#aLMOST POSTED THIS WITHOUT TURNING BACK ON ONE OF THE LAYERS

[kiss-me-muchoo]

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞 || 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠!𝐂𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐮𝐬 𝐒𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

part one: stop, you’re losing me || part two: in the trees, in the breeze

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_ Coriolanus Snow had once a sweet girlfriend that helped him in his darkest days. Until he betrayed her and on the post-Hunger Games celebration, he gave her all the reasons to leave him. Not without causing her a breakdown that makes him regret everything.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_ capitol ballerina!reader, soft!Coryo at the beginning, slight canon divergence, manipulation, sex implied, violence, reader has a mental breakdown that ends in tragedy, if you don’t want to read about mental health, beware!!!!!!

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞_ I had to split this into two parts. Next part will be slowburn, early politician!Coryo realising he married a half rebel woman and many many dramaaaa. Songs for this: Stop, you’re losing me and tírate lol.

♪ ♫ awful Coriolanus Snow playlist ✰ Index (+ fics here)

__________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t possible. But Coriolanus could swear that even days after, the smell of fresh paint was still lingering on the air of his penthouse. Maybe because the smell was actually gone since a week ago, but he refused to let go the memory of you and your face with splotches of paint.

On a bright winter morning, you appeared early with buckets of paint. Tigris insisted that none of the Snows could accept the offer, saying it was too much. The walls were full of humidity, paint falling by itself. You could see the sadness on Grandma’am, she was a patriotic woman, but that didn’t stop her to miss the days before the war, where the penthouse was bright and full of life.

Through a peaceful argument, as Tigris insisted on not taking the buckets of paint, you had already opened one and with a big brush, you splashed a wall from the entrance. The new color was shiny on top of the old layer, and it brought a giant smile to the elder woman.

Coriolanus had so much fun, thinking his girlfriend was the best and listening to the old radio as both of you painted the whole place.

Now, the place was still a mess, but the bright olive-green walls made it better.

It had been a thing of destiny that you appeared on the second year of the Academy. You were a loner, always choosing to work on your own for projects. During lunch, you only had two girlfriends, and Coriolanus was able to see that you laughed so hard every time you were with them. He also learned you had a dark humor, making fun of everyone. Like the school staff, Arachne Crane, other classmates, even the president. He grew curious of you. And one random day, after only you and Coriolanus where the only people missing a partner, a teacher matched you two.

Some months later, you discovered about his financial situation. And Coriolanus had been so scared, thinking you would share the secret and ruin his life. But the next morning, you handed him half of your lunch, knowing he was starving, because at the time, the Academy didn’t offered lunch yet.

The act made Coriolanus Snow realize he could trust you. You met his cousin and grandmother, bringing a giant box full of pastries as a present for them.

Tigris was at the verge of tears and immediately thought you were the one for her little cousin.

Soon it became real. After you turned seventeen, he asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend.

“CORYO! IT’S ABOUT TO START! HURRY UP!” Tigris shouted from the kitchen. He sighed, only to end up coughing.

“ALMOST DONE!” He shouted back. His wet hair making him shiver, rapidly wandering across his room to find his body lotion. Eucalyptus. Coriolanus used to hate the smell of eucalyptus. But he started liking the odor since you had a candle made of it in your room. A little after, you gifted him a lotion and perfume of eucalyptus.

Only that Coriolanus couldn’t smell since his nose was congested. He caught a flu, and while he was feeling better, he was still struggling to inhale and breathe properly.

“IF YOU ARE NOT HERE IN THE FOLLOWING FIVE MINUTES, I’M COMING TO GET YOU!” Coriolanus giggled at his cousin threatening him. After putting on a warm sweater and some dressing pants, he came out of his room.

His family was already gathered in the living room, with the tv on. He turned to the dining table, looking at the bouquet of white and red roses, he smiled, hoping you would be happy to see them. Spring was around the corner, the firsts flowers from his grandmother’s top garden had bloomed. At the same time, your first-year anniversary with the young Snow was coming.

The annual gala of arts had existed since the first days of Panem. With music, sculpture, paint, drama and dance performances. It used to be private, then the war happened, and it was suspended. And now, it had been five years since it started to be a show anyone with a tv could see.

Your father was the owner of production establishments of Panem, who happened to have married a famous dancer, also owner of the biggest dance company in the Capitol. No clue how you turned out to be a wonderful sight on stage.

And that’s why Coriolanus was expected to come and see the tv. You were about to perform in the gala.

“Who’s out now?” He asked, sitting beside Tigris.

Grandma’am was crocheting something pink and the whole place was cold as the North Pole.

“A girl from District 1.” Before meeting you, Coriolanus had less than the slight knowledge on dance styles. He just knew it was mostly for women, with exorbitant gowns and shoes that seemed pretty. However, the girl on the screen was dancing with bare feet, along a man.

Some weeks after Coriolanus accepted he had feelings for you, he questioned if it was a good idea to join your mother’s dance company so that you would fall easily for him. It wasn’t necessary because you liked him as soon as he made you smile and laugh.

“Oh Coryo! She’s next!” Tigris said, taking his hand while looking nervously at the tv. Coriolanus always thought Tigris was a worrier most of the time, she always got so into her job, always thinking of what if. Seconds later, you appeared, immediately Grandma’am started to cheer and say out loud how beautiful you looked. Red and black dress with a ruffled tutu, your pink thighs and pointe shoes in a perfectly hidden ribbon. And a red flower with feathers and sequins in your head that had Tigris worried about. She made the headpiece for you. And she feared it would fall from your head. Coriolanus soothed her before coming back to smile like an idiot on the tv.

That was his girlfriend. He had literally pulled one of the most beautiful, if not the most perfect girl of Panem.

The music started and it was a delight for him. He always enjoyed classical music. And the one you danced along was a little faster and vivid than usual, making it impossible to keep any eye in any other place but you and your cocky smile.

Coriolanus knew you had an ego. And he loved to fuel it by saying how gorgeous you were all the time. So, he couldn’t wait for you to arrive on his door. Even when he pleaded you not to come, since he didn’t want to be a contagious asset for you. You hadn’t care, bringing some medicines, chicken broth soup and a lot of mint to help with his congestion the day before.

That’s why he felt even more empowered to keep going and win that prize. It was announced before the winter break and the holidays. He promised himself to win so he could become someone. Enough greater to make him worthy from having you. Because now at eighteen, he aspired to be in your life forever.

So, as you shined on that stage, spinning and standing on pointe, Coriolanus mentally repeated that he loved you. He said it occasionally to you, but most of the time he preferred saying it by holding your hand, kissing you and helping with your homework. Sometimes he wondered what true love was. If he was a capable of giving that to you. He wasn’t able to give you presents, only a tiny bouquet of flowers from his grandma’am. He couldn’t take you out on dates to fancy restaurants, not even offering you to stay for dinner in his place. Your dates where on his old rooftop, your bedroom or patio. Unlike you, who came every Friday after school with food for the family. You constantly gifted little things, like perfumes, a new shirt, anything to make his life easier.

His smile only grows bigger as your performance is about to be over. He admires the way your body is able to be so flexible and consistent. He had also seen the pain behind looking like an elegant feather. Some afternoons when he visited your room, you were tired, soaking your feet in warm water to soothe the ache.

But for now, he treasures the image of your smile as you make some reverence, ending your presentation.

“Oh dear… She was perfect!” Grandma’am said happily, with the round of applause on the tv in the background.

“And the headpiece survived the whole time!” Coriolanus rolled his eyes, smiling at his cousin.

As his family talked about your dress and the investments of your parents, the blonde boy returned to see the flower bouquet.

He really hoped you would love them, that you hadn’t turned bored of only receiving flowers from him.

One day, he would buy you expensive jewelry. He would give you the finest dinners and he would find the most beautiful house around the area for you. Only that way he would feel worthy of having you. Only that way he would find appropriate to call you his in all matters.

For now, he was just hanging there. Doing everything to win that prize. Giving you the least he had and shyly accepting all the things you provided him. That’s how he knew you truly loved him. You cared for his family and him. And Coriolanus swore nobody on earth would care that much for him like you.

Making it the main reason why he knew he had to rush it. He had to give you everything.

Not that you minded.

As you encouraged the family driver; Trevor, to take the route he considered most convenient to make it faster to your boyfriend’s place. You smile.

Oh, how you loved your boy.

You loved greeting him with a kiss on the lips followed by little pecks around. He giggled, probably believing you were so silly, but he would lean to kiss you so deeply again.

“We’re almost there, miss” you nod, looking through the window.

“Thank you, Trevor.”

“Should I wait or send Roger to pick you up late?” Roger was your father’s bodyguard. He was tasked to take care of you for his night shift sometimes. You liked Trevor better; he was a kind man of family. You had met his wife and beautiful daughters, sending them presents for their birthdays.

“Not sure yet. But you can go home and rest. It’s Friday and you need to be with your family, Trevor” he smiled, thinking how sweet you were. He cared a lot for you, almost like another daughter.

“Your mother won’t be happy. She was already irritated that you left the gala so early…”

“Don’t worry. I’ll figure it out” with that being said, he parked outside of the building. Trevor handed you some bags, full of food, wood and other things. Then your ballet bag. Ready to leave. The whole day, after leaving the Academy, you were only lounging to finish with the gala to went straight to your man’s arms.

“If anything, you call me. Alright?” You smile nodding at the man.

“Alright.” After a exchange of smiles, you wave him goodbye, and he disappears through the empty street.

It was a cloudy day, Lucky Flickerman said it was going to be a thunderstorm night at the Capitol. Gripping your coat tightly, you enter the building.

…

The door suddenly is open, and Coriolanus hears your voice calling from the entrance.

“Where’s everyone?” Tigris volts out from the living room, hurrying to greet you.

“But of course, we were watching you on the tv. Where else?” You laugh, hugging the young woman.

Then Grandma’am also joins to greet, saying you are gorgeous on stage.

“And where’s my boy?” You asked, wandering around. Coriolanus finally appears from the hallway with a smile. You could tell he had showered. His curls looked softer than ever.

He wants to laugh; you are still on thighs. With some black heels, and he can see a tutu under your coat.

Tigris and the elder woman decide to take the food to serve dinner, leaving you and your boyfriend alone. Both of you hear them saying how thankful they were to have food another week.

You open your arms, and he goes straight to hug you. Your hands cradle his face before standing on your tip toes to kiss him.

“How are you feeling?” He seemed to look and feel better. Apparently, the medicines worked.

“A lot better…”

“I missed you.” He also did. If his health hadn’t been compromised, he would’ve attended the gala with you.

“Me too. But you should have stayed home.” It had been a rough week at the Academy, the rehearsals for the gala, acting as a nurse for your sick boyfriend.

“We always spend Fridays together, silly.” He doesn’t deserve you.

“You were beautiful today. Although… you’re always perfect.” You blush, kissing his cheek before following him inside his penthouse.

The smell of mashed potatoes, the piece of ham you brought, and bread fill the place. It had been a little while since Coriolanus could only smell the boiled cabbage and hear his stomach painfully churning.

When you enter the room, you see the big bouquet of roses. You turn to see Coriolanus in disbelief, smiling.

“I hope you like them” the jar is old, but it looks amazing with the perfectly accommodated flowers. Your fingers gently grasp the soft petals. You are so in love with him.

“I will never get tired of this. I love them!” You turn around and Coriolanus sees your face full of adoration. You literally jump to kiss him. Always being received by the passionate yet slow and delicate of his kisses. One hand gently on your neck while the other rested on your cheek. Some strands of his blonde curls brushing against your forehead as your heels make it slightly even when it comes to height.

“Look at them. My future president of Panem and his First Lady.” Tigris giggles at her grandmother, but smiles deeply, happy to see her little cousin in love. And extremely thankful that he found a warm and generous woman like you to have in his life. Because in her head, Coriolanus deserved better.

“Let’s just pray that they graduate for now, Grandma’am.” She adds grabbing the old porcelain plates they have to serve the food.

And it’s a thunder what startles you, squirming away from your boyfriend. He laughs, holding you closer again after seeing you got scared.

“It’s raining!” Tigris announces from the kitchen.

“Guess you’ll have to stay the night.” His cheeky smile makes you gently push him. Your mother was going to be mad. But Tigris would intervene and say it was okay.

It wasn’t the first time you stayed though.

…

There are at least six candles around the room. The temperature decreased significantly after dinner. The water you used to clean the dishes was almost freezing. And Coriolanus wanted to die out of embarrassment when you started heating water on the fireplace to take a shower.

You had said it was nothing and that you don’t mind. But still, he felt so wrong.

Now, he was seating against the head of his bed. Watching how you curated your swollen feet. You pinched some blisters with a needle that had carefully been burned with a match. And now, it was time to put some cream and finally wrap the area with bandages.

“Does it hurt a lot?” He asked.

“Not much. I’m used to it now” you replied without looking at him. Still concentrated on your feet.

“I’m sorry about the water.” You frown, finally turning to see him.

“Why do you keep apologizing?” He shrugs, slightly irritated.

“Because I wish I could give you more and I can’t.” he didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but he does. Your lips form a line, before crawling until you mere kneeling bedside him on the bed.

“I hate to see you doing things you don’t have the necessity to do so. I hate not being able to treat you like my girlfriend and more like friend. I want to give you the world and I can’t.”

“Coriolanus… Look at me.” You take his hand, and with the other, you are tracing invisible line on his chin with your thumb. He looks at you, eyes slightly watered, making your heart swell for him.

“Life could’ve been so different, I could’ve been in your position, and you in mine.” He closes his eyes, thinking about his terrible luck.

“You charmed me before I knew everything about you. You know it, right?” He nods, tilting his head just to feel more of your touch. In response, you are again grabbing his cheeks.

“You have to let me help you now. That’s what couples do. They help each other. One day you’ll be able to give me anything you want. But for now, I will give you anything just to not see you struggling. Nor your family” your forehead is brushing his, and he can only attempt to nod as you speak.

“And remember, my love. You already make me happy. I’m already proud of you.” He doesn’t cry, but he’s at the verge of. He just hides his face on your neck. And there’s a wet spot on your skin, but you don’t say anything, you just tighten your embrace of him, smiling as you kiss his hair.

“I love you.” He says and it surprises you. While you know he loves you, you are aware that he’s not used to say it very often.

“I love you too, Coryo.”

He promises himself that he will do everything in his will to chase power. To change his faith and give you what you deserve.

The thunderstorm was powerful enough to scare you once in a while. As you were playing cards with Coriolanus, he took your hand every time you got startled. Tigris said goodnight and suggested to keep the door unlocked. Making you blush and Coriolanus too.

“I’m bored.” You said, laying on your side, facing your boyfriend. He dropped his joint of card too, hand landing on your hip, caressing the skin.

“What do you want to do?” You notice the way he’s touching you. It’s slightly inappropriate and it makes you grin.

“You are already suggesting something” his eyes widened, embarrassment flooding him.

“I’m sorry” you chuckle, noticing how shy and insecure he could be.

“Don’t you want to?” It’s your next move what almost makes him choke. You move forward, taking a sit on his lap.

“Of course I want to. Just not here.” You roll your eyes, hands massaging his shoulders, making him groan in delight. Your cream nightgown had lifted, showing him your bare legs. The long sleeve felt so soft against his hands.

“As long as you’re with me, I don’t mind where we’re doing it.” He’s unsure, but he can feel himself getting hard. Finally, after months of having only the company of his hand, he could claim you. He doesn’t love that it’s going to happen in his old bed, in his messed-up room. But you look so gorgeous with bare light from the candles. Now half naked showing him for the first time your naked body.

“Are you sure?” He asks one last time, feeling a string of saliva connected between your lips and his. It’s dirty, messy and extremely erotic to be the first time.

“Believe me, nothing wakes up Tigris and Grandma’am. We’re safe…”

“Alright. I trust you, Coryo.”

“Good. Now get on your back and spread those legs for me.” His possessive side would always surprise you. But you enjoyed it. And now, as the thunderstorm keeps going you let his possessive side dominate you.

“God, I love you.” You say as he makes you believe the rain falling outside were actually stars.

…

“Look at the tragic lovers, already in pose for a war memorial portrait”. You roll your eyes at Arachne. You hear Felix, Festus and even Clemmie laughing along other classmates. Coriolanus ignores her, taking your hand, reassuring you. The building was getting crowded. The Reaping was around the corner, but you were only praying for your boyfriend. Hoping to leave the place with the prize on his hands.

“Careful, Arachne. One day they might have a portrait in the parliament building” Clemensia says giggling.

“How? Because Coriolanus would be Panem’s president and y/n as First Lady? Allow me to laugh…” you can listen to her annoying voice. Something you always wished was a good friendship with your classmates. But it was difficult. Arachne was very competitive and judgmental; Festus was tedious along Felix. Persephone was extremely quiet; Livia was too naïve. Only Clemensia and Sejanus seemed to be genuine with you.

“Who knows?” Sejanus spoke from the other side of rows, walking to seat beside Arachne and your boyfriend. You smiled at him, and he reciprocated it. Coriolanus was too lost on his thoughts to pay attention to the little argument. Until Sejanus tilted his head to whisper something to him.

“There is no prize anymore.” The blonde turns to look at him in confusion. But the ceremony has officially started. He feels you taking his hand in disguise. And it’s the only reason why he feels less nervous.

Until Dean Highbottom reveals the sudden changes, which makes your heart pound faster. And without a warning, the listing of tributes begins. You look away when you see the little girl named Wovey being focused on camera, the sadness and uneasy churn in your stomach hitting you by the end of District 11 tributes.

And finally, the songbird is paired with Coriolanus.

He sees the way you frown, cringed by her singing. Even when she had a wonderful voice, it was unexpected and certainly odd for some. Then, he sees you cover your mouth in disbelief when she curses on the microphone. Coriolanus can’t tell, but he assumes it’s gonna be a little difficult to deal with that girl. Seeing zero chances to win.

Then he realised the tributes were mentioned. The Reaping had finished.

It’s over. Everyone has a tribute except for you. Dean Highbottom resumes the listing walking away, making you turn to see him, raising your hand immediately. Ready to ask questions.

“Put your hand down, Miss y/l/n. It’s not a mistake the order of the listing” you hear Dr. Gaul saying firmly. When you turn around, she’s there, offering a cold yet deep look with her unmatched eye irises.

Slowly, your hand goes down, laying on your lap, slightly shaking.

“Your parents have been generous enough to become official sponsors of the games.” Voices echo across the room, gossiping about the news. Even for you, this was a surprise.

Coriolanus looks at you but doesn’t say anything. He just wondered how much this would make your family richer.

“The mentors have to make their tributes a spectacle. But your task is to make all of the 10th Hunger Games a massive spectacle. Propaganda, production and strategy…” your face goes pale. But you dare to question it.

“Is this some type of punishment?” Gaul laughs, offering a genuine smile later, her hands together, like she was comfortable on her spot.

“Consider this your admission test. You won’t be fighting for the prize, but this would give you enough honors to automatically join the best branches of the Capitol’s University.” Quietly, you nod under the curious look of your classmates. The look of Arachne full of envy, Clemensia confused, Sejanus doubting. And your dear Coriolanus, he was happy to be honest. You could easily make his tribute look presentable so he could win. He would get the prize, get into university, become a political figure if not president and finally give you anything he couldn’t before.

But for now, the ceremony is over. You say goodbye to your friends, and you walk with Coriolanus, he takes your hand and together leave the place.

…

Your vision looks lost, but seemingly focused on the cracked floor. Coriolanus had been looking at you, he crossed his arms, but still nothing. Your heels were scattered, but you looked very comfortable at the edge of his bed.

“What’s on your mind, sweets?” You feel the cushions sinking beside you, his palm goes to rub your back, taking you back to reality.

“I don’t want the weight of all those upcoming deaths on me. On making it an entertainment…” rarely you spoke about the games or politics with your boyfriend. Mostly it was about university, future plans, music, and random pieces of your lives.

“It won’t be your fault, y/n. This will prove to everyone in the Capitol how worthy you are” he tries to soothe you.

“Still. While I do believe we deserve peace and to gain the respect the First Rebellion took from us, I do believe that putting some children to kill each other in the arena each year isn’t going to make a change” he sighed.

“That little girl…” he had seen the kid. But he grew indifferent to that, he was only focused on winning, and he was going to try to psyche you into the same.

“What terrifies you so much?” He asks, finally making you look at him in the eye.

“I have a bad feeling, Coryo. Like everything is gonna go down bad” you admit. You couldn’t tell if it was the change, your new task or Lucy Gray Baird. You were avoiding being judgmental, but as soon as you saw what she did with that snake, your initial thought was that she was a problem.

“None of that. You are making this Hunger Games unforgettable; I’m winning the prize. And that’s it, we will go to university together and make all those things we’ve talked about. That’s all that matters, y/n. Right?” It’s inevitable, you know it’s some sort of manipulation.

He does it with good intentions, but you don’t like it.

“I will give my best to make this whole thing memorable. I will try to make your songbird win. But none of this will wash away the guilt.”

Before the moment can get uncomfortable, Tigris enters the room. She smiles before standing against the little desk Coriolanus had.

“How was it? Tell me everything” she’s anxious to know everything, but for sure knows Coriolanus didn’t get the prize.

“We’ll give you the details in the table. But for now, I’m mentoring the tribute from District 12. y/n is in charge of the game's propaganda” her blonde brows furrow.

“The girl who singed?” Both of you nod. She sighs, crossing her arms.

“This isn’t what was supposed to happen…” Tigris adds. Again, you let yourself fall against the mattress, covering your face.

“Making the games’ an spectacle. What were they thinking?” Coriolanus exchanged looks with Tigris. She understood his look. Mentally telling him to give you some female soothing advice. She decided then to take seat too. You end up sandwiched between them.

It’s her hand brushing some hairs away your neck and face. Tigris had always treated you like family. And that’s why you felt more guilty. Because you wanted Coriolanus to win so badly, to help his family but you also thought about the tributes. About making their deaths some type of entertainment for everyone to watch.

“Sounds unfair. A lot of things from the Capitol are wrong.” You nod. When you see them, you are received by the cousins giving you soothing looks.

“I just want this to be over…”

“It’ll pass. Everything will go great. You’re smart and very talented. And we’ll help you in everything we can” you have to give her a little hug.

“And I’ll help my boy too. That girl is going to be a problem” Coriolanus rolls his eyes, thinking the same as you.

“See? Let’s just be optimistic.” Tigris stands up excitedly, later looking for something on her dress pocket.

“Tigris. I’m making dinner. Do not boil any more cabbage” you giggle, and Coriolanus has to smile, admitting to himself that just by seeing you happy he felt better.

“No. You don’t have to.”

“Please. Just let me go for some groceries.” She nods shyly. Then she pulls out some little bag from the pocket.

“Fine. But you are taking these from now on…” she throws the bag and dissapears. When you look inside the bag, you take out a box of pills. Immediately your cheeks turn red.

“Oh my god” you hand the box to the boy.

“Oh…” they’re birth control pills.

Soon both of you start laughing before you have to give him a kiss. Probably it was for the best because Coriolanus Snow never pulled out. And luckily you weren’t pregnant yet.

“I’ll get the groceries from Trevor” he nods, watching you walk away.

You briefly stop after seeing the picture on a frame. Of Coriolanus as a baby and his mother carrying him. Beside that picture, there’s one you hadn’t seen before. It’s you, from the gala of last year. You wore a red dress with pink ribbons and long gloves that matched the gown. You are smiling, not at the camera.

You were smiling at Coriolanus, who had insisted the photographer to take a picture of only you.

The feeling of happiness, bliss and peace hit you, making it impossible to leave your boyfriend’s room without a giant smile.

…

Speaking out loud had never been your thing. You sucked for speeches, debates. Well, only to prepare for them. Your hands would shake, and your face would turn red. But at the moment to step into the highlight, you were wonderful.

And it was noticeable.

“Here I am with the lovely y/n y/l/n, who’s in charge of directing the course of this games this year. Tell me y/n, was your idea to bring the tributes to the zoo?”

“No. To be honest, my directing journey officially starts as soon as the tributes are here. For now, I’m not doing anything… Yet.” Lucky Flickerman laughs.

“Well… I believe this is going to be a heated road. Don’t you think so? OH-, forget about her opinion, no one cares. THE TRIBUTES ARE HERE!” You turn behind to look. The vehicle opened its doors and the tributes fell. But you have to move away from the cameras after seeing a red uniform of the Academy. What the hell was Coriolanus doing there?

He doesn’t notice you yet. But you are able to see him talking with the girl. You see Lucy Gray Baird in person for the first time. She’s very pretty, short as you and her dress is very pretty. That’s not the problem though. You don’t like the way Coriolanus leans to whisper to her something, then he pulls the rose on his uniform and pins it behind her ear. Hearing Lucky Flickerman calling them, the couple holds hands, and they start answering questions.

It’s just for the views. It’s just to win that damn prize. Relax… You can trust him.

When Lucy Gray starts talking with a girl, Coriolanus spots you. You can’t decipher his look, but he knows for sure you aren’t pleased. Your hands making fists against the fabric on your wide dressing pants.

As soon as the cameras are gone, you go on a straight line towards him.

“What the hell are you doing here?” He drops the songbird’s hand, looking seriously taken aback.

“I told you I was meeting my tribute” Lucy Gray looks intrigued by your sudden appearance. Your moles, orange makeup, heavy golden earrings and perfectly painted lips. You’re perfect.

“This is embarrassing. What are my parents going to think? This could get you into trouble, Coriolanus” he sighs. Takes your hand through the giant cage but you whisk away, looking very angry.

“I’m sorry. This is just… too much.” He will talk to you later, he knows you’re head is spinning. Probably the rose and taking the songbird’s hand wasn’t a good idea.

“This is Lucy Gray…” he introduces the girl. And you finally acknowledge her. You give her a fake smile, just trying to look calm and be polite. She only stares.

“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry this is the way were meeting” she looks proud, like the fact that you look gorgeous, and she had just been thrown into an animal cage wasn’t humbling for her.

“Aren’t you in charge of making this a good show? Like putting us here like we were some kind of animals?” She must hate the Capitol. And it pisses you off the way she’s talking to you. A hostile tone in disguise.

“I’m only working for this to get more views and get into Univeristy. Where etiquette and manners are taught with much emphasis. But I’m not the one doing the rules” you respond colder, giving a little hint that Lucy Gray needed to be refined. After that, you proceed to ignore her again.

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to get your back with Highbottom if anything happens” you whisper to the blonde, and before he can say anything you leave. You exchange some words with Flickerman and the camera production before leaving with them.

“Is that your girlfriend?” Lucy Gray asks. Coriolanus turns to see her.

“That’s my girlfriend.” His confirmation slightly surprised the girl. You seemed very… Capitol. Like the perfect match for him.

“She’s very pretty.” He wants to chuckle, but he only nods. In his mind, he wasn’t sure if Lucy gray meant it or if she was just trying to be sarcastic. Either way he doesn’t care much.

You’re perfect.

…

In your room, only the gentle morning breeze can be heard. You look at the balcony, looking at the mountains that surrounded the Capitol. It was summer, soon after fall began, the white would cover the city.

There’s a knock on your door and when you turn to see who it is, there is your mother.

“How did Coriolanus end up with the tributes?” You look away, already feeling ashamed.

“I don’t know, mother. He was supposed to meet the tribute at the train station. I don’t know how he ended up there…”

“It was a… messy entrance. But he seemed to have charmed the cameras on his favor. Don’t you think so?” Your mother liked your boyfriend, but sometimes she thought he had some secrets hidden, and that made you set some alarms. Probably because only, you knew about his financial problems.

“As it was expected. How do you think I felt when everyone knew he is my boyfriend? It was embarrassing.” She giggles, stepping inside of your room. Grabbing your perfectly ironed Academy uniform and accommodating the sleeves.

“I didn’t like the way he… forced that interaction with the girl.” You admit in a quiet tone.

“They were holding hands. He tucked his rose on her ear.” Your blood boils at the memory, making you groan in discontent.

“Yes.” You confirm to her.

“You’re jealous. And you shouldn’t be… Coriolanus loves you. Why would he even turn to look down at a dirty and disheveled girl from District 12? When he has you, a gorgeous and already successful young woman. Who’s capitol to his luck.” You smile. But the uncomfortable omen would have you spinning until the games were over.

“You can’t let any feelings get in the way of your task, my dear.” Says your father appearing at the door. You just stare at him.

“Let the boy play along the untidy girl for now. It will help to raise the views and create dubiety. You will complete your duty and that will make you memorable. As a daughter of mine and your mother we want you to exceed our accomplishments, this would be the first step. As soon as you make it, all the doors will be open for you. And the boy will be eating from the palm of your hand.” You know that’s not how it works, but he is right. As much as you wanted your boyfriend to win the games. You had to think on your own for the first time.

“You’re right.” Your dad smiles, only entering the room to leave a kiss on your head. Silently telling you how proud he is of you.

“Good. Now put some makeup and the uniform.” You nod at your mom, replying at her smile but feeling slightly empty on the inside.

…

Once again you have zoned out.

Coriolanus sees the way you are lost in your thoughts. As Dean Highbottom and Dr. Gaul are slightly debating after he was almost penalized for the zoo events, the gossip between the students doesn’t flush away easily.

You were quiet since that day. Same kisses, same smile, and same giggles. But the sudden lack of communication and sex was worrying Coriolanus.

Then Arachne died. Clemensia hadn’t been on class for some days. You weren’t around to see, but the news made you feel weird. Coriolanus was getting obsessed with the songbird, but that didn’t mean he was leaving aside… yet.

He had heard and seen how most of the student's made fun of you and your task for the Hunger Games. Saying that you had been put on that position for your parents. Very much like what everyone thought of Sejanus Plinth on daily basis. It made you feel anxious, that guilt only increasing. And unfortunately, Coriolanus hadn’t been around to soothe those fears.

“Are you sure you’re okay, y/n?” He asks once for all. You seem to hear him, but before you can answer him. Gaul had made everyone go quiet.

“Has a decision been made, Miss. y/l/n?” You raise your head, looking at the woman and slowly you nod, standing up.

“A decision has been made with the council of the games and the production team. The mentors and their tributes have to make a strategy, it’s obligatory. The mentors have to make detailed research on the district of their tribute. In two days, the research must be submitted so the tributes can be guaranteed an interview before the games. Only that way, the sponsors will come and by the end of the games, the mentors will be honored in the post-games' celebration.” The more you talked, the more the students seemed to hate you. Coriolanus can only think that you’re doing it because of rage, and he isn’t unsure if he likes it or not.

Dr. Gaul wants to laugh, believing you had shut everyone’s mouth. She can see a female enraged lover can react when cards are played against her. And she is savoring the way her Hunger Games are making everyone fight for their own good, not only the tributes.

When class is over, you don’t wait for Coriolanus. You just start grabbing your stuff and decide to leave.

He has to hurry so he can follow your pace. He calls your name once, but until his hand gently grabs your forearm, you stop.

“What is going on?” He asks, ignoring that both of you are in the middle of a hallway.

“About what?” There’s a lot to say, but you just can’t seem to be able to respond.

He sighs, and looking around, he drags you to an empty room. Open to public, but perfect for some minutes of privacy.

“You can talk to me…”

“I know… It’s just…” he inspects your face, looking at any details to try to understand you.

“Just what, sweets?”

“There’s too much going on at the same time. I’m just stressed out. I’m sorry for being distant, Coryo” you refuse to admit you’re jealous, that you are following your father’s advice, that you are sick of everything.

“It’ll be over in three more days or so. Then you know what departs for us…” you nod as he leans to close the distance, your foreheads touching. It was Coriolanus silent way of saying I love you and I’m here. So you take the moment to treasure it.

“Just one thing, Coryo…”

“Yes, dear?” He asks on your lips.

“If things get tricky… Are you going to fight for me if needed?” He smiles, your lips trembling against his chin.

“I would walk the whole territory of Panem just to get you, y/n” and with that, he kisses you so hard that it makes you remember why you choose him.

And why you would always choose him.

…

It’s late in the night and you opted to stay for late rehearsals. Your nails are a mess as you had anxiously been biting them. You see a burgundy spot on the right side of your pointe shoe. Your feet are bleeding. But that doesn’t compare to the waves of chills you had every day.

“AGAIN!” Your instructor yells. You are the opening act for the celebration. Every district would have a dance and some mentors would have an honorific mention. However, yours was a delicate piece of ballet. The music was beautiful, but it made you feel little, very vulnerable.

You try every single time, but your instructor kept saying that you needed to look sadder by the end.

“Miss y/n?…” your mother’s assistant came to the door of the studio, making you stop and your instructor to pause the music.

“Your mother has informed to me that there was a rebel bombing on the games’ arena earlier. The tributes were there with their mentors.” Your heart stops, remembering Coriolanus and his own task of taking the songbird there.

“Your partner, Mr. Snow… he was injured…”

Half an hour later, you’re entering the hospital. The wide room is empty. At the end of the bed’s row, you see Tigris and Sejanus. The young woman being the first to notice you.

“Y/N!” She hurries to hug you and offer her jacket since it was slightly cold. And you were once again in your ballet attire, pointe shoes still on.

“It’s okay. But… How is him?”

“Stable. Just his back was compromised” Sejanus reveals, making you smile sadly. Coriolanus is sleeping. His forehead looks sweaty, and you can only attempt to brush some of his curls.

“They said it was a rebel attack. The president’s son was heavily injured” you sigh.

“Felix?” Sejanus nods at you.

“This is where I side with the Capitol.”

“Exactly. This isn’t the solution” neither of you say out loud. But Sejanus was a rebel sympathizer, Tigris was only against the capitol but not with the rebels. And you were a neutral.

“I just hope this doesn’t come with long term injuries…” you finally add. Under the curious look of Tigris, she feels bad for you. Although she offered her help, there wasn’t much she could do. Only to design the attires for the upcoming celebration. But other than that, she could feel the stress on you.

Only worsening when Coriolanus woke up.

“Is Lucy Gray fine?” You act like it didn’t hurt you. And both Tigris and Sejanus pretend they didn’t see your sad face.

“She’s fine.”

“How do you feel?” You ask, and Coriolanus finally sees you.

“My shoulder and back hurt” the tv ends up disconcerting everyone. When you turn there is a video of you being played with the logo of the Capitol behind you. Coriolanus wants to smile, but he’s too unsure of what’s happening to say you looked adorable in a tulle skirt.

[Citizens of Panem, welcome back. We are less than 24 hours away from the start of the 10th Hunger Games. To make the wait less painful, we are about to explore a little more on this year tributes. Get to know them in this section. For the first time, we are about to see an exclusive series of interviews with our lovely host; Lucky Flickerman. Now it’s turn of District 12. Do not forget that anyone can be a sponsor. Enjoy the show!]

You ignore the looks. You weren’t proud of yourself for filming that type of promos. But that is quickly forgotten after Lucy Gray was introduced and she started singing again. You have to roll your eyes. You have to bite your tongue after seeing the way Coriolanus literally jumped out of the bed to see the songbird closely.

He seemed hypnotized by her. And without even processing there are tears forming on your eyes.

The end is coming. The end is coming. Get ready…

You try to ignore your head. But it’s like a prolonged free fall. Since the moment of the Reaping Ceremony, you knew it.

That bad omen was something you should’ve payed more attention to.

Now you let some tears fall as you see it. Tigris is also crying, and you have to admit how wonderful Lucy Gray Baird is. But it leads you to question.

How could Coriolanus just be… losing you?

When you look down at your feet, your brain can pay attention to the damage, immediately releasing a lot of pain.

Your pointe shoes are almost soaked in blood. You quickly seat in one of the bed, hurrying to untie it. Your heart beats faster. With the sudden increase of negativity, you feel panicked.

And it scares you, because you feel like you don’t have enough control.

Sejanus is the first one to look away.

“Oh my god, y/n” he knees in front of you. Looking at the mess. Now that the pointe shoes are gone, the damage is more than visible.

Tigris follows and finally Coriolanus remembers you. He seats beside you, frowning in disgust as he sees the pointe shoes covered in dry blood. Then your feet, you try to stop the bleeding, cleaning it, sobbing in silent.

You feel his hand on your shoulder. But you ignore him. You feel hurt by everyone. Your parents, the Capitol, and Coriolanus especially.

You squirm away from him.

“I’m just trying to soothe you.” Coriolanus admits in shock after seeing your reaction.

“I can handle it on my own” you spit out crying quietly, cleaning the tears with a hand, while the other holds some gazes against the wounded skin.

“We’ll bring a nurse” Tigris says, grabbing Sejanus and walking out of the room.

For the first time, Coriolanus knows something is going wrong. He officially sees how things are getting tricky.

Only you would know that your tears were for your boyfriend rather than the blood soaking your feet.

He was losing you. And later that night, he sealed the faith of your love for him after visiting Lucy Gray in the zoo one last time.

…

When the 10th Hunger Games started, you were making sudden apparitions at the camera. Coriolanus was focused on Lucy Gray moving through the arena. And you were too invested on following all the procedures. After some hours, a lot of people had left. Coriolanus was growing tired. He started eyeing you out, he saw your lilac makeup that matched your sweater. He saw the way your hips and waist looked in a pencil skirt.

After some failed attempts to make you look at him, he made eye contact. And minutes later, both of you ended up having a quick fuck in the restroom. Somehow it had worked as a makeup, he made you smile before you had to leave again. He kissed you and he promised to himself that no more mistakes were allowed. He would win the games with Lucy Gray and then… only eyes for you.

Things took a turn after Sejanus meant to give a proper goodbye to his tribute and old friend.

Coriolanus had killed a tribute. You are still unable to comprehend how you feel about it. He had come to your house during the night, red eyes and disheveled uniform. You wrapped your arms around him, shushing him to not disturb your parents.

He told you everything as you prepared the tub for him. He cried on your shoulder and stayed there for hours.

“You are good, Coriolanus. You are a good man. This doesn’t make you a monster…” you had said.

“What about the power I felt?…��� you knew that was a warning sign.

“In the Hunger Games’ arena anything feels like power, my love” it was supposed to be enough to make him avoid thinking on power and death at the same time.

And now, adding the fact that he seemed to have built a connection with the songbird, you were everything but calm.

Nonetheless, that night you hold him protectively. You assure him everything would be fine.

“I would be lost without you” Coriolanus says, his nose pressed against your chest.

“I help the people I love, Coryo. That’s how will always be…” he reminds himself, no more errors. He holds tighter at you, knowing he had already messed up his promise one night ago.

…

You run, ignoring the pain of your wounded feet. The nurse said to take it easy if you wanted to dance after the games.

But you can’t help it. Coriolanus had won. While you ignored Lucy Gray Baird as the victor, you acknowledged your boyfriend as it. You run faster than Tigris, so you get to hug him before kissing him. He replies immediately. Holding your waist and smiling like an idiot. Everyone was looking and cheering around but neither of you cared. He deepened the kiss, feeling peace, he knew he had won. He had a good future secured. Along you.

“You did it, my love” you say in his lips, giggling. He also smiles, taking your hand before going to find Tigris who stayed back.

“You also did it.” He speaks. Making you realize it’s over.

And for the rest of the day, you are happy. You leave early because of the celebration.

You really want to stay with Coriolanus. But he was called away. Tigris stays with you the whole day. She calls Grandma’am as soon as you both enter the theater where the celebration was being held.

Both of you give the elder woman all details. She really cries and says she can’t wait to see his boy coming home that night. She wishes you good luck and the call is over.

“Okay. Let’s get over with this so we can celebrate with some posca tonight.” You laugh, taking a seat on the vanity.

“Coryo hates posca, Tigris.” She also laughs.

“If he can pretend to like it for formal events, he can pretend at home for his win and yours.” Between laughs and jokes, she starts to help you with makeup and hair.

An hour later, you start receiving good luck flowers and notice of being on the stage in fifteen minutes.

“You look perfect, y/n” she says smiling, making you turn around to see the pastel tutu and flower corset of the attire.

“I can’t breathe but this will make my shoulders look so aligned…” you thank her and after good luck wishes and a hug, she excuses herself to go to her seat.

Now alone, you make sure the makeup is perfect. Until you see Coriolanus in the door frame. He enters and closes the door. He looks so lost and sad, which worries you.

“I cheated on the games” you frown, hurrying to get to him. He sits on the couch, head between his legs, notifying to you how serious the issue is.

“What did you do?” He explains how he cheated. He kept it secret. He didn’t tell you.

“Is there a punishment or penalty?” He nods, looking at you now.

“Exile. Serve as a peacekeeper for twenty years” you look shocked. Your heart stops and you lean to grab his shoulders.

“I’ll go with you. University can wait. I’ll find a job where you’re sent to. And work with my mother at the same time. We’ll send money to Tigris and Grandma’am and-“

“No, y/n. I can’t let you do this.” You start to feel panicked again. You need to hear a solution.

“So what? You’re just leaving like that?” He remains quiet.

“You said you would fight for me.” He thinks about possibilities. He could marry you as soon as training was over. You two could find a little house, live there and send money to his family like you said. You already said you were willing to leave the Capitol for him.

“Oh, Coryo. Why did you had to do this?” He sighs frustrated.

“To win. For my family. For you… to give you all I promised.” You are at the verge of crying. And he has to be honest. If you were going to leave everything for him. He would be honest.

“I kissed her.”

You can only hear your heartbeat after that.

You don’t say anything for some seconds. His hands are sweating.

Something stronger than silence fills the room. You slap him.

Your hand burns afterwards. But the damage is done.

“Get. Out.” You spit out, quietly, yet extremely filled with poison.

He’s too shocked to say something back.

You are mentally collapsing. Finally feeling betrayed and mocked by him.

“You won’t get out? I will…” it’s bad when you start hearing a pitch in your ears. You know it’s not a good sign. But you’re so traumatized, that you lean closer to him.

“You’re a mistake… Such a big lie.” The last memory he sees before you have disappeared is the layers of tulle of your tutu, your perfume of jasmine and the sound of your distant sobs.

If he had lost you. His last memory of you would be dancing.

He stares from the backstage. And he wonders if destiny wanted you to dance such a melancholic song. Because he can literally see your sadness. You look so fragile that he curses himself. Maybe if he had mentored another district. Or maybe if he just had decided to shut up and avoid mentioning the kiss to you.

Did he ever love you? Why wasn’t enough?

However, that’s not enough suffering. While your head was spinning with many thoughts, the rest of your body was pleading you to stop. But you keep dancing. You feel the music and you let yourself to give the most emotional presentation of the history of Panem.

You don’t realize you have captured the same effect as Lucy Gray Baird singing. There are people crying. Throwing flowers at you. You don’t see it; you’re starting to see everything blurred.

As you leave the stage, people congratulate you. Coriolanus sees you look pale, darkened lips. You stop hearing, only the annoying pitch. Every step feels heavier than the last one. The sudden nausea makes you give up.

Coriolanus sees how you faint. Your body collapsing to the floor.

“Get a doctor… GET A DOCTOR, PLEASE!” He yells at a girl who was also in a tutu. She nods in shock, running. Some people gather, but only Coriolanus is there holding your unconscious body.

…

“I’m so sorry. This isn’t what I wanted. I wished so many things for us.” Coriolanus is crying. Holding your hand as you are asleep on a hospital bed. Your diagnosis said you suffered a collapse due to stress and traumatic experience. He knew it was caused by him. But he lies to your mother, saying it must’ve been for the pressure of the games and the death of Arachne Crane.

“I’m not a good man. And you deserve someone better than me…” he can now see the purple under your lashes, eye bags and cracked lips.

“But I’m coming back for you.”

After memorizing your image sleeping and kissing your forehead, he quietly leaves.

Your mother enters his line of vision.

“Coriolanus. Are you coming tomorrow? She’ll likely be awake” he swallows the rest of his tears and shakes his head.

“Unfortunately. I have peacekeeper duty away from the Capitol, required for me to get into university.”

“Oh no. Y/n knows, right?” He nods.

“But don’t worry, I’ll send her letters every week” it’s a promise. One he would make no matter what.

His hopes increase by the time he’s able to serve in District 12. Knowing he could give some closure to his situation with Lucy Gray but sickening because he’s also going there to soothe his urges to see his songbird again.

As for you. You just hope and pray your sole image to haunt Coriolanus Snow for the rest of his life. Because the moment you walked out of that hospital, you would do everything to get rid of him and his memory. Promising to make his mere existence the most insignificant matter. Even when you knew your heart would never beat again the same way it did for him.

______________________________________________________________________

Taglist: @edb954 @poppyflower-22 @dear-bunnyboo @bryandechartisasmolbean @taylordaughter @coryoskywalker @maryvibess @reader-bookling123 @astarborntowrite @ewwwitsel @spring-goddess1 @real-lana-del-rey @electraphyng @athanasia-day @folklorelogy

#coriolanus snow x reader #young coriolanus snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x lucy gray #coriolanus smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas

[trashmouth-richie]

Eddie x Fem! Reader [vol ii]

Summary: you were desperate for a roommate after Nancy got married and moved out. An ad in the paper goes unanswered until someone comes knocking on the door.

W.C 3.8k

Trigger warning: enemies to lovers trope, eventual smut, language, crude behavior, Eddie is a fucking menace 🖤 this will be a series 💋

{a/n} I probably should have added this when I originally posted it. But I’m a little dumb— anyway, this is my submission for @newlips ’s milestone of love hope you all enjoy it 💋 I truly enjoy writing and I wouldn’t be here without the support you all as readers/ fellow writers bring to me every single day! Thank you all from the bottom of my heart ♥️

He wasn’t your first option for a roommate, in fact he was so far off your radar for a potential housemate, you damn near shrieked when you saw him. But when nobody had showed up besides him to view the small two bedroom house that you were forced to sublease after your roommate got married— you didn’t have a fucking choice. It was too expensive to run another ad in the Hawkins Post and summer was coming to a close. You were fucked.

“You’re fucking kidding me,” you snarl as you throw open the door to see his stupid grin. Always too toothy, too goddamn endearing. Made your stomach bind up. “No, no way.”

Standing in all his sadistic leather glory was Eddie fucking Munson. He’s taller than he used to be, still a long haired asshole, reeking of weed and cheap deodorant. What kind of sick twisted joke is this? Did you really piss off mother karma that bad that you have to live in a separate, more fucked up layer of hell? Fuck you Dante, and your inferno. There’s not a single other person in this town who needs somewhere to stay?!

He pushes his way into your home, leaning forward with a shit eating grin, eyes hooded and winking as your lips curl in disgust. “Nice to see you too sweetheart.” He taunted. Licking his lips as he stalked past you, his filthy work boots tracking dirt onto the carpet.

“Yuck — do not— call me that,” you hissed, you stand with your hand still on the knob, not fully committing to wanting to shut the door— praying that he was some sort of a hallucination.

“You gonna show me around, or should I raid your panty drawer while you sulk?” A dimple dips into his cheeks as his stupid grin grows wider on his face.

You slam the door with a thud, “kitchen, living room, my bedroom, the other bedroom, bathroom, garage, laundry in the basement.” You’re practically shouting, as you stomp around the small space, pointing to the direction of each room, taking a grand total of twenty seconds to point everything out, not giving a fat rats ass if he was following you or not. His laugh echoes off the walls, taunting you, making your skin crawl and your ears itch. You turn around to find him quick on your heels, your face almost smashing into his grease covered work shirt.

He doesn’t move, or make any attempt to step away from you, forcing you to put the space between you both, stepping back and smoothing down your hair. His eyes kill to yours, dark swirls of muddy browns searching your own, he asks, “Why do you get the bigger room?”

The fucking audacity of this man. You could wring his neck right now and nobody would even know.

“Excuse me?” You question, peering into his chocolate eyes, waving a finger in his face, “maybe because It’s my fucking house, you’re lucky if you’ll get a room at all.”

He leans his head back with a laugh, letting it slam forward as he deadpans, creeping forward and stepping around you, waiting til he’s behind you to whisper in your ear, “I’m lucky? That ad was in the paper for over a week,” he seethes, “I bet I’m the only one who showed up to view the place, so nice try, Tooty— but you’re desperate for the cash.” He wasn’t wrong, you were desperate, the salon paid okay but Josie just upped the price on your rental chair, making your mortgage almost impossible for you to pay on your own.

“…I’m doing you a favor. So, if you want me to pay rent and utilities, then I’ll, so graciously, be taking the bigger room.” His breath fans across the back of your neck, making the hairs stand up, and goosebumps riddle your skin. You turn to face him, hands on your hips trying to show how serious you are.

“I know it took you like four times longer to graduate than anyone in United States history, but you can’t possibly be this damn dumb.” It was a cheap shot and you know it, but who does he think he is? Barging in here with demands like a fucking A list celebrity. Not today, mother fucker.

A comment that would have normally made anyone else burst into tears, or at least leave hollering ‘bitch!’ as they stomped out to their car, only fuels Eddie’s perverted fire, “Ooo, an insult and a scolding, what’s next a spankin’?”

Your hard-ass facade drops, your face faltering to one of disgust instead of stern, don’t-fuck-with-me, boss lady, “Get out, Munson.”

“Nah, I think I’ll stay.” He saunters towards the kitchen table and pulls out his wallet, of course its a chain wallet, you roll your eyes as he starts forking over an impressive amount of bills and sets them down, one by one.

“Here’s my first month, last month and deposit.”

The total is way more than what you’d even told him but you're still tongue tied from his comments, he lives for this shit and you had fallen for it—rookie mistake.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to start moving stuff in.” He smiles widely, moving towards the door, “See you then, roomie.”

His figure haunts you for the next few hours you have left of peace. His smell lingers around the house, you shove open every window you can, including the one that was painted shut by the previous owners. He was so fucking annoying. Is that supposed to be charm he was throwing at you? Fucking barf. The only thing you were feeling was rage, and that you needed to shower after feeling his breath on your skin. Lighting every scented candle you can find, Sugar cookie and beach sands will do— the smell slowly wafts out of the windows. You shower quickly, figuring better do it now than after he arrives, the dreaded walk in a towel from the bathroom to your room was something you hadn’t thought of until this second. Hot water sprays against your skin, assaultingly hot, almost blistering the skin on your back.

You are seething, raging mad. If you were a cartoon, smoke would be funneling out of your ears. Mocking him, you think of better comebacks than you had thought up earlier. Scrubbing your skin until you resembled a lobster, and angrily scratching your scalp. “What’s next a spankin?” GOD he’s so nasty, the sheer nerve of him makes you want to throw a toaster into the shower with you. Nothing a few volts can’t fix. You towel off, looking at your reflection in the mirror as you wipe away the condensation. The stress of the day slowly melted off as it was rinsed down the drain.

You’re applying your eye cream when a—loud as fuck— knock on the door shakes the walls.

“Honey, I’m home!” Eddie hollers as you peek through the glass. He’s carrying a duffle bag and a 30 pack of Busch Light. 3 smiling idiots are behind him, two passing a joint back and forth while balancing a very worn mattress, the other swaying on the sidewalk holding a guitar, most likely already drunk.

Tucking the tail end of the towel wrapped around your head into itself, you fling open the door, “Jesus Christ Eddie, will you shut up! I have neighbors you know!”

“Oooo— first fight!” One of the idiots with shaggy blonde hair preens.

Your glare could compete with lasers against his skin, prying through his epidermis and burning the vessels.

Eddie lets out a laugh, “aww sweetheart, I didn’t know you were planning a slumber party!” he says gesturing to your towel and pink robe. “Give me about 30 minutes and I’ll be braiding your hair and you can paint my nails, give me all the hot gossip!”

You turn with a huff half closing the door behind you. The gaggle of idiots roaring with laughter at Eddie’s joke.

He pushes through the door into the house, tossing his bag onto the table, knocking over the napkin holder and the stack of mail, letting out a loud sigh. He rips the thirty pack open on the side, making the beers crash to the floor. You still your eyes and cross your arms, unamused by his stupid antics. He cracks one open, slurping up the spray of suds as it puddles around his hand and down onto the carpet. He kicks a beer towards you and raises his up in triumph. “Here’s to you roomie, Home Sweet Home!”

You’re so fucked.

-

“Robin, I’m seriously going to kill him. I don’t care if I have to go to jail—anything would be better than this!” you whisper-yell into the phone, you watched Eddie and his band of misfits bring in box after box, most of his stuff was in black plastic garbage bags. They formed a line throwing the bags to one another and the last one haphazardly tossing them into his room.

“Oh relax! A hunk like him moving in and you don’t even have to pay him? You just hit the jackpot!” She giggles on the other end of the phone, smacking through her licorice.

“More like jackass with all the shit he’s moving in.”

You’re hunkered in your room, between the wall and your bed, twirling your bedroom phone cord through your fingers, “Seriously the place smells like weed so bad I’m probably getting a contact high as we speak.”

Robin lets out a throaty laugh, “Might do you some good, you’re so fucking tense all the time.”

“Sorry—” you say, twiddling the blue carpet fibers through your fingers, “I’m just stressed after Nancy moved out is all.” It wasn’t a lie, Nancy moving in was a huge relief to you, she took care of almost everything. Organizing bills, scheduling pest control when needed, she even wrote the garbage pick up days and hung it on the garage door. With her gone, this all falls on you. “What if he steals my stuff in the middle of the night and bails?”

She curses your full name, “He may be a lot of things, but a thief is not one of them—seriously you have nothing to worry about, calm your boobies!”

“Boobies!” Steve yells, joining the room Robin was in, “it’s Eddie, he’s a total nerd, you’ll be fine.”

“If he’s so great Then you can live with him Steve!”

“Nope, no can do,” he says around a mouthful of food,

“I gotta keep this clumsy oaf on a short chain”

“Oh, you’re dead Harrington.” The phone drops and all you hear is squealing and thudding of feet running around.

“Robin! Not my shampoo! ”

“Steve? Robin?” You wait in silence as the line goes dead, “Uhh!” Slamming the phone into the receiver you hear Eddie and his leather clad Barbarians holler goodbye to one another. One too many “see ya later man” ’s and you’re practically puking. You open the door to your room and poke your head out. Watching closely as Eddie tears through garbage bags, unloading heaps and heaps of clothing, an entire bag dedicated to just band shirts, another revealed bedding that was quite literally rolled up and thrown into the bag. A quick sniff test has him turning up his nose.

The kitchen is taken over by Eddie’s stuff, more bags, more boxes, a cookbook titled: The Dungeonmeister Cookbook is sitting on the stove. A stack of Burger King collectible Disney cups is cluttered around the microwave. Along with an impressive amount of neon twisty straws and a bowl with a straw connected to drink the milk.

It’s like a small child moved into your home instead of a grown ass man.

Opening the fridge to get an apple, you can’t help but notice Eddie also moved some refrigerator items with him as well. Two big bottles of hot sauce, more beer than the local bar probably holds, a half drank carton of orange juice, and a giant jar of pickles, without a lid. Huffing with annoyance you step over Eddie’s bags of shit and get a knife from the drawer to slice the apple. The loud shrill screeching of 80’s metal almost makes you cut your finger. Stomping into Eddie’s room with your fuzzy slippers you don’t bother on knocking before you look for the plug to his cassette player, unhooking it from the outlet and pointing the knife in his direction, you all but scream in his face, “I almost cut my fucking finger off! Turn it down or I’ll cut the goddamn cord!”

He’s sitting crossed legged on the floor, cassettes littering his lap, his eyes almost bored, “aww Tooty I’ll play with you in a little bit, daddy just has to get some things done first, ‘kay?”

You roll your eyes in disgust, did he seriously just refer to himself as ‘daddy’?

“God you are foul,” you retort, throwing the cord down onto the carpet and placing the knife on a nearby box, “wouldn’t surprise me if you were a dad.”

Eddie throws his head back with a chuckle, “why? You into dad bods? Listen sweetheart, my metabolism will slow down eventually, gimme three—four years max and I’ll be all gut.” He flashes his pearly whites towards you and winks.

Ignoring him completely, your nose scrunches. “Stop calling me that!” your heart is pounding in your chest fury on high, “what the hell is that?”

“That,” Eddie says batting his eyelashes, “would be my masculinity wafting from my aura to yours, why does it turn you on?”

You fold your arms over your chest, and shift your slippered feet beneath you, “Do you have a certain amount of disgusting phrases you have to get out throughout the day or are you just naturally this nauseating to be around?”

“No idea, anyway,” Eddie continues, standing to his full height and shucking off his jacket and tossing it to the ground, “I’m gonna order a pizza you want in?”

“Maybe you should finish unpacking,” you say taking a quick glance around the clothes strewn everywhere around the room, “it’s a fucking mess in here.”

Eddie leans in close eyes ghosting over your features as they gawk over your lips, “well, sweetheart, maybe if you had given me the bigger room— like I had asked for— I would have enough space to put my stuff, besides,” he says, standing up and leaning backwards to crack his back, a small trail of hair peeking out from his waistband makes your breath hitch in your throat, “I bought dressers and they’ll be delivered on Monday, so my clothes don’t have a place to go right now, unless you wanna split your closet?”

“I’d rather drop dead.”

“Aww don’t do that, far too pretty to be dead, and what would the neighbors think?” He strips off his shirt and throws it in the corner of his room, your eyes dart away but not before catching a glimpse of his pale skin.

The small tattoos he had in high school are slightly faded with time, new ones are inked down his arms, across his chest and down his side. You can’t help but notice the silver hoops pierced through his nipples as they reflect light and draw you in towards his chest. He’s lean but built, no defining abs but the muscles in his arms could be carved from a sculptor, replicating a greek statue. Surely minutes have gone by but in reality it has only been seconds, you don’t even realize he’s still talking.

“…don’t need to give the cops more of a reason to watch me more than they already do.” He drops his eyes to your face, seeing you peek at his body. A grin is plastered to his lips as they curve upwards, he stretches his arms out wide, the veins in his arms protruding further out, oh what you’d give to just touch it with your hands, your tongue— wait what?—“Shit,” he says, drifting forward, your body pulling away from him, “looks like you aren’t into dad bods after all.”

Your cheeks flare red as you stomp out of his room, his joker laugh vibrates the walls as you slam your door. Throwing yourself on the smooth purple cotton of your comforter, and screaming into your pillow.

Nobody ever got under your skin the way he is. Why are you allowing him to frustrate you this much? He’s a boob. A pimple on your ass. That annoying twitch that your eye sometimes does when you don't have enough sleep. Yes, the festering wound, the bad rash that kept coming back, the burn in your belly, the thorn in your side— is now your roommate. Fuck.

A knock on your bedroom door, brings you back to your current state of throwing a hissy fit. You launch your cup of pens that adorns your nightstand at the door.

“Does that mean you don’t like pineapple on your pizza?”

-

Thank God you showered before Eddie started unloading his stuff, because he has been in the bathroom for at least a half hour. You’re sitting on the couch, the same rough, itchy upholstery that used to take up way too much space in the Wheeler’s basement. But a $20 bill and Nancy promising her dad that she would mow the lawn for the entire summer of ‘91, and it was now yours. Karen would sigh with relief that the ugly furniture was leaving, meaning her living room would get an upgrade as their now living room furniture would find solace in the basement. No longer stinking of cheesy pizza farts and bad B.O., or screaming threats from middle school boys about the inner demons of DnD, Mrs. Wheeler would come to miss the yelling, and the rotten stench of boys running amuck in her house. Nancy parted with the under stuffed, well loved, hideous piece of furniture when she moved in with Jonathan. So now, the outdated, wagon wheel patterned couch, was all yours.

The smell of finger nail polish fills the living room as you attempt at painting your toenails a shimmery blue that you had gotten at the mall with Robin. A fuzzy navel wine cooler tucked between your legs, you’re trying hard to get it finished before a new episode of “The Nanny” comes on. Eddie is singing in the shower, loudly. You recognize the tune as “Come As You Are” by Nirvana. Not that you were admiring the way his voice sounded. You were just surprised that a twenty six year old weirdo actually knew good music. The doorbell rings, snapping you out of, yet again, another strange spiral of thinking about Eddie Munson.

“Eddie!” You holler from the living room, “door.”

“Money’s in my wallet, just pay the dude quick and I’ll be out in a minute.” He yells back from the shower.

“Eddie, I’m busy— get the fuck out here and do it yourself.” There is no way you are walking around with wet toenails, what the hell was he thinking?

“I’m in the middle of washing my ba— “

“Alright! Fine!” You walk on your heels to the door, opening it quick to find a Hawkins High student in a red hat with the pizza logo on it.

“That’ll be $19.50,” he says with a less than enthused remark.

“Hang on,” walking back to the bathroom on heeled feet you knock on the door, “where’s your wallet?” you ask in a hurry through the door.

“Uh, my jeans I think,” Eddie yells back. You cross into Eddie’s room, looking around the mess he made, realizing the only thing he managed to make an attempt at organizing was his never ending cassettes, a few records, and an old record player. Posters decorated every wall. Metallica, Nirvana, Judas Priest, Black Sabbath, and White Zombie. The clothes were piled high in a mountain of leather, flannel and white cotton socks. Not a single pair of jeans that you could see. His bed sat on the ground, cluttered with notebook papers, dice, and tightly rolled joints.

“Eddie!” You yell from his room, “where the hell are your jeans?”

A chuckle echoes in the bathroom, muffled slightly by the spray of the shower head, “they’re in here, sweetheart.” His voice dripped with smugness and sweet notes of laughter.

Fuck it, we don’t need pizza. I can eat cereal. I’ll just tell the pizza kid to leave and Eddie can fend for himself. Fuck this.

“Tooty?” He calls from the shower, enunciating every syllable. “Come on,” he sings, laughing to himself, “I promise I’ll stay behind the curtain. You won’t see a thing— unless of course— you want to.”

You barge through the door, fumbling through Eddie’s jeans pockets, finding the black leather of his chain wallet and yanking out $25. An idea crosses your mind and you can’t help but go through with it. A flick of the lights had Eddie cursing every word imaginable as he was cast into darkness.

Thrusting cash into pimple head’s hand and shutting the door, you walk into the kitchen to get some plates. Eddie emerges from the bathroom. His hair is dripping in long strands, and your robe is wrapped right around his body, barely covering his southern region. The pink terry cloth material lined with lace looking absolutely ridiculous on his tattoo covered body.

Oh— this mother fucker.

“Are you seriously wearing my robe?” You ask, hands on your hips, nails digging into the cotton pajama shorts you’re wearing.

Eddie does a spin and swings his hips in a circular motion, his dick swinging like a helicopter.

“Well sweetheart, when you so rudely turned the lights off on me, I was forced to find the first thing I could to dry off with, and besides— you can’t deny how good I look,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows, smiling the widest smile you had ever seen from him.

A lump of anger and sheer rage catches in your throat, “you’re repulsive,” you say, turning away from him and tossing pizza onto plates.

“And you,” Eddie says sliding beside you, his breath fanning your cheek, the cold drops of water from his curls pressing into your shoulder as he grabs a greasy slice of pizza straight from the box, “are extremely uptight.” The whites of his teeth bite into the cheesy triangle and chew loudly as he smacks his lips, licking the orange grease from his lips.

Anger boils in your belly, filling your veins with agitation so thick they’re bound to clog up. “I. Am. Not. Uptight,” you seethe through clenched teeth, and closed eyes.

“Yeah, sure sure,” Eddie says, mouth full of pizza, and his eyebrows raised, “whatever you say.”

You weren’t always this high strung. But having everything ripped away from you, would make anyone pretty goddamn bitter to the lemonade life had to offer.

vol ii

volume ii

A/N: thank you to everyone for reading this and continuing to support my crazy ideas. Thank you to everyone I had beta this story—@agentmarvel @pinkrelish + @sweetsweetjellybean you all push me to be a better writer and I am forever grateful for that ♥️♥️🖤💋

Taglist: @luna-munson83 @tlclick73 @idkidknemore @joejoequinnquinn @newlips (omg, they were roommates)

#newlipsmilestoneoflove #eddie x you #eddie x fem!reader #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfic #enemies to lovers #eddie munson x you #eddie x reader #mechanic!eddie #eddie munson #eddie fanfic #eddie fanfiction

[morallyinept]

Candles - A Joel Miller Birthday One Shot

Summary: It's your birthday and you're convinced that Joel has forgotten. Or worse, that he's hiding something from you.

Pairing: Post-Outbreak Joel Miller x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 4.8k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Smutty - Established relationship/unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!) Angst & Joel being a miserable bastard on your birthday.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: Written for my birthday. Completely self-indulgent; Joel's the best gift, right? For anyone else celebrating their birthday today, I'm sending you the biggest smooch. 💋🖤

Check out my other birthday story, featuring Frankie Morales, called Birthday Cake.

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

Joel doesn't like birthdays.

His birthday, September twenty-sixth, was the day the whole world went to shit. Outbreak day.

He lost Sarah on his birthday. His watch stopped when he was shot at, so he can't be sure if it was still his birthday or not, but that day and the events are ingrained in his mind, carved into the blood smeared bone in the back of his skull.

The root of all of his resentment at how he failed to stick a bullet in himself and hold his sweet Sarah again in the afterlife.

Even before the world fell, birthdays were just another day. Another brick in the wall. But they matter to you; bending his ear constantly about imaginary scenarios and the types of things you’d do if you still could celebrate it.

He wants to tell you to quit harpin' on 'bout it, but he's not cruel, despite that reputation preceding him.

Ordinarily, your excitement at such a trivial thing of adding rings to your tree trunk would give him some morsel of joy, but not when it serves a harshly confronting reminder of everything he's lost.

He remains stoic and focused, unreadable. Life and constant, crushing hardship has turned Joel into a shell of the man he once was. He knows no peace, alienated from calm.

The ink is running off the pages in his book that you thought you could read so well in the early days. The chirpy rambling from your mouth soon dips and you withdraw, keeping schtum about it further when you see the hackles of his shoulders rise.

Your birthday has been on the approach for some time now, layers of carbonic dread forming under the skin as the days move closer and closer towards it, and it's evident that Joel doesn't share your enthusiasm.

And Joel, although resolute in his usual steeliness, seems more distracted as of late too.

The lights are on, but there’s no-one home when he looks at you anymore. Conversation has been reduced to annoyed grunts and the three-sixty roll of his eyeballs clacking around in his sockets more so than usual.

And it’s all reduced to ash as the uninvited thoughts begin to infect and plague you about the possible root cause.

You ask him, one gloomy afternoon as the rain pelts against the grubby pane in your shared apartment in the QZ. Joel invited you into his home in the embryonic stage of your courting. Cleared some space through the little that he has to accommodate you and slot you into his life this past year. Made room for you in his bed.

You struggle sometimes to remember what life was like without him, as cliché as it sounds. Almost a full, singular rotation around the sun and yet Joel feels ingrained in your blood, kindred.

So why do you feel so sick to your gut right now?

He’s pulling on his boots, a low grumble heard when he leans forward and he feels his back crack with the strain. You’re getting ready mentally for him to depart from you for a few days on a scouting run, and it gets harder each time he leaves.

“Joel, is everything okay?” You ask him, looking at him through the reflection in the glass from behind you, with eyes that tell you he knows that you know something is up with him.

More so than his usual grouchy self that you find endearing despite the fluctuating temperance. That a part of him isn’t functioning properly like it used to, and the thought of that - that you can see that so plainly when he tries his damndest to hide it from you - is disconcerting to say the very least.

What else are you hiding from me, Joel?

“What d’ya mean?” He asks, his eyes and thick fingers focused on battling with small knots that aren’t made for giant hands.

“Us.” You say tentatively like it's a foreign word in your mouth.

Taboo to announce it out loud; you've both never confirmed it wholly. It's always been assumed that you're his and he's yours.

You look at the bleak, grey of the outside world. A gated world that’s incredibly small, and getting smaller as the intrepid seconds wear on.

Questions, thoughts and images; all blinking through you trying to piece it all together whilst you move stagnantly through a heavy swamp of confusion. The exact truth is staring you in the face, but try as you might to refute it; it’s plainly obvious and it begins to terrify you in new ways.

He’s pulling away from you, has been for some time now.

You can feel it in your bones as they twist and contort under your skin mercilessly. Invading your dreams and depriving you of any sleep. Nightmarish images invade tenfold of a face you know, yet don’t at the same time.

Renegade tears make themselves acknowledged, at the most inconvenient of times, and there’s only so long you can convince Joel that it’s nothing or that of a pre-menstrual crisis starting, so he’d immediately back off.

He never pushes, never probes. And it's as equally welcome as it is frustrating at times.

Emotionally you’re a wreck and you need it to stop, or for certain realisation to bear its face to Joel. It’s been a lengthy waiting game. Teetering on the edge to realisation, although part of you already knows.

He just doesn't know how to tell you. How to break your heart. And it’s worse somehow, because he’s forcing you to do it instead.

“Ya bein’ stupid.” He says, finished with the tirade of mumbles and grunts directed at the laces, and stands.

You don’t say anything to him when he asks you to explain your odd behaviour in not so many words. Instead, you stand there, forehead propped against the mottled window, steaming up from your breath, and not facing him, sulking like a prepubescent teenager being scolded for staying out too late by an overbearing father.

You can see he’s growing testy and this irks you further. Should you finally go there, omit the truth and deal with the chips wherever they may fall? Would that even be possible?

You have to tell him what's swirling a cyclone in your mind, whether it's absurd or not, right?

His broad frame in the window reflects back at you. Stepped forward and closer now so he’s looming almost. You begin to inadvertently cower into yourself a little, arms encapsulating for warmth and reassurance, and you’re sure he’s noticed because he seems to grow in height, feeding off your inward distress. His eyes are piercing and his mouth is that thin, hard line again.

He tells you you're being stupid, but it does little to cease the heavy gnawing.

Sighing, he gathers his jacket and pack. The rifle resting on the table from cleaning it most of the early hours of the morning - and not spent in bed with you - is swept up in his hands.

He hasn't touched me in so long…

He must have observed your realisations no doubt, surely the man cannot be so blind to the plight and tension you feel when you're under his nose?

And if he took pleasure in seeing your mind switch back and forth from an aurora of amplified emotions, he certainly hid it fucking well from you.

Joel turns to you before he disappears outside the door. You cling onto a desperate hope for a moment that he’ll leave something soft to accompany you; give you some affirmative reassurance and confirm that your stupidity, is in fact, that.

But he doesn’t.

He simply shuts the door behind him and leaves you floundering. Your eyes prickle, but the tears don’t fall.

You’ve cried enough now over Joel Miller.

Your birthday arrives, the dawn spent waking up in the bed alone without Joel’s warmth suffocating you; his tan skin sticking you to him.

You can't remember the last time he was inside you. A part of you.

Despite wanting to indulge in dysania, to sink into a despair that's been riding shotgun with you for a while, you will yourself up to continue with the monotony.

The day is spent as though meandering through a blur, your body robotically doing the things you’re supposed to, but your mind not being fully coherent.

Get up, eat a little something bland, exist… and so on. It's just another day. You don't even know why you expected anything different. You're foolish for even thinking it.

Your brain ticks continuously whilst your limbs belong to those of the infected that try to ravage you any chance they get beyond the walls of the QZ.

But what about those unanswered questions and coincidences floating around the apartment and jabbing you in the temple?

Joel’s disappearing acts and seeing him weary and more dishevelled when he did eventually reappear again? It's difficult to accept that you're replaceable. That the space you once fit in has been filled by something else.

Someone else, perhaps?

Your stomach lurches and you barely make it to the bathroom before you bring up all your fears and watch in numb disgust as they flush away. Piecing it all together to make any sense is a doom filled thought.

You're tired. You've had enough. You only succeed in confusing yourself further and are rewarded with a brewing migraine. And as you throw yourself onto the bed to get some rest to quell the ache behind your eyelids, you conclude that you now utterly despise birthdays.

Confronting him has to be the only option, but bravery’s lost to you; hidden away under the dank comforter, pulled up tight over its head, refusing to surface.

You're in the shower later that evening, washing away the day, when Joel returns from the scouting run.

You hear the sounds of the door rattle and his heavy sighs, even over the water flooding your ears.

But as you come out, hair dripping down your shoulders, he’s already left abruptly again, sealing you in with once more the claws of your festive loneliness.

You make you both some supper. A few cans he’d left on the table with peeling stickers and some without. The smell turns your stomach as you stare down at two plates of uneaten food that had long since gone cold and wonder how the fuck you've got here.

It's late when he comes back, startled somewhat to find you still sitting at the table. Glancing down at the food, his eyes soften and then they find yours, vacuous and empty.

You're not even pissed at him anymore.

Before he acknowledges you, you freeze momentarily and can’t abnegate yourself from looking at him, as much as you want to avoid it. But each time you falter, his hatchet eyes are staring right back at you, sending prickles all down your back.

The comprehension is a difficult task itself, but you're fruitless in your attempt to disentangle it all, even if you aren't going to be the victor in this battle that you're bound to lose.

You're going to lose him.

Perhaps you already have. You want to remember his face, so you take it all in as he hovers by the door; a large hand twisting and groping at the knob unconsciously as it squeaks around the crush of it, a nervous tick.

He’s anxious, worried. He wants this to be quick and painless. As do you.

Even if Joel has completely no idea what's been happening, surely he had to know how this situation cuts you open, how you're bleeding onto the floor.

How can he not see it?

You feel no animosity towards him at this precise moment, which confuses you further, but more of a sense of intrusion. You aren't ready for this now that he's actually here.

Joel's reaction is unguarded and you can see him looking at you, somewhat askance, around the crinkled edges of his eyes. You soften a little and let him have a final smile from you.

Something for him to remember you by.

“I have somethin’ I wanna show ya.” He says, quietly to you.

You look at him carefully as you baulk.

“What is it?” You question, suspiciously.

“Just… c'mon.” He holds out his hand, an olive branch, and you stand.

You don't take it as you follow him out into the scabby hall where the wallpaper peels and the carpet still has that burnt umber stain of blood from decades ago.

He leads you towards the stairway, heading up them and you follow, still confused.

Once you reach the top floor of the building, and the door that leads out onto the roof, Joel slightly out of breath as he rests for a second, he instructs you to close your eyes.

“Keep ‘em closed.” He murmurs to you and you feel his hand inside yours now.

Skin on skin. It makes you audibly gasp at the warmth of his touch and you remember how he feels as it tugs the remaining strangled beats out of your heart.

Joel’s hands are always warm, even if he wields death about so freely with them. You feel his grip tighten in yours, guiding you down the stone steps out onto the roof where the cool air of the dark autumnal night pierces through your thin, moth-eaten sweater.

“You’re not planning on pushing me off the roof, are you?” You snicker. But it would be a kindness, considering.

You have your other arm out in front, feeling your way, blindly.

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Joel mutters. There’s a smile inside of his words; you can hear it, although his tone is hard like granite. You miss that smile.

Your feet are clumsy as you step and you wobble.

“I got ya.” He steadies you, his other hand on your hip and the feel of it makes your skin burn up in a corona. It strips you of your breath.

He stops and lets go of you completely after a few more steps.

“Y’can open ‘em now.” Joel whispers to you. You can feel his breath against your ear and it leaves you feeling warm despite the nip in their air at the new altitude on the roof.

Despite the fact that you're slowly dying.

You take a breath. A slow breath to steady your nerves. You're not sure you're ready for it. Perhaps if you can keep them closed, it will never happen.

You won't have to watch him walk away.

You can’t believe what you’re seeing when you finally open them, mentally preparing yourself for the worst.

But it's anything but. It stuns you.

The roof is lit with candles; hundreds of them, maybe even a thousand there's so many. All various sizes, thicknesses, colours and in different states of burn, casting eerie, yet brilliant shadows across the brick walls.

They trail all the way across the rooftop towards you. Flickering in the gentle night’s breeze, it invokes an immediate tranquil state within you, and the warmth emanating from this gloaming wonder is enough to stop the prickles on your skin almost instantly.

"Joel..." you murmer, perplexed.

It must have taken him ages to set this up, and you’re momentarily lost for words in the confusion that makes itself known at the back of your throat in dumb astonishment.

Joel watches as you walk amongst them, slowly taking it all in and holding your palms out to feel their warmth kissing at your fingertips.

The surprise and wonder spreads out on your face as you turn back to him in wordless disbelief.

“Made it with a few seconds to spare.” He glances at his watch, then realises it’s still broken, still a constant, crushing reminder strapped to his wrist, and then beholds you with a crooked smile melting away.

You look back at him, with a frown starting to topple your awe.

“Ya thought I forgot,” Joel confirms.

You shake your head. “No. Just thought you didn’t care about it, is all.”

He steps forward to you, the flames flickering all around you both. “I care 'bout you.”

You feel your heart stop beating for a second. “You didn’t have to do this...”

“I wanted to. I know m'a grouch and-”

“Joel. Stop talking.” The low timbre of his voice jars you. It's gentle in its gruffness. And it’s too much as your eyes well up without your control, without your say so.

“Hey,” he turns your head to him, to face him head on. His thumbs smoothing across your cheeks as you grip onto his thick wrists.

“I thought-”

“I know what ya thought. S’not gonna happen, okay?” He says earnestly and for the first time in what feels like a long time, Joel pulls those inane fears out of you and stamps on them until they’re all dead.

You nod, sniffing the tears back with all your might, but they fall in your stringent relief anyway.

“C’mere,” he crushes you into his stacked chest, the soft ebb of his heartbeat the only sound you can hear as it clears out the dusty crevices of your mind.

You pull away to marvel and feel the balminess from the candles all over your body.

“See, it’s things like this that make me believe you’re human after all,” you whisper in complete awe.

He frowns. “Ya wrong ‘bout that.”

You scoff. “Are you kidding me? Look at this, Joel. At what you did, for me. It’s... amazing. Are you seriously going to tell me that a monster would do that for someone, because I don’t believe that?”

He can see the reflection of a thousand or so candles in your eyes, twinkling back at him like glitter.

After being lost in them momentarily, he rubs up and down your arms with his hands.

“Y'don’t believe in monsters, do ya? Even when the world's full of 'em?” He questions carefully.

“Not in the slightest. People are just people.” You reply. Although some of them admittedly more fucked up than others.

“What 'bout people who do bad things?”

You look at him sincerely. And it makes more sense now. There's still a wall there. “They’re still people.”

Joel absorbs your answer, the answer you always give him when he gets like this. When he needs you to convince him there's still good in the world, because you're good.

When he feels unworthy.

“D’you believe that a man can ever be changed of his ways?” Joel asks.

“People can always change, if they really want to. Why?”

“Hypothetical question.” He replies, quickly.

“Do you really believe that you’re a monster, Joel?” You ask him carefully.

You watch as he kicks up a piece of grit on the ground repeatedly, unsure of whether he'd heard you at first.

“Y’don’t," he begins and makes his way back after losing it for a second. "Y'don't make me feel like one.” He mutters with rust in his throat.

You take his hands, those giant, calloused paws inside your own and squeeze them until he can’t feel them anymore.

He looks at you, and it bothers him more than it should do - more than he would have liked it to - the thought of you at home alone, especially on your birthday, thinking that he was going to leave you as he was filling his pack full of all the candles he could scavenge in and around the QZ.

Months of planning and keeping this from you, and you thought he was going to say goodbye. Surely that's monstrous, for him to have allowed it to get so bad.

He failed you. He made you feel unworthy. And that doesn't sit right with Joel Miller.

He watches as you stare a while at the candles, flickering in the night’s air with the inviting sound of silence to accompany you both.

No thrashing heartbeat, no thudding of blood pulsing in your ears. No static.

Just a strange peace, which has seemingly gorged on all the confusion, all the angst and fears that had been mounting within you for so long.

He goes to speak, clears his throat of the block, and then chokes on his words as he tries to assimilate them together into something coherent, something meaningful.

You turn to him sensing his unease and it equally fascinates and infuriates him that you can do that; that you can put him at ease to get them out without sounding like a bumbling fool.

You sense that what he wants to say will be relevant and would give you what you need, but you never expect him to say, in all your remotest dreams or fears:

“I love ya.”

He’s known it for a while. Felt that this was more than just two people surviving and fucking together through the dark nights to feel anything more than just pain and existing.

Joel had poked his head in the bathroom one evening, watching as you’d showered after a rough day and a close call; your body mottled with dirt and bruises and he’d felt it then.

That overpowering need to protect you. To keep the bad things at bay, even if that meant he had to do some bad things in exchange. His soul was a fair price to trade to keep you by his side. And what's love, if it's not protection?

Helping you out with a towel ready for you, bubbles splodged all up your back and glistening at him, he realised that perhaps he was falling in love with you.

He didn't want to be in love with you though. He wanted to keep you at bay, to not let you in under the layers of his skin. Not let you unravel what was left of him; a small thread wound so close to the spool.

Love would make protecting you that much more difficult.

He was never confident in negotiating all the social interactions that came with dating, especially in this world now. It was foolish to bear your heart because at any point it could be ripped away and eaten.

But with you? His heart was always on his sleeve, soaking it damp in his blood. Whatever this was between you, it felt easy somehow, like breathing.

Joel could finally breathe.

There was no choice in falling for you. And Joel never wanted to make another choice ever again.

You reach up on your tiptoes and place a gentle kiss on his mouth; revelling in the feel of his mustache and greying scruff tickling soft at your face.

A feeling that if you never got to experience again, the way it leaves lightning streaking through your blood, would kill you.

You slip your tongue into his mouth and he welcomes you in, squeezing you closer to him and groaning around your taught gums. You lick gently across his bottom lip before taking it in your teeth and pulling deep growls from him.

“M’trying to be a gentleman here, darlin’. But if y’keep doing that, I’m fuckin’ ya up against the wall.”

His breath trips up in his throat and your body soars at his warning as it rolls acrid and sharp off his tongue into your mouth, forcing you to taste his cavities. To taste his promises.

He still wants you, he’ll always want you despite your stupid neuroses.

You bite and suck his lip again deliberately, and he growls.

"Ya leavin' me very little recourse."

“I love you, Joel.” You gasp as your hands grapple and devour him just as hungrily. Breathing out like a balloon losing its helium, you pant and moan for more air; for more of him.

He’s quick, like steam; power marching you backwards and your back hits the brickwork, knocking the breath out of your lungs.

The shadows of the night dance over his hard facial features and he glows ethereal at you from the candlelight illuminating his left side. A constant ying-yang of who he is and you want both sides of him, forever.

You want the distant and the present. You want the soft and the rough. You just want him.

"Say it again" he hisses.

"I love you-"

He silences you with a swamping kiss. Joel’s wilder now; like a rabid dog drooling all over you. His hands are clawing, groping and squeezing.

Quick, desperate fingers stripping you of your jeans and unbuttoning his own at the same time; a messy blur of his hands as you stay glued to his lips and taste the notes of his tongue.

He massages the soft fat of your buttocks, malleable warm flesh in his giant hands as he kneads gently with thumbs that’ll bruise. You can feel his cock pushing hard and swollen against your slit as he moves your ass back and forth, pulling you closer to his body.

Closer to the broken fragments of his soul.

"Joel…" you whine into his mouth with pathetic need, fingers curling into the hair at his nape.

"Tell me what ya want, darlin'." He sucks on your lip and lets it go with a little squelchy pop. Lips and tongue trailing across your jaw and feasting on the skin at your throat.

"You. Always you.” You mewl mesmerised as his cock slides up against your clit; your body flinches like it’s been electrocuted. You’re crashing, falling into him and surrendering. "Need you."

"Want me inside?" He groans as you nod, lost to the heated desire that burns through your body and drips down your thighs.

"Deep. Hard." You plead. You crave his chaos, it's been so long since you tasted it. "I need you."

"I want ya." He groans.

"Have me, fuck me. Joel, just fuck me, please!"

Hungry brown eyes are pulling yours into them as his swollen head delves into your soaked lips. His stretch burns, opening you up for him again. Sliding with ease into the hilt of you, where he ultimately belongs.

"Hear that? Hear how wet ya are for me? God damn..." He teases, pulling you closer by your ass cheeks as his fat cock pushes up inside the tight channel of your cunt.

You hiss as he pulls up your leg, wrapping it around his waist as he hoists you fully up against the wall. The brickwork is rough against your skin, despite the protective layer of your sweater that grazes against it as he starts to pummel.

He loses all control with you. Can never keep his shit together as you unravel him from that spool completely.

"Fuck," you groan, biting down on your lip as he fills you. His breath leaves him in a wheeze and floods your face as he thrusts in and out; marvels at how well you always take him until he’s completely obliterated.

You can feel yourself soaring, higher into the sky as it holds its arms out for you ready to pull you in. Only he knows how to take you to this height, to this place. A place where, for a moment, only you exist, the two of you, on this bleak rooftop, surrounded by decades of carnage.

But it’s all stripped away in his groans and your pants as you feed each other your imbibed love in a world where everything dies.

In a world where physical gifts are pointless and sparse tokens of fleeting affection, he does the next best thing. Joel gives you something that he knows you’ll always want.

He gifts himself to you.

“Ain’t ever leaving ya, y’hear?” He sounds off in your ear through reckless pants and groans that suffocate on the floor below you. “M’here, always here. Fuck!” He spits. "Gonna be inside ya always, darlin'."

You grip onto him, meeting him with every shunt of his hips into yours, feeling him continuously bottom out as the light from the candles start to blind you over his shoulder.

Feeling your mind grow and body start to pull apart. Feeling the wall scuffing and blistering against your flesh and revelling in the delicious masochism it evokes as he fucks you hard agasint it.

Fucks you like he’s never letting you go.

He laments it over and over. And you believe the sincerity.

“Harder.” You beg, your fingers digging into his shoulders; your nails leaving crescent moons indented in his neck.

"Joel, fuck me harder, please. I want it all."

“That’s some big smack talk for a little lady.” He pants with a smirk.

“Joel!” You whine as he speeds up, giving you what you want so wholly and irrevocably. "Fuck! Yes!"

Your howls of insistence are stripped of any sanity or verbosity as you let go fully and gush around his cock, right to the root.

Pumping himself harder into you and hearing you scream, feeling you buck with the pleasure of it all on the end of his cock as you shake and give him the best of yourself. The parts of you that are only for him to keep.

The part where you're completely stripped back and bare, and he can see you. And you're so fucking beautiful.

And it's right there, he can see it, that love you have back for him as your eyes come unstuck from the back of your head and stare into him as you can see all of him; bruised and fleshed with vulnerability.

Watery with relief, with the fading ebbs of your pleasure. The acceptance of this piece of him he's plucked from his chest and plopped in your hands.

And it's his complete undoing.

Joel grunts out your name as he releases, giving you the final pieces of him as he fills you full of his warm, thick spend.

“Fuck…” He drones, your arms tight around the back of his neck as you slip down the wall onto jellied feet.

His hands stay on your hips, cock slippery and poking you in the belly. Sweaty forehead pressed to yours as he tells you he loves you again on a barely there whisper.

You steal another glance round at the candles, their light blinding your retinas and searing this moment into your mind forever.

You kiss him and he kisses back harder, deeper; a man ravaged of affection, yet he still has small, bloodied parts of him left to share with you. Even if it fucking terrifies him.

“Happy birthday, darlin’,” Joel whispers.

You don’t need to blow out the candles and make a wish.

You’ve already got everything you want, right here, in your arms.

Thank you so much for reading this lil' birthday fic of mine! 🎉 Re-blogs & comments are always appreciated & fuel me. 🖤

MASTERLIST | JOEL MILLER MASTERLIST

#jett's birthday #joel miller #joel miller tlou #joel miller smut #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfic #joel miller fic #joel miller fanfiction #the last of us #the last of us fic #pedro pascal joel miller #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #jett's pedro boys

[justporo]

Hey you :D

Here’s a request just to add your huge list for after vacation muahaha 💖

How do you think a slow, bickering romance with Astarion (kinda like Howl and Sophie) would go down.

Hey darling ❤️ You might’ve forgotten about this ask but I have not! I'm combining this with another one asking about where Astarion rejected Tav at first but then slowly fell for them.

Also haven't done one of this headcanon posts for a whole haven't we? Here we go:

Headcanons about Astarion slowly but surely falling in love with you (and how he pursues you)

Oh, it's all just a game for him, isn't it? At least at first. But this silly little jester didn't realise he was playing himself.

He might have rejected you at first (because he's a prick who has looked at the sun a little too long, let's be honest) but he quickly realises he can't take his mind off of you

You keep stirring the vampire's undead little heart and it scares him at first - and of course you had given up on it after that first hurtful rejection

But his crimson eyes start to never stray far from you, no matter if in battle or at camp: he can't tear his gaze from you - gods dammit, you're lovely!

It's in the way you always put others first, always have a kind word to spare, always a warm smile. How you laugh and how brave you are, how you bite your lip when you're lost deep in thought.

Quite frankly: a stake to his heart couldn't have been more effective.

But he realises another thing: he wants to be real with you, he wants to fall slowly with you - not a vicious thunderstorm but a soft, warm summer rain

And so Astarion begins to yearn in silence as you too can't keep your thoughts from turning around him often

It's painfully obvious to everyone around you how much the two of you are in love with each other; so much so that bets are being made in camp if you're gonna make it before you all reach the Gate

You notice that Astarion keeps sneaking around you like an adoring cat would: always a playful quip on the tip of his sharp tongue that you never take serious because... this Astarion we're talking about. "Oh my heart, aren't you even more blinding than the sun today" "Look who's blessing us with their grace and insight." "A copper for the thoughts in your pretty little head, darling."

Astarion doesn't know how to live the teasing out of his tone, maybe out of fear you might actually start taking him seriously; but if you would peel back the generous layer of faked sarcasm you'd find he's actually being serious

This man is downright smitten by you and you don't realise it as he achingly yearns for you - so much the others can barely take it

Sometimes you find little gifts on your pillow when you wake up: a sweet treat, snuck away from the others, a single blossom, a mysterious line of poetry - you are at a loss at where this comes from or if someone is playing with you

Meanwhile Astarion swallows his pride to regularly go to Wyll and ask his advice who... does help him but not without a haughty grin whenever he sees the lovesick vampire stroll over in his seemingly hopeless endeavour

Meanwhile you keep doing your utmost best to be at Astarion's side because you truly only want to help him and be happy and safe

Again: have mercy with the poor tortured soul, sometimes Astarion almost feels like he could combust on the spot if you give him one of your adorable lopsided smiles

When Moonrise and unpleasant people happen something in Astarion breaks, it all bursts out of him at once, overpowering even his terrible fear of rejection

The hug and tender first kiss you share that night tears both if your walls down.

You have not defeated the big bad enemy but something in your heart lightens knowing you have someone who will travel the road to whatever end with you

From there on out the two of you become even more unbearable in your pining for each other - meanwhile not trivial amounts of gold are passed between the other companions with quite some grumbling - but be assured: all of your friends are rooting for the two of you.

There we go, I love idiots in love with each other, hope you enjoyed!

#astarion #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #fanfiction #astarion x tav #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #baldurs gate #astarion x you #poro headcanons #bg3 companions #astarion x reader

[gatorbites-imagines]

I was reading your Bruce Wayne alphabet and I saw that you had mentioned cuddlefucking and dom/sub on his kink list! Was wondering if you’d be willing to do a post where the reader edges Bruce while they’re cuddling or something like that?

Just Reader kissing Bruce all over and praising him after a hard mission making him feel head fuzzy mixed with Reader making slow love to Bruce, edging him until he’s overwhelmed (in a good way) and maybe crying a bit.

Bruce Wayne x male reader

Drabble

Ever since I wrote my bruce wayne kinktober prompt I’ve been thinking about him being submissive so much. I think Bruce would thrive with a partner to take care of him sometimes.

I wrote this with the reader being big and thick in mind, think those buff guys with a layer of chub over the muscle, but you can imagine it however you want.

The blanket was hot on top of you, it was one of the thickly woven cotton ones, made from some material that probably cost more than you could imagine. But even as sweat beaded on your brow, you simply pulled Bruce closer to your soft chest. He was laying with his back towards you, your stomach pressed into the arch of his muscular back as your arms wove around him and held him tightly.

Small huffs and muffled whines left him as one of your hands worked up and down his slick length, the heavy blanket barely moving with the motion as you pressed kisses against the bruises that littered his shoulder and neck. A needy noise left him as you nibbled at a bruise on the underside of his chin, where some goon had clocked him with a crowbar the other day. The slight pain from the bruise, mixed with the almost euphoric feeling of being held as your hand worked his length had Bruce feeling like he was gonna melt.

He had been working on cases nonstop for days, in the end you had pulled him into your shared bedroom and pulled the heavy blanket over the two of you. It had started as cuddling, as you knew your partner loved that more than anything, though he never said it out loud. But soon you found your clothes being chucked out from under the blanket, Bruces back sticking to your front from the sweat that developed from your closeness and the warmth it developed.

Maybe Bruce was dehydrated, as he panted and bit back a louder whine as you drew him near the edge before releasing your slick hand from his cock, his hips bucking from the loss of touch. It was a process you repeated a couple more times, your voice thick with praise as you kept kissing his back and neck, mumbling into his ear as you built him up only to let him fall again, not giving him the release he craved.

It was only when Bruce melted into the bed and his noises stopped being so choked, when he turned his head to hopefully catch your lips with his, when you knew he was floating slowly away to a lighter mental state that you took pity in him. The jerks and twists of your hand grew more purposeful as his noises rose in pitch, tears beading in his blue eyes as his hips twitched and his thighs tensed.

But like this he was so good, he couldn’t finish without your approval, so even as he whined and cried, he kept being good for you. It was only when you finally mumbled into his ear that he could cum that Bruce did, spilling into your palm with a shaky moan, his entire body twitching and shuddering as you dragged it out as long as possible, until his whimpers and whines became those of overstimulation.

He let out a sad noise as you crawled out from under the blanket to get what you needed to clean the two of you up, but you knew neither of you would enjoy waking up to dirty sheets, so it was a small sacrifice. But when the worst of your and Bruces sweat had been wiped off with a cloth, your hands washed, and a new blanket draped over your lovers scarred body, you crawled in beside him again.

Bruce almost arched into your touch, like a touch starved cat, melting against your pecs as he gripped onto your softer middle, a loud sigh leaving him as he seemed to melt against you. You swore he would have started purring if he had the ability, especially as you ran your hand through his hair and scratched his scalp, the already loose body growing heavier against you.

#male reader #bruce wayne #batman #dc #justice league #bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne headcanon #batman imagine #batman headcanon #batman x male reader #batman x reader #dc imagine #dc headcanon #dc x male reader #dc x reader #justice league x reader #justice league imagine #justice league headcanon #justice league x male reader

[leclsrc]

sweet pea ✴︎ cl16

genre: friends to lovers, dad charles/pregnancy au, fluff!, humor, super slight angst

word count: 4.6k

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?” “Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm.”

Or: you finally reap what you sow after fooling around with your best friend. The reaping in question is a kid.

notes... some nsfw allusions, nothing too bad. if pregnancy isnt ur thing this is all about it so.

auds here... i hated this for a long time so i thought id never post it hahahah but i will now bec i just redid some scenes and its okay in my eyes... also this is a bit overdue. i hope u like it everyone! :) title from this

It’s an hour before the race and you’re absent from your usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, you’re leaned against the wall of the tiny motorhome bathroom, silently digging your toes into your sandals. Charles knocks twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. He beams when he sees you, goes, “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

He offers a hand, but you let your eyes shut, refusing to take it. You fail to even make eye contact, holding up the plastic stick that’d been in your clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s an omen, a portent, a cursed thing, casting your best friend into silence.

It’s cold and sterile in the bathroom—a stark contrast to where other families might find out they’re pregnant for the first time. You imagine a lemon yellow room bathed in noon sunlight and a happy balding doctor going “It’s positive, mama!” You picture a white family SUV in the parking lot, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness.

Instead, you get: “Do you have COVI—oh.”

“Yeah.” You say, pursing your lips. You swallow. “Oh.”

“I thought the puking was food poisoning,” he says. “Jesus, you know how many takeout places I’ve avoided lately?”

“Well, it’s not Panda Express. It’s your alien sperm,” you counter, lifting yourself from the wall and bumping past Charles on your way out and into his room. He follows, brows knitted together, muttering something French under his breath. 

“By that logic, that’d mean you’re an alien now, too. See, your kinks have finally met their match.”

You turn, effectively stopping him in his tracks. He almost collides with you, his eyes trained determinedly on the positive pregnancy test in his hand. You cross your arms and narrow your eyes, annoyed. “Seriously. Jokes? Right now?”

“I mean—”

“Whatever,” you say, waving him off. “Just go and drive. We can talk about this later.”

“I’ll dedicate the race to the little alien.” He giggles, mimicking a champagne spray, waving the invisible bottle back and forth toward your still-not-showing stomach. His accent switches to a measly English one when he goes, “Oh my Gawd! And there goes the alien Leclerc! Wins in first! From pole!”

“Get out. Or so help me God this baby is growing up without you.”

He ends up winning. (“Should I dedicate every race to the ali—” “Stop calling it that.”)

—

This is nothing but a final culmination of your very layered relationship with Charles. For years, you two had comfortably gone by the “best friends” label, with a hidden “with benefits” clause. You’d grown up together, separated only when you went to university in New York. Your re-arrival in Monaco, coupled with the both of you having grown older and more independent, marked the start of the sex.

It works like clockwork. To relieve stress, to celebrate, to cure boredom. At some point, both of you just inwardly admitted there was a certain weakness to it. A glass of wine, a stick of tobacco, and you’d give in to the temptation easily. Then, in the morning—sometimes in Monaco, other times in foreign countries where your body feels like it’s still three a.m.—you come to a mutual agreement to never do it again.

But you always do, laughing in between kisses, mumbling whispered nothings between the sheets (or in the bathtub, or against the wall, or—that one time—on the balcony.) And now there’s proof of it. Well, barely any yet, you realize, staring at yourself in the mirror of Charles’ hotel room. You turn and flop yourself onto the bed, but face-up. You inch yourself toward the headboard and lean against it in a half-seated position.

“I can’t believe I’m…” You sigh. Finally, the jokes fizzle. This is the real talk.

Charles burrows himself next to you, shirtless and in a stupid pair of boxers with red hearts all over them. You’d gotten them as a Valentine’s Day gag two years ago, but now you’re thinking of the future, of telling this kid their dad has a pair of heart-decorated boxers. Momentarily, and temptingly so, you weigh the options of telling Charles you were joking and running away before sunup.

“Penny for your thoughts?” He asks. He’d learned the phrase from some obscure American rom-com, if you recall correctly. He uses it constantly, and for many years, improperly.

“I’ll give you them for free,” you say, breathless with worry. “We’re having a kid.”

A hand places itself on your knee. You almost jerk away, but you relax. “What do you want to do?”

“With?” You ask, emptily. There’s so much to do. “The baby?”

“Well, I mean, yeah, but also us.”

“We’re not dating,” you say, a bit sharper than intended. 

“We could.” He pauses. “For its sake.” He pokes your abdomen.

“I don’t—” You inhale, trying to reorganize all your thoughts. “I don’t want people thinking we’re suddenly dating and engaged and happy just because I’m about to pop a Charles Jr. out. I mean, what are you going to do with your racing? With a kid on the way, how’s travel going to work? My job? My masters?” 

“I think… I think you and I are lucky enough,” he says slowly, “to be able to weigh all these options without losing too much time or resources. I will support you no matter what, and you know that. And really, who cares if people think we ‘date’ because of the baby? You and I have been ‘dating’ since we were eleven.” 

You don’t realize you’re crying until your laugh is mixed with a sob. You don’t know if you’re sad, pissed, overwhelmed, loved—or all four. “Okay? So… let’s both think about it. More you than me. And tomorrow, we can weigh this all over again. Let’s sleep on it. Remember? La nuit—”

“—porte conseil,” you finish tearily. “Okay.”

—

It’s two weeks later. Charles gets stuck in the paddock doing something or other for Sunday, so you’re left to your own devices in the parking lot. Five minutes of waiting turns to fifteen, then a half hour. That’s the catalyst for your mid-evening freakout—suddenly you’re thinking about all the times you and this weird thing inside you might be alone, left for work, by an athlete dad.

“Are you okay?” A voice asks when you’re heaving out another dry, panic-induced sigh. You turn, finding it familiar, and see Seb behind you. He may have been Charles’ teammate, but he’s a friend to you, too, and you find he’s always the most grounded in heated discussions.

“Seb,” you croak, caught off guard. “I’m fine.” Your voice breaks on the ine, and suddenly fat tears roll quietly down your face.

You tell him eventually, when he asks you again if you’re okay, making him the second person to know; still, the telling doesn’t get easier. You didn’t even tell Charles, you think. You merely shoved a Clearblue stick in his face and waited for the goofy reaction that would undoubtedly meet your ears.

“A baby,” he says softly. Happily. “Congratulations. This is a big step… but you don’t sound excited.”

“I mean,” you say in between waves of tears, “I am? I am. But—it happened so fast—we’re not even officially together—and Charles is—”

“Do I need to talk some sense into Charles?” Seb asks suddenly, concerned. 

“No. He’s—he’s being great. Really supportive.” You wipe the tears and fresh ones come. “He’s happy. You know him. I think I’m just overwhelmed. I mean I’m the one who’s toting this baby around.” 

“Take it one step at a time,” he muses. “See a doctor, work out non-race schedules with Mattia, get everything in order. If I know you, this baby will be in the best hands. And that’s not even counting Charles.” He pulls you in for a hug that lasts ages, one that says thank you and I love you better than words. You inhale, find the tears have stopped. You realize what comes after this—it’s telling everyone else. Lily, your best friend. Carlos. Charles’ family. Your family. The fans, oh God you’d forgotten about the fans. The social media announcements. 

Charles strolls into the parking lot—runs, more like, with apologies spouting out of him, just two minutes after Seb leaves. He presses a delicate, apologetic kiss to your forehead, a hand on your stomach. “Hey,” he says. Then, to your abdomen, covered by a sweatshirt, “Hey there, alien.” You wonder what this will be like in two months. In seven. In nine.

—

You tell your families over lunch on a lucky off day. There is little surprise—just tears from both your moms and Arthur teasingly asking you to recount the details of conception. You’re in a sundress serving crostini when Pascale pulls you aside to the back of the yard.

She presses a kiss to your cheek, one of conviction and faith. “I always knew,” she says. “You’re going to be a wonderful mom.”

—

The drivers all find out one way or another, news trickling through the grapevine like honey. You share it to Lily first, and of course she tells Alex. You tell Lewis, too, over spring rolls that he claims will power up the baby when it’s born. Charles tells Pierre, who tells Yuki, and Carlos, who tells Lando. You tell Mick, who hugs you and says, “Oh my god! I already knew, Seb told me. I kept wanting to say congratulations.” 

It’s a matter of two weeks before everybody knows. You know because you’ve barely taken a step into the dimly lit Ferrari motorhome when you halt and bolt back outside, harboring yourself a few metres away at a safe distance. Charles, who had been walking beside you, arm looped around your waist, turns, puzzled.

“What’s going on?” He asks.

“No. Nuh-uh. It smells in there.”

He sniffs the darkness, fumbles for the light switch. “No it doesn’t.”

“It smells like”—you grit your teeth, trying to identify the stench—“cheese. And champagne.”

“Why would it smell like che—”

He bangs the light open and illuminates a surprise party. The entire grid starts cheering, having unheard the entire conversation. There’s a huge banner that says CONGRATULATIONS PARENTS, and on a makeshift table in the centre, an assortment of cake slices, cheese, and flutes of champagne. Charles laughs with delight at the surprise, and then turns to find you squatting on the ground, trying to quell your stomach. 

“Give me five,” you say, waving him off.

He returns after ten to find you still trying to calm the waves of nausea. You hear his footsteps and heave yourself up, standing to face him. “I asked Esteban and Max to evacuate the place of cheese and champagne. It’s just coffee and cake now. I even got three fans going.”

“Desolée,” you say, miserable. He wraps two big arms around you, nestling his chin atop your head. “I feel like a high-maintenance monster.”

“Don’t be silly. You’re not the monster. The alien is.”

“I told you to stop calling it that,” you say, shutting your eyes and leaning into his touch. “Before it catches on.”

“Okay. E.T.? Spock? Open to suggestions.” Hand in yours, he walks you gently to the party, arising loud cheers again. In between sips of hot water, he says, “How about Chewy?”

—

The sense of smell proves to be useful in endeavours elsewhere.

“You never clean your car,” you say, lying horizontal on the leather seat and picking bits of dirt off. “I can smell month old Cheetos.”

Charles watches you obsessively nitpick at the detailing. “Last time you looked like this, I gave you a baby.”

“One more word,” you warn sharply. 

“But seriously, be careful. The alien might get stressed.”

You brace yourself for the stupid words that will indubitably follow.

“Don’t worry. If it falls out I’ll plop it in a race car and it’ll be the next Hamilton. Imagine how light it’ll be.”

There it is.

—

Your first trip to the doctor’s is interesting. Charles insists on wearing a wig because he’s so easily recognized in Monaco, so now you look like you’re conceiving a baby with Weird Al Yankovic.

The doctor wheels in a cart with a monitor and all the necessary equipment, and even if it suddenly feels all too real, Charles squeezes your hand and you’re calm again. “I’m back,” she says, sliding into a wheely chair beside you and gelling your stomach.

“Hi, Back,” Charles responds in a crude, twangy Texan accent. The dad humor starts early, you suppose.

You grit your teeth to try and excuse his embarrassing behavior, but suddenly the monitor clicks open and there it is. It looks like the ones in movies, print-outs from friends, but at the same time it doesn’t. It looks different. Special. Yours. You zero in on it, breathless. That’s yours. The doctor says a couple minor things—nothing worrisome—and when you turn to relay it to Charles in case he’d zoned out, you find his face splotchy.

“Are you crying?”

“That’s ours,” he says, dipping down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“It’s mine and Charles’, not mine and Bob Ross’,” you say, but you pull him closer anyway. 

You order two printouts. The week next, you discover that Charles snuck back in to order an extra eight and has mailed them out to friends and drivers. You find out because Kylian Mbappe messages you “Due in April? Make me godfather!” on Instagram.

—

Gradually, you fall into a pattern of being queasy constantly. You get nitpicky with meals, and not irrationally—Charles had fed you a spicy hotdog and you’d gone half a bite before hurling it, and your breakfast, into the nearest toilet. You find solace in your cravings—all of which happen to be the same everyday.

Chinese takeout from just about any restaurant ends up being your best friend. You somehow can’t stomach anything but that specific cuisine, much to your own surprise. You find new ways to combine them with each other. Rice paper wrappers with chow mein. Hotpot with fried rice. If you’re not eating Chinese, you reduce your appetite to crackers or hot tea to avoid becoming too nauseated.

It’s poetic almost, the way he sets out the food carefully, in the order you like them. He always presses a kiss to your forehead after. 

Around this time, you develop a crazy sex drive, waking Charles up at numerous points of the night, begging into his neck for something, anything. You last an hour before you’re asking again. This proves especially difficult before races, where Charles gives in a bit too easily and Carlos has to knock on the door, going “You have to finish somewhere else too, Charles!”

—

You insist Charles hold off on telling the fans, for a few months. It goes okay until your outfits on the paddock evolve into the variety of “Charles’ hoodies” to hide the increasingly evident bloat of pregnancy, and nosy fans start speculating all over Twitter. That’s when he sits you down and gently tells you he thinks it’s time you both announce it.

You’re sitting beside him in his hotel room, after two calls with his bosses, trying to formulate the proper announcement. You download PicsArt to make it pretty and clean and formatted—because the poor guy was about to post a Notes app screenshot—and then it’s on the Internet. 

“She’s truly MOTHER,” one fan comments. Despite yourself, you press the heart icon beside it. It’s your bit of comfort when you catch sight of the nastier comments under the post.

—

You’re ironically gifted an ancient 80s aerobic exercise DVD for mums by Lily and Alex. You’re sure it’s older than you. Charles, though, in his valiant effort to connect with you and Chewy, does the routine everyday. You wake up to the electronic synthpop and Charles doing booty squats in the living room.

The permed instructor smiles through the scratchy 80s quality and goes, “You are rocking it, momma!”

“You hear that?!” Charles pants. “I am rocking it!”

—

Your first parenting fight ends up being one over the baby’s name. Yeah. Of all things. You don’t know why you’re so worked up about it, considering you don’t even know the gender of the baby yet. You arrive in Monaco to mark the first of five off days and Charles makes some random, offhand joke about naming the baby Daryl, and you suddenly start rambling on and on about how it’s too ugly, even if you’d never thought about names before now.

“It’s not going to be Daryl. It won’t be Daryl,” Charles says, hands on your shoulders. You heave another sob. “Please stop crying. You never cry. I’m a bit freaked out.”

“It’s—just—that,” you hiccup, “I—don’t—want to name a—our—baby—Daryl.”

“Yeah, yep,” he says, soothingly. “I got you. It’s not going to be Daryl. Never. We don’t need to decide anything. You gonna calm down for me?”

“I can’t—stop—crying,” you snivel desperately, burying your face in your hands.

He presses a firm kiss to the corner of your quivering lips, and you tug him in for a real one. You calm down when you pull away, exhaling. You gaze at him with red-rimmed eyes. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Blame the alien,” you sniff. 

He kisses your stomach, which shows signs of pregnancy more and more as the days pass. “Hear that?” He whispers into the skin. “She’s blaming you, Chewy.”

—

Your next trip to the doctor’s is with your appointed private physician, Dr. Davies. Two minutes before the doctor walks in, you make a serious and compelling order for Charles to remove the Weird Al wig, which he does—but stores in your bag, “just in case.” It’s also his opporunity to play teacher’s pet and showcase how involved he is in your pregnancy, which, judging by the amount of weird cultish pregnancy books he’s burned through, is very much so.

“It’s gonna be a boy,” you declare while you’re being gelled up. You’re past the point of denial and bloat, now showing way too obviously. “Mom’s intuition.”

“Well, all the books say it’s a girl,” he says proudly.

“Yeah, they also say drinking lemon juice while trying to conceive gives you a girl. I’m sure scientific accuracy was their greatest objective.”

“Girl.”

“Boy,” you say dismissively.

“Girl.”

“Boy.”

“Girl.” It’s not Charles this time, it’s the physician, with a small smile on his face.

You squeeze Charles’ hand so hard you’re half sure it’s chipped off and fallen to the tiled floor. You’re having a girl. Normally Charles would turn and make some petty statement about he’d been right, but—you’re having a girl. A pretty baby girl. You almost can’t believe it. He totally can’t, pressing kisses to your hair and face.

You let him buy pink paint later that day.

—

You predict it, but it comes—fights and squabbles over nothing at all.

First it’s about work, then housing, then his job, then the danger of his job. It’s petty, and usually you storm off in an emotional cloud of irrationality, brought down after a talk, a play-by-play, compromise, reassurance. It’s hard when you’re carrying around a human being, you want to say. Try being in my shoes.

“Can we talk?” Charles says, in the thick of another fight. You’re on the balcony of your flat, mulling over nothing at all. Your stomach is heavy, you’re always exhausted, you never feel pretty anymore even if Charles is always unfailing at telling you you are. 

“Okay,” you murmur, turning. You’ve already developed a habit of placing your hands on your bump always.

He inhales. “I’m scared.”

This is a first. And you realize—in these six months of being pregnant, Charles has been your rock, but has never expressed much fear until now. He’s always been good. Great. Supportive. “Of what?”

“Of—becoming a dad.” He pauses, as if to weigh his words. “I don’t have… a blueprint anymore.”

It dawns on you what he’s talking about. You accept the hug when it comes, holding the nape of his neck. He isn’t crying, but is close to it. His voice is shaky when he continues, whispers against your ear. “What if I don’t know what to do?” 

“Baby,” you say, weakly. You push him gently so he’s looking into your eyes. “If the way you’ve taken care of me the past how many months is any indication of how you’ll treat this alien, I know she’s in good hands. You’ve got so much of your dad in you. You’re caring, sweet, you even got a headstart on the dad jokes.” He laughs. “I want this. And the only reason I ever did was because I knew you’d be with me, being an amazing dad, and an even better…”

“Boyfriend,” he says. His eyes hold hesitance—but you quell it with a nod.

“Boyfriend,” you echo. “For now.”

—

The nursery looks like a nursery in February. It was a storage room in Charles’ flat that had really, at some point, become yours, too. Full of boxes and old suits and memories, it’d taken weeks to properly store everything and make way for the furniture. Charles, of course, insists on painting it himself, with the shade of pink he purchased especially for the room.

He hits his head twice and touches the wet paint. There’s a handprint embossed above the bassinet. (Yours is next to it, at his insistence.)

—

You’re a yoga ball by mid-March, having trouble sleeping and dealing with everything being swollen. Charles helps you through it all, turning the heating up and down every time you get even a bit scratchy with the temperature in the flat or motorhome. Your cravings also morph again at this point, into rigatoni that Charles cooked sometime over winter; he requests Ferrari add an induction stove to every race weekend motorhome that you can make it to so he can cook it at your beck and call.

The season begins. Every race is dedicated to Chewy, and every race is won.

—

It’s early morning in late March when Dr. Davies sends you an email with a one-liner that sounds firm enough to set you and Charles in place after two races that involve you being flown around.

Absolutely NO more air and long car travel for Mommy. 

“Can we manage?” You mope, rereading the email, genuinely distressed as you watch your boyfriend pack for Australia. It’s a long haul flight, with only one stopover in Zurich, and you’re filled with anxiety. There isn’t a compromise—until you’re popping the baby out, Charles needs to try and score the title.

“You know I can always drop out of races,” he says softly. “That’s what reserve drivers are for.”

“It’s not the same,” you argue. “I’m just worried.”

“You’re not due ’til the 12th,” he assures you. “I’ll be back then, even if it means dropping a race.”

He leans down and kisses you softly, rubbing your shoulders and ankles. “I’ll be back before you know it. Get some sleep first, okay?” He repeats the sentiment to your stomach, adding a kiss and a bye bye Chewy. You drift off to a sorrowful sleep when he departs, a slow ache in your lower back blooming that feels just like many of the other slow aches lately. 

You’re up after a half hour with discomfort. You suppose something is just up with your sleep position, and readjust yourself. The discomfort sharpens, then melts. You sigh with relief, a long whistley exhale, and sleep again.

Bliss lasts about three hours, then you’re up again, groaning. You’re not due for a prenatal yoga class until four in the afternoon, and your body isn’t used to being awake. Hell, it’s not used to being this pained. You shift once, twice, trying to sleep with fruitless and exhausting attempts. It takes a while, but in between shifting positions and trying to make yourself yawn, it registers.

“Chewy.” You groan, cupping your gigantic bump. “Seriously?”

—

The first person you call is Charles, naturally. He should be in Zurich, but maybe signal is spotty or something, because none of your texts or calls ping. So you move down the list to the person you know will be in Monaco and not off racing, like everybody you know is—and it just so happens to be Dr. Davies.

You always thought Charles would be nowhere but beside you when you went into labor. But you’re here clutching the straps of your overnight bag being driven to the hospital, exhale, inhale, try Charles, try Carlos. Exhale, inhale. Try Charles. Try Carlos. Your contractions don’t quell; they only grow in intensity and you wince the whole ride through.

“Looks like it’s going to be a fast labor,” Dr. Davies says when he’s done checking you in and making sure everything is in order. You nod, breathless and flushed. You’ve called your mum here and she’s on the way with Charles’ but—Charles is the issue.

“I will weld myself shut if it means I’m giving birth without the dad,” you beg. “Without Charles.”

Charles, who picks up after forty-five minutes of radio silence. He’s in the jet. Give him an hour. “I will pilot this plane myself if I have to. Don’t do anything—don’t make any decisions without me.”

“Too fucking late.” You say, wheezy with labor. “I’m putting N/A on the certificate.”

“You carry Chewy around for nine months and I don’t get to meet her first?” He asks, in a last-ditch effort to cheer you up. You tear up, splotchy and red all over.

“We can’t call her Chewy. We never discussed names. And oh God it can’t be Daryl,” you say, whimpers turning into half-sobs of overwhelm and yearning. You’re scared. You need Charles, who’s been with you for every week, every milestone, every kick, every rigatoni craving. But he’s not here. You have Dr. Davies, and in five minutes you’ll have your mum and Pascale, but they are not Charles. You breathe heavy into the phone.

“I love you,” you say finally. “Please, I love you.”

“I love you more,” he says gently. “I love you. I’ll be there, okay? Just—just wait for me.”

—

Lil 3s ago

does it hurt?

i know it does but i’m trying to make u feel better

love from houston. i will call you ASAP.

You 1s ago

yeah it hurts so bad

apparently they don’t do epidurals

fuck europe

—

In between quiet periods and intense ones, you finally reach your peak. A nurse takes one glance and nods and your bed is disengaged and wheeling around again. Pascale squeezes your left hand, your mum the other. “Wait!” You pant, voice spent, totally tired, flustered.

The nurses exchange a look. “Ma’am—”

“No, you don’t understand. The dad, my—the dad—he’s out—and I don’t.” You pause, the onset of a cry coming on. Pascale takes the lead, firm, asking for a few more moments of patience.

“I can’t do this,” you say hopelessly, throwing your flushed head back. “No. Not without Charles.”

“I’m here,” Charles says, bounding through the door. He’s in official Ferrari gear and his hair is disheveled and he's clearly been crying. Had Chewy not been wedging her way out, you would’ve kissed him right then. You feel nothing but love.

“You’re a sneaky fucker,” you say instead, and the rest is a blur.

—

It’s an hour before the race and Charles is absent from his usual spot greeting friends and guests along the paddock. Instead, he’s leaned against the wall of the motorhome, silently digging his toes into his shoes. You knock twice before trying to open the door and succeeding. You beam when you see him. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

His two girls.

Julia stretches out a chubby hand, but he smiles teasingly, refusing to take it. He holds eye contact, holding up the ring that’d been in his clammy grip for about twenty minutes. It’s a symbol, a sign, a blessed thing, casting his girlfriend into silence.

It’s a bit dark—a stark contrast to where other guys might propose for the first time. He imagines a Caribbean beach bathed in sunset. He pictures a Jeep in the sand, a happy blonde couple jumping into each other’s arms with unadulterated happiness. He figures if you don’t like this, he’ll pay for that.

Instead, he gets: “You’re a doofus—oh.”

“Yeah.” He says, pursing his lips. He swallows, gives you the biggest smile of his life. “Oh.”

It’s perfect.

#f1 #leclsrc1000 #charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc drabble #charles leclerc imagines #charles leclerc x reader #f1 x reader

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 56

Warnings: non/dubcon, child endangerment, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, Andy is nasty in this, violence, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You go through the drawers and grab some clothing for Luna. Just enough without weighing you down. Then you take Luna out of the crib. She’s awake but quiet. Almost as if she senses something’s happening. You cradle her against you and move slowly through the space.

You see Andy’s body on the floor. You’re too afraid to even go near him. You reach across the bed to fish out the cell phone on the opposite nightstand. You try to unlock it but don’t know the code. Dammit.

You look down at your daughter and shudder. You lay her on the bed and take the phone. You stare down at Andy and his arm sprawled away from his body. You grit down as you bend down and lift his hand, pressing his thumb to the screen. You watch the screen flip open and you retract, staring at him, expecting him to rise and catch you in your flight.

You gather up Luna again and the extra clothes. You take her to the door as you hug her tightly and keep your other arm around the fabric, thumbing through the phone. You find the security app and after several attempts, you unlock the right door, the latch clicking back loudly.

On the other side of the door, you lock it again. It will buy you enough time. You don’t know exactly what your plan is, your mind just puts one thought in front of the other. Get dressed.

You find clothing from his dresser and pull them on. Loose but it doesn’t matter. You tie the oversized sweatpants over your hips as tight as you can. Shoes… those are another matter. You stuff the toes with socks and double up the pair on your feet. A coat over a hoodie and you should be fine. An extra pair of pants and sweater shoved into the bag you find in the bottom of the closet.

You pack up Luna’s clothes with your own, layering her in a hoodie as well before tying her around you with a sliced pillow sheet. Your work methodically through the dark, the phone your only light. You put your hand on your baby as you go to the kitchen and scour the cupboards for anything you can take with you.

That’s it. You have to go. No more time to waste. You can’t risk it. If he’s alive, if he wakes up, that door won’t stop him forever.

You near the entryway and slow. You stop at the small table and stare at the leather wallet resting next to a key dish. You pick it up and unfold it. There’s a credit card… you might be able to get a few bucks off of that before ditching it. 

You stop at the door and take a breath, the knapsack drooping on your back as you keep a hand on Luna. You flip the lock back and peer out at the night, the sky softening with the early hues of the looming morning. You step out into the world. A new world. Your world.

You’re numb as you come up to the end of the walkway and pause again at the threshold of the suburban sidewalk. You take a breath of the crisp air and shiver. You’re not cold, you’re scared but in a different way. In a freeing way.

You look down the avenue, towards Lloyd’s house, another prison you once knew. You can still go back. You can walk the half-block and just give in. No, you can’t. You won’t settle for that. You won’t let Luna live in your resent.

You turn your back on it, unsure of where you’re going. Away. Anywhere but here.

Your name stops you from taking the first step. No. Please. You should just keep going, act like you didn’t hear them but you can’t. Harlan calls you again, his footsteps shuffling across the road.

You face him as he steps up on the curb. He looks you over, his eyes fixating on your child. You press your hand firmer to her.

“I knew… I been watching,” he says darkly, “what… did you…”

“He might be dead,” you shrug, “Harlan, I’m leaving.”

He’s quiet. It’s tense and full and horrible. He lowers his head and reaches to touch the bundle around his grandchild. He nods and lifts his eyes to you.

“I know. You woulda either way,” he utters, “you’re not wrong for it.”

“Are you going to tell him?” You ask thinly.

“Nah, I won’t do that,” he says as he unzips his packet and slips his hand beneath, “you go…” he takes out his wallet as you watch dumbly. “Take this.” He hands over cash, “he can’t track that.”

“I… thank you,” you accept the money.

“You keep her safe. Yourself too,” his voice wobbles for just a moment, “I looked… I-I did. I was watching that man…”

“It’s okay. We’re okay.”

“You will be. Now, you listen,” he searches in his wallet again, “you take my number. You ain’t gotta call me right away. Just me, not Dotty. The longer you wait, the better, but you let me know when you’re settled. Let me know she’s happy.” He hands over a slip of paper, “you go to the next and you buy yourself a burner. You text me and I’ll tell ya where to go.”

Your eyes tinge. Maybe you could stay. Maybe you should. 

“Don’t you start doubtin’ yourself,” he insists as he shoves the paper into your pocket.

You swallow and gulp tightly. Without a word, you step closer and stretch your arm around him, hugging him as you try not to smother Luna. She coos as you do.

“I love you, dad,” you say as you give him a squeeze.

“Love ya, too, honey,” he pats your back, “and the little one.” He pulls back and looks down at Luna as she wriggles. She’s bigger now, almost too big for the haphazard sling.

“I’ll call,” you promise.

“You’ll go. Now.” He pushes his shoulders straight and lifts his chin, glaring past you to Andy’s house, “I’ll make sure that bastard don’t follow.”

For a moment, you wonder if he means Andy or Lloyd.

You let him past, turning to watch him march up the walk of Andy's house. You don’t move until he’s inside. You reach into your pocket and pull out Andy’s phone and card. You don’t need that. You throw it into the garden and spin back to the street.

The sky brightens as you head down the street, lighting the way as if trying to illuminate the world ahead of you. You’re going to do it right this time. 

You can handle the unexpected, that doesn’t scare you. You fear falling back into the same traps as before. This time, you’re going to do it on your own. And you’re going to show your daughter how to do the same. She won’t be like you, she’ll be stronger.

🍑🍑🍑

End

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #andy barber #dark andy barber #dark!andy barber #drabble #unexpected #series #the gray man #defending jacob

[hheaven-sentt]

devotion

summary: because love doesn't quite capture it | leon kennedy x partner!reader

word count: 2.4k

warnings: depictions of injuries, angst if you squint, mentions of alcohol consumption, yearning, mutual pining, partners to friends to lovers

notes: BACK FROM THE DEAD W A VENGEANCE. my semester has finished and my second one doesn't start until january so i will be posting for once. college is kicking my ass like all the time so it puts everything else on pause for me anyway ily all | ao3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The dress feels itchy against your skin. You don’t want to go to this event, so you can’t imagine how Leon feels. He doesn’t even like when you thank him for doing the dishes, so you wonder how he might behave up on a stage to receive a medal. You stretch behind you, reaching for the zipper. Wordlessly, Leon turns to you and zips it up himself. Of course he does; that’s just Leon.

“This is weird,” he says. It’s barely a whisper, breath dusting over your shoulder as he says it. You nod with a sigh.

“I wouldn’t say weird,” you return. You watch his eyes in the mirror. They hover somewhere on your forehead. “Not normal, but not weird,” “I think it’s weird,” he says, and steps away. You nod again, because what else can you say?

Working with Leon has its ups and downs. He’s too quiet some days, and you have to fill in the gaps yourself. Or he’s too loud–sometimes without even saying anything–and you have to figure out how to deal with it. Or he’s just Leon; he laughs and jokes, he helps cook dinner, he doesn’t talk about work. You like those days the best. Had you seen these versions of Leon when you were assigned to him almost ten years ago, you would’ve laughed. Ten years ago, you couldn’t imagine being this close to someone, to care as much as you do about someone you’re paid to be around.

You suppose there’s layers to it, layers you haven’t fully unraveled yet. You know only a few things for certain: Leon is your partner, he is also your unofficial roommate, and you care about him more than you care about others.

“Are you ready?” he asks. He’s standing in the doorway of the bedroom, the light from the hallway making him look like an angel descending to relay a message from God. You swallow and nod.

“Just need my shoes,” you say, moving to the bed and sliding your shoes across the floor to be in front of you. Leon bends down without a word to help you fasten them.

When he looks up at you, he looks less like your partner and more like someone you’re meant to love. An ache resonates within you, a need to reach out a brush your fingers through his darkened hair. He shifts his gaze to your upper arm. Gingerly, he runs the tips of his fingers over a scar that spans from your elbow to your clavicle. It’s ugly and red, courtesy of the nasty burn you’d sustained there a few years ago. The ridged skin is unfeeling as Leon skirts his hand across it, tracing it from your elbow to your shoulder.

“I remember when you got this,” he says absently. His fingers dance across your skin, and you wish the scar didn’t run so deep so you could feel his ministrations. “Thought I’d lost you,”

He says nothing more, just stands up and offers his hand to you to help you off the bed. You take it, and he hauls you up with ease. He twists out of the room like a ghost. You follow him, like you always do.

The scar is one of a few you’ve come to own. You remember the day you got it, too. For whatever reason, you replay the moment in your head over and over in the taxi on the way to the gala. It makes your skin burn.

It was supposed to be a normal day, a normal mission. Go in, extract, get out. Three simple steps that you had done a hundred thousand times before. Leon stood beside you, always offering to enter a room first. You’ll admit, years removed from the situation, you should’ve been more careful, should’ve listened to what he was saying. But you were so angry at him. You felt weak, unnecessary. You remember shoving past him and through a door you hadn’t known was connected to a trigger. Almost as soon as your boot touched the concrete on the other side of the threshold, your hearing went out. It felt like you were standing miles away from a nuclear blast, and you had felt the effects of the delayed shockwave. You were knocked to the ground in an instant, but you didn’t feel pain–not yet at least. When you woke up in the hospital a day later, Leon was asleep in the chair beside you.

“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he’d said. You vowed not to.

“Do you think they’ll at least have an open bar?” he says now, drawing you back into the world. You turn away from the window of the cab to look at him. He’s staring at his hands, forcing a small smile.

“They better,” you say, reaching over and settling a hand on his shoulder. He looks at you. “It’s the only reason I’m going,”

This turns his smile genuine, and he even offers an eyeroll. You squeeze his shoulder, bracelets jingling with the motion. His eyes are on you, and you feel as hot as fresh sin. You hate this; hate that he makes you feel this way, hate that he is so beautiful, hate that you can’t seem to shake this deep seated love you harbor for him. You miss him when he looks away and you remove your hand.

The gala is overwhelming. Leon stays near you, hand hovering near your own. You wish he would reach out and take it. You debate the consequences of doing it yourself.

Breath hot on the shell of your ear, Leon whispers, “You think our taxes went into this?”

You suppress a laugh, tightening your lips into a thin line to fight a smile. “I wouldn’t be surprised, but I’ll pretend like this was all donated,”

“You can consider taxes a donation if you really think about it,” he says, gliding across the floor with you toward an empty table. You snort.

“I think that depends on what your definition of donation is,” you say. He pulls out your chair for you before pushing it in, then takes his own seat beside you. His legs are angled toward you like he only plans on talking to you.

“I think you underestimate my ability to bend definitions to suit my needs,” he says. You laugh again.

You like this version of Leon, and you know that it won’t last very long so you should hold onto it while it’s here. An old jazz song rings out from the speakers across the hall, and the lights catch his eyes just right. They’re really blue, as true blue as blue gets. They’re your favorite shade of blue. If you could paint your living room that color, you would. It’s a soft blue, like the crest of a wave blue, like the sky just after dawn blue, like two perfect oceans set into his skull. There’s a hairline scar that runs between the crows feet of his left eye, one you ache to reach out and trace.

That’s the best way to describe how you feel when you look at Leon: aching. It’s desperation, an aching need to touch and hold. It’s not exactly love, but you don’t have another word for it. Maybe devotion? Looking at him feels like the first time a child sees a kitten. You’re like me, soft and lovable, and we should stay together.

“Have you listened to anything I’ve said in the last few minutes?” Leon asks, putting a hand on your knee that brings you back to the gala. You suck in a breath and shake your head. He smiles wide. “Quit staring at me, makes me feel like I’ve got something on my face,”

“You’re pretty,” you say before you can stop yourself. Maybe pretty is the wrong word, but you don’t know what the right one would be. He’s handsome, sure, but handsome doesn’t encapsulate the way his lashes flutter against his cheekbones or the way he blushes when you smile at him. “Sorry,”

He’s grinning now, giving your knee a squeeze. “You flatter me,”

An hour later, and he’s being called up on stage by your director, who intends to decorate him. You’re beaming with pride, even though you know Leon is dreading this moment. He stumbles across the stage. Cameras are flashing, and you can almost see Leon cringe between photos. He’s off the stage a few minutes later, heading straight for you. You grin more, knowing that he’s choosing to seek solace in you, in your company. He wraps you in a stiff hug that loosens as it endures. You laugh into his shoulder.

“Don’t let me do anything heroic ever again,” he mumbles, burying his face into your neck. You bark a laugh.

“Yeah, okay,” you agree. “I’ll make sure to step in next time,”

In an act that surprises you, Leon tugs you toward the dance floor. You must look wildly confused because he explains, “Just this once. Just one dance,”

You agree, not that you could deny even if you wanted to. He’s looking at you like you’re someone he’s meant to love, like you’re more than just his partner. His hand slots against the curve of your waist like it was made specifically to be there. He’s warm and smiling, and you think maybe he’s had a bit too much champagne. But you like him like this. Who knows when you’ll see him like this again? You stare at him, intent to memorize his features and the way the light catches on the bridge of his nose.

“You’re staring again,” he whispers. You smile sheepishly.

“Never seen you like this,” you reply. He bows his head to chuckle. “Not sure I’ll ever get the chance to again,”

“I’m sure you will,” he says. “You’re the one who brings it out of me,”

You roll your eyes. “I’m more convinced it’s all the free champagne we’ve been drinking,”

“You can believe whatever you want, sweetness,” he says, spinning you. “I’m telling you the truth,”

You’re both giggly and joking the whole way home. Leon has you wheezing about something you can’t remember as you step into the apartment. Tears rest at the corners of your eyes. You shove him playfully. He follows you from room to room like a puppy, making you giggle and flash a smile as you clean up for the night.

You crash onto the bed, warm and light from the night, and reach to take off your shoes. Leon stands in the doorway, watching you. The light from the hallway gives him a halo. Your feet ache as you release them from their prisons, and you glance up to see Leon smiling at you. You return it with the cock of one of your brows.

“You’re pretty,” he says by way of explanation. You feel heat snake up your body. His hands are stuffed into his pockets, hair slightly messy from where he’s run his hands through it, and the first few buttons of his shirt are undone. If you weren’t as shy as you are, you’d probably move to touch him.

Instead, you huff a laugh and toss your shoes to the floor. “You flatter me,”

When you stand and begin to move around him, he grabs your elbow. “I mean it,”

Perhaps, in another life, you would see this as a win. The man you’ve spent most of your life following around and yearning for seemingly returns your affections, and you are about to deny him. Admitting it out loud makes it real, makes it mean something. What happens the next time something goes wrong out there? The next time he does something heroic? Everything will be much too real, and much harder to bury. You blink at him, looking at him for what feels like the very first and last time. He’s still Leon; scruffy stubble, blue eyes, and warmth. He’s still Leon, teetering on being your Leon, and you’re not going to let that happen. You, again, are going to deny yourself from what you want.

“What are you thinking?” he asks, voice barely above a whisper. You take in a shaky breath. He’s still holding you, but his touch is a ghost on your flesh.

“Leon, I don’t know-”

“You know that one Frank Sinatra song?” he interrupts. You gape at him.

“Why did you ask if you won’t let me answer?” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He returns his hands to his pockets.

“Predicted where it was going, figured I’d circumvent it,” he admits, the corner of his lips turning upward slightly. “The song he sings with his wife?”

You shrug. “Maybe? What’s your point?”

“I love you,” he says. Your body goes cold. “That could be the stupidest thing I’ve ever said, but I feel like you should know that before you make whatever decision you’re about to make,”

Your face breaks out into a grin, and you laugh in spite of yourself. “I’m sure you’ve said stupider,”

Whatever worry was on Leon’s face dissolves, and a real, full smile splits across his lips. He takes your face in his hands. He holds you delicately, like you’d break under the slightest pressure. To be fair, you feel like glass at the moment–if glass could have legs made of rubber.

“This makes it real,” you say. He swallows. “No going back, no forgetting, no pretending. When something happens, it will be real,”

“That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” he whispers. “It’s worked out for us so far,”

You’re not sure who closes the space first, but it matters little after it’s happened. His lips are gentle and giving against your own. Your hands splay against his sides, using his suit jacket to pull him closer. His hands wind into your hair. There’s a desperation behind his movements, one you’re all too familiar with. After what feels like hours, he breaks from you, leaning his forehead against yours. His breathing is labored, you can feel it in his strong chest beneath your hands.

“This is real,” he says.

“We take risks for a living,” you say. He opens his eyes to peek at you through his lashes. “What’s one more right?”

He grins and kisses you again.

#leon kennedy x reader #my fics #m writes #resident evil #x reader #partner!reader #resident evil fanfic #leon kennedy #id leon kennedy

[karinasbaby]

PARK SUNGHOON — HARD THOUGHT!

pairing: sunghoon x fem!reader (+17)

warnings: kissing, marking, pet names (doll/baby/love/darling/good girl), reader calls him hoon/hoonie so, handjob, unprotected sex (don’t do that), creampie, overstimulation, praising,hoon is tired & in love

wc: 3.5k

a/n: hyung line hard thoughts is finally completed i can start off with posting individual fanfics/one shots :] + thank u sm for 200 followers !! <3

thinking about sunghoon who comes back from practice absolutely exhausted and hammered, his clothes slightly sticking to his body courtesy of his sweat, small hair strands decorating his temples and his face all blushy and red, he’s so tired and so turned on he can’t wait to get back home where he knows everything will get solved for him, breathing out a sigh of relief the moment he steps foot into your shared home when see you wearing nothing but his shirt with your back facing him, you were busy cooking something at the stove the sizzle from the oil was ringing in your ears preventing you from hearing the sound of your home’s door opening,

sunghoon walked with heavy steps towards your smaller figure, the creak of the wooden floor beneath him made you aware of his presence and as you were about to turn around the feeling of his strong arms wrapping around your waist discouraged you from doing so,

“i missed you so much, darling” he breathed out next to your ear, slightly smelling your hair and allowing your scent to invade his senses making his breaths turn heavy, “i missed you too, baby” you spoke back, attention still glued on the pan which sunghoon did not like one bit,

sunghoon’s hands dropped from your waist to land on your hips, his nails digging into your soft skin making you hiss, “i need you so bad” sunghoon grumbled out as his lips were beginning to caress your neck softly, resulting in your own breath becoming heavier,

“sunghoon, i’m almost done.” you whined out as you felt him press his rock hard bulge against you, sunghoon sighing in relief at the smallest friction that almost sent his mind into a frenzy, his hands by now were relentlessly rubbing and caressing your hips and waist, travelling upwards to grope at your breasts stilling when he felt no restriction,

“you want me just as bad as i want you, hm?” he whispered out, placing his lips right next to your ear leaving soft kisses along the shell of your ear while his hips began to grind against yours, inevitably pushing you against the stove and trapping you along the way, with your shaky hand you quickly turned it off before turning around to greet sunghoon’s face

and god did he look so fucked out,

his eyes were already glossy as they stared at your own with so much need and lust, eyebrows furrowed while wet strands were cascading down to his lashes, his cheeks still tinted a pretty crimson shade, his plump lips were open breathing heavily, his face was so close to yours making you shiver when you felt his warm breath fan your skin,

without exchanging any word with sunghoon, you wrapped your arms around his neck pulling him to finally connect your lips, yours being instantly covered with his tongue as he ran his muscle along your bottom lip before reaching deeper into your mouth, you moaned and he swallowed all your pretty noises while his fingers pinched at your hardened nipples, his hips never faltering with rubbing his bulge against your dripping core, even through the layers of clothing the friction provided from his rutting hips were enough to have your knees shaking,

sunghoon’s mouth moved sloppily against yours, the noises of you wet kisses reverberated throughout the kitchen, the dim lights intensifying the sex filled atmosphere, in turn heightening both of your senses as by now your body felt like it was on fire,

“look at what you do to me, doll.” sunghoon spoke against your lips, with his eyes closed he brought your shaky hand towards his throbbing bulge, gasping when he felt your fingers wrapping around his length and softly squeezing, his lips returned to kissing yours as he felt your hand moving to satisfy him in a slow pace,

his hands were placed on your waist, his grip tightening as he explored your mouth, moaning whenever you squeezed his length every few seconds,

“take my pants off, my love” he whispered, eyes hazy as he stared into your own misty ones, filled with love and tenderness only for him making his heart swell, he felt himself melting in between your arms when you quickly pulled off his sweatpants along with his boxers, revealing his pulsing hard length, it’s tip a pretty scarlet colour as it pumped out precum “see what you do to me, doll? see what you do to my body?” he spoke out against your neck as he began to rut his length into your hand,

soft gasps leaving his throat while he attempted to pepper kisses along your neck making you suck in deep breathes to anchor yourself, your hand was busy running along his twitching length while the other gripped onto the counter to stabilise yourself as sunghoon was unknowingly leaning into you more with each second,

“baby, please touch me” he breathed out against your collarbone, his hips still stuttering with every delicate touch of yours, sunghoon by now had turned into putty in between your hands, you tried your hardest to pump his leaking cock to distract your mind from the puddle that was soiling your underwear between your thighs, the feeling of sunghoon’s hot breath on your neck followed by his grunts and whimpers when you flicked your wrist upwards and began to press your thumb on his slit was a dizzying sensation,

your own breaths were becoming shallow and heavy, as you pushed sunghoon slowly to the edge, his own eyes closing at his impending release, grip on your waist tightening till he could feel his fingers pressing on your ribs, his hips were uncontrollably stuttering in your touch as your hand moved towards his base before shifting upwards quickly to squeeze at his tip, sunghoon by now had his head thrown back, as he let low moans escape his trembling body, twitching at your mercy, you stared with your eyes filled with love and wonder at the otherworldly sight ahead of you,

sunghoon’s pale skin had small drops of sweat running down towards his chest that was slightly peeking from under his hoodie, his dark locks sticking to his temples and forehead as he gulped, his eyes tightened shut as he heaved in breathes to delay his release as much as possible yet he couldn’t find it in himself to push your hand off,

your hand began to move quickly, you stabilised yourself on both your feet to bring your other hand forward to caress his balls, sunghoon’s jaw instantly dropped open to emit his blissful loud moans, each one falling into your ear as pieces of music while you quickened the pace of the movements of your hands, sunghoon by now was heaving deep breathes in, you moved your head forward to spread open mouthed kisses along his exposed skin causing sunghoon’s breath to hitch in his throat.

“baby..” he breathed out, voice heavy as he felt his composure slipping by the second, his walls crumbling down when the coil in his stomach only continued to tighten, with the last remaining bit of self control sunghoon’s hands that were gripping on your waist leading to his knuckles turning white manoeuvred to grip on your wrists, abruptly stopping all your motions,

sunghoon pressed his forehead against yours with his eyes closed as he was attempting to catch his breath, his heavy exhales landing on your face making you close your eyes, “yes?” you questioned out, your hands already set free from his grip as you busied yourself with gently caressing the back of his rough hands with your thumbs, “i want to cum inside of you” he breathed out, your heart was thumping against your chest as u felt yourself getting impossibly wetter at his words, his lips brushing yours with every word before connecting them, softly caressing your tongue with his for a few seconds before pulling away having you chase his lips while his hands shifted upwards to land on your face, holding onto you delicately as he looked into your own glossy eyes, his vision taking notice of your own dusted cheeks and heaving breathes “you need me just as much as i need you, doll.” he spoke against your cheek, your only confirmation to his words being a soft nod of your head,

“turn around, baby” he ordered and you obeyed, quickly turning around and gasping quietly when you felt his hands sneak from under his t-shirt that you were wearing, moving upwards to grope and massage your breasts while his length rested between your ass cheeks, sunghoon began grinding against you as he placed his chin on your shoulder to litter your neck with open mouthed kisses,

your hand landing on the marble counter to anchor yourself, the feeling of his dripping wet length moving along your warm, burning skin accompanied by his cold slender fingers gripping your soft skin while he was licking from your neck to your ear left you completely lightheaded, completely dazed as your mind tried to process all the sensations being thrown at your body mercilessly by him,

“sunghoon.. please..” you whined out when you felt sunghoon moving his cock now to caress along your clothed pussy, groaning quietly when he felt the leaking wetness from the thin fabric coating his length, you were desperately pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts at this point, “please what, darling?” he spoke out through gritted teeth, his hands moved from your breasts one landing on your waist while the other stroked your lower back, “please, just fuck me.” you whimpered out when you felt sunghoon pressing his tip harshly, directly against your throbbing clit and he remained unmoving, “how bad do you want it, baby?” he replied next to your ear

you sighed out in frustration as you realised that sunghoon thought that this was the perfect time to tease you, tears instantly developing around your waterline at the feeling of your lower stomach tightening, the sensation of your climax being so close yet so far away was a bit irritating to you.

“so fucking bad, hoon” you started out, using the nickname you knew he loved as you played along with his teasing, “i want you to fuck me so bad, baby. fill me up completely till the sunrise. please hoonie, i need you so bad.” and your whining seemed to do the trick when you heard the ripping of your thin soaked panties, sunghoon’s hands rested on your lower back as he was breathing heavily, applying slight pressure “bend over, doll.” he stated, his own voice shaky as his body was twitching from his approaching high, his eyes rolling to the back of his head the moment he saw your leaking cunt, swollen and needy, leaking out and prepared just for him,

sunghoon’s hands gripped around your hips while you rested your upper body against the cold marble of the counter, goosebumps arose in your skin at the piercing cold feeling travelling across your body due to your shirt being lifted to your neck, sunghoon began to teasingly stroke his length between your folds, you hummed in content at the sensation of his throbbing warm length collecting your unending wetness on his cock, sunghoon slowly began to push his tip into your seeping entrance, the view of you tightening around nothing drove him over the edge as he began to push his length in,

both of you moaning in content and satisfaction at the shared sensation, sunghoon’s heart swelling as he felt the familiar tightening around his length, your walls welcome him with open arms while your body shivered at the feeling of the stretch, splitting your warm walls making you moan out lowly against the counter, your warm cheek pressed against the icy marble resulting in you to hiss but all your focus shifted back to sunghoon when you felt his hips moving backwards,

sunghoon couldn’t take his eyes off of his length disappearing inside of you only to come back out glistening, coated with a shiny layer of your wetness, he breathed out low moans as his hand went to press on your lower back, arching you further for him making him sink deeper into you,

moans were escaping your mouth freely as you felt sunghoon’s hands moving your body to his liking, the sensation of him so deep inside of you felt so intimate it made you so weak beneath his hold, sunghoon’s hips began to thrust with a different pace,

quickening the thrust of his hips against yours, choked moans left both of your mouth as your walls were sucking him in deeper while you felt his tip kissing all your sweet spots, your hand travelling backwards to hold onto sunghoon’s wrist, closing your eyes as you felt your climax approaching the more he thrusted back with more force,

sunghoon held onto your hand, as he was dazed with watching your skin ripple with every smack of his hips, you pushing your own back to meet his deep and rough thrusts while you held onto his wrist, “you’re taking me so well, doll. pussy’s taking me in so well.” he breathed out, his head by now was thrown back as his body had a mind of its own, his hips never faltering against yours as sweat ran down his neck, soft groans and whimpers of his could be heard beneath your louder and desperate moans when you felt your orgasm approaching,

“sucking me in so well, you were made for me, doll” he grunted out, eyebrows furrowing when he felt the snap of the coil in his lower stomach impossibly closer, “just for you, hoonie.” you whined out, tears collecting in your eyes as you felt the way sunghoon’s cock was practically molding your walls to only recognise and accept his length, the thought of him claiming you again tonight making your eyes roll to the back of your head as you sobbed his name, sunghoon taking notice of your shaking body he instantly leaned down to calm you with his weight on top of yours, his forearms landing on either side of your head while his face was placed in the crook of your neck, his hips slowed down a bit as he pressed his chest into your back instantly dragging out more sobs from you,

the feeling and comfort of his body on top of yours brought you so much closer to your nearing orgasm, his thrusts were slower but deeper, you felt every vein tracing his length and the way he was twitching uncontrollably inside of your gummy walls, sunghoon quickly pushed away the hair from your shoulder before littering kisses all along the skin he could reach, “i’m so close, doll” he whispered, you could barely hear his voice as it was muffled by your skin, he continued leaving sloppy kisses all over your neck, admiring the glistening reddish skin slightly before moving to a different area, “am c-close too.” you whimpered out in his hold,

your head was thrown back when you felt his pace suddenly quickening, sunghoon’s thrusts became faster as he was pulling out halfway before slamming his length back to kiss the opening of your cervix, no moans left your throat as you were left gasping for air, sunghoon by now was leaving bites along your shoulders while you continued sobbing his name, his hand sneakily travelled downwards landing on your pulsing clit,

your hand instinctively went to wrap around his wrist in hopes of stopping his overstimulation “h-hoon please i’m c-cumming!” you sobbed out, his finger was rubbing circles along your swollen bud restlessly, his hips smacking against yours in a fast and harsh pace while his lips never left your neck or your shoulders, “cum for me, darling. cum all over my cock, i need to feel it.” and with his unfaltering pace you came all over his cock, the tears that gathered along your waterline cascaded down your cheeks as your body trembled entirely in his hold, sunghoon’s thrusts never slowed, his hand was still rubbing against your pulsating clit as he rode out your orgasm,

“i’m close too, darling. just a bit more,” he growled out, his eyes closed while his eye brows furrowed, his bites on your skin gentler this time as he began to suck on your neck, when your trembling lessened and your sobs decreased to whimpers his hand returned to anchor himself on the counter, his chest still pushed against your back trapping your twitching body beneath him as he continued drilling his throbbing cock into you,

your thighs were covered by a thin layer of your arousal as sunghoon kept thrusting into your walls deeply, with each thrust dragging out more wetness before fucking some back into you, the wet squelching noises of your cunt echoed throughout the entire kitchen, you were sure by now a small puddle was also formed on the floor from how much you were dripping,

sunghoon’s whines increased in pitch indicating he was closer to his climax while your thighs began shaking from the overstimulation, the feeling of sunghoon’s cock restlessly and continuously fucking you open triggered another approaching orgasm resulting in you tightening around his length making him gasp loudly

with his hips stuttering he moaned out “fuck yes, baby just like that,” his moans were so needy and hot right next to your ear while you whimpered beneath his muscular and larger frame, “h-hoon i’m gonna c-cum again,” you whispered out, voice breaking into whines as sunghoon attempted his best to understand you, his mind was foggy with the way your wet and gummy walls were sucking him in so deep, milking his cock entirely as you kept tightening around him, he felt the way his tip was pushing against your cervix with each thrust dizzying him as a result,

“then cum with me, darling” he growled out, sunghoon suddenly lifted his body off of yours making you gasp at the sudden cold air spreading against your warm back, his hands gripped onto your hips as he slammed you back to meet his thrusts, making you cry out as your eyes rolled to the back of your head,

his thrusts transformed into an animalistic pace, with every rough thrust there was a harsh slap of his balls against your throbbing clit resulting in your legs to completely shake in his hold as you whimpered his name with fresh tears running down your neck,

“take all of it, baby. take all of it like the good girl you are for me.” he grunted out, his hips never pausing as his pace never wavered, your orgasm was right around the corner as you felt his nails digging into your hips to leave the imprint of crescent moons on your skin, “you’re gonna let me cum inside, right? gonna claim you mine- fuck- this pussy’s mine, isn’t it, doll?” his continuous babbling resumed as he felt the tightening in his stomach become unbearable before he finally felt the familiar sensation of delight and euphoria wash over him, pressing his tip right against the opening of your cervix as he shot his load deep inside of you,

the sensation of sunghoon painting your insides white, feeling unending ropes inside of you is what drove you to your own climax, the feeling of ecstasy taking over your trembling body as you squeezed his length with your walls resulting in sunghoon moaning in shock as he rutted his hips against yours, your sobs increased in volume as your climax felt harsher than before, sunghoon’s hands landing on your lower back to anchor his trembling body as he rode out his orgasm, his deep and low grunts going straight to your cunt as you couldn’t help but tighten around him even more,

“fuck- you’re cumming so hard, doll” he choked out, the feeling of your walls holding a vice grip on his length was almost painful yet he patiently waited till the spasming and convulsing of you decreased, “t-too good, you felt too good, hoon” you stuttered out as you finally collected your breath, sunghoon’s own breath regulating as he stared at you lovingly bathing in the afterglow of his intense lovemaking, your slightly twitching body beneath his hold while he was buried balls deep inside of you, your back still slightly arched under his palm as your hair was messily falling on the counter, his gaze landed on your side profile with your cheek pressed against the cold marble resulting in your lips pouting, a sight which made sunghoon’s heart soar, he took in the view of your droopy and teary eyes as you fought off the impending sleep from your heavy eyelids,

sunghoon’s arms lovingly wrapped around your waist as he slowly brought you up from the counter, he fixed your shirt while he was still buried deep within you before kissing the top of your head lovingly, “i’ll run us a bath then we’ll go sleep, yeah?” he whispered as he closed his eyes, arms caressing your body beneath his fingertips gently while he placed his head on top of yours, slowly swaying your body against his, “but what about dinner?” you questioned with your voice hoarse and tired making sunghoon chuckle, “we’re both too tired to eat, doll” he replied before placing another kiss on your head, “love you,” you whispered out as you closed your eyes, relishing in the feeling of sunghoon being so close and gentle with you, “i love you too, doll.” he whispered back.

a/n pt2: i might post another jay hard thought cuz i feel like idk his isn’t like the others it’s too short i might extend it and write it out more before starting off with new one shots/fics, kingpin will be on hold for the time being while i work on one shots so i’ll be taking down the teaser for now ! sending love & hugs <3

#enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen imagines #enhypen x reader #enhypen drabbles #enhypen scenarios #enhypen smut #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon x y/n #sunghoon smut #park sunghoon smut #park sunghoon #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen

[ghosts-and-glory]

Some Narinder character analysis for y’all.

This is a slightly re-edited excerpt from a much longer post of mine where I was specifically trying to provide a rebuttal to someone else. I’m kinda proud of some of my takes here and the write up took me hours so I’m gonna repost it here on its own.

I’m going into specifically into Narinder’s

Speech patterns and way of expressing emotions.

Implications of his post defeat dialogue

Relationship with Aym and Baal

Feelings on Ratau’s death

And a little extra on why do we “babygirl” Narinder

Full analysis under the cut.

The way Narinder expresses his positive feelings

First I gotta establish Narinder’s voice. Narinder seems almost incapable of giving a genuine compliment especially without turning it into something about himself.

Here’s three examples of him giving a complement to The Lamb. Taken from after defeating Amdusias and Shamura. He also complements The Lamb when you sacrifice Ratau but I’ll come back around to that.

I wanted to grab the entire quotes so it didn’t look like I was nitpicking.

"Very good, my vessel. It seems I chose well when I kept you from Death.”

First example, “very good,” is the complement, but immediately after he takes credit for this by calling you “my vessel” thereby claiming ownership over you. His vessel did well. And again “I chose well” doubled down and complemented himself.

“I admit, you have worn it (the red crown) almost as well as I could have myself.”

Again we see the complement layered in ego. “Almost as well as I” in other words you did well, but don’t forget I’m better. Also important to draw attention to is “I admit” this is a very explicit statement of his refusal to acknowledge the success of others.

"Your appetite for death is something I can admire, Vessel. But the Crown is mine, and none - NONE - are worthy. None other than I.”

Here he almost lays down a complement. “Your appetite for death is something I can admire” straight up, states his admiration. He seems to almost realize what he’s done and quickly pulls back into his ego, “But the crown is mine” “-none are worthy- None other than I.”

These are the three of the four ONLY times that Narinder ever says anything explicitly positive about someone else when he is a god. Thus establishing that the head ass cannot give out a compliment to save his life. The one time he gives you full credit for your actions he immediately pulls right back into his ego.

I cannot stress this enough. Someone who is characterized as cold and emotionally closed off as Narinder is WILL NOT suddenly undo this characteristic when they try and express a positive feeling.

Okay with that established we can look at his follower dialogue. Specifically these two examples from when you resurrect a follower and allow him to go on a mission.

“I cannot begrudge supplantation by one such as yourself.”

Literally saying I don’t resent you for taking my place. It’s not an explicit statement that he respects you but this is he weird fucked up little way of saying it. Of course he still lays it out in a way that’s self centred but we know from the way he has spoken that this is about as much verbal praise he is capable of giving.

The other one is a less explicit statement but I think it’s a interesting reflection of the final place of his character.

“…my thanks, Lamb.”

Being his last bit of unique dialogue, it’s an incredible ending to a character. He thanks you. That’s all he needed to say.

Narinder’s reaction to his defeat that he would rather die.

Let’s go over his dialogue in some depth.

"You weak, snivelling, foul thing. You - wait! Waaaiiiiiit!"

I’m starting with this line as it compels me the most. I find that there are two separate readings of this and I can’t really point to one above the other. On my play through I had assumed his wailing was more in reference to being denied death. It could also be read as him not wanting to be reduced to a follower and realizing what your mercy really means for his future.

“-are you to be a vengeful false idol, or a merciful coward? No longer can you blame your vile acts on me."

Okay, looking at the way he presents your two options he seems to push more for the murder action. “-vengeful false idol,” is how he refers to murder. It’s not exactly a glowing review but his use of the word vengeful is important. We know that one of Narinder’s main goals in the game is revenge, we he already acts with revenge I can’t say that he’s using this word as an insult. The false idol part of this statement seems like he’s attempted to separate himself from you, again for is ego.

Then he presents the spare option by calling you a “merciful coward.” The flow of this full sentence puts more pressure on this option. He presents it as the “or” the second option. This is the bad option, the option of a coward.

“So. vou are no different to me after all. You have become as I am."

I know this is a deranged order to go over these quotes but last we got murder. Compared to his spare dialogue this is incredibly sombre. We know from already establishing how big his ego is that saying you are the same as him is almost a compliment. I do find this dialogue incredibly interesting tho, I can’t exactly explain why but I can’t help but read this as damning as well. It’s like he means it in both ways, the ultimate fuck you. You are just as I am, for better and worse.

But from what we know about Narinder his edgy ass cannot express emotion. He wraps his statements in layers of irony and selfishness. Unless it supports the persona he puts on or inflates his ego he WILL NOT right out state his feelings or needs, especially when he was a chained god.

Relationship with Aym and Baal

Aym and Baal are incredibly hard to characterize. They don’t have much dialogue to work off of and only three characters every speak on them, Shamura, Narinder and Forneus. The context of the game does present them as more Narinder’s first (and second) hand, less followers more apprentices, almost, but where’s the fun in assuming.

"Intended as keepers, perhaps, but they were young and in need of guidance. Must I be blamed for my influence?"

I wanna draw attention to the specific wording of keepers. Again, based on the way Narinder speaks its safe to assume he means the formal meaning of a keeper, meaning a caretaker. It is unclear if Narinder was told they where his keepers or if he assumed so, but either way he still speaks on them as such.

For the sake of argument (and I don’t wanna rewrite this bit entirely) I’m gonna put the idea that Narinder brainwashed Aym and Baal against my presented idea of them being his keepers or apprentices.

The proposed idea of the brainwashing angle can be developed based on Narinder saying that “they where young and in need of guidance, must I be blamed for my influence.” This implies that, as much as Aym and Baal may have been sent as keepers, they where still young and Narinder could not help but be an influence on them. I am gonna come back around to this thread so hold onto this for a moment. Moving on.

“Two kits I did have, true love found! And yet one lackadaisy summer day, my beautiful children were taken away... a gift, they said, for the one they loved most, the one that waits...”

“Ooh, kits... I remember, I remember... two kits in my claws... a gift.."

It is unclear and morally dubious how Aym and Baal came to Narinder. First we’re not 100% where Narinder is chained. The wiki lists it as the afterlife and in dialogue Narinder refers to it as “at the gates between this life and the next, trapped at the nexus of what was and what wasn't.” (When he asks you to send him on a mission.) We can travel there both by dying and being summoned there by him.

Either way the assumption is that Aym and Baal had to die. (As an aside I have my own speculation on the conditions required for a person to be presented to Narinder or to be resurrected but that’s off topic.) The horrific implications being that either Shamura themself killed the kits or that they where already dying. However you cannot blame the reaper for ushering the dead away from life.

I’m going to work off of the cult specific definition and characteristics of brainwashing. It’s hard to characterize where Aym and Baal sit here as, again they have little dialogue and due to the nature of brainwashing it’s hard to spot. First I wanna grab my brainwashing resources.

I’m using Encyclopedia Britannica’s page on brainwashing, cults, indoctrination, manipulation as my primary resourse.

Again I kinda wanna apply a layer of irony to how literally I apply real life tragedy to this game that obviously uses cults in a comedic manner. I wanna focus in on the characteristics displayed by victims of brainwashing and the techniques used in brainwashing by an abuser.

Looking at the elements used in brainwashing the only one I can say off the bat that is present is isolation, obviously. But with that let’s grab all of Aym and Baal’s dialogue.

What is clear from their dialogue is their obedience to Narinder. They call him master while his keepers and still when you meet them later when adventuring. And physically we do see them by Narinder’s side the entire main game and they fight the Lamb first. But if we add some nuance and look at their role as keepers or my own theory of being apprentices both actions of obedience make sense still for those roles. On the same note they also don’t display traits you would expect for someone fully under Narinder’s control. They speak to the Lamb out of turn and attack without prompting from Narinder.

Other characteristics are hard to imply. With torture I do want to pass it off an unlikely as based on the way Narinder tries to manipulate the Lamb it’s only verbal and he cannot attack while chained and I don’t see that changing with the keepers. Traits like sleep, water and food deprivation can’t be applied for various reasons (mostly the being dead one) and we don’t know anything about Narinder and the keeper’s interactions in the past so I’ll have to disregard other traits like suggestion.

Baal: "It's you. Usurper of the Red Crown. The one who freed us."

Aym: "Ha! You are nothing compared to our Master. We have not been in this world long, but already I can tell you are weak. You lack discipline. Our Master wielded Death with precision and control. You allow chaos to reign."

Baal: "What my brother means to say is thank you."

Moving onto groupthink I can pretty comfortably say that this is not a present characteristic of Aym and Baal. In their limited dialogue we can easily characterize Aym as more outwardly defensive of Narinder but Baal is more reserved and even contradicts Aym and is able to speak freely of Narinder.

Looping back around to the way Narinder speaks on his influence on Aym and Baal. Again we know how Narinder speaks, he cannot give honest compliments and dodges affection like it’s a professional sport. With the way he will outright tell the Lamb to manipulate followers and then uses the words “guidance” and “influence” about Aym and Baal, he has to be avoiding admitting affection to the keepers. He does follow that up with “Do what you wish, scornful God. I care not for them.” But again does Forneus not also allow her kits to do as they wish?

My own reading of Narinder’s relation to Aym and Baal is that of mentorship but it could also be read as parental. But saying brainwashed is a big stretch.

His feelings on the death of Ratau

This is like another example of like, yeah, wow, an evil character does evil? Who could’ve possibly foreseen this? Sarcasm aside I do see his comments on this being a lesser evil.

First I do have to ask why, if Narinder held strong sense of unrest against his former vessel, did he not have him struck down? The main reason I can see is that Ratau is still devoted to the red crown, most clearly seen by the statue at the lonely shack which generates devotion.

Second, Ratau’s death isn’t on his hands, it’s on yours. I find his pride here is from The Lamb’s actions not the death of Ratau. You killed your mentor, he describes your actions as “treacherous opportunism” and says “A great Vessel takes their master's will as their own.” Based on his later dialogue this is likely more foreshadowing the Lamb becoming as Narinder is. Narinder tried to kill his siblings, and you did kill your mentor. “You have become as I am."

I’m gonna tangent quickly cause there’s a line here that is incredibly interesting.

"He renounced his position after striking a bargain that resulted in the sacrifice of a Follower. He was weak."

Incredibly interesting the way he condemns Ratau’s sacrifice of a follower. Narinder directly contradicts himself. It is implied that the follower was lost to another being that did not benefit Narinder, but the Lamb also sacrifices followers to the Fox and Midas. Just something to chew on.

Why do we “babygirl” Narinder and other evil characters?

This is kinda the last bit I’m gonna get into before I cap this off. It is incredibly funny for me to say “I babygirl Narinder” only to get a reply that’s like “I don’t think you babygirl him on purpose.” But I wanna talk about why this happens and why it happened to specifically Narinder.

When people complain about the fandom interpretation of Narinder I think they forget the tone of cult of the lamb. The closest thing I could think to call it would be a dark comedy kinda energy.

The game has very dark themes going on. Mentions of real horrible things like genocide, cults and religious abuse. But also just like look at the game, it’s visual style is so cute and non threatening, the bird characters have two mouths to commit to the bit. If you look at the way it depicts cults it’s very surface level, it’s more focused on being a satire on the common satanic media kinda look of a cult. Visually it bathes in its aesthetics, taking names from books like The Lessee Key of Solomon, uses villainous depictions of symbols like the pentagram or old Hebrew script, disregarding its nuanced origins.

And then they go onto do the funniest thing ever. The other bishop’s? Gross little freaks, based on commonly disliked animals, worm, frog, squid and spider. And then- and then they make the god of death, who they characterize and manipulative and evil, they make him a catboy. You cannot tell me they did not know what they where doing.

Why have I shot Narinder with the babygirl beam? CAUSE THE GAME DID IT FIRST!

I’m gonna call the god of death my little meow meow and point out his status as a Tumblr sexy man cause he’s a little guy and I wanna give him head scritches. But I’m also gonna call him a layered, fucked up and an incredibly interesting character in the same breath.

#my post #cotl #cult of the lamb #cotl narinder #cult of the lamb narinder #cotl the one who waits #cult of the lamb the one who waits #character analysis #Malachi Why?

[nonsensical-pixels]

SYBOULETTE'S CANDY NURSERY CONVERTED TO THE SIMS 2 🍭

my previous conversions of syb's nursery sets can be found here: dreamy toddler 👶🏽| little dino 🐱‍🐉

hi everyone! @syboubou released their candy nursery set some time back in april to celebrate the release of ts4's growing together expansion pack, and i DESPERATELY wanted it for ts2! it's so, so adorable! so i did what i do, and almost two months later... here we are! i'm finally done converting the ENTIRE set! 🥳💃🏽

altogether there are 23 buy items, many of them functional, and 3 build assets: 2 wallpapers, 1 carpet floor. i'm immensely pleased with how it all turned out! it should pair well with my dreamy toddler conversions (linked above) and also my 4t2 conversion of madlen's kei baby care kit!

credits go to @syboubou for the amazing original set! it's simply perfection! 💝

there are two versions in the download below: a merged version, and an unmerged version. yes, the download is just THAT big. please pick only one! a collection file has also been prepared for convenience's sake.

DOWNLOAD: SFS | MF 🧁

keep reading below the cut to read what you need to read! and see what you need to see!

more previews

things to note

a readme.txt is also included in the download!

the changing table does not actually come with a bin. so unless you place the decorative trash bin next to it, your sims will be throwing their trash into the void.

the crib is unanimated. i tried my best but the mapping and the way the model was made simply would not accomodate any animations without looking even worse 😫

the dresser is just decor. i use the gussy up mod in my game so my sims rarely use wardrobes. plus, the original dresser's structure made it impossible to be animated 😅

the way that the playmat works in the previews above is actually as a rug. i made an invisible recolor of the sims 2 store playmat (included in the download) and layered it over the decorative one so that it's 'functional'! if you just want the playmat as a rug, you can delete this.

the toddler bed is cloned from @themediocresulk's toddler beds as pet beds so that it's less buggy and your toddlers can get in or out whenever you want them to! you may want to grab this mod so that they gain more motives.

items included

taken directly from that readme.txt.

buy mode:

Baby Shoes Box -> 318 polys, $49 Beehive Ceiling Lamp -> 900 polys, $99 Bookcase -> 489 polys, $249 Books -> 84 polys, $49 Cat Plushie -> 840 polys, $39 Changing Table -> 349 polys, $249 Cloud Rug -> 2 polys, $49 Crib -> 1788 polys, $399 Diapers Box -> 772 polys, $9 Dresser -> 76 polys, $699 Hanging Plant -> 506 polys, $19 High Chair -> 1048 polys, $249 Mirror -> 270 polys, $149 Ottoman -> 316 polys, $89 Playmat -> 1584 polys, $249 Potty -> 112 polys, $99 Rabbit Lamp -> 912 polys, $35 Rocking Egg Chair -> 1760 polys, $379 Shelves -> 168 polys, $89 Toddler Bed -> 1855 polys, $349 Toy Rattle -> 432 polys, $49 Trash Bin -> 222 polys, $39 Vanity Case -> 1436 polys, $29

build mode:

Floor Carpet -> 26 swatches, $1 Wallpaper Panelling Paint -> 56 swatches, $1 Wallpaper Panelling Pattern -> 32 swatches, $1

misc:

a recolor of the sims 2 store's baby dangle monster playmat is also included. if you want to use it, you'll need the original mesh from the store download.

phew, that was a LONG, but satisfying, post to write! i hope everyone enjoys these conversions as much as i do! i had a lot of fun making them 💝

have a lovely day simming everyone! don't be afraid to reach out to me if there's any issues with this download. though as always, keep in mind...

cheers ~ 🥂

#s2cc #sims 2 cc #sims 2 #4t2 #4t2 conversion #4t2 buy #4t2 walls #4t2 floors #sims 2 download

[loviatarsluv]

hey there! I saw your post about asking for little blurb requests :) what about one where they’re bathing in the river?

hiiii omg okay so since you didn't specify which character, i'll just pick one hehe this is one of my fav "tropes" i guess if you wanna call it that so i was pumped for this one!!

so sorry for the late post, I took my time w this one bc I love romantic soft fluffy gale stuff ♡︎

Gale x AFAB f!tav / AFAB f!reader

rating: mature (fluff and really romantic sweet smut^.^)

It had been at least a tenday since the last time you or any of your companions had been afforded the luxury of a bath, having been on the road and traveling the road to Baldur's Gate for days and not coming across a single stream or lake somehow.

You’d been craving a thorough bath since the battle with Ketheric Thorm and the rest of the cultists at Moonrise Towers - you swore you’d never be able to get all the blood and grime out of your hair at this rate. It started to affect your functioning and already completely erratic sleep schedule, as all you could think about was the blood under your nails and the layer of grime and dried viscera on your skin.

Not to mention, you’d barely been able to be physically affectionate with Gale without disgusting yourself. That alone was making it nearly impossible to think straight.

He insisted that it was fine and that he didn’t mind, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to want to do anything intimate in this state. This was far beyond just having not bathed for a few days and having a natural musk (which Gale has made very clear that he very much enjoyed) - and you were nearly at your wits end.

So naturally, when Halsin notified the group that he found a river that flowed into a small lake while he was hunting in wild shape, you were the first to claim first turn bathing. The group all groaned in protest - particularly Astarion who’d been just as, if not more perturbed about his begrimed state and stained clothes - everyone else longing to have a moment of reprieve and refresh before whatever awaited you in Baldur’s Gate.

There was a resounding sigh and eyeroll (apart from Halsin) from the group as Gale offered to accompany you, after Halsin suggested bathing in pairs for safety purposes. Your companions had not been exactly quiet about their annoyance toward you and Gale’s blatant displays of affection since your night together under the stars in the Shadow Cursed Lands - you and Gale joked with each other that they were all likely just jealous and pent up, so to speak.

You were the first to slink off toward the river, barely able to contain your excitement towards finally feeling clean again. Gale ran to his tent to grab the lavender soap he found while exploring that he’d been saving for himself (and you) as well as a couple of cloth towels that he washed and asked Astarion to sew up the tatters and tears in.

You essentially stripped yourself almost entirely bare before even getting close to the water’s edge, leaving a trail of garments and belts and boots behind you as you ambled up to the shore.

The air was crisp and the breeze was comfortably cool, the reflection of the moon shone and shimmered across the water surface. It almost felt unreal, like it was a mirage after one too many days without fresh drinking water. The only way you were able to confirm that you weren’t dreaming was by wading into the placid waves and laying back, allowing yourself to float.

You let out a breath that it felt like you’d been holding for days and closed your eyes, your body gently drifting as you lazily moved your arms and legs with no destination in mind. This was the most relaxed you’d been in months (and probably would be for the foreseeable future), and you intended on enjoying every second.

Gale finally approaches the shore, nearly dropping everything in his hands when he catches sight of you peacefully floating on your back, your bare skin pebbling and glistening in the pale moonlight. His gaze trains on your breasts, your nipples peaked from the cool breeze hitting your wet skin. He’d been missing your body and being close to you terribly since the last time the two of you had been intimate, and just the sight of you this way was almost too much for his heart (and loins) to bear.

He wades out into the water to join you, soap in hand. You only notice his presence by the overwhelming scent of lavender filling your senses. Your eyes slowly open, and your jaw nearly drops.

Just as he’d been transfixed by your body, you found yourself sucking in a sharp breath at the sight of his - water up to his waist, hair tied back in a half updo with small strands falling over his face, the blue reflection of the water shining on his chest and skin. He was easily one of the most beautiful people you’d ever seen, and you thanked whatever gods you could every morning that you woke up beside him.

“You are so beautiful,” He smiles, bringing his arms to wrap around your waist and pull you close to his chest. “Even I’m finding it hard to conjure the proper words to describe your beauty.”

You giggle, pressing your face against his chest and listening to his slightly hastened heartbeat.

“To render the great Gale of Waterdeep speechless is a feat not many have accomplished, it's an honor.”

He chuckles lightly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. He begins to rub gentle circles on your back with the bar of soap, and you feel all the stress you’d been holding on to slowly release, if only just for tonight.

“Yet you manage to make it a regular occurance,” he hums, bringing his free hand up to caress your jaw.

A peaceful and comfortable silence falls over the two of you as you listen to the songs of the night - the sound of the water as it kisses the edge of the shore, the breeze through the trees and surrounding grass, the chirping and singing of whatever nocturnal creatures lurked nearby as they begun their day. You listen to his soft breathing and his heart as it thrums steadily in his chest, and the way he hums and sighs when you pepper delicate kisses around his shoulders, chest, and neck.

He migrates the soap to your arms, cradling your hand in his when he holds them up to thoroughly coat you and massage the dirt and grime from your skin. He takes his time, not a single inch of you left uncared for. He brings his hands to cup your breasts, smoothing bubbles over them and lightly pinching their peaks, eliciting a moan from you and instantly sending heat straight to your core.

To your slight dismay, he moves on, continuing his prior ministrations by rubbing the soap across your belly, then pressing a reassuring kiss to your lips when he notices your smile falter at his attention being directed there. His eyes meet yours, full of nothing but pure adoration - he thinks the world, the moon, and all of the stars of you, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t show you that at every opportunity. He believes he’s found heaven within you, your body being a perfect vessel worthy of pious devotion.

“Doing okay, my love?” He asks, breaking away from the kiss.

You nod, breath hitching as you feel your heart pounding against your ribs. “Okay is an understatement.”

He smiles widely, pleased to know that you were enjoying yourself. He knew that the last few days had been particularly hard on you and all he wanted was to see you finally relax - you deserve nothing less.

“I’ve missed you deeply.” He sighs, leaning his head onto your shoulder and kissing it, the rough texture of his beard tickles you when he does.

“We’ve slept together every night for weeks now, darling,” You giggle. “But I know, I’ve missed you, too. It's nice not to be repulsed by my own skin for a change.”

You reach for his hand that held the soap, only for him to move it away from your grasp. “Ah ah, I’m not quite finished.”

A deep red blush creeps to your cheeks as you quickly catch on to what he’s referring to, the heat that had slowly been coiling in your gut starting to burn ever hotter. You clench your thighs together on pure reflex, your body chasing any sort of friction to soothe the ache that had begun between your legs.

He notices and tenderly pushes his hand between your legs to part your thighs, pressing a longer and more meaningful kiss to your lips while lazily stroking the inside of your thigh with two fingers.

“May I?” He asks, stopping his fingers just at the top of your thigh.

You nod fervently, your eyes full of desperation.

He doesn’t leave you wanting for long, his deft fingers moving to gently massage your folds for just a brief moment before replacing them with the bar of soap. The feeling of the soap versus his fingers is like comparing a pebble to gold.

Gale was a fast learner, and in the few weeks since the two of you had become intimate with each other, he had become a consummate expert when it came to your body. He learned every little maneuver that would have you a moaning and whimpering wreck. You’d never been with a lover that managed to make foreplay nearly as pleasurable, sometimes even more, than actual sex. You’d also never been with a lover quite as generous as Gale - sometimes it even seemed he enjoyed pleasuring you more than anything else, as he’d spend hours with his head between your thighs without a single complaint.

So to only get a brief taste of what you knew was exactly what you needed, was torture.

You whine when he moves his fingers away, jutting out your bottom lip into a pout.

“I know, love. Just be patient a little longer for me,” He coos, caressing your cheek in an attempt to soothe you while he finishes cleaning you.

You contain yourself for the time being - resorting to holding your breath and clutching on to his shoulder for dear life, trying your best to be patient, because you knew that he was well worth the wait.

He finally finishes, brushing against your aching and throbbing sex with the soap one last time for good measure, then hands it to you.

“Thank you,” you breathe, your shoulders sinking as you release the air you’d been holding for a little too long as you’d started to feel lightheaded. “For taking care of me.”

“Thank you for allowing me to.” He says simply. Ever the gentleman.

He pulls you in for a passionate kiss, his hands resting on your lower back at the crest of your ass cheeks, your hands tangling into his chestnut and silver streaked locks. You let one hand rest on the nape of his neck, holding him to you to extend the kiss as long as you can, wishing you could just stay this way for the rest of your life.

When the kiss finally breaks, you motion for him to turn around so that you can lather his back. He slowly turns, seemingly reluctant to take his eyes off of you.

You’ve seen Gale naked plenty of times now, but you hadn’t realized how rarely you’d seen his bare back. And seeing it this way - wet and glistening under the silvery light of the moon, flexing as he adjusts so you can reach his shoulders properly - it was mouthwatering. There wasn’t a single part of his body that you hadn’t found yourself in awe of.

Once you lather his back fully, he turns to face you once more, his once content gaze now full of unbridled desire. Your breath catches, but still you try to continue and massage the soap onto his chest, then his stomach, letting your fingertips graze the dark trail of hair as your hand moves down.

His hand travels down to your sex once again, this time, fully intentional with his movements as he presses his fingertips to the sensitive bud. Your body jolts involuntarily in response, a gasp escaping your lips. He hums, slowly massaging along your folds, his finger edging just at your entrance but not dipping in. You try to maintain, rubbing circles of soap into the same spot for too long before you notice and move on to a different area. He grins widely, now seeing this as a game - a game he intended to win.

He leans his face forward to press a wet kiss to your jaw, leaving enough space between your bodies so you can continue to lather him. Your arm stills for a moment, your mind starting to go blank with every swipe against your throbbing cunt and his tongue brushing against your neck.

You’re trying your damnedest to keep strong, determined to ensure that he receives the same amount of care that he’d shown you, but he seems equally as determined to distract you from your efforts.

A loud moan tumbles from your lips as his finger gently pushes into you, your hips bucking against him, causing his palm to rub against your clit. He grunts, his hardened cock pressing into your hip as he lurches forward for a better vantage point to plunge his finger into you deeper and deeper.

Your hand flies to grasp his length, gripping slightly tighter than you normally would as he adds a second finger, your hand clenching tightly onto him in response. He sucks a breath through his teeth, a low rumbling in his chest that almost resembles a growl following it. You pump his cock in tandem with him pistoning his fingers in and out of you, the sound of the water splashing with your movements mixing with each of your moans and heavy panting.

You feel yourself creeping up on the edge, your orgasm imminent if he keeps up this pace. He can tell that you’re close by the way your walls clench around his fingers. You quicken the rhythm you were stroking his cock at, his hips jutting forward into your hand.

“Wait, wait,” he breathes, placing his hand over yours to stop you. “If you keep that up, I won't last much longer.”

You bite your lip, peering up at him through your lashes. “I want to make you come.”

His eyes widen slightly, his chest heaving. “Not like this. I need to have you, my love.”

You feel your walls clench around his fingers again just at his words, now desperately wishing it was his cock instead.

“Please,” you whimper, pulling his body closer so that your chest presses flush against his, his hand still between you, fingers still gently curling and thrusting into you.

“I want you to come first, love. Can you do that for me?” He purrs, his voice barely above a whisper.

His words alone push you right back up to the edge of the peak, your legs start to tremble and your fingers dig into his shoulders for support while you feel your body becoming mush from his touch. You roll your hips into his hand erratically, your hips stuttering as you get closer and closer, your vision turning white.

“That’s it, that’s my girl.”

Your head falls back and you cry his name over and over as you finally reach the peak, tumbling over the edge into free fall. His hand cradles the back of your head, his thumb gently stroking the side of your neck to coax you through your orgasm. You feel your entire body shake as you come down, and you thank the gods that you were waist deep in water otherwise you might’ve collapsed into a puddle on the floor. Not that Gale would let you fall, likely he’d scoop you up in his arms and carry you to bed before you could.

Your head slumps forward once again, resting against his shoulder as you try to catch your breath. You bring your hand up to trace the circular marking of the orb in the center of his chest, fingertips tracing the dark lines that trail out of it, stretching all the way to his eye. His eyes flutter closed at your gentle caresses, and he presses his lips to your forehead, lingering there for a moment before pulling back.

“If I could only live within a single moment for eternity, I think I’d choose this moment with you under the moon’s gaze.”

His brown eyes meet yours, almost seeming to sparkle as he speaks, every single word wrapping around you and enveloping you in a warmth that you thought only the sun could provide.

Gale was the sun. He was the rain after a drought. He was the forgiving breeze on a scorching hot day.

“I love you.” Is all you can manage to say, unable to form the proper words to express to him how truly and utterly besotted you were.

Your lips collide once again, and you hope that the kiss tells him everything you couldn’t with words. This was the kind of kiss that people go to war for, the kind of kiss you’d die to experience just once.

His hands greedily roam your body, claiming each inch of it as his with just a touch of his fingertips. His hands move to cup your ass cheeks, lifting you and wrapping your legs around his waist. You feel his hand reach under you to take hold of his cock, preparing it for you. You snake your arms around his neck, your fingers tangling into the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging slightly so he tilts his head back. Your lips and teeth waste no time finding his sweet spot, surely leaving marks that will be there in the morning. You taste a mixture of the soap, the lake water, and the natural saltiness of his skin. He whimpers slightly when you bite just a little harder, with more intent.

Unable to hold back a second longer, he lines the swollen head of his cock up at your entrance, waves of electricity shooting through you when you feel him slowly start to slip in.

You almost swear it’d hurt less if he just slammed home - the way you were throbbing and aching for him was nearly unbearable.

But Gale has never been hasty. He takes his time, he calculates his every move, he’s deliberate.

You’ve had sex with Gale several times now at this point, but every time your body still has to adjust to him, and he’s aware of that. He moves slowly not only for your comfort, but also so that he’s able to savor every inch of you as he buries himself into your warmth.

“I don’t think I’ll ever tire of this,” he breathes, his grip on your ass tightening as he finally bottoms out, the head hitting just the right spot.

“Gods, I hope not,” is all you’re able to choke out before he begins a torturously slow rhythm with his thrusts, every inch of him stroking your still sensitive walls from your prior orgasm.

Your legs tighten around his waist as you cling onto him for dear life, and the rest of the world fades away. There’s no tadpoles, no Absolute, no cultists — there’s only the two of you wrapped in each other's embrace, and the moment feels infinite.

His hand tangles into your still dripping wet hair, droplets flinging from it onto your back as he fists it, sending goosebumps racing across your flesh. He breathes heavily, murmuring random assortments of curses and your name under his breath as his pace picks up ever so slightly, his conviction to take it slowly, faltering.

You feel yourself approaching the brink again as he speeds up.

“Gale, please, I’m—“

“I know, my love, me too.” He moans, now slamming into you with a reckless abandon, all control he’d had previously now washed away with the tide and your pleading.

He finishes with one last stuttering plunge into you, the warm sensation of his spend flooding you and his cock throbbing sending you over the edge along with him. He stays in you while you both come down, chests heaving and hearts racing.

“I love you, too. With every beat of my heart.” He says after a long and comfortable silence, pushing a loose strand of hair out of your eyes.

You stay there for a few minutes longer, embracing, kissing, joking about pruney fingers and how much shit your companions were going to give you when you returned.

When you both emerge from the water, Gale grabs one of the towels and wraps it around your body first, rubbing your arms to warm you as a shiver passes through you. He presses a kiss to the side of your head, then wraps the other towel around his waist. You gawk at him for a moment, and you think you could easily go for a round two if you weren’t entirely drained from the day prior to your bath… activities.

As you walk back to camp hand in hand with him, a true and genuine smile plastered on your face that you weren’t sure you’d ever smiled before, you feel a sort of selfish gratefulness. You feel as though the cosmos aligned just perfectly to drop him into your life, even amidst absolute mayhem and turmoil. Even if nothing came of the months spent adventuring and battling cultists and searching for cures, you still had this - you had him. And he, you.

And you think to yourself - even if you died tonight, you’d die happily knowing you got to spend a moment under the warmth of his sun.

————

god I love gale so much

#would sell my soul to spend an hour with him #even a singular minute would suffice #ty for the prompt!!!! #gale #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios fanfic #gale dekarios fic #gale x tav #gale x f!tav #gale x reader #gale x f!reader #bg3 #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #my fics #baldur's gate iii #baldur's gate 3 #fic request #one shot #short fic

[doumadono]

for Sinful Sunday! Could I request a scenario where Dabi receives a blowjob from his gf, and she's using the moment as an opportunity to discipline him for being a bit of a brat earlier in the day?

SINFUL SUNDAY

You're acutely aware of the arousal simmering in your villainous boyfriend. It's evident in his turquoise eyes and the bulge slowly asserting itself in his jeans. A scoff escapes your lips — almost unbelievable that your spat with Shigaraki could wield such an effect on Dabi.

Post the drama in the common room, you make a beeline for the shared bedroom with Dabi in tow, trailing behind like an obedient puppy. As the door clicks shut, Dabi's hands find a cozy spot on your hips, practically resting on your ass. He playfully nudges your nose with his, lips clumsily colliding with yours — a kiss that's more of a fumble than anything else.

Oh, Dabi managed to get on your nerves again that day (as he does almost every day, treating it as his daily mission to irk you). So, you saw his current mood as the perfect opportunity to turn the tables.

Engaging in a fervent kiss, your fingers deftly navigate to the hem of his greyish t-shirt.

He obligingly lifts his arms, allowing you to peel the fabric around his head.

Effortlessly, he lifts you up, continuing the passionate exchange of kisses as he carries you to the bed. Pressing you onto the mattress, he attempts to take control, but your agility comes into play, allowing you to deftly roll on top of him.

The next target is his joggers, and he eagerly raises his slender hips as you smoothly slide them and his black boxers down in one fluid motion. He kicks the discarded material away, spreading his legs a bit without you having to utter a word, fully aware of what awaits.

Your hands glide up the insides of his thighs, traversing both healthy and scarred skin, exerting a slight pressure with your nails.

Dabi hisses, shutting his eyes and tipping his head back. "Shit."

You also extend your reach to the base of his hard cock, designedly brushing your fingertips along his heavy balls, a delicate touch leaving just a tingle, eliciting a shiver from him.

Pumping him once, twice, you settle on your stomach between his legs, stealing a regard to assess his response.

Dabi looks down at you, his eyes dark with lust and sharply glinting. He brushes one hand over the top of your head as he exhales, patiently waiting. Not a single word is uttered. Such a good boy he is.

You lick thick stripes from the base, halting just before the tip each time - a teasing tactic to build anticipation within your boyfriend.

Each pause elicits a deep grunt from him, but as you renew, now with a slick layer of spit, he sighs in relief, uttering a wispy, “Fuck, yeah,” on a breath. "Just like that, doll."

To award him, you wrap your lips around his tip, briefly teasing his slit with the tip of your warm tongue before sliding further down his shaft, moaning around him.

Going down on Dabi is a pleasure itself - you love relishing the sounds he makes, observing the subtle reactions in his furrowed eyebrows and bobbing Adam's apple.

You adroitly work both hand and mouth over him, the glide smooth as you allow your spit to escape your lips with each pass.

“Fuck,” Dabi gasps as you tease the underside of his cock with your lips on a downcast pass. "Just like that."

You hum, maintaining a steady rhythm, each movement accompanied by the wet, slurping noises that resonate through the otherwise quiet room.

Dabi groans below you. “Fuuuuck,” he utters again, the sultry timbre of his voice causing sensations to ripple through you yet again.

Your eyes meet his, and you find him flushed dark, his chest heaving. The sight makes you proud. With a deliberate relaxation of your jaw, you take him down as far as possible. Both hands steady his trembling thighs as you bring your nose closer to his pelvis. Once you've reached your limit, you hold him there, feeling your throat spasming around him as you moan quietly.

A pathetic wail escapes him. "Doll. Fuck. Oh shit."

Releasing him with a messy pop sound, you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, only to flicker your tongue around his tip.

“Shit,” Dabi gasps, the well-defined muscles in his stomach rippling with desire.

Catching your breath, you take him in your hand again, allowing your throat a brief moment to recover, jerking him vigorously. You flash him a devious smile, purring, "Not much to say now, hmm? In the morning, you were quite the chatterbox, commenting on every little thing I did — the spilled orange juice, my slip on the wet floor as Kurogiri was cleaning, even my momentary mental breakdown when I realized I'd lost my phone."

His eyes flutter closed again as you continue to move your hand from base to tip and back. "Oh, don't be so dramatic, doll."

You take him in your mouth again, your hand keeping a steady but lazy rhythm at the base of his thick cock. You revel in the symphony that escapes his parted lips — urgent pants accentuated by deep, assertive, guttural grunts as he battles for control. The curses he utters are a mere murmur as his abs flex in harmony with your every move.

Recognition dawns upon you as he nears the peak, his subtle thrusts into the warmth of your mouth increasing, and his cock is throbbing. Dabi's already utterly spent, eyes tightly shut, beads of sweat cascading from his brow into his dampened hair as he has his head rolled on a pillow as he pursues his climax. His hand finds its way to your head, fingers entwining in your hair as he emits wordless moans.

You heed the implied warning, withdrawing from the apex and quickening the pace of your hand, skillfully jerking him off. You're well aware he'd prefer to cum in your mouth, but tonight, a dash of selfishness colors your desires, and you deny this to him.

Dabi's moan warbles, volume increasing as his hand tightens in your hair, and then he's releasing rope after rope of thick cum. Most of it finds its place on the flat of his stomach, but the last bit dribbles down the side of his softening cock, running over your fingers.

You flash him a teasing smile, your tone dripping with sportful mockery as you praise him, "That's a good boy." You're then lowering your head to sensually lick away the remnants of his release, skillfully cleaning him up, not breaking the eye contact with him.

He's still panting, attempting to catch his breath, his gaze locked onto you as he bites his lower lip. "Shit, doll, don't you be so sure I'm done with you yet as…"

You wrap your palm around his tender balls, giving a gentle squeeze. "Ssshhh, shhhh. Today, I'm in charge, so you better behave."

#doumadonos sinful sunday 🔥 #sinful sunday #dabi smut #dabi #dabi x reader smut #dabi x reader #dabi x y/n #touya todoroki smut #dabi x you #anime smut #bnha smut #dabi fic #touya todoroki #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x you #dabi mha #dabi fanfic #mha smut #divider by cafekitsune #smut writing

[theplaid-wearingmoose]

~Namor x Reader smut~

Just saw this post talking about Namor being able to go down on a girl for hours because he can breathe through his skin and i am an absolute whore for this man so a bitch is gonna write about it. that's the tweet, thank you.

Warnings: Overstimulation obvi, rough-ish Namor, some begging that gets ignored

"I-In yakunaj!! Please!" Your begging fell on deaf ears for the hundredth time. He had gone without seeing you for too many weeks and he wasn't stopping until he had pulled every last possible bit of pleasure from you.

You had waited for him at your usual secluded spot. You sat on the white sandy beach and watched the waves fall on the shore. The water was slightly cold as it washed over your feet. The breeze blowing the salty air around you. You waited until you saw him rise from the water. You started to stand and rush to greet him but the way he strode from the ocean up the beach towards you made you pause. "In yakunaj? Is there something wrong?" He didn't answer you. His eyes were dark and hungry as he quickly made his way to you. He knelt down to your eye level and pulled you roughly to him. His lips crushed yours before you could speak again. You let out a squeak of surprise that quickly turned into a soft whimper as his hands began to explore your body beneath him. "I have been without you for too long, In yakunaj. You are mine."

His warm hands ran slowly down your sides before reaching the knot of the wrap you wore. With one skillful tug, it came undone and you were left with just your bathing suit. "What have I told you about wearing these layers when I come to see you?" He growled, his deep brown eyes staring into yours. You let out a nervous chuckle. "These are hardly layers, In ajawo. You want me to just be bare out here in the sand?"

Another growl left him as he pulled your bottoms off and moved between your legs with lightning speed. "Yes...I do." He hummed. You didn't have much time to register what he was doing before you felt his tongue flick over your clit. Gasping loudly, your head fell back and your hands flew to his wet hair. "Ohhh K'uk'ulkan..."

That was how you ended up like this. Your body had been through one earth-shattering orgasm after another. It felt like it had been hours. You didn't even know many orgasms he had pulled from you but it seemed unending. His skilled mouth hadn't left you since he started. His face was soaked with your wetness and still he continued. At some point he had added his fingers and curled them deep inside you. Maybe around orgasm number eight?

"Please...In ajawo....I-I c-can't...I c-cant cum anymore! I-It's too much!" You cried, you hands grasping fistfuls of the sand beside you, the only thing you could use for support. The overstimulation had your head reeling. His mouth felt so good but you felt lightheaded and nearly ready to pass out. The only time he paused his work was to look at you with a look that was almost pitying. "I think you can give me one more, In reina. You've been doing so well so far. In ma'alo'ob ch'úupalo'." You choked out a moan as he pressed a gentle kiss to your swollen clit. "One more and I will let you rest." He crooned.

You cried out as his tongue replaced his fingers inside you. Your hips rolled against his face on their own. Your thighs threatened to close around his head from the pleasure but his strong arms wrapped around them, holding you open for him, as if he knew you would try that. You didn't even know what to do with your hands anymore. You roamed them over your breasts and down to his hair, tugging it as you rode his face.

K'uk'ulkan groaned and moved his head up and down quicker. You felt his lips wrap around your clit and you nearly screamed as he gently sucked on it. His fingers returned to their place inside you, moving fast and deep. You could feel your throat going dry from use. Your nth orgasm approached quickly and your lover paused once more to smile wickedly at you. "Cum for me, In reina..in yakunaj..." He lowered his mouth back to your dripping pussy but he kept his eyes locked on your face. "Look at me." He commanded. His deep voice rumbled in your ears and you quivered against his face. His fingers sped up as you clenched around them. K'uk'ulkan moaned as he tasted you. You were soaked like this for him and he wanted more. He would pull this last one out of you and drink in everything you gave him.

Your back arched off the sand and your heels dug in deep as another orgasm coursed through you. His body pinned you beneath him and he did not stop until he cleaned you completely.

You inhaled as deeply as you could. You barely felt him pull away from you and move himself up to lay next to you. He pulled your trembling body to his chest and wrapped his arms around you. You felt him press a gentle kiss to your forehead. "You did so well, In yakunaj. Táan in jach ku yu'ubikuba ti' teechi'." He kissed you again and sighed. "Rest now...I haven't finished with you just yet..."

In yakunaj: my love

In reina: my queen

In ajawo: my king

In ma'alo'ob ch'úupalo': my good girl

Táan in jach ku yu'ubikuba ti' teechi: I'm so proud of you

#namor smut #namor x reader #namor x reader smut #namor the sub mariner #black panther wakanda forever #kukulkan x reader #kukulkan x reader smut

[lokisgoodgirl]

The Feast [Asgard!Loki x Fem.Reader]

A follow up one-shot to Hail, Commander A Link to my Masterlist is HERE Summary: A filthy Commander Loki is ravenous post-battle. (w/c 1.7k) Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI. Smut. Oral (F), Salirophilia (dirty Loki) Exhibitionism. Language.

The approaching drums were deafened by a low roar from Loki’s throat as he came undone. It was harsh. Ragged. It was fierce. The rush of hot breath flooded your ear, carrying the syllables of your name on wings of relief. His grip on the cape wrapped around you both loosened as he rocked you; held against the sharp drop of the balustrade safely in his arms.

“My love…” you whispered against his moist, dirt soaked brow, as Loki panted heavily into the curve of your neck. He hummed drowsily in response, hips continuing a gentle thrust to the beat of the victory procession hundreds of feet below. The heat of your lovemaking had warmed the primal scent clinging to his scalp, its tendrils winding their way deeper into your senses. The first time he had returned from battle, it had disgusted you. For a moment, at least. But now, your body only wanted more. It meant victory. It meant glory. It meant days of violently passionate fucking while he shook off the animalism and barbarity of war. You ran your fingers through his tangled hair, crusted and clumped with the stale filth of battle. The scent of blood and sweat and death clung to your fingertips, a tacky residue holding fast as you worked your digits to the back of his skull. Hail, the fallen; the lone chanter cried, hundreds of feet below. His voice was soulful and solemn, misting around the high towers like summer pollen. Hail, the shuffling crowd reprised in a haunting hymn. You didn’t know if it was the adrenaline bubbling down in your blood after Loki had thoroughly claimed you, but they sounded louder now. Or maybe it was just the wind. Loki’s grip tightened around your thighs, sliding upwards. His thumbs pressed into the crooks of your pelvis, pushing your legs wider. Without raising his head, he sank to his knees; war-ravaged leathers creaking as layers of festering dirt and grime cracked. His hands settled around the pristine skin of your thighs, marking them instantly.

“Loki…” you whispered warily, glancing up to the guards standing to attention, their gazes fixed in a thousand yard stare. Hail, the deliverer; the dark victor; the faceless voice sang, soulful reverence bouncing between golden turrets which glinted in the setting sun. Hail, Loki. Hail; the crowd chanted like a prayer in the depths below the balustrade. “Loki…” you murmured again, as trumpets blew a regal tremor alongside the eerie thump of ceremonial drums. “The guards…” The victorious god chuckled against your skin before he slid his cheekbone firmly up your thigh, a possessive harshness glinting in his eyes. “I am their commander. They will do as I say.” he growled coldly, his stare never leaving yours. A muscle in his jaw bobbed as he clenched, a ferocious haze descending over his features. He turned a stained cheek to the side, the marr of slaughter and destruction smeared messily where he had rubbed against your leg. He placed a wet kiss on your knee before he spoke. “Guards! About turn.” he roared.

Your gaze fluttered from your betrothed to the dozens of Einherjar standing to attention against the columns lining the balustrade. In perfect synchronicity, each one turned in a tight semi-circle to face the interior walls. They thumped the base of their spears against the stone in receipt of their order, the cold clunk of metal making a wave of arousal flip in your stomach. His presence. His power. You had almost forgotten. Almost.

Loki’s fingers resumed their iron grip around your thighs, sliding the hem of the dress gathered around your hips higher. “I trust this satisfies you…” he murmured, the brilliant blues of his irises startling against the shadows of brutal deeds layering his face. You thrust forward, aching to feel him against you; letting your hands wander over the buckles of his armour.

The leather felt ragged beneath your touch; burnt and battered. You could feel the tacky stick of warmed blood beneath your fingertips; the proof of his violent prowess. “We can wait...until...after the feast.” you panted half-heartedly, feeling his cracked lips graze against your freshly cum-soaked folds. Loki looked up from between your legs, the heroic commander on his knees ready to devour your glorious pussy. You could feel his seed pooling in thick drips on the stone below. His eyes were wide, brows slanted in mock innocence. “Oh, love…” he purred darkly, as his softness melted to a mischievous smirk. “But I haven’t eaten in days.” The prince’s nose nudged against your slit, making you groan shamelessly above him. “You know how ravenous I become after the rage of battle, love.” he purred, smirking against your hot, wet cunt. “You would not deny your Commander. Would you?”

You shook your head silently, fingers gripping the side of the cold stone balustrade. Loki inhaled deeply, letting it go with a shuddering sigh. Without another word, his warm tongue melted to your core; licking a flat stripe which made you jerk against his face. The filthy god’s fingers wrapped around your calves, pausing to hoist them over his shoulders. The grime-coated gold of his armoured epaulettes slid against your bare skin; the chill making you buck into his open mouth. Your back arched against the glittering lights of Asgard; darkening skies illuminated by the ethereal glow of thousands of candles held in homage by grateful citizens below. Were they praying to the god kneeling between your splayed thighs? You hoped they were. Loki’s tongue slid in messy kisses against your sex, searching every soft pleasure point as he sucked his sacred cum from your centre. Muffled moans of pleasure sounded against your heat, his unfettered enthusiasm loud and wet against the rock of your hips. The naked curve of your ass scratched against filth-soaked leather as the god suckled your clit, moving in rhythmic swirls that coated your womanhood in waves of unbearable pleasure. Your lover leant you backwards so you hovered at an angle off the edge of the balustrade. Gusts of warm dusk air skated over your bristling skin, melting into the dangerous thrill of his obsession. Hail, the victorious dead; the bellman called below, a resounding chorus following the settling of his words; echoing in the night. Hail. The call made your pussy clench, sweet juices beginning to spill against Loki’s lips. He groaned wistfully, tightening his grip around your thighs hanging against his shoulders. You wound your hands in his hair, feeling the familiar resistant tug of crusted sweat and dirt which covered every war-drenched inch of him.

Hail, our Benevolent Protector. Our God. Hail. Your gaze lingered between your legs, the sight of his unmistakeable dark curls bobbing against folds of silk as he dove further sending waves of bravado through your veins. “Did you think of this while you slit the enemies throats, my prince?” you gasped, feeling him nod slowly against the methodical slide of his tongue. “Did you b-burn their world... and their hope... take their lives, uhhh g-gods... just to feast on the pussy you c-crave?” you murmured, seeing a violent shiver roll over his broad shoulders as he moaned in response.

His nose slid into view as he leant back ever so slightly. He knew when you were watching. He always did.

Slowly, Loki licked from the pucker of your ass to your clit, the width of his tongue hovering against the swollen bundle as he lapped gently. The flat massaged the underside, every soft, soaked caress accompanied by a deep groan simmering in his throat. “Did you...f-fuck...miss the taste of me?” you whimpered, seeing him nod again with his brow creased in shameless adoration. The pressure of his talented mouth latched to your sex was incomparable; a light wind rustling against your shoulder-blades making it feel primordial. And perhaps it was. You caught a glimpse of your blackened inner thighs as he dipped lower, grime marks from the slide of his skin and the rub of his hair making you as filthy as he. The unspeakable paint of war coating his sharp cheeks and chin rubbed against your swollen sex, eagerly disappearing in messy slurps down the god’s throat as he lost himself between your spread thighs. Loki could feel you beginning to shake against him as you tried to control yourself, a smirk tugging at his dimples as he put on a show. Relishing you falling apart like foam on the shore beneath his tongue. If there was one thing Loki of Asgard loved more than public adulation, it was giving head. You let out a shameless moan as the low blow of trumpets sang beneath the balustrade, a fervent hum from the citizens now gathered in the square below accompanying the conclusion of the traditional victory prayers. Hail, Commander. the bellman roared; the final steps of his journey giving new gravitas to the most sacred chant. Hail, the crowd refrained. Their intensity rose like a wave of heat, wisping against the back of your hair as your head fell back.

“Do you w-want me to..uhhh-fuck, cum in your m-mouth, Commander?” you gasped between shaky breaths. A loud moan shuddered through you as Loki rumbled against your wet slit, a whine of need bubbling on his lips. You wound one hand through his blood-crusted hair, the other clutching tightly around the ledge of stone beneath your ass. A surge of power vibrated as you pressed the commander deeper into your pussy, his searching tongue curling inside your channel as you rocked against his face. How many women in the streets below would slay their own grandmother for what you had between your legs this very moment? And many men, too; you’d wager.

Loki’s grip tightened around your femurs as he smothered himself. He shook his smooth jaw slowly back and forth, teasing every aching inch of protracted pleasure from your approaching orgasm. He would be soaking. The dulled shine of his battle-leathers glinted in the torchlight, dark stains of brown and red and black sliding easily from his armour to your fresh, perfumed skin. Hail, our Victorious Commander; came the final forceful shout; as violently clear as though the man the voice belonged to was standing by your shoulder. Hail, Commander. Hail; the crowd roared in unison. There was a rapturous cheer as the drumbeats quickened, signalling the arrival of the procession to the main square of Asgard set below the balustrade. Loki’s tongue delved deeper against your cunt, his carefully timed laps burrowing against the source of your undoing. You bucked into him, his name a strangled cry in your throat as you tugged gently at tangled curls. Fingernails dragged down the leather of his overcoat, feeling a layer of enemy blood gathering beneath them. With a final twisted groan, you came over his waiting tongue. Hot arousal flooded his mouth, a welcoming sigh of pleasure sounding from the leader of Asgard's victorious forces as you rocked against his face. Loki could spend hours buried in your cunt; although tonight you suspected you would not be afforded that luxury. “Commander?” a low voice muttered nervously. Your eyes snapped up in alarm, seeing a young guard trembling to your side – facing away from the scene. Had he walked backwards towards the two of you? You thought he must have, if he valued his life. Loki was still lost in your heat, carefully gathering every drop of your cum with fastidiously gentle precision. Your fingers ran lovingly under his chin, cupping the angle of his jaw. His sex-drunk eyes rose to yours, stare hardening as he finally registered the unwelcome figure off to the side. “What?” he spat incredulously, not deigning to rise from where he was spread on his knees in full battle armour on the stone before you. The guard cleared his throat. “Majesty, I am bound to ask you to make your way to the feasting hall. The Allfather impatiently awaits your glorious return, Commander” Loki sighed. “Go.” he ordered bluntly, watching with growing amusement as the terrified guard hurried away without looking back. He lowered your legs from his shoulders, rising regally to his full height. Flickering lamplight illuminated his ghostly features, a glistening slick shimmering around his mouth and jaw revealing his familiar perfectly fair skin beneath the dirt. His lower face. It was the only part of him that was clean.

You closed your legs reluctantly, taking the hand of the victorious god and standing from your perch on the balustrade. The silk of your dress fell against your newly dirt-smeared legs, the folds of antique fabric stained with the same unspeakable remnants of battle as your lover. As your Commander. “It’s incredibly obvious that you have been busy on your return, my prince.” you smirked, biting your lip as you regarded his increasingly dishevelled state. If it were possible, he was even more of a mess than before. Loki chuckled, flicking his tangled hair as the new layer of saliva and cum settled against his war-worn features. “My love, it is us...” he purred, raising your hand and turning it over. He set a kiss down on the delicate underside of your wrist, the cracked sheet of grime covering his beautiful face doing nothing to hide the mirth playing beneath it. “They would not expect anything less.”

A/N: Thank you @simplyholl for being absolutely feral the night she read Hail Commander and immediately hitting me up with this mental image. You're the best my lil smut-sugarplum, I hope I delivered on our vision! Tags @muddyorbsblr @imalovernotahater @littledark11 @lokikissesmyforehead @simplyholl @fictive-sl0th @loopsisloops @thedistractedagglomeration @loveroflokiforpoeticjustice @123forgottherest @joyful-enchantress @sititran @jaidenhawke @silverfire475 @michelleleewise @vbecker10 @imalovernotahater @thomase1 @morriggannlostinfandoms @marygoddessofmischief @ravenwings73 @xorpsbane @filthyhiddles @peacefulpianist @yelkmelk @wheredafandomat @mistress-ofmagic @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @ozymdias @your-taste-on-my-lips @lokidokieokie @kikster606 @peachyjinx @tbhiddlestan83 @trickster-maiden @astridstark13 @arch-venus25 @nine-leafclover @springdandelixn @smolvenger @fictional-hooman

#loki x reader #loki x reader smut #loki smut #lokismut #loki x yn #loki x you #loki of asgard #loki laufeyson smut #loki laufeyson #loki odinson #loki laufeyson x reader #loki odinson x reader #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki x fem reader #loki x female reader #loki x female reader smut

[lena-in-a-red-dress]

Nuanced Foil Lena AU

Here's a prelude to some snippets I hope to post regarding Lena as a nuanced, layered foil to Kara and the Superfriends. Enjoy!

----

Losing Lena hurts. What hurts just as more is facing the first threat without her. Her absence is keenly felt, and nothing feels more unnatural to Kara than having to visit Lena to ask for help, rather than already have Lena in her corner.

She pauses for a moment in the sky outside Lena's office, shrouded by the overcast night. Lena is taking a rare break from sitting at her desk-- though at this hour she should be properly done with work. She stands out on her balcony with her back leaning against the rail, scrolling on her phone while pensively resting her cheek against the stemless wine glass in her hand. It's filled with water for once, and Kara can't help but gaze at the quiet moment.

As though sensing Kara's attention, Lena pulls her eyes from her phone and turns, scanning the sky around her. She doesn't spot Kara, but goes inside anyway. She doesn't lock the door behind her.

It's not an invitation, Kara knows that. Even so, she lands quietly on the balcony a few moments later, and softly steps inside.

"I thought I'd save myself the broken lock," Lena drawls, not looking up from her computer. She clicks through some open windows, her attention barely spared an ounce towards her visitor.

It's such a sharp contrast to the focus Lena has always given her, Kara can barely breathe through the pain in her chest. The worst of it all is the disinterest in Lena's voice. She would expect-- nay, prefer-- to hear ire, wrath, vehement reproach. Instead, she's faced with such indifference that it opens a new wound in Kara's heart.

"What can I do for you?"

Finally, Lena turns, rising to her full height as she casually folds her arms across her chest. One eyebrow lifts expectantly, but for once Kara has no idea what Lena is expecting, exactly. Another apology? Kara's actual purpose?

It leaves Kara feeling unmoored, and she relies on her Supergirl persona to pull her through. She inhales, expanding her chest and broadening her shoulders, while her fists settle on her hips in a familiar stance.

Kara hates herself for it.

"We need your help."

"Funny. That sounds more like an expectation than a request."

"Will you help us?"

"No."

Kara pauses, thrown by Lena's response. The word comes light but blunt, almost casual, as though there might be room to negotiate. Caught flatfooted, Kara's mind races again to identify what exactly Lena expects of her.

"Will you help us, please?"

Lena's lips twitch. "Cute. But I wasn't reminding you of your manners. I'm setting a boundary-- the advantage you've taken of our relationship ends here."

"What do you mean?"

"I hereby withdraw my unilateral support for Supergirl and your club of vigilantes." Lena sorts through the paper on her desk, finished with the conversation. "Whatever mess you've created this time, you're on your own."

"Lena..."

"Here's another riddle, while you puzzle out what the word no means-- what has two doors and an unwanted guest?"

Kara's chest clenches.

"Lena. Please."

"This office has two doors, Supergirl-- choose one."

#supercorp #nuanced foil lena au #prelude #its angsty #as you might expect #the whole purpose is to explore how juicy it would have been #blame it on the goose