#dark grey bathroom paint

[keshascult]

Transitional Bathroom Inspiration for a large transitional master white tile and subway tile mosaic tile floor doorless shower remodel with open cabinets, medium tone wood cabinets, a one-piece toilet, gray walls, an undermount sink and marble countertops

#bathroom vanity lighting #dark grout #hex tile #grey paint #vanity lighting

[eupheme]

— looking back

joel miller x f!reader

rated e - 2.2k

tags: jackson-era Joel pov, angst, canon-typical violence/references to death, established relationship, Joel is an ass man, consensual somno elements, posessive!joel, body worship, dirty talk, male masturbation, spitting, touching, come marking

a/n: easing back into writing and started 2 little wips that are sort of "introspective-joel-pov-smut-fics" - here is the first one! 💕

“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”

Or - Joel gets off just from the sight of you

He’s strung as tight as a bow. The lingering adrenaline a notched arrow, leaving him about to snap. Blood seeps into his jeans - splattered across his knees, where he had jerked the knife from the man’s neck.

It had been a mercy killing. A stranger, but they had all seen the bite. He had been the only one to do something about it.

He’s told others that you get used to it. The killing - that after a while, survival wins out.

You get over it.

But you don’t. Instead, it clings to him like a shadow, following him home - down the worn, familiar path. Inside the gates, back to Jackson.

Heavier than it’s been before. An itching beneath his skin. If he was over it, he wouldn’t have to turn himself off. Shutting away a part of himself, only to fight to come back - clawing his way out later.

An aching reminder at how short life could be. That yes, things were different - but he was never really safe.

Not really.

His path brings him to you. A beacon, guiding his way back.

His - your - home coming into view, just as the dawn creeps over the fall, wooden fences. The misty grey brightening into gold and pink with the sun, as he’s unlocking the wooden door, shouldering it open.

A look thrown out the window as he scrubs his hand clean in the kitchen - seeing that the garage light is on. That she’s home, that she’s okay. An automatic check, before his weary feet take him upstairs.

Joel sheds the layers, the jacket thrown over the railing at the top of the stairs. Fingers fumbling with his belt, pulling the worn leather through the loops before his stained jeans crumple on the floor, as he pushes the cracked door open.

The light from the hallway stretches across the wooden floor, creeping into the dark room. Where you still lay sleeping, curled on your side within the blankets and sheets. Missing him in your dreams, that space next to you long empty.

Cold - where your fingers reach out, searching for him.

His path diverts, moving to you instead of the attached bathroom. The edge of the bed sinking under his weight, a soft sound as you stir.

“‘Welcome ‘ome.” You murmur, still half-asleep. A little wiggle as your bent knee hitches higher, the oversized shirt you’re wearing bunching up around your hips.

He reaches out, just the ghosting of his fingers against the soft skin near your knee. The fluttering of heavy lashes as you fight sleep, only to be pulled under again.

Joel’s hand shifts. A warm palm pressing against your thigh. Against soft skin, so different than his own calloused touch.

Home.

It is, isn’t it? As close to he’s had in years. Decades. The old apartment in the QZ had never felt that way, not with the faded floral walls. Those small rooms that still held ghosts.

But here, his own touch lingers. Yours, melding with it. It would never be like before - the picking out of furniture, of paint. But it’s his clothes in the closet. His worn guitar that rests against the couch. His wooden carvings lining the top of the mantle, above the fireplace.

And you - you're scattered throughout. Woven blankets and thick sweaters. Books, covering damn near every surface.

A little bottle of found lotion tucked away in the bathroom. He can smell it now, as he leans over you. A bristly kiss pressed against your cheek, the curve of your shoulder.

Amber, vanilla, caramel.

He’s pulled back to the memory, the light shining in your eyes when he handed the beaten bottle over. The minuscule amount you had worked into your knuckles - the soft sigh of contentment.

A bright laugh when he had pulled you close, the murmured “smells good” against your throat, as you had squirmed in his grasp - smiling as you read the fragrance notes out loud.

Something stirs in him, then. The press of his thigh against yours, as he leans over. Eyes dragging down to the bare curve of your ass, his hand tracing cup your thigh to palm your flesh.

His already uneven breath hitching, as you sigh. That little smile - his name - murmured out as you rock instinctively into his touch. Still on the edge of consciousness, lulled off into a deep sleep with the cooling of summer.

Waking you up wouldn’t be unusual. Half the time you’re already up after these early-morning patrols. Waiting for him.

How he waits for you, on those few days where it’s you out there, instead of him. His jaw working with irritation until you’re home and back and safe, and he’s stripping your clothes from you himself.

It’s selfish to wake you, on a morning where you sleep so deeply. Even with the stress that’s eating at him, simmering in his veins.

But maybe… maybe he can just-

Joel is leaning, his mouth against your neck. A shift as you stretch, baring your skin to him as your lips curl in a smile. A soft, sleepy hum as you reach for him, fingers curving over the thick muscle of his forearm.

The hand on your ass drifting up - across to the small of your back. Meeting nothing but warm, bared skin beneath your shirt.

“Fuck. I need you.” He rasps - an edge to his voice, “Would you let me look at you, honey? Just let me look.”

Heavy-lidded eyes open then at the sound of his voice - his words - as you tilt your head. A slow sweep over the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his stomach. The spread of his thighs as he kneels behind you. The already half-hard tent of faded boxers.

You had been waiting for him. Anticipating his return, eager for his touch. The cloud of sleep begins to clear as he palms himself, the bed shifting as your hips shift, thighs spreading open for him.

“I can take care of you,” Your voice is scratchy - husky, in the early morning. A hand pressing again on your back as you begin to roll over, holding you in place.

“You already are,” Joel groans, as your hips tilt up, off the bed. Knees pressing into the mattress as he nudges your thighs wider, fitting between them, “Stay just like that, alright?”

The combination feels erotic. His smell on the shirt you wear. The tingling throb between your thighs, the desire in his voice. How much he wants - enough that just the sight of you has him hard, thumbs catching on the waistband of his boxers to free himself.

You relax into the bed, as you watch. The weight of his hand as it moves to squeeze your ass. A pressure as he tugs, opening you up.

“Fuck.”

Joel spits in his palm, before it’s wrapping around his cock. A rough groan as some of that need is eased, with the sharp stroke of his fist.

Just letting himself look. Admire.

A sight that is only his, fingers sinking into soft flesh. The way you trust, how effected you are already - the shallow rock of your hips as the sound of skin-on-skin fills the room.

“You got a pretty little pussy, honey.” He hears himself saying. Watching how you clench at his praise, the little gasp that follows. “Pretty little holes. All for me, right?”

He can feel the weight of your gaze. Darkening, as your hunger grows low in your belly. Darting between his face and the sharp flick of his wrist.

Rarely getting to see him take, like this. Usually he would have been buried in you, by now. There’s the urge to ask, but there’s a power in this - wanting to watch him get off to you. Not having to lift a finger to do so.

“All for you.” You sigh, “Always.”

His jaw grits, teeth clicking together. A bead of precum joins the slick of his spit, that angry fire in his belly transforming.

So different that the little mouse he had taken to bed, all those months ago. Your hands covering your mouth, muffling the moans, until he had pried them away. Pinning them against the pillows, whispering filth in your ear.

Now, he can see the greed in your eyes. The way you glisten, when his own gaze drops. The shift of your thighs as he takes a second to rub himself against the curve of your ass. Dipping down to press against your core.

The tip coming back slick, in a new kind of way - fueling the pressure, building in his belly.

Your moan breaks the early-morning quiet. His name on your lips again - more urgent than before.

The little beg only sends him closer, a rough groan in his throat. His own hand too familiar - used to the quick and precise touch he needs to get off, when he had to.

In the before. In the during - when it was only words that the you of you had exchanged. Heated looks that lingered late into those lonely nights.

Hasn’t felt the urge to, since he’s had you.

He expects you to ask him to fill you, eyes caught on the enticing lift of your hips.

Caught off-guard for the briefest second, a heat flushing over his cheeks, when you shift beneath him instead. Flipping over, onto your back.

Eyes bright, teeth sinking into your lip as you smile.

“Wanna watch.” You admit, and that tension in his shoulders settles in his chest, turning sweet.

His fist tightening around his cock, as your thighs splay over his. Opening yourself up under his gaze, stretching out in front of him.

And fuck, what a sight. There’s a rolling wave deep in his core that he chases with the rock of his hips.

His hand fits perfectly against the curve of your waist, eyes caught on the way your fingers catch on the hem of your shirt.

Pulling it up over your breasts, a path that his eyes follow greedily.

“Christ, darlin’.” The words rumble in his chest.

A rough exhale as your own gaze drops to his fist. The pace that he’s picked up - the peek of the flushed tip when he strokes down to the base.

Already about to burst, like he’s a man half his age. Could say it’s just his own touch, the urge to relieve the weight of his stress.

But he knows it’s more. That warmth in his chest, a tenderness that has only softened the rough stone of his heart since he’s left Boston.

It’s there in the way that he could linger on the slick place between your thighs. But instead he’s watching you watch him. Focusing on the part of your lips, the shine in your eyes.

“‘m close.” Joel breathes, his words low. Rough. “Where do you want it?”

He’ll catch it in his palm if he needs to. If it helps you go back to sleep, after. He hasn’t given up on that wish - to let you drift off for a little longer.

The look you give him, the little smile that turns mischievous, has his stomach twisting into knots. Like butterflies, he thinks.

Your hand drifts down, knuckles brushing over the jerk of his. Soft fingers tracing over hot, swollen flesh. Only to curve over your mound, to spread yourself open for him.

“Fuck.” He breathes, again, “There?”

The answering hum is low, desperate.

“Wanna hear you ask me.” Joel pushes - needing to hear you say it, knowing it will push him over the edge.

You squirm beneath him, affected by the edge to his voice, the soft command.

“Want you to come on me.”

“Where, baby?” The word slides from his lips without thought.

The eye contact breaks, your gaze darting away with embarrassment. But after a moment it’s back - the soft heave of your breasts as you suck in a breath, steeling your nerves.

“Want you to come on my pussy, Joel.”

He can’t help the rough groan, ripped from his chest. The shift of his thighs as he pulls back, as that pressure builds. The pleasure surging instead of ebbing, as he tips his cock downward.

The next stroke of his fist pushes him past the threshold. Relief sings in his veins as he spills across your mound. Painting your abdomen with his release, eyes fluttering closed as his hearing goes fuzzy.

Drowning out his long moan, as you push yourself up. He meets you instinctually, arcing over you as his mouth is drawn to yours.

As his spend drips down the crease of your thigh, so warm against soft skin.

It feels like a weight is lifted, like he’s back in his own skin again. Relaxing into the fingers that scratch into his hair, the tongue that sweeps against his.

But it’s only a few moments before he remembers. Coming back to himself, as he fits his hand between your thighs.

Fingers dragging through his release, bringing his slick fingers to circle against your clit.

Because there’s no way you’re going back to sleep after this. Not if he knows you - which he’s now certain that he does.

"Thank you honey." He murmurs, with lips that press against your cheek.

The smallest smile after, as your own part with a moan - as he croons against your skin.

"Now let me take care of you."

thank you for reading! was excited to explore a little idea I had 💕

(tags: @celestianstars)

#gif credit to @loregifs - she is amazing! #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller smut

[familyvideostevie]

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed. 

You’ve only been open for two hours. 

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns. 

Your coffee shop. 

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it. 

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works. 

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure. 

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand. 

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him. 

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired. 

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter. 

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember. 

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint. 

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush. 

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks. 

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on. 

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize. 

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question. 

You laugh. Joel looks pleased. 

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders. 

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot. 

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee. 

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him? 

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

__

Joel stops by again. 

And again. 

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron. 

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting. 

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying. 

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning.  When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped. 

“I’m honored,” he says. 

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window. 

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash. 

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask. 

He smirks. “Miss me?” 

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy. 

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. 

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy. 

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise. 

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one. 

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw. 

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear. 

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him. 

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. 

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place. 

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says. 

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day. 

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags. 

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is. 

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.” 

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles. 

They both wave at you as they drive away. 

__

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted. 

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb. 

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing. 

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work. 

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk. 

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one. 

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus. 

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

__

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering. 

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you. 

And you still barely know him. But you want to. 

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime? 

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back. 

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back. 

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.” 

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says. 

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually. 

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?” 

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.” 

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting. 

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says. 

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables. 

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate. 

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe. 

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel. 

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light. 

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

MC being a morally grey, protective, menace, and the demon bros being Demons (Pt. 2)

WARNING: GRAPHIC, BLOODY SCENES AHEAD.

This is an idea that's been rattling about in my little monkey brain for about a month and I've finally written it down.

BE WARNED, this is NOT the fluffy kinda fluff people, proceed with caution!

Part 1 is less bloody.

Beel was late to dinner. That was the first and only clue anyone should have needed to know that something was very, very wrong.

Add to that a missing MC who won't answer their DDD, and the House of Lamentation is in uproar, raising hell to find out what the hell a hungry Beel and a magically overpowered human have gotten into without adult supervision.

Lucifer had already alerted Purgatory Hall and the Demon Lord's Castle to be on the lookout, and was in the middle of organising a search party, when the front door was shoved open, and a blood-soaked Beel walked through.

His mouth and chin are dripping in demon's blood, so dark it's almost black, and at his side, with a comforting hand on the massive, overwhelmingly terrifying demon's arm, is MC, that same blood staining their hands.

"Brush your teeth, honey. You'll wanna get the taste out from between your teeth before dinner." MC was saying comfortingly as Beel quietly nodded, sheepishly shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Excuse me, what in the nine-circles of inferno happened to you two?!" Lucifer practically squawked, stopping them in the entryway. "MC, are you hurt?"

The human looked at him with an arched brow, as though it were Lucifer who was acting out of character. They pushed Beel toward the stairs to get cleaned up. "Some asshole picked a fight with Beel after practise. He won't be doing it again."

Lucifer's eyes snapped to his younger brother, but it's Asmo who gasps in horror. "Beel! Did you eat someone?! Again?!"

"He didn't." MC replied, a slow, lopsided grin curling their lips. "He stopped after the first bite, I didn't."

Satan's eyes lit up with Wrath's typical green, making it perfectly clear who'd done the butchering tonight. Still, Lucifer pushed the subject.

"MC, what exactly did you do?" The Avatar of Pride maintains perfectly unreadable expression, even as his human takes on a look which is...far too exciting.

"The bastard insulted the family to get a rise out of Beel, to paint Beel as the glutton with no control. I painted something else instead." MC shrugged, and turned to sashay up the stairs, their steps unrushed and casual. "I'll apologise to the clean-up crew tomorrow."

The second they turned their back, jaws dropped. The back of their shirt was clawed open in three distinctive swipes, revealing matching dried trails of demon's blood.

The human themselves was utterly unharmed, and seemed to walk with a little extra swagger as they disappeared toward the bathroom.

"Satan...find that demon. Or what's left of it."

The Avatar of Wrath left without a word, only to return with news of a rather gruesome scene.

The brothers all took some form of sick pride in their little human, who's protective rage turned half the town red.

#obey me x mc #obey me #obey me lucifer #obey me satan #obey me beel x mc #obey me x reader #obey me mc

[undercoverpena]

6. morning coffee

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter six of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 3.5k chapter warnings: frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. no use of y/n. frankie being a good dad. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it would be called 'the morning after'

prev chapter | series masterlist

key: frankie is in bold, you are in italics

It’s hard not to smile when you open your eyes.

More so when you feel his breath on your neck, the scent of body wash you quickly remember him rubbing into your skin—the arm currently draped over your waist. The one keeping you firmly close, as though you would ever wish to be anywhere but here.

Seen, wanted and appreciated—even when he’s not entirely conscious.

The only reason you even contemplate moving from this—and the only real reason you’re awake—is that you’re desperate for the bathroom. It worsens the longer you lie there, thinking of it, the pressure on it from his forearm.

A quick glance at the clock on his bedside table tells you it’s far too early to disturb him. To wake him with a kiss and a whisper that you’ll be right back—especially when you think back to how late it was before the two of you finally whispered that you should sleep.

Even if you hadn’t wanted to.

Wanting instead to keep feeling his knuckles drag up and down your outer thigh and knee. The husk of his voice saying he should really flick the light off, even if he didn’t, instead letting you ask his favourite colour and him answering with a handful of shades you’d never remember.

Pick one, Francisco.

Mmm, not sure I can do that, baby. Too hard of a question.

Too hard to pick one thing?

Not when it’s the right thing.

Glancing over at him, fingers close to his, you swim for a moment in the memories of last night—the ache between your thighs a souvenir you can keep with you until it fades. Admiring the length of his lashes against his cheek, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips that you wish to kiss forever, as a thought—one strong and beating inside of you like your own heart—comes to you:

You don’t wish to trade this. Any of it.

Not just last night, but all of it—all of him.

But, you have to move. Even if your heart pleads with you not—eventually only doing so when your bladder twinges again in protest.

You find, slipping out from under his arm (all cautiously and carefully) is easy, until you glance back at his sleeping frame.

A calmness to him, a peacefulness. Chest and shoulder rising, face tilted ever so slightly into the plump pillow. It makes a pang of want thrum through you, one that doesn’t fade when you tiptoe back to the room and find him in a similar position.

Leaning on the wall, the one between his bedroom and en-suite, you flick your eyes to the half-open door. Spotting his bathrobe, fluffy and dark grey—flecks of white stitched in. Your throat suddenly scratchy, dry. Your body desperate for what usually fuels it when you’re up and about.

And you know you have to decide. Choose between attempting to slide back into bed or searching cupboards for coffee—both for you and him.

But you can’t stand there. Able to bet money that if he opened his eyes and found you staring, he’d one hundred per cent find it creepy.

You move when he sighs—further rolling into the space you had been moments ago. Smirking, you move, the decision made as you unhook the rope. Slowly sliding your arms into it until it’s draped over you and you’re welcomed by it: his scent.

That familiar one. The one which smells like pine cones, cedar wood and so much more. The one which had seeped into your clothes that first kiss close to your car.

And, thankfully, it only gets more intense as you step out into the hallway.

Brushing your hand over shelves as you pass, eyes lingering over the titles of books—ones about woodwork, decor and home. Fingers tracing the spines of them as you take in the photographs littered around.

Some are adorned with Luca, varying ages spanned across shelves. A tooth missing here, a gummy smile there. Some you assume are his family, and then a group of men, shirts off and standing in the middle of a dune—grinning, Frankie’s hair far shorter than it is now.

But, as you stare across his living area, you spot all the things you missed last night. The record player and the vinyls tucked on a higher shelf, placed beside crayon artwork framed in dark wood. There are mini-Lego figures in prime places, with wicker baskets containing multicoloured blocks and toys.

Then, there’s the closet near the kitchen you can’t remember from your tour—making a note to question him on later—before finally arriving at his kitchen.

And, fuck is it beautiful.

It’s all dimly lit by the early morning light flitting through the windows. Quiet, peaceful—save for the humming of the refrigerator and the distant chirping of birds outside. Like much of the place, the cupboards are dark, starkly contrasted by white-wash walls and pinned drawings on the fridge.

Centre-stage, and the thing you’re seeking, is his coffee machine. A sleek silver contraption that looks more complicated than you're used to. Shiny, remarkably clean.

Yet, you're determined.

Remembering his mention about his love of coffee and his preference for Cafe Bustelo. Trying to remember the rest, whether it was black drip, milk or no milk. Stroking a finger down the milk frother as you begin to piece it all together from fragments, hints he had dropped unknowingly.

Up until this point, you had found it difficult to find one thing about Frankie you didn’t like. Then you saw his kitchen layout.

Cupboard, after cupboard opened until you found the bright yellow bag. The smoky, rich smell wafting out as you tugged it close, all strong and inviting—it hooked a finger under your chin and coaxed you to spend several minutes fumbling with the machine.

Then, you hear the satisfying gurgle of brewing coffee.

Resisting the urge to break into a spontaneous dance, you opt instead to steal a momentary glance out the window. The world is stirring, its early morning canvas painted in delicate strokes of pink and orange, a serene backdrop as your gaze falls upon the garden. the worn slide of the wooden climbing frame, its sides adorned in an array of mismatched hues and haphazard brushstrokes. Your eyes begin tracing the trail of tiny handprints ascending one side, the lowest the smallest, increasing in size until halfway up. Then, at the top, larger prints that, just hours ago, you imagine were pressed against your own skin.

As a breeze blows through it, it swings multi-colour bulbs hanging, draped and swinging above. Letting your eyes sweep over the plants—the planters likely made by him, like you imagine much of the furniture outside is—suddenly spotting little figures buried into random bits of soil.  

And it makes you smile, grin—full on fucking beam.

Only letting it flicker when you’re stirred by the beep of the coffee machine, pulls you from your reverie. Fingers returning to opening cupboards, seeking mugs, almost grumbling to yourself when you feel hands on your waist.

Ones that feel right, purposeful.

“Morning.”

It’s gravelly, coated in the morning—slowly closing the door before moving back into him, your back flush to his chest.

“Good morning, Butterscotch.”

Feeling him sigh, chin resting on your shoulder, you raise your fingers to brush against his cheek.

“You trying to bring me coffee in bed?”

Turning, you rotate in his arms. Eyes briefly catching the sight of him half-naked. Before taking a full on glance to spot him in a pair of sweats, ones that sit low on his hips. One of his hands crosses over the expanse of his waist, fingers scratching at his soft stomach while you look up to see his hair all at odd angles—curls slightly frizzed from being over-toyed and ragged.

“Well, I was trying too, but...”

“Machine confuse you?”

Narrowing your eyes, his hands coming around you, you smirk. “I will not confirm or deny.”

Running his hand across his chin, he looks over you before his lips twitch. “It was a gift—the machine.”

“From you to you?”

You watch as he sticks his tongue in his cheek, poking you lightly in your side. “The coffee place near work—it was being refurbed, I offered some thoughts as I was in there all the time, so they gave it to me.”

“Do you know how to use it?”

Running his tongue over the front of his teeth, he shrugs. “Well, yeah.”

“Do you use all of its features?”

Swallowing, he sighs. “No.”

Sliding your fingers along his jaw, nose practically touching his, you find yourself unable to break his eyes. To not want to remain pressed against the counter in his kitchen, stood barefoot in his bathrobe, coffee scents filling the air.

“I bet you know exactly how to take it apart and put it back together.”

“Baby…”

“Bet you descale it regularly, when you’re supposed to.”

Groaning at the feel of your fingers in his hair, he buries his face into your neck. “Is that making you hot for me?”

“Oddly, yes.”

Snorting against your skin, he slowly lets out a slow exhale. “I hate that I have to open the shop.”

“What would your plans be if you didn’t have to?”

Smirking, he groans—low, barely reaching the surface, but it vibrates through you all the same. “I would for one have convinced you the bedroom was far more comfortable.”

“Hmm, tempting.”

Laughing, he pecks your lips, not moving from his place in front of you, even if his head moves back. “I like that you smell like me.”

“Territorial, noted.”

Turning, he points to the mugs, as you begin pouring the coffee—handing him one as his fingers brush yours.

“I just… I liked that you stayed.”

“Stayed or showered with you and let you see where soap suds go?”

Tilting his chin down, his eyes burn into your soul—all wide, brown, desperate to swallow you whole. “If I remember right, you were also seeing where soap suds go.”

Shrugging, you smirk against the mug, noting his finger resting on the knot of the belt—the one protecting your modesty. “Well, it would be rude to not watch the show.”

“A show? Glad I put on my best moves then,” he replies, voice all low, a hand coming to rest on the counter beside you.

You find it hard not to let your mouth become slack, breath hitching at the act.

“Glad it persuaded you to stay?”

Raising an eyebrow, you try to find something smart to say. Ticking. Whirring away. But then you see it.

Ever-present, hanging there—that worry in his eye. A look which half-pleads for you to pinch him and let him know it’s real. A thing you do as you clutch your coffee in one hand, avoid melting at his words and cup his cheek with the other.

The fabric of his robe-sleeve slides down and his breath flutters warmth against your wrist.

“You didn’t need to persuade me. I wanted to wake up in your arms…”

It’s smooth, the way one of his fingers undo the belt, body coming close as you place the mug down and feel his hands, all rough and worn, sliding over your hips. He's cautious to ensure his chest covers yours, as though attempting to keep you warm, concealed.

“—Plus, I really wanted to try your coffee. But, now I want to steal your coffee and bathrobe.”

His laughter trickles out and draws out against you. Frankie’s head shaking, wearing a large smile on his lips, “Well, I think I can come to some arrangement to let you.”

Sucking in a breath, finding his eyes locked on yours, you lean forward and kiss him. Gentle. Delicate. An assurance delivered softly as the coffee aroma continues to seep into your nose.

“I need to make you breakfast,” he whispers, mouth open, breathing the same air.

“Need, want or should?”

With a soft scoff, he leans in to capture your lips once more, whispering all three against you as his hand finds its way to the curve of your neck. Delicately tracing his fingertips over your jawline with a tantalising caress, you find yourself deepening the kiss, hungry for more. His grip on you tightens as you pull him closer, until there is no space left between you both. None that you want to be there. Desperate to be close, to have, to—

“‘m gonna make your breakfast now,” he says, voice close, pecking against your lips before his hands slide from your skin.

The loss is evident. Immediately missed.

Part of you longs to reach out, to draw him back until you feel him clutching the fabric together for you—a slightly lifted brow as you fumble for the belt, and he begins to pull things onto the counter.

Then, you watch him—tying his robe closed—half-in-awe of the meticulous way he moves around his space, grabbing things like he’s been thinking of what to make while you were busy rendered useless.

Eyes fixed on him so much, you see him pause—briefly. His gaze lingers on the coffee pot, glancing back, forcing you to laugh—a shake of your head.

"Thinking about how you’re going to miss this brilliant coffee, you know, since it’s mine now?" You quip, taking another sip of your coffee.

He turns, a pretend wounded expression on his face.

“I should confess that I’m not a nice person without my coffee," he replies, the twinkle in his eyes betraying his amusement.

With a smile gracing your lips, you ease back against his countertop, enjoying the comforting warmth of both the freshly brewed coffee and his presence.

The sunlight continues to filter in gently, casting a soft and golden glow across the room as you pause to drink in the sight before you. Him, cooking you breakfast.

A thing you thought you could have only thought up weeks ago. His curls tousled, a charming mess.

"Selfishly then, I'll let you keep the coffee," you finally concede.

Nodding, he closes his eyes in gratitude before there’s a twitch of his lips. “Because you like me?”

“Because I really like this bathrobe—the robe is a non-negotiable."

He laughs again, shaking his head in defeat. "Fair enough, it's a deal."

“Because I look so good in it?”

“Well," he says, scratching the back of his head. “I think you look good in everything.”

Harry okay?

Yeah, he rocked up ten minutes after you drove off, was able to pick Luca up at normal time.

That’s great! Did you boys have fun?

We did. He’s really into dinosaurs at the moment so I found this craft we could do where we make dinosaurs out of paper plates.

I like making things with him, plus it’s a nice gift for his mom when I drop him off tomorrow.

So handy and crafty?

Very crafty.

And very good with your hands.

You flirt.

You had a nice day?

I got some work done which I needed to get started, and I did some yoga.

Putting all sorts of images in my head.

Says you, talking about being crafty.

Bed feels weird without you here.

Imprinted on it that quickly?

Yeah. You’re the only one that’s been in it except me, and obviously Luca.

Shut up. I cannot be.

You are.

I don’t bring people back to my house.

Ever?

Never.

Never.

Never—

You don’t think.

Not of the time. That he could be tired. Or that his son is asleep in the next room.

Fingers sliding across the screen, finding his contact, and clicking. It's pressed to your ear before you consider whether this is a bad idea. Clutching it, holding it like a lifeline, knowing it's too late. Even if you end it, he'd know, see—

It barely rings.

Two at most, one and a half being a possibility.

And you sigh.

“Fancy hearing from you.”

Pulling your knees up, your bed groans at the sudden movement as you tug the duvet closer to your chin, cheeks rising with your lips. “You’ve really not had someone in your bed?”

It’s there, the sigh. Not full of annoyance, but more like he’s said too much.

“No… I’ve not had anyone else in it but you,” he admits quietly into the phone.

“Wow.”

“And Luca, of course. I always… you sure you want to hear this?”

There’s a softness in his voice that makes your heart flutter in your chest. An unexpected stroke of warmth through you at his question, at his consideration—prompting you to hug the duvet closer to yourself. A subtle smile dances across your lips as you let it wash over you.

“I want to hear whatever you want to tell me.”

Clearing his throat, you hear rustling, trying to half imagine if he’s turning over in bed, if he’s getting more comfortable—

“If I met someone, I didn’t… I only went to theirs.”

Biting your lip, you shift in your seated position, crossing your legs. “So, lunch and then theirs?”

“No lunch.”

“Coffee?”

Silence. Thick, ear-eroding silence. Before he breathes. “It would be a one-night thing and I wouldn’t stay.”

Oh. Your hand slides around your knee, trying not to grin too much. It's all far too easy to get ahead of yourself, to think too much. To run away and begin thinking this means more than it does. But, then—

“So, I’m…”

“Yeah.”

There’s more you want to ask, them sitting there, burning a hole in your tongue. Practically desperate to erode it, possibly poison it all—as questions sometimes do.

“And here I was thinking I was just another notch on your bedpost,” you tease, trying to keep your voice light, sweet.

He laughs then, a sound that makes you wish you were there with him, instead of miles apart in your own cold bed. “Not at all, baby.”

Toes twitching in your bed, you let out a breath. Sliding your legs out straight, slowly folding yourself down to the mattress, lying on one side as you hold the phone.

And you confess your own.

The reason you’re single, the reason you bought a house.

It rolls and falls, slipping with far too much ease into the air from your mouth. A burden-shifting, a weight from your shoulders lessening. The admission undoing the tightness around your chest as you continue to let the past be told in the present.

You don’t cry. Don’t even feel yourself well up. An improvement, a shift and change in you that you’re sure is brought on entirely by Frankie. On occasion, you hear movement from his side and the briefest whisper of your name. Not in pity—never in pity—just in understanding, in comfort.

“So, I’m the first—“

“Yes, Morales. You’re the first person to ask me out in a long time, big deal.”

“It feels like a big deal.”

Smirking, you twitch your toes. “In a few more dates I might confess that it is.”

“But not right now?”

Grinning, you bite your lip. “Feels like it would inflate your head, Francisco.”

More rustling comes down the phone before you hear a deep sigh. “Maybe. Are you in bed?”

“I am.”

You stare at the dark ceiling of your bedroom, a smile slowly spreading across your face.

“Is it weird to admit I miss you?”

“Not if it’s weird if I say I miss you too.”

You swear you hear him smile. That soft exhale he does dusts over your ear as he breathes your name, before adding, “I’m glad you called.”

“Me too.”

A comfortable silence flows out, spreading as you listen to him breathe.

“Want me to tell you my favourite dinosaur?”

You don't fight the laughter that rings out around your bedroom

Sunday tiptoes in with the slightest spring in its step.

With a gentle stretch, you reach for the familiar weight of your phone, heart already skipping ahead of your groggy mind.

There's a flutter of excitement, it mixing with a hint of nerves as you wonder if he's reached out yet. Because it's silly to be excited at the idea that he has, to be giddy at the thought of him thinking of you in this quiet morning hour.

It feels almost teenage-like.

But when your screen lights up you don't care what it is, because there’s little point fighting the grin. The pure eclipsing smile that smothers tiredness and makes your cheeks hurt instantly.

Enjoying my morning coffee feels different without a robe-wearing thief.

Rolling onto your front, the duvet sliding down your back, you dig your elbows into the mattress and run your tongue across your teeth.

Good morning to you too. If there’s coffee left, expect me in half an hour. Unless you fancy getting some with me?

Even if it feels like minutes, his reply arrives in seconds.

Instantly illuminating your phone against the backdrop of your pillow, prompting an involuntary smile to grace your lips.

Always. But I’m thinking brunch might be better?

Grinning, you fight a giggle. Teeth biting down on your lip as your thumbs type at record speed.

Can’t wear the bathrobe there. No, not really. But, I’ll keep it safe, don’t worry. Promise? Pinky promise. Brunch it is. I'll pick you up.

NEXT CHAPTER ->

#frankie morales x reader #francisco morales x reader #frankie morales x f!reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #triple frontier x reader #francisco morales fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #francisco catfish morales x reader #catfish morales x reader #pedrostories #jo: dmy #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction

[delacoursshp]

"3…2..1.. DIVE!"

cedric diggory x fem mermaid reader

- use of y/n, reader is in slytherin AND IS A MERMAIDDD, reader is independent, cedric is your cheesy lover, triwizard cup (2nd task) drama, you almost being caught as a mermaid

warnings: nothing

i write quick stories, but dis one felt a tiny lil longer than usual so enjoy😋

-

the bell rang. you were so glad to be out of ms trelawneys lesson. she was such an oaf, with her ''ooohh i see potentional murder ahead!" or her 'aahh i see much death in your future!'. like, honestly!

not that trelawneys sayings would've been a surprise; half-blood mermaids were very rare and often seen as demons. and funny enough, you were one of them.

you made your way down the stairs to study in the library.you avoided pansy parkinson and her little group, as they always put themselves in drama and you were never up for that.

once arrived, you yanked about 5 books from a shelf and then seated yourself at a table next to a big window.

you began reading. first book, second book, third book-

ding!

19.00.

you closed the books quickly, put them back and then rushed so fast out of the library, making people turn their heads.you went upstairs, third floor, to the prefects bathroom, then muttered something that sounded like 'pine-fresh' and the painting swept forwards and you quickly stepped in.

there was nobody, as expected, except for the mermaid on the painting onto the wall. you waved politely and she waved back excitedly, looking as if she had missed you really much. you undressed, leaving yourself completely naked, then stepped into the pool.

after what felt like 10 minutes you felt your body heat up, your toes clench really hard, and your breathing quickened. the double eyelids formed onto your face.

what used to be your legs had now shaped into a long dark green, grey-ish shiny tail. your skin turned a little grey too, and your nails extended in length. your iris had become bloodred of colour, and your black pupils dilated until there was just a thin red line around the black dot. you sighed as all the changes finished, and relaxed.

about 50 seconds later, you heard the prefects bathroom opening open. it was him.

you looked up, hoping it was him and not someone else. the painting creaked and there you saw the tall, fit, brunette figure walk through.

"cedric." you whispered in happiness. he smiled at you before sprinting and hastily jumping into the pool.

you squeaked. "cedric!" he laughed, shaking the water off his hair and swam towards you. "well, hello beautiful." he smirked, eyeing your sea creature body. your breasts were practically naked, except for the shell symbols spread around your areola.

"ced. your clothes are wet." you said sarcastically, staring up into his eyes while his arm rests around your shoulder.

"doesn't matter, love. how've you been? mind helping me with the triwizard cup? i think it has something to do with, you know, your kind. i heard sirens when i opened that egg. anyways, i hope they wo-"

you admired him as he kept talking about the upcoming triwizard task. you were so lucky to have him, he never judged you on being a mermaid. of course, he's also the only one that knows about it.

your deadly- (but oddly attractive to cedric) -eyes were caught by cedric as he finished the topic. he stared at you, and if looks could kill, you'd definitely been dead. you leaned your body onto him, resting your head on his shoulder.

"i don't know what i would do without you, cedric." you spoke softly. cedric chuckled.

"well, luckily that's something you don't ever have to worry about."

"promise?" you whispered, stroking his arm with your dainty hands.

"promise."

the mermaid in the painting clasped her hands onto her mouth, and her watery eyes blinked dramatically. she wiped them with a piece of seaweed.

cedrics hand that wasn't at your shoulder, trailed down your tail and felt at the texture.

he was mesmerized. he'd seen your mermaid self once before, from afar. now that he sees it up close, it's so much prettier.

you smiled softly, exhausted from reading so long before. you glanced at the mermaid, who winked back at you.

"i love you." cedric suddenly said, what made you turn your head immediately.

"i love you, cedric" you said back, not breaking eyecontact.

"good. fish babies!" he joked.

you giggled and sat yourself sideways onto his lap. your tail flicked up and down in excitement, making the water splash. cedric grinned at your actions. then you locked lips with him, drowning in his taste.

if only this moment would never end.

-

[CEDRICS POV)

it was the day of the second task. i was really nervous, but i prepared my bubble charm so everything should be fine.

bagman went on and on about this and that. to be fair, i wasn't listening. i was watching the lake before me, swinging my arms unpatiently.

"okay, enough chit-chatting! now, are we ready, best contestants?"

bloody right i was ready.

"3...2..1.. DIVE!"

an enormous splash erupted from the lake, onto the murmuring crowd. i swam and swam all the way down, trying to find what i was searching for. i didn't know exactly what. i just knew it would be guarded by mermen.

many minutes passed, and i saw 4 vague figures. i swam a little closer, and saw the four figures clearer. they were all tied up, cornered by merpeople.

one of them was a girl with rather bushy hair, next to her a boy with hair so red it looked like fire was burning in the lake, and next to him was a little girl, and right next to her was-

oh no. this couldn't be.

i frowned my eyebrows and my mouth dropped in fear. y/n.

the fact that it was y/n tied up, wasn't the worst thing. it was that her tail showed. a mermaid transformation took about 10 minutes, right? so whoever put her here must have done it quick! or else she would've been killed by them already.. if anyone up there sees she is a mermaid, things could get disgusting.

i examined her unconscious face, searching for any wounds. it was rather hard, curse the bubble charm for blurring my view.

i grabbed a knife i brought just in case from my pocket, and cut the ropes around her wrists. i carried her heavy figure up the water fast, as i felt like time was running out. our heads popped out, and y/ns eyes opened slowly. the first thing she saw was my face. then she looked around, very confused. she saw the water floating around her, and it looked like she was about to faint.

-

[YOUR POV]

what? what is going on? you felt fear, anger, and confusion rise up within you. please let this be a nightmare, you thought.

a soaked cedric with a bubble around his head was looking at you, worryingly. when you wanted to say something, but it came out as a whimper, he shushed you. "shh, it's okay, leave everything up to me right now, okay?" he whispered.

"and we have our first contestant up! cedric diggory!". the gryffindors, hufflepuffs, ravenclaws and a few beauxbatons cheered loudly. some looked confused at your slightly new appearance; your grey skin & red eyes weren't hidden. cedric tried to hide you from the crowd.

he grinned at them so nobody would find it off, and then swam to dumbledore with you, both of your bodies underwater, except for your heads.

"sir, she- she's.." cedric tried to make up an excuse to make sure your body stayed beneath the surface. you looked at him, terrified.

dumbledore smiled. "it's okay, boy. i'm not stupid, you know. show her to me."

cedric hesitated, but you nodded, after all, he was the headmaster. what choice did cedric or you have?

you shyly turned around, horrified to see his reaction, but dumbledore kept his same expression. "ah. and so i was right." he said, his eyes twinkling.

you frowned your eyebrows in surprise, looked at cedric, and saw that he was doing the same. "your bubble still functions well, i'm assuming? 2 hours they work, yes?"dumbledore said.

"uuh, yes, sir." cedric said. "turn around, dive, go north, then west, you'll find a cave, go through there and leave the rest up to me."

you and cedric looked at eachother in both relief and confusion, then cedric nodded.-you swam forward, cedric holding onto your hand. a smile crept up your face, as he struggled to keep up with you.

"keep up, tough boy." you mouthed, feeling a little less worried then before.he just chuckled nervously at you. the moment of it was almost romantic, if to ignore the context. you felt a sense of joy, being in your other home, together with someone you wanna spend your entire life with.

hopefully, the next task would be a lot less terrifying.

-

⋇⋆✦⋆⋇　

idk idk idkk. i don't rlly like this ☹️ but!! i felt like i wrote the task scene okay, right? 😝 anyways, hope u enjoyed!

- @delacoursshp

#cedric diggory #fred weasley x reader #harry potter #harry potter smut #harry potter fic #cedric diggory smut #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory fluff #ron weasley #luna lovegood #neville longbottom #romione #draco malfoy #pansy parkinson #viktor krum #fleur delacour #hogwarts #slytherin #wizarding world #hp fandom

[witchthewriter]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐰𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐁𝐞𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞

⤷ gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!  

Warnings: mentions of characters’ trauma, minor spoilers??? I’ll try and keep them limited

a/n: I’ll try to stay as spoiler free as possible! I loved season 2, some bits were a kinda touch and go, but overall I think they made it really interesting. Also I’m not including Wylan, sorry! I love him but ... I just don’t wanna add him...

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ      

𝑺𝑭𝑾🌿

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲: Going along with a plan that Kaz had created, your role was to help the Crows on an extremely difficult heist. But your job somehow ended up being linked with your crush; the very crow that makes your heart flutter. Your persona is their new wife/husband, who has a “rich father”. Meaning that you have to stay in a nearby hotel as a couple on their honeymoon. 

𝐊𝐚𝐳

・His faked joyful smile dropped once the bellboy left the room

・Watching him, you saw his calculated movements - the way he rested his cane against the desk, and took two steps to sit down on the bed

・His gloves stayed on as he said, “I’m sorry there’s one bed. Too suspicious otherwise.” Kaz’s tone was even, but it hitched on the word ‘suspicious’. 

・You knew Kaz hated physical contact, hells, he hated when someone stood too close 

・In that moment, you didn’t know how to respond, surely Kaz, Bastard of the Barrel, wasn’t going to sleep on the floor. The absence of a couch was obvious, and you knew he had to sleep somewhere comfortable because of his leg 

  “Kaz, I can take the floor. I know physical contact isn’t an easy thing for yo-” 

    “No, I’m fine.” He cut you off, a sharp look in his eye. You could see that his mind was somewhere else. Somewhere dark. 

・The night was awkward to start off with, like two magnets being pulled and pushed apart

・But then you asked about the plan - getting all the details. Well, what you thought were all the details. 

・He loosened up when he was able to talk about logical subjects

・Once you realised that, the atmosphere started to ease and you could see Kaz start to relax ... (his version of relaxing)

・With each hour a piece of Kaz’s clothing was taken off. His jacket, his shoes. As if he was slowly getting ready for bed. 

・There was always something heavy in the air though, like something was unspoken. It hung like grey clouds, ready to let rain fall

・But time ticked by, and eyes began to feel heavy

・At first you both laid down and kept a pillow between you, but then there was hardly any room to move. 

・So you came up with the idea that you could sleep the other way. Instead of your heads at the top of the bed, they now rested on the sides. It meant your feet were dangling off the side, but it gave you and Kaz a lot of room. 

   “Do not tell anyone about this.”

“Kaz...you know I wouldn’t.”

・His voice was low when he said: “I know.”

・In the morning, when you awoke, Kaz was already awake. Already planning. 

    “I got you some breakfast.” 

  𝐈𝐧𝐞𝐣

・It was you who said you would sleep elsewhere. 

・You were so close to falling in love with Inej, and she had no clue. The sore joke was that she felt the exact same. And neither of you thought the other even cared. 

   “It would be too obvious if we weren’t sleeping in the same bed. I have a feeling they’re already suspicious of something.”

・Even if that wasn’t the truth, you didn’t care. When was an opportunity like this going to arise? 

・Kaz didn’t need either of you tonight, so you were both able to unwind. But past experiences meant neither of you could fully do so unless you were in your trusted homes. 

・The room was quite spacious; painted white and pale blue, it felt completely different to hotels in Ketterdam (which were dark, dingy and usually had a weird smell.)

・This one had a balcony that overlooked the famous lake that ran through the clean city

・The bathroom matched the colours of the rest of the room, with a rectangular window that let in the morning light but was high enough that no one would be able to see in. 

・It was a gorgeous room; airy, light and inviting. Exacly what you thought a summer holiday would be

    “Nina would absolutely love this,” you called from the lounging room. Where stacks of books, games and other various entertaining devices lay. 

“I almost feel bad...” Inej trailed off, appearing right behind you (scaring the sh*t out of you).

・There was a wordless conversation between the two of you, where you hinted at sleeping on the lounge. But Inej shook her head. 

・Too suspicious. What if they walk in?

・You were glad she was okay with it

・And when the night was late, and you couldn’t stop yawning, Inej laughed and motioned toward the bed

    “You don’t snore do you?” You asked, with a wry grin. You knew the Wraith didn’t snore. She barely made a sound during her waking hours.  

      “Of course I do-” she replied, catching onto the irony

・When you were in bed, Inej faced outward, but for some reason you decided to grasp onto this opportunity 

    “Inej, why are you a Crow?” 

・From then on you kept talking. Face to face, her brown eyes capturing yours. 

・You both spoke low, as if someone was trying to hear

・Neither of you wanted to stop talking, or to stop asking the next question. Like either of your lives depended on it, you kept trying to know more. 

・It wasn’t until Inej stifled a large yawn that you both decided sleep was needed

・And the next morning, you found yourself in the same position - facing Inej, and she hadn’t moved either. But your hands must have drifted in the night, because they had clasped together

  𝐌𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐚𝐬

・Ever the gentleman, he gestures for you to have the bed. And without a couch in the room, he offers to sleep on the floor - far away from you to be as respectful as possible. 

   “Don’t be stupid,” you retort, flinging yourself on the bed. You pat the space next to you and he blushes. Deeply. 

・The giant of a man moved the bags out of the way and flared his nostrils

       “Have we not established a relationship based on trust, dear Helvar?” 

・He rolled his eyes at you. An occurance that happened all too often. 

・But you knew him. More than he thought you did, however, you were always still blown away by his gentle ways. There wasn’t a time when he didn’t open a door for you, or helped you up or down from high places. But his kindness didn’t stop there

・He always stood in front of you whenever there was danger. 

・And made sure you were never left alone in dangerous situations. 

・If someone tried anything with you, Matthias was there to step in. 

・Jesper started calling him your bodyguard

・And although all these things happen, you still didn’t think Matthias was attracted to you. 

・You were never the traditional beauty. So you didn’t think someone like Matthias, who was this godlike man, would ever be interested in you

・And the fact that you were his pretend wife/husband, created endless flutters in your stomach. A feeling that was foreign, until you met Matthias. 

   “Are you hungry?” Matthias asked, dropping to unzip something from his bag. 

“Oh no no, I’m okay-”

   “I could hear your stomach rumbling from here.” Matthias grinned, and passed you some dried jerky that he bought from a vendor hours before 

・He was always doing things like that. Thinking of you and what you might need...or want. 

・You couldn’t help but blush. Even though you tried to keep up your jaunty attitude, you ... couldn’t

・And when he sat on the end of the bed, nibbling on his piece of jerky, and asking about you, your heart was beaming 

・After an hour, Matthias still hadn’t moved and you realised you had to tell him what was okay. 

   “Move up here,” once again you patted the space next to you. 

・You had wriggled underneath the blanket and watched Matthias take of his shoes and get into bed

・Your heart was in your throat. A thumping, fluttering mess. 

・You started up the conversation, as he turned over to face you

・When your eyes began to droop, and Matthias started mumbling when he spoke, you two fell asleep in the King sized bed. 

・You thought you were the first to wake, but you could hear the change in Matthias’ breathing

・However, you tried not to move as well. His strong arms had moved you onto his chest, and there you lay. Your head exactly where his heart was. 

・At times you could feel him rub your back and those goddamn tingles never left your body

  𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫

・You already know this cheeky motherf*cker is grinning like a chesire cat

      “I guess even fate wants us together...”

“If by ‘fate’ you mean Kaz, and by ‘wants us together’ you mean doing our job. Then yeah Jesper, that’s exactly what’s happening.” 

・Your exterior was hard, but inside you were melting. Ever since meeting Jesper your insides melted whenever he was near. 

・Inside the room, you turned to put your weapons on the bedside table. Twin daggers, your personalised gun, a small knife you always kept in your boot (you put that one underneath your pillow) and small hatchet that you usually kept on your back. 

    “There’s something quite comedic about this-” Jesper said, with his legs up on the bed, boots gleaming, and his arms around his head. 

  “If you don’t take your goddamn shoes off the bed-” you countered, with a small fury. 

      “Ooh, yes boss,” Jesper complied with a grin. 

・It was a battle, trying to keep that stupid smile off your face. Somehow Jesper was always able to bring it out

・You didn’t have ocd, but you did have problems with outside clothes coming into contact with inside items. Jesper was used to the Ketterdam life, so keeping things clean was always difficult. 

・The room was cosy, and a fire was lit. A steady flame burned while you and Jesper talked about your next actions. 

・But somehow the conversation took a turn and you were talking about yourselves, your backgrounds and lives. 

・Time flew by as you spoke, and soon night turned into day. 

・The once roaring fire had dwindled into ashes and it wasn’t until Jesper yawned that you realised. 

・You were going to shout obscenities but there was a knock at the door

    “Did we just...?”

“Yeah! Sh*t, Fuc-” 

     “Wake up call!” 

  𝐍𝐢𝐧𝐚

・She gave a hearty laugh before looking at you with a sly grin. But her attention was grabbed by the food menu

   “Ooh, I hope they have waffles...”

・Completely unbothered by having to share a bed with you

・Behind her bravado is a heart that has been captured by you. She’s just very good at hiding it. 

・You, on the other hand, are a bit more quiet. Well, anyone is quiet compared to Nina (with the exception of Jesper). 

・So you are a bit hesitant when it comes to showing emotions. Especially since you’re afraid of seeming weird. Growing up, you had heard that word to describe you many times 

   “We don’t have to share a bed, it’s okay if you don’t want to,” Nina says after a heavy silence. Her eyes flick toward you, a half grin appearing on her face. It was almost ... sad? 

・You shake your head, “no no, it’s fine.” Inside you are DYING. Nina?? Sad??? You would burn the world to the ground before you made her sad. 

・Perking up (slightly, as she’s never truly sad), Nina moves through the room, looking at all the objects and items. Scowling at the lack of entertainment. 

   “Really, Kaz could have picked a nicer place...”

・Pulling out a waffle that you had saved from breakfast earlier, you turned around and held it high in the air. 

     “I have saved thy favourite snack. Please take this as a token of my friendship,” you bowed slightly and waited for her reaction. 

・Nina bowed low in response, a large grin on her pale face. 

      “I accept thy token, with immense gratitude.” 

・But the act was quickly forgotten about as she squealed and ran over to you. 

・ “I don’t know how well it’s going to taste...” You mumbled, showing the crumbled waffle. 

・Nevertheless, you were now her favourite person. 

・And the night was one you would always remember

・Like a sleepover with your best friend, you felt like you had known Nina since childhood 

・The next morning, you were the first to wake. 

・Tangled together Nina’s arms were firmly wrapped around you, snuggling her form closer to yours. 

#shadow and bone #shadow and bone preferences #six of crows #six of crows preferences #witch the writer's headcanons #witch the writer preferences #kaz brekker #nina zenik #inej ghafa #kaz brekker x reader #inej ghafa x reader #nina zenik x reader #jesper fahey #jesper fahey x reader #jesper fahey headcanons #matthias helvar #matthias helvar headcanons #matthias helvar x reader #matthias helvar x you #nina zenik headcanons #kaz brekker headcanons #kaz brekker x you #inej ghafa headcanons #inej ghafa x grisha reader

[shalotttower]

Darling, Darling

Title: Darling, Darling Fandom: The Texas Chainsaw Massacre (1974) Summary: The way he cradles you to his chest is almost reverent, like you are something precious. Bubba delivers a lesson after you tried to run away. Word Count: 1500+ Characters: Bubba Sawyer x Reader (female) Notes: Captive Reader, murder (implied), blood and gore (implied), violence, spanking, yandere Bubba Sawyer, cannibalism (mentioned), kinda NSFWish?

The way he cradles you to his chest is almost reverent, like you are something precious, delicate. Something to be cherished. Hands capable of ripping through flesh with ease carry you down the hall, careful not to bang your feet into corners. He doesn't want to hurt you. You know he doesn't, but it hurts anyway. Everything hurts.

Covered in dust and god knows what else, this house is in terrible shape and it reeks - of old colourless wallpapers, age and grime, of grease and smoke and slow decay. No one cleans here, at least from what you've seen. You make an effort not to look into the surroundings; there's a head on a coffee table and it's enough to make bile rise in your throat. So you focus on a single abstract spot in the distance.

"Please, I want to go home," your mouth feels dry when you speak.

He looks down, concerned eyes and messy hair, then shakes his head. Bubba Sawyer doesn't talk. Well, that's not entirely true. He makes sounds, noises. Squeals and grunts. He hums and whistles sometimes, but doesn't form words like you do. Whole and functional sentences don't come to him, which is likely a product of both genetics and childhood environment.

"Please."

With a quiet whimper he presses his face into your hair, and speeds up. The mask he's wearing today belongs to a young woman, or what once was a young woman, now it's merely skin stretched to a degree it shouldn't be.

No. No, you can't leave; Bubba pats your head to make a point - this is home.

"You can't keep me here," you rasp.

He smooths your back and makes more sounds, muffled by the leather; but he can. He can keep you, Drayton said so. He asked. Begged. Pleaded to keep you and Drayton said yes. Not before hitting him with that thick broom - ouch - but it was okay, because Bubba got to keep you. You're the first girl he has like this, the only girl he has like this since Nubbins died. Bubba misses Nubbins, but maybe with you he won't miss him so much anymore.

He needs you to see, to understand. To not run again.

Up, up the stairs you go, past framed pictures in the shades of brown, grey and black. Past the bathroom with peeling paint, stained bathtub and old medicine cabinet. Upstairs smells better than downstairs, cleaner somehow. The first time he brought you out of the basement was terrifying, you thought that was it. A filthy kitchen and walls caving in - the last thing you'd ever see. He gave you one of his grandmother's nightgowns instead, it had a faint perfume smell. The ruffles reminded you of lace wedding dresses from vintage movies. Bubba tucked you in next to himself, like you were a doll or a teddy, and you spent the whole night staring into the darkness, listening to his loud snores. It was warm, better than sleeping on the floor.

The mattress creaks when he sits you down.

His room is a simple space with a single bed and a shelf, crammed with objects that catch Bubba's eye. There's a crucifix on a wall; the irony of it even being there is almost laughable.

You look up. In a white-frame window the sun is setting, and nothing but miles and miles of cornfields surround this house.

You are in the middle of nowhere.

If he once decides that you're not something worth keeping around but food, then it's over. No one will ever find you.

A sob wrecks out of your throat. He crouches, and before you know what's happening, wipes your tears. Hushing and cooing and gently pressing his big hands to your cheeks. It would be so much easier if you could hate him, if he hurt you out of some deranged and violent instinct. But no, Bubba doesn't do any of those things.

He looks at you like you hung the moon and stars, he tries to care for you. Brings you flowers and plates loaded with food which you can't eat, because one look turns your stomach upside down. Because you know what is it, and he...he just doesn't understand why you keep refusing - Drayton always cooks nice meals and Bubba loves his cooking too.

He feeds you warm milk and bread, applesauce and boiled chicken breast cut into small pieces. Watches you chew with careful attention, lips smacking, tongue peeking out as he copies the movements of your mouth.

You feel sick.

He brings you gifts - broken toys, jewelry snatched from dead women, trinkets found in trash cans or discarded by the roadside. You wear some, because if you don't he gets upset and his shoulders sag. It's like kicking a puppy, and it's so...twisted. Everything about this is twisted, like some grotesque play.

Bubba doesn't hurt you.

Unless Drayton tells him to.

He hates this, when Drayton tells him to, because "you're getting uppity and spoiled". It's confusing - you're not spoiled. You behave well most of the time, eat chicken and never call him names, you're warm and soft and let him hold you at night. He likes that a lot. Bubba thinks it might be love, it's fuzzy inside when you're close, like in those shows Grandpa and Grandma used to watch before they gone still.

But Drayton is the oldest, he's smart and knows best.

You whine softly into the pillow as Bubba slaps your backside and whimpers too each time a croak of pain wrenches from your mouth. He wishes that he didn't have to do this, but you need to learn and be good, not try to run, otherwise Drayton might take you away. Bubba doesn't want this.

Your panties dangle around your knees - blue, lace trimmed - Bubba finds them very pretty, if it was in his power he'd give you all the pretty things to wear.

He swallows and raises his hand.

The flesh jiggles under his palm as he spanks you. Bubba counts in his head - Drayton said seven should be enough - one, two, three, four-

He tries to be gentle, but his strength is not used for being gentle. He has spent most of his life doing manual labor. With bare hands he can kill food. The soft skin of your backside changes color quickly into a bright shade of pink, and Bubba squeezes it for a moment, trying to soothe the sore area.

It doesn't help, tears rolling down your face keep wetting the pillow. He wants to scoop you up and cuddle, press kisses to your cheeks, but Drayton told him no. No kissing or hugging until you learn; "she is manipulating you, dimwit".

Your breath comes out ragged in uneven hitches, Bubba doesn't like how miserable you look, small and fragile on his bed. When your sounds subside to quiet, intense sobs, he makes a distressed whine. He feels bad, so very bad, but maybe next time you won't try to leave.

Six. Seven. Done.

Your poor bottom is bright red and raw looking, Bubba pats it carefully. He rubs cool cream to your skin, the one he snuck from Drayton's drawer, making sure to get everywhere before pulling your panties up. You smell nice - sweaty and salty like after work on a hot day.

You always stop talking to him right after. For the rest of the evening, the next few days or sometimes a whole week, and it's awful. You don't eat chicken, the pretty trinkets lie discarded and you won't even look at him.

It hurts more than Drayton and his broom do.

Bubba sits beside you on the mattress for several minutes, waiting. Waiting until you turn - just a little bit - so that he can tap your damp cheeks dry with a towel and maybe feed you apple slices dipped in honey. If you'll let him.

You don't.

Eventually you crawl under the blanket, stiff and quiet, back facing him. His throat burns, you're mad, you don't like Bubba anymore. Dread unfolds at the bottom of his stomach as the sky outside starts darkening, every time he gets scared that this will be it, that you'll hate him forever from now on.

Hesitantly, he climbs underneath the covers, settles on the very edge of the mattress and wriggles a bit closer every five minutes, in case you'll change your mind and want a hug - the lesson is delivered, so it doesn't matter, Drayton won't know anyway.

But the time passes and turns into an hour, yet still you don't move, not even a peek over your shoulder. He waits longer and then a bit more. His heart drops when Bubba realizes: you fell asleep without saying goodnight.

He watches your back rise and fall, then reaches across the bed to stroke your hair. Somehow his arm curves over your frame, and before Bubba knows it, he moves you closer, closer, up against his chest. Your breath is shaky and rough, but he holds on tight, the same way he'd clutch his favourite things.

Tomorrow Bubba will bring you flowers, some tulips because they are pretty like you, and maybe you'll be less angry. Maybe you'll eat apple slices and sit on Bubba's lap by the stove while Drayton cooks dinner, and won't try to run again. He hopes you won't.

#shalott fanfiction #yandere #texas chainsaw massacre #tcm 1974 #texas chainsaw massacre (1974) #bubba sawyer #bubba saywer x reader #slashers #slasher fanfiction

[jeannineee]

Umbra et Ventus

Azriel x Reader

a/n: so I recently wrote a little thing called ‘Devotion,’ and I loved it so much that I wanted to make a mini-fic somewhat based on it.

So, reader is half-fae, from the Continent. She was enslaved during her time there, but managed to escape (we’ll learn how eventually 😉). She’s currently a refugee in Velaris, working alongside Madja as a healer. This fic is a bit of a slowburn, so bear with me.

Also, requests are open for headcanons, and short blurbs/drabbles, but I will be prioritizing this fic!! Love you guys!

PART TWO

warnings: canon-typical themes, allusions to PTSD. Emetophobia warning also at the beginning!!

Sweat dribbled down your face, coated your palms as you hugged the rim of the toilet. Your body shook with the force it took to hurl the contents of your stomach. You stayed there, heaving, for what felt like hours.

Your exhaustion became so rampant that you couldn’t even drag yourself to bed. You laid on the bathroom floor, sighing in relief as the cold tiles embraced your clammy skin.

As sleep beckoned you once again, you prayed that you might be free of nightmares, this time.

~~~~~~~~~

The sound of banging on your door roused you from your short-lived sleep. You pulled yourself off of the floor, hurriedly readying yourself for the day, before answering to a very obviously annoyed Madja.

“You were supposed to be at the infirmary an hour ago,” Madja said by way of greeting, before shoving her way into your tiny apartment, heading straight into your kitchen.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, voice hoarse. “I’ll be on time tomorrow.”

Madja gave you a once-over, before returning her attention to the tea she was already preparing. “I’ll bring you a different tea tonight, to help with the sleep. And the nightmares.”

You blinked. How could she know?

As though she could read your mind, Madja said, “There are dark circles around your eyes, and you’re the most tired female I’ve ever met.” She poured the grey-ish tea into a mug, passing it to you. “How long have you been having the nightmares?”

You sipped the tea, grimacing slightly at the leafy taste. “I can’t recall a time I didn’t have them,” you replied, hating the truth to the statement. “But they’ve been worse since…”

“Since you escaped,” Madja finished your sentence, matter-of-fact.

Madja was one of the first people you came across, when your ship docked in Velaris. She, alongside countless other healers, examined every single refugee that sought haven in the Court of Dreams. You weren’t sure why, but before she’d even cleared you to leave, she offered you a position at the Infirmary. For the last six weeks, you’d spent your days training under her.

You cleared your throat, finally confirming her words. “Yes. They’ve worsened since I escaped.”

Madja nodded. “As I said, the tea I’ll bring you tonight should help. Though you may need to consider other methods.”

“Such as?”

“Talking about your experiences.”

You shook your head, setting the tea aside. “I don’t see how talking about—“

“Y/n, you know as well as I do, healing the mental wounds that a traumatic experience leaves is just as important as healing the physical wounds.”

When you didn’t argue, Madja continued, “You’ve been in Velaris for well over a month, and the only people you’ve spoken to besides me are the other trainees at the Infirmary, and even then, communication is minimal.

“You’re beautiful. You’re young. You need to make friends; create a support system. In fact, I have a friend that holds classes for painting. She’d love to have you. Perhaps you’ll find a friend there.”

“I’m terrible at painting,” you muttered, sipping at your tea.

Madja gave you a look that said it wasn’t up for debate. “You’re attending that class,” she said, walking away long enough to find parchment and a pen. She jotted down what looked to be an address, before passing it to you. “Take today off. The class starts in an hour. She’ll have all the supplies you need.”

~~~~~~~~~

Rain pelted your umbrella as you made your way through the artist’s quarter. People milled about, admiring paintings and pottery and sculptures through glass windows.

As you stood outside of the studio Madja sent you to, you debated going home. As if in response, thunder boomed overhead. Deciding that you didn’t want the Mother to strike you down, you closed your umbrella, holding your breath as you entered.

Oh. This wasn’t so bad.

The studio was small, and cozy. Paint-splattered easels lined the room, in three rows of five. Much to your dismay, the only open easel was at the front of the room.

Directly across from the instructor.

You silently made your way to the front of the room, taking your seat.

“Hello,” the instructor said to you, smiling gently. “I’m Feyre.”

“Y/n,” you replied, returning her smile.

“We were just getting started. We’re working on the basics, today: color theory, textures, value, perception.”

You politely nodded along like you understood, grabbing the same brushes as she did. Within a couple of hours, you had a piss-poor excuse of a mountain range painted. You didn’t dare look at anyone else’s.

As everyone began filing out of the studio, your mind swam with the words ‘I told you so.’ You were almost excited to say those same words to Madja, until Feyre tapped your shoulder.

“Good work today, y/n.”

“Thank you.”

Feyre smiled warmly. “I was told by Madja that you’re new to Velaris?”

Of course Madja told her.

“I am.” Your tone was a bit short, but Feyre didn’t seem at all fazed.

“Well, I would love to show you around, sometime. There’s this really good restaurant down by the Sidra that my friends and I go to often. A few of us are going there this evening, actually, if you want to join?”

No, immediately rang through your mind, but your mouth betrayed you.

“Sure. That sounds nice.”

Feyre grinned, and you couldn’t help but reciprocate it.

~~~~~~~~~

When Feyre had mentioned a “few” friends, you’d been expecting two, maybe three.

You certainly weren’t expecting two abnormally tall Illyrians, a short female who personified the saying “If looks could kill,” a bubbly blonde female who introduced herself as Mor, and Feyre’s mate—the High Lord of the Night Court.

Somehow, in her infinite wisdom, Madja had conveniently forgotten to mention that the woman instructing your painting classes was High Lady.

“So, y/n,” Rhysand drawled, hand interlocked with Feyre’s, “Feyre says you’re a rather skilled painter.”

“Feyre is being generous,” you replied, sipping your wine.

Feyre rolled her eyes. “You might not see it, y/n, but you have a lot of potential.”

“And that, at least, puts you a step above Cassian,” Mor cut in, shooting you a wink.

“A newborn would have better painting skills than Cassian,” the short one—Amren, added.

Cassian, the larger of the two Illyrians, placed a hand over his chest, feigning offense. “Rude,” he said, before turning his attention to you. “You came from the Continent?”

You nodded. “From Vallahan.”

“What did you do there?”

Rhys shot Cassian a subtle warning look, but you still noticed it. You gave Cassian a pained smile. Might as well rip the bandage off.

“I was enslaved.”

All of their eyes were on you, and you silently cursed yourself, praying that you would simply sink into your cushioned chair and never return.

Even the male with the shadows—Azriel—showed a hint of surprise at your reveal. Cassian looked just as embarrassed as you, and the look Rhys was giving him now would’ve sent lesser males running.

Fortunately, Mor cut in. “I’m glad you’re here now. Madja says you’re one of her best students, and we could always use more healers, especially with the influx of refugees Velaris has been receiving.”

You cleared your throat, taking a long sip of your wine. “Madja has been an excellent teacher.”

“Madja also says you have…abilities?” Amren asked, studying you like a predator does its prey.

What didn’t Madja tell them?

“I do. But it’s…dormant. I haven’t been able to access my magic since I was a child,” you explained, suddenly feeling exposed under Amren’s gaze.

“I can smell it on you,” Amren said, her silver eyes raking over you. “There’s power in your blood, girl.”

Your eyes met Amren’s then, part of you recoiling, another part of you curious. Power?

Rhysand cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for my families’ invasiveness, y/n. It seems they have no manners.”

You smiled, though it didn’t quite meet your eyes. “It’s alright. I expected a lot of questions.”

“They did the same to me, if it makes you feel any better,” Feyre said.

It didn’t, but at least the rest of the dinner went by rather smoothly. Rhys paid the bill, offering another apology before leaving alongside Mor, Cassian, and Azriel.

“I hope we didn’t offend you with all of the questions,” Feyre told you as she walked you back to your apartment.

“You didn’t. I’m just not used to it. Honestly, I haven’t spent much time around people since I arrived,” you said, before adding with a nervous laugh, “That’s a bit embarrassing to admit.”

Feyre shook her head. “I’ve been there. Nothing embarrassing about it,” she said, glancing up at the starry sky. “I hope you know that we’re friends now.”

You arched a brow. “After one dinner?”

Feyre laughed. “Absolutely. Someone has to help me deal with my family. And you need someone to teach you how to paint something better than blobs.”

You joined in on her laughter. “I knew you were just being overly-nice about my painting!”

The laughter died down as the two of you stood on your front porch. Feyre smiled. “If you want to, we’re going out to Rita’s, tomorrow night. Just drinks and dancing.”

“I don’t have a dress.”

Feyre’s smile turned into a grin. “Good. We’ll go shopping in the morning.” She pulled you in for a hug before you had time to react. “I’ll be here at ten,” was all Feyre said before winnowing away.

~~~~~~

You settled into bed for the night after finishing the new tea Madja had dropped off. It tasted almost as bad as the one you drank that morning.

You thought of what Amren had said at dinner.

There’s power in your blood.

What did she mean?

And then you thought of the unrealistically attractive males—Azriel and Cassian. Azriel had barely said a word. Odd. Perhaps you’d be able to speak to him tomorrow night.

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acotar headcanon #acotar fanfiction #Azriel x reader #Azriel angst #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #azriel acotar #Shadowsinger #female reader

[comatosebunny09]

firestarter [ pt. 2 ] | leon k.

genre(s): romance, friends to lovers, erotica, mild angst warning(s): mutual pining, explicit language, female reader, pet names summary: “you’re a shitty liar, you know that?” leon rasps against your lips. etches a sluggish triangle between your mouth and eyes, his breath fanning across your cheeks, turning your brain into a kaleidoscope of colors and sensations. the hand at your throat doesn’t help matters, squeezing with enough pressure to turn your lungs to cinder. music inspo: champagne cool - jackson wang spin bout u - drake & 21 savage notes: part 2 to this. thank you so much for reading! hope you enjoy! ❤️❤️❤️

It’s a rhythmic tapping that draws you from your catnap.

Knocking that hauls you from the softness of your couch, the news channel droning in the background as you blink away the fog. The floor is icy beneath your feet while you pad over to your front door to answer it. Not really thinking, forgoing the peephole to throw it open.

Sunlight filters in, blinding like a flashbang. You squint against its brilliance, your vision slowly wading through shapes and colors. And if you weren’t already awake before …

“Hey, stranger,” Leon Kennedy drawls from the threshold, tone brassy as if he’s just awoken himself. You feel it in your chest. Curling around you like smoke, weakening your knees.

He bears a youthful smile while he leans against the doorframe in an easy slouch, gazing down at you with such fondness. Clad in grey joggers and a black tee that does little to disguise the power of his body, a slither of abdomen peeking from beneath.

Your lids flutter, dispelling the final vestiges of sleep. Mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water, throat growing dry. Your arms fall listlessly at your sides, your voice turning to ash.

He takes your silence as a welcome. Wears a somewhat guilty expression as he holds up a small, white bag, condensation beading inside. “Brought Chinese,” Leon offers, shaking it for good measure. A peace offering more than a greeting. Surprisingly good-natured, considering you’ve dodged him since you returned from your mission a week ago.

You step aside, completely on autopilot. Still dumbfounded as your partner maneuvers past you into your apartment, carrying the scent of ocean waves and teakwood with him. You flinch at the chaste kiss he presses to your cheek. At the graze of a callused palm on your hip, searing you through the fabric of your sweats.

Gaze fixated on the rail in front of your apartment, your lips twitch into a sardonic smile. Least he has food, you inwardly snort, slowly closing the door. Wait for a few beats with your head bowed and your hands frozen on the lock, preparing yourself for the unavoidable.

You square your shoulders with a sigh, trailing after his shadow towards your living room.

But, it’s surprisingly easy to fall back into tempo with him.

With you both sinking into the couch, your legs stretched across his lap. Large hands rubbing your feet, a ghostly smile rounding his lips when you giggle and squeal as he tickles them every so often. Feel at ease when he kneads the muscles of your calves. A softness to his ministrations like he’s missed this—missed you. And you catch him watching you in your peripheral as if he wants to say something. Yet, neither of you wants to break up the monotony of the moment.  

Takeout lies partially eaten on your coffee table. Drinks half full. The T.V. flickers mindlessly over your bodies, the only source of light permeating the darkness of your home. Your attention is elsewhere, dispersed amongst the clouds as you chew on your lip.

Sure, you’re still a little rigid. Still guarded after you bared your thoughts. The dreams haven’t stopped. If anything, they’ve grown in intensity. More vivid, painted across the walls of your hallway, floors, bedroom, the fucking bathroom …

Warmth inhabits your cheeks at the memory. You slap a hand over your face, a muted groan burbling from your throat. You’ve had nothing but time to relive your fantasies, having taken a week off following your reconnaissance mission. Sparingly spoke to the object of your desires, your texts and phone calls brief. Made room for good mornings and good nights, fearing anything longer would result in your partner breaking off whatever this is.   

His hand sears your wrist, slowly drawing it away from your mouth. “You alright?” Leon cautions, wariness dwelling in his timbre.

You nod with your stomach in knots and your heart on your sleeves. Try to ignore how his grip on you lingers and his thumb skates placatingly over the veins of your hand.

“Hey,” he husks. Insistent as ever, tugging you closer toward the safety of his body. An arm slings around your shoulders, nimble fingers creeping under your chin, coaxing you to look at him. “Hey, talk to me.” His proximity makes your head spin. The calmness of his voice squeezes something in your chest. You’re finding it increasingly difficult to breathe. And you’re looking at his mouth without thinking, entranced by how the delicate flesh trembles and parts with each breath. “What’s on your mind?”

You shake your head dismissively, averting your gaze to the side. “N-nothing.” A lie as obvious as the palpable tension between you, and he fucking knows it. He seizes your jaw again, leveling his steely blues with you.

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” No. Not really. Because all you’ve wanted to do since he walked through your door was peel his shirt from his shoulders and sit on his—

His chuckle, husky and rich like chocolate, breaks through the swell of lustful thoughts. “You’re a shitty liar, you know that?” Leon says, etching a sluggish triangle between your mouth and hooded lids.

#leon x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #leon x fem reader #leon kennedy x fem reader #leon s kennedy x female reader #leon kennedy smut #leon x reader smut #resident evil 4 x reader #re4 x reader #kindle series

[ominisgoldie]

Loving them is like...

Loving Cass is fun. Loving Cass is two am runs for fast food. Loving Cass is jumping into a lake. Loving Cass is wrestling with a friend. Loving Cass is kisses sticky with sugar. Loving Cass is summer. Loving Cass is blood dripping down your sink. Loving Cass is holding him back from fights. Loving Cass is coming second to the training ring. Loving Cass is lukewarm water

Loving Az is cold. Loving az is snowball fights. Loving az is motorcycle rides at night. Loving az is blue light through your curtains in the middle of the Night. Loving az is sex without morals. Loving az is bloody knuckles with hidden secrets. Loving az is the blood on his blade. Loving az is a glass of whiskey on a tired night.

Loving Rhys is exhilarating. Loving Rhys is twists and turns. Loving Rhys is a bouquet of roses. Loving Rhys is finding the darkness blinking back. Loving Rhys is hating yourself, just a little. Loving Rhys is obsidian in your palm, beautiful but sharp enough to cut to the bone. Loving Rhys is the snow under your heels in the city. Loving Rhys is crying, the moon your only witness.

Loving Mor is beautiful. Loving mor is secrets whispered under summer stars. Loving mor is red lipstick on your collar. Loving Mor is the sound of moans mixed with soft music. Loving Mor is finding out that twisted words are not lies. Loving mor is crying in the bathroom, clutching the last bottle of perfume. Loving mor is the first kiss in a romance novel.

Loving Amren is grey. Loving Amren is stormclouds on the horizon. So beautiful, but so ominous. Loving Amren is careful smiles over red wine. Loving Amren is kisses coated in blood. Loving Amren is pearls against a pale throat. Loving Amren is the thrill after a gun goes off. Loving Amren is never quite enough.

Loving Feyre is relaxing. Loving Feyre is not wanting to get out of Bed on a Sunday morning. Loving Feyre is painting together on your porch. Loving Feyre is never having control. Loving Feyre is holding hands with a cloud.

Loving Nesta is intense. Loving Nesta is Sharp black. Loving Nesta is the feeling of riding in a car going so fast you aren't sure it's moving. Loving Nesta is long hair and sharp tongues. Loving Nesta is reaching for something that will self destruct again and again and again. Loving Nesta is crisp nights on the cusp of Autumn and Winter.

Loving Elain is spiraling. Loving Elain is looking over a cliff and falling into the river. Loving Elain is flower gardens that turn out to be Graves. Loving Elain is Burgundy. Loving Elain is calling to the forest, hearing a disembodied voice respond. Loving Elain is knowing you only have a few years to love. Loving Elain is like reaching into wool to find wolf teeth.

Loving Lucien is adventure. Loving Lucien is world maps and suitcases. Loving Lucien is knowing multiple languages. Loving Lucien is warm summer afternoons. Loving Lucien is lovemaking in a field. Loving Lucien is loud laughs over whiskey. Loving Lucien is watching from afar. Loving Lucien is basking in the sun's light, dreading when it shifts.

Loving Tarquin is gentle. Loving Tarquin is the gentle waves lapping on your ankles. Loving Tarquin is watching a bird fly away. Loving Tarquin is kisses under boardwalks. Loving Tarquin is loving the gentle sea, refusing to think of its violent nature. Loving Tarquin is not realizing you are drowning until your lungs begin to hurt

Loving Eris is rough. Loving Eris is getting too close to the fire, but relishing in your burn. Loving Eris is gold on red. Loving Eris is wicked smiles and dry mouths. Loving Eris is fucking in an old Cathedral. Loving Eris is bloodred lipstick smeared over collars. Loving Eris is never going home. Loving Eris is a hard wall to fall back on. Loving Eris is power being hand fed to you.

Loving Jurian is impulsive. Loving Jurian is jumping over walls and climbing trees. Loving Jurian is blades pressed against throats, laughter nicking the skin. Loving Jurian is armor so heavy you almost can't feel eyes burning into you. Loving Jurian is being so good at acting, because neither of you can tell when the other is genuine. Loving Jurian is something you tell yourself is a dream.

#acotar #unedited #headcanons #acotar headcanons #acotar x reader #cassian acotar #nesta archeron #eris vanserra #tarquin acotar #Azriel cotar #rhys acotar #acotar bat boys #acotar mor #feyre archeron #elain archeron

[hidden-poet]

S. lands on top: chapter 2

summary: Coriolanus returns home to the Capital with two women from district 12 plaguing his mind. One a (presumed) dead mystery but another well within his reach.

warnings: unco, dark!Coriolanus, possessive!Corirlanus, Dark themes, mentions of death, she/her pronouns, kidnapping, violence, somnophilia.

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Mabel continues her banging while Tigress sits outside the door. Her small hand pressed against her painted lips.

"Let me out!" Mabel screams, "Please let me out. I haven't done anything".

Tigress presses her hand against the door in sympathy,

"He'll be back soon to let you out" Tigress consoles.

Mabel stops her banging.

"Who' are you?" Mabel asks.

'I am Tigress, Coriolanus' cousin" .

"i am Mabel. Coriolanus' hostage".

Tigress perks up at the opportunity to explain.

"no. No. It's not like that at all. Coyro said he saved you. That people were planning to kill you".

"Who was trying to kill me?''

'He didn't say. But Coriolanus is a good man. He wouldn't do this with a reason"

There is a silence as Mabel considers the situation. Tigress is undoubtably loyal to her cousin. Would she hear reason, Mabel wondered or would all efforts result in loss of her only ally.

"I have a family, Tigress. I have to get back to them"

'You will. I promise". She had no right to be promising such a thing but it gave Mabel a small comfort.

"Is there anything I can do?". Tigress so desperately wanted to help.

"Do you know if he keeps any food in here?.

The room was large. It wouldn't surprise Mabel if he had a whole pantry in here.

"Food? You're hungry. Wait right there".

Mabel threw her hands up, as if she had any other choice.

She heard feet returning and pressed her ear against the door.

"Look below" the soft voice spoke.

Mabel did to see a small white cracker by her feet. It was all that was going to fit so she said her thank you's and made idle chat with Tigress behind the door.

They tried to keep the conversation away from dark themes. Mabel told her about her family. Her father worked the mines. Her and her mother washed clothes. Her sister was at school, and smart as whip.

They talked for a while as Tigress pushes the crackers under the door.

"Do you want anymore biscuits?". She had stopped enthralled in conversation.

"No. Thank you". The taste of dust lingered on her tongue, "Do you think it would be alright though if i took a shower?".

"of course. If you need me just bang on the door three times. I'll hear it"

"Thank you, Tigress. Don't let him in until i bang three times".

Tigress affirms she wouldn't and Mabel retracted from the door.

She felt dirty and gross. Wanting nothing more then to unstick her hair.

The bathroom was nicer then any house she had ever seen. Beautiful green titles surrounded the wall. White marble was carved for the sink. Big round mirrors hung above it. The space was unnecessarily large. having both a bath and a shower in different corners.

Turning on the water, she jumped back feeling the hot water. Back home hot water was only used for cleaning, and cooking.

It took her a while to figure out the dials before finding an acceptable temperature.

She scrubs herself clean with his products. They were all in expensive bottles, and she applied them with a heavy hand.

When she finished she was thirsty and pruney form the hot water. She wraps herself in a plush towel and rinses her underpants, dress and shoes. Her shoes came up with a rag but without a wash board and soap she would not get the stain out. Ugly brown marks stain her grey dress in dark plops and thin lines from the branches.

It was the best she could do in the time she was willing to spare. HE could come back any second, and he didn't seem the type to be delayed long.

She rolled the dressed and pants in the towel pressing the water out. When she put it back on it was still wet, but she felt better for being clean.

She bangs three times on the door to let Tigress know she was done.

--

Coriolanus holds a handkerchief to his sore shoulder as he enters his building.

A few notice but most of high society are too self-involved to even see the red on his shirt.

He walks up to the servant in the foyer who greets people as they arrive.

She looks shocked to see his state.

He spoke before she could.

"i need new bedsheets for the Snow penthouse"

"Master Snow, your shoulder! do you need medical attention sir?"

"i need new bed sheets" he pushes.

The young girl nods, knowing her place.

"I'll bring them up right away, Sir"

"I need them now".

She bows before she turns her back to him in order to fulfil his request. She disappears into the servant quarters, but comes rushing back with the fresh sheets.

She bows again as she hold them out to her and he swaps the sheets in her hand for a few coins.

He wouldn't say thank you to a lower member of society. But she wasn't a Avox like the majority of her co-workers so she could have his pocket change.

He was grateful to get a empty elevator. He rests against the back and sighs deeply. He was so tired, he could have gone to sleep right there.

Hearing the elevator ding at the top, Coriolanus put his game face back on.

He digs into his pocket for his keys but Tigress hears him approaching and yanks the door open before he finds them.

"Coriolanus", she breathes, "She's settled now. Will you let her out?".

She backs away from the door to let him enter, closing the door as he crosses the living room.

'We'll see, Tigress". letting her out was the last thing he wanted to do. He had only just got her and like a child with a new toy he wanted her all to himself.

Tigress follows him to his room and he spins around to stop her.

"I'll bring her out when she is ready" when he was ready, "We don't want to overwhelm her on her first day".

"Maybe I should go in" Tigress persisted.

Coriolanus shoves his shoulder forward as a reminder of this mornings events. Tigress eyes it with sympathy but she remained determined.

"We've seen how violent she can get when she feels threatened. She's district, Tigress. She's dangerous."

Tigress goes to make her argument but decision had already been made and Coriolanus unlocks the door before she could make much of a sound.

He was glad to see Mabel had taken a shower. She stood by the window, looking out, with clean skin and better smelling radiance. Her dress was still stained with mud, and damp from the shower but her boots were clean upon her feet again.

Having no hair tie her braid was loose and slowly coming apart. She looked liked the district girl he longed to see in his peacekeeper days.

But his aching shoulder overbore his weakened knees.

He throws the bed sheets on the end of the bed, taking the liberty to take his coat off as well. Giving no attention to Mabel, he walks into the bathroom to care for his injured shoulder.

Running hot water he take a wash cloth and daps away the blood. His shirt was ruined. There would be no way even the best dry cleaners would be able to lift the dried blood that ran from the shoulder to the arm of the shirt.

He had wanted to keep the shirt as a momentum. The day he got his girl and turned his back on district 12 forever. But now it was best to throw it away. It was better not to relight the anger he felt.

Mabel hung by the open door to see what he was doing. She looked proud of her work.

"How's your shoulder?" she bites.

"How's your cheek?" he snaps back.

He shuts off the water, reaching into the cupboard he pulls out adhesive bandage.

"You asked me before what you were here for. Well you're here for me", He throws the bandage package down and turn to face her, "You're here to please me".

A step forward had her leaning back into the bathroom door.

"And so far I am not pleased".

"Then take me back home".

Coriolanus shoves past her to the bedroom.

"You think there's home after this?".

He rumbles through his draws until he finds his favorite nightwear, in the mean time pulling out a pair of his white draws and a silk long sleeve pj shirt. It belonged to the first pair of quality nightwear he brought with the new money.

He used to sleep only in his draws, and he always felt as if it was a reminder that he went asleep poor. Now he had draws full of expensive nightwear. Slippers and robes to match.

He throws the old nightwear on the top of his dresser, finding his favorite pajama set for himself.

"There's no home after this". He yanks his dress shirt off, his shoulder throbbing from the movement, ''When you left district 12, you left it for good. So you need to reconsider your current behavior".

He throws his old pajama shirt and underpants at her. She catches them on reflex and holds them to her chest like a teddy bear.

"Put that on".

He cock twitched at the mere thought of her in his clothes.

"You can't do this. This isn't right". She fought him, he knew she would.

"we're in the Capital now. And if you don't want to end up in the Capital jail. I suggest you don't concern yourself with what's right and only with what you've been told. Put the clothes on".

"No, Thank you". She drops the clothes to the floor.

He felt his temper flare up. He was tired and sore. If a district girl thought she was going to disobey him, she had another thing coming.

"Let's make something very clear. Every second from here on out, your life is in danger. You're families lives are in danger"

He slams his draws shut agressivley and pins Mabel under his stare,

"You're lucky I didn't string that sister of yours up today. If you want to gamble with their lives to see how far you can push me fine. But my patience is shorter then a the efforts of phone call and a length of a rope".

He eyes the clothes on the floor and Mabel follows before they catch each others eyes once more.

"Take a roll"

Mabel does not. Instantly picking up the clothes and bundling them in her hands.

"Get dressed and change the bed sheets. You got them all dirty".

He dresses in the shared space, flinging his soft shirt on body and unbelting his pants.

Mabel scurries to the bathroom and dresses behind the closed door.

he had done by the time she reenters the room.

His breath gets caught in his throat. The shirt was two sizes too big for her, buttoned all the way to the top and stopping just below her hips. His pants hung lopsided. Buttoned on him, they fit snugly to his waist but the fabric bunched and folded at her hips. They were longer on her too, hitting her mid thigh.

At night in his bunk he used to take his pillow from under his head and press it to his side. It wasn't Lucy-grey he was imagining but Mabel dressed in nothing but his peacekeepers uniform shirt and her panties.

He paused to wonder if he still had his old uniform or if he could get his hands on one of the shirts without raising too many eyebrows.

She still held her old clothes and boots in her hands and he crossed over to her to take them.

He hold out his hands unable to form the words in his mouth. She understands what he wants and passes the clothes to him.

He bends down to pick up his own clothes and takes them to the bathroom where he send them flying down the laundry shoot. He would have to let the Avoxes know not to bother cleaning the dress or the shoes, to just chuck them away.

But he was too tired to send a memo down now. He didn't sleep at all on the train. He wondered if Mabel would sleep now after the news of her predicament.

Should he give her something quiet to do. She had only woke up a few hours ago.

He was too tired to even worry about that. She could sleep or she could lie awake.

He comes back out to see her changing the best sheets. He kicks the old sheets to the side, unable to go back to the laundry shoot as fresh sheets invited him in.

She was shaking the pillow hard to get it into its case. Slamming it down on the bed once its in. She were mad about something, he couldn't image what.

He takes the fresh pillow and falls into bed. Laying on his stomach, he shoves the pillow under his arms and rests his head.

"Lie down" he demands.

"I am not tired". She looked awkward in the far corner.

"I didn't ask if you were tired. I said lie down".

She makes her way over to the side of the bed, laying down on the edge.

He could have made a fuss about her distance but after nearly a year of pining she was as close as she's ever been.

"If I wake and find you've moved-"

Unexpectedly she cuts him off,

"I get it. Do what you want or my family hangs. I've lied down".

Coriolanus shuts his eyes and falls asleep almost immediately.

He feels like he had only shut his eyes for twenty minutes before banging on the door woke him. It was Tigress announcing dinner.

The twenty minutes must have been a few hours.

Still he could feel the weight of her on the bed next to him. When he flexed his hand he could feel the soft material of her shirt. He must have reached out to her in his sleep and she kept it there.

He keeps his eyes shut ignoring the sound but bunching up her shirt in his fist.

Now knowing that he was awake, she shook his sore shoulder and his eyes shot open in pain.

"sorry" He could tell she wasn't, "Did you hear about the food?."

She look hopeful at him. Apart from the crackers she had nothing to eat for the past 24 hours.

He sighed and rose reluctantly from the bed. It was time to swap needs. He had no sleep on the train, she had no food.

He couldn't let Tigress and Grandam'am see her in his clothes like this. Not yet at least, and at the very most not at the dinner table. maybe as she went from his bedroom to the kitchen for water one time. But dinner was a formal affair. It had been that way even when they were poor.

He goes to his closet and takes out a dressing gown. Black with elaborate detailing and tells her to wrap it around herself.

He undresses in front of her casually. Trying to get her used to the sight. After all this time, he wasn't waiting.

He pulls on simple black pants and a white shirt. It would do for dinner. Going then to his shoe closet, he pulls out the first black pair he sees and a pair of brown socks.

Sitting on the edge of the bed he struggles to put them on with one hand. His shoulder pounded and he felt it was too stiff to move that far.

He kicks his feet in frustration.

"Help me" he commanded.

Mabel goes to the floor in front of him with a smug look. Pulling his socks on his feet.

He takes the time to lecture her.

"You embarrassed me this morning. You're not to do it again".

She starts with the shoes, yanking them on and tying them up.

"When we go out there you are to behave if you are to be fed."

She rises as he does. His hands go out to her robes ties and he pulls it tighter in case it shows what's underneath.

''Keep what we discussed between us. No one but me and you need to know why you're here".

"Tigress tells me that you said you saved me. Is every one here that stupid or do we need to think of a better lie?".

He smacks her on the same cheek as the captain did.

"i wouldn't be insulting anyone else's intelligence if you thought I was going to let that pass".

He takes her shoulders into his arms and presses her against him. His sore shoulder shook slightly in pain from the effort.

"What was it that you said? You get it. Do as I say or your family hangs?".

Mabel nods her head, "You saved me from district 12".

He knew his girl was smart.

He lets go of her and she follows him to the door.

Coriolanus hadn't realized he was in fact hungry. But as he smelt what the chef was cooking in his kitchen, he felt his stomach twist in hunger.

He enters the dinning room with Mable following to see Tigress and Grandam'am there already.

"Mabel!" Tigress greets, her hands finding their way to Mabel's face.

Coriolanus looks between the two, standing close.

"Tigress" she returns with affection.

Tigress eyes the robe but doesn't make a comment instead they land back to the reddened cheek.

"Oh dear. Your cheek looks sore. I Have some cream that will help".

Coriolanus felt himself getting irritated at Tigress. He wanted to be the one she greeted affectionally. He wanted to be the one to place the cream upon her face. Tigress was only suppose to care for her when Coriolanus wasn't around.

"After dinner, Tigress". He removes her hands from Mabel's face.

They all agree and Mabel follows Tigress to the dinner table. Where a four delicious bowl of soup sat around a steaming loaf of bread. A knife for carving sat along side of the board and Mabel imaged grabbing it. But to what effort she thought. He had already taken a knife from her once before.

She choose the seat next to Tigress, leaving Coriolanus to sit across from her and next to Grandma'am.

'She's not eating here" Grandma'am was already at the dinner table, waiting.

Mabel shoots up from her seat unsure of what was expected of her. Tigress scolds her Grandma'ams name.

"maids eat in the kitchen". Grandma'am finishes, looking around the room as if she was the only sane one.

"She's not a maid, Grandma'am. She's a guest" Coriolanus places a hand on his grandmothers arm in comfort.

"I'll eat in the kitchen" Mabel offers. It would be more comfortable for her anyway.

Coriolanus, tired, hungry and sore slammed his hand down upon the table. He was head of the Snow house. He decided where people ate, what they ate and even if they could eat it.

It wasn't lost on Grandma'am who quieted imminently. She remembered the wrath of his fathers temper. The apple didn't fall far from the tree.

"Sit" he seethed, and Mabel retook her seat.

He got up and started to cut the bread in a silent room. He dishes first to Grandam'am, then to tigress and then finally to Mabel and himself.

Retaking his seat, he begins to eat and Mabel takes it as a sign that she could too. She dishes it into her mouth in big bites. She had never had anything so grand. Most of the soups back home were mostly water.

She sees butter on the table and spreads it thickly on her bread. At this point she notices the stares of her dinner partners.

"Sorry" she felt oddly embarrassed, "there's not a lot of food in the districts".

"Well there is plenty here. Slow down" Coriolanus insisted.

Grandma'am scoffs but the dinner resumes after that.

Mabel finishes before the rest but Coriolanus wasn't far behind. She takes another piece of bread while waiting for the others and hides it in a napkin and sticks it in her robe pocket.

Once they were done, Coriolanus rang a bell and two maids and a chef with a tray come out. They take the empty plates while the Chef dishes out new ones. This course had meat and potato's. Mabel couldn't believe while people back home had to ration scraps, people here had a warm up meal.

One of the maids reaches to take the bread and Mabel launch's her hands on top of it.

"It's ok". Mabel could feel Tigress hand on her back.

"Leave it" Coriolanus demanded and the maid did. Mabel was pretty sure he was talking to her.

He eyes her from across the table, silently telling her to behave.

"thank you" Mabel looks up to the chef putting the food in front of her but he says nothing in return. But his jaw twitches as he looks for his tongue.

They leave as quickly as they come and the family digs into the second course. Mabel makes effort to take smaller bites but the meat melts in her mouth.

"So Tigress" Coriolanus tries to ease the atmosphere, "I spoke to the constructor, he said he could have the fitting done by Tuesday and the painting done by Friday. You could move in after that".

"Friday!" Tigress spat her potato out, "I haven't even got half the designs done".

Coriolanus shrugs his shoulders.

"You could always outsource".

Tigress frows her eyebrows at him, "my shop will have my designs" she brings her hands to her face, "Friday", she smiles, "i can have it done by Friday".

"You make clothes?" Mabel asks biting into her potato. It makes Coriolanus wince.

Tigress nods her head enthusiastically. "I've wanted my own shop before i could even remember. Coriolanus brought me one for my birthday".

Coriolanus straightens his back. It was one of his proudest achievements.

"i could sew for you" Mabel offered. Coriolanus made it clear that she wasn't going anywhere any time soon. Perhaps if she made friends with Tigress, she could use her to escape back home.

"You can? do you make your own things back home?" Tigress asks.

Mabel shakes her head no.

"i sew peacekeepers uniforms. I could help hem and stich at least. You can show me what you want done otherwise. I am a fast learner".

Coriolanus agreed she was a fast learner. She settled nicely into her new life here.

Mabel pauses as she brings another forkful to her mouth.

"You were a peacekeeper" her fork dropped to the plate, 'back in 12. I remember seeing you with Lucy-grey the night of Mayfair's murder".

So she did see him. he wasn't a ghost to her. Still he wondered if it was better if he had been.

He gets up from his chair, moving over to pour himself a drink from the liquor tray.

She shoots Tigress a worried look.

"i wasn't accusing anything, I was just saying" She told Tigress.

'No. You would have to be insane to accuse me of anything" Coriolanus spat.

"she wasn't" Tigress came to Mabel's defense, "yes. He was a peacekeeper in 12 for a short period of time. That must be were he heard you were in danger".

Mabel bites her lips to stop the words from tumbling out.

Coriolanus could see her fight to keep the secret they shared in. He dashes back to the table and rings the bell again.

The maids come in and Coriolanus reaches for Mabel in her chair, pulling her up.

"We won't bother with desert or tea. We've both had a long journey from district 12 and should rest".

Mabel takes the bread off the table, and Coriolanus snatches it back.

''leave it" he barked. Its thrown on the table and the maid takes it.

'Oh and why not. She's made herself quite at home in your dressing gown. Eating our food off our dinner table". grandma'am was more livid then he had ever seen her, yet he still ignored her, dragging Mabel back to the safety of a locked door.

She tears herself from him, sitting back on the bed. He wanted to join her. Still tired.

But he had class tomorrow which means he had homework for that class tonight. Much like the Academy he was top of his class. He wasn't going to let that change for a few more hours of sleep.

"Can you read?" he asks her going to his study desk.

"a little".

"What's a little?" he reaches for a book in the draw.

"Signs and things. Mine and my families names."

He closes the draw without the book. It would be too advanced for her. Instead he tears off a piece of paper and grab a pen before walking over to her.

"Can you spell Coriolanus?".

She shuffles over as he sits on the bed next to her.

'Co-r-i-o-l-an-us" He demonstrates the letters to her. Prior to handing her the pen and paper. His neat cursive hand writing splayed across the top.

'Do that". He instructs, going back over to his desk to complete his homework.

She uses the bed side table as she traces over his name. Feeling confident she could do it, she then practices on her own.

CO she looks back to what's next, RIL.

Her hand writing was scribble compared to his. She looked over to him hunched over a book writing. It came naturally to him. He had filled out two whole pages before she had gotten half way through her first.

CORIOAANUS

COIRO

CORIOLANUS.

He slumps back into his chair just as she had gotten it right without looking. He tidies his desk, placing his homework in his satchel so he wouldn't forget it.

The book thumps closed, and he walks back over to Mabel. He grabs the paper overlooking her work.

"Co-r-i-o-lanus" he repeats, "well done".

He gives the paper back to her.

"Let's get ready for bed".

He unbuttons his shirt as he walks back to where his pajamas were left. He undresses in front of her once more, finding taking off his shoes easier then putting them on.

Back in his Pajamas he turns to see her looking at the wall, still in her dressing gown.

'Come on" he calls and leads the way to the bathroom. He brushes his teeth. Spitting in the sink he can see her behind him in the mirror, watching him.

He reapplies the toothpaste to his brush and offers it to Mabel. Who refuses to take it.

If his shoulder hadn't been sore he would have forced the brush into her mouth, but she was sure to break free from his injured hold.

he pushes the brush again. His eyebrows raised in expectation.

She does take it this time, looking at it hesitantly before plopping it in her mouth. It seemed intimate to be sharing your captives toothbrush.

She brushes quickly and places the toothbrush back to were she saw him get it from. He reaches back into the cabinet he pulls out a small white bottle. She flinches as he applies the ointment to her cheek. He does it quickly and places the bottle back to the cupboard.

With a hold on her shoulders, he pushes her back out into the bedroom directing her to the foot of the bed.

He takes off the dressing gown from around her and puts it on himself, feeling the weight in his pocket. He puts his hand in, pulling out the bread wrapped in napkin.

He sighs but supposed he would have done the same if he wasn't sure of the circumstances.

"Get into bed" he tells her.

With the wrapped napkin, he goes back outside. he felt giddy to be feeling her warmth around him. She would warm his shirts for him before work now, warm his bed at night and his lap on occasion.

It was late and the house was quiet.

He walks into the clean kitchen and puts the kettle on, throwing out the scrap of bread. There was a time were the thought would have repulsed him. But now as he throws out bread, he reaches for Tea.

Bending down he take out a small container of pill from the bottom cabinet. From his peacekeeping days. They used to give them to the soldiers to help them sleep in a storage room filled with a hundred other men.

Coriolanus still took them when he couldn't get his mind to stop. He knew they worked well.

He uses the back of a spoon and crushes the pill into dust. The kettle whistles at him, and he takes it off the heat, pouring it over the tea leaves.

He scoops the dust into a fine white tea cup and dissolves it with the hot tea. He pour another cup for himself. She would never drink it if she didn't see him drinking it to.

"Coriolanus is that you?" He hears Tigress call out and he shoves the pills back into the bottom draw.

'What is it Tigress?". She appears in the door way behind him.

"what are you doing?" She asks. She was dressed in her mothers old dressing gown. She wore it for comfort.

"making tea".

She nods, "i've made up the spare room for Mabel. She must be tired. I've also put some clothes in there for her."

"Mabel won't be sleeping in the spare room. We can share my room. She's too dangerous to be left alone".

The cousins share a tense silence.

"Coriolanus, do you plan to harm that girl?". Her words were slow, unsure of herself as she accused him.

"No more then I plan to harm you or Grandma'am".

Play your role, stay under his protection.

"This isn't you, Coryo". She places a hand on his arm but it gave him no comfort.

It was more him then he ever felt.

"Tigress, your shop opens in a week. Focus on that and leave my business to me".

"Not if you're going to hurt that poor girl". Her hand is retracted from him. He had moments were he was no longer her Coryo but a enemy she didn't know.

"Do you like your life here Tigress? no longer battling for food, no longer working under someone else, struggling to pay rent. I gave you that. I told you, I am not going to hurt her. But you won't tell me what I am to do with her, If you can't accept that perhaps you and Grandam'am are better of elsewhere".

He takes the teas and returns back to his bedroom, leaving Tigress reeling in the bedroom. She had not gotten into bed as directed but taken a pillow and throw off his bed and settled on the floor.

It didn't matter. She was going to be asleep within two minutes.

'here" he says passing her the white cup.

"What is it?" she asks but takes it from his hands.

"Peppermint tea. It's a capital dessert".

He sits on the end of the bed with his and takes a sip. She follow suit and must have really liked it as she gulps it down in seconds.

He supposed she would have been dehydrated. He didn't offer any water with dinner.

She lays back against the night stand with the cup pressed to her chest. She was beginning to feel funny. Her breathing slowed and her eyes stung from being kept open.

Her eye lids drooped and she relaxes back on the floor. He leans forward to take her cup before it smashed to the floor, seeing it come loose in her grasp. She looks at him through her eye lashes suspecting before they close all together.

Placing the cup on the night stand, he picks Mabel up from her nest and places her on the bed.

She looked unreal after all this time. Her freshly washed hair sprawled around her. Framing her pretty face. He took time to examine her all. Her long dark eyelashes and pretty pink lips just waiting to be kissed.

He used to love watching her hang the uniforms out in the sun. The sun bouncing off her figure as she bent and rose. He always thought she had the longest legs he had ever seen but realized she was quite short up close.

All the other peacekeepers would talk about her too. "Is the pretty one working today".

Coriolanus was forced to swallow the jealousy he felt when they referred to her as the 'pretty one'. He hated them referring to her at all.

Coriolanus never thought he would ever get this close. Not this soon at least. He remembered a night while he was mopping the hallways and two drunk peacekeepers had returned from their night off, re-dirtying his hard labor.

"Did you see the pretty washer there tonight! HEW-E. She's prettier when she's flushed from dancing".

Coriolanus stopped his mopping to see if they had anymore to say about her.

"Next time I am going to dance with her!". The peacekeeper swayed in the hallway, dancing with himself.

"Dressing in the uniform she's washed is the closest you ever going to get to her!" the other Peacekeeper roared back in laughter.

The words had stung him as if they were directed at him, and a joked shared between two friends.

"You're wrong" He spat out.

"What?" the drunken mate turned back.

Coriolanus cleared his throat. "I said it's warm".

Now here she was. Beneath him. Laying so beautiful in her deep sleep.

She was so pretty and now within his reach.

Coriolanus shifts her more to the middle and climbs on top of her. He could have a taste, surely. Just a small sample for his hard work and patience getting her here. He wait until she was awake to deleverage in the main course.

He unbuttons his pants on her, pulling them and her panties down to her ankles. His shirt is the next to go. He unbuttons it from bottom to top, leaving it cast off her chest. She only had a small breasts so only bothered with a bra when occasion called for it. If she had known she was going to be taken she would have bothered with a bra that day but Coriolanus luck would have it that she didn't.

She was bare beneath him and he wanted to feel her skin against his so he took off his pajamas, leaving them in a neat pile next to him.

His shoulder ached from keeping his weight off Mabel. But mixed with his arousal it felt almost good.

He lowers himself so he could feel her skin against his. He was larger by a mile, his whole body overtook her.

He starts with a kiss against dead lips before grabbing his member and stoking himself over her. His sore shoulder bore the weight.

He starts slow, moving his hand running it over his head and down to his balls a couple of time. He circles his shaft with his thumb, taking one of her breasts in his mouth at the same time.

He circles the nipple with his tongue as circles his shaft. He bites gently down into her skin once he has had enough and returns to his pumping motion.

Coming undone to the thought of her is nothing new. But seeing her beneath him willing to take whatever he had to give, brought out a more vocal side of himself.

He huffed and puffed, groaned and sputtered as he moved.

He rested his head upon her shoulder. She smelt like him but remained with certain amount of sweetness of herself.

It was her smell that threw him off his resolve to contain himself for a longer period. She smelt perfect to him.

He moans as he spills out over her and he aim himself at her stomach. The white sticky cum leaks over her stomach.

He would wash her again, redress her and tuck her in. Tomorrow she would no know different.

He lets out a small laugh, kissing above her collarbone. His pretty girl. All his, his, his.

#coriolanus snow #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #dead dove do not eat #dark!coriolanus snow #snow lands on top

[zaimta]

彡PAINTING HIS NAILS

parings: laxus, gajeel, bickslow, bacchus x gn!reader

zai's notes: rewatching fairy tail for the 100th time n i remembered bacchus he's so yea <3, n i'm getting back to requests after this one!!

˗ˏˋ«────── « 𓆩♡𓆪 » ──────»

˗ˏˋLAXUS DREAYAR

the hardest to convince, you could ask him over and over but he never gives in, he only gives in because you "annoyed him" which obviously ain't true he's just whipped

doesn't even let you pick the color either, he just tosses you the black nail polish because he's aware it's a neutral color

killjoy!!

the two of you lounged on some couches on the upstairs area of the guild, his arm was around your shoulder as he talked to the thunder legion. while he talked to them your mind was elsewhere, you glanced at his hand. you remained silent while you stared at it you didn’t even notice how focused you were, you didn’t even notice the thunder legion going downstairs for a quick bite to eat.

you held his hand in yours as the two of you sat side by side on the upstairs level of the guild. you noticed how rough his knuckles looked from all the punches he would through, and small scars littering his hands. your gaze game down to his nails and you gazed down at your own painted nails and you got the best idea.

“you should let me paint your nails.”

with in a heartbeat he responded “no.”

you groaned “come on it’ll be fun and it’ll look cute!”

“no.”

“i think you should let me paint them, they’ll look so nice too! besides your hands could use some tlc” you looked down at his hands and rose a single brow, a manicure was clearly needed for him. even if you couldn’t do anything about the scars the nails would at least spruce them up a little.

“i’m good.” he rolled his eyes at you but made no effort to remove his hand from your grasp.

you stared at him and he sighed feeling your eyes on him “tell me why i should let you paint my nails?”

“because i’m your s/o and you love me and you would do anything for me” you flashed him a grin and he rose a single brow in return “pleaseee.”

he sighed finally giving in, he his free hand down his face knowing he was going to regret his decision “fine.”

you led him out of the guild abiding “knowing” glances from some guildmates. you walked back to your house and gladly led him into your bedroom where you were going to paint his nails. you walked over to him with your box of nail polish clearly excited

“we can try any color you want maybe we could-”

he cuts you off tossing the black nail polish at you, you catch it easily and sigh “you’re so boring, i was hoping we could do a blue or something.”

“the second it chips you’re removing it.”

"killjoy."

˗ˏˋGAJEEL REDFOX

another hardheaded one

tell him it’ll make him look likea rockstar and he’ll be willing to hear you out

he’ll only go for black you could talk him into grey to match his metal magic but only if it’s a dark grey

you sat across from where he sat in the guildhall leaning close to him with a grin “i just had the best idea ever, you should let me paint your nails.”

he looked at you annoyed “im still waiting on your ‘best idea ever’.”

you rolled his eyes used to his attitude by now “im serious it would be fun! plusss you’ll look like a rockstar, a real rockin' one with a stage presence.”

he rose a brow "what kind of rockstar wears nail polish?"

"a color-coordinated one. come on don't you wanna look nice for your next performance? if you don't like it we can take it off i promise." you silently begged with your eyes.

he sighed "fine if it gets you to stop your whining."

you cheered and grabbed his hand leading him to where you lived, he got comfortable in your bed while you rummaged around for some nail polish in your bathroom. you debated on shades of black and grey but you ultimately decided to bring all of them so he could have some options.

"okay so i have a few colors here which one are we feeling. maybe this one?" you held up a dark grey nail polish "or maybe this one?" you held up a light grey nail polish resembling the color of iron "or maybe-"

"well do this one" he cut you off and picked up the black nail polish

you took the black nail polish in your hand you couldn't complain much since the color would match his overall vibe, but you can't deny you were hoping to at least use some grey tones to match his iron.

"okay we can do black it'll look cute too." you take his hand in yours and smile at him, you focus intently on his nails. you knew the chances of him letting him do his nails again were low so you made sure to make his nails look perfect for the first and unfortunately the last time you'll be painting them.

he watched as you concentrated on his nails, you took great care in making sure you wouldn't mess up some nails it was honestly cute to him he couldn't help but snicker "you're really putting a lot of focus into some nails doll." he rested his free hand on his cheek and smirked at you.

"well duh, i have to make them look nice who knows when I'll be able to paint your nails again. if this is the first and last time i'm painting your nails they're gonna look cute ya know." you spoke while completely focusing on his nails.

he offered a hum as a response and let you finish working on his nails. once you finished his nails he gave you a kiss as payment.

a few days have passed by since you pained his nails, and once he saw them getting old he immediately walked over to your house and barged in "hey." he walked past you lounging on your couch, ignoring your confused expression, he walked into your bathroom then flopped down onto the couch next to you with nail polish removal and the black nail polish in his hands.

"they're gettin old wanna fix 'em up for me doll?"

˗ˏˋBICKSLOW

he’s down for it the second you suggest it

he mainly prefers colors that would match his whole theme any colors that he thinks would throw it off he won’t mess with em

he asks you to do it again once they start looking old he makes you redo them

the two of you were hanging out at your house, he’s at your house more than yours it was like he lived there at this point. you were lounging on your couch mindlessly talking about everything and anything. you looked down at his hands and a light bulb went off in your head

“you should let me paint your nails, we could make them match your babies too.”

he shrugged "okay let's do it."

you flashed him a smile and gently kissed his lips "I'm gonna get the nail polish i'll be right back." you padded off to your bathroom and went through your nail polish basket, you couldn't decide between purples, greens, and some oranges, although you felt like the orange was a stretch. you shrugged and brought him all the colors you walked back to the couch with various nail polish colors in your arms, and you dumped them on the couch in between the two of you.

"i couldn't decide on one color so i brought multiple! you can pick which one you want though."

he looked down at all the colors you bought and settled on a dark purple "this would match my helmet wouldn't it?" he grins and handed you the purple nail polish.

you took his hand in yours and took care in painting his nails, he watched as you painted his nails his great care "you're really focused there babe."

you snickered "well yeah i don't want your babies making fun of your nails because they're sloppy." he laughed along with you and leaned to gently kissed your forehead.

"i can't focus if you're kissing me bix" you smiled and spoke without taking your eyes off his nails.

he laughed and smiled at you "and what if i don't want you focused?" you looked up at him and sent him a playful glare "do you want your nails to look like a mess or do you want them to look nice?" he leaned in closer to you "whatever gets your attention onto me."

"so needy" you teased while giggling and gave him a soft kiss on the lips "i'm almost done with your nails then I'll be all yours."

˗ˏˋBACCHUS GROH

he was drunk and he was just talkin

he was the one who suggest you even painted his nails when he was playing with your hand and noticed your nail polish and randomly suggested it

he traced along your hands giving them great focus despite his drunken state "let's paint our nails to match it'll wild baby." you giggled at his state "are you sure you want me to paint your nails? you're pretty drunk right now i'd doubt you'd even remember this."

he laughed loudly "do y'a know who you're talking to baby? bein' drunk is my magic." he pulled you off to the stool you were sitting on at the bar and led you home, or he assumed he was the one leading he started wobbling within a few steps so you had to lead him instead.

once you made it to your house you lead him to your bedroom where he could sit on your bed so you could paint his nails "i feel like a nice purple would suit you." you spoke to him from the bathroom raising your voice slightly so he could hear you, he hummed a response.

you hopped onto your bed with the nail polish in hand and took his hand in yours "make em look nice baby i wanna show the guys how wild i am" he emphasized his guilds motto with a small yell and a grin on his face causing you to laugh "hold still so i can do em right."

he grinned at you "come on say it with me baby these nails are gonna be" you playfully rolled your eyes at him but spoke his guilds mantra in unison "wild!"

you laughed and brought your focus back to his nails, while you did his nails he spoke mindlessly. it was becoming obvious that he was just talking so he could stay awake all the drinks he had was catching up to him. once his nails dried he carefully laid down not wanting to ruin your handiwork.

he woke up the next morning with a splitting headache and newly painted nails, he slowly sat up groaning when he noticed you sleeping by his side he froze. you stirred in your sleep and slowly opened your eyes.

he leaned down to kiss your forehead "mornin' baby. did we paint my nails yesterday? i don't remember much after the bar." he squinted in thought "or was it before the bar..."

you giggled "yes i did paint your nails bacchus you asked me to do them."

he looked down at his nails and smirked "they're wild baby."

#fairy tail x reader #laxus x reader #gajeel x reader #bickslow x reader #bacchus x reader #fairy tail x you #fairy tail fluff #fairy tail x y/n #laxus dreyar x reader #laxus dreyar x y/n #laxus dreyar x you #laxus x you #gajeel redfox x reader #gajeel redfox x you #gajeel redfox x y/n #bickslow x you #bickslow x y/n #bacchus x you #bachhus x y/n

[jinwoosungs]

{ 147 }

light in the darkness.

antares!sung jinwoo x fem.reader

warnings: some suggestive themes, but nothing too explicit. still, if you’re a minor, or don’t wish to read it, i highly suggest you skip this story.

the monarch of destruction hated the fact that he had been trapped in some weak human’s body the moment he awakens. currently, he looks in the mirror while mocking such weak features, hating his boring grey eyes and the way his black hair fell across his face. as he was berating his reflection, a series of knocks were heard coming from his apartment.

he clicks his tongue in annoyance, walking away from the bathroom. he takes great strides toward the door while complaining, “who dares to disturb me at this hour?”

he slams the door open, making a shy and meek looking woman jump back in response. he glares down at her, yet felt his chest twist painfully at the mere sight of her.

“who are you?” he manages to spit out at the girl, all while feeling his heart racing from within the confines of his chest. what was this? did the meek human fall in love with an equally meek woman?

she seems taken aback by his question. “jinwoo, did you hit your head? i’m your girlfriend, remember? and i wanted to check on you. people were saying that you had a fever and had to miss out on yesterday’s raid… so i came here to see if you needed me.”

ah, so his assumptions were correct, she was someone important to this weak human after all. the fact that this woman was his lover made things a bit more fun for him-

how positively amusing.

perhaps he should have some fun with her after all?

“i do need you. you’re coming with me, love.”

her eyes widen in response to the sudden, deep tone of his voice, letting out a gasp when he steps closer to her.

smirking down at her, antares’ eyes glow red the moment he takes her into his arms and carries her back to his bed. he basks in her stutters and tosses her body against the mattress, kissing her deeply in response.

her soft moans was enough to set his heart aflame; this human heart was completely and utterly devoted to her as he slotted his lips against hers in a passionate kiss. despite how this was the first time he ever kissed her, it was as though this newly reborn body of his remembered her. each kiss felt like a homecoming he didn’t wish to move away from, his lips kept locked with hers as he uses his hands to gently brush back the fabric of her clothes.

his hands work on sliding off her clothes in a fast pace as he dominated her, suddenly not minding this pathetic human form of his-

because he knew that when he finally possessed her body… then she wouldn’t be torn apart by him.

the moment the woman was left bare for him was when he pushes himself deep inside of her, basking in her moans while trapping her against the sheets. the feel of her warmth surrounding him was like his own personal sanctuary as he groans in response. he holds on to her hand while moving with a desperation, feeling his heart become lighter when her arms wrapped around him, practically clinging to him as he became one with her over and over again.

and when he finally reaches his peak, he spills everything inside of her with a growl-

claiming her as his completely…

{ … }

jinwoo awakens with a start, eyes going wide as a deep blush paints his features.

his heart was pounding at the memory of that strange (yet seductive) dream. he sits up in bed, allowing the blankets to fall from his form as he looks down at you, still sleeping peacefully from beside him.

he remembers the dream vividly, making his heart pound as he began to ache for you. leaning over to admire your sleeping features, he thinks to his soldiers who were currently watching him.

close your eyes and give me some privacy with your queen.

each of his shadow soldiers nod in unison before disappearing out of sight, allowing jinwoo to hold you in his arms as his lips met with yours in a sweet kiss. his gentle movements were enough to help you awaken, meeting his gaze with a tired, but loving, smile.

“hey jinwoo…” you call out his name sweetly as he takes a hold of your legs and wraps it around his waist.

“ah…?!” you began to feel flustered when he lay you back down on the bed, eyes becoming dilated with desire for you as he gently frames at your face with his two hands.

“will you let me… make love to you?”

he could feel the embarrassment coming off of you in waves, but jinwoo knew he had to do something to get rid of this jealousy…!

“i-i-“ you were stuttering, but jinwoo was practically pleading at you.

“please… i just… i just need to feel you, that’s all.”

he watches as you purse your lips while looking away from him, your cheeks completely heated up in response to his request.

“f-fine…” you finally relent to him with a pout, earning a smile from him.

with his eyes glowing brightly with happiness, jinwoo hovers over you and begins to kiss you, allowing his hands to admire and touch each and every inch of you.

even though he knew that it was all just a dream and that you never once slept with a version of him that didn’t exist, jinwoo couldn’t help it-

you were his and his alone; there was no way he’d allow a selfish and alternate version of him claim you.

which was what prompted him to make love to you for several hours while in the safety and comfort of his bed, basking in your sighs of his name as he thanked the gods for allowing this to be his reality.

a.n. - my face is so hot while writing this! i’m still not brave enough to write detailed intimate and nsfw things with jinwoo, even though i have had many fantasies ahhhh everyone do not perceive me right now !! 😭😭😭😭

all stories are written by rei; reposts, translations, and plagiarism are not allowed.

#sung jinwoo x reader #jinwoo sung x reader #sung jinwoo x you #jinwoo sung x you #solo leveling x reader #antares x reader #.stories

[htchnr]

01 ★ heartless love crime ❥ ch: his and his alone.

➻❥ masterlist. ➻❥ patreon.

CW ➥ rough sex ⋆ Aaron uses you for your body ⋆ Hotch is not nice!! ⋆ unprotected sex ⋆ creampie ⋆ heavy use of whore at one point ⋆ possessive sex ⋆ ⋆ if i missed anything, lmk!

WC ➥ 2,8k. SONG ➥ look back , diplo.

CHAPTER SUMMARY ➥ It'd been a long week on its own. He hadn't called you. Every day, your leg bounced anxiously, your eyes flicking over to the phone you kept near you. You couldn't handle the wait. He always made you wait. It was never when you wanted it, only if he felt like it. You were just a toy for him. And yet, you still had a strong attachment to him.

AUTHORS NOTE ➥ hi 😁 this is not a nice series! i want to make that clear!! Hotch is toxic, rude and awful in this. (yet so hot at the same time uhg)

on another note, i have no clue how frequently i'll update this story 😅 i'll try my absolute best though! the next chapter is already almost finished 🤭

★ - © 2023 HTCHNR. do not copy, share or translate my work to this platform, or any other! - ★

➻❥ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫. ➻❥ 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

A cold winter had set in. Days were shorter, the sun barely shone through dismal clouds. Your mood shifted to the worst in the past month. Work became less bearable and you loathed roaming the streets in the dark when it was just six pm.

It'd been a long week on its own. He hadn't called you. Every day, your leg bounced anxiously, your eyes flicking over to the phone you kept near you. You couldn't handle the wait. He always made you wait. It was never when you wanted it, only if he felt like it.

You were just a toy for him.

And yet, you still had a strong attachment to him.

No one made you feel the way he made you feel. Since the first time you met him at the bar, since he charmed his way into your apartment, into your pants, you couldn't get him out of your mind. You gave him your number after the sex that day, hastily scrawling the numbers onto a scrap of paper from your nightstand as he jumped into his slacks, buttoning them with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

While you stood naked before him, holding the paper out, under his nonchalant gaze as he contemplated taking it, you wanted so desperately for him to take it. You'd gnawed at your lip, which he watched with mild interest before he took the paper impassively, telling you he'll probably call you and he was out the door.

Only for him to call you the next day. For him to call you each day, show up at your apartment leaned against the doorframe with sunglasses on and a cigarette hanging between slightly parted lips, unlit. For him to leave you a sobbing mess in bed and sore all over, just to see you again the next day.

For him to take you to a high you'd never experienced before, taking away all other senses and just overflowing your mind and body with him. His teeth. His lips. His dick. His filthy words in your ears that broke your heart while simultaneously leaving you spasming on him.

He made you his, and you let him.

So, the one day you decided to let yourself have fun, to join your friends after having not seen them in weeks, you tried to get him off your mind. You forced yourself to leave your phone in your pocket as you had a glass of wine in hand and a canvas in front of you. Painting relaxed you. The mix of blues and whites and greys on your blank slate, creating art, you let your mind melt into the process. For the first time in two months, you had gone longer than ten minutes without thinking of him. After twitching your hands all week to call him, to beg him to see you, you felt at peace.

And then your phone buzzed.

You froze in your chair, listening to the buzzing. When your friends looked at you, when you feared this was your only chance to have him, you excused yourself to the bathroom and pulled your phone out of your pocket. The familiar caller ID almost had your knees buckle, heart fluttering, so you put the toilet seat down and sat on it, putting your phone to your ear.

"Took you long enough to answer."

You let out an unsteady breath, relieved and tense to hear his voice again. Your thighs pressed together and you cleared your throat. "Sorry, I'm out with friends."

"Not available?" His dismissive tone made you lurch forward as if you could physically grab him and pull him to you. You shook your head, not that he could see.

"No, I can be available. When do you want to meet?"

"I'm on my way to your apartment. Be there in ten."

The line clicked after that. You laid the phone on your lap, hand pressed to your mouth. God, you were such a terrible friend for what you were about to do. Slowly, you came out of the bathroom, walked to your friends as they laughed over some joke, and shyly told them you had to leave. You received concerned and confused looks, but you just told them it was a work thing. You grabbed your coat and apologized. Their goodbyes sat in the back of your mind the second the door closed behind you and you hastily walked away.

You were so easy. Your schedule cleared up whenever he called. You really abandoned your friends for a fuck.

Nine minutes later, your building's elevator opened onto your floor. There he was, leaned against the wall with his shoulder, eyes on you. His face was blank, even as you came up to the door with your keys in hand. No sunglasses, for it was already evening and the sun was long gone. His judging half-lidded gaze was in full view, your hand shaking and you bit your cheek as you opened the door.

Your heart raced in your chest, walking into the apartment first with him following you in. He closed the door behind him. You turned to him to ask if he wanted anything to drink out of obligation, but he walked straight to your bedroom, shedding his jacket and throwing it onto your sofa as he did. Like an obedient dog, you trailed after him.

He kicked off his shoes and you followed suit as you made your way to his side.

Your heart raced when he stopped at the foot of your bed, turning to you. His hands already reached out before you could completely stop in front of him, pulling your coat off of you. You raised your hands and your shirt followed next. He grabbed your ass and you leaped into his hold, letting him bring you down onto the bed before he crawled over you. His hands expertly unbuttoned your pants, pulling down both your pants and underwear. Left in just your bra, your chest heaved from the sudden squeeze to your thighs.

He placed a kiss on your collarbone, sliding his hands up the back of your thighs before pulling them apart. His kisses trailed down the valley of your breasts, biting gently at the mound as his fingers spread your cunt to the cool air. You whined, thighs threatening to close, but unable to with his body keeping them from completely shutting. He still gave you a look from your attempt.

You shuddered, maintaining eye contact as he rubbed circles on your clit. One finger teased at your opening, the sound of your juices coating his finger and rubbing back against you filled the silence. His eyes narrowed just the slightest, judging you.

"Do you want me to stop?" You shook your head. "Then, keep your legs open."

You muttered a "yes, sir," prompting him to rub your clit faster, coating your opening with your juices. A finger would teasingly slip into your entrance, rub against your wall, only to pull back out and wipe your slick on you. His lips pulled down slightly.

"You're already so wet. I'm barely touching you." He pressed the flat of his palm against you, digging the heel of his palm on your clit. You bucked uselessly against it, his other hand quick to hold your hips down, to keep you under his control. "You want me to fuck you?"

"Yes," voice breathy, you nodded.

He brought his face close to yours, face a blank slate once more. "Then, beg."

So, you did. You begged for his cock, begged for him to fuck you completely and with no restraint. You were his. Please, please. With each pitiful plea that fell from your lips, he rubbed your clit faster. He pushed two fingers into you and fucked you hard just like that. You writhed, unable to buck into his touch, head falling into the pillow and back arching.

He didn't stop, not until you came around his fingers. And you did. He knew just how to vary the pace and intensity with just his fingers, thumb rubbing hard circles into you, to get you to your climax in record time. Aaron Hotchner knew your body. He kept it up while you spasmed around his fingers, while you cried out with quivering lips.

You stilled limply, catching your breath as he pulled his fingers out of you. He stood on his knees, pulling his shirt over his shoulders, toned stomach flexing with the movement. You propped yourself on your elbows, covered in slick sweat, watching him shimmy his pants down and toss them off the bed with his boxers following suit. Like usual, your mouth watered at the full sight of his naked body.

"On your knees."

It was a struggle, but you did as told. You knew the routine. Your hands reached for the headboard, arching your back into the bed as your ass rose higher. He smacked your ass, making you wince from the rough play, but your breath hitched as he splayed his hands over your back. You felt him lean over you, unclasping your bra. The straps slid down to your elbows, your boobs bouncing freely without its binding.

He roughly squeezed your boobs, chest pressed to your back as he lazily rubbed himself against you. His long shaft rubbed electricity against your cunt, the friction on your clit mesmerizing. Face next to your ear, his hot breaths hit your ear, all these sensations made your head loll back, his breathing much more clear to you.

"Aaron," you breathily said.

He squeezed your boobs one more time before one hand dropped between you to line his dick up to your cunt. No warning was given when he bottomed out, your back arching as your shoulders pressed into his collarbone, a sharp cry leaving your lips. He didn't wait on you, a sharp exhale from his mouth as he started to thrust.

You gripped the headboard tightly, biting your lips to muffle the filthy moans that tried to escape you. The headboard slammed against the wall, the mattress squeaking as unholy obscenities spilled out of you. Only Aaron could do this to you.

He didn't like you biting down your moans. Aaron pinched your nipple, twisting it hard and your mouth fell open in a pained moan. His lips right next to your ear, he hissed, "Don't you dare fucking hold back. Fucking scream."

He wrapped one hand around your throat, pulling you up into his chest. Your bra completely slipped off your arms, falling listlessly at your knees. He fucked up into you, one hand between your folds to roughly rub at your clit. His hand was hot against your neck. You bounced in his hold, moans climbing higher and higher.

You came around him, the second orgasm of the night. Reaching behind you, you buried your fingers into his hair, his moans right in your ear and mixing with the sick sounds of sex the two of you made. Your walls spasmed around him, tears coming down your cheeks from the intensity of it all.

He pushed his mouth against your ear. "Is this what you want?"

You nodded.

"Say it. Tell me you want me to fuck you senseless."

"I want you-" you shuddered from the overstimulation, earning a squeeze of your throat and a pinch to your clit. You squirmed, forcing yourself to say it all in one, short breath. "I want you to fuck me senseless. I want you Hotchner."

"Atta girl," he smacked your cunt. "That's right."

You continued to stroke his ego. "I'm yours. I'm all yours."

"Yes. Yes." He groaned, perfectly pleased to hear that. "You belong to me."

"Aaron-" You felt another coil building. He was so rough with you, you couldn't help but become putty in his hands. At the sound of his name, he rose one finger from your throat, tilting your head back, feeling you swallow nothing. "I'm gonna-"

"Cum," he ordered. He licked a stripe up your neck. "Cum on my dick, again, you stupid slut."

You shivered, back arching as you came. The third time and he still had yet to come. You really were as easy as he said you were. Aaron knew your body. He knew what made you belong to him.

He moaned out a breathy laugh in your ear. "You little whore. You're so fucking horny." He nosed your cheek, nibbling at your ear. "You're my whore. Got it?"

You nodded, well-spent but he didn't stop inside you. Tears poured down your face, your body sweaty and you were so unbearably hot. Your slick back rubbed his slick chest. Every thrust was wet and sloppy, your juices making a mess on your thighs.

Lip quivering, you repeated what he said with confidence. "I'm your whore."

"Yeah, you are." His thrusts grew wilder, more erratic. "Yeah, you fucking are. Mine."

"Aaron-"

"My fucking dirty whore." His hand squeezed at your throat, leaving you gasping in his hold. "You fucking belong to me."

Your hands fell from his, wrapping around the wrist that squeezed your life out of you. You didn't try to pull him off of you, feeling another orgasm coming. Dots spotted along your vision, it was getting harder to breathe. He fucked into you hard.

"Your body is mine to fuck." He rubbed your clit hard with two fingers, not even in circles anymore. Just rough rubbing in a straight line. Your clit tinged in pain from overstimulation, you choked for air. "Nobody else can fuck you like I do."

You nodded as best as you could in agreement. He was right. Aaron knew your body, knew what to make you tick and squirm and cry and moan. He knew how to make you keel, how to beg for him. He knew what exactly made you the whore that you were. And it was all by his hand, for him, and only for him.

His hand squeezed impossibly tighter around you. Together, you came for the fourth time as Aaron fucking Hotchner fucked his seed into you. Warm, white liquid spilled into your walls, your cunt milking him with each spasm. He fucked you through your high, through his, with wild thrusts.

As he came, his grasp on your throat loosened to a mere hold, and your orgasm heightened from the sudden influx of oxygen into your lungs. You slumped against him, his dick no longer spilling his cum into you. He softened in you, still fucking for another moment before he completely let you go.

You flopped forward onto the bed, letting the sheets cool your body off. He pulled out of you, his cum spilling out of you. You shivered as the air kissed against your wet body, blanketing you in a chill. Weakly, you turned over onto your back.

You wanted Aaron Hotchner to kiss you.

You wanted him to hold you close and massage your thighs and praise you. For him to whisper sweet nothings about you--to you.

He sat at the edge of your bed, pants in hand as he pulled a pack of cigarettes out of the back pocket. You didn't have it in you to ask him not to smoke in here, not as he lit the cigarette and took a long drag. His back muscles flexed as he reached down and grabbed his clothes, as he stuffed his dick into his boxers and shimmied into his pants. Covered in sweat, but not as much as you were, he zipped the front of his pants.

Your eyes lit with hope, as they always did when he turned to you and held his cigarette out of his mouth between pinched fingers. His face was blank, with no emotion whatsoever. Like always, you gulped, chest heaving and trying to catch your breath as he looked you over. Kept his eyes on your spread legs where his seed spilled out of you.

He took another long drag, turning away from you. "You should get yourself cleaned up."

And like all the other times, he left you a mess on the bed. The apartment door clicked shut in the distance and your gaze drifted to the ceiling. He made you wait a week, just to fuck you and leave, again.

And, like all the other times, you'd wait for his call the next day. And the next.

Aaron knew you. He knew you were addicted. Nobody else would ever get the chance to fill your heart, not like he did.

You were his.

#⋆୨🩷©2023 htchnr #⋆୨⭐️aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner imagine #aaron hotchner smut #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch hotchner x reader #hotch smut #hotch x reader

[deangirlsstuff67]

Dirty Boy

Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: dirty talk, fingering, fluff, unprotected sex, P in V, period sex, blood, PWP

Summary: Y/N is trying hard not to let on that's she's in pain due to her period coming yesterday. Crippling cramps take over her body when she's left to baby sit Soldier boy and he notices.

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Butcher and the boys left to do some recon and get supplies. Leaving you in charge of babysitting the nuclear bomb of a supe. To make matters worse your period showed up yesterday and your body has been in a constant state of pain all morning.

So far no one's noticed when cramps shoot crippling pain through your body. You've been able to fight against the pain. But it's slowly getting stronger and harder to hide.

Your going in to check on the supe and see if he needs anything when cramps take over your body and you double over in pain while standing in his door way.

Soldier Boy is over to you in seconds. Strong hands rub your back as you breath throw the pain in the fetal position on his bedroom floor. The pain eases enough that you can open your eyes, but you aren't prepared for what you see.

Soldier Boy kneeling over you with worry imprinted on every inch of his gorgeous face. Those beautiful bright green eyes are shining with concern... for you? You didn't know this man could even have compassion in him.

Never have you seen a supe look so genuinely concerned for someone's well-being before.

"Can you walk to the bed, Doll?"

You only nod and accept his hand to help you up off the dusty floor. He guides you to lay on the bed before disappearing into the ensuite bathroom. Moments later he's back with a hot cloth that he lays on your lower belly.

How the fuck does he know?

"Super hearing but also super smell," he looks nervous to even be telling you all this, "I can smell you." He gestures to your lower half.

Chuckling you can't help what comes from your mouth, "God that must be the worst." He joins you now both laughing out loud at this fucked up situation.

"Not as bad as one would think." He lowers his big hand to lay on top of the cloth. The heat radiating off him helps soothe my cramping lower stomach.

"You know it's none of my business, but I do know another way to ease your pain."

He's leaning on his arm as he lays beside you warming you with his body. The air around us changes as he peers down at me. I watch as he's green eyes turn black with desire. I've heard of people who claim orgasms help with period cramps, just never had the nerve to experiment with it.

"I, um... I've done that before. Don't you find it gross?"

His face softens as he takes me in, "Trust me sweetheart I've hand blood on my hands before, nothing about bringing you pleasure would gross me out."

With a dark smile he adds, "plus knowing I'd be the only one every in your body while like this..." He grabs my hand and brings it to rest on his harden cock in those fucking grey sweatpants, "makes me so fucking hard I could cut diamonds baby." He whispers in my ear.

I clench my thighs together at the picture he's painting in front if me.

"Of course only if you want to though." He adds.

Another series of cramps take over my body. I scrunch my body together in hopes to fight off the pain. It's so bad I feel sick to my stomach. Without thinking too far into it, I grab his hand and place it on the clothed core.

At this point there isn't anything I wouldn't do just to feel some relief.

Soldier Boy just smiles before diving his big strong hand into the sides of my sweats and pull them down, "alright."

Before I can think too much of it I feel him removing my tampon and then two thick fingers going knuckle deep into my sore, angry center. He finds my g spit within seconds and starts pumping hard and fast. A man on a mission.

I can't bring myself to watch his hands in me. Scared of what kind of murder scene I'll find. He leans of to kiss me gentle before watching where our bodies are connected, "fuck that's hot y/n."

Your orgasm is fast to appear at the hands of this powerful supe. Before you know it your clamping down around his digits and soaking the sheets below.

A growl vibrates his chest when you whisper out, "fuck... Soldier Boy."

"Doll, I'm about to be balls deep in your hungry little pussy and stained with your blood, pretty sure you can call me Ben."

How does he make it sound so fucking hot. Sex on your period shouldn't be this hot. He rises on the bed taking his sweat pants and shirt off. Then he crawls over me and starts undressing me slowly. Nipping and licking his way down my body.

When he gets to my hips I tense, "relax Doll, I won't go there unless you want me too." Fuck this man is a dirty bastard.

"You're a dirty boy, you know that?" Ben pushes a finger back into me, playing with my soft walls, "in a minute you'll enjoy that about me."

Then he's feeding his big cock into me. Inch by glorious inch slide deep into my heat. Ben eyes are glued to where we are connected, watching my body wither and shake as I struggle to take him all.

What feels like hours later he's balls deep in my cum and blood soaked pussy. A grunt leaves his chest when our hips meet. Kissing my lips he lowers his head to my ear, "you feel too good clinging tp my cock pretty girl, I'm not going to last. This is going to be rough and fast."

All you can do is nod and moan as he withdraws to the tip before slamming back into you, knocking the air from your lungs.

He didn't lie, he took you fast and hard. Making you cum three more times before he let's out a growl before you feel his cum paint your inner walls.

When the last of his semen leaves his tip, he slowly pulls out of you with a squelching noise. He gets off the bed and you see the mess of blood and cum all over his dick and public hair.

Covering your face in embarrassment, you sigh. What he must think of you now.

Your arms are pulled from your face, "don't hide from me. You have no reason to be embarrassed." Your eyes are still closed, unable to meet his gaze.

"Look at me y/n." You do as your told, only to be met with such a loving sight. "That was fucking incredible. And I will be doing it again with you..." He moves your sweaty y/h/c hair away from your face, "are you feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Good. Now let's go get cleaned up. I wanna make you dirty again. I like you in red." He bends to pick you up as if you weighted nothing and sends you a sexy wink.

"You're a very dirty boy, Ben."

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