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ddejavvu · 2 years

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Lost and Found - Eddie Munson x Reader (Part 1) | Part 2

WC: 4.3K / navi / preview / request

Summary: Just your luck, you get dress coded on your first day at Hawkins High. You're already ridiculed for being the senior transfer, and now on top of that, the only shirt that covers you up in the lost and found belongs to the school freak.

Contents/Warnings: reader wears eddie's shirt, reader gets bullied, lots of teasing, slight innuendos/suggestive material

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

You must have set a new school record: You’ve only been attending Hawkins High for three hours, and you’ve already been dress coded. Apparently your shirt is too low-cut, even though it barely dips below your collarbones, and you were ordered to look through the lost-and-found for a suitable cover-up.

It could be worse, you muse, as you sort through the box of slightly aromatic, ratty, dusty clothes, they could have put it on your school record. Though, as a senior transferring to the school for one last year, you don’t care what’s on your record. They could hate you, for all you care, as long as you graduate. It’s not like you’ll ever have to deal with them again.

Unfortunately, it looks like everything in the box before you is either three sizes too big, or three sizes too small. The beaded tank top that you pull out near the bottom is even worse than your shirt, and you guarantee it wouldn’t go over well with faculty. There’s a winter coat in the mix, but summer still clogs the air with sticky heat, and you refuse to cover yourself up with that. After sorting through the bin for almost five minutes, the only thing even remotely suitable for you is a baseball tee that looks like it’s homemade.

It’s a white shirt with black sleeves, and a ring around the neck. It’s certainly interesting. There’s a red devil on the front, horns protruding eerily from its head, and weapons frame its face, ready for battle. Then two multifaceted dice are poised below the text, numbers etched into their faces.

The bold black text over the picture reads ‘HELLFIRE CLUB,’ and it stinks of what you’re suspicious is weed. You’re not sure what the Hellfire Club is, you presume it’s an underground band of some sort, but you don’t have time to figure it out. There’s a red stain on the chest, what you presume (and pray) is spaghetti sauce, but it’s your best bet in the lost and found bin, so you slip it on and hope that they’ll let you go without any further incident.

Thankfully it’s lunchtime, so when you slip out of the office mostly unnoticed, the shirt resting rather comfortably over your frame, you make a beeline for the cafeteria. You get stares, odd murmurs thrown about you as you walk down the line, people from packed tables squinting oddly at your shirt. You can’t really blame them, either, because you’d squint at it too if you’d seen it on someone else. You’re already silently resigning yourself to being The New Kid when you sit down on the ground, the tables either full or sending you funny glances when you try to sit down with them.

The first thing you do is pull out a walkman and headphones. They slip comfortably over your ears, shielding you from the disheartening whispers thrown around about you. You’re absolutely certain that this is going to damage your reputation, on Day One no less, but what are you supposed to do? Your only option is this stupid shirt: damned if you do, and damned if you don’t.

You bury yourself in your lunch, though it’s not appealing. Coleslaw oozes messily around your plate, and you try pushing your fries out of the way, but it’s too late. They’re soaked, and you’ve lost your appetite. You push the tray away from you, and it sits there sadly on the ground. You dig a book out from your backpack, letting your eyes skim over the words instead of the people around you.

“Eddie,” Dustin is out of breath when he sits down, too excited to inform his friend of the strange thing he’d managed to witness in the lunch line to think about breathing, “Eddie, the new kid’s wearing a Hellfire shirt!”

Eddie’s brows furrow, and he munches thoughtfully on a pretzel, “You’re out of your mind, Henderson.”

“No! No,” He shakes his head, “Honest! Look,” He points to you, the text over the devil on your shirt clear as day over your book, “I saw ‘em on my way back from class! They just walked in with it.” He lets out a breathy laugh, “Do you think it’s catching on? Like, you think there’s more than just us? Do you think there’s members all around the world?!”

“Dumbass,” Jeff swats at the back of Dustin’s head, “How could it be catching on, no one knows about it but us.”

“Maybe they-“ Dustin is eager to elaborate on his theory, prepared to make up some hair-brained theory as to how the transfer student could have heard about Hellfire outside of Hawkins, but Eddie’s eyes narrow as he stares at you, and he waves a hand at Dustin, effectively silencing the boy.

“There’s a stain there. On the left.” He recognizes the messy splotch, his face twisting in indignance, “That’s my shirt!”

“I thought you lost that one,” Mike frowns, his hair hanging over his face, “How’d she get it?”

“I dunno,” Eddie stands abruptly, tossing his bag of trail mix to the table and tugging his jacket determinedly around his shoulders, “But I’m gonna find out.”

In only ten minutes, you’re already getting used to the stares. They dishearten you every time, something inside of you sinking whenever someone points or peers at you. But apparently you’re just going to have to accept your spot in the school, your back forever pressed against the cafeteria wall as your tray rests on the floor. It’s only for one year, you reason, you can tough it out.

Loneliness seeps through the cold linoleum flooring, slightly sticky from god knows what, and raises goosebumps over your legs. You’re absolutely certain it would be more comfortable to sit out in the woods behind the school, and you’re only two seconds away from moving when a pair of shoes enters your vision, right in front of your crossed legs.

"Pray tell," The boy who crouches in front of you has dark eyes, his white sneakers creasing as he bounces on his thighs, "What are you doing in my shirt?"

You tug your headphones off of your ears as you stare up at him blankly, your eyes drifting over the pins adorning his jacket. You recognize a few bands, a curse word or two, but then he dips his head to meet your eyes, his question still in the air.

"Oh, I-" You flounder, tugging at the hem of the shirt nervously, "I'm really sorry. Is this yours? I didn't know."

"It's mine," He reaches up to flick the stain on the front, "That was from an unfortunate driving-while-eating incident."

You giggle at the thought, and his eyes snap back to yours, his grin ever-growing as you speak, "It was in the lost and found. They dress coded me," You recall exasperatedly, "It was the only thing I could find."

"Dress coded?" He cocks his head to the side, "Shit, what are you wearing underneath?"

The question has your eyes widening, your cheeks flaming, and your throat going dry. It’s not blatantly sexual, hell, you’re just wearing a low-cut top, but the boy in front of you is stunning, and the grin that he’s wearing is definitely suggestive.

“Um-” You start, raising the hem of his shirt slightly to reveal the pattern of your top, “It’s just-”

“I’m teasing,” He clarifies, pushing against your shoulder with one hand in a teasing gesture, “Don’t worry about it.” He plops down onto the floor in front of you, squinting distastefully at your soggy fries, “Normally I’d try to steal a few, but those look like they’d land me in the hospital.”

“I think I’ll have to start bringing lunch from home,” You sigh resignedly, “Unless the food here gets any better than this?”

“Not that I know of,” He shakes his head, brown frizzy curls bouncing around his face airily as he does so, “I bring my own food too.”

You hum in acknowledgement, only then realizing you don’t know his name.

“I’m Y/N, by the way,” You pipe up, holding out your hand for a shake. He stops perusing your discarded lunch and grins amusedly at you, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the expression.

“Eddie.” He offers, shaking your hand once, firmly, “You’re new, right?”

“Yeah,” You nod, glancing around at the few scattered pairs of eyes on you now that Eddie is sitting with you, “It’s a little harder than I thought it’d be.”

“That shirt probably isn't helping.” Eddie grimaces sympathetically, “We’re not exactly the kings of the school.

“We?” Your brows furrow in confusion.

“The Hellfire Club…?” He raises his eyebrows, tugging apart the chest of his jacket to reveal an identical shirt to yours, though sans-stain, “We sit over there.”

Your lips part slightly at the shock of seeing another shirt like the one you’re wearing, and you glance dazedly over to where he’s pointing. Five sets of eyes try appearing casual at your attention, two turning to each other and whispering as the other three bury themselves in a magazine one is holding.

“I didn’t realize it was a thing,” You admit, the corners of your lips curving up softly, “I figured it was, like, a band or something.”

“Well I’m in a band!” Eddie supplies eagerly, his face brightening. But he dims down after to appear more nonchalant, clearing his throat and schooling his face into a more neutral expression, “We’re a DnD party, though, Hellfire.”

“Oh, I’ve never played.” You admit sheepishly, “But it seems really cool!”

“Cool…?” Eddie quirks a brow at you, and the way that he’s staring at you has you questioning whether you’ve grown a third head, “DnD, like, Dungeons and Dragons.”

“Yeah,” You nod vehemently, “A lot of my friends back home played, but I never really got into it. It seemed really complicated.”

“It kind of is,” A smile grows over Eddie’s face, albeit a perplexed one, “But once you get the hang of it it’s fun. I.. I won’t lie, ‘cool’ is just about the last word I expected you to call our hobby.”

“I’ve sat in on a few sessions,” You recall, remembering the raucous shouts and heated battles that your friends got up to, “I usually just read fantasy novels, it was different watching one play out in real time.”

“Ooh, fantasy novels?” His face scrunches in good-natured disbelief, “You surprise me more and more every time you speak. Y’got any recommendations? I’m always looking for new inspiration for our campaigns.”

You suddenly remember the book in your lap, your pointer finger still lodged between the pages. You hastily hold it out to him, showcasing the cover, “This one’s good. The author’s from my old town,” You smile at the memory of her book signing, “It’s about a warrior prince who has to fight his way through hell, and he befriends a demon. She ends up helping him through,” You offer the book to Eddie with raised brows, “Anything you’d wanna borrow?”

“I don’t wanna steal it from you just yet,” He pokes carefully at your finger between the pages, “But let me know when you finish it, and I’ll be all over that.”

His tone is fascinating to you, an air of constant amusement around him that you’d never seen before. He seems to find interest in everything, and it feels amazing to be listened to by someone who cares so deeply about someone he’s never met before. You nod cheerily at him, some of the weight lifting from your chest at the knowledge that you’ve made a friend.

“Dude,” Dustin peers cautiously at you, his heart still racing from when you’d caught them staring only seconds before, “I think he’s smiling!”

“I can’t see,” Jeff huffs, a frown twisting over his face as he tries eyeing you two over Mike’s head, “You’re in the way, Wheeler.”

“Sor-ry,” Mike grumbles, ducking down, “She already caught us staring once, don’t push your luck.”

“Why is he still down there?” Dustin turns to his friends with an exaggerated furrow in his brows, “Do you think he’s coming back?”

“He’d better,” Gareth mumbles, flicking the tin lunchbox Eddie had left behind, “I’m not getting in trouble if a teacher finds this.”

“Oh, oh my god!” Dustin glances back over his shoulder one last time, seeing Eddie helping you to your feet, “They’re both coming over here!”

“So,” Eddie hums, lifting the edge of your lunch tray and letting it fall to the floor again with a smack, “There’s only, like, ten minutes of lunch left, but if I sit on this shitty floor for any longer,” He raps a knuckle against the linoleum, “I’m gonna be walking funny. Do you wanna come sit with me and my friends?”

This is it. This is your chance, your invitation into friendship. You try to appear casual, try pretending like your heart isn’t beating out of your chest at Eddie’s proposal, and you nod a little too eagerly.

“I’d love to,” You gush softly, “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Of course,” He laughs, the sound breathless and incredulous, “Just know, uh, this is kind of your last chance at having a reputation around here. It’s okay if you say no, I don’t wanna ruin your senior year of high school.”

“Why would you ruin it?” You tilt your head to the side and Eddie thinks you look rather akin to a confused puppy. It makes something stir in his chest, fondness creeping into his tone as he responds.

“Don’t you remember what I said earlier? We’re not very popular,” Eddie sighs lightly, trying to cover up the hint of insecurity that presents itself in his eyes, “We’re sort of the outcasts. I don’t want you to sign your popularity away before it can even get started.”

“I don’t want to be popular.” You decide right then and there, determination in the frown on your face, “Not if they make fun of you.”

You’re expecting a witty quip, already accustomed to the boy’s confident exterior. What surprises you, though, is the way that his mouth shuts, no words coming out of it as he gnaws thoughtfully on his lower lip. He studies you, his eyes boring into your own as his face hardens. You’re certain you’ve said something wrong, you’re worried that now you’ve messed things up, but then he smiles again, much softer this time. The expression is gentle, and shows off his shiny brown doe eyes, “You’re really something, aren’t you?”

“Hm?” You stare at him, equally entranced by his shift in character.

“You..” He starts, shaking his head bewilderedly, “A lot of the people here are raging assholes. Like, raging. But you’re.. You don’t seem like one.”

“I hope I’m not.” You huff out a laugh, “I don’t want to be a raging asshole.”

“Just another thing we have in common.” Eddie stands, breaking the stupor that had befallen you both and holding out his hand to help you off of the ground, “Now, we technically don’t have room at the table for you. But you can take my seat, I’ll stand for a bit.”

“No, no it’s okay!” You pull out of his grasp, eyes wide in fear of being a burden, “I can stand if I need to! I can take one for the team,” You assure him, bending over to pick up your tray and missing the way his eyes dart to your backside, “You just sat on the ground for me.

“Exactly,” He plucks the tray from your hands, dumping the cold, soggy food into a garbage can and leaving it with other used ones, “It’ll give me an opportunity to stretch my legs.” He swings one of his legs out to accentuate his point, the frayed strings of his jeans billowing in the rush of air against them.

“Only if you’re sure,” You let him lead you over to the table he’d pointed at earlier, his friends all watching you cautiously, “I really don’t want to put you out.”

“Nonsense.” He insists in that dramatic fashion of his, something you’re growing ever-fond of. His hands flit to your shoulders before you can even offer a polite wave to anyone sitting at the table, and he maneuvers you to plop down into his empty seat, “What’s mine is yours, Y/N.”

You’re sure he doesn’t mean it to be such an all-encompassing statement, but it makes your cheeks flare anyway. You direct your attention to his friends to stave off your bashfulness, not wanting him to see the way he gets to you after only knowing him for fifteen minutes.

One is smiling brightly at you, curls framing the boy’s face. Another two are sending cautious grins your way, seated opposite each other at the table. Then two others, decidedly older than the bunch, stare at you expressionless. The only thing they seem to have in common are their shirts, one of which you’re still wearing.

“Hello,” You offer lamely, waving sheepishly at them, “Uh, I’m Y/N, I’m new here.”

“And she likes DnD,” Eddie nearly cuts you off in his haste, “‘Thinks it’s ‘cool’.”

His statement draws a chuckle from his friends, and one of the younger-looking ones turns to you.

“I’m Dustin! I saw you earlier,” The curly-haired boy informs you, thankfully cheery in his greetings, “I couldn’t figure out why you were wearing a Hellfire shirt, so I told Eddie.”

“Oh,” You laugh awkwardly, glancing down at the stained shirt over your body, “I got dress-coded.”

“On your first day?” One of the older ones raises an eyebrow, “Tough luck. I’m, uh- Jeff, by the way. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too,” You nod thankfully at him, “Yeah,” You feel Eddie’s hands tighten around your shoulders and you tense slightly, “Teachers here are strict.”

“Tell me about it,” Eddie groans from above you, reaching over your shoulder to fasten his lunchbox shut and to grab a pretzel that he’d left behind, “I got caught smoking once and now I’m on some sort of watchlist.”

One of his friends, an older one on your left, snickers heartily at the story. Eddie apparently doesn’t appreciate it, though, because you watch him pelt the boy with a walnut in a matter of seconds.

You laugh incredulously as the boy flinches, and you’re almost worried that he’ll take offense to it. But you can’t tell, because Eddie leans over you, his hair tickling your face as he stares down at you amusedly. You glance up, return a guilty smile, Eddie motions to his bag of snack mix.

“Help yourself,” He offers, picking an almond out of the bag, “I did sort of throw away your lunch, I think it’s only fair you get some of mine.”

“I wasn’t gonna eat that anyways,” Your nose wrinkles at the mention of your soggy fries, “Don’t worry about it, Eddie.”

“Just take some,” He groans, jabbing a pretzel at your lips. It’s sloppy, because he can’t see what he’s doing, and he hits your chin. You giggle incredulously, squeak out a laugh, and take it from him. He pats your head as praise, “You’re too nice, you always decline shit from people.”

“How would you know?” You speak indignantly around your pretzel, “You barely know me!”

“And you’ve already tried weaseling your way out of favors twice,” He raises an eyebrow at you unimpressed, “Take some trail mix.”

You glance around at the others, traces of mirth on their faces. You realize that he must do this often, make a scene. You widen your eyes, plucking another pretzel from the bag, “Is he always this insistent with his snacks?”

“He never shares,” Dustin contradicts you, “‘Swear to god, I asked him for one M&M the other day: absolutely nothing.”

“You little shit,” Eddie’s hands leave your shoulders as he lunges for Dustin, locking the boy into place with an arm around the neck. You know it’s gentle, it’s not really hurting Dustin judging by the laughter spilling from the boy, and a soft smile creeps over your face. Eddie is clearly the heart of the group.

“Well hey,” One of the younger boys turns to you, his hair hanging around his face like a curtain, “If you’re keeping that shirt, you might as well use it. We actually need a sub for tomorrow night, if you want to play.”

“Oh,” You flounder at the request, everyone’s eyes flitting towards you, “Your DnD campaign? I don’t really know how to play.” You admit hesitantly, “I usually just watch.”

“That’s okay,” Eddie soothes you, letting go of Dustin to hover behind your chair again, patting your back, “We can take it slow. We don’t really need to get that much done tomorrow,” He promises, “I’ll help you out.”

“Are you sure? If it’s too much trouble, I can-” You stop dead in your tracks when Eddie raises a brow, nearly glaring at your attempt to brush off another kind gesture.

“... I mean, I’d love to.” You grin placatingly at him, a rush of warmth flooding through your chest at his approving nod.

“Perfect,” His words are punctuated by the ringing of the bell, signaling the end of lunch time, “What class do you have next?”

You dig your schedule out of your backpack as everyone stands, the paper already crumpled slightly, “Uh, O’Donnel?”

“Oh!” Eddie nods understandingly, “I’ve got her first. I’ll walk you, it’s over there.” He points lazily towards the left cafeteria door.

“Thank you,” You smile brightly at him and he returns it with a nod, taking your backpack from you before you could sling it over your shoulder. You look at him fondly, struck with incredulity at the kindness of a near-stranger, but he doesn’t let you prase him anymore, starting for the door.

“Bye,” You wave hurriedly at the few stragglers at your new table, all of them waving back just as kindly, “It was nice meeting you!”

“Nice meeting you, too.” One of them pipes up, a buffalo-print vest draped over his shoulders as his messy brown hair dips slightly into his forehead.

“See you tomorrow?” Dustin asks hopefully, gesturing towards your shirt.

“Yeah,” You nod brightly, “See you tomorrow!”

Eddie tugs you along as soon as you’re done talking, taking long steps across the floor you’d been unlucky enough to sit on for the majority of lunch. Even if it had only been for a few minutes, though, you’re happy to have sat with Eddie and his friends, because they made you feel welcome.

You voice this to him before you step through the doors of Ms/ O’Donnel’s class, lingering by the threshold, “Eddie?”

“Yeah?” He hums curiously, waiting to send you off to your next period.

“Thank you,” You sound like a broken record but you don’t care, filled with thankfulness for his kind gestures, “Really, I know I’ve said it a lot but I really mean it. If it weren’t for you I’d have sat on that stupid floor all period,” You remember the cold, unforgiving linoleum, “And- and now I get to learn how to play DnD!”

Your exuberance melts Eddie’s heart, not that he wants to admit it, and he feels his grin become permanent over his face. Anytime he looks at you, he’s certain it’ll be there.

“Don’t mention it,” He shuffles his feet, suddenly bashful under your shower of gratitude, “Seriously, I’m glad you’re not on the floor anymore.”

“Me too.” You giggle, taking a step back into the classroom as he starts walking towards his own class, “Oh, and Eddie?”

“Yeah?” He turns back to you with a raised brow.

“The shirt?” You tug it away from your chest and let it fall back again, “When should I give it back?”

“Tell you what,” A smirk crosses his face, sending a spark up your spine as he steps towards you again, “You come by my place tonight, and I’ll teach you the basics of DnD. You can bring that book, and maybe I’ll knock out a few chapters while you’re learning. Then maybe you can show me what’s under there,” Eddie quips, tugging at the shirt’s hem with narrowed eyes, “I’m dying to know what the faculty deemed inappropriate.”

His bold offer has your stomach twisting, and you feel your heart in your throat. Your prolonged silence seems to humble him, and uncertainty flashes through his eyes, “Unless of course, um, I was too forward, and you’re not interested, in which case I’ve probably totally misread this and ruined whatever was going on, and I’m so-”

“Eddie!” His rambling is ridiculously endearing to you, and you grip his hand before he can flee the scene, “I.. I’d like that.”

His shoulders slump in relief and you watch the tension drain from his figure, “Really? Shit, you had me scared there. What’s your address, sweetheart?”

Even though it’s sweeter and less bold than his statement only seconds before, the pet name has your legs weakening. You’re sure Eddie will catch you if you fall, though, he hasn’t known you for an hour and he’s already your savior.

“Here,” You grab a scrap of paper from the side pocket of your backpack, pulling a pencil out alongside it and scribbling your address down, “What time do you wanna meet?”

“I’ll pick you up at six,” Eddie promises, tucking the paper into the pocket of his jacket, “Does pizza sound good?”

“Pizza sounds perfect.” You grin, finally stepping into the classroom and absentmindedly searching for an empty seat, “See you then!”

Eddie stands in the hallway, watching wistfully as you pick out an empty seat in the back. Your book is on the desk in seconds, your nose buried intently in it as the class gets seated. The endearing behavior only warms the pit of Eddie’s stomach more, and he turns before he can ruin the situation by being caught staring. He tucks his head down, stalking bouncily off to his next class with a smile on his face, “See you then, Y/N.”

tags: @superflannel @the-jackals @lem0nb0iii @folkwhorexx @poltergeistsblog @annoylinglyaries @themidnaoftime @1800-fight-me @feminist-mina-harker @lost-my-sanity @silverrings-n-prettythings @imsouyya @solace-in-death @ellehcimmunson @hells--angel @yourfavoritefangirl @pepperquin @vonelle @justmyheart @fuschite @burnyourtrains @doctorwhatwhenandwhere @duuhrayliegh @clubfairy @tssf-imagines @eddieswifu @ajokeformur-ray @villain-friend @svr2003 @pameladawson @harrys-tittie @madslchambers @aedicn @crankgameplayssimp @justletmelivethanks @reidsog @eddielives1986

feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!

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jdeclerc · 5 months

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happy birthday, shadowsinger

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: it's the night before azriel's birthday and he can't help but want you all to himself, politeness and decorum be damned

author's note: i'm a self-proclaimed cassian girlie but az does something to me, i wanted my first fic featuring him to be a happy one...enjoy :)

warnings: smut

word count: 5,728

“Even you can’t slip out unnoticed during your own party, Azriel.”

Azriel can hear the smile in your voice from where he stands facing the kitchen window overlooking the ocean. He wordlessly sends his shadows away, commanding them to ensure the two of you are left alone.

“Who’s to say my plan was to go unnoticed?”

He turns, drinking in your form from where you stand in the kitchen’s doorway.

He had almost been brought to his knees when you exited your shared dressing room hours earlier. Azriel had gone with you too many times not to recognize the pieces you wear as being custom-made by your favourite designer in the rainbow.

The top is made of the most beautiful lace Azriel has every seen, a band of black underneath is the only solid piece. The neckline raises high enough to circle your throat, he had found himself picturing his hand replacing that particular part more times that he cares to admit.

The high-waisted black pants flow down your form like water over rock, two slits running up both sides until they stop near the tops of your thighs. Throughout the night his hands had used every opportunity to slip themselves beneath the fabric, your skin against his own being a feeling he will chase for eternity.

But it is the vision of you now that has him thinking himself the luckiest male in all of Prythian.

You had removed your shoes at some point throughout the night, the intricate style of your hair had been replaced by a beautifully messy knot at the top of your head, and your jewellery had been abandoned in various places, the only piece remaining being the band he had placed on your finger two centuries ago.

You embody everything he deems to mean home, to mean comfort and safety.

“What if my plan was this? To have you all to myself?”

The kitchen is empty save for the two of you, the only noise being the music filtering in from the sitting room.

“You have me Azriel…any way you wish, any time you desire, I am yours.”

He can’t help his smile as he extends his right hand out toward you, a silent invitation for you to approach.

“Dance with me?”

Your eyes don’t stray from his as you close the distance, your left hand meeting his right. He takes your right hand and places both around his neck. His arms come to circle your waist, drawing you in as close as he is able. His wings follow suit, framing the two of you where you stand.

Azriel begins slow movements as he rests his head atop where yours is tucked under his jaw, brushing his lips across your forehead. A song he recognizes as one from your mating ceremony begins playing in the other room. After a moment he begins singing for only you to hear.

Azriel has let only those in his immediate family hear him sing, them being the only fae in existence aware that the ‘singer’ portion of his title rings true. He has only sung for them a handful of times, usually only doing so when faerie wine has gotten the best of him.

It was the expression on your face after the first time you heard him sing that erased any fear he held about your reaction. From that moment he never once denied your requests to hear him sing. You know him too well to ask in front of the other members of the Inner Circle, asking him only in the sacred space of your shared home. He will never get used to the waves of love and adoration you send down the bond when he sings for you.

As the song ends, Azriel begins quietly humming along with the one that follows, pulling both of you further into a moment meant only for the two of you. Neither of you dare to break the cocoon of quiet that surrounds you, moments such as these happening not nearly often enough.

Azriel isn’t sure how much time passes before you break the silence.

“I’m sorry if the party is too much, Cas and Rhys insisted on a night of revelry and debauchery…a gathering, at our house, with just our family, was the best I could get them down to.”

Your voice comes out hushed, like speaking at a regular volume would break the spell of the moment.

“I’m not even sure I want to know what it took to change their minds.” Amusement laces Azriel’s response. “And for it to be on the night before my birthday rather than the day of? You must be a sorceress.”

“It wasn’t quite that dramatic…I simply began telling them how I plan for the two of us to not leave our bed on your birthday, and of all the things we would be getting up to. That seemed to lessen their resolve.”

You can feel Azriel’s hands tighten where they rest on your waist, his head lowering until you feel the brush if his lips against your ear.

“I imagine it would…care to let me in on the details of what you told them?”

“I only got to tell them that I would be too sore for training the following day and that my voice would be strained from screaming your name before they feigned retching and begged me to stop.”

Azriel’s laugh is impossibly deep, the tone causing an involuntary wave of desire to shoot from your end of the bond. The air almost instantly changes, the scents of your respective arousals twisting and twining in the air around you as your gazes lock.

Azriel’s hands move to the backs of your thighs, lifting you into his arms and wrapping your legs around his waist. He moves forward until he can set you down on the closest counter, positioning himself between you and the doorway leading out of the kitchen. His look is nothing short of predatory as he stares down at you.

His right hand comes to rest on your jaw, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip. His left moves from your waist and begins toying with the base of your top, the small, black buttons being the only thing that stands between him and your bare skin beneath his hands.

Your hands tighten their grip on either side of his neck as you bring your lips against the base of his ear.

“Damage even one button and I will cut you down…the Night Court will be in need of a new spymaster.”

Azriel leans far enough back to meet your eye and gives you a scandalized look in return. Despite his look his hands retreat to either side of your waist, his thumbs brushing beneath the hem of your top.

“So very violent…I would never dare to do such a thing, my love. Do you think so little of me?”

You respond with a raised eyebrow, both of you knowing his accounts list numerous trips throughout Velaris to replace the articles of clothing he had been too impatient to remove without ripping them.

“Shall I start counting how many pairs of undergarments I’ve lost to your impatience?” You stare up at him through your lashes, choosing your next words knowing exactly what they would do to your mate.

“Or is there something else you’d prefer my mouth to be doing?”

“Fuck me.” He says it so low that you know he’s saying it more to himself then you. His hunger is evident in the way he searches your eyes.

Azriel’s grip tightens around your waist. He moves forward spreading your thighs further to accommodate his form towering over your own.

Wordlessly you begin undoing the buttons of his shirt, reaching halfway before running your hands over his chest. You trace his tattoos, taking in and appreciating the beauty of your mate. You can feel him tense under your touch as your hands move under the collar of his shirt, stopping at the base of his neck to toy with the hair that had grown longer than normal after his last mission.

You look up at him through your lashes and it’s as though his world stops.

Nothing exists outside of this moment for Azriel as his lips meet yours. His right hand moves to the base of your neck, tightening his grip to tilt your head back, allowing him the angle he needs to devour you.

The kiss is the exact opposite of his outward, quiet demeanor. It’s demanding, he is a male with a singular focus, a hunger that only you can satiate. His hands move to your thighs, holding them with a bruising grip as he pulls them higher and tighter around his waist. Every part of him meeting every part of you.

It’s when you reach and beginning running your hand along the length of him over his pants that he pulls back, pulling your bottom lip between his teeth as he does. He rests his forehead against yours, both of your breaths laboured.

“Here or our bedroom?”

“Wha –”

“I plan to be inside you before the clock strikes midnight Y/N.” Azriel’s tone is severe, determination lacing every word. “It can be here, with our family in the next room, or I can spread you out beneath me as you grip the satin of our sheets…tell me where and tell me quickly.”

A mischievous grin spreads across your lips before you respond, and it takes everything in Azriel not to capture your lips with his once more. Your words come out as a whisper.

“Your birthday, your choice.”

Azriel emits a low groan at your words. With a practised ease he lifts you from the counter, keeping your body tucked close to his. He turns and carries you through the doorway of the kitchen, toward the stairs leading to the second floor of your shared home.

Only Amren notices the two of you as you pass by the sitting room. She gives Azriel a knowing smile and it’s the slight bow of her head that tells him she won’t alert the rest of the Inner Circle to your joined absence.

As he reaches the second floor, he carries you through the double doors that sit directly opposite the stairs. He removes a single hand from you only long enough to close both doors, sealing the two of you away from the world once more.

It takes you no more than a moment to know where your mate has taken you.

“The library? Interesting choice.” Amusement is mixed into your loving tone.

“My birthday, my choice, remember?” He moves forward, your back meeting the closest bookshelf. “I bolted these shelves to the floor for a reason, my love.”

Your eyes widen, your mate having left that particular piece of information out when explaining to you how he planned to make changes to the library when the two of you had moved in.

“Azriel…you did not!”

“Oh, but I did, my dear. Do you not remember what happened the first day we moved into this house?”

You both can’t help laughing at the memory. What started as a simple kiss ended with the two of you surrounded by a broken shelf and books scattered every which way. It had been your favourite room in the house ever since.

The library holds such peace and tranquility for both of you. Your respective offices both have doors leading into the room. Azriel can’t count how many nights you both have fallen asleep in front of the fireplace, still holding your books. He also can’t count the number of heated moments that passed between you within the walls of this room, your books, in particular, being the starting point to more than a few of those moments.

Azriel lowers you to the floor and takes your hips in his hands, turning you around. He moves both your hands to rest on the shelf just above your head.

“Keep them there.” His tone leaves no room for discussion or argument.

His hands move to either side your neck, his thumbs brushing the base of your jaw before moving to the first of the buttons that rest there. He undoes each one with painful precision, your arousal growing with each that comes loose.

It seems as though an eternity has passed before the last button comes free. He lowers your hands and pushes the top past your shoulders and down your arms. He sets the top on the empty portion of shelf behind him. As he turns back to face you, he moves your hands to rest on the shelf once more.

He presses a kiss to your left shoulder, leaving a path of searing skin in his wake as he settles his lips at the base of your ear. His fingertips brush across your skin from your hips until both hands come to rest beneath your breasts.

The tightening of your grip where it rests and the shiver that runs through you as he brushes his scarred thumbs across your nipples doesn’t go unnoticed by the spymaster. The cool air of the empty room has formed them into sensitive peaks, and he relishes in the stuttering breaths you let out as he continues the movements of his thumbs.

Azriel’s right hand comes to rest between your breasts as his left moves down your stomach, stopping just short of where he knows you want his hands most.

“Az…”

Your words come out weak, pleading.

His hand undoes the buttons of your pants with expert precision. You can’t help the whimper that escapes as both of his hands leave your body to slide the garment down your legs. He repeats his earlier actions, your pants now resting with your top.

Azriel’s hands find their place once more as he presses your bare form into his fully clothed one, the friction causing another shiver to rake over your body.

His left hand continues its previous path downward until his fingers brush against the most sensitive part of you. It’s his turn to let out an involuntary groan at what his hand is met with.

“So wet for me already Y/N. I’ve barely touched you…are you that desperate for me?”

Rather than give him a response, your body does its best to grind against his hand, searching for some form of friction. His right hand tightens where it rests on your sternum, halting your movements.

“You’ll have to do better than that Y/N. Use your words…tell me exactly what you need.”

His lips are pressed to your ear, his voice so deep it is the accelerant to the fire raging within you.

It takes a moment for you to respond, your words coming out broken.

“I need you…I need you inside me, Az. Now.”

Your words pull him from the haze of his arousal. Very rarely do the two of you move forward without some form of preparation to make the experience more enjoyable for you. Azriel isn’t ignorant to his size, he is acutely aware of the discomfort he has unintentionally caused you in the past. Very rarely does your need outweigh the pain you feel as you adjust to him.

“Be sure Y/N. Please.” His words are desperate, the need to have your intention clear necessary for him to move forward.

You turn in his grip, bringing your hands to rest on his chest as you meet his eye. Your left hand raises to rest against his jaw, your next words giving him the reassurance you know he needs.

“I’m sure Az…I want every inch you have to give me.”

Your hands become desperate, reaching to undo the buttons beneath each of his wings. Azriel can’t help but let out a low laugh as you struggle to pull his shirt from his body. He grasps your wrists and places them on his waist before reaching overhead and pulling the garment off himself. He tosses it to the side, all the care he showed your clothes has been thrown into the Sidra.

He looks down and watches as you pull his zipper down, his breath hitching as you sink to your knees before him, the sight never failing to bring out his base desires. He steps out of his pants when they reach his ankles. His hands move to cover yours where they grip at his thighs when they start to move.

“You’re not the only one that needs me inside you, Y/N.” His voice is gravel, almost pained as he pulls you to stand once more. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth in the beginning of a pout.

“It’s your birthday Az, this is about you.”

His hands encase either side of your neck with a firm grip, ensuring you hear every word he has to say.

“If it’s about me then it’s about you.” His voice goes impossibly deep with his next words. “You should know by now that nothing gets me off quite like the sounds you make as you cum around my cock.”

He says nothing more before he captures your lips with his own and lifts you into his arms. He parts from you just long enough to brush his cock through your folds, lining himself up. You both let out a low groan as he pushes into you, your head falling back against the bookshelf and his coming to rest against your chest.

Azriel doesn’t dare move, savouring the moment. Your hands brush back the hair that has fallen over his forehead, tilting his face up to meet yours. You both refuse to break the eye contact as he draws his hips back and moves them forward once more, working himself deeper.

You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, and he can see your eyes begin to water as he bottoms out inside you. His heart breaks at the sight, but you don’t give him a single second to fall into self-deprecation as you pull his lips to meet yours.

The kiss is different than the last, it’s fueled by care and adoration. A love so deep neither of you can quite comprehend it most days.

Azriel tucks his head against your neck as you tighten your arms around his shoulders, his lips paying special attention to the spot just beneath your ear that has you clutching him, your nails surely leaving marks.

His first movements are slow, measured. He plays you like a song that he has practiced his entire life, knowing just what you need. It’s when you bring your forehead to rest against his that he knows you need more, knows you want him to give you everything he can.

His pace becomes burning, pulling sounds from you that would have him offering up whatever he needed in order to hear them just one more time.

“That’s it Y/N/N.” He pulls out to the tip before beginning to push back in, painfully slow. His pace quickening again as he snaps his hips into yours. “I want to hear you take every inch like the good girl that you are.”

It’s his words that send you barreling into an orgasm that has you seeing stars. His right hand moves to circle your clit, causing you to cry out as he carries you through your release. Your left hand grips his forearm, attempting and failing to halt his movements.

“Az, please…”

Your words are more desperate than he knows you wish them to be. Azriel gradually slows his movements, and he can feel your body coming back from the over-stimulation. He doesn’t give you time to fully recover as he moves to lay you down on the couch that is centred in front of the dormant fireplace.

Azriel takes a moment to admire the sinful beauty of you beneath him, it’s a sight that he commits to memory each time he is graced by it.

Your hands grip his biceps as he lowers himself to hover above you, his arms resting on either side of your head. His lips meet yours in a kiss that is nothing short of devastating. He pushes every bit of need he has for you down the bond, ensuring you know he is worshipping before his chosen altar.

He hooks his left arm under your knee, raising your leg and pushing himself even deeper inside you. He relishes in the expression that passes over your features at the new angle. Your body is pliant under his, ready to take whatever he gives you.

Azriel doesn’t have many words to say but he wishes he could give every last one to you in this moment. Wishes he could find the words to properly describe the effect you have on him, his feelings so consuming it terrifies him.

A squeeze on his forearm pulls him from his thoughts, he glances up to meet your questioning expression.

“Care to tell me what has that beautiful mind of yours thinking so hard?” Your words are gentle, barely coming out above a whisper.

Azriel brushes his thumb along your jaw.

“Nothing you don’t already know.” He smiles to himself. “Just that I am hopelessly, endlessly, devastatingly in love with you.”

“Keep talking like that, Shadowsinger and I won’t even need you to move. Your voice is all I need.”

“Then maybe I shouldn’t be doing this.” He pulls out to the tip and pushes back in, hitting every last spot that has you clenching around him and arching your chest into his. “Or this.” He leans down, closing his mouth on your pulse point, leaving his mark on you. “And I really shouldn’t be doing this either.” His mouth resumes its position, and his fingers start moving over your clit in the way only he knows how.

“But we both know it doesn’t matter what I do when I’m the only that can have you like this, the only one that can give you what we both know you’d beg for.” His fingers stop their movements, leaving you to clench around him, wordlessly begging for him to do something, anything. The sound that comes from you at the loss is nothing short of primal, so involuntary Azriel can’t stop the pride that washes over him.

He starts moving again, varying his pace until he finds the one that has your head falling back onto the couch and the nails of your left hand digging into his back, just below where his wing meets his skin. Azriel can’t help the moan that leaves him, the scrape of your nails only heightening the euphoria beginning to consume him.

Your right hand blindly grabs for the hand he has anchored next to your head. He interlaces his fingers with your own, your knuckles turning white with the force of your grip, desperate to maintain your hold on him.

“Fuck, Az…don’t stop.” He can barely hear the words as you choke them out, each sounding more strained than the last. “Plea...please.”

You’re close; he can hear it in your breathing and feels it in the way your body tenses, as though you’re a rope about to snap.

He doesn’t let up in his pace, even though he can feel himself barreling toward his own release. Azriel is determined to hold out long enough for you to fall over the edge first.

“Such good manners.” Azriel grips the back of you neck with his right hand, forcing your eyes to open and meet his. The expression across his face has you letting out a whimper, the fire in his eyes unmistakeable. “But what did I say about telling me exactly what you want Y/N? Use your words.”

He can see you struggle to form the words, so lost in your pleasure it takes more than one try for them to cross your lips.

“Please, Az, I want to…need to cum on your cock.”

Your words break the last of his resolve. His hand moves from your neck to resume its movements on your clit, moving against it slowly, in such stark contrast to the burning pace set by his hips.

The dual sensations have you crying out and Azriel responds in turn, with a needy groan falling from his own lips.

He leans down and places his lips against your ear, his voice sinful as he whispers the exact words you need.

“Then do that for me, love…cum for me.” His fingers quickening their pace only slightly.

That all it takes for your vision to flash white, your orgasm ripping through you with such delicious ferocity. You can’t help the trembling of your thighs as Azriel’s pace doesn’t slow, drawing sounds from you that only he’s ever been able to do.

His release quickly follows your own as he bites down on your neck, pushing his hips harshly into yours as he cums. You can feel him tremble under your touch as you cling to him, the reaction a direct contrast to the deep moans coming from him.

Azriel’s thrusts slow, anchoring you both as you come down from your respective highs. The sound of your combined releases nearly sending you into a third orgasm.

Azriel isn’t sure how long it takes for your respective breaths to even out. All he knows as he stares down at the look of pure bliss on your face is that he will never get used to this, will never stop wanting to be the one that gets to see you like this.

He waits a few more moments before slowly pulling out of you, a small gasp leaving your lips at the loss. Azriel rests his head on your chest, giving himself a moment to truly come down from his high.

Your hand brushes the sweat-soaked hair from his forehead, a truly contented smile forming as he lifts his head and closes his eyes with the movement of your hand.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence for a few moments before the clock that sits on the fireplace mantel gives out an almost silent chime.

“It’s midnight…Happy Birthday Azriel.” You whisper the words, sending every bit of love you can down the bond. “Hopefully you’re not disappointed with how your day is beginning.”

He leans down to kiss you rather than respond, exploring your mouth with slow precision. When he breaks it his forehead rests against your own.

“When I say this is better than anything I could dream, please believe every word. I thank the cauldron every day for gifting me with you as a mate.” You can tell his next words are said to himself as his eyes search your face. “I will never deserve you.”

“You wish for me to believe your words…believe mine in return.” Your hands grasp either side of his face. “You deserve everything you have, my love. The life you have built, your family, me, all of it.”

He lets out a low hum of acknowledgment, leaning down to kiss you. It’s slow, patient – allowing the both of you to bask in the feeling of each other.

You break from the kiss suddenly, unable to stifle the yawn you let out.

“You’re tired Y/N.”

“No, I’m here, I’m –” Another yawn interrupts your words.

Azriel lets out a low chuckle, shifting so he rests on his side facing you. His wings relax over the edge of the couch, and he allows them to brush the ground rather than devote the concentration to keeping them raised. He reaches over you and pulls the blanket folded over the back of the couch to cover your entwined bodies.

He wraps his arms around your waist and rests your head against his chest.

“Sleep Y/N, you’ll need rest if you’d like us to live out the day you scarred Rhys and Cas with as you described it.”

You smile and let out an amused hum as your eyes begin to close.

“It would be a perfect day, Cas and Rhys be damned.” The words come out in a whisper, and it doesn’t take long for Azriel to hear your breathing leveling out.

He waits long enough to ensure you’re truly asleep before gently untangling himself from you. He looks down as he stands and finds his shadows have returned. They skirt around the bottom of the couch, holding true to their need to keep you safe at every turn.

He silently thanks them, only now realizing just how long your shared family had gone without interrupting the two of you.

Azriel crosses the short space to the bookshelves, retrieving his pants and pulling them on, not bothering to button them as he knows they’ll be on his bedroom floor in a matter of minutes.

He faces the couch once more and pulls the blanket tighter around your form before lifting you into his arms. Even in sleep, you burrow further into his hold, tucking your head tight to his chest.

Azriel can’t help the smile plastered to his lips as he exits the library, vowing to himself that the two of you would be back in this room later in the day, continuing this evening’s activities.

---------

“Where did they go Rhysie?”

Rhysand can hear the pout in Cassian’s voice as he asks the question.

“They didn’t leave the house so I’m sure they haven’t gone far Cas. Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”

He tightens his grip on Cassian’s arm as his massive form sways during their ascent up the stairs.

“We better, they’re too important to me to lose.” His eyes are taking on a glossy glint as he continues. “What if something terrible’s happened?! I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a hand on them!”

It’s in that moment that Rhysand thanks the Mother he insisted they all come unarmed tonight. A drunk Cassian is one matter…an armed drunk Cassian could end in catastrophe.

Rhysand can hear a slight shift from down the hall as they finally reach the top of the stairs. He looks ahead and spots two of the few fae who permanently reside within his heart.

Cassian moves before Rhysand can pull him back. His massive form taking the most ungraceful of steps to reach his friends.

“Thank the gods you’re okay!” Azriel quickly hushes the General, his tone having crossed from its previous whisper to the beginning of his normally boisterous, energetic tone. “I was so afraid something terrible had happened when neither of you came back!”

Azriel eyes dart to Rhysand’s, his eyebrows raising in question. Rhysand shrugs in response, slipping into Azriel’s mind after he lowers his shields.

“He refused to leave until he laid eyes on the two of you, his concern so great he turned down every reassurance I tried to give him.”

“Just how much did he drink?” Azriel’s amusement is evident, no anger imposes on his tone.

“Please don’t make me answer that, he winnowed to the wine cellar before I could stop him. Feyre’s in similar shape but Amren was able to get her home, I clearly haven’t had such luck.”

Azriel nods at his High Lord in understanding and turns his attention to Cas once more.

The stretch of silence has given the General an opportunity to move even closer to the two, his eyebrows furrowed in worry as he looks down at Y/N.

“She’s not hurt Cas, she simply sleeps. You wouldn’t want to wake her, would you?”

Cassian shakes his head.

“Can you do me a favour, brother?” Cassian nods in response.

Rhysand can see from where he stands that the expression Cassian gives Azriel is nothing short of one filled with utter love.

“Y/N had a headache earlier today and she misplaced the tonic Majda gave her in the House of Wind after our meeting. Can I trust you to find it for her? It would make her so happy to have it back.”

“For Y/N? Consider it done, brother.” Cassian’s tone is as serious as it is when he walks into battle. The two of you had been close since the moment you met, the General declaring himself your protector.

He stares at Azriel for a moment longer before taking his face in his hands and kissing both of his cheeks. And it’s as he leans down to give Y/N the same treatment that Rhysand finally takes in the scene before him.

He observes Azriel’s half-clothed state and his quick adjustment to the blanket covering you, pulling your body in closer to his own.

Rhys realizes just what he and Cassian have interrupted and curses his less than sober state for not realizing earlier the most obvious reason two mates would slip away at one of their respective birthday celebrations.

“Cas, let’s go find that tonic. We wouldn’t want Y/N to wait any longer than she has to.” Rhysand crosses the short distance and moves to turn Cassina away from the mated pair.

Azriel shoots him a grateful look, his thanks clearly evident.

Cassian allows Rhys to lead him away but abruptly turns back just as they move to descend the stairs.

“Azriel?”

“Yeah, Cas?”

“Tell Y/N Happy Birthday from me when she wakes up, I want to be the first one to say it.” His smile is beaming at the thought.

“The second she wakes, she will know.” Azriel’s words are filled with amusement, letting out a low laugh at the General’s words.

Cassian gives him a triumphant smile, turning back toward the stairs without another word.

Rhysand gives Azriel one last apologetic look before leading the General down the stairs and past the wards that guard the home.

“Y/N must’ve gotten hot before she fell asleep.”

Cassian’s words have Rhysand pausing.

“What makes you say that, Cas?”

The General’s words fall to a whisper, as though somebody may be listening.

“She didn’t have any clothes on under that blanket. She was in front of a fire and got too warm, Azriel didn’t want us to see so he put the blanket on her, I’m certain of it.”

He speaks like he’s privy to confidential information and has finally chosen to let Rhysand in on it.

Rhysand grips his brother’s arm, giving him an endearing smile as he begins to winnow them to the House of Wind. Cassian’s face conveying unending pride at Rhys' reply.

“You must be right Cas…there’s absolutely no other possible explanation.”

#azriel x reader #azriel #cassian #rhysand #acotar #acotar x reader #night court

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lundenloves · 6 months

Text

IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE, I MEET MY FATHER WHEN HE IS A CHILD

〔 yeah this had no idea being as emotionally intense as it was, and for that, i will take a swig of this wine i’m drinking. a rhône red. this is based off the poem by nikita gill — and dedicated to all the girlies who relate. i love you, you are seen. 〕

˗ˏˋ i have a lot of requests in my inbox. i’ll take ages to do them because all of my time is stolen by the ceiling whom i stare at lovingly. it’s been really rough lately folks, i won’t lie.

⇀ warnings of brief abuse mentions | 1.7k

dad!simon masterlist | masterlist | taglist | request info

A father and his youngest daughter. Simon and his youngest daughter. A concept so simple but also complex. The last one to need dad, the last one to be embarrassed of him, the last one to scoff after consoling kisses to her temple, the last one to say bye to him and the last one to move out. Every of his efforts landed enough for surface satisfaction, though not deep enough to reject tears over TikTok slideshows. Father quotes, embedded between photos of old and new paintings, some of animals hugging and others of people.

What if you met your father when he was a child? It said, eleven words that joined together to create a swell of pity in her stomach. The clock turned three and darkness welcomed the girlhood routine of small houred upset.

In another universe,

I meet my father

when he is a child.

Her chest hurt. She hadn’t said bye to him, too busy on the phone with her friend. Undoubtedly another teenage drama, one that lasted only an hour at best when saying goodbye could’ve taken mere seconds and lasted forever. He stood in her door frame, camouflage clad and knocking to enter.

“Bye.” She’d mumbled, now touching her shoulder at the invisible feeling of his hand. A touch that she had learned meant love from her father, his calloused fingers padding twice before pressing a kiss to her cheek and walking out. He always closed the door behind him, a fatherhood instinct he had picked up from the years.

She viscerally pictured his youth. An image near scolded into her brain from the single photo she had seen. Stood without a smile, hand raised to bite on his nail. He was small against his older brother who looked just the same, a distant hand placed on Simon’s shoulder. It was something that she thought about often, about how even in his childhood she hadn’t seen one smile.

It was telling.

We play catch in the woods

and as we play he tells me

he isn’t allowed to cry

but sometimes the world

hurts him and he doesn’t know

what to do with all that pain.

One tear fell. She could hear the young voice, something so untainted but so far from happiness. A nonchalance sprouted from a young age, said with a shrug and a wide eyed stare — something like an animal in headlights. Her own childhood easily caught up to his, passing him by without a look back. The boy dropped his arm and watched her walk by, dark circles made home under his eyes and the bruises on his arms harbored, making their place known for years to come.

So I give him the shoulder he needs to cry on.

And he does. He does

Until the tears are done.

Her lip tasted salty, one or two more tears dropping for the thought of her father at her age. Still and silent, an observant soul with a foul temper. One tested more than he would’ve hoped or had energy for — if not his father, then school peers, finding joy in persistent teasing for his solemn stares and aggressive responses.

It was something he had carried to adulthood, to parenthood. Dropping the bag of trauma at the door and doing his best to avoid the handle, locking the door and throwing away the key to avoid stepping near or on anything delicate. Anything that could set him off, for anger and upset had been merged into one. Because it wasn’t right to be emotional, it wasn’t right to cry or show visible turmoil because that’s not what men were like was it? Nevermind a five, nine, twelve or sixteen year old boy.

Tears were the crime, anger was the fine. Even now, his rare despair came laced with anger and she couldn’t help in finding similarities to herself. She was her fathers’ daughter. Her smile, her eyes and her cry. Silent. Her ears went red the same way his did, her pitch raised when on the defence and her tears came at night when no one was around to see them.

Like now.

As she lay in bed, wiping tear-stained cheeks in a house bought from what was ultimately Simon’s life. Every deployment it seemed far fetched to assume he wouldn’t come back, though it was easy to forget the very real possibility. His texts kept her mind from wandering too far, a simple text of good morning or night. Something he knew was reassuring, because as much as she was his daughter he was also her father.

Afterwards, I buy him ice cream

and I listen to his laugh,

the glowing warm laugh

of a child who knows he is safe.

Isn’t it weird how you can feel it in your chest and stomach when something really hurts your feelings? A sinking feeling, one that you can’t seem to shake until your head decides to alleviate you of the weight. Her head spun at the thought, her father as a child and this continuous feeling — something that happened so often he almost found comfort in it.

Familiarity runs a person. It’s undeniable, anything merely familiar is a driving point for the average individual. Though it was easy to forget the definition was different for everyone. For some, it was being born into a burning house with spits of fire. The inclination to find a human equivalent of petrol just to start a riot, finding home in forever arguments and turbulence. Simon was scared that’s what he would create, a lineage of trauma and anger.

But he hadn’t. Not to the extent he was worried for anyway, instead, his girls were extended parts of the warmth he feared yet craved so deeply. The feeling of safety was a necessity growing up, it’s grounding — something he wasn’t a party of privilege to and it made his daughter sob.

It made her sob how his hugs were forever tainted by his childhood. A fear to hold both arms tight in favor of a one armed distancing method, one that was abolished when drunk and she received his longing. Constant drunken smiles, laughs, hugs and words of affirmation. Her phone was pulled from the bedside table, scrolling to find his contact and phoning him without a second thought.

It was even later where he was, but still the phone barely had a chance to ring once before he had answered. “Hi, you alright?” Voice hoarse from sleep, forever in concern.

She imagined him sitting on the edge of the bed, rubbing at his eyes with a mighty frown across his brow. One that would soften as she began to cry down the line, “I feel bad I didn’t say bye to you.”

“You did.” He’d almost laugh instantly, his own attempt to lift her up from thousands of miles away. “Don’t cry over it.” A pause. “It’s late where you are, eh?” The creak of his bed sounded over the phone and she knew he was getting up to start his day rather than go back to sleep.

I wish someone could

have done that for him.

She hated it. The way he would throw emotion away by retreating to his room for days after coming home. It was something she hadn’t paid any attention to being younger, but the older she got, and the older he got, it became obvious. The undeniable anxiety in his shaky hands, all pent up worry from being so still on the field releasing. He couldn’t hold a mug for days, growing red faced out of frustration and subsequent embarrassment over the inability to do something so simple.

“Are you alright dad?” She’d ask, watching from the threshold as he clinked the ceramic against the counter — a crass sound filling the room and then his puff of anger. The tea spilled across the surface, his fist encouraging the flow with a thump against the marble. “I’ll get it.” Voice quiet, wary eyes catching his own.

His jaw tightened at her presence, pushing both hands up through his hair and down to rub his face. “No, it’s—” He cut himself off with a timely blink. “Sorry.” He motioned to the spillage, taking steps backward to lean against the surface behind him, instantly zoning out.

Sometimes he wanted to cry.

But it didn’t ever happen.

Been a kind, safe place

for the child he used to be.

Would it have made a difference?

The worst feeling in the world was that of neglect. The feeling of loving someone so hard, on your knees in front of them begging for them to love you back, and yet, only receiving a familiar feeling of disappointment running cold in your veins. Nothing but abuse and torment, the pining for warmth becoming redundant against each icy spit. It was worse coming from someone you looked up to. Anyone from a friend to a sister and a brother. But worst of all. A parent.

Because there was something devastating about the lack of parental love for a youth. Those key years are knocked for six by the physical blows and emotional hits. It shapes you. Molds each crevice in your brain to whatever badness it feels, manifesting in forms of wrathful anger or complete silence, a primal human instinct to protect yourself.

Not that it ever worked.

It never does.

Instead, it works in tandem with the abuser. Silence aiding an escalation of the inevitable. But one or two hits isn’t so bad, right? The purpling of your cheekbones feels like home and it’s not something you can ever leave.

Simon recognised that from a young age.

And if the tears hadn’t been beaten out of him and he was able, he would’ve cried. Ten years old, yet his tears had already run out.

But would it have made a difference?

as always, comments are reblogs are highly highly appreciated! if no one pats me on the head every now and then, i’ll fall down a hole.

simon 'ghost' riley taglist: @vamppxncess @crowbird @tallrock35 @fluffmonster @islanderr @blueoorchid @lea3773 @coldflapjack @rayhawk05 @han11dh @liishook @melovetitties @fallonx @rvjaa @fuckmelifesucks @bhayatsara @takeomisbitch @local-spidey @konigsblog @penutjuice @babychoi03 @sheluvzeren @sparklingtragedy @maviee @wiserebelpartypie @daddylorianisastateofmind @bhayatsara @mistydeyes @writingmysanity @johfaam0 @idkbbyx3 @gressseyy @shibble @maladaptivedaydreamingbum @airghostlyfox @hotgirlsshareaccounts @simpxinnie @cliosunshine @bloobewy @lazybutsmexy @iluvoaldmen @yyiikes @tieflingteatime @cosmoscoffee @lilvampirina @cinnabeanz @bubbyblob @spencerreidisbae123 @paperbag-prncss @cookiecutta

i cant tag more than 50 people, so will tag in comments!

i tag x reader as it’s your family with him, your daughter.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod mw fanfiction #ghost mw2 #simon riley x reader #cod mw2 x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x f!reader #simon riley headcanons #simon riley fanfic #simon riley x female reader #simon ghost riley headcanons #ghost cod #ghost call of duty

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halemerry · 9 months

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Okay so I wanna take a moment to talk about gravity. Now I know what this sounds like, but bare with me here I promise I'm not looking to do a physics lecture. But I've been rotating this around in my head for a couple days now and I think there's something really critical in the way the show presents it to us.

For example: it's one of the few things actually listed in our introduction to this show individually while our protagonists build the universe, right between matter and everything else.

The show draws our attention to it here fairly bluntly by naming it but there are other incidents that, while I would not call them subtle, are not quite as on the nose.

There are at least three times Crowley chucks something he's holding in his hands across the room. They're played for comedic bits but they all feel very weird and pointed to me - especially both times he does this to books that he seems to have no purpose for holding other than to chuck them later. It caught my attention mostly because everything in me recoiled at the idea of him doing that, but the more I thought about the way they're so visible and pointed was important. They almost feel like weird hiccups in the scene they're in.

We also get gravity as an implied threat with Gabriel climbing out the window and, of course, with every mention of a Fall. But there's also more mundane uses of gravity in the season that while not odd in isolation, the fact we get it popping up so notably is interesting to me. There's also the scene with Nina and Maggie under the awning where rainwater's weight gets pulled down by gravity, the scene in 1941 where Aziraphale drops the picture of them onto the floor before they have their gray area talk, Gabriel dropping the matchbox, and I'm sure there's more. The point is the show is littered with reminders that gravity exists.

Now I know what this sounds like. I know it seems like yeah. Duh. They're on earth. Which has gravity. Of course gravity is a factor in nearly every physical action they do. Why are you even talking about this at all?

Well, it's because of a scene that is one of my absolute favorites in the whole season: the Gravity Lesson.

The scene opens with Jim throwing a book (My Best Games of Chess, an interesting title that feels pointed) repetitively at a desk. He's testing gravity himself, looking confused.

Crowley then descends from the upper level, carrying a stack of books. He pauses his descent on the spiral staircase and notes what Jim is doing.

Then we get this shot. Notice the light here. Jim is in the light from the windows but relatively in the middle of the shot. He's an angel still, though not nearly as in the Light as he was as Gabriel. And he's notably at ground level, on earth. Meanwhile Crowley blends into the shadows of the shop itself. He continues down the staircase, sauntering vaguely downward, until he finally hits earth level to be even with Jim. There's symbolism here, in the lighting, in the way they move through these frames, in the way the staircase spirals like an orbit.

Crowley continues this same sweeping circular pattern to come around the bookshop and place him in front of Jim. Unable to resist a question, even one that wasn't asked out loud, Crowley tells him about gravity. He moves center toward Jim here. A meeting in the middle. This is the first scene we see Crowley interact with Jim in a way anything near amicable. He explains how gravity works. "It's, um... A thing that happens when objects are pulled together. In this case, they're all pulled downwards because Earth is the largest thing around."

As he speaks, Crowley moves away from Jim, toward the back of the bookshop. But he stops very rapidly because Jim goes and asks him why. Crowley frowns to himself. He says he can't remember. He says it seemed like a good idea when they were all talking about it.

He walks back to Jim, giving this question some real thought, and settles on, "So things would stay where you put them, not just drift off." And Jim, backlit by the windows still, kind of frowns and drops the book again and points out. "But it doesn't stay where I put them. It goes down."

When the book hits the table it also visibly does not land precisely over where Jim dropped it either. It settles out of place, bouncing slightly from the force of it. This is what drew my attention to this scene more than anything else.

Because it's interesting isn't it? They're both right in their assessment here. And so much of this story is about people not fitting quite where they're dropped. Aziraphale and Crowley are both caught in Earth's gravity, jostled out of their respective places. The very first shot in the intro sequence emphasizes this idea. Crowley and Aziraphale meet in the middle on earth (where Crowley then says let there be light and lights a flame to guide them going forward).

Gabriel and Beez too fall out of line as soon as they get caught in Earth's gravity. Memories are deleted, but can't entirely escape the gravity of their old home. Memories are added, but you can't predict exactly the way they'll form. Miracles backfire and don't land quite as they're expected. We obey Heaven or Hell as far as we can, but not necessarily exactly as they'd like. These shifts eventually become predictable and eventually we learn we can calculate the odds of how gravity can impact something, but as Jim shows us here a little bit of the drift still happens. In the end it's all just firing bullets at ears and pretend to catch them in our teeth.

And there's viewing this line of thinking from the perspective of God. God who functionally dropped the universe into the gravity of Fate and Choice just to see where it would land.

And then there's the Fly.

As Jim points out here, some things actively resist gravity, at least temporarily. Flies go up. This is very fun, given Beelzebub's arc this season, but I think it's getting at more than just that. Crowley and Jim both pause to watch the fly rise upward, drifting away from Jim and toward the dark half of the shop. Crowley says Jim makes a good point and then shifts into "Right, the plan, Operation: Lovebird."

Given the plot of season 1, I find the use of the word plan here pretty interesting. Especially given that the event that follows this is Crowley trying and failing to get Nina and Maggie to recreate his own meet cute. Like the idea of these two being drawn together will fix everything.

And that got me thinking about Crowley's line at the end of season 1. About what if God planned it that way. What if they're God's own Operation Lovebird. We know that together they can do very powerful things. This whole season starts with them, while trying to keep their power under control and contained, do a miracle so big it could've brought someone back from the dead nearly 25 times. Last season ends with Heaven and Hell thinking they've become something impossible. The Metatron here goes out of his way to separate the two of them like he's afraid of what they're capable of together. And he seems to have successfully managed to do this.

But a Fly can't stay in the air forever. The Fly is always drawn back to Jim. Because not all gravity is about Earth itself. The same way Gabriel's memories are drawn back to him. The same way Beelzebub and Gabriel are drawn to each other in the first place. The same way Aziraphale and Crowley have been described time and time again as drawn in by each other. They're Alpha Centauri. Twin stars orbiting each other. They're constantly going in circles around each other. It's a dance. With the hands touching in the middle. Because that is a gravity too. They complete each other the same way the Fly completes Jim.

So what about choice? Think about the Ball episode. Think about how everyone in the shop is being influenced by some sort of miracle. Their clothes and behavior shift and change and Nina in particular shows us that this is Noticeable. Forcing something in a gravity it doesn't like or want makes it have a hard time settling. It doesn't go quite where you drop it.

And then there's the chat Nina and Maggie have with Crowley. "We're not a game. We're real people," says Maggie. And Crowley tries to argue this saying that they both needed help and they both push back that it is still not his right to meddle with. A game. Like the title My Best Games of Chess. Like the thing we know God has been using as a framing device since season 1. A thing the narrative always has pushed as a bad thing.

Maggie and Nina are choosing to not let beings above them influence their choices. They actively resist being compelled by Aziraphale in the bookshop together because they know what's right. His gravity is not enough to overwhelm their choices. And at the end maybe they're not together but they're working on it. And, maybe, if they do come back together (when they do, according to Maggie) it will be when they are ready and when they are choosing each their free of the constraints of the game or higher power. And that gives me hope that's where we're headed for the Ineffables as well.

#good omens #good omens spoilers #gos2 spoilers #good omens season 2 #good omens meta #Crowley #Aziraphale #Gabriel #Beelzebub #Maggie #Nina #gravity #I'm going sicko mode and I am Thriving

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ohwowimlonley · 10 months

Text

Closer

CHAPTER ONE - blank stares

Series Synopsis - after being evicted and having nothing left, your best friend sends you to live with her brooding, stoic boss. Except, he isn’t so brooding, and he isn’t so stoic, and now that you live with him, your underwear keeps going missing

Chapter Synopsis - you meet your bestfriend’s angry boss, but he isn’t so angry

Chapter Warnings - crybaby!reader, dilf!perv!hotch, food mentions, reader is kinda a housewife already

Word Count - 2517

Add yourself to the taglist

The first time you meet Aaron Hotchner, you’re just a tad bit desperate. Not for him, of course, you’d just met the man. But you’re definitely a bit dishevelled because you’d been sofa surfing for weeks now and your friend Penelope has only just notified you that her boss has a spare room in his apartment and she can ‘try get you hooked up’.

So, two days after her phone call, you’re standing outside of a door that looks much too expensive for you to even be close too and before you can stop yourself you’re knocking on the pristine white paint and then there’s locks clicking and chains clinking and the door swings open and you’re face to face with the most gorgeous man on the planet.

He looks you up and down, tongue peeking out from between his lips to wet them, brushing over a patch of stubble and you find yourself having to wrench your eyes away from the scene. He steps back, gesturing for you to come inside.

“I’m Aaron,” he extends his hand, a polite smile gracing his lips as your fingers brush over the calluses on his palms, causing goosebumps to break out over your (thankfully sweater-clad) arms, “Penelope has told me a lot about you. Please, sit down,”

You’re hardly convinced this is the man your best friend had been telling you about. His soft smile, gentle words and overall kind demeanour was a complete 180 from the man your friend had described. Nevertheless, you perch yourself on the edge of a plush grey sofa, resting your hands on your denim-clad knees and look around anxiously, taking in the sparsely decorated room.

The living room is carpeted in a charcoal grey, bookshelves are dotted across the place, most of which are filled with criminal law books. There are two small picture frames, one with a picture of him and a small boy. A grin stretches over both of their faces, and the small boy has a glob of icecream on his cheek. Aaron is wearing a pair of sunglasses, but they’re pushed to the top of his head, and his cheek is squished to the boy’s forehead, exposing some laughter lines around his cheeks and eyes.

The other picture isn’t nearly as interesting, though. It’s a picture of what you assume is the whole BAU team. You spot Penelope, and Derek (who you only know from the countless pictures of him Penny had shown you) then you guess Spencer is next to Derek, then Emily, JJ and Rossi respectively. A few feet from them stands Aaron, his smile more reserved than the others, and nothing like the one in the other picture.

You’re so consumed with your examination of the pictures you barely register the sofa cushions dipping under his weight, or the clinking of glass against enamel coasters, or really anything until the sound of Aaron softly clearing his throat damn near makes you jump out of your skin.

You try not to show too much of a visible reaction to him, mostly so he won’t think you’re just a creepy stalker who wants to stare at pictures of him all the live-long day. Aaron pretends not to notice anything, mercifully turning his gaze from yours and spinning a set of keys attached to a D-ring on his pointer finger.

“Um, so I assume you have questions for me before I like, steal your spare room or whatever,” you chuckle awkwardly to yourself, and Aaron offers you a tight-lipped smile in response. It’s only now that you realise he’s pushed up the sleeves of his button down to expose his forearms, and suddenly you’re distracted all over again but this time by dark hair contrasting just barely sunkissed skin, by bulging veins twisting and turning and pulsing under layers of skin, by muscles with soft indentations of old scars.

“Well,” once again, you’re pulled away from fantasy land by the older man, but it’s not completely unwelcome because his deep gravelly voice is something that you don’t think you’ll ever tire of, “first things first. As you know, I’m an FBI agent, which means my schedule is mostly very hectic, and would sometimes be home very late in the night, is that okay?”

You furrow your eyebrows, why would that be an issue for you? “No, uh that sounds fine for me, I’m kinda an insomniac anyways, so it’s not like it would disturb me much,”

“Well, that’s a relief,” and you can tell from his now relaxed shoulders that he's telling the truth, “what do you do for work?”

“Oh, well I was in finance, but that’s not really my scene, so I quit,” you didn’t catch him staring at your smile as you spoke, nor the way his gaze travelled ever so slowly down and becomes glued to the subtle way your tits brushed against each other as you spoke. Aaron determines that you’re definitely not wearing a bra. Do you always do that? Walk into a complete stranger's house with no bra? God, if it were two degrees cooler in here then he would be able to see your nipples poking against the fabric of your only slightly revealing shirt, he could practically see them already, all he had to do was reach out and- “so now, I’m focusing on what I really want to do; my writing,”

“Oh,” he clears his throat desperately, pulling at his collar and praying you don’t notice where his eyes were just affixed to. His panic quickly settles when he notices your obliviousness to the situation, and he lets his tongue dart out to wet his lips, imagining that his tongue could grace any part of your body, oh what he would give to taste you.

“Oh god, that makes me sound like I make no money, look, I’ve got savings and stuff so I can afford to pay rent, and- and I have family money too but,” you cut yourself off, and Aaron realises that he must’ve gone too long without replying because now you’re panicking and he’s about to interject but then you’re talking again, “I’ll- I’ll do all the housework and- and I’m not loud I promise, I- I just can’t keep sleeping on my friends sofas,”

“Sweetheart,” he’s a little ashamed at the fact his cock gives an interested stir at the thought of you acting like his little housewife, keeping everything perfect and waiting for him to come home, and his predicament becomes even worse when tears begin to fill your eyes and now he has to school his expression to remain soft and inviting - absolutely not to look as depraved as he feels, “I don’t care about rent, I bought the place outright, and I think it’s wonderful that you’re following your dreams instead of doing something you hate,”

Your cheeks burn under his gaze, and you can’t meet his eyes, desperately blinking away the tears still building up from your annoyance at yourself for crying at something so silly. You nod along to his sentiment, if only to give yourself something to do to distract yourself from the oncoming tears.

You resign yourself to discussing practicalities for the next hour or so; where you would sleep, what his usual schedule was like, the security and alarm systems, the motion activated cameras, if you wanted any furniture moving into any communal spaces (you desperately wanted a more comfortable sofa than the barely sat in one, but you bit that comment down and asked if there was room for your plush loveseat) and then he gives you a tour of the house. He shows you around the kitchen first, and you make a mental note of a barely used pack of expensive looking coffee, sat next to a cheaper looking brand and theorised he must only drink one cup every morning at home and didn't want to allow his good stuff to go stale in the warmer throughout the day. Next is his office, which he kindly requests you don’t enter unless he is home due to its sensitive contents, and you knew enough not to ask questions, but you do straighten out a stack of files that look as if they’re about to topple over. After that is his own bedroom, and it’s as neat-messy as the rest of his house. You can tell some things are left looking messy simply out of convenience (for instance the duffle bag settled by the front door, or the fresh suit laid out on his dresser), and not because he’s a slob. His bed is made with military precision, and everything about his room is perfect, bar the thin layer of dust settling almost everywhere except his bed and the doorway. Next, he shows you a smaller room directly adjacent to his. It looks as if it’s cleaned even more meticulously than his own room, because there isn’t even a speck of dust across the expanse of the place. What surprises you, though, is that it's clearly the bedroom of a child. The bed isn't even a single mattress, and it's covered in Spiderman sheets. The bedside tables are decorated in figurines and the lampshades have the visage of Batman? Or maybe that star wars guy? You don’t know, pop culture isn’t really your thing. You turn back to him.

“I probably should’ve told you about this,” his neck burns red and he brings a hand up to scratch nervously behind his ear, “I, uh, I have a son,”

You bite down on your tongue, repressing any response as you wait for him to continue.

“Jack, his uh, his name is Jack. Me and my wife- my ex wife, rather, had him just over four years ago,” he clears his throat and looks down at his feet, “he, well it’s for the best probably, he lives with her now, but I see him every time I get the day off, I hope you don’t mind,”

“Mind?” You spit out. Then, a grin splits across your face, and you’re venturing further into the room, running your fingers over an assorted stack of toys, ones more obviously more used are piled closer within reach and then you’re whirling around to look at him, “tell me about him,”

And he does; he spills every detail he can about his son, Jack Hotchner. He tells you about the picture in the living room, about how excited he was about his first ever big boy bed, about how he could stay awake to watch Star Wars for hours past his bedtime (and that’s when you realise it’s Darth Vader on his lampshade, not Batman), and how his favourite ice cream flavour is chocolate, but not just any chocolate, the chocolate ice cream he asks his dad for at the fair after they go on the teacup rides. After a long twenty or so minutes of you exploring the room and Aaron rambling from where he now sits on the edge of his son’s bed, you’re ready to move on.

He leads you onwards, down the hardwood hallway and into another room. It’s completely empty, save for an expensive looking bed frame, mattress and duvet set. The walls are a stark white and sunlight bleeds through the closed window, exposing the thick layer of dust, some of it kicked up just from the door opening and floating about the room. You try to stifle the cough that rises in your throat as you inhale, but it doesn’t work and soon you’re choking and Aaron is dashing across the room to open the window.

“I’m so sorry, I’ll have the room cleaned before you move in,” his face glows red again, and you send him a pained smile to let him know it’s okay, in between coughs of course, “I’ve been meaning to get around to it, but you know, work gets in the way,”

“No, no it’s fine really,” you rub at your eyes with your fists and take a better look around, albeit from the doorway, and you note the room’s impressive size. Really, despite the mental-hospital-esque coloured walls, you can really see this being a good room for you.

Before you can say anything else, Aaron is ushering you out with a hand on the small of your back and the door shuts softly behind you.

“Well, that's pretty much everything, oh except the utility room,” he walks off and you follow him to a room just off the kitchen, stocked with a washer, dryer and several staacks of cleaning supplies. You take a gleeful look around, sifting through drawers of bleach and scrubbers and sprays. Yes, this place will do.

–

You iron everything out with your new roommate (roommate!!), and by the time you’re finished its nearly nine pm and you’re yawning into your arms and nearly knocking over a precariously balanced pizza box from the coffee table as you stretch the tiredness settling deep within your bones. You’d ordered some pizza to share at some point after five, and a few lonely slices are left going stale in the soggy box so you stand and bring the box to the kitchen and ferret through the drawers and cupboards for a tupperware to contain the leftovers. Aaron tries to protest, saying that he should do some of the work, but you bat his hands away and shove the freshly filled box into the unsurprisingly empty fridge.

You're about to bid your goodbye and drive back to your friend's house when Aaron grabs your hands in his.

“Stay here tonight,” his eyes bore into yours, and suddenly you feel wide awake, “you've been practically falling asleep on my arm since eight, and I don’t want my new roommate to fall asleep at the wheel and crash into a tree or something,”

You bite at your lip, and glance at the hard sofa and try to imagine yourself trying to fall asleep on that, rather than your friend’s pull out bed.

“You can have my bed, I think you’ve had enough of sleeping on couches for a lifetime,” he gives a small, tired chuckle and you gnaw on your lip again. You can’t take his bed, not after he’s paid for dinner and agreed to let you live in his home. Again, Aaron senses your apprehension, “seriously, it’s fine. C’mon, you can borrow some of my clothes to sleep in,”

You end up in Aaron’s bed, wearing what you’re sure is the only shirt he owns that isn’t a button down and a pair of sweatpants you have to tie at the waistband with a bobble, a pile of your skirt, shirt, panties and bra just next to you. Aaron bids you goodnight, and concedes himself to a night on the uncomfortable sofa. It takes you almost an hour of tossing and turning to finally sleep, and you don’t wake until the alarm clock next to you reads 9:34am. But, as you roll over to put on last night’s clothes on, you notice one very disturbing thing.

Your panties are missing.

#•megs smutty daydreams•#aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotch imagine #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotch fic #aaron hotch fanfiction #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotch hotchner #criminal minds smut #criminal minds x y/n #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds x fem!reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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kookygobbledygook · 2 months

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Some people have been saying this, but I don't think it's been said enough and I'm just going to add my voice to the mix.

Nimona's nomination is being framed as an example of "Look at what Disney missed out on!" and I get it. It's a nice, tasty schadenfreude situation and we all like to see The Mouse get taken down a peg.

But I think we need to be very clear; Disney did not miss out on anything because they were never going to take that sort of risk.

Disney was never going to release anything close to the Nimona we got. It would have been sanded down until anything obviously queer or controversial was as faint and unnoticeable as possible by the casual viewer. And then they would still be too scared of any potential backlash. So they would have given the film a limited release at theatres, with no advertising, or social media or support.

Like what happened with Strange World.

You remember Strange World, right?

No?

That's because no one does.

And I believe that was deliberate, because that way Disney can go "Weeellll... obviously we would LOVEto take more risks and have more inclusive stories but that's clearly not what the public wants!"

Look at the original concepts for Wish. The evil royal couple? The peter-panesque star boy that would have made the gen zers go feral the same way millenials went feral for Jack Frost? These could have been the best things about the movie, and even they were scrapped, and replaced with something more homogenised. And those ideas are nowhere near the level of the concepts and discussions Nimona brought to the table.

Disney can barely have explicit gay people. Nimona has a gay south Asian man in a relationship with an east Asian man. As a protagonist! But more than that, you think Disney could ever come up with a relationship as complicated and difficult as Boldheart and Goldenloin's? They would never have the guts to show one love interest cutting off the other's arm in a straight relationship. Let alone a gay one! And then for them to be on opposite sides of the conflict, shifting between feelings of betrayal, and questioning each other motives? That's some adult dark shit for a kids film.

Asha as a character was forced into the quirky girl role that Disney has already flogged to death with Anna and Rapunzel. You ever think they would allow a Disney princess to be as dark and violent and nuanced as Nimona? You ever picture the titial character of a Disney film AS the third act conflict, rampaging through a city in a self destructive rage? Nimona is anti authoritarian, vengeful, bloodthirsty, a pretty explicit trans allegory, and even, by the climax, openly suicidal. You KNOW that terrified Disney.

I had a thing about the Director here too but I was shocked by how long that got so I'll have to save her for a different post.

My point is the things that make Nimona art, that make Nimona a great story, that make the film important and Oscar worthy, are all things that Disney has become too chicken shit to produce. If Disney had released a film called Nimona it wouldn't have been Nimona. I fully believe that if the film hadn't had been 90% finished it wouldn't have been shelved. It would have been lobotomised and vivisected. Everything special and vital about the movie and its message would have been removed, and no one would have known what could have been. Once again we would have gotten scraps and been thankful for them.

It makes me think about films like Wish (and others we don't know the name of, and never will) and think of what they could have been if studio's like Disney were braver and let their artists make art, instead of content.

tl;dr Disney didn't miss out on Nimona because they are incapable of making Nimona. If they had produced it the real Nimona wouldn't exist. We didn't miss out on Nimona. And that's purely by luck.

#nimona #disney critical #wish critical

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goobygnarp · 3 months

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one day my grandma took me to a thrift store. It sat in the corner of a strip shop with big bold red letters that just read simple.

THRIFT STORE.

It hung under the arch protected by sun, rain, snow or whatever weather we decided to travel there for, and greeted us all the same like that day she took me.

i can't remember what we went there for, my grandma never was one to follow in her original plans. the kind who is on the highway when she assures you she's down the street. the one who says she's going to one place five stores later.

what we went there for would most likely be no different. At least not to her. for me, it was the same ol same ol. Surely we'd go there for clothes and spend hours sifting through clothes or searching for the signs hanging on the ceiling that would tell us what deals they have that day.

That is till I walked near the section where they have holiday themed items for sale. old decor made to coax elderly eyes with dull colors, floral designs and antiques. But some of these items would be plushies, dolls and toys for the kiddos.

And I was kiddo.

there sitting with her legs hung over the ledge, her fat feet weighed down, hands right at her side, ears drapped behind her head that covered a good portion of her back that once picked up, you'd see a nubby tail turning her around.

her head resembled that of an egg shape, two glass like eyes that had a brown ring. her nose threaded into a triangle with a line that trailed down into a smile when you tilted her head up.

her pink was washed out but still enough to catch my attention. her arms and legs dangled heavily from the beads that resided inside, sitting with ease with the same beads in her body.

She was adorable. not like the other stuff bears and bunnies that were shadowed by her greatness. I loved her and everything about her. showing her to my grandma who just simply plucked her from my hands and placed her onto the checkout counter without second thought. i guess my love for her was mine and mine alone.

Once we got home, she was my show and tell project. many of my cousins or aunts and even my sibling got to meet her. She was all our toys' best friend. even when love got to her, where change became known when her eye fell out. my sibling super glued it back in and she was still loved all the same.

my love for her was mine and mine alone.

such love became potent and spread to my younger cousin, who at the time drove me up the entire state building. any moment she could, she'd have that bunny in her arms, causing fights between herself and I just to let my plush go.

but age won in my cousin's favor. she was younger and treated with ease as i would be told to let her play with it. even so much as allowing said little cousin to leave the house with her when going to a store.

My love to her was mine and mine alone. I thought.

any moment she'd return back to me, I'd make sure to keep her with me till she had to join the rest of the toys in a dark closet ready for the next kid who decided to play with her.

Unfortunately, details of a move have been lost in time, as now in a new house, i only recall the last time I saw her. she sat the same way I found her.

her legs dangled over the shelf ledge , arms at her side and ears drapped behind her. although accompanied by fake plants and picture frames, she looked a little squished. still cute. still loved.

and never seen again.

i can't remember how i lost her. i had this idea that my little cousin stole her in secret , making it so any time i'd visit said cousin, id sneak a look in their toybox in search for my plushie.

but she was not there. she wasn't anywhere. and in the years that's passed, she's somewhere still being adorable and hopefully loved.

her love was mine and mine alone.

Her name was panini. She had a lot of friends and loved to wear dresses and make friends.

if i find her again.

her love will be mine and mine alone.

#goob writes #i loved her very much

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pictureworthcustomframing · 4 days

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eddiezpaghetti · 3 months

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Okay, so my experience with Stranger Things is a weird one.

I didn't care when it first came out, started to watch it out of "might as well" in 2020, wasn't interested in it enough to make it past S2, forgot about it outside of going "oh, hey, cool, there's a lesbian in it now, I guess," in S3, got really annoyed when "Running Up That Hill" got popular from it because it was a song I listened to on fucking loop after one of my best friends died in high school and I fully expected its appearance in the show to ignore the whole survivor's guilt theme of the song (and was very happy to learn later that it did the exact opposite of ignoring the lyrics), saw people drawing Eddie, suddenly got a lot more interested, watched just the fourth season like a fucking psychopath because I was seriously only there for Eddie, then got interested enough to start the show over properly, having mostly forgotten what I did watch of the show before.

And let me tell you something from the perspective of someone who started with the complete fourth season, who wasn't there from the start, who wasn't tainted by ship goggles or this internal battle of hope and despair, who wasn't theorizing about what the painting could be or expecting Mike and Will to kiss when Volume 2 happened or rooting for Mike and Eleven's relationship to go down in flames or whatever the fuck. Just someone who went blind into Season 4.

It's really fucking obvious that Will and Mike are gonna be endgame.

Like holy fuck. It's so fucking blatant I don't even know why people are nervous.

No sane fucking person would shoot this scene this way if they wanted the audience to care about El and Mike as a couple. Despite being all blurry in the background, Will's reaction to what's happening here is smackdab in the fucking middle, clearly showing that the important part is what's going through his head here. What he's feeling. It's like the opposite of that scene from Kingdom Hearts II where Sora and Riku reunite and Kairi just fucking vanishes into the aether while it's happening because, despite the fact that she was standing between them when the scene began, she doesn't matter to the scene, so she's just kind of gone when the camera angle changes. Will could have been behind one of their heads, or so far in the distance he blends in with the background, but he's not. He's so obvious that despite being massively blurred out, he's still the first goddamn thing you look at. What, you think that's an accident? You think he's in the middle of this dramatic fucking scene because of a mistake? He basically has a big flashing neon arrow pointing at him with "THIS IS THE POINT" being screamed through a megaphone.

And then this?

They're paired up like they're taking fucking prom pictures. Each one of these pairs is so fucking close to one another and so fucking far from everyone else. It's not, "Oh, they're standing vaguely near each other in a group shot," it's fucking Noah's Ark out here. Again, there's no way to take this as an accident. It's not just a framing issue. If they wanted to make the shot look balanced while still not hiding anyone else behind El, they would have scattered people around much more naturally. Even if they wanted to keep Nancy with Jonathan and Hopper with Joyce, there's so much room on that hill for three people to stand on El's left and three on her right. But they didn't do that. They put Mike and Will together on purpose in the most obvious way possible.

Like I get that coming up with crackpot theories is fun in and of itself and I'm not blaming anyone for having fun. I totally get the appeal of arguing a point and reaching for every stupid little thing to pull into it because it's like a game, okay? I've done that. But if you're trying to actually convince someone (whether it's someone who wants to believe or someone who's pissed at the very idea that Mike and Will could be in love), stay away from blue and yellow lights, stay away from costume design, stay away from the existence of closets in backgrounds. And don't worry about whether Mike's gay or bi when he's in love with Will either way. I'll give you a little tip about persuasion: You're only as strong as your weakest argument. Even if you've got strong stuff in there, too, the person you're trying to convince is going to dismiss anything you say as complete insanity the second you start going on an entire tangent about the shape of a character's fucking pocket.

Sometimes, clothes are just clothes. Sometimes, there's a closet in the background because it helps establish that a character is in a bedroom. Sometimes, blue and yellow are just a couple of colors that look nice together. And sure, it might be set designers and costume designers and cinematographers smirking and winking at the audience from behind the camera. But if the show was just those things, instead of those things in the context of everything else, they wouldn't be saying anything of note.

But this?

This tells a story all on its own. Someone with no context can look at this and automatically assume that each paired person is standing with someone they care about deeply, seeking comfort as they watch some sort of disaster unfold. And yeah, romantic couples usually come in twos, and we live in an amatonormative society, so that's going to be the first association anyone makes seeing a bunch of people paired off.

It's the same reason you look at this

And go, "Oh..."

"Those two are probably a couple."

And I genuinely don't understand how people could have watched S4 Vol. 2 and gotten scared. Because as someone who went in with no investment whatsoever, I just looked at these two--

--and went, "Oh, those two are a couple. Good for them." And I moved on. Shut up about the trees for five seconds and just see the forest for what it is.

Oh, and if you're still nervous? Little thing from a storyteller here: You don't leave a hanging thread like "Will confessed his romantic feelings for Mike by projecting them onto El, but Mike either didn't understand or at least didn't say he understood," without coming back to that later. That's Chekov's gun hanging on the wall, babes. It's gonna fire at some point. If Mike was going to reject Will's feelings, if they weren't relevant, they would have had that discussion in Argyle's van. There'd be no reason to leave you in suspense.

#byler #meta #stranger things #theory #I mean I fucking guess #in the same way gravity is a fuckin' theory.#It feels silly that I even have to say this honestly.#Watching people freak out over these two feels like I'm being pranked.#Like you guys aren't pulling a Goncharov are you? Just making believe there's any chance these two aren't gonna be endgame?#Like completely ironically? And I'm too autistic to catch it?#It genuinely feels like I'm explaining that red and blue make purple here. As if you guys should have learned this in kindergarten.#Or like watching whole-ass adults watch Cinderella for the first time and being on the edge of their seat #wondering if she's going to live happily ever after with the prince or not.#It feels like I'm talking DOWN to people and I don't WANT it to feel like that but it's so obvious and I don't want people to be like #anxious for no reason you know?#Like I get that we're all scarred from queerbaiting and I know you guys are biased from years of shipping these kids.#But like. These guys? The most obvious 'there's only one way this could go' couple I've ever seen? You're scared about THEM?

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starrvlight · 10 days

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HI!! I’m so happy there’s more people writing for sbg I was wondering if I could request a Tyler x fem reader who he has a crush on for like years but she’s Taylor’s best friend (sorry if this doesn’t make any sense)I hope you have a lovely day/night!!

Tyler Hernandez x (fem) Reader

SBGWARNINGS:some swearing!!

A/N- sorry this took long and sorry if it isn't what you were looking for exactly 😔😔

Slight scenario(?): You and Taylor have been friends since about preschool, your two have been there for each other in all you ups and downs, for example- when her dad died you where there for her. And- her brother you didn't know him aswell but you were still there for him texting him and making sure him and his sister were doing well.. that when he had caught feeling for you, It was super confusing for him. He didn't care. he loved that warm feeling you gave him when you smiled at him whenever you were hanging out with Taylor. Or when you send thoes ":)" type smile over text when you send a photo of you and Taylor when Taylor made a funny face

Today you and Taylor had planed a sleep over it's been a long while since you've have one with her (prolly a month at max 😭) and you 2 were now on the top part of bunk bed, your hair up in a pony tail and Taylor had her makeup and was putting some on you, it started off pretty good with some simple eyeshadow ,mascara,lip gloss.. and nowww- you have eye liner all your face, flowers hearts the ">:D" faces with red/ pink powder all over you face for "blush" with a whole bunch of other stuff on your face where is doesn't belong you 2 were laughing your asses off, rolling around and covering you stomachs from laughing so hard, as soon as you stoped laughing, you checked the time form you phone and and glance at Taylor "uhh do u have anything to take this off with?" You asked with a chuckle, it was 11:00 pm already?? Taylor glanced over the hall "uhh it should just come off with water" she said and look back at Yu. And help back a laugh "PFFT- the bathroom is down the hall to your right" you nodded " 'ight," you climbed down from the top bunk and began walking to the bathroom,only to bump into Tyler. Your eyes widen and you looked down, embarrassed and hold back you laugh "holy shit-!" He whisper yelled "the fuck happened to you?" He whispers You trembled holding back you laughter since you were near Taylor's and Tyler's mom's room and u didn't wanna wake her "me and taylor- w-were -Pfft- massing around with makeup " your voice was all high pitched and wobbly since you were holding back you laughter then he look at the bathroom and Chuckled "Pfft- I can tell- the bathroom's right there- here" he whispered as he put his hand on you lower back leading you to the bathroom, then grabbing you a clean face towels from the drawer and gave it to you "uhh here used these-" he said, having an amused smile in his face as you tried hiding your face from him, only for him to take pictures of you it was so adorably funny he needed to photos, you took the towel and dampened it under some water, and rubbed your faces, Tyler stood there at the door frame, leaning against it as you kinda harshly rubbed your face with the wet towel, trying to makes sure the makeups doesn't stain you skin and Tyler chuckled, trying to hide the small blush on his face, after a bit You finished cleaning your face and drying it, they you and Tyler walked off, smiling and he tears you on his you looked like a tomato you laughed and nudged him playful "yea yea- whateverrr" you chuckled and saw Taylor- she was out cold- you took a picture at her face and smiled, chuckling gently and you glanced at Tyler who was already laying down on the bottom bunk, then he glanced up at you and said "buenas noches princesa" he said with a smile, then blushed slightly realizing what he said,and turned over and cover himself with blankets,.pretending to sleep.

OK SOO THAT WAS THE END OF PT. ONEYA IM MAKING 2 PARTS BECAUSE ITS LITERALLY LIKE 11 PM RN 😋

#school bus graveyard #sbg #sbg (webtoon)#tyler hernandez #taylor hernandez #tyler Hernandez X reader #Sleepover

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kenjakusbrainstem · 7 months

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A Helping Hand (Geto Suguru x Reader + Gojo Satoru)

Contains: NTR, cuckolding, cunnilingus, vaginal sex, nude photos.

Hello! Day 10 of Kinktober is NTR, which is hard for me to write bc the concept of cheating is a huuuuge squick of mine. However, the idea of Gojo wanting Geto to fuck his girlfriend the way he can't? That I can do. Crossposted to Ao3 under the same name and shared to twt at kenjakusbrain! Comment or rb if you have any thoughts!

The weight of the man on top of you was unfamiliar, yet still comfortable as he pressed hesitant kisses to your lips. You both were hesitant, movements uncertain as the kisses grew deeper. You might have been able to relax if it wasn’t for your boyfriend sitting in a chair near the bed watching.

Gojo stared at you, a look of satisfaction on his face as he watched his best friend kiss you. Geto had already removed his shirt before he climbed on top of you, his frame much bulkier than Gojo’s. Your hands explored his muscular back shyly, as if you didn’t want to get carried away. He felt tense beneath your hands, almost as if he was as unsure about this as you were. You were both here because you loved Gojo enough to fulfill a fantasy he’d been talking about for quite some time.

Geto’s tongue slipping into your mouth brought you away from your thoughts of Gojo and back to the body pressing into yours. Geto’s kisses were slower than Gojo’s, they somehow felt more intimate. Maybe it was the way his tongue rubbed against yours, twinning the wet muscles together instead of trying to overwhelm you. You moaned into the deep kiss, it felt much better than you thought a kiss would.

Adjusting his body, Geto placed his thigh in between your legs, pressing up against your clothed arousal. Guilt threatened to wash over you as you felt the urge to grind against his thigh. Breaking the kiss, you turned to look at Gojo. Your movements invited Geto to kiss and suck along your neck, causing a shiver to run up your spine.

Gojo’s bright eyes watched as his hand palmed his cock through his pants. You had never seen him look so attentive as he did in that moment.

“Does he feel good?” Gojo asked, words pulling you further out of your moment with Geto. Upon hearing Gojo speak, Geto bit down on your neck, harshly sucking a mark into the skin. You gasped, hand flying up to tug at Geto’s long hair, a motion that drew a moan from him that you felt vibrate your neck. This was for him, and if he was happy, you needed to focus on enjoying yourself too.

You nodded, watching a smirk form on Gojo’s face before you looked back at Geto. Your hands urged his face up and out of your neck. Leaning forward you kissed Geto with as much passion as he had kissed you moments before, your tongue rubbing against his eagerly.

The flash from a camera was sudden, your eyes widening and meeting Geto’s equally surprised eyes as you continued to kiss. Gojo had mentioned that he might take a few pictures, but you had expected him to warn you first. It was somewhat a relief to see that Geto was just as surprised as you were, though. Something about it made what you were doing more comfortable, the fact that you were both uncertain.

The urge to reassure Geto rushed through you, you did care about him and if he really was as stressed as you had been before looking to Gojo for reassurance, it felt like the right thing to do.

Pulling his hair, you moved him back far enough for you to sit up. Not completely, just so you had enough space to pull your shirt off. He leaned back anyway, sitting back on his calves as you undressed yourself. The look in Geto’s eyes was growing more lustful the more clothing you took off. Quickly you stripped yourself of your bra as well before putting your arms around his neck and pulling him back down on top of you.

This kiss was much more heated than the last, the soft edge still there but it was giving way to a messy, frantic kiss. The feeling of his warm skin on yours made more than just your face flush, you could feel a heat growing in your stomach as his hand drifted down to your side. Geto’s large hand gripped your flesh, squeezing you before sliding up to cup your breast.

Another flash of light as Geto’s fingers brushed across your nipples. It was easier to ignore this time as you moaned around the tongue in your mouth, sucking at the muscle which made Geto moan as well. This time he broke the kiss, trailing them down your neck and to your breasts as he kissed your chest. Geto kept toying with your breast in his hand while kissing down to take your other nipple into his mouth.

Geto’s eyes stared straight into yours as he teased the sensitive nub with his tongue. The heat in his stare made you want to look away, to look to Gojo for some form of comfort, because the feelings bubbling up inside you were pure lust for the man on top of you. You didn’t feel obligated to let him continue because you knew it was what Gojo wanted. You wanted Geto to keep going and fuck you into the mattress. The desire you had felt burning for Geto in the back of your mind had now grown into a boiling pot that was getting closer to spilling over each time your eyes met.

“Please, Suguru, please more,” You begged, not entirely sure what you were wanting other than more from the man on top of you. Your boyfriend's best friend. You could feel his nails digging into your skin at your words, he nipped at your breast lightly before trying to figure out what you wanted for you.

Geto knew what you wanted though, he also knew he would do whatever he needed to do to get you to say his name like that again. He kissed down your stomach, fingers dipping into the waistband of your shorts before tugging them down slowly. Geto pressed a kiss to your hips before he moved himself further down the bed, coming to rest comfortably between your legs. In one smooth motion he lifted your legs into the air, slipping off your shorts and flinging them across the room.

“Please Suguru, give my girl more,” Gojo’s teasing voice made you jump. It wasn’t that you had forgotten he was there, but more that you had gotten lost in the way Geto touched you. You also felt Geto’s hands freeze on your thighs, but only for a moment. It seemed the two of you had gotten a little carried away for a bit.

Either upon Gojo’s urging or your’s, Geto spread your legs again, nestling himself between them. You wanted to shy away, to hide yourself, but Geto’s strong hands held your thighs still. You could feel just how wet you were without him saying anything. You felt more sensitive than normal, even his fingers pressing into the meat of your thighs made the heat in your stomach churn.

Without warning, you felt Geto’s tongue slip between your folds. You choked on the moan he’d pulled from you as he licked his way around your soaking wet pussy. Geto’s tongue quickly found the hard bud of your clit, lavishing it with attention. Tongue circling it before he sucked it between his lips, tongue rubbing against the tip of it as he sucked.

Geto ate you out with a desperation Gojo never had. He’d gone down on you before sure, but only for a little. It was as if Geto was a man dying of thirst and your pussy was the oasis he needed to quench it.

Embarrassingly, the only sound you could hear over your own moans and whimpers was the lewd sounds of Geto eating you out. It felt so good you almost didn’t notice, but you could hear each suck as he savored your taste. If it didn’t feel so amazing, you knew you’d push him away.

“Damn I didn’t realize you liked that so much, you’ve never been that loud for me,” Gojo said. You almost felt bad, looking over at him to see if he was upset. All it took was one glance to see that he was more than fine. Gojo had taken his cock out of his pants and was slowly stroking it.

It surprised you how much more hot you felt seeing Gojo touch himself to this. To the sight of his best friend eating you out better than he ever had.

With one last harsh suck to your clit, Geto pulled away, kissing at your plush thighs. Looking back down at him you could see his chin glistening with your juices. Geto smiled at you, a predatory smile that promised even more. You already felt overwhelmed with pleasure, what more could he give you?

“She’s going to be even louder when I get my cock inside her,” Geto’s voice dripping with lust surprised you. He hadn’t spoken since you started, so to hear his pleasant voice in such an aroused tone made chills run down your spine.

You heard Gojo chuckle, but chose to ignore it in favor of focusing on Geto. You watched, transfixed as Geto unbuttoned his pants, pushing them down far enough so you could see his thick cock and heavy balls. The size surprised you, you hadn’t expected him to be so big and thick. It wasn’t that Gojo was small, more on the average size however, he had always felt nice inside of you.

If he felt nice though, just how good would Geto’s thick cock feel?

“Just look at her face, she hasn’t even felt you yet and she already looks like she’s begging for it,” Gojo teased you again. He wasn’t wrong though, you wanted nothing more in this moment than to have Geto fill you up. You weren’t even sure if it would fit easily, but you didn’t want to waste any more time just staring at him.

Gojo’s teasing did make your cheeks flush more, part of you still didn’t entirely want to admit just how much you wanted his best friend. That feeling was pushed far down though, drowned by the intense desire you felt for him boiling inside of you.

Hooking your legs behind Geto’s, you pulled him closer. You didn’t want to wait any longer, he’d brought you so close with his tongue only to stop right before you were about to hit your peak. Geto braced himself by holding onto your thighs, keeping you from pulling him all the way down.

Geto stared down at you for a moment, as if he were trying to figure something out in his mind. Glancing over at Gojo, something seemed to click in his head. Grabbing your hips, Geto adjusted your body, positioning you so that it was easier for Gojo to see. He spread your legs, pushing one off the side of the bed and back in a way that you knew Gojo would be able to watch his cock fucking into you. You could already feel your pussy clenching in anticipation, the fact that Gojo was watching was no longer a bother to you.

It seemed like Geto was almost as impatient as you were, you felt him rubbing the head of his thick cock through your wet folds. The sensation of the blunt head rubbing up against your already sensitive clit made your thighs shake.

Geto pressed the head of his cock against your entrance, slowly pushing inside before stopping. Even the tip felt bigger than it looked, you wondered how he would fit inside you. Looking up you noticed he wasn’t looking at you though, his eyes trained on Gojo as he paused. Another flash as Gojo took a photo, after that Geto started to press further inside you.

The stretch of Geto’s cock was overwhelming, even with how wet he had made you. You were sure you’d never had something so thick inside of you before. It was a blessing that Geto was being so gently with you, Gojo was always so eager to fuck you that he would just slam into you without a care. With a cock like Geto’s though, you supposed he could hurt you if he did that.

Part of you was relieved when you felt him bottom out, his balls resting against your ass. It felt like you were being split in half, you were already gasping for air at him just pressing inside of you for the first time.

The hand that wasn’t holding you open for Gojo to watch slipped down between your legs, his thumb gently rubbing your clit.

“You’re so tight, it’s not too much is it? I know Satoru doesn’t fill you up like this,” As Geto spoke, he slowly started to thrust, it was like you could feel every vein on his thick cock as he pulled out of you. You whimpered at the feeling, knowing he was right. Gojo felt nice but he could never make you feel this full.

Turning to look at Gojo, you noticed his face looked almost as flushed as yours. His hand on his cock moving quickly, his eyes focused intently on watching Geto’s cock fuck its way into your tight pussy. It was like you were seeing something he wasn’t intending to show, even if he was the one watching you get fucked.

Geto’s cock pressed all the way inside you again and you turned your attention back to him, well as much of it as you could. It was so hard for you to think as Geto finally started fucking into you. His thrusts deep as he slowly increased his speed.

Another flash gave you a better look at Geto’s face, twisted in pleasure as he steadily increased the pace. Every thrust had his cock dragging against the spot inside you that Gojo struggled to hit. Geto’s cock rubbed against it, pushing past it and filling you so completely you wondered if he was going to split you in half.

Each thrust made a loud moan spill from your lips, not to mention the way Geto’s thumb on your clit felt. You hadn’t realized it could feel this good to be fucked like this. You wrapped your leg that wasn’t being held off the bed around Geto’s waist, as if to keep him inside you more. It felt so good to have his cock buried inside of you.

Geto moaned as your leg hooked around his waist, he couldn’t believe just how good your pussy felt around his cock. You felt so tight but it was as if he filled you up just right, like you were made to be fucked by him.

He could feel your pussy squeezing him, as if it were trying to milk him dry. It felt like your body was just begging him to release deep inside of you. Geto’s thrusts became uneven as he began to fuck into you faster, the drive for pleasure overtaking his focus on making sure he didn’t hurt you.

The rapid thrusts did nothing but push you closer to the edge, the punishing pace he had set made you see stars as your eyes rolled back. You couldn’t even keep focus on him anymore as your body was overtaken by just how good Geto fucked you.

“I need you to cum inside her for me, Suguru,” Gojo’s voice barely registered in your mind. You could hear him, but you didn’t understand what he was saying. His words must have meant something to Geto though because you felt his hips stutter inside of you. Fucking into you faster and harder than he had before.

Geto’s pressed harshly into your clit, his gentle movements becoming violent as he pushed you into overstimulation. It was all too much for you, the harsh thrusting paired with his focus on your clit, you felt a dam burst inside of you as you came.

That was all Geto needed, the way your pussy convulsed around him as you reached your orgasm, how desperate you sounded moaning and babbling his name over and over. Geto buried his cock all of the way inside you before releasing, slowly he thrusted, fucking you through your shared orgasm.

Geto’s thrusts slowed, looking down as he slowly pulled his cock out he could see the mix of your release spilling out of you. Another, final flash filled the room, making Geto turn his attention to Gojo once again. If you hadn’t been so fucked out, you would have noticed as well, but you couldn’t focus on anything other than how hard you had just came.

Gojo’s heavy breathing was the first thing Geto noticed, the second being his cum covered hand. It seems he truly had enjoyed this more than either of you thought he would.

“I hope this is something you two want to try again,” Gojo stated, sounding almost as tired as the two of you looked.

#jjk #jjk x reader #geto suguru #gojo satoru #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #getou suguru x reader #getou smut #geto x reader

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