down his collar. "You look very handsome yourself."

He smiles, self-satisfied, as you fix his collar, and then immediately schools his expression to hide his awe-struck grin when he realises you were actually looking at him. "Thank you, thank you." He chirps, cane materialising in his left hand and twirling it, trying to distract himself from how close you were, and how absolutely beautiful you looked. "I think we'll make quite an entrance. Don't you?" He offers you his right arm, and you take it with a grateful nod as you both leave the office and head towards the taxi. "That is, if you manage to walk down all those stairs with those stilts under your feet."

"I'm excellent in heels." You defend, rather enjoying the way your arm brushes against his chest as you walk, the smell of his expensive cologne reaching your nose. "We'll have a problem if you start drinking, you can barely stand straight after a bottle of wine, and I certainly can't carry you home in these heels."

"Oh? You're insulting my drinking skills? What about the time I had to come and collect you from a party I wasn't even invited to, to teleport you home? I could barely understand you through the phone." He clears his throat, raising his voice high and slurring his words mockingly. "Luci- I-I'm not drunk, BUT-"

You whack his shoulder, remembering the night perfectly, and utterly mortified he had had to guide you home after you'd had a few too many. "Shut up, you're no better at holding your drink."

He laughs, and you feel the rumble of his chest against your forearm. "I suppose we'll have to wait and see."

---

It had been several months since the party, and Lucifer was growing increasingly frustrated at his inability to make any sort of move on you. Hell, he hadn't even kissed your hand, which was something he had had to do to more people than he could count. He was desperate to make his feelings known, and yet was utterly paralysed whenever the opportunity arose for him to express them. It didn't help that ever since his stunt with your heel, you had become more emboldened with your flirting attempts, but he always doubted whether your words and actions were actually meant flirtatiously, or if he was just romanticising all of your interactions in his own head.

The party had been... uneventful. True to his predictions, Lucifer had been having to whisk you away from attempted suitors all night, and at one point had grown so irate at a particular demon's attempts he had placed a hand at the small of your back and refused to remove it until the demon had thoroughly gotten the point and left the conversation. The event had only made him realise his feelings more for you, being positively furious that he couldn't just tell the other demon's you were his, and to piss off back to whatever Ring they had come from. The next passing months had been nothing short of torture as he grappled with whether to confess, or not.

Despite his wishes, things had carried on as normal, and it was absolutely maddening. He had even spoken to Charlie about his dilemma, but she hadn't been much help, just shrieking at him excitedly through the phone. He had been so desperate he had nearly asked Asmodeus for help, but he had quickly decided against that after remembering some of the stunts he had pulled in their younger years.

Now, he sat back at his desk at 2am, frowning after realising he didn't have all the documents he needed. His hat and jacket were once again discarded, and his sleeves pushed up to his elbows in his signature 'I am having a bad day' fashion.

"Y/N!" He calls, and your head pokes out from a filing cupboard you had been tasked with organising. He smiles at you, a hand running through his hair as he sits back. "Can you please find me the letter we got from Wrath about the expenses for that new armament shop? I think it was sent by a Mr. Pennine."

"Yep!" You chirp, disappearing back into the cupboard with the sounds of shuffling papers increasing. Lucifer scans the document in his hands, patiently awaiting the file.

He hears a thump, and a groan, and he straightens in his chair, trying to see what you were doing.

"I've found it." You emerge, rubbing the base of your spine with a wince. An airy laugh falls form his lips.

"What did you do?"

"It's on a high shelf that I can't reach - I fell trying to climb and get it."

Lucifer laughs properly this time, already beginning to stand from his seat and head towards you, shoulders shaking as he does.

"It's not funny."

"I think you'll find it's hilarious." He grins, walking past you and into the small storage cupboard. "Right, where is it?" He glances around the cupboard with an eyebrow raised. He hated this kind of menial work, and was frankly terrible at locating things within this jumbled mess. "I have no clue how this system works."

"Hmm, filing has never been your strong suit." You hum, appearing behind him, having to press close in the small space. A hand appears in his peripheral, motioning over his shoulder to a shelf even he would have to climb to reach. He sighs, releasing a breath as he places a foot against an unsteady shelving unit.

"Yes, another one of my many limitations. Thankfully you're so good at finding things for me." He grins over his shoulder at you, hauling himself up until he's at eye level with the correct shelf. You stand beneath him, arms outstretched tentatively, just in case.

"If I fall, I fully expect you to save me." He comments, brows furrowed as he sifts through the files, looking for a 'Mr Pennine' to catch his eye. When he does find it, he wafts the document about his head, calling down to your worried expression. "Seems I'm doing a better job than my own assistant."

You cock your head at him, taking a small step back as he readies to climb down. "Truly, don't even know why I'm here sometimes-"

You hear a worrying creak as his foot lands on the next shelf down, and his gaze locks with yours for a mere moment before the shelf breaks and he plummets to the ground. He lands on you with a yell, flattening you against the floor and opposite wall and sprawled across your lap in a heap. The whole cupboard shakes with the fall, and the door slams shut with surprising force, plunging the room into darkness.

Lucifer groans, pushing himself back up onto his knees, rubbing an elbow tenderly as he attempts to stand, back smacking into another shelf as he tries to back up. You groan as well, hunched against the wall and thoroughly winded, not entirely sure what had happened.

"Y/N! I'm so sorry, are you alright?!" Lucifer attempts to bend down to reach you, glowing eyes staring at you through the darkness, but his back smacks against another shelf. He stands there, half-hunched, useless as you try and push yourself to your feet, clinging onto a shelf to haul you upright. He can feel you moving against his legs, the cupboard really not meant to house two bodies, and when you finally stand your body presses far too close to his for comfort. He smacks the cupboard door harshly, hoping that the lock hadn't fully sealed from the outside, but the hinges remain firm. "Oh, fuck." He groans, leaning back against a shelf and staring down at you, one hand still pressed pathetically against the door. "Looks like we're trapped."

You, on the other hand, are unable to see anything except the glowing pair of amber and ruby eyes staring down at you, not possessing the enhanced vision Lucifer did. Your hands search the walls aimlessly, and you attempt to press yourself back into the opposite wall to try and create some space. Despite both of your best efforts, you can still feel the heat emanating from his body, barely inches of space between you. "Can you portal us out?" You question desperately, blinking furiously to try and see more of your surroundings.

"There isn't enough room."

You both plunge into silence, and you wring your hands together nervously. Who would find you? When was the next person scheduled to meet Lucifer? It was 2am, who else would be awake at this time? God, he was so close, you could feel his breath fanning across your forehead and hair. You rub at a saw spot near your temple, having smacked into a shelf during Lucifer's rapid decent.

A hand lands against the side of your face without warning, and you jerk at the unexpected contact in the darkness.

"Sorry!" Lucifer draws his hand back as quickly as he had placed it, returning it to his side and flexing his fingers. "I forget you can't see as well." His hand approaches much more slowly, fingers carding your hair away from your face. "I was just trying to check your head, you hit it pretty hard when I fell on you. When I said I expected you to save me, I didn't mean to sacrifice yourself as my landing pad."

"That's what I'm here for." You joke, missing the contact as he withdraws his hand, satisfied that the skin hadn't broken. "I'm fine, don't worry." You smile despite the darkness, knowing he could see.

"We'll be fine." He assures, though he wasn't sure if he was talking to you or himself, he laughs to himself, trying to dispel the anxiety in his chest. "Someone will find us soon."

You hum, doubting him very much. All you could do was wait.

God-knows how long you had spent in that closet, but it didn't take long before you were unbuttoning the first few buttons of your blouse and complaining about the heat. Lucifer hadn't been his normal chatty self, and instead leant heavily against the shelves behind him, hands gripping at the shelves that ran along either wall to prevent himself from reaching out towards you. You were so close, so warm and smelling so sweat pressed against him, all it would take was an inch of moment, barely a lift of a finger, and he'd be able to pull you close, to draw you towards his chest just like he had dreamed about for years now. It didn't help that you kept shifting your weight from foot to foot, feet aching from the amount of time you had just had to stand still, seemingly completely unaware of the way it made your hip rub against his pelvis.

He was a sweating, panicking mess, and he had twisted his torso uncomfortably, back hunched, to prevent the effects of your movements on him pressing against you. He could see your innocent expression through the darkness, the way your eyes searched blindly in the cramped space, and he wanted nothing more than to reach forward and press his lips against your neck, and not stop until someone found you the next morning.

But, he was a gentleman, and he had control, despite what his body was doing of its own accord, and so he gripped the shelving either side of your head and tried desperately to think about other things.

That was until you tried to lean against the shelf to your left, causing your thigh to rub the slowly growing bulge he had been desperately trying to hide. Lucifer's breath hitches in the darkness.

"Are you okay?" You ask, having picked up on his quickened breathing. You couldn't see him at all despite the amber eyes that flicked around the room incessantly, but you could feel his legs pressing against yours, and you could faintly feel the presence of an arm close to your head. When his amber irises land on you, you have a perfect view of the way they dilate, and you furrow your brows. "Is there something wrong?"

"God, would you stop moving." His voice was tight, straining in his throat as he tried his best to remain composed. He was fully aware you weren't even doing anything, but a love-sick pining man pressed so close up against his crush for so long? Who could blame a man for growing flustered.

You shift, attempting to lean towards him to see what was wrong, but two hands are suddenly on your hips and pushing you away from him and back into the shelf behind you, grip vice-like over the fabric of your trousers. You can feel his ragged breath against your forehead. "Heaven, please stop."

"What are you-" You go to argue, but the way his grip tightens against your hips has you halting. You stare for a moment, and it takes you far too long to put the pieces together in your mind: the dilated pupils, the shaky breaths, the way he pushes you away from his hips. Oh.

"Sir, it's okay-"

"Please stop talking." He practically begs, face a fiery red and really wishing for death right about now. "I'm sorry. It's inappropriate. You keep moving and you're so close. You don't have to work for me again after this, I'll understand-"

"Lucifer," You interrupt his rambling, hands coming to rest atop his own on your hips, sliding them up his forearms and resting atop the junction of his elbow. "you know you're the densest man I've ever met."

No response greets you for a moment.

"I said I'm sorry, you don't have to insult me too."

The hurt in his voice has your face twisting into a sympathetic smile. He really was oblivious.

"I'm insulting you, because there's an opportunity right in front of you, and you're not taking it."

You can hear the way his breathing deepens. "What do you-"

You lean forward, impossibly closer, chest pressing against his own. You can feel the way he gasps at the contact. He still has a hold of your hips, pining them away from him like a man burned.

"I'm going to die." He suddenly blurts, his breaths short and panting. His composure was slipping. "You're going to kill me if you keep doing that."

"I'd much prefer it if you didn't die." One of your hands slides up from his arm to his shoulder, burrowing into the fabric there. A high sound catches in Lucifer's throat, and you grin. "In fact, I'd prefer it if you kissed me like I've been inviting you to for the past few years."

His mind runs blank, nothing but the sound of his heart beat ricocheting between his ears. You wanted this? You wanted him?

"I don't think you understand." He stutters out, arms beginning to end their fight and allowing you to inch closer to him. "I don't want this, I want you. D-Dates-" He falters as your hand travels up his neck to the tufts of hair at the back of his head, gently scratching at his scalp. "and cheesy stuff, not just... filing cupboards."

He'd die if he got to have you only for a few hours, and then had to live the rest of his life returning to mere friendship. He would starve to death.

"It's about time you asked."

"You really want this?" He asks, voice small. His breathing was getting harder.

"Yes." You breathe. "I have for a long time."

That was all the indication he needed, and his lips crashed against yours as his hands enveloped your waist and dragged you flush against him. You gasped at the suddenness, enjoying the feeling of his soft lips atop yours in a delicate, passionate, kiss. One of his large hands remains at the small of your back, keeping you pressed against him as the other travelled up your spine, cradling the back of your head and holding you steady as he presses into you. He groans as your fingers tighten in his hair, both of your hands winding around his neck as you push up into him.

He pulls away for breath, his hot breath fanning your cheeks as he pants. You can see his eyes, half-lidded but impossibly bright, pupils the largest you had ever seen them, staring directly into your own. "Do you have any idea how crazy you've driven me over the past years?" He asks rhetorically, voice low and husky. You don't have a chance to answer before he's kissing you again, a hand gripping at your jaw and neck as he tilts his head, his brows furrowing as he pours all his concentration into the kiss. He kisses like a man starved, like a man who depended on your lungs for oxygen, like a man who would die if he separated for a moment too long. His forked tongue slides against your bottom lip and you open your mouth without question. He licks into your mouth with giddy enthusiasm, groaning into you as his tongue finally slips into your mouth, groaning louder as you submit, tugging at his hair and allowing him to push you back into the door with a thud.

His hand falls from your neck, resuming its place against your hip, thumbs pressing dangerously into your hip bones and pinning you against the wall. You gasp against him as his fingers inch their way beneath the bottom of your blouse, pressing harshly into your supple skin as he sucks the air from your lungs.

You feel dizzy when he pulls away again, and as you catch your haggard breath he ducks his head to graze his lips against your throat. He peppers kisses beneath your ear as a hand slides down to grasp the curve of your ass, the other continuing to pin your hips against the door as he presses his hips flush against your own, rolling his hips lightly. He delves down lower, tongue snaking its way down towards the junction between your neck and shoulder, his fangs nipping at your skin as he presses hot open-mouthed kisses against your pulse point.

"Oh-" You gasp, hands clinging onto his broad shoulders as he corrals you against the doorframe. You tilt your head up and to the side, exposing your neck to him as he hums happily. He finds the spot he wants and presses his teeth harshly against your skin, suckling hungrily and lapping at the bruising skin with his tongue. You groan, a hand gripping his hair as he rolls his hips up, biting into your shoulder as he moans. He grinds against you, continuing to lavish your throat with his eyes closed happily, moaning and groaning into your skin. His breath catches when you roll your hips down to meet his thrusts, and he whimpers when you tug at his hair painfully when he abuses one spot on your neck too much.

"Sir-" You gasp, and suddenly his lips are withdrawn from your neck, and his wide lidded eyes are staring directly into your own. Both of your breathing is ragged as you anticipate his next move, heart in your throat.

"How many times have I told you to stop calling me that?" His hips still against your own, and you whine trying to rub against him, but he pins you in place and rests his lips against your ear, whispering, begging, against your ear. "How many more times do I need to?"

You shudder at his hot breath, hands uselessly clinging to the collar of his ruffled shirt. "Just once more."

"Say," A kiss, pressed heavily against the underside of your jaw. "my" Another kiss, hot against the column of your throat. "name." Another, lavished between your collarbones right at the hollow of your throat. You gasp at the staggering sensation, his tongue wet and hot across your collarbone.

"Lucifer." You gasp, voice high and airy. He rewards you with a grin and a fierce kiss against your lips, pressing your head back into the doorframe. You moan his name again, and his hips rock up into yours involuntarily.

"It's unfair, the effect you have." Lucifer whispers, hands sliding up your sides and beginning to unbutton your blouse. He presses a kiss at the corner of your lips as you help him with the unbuttoning. "That massage you gave me?" You can feel his breath against your lips, and you have to fight not to lean forward into him as he gently pushes your blouse from your shoulders, warm hands sliding down your arms and the fabric bunching at your elbows, not quite falling all the way. "I had to take care of myself afterwards." He tuts against your lips, each purse of his lips pressing a ghost of a kiss to your own, but not quite giving what you wanted. A knee presses between your legs as he delves his tongue into your mouth, and you're too distracted to notice until he rolls his hips into your leg and pushes his thigh up against you. His claws dig at the tender flesh of your sides, leaving light scratches as he returns to your lips, grinning against you as you gasp and whine.

"You're not so innocent." You gasp as he leaves your bruising lips to return to his path down your neck, know able to reach your shoulders and chest, which he takes full advantage of. A hand grasps your thigh firmly and hikes your leg up and around his waist. "You constantly unbutton your shirts around me, stare at me with those eyes, leave your hand on me the entire ball and don't do anything about it. How could I resist?"

"Well, I'm doing something about it now." His voice was infuriatingly giddy, his hand grabs at your thigh through the fabric of your trousers, and he internally wishes you had chosen to wear one of your skirts today. His hips roll into yours at the new angle, and he stutters at the pleasure.

"The ball was not my fault." He presses a bruising kiss against your lips, biting down gently as he pulls away. Murmuring against your ear, you can feel the smile on his lips as he talks. "You have no idea what was going through my head that night. If I had my way, I wouldn't have gotten up from my knees for hours."

The way his silky voice hissed at the last word was downright sinful, and you're too distracted by your own thoughts to realise he had ducked his head back down to your chest.

"Luci." You gasp as he travels lower, peppering kisses down the valley of your breasts, murmuring against your skin, hands sliding lower and lower and tongue chasing them down to your naval. A finger pulls playfully at the front of your bra. Oh no, he couldn't win the upper hand that easily.

Gaining confidence, and determined not to let him be his usual cocksure self, you grasp him by the collar of his shirt. "Don't be unfair." You reprimand. He doesn't protest when you lower yourself to the floor, pulling him beneath you and straddling his hips. The cupboard was just big enough for him to lay down if he bent his knees, and you grin down at him as his hands grip your thighs tightly.

Your hands rest against his chest, and you can feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest as he stares up at you, his fingers flexing against your thighs when you refuse to move. He tries to roll his hips up into you, but you lift yourself just out of his reach.

"Don't do this." He whines, but you only grin down at him, leaning impossibly closer until your chest presses against his. You wish you could see the blush to his cheeks, the parting of his mouth around those little gaps, but instead you settle for staring into his blown pupils.

"Whatever do you mean?" You feign ignorance, shifting lightly and revelling in the way his eyes widened and his claws dug painfully into your skin. You press a kiss against his forehead, his cheek, the corner of his mouth.

A noise traps itself in his throat, you kiss against his jaw, his chin, the other corner of his mouth.

"Sweetheart," He moans, trying to tilt his head to catch your lips with his own. You roll your hips to distract him, and he hisses unhappily. He stares up at you with big puppy-dog eyes, a world away from the confidence he had felt at having his way with you earlier. "please."

"Good." You purr, and he whines when you finally kiss him properly, hips lowering onto him and palms sliding up his chest. You pull away and immediately begin kissing at the underside of his jaw, leaving your own trail of hickeys down the column of his throat. He squirms beneath you, breathing heavy and voice high-pitched as you kiss down his chest, pulling his collar to the side and grazing your teeth along the top of his peck.

One of his hands guide your hips against him, and he jerks his hips, the buckle of his belt biting cooly into the hot skin of your stomach. The other hand lies flat against your back, caressing your spine and sides and pulling you closer, trying to guide you back towards his lips.

He had thought he was in heaven before, but with you above him, he could barely contain himself.

Your hands pull at his hair, tugging at his scalp as you bite into the tense muscle of his shoulder. He closes his eyes painfully tight, muttering incoherently as his fingers flex against you. Your pace was beginning to quicken, and you moan against his shoulder as he whimpers and whines.

"Ngh- wait, stop." His voice breaks around the syllables. He grasps your hips tightly, knuckles white as his claws dig dangerously into the skin at your hips. "Not too fast."

"Another one of your many limitations?" You grin against his neck, feeling the way his chest heaved beneath your hands.

"Hmm," He hums, bleary eyed and uncomfortably hot, warm hand cupping your jaw and bringing your face up to meet his. "You have a way of exposing those."

You give in to what he wants, allowing him to slip his tongue back into your mouth, a hand cupping the back of your head and tangling into your hair, pulling you close and making sure you couldn't get away. You rest against him, revelling in the moment, losing your breath and humming against one another's lips.

Just as you go to move your hips, a hand planting itself against his chest to help your movement, light spills into the cupboard, and you freeze, lips detaching and staring wide-eyed at the shadowy figure stood in the cupboard doorway. You blink furiously, trying to readjust to the harsh light, but Lucifer is quicker to recover and pulls you flush against his chest, attempting to hide your bra from view.

He glares at the worker who remains standing dumbly with a hand on the door handle. Lucifer's hair was a mess, sticking out in every conceivable direction, his cheeks flushed a flaming red, shirt tugged halfway down his chest, with a smattering of lipstick across his lips and jaw, and blossoming bruises dancing across his neck and chest. You weren't in a much better state.

His eyes blaze red.

"Come back in an hour. Close the door."

The worker immediately slams the door shut, plunging the cupboard back into darkness.

Your shoulders begin to shake, laughter bubbling from your throat as you tuck your head into Lucifer's chest. He sighs, resting his head back against the floor and eyes returning to their normal complexion. When you finally compose yourself, you push yourself up with your elbows, grinning down at Lucifer with a cheeky smile.

"Maybe I was too harsh." He mutters, a hand coming up to cup your jaw. He grins cheekily, eyes shining in the darkness. "Where were we?"

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel Lucifer x reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin hotel x reader #smut #hazbin hotel x reader smut #Lucifer x reader smut #x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer #lucifer morningstar

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rubysunnday · 1 year

Text

blood on your lies

summary: four times Y/N got injured and the one time kaz did

"How many fingers?"

"I didn't hit my eyes."

"How many, Y/N?"

Y/N sighed. She squinted slightly. "Four?"

Kaz narrowed his eyes. "Three."

Y/N pursed her lips but didn't move. Her vision kept swimming in and out of focus. Sometimes Kaz and his concern disguised as displeasure was clear and then a moment later, he was just a black blob.

"I'm -"

"If the next word out your mouth is 'fine', I will deduct your wages for this job and hit you with my cane," Kaz warned, raising his eyebrows an inch.

Y/N wanted to argue. She hated appearing weak in front of Kaz. He was the one person she constantly strived to impress and being injured, again, whilst on a job with him was not what she wanted.

She tried to stand up, putting her hands against the wall behind her, intent on using it to push her up.

"No."

A gloved hand pushed down on her shoulder, forcing her to sit back down on the cobble stones. Y/N relented, her head already swimming. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the bile and trying to breath through the nausea building in her throat.

"You can't go to sleep."

Y/N sighed. She opened her eyes, squinting slightly at the light glowing just behind Kaz.

Kaz's eyes narrowed a fraction and he readjusted his weight, moving to block the light with his body.

"I can't sit on the cobbles all night, Kaz," Y/N muttered, bringing a hand to her head and shielding her eyes.

"Jesper will be along soon," Kaz replied, glancing down at his shoes, inspecting them one at a time. "Then when we get back, you're going to rest -"

" - but Kaz -"

" - and not go on any jobs for a few days," Kaz finished, ignoring her. He raised his gaze from his shoes, focusing on her. "You are allowed to be injured. It doesn't make you any less of a Crow."

Y/N, surprised by Kaz's sudden honesty, nodded, silent. Her eyes began to burn and she harshly wiped them, breathing out shakily.

"Ah, Jesper!" Kaz said, turning to face up the street. "Y/N has a concussion."

It was early afternoon which meant the Crow Club was almost silent. Kaz was sat downstairs on the main floor, his papers and books strewn across a booth table. He didn't need to write down the numbers, but he did, just in case anything happened.

It was only because Kaz was sat downstairs, and not in his office, that he heard the almighty bang, followed by a thud, that came from the basement.

He paused, pen hovering over the parchment. There was a groan of pain and whoever was downstairs muttered, "fucking cupboard".

"Y/N?" Kaz called, setting his pen down. "Did you get into a fight with a cupboard?"

Y/N emerged at the top of the stairs leading to the basement. "I walked into a cupboard," she corrected, her voice muffled as she pressed her hand to her her nostrils. Her fingers came away, tinged with red, and she swore.

"Sit down before you bleed on my floor," Kaz said, easing himself out of his seat. "Tilt your head forward, not backwards."

Y/N followed his advice, sitting down in a chair and tilting her head forward. She pinched her nose, just above her nostrils, and held her hand under her nose, catching the blood that dripped down.

A white handkerchief was thrusted into her vision. Y/N blindly took it, pressing it to her nose.

"Don't forget to breathe," Kaz said, his voice coming from somewhere in front of her.

Y/N raised her eyes and she could just see Kaz's shoes, standing in front of her. "I cannot believe I walked into a cupboard."

"You didn't see it coming?"

Y/N lifted her head, looking at Kaz. "Did you just make a joke?"

Kaz's shoulders moved in what looked like a shrug. "I'm actually hilarious, do you not know that, Y/N?"

Y/N huffed out a laugh, lowering her head one again. "My deepest apologies, sir."

Kaz's lips curled up into a smile.

Kaz woke with a start, his mind racing. A quick look around told him that his was no longer inside the building they'd entered. Instead he were outside, lying on the street.

As Kaz sat up, he became aware of how damp the back of his jacket had become, the sensation sending shivers throughout his body as memories came flooding back.

The wet jacket clinging to his back as he stumbled ashore. How it dragged him down, taunting him to let go and sink back under. Jordie.

Jordie suddenly morphed into Y/N and Kaz sat up, looking around the street for any sign of her. He put a hand on the ground, bracing himself to stand up, when he felt a hand brush his. Or he brushed the hand, Kaz wasn't sure.

The contact sent him back to the cobbles but, as Kaz turned his head, he realised it was just Y/N.

She looked serenely peaceful, lying there on the ground, her arms outstretched slightly. Kaz watched her for a moment, waiting to see the comforting sight of her chest rising and falling. It took a moment for his eyes to focus but when they did, he could see her breathing.

Some part of him relaxed.

Kaz pushed himself up onto his knees and crawled to Y/N's side. Swallowing back the panic and the urge to run away, he leant over her, one hand braced on the cobbles on the other side of Y/N, whilst the over reached up.

His hand hovered over her face for a moment. It shook. Kaz breathed in deeply. He put his hand against her cheek, his thumb moving up and down for just a second.

Kaz bought his hand back and moved it down to her shoulder, shaking her as hard as he dared. "Y/N. Y/N, come on, wake up."

Y/N's head slowly moved to the side as Kaz shook her, the orange light from the street lamp above casting shadows across her face. Kaz shook her again, hard this time. He was feeling water rising around him.

"Y/N!" He yelled and, before he could even think, he slapped her.

Y/N inhaled sharply and groaned, sitting up as quickly as she could, hands blindly reaching out to grip whoever had slapped her. Kaz let her grip his hand, let her realise it was him, and then pushed her back.

"What the fuck, Brekker!" Y/N exclaimed, falling back onto her elbows. "What was that for!"

"We have no time to sleep," Kaz said, wincing slightly as he awkwardly clambered to his feet. He was trying not to show his earlier panic and opting for despair and irritation seemed best.

Y/N groaned again, lying back on the floor, closing her eyes. "I have no idea what happened."

"We triggered something in that room," Kaz replied, looking around for his cane. "Knocked us both out. Then we were dragged and dumped out here."

"How long for?"

"Half an hour," Kaz said, still looking. "Ish."

"Ish? Kaz Brekker just said ish, I must be dreaming," Y/N muttered.

Kaz picked his cane up off the floor - it'd been next to his foot the entire time - and turned back to Y/N. Silently, he held out a gloved hand to her.

Y/N, still disorientated and confused, reached up and grabbed his hand, letting him pull her to her feet, without even realising what had just happened.

"What now?"

"We break back in," Kaz said, already making his way down the street. "Come on!"

The boats in the harbour bobbed about as a wave rolled in and sloshed up against the stone walls. They were mid mission - at the most important stage.

And Y/N couldn't breathe.

She'd been pushed down a staircase earlier on in the day, when the mission had just begun. Whilst Inej had taught her how to fall, it hadn't saved her ribs from hitting the edge of the stone steps.

Once the initial pain had faded, Y/N had managed to keep going. She rejoined the group, got assigned a new task by Kaz, and was on her way to do it when she'd breathed in just a little too much.

The pain had flared up until she couldn't stand. Y/N had perched herself on the harbour wall and had sat there since, trying to get control of her pain.

"I don't recall sending you here."

Y/N didn't even have the energy to acknowledge Kaz. She lifted her head, noted him standing in front of her, and dropped it again.

Pain was coursing through her body and Y/N could feel the tears burning her eyes. Tears of frustration and of pain.

"You okay?"

Y/N forced herself to straighten up, to look at Kaz. She breathed in, felt something twinge, and her shoulders shook as she felt the tears spill over.

"Try and breathe through it," Kaz said quietly, his cane hitting the floor once as he moved closer, leaning against the harbour wall beside Y/N. "I get its hard, but try."

Y/N tried to, forcing herself to breathe beyond the pain. Her nails dug into the harbour wall, the stones digging into her palm.

"When I first broke my leg, the pain nearly consumed me," Kaz said, his words almost lost to the wind. "It's hard, when it gets bad, to think beyond it."

"I." Y/N paused. "I tried to cope." She squeezed her eyes shut. "But it got too bad... and then I couldn't breathe."

Kaz's blazer sleeve brushed against her arm. "Nina is near by."

"No, she's busy."

Kaz dug his hand into his pocket, pulling out a small metal tin. He flipped the lid open and picked two white circular tablets out. "Here."

Y/N held her hand out and Kaz dropped them into her hand. "What's this?"

"Drugs," Kaz replied, smirking. "The good kind."

Y/N tried her best not to laugh, but her smile grew. "Thanks."

She put them in her mouth, grimacing slightly at the awful taste in her mouth as they began to dissolve. Kaz held out a flask and Y/N took it, swallowing the tablets with what she'd expected to be alcohol but was actually water.

"When it gets bad and I have to keep going," Kaz said quietly, taking the flask back, "I take those. It doesn't get rid of the pain but it helps."

Y/N turned her head, her eyes settling on his. "Thank you."

Kaz just nodded.

Blood was spilling out onto her hands as she pressed the bandage to Kaz's shoulder, trying to staunch the blood. Kaz was sat on the stone tomb, his head lolling to the side, hitting Y/N's arm every so often.

"You still with me?" Y/N asked, pushing her hands harder against his shoulder, the blood dripping down her arms.

"Ahuh," Kaz muttered, his eyes still shut.

Y/N knew he was battling with himself and his mind and didn't take his grumpiness and silence personally.

Her hands were trembling as she pulled the bandage away from his shoulder for a moment, checking to see if the blood had stopped or not.

"How did you get shot?" Y/N asked softly, pressing the bandage back to his shoulder.

Kaz stilled. Y/N squeezed his shoulder, the blood still running, and he breathed in sharply, coming back.

"He was aiming for you," Kaz said quietly, his voice hoarse. "At your... head."

Y/N froze. She took her hands from Kaz's shoulder, happy that the bleeding had stopped. The cloth dropped to the tomb. Y/N stepped back, standing in front of Kaz, her knees brushing his.

"Is that why you pushed me?"

Kaz nodded stiffly. "Didn't expect to get shot, however."

"Don't think anyone does."

"Unless they see the gun pointed at them," Kaz quipped.

Y/N smiled. Her leg brushed against Kaz's and she was surprised when he didn't flinch. He raised his head, gazing up at her. Y/N, for once, didn't fight the urge. She reached out and gently combed her bloody fingers through his hair. Kaz leant forward, resting his head against her stomach.

"I can stop," Y/N said softly.

Kaz nodded against her. "I know."

She let her fingers run down to his neck, never straying further than where his collar sat.

"We're okay, Kaz," Y/N whispered, leaning her head down to rest on top of his. "We're okay."

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone imagine #shadow and bone imagines #shadow and bone x reader #six of crows #six of crows imagine #six of crows imagines #six of crows x reader #kaz brekker #kaz brekker x reader #angst #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker imagines #kaz brekker angst

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niki-phoria · 7 months

Text

⋆｡°✩ when you know, you know

or domesticity with txt !!

includes: soft txt, various different scenarios, i've been working on this on and off for like 02 weeks and this is not proofread pls forgive any mistakes

a/n: my deepest apologies for the long absences between fics, i've been busy with school lately

gn reader (no pronouns used)

yeonjun

your socks slide against the polished tile floor as you playfully twirl around in front of your countertops. a familiar melody fills your apartment as yeonjun enters.

city lights shining in through your opened blinds illuminate yeonjun’s smile as you playfully slide over in front of him. outstretching your hand, you dramatically bend down in front of him. his skin feels soft against yours as you press a soft kiss against his knuckles. “may i have this dance, good sir?”

yeonjun is quick to play along, intertwining your fingers together. “you may,” he teases.

his hands ghost against your waist as he spins you around. laughter escapes you in waves as you reach up, snaking your arms around yeonjun’s neck. even in the dim lighting, you can see the light blush decorating his features.

leaning in, you press your forehead against his. “say you love me, say you love me, till the end of the world,” you softly sing along. “all or nothing, i want all of you.”

“i know i love you,” yeonjun continues. he raises a hand up to cup your cheek, stroking his thumb against your skin before he leans in to press a soft kiss against your lips.

soobin

soobin wakes up to a weight pressed against his chest. he squints up at the ceiling, slowly willing his eyes to adjust to the sudden influx of light surrounding the room.

he shifts slightly, smiling to himself when he notices your head laying against his chest. your hair cascades down his shirt in waves; the ends tickling his bare skin. your arms remain gingerly wrapped around his body - even in your sleep.

soobin watches as your chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm. his lips quirk into an unconscious smile as he admires your features. reaching up, he brushes a stray strand of hair out of your face. you stir at the feeling; a few seconds pass before you nuzzle yourself even closer to the warmth of his body in response. soobin chuckles softly, leaning down to press a kiss against your forehead.

“baby,” he quietly whispers. “it’s time to get up.”

you groan, squeezing your eyes shut even tighter. “five more minutes.”

“you always say that before we end up in bed all day,” he chuckles.

you sigh, finally letting your eyes flutter open. soobin’s messy hair perfectly frames his bare features. he brings a hand up to cup your cheek, comfortably brushing his thumb against your skin. “i could get used to this,” you murmur.

soobin hums, leaning in to steal yet another kiss against your lips. “you should.”

beomgyu

you softly smile at beomgyu, watching as his fingers expertly glide across the guitar’s neck. his thumb strums against the strings, filling the previously quiet room with a soft melody.

after a few more notes, beomgyu lets the music fade out like the end of a movie. “what do you think?” he finally asks.

“it’s beautiful.”

a teasing smirk lingers on beomgyu’s face for a few seconds before he sets the guitar aside. you take the opportunity to shift across the room to lean against the wall beside him. a smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he opens his arms, letting you lean yourself against his chest. “just like you.”

despite playfully rolling your eyes, you playfully swat at beomgyu’s shoulder. “you’ve hit a new level of cringy,” you tease.

beomgyu smiles; his familiar dimples appearing on his cheeks. a warm feeling of comfort fills your chest as you nuzzle yourself even closer to him. his hands slip underneath the fabric of your t-shirt to rub miscellaneous shapes against your bare skin.

“maybe,” his other hand reaches up to cup your cheek, tilting your face upwards. your eyes flutter shut as he leans in, catching your lips against his for a few seconds. you can’t help the way you smile at the feeling. “but you love it.”

taehyun

“ah,” you hiss, quickly setting the knife aside. taehyun furrows his eyebrows as he watches you squeeze your eyes shut in an attempt to prevent tears from rolling down your cheeks.

“what’s wrong?” he asks, rushing to your side.

“nothing,” you sniffle. “it’s just the onion getting to me.”

“oh, my poor baby,” taehyun teases. he sets the spatula aside before reaching up to wipe away the stray tears that threaten to escape your eyes. “do you want some help?”

you nod. “that would be nice.”

guiding you back over to the cutting board, taehyun gently places his hands over yours before adjusting your position to hold onto the knife. “use your knuckles to guide the knife so you don’t cut your fingers,” he says, slowly demonstrating how to properly slice the onion. “and do your best to keep it still so you don’t have to worry about slipping.”

following his advice, you carefully begin to cut the vegetable into thin slices. taehyun leans down, observing each of your movements with an overly watchful eye. he rests his head against your shoulder; his hands slip away from yours to wrap his arms around your waist.

“good job, jagi,” he whispers before leaning in to press a kiss against your shoulder.

“thank you, tae,” you smile, turning around to return the favour in the form of a your own fleeting kiss pressed against his cheek.

huening kai

kai groans as he all but collapses onto your living room couch. it feels like his body has been rattled - like someone has grabbed his lungs and forcibly shaken them around, effectively clogging his sinuses and culminating in a relentlessly pounding headache.

“oh baby,” you whisper, kneeling down in front of him. reaching up, you brush the back of your hand against the back of his forehead. “you’re burning up.”

kai watches you through tired eyes as you wrap a nearby blanket around him, trapping him in its warmth before quickly running to the kitchen to grab some medicine. his protests die on his tongue as you hold up the spoon in front of him. “just one spoonful, okay?”

“okay,” kai sighs, leaning in to quickly down the liquid. “you don’t have to do this for me, you know?” he rasps. his throat scratches and aches with each syllable and his flushed skin feels warm to the touch.

“just let me take care of you.” reaching up to cup his cheek, you brush your thumb against his cheek. kai smiles as you lean in to press a chaste kiss against his forehead before curling up beside him on the couch. he wraps his arm around your waist, letting you lean yourself against his chest despite his concerns about getting you sick. “do you need anything else?”

“no,” he murmurs, tugging you even closer. “stay with me, please?”

“of course, love.”

if you like my work, please consider liking, rebloging, or leaving a comment and if you'd like to read more, check out my txt masterlist !!

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avaritia-apotheosis · 9 months

Text

They Might Be Giants

Alfred Pennyworth receives a phone call and is given custody over his recently orphaned nephew Danny Fenton.

A DPxDC Crossover // Read on [AO3] // Fic Masterlist

◆◆◆

one.

Alfred received the phone call on an idyllic Sunday afternoon. Wayne Manor was a sleepy old thing in this weather, the house quiet and still as Alfred polished the silver to a shine. Mr. and Mrs. Wayne were out, taking little Master Bruce with them to see a new exhibit on the Mesozoic period.

He picked up the ringing kitchen landline and cradled the receiver in the juncture of his shoulder and ear, a practiced speech of “ Wayne Manor, may I know who is speaking? Apologies, the masters are unavailable at this moment, but may I pass on a message?” already at the tip of his tongue.

Before he could open his mouth, the caller spoke. “Is this Mr. Alfred Beagle?”

Beagle was his mother’s maiden name, and the name Alfred took when he worked in Britain. The Pennyworth name, after all, was too closely associated with the Waynes. No one had called him that for years, now. He adjusted his grip on the receiver before resuming his polishing. “This is he. May I know who is calling?”

The caller—a tired sounding woman with a midwestern lilt—introduced herself as Mrs. Eller, the attorney to Jack and Madeline Fenton. “I am sorry that you had to learn about it like this, Mr. Pennyworth, but your cousin, Maddie Fenton, her husband, and their daughter Jasmine recently passed away in an accident this Wednesday. You have my deepest condolences.”

They were second cousins. That was the first thought that came to Alfred’s mind, the cloth in his hand frozen at the dip of the spoon he was shining. Their fathers were cousins who lived on opposite sides of the pond. Despite this, Alfred and Maddie remained in close contact with each other throughout their childhood. They were penpals, sending letters and photos and holiday postcards (Maddie more so than Alfred).

He was even invited to their wedding.

And now—

“Wait a minute…” Alfred’s mind stalled. He set down the silver and the cloth. “You said that the daughter died as well. They had a younger son. What happened to him?”

“He is alive and…as well as he could be in this situation. Danny is actually the reason why I needed to contact you.” Mrs. Eller cleared her throat. “In the Fentons’ will, you were named as their childrens’ legal guardian in case…the worst ever came to pass.”

“I…me? What about Alicia? Maddie’s sister?”

“It’s the late Doctors Fentons’ will, sir. And Danny has agreed to it as well.”

“I see.” Alfred’s breath came out in a shuddering gasp. “Well, if my dear late cousin willed it, then I am willing to comply. Please, let me make some arrangements first, and then I will get back to you with the details.”

He hung up the phone—

—buried his face in his hands—

—and breathed.

Alfred could not afford to cry right now.

◆◆◆

two.

Thomas and Martha were more than happy to accommodate Danny within the manor when Alfred told them about his current situation. It was expected—the Waynes always had a penchant for generosity—but Alfred couldn’t help the sigh of relief all the same.

(Master Bruce, precocious eight-year-old that he was, wrinkled his brows at the news. While fine with sharing his own things, the attention of his favorite people on the other hand, he hoards like a greedy dragon.)

A week after that terrible phone call, Alfred pulled the black Bentley up to the correct airport terminal and waited for his new charge’s arrival.

Alfred had seen grief in many faces. Had experienced it himself. Despite this, nothing would ever prepare him for the utter desolation that seeped through Danny’s body. The boy was wan faced— skin almost gray. His cheeks were sunken and hollow, eyes bruised by shadows and stained red by tears. His back was hunched, less from the weight of his backpack and more so from the grief that hung on his shoulders.

“Mr. Pennyworth?” Danny’s voice was a dull timbre, nearly cracking at the edges. Alfred shook his hand (freezing cold, but not clammy). “I remember you. Mom always made sure to send you a Christmas card.”

The Fenton family Christmas card was always something Alfred appreciated. He had no family of his own that he was particularly close to, his immediate relatives all dead or estranged in some way. That Alfred received a card without fail every Christmas was always a novel feeling. It was…nice, to know that he still had ties somewhere. Danny, Alfred remembered, never really smiled in those cards. Oh he’d stretch his lips wide and show his teeth, but it was obvious from the way the smile never reached his eyes, and the tightness around his jaw that Danny wasn’t a Christmas person.

And now, with only a few weeks left till Christmas, he might never be one.

The two slid into the Bentley and drove off in relative silence. Danny had his head pressed against the window, eyes glazed as he watched the high-rise Gotham streets soon fade into open, rolling hills, and then the palatial monument that was Wayne Manor.

At the sight of the manor, Danny blinked. “You a millionaire or something?” (Shoulders tensed. Hands curled into fist. His jaw clenched into a hard line, and there was a kind of acidity in his tone at the question. Problems with wealth? No. People with wealth.)

“No.” Alfred kept his tone bland. “But I do work for them. I am the Head Butler for the Wayne family, and have lived here with them while under their employ. They’ve graciously extended that hospitality to you.”

“Do I have to work for them or something?”

Most definitely a problem of someone with wealth.

Alfred shook his head. “While I would appreciate some help here and there, you have no obligation to do so. This is where you’ll live, with me. You can live here for as long as you’d like, and when you feel ready, we can also talk about entering you into school again.”

Danny drums his fingers against his forearm, eyes trained on the stone statues that guarded the door.

Thomas and Martha welcomed the boy with open arms. Danny shook their hands and thanked them with a raspy voice, polite smile not reaching his eyes.

Master Bruce, shy and wary of the newest addition to the Wayne household, hid in the shadows of his mother’s ash mauve skirts. His blue eyes peeked upwards at Danny inquisitively.

(Later, after Alfred helped Danny settle into the room across from his own, Master Bruce would pull Alfred aside and ask why Danny looked so sad.

Alfred knelt to Bruce’s eye level and pressed a warm hand on his shoulder. “He is sad because his family is gone.”

Master Bruce tilted his head. “Gone where? When will they be back?” For all that he was an intelligent lad, Bruce was barely more than a child. Death was a foreign concept. The death of a loved one was even moreso.

“Somewhere far, far away.” Alfred doesn’t want to be the one that teaches Bruce about death.)

◆◆◆

three.

Wayne Manor was rumored to be haunted. It was a silly rumor of course; the Manor was an old house, and old houses have a tendency to make noises. But with Danny, one might almost be tricked into thinking it was true.

Danny was a wraith. He haunted the wide and empty hallways with preternaturally silent footsteps, the hairs on Alfred��s nape standing on ends whenever he’d suddenly catch a glimpse of the boy at the corner of his eye. Sometimes Alfred would see him linger in shadowed nooks or in the solitude of his bedroom, staring vacantly at nothing.

“He is still grieving,” Thomas would say. “Be patient with him.”

“He needs space,” Martha advised. “Just be there for him, Alfie. Let him know you’re someone he can trust, someone he can count on for support.”

Alfred looked down at his white-gloved hands. He knew that. He knew Danny needed support, needed space, needed time . But what about after? When the pang of grief had dulled with time, and Danny decided to step into the world instead of letting it pass by him? He was a child, and all children need parents.

Alfred remembers his time as an intelligence officer, slumming with petty criminals and socializing with wealthy targets. Living double, triple, quadruple lives, and exploiting every weakness that he could dig up in order to tear people down.

Nurturing hands he had not.

(Fatherhood would never suit someone like him.)

“I don’t know if I can,” he confessed.

“But you must either way,” said Martha. “You are all Danny has left in the world.”

“The best is all you can really do,” added Thomas. “Look on the bright side: you’re already doing so well with Bruce.”

Sighing through his nose, Alfred rubbed the ache away from his temples. Recalled, then, the distant past with his own father who cared more for another family than his own. Jarvis Pennyworth was an austere man who embodied the ‘stiff upper lip’ idiom so commonly applied to the British people. Even in Alfred’s memory, Jarvis barely smiled.

Jarvis was not a warm father. And yet…

Alfred still remembered the warmth that bloomed in his chest whenever he was young and saw a plate of freshly peeled fruit sitting on his desk.

Jarvis was not a particularly warm father, and more often than not was clumsy and awkward with his affection. But he loved his family still. Even far away, Alfred knew that his father would always be there for him.

And maybe, that’s what Danny needed from him too.

◆◆◆

four.

Alfred's previous occupation necessitated light sleeping habits, and for all Danny's too-quiet footsteps, he too was at the mercy of the Manor's age. Danny's door creaked open in the dead of night, rousing Alfred from his rest. From there, it only took Alfred fifteen seconds to ascertain that Danny had already turned around the hallway.

Alfred rose from his bed and tied his dressing robe around his waist. His nephew had a habit of wandering outside his room late at night. At first, from Alfred's observations, it was only to aimlessly walk throughout the Manor. After the first week, Danny had begun to gravitate to one place in particular.

The library.

Though it was less for the comfort of books or the rather comfortable wingback armchairs that surrounded the fireplace, and more for the small balcony that overlooked the topiary garden.

The first time Alfred had followed Danny there, he nearly had a heart attack when he saw Danny sit at the edge of the balustrade, feet dangling twenty feet above the ground. He nearly gave away his hiding spot in the shadow of some shelves. Fortunate for him that Danny wasn't the most observant person. He was like his mother in that way; for all that Maddie was an intelligent and frightfully observant little girl, she could be totally blind to some of the most obvious signs. (Alfred wondered if she ever grew past that.)

Like the first time, Danny sat at the edge of the balustrade. His fingers drummed a rhythmic pattern against the stone, head tilted up as he watched the starry sky above. Unlike the first time, Alfred made a stop at the kitchen first, coming out with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. Made just the way his own father used to.

Alfred deliberately stepped on a few creaky floorboards on his way over to alert Danny of his presence. He set down his own mug atop the railing before offering the other to his nephew. "It's cold out."

Wordlessly, Danny wrapped his hands around the mug and tucked it close to his chest. His blue eyes— startlingly bright in the darkness—scrunched in confusion as he tried to figure out Alfred's angle.

"It's not poisoned," Alfred joked dryly. He took a sip of his own mug as if to prove it. "That's too cliche."

"Too suspicious, too. It'd be easier to just push me off the balcony. Makes it look like an accident." Danny turned pink, sheepish. "Oh no that was kinda morbid. I'm sorry, I don't — I don't know why I said that."

He chuckled. "I'm the last person to reprimand you for morbid jokes, boy. And besides, you're right." Alfred smiled from beneath his cup when he saw Danny take a sip of the hot chocolate. "What brings you out here, anyway?"

There was a line of chocolate above Danny's lip. He wiped it away with the back of his wrist. "Stargazing, I guess. It's— there's less light pollution here and I wanted to just…look, I guess."

"Do you like astronomy?"

Danny nodded, gazing upwards at the cluster of stars above. "I wanted to be an astronaut when I was little."

"And now?"

"I still do. A lot. But I don't think that's possible for me anymore."

Alfred adjusted his grip on his mug. “Why not?”

Danny shrugged. “I don’t…know, really.” His voice is infinitesimally small that it is almost carried away by the evening wind. He hunched forward, elbows resting on his knees and mug settled on the bannister. Looked as if he was teetering on the edge and Alfred’s hand itched to pull on his arm as if to anchor him. “It feels as though I’m someone else. Like the Danny that wanted to become an astronaut lives in an entirely separate reality, and it feels weird to still want that dream because he and I are so—”

His breath catches in his throat. Eyes wide as a single tear slid down his cheek.

Then, all at once, his energy leaves him. “I’m sorry,” he said again. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

Alfred shook his head. “No. Don’t apologize. You have nothing to apologize for.” He met Danny’s gaze. Hoped that the boy would see the sincerity in his own eyes. “You are right. You are changed, Danny. I don’t know in what way, but you have changed and it is alright that you feel like a different person. Grief changes you, but it doesn’t mean you have to distance yourself from who you once were.”

Danny gripped the bannister tight. Fingers dug harshly into the stone. “I heard a lot that ‘time heals all wounds.’ ” He laughed humorlessly. “Is that actually true?”

“No,” Alfred said. “It doesn’t. The wound will never heal, but time will numb it enough that it no longer feels as painful.”

Danny looked at Alfred for a long moment, searching for something. The cold wind tousled his hair. Despite the frigid temperatures, Danny had not shivered even once.

Then, he spoke. “I still don’t think I can become an astronaut.”

Alfred’s gaze softened. “That’s alright. You’re still young, and you have plenty of time to decide what you want to do with it.”

◆◆◆

five.

Surprisingly—or perhaps, unsurprisingly—it was Master Bruce that pulled Danny out of the shadows of grief. Not completely, but…enough so that Danny began to finish everything on his plate and was unafraid to sleep some nights without waking up in nightmares.

Thomas and Martha were pleased, of course. For all Bruce’s brightness and endearing personality, he was so shy and struggled to make friends his own age. Danny at fourteen was still years older, but progress was progress. The Wayne couple would encourage the two’s friendship with a warm smile and an overindulgence in their antics. As long as Danny and Bruce didn’t leave the estate without their permission or stay out too late, the boys were free to wander as they liked.

In Alfred’s eyes, the connection between the two was obvious. Like called to like. Loneliness called to loneliness.

Once, Alfred caught the boys laying down in the soft grassy fields behind the manor. Their heads are pillowed by their arms, eyes craned towards the bright array of stars above, and willfully ignorant of the curfew they were breaking.

Danny lifted his arm to point at the sky. “See those three stars in a line?” he said to Bruce. “Those three stars make up Orion’s belt, and are the brightest stars in his constellation. See? If you follow it, you can sorta make the shape of a person.”

“I see it!” Master Bruce exclaimed. He traced a vague shape in the air. “There’s his chest. That, his arm. And look! I can even see his bow!”

“You know, a lot of people actually think that’s a shield.”

“But that looks nothing like a shield!”

Alfred couldn’t see for certain, but he felt that Danny would’ve shrugged at that statement. “Shield, bow, pelt of fur, doesn’t really matter in the end. The important thing was that you could see it. The ancient Mediterraneans used Orion as, like, an old calendar to know when it was a good time to thresh—that is, to separate the seeds from like a barley plant—their crops.” He moved his hand again. “The other cool thing about Orion is that it’s a good way to find other stars. See, if you follow the line of his belt away from his bow, you’ll find Sirius, which is the brightest star in the canis major constellation.”

“Is that his dog?”

“Yeah, that’s his dog. Sirius is also the brightest star in our night sky— well, after the sun at least. Anyway, if you follow the line of Orion’s belt towards the bow and even past it, you can see a cluster of stars way up there. There should be seven, but it might be hard to see all of them.”

“I think I see it? Is it that one?”

“Uh, a bit further— yep! That one. That’s the Pleiades, an open star cluster and probably one of the most well known stars in history. There’s actually way more than seven stars up there, but as far as seeing with the naked eye goes, we can only see seven. Like Orion, they were used to mark when it was a good time to harvest, but more than that, they were used by Greek sailors to know when it was a good time to sail. If the Pleiades were setting, or they were gone from the sky, then the seas would be too dangerous and it was better to go home.”

“What about that star over there?”

Alfred sees Danny shift, his head tilting towards the small lump that made up Master Bruce. “Which one?”

“Between the Pleiades and Orion there’s this really bright orange star.”

“Alpha Taurus. The brightest star in the Taurus constellation.” A beat. “Aldebaran, I think is its name. They call it ‘The Follower’ because it always follows after the Pleiades. Fun fact, it’s like over forty-times larger than the sun.”

“Really?” Alfred could hear the incredulity in Master Bruce’s voice. “It doesn’t look like it.”

“Well, all of those stars are lightyears away. They’re so far away that, technically, we’re not really seeing the stars. The light they give takes a long time to actually reach here on earth for us to see, so what we’re looking at is the light of a star from hundreds or thousands of years ago.”

Danny went quiet for a moment. “Really…for all we know, some of the stars we’re looking at have been dead for a while. Alive to us, but dead in reality. A weird kind of limbo.”

“Does it matter though?” Master Bruce said.

“What?”

He turned over, laying on his belly and holding himself up on his forearms. “Dead or alive? Does it matter?”

“I don’t…”

“I don’t think it does.” Master Bruce flopped back down to the grass. “If it’s alive, it’s alive. If it isn’t, then… it’s still alive in a way? My dad said that you’re never truly dead as long as someone remembers you, and as long as we see the star then it’ll always stay alive.”

Danny was silent for a moment.

Then he laughed and ruffled Bruce’s hair. “You know, Bruce, you’re way too smart for your age.”

“Is that a bad thing?”

“No. Never. You kinda remind me of my sister a bit.”

Alfred’s breath hitched. It was the first time he had ever heard Danny willingly bring up his family since they first met.

“She was a huge know-it-all,” Danny continued. “Annoyed me a lot because everyone always noticed that I wasn’t smart like her, but…she had a big heart, like you.”

Danny hauled himself to his feet before offering an arm to Master Bruce. “Come on, we better head back before anyone notices that we snuck out past your bedtime.”

Master Bruce whined. “Can’t we stay a bit longer?”

“We can do this again tomorrow night.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart and hope to die and all that.”

The two walked arm in arm back through the patio entrance, Danny’s footsteps still that same eerie silence, and little Bruce’s slowly matching his gait to copy Danny’s movements. Neither were aware of Alfred, who clung to the shadows, watching his two boys go.

(Alfred said nothing of the boys’ late-night astronomy lessons. He continued to say nothing whenever he caught the two of them breaking curfew. Instead, he’d settle on a chair in a hidden nook that comfortably kept the two in sight, and watched the stars.)

◆◆◆

six.

Months passed, and slowly, Danny learned to move on. He ate more now. Smiled more. Laughed more. Lived more.

Danny was a delight to have in the Manor. He was an extra voice that bounced around the vast hallways, another plate set down for family meals, and a point of normalcy in the glittering world of the Waynes. He was Alfred’s apprentice in the kitchen, their handy mechanic when technology went awry, and Bruce’s ever watchful guardian.

Martha and Thomas loved him. Bruce adored him.

And Alfred?

Alfred could not help the little voice at the back of his head that wanted to call the boy his own. Danny was his nephew, his family along with the Waynes.

Despite all the tragedy that brought Danny to Gotham, Alfred could not help but be happy that Danny was here with them.

But Gotham was a cruel mistress.

And Happiness was as fragile as a string of pearls.

Alfred drove Bruce away from that godforsaken alley as soon as he could. The boy (eight years old, he was eight years old and stained in his own parents’ blood) shivered in the passenger seat, an officer’s jacket slung over his small frame. He was silent. Unmoving. Hollow eyes trained at the darkening sky ahead.

They reached the Manor to find Danny furiously pacing on the front steps, teeth worrying the end of his thumb. He froze as soon as Alfred stepped out of the black Bentley.

He jumped down the front steps, shoes skidding against the gravel. “Alfred?”

What happened?

Is everything alright?

Alfred could read every bit of Danny’s body language as if the boy was an open book. The tense line of his shoulders; the rigidness of his spine; the sudden depth of his respirations as if Danny was forcing himself to calm down but couldn’t quite get there in time. There was a wild sort of desperation in his eyes— but Danny wasn’t looking at Alfred. Wasn’t here. Not completely at least.

Some part of Danny was back in Amity again. A young boy like Master Bruce watching his whole world fall apart with a bang.

Alfred kept a stiff upper lip as he opened the passenger door and helped Master Bruce onto unsteady legs. He had to be strong now, for both his boys.

“Alfred,” Danny started again. “What— what happened? Where’s—” At the sight of Master Bruce, Danny stumbled to his knees.

“Bruce? Are you—” He cradled Bruce’s blood-stained cheek, fingers shaking.

Bruce spoke. The first words he’d said since Alfred came to get him. “What do I do, Danny?” His voice is shaking and raw and so small . The wind could almost carry it away. “They’re gone, Danny. My parents are gone, too.”

Alfred could see the instant Danny broke.

(Alfred could feel the second he broke, too.)

He pulled both his boys into his arms and held them tight. They were all each other had in this world, and Alfred begged to a god he hadn’t believed in for years that the world not separate them even more.

◆◆◆

seven.

It’s been a week.

Alfred found both boys curled up in the grassy fields behind Wayne Manor, staring at the dark expanse of night.

“I never want anyone else to go through what we did,” Bruce said.

A promise.

Danny turned to look at Bruce, a hand held out. Aldebaran shone bright and red above him. “Never again.”

A pact.

◆◆◆

eight.

When Bruce is midway through his first year of university and Danny is nearly finished with his bachelor’s degree in aerospace engineering, the two of them dropped out of college, packed a bag each, and disappeared into the night.

They gave no word. They left no note.

Months later, they were declared dead. Another tragedy for the people of Gotham, who mourned their bright prince.

All of Bruce Wayne’s finances and belongings were left to Alfred, who continued to tend to them, as if any day Bruce Wayne and his smiling shadow would return.

Time passed.

The world turned.

Bruce Wayne and Danny Fenton remained dead.

Until one night, when the Pleiades had begun their descent from the sky, Alfred woke to a phone call. He held the phone to his ear, spoke into the receiver in hushed tones, and hung up a few minutes later.

He readies his uniform. Made sure that it was free of lint, and the fabric was ironed out of any wrinkles. He dressed, made himself presentable, and drove the black Bentley all the way to a lonely airfield on the outskirts of Gotham.

He waits.

He does not wait long. (He’s waited long enough.)

A small plane descends. Landed on the runway. Stopped.

An eternity, and the doors opened.

Out steps two young men, tall and lean, with whipcord muscles and scars that held stories that Alfred might never know. Their eyes are tired but bright. Hungry for vengeance, for justice, for Gotham .

Alfred smiled at his boys.

“Welcome home.”

#dpxdc #my writing.txt

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sykosomatic · 3 months

Note

hiii! long time no see!

may i request a billy loomis x ftm reader BUT billy is possesive and has a breeding kink?? tbh i wanted poly ghostface but i can't see stu having a breeding kink😭😭

if you could, thanks<3

hi!! my deepest apologies for how long this sat in my ask box, ily 🥺 🫶

possessive billy loomis with a breeding kink x ftm!reader

cw: ftm reader, breeding kink (obvi) complete with dirty talk, reader gets his breasts groped, p in v sex, creampie(s), spanking, hair pulling, afab parts/genitalia mentioned, potentially unsavory words used: pussy, cock/t-cock, cervix. (no mpreg, for those of you opposed!)

“you’re fucking mine, you got that?” billy loomis growled darkly into your ear. you didn’t really know what you’d done to make him be so possessive — well, more than usual — but you weren’t complaining. he drove his cock deep into your pussy; with long, rough strokes, you could feel the tip nearly smashing up into your cervix. you were too cock-drunk, with him behind you like that, to actually fully register that he was asking you a question. he grabbed your hair and tugged harshly, pulling your back up closer to his chest. “answer me.”

your brain went fuzzy. what had he even asked? “i.. uh,” you moaned out, gasping as he slapped your ass hard, pushing you back onto your all-fours.

“i said, you’re mine, you got it?” he hissed, his hands going to your sides, holding you in place as he fucked into you. he rocked his hips harsher, skin slapping on skin and his balls hitting against your pussy in just the most tantalizing way.

“y-yes, yes sir,” you managed to whine out as one of his hands groped your ass hard; he proceeded to slap it again, most likely leaving a red mark.

“good fucking boy,” he purred; you could hear the smirk on his lips as he watched you unravel. the bed beneath you creaked and moaned with his thrusts, the headboard rocking into the wall. you were glad your parents weren’t home. “i’m gonna make sure you never forget it…” he growled, taking your hips in his hands and fucking into you, rough enough to make you whine and bite down into the sheets beneath you, seeing stars as he reached down to fondle your t-cock. you were drooling into the sheets as you heard him speak, trying to figure out what exactly he meant by that.

“oh, fuck…” you murmured, voice muffled by the sheets as you felt an orgasm rock your body, making you tremble and shake. your pussy clenched around his cock.

“i’m gonna fill your pussy up, baby boy— you’re gonna know you’re mine by the feeling of me breeding that little hole of yours. you got it? you’re fucking mine, don’t you ever forget it,” he growled, spacing some of his words with low grunts of pleasure, and others with particularly rough thrusts. you gripped the sheets with your hands, feeling him get into a rougher pace as he got closer to an orgasm.

he grabbed your hair again, pulling your face out of the sheets, drool on your bottom lip and chin.

“tell me how much you want me to breed you, baby,” he grunted into your ear, nipping harshly at your earlobe. you whimpered, and he grabbed one of your breasts, groping it and pinching your sensitive nipple. “c’mon, don’t be shy, boy.”

“fuck…” you whined, feeling your brain leaking out between your legs as he fucked you. “i.. fuck, i want you to breed me, billy, please,” you whimpered, yelping out in pleasure as he bit your neck, nipping at your shoulder too. “please fill me up, make me yours..”

“that’s more like it,” billy said approvingly, fucking up into you as he held you up against his chest, holding tight so you didn’t fall back down onto the bed. he gave a few more deep strokes, sheathing himself all the way inside as he came. his cum spurted up into you, warm and thick, filling you up and making you all fuzzy inside. “good boy, take it all,” he purred into your ear, leaving himself inside of you while your pussy clenched around him. “good fucking boy…”

#writing #slashers #asks #drabble #male reader #requests #slasher smut #ftm reader #billy loomis x male reader #billly loomis x ftm reader #mlm ftm reader #billy loomis scream

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ajconstantine · 2 months

Text

My access to AO3 at home was recently blocked by the website filtering program my husband maintains. Aghast at the atrocity, I was compelled to tell him of my outrage in prose.

Dear Internet Overlord (husband),

I pen this missive with an air of utmost dismay and disbelief, for it has come to my attention that your internet system is exhibiting a most egregious behavior—the blockage of access to the AO3 website.

The sheer audacity of this act is an outrage of the highest magnitude, and I find myself compelled to express my profound displeasure in the most vehement terms. To compound the injury with an insult, the site category has been labeled as "tasteless."

Tasteless, I say! I implore you to reconsider such a gross mischaracterization, for the AO3 realm is a sanctuary of literary and artistic brilliance. It is a place where words dance upon the page like nimble ballerinas, and where the brushstrokes of creativity paint a canvas of unparalleled beauty. (Admittedly, there may be a smattering of less refined content, but let us not dwell on such trivialities.)

Picture, if you will, an artist of words, now shackled and denied the opportunity to share their craft with a community that thrives on supporting and nurturing such artistry. My very soul, once vibrant and full of creative vigor, is in danger of withering into the desolate existence of a literary crone—miserable and deprived of the camaraderie that AO3 provides.

I beseech you, noble custodian of the virtual realm, to rectify this atrocity with the urgency it deserves. Failure to do so may force me to embark on a quest into the perilous wilderness (or the nearest Starbucks, whichever proves more accessible) in search of alternative sources of the exalted webpage that is AO3.

Alternatively, I may succumb to the depths of madness, rendering me unfit to share in the responsibilities of co-parenting. In such a lamentable event, I would, of course, be compelled to bequeath unto you the solemn duty of tending to our progeny for all eternity. The choice, dear sir, rests in your capable hands.

Yours incredulously, AJ Constantine

His response:

Dear AJ Constantine, I hope this message finds you amidst some peace, despite the trying circumstances you've encountered in attempting to access Archiveofourown.org.

First and foremost, please accept my deepest and most sincere apologies for any frustration, inconvenience, or distress these technical difficulties may have caused you. I understand that Archiveofourown.org holds a special place for individuals such as yourself seeking solace, inspiration, and community, and I deeply regret any disruption to the refuge it provides. I recognize that your connection to the content on Archiveofourown.org goes beyond a mere online presence—it's a source of joy, escape, and connection. The pain and suffering you may have endured due to your inability to access the platform is not lost on me, and I genuinely empathize with the impact it may have had on your life. I have identified and resolved the issues and reinstated seamless access to the website, and I hope that this will alleviate the distress you may be feeling. (Please don’t leave me over this. Think of the children.) Your husband

(I decided not to leave him over it, but it was a close call. 😁)

#archive of our own

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strawberriianime · 11 months

Text

those eyes

♡ Douma x innocent angel!reader

♡ cw: descriptions of sex, oral sex, unprotected sex, Douma being a complete liar, dominant Douma, Douma being a JERK, creampies? creampies, slight degradation & humiliation, loss of virginity, basically sexxxx.

♡ Douma is known for being cunning, so no figure he was able to fool you~

Humming softly you cleaned the delicate vases in the cool spring water allowing all sprinkles of dirt to get off of the vase. Your thin white dress was floating slightly in the water not bothering you the slightest. You would come down to this spring every now and then to wash different things, a way of blessing an item. Being an angel who had just recently arrived on earth you were getting used to the whole angel thing, you didn’t have much to do just visit small communities and offer small blessings. Blending in was easy, you had the appearance of a normal human your wings only being out when necessary since being here you haven’t run into any problems. Until.

Shaking the access water from the vase, you began making your way out of the water dressed, completely clinging to your body and showing off your lovely figure. Nipples poked through the long sheer gown, showing off the hue of the nubs.

“My my my, a woman shouldn’t be out here all alone you know” You turned your head left and right looking for the mysterious person who spoke suddenly. Facing back forward you were met with a pair of rainbow-colored eyes. You jumped slightly causing you to fall into the spring and drop the vase you were blessing causing it to break.

“Oh no you’ve fallen in, my deepest apologies. Please take my hand and allow me to help you out.” He smiled sticking his hand out to you. You took his hand as he helped you up and brought you out of the water.

“What might you have been up to? Out here all alone, how dangerous.” He kept that smile on his face, something about him was hypnotizing it was like his eyes put you in a trance.

“I was simply cleaning some belongings, I come quite often I was doing fine. Thank you for being concerned sir.” you smiled at him shaking the access water off of you.

“Oh no problem at all, a beauty like you must be protected you never know what could be lurking in the shadows out here ready to gobble your up.” His head tilted slightly to the side. Perhaps he was right, you know demons are real and they like to prey on the innocent. So it could be quite dangerous for you, you’ve only spent a total of 8 days on Earth and all has been swell so far.

“Perhaps you’re right, it is best that I do get going thank you for helping me.” you began walking away grabbing the one other vase that had not been broken.

“Ah, I can’t let you go just yet it is my fault that your other vase broke. It is only right if I replaced it. I have a dear friend who makes the loveliest vases you would just adore. So please allow me to replace it?” he placed his hands together almost begging you to come with him.

As an angel, giving the man a chance would be your moral duty. “Sure, however, I am soaking wet.” you sighed referring to the soaked sheer dress you were still wearing.

“Here” he wrapped an overshirt over your body, taking your hand. “Let us be on the way, I stay not too far from here” he began walking taking you with him. It took quite literally no time to get to his “home” it was more like a temple. Quite off that you did not see this any other time you wandered these woods, possibly you’ve missed some areas.

He pushed open a set of cold stone doors, the room decorated with nothing but shades of red and hints of black. The room was cold, not your average cold but below-freezing cold and you wearing wet clothing which made it no better. Your nipples began hardening making you cross your arms along your chest attempting to shield them from the male in the room with you.

“My would you like to shed your wet clothing? You would only get sick wearing such clothing at this temperature. I will go get you a towel, you may remove your clothing.” he hummed slightly making his way from the bedroom area. You began removing the overshirt from your body, laying it on a nearby rack. Peeling off the wet dress, you were left in your bare state. You had really no reason to wear any garments under your clothing, although you didn’t own any anyways. Jumping slightly, you felt a cloth being brushed along your skin.

“Shh it’s just me dear.” the familiar voice ranged out. He ran the cloth along your back, your arms, and slowly down your legs. It was almost embarrassing being exposed so freely to a man you hardly know but there was something so charming about him.

“No need to be so shy, I'm simply aiding you as it was my fault you fell in anyway.” he hummed. He made his way to the front of your body brushing the towel over your breast and making a circular motion with the cloth.

“Hm, it would be better if you at on the bed. I can dress you better that way” It was as if your body moved on its own causing your bottom to make a connection with the bed. He took the towel and began drying your left foot making way up your leg. Switching to your other foot, he began drying up your leg making his way up to your thighs. Taking the cloth he began drying your thighs, ensuring to absorb any moisture from the spring.

“Spread your legs,” he stated as if that was a normal thing to say to any woman.

“Uh, I-” Your face flushed to a shade of strawberry red.

“I’m just drying you off any I can’t dry you properly when you’re clamping your legs together locking their moisture in,” he states hands finding themselves on your plush thighs. Although it did not matter considering the strong grip he had on your thighs, you cracked your legs open slightly only for him to spread them wide open. Taking the cloth once more, he began wiping at the inner parts of your thighs getting rid of the last bit of spring water. He dropped the cloth to the floor, allowing his ice-cold hands to dance along your body. He ran a finger up your body, stopping right at your chin.

“You just smell of innocence, never been touched by a man or woman if you’re into that. The way you glide through the water of the spring just begging to be eaten up.” your face twisted up in confusion, what was he getting at?

“As I was drying you, you don’t think I noticed the way you tensed up or the way you clamped your legs together as if begging for me to touch you more?” he brought his face close to yours those rainbow eyes glowing even in a room with little to no light.

“Sir I must not do this, it isn’t right and I must remain pure.” you turned your head away from him.

“You will still be pure, just do whatever your heart desires~” his cold tongue licked along the side of your neck making you squeal. He lapped at your neck licking from the bottom all the way to the tip of your chin. You felt him push your body back slightly, your back coming in contact with the cool sheets. His large body towered over yours with ease. He licked at your neck again, this time trailing down making way from your shoulders to your right nipple. He licked ever so lightly at the bud that had been hardened by the temperature causing your to squirm under his body. He took his time with your nipple, sucking at the bud getting it nice and wet, rolling it along his tongue. He brought one of his fingers up your leg, dancing its way up to your warm entrance. You’ve never been touched by anyone like this before, it was a new feeling of complete bliss. Your body felt as if it had electricity flowing through it. His finger poked at your entrance, swiping slightly to remove the stickiness of your juices that held your folds together. Stroking at your entrance was enough to get your hips rolling. Just as he switched from your right nipple to your left, you felt him insert one of his cold fingers inside your warmth. He moved the solo finger slowly, allowing you to adjust to his finger. The feeling of his finger inside you and him toying with your nipple was almost enough to send you over the edge.

He released your nipple from his mouth, a thin trail of saliva bridging between the two. Your body tensed up as you felt him slide down to your lower half, cool breath tickling at your entrance. Taking both of his hands, he pushed your thighs apart spreading them to the widest of their ability. You felt his tongue lick with the perfect amount of pressure at your clit causing you to let out an erotic moan. You heard him chuckle slightly before he dove into your cunt licking sloppily while sucking harshly at the right areas. He sucked at your clit rolling the nub along his tongue, cool breath mixed with your warm heat causing your back to arch off of the bed. He gripped at your thighs, cuffing them into his hands holding you in place as he lapped at your cunt as if it was his last meal on earth. Your hands soon found their way to his golden hair, gripping the hair in your fist tight but not tight enough that it’ll cause pain. As if it was not enough already, you felt him release one of your thighs, taking two of his fingers and pushing them into your entrance. You groaned feeling the pressure of his fingers mixed with the feeling of him eating at your heat. Before you know it, he flipped you over so you were now on all fours and he was laying flat on his back. Your body hovered over his as he locked his hands into your thighs once more, pushing your heat down onto his face and allowing him to smother himself with your juices. The feeling was too much as your legs began shaking, but that did not stop his pace at all. With one final suck at your clit your body trembled to feel a euphoric feeling flood over your body.

You began catching your breath, chest heaving with each breath. You have never experienced this feeling, not once in 100 years. Was this wrong? Dragging you out of your thoughts you felt something fairly large Without any warning, you felt your inside being stretched to the fullest. The feeling was a mix of pain and pleasure and at the moment you were definitely feeling more pain.

“Please Sir I can’t take it.” your face scrunched up as the burn started to slowly fade.

“Oh but you can, and you will” he smiled showing those rainbow eyes. Looking into them almost had you in a trance, you didn’t realize that he began moving as you stared so deeply into his eyes. It wasn’t until a sharp snap of his hip that brought you to your sense. With every stroke he was slow but sharp, letting you feel every inch that he had to offer. Taking your hands and pinning them above your head, he began adjusting the pace. Things had gone from slow and sharp to a new pace of fast and rough. Each thrust was jagged, snapping so harshly into you as if he wanted to rip you in half. Your breast bounced at each thrust, the bed creaked loudly through the room, and the only sound left would be the sound of your squelching cunt that filled the room with its wetness.

“Fuck, you’re so tight I could barely fit still.”

“Gonna stretch you out nice and good just for me.”

“My hell you’re so fucking wet’“

You whined as his fast rough pace began puncturing your insides, you could feel every inch of him within the deepest parts of your stomach. Your cunt swallowed him whole, as it had been stretched as if it had been perfectly molded to his shape. He removed himself from you, once more finding yourself being flipped back onto all fours. He pushed you back down creating the perfect arch for him, allowing himself to push deeply back into you, The burning was still there as his raw flesh met your soft spongy walls. He dug himself deep into you, the deepest you’ve felt him go so far. He lowered his body, his chest resting on your back as he wrapped his hands around your lower waist slamming himself deep into you. You gripped the sheets under you, as a new wave of please came over your body.

“Sir please” you called out eyes shut tight body barely can hold on much longer. He licked at your ear, whispering a bunch of sweet nothings.

“Who would’ve ever thought that fucking an angel would be this easy? Oh, I have to tell the other uppermoons.” he chuckled body still pressed deep into yours. Uppermoons? What..

“Demons and angels aren’t supposed to be together but I think we fight together perfectly like two missing puzzle pieces.” Demon...? He was a demon?

“Oh don’t tell me you really couldn’t tell. How sad, the big scary demon just devoured the poor innocent angel. What are the odds you let a demon not only fuck you but take your first time?” he laughed not missing a single thrust.

“Don’t tell me you like that, your clamping down on me mighty tight” Your face flushed with shock so many emotions ran through your head.

“Don’t worry, your Lord Douma will take good care of you.” he snapped his hips sharply one last time enough to push you over the edge. You felt his own bodily fluid mix with yours, invading your intimate areas. He pulled himself out of you, laying your body down softly. He propped himself up staring at you with those rainbow eyes once more, this time a kanji symbol appearing in them. How can you be so dense, sadly to say you kinda liked it?

#I dont think this was good #I got tired of writing ugh #demon slayer #douma #douma x reader #reader x douma #demonslayer #demon slayer smut #douma smut #douma x reader smut #ayeteen plus #demon slayer imagine #anime smut #smut #doma x reader #kny #kimetsu no yaiba #kny douma

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hijackalx · 7 months

Text

GHOST +18

SUMMARY: Gortash helps you remember what your relationship with him was like.

WORD COUNT: 4000

UNDER THE CUT: F!reader, good dark urge reader, hard dom gortash, degradation, praise kink, spanking, daddy kink, sadism and masochism, SLIGHT NONCON, some angst at the end

You watch as the crowd disperses, chattering amongst themselves. The once quiet hall becomes an echo chamber for indiscernible voices; you quickly begin to search for an escape before the socializing gives you a headache.

The coronation wasn't worth your time. You didn't even get to speak to Gortash before he disappeared into the sea of people, and your chances of finding him now are slim.

You needed so badly to speak to him about the situation at hand; you hoped he'd be willing to come to a compromise. There's little desire for conflict in your veins— is it bad to admit that sometimes you wish this weight was bestowed upon someone more combative?

You push through bodies, interrupting minglers and meaningless conversations. "Oh, I'm so wealthy!' 'Yes, yes, me as well!" you mock them under your breath, putting on your most haughty persona. The topics that enthrall patriars never quite intrigued you.

As far as you can remember, at least.

You knock shoulders with one of them, though you remain in character. "My deepest apologies, good sir," your voice comes out nasally, your nose held high with a level of snootiness.

Their hand graces your upper arm, each finger laced coldly with steel. It's not a dismissing touch, but a grab. It wraps around your bicep, holding you in place. Your body tenses, shoulders shooting upright— perhaps your impression was a bit too insulting.

"U-uh—" you laugh nervously while your eyes follow their way up to their face. Your heartbeat stutters in your chest, a stillness overcoming you like a startled rabbit.

A man stands before you; his eyes sunken, his hair cut haphazardly, his skin tanned and scarred. You know who this is.

"You," his deep voice finds you through the noise. "I've been looking for you. For a moment, I was worried that you’d left." he doesn't release you, as if he's afraid to lose you again.

"Gortash," you mutter, your gaze darting over his features. "I... was looking for you as well, actually." you're totally and utterly surprised by the fact he even acknowledged you, let alone had been seeking you out.

"Enver," he speaks, and you don't quite understand what he means until you notice the playful raise in his brow; he's correcting you. How... informal of him to suggest you call him by his first name.

He finally removes his grip from your arm. A gentle grin pulls at his lips, and he seems to try to hide it behind the wine in his glass. There's a beat of silence, and during it you catch his eyes not-so-subtly gracing over your figure. "Your dress is lovely," is all he says, and you suddenly feel that your garment is too revealing.

Your arm lays over your stomach and fastens to the other, as if that would some how barricade you from his scrutinizing gaze. So, the Archduke is a bit of a pervert— not something you expected, but something you can deal with, nonetheless.

"I, um— listen—" you begin, yet struggle to pull your thoughts together in the chaos. "Is there... somewhere else... we could talk?"

His eyes suddenly appear more lively, though there's something else inside them that you can't quite place. "Of course." he places his glass down on a nearby waiter's tray. You're shocked as he places a palm towards the middle of your back, making contact with the bare skin through the window of your dress. He guides you out of the crowd, and you're amazed at how easily he wades through it as his obstacles yield to him.

He takes you toward a dark, spiral staircase. You're not sure if he's being polite when he insists you go ahead or if he's attempting to peek up your dress, and you try not to think about it.

Once you reach the top, your body is caressed by the cool, night air. You stop in your tracks, amazed at how the city glows in the dark. You can hear the sounds of the bustling streets, and the faint hum of the gathering downstairs.

"Magnificent, isn't it?" Enver's voice appears behind you and you flinch. You'd forgotten he was there. "As are many things that bend so pliantly to my will."

You turn around to meet his eyes, how they look up at you from under his brow, steady and ravenous. There's a pit that opens up in your stomach— his plans are sinister, and you need the upcoming conversation to be enough to stop them.

Suddenly, you're attacked by a barrage of self-doubt. What a heavy task for someone as measly as you.

The wind blows through the both of you, pulling at your hair and clothing as if saying to stop stalling. Your eyes flit to the ground once before allowing him to lead you further.

He opens another door for you, this one leading to what you believe is an office. Your bodies are bathed in the warm candlelight as you enter. You approach the long, many-seated table in the immediate vicinity as the sound of him closing the large doors fills the chamber.

You observe the architecture, feeling a sense of awe at being in the presence of such expensive tastes. Enver walks around you, heading to a compartment holding many different kinds of liquor. "I keep the good stuff in here," he comments, the bottle in his grasp clinking against the others as it's removed. "Although, I rarely have the pleasure of sharing it with guests as enchanting as yourself."

His words seem to carry an implication of familiarity. You turn to him with a raised brow. "You know why I'm here?" Your mind flits back to earlier— you remember him saying something about looking for you as well.

With a still hand he pours the cinnamon-colored liquid into both of your glasses. He doesn't look up as he responds, "Do you really believe me to be so dull?" he lets out a small laugh, placing the cork back into the bottle. "Besides, my intuition tells me we both want the same thing."

"... We do?" you mutter in disbelief. Had you been wrong about him? Is he really willing to hear you out so easily?

He hands you your glass. "We do." he raises his drink to you as if to toast, then brings it to his mouth. As he lets the drink disappear down his throat, his eyes remain on yours. This time, you feel that you may be able to trust whatever is behind them.

You join him with a small sip, and there is a short moment shared between you two. You notice just how close he's standing to you, but for some reason you don't step away. Your gaze falters from his own, shakily sneaking a glance at his lips, then his neck, and his exposed chest...

You stop there, quickly darting your pupils back upwards. You notice him still staring, and you wonder if perhaps your eyes explored just a bit too much.

Flustered, you turn around and place your palms on the table. "I—I'm sorry, this is just... a bit much for me." you try to compose yourself, feeling the start of your proposal bubbling to the surface. With a sigh, you begin, "Gor— Enver, I wanted to discuss the future of—"

You can't get any more words out— not even a sound. Your eyes widen, your temperature rising throughout your entire body like a surging wildfire. The only thing you can focus on is his lips on your neck and his body pressed against yours as he pins your hands to the tabletop.

Your breath quivers, heart in your throat. What is happening?

His mouth begins making its way downwards. You shiver out of your frozen state. With a swift, freeing elbow to his ribcage, you turn and shove him away from you.

He stumbles backward, the emotions on his face cycling too quickly for you to make something of it. Eventually, anger is the one that settles and stays. "What in the hells is the matter with you?!"

Your hand grips the glass on the table tightly, ready to use it as a weapon if you must. "I— what's the matter with me?! You just came onto me! I don't even know you!"

"What else did you expect, you little—" A crease forms between his brows. "... You don't know who I am?" his voice appears more softly, harboring confusion.

"Well, yes, you are the Archduke— but you know what I mean! Y-you don't just walk up to any stranger with their back turned and start kissing their neck!"

He glances away for a moment, shoulders relaxing as he finds the answers he's seeking inside the night’s prior instances. "You and I are hardly strangers, my dear."

You go quiet.

No— your memory can't have failed you again, not here. Not with him. You'd remember, surely you would.

With an inquiring grin, he approaches you slowly. "So it’s true. How curious." he studies you as if you're a freshly discovered specimen. "If you don't remember what we were, do you even remember what you are?"

His words rattle you to your core. To imply that your relationship with him was so deeply intertwined with who you once were— it almost makes you sick.

"You're lying," you respond quickly, regardless of whether you think he is or not. You won't accept otherwise.

"Am I?" he stops mere inches from your face, as if to allow you to see the truth through his eyes. They delve into yours, carrying an intensity that yours lack, a confidence that you wish wasn't there.

He hums. "Allow me to jog your memory." with a deep inhale, he opts to press his lips against yours. Your trembling body leans into the table behind you, backing further and further away from him until you can't anymore. He kisses you, and for some reason, you let him. You don't make any extravagant attempts to rid yourself of him— instead, you allow him to have you, as if on instinct.

The kiss lasts a few seconds, and he lingers for a moment before pulling away. You feel an emptiness on your lips, your fingertips leaving the glass at your side to reach up and gently inspect the area.

"First, we were accomplices. You, a chosen of Bhaal; I, a chosen of Bane,” he looks you directly in the face as he speaks, making sure you’re listening intently. “After so much time together, we took an interest in each other, particularly each other's bodies," he explains, "We were so young and knew so little— but we learned from each other. Experimented with each other—"

You shift underneath where he has you trapped against the table. You sink into yourself, your chin tucking down in shame. You're not sure how you feel about all of this, but you do know that there's a growing warmth between your thighs.

Even if your mind fails to remember what you two did together, your body knows.

His head tilts so that he speaks into your ear. "And, Gods, the things you'd let me do to you," as if reliving the memory, he almost moans, the lilt to his tone making your stomach lurch.

”N-no…” you mumble, though there is little substance behind the word.

He lowers himself, his mouth hovering over your neck once again. His breaths fan your sensitive skin before pressing his lips to it.

You twitch, your hand involuntarily coming up to rest in his hair. He hears how your breath hitches, and you feel him smile against you as he sucks softly.

His restless hand finds itself on your thigh, slipping into the slit of your dress. The cold material of his gauntlets raises goose bumps on your skin, your muscles tensing every time he reaches just inches from your core.

He pulls his lips from you with a pop, slightly breathless.

"It became an addiction. We'd meet up at every opportunity— almost every night just to fuck," he says with enough emphasis to make you realize just how filthy your past together was. “Hells, I even remember asking you what your father thought of his prized offspring becoming my personal little whore."

You burn hot with embarrassment, though some part of you likes the name he's given you. "... a- and?" you hate yourself for playing into whatever this is, but you can't help it. You want him to keep talking.

He laughs, "you said you didn't give a shit. Can you imagine that? Daddy's little girl willing to sacrifice everything just so she wouldn't have to go a day without me fucking her into the mattress.” he gives you a lift onto the table, both of his hands roughly pulling your thighs apart so he can place himself between them.

As if acting on its own, you fail to notice how your body arches into him, begging for his touch. "Enver..." you moan quietly, the sensation feeling so familiar on your tongue. The memories he describes to you seem so real yet so distant. You want to remember them, to experience them.

His chest rises and falls quicker by the minute. As his hand comes up to direct you by your jaw, the gold points on his fingertips leave indents in your skin. "You have no idea how elated I was to get news of your reappearance. I don't have words to explain how badly I've missed you— your body."

Unable to compose himself any longer, he finally stops teasing and slams his mouth into yours. He's aggressive and rough; the biting, smacking your teeth together kind of rough. You struggle to keep up with him, balancing yourself with an arm over his shoulders until he pushes you onto your back. Impatiently, he rips his sharp gauntlets from his hands, the objects landing somewhere on the floor with a clatter.

He runs his bare hands over the curves of your body, taking in the sight as if it's the first time. You lift your back as he reaches for the zipper of your dress, his adrenaline-ridden fingers fumbling before undoing it successfully. You help him wriggle yourself out of it.

The cold air hits your exposed breasts, your nipples erect and sensitive. His calloused thumb brushes over one before he tightly squeezes your tit, an obvious attempt to hear your voice. He's delighted when you gasp in both pain and pleasure, his mouth meeting yours to devour the sound. He then quickly trails down your neck to pepper kisses over your chest.

He takes one of your nipples into his mouth, purposefully grazing it with his teeth before soothing it with his tongue. Your hand tangles in his messy hair, lifting yourself into him.

His opposite hand sneaks into your panties, toying with your clit in a cruel fashion. He pinches and teases, refusing to give you what you want. Frustrated, you reach down to move his hand out of the way, to which he grabs and restrains. You try the same with the other, and he repeats.

"Insubordinate little slut," he mumbles under his breath as he pushes his knee between your legs, providing pressure but no friction. "You want to do it yourself?" he says meanly, slightly irritated by your actions.

You immediately begin rubbing against his thigh, finally feeling some relief. You exhale, feeling waves of pleasure course through you.

He peers down between your bodies to watch, his erection prominent in his pants. "Fuck, that's right. Show me how badly you need it."

Your hips eventually start to stutter, unable to continue as you lose yourself in the sensation. "I- I can't," you whine, unsatisfied as you fail to keep your rhythm.

He smiles sadistically at how you struggle. "Oh, you can't?" he pouts mockingly. "Poor thing."

You know what he wants, it sits in the back of your mind, ready without second thought. You've been here before. "P-please,” you choke out. "Please, I need you. Fuck me, please," your voice comes out pathetically, happy to continue begging until you get what you desire.

As if on cue, he flips you onto your stomach, your ass stuck in the air and your cheek pressed to the hardwood. He takes your arm and folds it behind your back, holding you in place. "You say that like I was going to give you a choice." You see how he leers down at you through the corner of your eye, a wolfish look on his features. You don't know how much truth there is to his words, but your pussy flutters anyway.

He runs a finger over your folds, the friction from your underwear making you jump. You whimper his name, completely at his mercy. With a huff, he rips your panties off of you, splitting the delicate fabric in half.

Pausing for a moment, he admires the glistening wetness between your thighs. He kicks your feet apart further to spread you open, using his finger to circle your clit before covering the digit in your essence. You watch as he sticks it in his mouth, cleaning it off with his tongue. He lets out a content sigh, savoring the taste.

You whine while deepening the arch in your back, presenting yourself to him further.

His brows furrow. Picking up your torn panties, he wads them up and shoves them in your mouth. It extends your jaw fully, making it impossible to spit them out. "Shut up," he growls. "You'll get what you want when I feel like giving it to you."

You can taste yourself on the ripped garment, feel how wet you are with your tongue. Your saliva begins to dampen it by the second, and it’s only a matter of time before it drips past the barrier.

The sound of him disrobing fills the air. Your irises roll back behind corkscrewed eyelids, anticipating what is to come with little patience.

The gag muffles your sounds as you feel his length drag between your thighs, parting your puffy folds. Your hole contracts spastically, desperate for him.

Then, he slams into you without warning. You scream, writhing beneath him as his dick forcibly stretches you out. The pain is almost unbearable as you feel tears start to materialize.

He balances himself on the table with his free hand, letting out a long, shuddering breath. "Fuck." He takes a moment before moving. There is no slow build-up, his pace is aggressive and hard from the very start. He fucks you like he absolutely hates you, and you suppose it's possible that he does. If what he says is true, then you abandoned him. Not on purpose, but you still did.

His cock moves in a shoveling motion, hitting your G-spot with every thrust. You send your body back to him every time he reenters you, rocking in sync. It feels natural— it feels good. As you adjust, you realize that you fit together perfectly; two puzzle pieces that were never meant to be apart. Suddenly, his dependence on you makes so much more sense.

You gasp as he grabs a fistful of your hair, roughly pulling your head upward. He holds you there uncomfortably as he speaks into your ear, "if you ever leave me again," he pauses to catch his breath, "I'll fucking kill you. Do you understand?"

Nodding your head is not enough for him. He rips your underwear from your mouth. "yes, what?"

Your breathing is ragged and high-pitched as you're finally allowed to use your mouth again. "Yes, daddy!" you assume that must be what he made you call him before, based on how it forces its way past your teeth. You're sure he gets some kind of power-trip from it, perhaps he's envious of your previous devotion to your father.

“It seems you remember more than I thought.” he uses his thumb to wipe the drool from your swollen lip, then massages the spot where he yanked your hair. "Good. You're doing so good."

His unexpected praise makes your pussy tighten around him, milking him, begging for him to come.

He lets out a deep, throaty moan. "Gods, you feel fucking amazing." his palm makes contact with your ass, a sharp smack echoing through the tall ceilings of the office. You yelp, your fingernails clawing at the tabletop. You can feel the hand-shaped welt forming right away, the stinging sensation rising to the top of your skin. "You like how daddy fucks you?"

He asks just as you feel yourself reaching your climax. It builds in your lower stomach, bubbling in your chest. "Y-yes!" you cry. "Please don't stop! Just like that!"

Cruel man that he is, he does the exact opposite of what you ask. He stops, pulling out of you and leaving you feeling empty. Ushering you up, he switches places with you and grabs you by your wrist, guiding you onto his lap.

He looks at you through his brow, cheeks flushed, breaths erratic, yet with a smirk playing at his lips. "Work for it," he orders, holding himself up with his palms on the tabletop.

As you lower yourself onto his length, he watches you intently, brushing your unruly hair out of your face. Your cheek is red and swollen from being pressed into the table, and he gives it a few condescending pats. "You look a mess, dearest," he laughs.

You ignore him, focused on taking him in. You do it slower than he did, but he remains patient for you. You suppose that's his act of kindness for the day.

Balancing on your knees, you start bouncing in his lap. Your hands hold onto his shoulders, watching how he slides in and out of you. A creamy, white liquid has been created between the two of you, coating his shaft and your entrance.

His attention remains on your face— sometimes shifting to your tits, but mostly your face. You eventually notice, suddenly feeling self-conscious under his gaze. Placing a hand to the back of your head, he pulls you in for a kiss. You cup his face with your palms, whimpering into his mouth as his tongue grazes the inside of your teeth.

He breaks the kiss along with a line of saliva. His nose finds the crook of your neck, resting there as he pulls your bodies flush together. Your arms rest over his broad shoulders, occasionally digging your nails into his skin. He seems at peace with you in his grasp, holding you near. It’s in this moment that you truly feel just how much he missed you, worried for you, yearned for you. You realize that your relationship may have been more than just sex to him, even if not officially so.

He lets out a broken groan as he reaches his climax. His grip becomes almost painfully tight, taking your waist into his strong arms to fuck you again as he releases a thick load of cum inside you. The warm substance coats your walls as you tense around him.

His orgasm encourages your own. Squirming in his grasp, you throw your head back. You never imagined yourself crying out a series of his name, but here you are, and you never imagined it would be so sweet on your tongue. He keeps you in place with his hands on your hips, helping you ride it out.

You rest your weary body on his, your cheek against the sticky skin of his shoulder. Although, you don’t rest easy. There’s a heaviness to your heart, a guilt.

You can’t be the woman he knew— you’ve changed. The things you want are no longer the same, and you’ll betray him without even meaning to. He’s in love with a ghost, one that you just can’t pretend to be.

In the end, you’re in each other’s way, and you always will be. Whatever is between you two is an obstacle, and it’s destined to be destroyed.

#enver gortash #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate #enver gortash x dark urge #dark urge #durgetash #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash x tav #gortash

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ataraxiaspainting · 3 months

Text

There’s a Certain Slant of Light.

Yan (Soulmate) Chrollo x F Reader.

Synopsis: Something is different. But what could it be?

Warnings: Yandere themes, the reader is unwillingly a Spider and from Meteor City, mentions of religion/religious imagery, implied drugging, manipulation, and unhealthy relationships.

Word Count: 1k.

i’ve been seeing a lot of chrollo being paired with a phantom troupe member reader and i just think that the concept is very interesting! :D

credits for og art piece here!

*~*~*~*

Your sword, while having the ability to stab and slice just about anything, is still by far the most frail weapon at your disposal. It is a slight sadness that fills Chrollo’s mind, then, once he realizes this. The feeling is small, minuscule, just like most of the other emotions Chrollo’s heart cannot beat with, the blood that flows through his veins frozen with the concept of what he wants to be. He feels next to nothing as if he were a walking corpse, a prisoner who has just been released from the deepest depths of hell, not once being able to see twinkling eyes and shining stars. Light is a concept unknown to people like him, and people like you, foreign, as alien as a coup made of peasants storming a palace larger than ten of their villages combined.

Your two true weapons are your lips calling out his name, and the thin red string that connects your little finger and your fate to his thumb and his future. Despite the thread being wispier than that of paper, it has a will stronger than one forged in diamonds and never had to be a carbon crystal to be so. Chrollo is thankful for it, more so than he is for most things that he would rather leave in the past. It has linked you two together for so long and has been the key for chaining down your animosity towards him whenever he had gone too far. All he had to do was tug, and you would be right back wherever he had placed you. But even diamonds can shatter when a love made in a less-than-fortunate childhood turns more and more into hate.

This entire act is like a balancing beam. He must not be too loud, but also not be too quiet. He must always have cards up his sleeve for any potential mishaps down the line. Inside one hand is the key to your freedom, but inside the other is the key to a false route to such fantasies, the trap of reality. Even Chrollo does not know which is which, for he is a dreamer himself at heart.

“Good morning, sir,” It is a rare sight, you yawning, your posture nowhere near how put together it usually is. “How are you today, sir?”

“Very well, thank you.”

“I must have been quite exhausted last night; my apologies, sir.”

“I told you if you ever wanted to take a break here, you are more than welcome to.”

“I’ve always declined such an offer for a reason, sir.”

“Just as I’ve always told you that you may call me just Chrollo for a reason, [First]. I think I haven't heard you say my name without an honorific since we were both still children if my memory serves correctly.”

“...”

The provocation of the past seems to hurt you more than him it seems, from how you flinch at the word children, and from how he smiles at your discomfort.

“We are not with the rest of the Troupe right now, it is quite alright if you want to relive prior times, wouldn’t you say?” He asks, and with his eyes appearing to look back at his books, he sees yours darting around the room, looking for an escape route.

They move left, to the tables at the back of the sitting room which hold lamps and framed photos and paintings. Then right, to the fireplace and the large but still solitary couch, covered with leather and embroideries. Then up, to the crackless and spotless white ceiling, and then down, to the wooden rosewood planks of the floor.

“I saw a book in your satchel. Crime and Punishment, hmm?”

“Yes. Please do not say how ironic it is, sir.”

“Very well.”

To you, perhaps the room feels deathly still. To him, it feels like the scene right before the climax. Slow, steady, full of tension and dread. Though Chrollo will never let the curtains that cover your very soul close ever again. It would not be hard to get them to open up again, you have known each other for so long after all, but regardless he needs you to stay within the palm of his hand forevermore. Only then will he be able to feel something so warm and soft once more.

Oh, how he wishes that he could open the floor below you and trap you there. But he cannot. At least not yet.

“...Where is my bag?” At your question, Chrollo pulls his thumb towards him, and you move accordingly. “It is not in the room.” You continue, your eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to resist. “Sir?”

Desperation. Then a hand raise and a pause.

“Stolen treasure from the last meeting.” Chrollo begins curtly. “A contact list full of people I have not permitted you to speak to. Keys to a car that is not mine.” He proceeds to say. “Tell me, [First], what is all of this, hmm?”

Something akin to a mix of a horrified chuckle and a choking sound emerges from your throat as if his hands were squeezing and squeezing until you burst. He sets the book he was reading down, and without his hands covering both the front and back of it, you see the title, the synopsis.

“Crime and Punishment, hmm?” He repeats, and for the first time in what must be a few years, he sees you terrified, shaking, and near to tears. “A clever way to code your plan.” Chrollo crosses his legs. “By the way, it is an hour or so past sunset by now.” He hears a small gasp from you. “You missed your flight a long time ago, sweet thing.”

“...I… I…”

“You were planning on leaving us, weren’t you?” When you don’t answer, instead looking straight towards the door, he raises his thumb again. “I know you never wanted to join the Troupe, per se, but still… this hurts.” He pulls and pulls, and being forced to be a puppet for the umpteenth time since the soulmate string has appeared in Chrollo’s vision, you are placed where he wants you to be.

Close to him.

#author aya #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #yandere hxh #yandere chrollo #yandere chrollo x reader #yandere hxh x reader #chrollo x reader #yandere hunter x hunter x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer x reader #yandere chrollo lucilfer #chrollo lucilfer x reader

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straykids-gives-me-life · 1 year

Text

Euphoria - JJK

Paring: Jeon Jungkook x Fem!reader

Type: One-shot

Word Count: 3.7k

Genre: Fluff, Smut, Lil bit of angst.

Warnings: smut, dom!jk, sub!reader, pet names, praise kink, fingering, Jungkook being complicated, major fluff throughout - especially at the end.

Summary: You and Jungkook sit next to each other in English class and it's only when your professor assigns every pair with a project that the two of you begin to realise how much you really feel.

A/N: This one is gonna be long and it might drag on so deepest apologies for that but enjoy the ride!!

You and Jungkook sit next to each other in English class.

The two of you have never gotten along.

"Hey Y/N, have you ever thought of wearing a mask?" Jungkook asks.

"No, why?" you reply, turning to send an unamused look to the boy.

"Because then I wouldn't have to see your ugly face every day," he cackles.

"Jungkook, Y/N, can we be quiet please," your professor says. "So, as I was saying, I will be assigning you and your partners with a project to complete over the next two weeks-"

Your face drops.

So does Jungkook's.

"-and I will be choosing what tasks you must complete for the specific type of story I ask you to write. So, one of you come up here to the front and queue next to my desk for me to give you a subject. You will have the rest of this lesson to plan what you will do with the prompt I give you."

You let out a quiet groan, but Jungkook manages to hear you.

Of course, he has to make an unnecessary comment.

"You're upset, at least I'm good looking! I have to put up with your ugly ass in my spare time for two weeks straight."

"Oh, shut the fuck up, Jungkook," you say, standing up and walking away to get the prompt.

You walk over to your teacher's desk and join the queue.

After around three minutes, you reach the front of the line and receive your prompt.

"I want you and Jungkook to really bond over these next two weeks so with this, I want you to use this polaroid to take photos to prove to me that you and him have solved all conflicts. Use this to create a comic book kind of layout," he explains.

"Sir, you have to be joking."

"Nope, now get on with it," he says, handing you a polaroid and a small notebook to mate notes in for the actual project.

"What!?" Jungkook shouts when you tell him causing the whole class to look over at the two of you in confusion, your professor shaking his head.

Walking away felt like the worse decision of your life because you could only imagine the look on Jungkook's face when you tell him

---

"Look, I don't want this as much as you do but we have to just get it over with," you explain, placing the camera in front of him.

"I know you're way better than me at photography, so I'll let you have that."

Walking out of class with Jungkook hot on your heels was a strange feeling, he had never followed you out before.

"Don't try and suck up to me now, Y/N," he snaps, rolling his eyes and pushing his hair back in anger.

---

He grabs you by the shoulder and pushed you up against the lockers, his figure towering over yours with his hands pressed on the doors beside your head.

"Listen to me now, you freak," he snarls. "Just because I am spending the next two weeks with you doesn't mean I will begin to feel any less hatred against you, understand?"

"Jungkook, I couldn't give a fuck less what you will think of me by the end of this project, because I'll still hate you just as much."

Shoving his arms from next to you, you walk away flipping him off with an angered frown on your face.

This will be an entertaining two weeks.

The next period was lunch, and you were so grateful to spend it with your best friend, Jimin.

Jimin was surprisingly good friends with Jungkook which was pretty hard for you since the two of you hate each other's guts.

Because of this, it wasn't a shock to you when you found him sat with Jungkook when you walked into the cafeteria, a small smile on lips.

"Can you move?" you ask the boy, stood behind him.

"Do you hear that, Jimin?" Jungkook asks in response.

"Haha, very funny, now get the fuck up and go away."

"She's feisty," he chuckles.

You sit down next to Jungkook but shove your elbow into him, pushing him off the bench.

"Thank you," you smirk, looking down at him on the floor.

He sends you a death glare and scrambles up off the floor before quickly walking off.

"Do you have to be so mean to each other all the time?" Jimin questions, shoving a forkful of pasta into his mouth.

The next day, you had to begin your project with Jungkook.

"Yes."

---

Both of you were not looking forward to this at all but it was okay for this lesson as the two of you got to work separately to take background photos for the comic.

Jungkook took the camera around the classroom and outdoor field, snapping pictures of the papers and trees, letting them develop on the floor before taking them back in.

You were left with the drawing board.

You drew out the base of the comic sheet, the squares as to where each photo would go, where the text will go and who will illustrate each page.

To avoid argument, you ignored Jungkook when he returned to his chair, spreading out the photos on the desk and choosing his favourites.

You couldn't help but admire him sometimes.

Now was one of those times.

You knew you shouldn't but it never mattered as to how much you hated him, you had to admit he was pretty.

His hair hung over his eyebrow, his tongue poked out of his mouth to mess with his lip ring and his nose scrunched when he disagreed with himself.

Unfortunately for you, he caught you looking.

"See something you like, freak?" he asks, sending you a dirty look.

You scoff, roll your eyes and look away.

Why did he have to be such a dick all the time?

"Have you chosen the photos for the first page yet?" You question, flipping the paper back to the opening page where four empty boxes lay, waiting for photos to be stuck in them.

"Give me time," he says. "This takes time y'know?"

"Yeah right."

"Okay then. How about you go out and try to take photos of whatever could fit in this fucking comic!" Jungkook exclaimed.

"Jungkook!" shouted your professor. "I will not be hearing any more of that language, do you understand?"

Jungkook simply nods at him before turning back to you, his annoyance clear on his face.

You look away from him because you know he's right, it must take a lot of thinking to try and get some of the shots he did.

"That's what I thought," he mumbles.

---

For the rest of the hour, you and Jungkook didn't speak much, all it consisted of was him passing you the photos he liked and then pointing to where he think they'd look best.

"No, Jungkook, it would look better on the left," you said.

"No, on the right."

And even though he was still being a complete asshat, you quite liked working relatively well together, him concentrated on his pictures and you focusing on where to place them and such.

It was nice.

---

The following day you didn't have English.

Which meant you and Jungkook were going to have to actually meet up alone to do work.

Did I say that clear enough?

Alone.

You still hadn't figured out how you would even ask him as he's never willing to stay around you for more than 5 seconds if he doesn't have to.

Then... you cracket it.

All you had to do was ask Jimin to tell Jungkook to meet you at the end of the day near the front gate.

And boom, you wouldn't have to speak to him.

But when break came around, you discovered that Jimin wasn't in today.

Shit.

There was no way you could go looking for Jungkook.

It just felt so wrong.

As if the devil himself could read your mind, Jungkook appeared from around the corner.

You hated this.

Running over to him, you tapped his shoulder lightly.

He turned to face you with a small smirk on his face.

"Yes?"

"Look, before you say anything, this is solely for the purpose of the project-"

Why the fuck did you say that?

Silly bitch.

"Would you meet me at the front gate after school so we can start work on our project? Maybe we could go to the park or something?" You ask.

"Ugh, I completely forgot we'd have to do that." Jungkook groans. "Fine, but instead of going to the park, we'll just go to my place and stay in the garage, it's pretty empty in there and I don't want your ugly ass in my room or house."

"Oh okay." You respond, not expecting him to take you to where he lives.

"Are you going to leave or just stand here and embarrass yourself even more?" He grins.

You roll your eyes at him and walk away, giving him the finger as you left the cafeteria.

---

The whole day had dragged on since you had asked Jungkook to meet you.

You didn't really know why but you suspected it was because you weren't looking forward to it at all.

You just quickly had to grab something from your locker before you left to see him.

Opening your locker, you felt someone glaring at you.

It was Jebu.

That asshole.

"Can I help you?" You asked, turning to stare at him.

"No, I was just wondering why you chose him over me."

"Sorry? Chose who?"

"Jungkook, obviously," he says. "I thought we had something."

"We did," you said. "But then you ruined it. So who's fault is that?"

He scoffs and walks over to you, placing a hand on your waist.

"Jebu, can you please get your hand off me?" You asked.

"Why?" He responded. "You used to like it when I did that."

"Not anymore."

Jebu doesn't listen to you and keeps his hand firm on your waist.

"Come on, Jebu, just let go. I need to meet up with Jungkook for our project."

"I'm afraid I can't do that," he smirks.

"Then let me do it for you," a voice says from a little away from the two of you.

The boy shoves Jebu out the way and knocks him to the floor.

"She told you to get off."

That voice...

It sounded awfully familiar.

The boy turned and it was only when you saw his face that you realised who it was.

Jeon Jungkook.

"Jungkook... why did you-?"

He cuts you off.

"The only person who gets to be mean to you, is me," he says. "Now pick your bag up and come with me."

It took you a moment to process what he had said and and although it wasn't the nicest of comments, it did make you feel a little warm inside.

That even though the two of you hate each other as much as you do, he still helped you.

But anyways, pushing that behind you, you grabbed your bag and folder from your locker and followed Jungkook out to his car.

A black Mercedes.

"Cool car," you say, admiring it's perfectly shiny exterior.

"Thanks, I guess."

The inside was even more luxury.

With those white leather seats and a midnight black gearstick.

It was so pretty and you couldn't get enough of it.

Maybe Jungkook driving you around wasn't so bad as long as you stayed in this car.

---

When you got to his place, he immediately took you into the garage.

"Like I said," he begins. "I don't want you and your disgusting self in my house."

And he was back to being an asshole.

Opening the garage door, Jungkook was quick to point out where everything was.

Things like the bathroom, and where he kept his spare pens and such.

He had a small mini fridge in the corner filled with coke and beers if you wanted one.

The coke, maybe, but you took a hard pass on the beers for now.

The last thing you wanted to be doing was drinking with Jeon Jungkook.

You would never forgive yourself.

Sitting down at the nearest table, you open the folder with the comic plan in and the comic itself.

"Do you have any more of the photos or did we go through them all yesterday?" You ask.

"I still have a couple more but they're shit," Jungkook says, sitting across from you.

"Oh."

Now that you were here, you didn't know what to do.

"So I think what sir was saying is he wants us to take photos of us being with each other everyday for the next two weeks and then have like a page per day," Jungkook explains.

You knew it was weird of you to do so but you couldn't help but stare at his lips when he was talking.

His looks had always been your weakness.

"So what, do we just take a photo of each other and that's it?" You ask.

"I guess so, but I think we're meant to actually spend time together but I'm all for it if you leave now."

You hated how snarky he was.

He grabs the camera before you can, snapping a photo of your annoyed face before throwing the polaroid and camera back at you.

---

The next few days went by pretty quickly.

You had been going over to Jungkook's for the whole week and you two only had to get through the weekend to have the first week over and done with.

You were stood outside of school waiting for Jungkook to finish at basketball practice but because you were stupid, you had forgotten to bring a jacket with you so you were freezing.

The hour and a half of practice was soon to be over and you just couldn't wait to get into Jungkook's car and be warm with the heated seat on.

Over the past five days, you and Jungkook had grown slightly closer.

He hadn't been so mean to you in class or whenever he saw you in school.

He hadn't sent you as many dirty looks as he usually does.

He had let you into his house yesterday because he said it would let him focus better even though he had been perfectly fine the previous times.

Nevertheless, you still weren't allowed in his room and he still didn't want you or your "dirty self" in his room.

The bell rang, which meant that all additional student time was over and they needed to leave the building.

After a couple more minutes, you heard loud laughter coming from three boys walking out of the doors.

"Bye guys," Jungkook smiled at his friends, sending them a small wave before turning to walk towards you.

"Hey," he says, walking next to you.

You mumble a 'hey' back but because you were so cold, your teeth couldn't help but chatter.

"Y/N, you're freezing," Jungkook points out, a small hint of worry in his tone.

Next, he does something unexpected.

He removes his jacket and wraps it around your shoulders, making sure it doesn't fall off.

"My car wouldn't start this morning so we have to walk," he says, turning the corner to begin the walk to his place.

"But Jungkook, you're gonna be cold," you say, removing the jacket from around you.

"If you don't put that jacket back on, I will leave you here all night."

You then stop talking and put the jacket back on, sliding your arms into the sleeves and pulling the ends over your hands.

You had to admit that the jacket was comfy and it smelled amazing.

Walking with Jungkook felt quite relaxing, especially since you weren't going at each other's throats.

While it's quiet, you think back to how you had come to like Jungkook.

You always knew you didn't completely hate him but now he was being a little nicer, you recognised that he was a pretty nice guy.

"Are you warm now?" Jungkook asks, interrupting your train of thought.

"Yeah, thanks," you say, a small smile on your face as you look up at him to reply.

"Look," Jungkook says, stopping in the middle of the path. "I'm sorry I've been such an asshole to you this past year. I know we've both hated each other for a while but ever since I started really getting to know you during this project and what things you like and who you look up to, I've come to realise you're one of the best people I know. I just wanted to apologise for the way I've been treating you lately and I hope this next week can be us really trying to put all conflict behind us."

"I never thought I'd ever hear you say that."

He simply chuckles and looks down, kicking small stones with his feet as he walks ahead.

You stay behind for a moment, thinking about how you and him had completely changed your opinions of each other.

Breaking away from your thoughts, you realise how far Jungkook had walked so you run up to him and latching your hand onto his arm.

He looks down at you, shocked.

You realised you had just practically linked arms with him and quickly pulled away.

"Sorry," you say, rushingly.

He send you a small smile. "It's okay."

You look away from him, embarrassed at your actions.

"It's okay, Y/N, I liked it," he smirks.

A warm blush creeps up onto your face and you're glad it's dark because you couldn't have him seeing how flustered he makes you.

---

When you get to his place, he opens the door for you and lets you take off your shoes before grabbing your hand and pulling you towards the stairs.

It's only when he stops you and apologises if it's a little messy that you realise he's taking you up to his room.

"Jungkook, I thought you didn't want me up in your bedroom?"

"Well, now I do."

Okay then.

You and him spent some time sat on his bed watching the new top gun movie.

You managed to snap a few photos of him laying down in the dark and him the same with you.

You took a photo of the two of you making popcorn and laughing while throwing it at each other.

"Jungkook, get off!" You laughed as he continued to try and tickle you.

"Never!"

"Jungkook, you're suffocating me," you giggle, trying to lightly punch him in the stomach.

It's only when he pauses for a moment when you realise how close to each other you both are.

Jungkook spends a moment just looking at you, his gaze drifting from your eyes, to your lips, and then back up again.

"Jungkook-"

"Shh."

Your breathing becomes heavier and your heart pounds in your chest.

Jungkook slowly leans in towards you, his nose grazing yours as you close your eyes and place your hands on the sides of his face.

Your lips join with his in a gentle kiss.

His hands move down to your waist so he can pull you up from underneath him and place you in an upright position.

His tongue slides along your bottom lip as you grant entrance.

The kiss begins to develop into something more desperate, your fingers intertwining into his hair and softly pulling at the roots, earning a small moan from him.

Hearing this, you pull away.

"Are you okay?" Jungkook asks in a panic. "Do you want to stop?"

"Jungkook... should we be doing this?"

"Well, it's not wrong for us to," he responds.

"I know, but it feels different with you," you say.

"If you start to feel uncomfortable, just stop me, okay?"

You nod as he attaches his lips back on yours for a peck before moving down to your jaw and neck.

You whisper out a moan at the feeling of Jungkook's soft sucking on your neck, his lips marking the skin.

You feel his hand slide down your front and slip under your skirt.

His cold hand on your inner thigh makes you feel a want and need towards him, your core soaked and ready for him.

"Is this okay?" He asks, his slender fingers reaching for the hem of your skirt and panties, ready to rip them both off your body.

You nod your head before he yanks them off you and teases your folds with his middle finger.

A moan escapes your lips as Jungkook slides a finger into your pussy, your juices coating him.

"J-Jungkook," you whimper, his fingers speeding up inside of you, the tips just grazing your spot.

You feel the knot in your stomach become tighter with every little movement Jungkook makes and it's driving you crazy.

"Jungkook, please, I'm gonna cum," you moan, pulling at his hair.

"Just hold on for me, baby, you're doing so good for me," he says, his voice soothing you with how smooth it sounds.

"You're being such a good girl for me, just hold on a little longer."

You let out a cry of pleasure as Jungkook adds a third finger into you, stretching your hole out even more.

"I can't take it, Kook, I need to cum," you gasp.

With a small 'okay' from him, you become undone under his gaze.

You let out a loud moan as you release all over his fingers, your white liquid coating his hand and dripping down your thighs as he pulls his hand out of you.

---

"Such a good girl," Jungkook says, stroking your hair with his now cleaned hand.

"It's a shame we didn't get a polaroid of it," you joke.

"Next time," he smirks.

"Next time?" You question.

Jungkook simply nods before pulling you into his chest and dozes off with you, your body wrapped around his.

#jungkook #jungkook smut #jjk #jjk smut #bts #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook x reader

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 4 months

Text

Best and Worst of Both Worlds (Part 25)

Tw: Some harsh words from Yves, homewrecking allegations

short chapter guys

damn yall this was originally suppsoed to be a "yes" option, but beyond 21 voted yall voted for a 'no', guess u guys still simp heavily for Yves to sacrifice entertainment

but 2 be fair, the outcome is pretty similar to this

emjouy

Part 26

"Well done, (name)." He praised, not out of malice or sarcasm, but out of genuine proudness. Yves was happy that you've been engaging with your critical thinking, that is something Yves does not witness very regularly.

You felt a load taken off your shoulders, finally, you have done something right today. That has to quell some of his anger, right? You hope.

You sighed and asked him if there was anything you could do for him now.

"I would very much appreciate your company. Your first class will begin 25 minutes later, I would love to hear your voice until then." His sensual, caring demeanor is back. You are so glad to hear him purr again. You agreed much to his delight.

You looked at Evangeline as she stared at you expectantly. You shook your head, gesturing that Yves does not wish to talk to her.

However, Evangeline did the unthinkable and snatched your phone out of your hands. You gasped, trying to grab it back, but all she did was pull it away from you.

She pressed the Speaker button so that you could also hear the conversation between her and Yves.

"Hello, Sir Yves? Yes, this is Evangeline. First of all, I would like to say (name) is a wonderful friend! They are also very lucky to have you as their partner."

Yves did not reply. You gave up trying to take it back, you paced around while letting her deal with the mess she created.

"Secondly, I am thankful that you have allowed my father to work alongside you. You have treated us well and we are grateful for that."

"Are you finished?"

Her blue eyes widened in shock, taken aback by the unexpected animosity from Yves. She cleared her throat and said yes.

You heard him pouring something into his glass.

"I find it quite interesting that you chose to forcefully take the phone out of their hands. You chose to switch their speakerphone on without consulting me beforehand. What was your rationale behind them?" She stiffened up a bit but eventually composed herself enough to provide a coherent answer.

"Well, I have been noticing that you and (name) are going through a rough patch. So, I offered to be a mediator. I was trying to create an open environment with adequate space for communication between (name), you, and I."

You are not sure how to feel about Evangeline's formally chatty side. You know this will not end well, because she did not once say an apology.

"Evangeline. I have worked with your father for years. I fully expected him to have taught manners. At least, fundamental ones. But I was proven wrong today by your audacity." Her smile completely dropped off the face of Earth, now replaced with a neutral but somber look.

"Deepest apologies for my offenses, Sir Yves," she spoke with clarity.

"How dare you attempt to meddle in our relationship, manipulate (name) into thinking you're helping, but all you did was nothing except drive a wedge between us? How dare you invade our privacy and touch (name)'s personal items without their permission? I am exceedingly disappointed with you, Evangeline. You were taught better, I am in disbelief that you have decided to disgrace yourself like this. To disgrace your father's name." Your jaw drops to the ground as you hear Yves dish out his scoldings to Evangeline. She seems to take it like a champ, though.

"I am sorry, sir Yves. I don't know what has gotten over me." She replied to his devastating verbal blow.

"I do, Evangeline. You take pleasure in appearing as the savior to everyone. Your intentions were never to mend or strengthen my bonds with (name), it was completely self-serving." Her gaze was downcast as soon as he told her his thoughts.

"You are too undisciplined, too careless to consider the consequences of your behavior. All was done in favour of feeding your inflated ego. You're selfish." He spat.

"You're right. My apologies. I will do better." You looked at her, she smiled back at you as if she's having a friendly conversation about the weather instead.

"I wouldn't be surprised if the rumors surrounding your homewrecking tendencies have their merits." She gasped at his remark. You did too.

"Sir Yves, I... I don't think it's fair for you to--"

"Stay away from my (name)." He interrupted her, mid-defence.

"Dear, turn the speakerphone off. I would like to talk to you in private, please." Yves reverted his tone back to the honeyed version that makes you weak in the knees, in a good way.

You did as you were told and brought the phone back up to your ear.

"(name), I do not like Evangeline nor do I trust her." Your eyebrows shot up in shock, you don't get to hear him express his disdain for someone so directly. Not even Montgomery received such hatred from him. "I want you to reduce the time spent with her."

You were expecting him to tell you to cut her off entirely, seeing that he suspected you were cheating on him with Evangeline earlier.

"I allow you to remain acquaintances, solely because you still need a degree of social interaction each day to maintain your health. You don't have friends on campus other than Jones's daughter."

The last point reminded you how awkward you are.

"It's not good to isolate yourself, (name). Even if it is just for a few more days." He added. "I would prefer it if you could befriend other students. Perhaps even join a club. But in the meantime, if you cannot help it, go ahead and interact with her. Remember not to take the friendship too far."

You told him okay.

"You still have 20 minutes left, (name). Tell me about your dreams last night." You thought it was an odd prompt. But regardless, you looked up and started to retrieve patchy memories of what you witnessed in your slumber. You began giving him the gist of it, then slowly built up until the conclusion.

That was all you remembered. You don't know what else he wanted.

"That's fascinating, dear. What do you think it all means?" You hummed and spewed out your theories, no matter how strange, idiotic, or random it is, Yves enjoyed listening to it. He was recording everything down, noting that you managed to take his bait.

Eventually, you found that you couldn't stop blabbering from topic to topic. It felt nice to let out your true thoughts, even the most atrociously boring ones-- these are things that you refrained from telling Evangeline about because you think she's probably not interested. Yves is like your journal and you still to this day could not comprehend how his influence managed to make you bleat like a goat. Like you had no shame.

The thought of Evangeline completely slipped your mind. You walked away as a chatterbox, A bag of now cold fried chicken and waffles in one hand, a phone in another.

The blonde watched you slowly disappear into a building where your class would be. Her lips are pressed into a thin, fine line. She pulled her phone out of her tote bag and unlocked it, dialing a number that you might have seen before.

#yandere x reader #yandere concept #tw yandere #oc yves #yandere male #yandere oc x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere #male yandere oc x reader #oc montgomery #oc evangeline

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riotwritesthings · 1 year

Text

for the soul

WinterIron, T, 1.7k - Fluff, Humor, Established relationship, cooking as a love language

In which there is lasagna, kisses, and an undetermined number of gnomes

I swore to myself the next thing I updated would be BTY. That... clearly has not happened ahaha.

While I'm having a little ol' major writer's block, plz enjoy this little fluffy thing I wrote for @gayspacesprinkles awhile ago and just found and finished up

---

"Tony?"

"Shit!" Tony swears as he jumps up from where he's squinting into the oven, nearly cracking his head on the handle in the process.

He spins to find Bucky standing in the kitchen doorway, a carefully blank expression on his face. Bucky is still wearing his boots and tac-vest, but he at least seems to have finally given in to everyone begging him to leave his rifle and masks in the hangar. It means Tony can see it when the corner of Bucky's lips starts twitching up, when Bucky swallows hard like he's trying to fight down laughter.

"Shit," Tony says again, his shoulders dropping a little, and when Bucky raises an eyebrow he hurries to add, "I mean, how long have- when did you- fuck..." He trails off helplessly as Bucky's smile gets wider and wider, and in the end, Tony can't do anything but grin back and wave weakly as he says, "Hi."

"Hi," Bucky says back, warm and fond, before looking around the kitchen and asking, "What happened in here?"

"Uh," Tony says slowly, looking around the disaster area of the room himself and wincing because he hadn't realized it was that bad, "well-"

"Did the evil lawn gnomes get in again?" Bucky guesses, walking further into the kitchen and stepping over a spilled bag of flour in the process.

“Those were mini doom bots, and I'm pretty sure they were supposed to be based on monkeys," Tony says, trying to quickly and subtly wipe away all the shredded cheese somehow clinging to his shirt, "also... yes, let's go with that. The monkey gnomes got in again, and I am definitely not the one who made this mess."

"Definitely not," Bucky says agreeably as he comes to a stop in front of Tony, still smiling widely.

He starts to lean in but then hesitates, second-guessing himself, and Tony has no problem meeting him halfway. So he leans in to press a kiss to Bucky’s lips, still thrilling at the fact that he can and Bucky may have only been gone a week, but it was long enough for Tony to start wondering if he’d somehow dreamed all of this up. Too good to be true or not, it’s apparently real because when he pulls back Bucky’s eyes are still closed and his smile has gone soft and a little wobbly.

“Welcome home,” Tony says, his own voice coming out breathless and a little unsteady, and his heart trips over itself in his chest when Bucky’s eyelids flutter open to reveal his blue eyes practically shining with happiness. “I, uh- I made you dinner,” he adds, a little sheepishly.

“It looks more like you made me a mess,” Bucky points out, glancing around the kitchen again.

“We’ve already determined, that was the monkey gnomes,” Tony says flatly, trying so hard not to break out into a smile as well when Bucky grins at him, “and in my defense, JARVIS was supposed to tell me when you were almost back.” He finishes that statement by glaring pointedly up at the ceiling, although to be honest the fifteen-minute heads-up he requested wouldn’t have been nearly enough time to clean all of this up. Still, at the very least his AI could have let him not be caught completely unprepared.

“My deepest apologies, sir,” JARVIS says, not sounding apologetic at all.

“In his defense, we did lose communications in the jet on the way back,” Bucky says, but Tony waves him off.

“Apologize to the drive-through box I’m going to put you in,” Tony grumbles at JARVIS and then turns his attention back to Bucky, a nervous smile growing on his face again as he adds, “I thought it would be nicer to make it from scratch, but I didn’t realize how messy from scratch is, how does anyone cook like this?”

“I think you might just have a skill for it,” Bucky says thoughtfully as he looks around the kitchen again, barking out a laugh when he notices the food processor in pieces on the floor.

“Okay, that one was my fault,” Tony says with a wince, “don’t tell Thor.”

“It looks like you threw it off the roof,” Bucky says, sounding impressed, and Tony grabs his hand to try and pull his attention away.

“It deserved it for what it did to my tomatoes,” Tony says dismissively, “now don’t look at that, pay attention to me.”

“Gladly,” Bucky says, looking far too amused, and then raises one hand to brush… something off Tony’s jaw. “So what’s the occasion?”

“Well, since your mission got in the way of our third date—“

“Fourth,” Bucky interrupts, grinning.

“Third,” Tony says firmly, “we agreed we wouldn’t count the park after the incident.”

“You agreed,” Bucky says, “I’m going to be laughing at the videos of you running away from a goose for years.”

“Geese are terrifying!” Tony insists for the thousandth time, mostly just for the way it always makes Bucky laugh extra hard, his head thrown back and his nose scrunching up. “Anyways,” Tony says pointedly, “for this, our third date, I thought I’d try and make you something special.”

“A mess,” Bucky says, nodding.

“I changed my mind, no lasagna for you,” Tony says with a sniff as he turns back to the oven, but he doesn’t even try to fight down his smile while Bucky makes whining noises of complaint behind him.

Once the lasagna is out of the oven and cooling on the counter, they both stare at it in silence for a moment.

“So, uh…” Tony says slowly, “There might actually be no lasagna for you.”

“It… doesn’t look that bad,” Bucky says, but his eyebrows are slowly crawling up his forehead.

“You’re too kind,” Tony tells him, patting him on the shoulder, “but you’re also a liar. Look at it, I followed the recipe exactly, how does it look both mushy and half-burned?!”

“Well—“

“There are noodles in there somewhere, I swear, I made them myself!” Tony says, a little manically, and Bucky huffs out a laugh. “Don’t even look at it,” Tony decides, pulling the oven mitts back on, “I’ll dispose of it before it poisons us."

Bucky beats him to it though, scooping up the glass casserole dish with his metal hand and marching for the table, stopping only long enough to grab a fork on the way. “I’m gonna try it, I like a little danger,” Bucky says as he drops into one of the chairs, grinning and wiggling his eyebrows.

“There’s danger and then there’s this,” Tony mutters as he slowly trails after Bucky, oven mitts still on his hands and a half-formed plan in mind to snatch the pan away before Bucky can eat any of the questionable food.

Bucky must see it on his face though, because he curls one arm protectively around the lasagna and holds his fork up like a weapon, and Tony sighs in defeat.

“At least sign a waiver first,” he whines as he drops into the seat next to Bucky, “I don’t want to be held liable for whatever happens to your intestines.”

“You’re being too hard on yourself, baby,” Bucky says with a laugh and then looks back down at the pan with a conflicted expression. “It… smells good, at least?”

“Ringing endorsement,” Tony says with a roll of his eyes, then waits with bated breath as Bucky scoops a bite out of the pan and begins to lift it toward his mouth.

Other than the red and white of tomato sauce and cheese, it doesn’t look much like lasagna at all, and Tony has to resist the urge to slap the fork out of Bucky’s hand before he can actually eat it.

At least if Bucky ends up in the medical wing after this Tony will have something to bring up when Bucky teases him about the goose incident. They might even get to tease each other about it for years, and that thought has warmth blooming in Tony’s chest. It's almost enough to fight off the sense of impending doom as Bucky shoves the forkful of ‘food’ into his mouth.

Bucky’s eyes go wide as he chews, painfully slowly. Tony is just about to ask if he needs a bucket, or a trip straight to the emergency room, when Bucky’s gaze snaps up to him again.

“Tony,” Bucky says faintly, and then nothing else.

“Bucky,” Tony returns, and after a split second adds, “Please don’t die like this.”

“Tony,” Bucky says again, “this is amazing.”

“Oh no. You’ve lost your mind,” Tony says mournfully, “my Italian abomination has driven you to madness.”

“Yes,” Bucky agrees without hesitation, “because it is that good.” To prove his point, he scoops up a much bigger forkful and shoves it into his mouth, making exaggerated happy noises that are not doing funny things to Tony’s stomach. “Try it,” he insists, holding the fork out to Tony.

“You just want me to die of intestinal implosion with you,” Tony says suspiciously but reaches out to take the utensils because he dares anyone to resist that encouraging look on Bucky’s face.

“It’ll be our most romantic date yet,” Bucky agrees and then nudges the pan towards him.

Tony is a little tempted to take his chance, grab the lasagna and run, get rid of it before it can hurt anyone else, but Bucky looks so hopeful and honest. So instead Tony takes a deep breath, dramatically preparing himself, and then tries a bite of the mushy abomination.

Instantly the taste of tomatoes and rich cheese fills his mouth, spices blended just the way he remembers from countless childhood trips to Italy. The lasagna might look like a hot mess, but it tastes perfect and Tony's eyes are maybe a little wet as he swallows thickly.

“Oh thank god,” Tony says with a sigh, ”Nonna isn’t going to haunt me for completely ruining her recipe.”

Bucky laughs, low and warm, and when Tony looks up he’s caught off guard by Bucky leaning over to plant a lingering kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Tony," he says softly, still close enough that Tony can smell the sauce on his breath, "this is perfect."

"You're welcome," Tony says, just as soft, and then simply can't resist tilting his head just enough to kiss Bucky again. They linger there for a long time, trading soft kisses and sharing the same air, until Tony pulls away to ask, "Does that mean you'll help me clean up this mess?"

"You can bet your perfect ass that I will not," Bucky says happily, then steals the fork back and pulls the lasagna closer while Tony squawks with indignation.

#my fic #winteriron #bucky/tony #starkbucks #buckyxtony #riot writes

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apinchofm · 10 months

Text

Requested by @angel-starbeam - Edwina and Friedrich meet in India before she leaves for England and exchange letters.

Edwina knew balls would be much different in England. She would not get to wear her saris anymore, having to wear English clothes instead. She would have to drink English tea and soften her Indian ways. She was to be an Englishman's wife.

She took a deep breath, as her mind races with all the changes. Especially standing in the ballroom of the Sivaganga Palace. It was her last ball here before she and her family set sail for England.

Kate, in her beautiful teal sari was standing with their mother, assured it would be well. Edwina was an extremely proficient young lady and excelled in all the skills she put her mind too. Mary was anxious about returning to England. All Edwina knew is that she left after marrying her Appa, given he and Kate were traveling with the Maharaja when they met in London. She hoped there would be a few good memories at the very least, for her mother.

She strolled outside into the water gardens, smiling at the other attendees and taking it all in. She had run around in these gardens as a child. In between lessons and naps in her father's office. Lanterns, covered in different colours illuminated the garden as water lilies floated around in the various pools.

Oh, she would miss home.

Edwina looked up at the sky as she leaned against the pillar. She remembers her Appa telling her the stars were the same all over the world, so they were all looking at the same stars when he went away. It was a comfort. She would see these same stars in London and think of her father. She was determined to make him - and her mother and sister - proud. She would do it. She hummed to herself.

Prince Friedrich had thought himself alone, looked around hearing someone humming. It was a beautiful sound.

"Hello?" He called out. He had seen her. She was much like a startled fawn, trying to hide behind a column. A girl in a pretty pink floral saree, lined with gold. Her deep brown eyes widened.

Edwina looked at him, nervously fiddling with the material draped over her shoulder. She was in so much trouble!

"I-I did not mean to interrupt you, sir!" She protested, seeing his uniform. He was white, tall, with broad shoulders which told her he could be a soldier. But his uniform was different from the British or Indian guards. A deep blue that brought out the blue in his brown-blue eyes.

"No, not at all." He assured her with a kind smile.

"You are German?" She asked, hearing his accent.

"From Prussia, yes."

"Oh, my deepest apologies!" Edwina quickly said, afraid of offending him.

He chuckled at her cautious approach, "Not at all. My mother is from a German principality, so I suppose I am. But do not tell any Prussian purist. A crown prince should not admit being from another country!" He winked and watched as her face fell, this opposite effect he was hoping to have.

She curtsied immediately, "Your Highness."

"I am Friedrich."

Edwina fixed her saree, unsure of what to say. She should know what to say!

"That is a beautiful dress." Friedrich said with a smile, “Who might you be? One of the Maharani’s lovely daughters? Sisters?”

Edwina giggled and blushed, shaking her head, “No, no. I am just Edwina. Miss Edwina Sharma, sir.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Miss Edwina Sharma.” Friedrich replied. He leaned on the opposite pillar from her, “What are you doing so far from the gathering?”

“Oh, I needed some air. This shall be my last ball here and I found myself overcome with emotion.”

“Are you leaving?”

“Yes, to England in a few weeks.” .

"England? Why leave such a beautiful country for country in which in rains all the time?” Friedrich wondered.

Edwina's face fell, "Well, my appa died. We have managed this far, as the Maharaja has been most generous. They were close. But to ensure long-term stability for my family, we must go to England so that my sister and I will make good matches." She explained. She did not know why she was telling him this but he was listening intently.

"My deepest sympathies for the death of your father. But why England?”

“Well, my mother is English. My parents met at a ball.” Edwina gushed, her eyes alight as she recounted the story she had adored hearing as a girl. "Amma always says how she fell in love with him and his soul. How he would always find her eyes in any room. Appa said that it was love at first sight."

"Do you wish for a love like that?" Friedrich asked softly. She looked like someone who deserved a love like that. A beautiful young lady, intriguing too.

Edwina thought hard. She did. She wanted to feel the love and joy her mama had for appa. But she remembers how devest

"I do. But I suppose…” Edwina sighed, “It does matter.”

“I believe it does.”

“I do not think so.”

“Are you sure?”

Edwina giggled, “Such impertinence from a gentleman!"

“I am a Prince. We are impertinent men.” Friedrich replied, then smiled taking a step towards her, "I hope you shall enjoy England. Perhaps we may see one another there. You are most lovely."

Edwina felt her face warm, "You are kind, my lord."

"I am honest. You are beautiful."

She shook her head, “I should go, I do not wish to disrupt you further."

Friedrich stood, wanting to reassure her, "You are not disrupting me. Did the Prince revelation scare you? I do not hope it did?” He asked.

"I think so." Edwina admits, fiddling with one of the gold bangles sliding up and down her arms, "Surely, you have far more interesting people to speak with?"

"I am a soldier. I can only have so many conversations on trade." He pretended to close his eyes and snore, making her laugh again.

She looked back, “I should go. I do not wish for my sister or mother to worry for me.”

"Good evening, Miss Edwina Sharma." Friedrich said in farewell.

"Your Highness." She smiled bashfully, looking back as she walked away. He was still smiling at her and she felt all warm and fuzzy inside.

#bridgerton #bridgerton fic #edwina sharma #prince friedrich of prussia #canon divergent au #first meeting #one shot #but part of a longer thingy that im working on #plot bunnies coming for me again #edwina x friedrich #prince friedrich x edwina #fredwina #fluff

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jagged1 · 1 month

Text

Freely Given

Fandom: Outlast Rating: Gen Characters: Eddie Gluskin/Waylon Park Summary: Waylon is sure he'll be dead by dawn, but an unexpected stranger appears. A Rumplestiltskin AU. Contains: So much consent. Word Count: ~2500 AO3 link

Waylon has sorely misjudged King Jeremy's greed. Somehow, even in this time of famine, he still believes the gossip of desperate men. He thinks that it's possible for a man to spin straw into gold. That Waylon's strange looks mean he must have fey blood. That the rumors could be true, nevermind that his village is just as destitute as those surrounding it.

He sits on the stone floor of the highest, coldest, most desolate tower of them all and closes his eyes against the moonlight. When morning comes and the piles of straw around him remain unspun, it will only be a matter of time before the king beheads him for his failure and making a mockery of the throne. He swallows thickly, already mourning his future. The church bells soberly ringing out the hour only add to the dread sitting heavy in his stomach.

A gentle breeze blows past him, and he would swear he heard the chime of bells floating by. He must be going mad and barks a harsh laugh at the thought, startling badly when a soft voice calls out from behind him. “What troubles you so, my dear?”

He spins around, eyes wide to take in the man who was decidedly not there moments ago. His gaze is immediately caught by the intense blue eyes staring at him from a strong pale face. His aristocratic mien is only supported by his clothes. While the riotous colors are more apt for the court’s women, the well-tailored shirt, coat, and slacks are befitting for any high ranked nobleman.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?”

“My apologies, but I cannot tell you that. Not without something from you.”

His face is twisted in a small moue of displeasure, so Waylon is inclined to believe the man is sincere about that. “I won’t pry, but in return, please tell me why you are here.”

“Why, I merely wish to know what troubles you,” he repeats.

Waylon laughs despairingly, the distraction provided by this strange man no longer able to keep his mind and mood light. “The king has demanded the impossible. I’m to spin all this straw into gold by daybreak or else he will execute me.”

The man’s brow furrows, whether in confusion or thought, Waylon does not know. He remains silent, absentmindedly pushing his long dark hair aside as he waits for a response. He has nothing else to look forward to until his unfortunate end. Short though his life may be, he has no desire to press the man for an explanation. This last bit of human interaction is more than he’d thought possible.

The movement catches his eye, and the man focuses on Waylon once more. “If I were to spin this straw into gold for you, what would you give me in return?”

Waylon feels his heart seize in his chest, heartbeat stuttering before beginning again. “Do not toy with me, sir, for that is truly cruel of you. No one can perform such a feat.” His golden gaze is harsh, but wet with tears at the momentary swell of hope, and he hates him for that.

The man frowns outright and raises a hand to his chest, pressing it flat over his heart. “My deepest apologies, I meant no harm. You may not be able to, but I am certainly capable. Let me prove myself as recompense.” He approaches the spinning wheel and settles comfortably before it. A flash of movement has him feeding straw through the wheel and Waylon watches in awe as the spindle fills with golden thread. Once the handful of straw is gone, he turns to Waylon once more. “My offer was quite sincere, darling. I will gladly spin all the straw in this room to gold, but I require something in return. What would you give me for this service?”

He pulls his gaze away from the shimmering thread, throat closing tightly on itself. He forces himself to respond, choking out “I would give you anything I could, but I have nothing but myself to offer.”

The man tuts, eyebrows knitting themselves together once more. “Do not ever think yourself worthless. You are far more valuable than any material thing.”

He cannot help but laugh. “Sir, if that were true, I would not be bargaining with a stranger for my life. I would not be here at all, under the scrutinizing eye of the king, and instead toil away at a meager existence. While you flatter me, the fact is I have nothing to give.”

“That is where you are wrong.” The man rises smoothly from his seat and walks towards Waylon, kneeling on one knee once he’s next to him. He raises his hand, palm towards the ceiling, and asks “May I touch your hair?”

“My hair?”

“Yes. I have yet to see such long, lovely, black as night hair as yours. Even as unkempt as you are, it still draws the eye.”

Waylon flushes, unused to such blatant praise and no small bit of embarrassment. “May I ask why?”

“I would have my payment to be allowed to touch you. To braid your hair into something that suits you. To look upon you whilst I work.”

He averts his eyes, unable to keep the man’s intense gaze. “If that is your price, I will gladly pay it.”

“Thank you.”

Waylon nods stiffly, startling slightly at the gentle touch to his hair. He flicks his eyes back towards the man and inhales sharply at the sight of him gathering a handful of hair and raising it towards his mouth.

The man merely presses his lips lightly to the ends before getting to work. He weaves Waylon’s hair into an intricate braid, dozens of small sections carefully separated and worked into a braid that wraps around his head. There is no mirror, but Waylon knows it befits nobility more than a commoner such as him.

“Beautiful.”

He says nothing.

The man does not press and returns to the spinning wheel. The sound of wood scraping against stone leads Waylon to look towards him. He’s re-arranged the entire wheel so that he faces Waylon. Once satisfied, he spins the remaining straw to gold, finishing, and vanishing just before dawn breaks.

The next night sees Waylon locked in the same tower, but with far more straw than the night before. King Jeremy had been delighted to find spools of gold thread where there once was straw. However, he declared that he could not trust this was not a trap of some sort and demanded he repeat the miraculous feat once more, greed and lust in his eyes.

Waylon is both incensed and resigned at the turn of events. He should have known better than to trust his word. There will be no second miracle, no return of the mysterious man who disappeared into thin air with not another word once his task was complete.

He settles against the stone walls, laying his head gently to face the moonlight once more, and drifts in his thoughts.

A soft, but bright sound wakes him. Crouched before him is the man, just as splendidly dressed, concern in his piercing gaze.

“Darling, what are you doing here again?”

Waylon laughs, a tired broken thing. “The king claims I may have tricked him and wishes for more proof. Truly, he desires more riches to line his coffers. Thank you for all your efforts, but it seems come sunrise I will die anyway.”

His mouth dips in displeasure. “Deals must be honored. This is most unbecoming.”

“Who can defy the king?”

Silence descends on the room. Waylon is not surprised. Magic as this man may be, no one can rebel against the king.

“What will you give me in exchange for my help today?”

Waylon shifts, eyes widening. “Why would you offer again? I have gained nothing this past day, and you have already braided my hair.” Unbidden, his hand raises to touch the braid, still intact even after the day’s events.

“You seem to have forgotten my words. You are worth more than any physical treasure. If you cannot decide, once I have spun this straw, may I dance with you?”

“I don’t know any formal dances,” he protests.

“I will teach you.”

Waylon sighs and smiles, exasperated, but nonetheless fond. “Do what you will. I won’t refuse a chance to see another day.”

The man smiles and if Waylon thought he worked quickly yesterday, it’s nothing compared to the speed he manages now, spools of golden thread littering the ground in short order.

He stands and offers his hand. “Shall we?” He lifts Waylon gently to his feet and proceeds to spin them slowly around the room, deftly avoiding the odd obstacle.

Waylon eases into the dance with each passing moment, delighting with each pass and turn, smiling brightly up at the man when he spins Waylon with a flourish. The return to his strong arms and broad frame feels like safety and Waylon wishes.

They dance until he can stand no more, reluctantly pulling away, regret in his eyes. “I cannot continue. I’ve yet to fully rest since this has all begun. I hope that was enough to satisfy you…?”

The man nods, the soft smile that appeared at their first steps remaining even now. “More than. Rest, dear.”

He would protest, but the allure of sleep draws him under with no warning. He thinks he hears the tinkle of metal, but it slips from his grasp.

Waylon is furious. He’s tempted to throw that accursed wheel out the window, crashing to the ground below, but he does not want to injure anyone who is not the king. Instead, he paces furiously as he awaits the moon’s rise and with it, hopefully, his visitor. This time he does not miss the gentle chime of bells that heralds the man’s arrival and departure. He whirls about as he appears, hardly giving him a moment to settle himself. “What must I give you to free me?”

The man blinks in surprise, never having seen this facet of Waylon. “That is out of my ability,” he answers quietly. “This tower is a remnant of ages past, and I can only move myself beyond these walls. What happened, darling?”

He throws his hands up in despair and rage, venom in his voice as he hisses. “The king demands one last show of proof, and once I’ve provided it, he declared his intent to marry me.”

The man’s face spasms, expression twisting in a flash as menace oozes from his pores before he collects himself. “And you are opposed to this union? It could be very beneficial for you. All his power would be yours.”

Waylon would be offended at the leading tone if he hadn’t been watching him so closely. “I do not trust him to keep me as more than a bedwarmer once the ceremony is over. Nor do I think that would appeal to him without the possibility of growing an infinite supply of gold, courtesy of my supposed ability. No, it would never be true and very likely short lived. My future prospects are dim indeed.”

“Let us see you to tomorrow before you despair, dearest. Tonight, what would you give me?”

Even incensed as he is, Waylon can still feel his skin flush further with embarrassment. “I would give you all of me, if you asked.”

The man’s eyes sparkle. “That won’t be necessary, but I am pleased to hear so. I ask for your name, your trust, a promise, and seal of intent.”

“Done. My name is Waylon. I trust you and will follow you where you lead me. What promise must I make and how must I seal it?”

“In due time. I shall take care of this night’s work first.” He spends hours spinning, the room filled with so much straw it is in danger of toppling on them both. Waylon waits in agony and anticipation for him to finish, worried as the sky grows lighter and their deal left incomplete.

Finally, the man winds the last of the thread around the spindle, rising from his seat and approaching Waylon. He offers his hand and Waylon takes it without hesitation, letting him pull him close, and bending so his mouth is next to his ear. When he speaks, his lips graze his skin, and Waylon cannot help the shudder that follows.

“My name is Edward,” he reveals in a whisper. “Promise me you will never speak this until the moment is right.”

“I promise,” he responds, breathless.

“This promise must be sealed with more than words. May I kiss you, Waylon?”

“You may.”

The man (Edward) moves slowly and presses the gentlest of kisses to Waylon’s lips. He barely has a moment to reciprocate before he draws away. “I must go, but trust me, Waylon.”

“I do.”

In the next breath, he’s gone, the sound of bells and gleam of gold the only sign he was here.

Even a king as selfish as King Jeremy cannot rush the necessary preparations for a wedding. For the next week, he’s treated as an honored guest, tucked away in the depths of the castle. He never hears any bells, but Waylon trusts him.

When the day comes, Waylon is bathed in scented water, dressed in the finest clothing, and his hair braided into a complicated design. He’s reminded of the braid he gave him that first night and thinks it ironic that now it would suit him.

The ceremony continues, but as the officiant calls for any final objections, the bright ringing of bells sounds. He appears in a swirl of wind and gentle light, golden coat fluttering in the turbulent air. “I’ve come for what I was promised,” he says into the shocked silence. “Waylon will come with me, and I shall raze the ground in return for your impudence.”

King Jeremy sputters, indignation and fear in his countenance. “No promises were made with you and your kind! We have not broken any pact and any destruction will be wrought against you twofold!”

“Do you think you could stop me? You lack the power.”

“We shall see! Guards!”

The guards move to subdue him, but he bats them away effortlessly with bursts of magic and feats of strength in equal measure. In the quiet that follows, he offers his hand to Waylon once more. “May I have what I came for, or shall I continue this farce?”

Waylon steps forward. “You may, but you must promise to leave this kingdom alone.”

“And how will you ensure that?”

“You and I both know the power a name holds, dear Eddie.”

He bares his teeth in a threatening grin and laughs. “Absolutely beautiful, Waylon.” He closes his hand around Waylon’s and looks about the room. There is anger and hatred emanating from the king, but fear and awe from the guests at the image of two supposed fey. “Since my beloved so insists, I will spare you, but take this as a warning to hold to all promises made.” The color leeches from the king’s face and he laughs at the sight.

They disappear in a flash, never to be seen again.

“Was that necessary?”

“Admit it, darling, you enjoyed it.”

#outlast #outlast whistleblower #waylon park #eddie gluskin #jeremy blaire #weddie #my writing #my fic

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