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mooishbeam · 8 months

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『♡』 In the Ring

♡ featuring: boxer!wriothesley x manager!reader

♡ summary: its hard managing a boxer full time. maybe it's time you relieve that stress. wc: 6.8k+ (???>":>?)

♡ cw/tw: mentions of trauma, mentions of violence, rough sex, overstim, face-sitting, size kink, unintentional edging, hair pulling, mentions of choking, argument, confessed feelings, slow burn, kinda toxic?

notes: can u tell how down bad i am for wriothesley. also do yall like the smaller text cause I do. jing yuan fluff next :)) art by sxnalien on twitter! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

For a second, the crowd stills. Bright intense lamps illuminate the sweltering squared circle, buoyant under the nimble movement of the boxers. They trade blows, bobbing and throwing each devastating hook with an even deadlier counter. No one took a hit for the past minutes, and the audience scoots to the edge of their seats at the sheer stamina of the two. Both dripping sweat, barely holding on between the merciless clock and their steadfast opponent. You can almost hear the breeze of swift jabs cutting wind against their jaws. The one with blue gloves can barely manage to guard himself, with a swollen face and wobbly legs, while the crimson gloves deal relentless punches. The crowd shouts. Unintelligible echoes, some that pray for the win, others grieving the money they’re about to lose. He’s caught on the ropes, and attempts a wild swing to save himself, to save his career. Red gloves weaves effortlessly and delivers a brutal crush to his bloodied nose and possibly busted mouthpiece. The crack is resounding, it makes the commentators cringe. His skull flies back, and he comes crashing down from his dizzying tower. The head-first fall vibrates beneath the feet of investors in proximity.

DING DING DING

Mass uproar ensues. They jump out of their seats, flailing their arms, joy and pain in equilibrium.

“And he is out! It’s all over!” the commentator yells. Confetti floats golden dust from the ceiling. The victor stalks the ropes before hopping on them, his gloves raised in the air. Glistening, high off elation, but somehow composed in his attitude, akin to a wolf.

“A savage knockout from the untouchable world champion, the king of the ring, Wriooothesley!”

“Wrio, Wrio, Wrio!” they chant. You’re standing near the ropes, already identifying which joints you’ll need to observe after his victory lap. It’s hectic, and you’re jotting down the state of his figure. Past experiences sew through each deep scar carving his rugged biceps and abs, the bruises display early signs of discoloration. He’s tall on the unseen throne, it feels like you’re there with him. A million eyes in that vast stadium, and yet, those midwinter eyes ebbed in silver only look at you.

Your beginnings as a manager were tumultuous. You could barely comprehend how out of your league you were working for a renowned agency fresh out of college. Though you found quick success in your ability to grab the attention of investors through public relations, you weren’t equipped just yet with the hindsight in preparing for scandals. The other athletes you worked with served no problem, and so you never had to worry about their appeal. Higher ups praised your extensive portfolio, and at such a young age, it was even more commendable. You earned it, fame and respect, interviews and gossip—a delicate dance. You were always busy, assisting your clients throughout the day and maintaining their presence while they slept. It was hard work, but you loved doing it.

That was until you worked with amateur boxer, Childe.

A snappy, overconfident lightweight fighter with no regard for anything or anyone. He had an unmistakable void in his eyes, but you fought for him ceaselessly, to prove that he wasn’t the cold person he portrayed himself as. You bore with his flirtatious compliments and innuendos, the need to focus him whenever you documented his afflictions, and he’d not-so-subtly flex his biceps. Childe was unnecessarily violent with underhanded tactics. The media knew this and did everything to amplify that bellicose story. You’d combat it, negate it, but he only fed the flames with threats of retaliation. Taking his phone wasn’t enough, and you couldn’t get through to him. It was only a matter of time before he went off the deep end.

The day you slept, you discovered a restlessness you’d endure indefinitely. The flickering glow of your device woke you at midnight as hundreds of notifications congested your screen. 128 missed calls from your agency, 50 from news sources, and none from Childe. When you processed the damage from his deplorable stunt, you nearly hurled your phone out the window. He posted revenge porn, and evidently turned off his phone. Surely, there’d be a way to fix this. The chances seemed to dissolve with each text turning green. You started pacing, battling with morality and loyalty and anger. What he did was disgusting, but it’s your job to save him, right? Is he worth saving? You spoke with 4 managers at once, switching through motives and bickering until morning. As you flipped through the television, another emotion struck you.

There he was, on a tasteless gossip channel. An interview you didn’t arrange, with a man you’ve never seen before. And he was...crying? The sob story emitting from his deceitful lips was almost impressive. Childe went on about how “demanding and horrible” you were backstage. The crocodile tears dried up through dodgy anecdotes, but it was enough to have people hooked. You were allegedly physically and emotionally abusive. He was too scared to speak up due to your position and he just couldn’t bear it any longer. Then he dropped the bomb; he blamed you for his post. You forced him to do it, jealous of his previous partners, emphasizing how enamored you were of him. The questionable tears began to fall again, but this time he covered his mouth, withholding the duping smile crawling on his face.

You were filled with blinding rage, unable to control the fury at which your remote connected with the screen. It was everywhere now, social media websites booming with live opinions. He had no reason to slander you, and you couldn’t pinpoint why he chose to hurt you like this. You cried for him, shared stories of childhood and family. The knife you used to protect him was firm in your back, twisting and digging with each disgusting message in your inbox. You had no game plan to conduct, and no tears left to cry.

Within a week, you finally understood how cruel this industry could be. Within a week, you were no longer on top. You lost clients fast. It spread like wildfire and not a single outlet spared an ear for your side. People you called friends, coworkers, hadn’t replied to your messages. When you got back to work, the rooms were silent as you passed. You could feel their judgement, whispers rattled with rumors and accusations. They waited for the tiniest slip-up and pounced like hyenas—you were eaten alive by their pitiful stares. You attempted to tell your truth multiple times throughout the week, but it was consistently rejected. The headlines were eye-catching:

“Manager From Hell: Childe Tells All!”

“He Cries: A Story of Love and Jealousy”

Your stomach churned to the magazines being shown. Despite the great amount of loss you suffered, you were thankful for the one person that believed you, your boss.

“Childe is a lying little snake. The media knows that, too.”

“Then why is this happening?”

“Money. That story is making bank right now. But I know for a fact you wouldn’t do this” he reassured.

“Thank you, sir. But...I lost everything; I just don’t know what to do.” The weariness was heavy in your voice.

“I have someone you can manage. It won’t be easy, but if anyone can do it, it’s you.” You were unsure of yourself now, and he continued.

“You’re one of my best. If you want to climb out of this, now’s your chance.” Yes, you were unsure, drowning in doubt. But if the only way to get above water was to keep swimming, you wouldn’t give up so easily.

Wriothesley wasn’t exactly known for his kindness. Crude, cocky, maybe even spoiled were descriptions that circulated in the tabloids. He had a knack for pissing reporters off by not answering questions or humming over their voice with a shit-eating grin on his face. Women loved him, however, throwing bras and phone numbers written on scrap as the condemned “bad boy” departed post-game. They screamed his name at once, and he’d done nothing to deserve it. He relished infamy—that way, it was much harder to pry into his private life.

It had to be a coincidence that it was someone you fangirled over. In college, your eyes were glued to the screen every Sunday, waiting for Wriothesely’s post-conference and behind the scenes interviews. He didn’t speak often, but just the sight of those inky strands streaked with ash made your heart flutter featherlight in your chest.

When you first approached him, he was just as arrogant as you’d expect.

“Good evening!” you beamed. You caught him outside the gym, and he still had his headphones in. Full volume and blankly staring as you went on about the opportunity, silent under the blaring music. He took one earbud out when you finished.

“Hm? Who’re you?”

You were slightly annoyed. “Let me reintroduce myself, I’m (Y/N). Your new manager.”

“No. Bye.” He began to walk past you without an ounce of care. You couldn’t lose it like this.

“Ah, wait!” He turned half-heartedly.

“Listen, I get it. You don’t want to be bossed around. But honestly, your reputation is shit. That can’t be good for business.” you persuaded. He towered over you, the figure of a Greek giant peeked through the compression top as he lazily watched you.

“So? Why do you care?” he remarked.

“I’ll help you. Sponsors, advertisements, whatever you want. You’re good, but you can be so much better. Let’s make money together.” You held your hand out, awaiting a handshake of approval. He merely glanced at your limp wrist.

“Help? You’re obviously not doing this for free.”

“Of course not. Give a little, take a little. I don’t do charity cases” you shrugged.

He groaned, raking his fingers through his thick mane. At the very least, he hadn’t walked away yet. “I'd prefer for my life to be private.”

“Then I’ll guarantee your privacy.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “What can you give me besides empty promises?”

“Anything you desire. Work with me, and I’ll make it happen.” That offer enticed him. No one had been this persistent with him yet, he scared off any manager that dared succor him. It was slightly entertaining, the way you burned ambition in your eyes, you were so easy to read. Most people wouldn’t look directly at him, and here you were, ready to follow him home if that’s what it took. He chuckled, and his massive hand reached for yours.

You shook hands, and your fates were sealed.

That was a year ago, and ever since then he’s been a thorn in your side. Nonstop drama and rectifying consumed your life. You didn’t think a man who spoke so little in public could talk so much around you. Whenever you argue—which is a frequent occurrence—his smirk grew wider at your frustration. You weren’t sure why you ever liked him in the first place. He only puts in effort when it comes to sparring, but you’re determined to ameliorate his standing, and in turn, yours.

The minute you open the doors to the hall, the sound of pummeled sandbags, clanking metal, and sneakers skidding across the floor roars in your ears. Some men are dialed in on abusing the inanimate objects, the rest tense through repetitions of dumbbell curls with a hiss. You're in quick strides, the phone arm's length away from you as the sponsor on the other end screams. Another petty drama surrounding Wriothesley grabs the attention of the internet. Luckily, you have thorough experience remedying this.

“What are you going to do? You’re fucking with my money!” you hear the faint voice. You bring the phone back to your ear.

“Don’t I always deal with it? He fights, I make up for the other half. Give me a few hours.”

“I’m not going to wa-” You hang up at the response.

You propel the double doors free into a large room with a boxing ring in the center. A group of trainers swarm the perimeter, you can barely see through.

“Don’t be scared!” one of them taunt towards the sparring partner, who has an unthinkable panic creeping in goosebumps dotting his skin. Each sloppy dodge tilts him more and more off balance against the strikes. Wriothesley has a powerful stature, with his back curving in a way that accentuates the rough muscle shaping his spine. You drone an annoyed sigh at the commotion and push yourself through them.

“Move it, move!” you yell, before jostling your way to the front of the ring.

“Wriothesley! Times up.” He turns his head to the side, unintentionally sparing his partner and glares at you.

“Two minutes.”

“No. Now.” you command. He looks up at nothing, as if considering his options if he cusses you out. Then he begrudgingly drops the gloves and pulls himself under the ropes. The group disperses from the lack of action and he’s mere inches from you now. Sometimes you forget how to breathe in his half-naked presence.

“What the fuck is your problem?” He mumbles while drying his head with a towel. His colossal forearms are raised over his head, highlighting the happy trail thick down his abdomen and tufts of hair on his armpits.

“You. How many times do I have to tell you not to train during recovery?” you seethe.

“Damn. Must’ve slipped my mind.” He doesn’t sound convincing in the slightest.

“Well then, I’ll be sure to remind you hourly.”

“Nah, I’m good. Hearing you once a day is enough.” He tosses the towel to you like his dutiful servant and grabs his water bottle. The liquid drips down his chin and on his shorts, hanging below his v-line.

Your eyebrow twitches from withheld vexation. “If you don’t want to hear me twice, I suggest you do what I tell you. We need to talk.” A heavy sigh leaves him as he stretches, and he passes you the water bottle. If you had the strength to collapse the bottle with one hand, you would. “Lead the way” he goads.

Wriothesley follows you through the backdoor of the gym to a secluded alleyway. When you get there, he immediately pulls out a cigarette you didn’t know he had. You were aware he smokes occasionally, but seeing it physically coaxed a strange worry in your gut. You twist your phone to him, to display evidence of him instigating an argument with Childe on social media. He reads in silence, briefly laughing at the recollection of his own comebacks, then lights the cigarette.

“What’s this? Didn’t I say keep a low profile?” you reprimand.

He drags in a deep breath of nicotine, and you eye the foul scent with distaste. He blows it above your unhappy face. “Calm down. Once a month thing. That fucker's testing me.”

“This can’t happen again, Wriothesley.” He ignores you to continue his mumbling. “I should break his neck like a twig. He’s lucky he didn’t say that shit to my face, fucking punk.” he grouses. You're struggling to gather your thoughts, the cigarette compacted between his thick fingers irritates you.

“We all appreciate your restraint, however-” you get closer, and yank the stick out his hand.

“No-!” Before he can finish, you promptly smudge it underneath your shoe. You aren’t sure how he’d react, but you didn’t expect him to sulk like a puppy.

“You aren’t doing this shit while I’m here.”

“Oh my god” he pouts, throwing his hands into his face and pulling them down.

“You’re lucky I don’t report it to the doctor. None of this, ever again.”

“Fuck, alright just...” he lets out a defeated sigh. “What do you want me to do about it? Apologize publicly?” You need him to do nothing; neither agency wants controversy, and it’d most likely be swept under the rug in just a couple days. You point his water bottle to him.

“Nope, I’ll handle it. Just sit there and be pretty.” you reassure. He leans down to your height with a sweet smile and even sweeter gaze.

“I do that well, don’t I?” he quips.

“You manage.” He latches onto the water bottle, and drinks from it in your hand while looking at you. A soft heat envelops you beyond words that never reach your lips.

“Listen to what I’m saying. Low. Profile.” Wriothesley comes up from thirst, dragging his tongue along the straw to the top, and licks his blushed lips. He delights in your flustered reaction.

“Low. Profile.” he repeats in a sarcastic drawl.

Later in the week, you receive a call in your office. It was fairly busy today, with coworkers constantly “checking in”, more so to see Wriothesley sitting across from you. He had no reason to be here, and you were surprised at his arrival. Be it boredom or a certain longing, a dull swell pulsed in his chest once he saw your overworked smile.

“Hello, this is (Y/N) of Boxe Association. May I know who I’m speaking with?” Wriothesley’s ears perk up at your sudden professionalism, and he mimics your cadence.

“Good afternoon, it’s Isadora.” Isadora was an event coordinator you previously worked with before your controversy. You understood that she stopped communicating to protect her business, but the pain lingered. You twirl the phone cord around your fingers, and meet eyes with Wriothesley, who’s laid back in the chair, his arms behind his head.

“Oh. Hey, it’s been a while.” you say. You turn your swivel chair away from him to continue the conversation. His eyebrow twitches slightly with an unconscious scowl, and he walks towards your chair.

“It has. I’m calling because I have a proposition that might interest you. I believe a meet and greet would be appropriate for your client. A large chunk of his fanbase are young adult women, however, he’s also popular with children.” He spins the chair around with a firm hand and presses his cheek against the phone.

“That’s true.” You side eye him, and without skipping a beat, mush his nosey face away. His hot breath on your digits makes your skin tingle.

“Who is that” he mumbles. You'd never seen Wriothesley interact with children, and you have every reason to be hesitant.

“Hmm...any positive activity with children is good publicity. I’ll consider it. I’ll let you know by tonight.” The second you hang up, you release his face.

“Why are you being annoying-”

“Who were you talking to” he chides.

“Isadora. She’s an event coordinator.” His clenched jaw unwinds. “She wants to do a meet and greet with you and a few kids. If we go through with this, I’ll have a camera crew and some reporters there. It’ll be good for your image.”

“Okay.” he agrees. That was quick.

“...Are you sure? Kids are loud and obnoxious a lot of the time.”

“So? Fine by me. I can teach them how to fight.” Your skin crawls at the thought of Wriothesley launching a child through a wall. “That won’t be necessary.”

“It’ll be fun.” The more he assures you, the more uneasy you feel.

“Wriothesley, I’m serious. Don’t screw this up” you plead. He holds his pinky out. “I won't.” His loose interpretation of promises was dubious at best, but you had no other options, and this might be your only opening. You curl to his word.

After parleying the finer details, you broadcast a raffle for young fans to meet Wriothesley. The traffic to the website was overwhelming, and you quickly began sorting out tickets for the favored winners.

Fortunately, the next couple of weeks were par for the course.

It’s the night before the event, and you’re getting ready for bed. You sit at your desk in a big T-shirt and do your daily review of personal data. As you're scrolling through and identifying what needs improvement, you get a notification on your phone.

“Breaking News: Boxer Bar Fight!” Curious, you open the tab to a video. It makes your breath stall, sweating frantically. You can’t think clearly, and your shaky hands can barely increase the volume. Unidentifiable noises and wobbly camerawork made it impossible to catch anything besides those familiar inky black strands, throwing punches in a drunken stupor at a defenseless man. Your previous conundrum flashes through your memory in a horrific stop-motion; the duping smile on his face.

No. It’s happening all over again. Why is he at a bar? You messaged him before he went to bed. He never goes to bars. Why now, the night before the event? It’s late, he doesn’t go anywhere without telling you.

He promised.

None of it made sense as you threw on any sweatpants in your drawer and ran out the door. You can’t wait until morning. Disaster punctures and tears any rational decision you contemplate. Shouting silently within your mind, a crashing rage—or sadness—boils in your nervous stomach. You’re tunnel vision in a taxi on the way to his address.

When you get there, you bang on the door with a fury that vibrates throughout the archway. His home is extravagant, with two cars and an expansive driveway. You bang again.

“Wriothesley!” He finally opens the door. He’s still half asleep, pajama pants low on his waist, groggily leaning against the arch.

“(Y/N)? Uh, what’s up?” He slurs in a deep slumbering voice through heavy eyelids. You barge in without saying anything. “Make yourself at home, I guess.”

The interior is just as opulent as the exterior, it almost looks untouched. Every corner has a case or shelf stacked with ornate trophies and medals of excellence. It was the home of someone who achieved peak perfection and reveled in it. He follows you to his living room, bewildered at your furious expression. You play the video in front of him, and he watches with that same puzzled attitude that makes you angrier. You try taking deep breaths to compose yourself, but they halt shallowly.

“What the fuck is this?” you accuse.

“What? I don’t know.” “Like hell you don’t know, this shit is on every homepage. Are you serious?”

The cranky boxer pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. You show up at his house, and it’s to badger him about a rumor. Your temperament only heats the smoldering ember fueled by incessant claims. He covers his mouth, physically stopping the involuntary response.

“Okay” he says, and blurts a facetious chuckle. Your heart thumps in your chest and ears.

“Oh, It’s a fucking joke? I bust my ass to save your career and you’re laughing?” you snap, voice increasing in volume until it reaches a broken peak. He returns with the same energy.

“When did I ask you to fix anything? Did you ever think that maybe I don’t fucking need you-”

“You can barely control your smoking habits you pompous ass-”

“I would if you didn’t nag me all the time. Whining and complaining, it’s fucking annoying!” he yells. Neither of you meant the words spilling out the bubbling surface, but your tongues were solely seasoned with the next spiteful jab.

“Yes, whining! Because all you need to do is be on the straight and narrow, but you take nothing seriously, Wriothesley, and that’s exactly why-”

“Exactly why what? Why your career went to shit so you’re piggybacking off mine?”

Your battle stops. You can’t find the words to rebuttal. All the opinions of your colleagues, the media, Wriothesley, and yourself coagulate into a lump that fills the tightening throat. Pride comforts tears brimming your eyes.

He pauses, as though he came to reality. An apology attempts to form on his lips, but it never manifests. “(Y/N), I didn’t-”

“See you in the morning” you choked. You walk to the door, and he reaches out to the infinite space thick between you two.

You didn’t sleep the entire night. It’s morning, and you’re exhausted. You consistently replayed the quarrel in your head through the taxi ride home, and when you strived for rest, it plagued your mind. Your coffee is untouched during your morning routine, a movement comparable to zombies. You don’t bother to confirm if Wriothesely is at the building—either way you owe it to the event holders to be there.

You arrive just before the children file into the training room. Thankfully, Wriothesley is there in the center. Live cameras from reporters and parents border the walls; if something were to occur, it would be irreversible. Your head suddenly hurts.

Perhaps playing it up for his reputation, the smile stretched across his face is a sunny warmth you’ve never seen from him. He waves to them, and they erupt with screams. To your astonishment, he gets on his knees to be eye level with them. They all jump into his arms at once, and he topples over onto the mat.

And he’s laughing. This grumpy asshole fighter is laughing. A hearty, genuine laugh as he wraps his sturdy arms around all of them and picks them up at once. He whirls them around and they orchestrate high-pitched giggles. “Ready to have some fun?” he chortles. They say yes to varying degrees of excitement, and the meet and greet proceeds.

You can’t help but smile when he frolics with the kids. They chase him with boxing gloves, he pretends to fall dramatically. Dogpiling him, he lets out a shrill scream of defeat. He manages to work in proper defense techniques while they jump him like a test dummy. He tosses each kid in the air whenever they ask, and never tells them no. You receive another call from Isadora amid your admiration, and you step outside.

“Hey! Good news, these views are off the charts and the internet is really in his favor right now” she congratulates.

“That’s great...what about the video from last night? Did you see it?” you ask.

“Video...oh, that! Don’t worry, it’s confirmed fake.” What? Oh no. Immediate regret stirs in your blood, and you force the phone away to catch your breath. You feel utterly stupid.

“Hello?” You quickly bring the phone back to your ear. “Yea, sorry. I have to go; I’ll call you later.” you insist. You can’t facepalm any harder. You make your way back to the training room, where the kids decorate his gloves with iridescent stickers. Wriothesley occasionally looks at you, but you can’t bear to show your guilty face.

When the event is over, you both make sure to hug every child on the way out and thank the parent for coming. You’re sorting through mountains of requests people made to see Wriothesley again, and you mute your phone over the influx of emails. Peeking at the broadcast, under the footage in bold letters:

“(Y/N) Back from the Dead?”

It wasn’t the most flattering title, but it proved that public perception was salvageable. You emit a sigh of relief, for you and Wriothesley. As you’re packing your things to exit, he blocks the door with his body.

“Can we talk?” You were dreading this discussion, but agreed, nonetheless. The ride to his home is silent, you grapple with a proper apology.

You lean against the kitchen bar, while he’s laxing on the couch. Sleep deprivation torments you, causes you to wander as you fill in papers from sponsors. You can’t see the way Wriothesley steals glances at your slack figure curving to the marble. He eventually spoke.

“So, um.”

“I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you. You did a good job today Wriothesley, you should be proud.” You flash a meek smile. He fumbles with his thumbs uncomfortably.

“I am. Aren’t I the best?” he boasts.

“You are” you say. The lack of sleep beckons you to a spur of honesty as you scribble. “You have stunning form, perfect accuracy, and immeasurable talent. Not just anyone can do that.” you return. He gazes at you, that dull swell pumping in his veins again. The cozy radiance of lights brightens your tired eyes.

“You’re a big fan, huh?” he chuckles.

“Of course, I used to watch you in college. I had a major crush on you” you snort. “Everything you are is amazing, but you know this. So cut it out.” He sits on the armrest, swallowing your confessions. The room is entirely too hot, he needs alleviation—he needs you.

“Sorry. For what I said.”

“Forget it. It's my fault, I was careless. I apologize.” you admit.

“You know I didn’t do it, right?”

“I know.”

“I didn’t.”

“I know.” you reassure.

“What if some other bullshit controversy comes out. Then what?” You stop writing to give him your full attention.

“Then, I’ll trust you. We’ve gotten this far. Even if no one else does, even if for some reason I lose my job and I’m not your manager anymore, I’ll trust you, Wriothesley.” you reveal. He doesn’t move. Wriothesley knew he wasn’t deserving of trust, and he’d made a plethora of mistakes throughout your arrangement. You had every right to leave him long ago. Nobody gave him the time of day or cared for his wellbeing like you did, but he couldn’t reciprocate. Even so, here he kneels, at the feet of an angel that shows him undying mercy.

Wriothesley stalks at you, but you remain. He looms over you, pinning you to the counter with both arms, inches from your face. It isn’t a threatening force, but one that begs for confirmation. That slated storm searches for a specific craving, you feel his chest rising and falling laden with yours.

“You’re too close” you quiver. The bitter musk and vanilla enveloping your senses makes you foggy, it lingers through the whole house.

“Tell me to leave.” His mouth slants to you, and he waits expectingly. You ogle his features, the scratches of a warrior celebrated across his hardy torso. His hair brushes against your forehead, imperfect and uniquely beautiful. Why were you mad, again?

“Tell me to back off, (Y/N)” he pleads. The pads of your fingers lightly caress his ear, then his jaw.

“Please” he whispers. Your thumb grazes his bottom lip, and he succumbs to the urge.

You collide fervently, lips coated in definitive desire. Dancing with rough, bruising kisses that don’t make space for air. It smears on your face, dips down your neck and swiftly returns to your lonely mouth. The pressure of the counter bar burns across your lower back from his weight, but those mind-numbing kisses soften any injury. You bite his lip when he pulls away, and he groans. Suddenly, he lifts you effortlessly with his hands on your ass, and you clash teeth and tongue in a passionate challenge. He demands entry, and you moan into the wet mass intertwining through sloppy kisses. It explores your mouth, sending throbs to your nerves and subdues any control you have left. Your arms are wrapped around his neck, but you yearn for deeper contact. He licks up the organ, and spots moist, hungry kisses on your jaw. You both take a fleeting breath before converging again. You find passage in his hair and suck staining rose-colored marks on his neck while he carries you to the bedroom.

“You’ve been waiting for this, hm? Slutty groupie” Wriothesley moans. You drag kisses along the shell of his ear. He tosses you onto the fluffy bedding and haphazardly strips to his underwear. The wide mirror opposite his bed gives you a glimpse of his thighs and shapely bottom hugging the briefs. You’re supposed to be undressing, but that thronging bulge made for a titan makes you nervous for what’s to come. He palms the erection to soothe the ache and climbs over you. He’s somewhat gentle, careful with the bulk of his body as he cradles your face for more kisses. The way he looks at you, a covet softness or misted lust tantalizing the wetness pooling in your panties. He moves to your neck, French kissing down your throat and on your collarbone. You feel like a virgin again, heart racing from every graze of his fingers and lips. His calloused digits grope the plush fat of your thighs, and gradually reach the hem of your skirt. You snake your hands over his pecs and abs and read the muscles. Moaning into each other's mouths, indulging every part of your bodies as you’ve wanted to do for months. He pulls your skirt off and you hold your button-down over your exposed panties. Heat spreads in your body, and he amuses at your sudden bashfulness.

“Oh…you’re shy?” he teases, before popping the buttons off with a brutal rip. “Wrio!” you yelp. That’s the first time you called Wriothesley a nickname; he must’ve died and went to heaven. The lace gift wrapped around your breasts taunts him, and he buries his face immediately. He nips the sensitive skin and snaps the clasp off. “Cute. Need to feel you” he husks. He twirls the bud in his mouth, while manipulating the other between his girthy fingers. Alternating among loving hickies and harsh tugs of his teeth on your nipple. You whine, and his laugh tickles your raw skin. He flips over on his back and steadies you on top of him. Discards the rest of your top, and let’s out a shaky groan.

“You’ve never been this speechless” he says. You smile and kiss his puffy lips, your hands kneading his chest. “You’re so pretty” you coo. He huffs while rubbing circles on your waist, eyeing your inner thighs covered in juices.

“Then come fuck my pretty face.” He slips under the waistband and tweaks the fabric, but you grip his wrists. “Wait! Let me shower first- “

“You said you'd give me anything I desire, remember that? Keep your promise." He yanks the thin material down your legs in your weak clutches, trailing a string of drool that sticks to your labia. “C’mere” he grunts and lifts you towards his face. Your thighs are soft on either side of him, and you still in his grasp. He lolls his tongue out, but you’re reluctant to fully sit. “I’m heavy” you murmur.

“Shut up.” He embraces your body, and you have no choice but to settle in his warmth. He keeps you flush with his flat tongue, swiping up and down the squishy flesh molding to his mouth. You writhe in his grasp, but he continues to lap at your clit with a starving lust. Wriothesely soaks in your velvet skin and perfumed essence dribbling down his chin. He doesn’t come up for air, and your brain is mush over him, his lips slurping your quivering cunt. A buzzing intensity courses through your twitching stomach. You rut your hips against his mouth, and he maintains his position while you use him. You’re grinding on his tongue, absent-mindedly biting your lips and mewling endlessly as you bring yourself closer to climax. He hums while sucking the nub and the vibrations make you cry out.

“Wrio, ‘m coming” you whine. You hump his mouth until you come undone in a pulsating finish. His hands restrain you, greedily devouring the newly found honey as it pours out. You ride it through while he curls the tip of his tongue at your opening. Without warning, you feel the pink muscle push in your recovering vulva. “S-Shit, Wrio” you whimper, trembling on him as he drives inside. He seizes the back of your thighs and begins to bounce you up and down the mushy appendage slowly stretching you. The sensation is overwhelming, his nose skims your oversensitive clit each time you drop, and you sob. Wriothesley moves faster, your hands entangle in his hair. You babble please’s repeatedly, gazing sensually at each other as the coil winds in your gut. More, more. Then it snaps, an abrupt shock, clenching on his tongue as you cream. He raises your lower half; the wetness collecting in your convulsing heat makes his cock strain more than it already suffered.

“Such a cute slut” Wriothesley husks. Your numb legs can’t navigate on their own, so he places you on your stomach. “We’re not done.” He springs his throbbing length free. The veins are consistent, prominent up his shaft to the angry red crown—9 inches begging to be inside you. Fresh precome trickles down his tip and he sighs at the bloated pain in his hefty balls. You arch your back, presenting yourself to his awaiting size. When he doesn’t enter you turn to him impatiently and he smirks.

“Put it in” you whine. Wriothesley spreads your backside, and watches you clench around the ghost of him. He glazes himself with your slick, and moans from the feeling of your puffy lips cuddling his cock. “It’s not every day a fan gets to sleep with me. Be grateful.” he teases. He pumps through your squashed thighs, the head prodding your nub while he forces your chest flush with the bed. After he thoroughly coats himself, he nudges the bulbous tip to your entrance.

Wriothesley sinks into your sex. You’re gripping him like a vice despite the searing soreness of your body accommodating the scale. The fevered sleeve nearly makes him crash to the hilt, but he stutters gradually to relieve your discomfort. He hits the base and shudders. You feel unbelievably stuffed, as if it’s squirming in your cervix. Then he starts at a savage pace. He’s using you like a flesh-light, balls smacking your overwhelmed tender nub with a carnal impulse. His moans spill uncontrollably as he watches your rippling ass and viscous webs blend together, clinging to his cock and forming a cloudy froth at the base. Your knuckles turn white on the sheets; you can’t think or feel anything that isn’t him, core surging with intense want.

“Fuck, you’re so tight, gonna snap my dick off. Ah- gonna make sure you can’t walk t-tomorrow. Then- hah- then you won’t be able to find anyone who fucks you like this, who makes you come like this.” He’s rambling and stuttering, completely incoherent the closer he gets. He glances at the mirror, then at you. You feel your hair jerked back by his massive hand, and lock eyes with Wriothesley in his drunken haze. “Stop, it’s embarrassing!” you slur. You’re both sheened with sweat, disheveled bodies satiating the hunger in any way you can.

“Shh, you hear that?” The squelching slam of passion echoes in the room, sopping down your leg through his pummeling thrusts. Your back bends unnaturally as though it were folded in half. “You’re so fucking hot, so needy for me.” His veins adorn your walls, you start to tear up from the mixture of pleasure and pain. He notices your tears and holds you up so that your back is flush with his chest.

“It hurts?” he questions, stalling his movement. You feel him twitch. “No, feels s’good Wrio. More” you mewl. He chuckles, and gently wraps his hand around your throat before pumping again.

“Too good? Am I the best you’ve ever had? Say it.” He moves faster, free hand rubbing your clit. Your knees buckle and eyes roll back to your skull, he takes in the scene of your convulsing figure in the mirror. “S’best I’ve ever had, please ‘m so close!” you rasp, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He chases his high, panting animalistically in your ear.

“Shit- look how desperate you are. Want me to come inside? Y-yea, I bet you fucking do”

“‘M coming!” you babble.

“Good. Make a mess.” he commands. Fire trails up your limbs, and you tighten before falling apart. Fluttering around him, taking him deeper while you come on his sack. Wriothesley pursues his sputtering hips, spurting thick globs that paint you white. He whimpers as you milk his spasming length dry and presses tired kisses along your shoulder blade. When he comes down from his apex, he turns you over on your back. It’s hard for him to not be proud of your boneless existence sprawled on his bed. You’re both breathing hard in silence, and he leaves for a couple minutes. You’re stunned when he returns with a damp rag to clean you up, and some dark substance in a mug.

You find the strength to sit up while he wipes your lower areas. “Where are my clothes?”

“...For what?” he mumbles.

“To leave?” It seemed like common sense to you—boxers usually don’t go for long-term relationships, and so you assumed it to be a one-night stand. You dip over the edge of the bed and locate your skirt, but Wriothesely hops up and snatches it before you can. “I’ll put it in the wash. Relax.”

“I didn’t know you were so hospitable. Do you do this for every girl?” you tease. He gets visibly upset, and shoves the cup from the dresser in your hands. “Don’t piss me off. Now, drink. I’ll order food.”

Multicolored sunset flaking through the sheer curtains frames his stature while he’s on the phone. You sip the tea, it’s a vile grainy taste. For a moment you imagine what life could be like with him by your side—poor quality tea and an awful temper. In your pleasant aftermath, it doesn’t seem bad at all.

#genshin smut #genshin au #wriothesley smut #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley genshin #wriothesley headcanons #wriothesley #fontaine #genshin x reader #genshin impact

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cntloup · 1 month

Text

Queen!Reader x Knight!Ghost

Part 1 | Part 2

"Where's Simon?" you mumble hazily as soon as you wake up.

"He’s in the war room, attending to his duties, your grace. He left so you could get some rest." your maid answers.

You open your mouth to say that you wish to see him, but close it on second thought.

You've been sleeping most of the time since your miscarriage a few days ago and when you're awake, you only wail and sob.

The thought prevents you from calling to him. You don't want to trouble him any further.

He's grieving as well, and you can't even look him in the eyes. The guilt and shame is too much for you to bear.

You've also been experiencing an immense pain in your lower abdomen which comes and goes, some light bleeding, dizziness and fatigue.

All of which you tried your hardest to hide from him, leaving the room whenever he's present as much as it pains you, but it would hurt you more to put that burden on his shoulders.

You spend all day in bed as every other day, the nurses attending to your pain.

Until night falls and he returns.

You shuffle out of bed with great difficulty, barely standing on your feet until you stumble and nearly collapse on the ground but he's there to catch you in his arms.

And it makes your heart crumble in your chest. It's the first time he’s touched you since that day. But none of it is his fault. You've been avoiding him.

"Love..." he mutters with concern, "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong." you make a quick excuse that you need to leave for your nightly routine, but he persists.

"Wait. Please. Talk to me, love." he pleads desperately to have his wife back.

"There's nothing to talk about, Simon." you respond coldly and leave the room.

The moment you close the door behind you, you clutch your belly in your hands and let out a silent scream.

But you don't know from the pain in your abdomen or your heart.

You spend the night in another room, not in your bed, not with your husband, but alone.

You don't get much sleep as the ache in your heart becomes unbearable.

You truly miss him.

The gates to the room open and you gasp, startled.

But then your eyes land on him, hair disheveled and eyes puffy and red.

Your gaze softens and tears form in your eyes.

"Love, please. Don't run away this time." he implores, voice almost breaking with a sob.

He lies down beside you, refraining from touching you in case it makes you uncomfortable, or makes you run like a frightened animal.

You sit in silence for a while. This is the most time you've spent together since that day.

"Tell me what's wrong, love. I am worried about you. Please." he pleads again, turning to look at you through glossy eyes.

You don't dare to meet his gaze as you cry silently.

He slowly reaches to wipe your tears, his touch so soft and tender so as not to startle you.

Until you can’t hold back your sobs anymore.

You throw yourself in his arms and wail at the top of your lungs, for the loss of your child, for the pain you have endured all this time, alone, and for missing him.

And he holds you so delicately as you weep together.

And you tell him. All the things you've been hiding from him.

And it only makes him hold you tighter.

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messylustt · 10 months

Note

requesting for part two of the Yandere dead wife Miguel fic please 🙏

COPIED DESIRE / A LITTLE DIZZY ( nsfw ) — miguel o’hara + reader: you wake up somewhere new, with someone who looks exactly like your husband.

marks yandere. full on manipulation here goddamn. possessive!miguel. like I’m not kidding he’s actually terrible for this (but of course still all soft and sweet to you). wc 1.5k.

pt one. pt two.

it was dark. at first at least, because your mind felt dizzy, as you moved to sit up. at first you thought maybe something was covering your eyes. but no, the room was just…dark.

you could feel the bed underneath you, as your feet hit the cold floor. the room looked rather bland, but as you continued to gaze around, brows furrowed at your swaying mind, you stop on a picture frame.

it had been purposefully placed down, which most likely meant that you probably shouldn’t put it back up. but your curiosity and want to realise your situation better, made your hand lift to view the picture. your breathing hitches when you see you.

or well…maybe not you. but a version. a version of you smiling, oblivious to the photo in general.

“she’s pretty isn’t she?” a voice makes you quickly place the photo back down as you spin to face whoever it was. you sway a fraction, reaching to grab out for the bed’s end post, but a hand is quickly holding you steady.

“you’ll be a bit dizzy still.” he softly comments, and then you recognise the voice. miguel. but not your miguel. you rush back, chest heaving. “you…you…kidnapped me?” your comment is more so a question at this point, as miguel shakes his head, reaching for you again.

but you stumble back, hand out, as you stare with full fledged anger. “don’t you dare come closer…i—“you take a breath, because it’s true you did still feel dizzy. you shake your head continuously. “you’re not…please tell me I’m dreaming.” you meet his gaze, and see utter adoration, but clear worry at your frantic actions.

“i thought so too at first.” miguel smiles. actually smiles. and you can’t fathom how he can at the current situation.

“but it’s not…”

miguel shakes his head, confirming so. “no. you’re here…” then he further mutters to himself. “…you’re really here…”

“no.” you say pointedly. “take me back.”

“look i know that you probably feel…scared right now—“

“scared?” you hiss out. “of course i feel scared. you pretended to be…oh god…i kissed you.” you mutter, replying yesterdays actions. was it yesterday? you weren’t sure. because time seemed to be irrelevant as of now.

“and it was better than I remembered.” miguel is slowly edging closer to you.

you shake your head, jaw clenching. “no. no, i’m not…i’m not your wife. please tell me you know that.”

“i know.” miguel clenched his jaw. “my wife is dead.”

you stop, meeting his gaze. there’s a flash of something cold before he catches your gaze, softening instantly, as his lips twitch up. “but you aren’t…and i’m not gonna let you die…” he edged closer again. “‘m not gonna let anything happen to you.”

you keep your hand out, but your expression has softened a fraction. he still grieved. and now his desperation kinda made sense to you. but that still gives him no right to just…take you. “i’m…sorry. i am, but i have my own life. a different life. with…miguel…my miguel.”

miguel’s jaw tightens at this, as he steps much much closer. you hadn’t realised that you were backing up until you felt the cold wall at your back. now Miguel had you trapped as his gaze wandered your face with an intimacy that had your breath hitching.

“i’m barely any different from your miguel.” he says, brushing your face and neck, making you shiver.

“he wouldn’t just kidnap someone.” you mutter, making miguel’s darting eyes meet your own. his caresses moved to grab your chin, keeping your head how he wanted.

“i hate to break it to you. but if any of my variants are like me, then anything close to determination, or desperation will lead us to do something like this.” his mouth had moved to drag his lips up the skin of your neck, just breathing you in. “if anything is of high importance to us, we make sure we get it.” he places a kiss to your collarbone.

your entire body is tense, as you try to draw away from his eager lips. but he’s persistent, keeping you still, as he begins to suck on your neck, mumbling spanish words into your skin.

“and you…are probably the upmost important thing to us.” his other hand has slipped around your waist, as his hand by your chin slips to the back of your neck.

“you’re wrong.” you manage, as he litters kisses up your neck and jaw.

“am i?” miguel hums, kitten licking your skin.

“i’m…i’m not important to you. only to one of you…or i’d like to think so.” you say quickly, trying not to let his kisses effect you.

miguel shakes his head against your skin, his head now resting in the crook of your neck as he just keeps you close. “but you are, you…mine...” he mutters your name.

“no—“

“yes.” he interrupts, pulling your waist closer to him. “all mine.” he mutters, his open mouth now over the side of your neck.

“i’m not…please, i’m…” you try, but his weight is crushing. “i’m really sorry about your wife, but…i’m not her, i can’t be her.”

“yes you can. you’re exactly like her.” miguel says, lifting his head, to kiss your lips. your ‘no’ comes out muffled as you manage to slightly draw him away.

“miguel.” you say pointedly. and he finally stops, breathing hard as he stares, seeming to make sure all your details sink into his brain.

“i can’t let you go again.”

“miguel.” you say again. “you never had me.”

his grip around your waist tightened. “i don’t care that you’re from another universe. you’re my wife. my wife now. you can’t really think i’d just give that up so easily can you?”

you shake your head. “i’m already married.”

“to a version of me.” he says, his clawed finger going back to tracing your skin.

“no. you’re a version of him, to me.” you say, truthfully. “you’re the variant who has no right. He’s my husband.”

his jaw clenched, his soft tracing now a tight grip on your cheeks to stop you talking. “don’t say that.”

you still manage to speak. “it’s the truth. even you can’t deny that.”

he breathes, his tongue running down his fang. “fine. you were his wife.” his hand had begun to stroke any part of you, keeping you close and against him. “but where is he? it’s been two days.”

your eyes widen. two days?!

miguel smirks at your shocked expression. “if he really was your husband, and cares about you. he would have found you already. i would have found you.” miguel’s manipulative words are whispered so enticingly.

you shake your head. “no he’s…where even am I?”

miguel didn’t want to say his universe. because then you’d make up some excuse about how your husband physically couldn’t get here. so Miguel instead says. “somewhere quiet. not far from your house actually. he’s just so oblivious.” miguel hides his smirk in your neck, going back to kissing and licking.

“no…” you weren’t going to believe that. He’s looking for you. your miguel is looking for you.

miguels hand slipped under your shirt, just to stroke your waist, hips and stomach. “maybe he’s just…busy. he has such a hard job doesn’t he?”

he’s looking for you—you keep repeating to yourself. he’s looking, he’s looking. but miguels poisonous words have snuck their way into your mind.

“i actually saw your husband, before I went to your house…” lies lies lies. “he was with…someone.”

your jaw clenched. because your mind instantly went to the woman he works with. no. you weren’t gonna be jealous. she was only his co-worker. a friend.

“they were standing rather…close.” miguel’s lips have left marks all over your neck, as he keeps stroking your skin, doing a lot more damage to your mind. a target of his that he can feel is slowly working. because you aren’t as tense anymore, and maybe you’re just thinking. but that would mean miguel’s plan is on its way.

he lifted his head, his face falling again, as he looks concerned, brushing your cheek with his fingers. “she seemed rather…eagerly engaging with him. of course i’m sure it’s nothing though. i’m sure he’s looking for you.”

miguel watches the switch in your expression. my, my you were so easy to manipulate. he held down his grin still displaying a form of sadness and pity.

“i’m sure he didn’t agree to that dinner.”

“what?” you stare at him, and for the first time today you completely and utterly stare at miguel. and he feels ecstatic.

“you didn’t know?” miguel tilts his head in fake surprise. “i thought he would have told you, since you’re well…his wife.”

he’s lying—you think to yourself. all his words are lies. but you can’t help but feel doubt prickle under your skin. because yes, your miguel has been rather busy lately, making small excuses. it’s fine right. he’s looking for you…right?

“ay, mi cariño…you didn’t know? i’m so sorry.” miguel gently kissed your cheek. carefully reading your now relaxed posture, as he moves his lips to capture yours.

and that’s when he knew he had you. his doubtful thoughts were planted now. and as he moved his hand to support the back of your neck, he knew for sure—kissing you harder—that he had you completely under his control.

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rileyslibrary · 1 year

Text

Where’s my pen, Lt.?

Summary: You’re PMSing, and Ghost comes to the rescue.

Relationship: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

Word Count: 1,110

Notes:

Angst and fluff

Dedicated to my ✨ anon

Want more?

———————————————————————

How can you be angry, sad, and tired all at the same time? It’s a never-ending cycle. Every month right before your period, you feel like shit. What did your species do to deserve such a cruel and recurring punishment? What a selfish b*tch that Eve was. So much for taking one for the team.

You’re standing in front of a table with a shattered drone resting on its mahogany top. Fortunately, with the right tools, carbon fibre is easy to repair. Unfortunately, this army base doesn’t have the necessary equipment and personnel for the job. It can be a complex task if you don’t have the resources, especially if you lack the energy and strength to do it just by yourself.

Ghost is sitting in the corner of the room, cleaning his handgun. He looks calm—sirene—as if he didn’t just stare death straight in the eyes a few hours ago. How does he do that?

On the contrary, your movements are sluggish, you have terrible back pain, and you lack the motivation to complete even the most basic tasks. But you have to fix that drone for its next mission.

You catch a glimpse of yourself in one of the drone’s camera lenses. You’re unrecognisable. Your hair is acting up again, with unruly strands forming a halo at the crown of your head. Not only that, but your reflection reveals another issue. You take a closer look at your face. Fuck; another pimple. It decided to settle on your chin this time. Great—just great.

“Everything alright?” He asks, interrupting your thoughts.

“Y-yes, ready to start the process.” You answer with false confidence. Can he tell you’re faking it? Probably.

He says nothing but keeps staring at you with an unreadable expression, his silence giving an answer in itself. After what seemed like an eternity, he stands up and walks towards the door, exiting the room and leaving you alone.

You close your eyes and take a deep breath, exhaling in relief. Come on, get a hold of yourself. Focus.

You gather your hair up and fix it with whatever you have available in front of you. Now is not the time to be making stylistic decisions. You’re not here to compete in a pageant, anyway. What you need to do is fix that damn thing and fast.

You roll up your sleeves, grab your notepad, and open it on a new page. You pick up your p-

Where’s your pen?

You begin searching the table for your missing item, picking up drone components and putting them back in an unruly manner.

Maybe it rolled off the table!

You kneel on the floor, furiously searching for your pen as if you’d lost your most treasured asset. Where did it go? It can’t just grow legs and walk away! It must be here, somewhere.

You stumble as you rise to your feet, bumping your head on the table’s corner. Dizzy and frustrated, you stay on all fours, attempting to calm yourself with every ounce of dignity you have left.

Until you ultimately give up. So much for the confidence boost you tried to give yourself a few moments ago. You roll around and sit on the floor, drawing your knees close to your chest and burying your face in them as you let out a long, deep sigh.

“Is that part of the repair process, soldier?” Ghost asks as he re-enters the room, “do you grieve the drone first before you glue it back together?”

Today, of all days, he decided to act like an asshole.

“I misplaced my pen, Lieutenant,” you reply, still seated on the floor.

“You’re crying because you misplaced your pen.” He repeats in a deep, monotonous voice.

“I’m not cr- forget it.” You sigh defeated.

You can’t tell him what’s going on inside you. He’ll never understand. Ghost could take a bullet to the shoulder and still manage to climb a mountain while you’re whining about a minor inconvenience.

“Get up.” He commands, and you follow his orders. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and attempt to stand as straight as possible.

He stares at you with those interrogative eyes of his and slides something from across the table. You look down at the purple-wrapped rectangle in front of you.

A chocolate bar.

“I know what’s up,” he says, shrugging as he looks at the chocolate, “you tend to be like that a few days before.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “How do you know?”

“I keep a log,” he explains. “I might be confident enough setting up an ambush in the middle of the desert, but I don’t push my luck with you.”

You crack a smile and accept the chocolate. “Thank you, Ghost,” you mutter, eyeing the piece of candy. He keeps a log, huh? What a guy.

“About that pen you were looking for,” he continues, “it’s in that patty of yours,” he explains and points at you.

In the what of yours??? You stand perplexed by his last statement until he gestures toward the back of his head. You mimic his actions and chuckle in embarrassment as you realise what he’s referring to. But of course! You used the pen to secure your hair. You exhale in relief and pick the pen off to set it on the notepad.

“You’re a lifesaver, Simon.” You reply.

“Keep your gratitude for the battlefield, soldier,” he adds dismissively. He’s obviously flattered, but he’ll never confess it. “Now tell me, how’s your back doing?” He asks, “still in pain?”

You nod. “Hurts like a motherfucker, sir.”

“Let me see,” he says, and you lift your hair up to expose the back of your neck. He moves in closer to get a better look, and you can feel the heat of his breath against your skin. His fingers are gentle as he works his way down your neck, kneading the soreness and pain away with skill. You wince as you feel his touch, but the pain is nothing compared to what it was before he began to work his magic.

“Oh, and, uh, Lieutenant?” You whisper softly, almost inaudibly, as you feel the tension leaving your body.

“Hm?” He murmurs, his strong hands now carefully massaging your shoulders.

“It’s called a bun,” you say with a smirk, “not a patty.”

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#simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #call of duty #modern warfare 2 #cod mwii #✨ anon #Simon riley #cod ghost #cod mw2

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prentisssgf · 15 days

Text

| emma, emily

| criminal minds

| emily prentiss x reader

| fluff

| 3274 words

Your girlfriend, Emily Prentiss died seven months ago, it came as a shook to everyone but it hit you the hardest and to no one's surprise, you overworked yourself so much as it was now the anniversary so you needed to take a couple of days off.

"You're gonna want to come in for this one" your boss sighed over the phone.

"Alright fine, I'll be there as soon as I can" you mumbled getting out of bed.

An hour later, you had showered and were in work, you all sat around the round table, Hotch was explaining something but you couldn't really hear, not that you were intentionally ignoring him, you were just focusing on nothing in particular.

So when you looked up and you found everyone facing the door, you naturally drifted your eyes there too and there she was, Emily Prentiss.

What? Emily was alive? your girlfriend was alive all this time? all of a sudden you felt more dizzy than you already had, you were 100% sure that you were hallucinating and that you were making this up, until she hugged you, this time, her body was cold and rigid, not like her usual warm hugs, so this definitely was a dream, Emily placed a gentle hand to your cheeks to caress it slowly, you just stood there though, too afraid that if you'll reach back she'll disappear just as quickly.

"Y/N you can't imagine how I feel-" she started, anger rose within you.

"Emily can I talk to you in my office please, right now" you nodded to JJ's old office down the hall, you got there and then locked the door while she sat down on the couch "You can't Imagine how I feel" you quoted back to her "I grieved you for seven fucking months Emily, I lost the one thing that was important to me and I visited your grave every single week, for the first two months I hated myself, I hated myself for not seeing the signs and I hated myself for not being able to get to the hospital sooner, and I absolutely hated you"

"You hated me?-" you cut her off.

"My turn to speak" you barked "Do not come back here and act like everything is fine because it's not, I'm so confused with you, you couldn't have given me-oh I don't know- a heads up that you actually WERE alive?" tears thrashing down your face as you paced the room.

"Y/N please if you could just give me a chance and listen to me" she groaned.

"Why on Earth would I listen to you?" you ran your hands through your hair and huffed.

"Because-" Emily was interrupted by a knock on the door by Hotch.

"You two can go home now" he nodded.

"I- I actually don't-" Emily started, you knew what she was getting at.

"Come on" you heavily sighed as you picked up yours and Emily's to go bags as she followed you like a lost puppy to your car.

The two of you drove home in an uncomfortable silence, you gave her the silent treatment as she tried to explain herself.

It wasn't until you actually got in to your apartment that she finally started talking.

"Y/N-"

"No"

"But"

"Nope"

"Just listen to me"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because I love you, I'm still in love with you" she cried, you spun around on your heels and walked up to her, glancing over her to see if she was lying, your speciality was body language in human behaviour, so naturally you were able to tell if someone was lying or not, but if Emily Prentiss wasn't a damn good liar.

"How am I supposed to believe that?"

"Because every single minute of every day I thought of you and I wanted you I only wanted you"

"Em you said the same thing before you left" you sighed as you sat down on the armchair across from Emily, your hands covering your eyes, she didn't say anything so you just sighed and walked into the kitchen to make some food "lasagna okay?" you looked back and she looked up at you and nodded and smiled slightly.

"I died" she whispered after 15 minutes of silence.

"What?" you slung a tea towel over your shoulder and turned around.

"I coded in the ambulance, I died" she whispered slightly louder.

"Oh" you turned the stove off and walked towards her "oh honey" you squatted down on your knees in front of her "I'm sorry I acted like this, I didn't even give you a chance to explain yourself" you sighed, disappointed in yourself at the way you've been acting.

"I get it" Emily forced herself to laugh slightly "If the roles were reversed I would've acted the same way too"

"I'll get us drinks and you can tell me what happened?" you offered.

"Hmm" Emily agreed.

You got up to make the waters both of you silent, you sat next to her on the couch, putting your water on the coffee table as she had hers in between her hands.

"Whenever you're ready to talk I'm here" you smiled, extending your arm to tuck her hair behind her ears as you gave her a gentle warm smile.

"Mommy?" you heard a small voice walking out of a room "mommy who's that?" Emily turned around to see who that was and to her surprise she saw a small toddler walking out of one of the room's of your apartment, blanket in hand she made her way towards you, you turned to silently ask Emily if she was okay and she nodded.

"Hi baby" you smiled picking her up meeting her halfway "Let's get you back to bed, hmm?" you smiled, swiping her from her forehead.

"Okay" she yawned tirelessly "Who's that though?" she pushed the question again, you sighed and looked back over at Emily who was now looking down at her mug.

"She's just a friend sweetie" you smiled as you rubbed her back "did we wake you?" you said before opening her door to her room.

She kept her head down tucked into your chest but you still felt her nodding "Oh baby I'm sorry" you kissed her head, before lying her down in her bed "I love you" you kissed her cheek and then pulled the blanket up.

"I love you too mommy" she yawned and rolled onto her side, making you slightly laugh.

"I'll talk more about it with you tomorrow okay?" you smiled tucking her curly hair behind her ears once more

"Okay" she smiled.

You walked out quietly and shut the door behind her, you started walking over to the kitchen to get you and Emily both a fresh glass of water, you placed them down on the table and sighed as you fell back in to the couch.

"Em" you sighed, your head now in your hands "look-" you got cut off.

"You have a daughter?" her voice came out as a shock but she grabbed your hand.

You nodded "I adopted her a month after you.. you know...she's 4, her name is Emma" Emily looked up at you in surprise and awe

"The name was just a complement coincidence, but I saw it as a sign" you shrugged "I love Emma more than anything in this world and if you want to make it work- if you want to make us work, you're going to have to let Emma in too"

"I know that and I understand that" she smiled nodding her head.

"Good" you smiled as you curled yourself further into her and smiled.

"Are you coming to bed?" you groaned as you stood up from the couch a few hours later.

"I was gonna take the couch" Emily smiled nervously, her hand reaching the back of her neck.

"Em" you sighed "It's okay, I don't mind you can sleep with me but if you want to sleep on the couch I totally understand" you leaned down to kiss her forehead.

"I'll take the bed" she smiled, pulling you down to kiss her lips.

☆

"Good morning" you smiled at Emily, looking down she was curled up on your chest, your hands ran through her hair, untangling the knots slightly.

"Hi baby" she looked up at you and smiled, your heart was racing, this was exactly like it was 8 months ago and honestly you wanted to wake up to this sight every morning "what are you thinking about hmm?" she smiled as she realised that you were staring at her for a few minutes without saying anything.

"I just.. I just I love you" if your heart wasn't beating quickly, it definitely was now, you had been together with Emily for four years, sure you said it enough times but this time, actually losing her, you meant it more than anything in your life.

"I love you too" she smiled as she swung her legs over you and started to kiss you, which made you giggle.

"Mommy" you heard a small voice come through on the baby monitor

"I'm sorry baby, come with me?" you offered.

Emily nodded and smiled, she kissed you again and again all over your face as you started giggling.

"Hi honey" you smiled as you sat down on Emma's bed "why are you up at 6am?" you smiled curiously as you started stroking her curly hair, exactly like you were doing with Emily minutes earlier.

"Um..." she started to trail off and she looked down at her fingernails.

"Hey" you pulled her hands apart gently and pulled her towards you for her to sit on your lap "whatever it is, you can talk to me about it..." you looked up at Emily standing in the doorway "or my friend Emily, if you like" you looked over at her and she had the biggest grin on her face, she walked over to you both and squatted in front of you two.

"I had a nightmare again" her little body racked with sobs, she was embarrassed so she tucked herself in to you "I was a bad girl waking you up"

"Baby no" you pushed her shoulders out so you could see her tear stained face "there is nothing you could ever do that would make me believe that, if you ever and I mean ever, need to talk to me I will always be here, no matter what time okay, just like you did today, that was so great Emma, you did a very grown up thing and told me when you were having a nightmare instead of just staying in your room" you wiped her tears and kissed her again and wrapped your arms tightly around her.

She had started getting nightmares about 4 months in to living with you, she woke you up every time and you were glad that she trusted you that much, you knew that it was going to take some time for her to open up to you and it was a surprise to both of you for it to be so quickly.

The nightmare consisted of the same thing, you still hadn't gotten all of it yet but you got the basics; bad man, chasing after mommy, leaving Emma all on her own, that's all you could figure out right now.

"Okay" you cooed as you rubbed her back, whispering small nothings into her ear telling her it's going to be okay "It's only a dream sweetheart and I'm right here, always" you smiled as you kissed her head again.

"Can I try something?" Emily whispered to you, you smiled and nodded, perplexed at how much she was great with children "Hi sweetheart" she smiled as Emma started to turn around, still tucked in to your chest, but her full attention now on Emily "my name is Emily" she smiled "what's your name?" she reached out slowly to grab her hand.

Nodding to prompt her to understand that it's okay to talk to her "Emma" she whispered as she looked up at you, while grabbing Emily's finger with her whole hand.

"Emma, that's a lovely name" Emily and Emma both smiled, Emma looked up at you and grinned making you smile slightly.

"Thank you 'Mily" Emma smiled as she couldn't say Emily properly yet.

"So I hear you're having nightmares, can you tell me about them?" Emily reached out to tuck some hair behind her ears.

Emma looked up at you once more "you can tell her baby, it's okay" you smiled.

Emma explained the nightmares, putting her full trust in Emily, but turning away quickly, embarrassed at the fact that she did that "you did so great Em" you kissed Emma's head as you mouthed a silent thank you to Emily, who just nodded and smiled.

"Emma?" Emily questioned with her voice low, as Emma turned around slightly.

"You can sit on my bed if you want to" Emma smiled.

"Are you sure?" Emily asked and Emma just nodded "Emma what I was going to say was it's okay to have nightmares, there are loads and loads and loads and loads of people who have nightmares" the exaggeration made them both giggle, Emma already feeling better slightly "I have nightmares sometimes, and so does mommy" Emma looked up and you and you nodded.

"I do, but that doesn't make me a bad mommy right?" Emma shook her head.

"So that doesn't make you a bad baby either" you booped her nose which made her crinkle it which made you and Emily both laugh.

"Are you feeling a little bit better?" you smiled at her, she nodded.

"Good girl, you wanna get some breakfast?" you grinned "pancakes?"

"YES" Emma shouted making you and Emily laugh.

Emma shuffled out of your arms and stood up, patiently waiting for you and Emily to stand up too and go in to the kitchen.

"Mily you come too?" Emma looked up at Emily and smiled.

"Yeah sweetheart I'm coming" Emily laughed as Emma squealed, Emma quickly reached out to take Emily's hand to drag her down the hallway in to the kitchen, you grabbed your phone to take a quick picture.

You followed them in to the kitchen and you sat Emma on the counter in front of you while you made the pancakes.

"Can I help?" Emily came up behind you and placed a hand on your waist, you turned around to kiss her lips quickly while Emma was distracted.

"Absolutely" you grinned, thankful that Emily was quick to love Emma as much as you.

"Em?" you questioned "you wanna pick the music?"

"Disney songs" Emma shouted excitedly as she pumped her fists in to the air which made you and Emily smile.

"You got it, little lady" you winked as you shuffled the playlist you both made a few months ago.

It took a while longer to make the pancakes because you were all dancing and singing in the kitchen, after you did because it was both a day off for you and Emily you took Emma to the zoo and the park.

☆

"When we get here, you have to stay next to us, okay? no running off yeah?" you looked at Emma in the rear view mirror in the car, you drove and Emily was sat next to you in the passenger seat and Emma was sitting behind you.

"Yeah" Emma nodded as she absentmindedly hummed along to the radio.

"Alright" you smiled and blew her a kiss through the mirror.

It didn't take long to get to the zoo, but when you did, she stuck by you the entire time, sometimes running ahead slightly when she was excited for a specific animal but she always made sure you could see her.

Later in the day, around 2pm Emily walked up to a member of staff and three men while you had a slightly tired Emma in your arms, you could see her flash her badge and he walked away.

"Hey what was that?" you whispered as you walked up to her, thankful Emma was asleep.

"Some asshole was shoving that member of staff and he pushed him to the floor and his friends joined him" Emily shrugged.

You kissed Emily "superwoman" you replied "but seriously you're the best" you kissed her once more.

While you walked around a little more, Emma woke up but she still settled in your arms, when a member of staff walked up to you all "Emily Prentiss?" you both turned around.

"Hmm?" Emily nodded.

"I just wanted to thank you for what you did and I was wondering if you and your family wanted maybe a tour around the zoo? for free?"

You and Emily both looked at each other before looking at Emma who was profusely nodding and grinning.

"Thank you we would love that" Emily smiled "but honestly it wasn't a problem"

After your tour you decided to get some ice cream and skip the park and go straight home because she was sleeping.

☆

You drove home and you walked in with Emma and Emily took in the car seat and the rest of the bags.

You bathed Emma and you and Emily walked in to her room.

You and Emily sat on Emma's bed when she stood up and whispered in your ear "Can I sit on Emily's lap?" you had an arm rested around Emma's back for balance as she stood up, trying to hold back the biggest grin on your face, you nodded "of course baby, just ask her first" you smiled.

"Mily?" you both looked over at her, Emily's eyes darting in between yours and Emma's.

"Yeah honey?" Emily smiled.

Emma looked back at you and you nodded promptly at her "Can I?..." Emma trailed off, almost embarrassed at her question.

"She wants to know if she can sit on your lap" you smiled.

Emily's eyes began to water slightly "really?" she mouthed and you nodded "of course you can"

"Go" you nodded at Emma to Emily and her face lit up, she bounced from you to Emily who hugged her straight away.

"Too late for a story?" Emma pouted.

"Um no" you checked the time to see it was nearing 8pm "no it's not which one do you want me to get baby?" you shifted yourself off the bed and kissed her head as you kneeled in front of her bookcase.

"Guess how much I love you" she smirked.

"Alright" you got the book out of the shelf and sat down next to Emily.

About halfway through the book Emma completely fell asleep hugging Emily, truthfully none of you wanted to move so you decided to stay where you were for about 10 minutes.

"I want you to stay" you nodded "you're great with Emma and she already trusts you so much I'll talk to her about you staying forever but I need to make sure you want to do that forever first" you breathed out, running your hands through Emma's hair.

"I want to" Emily nodded "I want to do this with you, I want to be your family, I would never take your role as a mother to Emma but I do want to raise her with you, I want to be her other mother"

"Yeah?" tears streaming down your face as you sobbed.

"Yeah" Emily affirmed, you leaned in to kiss her, and then Emma's head.

"I just love you" you smiled.

"I can't wait to do this with you forever" Emily smiled, tears streaming down her face now.

"Forever"

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #paget brewster #criminal minds x you #emily x reader #emily x you

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dizzydancingdreamer · 2 years

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Bruh how you gonna go from saying the filthiest shit to me— like filthy my god you would think he wrote fanfiction with that mouth— to having a screaming match about leprechauns with me after telling me four months ago that “this is impossible” baby you’re astronomically down bad beyond salvation for me 😭 king of finding his soulmate in another country, denying it because he’s scared, but coming crawling back every 1-3 business days to annoy me because he misses me Jesus Christ

#I know I just wrote a Peter Parker sad boy fanfiction #but we can still grieve and accept the love in our lives #I choose to do both so I’m sharing the good and the bad #dizzy rambles #think there’s smth special abt this one

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frenchkisstheabyss · 4 months

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ⱧɆ₳Ɽ₮ ₴Ⱨ₳₱ɆĐ ฿ØӾ

☽ Pairing ☾ warlock!christian yu x witch!chubby!fem!reader

☽ Genre ☾ supernatural au , fluff, smut

☽ Summary ☾ When his first attempt at a spell ends in him being chased out of town, Christian stumbles through the woods and stumbles upon your cottage. Unwelcoming to visitors, you attempt to chase him off but there's just something about this stranger that makes it impossible to turn him away.

☽ Word Count ☾ 2.7k-ish

☽ Warnings ☾ mentions of death/funerals (it's handled comedically so nothing gruesome), witchcraft obviously, unprotected sex, nibbling, a lil bit of rough sex, soft dom christian vibes, overstimulation, creampie, pet names (darling, love), & that's all babes.

☽ A/N ☾ I wrote this as a request for @magoapple who loves Christian Yu as much as I do. Thank you for trusting me to write up your idea and I hope that it came out the way you wanted. Love you 💜

It was supposed to be a simple sleep spell. A few sprigs of dried mugwort, ground lepidolite, the toe of a dead man, a splash of moon water, two creams, three sugars. Or was it three creams, two sugars? Racing through the trees, bare branches grasping at his limbs like the claws of the damned, Christian knows he made a mistake somewhere.

His grandmother’s spells, written on tea stained scraps of paper, provided clear instructions. Naturally a few words here and there had faded over time but how important could they have truly been?Important enough that they might've kept him from cooking up the nauseating potion that made him pass for a corpse.

The days of grieving that preceded his funeral service were hell for everyone but him. While dozens wept he snoozed peacefully. Arrangements were made. His pinstripe white suit was tailored. An oak wood casket was measured to suit his height. The only thing missing, the very thing that saved him, was that the mortician skipped the embalming process.

In a small middle of nowhere town like this, people are prone to superstition. When the mortician placed his scalpel to Christian’s throat, prepared to make his first incision, he could’ve sworn he heard a low humming noise. A death rattle is what they call it. Unremarkable when heard coming from the dying but when it’s coming from the dead? Cut into them and the sound will haunt you for the rest of your days.

And so he quietly left him intact. Something he’d come to regret when his wife rushed into the funeral home screaming in terror that the boy had risen from the dead at his own funeral. The townspeople were unhappy to say the least. Glancing over his shoulder, Christian can still see raging globes of orange looming between the trees. The flames of torches meant to burn him to ash.

There’s chatter amongst the small group of men tasked with capturing him. Their voices aren't distinctive in the slightest but their anger—their fear—seeps into their surroundings. One of the men managed to cut his arm before he escaped. His hand clings to the wound, gathering the fabric of his tattered suit to soak up the blood that drips from it.

He’s out of breath, lungs burning with every step he takes. He doesn’t know how much longer he can run or even where he’s running to. Only that he has to keep going or he’ll be burned at the stake. He knows he’s been running in a straight line but suddenly the trees seem to bend as if he’s made a right turn. The change is dizzying, causing him to stumble but he has to keep running. Straight? No, left. No, right. No.

Thud! His body collides with something unseen, knocking him to the ground. “What the hell!” you shout, bracing yourself for the fall. You land hard on your bottom, the basket of herbs on your arm spilling out into the grass. Scrambling to your feet, you spot the beast that slammed into you though he’s no beast at all. Despite his disheveled appearance, the dark haired man has a gentleness to him that makes you want to rush to his aid.

Watching him dust himself off, you see that he’s injured...and handsome. Incredibly handsome. But how did he get here? How? “Oh my goodness, I’m so happy I found you. You have to help me!” he pleads, grasping at your arm to pull himself up. You back away, sensing the impending presence of even more unwanted company. “You led them here? To my home! Who sent you?” Eyeing the cozy cottage behind you, Christian questions if he’s alive after all.

Everything from the chestnut shingles on the roof to the cobblestone path with flowers springing out from between the cracks reminds him of the story books he read as a child. Vines of wisteria climb the walls, bundles of lavender adorning the arches of the windows and doors. A place like this—it shouldn’t be here.

“You shouldn’t be here! Whoever sent you—” you say, lowering your voice to a hush. “No one sent me. I’ve just, I’ve had a day, alright? If you don’t help me they’ll kill me so please, please help me.” You want to turn him away, send him right back in whatever direction he came from, but you can’t. The sincerity of his pleas tug at your heartstrings, playing them like a violin.

Behind him you spot the lights of the torches, bringing back dark memories of what lead to your life of solitude to begin with. Shaking away the ghosts of your past, you rush to pull his jacket off. “Take your clothes off!” “Hey!” he squeals, twisting free, “What are you doing?” “You stink of graveyard dirt. It’s interfering with my spell. Take your clothes off, anything the dirt touched, and dispose of them!”

Christian hesitates, unsure he wants to trust a strange woman’s demands to strip down, no matter how beautiful she is. “Just do it before you get us both killed!” “So feisty! Fine, I’ll do it!” Finally getting his jacket off, you toss it into the trees. Christian follows your lead, hurriedly stripping down to his underwear and disposing of the clothes in a small scattered area just beyond your grass.

You’re ashamed of yourself. Staying focused has always been your strength and men, unfortunately, have always been your weakness. His muscled body is covered in inked markings, mesmerizing you to the point of total distraction. Christian catches you staring and winks, “Like something you see, darling?” “Ugh, you’re already unbearable!” you huff, marching towards your home. “Come inside, we need to handle that wound.” “What about them?”

Pushing your front door open, you turn around and begin counting backwards from 10. Gradually, the torches snuff out and the voices fade into the night. “We’re invisible to them now. They won’t find us. They won’t find anything. The trees will twist until they can’t even find each other.” You say this with a coldness that betrays your sweet exterior and fuels his curiosity.

“You’re magnificent” he muses, making you crack something too fleeting to register as a smile though it’s something resembling one. Lowering your head to hide your amusement, you step inside and he trails behind you, a lost puppy in search of a home. “Whoa” he gasps, marveling at the decor. It’s rustic and simple yet everything in it seems priceless. Even the picture frames appear ornate, the paintings within their boundaries thriving with life.

If he stands still long enough he could swear the paintings move. “Do you plan to bleed out on my carpet?” you tease, standing in the doorway to the kitchen with a blanket and a small basket holding your own special first aid supplies.

“When did you get those?”

“Get what?”

“The blanket and the…they just…”

“Appeared?” you laugh, handing him the blanket, “Things tend to do that around here. Come sit.”

Wrapping himself in the blanket, Christian makes his way into the kitchen. “Might you have a name, stranger?” you ask, setting up your own makeshift medical station at the table. “Christian. And yours?” Unraveling a roll of gauze, you glance up to find him staring at you with a longing in his eyes that even he may not be aware of. It makes your heart skip a beat, your pulse racing as you catch yourself slipping under his spell once more.

The sound of a pot boiling over on the stove reels you back in. You clear your throat, hurrying to tend to the dinner you’d so quickly forgotten about. Jumping into action, Christian grabs an oven mitt and is right at your side helping to put out a small fire before it catches. “Goodness, look at me. I’m such a mess. Forgive me, I just—this is a lot and I—” you ramble, flustered by the culmination of events.

You stop to catch your breath, a hand clutched to your chest. This is far more excitement than you were prepared for. “Would you like something to eat, Christian?” Your question makes him suddenly aware of how long it’s been since he last had a bite to eat or even a sip of water. The aroma rising from the pots is mouthwatering, only making matters worse. If he had enough moisture in his body to drool he would.

“I would love that, thank you.” You take him by the hand, leading him back to his chair to properly examine his wound. “I’ll feed you and fix you up then off you go. Understood?” He nods obediently, praying that mind reading isn’t among your abilities. As annoyed as you may be at his arrival, there’s still something so inviting about you. You handle him with such warmth. The very warmth that was so cruelly stripped from his life without warning. What intention could he possibly have of letting you rush him off?

But he lies anyway, settling into the comfort of your touch. “Understood.”

Chirp! Chirp! The baby bird cupped in Christian’s hands flutters its wings. A thorn peeks from between its feathers, preventing it from taking flight. “Poor thing” you pout, pinching the thron and plucking it free, “There you go. All better, aren’t we?” Christian looks to you with the same admiration that he has everyday since he stumbled upon your cottage, injured and alone like this sweet little bird.

Weeks have passed since then, both of you finding excuses for him to stay before ultimately doing away with the notion altogether. Before his arrival you’d never spent mornings like this sitting barefoot in the grass enjoying the utopia your magic had created. Now every morning begins this way with him, hours spent opening up to him in ways you never thought you would with anyone.

You shudder to think of how long you spent locked up in that house, hidden from everything bad in the world and consequently everything, at least one thing, good. Christian sets the bird down in the grass, watching it hop off into the distance and disappear beyond the invisible veil that surrounds your home. “Darling,” he says, a sweet nickname he’s come to call you, “Have you ever thought about leaving?” You laugh at the obscenity of such a question, “Leaving? Wh-why would I do that?”

Sensing the anxiousness in your voice, he intertwines his fingers with yours, brushing his thumb along the back of your trembling hand. “There’s a big, wide world out there, darling. You can’t hide here forever.” It’s a knife through your heart to hear him say that word. Hide. “I’m not hiding here. This place keeps me safe. It keeps us safe.” You move to snatch your hand away but he only holds it tighter, bringing you closer to him.

“But it keeps us still. Something as beautiful as you are shouldn’t be kept. Beautiful things should be free, shouldn’t they?” “And who’ll protect me?” Christian smiles, deep brown eyes refelcting the morning sun, “I will.” Instinctively you want to make a mad dash for the front door, slam it behind you and shut everything out. But with it would go your new companion, the light at the end of a tunnel of seemingly eternal loneliness.

His other hand finds your waist, bringing you onto his lap. “I owe you everything” he whispers against your lips, “Won’t you let me give it to you?” He wraps his arms around you, kissing you with all the passion his words can’t communicate. It steals your breath away, killing that urge to run away. Your fingertips trace his jawline as you tilt forward to deepen the kiss. His tongue ventures further into your mouth, his hands finding their way under your flowy black dress.

Your skin’s softer than the most expensive silk. He can’t get enough of touching you, caressing you. Light sparks of what feels like electricity give you goosebumps as he trails up your spine. “Come with me” he begs, kissing his way down your collarbone. His tongue teases your cleavage, rounding what lush flesh of you breasts overflows from your lowcut neckline.

Christian tugs the front of your dress down, groaning in pleasure as your breasts fall free of the material. Taking your nipple between his lips, he eagerly buries his face into your chest, suckling at the bud. You throw your head back, eyes falling closed, and profess to the skies that you’ll do it. “Yes” you moan, grinding down to feel him hard against your core, “I’ll do it.”

Christian hums happily, nibbling at your stiffened bud as he reaches between your legs to stroke your slit through your panties. Only there are none. They’ve disappeared. He looks up at you, perplexed. He knows you were wearing them. “Where—” “Did you forget?” you giggle, watching the awe on his face as he feels his cock spring from his pants, “I’m magic.” “Yes, you are.”

Magic in every sense of the word. Not only in the intoxicating kiss you pull him into. Not only in the way that you sink down onto him, swallowing every throbbing inch of him into you. You’re magic in the strands of hair that fall between his fingers and in the voice that cries out his name. “Christian!” you moan, tearing his shirt away to reveal the tattooed form you’ve lusted for from the start. He bounces you in his lap, bottoming out with each thrust of his hips. It sends shockwaves through you, your juices pooling at the base of his cock.

Your toes curl, back arching as the blood rushing up his shaft has his veins pulsing while you clench around him. “I’ve wanted you for so long” he confesses, gripping the plush of your ass. “Oh god, me too. So badly.” As if you needed to say it. You’re so wet that he can feel you juices splashing on his fingers each time your bodies meet. That says everything. But he loves to hear your voice. Hear you say that you’ve wanted him as much as he wants you. “Darling” he coos, his face in your neck, inhaling your scent, “You’re shaking.”

You are. It started when he first took your hand and it hasn’t stopped since. One especially rough thrust makes you cry out, your pussy beyond overstimulated by the return of sensations you haven’t felt in years. Your eyes sparkle with tears, a tightness gripping your chest, “Too much! Ah, can’t…” In one graceful motion he has you on your back, your trembling knees pressed back to spread you wider. “Ssh, you can. You can take it for me. My brave girl, hmm?”

You squirm beneath him, this new angle perfect for slamming into your sweet spot. “You...are...the...devil” you gasp, legs wrapping around his waist. “Not the first time I’ve heard that, love” he chuckles, taking that as a challenge. Pinning your hands above your head, he picks up speed, claiming every part of you in every way he can until you’re—

“Christian—I—I’m—oh my goddesses.”

“That’s it my lovely. Wanna feel you—”

Your orgasm washes over you, the waves powerful enough to pull you under. You’re drowning and you bring him right along with you. You're overcome with every emotion all at once as you hold each other tight, flowing into each other, sticky and sweet.

The sky darkens. The air is still. For a moment you hear nothing and then your body relaxes. The sun returns, the sky somehow prettier than it was before. Christian collapses on top of you, his face disappearing beneath a mess of dark hair as he lays his head on your chest. He squints his eyes, noticing that, beyond his curtain of hair, he can spot parts of the forest he hadn’t seen before.

In the distance, the little wounded bird hops around with his friends. Not too far away he spots remnants of the clothing he tossed away when he found you. He can see everything now and that means everything can see him. It can see you. “So, where to first?” you beam, admiring the view with him.

“Anywhere you want, darling, as long as I’m with you.”

#christian yu x reader #christian yu fluff #christian yu smut #dpr ian x reader #dpr ian smut #dpr ian fluff #chubby reader #plus size reader

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dreamwritersworld · 11 months

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Favorite crime. Final part (miles morales x reader)

before we get started I just want to say please send in requests! I’ll see if I can do them I love writing angsty stories! 💓 please read my little notes at the end just to see some of my thoughts throughout writing

When miles finally returned home..saved his dad, all was well in his universe. The only thing hurtful was instead of grieving for his father..they were grieving for her.

Y/n…

his partner in crime..

his willing accomplice..

his alibi..

his favorite singer..

his favorite person..

his lover..

Gwen was no longer someone he wished was there instead, all he wished for was Y/n. He forgave Gwen and everyone once again…but no once can replace Y/n. Not when she was the one who defended him and gave up everything for him.

Miles and Miguel settled their differences and Miles put in one last request that could never be accepted.

“Please! Just let me go back and save her! She can’t be happy there! I know it! Please..”

“Miles. You know I can’t! You fixed your timeline, you got your dad. She gave her life up for you and him! Just take it.”

“I can’t..it’s wrong! I just handed her away and I don’t even know what he’s doing to her?! I don’t know if she’s ok.”

Miguel couldn’t hear or handle talking gently to miles not when he was so persistent on something he knew couldn’t be fixed.

“Miles! Stop! Just stop! She wasn’t tied down to your universe! She had nothing there! Just your parents and you. She gave that up to save you and your dad. How many times do I have to say it?!”

“…please-“

“No! She doesn’t even remember you! She’s making her life there! She forgot all about you! I made sure Miles 42 didn’t remember you or his uncle! I fixed that. But y/n forgot you on her own..that wasn’t my doing.”

Miles broke down on his knees to this news…he couldn’t take it, not when she was always meant to be his.

“…let me see her..I won’t do anything just let me look at her..from a far.”

“Fine..but you have to promise you won’t even try to do anything. She’s healing that universe and that version of yourself. It’s only ok that she’s there because now they have a spider-women to fix and protect them. Don’t try anything kid.”

Miles agreed and opened a portal immediately to see Y/n…

when miles arrived..he went straight to his home..and there she was.

Y/n was cuddled up beside him giggling as she played with his curls, he had finally took out his braids listening to his girlfriends advice.

“Miles! Stop tickling me!”

Her sweet laughter was heard once again while miles picked her up and got off the bed twirling her around the room.

“Ahh! Im getting dizzy! Babe put me down!”

After awhile Miles did and both of them fell back onto the bed giggling and staring at the spinning ceiling.

A creak at the door caught their attention as Rio looked at them with a playful stern face.

“You two, always playing around! Cmon and eat, food’s ready!”

Both teens smiled at Rio as she walked away, silence was still between them

“….whoever gets there first gets to buy dinner tomorrow!…”

“Oh you know I won’t let you win princesa!”

Miles 1610 couldn’t help but witness everything in sorrow. Princesa was always his nickname for her…it all started when they were kids…

*flashback*

“…Y/n aren’t you grounded?”

Miles was so surprised to see his best friend at his front door.

“My parents didn’t even notice I left! My father is overreacting! How was I supposed to know they were arguing? I just walked in by accident and he got mad I saw them fighting.”

The little 8 year old had a lot of sass yet gentleness in her voice but Miles knew she was right.

“Well come in! Im here to save you!”

Y/n giggled at the silly statement

“I came here on my own! What are you pretending to be? My night and shining armor?”

“If that’s what you want princesa! I am here! And now we are going on a conquest to fight off bad guys!”

“Ok! Let’s fight! You and me! Together forever! ”

So it was true…she did forget Miles 1610. It didn’t mean that it didn’t hurt, she cried and mourned for days but soon enough…she forgot why. Her brain has so traumatized that it just made everything a blur for her.

She learned to love Miles 42, that wasn’t hard for her. However it wasn’t an easy road..she had to guide him into giving up that life. He gave up being the prowler for her. Y/n was saving the world left and right and what made her the happiest was coming home to Rio and Miles. In many ways she healed herself and him.

Miles 1610 couldn’t believe it…he didn’t want to see it. If he were to leave right now, he’d be dragging his feet and dreading it…maybe just for a little while…just a little longer..he’ll stay.

It was truly bittersweet to think about the damage that they did..how they overcame it. In a way Y/n did everything just to call Miles her’s. And she’d do it all over again.

When they came back from eating Miles 1610 became invincible once again staring at them from the corner of his room.

“You knew I was gonna win and nowwww we’re going out to eat pizza tomorrow and I’m paying!”

“Ughhhh I hate you!”

Y/n didn’t mean it…she said it with a smile on her face.

“Yea right..you know you love me.”

“yea…I do.”

They shared a kiss and Y/n held the brightest smile.

“Mmh…right now I’m getting a spidey sense and it’s saying…go downstairs to get snacks! I’ll be right back! You stay here and pick out a movie! It should be quick!”

“Princesa you know i don’t want you going out by yourself-“

“Excuse meeeee! I’m spider-women! I got this! I’ll be right back and change into comfy clothes!”

Miles 42 changed into his regular comfortable clothes the one that Miles 1610 was wearing…a white t-shirt and grey sweats..perfect.

Miles 1610 followed Y/n outside and followed her to the tiny bodega down the street.

“Y/n! Here to get the regular? Or are you trying new snacks with miles!”

“Ehhh I was going to get regular but now that you say that I might try some new chips.”

Miles 1610 walked in right after her and Mr.Delmar greeted him as well taking him by surprise.

“Miles! You doing good?”

“huh? Oh- yea yea of course!”

Y/n turned around confused

“Miles? I thought I told you to pick the movie!”

Here it goes, miles was going to play along with it…he’d do anything to speak to her just for awhile.

“I did princesa! Just wanted to make sure you were ok!”

Y/n giggled and took his offering hand guiding him to pick their snacks. Miles had missed her for so long…missed her touch…her candy sweet scent..her voice.

“…what do you think about trying out blue takis? we usually always get the purple ones.”

Miles stared at her admiring all her features, taking her in and falling in love with her all over again.

“…miles?..babe come back to earth!”

He shakes his head yes and just agreed to whatever she wanted…he couldn’t resist not holding her closer any longer.

“I miss you.”

Y/n couldn’t be anymore confused then she was right then and there.

“babe! We’re with each other right now! What do you mean?”

It was affection like that, it made Y/n laugh right in his face..they had each other right? So what was up?

“I know but I just…I miss you all the time even when I’m with you, I love you.”

“I love you too..”

The two shared a kiss and walked up hand and hand at the register paying for their snacks and walking home.

When they approached the building miles knew he needed to leave..he gave her one last quick kiss and requested one last race with her.

“Whoever gets upstairs first wins!”

“What? Babe!”

Miles ran upstairs and went out the window in the hallway rushing his way into the room to watch Y/n and Miles 42 once again.

Y/n walked in out of breath, exhausted.

“Damn babe, going up the stairs..I just realized you always beat me at races..what movie are we watching?”

Miles 42 didn’t question what she had said considering he raced her earlier before dinner, he laughed at her exhaustion and pulled her into him to cuddle once again.

“I was thinking about fast and furious or something?”

“Our favorite movie? Shockerrrr! You know I’m always down to rewatch it mi amor!”

Miles 1610 sighed in jealousy. He now had envy for another version of his life…he wished he had her in every way. He missed her and he hoped that she was genuinely ok.

Y/n was meant to be his lover forever in his dimension but due to him telling her to go…he changed her path. Miles committed a crime…oh but she was his favorite crime. Since they didn’t talk for weeks and she took a walk by herself in attempts to heal her wounded heart…she got bit. When she gave herself up for him...Y/n opened a door to save the most broken version of Miles. They healed each other in that dimension but…Miles 1610 cried for nights thinking about Y/n…the girl who forever had his heart.

!❤️💙!

there was tiny parallels here! The way miles and Y/n still played around and got caught by Rio! Just like they did when they were kids! The way Miles 1610 watched Y/n from afar with Miles 42 having the same feelings and hurt she did when she saw him with Gwen! Then the whole thing with Miles calling her Princesa! If you haven’t noticed I kinda tried to coordinate the song with the story. Hope you loved it 🫶 stay safe

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