#and i understand they can close before if they want so they can leave on time BUT I JUST HAD TO PAY FOR MY SHIT I HAD THE MONEY READY

[chronicowboy]

guilty feet have no rhythm | 1k

Eddie doesn't remember the last time he felt like this. Happy, uncomplicated, free. The world is fuzzy, warm where it wraps around him, dips under his feet like it's making way for him. Everything is so easy tonight. And it's not just the alcohol, not the tequila running warm and smooth through his veins.

No, it had been so spectacularly easy before he'd even had a drink. He'd been easy and full of joy the moment Buck had showed up on his doorstep with two freshly dry cleaned suits that they'd destroyed within the first hour of the party. It had felt, for a moment, like the house had taken its first deep breath in weeks when Buck had stepped inside.

They're in the bathroom again. Eddie has lost count of how many times they've ventured to the toilets tonight. All that alcohol, wreaking havoc on bladders and hand-eye coordination and stomachs. This time, Buck's sleeve has been soaked through by tequila, and Eddie hadn't really had an excuse to follow him in here except the thought of peeling himself from Buck's side had sent a wave of wrong through him so powerful he'd thought he was about to throw up the steak dinner they'd sat down for before karaoke.

So, he follows Buck to the bathroom, falling back against the wall when Buck notices him there and smiles brighter than the neon paint on the walls. He watches Buck shove his sodden arm under the hand dryer, and the steady whine of it fills Eddie's brain with a static that leaves him defenceless.

"What does it feel like?" The words slip out the moment the dryer shuts off with a click.

"Warm, wet," Buck answers with a cute little twist to his eyebrows. He tilts his head to the side, looking every bit like the stray puppy on their street Eddie had fallen in love with when he was twelve and his dad had called Animal Control on. "Have you not... used a hand dryer before?"

"No, Buck," Eddie groans, tastes the name on his tongue like a burst of colour. Yellow like a sunflower, or golden like sunlight itself, or pink like a birthmark as familiar to him as breathing. "What does kissing a man feel like?"

"Oh!" Buck grins, bouncing on his feet a little. He almost topples over with the energy that fills him at the question, and Eddie curls his hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and hold him steady only because he doesn't feel so steady himself all of a sudden. Buck leans back against the wall opposite Eddie, getting a little lost in something Eddie can only imagine. "It's..." He sighs, long and dreamy. Eddie wants to catch it in his hands, press it to his chest, feel whatever certainty Buck is feeling now.

Certainty. The word lodges itself in Eddie's throat. That's it. That's what he's been missing. That's what's been making the world feel so... Uninhabitable recently. Eddie hasn't felt certain about anything since that solid weight had dropped through his chest at the graveyard. And even now he's still not certain what that weight was. But he'd been a hell of a lot more sure about that than he has been about anything with his girlfriend.

"It's... What?" Eddie prompts, suddenly, certainly desperate for the answer.

"Life-changing," Buck breathes, eyes the colour of an endless sky.

"How?"

"I don't know how to explain it." Buck shakes his head. "It's not really all that different except for all the ways it's different."

"Like what?" Eddie feels like a little kid, boundless in their curiosity, about to get an answer to a question they can barely comprehend.

"Like the stubble," Buck begins, eyes dropping to Eddie's jaw. "The tilting your head up instead of down, the hard chest against yours, the big hands on your waist." His voice turns dreamy, breathy. Eddie understands painfully, feels like he's just run a marathon. "But it's not really..."

"It's not really what?" It sounds like a plea in the muffled silence of the bathroom.

"It doesn't feel all that different when your eyes are closed, you know?" Except Eddie doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore. "But that empty space that's been inside you your whole life suddenly feels full."

"Oh." Eddie rubs a knuckle down his breastbone like he's trying to wake himself up with a sternal rub.

"You should try it, Eddie," Buck says then.

"What?"

The world disappears out from under his feet.

"You should kiss a man. It's—"

Eddie takes two steps and changes his life.

Eddie kisses Buck, and it's everything Buck had said. The delicious scratch of stubble, the slight upwards tilt of his head, the hard chest against his, the big hands around his waist, the filling up of that empty space. Except it's all that and more. It's Buck's stubble, it's Buck leaning down to breach that tiny gap between them despite the shocked noise that Eddie drinks from his mouth, it's Buck's firm chest under his hands and Buck's heartbeat pounding against his, it's Buck's calloused but endlessly gentle hands burning through his shirt just above his hips, it's the empty space in his chest not just filling up but overflowing with right right right —

Wrong.

The blast of the hand dryer rips them apart, and Eddie stumbles backwards, wild and free and oh-so-complicated. Every moment of his life before that kiss is rewritten into a writhing mass of wrong as everything else becomes entirely clear. For the first time in his life, Eddie is certain. Certain of two things: he never wants to kiss a woman again, he never wants to kiss anyone but Buck again.

"How was that?" Buck whispers, chest heaving despite the fact that it hadn't really been anything more than a brush of lips.

"Life-changing," Eddie croaks, the sound of it lost as Chim comes stumbling into the bathroom with a blast of Careless Whisper.

#sami rambles #this should probably be just a ficlet but felt like posting it on ao3 sooooo #911 show #evan buckley #buddie #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #911 spec #911 spec fic #911 fic #buddie fic #buck x eddie fic

[sunafc]

That’s what you get for ditching me — ft. Toji Fushiguro

cw: wc 1.8k, NSFW, mdni, 18+, fem reader, fwb, toji calls the reader ‘kid’ and ‘little one’ as a pet name but the reader is very much an adult ! !, toji is obsessed with reader, mutual masturbation, a bit of spit kink, if there are typos ignore them 🙂‍↕️

To say Toji liked you was an understatement. After your first night together he wanted nothing more than to be inside you again, to taste you again, to feel your skin on his again. After a few more nights with you he got you a toothbrush to keep at his house, so you wouldn’t have to leave after the sex. One time you forgot your makeup remover and the next time he had gotten one just for you along with a box of cotton pads. Then, he dropped all his other hookups. So he didn’t just like you, he was pretty much obsessed. Toji doesn’t understand how it all happened, you entered his life and now everything is about you. Happened so quickly he didn’t even notice.

All of the things above brought him to this moment, sulking on a saturday evening alone at his house because you’re on a date with some random ass guy whose name Toji couldn’t care less to remember. He’s not jealous, he says to himself. He has no reason to be. You two are just friends and you assured him that, even if you started seeing the guy, you still wouldn’t be exclusive. So no, he’s not jealous. Toji just hopes that as you look in the guy’s ugly eyes you think of how many times you’ve complimented his green ones.

The familiar ding from your text notifications stops his overthinking and when he sees your text Toji can’t help but smirk to himself.

you: this date was shit

toji: yeah? that’s what you get for ditching me

Yeah okay, maybe he is a little jealous. Petty, too. Sometimes he makes you wonder if he really is the older one in your ‘‘relationship’’.

you: toji :(

toji: what do you want kid

you: are u home?

toji: what now you wanna come over?

you: please?

toji: ...

toji: the door’s open

toji: brat

He wishes he could show these texts to your date. A smug smile creeps on his face as he mumbles to himself how he won. He pours himself a glass of whiskey while waiting for you.

‘Can I come in?’ You ask as you open the door.

‘I’m in the kitchen,’ Toji says loud enough for you to hear from the doorway.

You make your way to him. He’s sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, drink in hand.

You drop your purse on the floor, ‘Hey.’

‘Hey, kid,’ he eyes you, ‘All dolled up, let me see you,’ he motions you to turn around for him and you indulge him before sitting on the stool next to him.

You look amazing in your short dress, thigh highs and heels. You don’t need him to tell you so as his eyes do the talk for him. He offers you a glass which you gladly accept.

‘It was so bad, he was so bad,’ you take a sip from your glass.

Toji’s face contorts in a grimace as he imagines you with another guy. His hand moves to stroke your thigh, he needs you to know he’s there.

You complain about your date for a while as Toji smiles to himself knowing that at the end of the day he’s the one you’re going back to. He’s glad the guy was a dick and shit in bed, he doesn’t care how selfish that is of him.

‘These heels are killing me, too.’ You whine.

‘Come here,’ he slides his hand from your thigh to your ankle so he can loosen up the strap of your shoe and slip it off. He does the same with your other shoe and when he’s done his hand goes back to rest on your thigh.

You lean in to leave a quick peck to the scar at the corner of his lips, ‘Thanks, Toji.’

He fears his heart is going to burst everytime you do that, ‘You drive me insane,’ he mutters under his breath.

You giggle and give him another peck, right on his lips this time.

He grabs the stool you’re sitting on and pulls it closer to his until there’s no more space between them, his face so close to yours, ‘How about a real kiss now?’

You gulp, suddenly feeling your cheeks getting warmer. He’s leaning in slowly, your lips part on their own and he smirks against them before closing the gap completely. He grips your thigh as you bite his bottom lip, his other hand grabs your jaw and as he forces your mouth open, he slips his tongue in. Toji loves your lips. He thinks they were made just to be kissed, by him specifically. It didn’t matter if you were wearing liptstick, lip gloss or chapstick, he would kiss you anyway. You pull on his hair to move his face away from yours, in need of air. You’re both panting but Toji doesn’t seem to be bothered by it and soon his lips are on yours again. He’s addicted, he feels like he could live off of your kisses. You, on the other hand, you really do need air.

You pull his head again, ‘Wait,’ you puff, ‘Give me a moment, Toji.’

You're breathless, your lipstick is all smudged. Toji thinks you look stunning like this. He stands from his stool, picks you up and sits you on the counter. His hands travel with faint touches on your thighs, then under your dress. Your skin burns under his touch. He kisses your neck, leaving marks behind them. His hands grab your ass as he sucks on your skin at the base of your neck. A whimper escapes your lips and Toji smiles smugly against you. He gently slides the straps of your dress off of your shoulders, sending shivers down your body. He’s doing everything so painfully slow, you’re getting impatient. You’re starting to squirm under his every touch. He holds your face with one hand and kisses you. With the other hand he unfastens your bra and then moves to massaging your boobs, fingers playing with one nipple then the other. You’re gripping his tshirt, pulling him closer. He breaks the kiss and lowers himself to leave more kisses to your chest, this time. He licks one of your nipple then sucks on your boob. More whimpers leave your lips as you feel his tongue on your skin, warm and wet. His fingers ghost over your skin failing to ever really touch you. You can feel yourself getting wetter and wetter. He’s playing with you and you know it. You move to unbuckle his belt.

‘Eager, little one?’ He teases you. His hand under your dress, grazing your inner tight, so close to where you’d like it to be but not quiet there yet.

You unzip his pants, ‘Quit playing,’ you let them fall to the ground and you palm his erection through his boxers, ‘Need more.’

‘Ask nicely,’ his thumb brushes over your clit and your body follows his hands in search for more.

‘Please, Toji,’ you say.

‘Mhm,’ he kisses your jaw, ‘Please what?’

You slip your hand in his boxer and curl your finger around his cock, making him groan in return, ‘Please touch me.’

He lifts your dress up and then slips it off of you completely. His hand moves in your underwear and his fingers glide between your folds. He slips a finger inside your cunt and, at the same time his thumb starts massaging your clit, he slips another digit in.

‘Were you this wet for him, too?’ He asks continuing to play with your body, making you moan nonstop.

You shake your head.

His fingers keep curling inside you, ‘Did he touch you like this?’, he hits the right spot again and again, a loud cry comes out of your lips, ‘Did he touch you how you like to be touched?’

You shake your head frantically trying to remain concentrated on stroking his dick but really, the only thing on your mind, is how his long fingers fill you up. How he really knows what you like and how you like it.

He holds your jaw, ‘Answer me with words, Y/n.’

‘N–No,’ you’re panting and there’s drool coming out of your mouth.

‘I know your body better than anyone,’ Toji whispers in your hear.

You grind on his fingers, ‘Even better than me.’

That strikes something inside of him and in a second his lips clash with yours, kissing you feverishly as he toys with your clit and his digits keep moving in and out of you in a rush. He bites your bottom lip and you can feel his hand all over your body as with the other one he curls his finger to reach that specific spot inside of you. Your body shakes in pleasure. You’re making all kinds of sounds and Toji is eating every single one of them as he moves his lips on yours.

‘Aw, doll,’ Toji says, ‘Already coming?’

‘S—shut up,’ you mutter under your breath.

Your hand on his cock gets slower as you feel yourself getting closer and closer to your climate. Toji doesn’t mind the way you’re starting to neglet him, right now he’s only interested in making you feel good, to remind you he’s the best fuck you’ll ever have no matter how many other guy you sleep with. He licks the saliva that’s sliding down your chin and leaves more wet kisses along your jaw and neck. You’re catching your breath, mouth agape. Toji loves when you’re breathless and disheveled because of him. He wishes he could take a picture of you right now, the lipstick that was on your lips is barely visible now, your hair is a mess, your cunt filled by his fingers, one hand gripping his tshirt and the other around his dick. You look perfect like this. He slips his thumb in your mouth, keeping it open, he presses down on your tongue and spits inside. It wasn’t the first time he did that but it still took you by surprise. Your fingers on his cock stop altogether and you look at him confused, you swallowed it nonetheless.

‘Don’t make that face, kid,’ he grazes your cheek with his thumb still damp from your mouth, ‘I know your dying wish is to be baptized in my spit.’

Your eyes widen and your cunt clamp thight on his fingers, a broken cry comes out of you as you finally reach your high.

Toji brings his fingers to his mouth and licks the cum off of them, ‘You’re so filthy,’ he smirks, ‘Cumming from that.’

You avoid his gaze feeling ashamed and Toji smiles.

‘Don’t get shy on me now,’ he rubs his tip against your clit, ‘We’re not done yet.’

notes: the ‘i know your dying with is to be baptized in my spit’ is actually lyrics from the song ‘funeral gray’ by waterparks ! !

#jjk #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji #toji smut #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #minors dni #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen

[luvyeni]

❛CONTROLLINGBF! SUNGCHAN❜ ( headcannons )

warnings? 18+

request: imagine you in a relationship with sungchan, his controlling nature dictates every aspect of your life, from your appearance to your social interactions. despite his intentions to protect and care for you, his constant need for control suffocates your sense of independence, leaving you yearning for freedom and autonomy.

authors note. i hope this is what you meant , i hope you like it🤍

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who isolates you from everyone, never letting you leave home alone or without his premission.

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who basically does everything for you — waking up before you, picking out clothes for you to wear — clothes that he picked out and bought. "i don't really like this." "what do you know baby , you'd wear shorts that look like panties and a shirt that shows off what's mine if i let you — just be a good girl and put this on."

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who doesn't makes you tell him everything when you go out , where you're going; how long— and who's gonna be there. "it's only for a few hours." "with them? no baby im sorry remember last time you went out with them, she had you out all night drinking, not this time, tell her you won't be coming."

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who has a iron clad grip on your arm when you're out for you so you don't go so far with out. "but— i won't wait for you if you get lost, so no let's go."

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who doesn't see why you're so sad all the time, he's gives you a nice life , he takes care of you, buys you things, he doesn't understand what's so important about going outside. "i just want so space and to do things alone for once chan , just once, it's so suffocating being with you sometimes."

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who gaslights you when you start talking about going out without him. "it's only a few hours chan and you like this friend." "baby what if you get hurt , you know you can never pay attention that's why i come with you, how about we stay in tonight, please , maybe next week okay?" and just like always you say —"okay."

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who uses sex as form of distraction to keep you from even thinking about going outside, holding you close like you're going run away, thrusting deep into your cervix whispering into your ear. "you're mine, from your head down, this pretty pussy including, it's mine , and i'll kill anyone who says other wise." and you believe him, he hasn't killed anybody, but you wouldn't put it past him.

CONTROLLINGBF!SUNGCHAN who wants to consume your every being , he'll do what ever he needs to do to achieve that.

©️LUVYENI

#kpop x reader #kpop smut #riize x imagine #riize smut #riize x you #riize imagines #riize headcanons #riize hard thoughts #riize hard hours #sungchan hard hours #sungchan x reader #sungchan fanfic #sungchan imagines #sungchan smut

[f1smutwriter]

Could you write something where Charles is dating a plus sized girl and she’s insecure but he shows her how beautiful she is? Please :)

|PERFECT (cl16)

|𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐋𝐞𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐜 𝐱 𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Summary: She’s feeling a bit insecure about how her body look. But to Charles she’s perfect

Warnings: SMUT! dirty talk, praising, oral (fem rec), unprotected sex (like love making but wear protection gosh), creampie, pet names (my beautiful girl, good girl, mon ange), breeding kink, bit of angst, cockwarming, fluff so much fluff, more that I probably missed

Notes: I feel like I’m getting better, and again request are open and if you did request something I promise you it’s coming out soon

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As I look at myself in the mirror I just start tearing up. Hating the way my body looks. I was never the skinny girl that guys lined up from. I was always the friend of the skinny girl, or my sister was the skinny girl. That's why when Charles will tell me I look beautiful I don't believe him. I put on a long sleeve pink shirt and a white tennis skirt on feeling confident. But when I looked at myself in the mirror I hated what I saw.

I looked like a monster. I had extra fat around my stomach, my arms weren't skinny, and my thighs were huge. I just look at myself in disgust making me cry more. "Mon ange what's wrong" Charles asked me concerned as he holds me up so I don't fall. "I hate myself cha, I hate how I look. Why are you even with me you should date someone pretty" I cried making it hard for him to understand me.

“Someone pretty but I do have someone pretty. I have someone so beautiful that it makes me want you all the time” He whisper to me softly making me wipe my tears. I look at him with my tear stained cheeks sniffling. “R-really” I say as he cups my face and wipes away the tears. “How about I show you baby, would you like that having me show you” He asked me in a gentle voice making me nod. “Go lay down my beautiful girl let me show you how much I love you and your body” he whispered in my ear making me squeeze my legs together.

I walk to the bed and sit down at the foot of it. He looks down at me holding my chin so I can look at him perfectly. “Gosh you’re so pretty with your little puppy dog eyes, Mon ange” he whispered softly making me squeeze my thighs harder tighter. He saw mh action making him chuckle softly. He slowly kneels down in front of me, not breaking eye contact for a single second.

He looks at my top biting his lip as he stares at my boobs. “Can you take this off so I can see these pretty tits” He grumbled as his gaze on my tits don’t break. I take off my shirt and unclip my bra making him groan getting the full view. “These are breath taking, one of my favorite things Mon ange” he murmured while taking one of them in his mouth making my breath hitch from the sudden pleasure.

I feel him suck on my soft skin making me gasped, as he nips softly. He sucks love marks on my chest making me whine. He kisses down my chest to my stomach. I feel his teeth gaze my stomach, then he kisses down to my waist line of my skirt. "We're gonna keep this on okay, you look so pretty to take it off" He growled as he kissed up my thigh. He moved my skirt up letting me see him between my legs.

As he slid my pink laced panties down my legs, he stares at my bare pussy making me close my legs close insecurely. "Leave them open, want to see this pretty pussy" He said spreading my legs again making me feel more insecure. He slowly licks my clit making me gasp, closing my thighs around his head making him groan. "I-i'm sorry baby" I say widening then not wanting to hurt him. "No I love it when you squish me, okay good girl" he said before going back and feasting on my cunt.

I start babbling nonsense trying to get away from the intense pleasure. “Fuck this pussy is the sweetest, can’t get enough of you” he muttered against my clit making me scream out in pleasure. “So sensitive huh, that’s why you’re so loud so responsive” he chuckled making me cry out feeling tears stream down my face. I feel his fingers tease my aching hole, slowly pushing them in. I moaned loudly feeling full just from two fingers. “I know baby, but daddy’s is gonna have to stretch you out. Y’to tight” he whispered before going back and sucking my clit.

I feel him curl his fingers hitting the perfect spot in me that only he could touch. “Found it huh the precious little spot that makes you cum all over my fingers, and tongue” he grunted before pounding his fingers into the spot that makes me see stars. I let out quiet moans the pleasure being to much that I can barely make a noise. “M’gonna c-cum” I stuttered out making him chuckled softly.

“Yeah this pretty little pussy gonna cum all over my fingers, gonna show me how much of a good girl you are” he teased making me moan louder and louder. “Yeah you are, only I can make you feel this good huh, only I can taste and fuck this tight pussy” he said going fast making my legs tremble and the knot in my stomach growing tighter.

“Cum, cum all over my fingers beautiful girl” he whispered in my ear making me scream out as I cum all over his fingers so hard I almost get light headed. He licks up all the cum that I give him making him groan causing vibrations go travel up my body, I close my legs from the overstimulation whining softly. “Want a condom or raw today princess” he whispered to me as he stroked his already hard cock to get himself ready.

“R-raw please” I say softly making him chuckle from my response. “My polite little girl” he whispered before running his leaky tip over my abused cunt. “So wet mon ange” He groaned before pushing into me making me gasp at the stretch. “Fuck s-stretching this pussy so wide, a-always s-so tight for me” he grunted before moving his hips with slow thrust.

“Cha-Charlie f-faster” I cried out while wrapping my legs around his waist encouraging him to go faster. His hips start going at the speed that I wasn’t, making me moan out. One of his hands holding my leg while the other grabbing my tit making me cry out as he pinched my nipple. “Fuck I’m so deep huh baby in this pretty stomach” he grunted “always in your tummy huh baby” he groaned before going faster now hitting my g-spot with every single thrust. “Found it” he gloated before pounding into me making me cry out.

“So fucking pretty when your getting fucked baby, remember that your the most beautiful girl ever” he groaned him feeling his own release. “Love your personality, your pretty face, and- fuck, your pretty fucking body love fucking you mon ange” he groaned feeling himself on the edge. “Cum with me my beautiful girl” he said while moving his hand that was grabbing my tit to my clit rubbing it in circles bringing me straight to my climax. “Fuck gonna put a baby in you baby you’re gonna look so much more prettier then you already are” he groaned softly. As he felt me tighten around him he groaned shooting his seed into me. He slowly fucks me through my orgasm, once I came down from my high he holds me in his lap cuddling me.

“Did so good Mon ange, so good my good girl” he praised me as I slowly fall asleep on his chest. “I’m gonna be right back let me go clean you up” he whispered trying to slip out but I stop him. “No please stay in me” I begged him softly making him smile. “Okay baby I’ll stay in you” he whispered before cuddling me to sleep. “I love you Charlie” I whisper half asleep in his arms. “I love you so much more Mon ange” he whispered back before we fell asleep.

——————————————————————————————————————————————————

Notes: stop to the girl who requested this I’m so sorry it took this long. I really hope you like it because I love this, most wholesome/dirty thing ever and I’m living for it. I hope you love it girl!

#f1 smut #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fluff #formula 1 smut #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc x female oc #charles leclerc f1

[entitled-fangirl]

One happy marriage.

Benedict Bridgerton x wife!reader

Summary: the reader lies about something important and finally breaks down to tell her husband about it.

Masterlist

..........................................................

"I have started our marriage with the most audacious lie, Benedict!"

He looked up from his sketchbook with a curious look, "Whatever are you talking about, my dear?"

Y/N covered her mouth with a quiet sob. The lie was eating at her every day and she knew sooner or later the truth would reveal itself. Too bad she revealed it on her own.

Benedict frowned and stood quickly. He raced towards her and sat down cautiously on the sofa next to her. One arm gently pulled her to him, "Darling? I'm sure whatever it is can be forgiven."

She shook her head quickly and spoke through hiccups, "No…. It's unspeakable. Pl… please don't leave me."

This started to worry the poor man.

His hands gently ran up and down her arms, "I promise you, my dear. Whatever has happened, we will be as we are now."

She pulls away from him and wipes her eyes. "I am so sorry, Benedict."

He felt his heart break at the sight of her tears and pleads. "You must tell me what has troubled you this badly."

She shakes her head again, "I don't know if I can."

Benedict sighs.

He was a Bridgerton. And Bridgertons are nothing if not stubborn.

He gently takes her face in his hands. "How then, darling, am I to help fix this issue if I do not know of it?"

She stared up at him. How could she deny him? He was her heart. "I… I have lied to you so dreadfully."

He nods in thought, "Alright?"

She takes a deep breath, "I am an artist."

Benedict's head tilts. "Oh."

She looks up at him to gauge his reaction. "When we were courting, you asked if I was an artist. I said no. I… I lied to you."

He nods again with his lips in a tight line, "Yes. So you did."

She felt awful.

Silence fell over the two before Benedict broke it, "And your work?"

Her head perked up. "My work?"

He gave a slight smirk, "Yes, my dear, your work."

She nodded, "The… the paintings in the parlor… I lied. I do not collect them… I ma... I made all of those."

Benedict smiled widely. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned forward and kissed the crown of her head, "I know."

She stiffened. "What?"

He leaned back and his smile only grew, "I knew, darling. I've always known. I was waiting for you to tell me."

Now it was her turn to feel a bit speechless.

Benedict continued, "I understand why you lied. Those pieces are gorgeous, and the last thing you wanted was your courter... well... your husband... to feel… lowly of his own work-"

"-but your work is lovely, Ben." She quickly interrupted.

"Ah, yes, but not like yours, my dear."

"But how did you know?"

He shrugged, "John Marques is not a real painter." He leaned close to her ear, "And yet, his name is on every plaque in the house."

She let out a laugh so happy, Benedict swore he had never heard one that matched.

She jumped into his lap and held him close.

And he was beyond happy to hold her so near.

He pulled away just to kiss her.

They could feel each other's smiles as their lips pressed together.

She broke away, just close enough to feel his breath on her lips, "And you truly aren't upset at me?"

He laughed, "How could I be? My very own wife, a most talented painter? How on earth could I ever be upset? I'm the happiest husband in the ton!"

Two artists make one happy marriage.

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#fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x y/n

[houserautha]

These Destined Ends

Part 9

Summary: Jessica fulfilled the wishes of the Bene Gesserits to produce a daughter. You’re now burdened with the task of not only marrying the na-Baron, but also bearing his child — the Kwisatz Haderach. Will you take your fate into your own hands? Or will it always belong to those who control you?

Pairings: Feyd-Rautha x F!Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: kind of (?) sub!Feyd, oral sex f receiving (there’s an imbalance in oral sex but I promise reader shows him some love too), p in v, “no hands”

A/N 1.0: Two updates in one week?? I probably should edit this more but I’m just excited to release it hehe

Feyd drags his tongue down your navel, dipping into the divot of your belly button to lick out the poison. You’ve taken to creative methods of your daily dosages, the current which gives you shudders of delight. His tongue is warm and wet, his grin roguish, and his dark eyes sinfully gorgeous; there are certain instances when you can hardly stand to look at him, this being one of them. You honestly don’t know what he will see reflected in your own eyes.

His tongue darts out to capture any residual poison from his lips. “Are you alright?”

“Yes. Fine.” You sit up, pulling your shirt back down. Disappointment is evident on Feyd’s face. “Shouldn’t we be going?”

He pulls you to the edge of the table and nudges open your legs so that he might position himself between them. “They’ll wait.”

“We don’t want to anger them.”

Feyd’s tongue rolls in his cheek. “Don’t we?”

“No.” You hop off the table. “Come on.”

“You haven’t taken your dose yet.”

You fix him with an exasperated look. Feyd pours the measurements into the glass, then into his mouth. His expression is comically triumphant. You roll your eyes as you close the space between you, then press your mouth firmly to his.

His kiss is as dangerous as the poison itself, spilling out from his lips and down his chin, down your chin, coating the inside of your mouth as his tongue pushes into it. You greedily kiss him back, poison forgotten. It’s him that you need the daily dose of, a perilous addiction that would render you sickly without. And he pulls you in like he knows this, that it’s only the poison from his lips that you seek.

You withdraw, breathless and wiping at your chin. “Satisfied?”

“For now.”

Rabban is departing today for a political mission, one that neither you nor Feyd are privy to — to his chagrin. You were both requested by the Baron to attend his send off. As you stride beside Feyd to the thopter hangar, the sight of the Baron seizes you with burning hatred.

He floats next to Rabban, muttering something to him that you can’t hear. Both cease their talking when you arrive. Frankly, you don’t know if you want to tear out their throats or leave them to Feyd’s concubines.

Rabban wordlessly boards the thopter. It will take him to a more secure location to be delivered to a heighliner, from your understanding. As you observe the scene with thinly veiled disgust, you notice a commotion to one side — it’s the same Sardaukar soldier from before, along with a handful of others. Today they’re adorn in the typical Harkonnen armor, distinguishable only by the fuzz of closely shaved hair on their heads.

You grab Feyd’s arm, lean into him. “Who are they?”

“Sardaukar. Though I suspect you already knew that,” he says without tearing his gaze from them. “I don’t know what business they have with my rotten brother.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I.”

He breaks away from you and storms to the Baron. They share a short, heated exchange, one that has your stomach clenching. How he stood to even be near his uncle bewildered you, though you supposed in some sense that he was unable to completely divorce himself from the man. Feyd was his heir, after all. A fact that the Baron wields over him. Your hands form into fists.

“He said that the Emperor’s soldiers are assisting them in the mission. Something about a shared goal.”

You frown. Both of you stand silently as the soldiers climb into the thopter after Rabban, stirring dust as its wings snap out and then ascend into the rings of smog circling the hangar. The Baron glides toward you both.

“Your brother is a fine soldier,” he rasps, “I know I can rely on him to secure our objective.”

Feyd’s upper lip curls into a snarl. “He has plenty of time to considering he doesn’t have any other obligations.”

“There’s a reason I made you the na-Baron,” the Baron replies coolly. “Your brother has a different fate.”

This response unnerves you. You stare after his bulbous retreating form, then flick your gaze to your husband — Feyd’s entire body is rigid with fury. You wonder briefly if he had spoken to Rabban, and what he said if he did. The more days that have passed since your wedding, the less time you had to spend together.

You were coming up on one month now.

“We dont need to stay here any longer,” you tell him.

Feyd wrenches his arm from your grasp. He snaps, “I have something I need to tend to.”

And then somehow you were left alone in the hanger, a mixture of emotions forming within you. You wanted to chase after Feyd but your better senses warned you not to — he could be volatile like this, and you weren’t really in the mood for a verbal lashing.

Instead you wander the fortress grounds. It’s taken some time, but you’re finally used to the black sun. And the guards no longer believe that you’re an Atreides spy or, at least, any threat. You want to comment on this but it’s a nice freedom, and you nod to them as you pass by. Your aimless stroll is interrupted by a loud yelling, however, drawing you to the massive gates that barricade the fortress from the rest of Giedi Prime.

Before today, you’d never even seen them open.

There’s a crowd of citizens gathered outside, obviously agitated. Guards stall them from entering with their spears, though, to the credit of the citizens, they’re doing a fairly decent job of holding their own. You spot Asha amongst the number of servants aiding in the crowd control.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

“They’re here for their monthly audience with the na-Baron,” Asha explains, “but he’s refusing to meet with them. They aren’t happy.”

She grimaces as an angry shout pierces the air.

“Why is he refusing them?”

Asha casts you a sideways glance. “He’s the na-Baron, he doesn’t need a reason.”

You survey the crowd.

“Tell them that their na-Baroness will receive them.”

“What? Are you sure?” Asha stares at you as if you asked her to behead them all.

“Give me a few minutes, first.” You flash her a smile and then turn back towards where you came from, the clamor of the crowd subsiding.

In your chest, your heart pounds furiously. You didn’t even know Feyd took audience with the citizens, much less what to do with their requests. But you could handle it, you were sure. It was about time that you contributed to the baronship.

Quickly you change into a formal dress and then make your way to the throne room. Your footsteps ring out through the space as you climb the dais steps and take your place on your husband’s throne. It’s to the right of the Baron’s, not quite as grand, and you have half the mind to sit on it before the doors open and the citizens of Giedi Prime spill inside.

The first citizen is a woman, dressed in a worn white dress. Her eyes are sunken. “na-Baroness, we are grateful for you to receive us today.” The woman nervously licks her lips. “I wouldn’t know what to do without my stipend. None of us would.”

Those that can hear her nod their assent.

You do your best not to let your surprise show on your face. You wave a hand. “Of course.”

Most of the citizens are all there for similar reasons: their monthly allowance bestowed upon them by the na-Baron. You learned that families that served in the Harkonnen military received a slightly higher amount, including those retired from it. You were loathed to be impressed by Feyd but you couldn’t help but admire his rule — he was many things, but an excellent na-Baron happened to be one of them. He supported his people in ways that others would not have bothered to.

Of course, not everyone comes to you for money.

You settle a dispute between two neighbors arguing over property lines, and a factory employee declaring unfit working conditions. It rather surprisingly becomes very easy for you to delegate the matters of these people — you found you cared about their problems, making them your own. The crowd had dwindled down quite a bit when you’re faced with two men who can hardly look at each other.

“na-Baroness,” the taller one says. He introduces himself as Anagon.

The other man remains silent.

“We are here today for your gracious judgment,” Anagon continues, unbidden. “You see, this man has forsaken me and my family.”

You examine both men. Anagon is dressed in the style typical of nobles, the other in a simple tunic and pants. He refuses to meet your eyes.

“I see,” you say. “How so?”

“He stole my family’s ceremonial dagger. Straight from my manor!”

The other man finally says, “I didn’t!”

“He deserves the swiftest punishment for his crimes against me,” Anagon continues as if the other man never spoke, “the lower citizens of Giedi Prime must learn their place.”

Anagon’s face falls as you ask the other man, “And what do you say?”

“I-I did find the dagger but —” he raises his voice to be heard over the noble’s protests, “I found it while demolishing the old factory. It-It was buried under the building, lost and forgotten. I fully intended to return it to its owner.”

Anagon hisses, "You did not!"

"You can not know his intentions," you remind him pointedly, then, to the other man, "is this dagger here today? Let me see it."

"My-My name is Res," the man says as he approaches. He offers to you a ceremonial dagger, one that you notice is badly bent out of shape and tarnished. It certainly looks like it’s been buried under a factory.

“Did you know where the dagger was? Answer me truthfully, for I will know if you have lied.”

Anagon shifts his weight. “No, na-Baroness. But it is my family’s ceremonial dagger. It-It was misplaced in the civil war two generations ago.”

You gaze between Anagon and Res. Taking the dagger from the latter, you hand it blade-first to Anagon. “This relic belongs to you. But you must compensate Res for his troubles — you accused him wrongfully. It is not your right to put whoever you see fit into place.”

“Fine. And how do you recommend that I compensate him?” Anagon asks, clearly displeased with your decision.

“You will give him a job under your employ.”

You had sat in on quite a few political meetings with Feyd, and knew the factory that Res spoke of. It had to be demolished and thus left many workers displaced. Anagon, a man you knew only by name until today, was the wealthy head of a series of factories that produced weapons.

Anagon’s jaw flexes. “na-Baroness, there must be another way —”

“You will employ him or I will take that ceremonial dagger and cut your throat with it.”

“She’ll make quick work of it, though,” a familiar rasping voice says. You shift to discover Feyd in the doorway of one of the throne room entrances, the one used for servants. Anagon and Res both stare wide-eyed at him. “You heard her.”

Anagon and Res exchange a glance before the noble mutters something akin to an apology, and promise of employment. Anagon lingers, seemingly for Feyd’s disapproval or your ire, but when neither of you speak, he turns and storms away. Res blinks up at you gratefully.

“Thank you, na-Baroness. You are exceedingly generous and fair.”

You dip your chin. Res takes that as his invitation to leave, smiling softly as he does so.

“That’s it for today,” Feyd announces. “I will receive the rest of you tomorrow.”

The remaining crowd grumbles but filters out of the throne room, leaving you alone with Feyd. He stops on the stairs at the bottom of the dais and gazes up at you. “You belong on a throne.”

Your brows furrow, and you ignore him. “You did not have to intervene, I was managing it quite well.”

“Clearly.”

“Then why did you dismiss them?”

Feyd examines your face. “If a noble claims that a lower-class citizen stole from their house, the citizen would receive death. No questions asked.”

“What?” Outrage shoots through you. “That’s ridiculous. You saw what happened —”

“I’m not disagreeing with you, wife. I am merely stating the truth of the law.”

You bristle. “Do you suggest I call them back here and slaughter the poor man for something that he did not do?”

“While that would be entertaining,” Feyd retorts, “it would demean your decision. The only real danger of it is that the citizens of Giedi Prime will be disappointed if I receive them now.”

“Maybe for good reason,” you sniff. “Why did you desert them today? It is clear to me that these people rely on you.”

A shadow of anger passes over Feyd’s expression. “I was not equipped to handle their problems, which look minor in the face of my own. My emotions would’ve clouded my better judgment.”

“That’s no reason to leave them,” you counter.

“And what do you know of ruling?” Feyd snarls. He advances on you, still towering above you despite your position on the throne. “You played the part of doting daughter to the Duke for all these years. This is your first taste of it. Do not tell me how to rule over my people.”

“Our people,” you dryly correct, “as you married me and thus gave me equal power over them.”

He sneers. “Perhaps a mistake if you think you know more about ruling than me.”

You curb the flare of your irritation, barely, by lifting your chin and looking your husband squarely in the eyes. He is a storm, crackling with dangerous energy, ready to unleash upon you.

And you tell him, “I know plenty of ruling. Get down on your knees, Feyd-Rautha, so I may prove it to you.”

Recognition flickers in his eyes. As much as the beast in him calls to you, the opposite is just as true. You love him like this — wild and beyond your control, fraying at the seams of his sanity. You want to pull on the threads until he unravels completely.

You lean forward slightly. “I said kneel.”

Never breaking eye contact, Feyd sinks to his knees before you.

A heady surge of power crashes over you then, threatens to encompass you, the brightness of the sun after an eclipse. And you are drunk on it, gulping greedily from the golden chalice that it embodies.

“You pretend that I am nothing but a duke’s daughter,” you hiss, “when I am your wife, the wife of the na-Baron. You say I know nothing of rule and yet here you are, submitting to me. How does that speak to your assumptions?”

Feyd says nothing. His gaze burns you.

You continue, unbidden, “I should punish you for your impudence. Tell me, na-Baron, what does your law say of this?”

“It says whatever you would like,” he rasps.

You can see his cock straining against his pants, feel the heat of his desire. And yet he gazes upon you with utter devotion, ready to follow out your orders without hesitation.

“I would like to put that mouth of yours to better use than making false claims.”

Feyd wavers.

“No hands,” you instruct.

You do him the favor of hiking the skirt of your dress up around your hips, then spread your legs. His tongue darts out to wet his lips as he marvels you. With the slightest indication of your chin, he all but crawls closer to you, breath fanning the sensitive skin of your thighs. He moves as if to brace his hands on either side of you and you press the toe of your heel to his cock.

“No hands,” you repeat, alleviating the pressure on him only once he’s locked his hands behind his back. A frustrated groan rumbles through his chest, eyes flashing. You say, “Continue.”

Your back bows as his cheeks nuzzle up against your thighs, his mouth ghosting over your cunt with perverse refrain. Unwittingly, you snap your hips to meet him — you didn’t tell him to tease you, you wanted him to fuck you with his mouth, with his stupidly plush lips. Feyd’s breathy laugh warms your exposed entrance, a stark contrast to the cool air of the room, of the throne itself.

Finally he presses his mouth to your entrance and licks a stripe of your center. You shiver in delight. He drags his tongue through your slick folds, slow and savory, deliberately avoiding your clit. Feyd has no hair for you to anchor yourself so instead you grab the base of his neck and push him closer; there’s no doubt in your mind that he’s strong enough to resist you, but he assents to your touch. Feyd’s tongue spears you, stroking your inner walls before withdrawing and paying attention to your aching bud. His mouth closes over your clit and sucks.

The action sends a jolt of pleasure straight to your core. You hold him to you, giving him no other option but to worship you, his licking and sucking becoming almost lewd, fervent, coating his chin with your wetness as he laps at you.

You pull on the back of his armor. Feyd releases his mouth from your cunt, shoulders heaving from his effort. You behold him like this — yielding to you, slick with your moisture, on his knees — and you feel a pulse of want. It drives you to kiss him, to push your tongue into his mouth and taste yourself. Feyd kisses you back just as passionately, mouth working to devour you, devour every logical thought you might conjure.

“Now,” you say, breathless, “I want you to fuck me right here on your throne, so the next time you doubt my competence you remember this moment.”

Feyd nods eagerly. “Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, na-Baroness,” he amends, rasping.

You smirk at him, pat his cheek. Feyd remains kneeling as you step from the throne. His body quivers with the slightest hint of his lust, visible to your eye as you circle him from behind. Drinking in his broad shoulders, his tapered waist, the shape of his ass, you swallow, exhilarated by your power and the man before you.

“Sit down. On the throne.”

Feyd obeys. He moves his hands from behind his back to the armrests. There’s a tension in the line of his jaw that tells you it’s taking every ounce of his strength not to touch you.

You set to removing his armor. “Lift,” you instruct and he does as you ask so that you can slide his pants down. His cock springs forth, slapping up against his toned stomach. You trail the backs of your nails up his length, under the curve of his head, and Feyd nearly whimpers at the contact.

You straddle him, and his entire body coils. There’s a tremendous release of endorphins when you finally sink down on his cock, clenching your walls and taking him all in. Feyd groans. You wiggle your hips appreciatively and let yourself adjust. He bucks into you then slightly, which you respond to with an agonizingly slow withdraw, lifting up on your knees so that he’s once more exposed to the cool air. His cock twitches.

“Fuck,” he all but seethes.

You slam back down on him and he howls out. Joining him with a cry of pleasure, his cock piercing you almost painfully, you set a violent, unsteady pace, instincts guiding you to seek out your own orgasm. It washes over you too quickly, stills you as it takes a hold over your senses.

“Please,” Feyd mutters. He grinds against your cunt, eager to keep up the friction.

You hum “Please what?”

“Please let me touch you,” he begs, “please, na-Baroness.”

You pump his cock slowly, lazily, and he grits his teeth in agony. Feyd trembles. “Fine,” you say, his hands on you before you can even finish the word. His touch is electric.

Feyd grabs hold of you, curls his fingers into the dip at your lower spine, and thrusts with you, over and over. He’s the one sitting on the throne but you are the one in charge — holding power over him by the snap of your hips, the way your cunt coaxes out his orgasm, your lips on his neck. And he is all too willing to be the slave to your pleasure, aiding you to orgasm twice more before finally coming inside you.

His thick cum fills you. You moan into the juncture of his shoulder as he wrings his own pleasure from you, shuddering, breath warming the side of your face.

“I-I won’t make that mistake again,” he rasps.

You can’t help but laugh. “Mm, pity. I quite enjoyed it.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t enjoy it,” Feyd says. His expression turns into one of introspection. “I’ve never…given…myself to someone like that before. Not on purpose.”

Your heart twinges. “I wouldn’t have —”

“No. No apologies. I did it willingly. It was a show of…trust.”

The pain you feel at his behalf melts away to something even more confusing and impossible to name. You don’t say anything as you both adjust yourselves; you, slightly uncomfortable as his cum slides down your thighs, him, looking neither abashed at his admittance nor pleased. Just…content. A look you’ve never noticed before gracing his handsome features.

Unspoken between you, the two of you return to your quarters. Fatigue seizes you. But there’s a tiny bird trapped in your chest that beats its wings against your rib cage — hope. A foolish, tragic brush of promise that you wish to silence.

From your place on the bed, where you collapsed upon arrival, you covertly watch Feyd. He cleaned you, gave you a new dress to wear, and now is ensuring that he’s fit for the view of others. You trace the shape of his body, so achingly familiar to you, hidden mostly under his armor. He catches you staring and lifts a brow, dark eyes glinting.

“Yes, wife?” He turns. “Or should I say, na-Baroness?”

You grin at him.

Sitting on the tip of your tongue, a confession lies, your judgement loosened by this moment of peace between you. You want to tell him about the beating of your heart, the way that he’s properly — unavoidably — invaded your mind, but the opportunity passes as soon as you have the chance to grasp it.

There’s a commotion outside of your quarters.

Feyd beats you to the door, shields you with his body as you both survey the servants pacing back and forth. They seem to be mumbling between each other hastily, worriedly, obviously uncertain about what to do with themselves. You can’t miss their pitying glances.

“What’s going on?” You ask.

Feyd’s expression is grave. “I don’t know.” He grabs the arm of one of the passing servants. “Tell me what’s happening.”

“na-Baron!” The servant’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t know, we haven’t been told —”

Suddenly you hear your name being called over the clamor. Asha elbows her way through the servants, face stricken, and grabs you by circling her arms around your neck. “Y/N, I’m so sorry —”

“What? What are you sorry for?”

She holds you at arms length. There are tears in her eyes. “The House of Atreides has fallen.”

A/N 2.0: I’m sorry Leto, you don’t survive in this universe either😭😭😭 Also, part 2 of Feyd and reader solving their disputes with fucking.

For the life of me I can’t remember who but I dedicate this chapter to whoever reblogged Part 7 and added something like “I wish Feyd would fuck away my disbelief and insecurities”. Because same.

Taglist:

@moonsoulk @heartarianagran @torchbearerkyle @unicoreads @taleah @mamawiggers1980 @jovialeggsbailiffsoul @harkonnin @avidreader73 @unicorntrooper @beebeechaos @kamcrazy123 @wo-ming-bai @kpopnstarwars @m-indkiller @dacreshoney @stopeatread

#feyd rautha #dune #feyd x reader #feyd x you #fanfic writing #writers on tumblr #writing #feyd smut #fanfic #feyd rautha harkonnen #yes na-baroness #why talk when we can fuck #I’m sorry Leto #you gorgeous man #but you were kind of a dick to reader so

[hanaonesflower]

“let me do this for you.”

“let me get that for you.”

“don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

when nanami was around, it was like being watched by a hawk. not in a bad way of course, just not a way you're probably used to. he is always on it, taking care of everything from beginning to end, hell bent on you not ever lifting a finger and actually bar you from doing it, even behind his back.

"seriously, kento, I can do it myself!"

"absolutely not, you worked all day, when you come home, I take care of you."

you try to bargain, dishing out facts that he, too, has a full time job that usually pushes him to the brink of exhaustion that he may or may not recover from, yet, here he is, elbows deep in dough, insistent on making pasta from scratch. according to a recipe that you may have briefly mentioned weeks ago that you wanted to try.

you tried to pick up the knife and dice the tomatoes or turn on the stove, he shoos you away.

"this is getting out of control, kento."

"you can help me by taking a nice warm long bath, honey."

nanami knows what he's doing, the majority of the time. but will he ever express that he fumbles from time to time? never. not that his ego is inflated, but because he has prided himself for being to care for you boundlessly.

so when you leave the bath and find kento with his hand in a bucket of ice water, you realize something have gone south in the kitchen.

"kento! what happened?!"

"nothing to worry about my l-"

"enough! tell me, now."

your stern voice and attitude stun him, he's never seen you like this before. his behavior is downright concerning, he hasn't always been this way though. sure, he loves by serving, but he isn't always this stubborn or ridiculously protective. you have always cooked together, why would it be different this time, or the last few times within the past couple of months. nanami isn't unreasonable, but he can be if something pricked at his pride.

"I may have burned myself with the hot steam."

"may have? your skin is having a terrible reaction! for a smart man you can be so clumsy sometimes."

"it's not that bad."

you glare.

"okay, it's pretty burnt and it hurts."

"I bet it does."

you slowly pull his hand out from the ice bucket and lead him to the kitchen table and command him to sit still when you fetch the first aid. his palm is raw from the burn and his face twists in pain when you apply some pressure.

there isn't much conversation exchanged between you and him, but something is definitely hanging above your heads. kento seems to be closed off to it, but you're willing to get to the root of things.

"you haven't been yourself lately."

silence.

"I feel like this is not just about providing for me, something happened, and it affected you."

kento looks saddened by this. you are spot on. something did happen.

a few months ago, during a dinner party amongst friends, kento found himself begrudgingly involved in unpleasant conversations with his colleagues, the way they audaciously questioned his ability to care for his partner when he was always away on work trips or spending extra time at work. he took it to heart, kento questioned himself. he realized, that even though his colleagues were terribly annoying and invasive, they made some considerable points. he made the executive decision to fully take over, spinning a complete 180 on you. at first you thought it was sweet, until it became authoritarian.

"that's really how you feel?"

"have I been absent to you, y/n?"

you contemplate for a while, you truly wish he is around more, but you always understand the nature of his job.

"I do wish I can see you more often, when you had that 2-week long vacation, I was able to spend such amazing quality time with you, and it was awesome, but I also understand how your job is. I didn't want to come in between that."

"so I have been absent." he moaned defeatedly.

"please don't blame it on yourself like this, it's not healthy, I still love you, kento."

"this is all my fault, y/n, I should have been there for you more."

truthfully, you wish he was, but once again, you are both stuck between a rock and a hard place.

"have you been doing all this to somehow compensate?"

"is it working?"

he is trying to humor you, although at quite a horrid time, you still crack a smile.

"I think it's very kind of you."

he sighs.

"please, forgive me, my love. I became what you called a workaholic, I tried to get more hours to provide for you, only to come short in other aspects."

"I'm not an unemployed housewife, kento."

“this isn’t my way of saying that you are incapacitated in any way, i just wish that you didn’t have to worry about anything,” he groaned from the incessant gnawing of the antiseptic on his burnt wound.

“kento, this is a partnership, you’re not my servant and i’m not a spoiled brat,” he felt a little silly, nanami knew this fact yet he felt impotent in this sense. he opened and closed his lips, hoping to get his point across even further but nothing seemed good enough at theis point, he’s done fighting.

“whatever you’re going to say, it’s not going to change the fact that i love you,” you silence him.

“then can i say that i love you, too?”

“that, you can.”

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒ ⭒˚‧

note: PHEEeewww… it’s really good to be back :33 this piece shall be the redebut as it is one of my cuter fics. going back with smut pieces after such a long hiatus didn’t feel right so – soft nanami is always the way to go!! more content will be coming soon (smut included >.>), stay tuned ( ˘ ³˘)

#nanami kento #jjk nanami #soft nanami #nanami can do no wrong #nanami kento jjk #jjk nanami kento #nanami x reader #nanami x y/n #nanami x you #kento nanami #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk scenarios #jjk fic #aisssHHH i love him more than ever b4 #just the sweetest broody guy evaaaa

[mimixmunson]

I have a habbit of messing up peoples names, ive called my mom my brothers name. Sometimes ill start with someone elses name and correct myself like sara-mily or i get it early so its just the first letter like saying ch-steve

I was just thinking about bestfriends eddie x reader where reader accidentally calls eddie daddy because theyre so similar. She goes to say a d name but catches herself and says eddie. She was talking fast and didnt even catch herself saying it until eddies like "did you just call me daddy?"

Accidentally calling Eddie ‘Daddy’. Eddie Munson x female reader. Blurb. Fluff.

I hope this is okay, I’m sick at the moment so it’s kinda self indulgent but I tried to personalise it a bit for you!

The night was like any other of yours and Eddie’s movie nights. Bags of candy spilled out on the floor, blankets swallowing you both up and a blunt being passed between you. Today was tiring, work couldn’t be more stressful and of course you were understaffed. Eddie came to pick you up at closing time, he already had your cup of tea in his cup-holder. It was the small things you appreciated the most from your best friend.

You had your head on his chest, because Eddie said “it will help your migraine I promise.” You wanted to believe him but the smirk on his face just showed he wanted to look after you. Eddie held his palm to your forehead, “you’re burning up a little, I’ll get you some medicine. Wait right here.” He ushers himself out from the blankets and into the kitchen. Rooting through the cupboards as you pause the movie, he reappears holding a bottle and a medicine spoon. Pouring the contents onto the spoon, “open up darling” he smirks as he feeds you.

You wince at the taste of the bitter medicine, swiftly taking a swig of your soda to wash away the taste. Wiping your mouth you whisper, “thank you d-daddy” “e-Eddie I meant Eddie!!” Your face flushes immediately, wanting the ground to swallow you up as you blurt out your sentence. Your brain was on auto pilot and Eddie and Daddy sounded far too similar for your mouth to comprehend whilst you’re suffering so bad with your migraine.

“What was that? Did you just call me daddy?” Eddie smirks, teasing you as he pulls your hands away from your blushing face.

“I- no! The words got scrambled in my head m’sorry I’m so embarrassed, I’m sorry.” You pull away from Eddie’s touch, bringing your knees to your chest and resting your head on them. Terrified that you’ve ruined your friendship, how could Eddie not see you differently after calling him that? A word so not-inherently bad but turned kinky and shameful, he could assume you’re into that. Not that it would be a bad thing to be kinky, you just weren’t.

“Hey hey hey.” Eddie pulls at your arms, “just look at me.” His voice is like velvet, so comforting but you’re shaking. Wishing you could be ignorant and never face this issue. “Come on princess, just want to see you smile.” You can almost hear the smirk in his voice.

You stick to your guns, refusing to move and face him. “You leave me no choice then, I didn’t want to do this sweetheart. But you asked for this..” Eddie coos into your ear before teasing his fingers over your neck, ghosting over your skin and down to your sides. He pokes and prods your ribs, flailing back into Eddie’s chest, trying to swat at his hands to put an end to his ticklish assault.

“Okay! Okay!” You plead, holding on to Eddie’s wrists and looking deep into his eyes. He stills his hands, holding yours and dropping them into his lap. “I didn’t mean to say it Eddie, honestly.” Your voice stuttering as you whimpered. “It’s not a big deal. Seriously, I understand. You do that a lot with words, I’ve seen it. You’re okay. It’s okay. We’re okay.” A mischievous smile spreads over his face when he sees you let go of the breath you’ve been holding for the entire moment. Sighing, you let yourself smile, feeling safe knowing that Eddie doesn’t judge you.

“There’s that smile. Gotta hear that laugh too, you know, for daddy?” He teases before jumping on top of you and tickling you again.

#stranger things #mine #eddie munson #eddie munson au #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #blurb #eddie x you #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie the freak munson #eddie the banished #Eddie blurb #fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie fluff #requests #eddie munson x reader #tickle fic #best friend!eddie munson #best friend!eddie #x female reader

[404-mind-not-found]

I MADE A SYNOPSIS AND A SONG LIST FOR THE HYPOTHETICAL FNAF MUSICAL (Well, the first draft, I'll probably change some minor story stuff later) Act I is really similar to the actual lore of FNAF up to the MCI, but Act II is when things diverge.

(Actual synopsis text under cut, had the song list too but it wouldn't let me post with it, I'll try again later)

Synopsis ACT I William and Henry meet and create Fredbear's, and later Freddy Fazbear's, and both of their families are introduced (The Spark). Then, it shows the current year of 1983. While William wanted to expand further, Henry was content. Dealing with already existing jealousy plus this new anger, he murders Charlotte to keep him in line (Mine, Forever). Everybody except for Henry moves on from Charlotte's murder, and William continues as normal until his youngest son's birthday (The Birthday). The day seemed to be good for everyone involved. However, due to a prank by Michael and his friends, his head is crushed by Fredbear and he later dies. Charlotte, who was now possessing the Puppet animatronic made to protect her, gives him life inside the Fredbear animatronic. Fredbear's closes because of this, and William scolds Michael harshly (The Bite). Following this, William and Henry have much more frequent arguments, so does the former and his wife, until she disappears. William spends more of his time at Freddy Fazbear's, where he feels the atmosphere has changed. He then investigates the Puppet, finally understanding that her soul was inside the animatronic. Meanwhile, Michael and Elizabeth become closer together as William spends less and less time at home (Agony). William spends the next year and a half studying, finally creating a plan to recreate the events of Charlotte's murder. With this in mind, he decides to go and take the lives of four more children, Elizabeth overhearing the entire thing (Follow Me) ACT II Everybody in town hears about the murders by morning, and Clay starts investigating the situation. He suspects William as the murderer (Eye of the Hurricane). Freddy's closes down. At the Afton house, Elizabeth tells Michael everything that she overheard and the two of them look into all of William's stuff while he was away. Their suspicions are found to be correct (Daddy's Show). They then flee once he returns home. William goes to the room and unveils his hidden experiment: a rabbit animatronic for himself to become. He then decides he needs more Remnant, but knows he can't collect any while Clay suspects him. A few days pass and Jen visits Henry and convinces him to leave Freddy's behind for his sake (Until The End). However, after she leaves, Henry finds a letter telling him to go there. At the restaurant, William plans to murder him and frame it as a suicide done out of guilt to clear his name (Follow Me (Reprise)). Michael steals William's car and goes to Fredbear's with Elizabeth, wanting to find more answers there. They discover Fredbear possessed by their brother, and realise they need to find his father. Henry meets William, who tells him everything then attacks him. Before he can give him the finishing blow, however, his kids appear to stop him. William talks to them, but Michael sees through his ruse (You Can't.). Clay reveals himself, telling Elizabeth and Michael go outside, where they find Fredbear. Elizabeth brings him to the other animatronics, where they move on (Happiest Day). William fights Clay, and Henry stands. He takes Clay's gun and shoots William's leg, allowing Clay to arrest him before becoming weak (Mine, Forever (Reprise)). He, Mike and Elizabeth say their goodbyes. Later, the town closes the case and moves on from the tragedies. After Henry heals, Freddy Fazbear's is remade into a new space for children with the help of Elizabeth and Michael. William's place is gone through and the rabbit suit is demolished to make the sign. (Save Them).

#fnaf #five nights at freddy's #fnaf au #fnaf musical au #theatrics at freddy's au #william afton #henry emily #michael afton #mike afton #elizabeth afton #clay burke #jen emily #jenny emily #mci #fnaf missing kids #charlotte emily #charlie emily

[syrupfog]

Need to read some fic where Law is the one who falls HARD and instantly, while Luffy takes a while. 

Law full on pining from day 1 while Luffy’s like “haha you’re so weird but your bear’s cool”

Law convincing himself that just being close to Luffy during their alliance is enough, treasuring every moment bc he knows Luffy doesn’t feel the same. All the straw hats pitying him and/or outright hostile towards him bc he’s transparent as fuck

Luffy being like “I’m busy becoming the pirate king traffy’s cool I like him but he’s not my crew” and law accepting that and thinking it’s for the best, he doesn’t have a good track record keeping loved ones alive anyway.

Law devoting himself mind body and soul to luffy after Dressrosa, knowing even then that Luffy’s going to be pirate king and law will do anything to make that happen because he wants luffy to have the freedom law’s never felt

And luffy, despite what everyone seems to think, he’s not dumb. He knows how law feels. He doesn’t GET it, just like he doesn’t get why Boa Hancock feels that way, or why he has a fan club, but he does know how law feels about him.

And maybe it’s not until after egghead that something changes. Maybe it’s when Luffy realises that Teach HAS Law, and he gets more upset than people expect. When he goes after Black beard with a fury even he doesn’t understand

And I dunno, maybe Luffy’s never felt love this way before, can recognise it in others but not in himself because it’s all new, but when he gets law back, beaten and tortured in the name of the eternal life surgery, Luffy can’t let him out of his sight.

Almost maniacally, carries law all around the sunny like a soother, law barely conscious as chopper is desperately trying to tend to his injuries but luffy just feels WEIRD without law in his arms. He’s being petulant and stubborn about it because he’s not processing WHY he feels this way. 

And law comes back to himself slowly and is equally confused. Feels undeserving for this weird questionable kindness of being dragged all over like a favourite stuffed animal while, again, chopper is BEGGING luffy to leave law in the infirmary

It goes on for days, until law finally tells luffy to for the love of god put him down, and luffy says “I WON’T I CAN’T something BAD will happen again” and Law has to stiltedly assure him that no, it really won’t. He goes on a tangent about compulsions that luffy clearly ignores

And to law this is a special sort of hell because he LOVES this. Knows this is the luffy version of being doted on,and feels entirely undeserving. He’s knocked luffy off course of becoming the pirate king, his one dream. Law can’t be the reason that doesn’t happen

But Luffy keeps not letting him go, until Law has to FORCE the issue “STRAW HAT YA PUT ME DOWN” only for luffy to say “NO I FEEL WEIRD YOU’RE MAKING ME FEEL WEIRD AND I DON’T GET IT, YOU’RE MAKING ME NERVOUS”

he’s throwing a whole mini tantrum on the middle of the deck on the Sunny where everyone is pointedly looking away as if they can’t hear. And Law, equally unable to understand the situation, says, “WELL HOW DO YOU THINK *i* FEEL”

And maybe that’s when it clicks for Luffy. Ohhhhhh this is how law felt all that time? Like uncomfy bad nervous and upset tummy? THAT’S what this is? 

“Traffy is this LOVE?”he asks, VERY loudly. 

And law, turning beet red, says “no!! It’s not!! Put me down!!”

Because law has known luffy in some form or another for three years at this point and law has loved him for all of it and therefore he is WELL AWARE that luffy doesn’t love him back, so this is clearly something else. PTSD, probably. OCD, definitely.

But then , because all of the straw hats ARE there, Franky yells, “don’t listen to him, little bro! That’s definitely love!” 

And law chokes, starts struggling to be put down, ears BURNING and face in flames. “No it’s NOT” he yells.

“Traffy,” Luffy says, a deep frown on his face as his arms wind again and again around law’s middle. “I think franky’s right.” 

“He’s not,” law seethes, struggling against the rubber boa constrictor arms. “ You CAN’T like me, you’re going to be PIRATE KING.”

Luffy looks up at him. “So what?” He asks, genuinely confused 

“You can’t TIE YOURSELF DOWN to THIS,” law says, furtively motioning to himself. “You’re the freest man in the world, you can’t be tied down to someone who couldn’t even beat black beard.”

Luffy studies him. He thinks REALLY hard, tilting his head and observing law’s expressions go through the five phases of grief. Then he says “that’s dumb, Traffy. Being free means I can choose whatever I want, and I want you.”

Which is, like, something law never let himself think about. So he doesn’t know how to respond. It doesn’t make SENSE. Luffy is everything, is freedom and joy, and law is a man who’s failed every important person in his life.

But luffy IS free to choose, is the thing. And law long ago vowed to do whatever he could to make him pirate king, so. 

“…fine, straw hat-ya. I think you will change your mind, but I won’t stand in your way.”

Luffy laughs. “That’s a weird way to say you’ll be my boyfriend, traffy,” he says. 

And then he gives law the worst, most wet kiss in history. All the straw hats in the vicinity cover their ears in embarrassment.

#lulaw #lawlu #my writing #im slowly crossposting all these from my twitter

[sykostyles]

subject to change 1.1.1 (a check in)

wc: 2.2k summary: in which Harry shows y/n something new but it involves his store. part one part two

a/n: hi again! its been a while! I'm sorry I kinda disappeared, but I promise I have been around. After reading miss @gurugirl update the other day for bfd!Harry I needed some more breeding kink so I snuck some in here as well. I hope you all enjoy!! I’ve missed you all!!

cw: smut, use of sir, exhibitionism, breeding kink, cream pie, standing sex, brief spanking, choking if you squint, unprotected sex, p in v, fingering, oral (f receiving), if there's any I missed pls let me know!

Ever since that night in the hotel with Harry, your relationship had been going strong. Every night, you’d go into his bookstore, and take claim on one of the couches in the seating area to work on your daily editing while he worked on closing down the store. He’d watch you make your concentration faces and think they’re some of the cutest things he’d ever seen. Sometimes you’d even meet a reader and have a chat with them as they perused the store. More people were stopping in lately to purchase holiday gifts for their loved ones, it helped that your latest release was always fully stocked at Harry’s House.

“You look annoyed,” Harry commented, taking a seat next to you on the couch. 

“I am,” you huff, leaning into his side as he wraps his arm around your shoulder, placing a kiss atop your head. “I can’t figure out this idea, it's not anything we’ve done before so it's hard to imagine.”

“Well, Sweets, we’ve done quite a bit. Can you be more specific?” Harry always asks for the exact thing you want, making you squirm and he loves it.

“Like whe–when you get turned on from the possibility of getting caught.” your skin starts to get clammy from talking about these things out loud; it always did. 

“Oh, you mean exhibitionism?” his hand runs up and down your arm, leaving goosebumps with every pass.

“Is that what it is? I thought it was voyeurism.”

“No, that’s when you get turned on from watching other people.”

“See there’s so many terms i don't understand yet,” whines leave your lips, he just chuckles at your mini meltdown.

“I can show you if you want,” he whispers in your ear in your favorite tone of his voice, his warm breath tickling your skin.

“Sh–show me?” When he speaks to you in that tone, it doesn't take long for your core to throb.

He nods in response, a grin on his lips. “Mhm, but you have to be a good girl and wait until I close up. Can you do that for me, baby?” he asks, taking a hold of your chin and placing a kiss on your lips. You form a cute smile, your eyes glazed over in anticipation as you nod your head in his hold. “C’mon, baby you know better. Need words from you,” he laughs.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he gives you another kiss, “You stay here and work on your story, I’ll be back there closing down. I’ll let you know when I’m done, okay?”

“Yes, sir.” you nod excitedly, making him chuckle.

About thirty minutes have passed and you’re getting antsy. Harry’s never made you wait when you were feeling like this before, so you don’t really know how to act. You stand from the couch, and make sure the door is locked before making your way back to Harry. So what if there was still five minutes before closing? You were feeling needy. 

“Thought i told you to wait?”

“Can’t sir,” you whine, leaning against the counter next to him as he counted the money in the register, not paying you any real attention.

“Too bad,” he continues slipping the bills between his fingers as he took mental note of the amounts before writing it in the book.

“Please, sir?” you begin fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, playing with the material as you look down to the floor.

No answer.

“Sir?”

Nothing. He just keeps counting the money

Your tone switches, you’re tired of being ignored. “Harry.”

He still doesn't respond, just sets the money down and looks over to you with irritation laced in his gaze. “Turn around,” he grunts, taking hold of one of your wrists. Harry walks up behind you, pressing his front into your back, making your hips dig into the counter in front of you. You hiss at the feeling. “What happened to you being my good girl? Hmm?” he takes hold of both of your hands, placing them on the counter in front of you. “Keep these here, yeah?”

Harry slides his hands down the expanse of your body, squeezing your hips as he makes his way south and gliding his hands up your skirt and tearing your panties off. The tearing sound makes you gasp. He slides the scraps of what was left into his pocket for safekeeping.

“Now, any of those people out there–” he begins to whisper in your ear. He pulls your hips back, leaving you in a slight bend, your lower half still pressed against him as he speaks.”--can look in here and see you being a little whore for me,--” he flips up the hem of your skirt exposing the skin of your ass.”--So I suggest you go back to being my good girl and be quiet.” Your eyes remain locked front; staring straight out the window as the people walk by without a clue.

He begins massaging the skin of your ass before lifting one hand off and bringing it harshly down against the surface making you jump and yelp loudly at the contact.

“Quiet,” he growls against the skin of your neck. Sliding his hand over your asscheek, he makes the journey around to your front, teasing where you want to feel him most. His other hand snaking its way around your throat, pinning your head against his shoulder as he begins to rub slow circles over your clit. Quiet pants leave your lips at every pass. 

He speeds up; testing your ability to keep quiet. You take your bottom lip between your teeth when you feel him slide two of his fingers deep in your core, scissoring them inside your gummy walls. Every twist of his wrist makes you want to scream out his name, but you know the fate you’d meet if you did. Tempting, but also horrifying to be seen by all the people walking about, buying gifts for their loved ones. Your legs begin to shake once his fingers repeatedly stroke over that spot he knows you love.

“You gonna cum?” Harry asks, knowing full well you’re about to. You nod as much as you can in his hold in response. “Then cum.”

And you do, hard. The grip he kept on your neck was the only thing keeping you standing. A mixture of grunts and gargle sounds fall from your lips as you teeter over the edge and he pulls every bit of arousal from you possible. 

“Which hole do you want stuffed, pet? Hm? Which hole should I stuff with my load for all of those people to look over and see?” His words feel like a dull blade running up the curves of your throat, setting your skin ablaze even more so than the fading orgasm he brought you to with just his fingers.

Harry lets go of your throat so you can speak, “My pussy please,” you choke out, leaning forward on your elbows against the counter below. 

“Yeah? Wanna feel me fill you up full of my babies? Hm? Wanna be all swollen and plump for me?” his primal insticnt to mark you as his in for any passersby to see. 

“Mhm! Need it so bad, Sir!” whines leave your lips faster than you can comprehend the words coming out.

“Gonna give it to you, Sweets don’t worry,” he opens the front of his pants, pulling his cock from the confines of his boxers before swiping his thumb over his tip to smear the precum around the surface. You feel him rub his length up and down your folds, tapping it against your clit making you a whiny mess underneath him. “Gonna be quiet for me or do i need to shut you up early?”

“Shut me up early,” you beg, wanting whatever he’s planning on giving you. His hand smooths up your back, wrapping it around your face, covering your mouth and pulling your head back as he pressed into you. Your eyes cross at the stretch and your muffled whines fill the air.

“Such a good pussy,” he moans softly, “always sucking me in so nicely. Think I’ll make a home in her.” you moan in response. “Yeah? Want me to make my claim for good? Knock you up?” You nod your head faster than you can process his question; you just know you want whatever he’ll give you. “Hm, do you think you deserve it?” you nod some more.

His thrusts are tantalizingly slow as hes speaking to you; never quite giving you what you want. He’s repeatedly giving you languid strokes but then switching, and pulling all the way out and then shoving just the tip back in; driving you mad. You want more. You need more.

“I don't think you do, I have to cover your mouth in order to keep you quiet so these people aren't disturbed outside. Doesn't seem like a very ‘good girl’ thing to do.” you whine at his words, wanting more. 

“Please,” you try to muffle, he just repositions his hand across your mouth.

“Sorry pet, what was that?” Harry teases.

“Please!” you yell out after pulling his hand from your mouth to finally speak. An older woman hears your words, looking into the store. She just smiles at you and moves along, not thinking anything about the scandalous position you were in. A harsh smack lands on your ass in response.

“Gonna have to work on keeping you quiet,” Harry reaches down, pulling your torn panties from his pocket and balling them up. He pulls your head back again. “Open,” he demands. You lull your tongue out as your mouth falls open. He offers you a warm stream of spit before tucking your torn panties into your mouth and forcing it shut. Harry lets go of your head, coercing your upper half down on the counter, and taking hold of your hands as he finally sets a more brutal pace, driving your hips forward into the counter with every thrust. 

Whimpers and whines fill the air as well as the sound of his clothed hips making contact with yours. “Fuckin tight pussy always treats me so well,” Harry grunts, “Gonna fill it up nice n’ deep for you, sweets.” Whines of approval leave your lips. The coil in your belly is pulling further and further as it gets ready to snap. “Gonna cum again, baby?” he asks. You nod your head fervently at his words, making him chuckle. “Give it all to me, pet. Cum for me,” Harry pleads.

His pleas make the coil snap; sending you over that metaphorical peak. Feeling your walls clench around him so tightly sends him into his own orgasm as he chases his own high. He buries himself inside as deep as he possibly can as he releases his load into you. “Fuck, sweets, gonna milk me dry."

Sticky sounds fill the air around you as he continues thrusting in and out of you, unable to let go of the warm feeling. He’s imagining the look of fucked out bliss across your face and he smiles as he comes down. The feeling of you still wrapped around his cock feels like heaven to him. He’d stay like this forever if it was feasible. He was addicted to hearing the whimpers fall from your lips, though he thinks he'd rather hear you call his name from now on. Nothing compared to that for him. Knowing he was the one giving you the pleasure you were feeling.

After he pulled out, harry was quick to clean the mess between your legs with his tongue. Quickly dropping to his knees behind you, deftly ignoring your pleas of “too much,”

“Just cleanin’ up our mess, baby,” he spoke against your core; the vibrations almost too much. You reach back, attempting to shove his head away but he slaps your hand away. 

“So that was exhibitionism?” you asked, slipping into the bed beside Harry as he pulls you to his chest.

“Mhm, kinda hot right?” he asks, placing a kiss atop your head.

“I liked it. I was so terrified and turned on when that woman looked inside,” you admitted, pulling the covers of his bed up and over the both of you.

“I’m glad you liked it, and I’m also glad I’m the only one with access to my security cameras in the store.” he chuckled against your hair.

“Oh god, I didn’t even think about that.” you laughed. You begin thinking back to the act, and how he talked about getting you pregnant. “Would you really want a baby with me?” you asked timidly.

“Course I would. I mean, right now wouldn't be optimal timing, but I’m not against the idea. Why? Is that really sticking with you?”

“Mhm, I liked the idea of having a little bit of you with me forever.

“I like that idea too, Sweets,” he places a soft kiss against your lips.

“Now what about voyeurism?” 

c/n: hello babies, if u made it this far I LOVE YOU! leave me a ���� if u’re here :))) thank you all for the love along this couples journey. I’m not ready to let them go either. I’m thinking of just carrying on with their story? Maybe? Perhaps? But I also have a few other ideas I want to work on! We shall see my loves. Let me know what you’d like to see though! 🩵

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles x fem!reader #harry edward styles

[puppy-steve]

strawberry wine

real life has got me feeling stressed and uncertain so, naturally, i started thinking about a previous fic, which can also be read here

The kitchen’s dark, save for the light above the sink. Steve is elbow deep in soapy dish water when the radio on the china hutch behind him clicks on, a soft country ballad trickling into the quiet space. Arms wrap around his waist and Steve huffs a laugh as he reaches for the dish rag to dry his hands.

He turns in Eddie’s arms and is met with an expression that’s so open and full of love. It still catches Steve off guard sometimes, still not used to being loved by someone who proudly shows all of his emotions on his sleeve.

Eddie takes Steve’s hand in his as they sway in the dim light. Steve buries his face in Eddie’s shoulder and closes his eyes, letting him take the lead.

I still remember

When thirty was old

My biggest fear was September

When he had to go

The lyrics are like an arrow in Steve’s stomach. He grips Eddie’s shoulder tighter and presses closer to him as they continue to sway in the slow circle. Eddie just rubs a soothing hand up and down his back.

A few cards and letters

And one long distance call

We drifted away

Like the leaves in the fall

Doesn’t mention the tears seeping through his shirt or the way Steve’s shoulders wrack with silent sobs. Eddie presses a kiss above his hair and holds him tighter while he croons softly.

Strawberry wine and seventeen

The hot July moon, saw everything

My first taste of love

Whoa, bittersweet

“I don’t want you to go,” Steve admits against his shoulder, feeling a bit like a child throwing a tantrum. He thinks he’s allowed to be a little selfish when it feels like his whole world is being ripped away from him.

Robin’s transferring her community college credits to a state school after her gap year ends and the kids are a month away from graduation and starting their own college journeys.

Corroded Coffin’s been noticed. Their gigs at The Hideout have been growing ever since Eddie’s name was cleared and the murder charges were dropped and there was an actual scout at their last one. Talked to the band and showed them a pretty picture of fame and fortune.

And a way out of this cursed town.

And Steve? Steve has no idea where he’s headed in life. He gave college a try three separate times after Vecna and dropped out each time after a semester. Too stupid to understand what his professors were talking about and unable to keep up with the workload while also working full time.

What good is he if the world isn’t ending? If he isn’t being the protector, the body they need when shit goes sideways (it always goes sideways.) His parents were at least kind enough to pay off the mortgage and cover the utilities for at least a year before they fucked off to God knows where, but once that’s up? Family Video only pays so much and he’s definitely not being paid to drive the brats around every weekend.

“I know,” Eddie says, because they’ve already talked about it. The band’s been invited up to Chicago to meet with label executives next month to let them hear some samples of their music, and that means the possibility of signing a contract and finally getting their big break.

Steve is so, so proud of him.

He’s also so, so lost.

They’ve stopped dancing. Eddie is still running his fingertips along his spine comfortingly. Steve sniffs and pulls back just enough to look at him. His boyfriend has opted for a flannel over a band t-shirt today. Steve fiddles with the collar and doesn’t meet Eddie’s concerned eyes.

“But you have to go.” He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “I can’t hold you back from something you’ve waited your whole life for.” He gives Eddie a smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Corroded Coffin is your baby.”

Eddie cups his face and frowns. “You’ll always come first, you know that, right? Even if I’m on the other side of the world, as soon as you say the word, I’ll come right back to you.”

Steve does know that, and it scares the absolute shit out of him. Being loved so completely and unconditionally. It’s been almost three years and he’s is ashamed to admit he’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for Eddie to wake up and realize he could do so much better than a washed-up has-been who peaked in high school.

For him to realize that Steve Harrington isn’t actually a good dude after all.

But he wants this thing with Eddie to last longer than three years. He wants forever with him and he can only hope that Eddie wants the same. So he swallows down his insecurities and self doubt and leans into Eddie’s space, pressing their noses together and taking the lead of the dance this time.

“I promise not to call too often, then.”

taglist (mutuals lmk if you want to be added!): @yournowheregirl @steves-strapcollection @thefreakandthehair @stobinesque @vecnuthy

@tboygareth @flowercrowngods @starryeyedjanai @matchingbatbites @corrodedbisexual

@theheadlessphilosopher @patchworkgargoyle @sentient-trash @wormdebut @legitcookie

@corrodedcoughin @steddieas-shegoes @wynnyfryd @sidekick-hero @simplebtromance

#cj talks #cj writes #steddie #steddie fic #this new tagging format is ugly but it works. i promise i wasn't forgetting yall i just didn't realize you wasn't being tagged 😭😭😭😭 #there was someone who asked to be added via dms but i can't seem to find the message?????

[hitlikehammers]

recovering!Eddie Needs Help With The Whole Showering Thing💦

Good thing Steve's there to help give Eddie a goddamn stroke at the idea of being naked in front of him? help him, huh?

or: put-up-or-shut-up time, Edward Munson

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< one: drink 🧊

🧼 two: wash 🫧🚿

“You’ve basically got two choices, man.”

Eddie folds his lips over on themselves, mashes them together until it fucking hurts, might put the last of the stitches in the gouge out of the left side out of their misery early and pop them clean out of the skin for the force of his, his…

“Pout all you like, dude, they’re not changing.”

He is not. Fucking. Pouting.

He is a grown goddamn man.

“I reject your binary options, Steven,” Eddie volleys, because he’s not pouting, he is applying logic to an honestly-offensively illogical proposal like a mature adult; he is rightly pushing back against two unacceptable options when another has to exist, obviously, because the ones presented are impossible and so there must be a possible one he hasn’t found yet. One that’s just hiding from him. Sneaky.

“Reject all you want, man,” Steve scoffs, and leans back with arms crossed over his chest, stretching his sweater across the expanse and that right there is why there has to be a secret hidden third option waiting for him somewhere, Jesus H. fucking Christ: “they’re not going to change.”

Eddie blinks probably too long, too many times; is quiet for the whole span of moments before he decides deflection is really his only way forward, here.

“You’re very cruel sometimes,” he laments with the best sigh he can heave with the remaining stitches in him; “leaves me positively despairing, almost.”

And it was a good, solid, drawn-out sigh, that he heaved, just for the record. Because there are fewer stitches holding him together today than there were yesterday, and fewer yesterday than last week, and it’s progress, there is so much progress—

It’s just that progress is a very big reason for why he has this particular goddamn problem right now.

To set the stage: he’s been home for almost a week. The freedom is glorious. The new trailer the Feds set them up with is a little bigger, close enough layout though to still feel like home. His room is almost suspiciously similar given that 98% of his belongings were collateral damage or in government lockup. Certain questions Steve had asked him over the past weeks make a little more sense; the main orchestrator of the set up likewise clear on context. Eddie is warm with it every time he thinks about it. Which is whenever he’s in his room. And whenever he sees Steve.

Which is probably the main thing to add, for context: Eddie had been grateful as fuck for Steve while he was in the hospital, the man rarely leaving his side, usually just to check on Max who, while not yet awake, was making progress in healing and Eleven—who Eddie’s finally met now and kind of fucking adores—thinks she finally understands what’s blocking her ability to reach Red, meaning she can work on obliterating it: all good signs. And if Steve’s abounded presence did absolutely fuck all for Eddie’s old and apparently latent crush on the asshole jock-king from high school, flamed into kind of a fucking inferno over the course of spring break—if Steve’s steadfast presence and tireless attention to Eddie’s needs in the hospital had only managed to tame it into some kind of big and bright and undying eternal fucking flame—and that’d be a good song title, he needs to remember that—but if that was the payoff, as it were?

The burn of it—incredible and unbearable alike—was kind of almost secondary to the mixed emotions Eddie was having over leaving the hospital and losing this; losing Steve.

Except—and here’s the fucking kicker—he doesn’t. He doesn’t…lose Steve. Like, not at all.

Sure, maybe Steve goes home more, like, touches base at his own house, and he pops to the hospital where Eddie currently isn’t anymore to check on Max, but on the flipside Eddie is awake more and so he gets to soak up all the time Steve is here, in the trailer, next to Eddie, breathing air in the same space, breathing the same air as Eddie and, and, and—

“Look,” Steve’s sighing, slapping his thighs—such fucking distracting thighs—and leaning in pointedly on his palms; “Wayne’s pulling the night shift,” he nods at Eddie’s little TV tray with the crust of half a grilled cheese and a little cup of his medications; “you take your pills, you’ll sleep until after he’s turned in,” then Steve leans back, lifts a finger demonstratively: “so there’s another day.”

Eddie pouts, now, sees where this is going.

“Wayne might be pulling night shifts all week, in fact,” Steve adds, another finger pointed upward, counting in the air.

Eddie doesn’t nibble his cold crust petulantly or anything. Like, he does nibble. And it is cold.

But petulant; him?!

Never.

“The nurse isn’t due by until Thursday,”and Steve pauses before arching his brow even higher; “afternoon,” and he raises two fingers for that and Eddie’s got enough presence of mind to shoot back, even if it’s muffled, bread still in his mouth:

“You saying I smell?”

Steve’s eyeroll is such a fucking impressive feat it should be, like, an Olympic sport. But it’s probably too arousing for national television, so. Shit, that wouldn’t work.

“I am saying,” Steve draws out the word obnoxiously and why is that attractive, good fucking god: “you’re itching places you’re not even fucking stitched up,” he pokes at Eddie unapologetically in a safe place on his still-fairly-bandaged body and Eddie jumps harder than he should, but makes sure he grins for it, that he doesn’t play up the annoyance or the shock because one, Steve’s eyes go wide and incredulous and kinda fucking scared, like he knows he didn’t touch anything healing or tender, because Eddie’s thinks Steve knows his wounds mapped out so goddamn well he could draw them out blind and he didn’t touch anything bad actually, and that brings up two, which is: Eddie didn’t even have to exaggerate his reaction; he hasn’t been touched playfully in so long and he didn’t realize how much he missed it, how much his body missed it and he’s also kind of fucking thrilled it’s Steve, who broke the sad little standstill—Eddie makes sure to laugh a little and it’s not fucking hard once he starts because the way the tension melts off Steve in a huff is a shot of adrenaline, a hit of dopamine, a bubble of joy stretched to bursting and then fucking popping to spill warm and gooey in Eddie’s chest and he—

What the fuck is happening to him?

But then Steve’s poking him again and he twitches for it and just laughs more because fuck he missed that but also fuck he wants this to mean something and it’s wild and insane and he kind of doesn’t know what to do with it at all when Steve leans in and whispers slyly:

“So I am guessing you’d feel better with a shower.”

It’s not a lie. It’s not a lie but when he says it, particularly paired up with how he says it?

How the fuck can blood run hot and cold all at once?

Because Eddie does want a fucking shower, so he doesn’t feel fucking gross. And Eddie knows he needs help: moving like that, reaching what needs reached, and fuck all, but avoiding all the bandages, for fuck’s sake—but.

But: there’s this line, newly discovered beyond theory for one Eddie Munson, that divides an idle crush from an active wanting; that separates your fantasy jerk-off material from something that sits and grows branches and roots, heavy and tight and real in your chest.

Basically: there’s a difference between imagining what sucking pretty boy asshole King Steve off in the locker rooms might be like and coming hard in the privacy of your own bed for the gorgeous absurd impossibility of it, and the genuine article, not a king but something worse, something more like, like a benevolent god for how he speaks, how he touches, tends to Eddie so careful but sure, so goddamn competent and beautiful, dear god, he’s so much more breathtaking up close, but it’s not even that, it’s not even that, or well, it’s that, but it’s so much more than high-school-distanced-Eddie could have guessed even in his quickest, most satisfying jack-sessions, because Steve as a human being?

Fucking…captivating.

Funny. Bitchy. Cares so goddamn much it makes his heart crack wide to see it, let alone be the focus of it but then he’s so strung tight, so anxious with frontline reflexes that shatter that cracked heart and let it bleed with the desperate fucking need to care for him in kind but somehow tenfold but then you’ll always fail because this level of compassion and just, just this pure kind of love, how can anyone match it, which is where Steve has to land in benevolent god territory, some ineffable chaotic good, and Eddie—

Well. Yeah.

Of course, Eddie’s quiet for the whole of running this through his head and Steve’s taken the entry to care some more and cross over to Eddie, move his tray and hold out his hands expectantly. Like Eddie’s got a choice in the clear intention Steve has to…haul him to his feet?

“It’s not like I haven’t seen you naked before.”

And oh, wow, good thing Eddie's not actively dying anymore, because his heart goddamn stops for that, no getting around it for the way it bangs upon restarting; and if he'd still been half-dead regarding the rest of his body, that'd probably have done him in because Jesus flying fuck.

So it’s: haul him to his feet and drag him to the shower. Which he does, so careful but so precise, when Eddie’s mind blanks out and loses the window available to protest by way of stunned silence, which continues all the way to the bathroom where Steve lowers him to the closed toilet lid, again so careful, and goes to work.

Readying a shower. Eddie’s shower.

Which he needs help with. Lots of help.

While he’s, as indicated clearly: fucking bare ass naked.

And not even just in front of Steve, no, nope. Not that that wouldn’t be bad enough. But this?

This is him actively needing Steve’s help. Like…hands-on help.

Eddie thinks his heart’s about ready to crash into his chest wall for the reckless speed it’s taken to racing at because, just…

Holy fucking hell.

“Skipping gym class may have done half the work of failing your ass, but it’s not like you never showed,” Steve points out, still unbothered, so, so fucking unbothered when Eddie’s over here with palms sweaty enough to leave wet-marks on his sweats; “you came into the showers,” Steve barrels on as he moves the bottles of shampoo and the bar of soap out of the way for Eddie to maneuver in, with help, with Steve’s help;

“More than once,” Steve tacks on and Eddie has to blink, has to refocus on what they fuck was being said: he came into the showers. More than once.

Right.

“Wow, thanks for noticing,” Eddie quips, or tries to; it falls fucking flat, and for the way Steve stills, and then sighs with, like, the whole of him, it’s obvious he missed his mark.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, and pulls away from where he’d been learning to start the water, to warm it up right.

“Look,” Eddie breathes out shaky, because fucking hell; “it’s not like…that. It’s not the same.”

Steve stills, and doesn’t know what to expect of the way he freezes, back to Eddie but his muscles going tight beneath his shirt, and Eddie’s stomach drops preemptive-like, because, because—

“Oh,” Steve’s voice gets a little sharp around the edges; “so it’s okay when thirty dicks are swinging alongside yours, I get it.”

Except it really doesn’t sound like Steve fucking gets it; not least because Steve wouldn’t be fighting this, wouldn’t be putting up the front of pushing the point if he did get it. It he got it for real.

“It’s different when it’s you,” and honestly the words come out before Eddie can think them through; they’re not inaccurate but when he hears them out loud he winces because it sounds wrong no matter what he means and—

When he sees Steve’s face fall, eyes so wide, that flash of hurt, he, just: fuck.

He hurts too; he might even hurt harder.

“Jesus,” Eddie half-gasps, half-pleads already because no, no, fucking no; “not like that—“

“No,” and oh god, if Eddie ever thought about what real heartbreak felt like, he only has to hear that voice, in that tone, because Jesus fuck, he feels like a hand’s gone into his chest, snapped a couple ribs, and used the sharp bits to twist his heart around like a goddamn knitting needle.

“No, man, I get it,” but Steve’s tone’s too dull, too measured, and his shoulders are too tight, and he’s not looking at Eddie at all and Eddie kinda want to fucking cry, and—

“No need to explain,” and oh, god, did Steve’s voice break a little? Did Eddie cause that, all on his fucking own? What kind of monster is he, and all for his goddamn…what, shame? Pride? Cowardice? God, he can’t, he can’t let this happen, he can’t let this keep going—

“Maybe I can, like, get you some washcloths? And like, a bar of soap, just for now,” and fuck, no, shit, Steve’s rambling in that anxious way that’s also kind of….mindless, robotic and hollow and then he looks up, finally; he hadn’t been looking at all and Eddie thinks he can hear his own heart crack for the way those eyes are too damn bright, and look too fucking dead all the same:

“Is it still, like, a problem if I help? So long as you’re mostly covered,” Steve asks, and god, it’s like…it’s like he’s a stranger. It’s not like he’s mean, or distant really, but it’s like Eddie was welcome inside this door to him, pulled in close from the threshold and welcome and now it’s not the the doors shut in his face, nothing so definitive or rejecting: more like the door was gone and never there.

And that hurts…so much fucking more.

“Or, all the chairs are too big but maybe a stool,” Steve’s saying, moving things around in the bathroom where Eddie’s followed him, that voice still tomblike where it should be filled with sun; “just gotta make sure the bandages stay dry, do you think you can—“

“Steve.”

And the man stills, a bar of Ivory soap denting in the shapes of his nails for the way his hand’s clenched and…Eddie was scared. Of losing. Of being tossed aside, which would hurt with anyone, for anything. But the things he’s started feeling now, for Steve, changing the shape of him as much as his healing scar but for the better, if somehow far more terrifying—losing that, even where it lives alone and unrequited, and Eddie’s suspects also only half-formed yet even for how big it stands?

Losing the source of the star in Eddie’s chest would do him in quicker than the fucking bats ever had a chance to.

And the feeling of seeing Steve think…come to the conclusions he’s coming to now because Eddie’s a coward, like he’s misstepped or not given enough or said the rough thing or been supportive or, or, or—

The look on Steve’s face, and the crack in his voice: they’re causing pain under Eddie’s ribs in a way he hadn’t even considered the torment of.

And Eddie’ll probably crumble if this goes wrong, if Steve flinches away for knowing and if Eddie

loses this thing, this person whose presence he’s already grown to depend on, not for the help Eddie needs but for the >i>person Steve Harrington is: but he’ll fall apart anyway if he lets things stand as they are and he refuses to be the reason Steve’s pulled down in the collapse.

So he reaches, and fights the way his heart drops when Steve tenses as Eddie tries to nudge him into turning around, into facing Eddie. Into looking him in the eyes and seeing, or else, Eddie hopes like hell that he will see—

“It is different, when it’s you,” Eddie makes sure he says it careful, gentle; that he pitches it like a prelude to the way he’s gotta give up the cowardice, gotta face the music and be brave for this beautiful boy in front of him who’s scared for all the wrong reasons, for the lie of him somehow being the fuck up here, like he’s the one who did anything wrong—

Impossible. Impossible, so Eddie’s gotta pull back the curtain and if he holds his breath around it then—doesn’t fucking matter. So long as he says it.

“Because I never had an,” he chokes just a little, coughs around it and clears his throat too much; “umm, well, like,” and he stumbles, he stumbles but he tells himself it’s acceptable, that it’s to be expected, gotta build momentum to get this out:

“Never had an arguably-debilitating crush on those other guys,” Eddie finishes, a little shaky but without a hint of nervous laughter, closer to nausea than anything, and yeah: given that he can’t seem to get fucking words out when he tries to just say it, and shit: words are kinda his thing, y’know?

But the fact that he can barely string any of them together makes it really clear, at the very least inside his own chest: it’s debilitating, alright, and it’s already far more than the high school crush that started years ago. It’s…it’s so much more than that, now which, fuck.

Fuck, can Steve hear the truth of it in the shaking, the stuttering? Does he know?

“Plus y’know, eww,” Eddie covers up nervously, always with the babbling, the lunge for distraction; “I didn’t go perusing the dick selection in the Hawkins locker room on the regular, please give me some credit,” and he tries so fucking hard to end on comic disgust, he tries, he thinks he might be shaking, he’s—

He’s being caught by the wrists. He’s being pulled in chest to chest so his own can heave with the trembling gasps he’s not even trying to fight but that can’t really build to their potential against the wall of Steve’s chest but; he can’t feel his heart racing against that sturdy splay of chest, he’s held so tight. He can’t kinda feel Steve’s heartbeat too, faster but not like Eddie’s. Just…faster than normal. It kinda feels like it should mean something. Eddie doesn’t move of his own choosing, but also can’t manage to stop with the shaking. Which is…not ideal.

“Eddie?” And Steve’s looking up at him, chin tipped down so he can glance through those goddamn lashes, so Eddie can have proof in the wild off-pace thump his heart gives, that rattles his bones just for extra proof that ‘crush’ alone left the building long ago. He mostly just…just tries not to tremble, mostly wills his knees not to give out even if he trust with everything in him that Steve’ll catch him, it’s just—

Steve looks up at him, and says his name like it’s delicate, like it’s worth something, like he is worth something, then he’s gathering Eddie’s hands in his and that’s, that’s not normal, it’s not for balance or to help guide him save where he need to go: no. No, Steve raises their joined grasps and Eddie’s pulse skips twice to think they’re going to Steve’s lips but he just lifts them to his forehead like a touchstone and breathes for a few long moments, the color on his cheeks changing shade before he sighs long and deep and brings Eddie’s hands under his chin before he whispers:

“Let me help you shower,” and maybe it’s not spoke like a question, but Eddie knows it’s a choice and how; how can this man still want to touch him, see him, he can’t, he can’t—

“Steve,” Eddie barely breathes because of all the ways he’d maybe envisioned this going, from worst case scenario to impossible fantasies, the possibility of it all just…kinda being a non-thing, taken wholly in stride?

That wasn’t in the cards he’d prepared for. Eddie…doesn’t know how to handle that.

“Let me help you,” Steve repeats, as soft and like a given as the first time but then he averts his eyes again and sucks in a breath through his teeth:

“Or, I guess,” he huffs, swallows, really is the braver of them for how quick and firm he meets Eddie’s eyes, then: to ask:

“Do you want me to?” and Eddie’s heart clenches like every way it’s ever clenched before was a trial run, because this is a squeeze and a twist for how earnest he not just sounds but looks, how big and bright and honest eyes are and he’s so beautiful, he’s so fucking beautiful—

“If you don’t, that’s,” Eddie must be staring, quiet for too many seconds in a row because Steve sounds just as earnest but…can you be earnest about being hesitant? About giving someone the space and letting them hold the reins entirely? Jesus, it’s, this is…

“Yeah,” Eddie’s a little breathless, probably doesn’t sound as sure as he wants to but maybe sounds as sure as he can because he’s fucking taken aback, okay? Steve…people in general aren’t this good, y’know?

“Yeah, if you,” Eddie gestures between them, between Steve and Eddie’s crotch because, because, then more generally, more vague mostly to buy time, mostly because Eddie doesn’t even know what the fuck to do with this except, except say yes because he’s grateful, because he’s shell-shocked, because…

“If you’re okay with it,” because if Steve’s is, then: yes.

But Eddie’s gotta make sure.

But of course then there’s Steve, who never once let go of his hands, and now he’s squeezing them, and looking Eddie square in the eyes once more until Eddie returns the gesture; not nearly as steady, but fuck does he try.

“I am here,” Steve speaks clear, enunciates every syllables and barely fucking blinks; “so that I can help you,” and it’s the way he exhales while still holding Eddie’s gaze that nearly does Eddie in before Steve kinda just breathes:

“Okay?”

Eddie’s kinda proud he managed to nod because goddamn.

Given permission, he’s quick to work; he helps Eddie to lean against the closed toilet lid and then he’s shimmying Eddie’s sweats down, waiting for Eddie’s to step out once they’re pooled to the floor, meets Eddie’s eyes with hands on the waist of Eddie’s boxers and Eddie flushes so fucking hot he might set flame to something if he’s not careful but he inclined his head and Steve’s quick about it, stretches the elastic out extra wide around his hips and never looks away from Eddie’s face until they fall to the floor.

Then he’s reaching for something Eddie hadn’t noticed—scissors—and he’s going for the hem, of Eddie’s sweatshirt which—

“What—“ Eddie starts, but it hurts too much to flinch away and even if he could manage it: just because he doesn’t understand doesn’t mean he doesn’t trust.

Which should be fucking terrifying, but here they are.

“I can stitch it back together, promise,” Steve’s saying while he uses the blade not to cut but as an ad-hoc seam-ripper, and making a clean job of it from what Eddie can tell, all things considered.

“Steve Harrington, master seamstress?” Eddie chokes out as Steve moves to tear out the stitches nearest the neckline and then peels the top from Eddie’s body, no painful contortion required.

Man’s goddamn full of surprises.

But then Steve leaves Eddie buck naked while he goes into Eddie’s bedroom, comes back in an instant with more towels that Eddie thought they owned, pops two big ones on the sink and hands Eddie a big stack of washcloths while he starts lining the floor with the rest, pooling them carefully around the base of the toilet near Eddie’s feet, his head not dangerously close to Eddie’s not limp dick or anything while he gets to work, Jesus H. fucking Christ.

Then Steve’s grabbing for one of the washcloths and Eddie can safely place the rest of his lap for this goddamn modesty.

Eddie almost topples them to the floor and ends up with negative modesty when a damp cloth brushes his forearm, unannounced and so fucking gentle.

“Too hot?” Steve asks, and Eddie shakes his head. It should be. The water’s been running long enough. But…nothing’s probably hotter than Eddie’s skin right now for how he feels his cheeks burn so.

Relatively speaking it’s fine.

Steve raises a brow, fiddles with the knobs a little and then soaks the cloth, soaps it up and…starts from the top.

And he’s so careful, so gentle, so clinical but soft in the precise way he makes points, little triangles like a puzzle to clean just up to the lines of bandages, never submerging or letting the wet get to the edges, threaten the adhesive, and he’s no one-trick-pony either, because it’s soap then it’s a fresh towel to wipe clean, the whole of him, save for the behind he sits on and the…not attentive dick and its neighboring real estate under the extra cloths.

Steve holds up a finger, asks for a pause while his footsteps rush to the trailer beyond, and come back with a…

Chair from the kitchen.

Then he’s busy covering it with towels before he wordlessly helps Eddie to his feet and leads him to sit, back to the shower.

“Lean back as much as you can,” Steve says, and Eddie has no reason to argue before Steve’s got another towel gathering his greasy-ass hair up and then making a barrier between the limp matted mess and the wooden spindles, and then—

Oh god, oh god, then his hands are in Eddie’s hair, holding it at an angle so the water he’s pouring from somewhere falls into the tub basin until the strands are wet and if Eddie thought that was heavenly, then he’s working the shampoo in and Eddie’s been afraid for a little while that nerve damage would impair…y’know but good goddamn no worries there save for coming all over the fucking towels because Jesus H., the feeling of Steve’s hands in his hair, massaging his scalp, ringing and repeating, combing through the strands with his fingers…

That’s what the word orgasmic means. Every other definition is a lie.

Eddie thinks he’s between floating on the high of the sensation and squeezing his dick to keep from shooting off beneath the washcloths and so he probably misses exactly when the water stops rinsing his hair out, and when Steve’s hands stop touching him save to mop the worst of the soaked ends of his squeaky-clean mop, but when he does blink back to the moment Steve’s frowning, but not, not at Eddie.

More like near Eddie.

“We can’t put it in, but,” and oh, he’s talking about the chair, can’t put a wooden chair into a shower, fair, fair, but then Steve’s eyes are lifting back to Eddie and they look…a little apologetic, but mostly resolute: “if I help, do you think you can,” and he nods at the tub, the mid-height lip of it. Eddie sucks in a sharp breath, for the challenge, but.

But also because there is really just one general area of his body that’s not been…attended to yet for cleaning.

So it’s maybe like a 60-40, 70-30 split on that point. Moment of truth, either way.

“I’ll need a lot of help,” Eddie bites his lip, and he’s not even surprised when Steve meets his trepidation with encouragement.

“I can lift you,” and oh, wow, hey, definitely a safe thing to say to a guy before you’re gonna help him wash his dick. “But do you think you can stand if I help you keep your balance?”

Steve’s obviously got a plan and Eddie obviously just needs to not come on them both on the way to, in, and out of the shower right now so, he figures they should both handle their own separate priorities for the home stretch, here.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, even though he doesn’t believe it.

He believes in Steve, though, so. Probably that’s enough.

And Steve does lift him, and the towels are still covering his front but Steve doesn’t shy from lifting his ass and wow, okay.

Okay.

“You lean on me, like this,” and of course he’s manhandling Eddie as he runs a quick cloth—soap, then water—over Eddie’s back and then across the curve of his ass, holy mother of—; “and then,” Steve holds another soapy cloth to Eddie and gestures, this time hidden from a full frontal view by propping Eddie against his still-clothed chest:

“Then you can finish up,” Steve says like it’s simple. Maybe it is.

Eddie’s soaped up his pubes and barely dropped the cloth before he reaches for the wet one to rinse but—

Nope. Nope, Steve’s got a cup, maybe what he was using for Eddie’s hair, a crackled novelty one from the Pizza Hut in Muncie, Eddie remembers getting the damn thing; but Steve got that cup angled so he pours directly below Eddie’s lowest dressing, letting him use both hands to work the soap all the way out.

“How,” Eddie starts, kinda marveling that his short and curlies are…distinctly not bubbly.

“Got good aim,” Steve’s smirk is audible behind him, and tangible for how it lifts his chest with a little huff; “basketball and shit.”

“Fuckin’ jock,” Eddie lobs back without any heat at all; shit, if anything, it sounds fond on the outside.

Adoring if you go any deeper.

“Dry off,” and it’s then that Steve hands Eddie the last of the bath linens that had been his little loin cloths before being hauled into the tub; he dries his front as best he can and then tosses the cloth before Steve’s reaching around him with a wider towel, drying him hip-to-thigh, and cupping across his ass. again before loosing the towel to the floor and grabbing around Eddie

“Hold onto me here,” and Eddie’s being hoisted ever-so-gently over the side of the tub and deposited back on the toilet which has a…fresh towel on it for him to sit on. When’d that get there, anyway?

“Okay, now,” and oh, wow, okay, Steve’s kneeling between his legs and when’d he get there, anyway?

“Slip these on, for your modesty,” Steve winks as he works a new pair of boxers up Eddie’s legs, quick and efficient like Eddie hasn’t had a fucking stroke here; “and let’s get you toweled off the rest of the way and into some clean fuckin’ clothes.”

He gets the boxers up as far as the line of his pelvis before it’s unavoidable, and Eddie assumes he’ll try to stretch the waist far again, to keep his hands as far from anything too weird no, nope: Steve sticks with quick and efficient and he gets those fucking underwear up and settled in no time at all.

And he brushes his forearm twice against Eddie’s shaft in the process, and does nothing. Has no reaction. Is…fine.

Eddie doesn’t know what to do with that at all.

Steve does, though, apparently: which is to careful dab the towels where he can’t rub him dry, and do exactly that until Eddie’s got nary a stray droplet left to be soaked up by the unseamripped sweatshirt and clean sweatpants Steve helps him into, before helping him to bed but Eddie shakes his head, nods at the door, toward the living room.

Steve eyes him appraisingly before helping him in that direction and Eddie’s glad he could fake whatever amount of wakefulness was necessary to bypass the bed because the fact of it is he’s bone fucking tired—all the arousal did not help that specific point—but Steve’ll sit next to him on the couch, as a given, where sometimes Steve sits next to his bed instead of next to him in his bed.

And Eddie wants to tip over exhausted against Steve, okay? Because Steve doesn’t seem to fucking mind, so.

They settle, exactly like always, exactly like Eddie expected. And Steve’s arm welcomes his rapid descent along Steve’s ribs, the soft echo of his heartbeat this hallowed, magic thing that just makes Eddie feel warm.

“Thank you,” Eddie says, for this, for the shower, for the way this is the same and also maybe better beyond all probabilities: for everything, really. For Steve, being Steve.

And Eddie’s almost asleep, and it might be the magic warmth of the way he tipped into Steve’s space and the tangle of their bodies for it but the words Eddie hears last before he’s out come from near his scalp, and lips move in his hair and maybe that’s just coincidence, or maybe all probabilities are still being shatters and it’s almost something like a kiss but either way—

Either way, Steve’s voice is so soft and open when he whispers Eddie into sleep with the most perfect word imaginable:

“Always.”

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick

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#steddie #eddie munson #steve harrington #hurt/comfort #whump #fluff #happy ending #angst with a happy ending #soft #pining #slow burn #(ish) #steddie fic #deep devoted caretaker steve #smitten recovering post S4 eddie #showering together #HE'S RECOVERING OKAY #sometimes you're helping your friend shower and you brush against his dick okay? #it's not a THING #(...is it?) #domestic fluff #5+1 things #stranger things #gift fic #penny00dreadful

[rosedom]

"you have invited AETHER to play . . . genshin "impact"

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!male!reader, sub!ftm!aether, (gentle) spanking, daddy kink, begging, gratuitous praide + pet names, aftercare .

A/N : haha get it . . . genshin impact . . . impact . . . spanking . . . anyway.

"is that correct, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to confirm."

Aether’s soft, in every sense of the word. 

“You're tickling me,” he mumbles, batting away at your hands. You only laugh, returning with a vengeance to palm at the soft fat of his thighs. “I told you—”

“Hush, honey,” you coo with a squeeze to his legs. Aether’s soft, but he’s strong, too, all limber muscle and sweet honey scent. 

He's butter in your hands—and he wants you to spank him. The good boy, the sun in the sky; and he wants to be spanked. 

“This isn't a punishment. You know that, right?” 

His smile turns syrupy, and he pushes himself up—as he was, before, laid astride your lap—and twists, a rather silly position that leaves him half-turned up and reaching up to cup at your cheeks. “I know,” he murmurs. “I—I just—” he averts his eyes.

“You what?” You press him back down lest he hurt his back too terribly; he goes easily, letting you maneuver his body however you see fit, malleable as anything. 

He reaches for a pillow, too, shoves it under his head where it lies atop his folded arms. “I—” he coughs and smothers the sound into his elbow. “I know,” he repeats.

You hum, quiet, and take to smoothing the palm of your hand over the swell of his ass. It's a testament to the trust, to his relaxation, really, that he doesn't so much as flinch. 

He continues with the gentle coaxing of your whispers, of your gentle petting, “I don’t want it hard.” 

“I know,” you echo. “And I won't do them in succession.” 

Minutely, he nods. “You’ll be gentle?” 

“I'll be gentle.”

“Okay.” He seems soothed by that. Body melting further into yours, he sighs and huffs, then he says, all whisper-soft, “I want you to show me that—” he hiccups, “—that I’m yours.” 

“Of course you're mine,” you murmur. You pet tight yet gentle circles across his ass, the skin pillow-soft beneath your palm. It's a contradiction, how he begged you so sweetly to spank him; but you suppose, now, seeing the way he’s limp across your lap, that you understand why.

He wants to feel owned, protected, by you—wants to know that not every touch is meant to mar, meant to scar. But you still ask, “Are you sure?” 

“I—please,” he says instead. Okay. 

“Alright, honey.” You lift your hands, much to his chagrin as he whines pitifully at the loss of your heat, but you quickly soothe his sounds as you thread a hand through his hair. He lets you lift him, making another sound—albeit one of confusion, this time—when you tap at his folded arms. “Gimme your hands?”

He nods within your hold, shuffling around ‘til (with your help) he gets his arms and hands readjusted: now, they rest behind him, wrists crossed at the small of his back. “Okay?” 

Testing your hold, he swallows, heavy. “Okay,” he whispers. You grin. 

“Good boy. Do you need another pillow?” 

He’s silent for a moment, contemplating, before he quietly says, “Yeah, please.” 

(It took him so long to feel safe enough to tell you what he needs. Your heart swells—just like his ass does, so tantalizingly plush so close to where you can touch.)

You smother another “Good boy” into his back before you straighten yourself out and grab the pillow next to you to slide under his head. He burrows his face into it before he turns it to the side, breathing hotly into the air next to him. 

He whispers, “Okay,” again once he is situated. He’s tucked the two pillows under his ear; you gently pull the hair he's got mushed beneath him out, running your fingers through the curled strands until the braid’s fully unraveled. 

“There we go,” you coo, softly chuckling at Aether’s own small giggles. Soon enough, he’s making grabby hands for you—gestures for you to reinstate the hold you had of his wrists. You take them in hand and squeeze, once, a tender thing, and relish yourself in the goosebumps you watch erupt over his arms. “Are you ready?” 

“I’ve been ready,” he huffs; you snort at his antics. 

If he's gonna play it like this, then you're gonna play dirty. “Oh, I’m sorry, sweet thing,” you murmur, pitching your voice down low and seductive, the drawl heavy across your tongue. “Has daddy been neglecting his good boy?” 

Holy hell, does that get a reaction out of your good boy. He gasps, loud, and he pulls at your hands like he's making to get away—presumably to cover his face. Like this, however, he's stuck, held down; and where it should be fear that crawls up his spine, it's only molten, liquid heat. He stutters out your name, but—

“Ah, ah,” you tut—not unkindly. You spread your fingers wide over the expanse of his right asscheek, thumb and pointer dipping just-so into the cleft of his ass. “What should you be callin’ me right now, honey?”

(For a boy so soft, so shy, it is obscene, the next words to fall from those pretty, pretty lips.)

“Daddy,” he cries out, “spank me, please, I asked so—so—” His words hitch off into a hiccup, those strong hands of his curling and uncurling as he grasps at nothing but thin air. You coo once more, sliding the hand you have wrapped around his wrists to instead intertwine between the fingers of each hand; he’s kept pinned, still, but now he can hold onto you. “Please, daddy!”

You hum, and you tack on another “Good boy,” just for safe measures. (Is it such a crime to want Aether to know this fact—to want to hammer it into his skull, spank it into his pretty lil’ ass? All ‘til he knows nothing but the sweet, subtle burn of his skin, the gentle petting of your palm against his blushing rear... 

Ah. You’re getting ahead of yourself.) 

You retract your palm—awfully slowly, if Aether were to say—, and you almost have half the mind to tease him about the way your thumb comes back barely slick from where it had brushed his cunt. Feeling merciful—or perhaps eager—, you forgo it; instead, you murmur, “Tell me when it’s too much.”

He has only the time to nod, once, before your hand is upon him.

Aether jerks in your lap—more-so at the suddenness of it rather than pain. (You’re not here to hurt him, tonight.) A light rouge springs up across his skin from where you spanked him, and he’s already squirming, making breathy pants into the pillow. 

“Good boy, Ae,” you murmur, petting across the swell of his ass before you’re bringing your hand up to do it again—this time, his left cheek. He doesn’t move as much this time, now anticipating the touch against him. “You’re taking my spankin’ so well.” 

A third time, and his fingers squeeze yours. 

Four, five, six; Aether’s squirming anew, and your hand comes down a seventh time before you stop, taking hold of his hip to still him. “Easy, honey, you’ve been so good for daddy so far.”

“I—” He looks up at you then, his golden eyes wide and brimming with tears. You take once more to cooing at him, letting go of his hips—yet keeping both his hands held in your one—to cup his cheek, wipe away the thick, dribbling tears. He nuzzles into your touch, and he fucking begs, “harder? Please, daddy, I—I want it harder, wanna—wanna feel it t’morrow.”

“Oh?” You grin, dipping down to bump your head against his before immediately straightening back out, immediately bringing that hand away from his face to land hard on his ruddy ass. He yelps, back arching and toes curling, and you are back to soothing his skin with gentle strokes of your palm. “It’s okay, honey, I’m only gonna give you what you can take.” When he looks like he’s about to refute—and, really, it’s a pathetic look on him, all teary-eyed and blushing and meak—, you tut, murmur, “and nothing more, okay? This isn’t a punishment.”

He nods, and he whispers, “Not a punishment.” 

“That’s daddy’s good boy.” As a reward, you swat at him harder, just like he asked. Each spank is still endearingly tender, hitting against his ass evenly and distributed in such a way that no one spot will hurt more (or less, now that you think about it) than another. 

Nine, ten, eleven, and by the twelfth Aether begins to bawl. 

“Daddy,” he sobs, arms beginning to tug against the snug grip of his hands, pulling desperately at your five fingers twisted through his ten. “Please—please, hold me. I want to hold you!”

His words hardly have the time to settle in the air around the two of you as you release him and tug him up, turning him around and bundling him into your arms. He whines when his sore, swollen ass touches your thighs; you can feel the heat of his skin burning a warm brand into the tops of your legs. 

“I've got you, daddy’s got you,” you soothe, hugging him while his arms come up to clutch desperately at your upper back. 

It's then that you feel something... sticky, smearing itself into the thigh Aether’s favoring, the solid weight of him concentrated across your one leg. “I've got you,” you repeat, wondering if the play is over, now.

But Aether whimpers out, “Daddy—” this real meak, quiet lil’ thing, and you know that you're not. You're done spanking him, but you've yet to melt his body in abject pleasure. 

“Okay, okay, daddy’s got you,” you repeat before you nudge a hand down, falling between your bodies to the thatch of blond curls between his own thighs. Petting at his wet cock makes him jerk, belly arching into your own. “Good boy, does it feel good? My sweet boy.”

“Feel so good,” he whimpers, hips humpin’ your gentle finger. You give him what he wants readily, letting him chase his pleasure on your hand ‘til you slip in two fingers—an easy stretch, both gone right to the hilt and your third knuckles—as he curls his body into you even further. “‘m so close.” 

Curling your fingers into his g-spot, you coo, “Already?” He nods vehemently into your throat, hands shaking where they clutch at you. “C’mon, then, cum for me, sweet thing. Cum for daddy.” 

Like his spanking, Aether's orgasm is an easy, gentle thing. 

It runs through his limbs syrupy slow; it starts at the epicenter, his small cunt, and spreads out across his body in a way that makes him melt into you.

And, God, his sounds. He makes these lil’ whimpers that he smothers into your skin, each one a hot gust against your throat. He's mumbling incoherently, too, quiet Daddy’s that get lost in his heavy breaths. 

Pitching your voice soft—soft as cotton and smooth as butter—, you coax him down from his high: one that he's already falling off from like waves against the shore. 

(If he was the ocean, his orgasm would be the tide: an expected thing, slow n’ steady that covers the sand in its blanket and retreats, leaves the beach uncovered and bare. 

The sand is exposed, vulnerable. Small shells washed ashore, clams and the likes out in the open without the water to hide them.

You find the beach at its most beautiful, like this: your Aether is no different.)

He finds the wherewithal to murmur, then, his voice still damnable meak—meak in a way that makes you want to protect your sweet boyfriend, your heart all twisted in knots at the trust he gives you—, “th’nk you, daddy.” The way he says daddy, though, is what makes you laugh softly, kiss at his forehead.

“Of course, sweetheart,” you say. You’ve got your fingers already slid out from the grip of his swollen cunt—swelled up in arousal, in the rush of blood from his orgasms: not so different from the ruddy swell of his ass, reddened by the spanking—, soothing his lil’ mewl at the loss of being filled (even just slightly.

After all, it was only two fingers you had pressed into him, unraveled him with.) “Up you go, c’mon,” you tack on: rhetorically, of course, because you’re wholly in control of his lax body. “Let's get you cleaned up, hm?” 

He nods minutely into your chest, curled up in your arms akin to a small kitten. He’d purr if he could, wrapped up with you, pressing littering kisses across your collarbones. 

Into the bath he goes, too, the tide left to lap up at his body as you set him in. He whines when you part from him—a sound you soothe with a promise of, “I’ll be right back, honey.” 

That right back is only a minute’s time, if that—enough to set aside a soft, fluffy towel and grab Aether’s favorite soaps—, but you return to see him with his head perched above crossed arms, pouting up at you from the lip of the tub. 

Laughing lightly, you poke at his nose with the bottle you hold, the glass cold against his still-blushing skin. His face scrunches up, but he doesn't move away; he's still floating, all sex-drunk (finger-drunk? He didn't take cock, tonight) and content. 

You place your other hand on his shoulder, kindly pushing him back with a whisper of, “Scooch.” 

The water of the bath sloshes when you get in—some of it surely falling back the tub's lip and splattering on the ground—, but you make no move to clean it yet as Aether immediately falls back into the spread of your legs, his back a warm brand to your chest. 

In the end, it's a lazy bath. You tenderly run a cloth between his thighs, kiss at his temples when he quietly whimpers at the oversensitivity; and, after it's all said and done, he's wrapped in that fluffy towel, dozing off in your arms right there on the ensuite's floor.

Daddy's here; and he's staying here. 

nnnnn pretty boys who wanna call me daddy <33

17 APR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#i luv gentle d/s dynamics dkgjdskc #it's so so sweet and endearing and lovey-dovey . . . #(´▽`ʃ♡ƪ) #sub aether #aether smut #aether x reader #aether genshin impact #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #male reader #but unspecified body parts !! #dom reader

[lillikitty]

Let Me Down Slowly

Alastor x Reader

Warning: Angst, heartbreak, rejection

Today was the day. You came to the conclusion of your feelings towards Alastor and wanted to confess to him. He has just been so kind towards you, such a gentleman, surely he feels the same way right?

You asked him to meet you outside the hotel after everyone else had gone to sleep, you know he doesn’t like an audience and this is a private matter. You waited impatiently, your foot tapping nervously against the ground as you recited the words you wanted to say. This is gonna go well, it has to.

Alastor finally showed up, his everlasting smiling warming your heart. “Hello my dear, you wanted to speak to me this evening?” Alastor tilts his head as he looks at you with interest.

‘My dear’ that rings in your head for a moment. Yeah… yeah, he has to like you too. There’s no doubt in your mind. “Alastor, I have to tell you something.” You say with more confidence, convinced this can only go well. Alastor waits for you to continue, so you do. “I really like you, will you please be my boyfriend?” You ask as you clasp your hands together.

Alastor stares at you in bewilderment. He didn’t realize you felt this way, he didn’t realize he had given off the impression he was into you. He was at a loss for words for a moment before he blurted out, “I don’t like you like that though.”

Your heart shattered in that moment. What could he possibly mean? He doesn’t like you in that way? But all the pet names, all the times you spent alone laughing, telling stories. Was it all a lie? No, it all happened. So why does he not feel the same way. “Y-You… You’re kidding right..?” You ask in disbelief as tears start to form in your eyes.

“I’m not.” He says bluntly as he stares at you, his smile never changing in the slightest. You laugh weakly as the tears start to flow down your cheeks. “Y-You could’ve been nicer about it.. Not said it so bluntly..” You mumble.

“Dear, speak up. I can’t understand you when you mumble.” Alastor says with annoyance. You look at him in shock. He seemed so nice, why is he being so cruel now? “Show me some sympathy you asshole! You just broke my heart! At least let me down slowly!” You cry out as your cries soon turned into sobs. It feels like you’ve just been stabbed in the chest. You didn’t see this coming at all.

Alastor’s eye twitches at your sobs as he just stands there for a moment. He sighs then places a hand on your shoulder, grabbing your attention as you look at him through glossy eyes. “I’ll walk you to your room. You need some rest.” He says as he offers you his arm. You reluctantly take it and have him guide you to your room.

It felt like an eternity before you finally got to your room. You let go of Alastor’s arm and mumbled a small ‘goodnight’ to him. “Goodnight.” He responds as he lets you enter your room. The second you closed the door your sobs became uncontrollable. Your head hit the door as you slid down to the ground, a hand grasping at your chest as you tried to make the pain your heart felt go away. You really thought you had something with Alastor, you really thought he was going to love you back. But it seems that isn’t true. He doesn’t love you, nor will he ever love you. Your sobs soon quieted down as you slowly lifted yourself off the ground only to throw yourself onto your bed. Your cries only stopped once you fell asleep.

On the other side of the door, Alastor didn’t leave right away. He heard your sobs, he could head your pain. Pain he inflicted on you without meaning to. He sighs to himself as he feels his smile falter just a little. If only he could tell you that it’s for your own good you aren’t with him. He may indeed have become fond of you, but a relationship could hurt you more than bring you happiness. So it was easier to try and make you hate him, rather than him admit he might just love you too.

#alastor x reader #hazbin alastor #alastor #hazbin hotel #angst #Spotify

[deafsignifcantother]

the baby

♥ summary: almost loosely based off of this by @ukor02. I made Alastor a main character and her main bestie because of course I did. This is really just a small little writing thing I did at 4am. ♥ relationship: no direct romance really, just some cute stuff between Lucifer and reader. ♥ word count: 1.6 ♥ notes: no childbirth mentioning and this is written like just as summaries of the situation tbh. almost like a bullet point format without the bullet points

You wanted to give your baby a chance to get into Heaven, even if it meant they'd leave without you. Hell is no place for a child. Both you and Charlie knew that.

.

"What a pleasant surprise," you sign to Alastor when you see that damn smiling demon right outside your hotel room.

He laughs; aw, you're describing his arrival as pleasant. Did he make a good impression on you when you saw him last when he introduced himself in person in Pride Sign Language? You never seemed to have paid any mind to him, giving one motion signs as responses whenever he tried starting a conversation. But even when you interacted with him like that, he couldn't help but wonder why you always looked at him with your sweet, shy gaze. It's not on purpose, which is the worst part.

Pleasant, you called it a pleasant surprise.

"It's good to see you too, my dear!" He signs, bowing a bit and pushing past you into your room. "What have you been up to?"

What an obnoxious question.

You close the door, squeezing the doorknob tightly. This is going to be a long evening. When you turn back to Alastor, he's in your living room examining the decor, your random art pieces taped to the walls and organized together, though not concisely.

He waves his hands. "I love what you've done with the place."

"I've been bored." You sign with a slight nod to yourself. It's awfully isolating, which is obvious. Still, it has never hit you as hard as it does now as you watch another person walk through your chambers.

"I'm glad I can be in your company then." His smile widens, and the static he emits gets heavier. His ear twitched a bit, which you noticed but tried not to directly look at. Was it a good or bad thing?

"But it's often relieving to be alone," you start and look him up and down.

"You're quite used to being alone, aren't you?"

Your lips tighten, your hands stiff, and you are unable to finish your sentence. Absentmindedly, you rest them on your plump, pregnant belly. Alastor does his best not to let his eyes draw down to analyze it. Still, his head tilts, even just a little. He hates looking at your hands when you touch your stomach. Did his mother hold her belly like that when he was inside of hers?

"Don't you have others to talk to?"

"They're out on their little journeys, you know them."

"Of course."

Alas, he lets his eyes trail down to your stomach. It's not quite full, but it's obvious enough to gain attention from others. Charlie will put her hands on it every day, waiting for the baby to show its presence. She can feel the heartbeat, and so can you and Vaggie, though everybody else can't feel a thing. Alastor refuses to put a hand on your stomach. Life is precious and loud, and the few who were never human understand that differently than the others.

"I wanted to check in on the baby."

A twitch of your eyebrow makes his smile widen.

"Why?"

.

The day before, Lucifer arrived.

You try on your best clothes, laying them flat against your front, looking at your belly in the mirror. For the king, should you try to hide it or show it proudly? He has a daughter, but does that affect his thoughts about Hellborn pregnancies? Gosh, what do you have to worry about? So stupid.

With the other people, your new friends, you stood with your head proud.

He swirled with the dragons and hugged his daughter as if he hadn't seen her for years. What a kind man, unusually kind. His eyes... Those soft, precious eyes. And when they landed on you, your heart almost stopped. He looked at you as if you were an angel. When his lips started to move, the smile you didn't even know you wore faded.

Charlie put her hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him. And there came Alastor, saving the day.

"The idiotic king was just telling you how happy he is for you." With the signs came the grinding of his teeth.

Lucifer approached, his cheeks flushed pink with embarrassment. He addressed Alastor with aggressive hesitance. 'Tell her...' he said.

Charlie smiled excitedly, Nifty kept nodding, and Sir Pentious's eyes started tearing up.

Alastor grimaced. "He's asking if he could feel your stomach."

As always, you've put a thorn in the flow of interactions.

Still, you put on a smile. "Of course."

And there you stood, the King of Hell's hands gently holding you. You could feel the cold of his touch even through the fabric of your shirt. The heartbeat vibrated through both your body and his. The baby was alive and well; you could tell through the pure glee that spread across his face. Beyond your tiny ounce of worry, you knew he'd find hope within your baby.

Alastor watched with a terribly strained smile.

.

"Why?" You ask again when he doesn't answer. "What's with the sudden worry?"

"Worry? No, no." Alastor waves you off. "More like..."

You watch with interest as he trails off, a vulnerability you love.

He squints his eyes and clenches his fists, but only for a moment. His lack of vocabulary kills him. "...Intrigue."

You crack a smirk. "Are you finally gonna feel my stomach?"

Another pause. Alastor considers it, but all he can imagine is his claws accidentally drawing blood.

"No."

"That's okay." Again, your hands rest on your stomach.

.

Alastor has been watching it grow, but so has Lucifer. Charlie's father scarcely visits, and you've convinced yourself it's to see you. Every time he enters the hotel, he asks how you are. He tries to lift his hands to sign but finds no words forming. A language was created in his world, and he has yet to learn how to learn it.

Whenever he presses his hands against your belly, he can feel the liveliness of the soul forming inside you, and he can feel your appreciation at his care.

Begrudgingly, he always has to ask Alastor for advice on communicating with you. Alastor always has a cocky smirk when he teaches.

Charlie has to ask Alastor for help, too, but more willingly. Alastor raises his chin and squares shoulders when people ask him for help. Charlie went to him for help on a conversation you knew she was going to start with you:

"You're not going to stay here for the battle."

"I know." There was no argument on your behalf. Charlie's cheeks still went pink.

"But I have to figure out where it's safest for you. Alastor told me Cannibal Town, but uhh... Maybe not."

"They'll all be here anyway. Maybe they'll distract the angels from going over there."

Her bright eyes widen a bit. "Do you think so?"

"I can stay over there, even if they try to eat me." They won't, and even if they try, they know Alastor would end their lives, don't they?

She fiddles with her fingers before lifting them up again. "I suppose..."

She's so quickly convinced it's cute. You're right, though, of course. Cannibal Town might be the safest place, specifically under the hands of Rosie, who Alastor had previously told you would be more than willing to help you. You can imagine her smile at seeing your belly, twice the size as when Alastor first told you about her. Unbeknownst to Charlie, he's been planning this for a while.

Your stress for their safety irks you more than you expected.

You place a hand on Charlie's, lifting your other one. "I'll be okay."

Before you left for Cannibal Town, you met Lucifer once again, a more loving side of him. He cradled your head and held the back of your neck as he did. His cold body felt like warmth to you. He whispered things to you; you could only tell from how his breath constantly brushed against your ear in sing-songy waves. Was he singing to you? A lullaby? He pulled away and finally signed to you. "You're going to be a great mom."

A moment before, Alastor finally put his hands on your belly. His hands were warm. Like Lucifer, he was whispering to himself, holding silent words from you. In another life, you'd imagine they were prayers. At that moment, only an instinct, you put your hands on his, and he allowed it.

The stress of their safety worsened when they were left alone in Cannibal Town without a word of winning or losing.

The winning of Hell was all you wanted to focus on when you noticed the contractions getting worse, spaced out in purposeful ways. Oh goodness, you found yourself thinking, oh my God.

What if Lucifer dies on the same day your child is born?

But after the battle, he was right there to cradle the baby in his arms, his heavenly grasp relaxing the tiny baby. The rest of the group sat in your room, Sir Pentious absent, tears in their eyes at both the birth and the death.

Beyond Lucifer's cradling, Husk was the only one who touched your child that day. He placed his furry paw against the baby, feeling the body heat that they admitted. Life could be beautiful, he decided.

Vaggie's sense of revenge deepened. She sacrificed Heaven to save a child, and now she's even more than willing to kill her sisters to save yours.

While Charlie stares at your baby with tears, Alastor smiles warmly at you. He knew you could do it: birth something beautiful and worth protecting.

Your eyes are locked on Lucifer. He's an amazing, supportive dad to Charlie, and your heart begins to swell. Your heartbeat increases, and a blush weakly forms on your already flushed face. His rough hands hold a forgiving softness. He's beautiful.

#x deaf reader #hazbin hotel #x reader #lucifer #alastor #lucifer hazbin hotel #lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel x reader