#foreigner's god masterlist

[barbieaemond]

Lykirī

PAIRING: Aemond Targaryen x wife!reader

WARNINGS: loss of virginity, fingering, oral sex (f and m receiving), handjob, we ride him bitches, dom/sub tones if you squint

WORD COUNT: 8.9k

Author's note: an early Christmas gift for those who celebrate!! For those who don't, just a regular smutty piece. This was based on a request where wife!reader rides Aemond. Merry Aemondmas :)

MASTERLIST

taglist: @zae5 @multyfangirl @arcielee

"You are to marry the King's second son. Prince Aemond Targaryen."

Those were your father's words. Your sister had looked at you almost with pity and a hint of relief since that fate had befallen you and not her. You had simply nodded, accepting the fate decided by your father, just as thousands of other daughters before and after you would have done.

Your mother had come to comb your hair before going to bed, and without much ado, she had told you what would happen after the wedding, after the banquet.

"All you have to do is try to relax your nerves, and I promise it will be less painful.”

The thought had stuck in your brain until the wedding day. And the aura emanating from the prince didn't help. He was stoic to the point of looking like a statue, his posture rigid as a spindle, and there was something unsettling about him that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand when he took your hand to recite the wedding vows. Fear, but also a foreign giddiness prickling your skin upon feeling his calloused fingers around yours.

The banquet had not helped either. Prince Aegon had behaved like a court jester, drinking to the point of wondering how he could stand upright, poking his brother with cruel jokes about his eye and a whore who had made Aemond a man many years before.

You didn’t know what kind of unpleasant memories your good-brother had just summoned in his brother’s mind. That woman and her cheap perfume, that way it had clung to his skin, to his thoughts for days after his only ever trip to Flea Bottom.

Then the elder Prince had approached you with his breath stinking of Dornish and it was then that Prince Aemond broke his icy silence, standing up abruptly and looking down at you. "Come, wife. It is time for us to retire."

Prince Aegon had clapped his hands as if in front of a hilarious show, saying "Finally some fun! The bedding!"

The entire crowd present at the banquet had escorted you to the prince's chambers. The servants had removed your dress, leaving you in your underskirts; you had unconsciously covered your chest, crossing your arms to hide from the greedy eyes of the men peering in the doorway, Prince Aegon in the front row with yet another cup of wine clutched between his fingers.

Master Mellos invited you to lie down on the bed, and you obeyed, swallowing, while a host of servants shielded you from view as the Maester made his humiliating inspection.

"All is in order, your Graces," the Master informed the Prince and Queen. And that was enough for Aemond to completely slip the iron mask off his face and go straight to the door. "The show is over. Get out."

"Oh, come on, little brother. Let me watch, at least. I could give you some tips."

Aemond had towered over his brother, and from your seat on the bed, you were able to see the eldest brother shrinking by the moment. "This is not some common whore you're speaking of.” Aemond seethed “She is my wife, and you will owe her the respect she deserves. One more lewd word from your mouth, and I will rip your tongue with my bare hands. Am I being clear?”

"Gods, brother, are you already so cunt-struck?"

He never got an answer, only the door being slammed right into his face.

You stood in the middle of the room, torturing your hands as he looked at you from the door. He seemed unsure of what to do, until he cleared his throat and took a few tentative steps in the room.

“You could have some wine, if you wish. It may…help you.” He said, but as he said this, he seemed to regret his own words, given how his mouth twitched as if he had just tasted something sour. Memories could come just like that, sudden and sour.

“You must relax, my prince. Have some wine, maybe? No need to worry, I will take care of you just as a prince deserves to.”

“I’d like to keep my mind clear, my Prince.” You said, keeping your gaze down, hearing his fast and deep sigh. “Fine.” he said, straightening his back as a soldier. After all, wasn’t this just another duty?

It wasn’t just that though. You were his wife now, the future mother of his children. It was his duty and his right to claim you as his own.

“Lay on the bed.”

With your heart pounding in your ears, you did as you were told but when the mattress dipped under his weight, you did not expect to see him with his clothes still on, the eyepatch firmly in its place. More so, you did not expect the harshness of his gestures as he held your waist to turn you around. The air hitched in your throat as your face met the mattress and a strange sorrow gripped your heart. Did he not want to look at you? Did he not like you?

“Try to stay still and it’ll be over shortly.” he said. He was trying to sound reassuring, but his voice came out cold and flat. His fingers latched on your underskirts, hiking them up, filling you with embarrassment as you grow completely exposed beneath him.

Aemond knew what to do. He may not have been as depraved as his brother, but he was still a man. And once in a while, when his hands would not suffice, some maid or servant girl would’ve had to bear, quite keenly on their part, his intimate attentions.

As his hands began to glide on your thighs, you shivered and said “Wait…”

Slowly your head turned to look at him, cheeks red and breath slow and anxious. “Am I not allowed to look at you?”

Your words seemed to stun him for a moment. The mere thought of you wanting to look at him made him realize how wrong he was behaving. You were his wife, not a common whore to bend over and have his moment of bliss. He had even told Aegon. That was not his intention, but there was a gap between how he felt and how he acted, a limb severed by years of pity looks and feelings trapped in his mouth and swallowed.

Almost gently, he made you turn but once you were facing him, he pinned your wrists on the mattress, unable to touch him even if you had gathered enough courage to do it. You tried to brace yourself for what your mother had told you. But she had not told you that he would touch you there, that all your senses would go numb except for that one brand new feeling between your legs. But he seemed enthralled by it just as you, his mouth parting to let out slow puffs of air as you grow wet and swollen against his fingers.

Your breath was labored, coming out in soft pants that made your cheeks purple. More so because he kept circling his deft fingers on your core while looking straight into your eyes, reveling in the way you were answering to his call, in the way he was shaping your need, your desire.

“You never touched yourself, did you?” he asked in a husky voice.

You barely shook your head and his eye glinted with something dark as he brought his face close to yours “Good. I shall be the only one inside you.”

He swallowed your shaky breath with this mouth, kissing you for the very first time, apart from the shy, almost prude peck exchanged after the wedding vows. Your lips moved shyly, trembling with the coiling pressure between your legs. And just when you thought this heat, this delicious aching couldn’t grow more unbearable, he sticked a finger inside you, spilling a loud moan right against his mouth.

One of your wrists twisted in his harsh hold, willing to touch him, to grip on something, but he didn’t let you. “Easy…” he blew on your lips “Relax. It’ll feel good, I promise…”

It surely felt good to him, to feel the tightness of your cunt squeezing his finger. He curled it and you squinted your eyes, choking a gasp that made him smirk proudly against your jaw. “Gods, you’re so tight…” he breathed as he kept rubbing slowly against your walls.

“It’s—it’s too much—“ you cried out with pain and pleasure running together, breathing his scent of ash, leather and a hint of something minty.

“How will you take my cock if you can’t even take my finger?” He whispered with benevolent cruelty, moving his finger faster and deeper.

Certainly your mother had not told you of the obscene wet sounds you would hear, of the uncontrollable moans coming out of your mouth, of his soft growling next to your ear when his breeches became too tight.

He had lined the tip of his hard manhood to your entrance, catching your breath away as tried to still your nerves, but the pain came altogether. You felt like he was cutting you from the inside. Tears filled your eyes, squinting for the painful stretching. You knew he was restraining himself; he didn’t want to hurt you more than he already was. And you almost felt affection for him, most men would not have bothered.

Then he had started to move, you felt that stranger body rubbing over and over against your walls, and finally the pain soothed, but not completely. You could tell he was enjoying it, his ragged breath and faint moans told you so, as well as the curses hissed through his teeth in a language you guessed was Valyrian. And then he had stilled completely, gripping your hips hard and firm while you felt a hot wave pulsing through your core.

The next morning, you could barely sit down for breakfast, and your aunt had looked at you with concern and a hint of amusement in her eyes. She was a veteran at court, a long-time widow, and quite happy to be so. It was her who suggested your betrothal to the Prince.

"How are you feeling, sweet niece?"

"Awful." you said promptly, shifting your weight on the seat.

"Well, this is the kind of anguish all women must go through."

"I thought that was giving birth to another human being."

"Oh Gods, no. That is the ugly part. This is the good one," she said with a sly smile "I suggest you enjoy it as much as you can."

At the time, you didn't really understand what she meant. The first night with the prince had gone...well, you thought. But he certainly enjoyed it more than you.

The second time was better. Your muscles were still sore, but the pain was but a faint discomfort compared to the pleasure you felt for the very first time in your life.

The third time he went down on you, bringing you so close to the edge only to deny your release, with cruel enjoyment on his part, making you whine with shame at the loss of his mouth and tongue on your folds.

The fourth time he bent you down on the breakfast table, all things falling in a mess of cutlery. He had pulled up your skirts and lowered his breeches just enough to thrust in, unraveling a special spot deep inside of you that had you mewling like some primitive beast.

The fifth time he had you writhing in bed, hair stuck to your head with sweat and hands clenching the sheets while he had you peak three times in a row.

It was then that you started to think your aunt was right.

That was indeed the good part.

“Are you afraid?” he asks, with a soft taunt on the tip of his tongue. You drag your eyes away from the gigantic beast before you and almost scoff. That is enough for him to laugh, quietly, but still not quietly enough for you to not notice and wonder at the view.

It’s been merely one moon since you’ve been married to Prince Aemond, and you could count on the fingers of your hand the times you have seen him laugh. It was eerie at first, you feared all the things you heard about the One Eyed Prince were true. That he was cold as stone and just as hard. And he was. But the more you spent time together, the more you were able to make cracks, and let light through.

“I’m equally afraid as any little mortal of right mind would be in front of the largest dragon in the known world, my dear husband.”

His lips stay quirked up, but his eye widens, as it always does when you call him that. He steps close to you, a few of his long strides are enough for him to tower over you, and the ground below your feet shifts.

“Come.” He says, taking your hand, “I promise she won’t eat you.” This time you deliberately glare at him, and he raises an eyebrow. “Do you need some other kind of persuasion to trust me? Perhaps like the one I used this morning?”

The early afternoon sun makes his face almost hurting to watch, or maybe it's just his bold gloating that makes his appearance so exhausting.

“That was not persuasion.” you remark, hiding the tinge of red on your cheeks “It was coercion.”

“Hmm. You didn’t seem so hostile when I made you come twice before breakfast.”

"I was hostile to the chance of the maid assisting with what we were doing."

"The maid should know better than to enter while my wife is undressing."

His eye roams over you just as he had done that morning, hunger clouding it, making your insides shrink. "Perhaps it's best if she knew. Someone must be aware of how cruel my husband is." there's a soft tease in your tone—something you are still learning, but true nonetheless.

He had ripped your nightgown with his bare hands when the maid entered to help you dress. She fled hastily, but you barely spared a glance at her, already lost to the fierce claim of his hand between your legs. He had taken you, twice, and then ordered you to dress, forcing you to have breakfast with the Queen and the Princess with your thighs still sticky with sex, sticky with him.

And he had been there, sitting just in front of you, with a piercing and delighted gaze.

He pulls your hand, and you follow, getting closer to that living relic that is Vhagar, Queen of All Dragons. She raises her monstrous head and looks straight at you with her amber eyes.

It is the first time you step so close to her, and even if you thought about it a lot, your heart is pounding fast, and your breath comes out slow and labored. She's a dreadful wonder.

She flares her nostrils and smells you, making a low rumble which results in a gust of hot wind that ruffles your hair and skirts.

“Lykirī, Vhagar.” Aemond says quietly “Issa ñuha ābrazȳrys. Kostā pāsagon zirȳla.”

You look at him questioningly, and he answers. “I told her you are my wife. And she can trust you.”

You cast a curious look at the dragon and then back at him “Is that all it takes? You tell dragons to trust you, and they resist the urge to turn you into their meal?”

Aemond curves his lips and makes you step closer, standing behind you and guiding your hand on the old green scales. “It takes much more than that.” he whispers in your ear “You have to surrender to them, completely. A dragon is no slave.”

You feel the heat beneath your palm, but it’s not that that makes you swallow; it’s the heat of his breath on your neck, right into your ear, scorching his way into your brain and inflaming every thought.

“What does Lykirī mean?” you ask, and you hate how your voice cracks on the edges.

He smirks because he knows, he always does. But he does not answer. Instead, he pulls your hand again, and you follow, circling the beast until stopping before the intricate ropes that lead to the saddle.

“Aemond, I don’t think—”

“You are my wife and you will ride with me on dragon back.” He said, commanding.

Truthfully, you gladly want to obey; there is just a slight difference between picturing riding a dragon and doing it.

Even the climbing to get in the saddle is a challenge on its own, but he helps you until you firmly seat yourself in it. Aemond sits behind you, and you look around with widened eyes, as if you are looking down from the highest tower ever built, except this is a living one, made of fire and breathing fire.

He leans over you to grab the reins, and you tense, waiting with bathed breath.

“Dohaeras, Vhagar. Soves!”

She lets out a loud screech that makes your ears hurt, but you have no time to even register it because she's already moving. You grip Aemond’s arms and brace yourself against his chest when Vhagar lurches onward and opens her huge wings to take flight.

She goes up and up, above the clouds, and your head is dizzy, with fear, with euphoria, until you are laughing like a child, like you never did in your entire life. Aemond lets go of the reins and laces his arms around you, angling his head to look at you, his silver hair violently ruffled by the wind. “How does it feel, my sweet wife?”

There are no common words to describe it. Now you know why they say Targaryens are closer to Gods than men. No man could claim a dragon or rule the skies.

“I feel like I’m close to the Gods.” you say, and he tightens the hold on you “Dragons do not answer to Gods.” he says, burying his nose in your hair “Where does this leave us?”

You turn your head to look at him, and you feel like you are looking at one of them. And yet he looks like he’s beyond any God.

“Above them. Above the Gods.”

“Hmm.” He croons, breathing your scent through his nose, and then his right hand grabs your skirt and dips underneath, until you feel his cold fingers grazing your skin. “I will make you feel like one.”

He cups your core through your small clothes, and you whimper, gripping his arm harder. He feels your heat through his palm, hotter than Vhagar’s own fire, and he sets the fabric aside to properly touch you. “My sweet wife.” he whispers, sliding a finger between your folds “Always so ready for me.”

“Aemond.” You say, holding your breath, trying to oppose but your voice cracks, and your body with it, already answering to his call. You see clouds before your eyes, but it’s all a blur, all your senses are enslaved by his touch, rubbing lazy circles on your bud. Too slow for your liking, for your need. Your hips arch and buck, chasing his hand for more friction, and he laughs, darkly. “What is it? What do you need, sweet girl? Tell me.”

He takes your chin with his free hand and forces you to turn your head and look at him. His hold is ruthless, but his tone is almost pleading. “Tell me.” he orders and you feel like he’s smothering you, sweeping away all the air from your lungs. “I-I need more…”

“More of what?” he asks, stopping altogether. “Show me.”

You look him in the eye and swallow, heat inflaming your cheeks, but there’s no place for shame, not here. It is just a faint ghost passing through you, and then it’s gone. Your hand pulls the gown up, and you place it on his, like a feather. “Here.” You breathe on his mouth “Inside.”

The howling wind does nothing to muffle his growl, and then he’s kissing you, harshly, teeth clashing and biting your lips as he accepts your plea, sliding a finger inside of you.

A strangled moan escapes you, and he swallows it, darting his tongue in every corner of your mouth. He releases your chin only to grab your leg to further open them and then he adds a second finger, moving them deftly until reaching that special spot. Your head falls back on his shoulder, gasping loudly, digging your nails into his hand.

Your breath is ragged and fast, and you uselessly try to stifle moan after moan even if there are only the skies to hear.

“Don’t.” he says grazing your lobe with his teeth “I want to hear you. I want you to scream for me.”

Your mind goes blank, as does all your restraint. You feel the tide coming to crash you, hips moving on their own accord, chasing and chasing. And then you’re drowning in it, mouth falling open and flesh and bones clenching and trembling.

He grunts softly when your nails scratch his skin and his fingers slip out, glistening; he raises them to his lips and tastes every drop of you. Still panting, he takes your chin once more with his sticky fingers and licks your lips, so you taste yourself on his tongue.

Your head is still dizzy when Vhagar lands in a clearing in the King’s Wood, but this has nothing to do with altitude. Your limbs are heavy when he helps you dismount, your legs buckle. There is a tautness knotting your bones, itching your fingertips.

You wish to touch him, because you have never, not as a wife would touch her husband, not as he has done with you.

It is only a moon and yet he has taken you almost every night and every day. He has touched you everywhere, he has molded you to his liking, and you let him do it with giddiness, undoing yourself like clay in his hands. He had put his mouth on you, and you have discovered he particularly enjoyed it, because he has done that at the most inopportune times, even in some dark corner of the corridors.

And you wondered if you could do the same with him—not because you have to, but because you want to. You want to claim him just as he claims you, relentlessly.

And he really is. He is relentless, he doesn't give you the time to wander with your hands, to discover, to touch. Fire burns him quickly and you are ashes before you realise you are burning with him.

“I didn’t know my wife had claws.” He says at one point, while you are going back to the Keep.

You wake from your thoughts and turn, watching him raise his hand to show the red marks on the back of his hand, and the sight makes you almost proud—proud to have left a mark of you on him. But you want more, and he wants more. You know it; it takes a brief look at his breeches to know that he wants more.

You dart your eyes around, but there's no one. So, you stop. Trying to gather all the boldness you never had, you step closer to him and take his hand in yours. Your eyes look up slowly, glinting with uncertainty and bravery. "Then let me soothe your pain, husband."

Aemond’s eye widens, and the air around you turn heavy, forcing you to open your mouth to breathe. You take one more step and bring the back of his hand to your lips, kissing it gently while your eyes stay fixed on his face. The other hand goes tentatively to his chest and then slides down, and for once, just once, he’s the one answering your call. His eye darkens and his lips part when your hands bashfully grab the laces of his breeches.

But you should have known better. Targaryens and their desires. Doomed to take whatever they want, whenever they want, answering neither Gods nor men.

You barely blink and he grabs you by the wrists and forces you to the ground. Cold grass and bushes stinging your back make you gasp, but Aemond is already on you, watching you like a century-long thirsted man who takes a glimpse of a water spring, as if you could evaporate from his sight at any moment.

“Aemond, please.” you beg “let me—“

But his tongue is in your mouth, hot and scorching you alive. Your eyes flutter shut, and he hikes your skirts up, taking hold of your hips. You feel his bulge against you, hard and ready, and you can do nothing else than wait, pinned down like prey, all bravery a distant memory.

Suddenly he lowers himself down, lifting your skirts with haste until you’re completely bare half down. “No—Aemond, please I want to—”

“You want what?” he asks with a wolfish grin “Deny me your sweet taste? Iksā ñuhon, ābrazȳrys.” He said that already, you know what it means. You are mine.

“You belong to me. And this…” he swears placing your legs on his shoulders while looking at your aching core as a man who found the greatest treasure in the world. “This belongs to me as well.”

He runs his tongue up and down your wet folds, humming with delight as he tastes you and sees you squirm, arching your back on the stingy bushes. You moan loudly when he slowly swirls his tongue, not able to keep track of your hips starting  to move on their own, thrusting into his mouth and the sight of you like this, makes him even wilder, pushing him to open his mouth and put it entirely on your cunt, sucking harshly until anything before your eyes becomes blurred.

Your legs on his shoulders begin to shake and curl, caging him further against you, but just when you are about to come straight into his mouth, he pulls back. A weak sob leaves your mouth as your hips keep bucking against nothing and he smirks at that, untangling your legs from his shoulders, running his tongue over his lips, to taste what's left of you on him. You look at him through dazed eyes and a tinge of annoyance for the denied release. “What?” he has the boldness to ask with a sly smirk “Did you not enjoy it?” he runs his thumb on his glistening chin and swiftly licks it. "Hmm. I most certainly did."

“Aemond, please.” you claw desperately at his shoulders and forearms, forcing him to lie on you, feel something that could soothe the aching between your legs. He seems keen to grant you this mercy, molding his crotch against you so you can feel how hard and desperate he is.

“Please.” you beg in a thin voice.

“Speak it plainly, my love. I want to hear it from your pretty mouth.”

You look at him straight in the eye and what you say next is not a request nor a plea. Your mother would be ashamed of you, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

You are not begging. You are demanding. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t need more than a few moments to get his cock out of his breeches, and not a moment later he’s pushing inside of you, your back arching on the bushes and your throat fighting for breath. He groans and starts a relentless pace, lifting his weight from you just enough for him to look at his cock going in and out, the sight only pushing him to thrust harder and harder. “Look at you.” he croons, sweet and rough “You were born to take me, to be mine.”

Your face twists with pleasure, teeth biting your lower lip while he takes you higher and higher, higher than any sky a dragon could ever take you.

He soon becomes messy and sloppy, cursing under his breath, but you can barely hear him. Your mind is sluggish and everything comes muffled: him, the birds chirping on some tree, your wet flesh slapping against his in the lewdest and most blessed way.

He curses some more, and then he’s spilling inside you, his arched mouth opening and his eye closing like a man absolved.

And yet, he does not stop. He has not claimed enough.

“Māzis, dōna ābrazȳrys. Come for me.”

Your hand clutches something on the ground, something with thorns that pierces your skin with pain, but you can’t even feel that, because you are falling, legs trembling around him, and heart stopping for an endless moment of pure breathtaking bliss.

“Gevie.” he coos with his lips on yours, falling with his body on you, still clenching and pulsing around him. He stays right where he is, nesting inside of you, and now it is the only chance you have been granted to touch him. You put an arm around his shoulders, catching your breath, and look at the skies above, thinking you are indeed above them.

It was easy to explain the dirt and grass stains on your dress. It was a little less easy to explain the twigs in your ruffled hair when you and Aemond returned to the Keep only to meet the Queen Mother along one of the corridors. Alicent merely smiled at you with a tight smile and did not spare from giving a look full of daggers to her son.

"Seven Hells" you mutter when you go back to your rooms and catch a glimpse of the mess you are in the mirror.

Aemond stays on the threshold to close the door and grins, or rather, gloats.

You step out of your muddy shoes and start to pull the laces of your dress.

"What are you doing?" he asks, and you playfully glare at him. "Am I allowed to take a bath now? Or do you want me to go around all sullied? I fear there are no believable excuses for the state I’m in."

"You can tell them the truth." he says, walking to you and replacing your hands with his to help you pull the intricate laces.

You smile softly with your back turned before raising an eyebrow, asking "Which is?"

He keeps his eye focused on the dress, a slight furrow in his brow, and stoically serious, he says "That your husband fucked you in the King's Wood."

"I could tell the maid. I'm sure she won't be stunned after what she saw this morning."

He makes you turn so you can look at him, and the sight before you makes your heart sing. His eye roams on your face softly, a rare sight on him, always stoic, always sharp, like all the angles composing this beautiful sculpture of black glass.

You always thought of marriage as a strategic deal for men, and a way for women to prove their value to the world, giving those same men sons and daughters. But you care for him. And he cares for you. That look on his face is enough for you to know that he cares for you, not merely as a brood mare.

“Gevie.” he says, quietly, and he touches your cheek, softly, making you wonder how those same hands can be so delicate and yet so merciless at the same time.

“What does it mean?” you ask, even if you are sure he will not answer. You observed that when he speaks in High Valyrian he does it almost to himself, as if to protect something he does not wish the others to know.

But this time, he meets your eyes and lowers his hand. “Beautiful.”

You look at him with your heart pounding in your throat, and then you stand up on your toes, crashing your mouth against his, almost catching him by surprise. But he is all too deft at turning the game on his side, and a few seconds later, his hands are gripping your hips and his tongue is licking the roof of your mouth.

When the door suddenly opens, you pull back, spotting the same maid from that morning who, this time, can do nothing but suffer the Prince's wrath.

"Can't you just fuck off for once?!"

You hold back a laugh against his chest and the poor maid flees in a hurry. But when he pulls you to him, tilting his head to pick up where he left off, you step back and say, "I'm afraid the Queen has requested your presence. You should go, my dear husband. I promise that by tonight I will be completely clean."

"Tonight?" he asks, raising his eyebrow. "What is happening tonight?"

You shrug your shoulders and hold back a smile. "Innocence doesn't suit you, my Prince."

"Neither does you."

"I'm afraid this is your fault. You are sullying my soul as well as...everything else."

"You won't be of the same mind when you have my child growing in your womb," and he smirks, looking at you as if he's taking a sacred oath, and then walks away.

You finally manage to take a bath and change clothes, and then you go to visit your aunt. She spends most of her time alone, sipping tea in the gardens, partly because she can't stand the other court ladies, partly because the court ladies can't stand her. Truthfully, you cannot blame them, your aunt speaks plainly—too plainly at times.

You sit down with her for tea, which you end up swallowing like salt, because your aunt takes it with a whole squeezed lemon, and no sugar.

"I saw you with your husband earlier. I may be too old for new fashion but mud on your skirt and twigs in your hair seem a bit too brazen, even for me."

You stifle a smile, recalling what happened. If only she knew he was brazen enough to have you utterly undone on dragon back, thousands of feet up.

Your eyes go distant while you fumble with some tablecloth threads, but your Aunt stares at you piercely, and grabbing her cup of tea she says "I love that look on you."

"What?"

She sips the sour liquid and puts the cup down. "That look. The I'm in love look."

"I am not!" you counter, cheeks going red.

"Of course you are. I've watched you two. I dare say he's falling way faster than you."

You look at her puzzled. Many things have changed in a moon. And you are sure you are utterly infatuated with him. But you did not know what to think of what he actually feels for you, if he even feels something. You know he cares for you, you know he loves spending time with you. You know he's passionate, possessive, almost soft at rare times. But in love? That seems too soon to consider, or to hope for.

"It is too soon to talk about love."

"In fact, I did not, my sweet niece. Falling in love and love are beasts of different species. Why do you think we say "falling"? You can't stop from falling. To love a person is an entirely different matter. Love is a choice."

You let those words sink but you prefer not to question your heart right now. There is a reason you have come here to talk to your aunt, even if you don't know how to address the matter without melting from embarrassment.

But in the end, who could you ask for advice? Your squeamish maids? The Queen Mother? Definitely not.

"Listen, I...I wanted to ask you something..." you start "It is uhm...a matter of somewhat intimate nature."

"Ah, my favourites." your aunt says, beaming "I am all ears."

You shift uncomfortably in your chair and swallow another sip of that dreadful tea "My mother...she explained to me what would happen between husband and wife to...consummate the marriage. But she didn't tell me...well, everything else."

Your Aunt is quick to raise her eyebrow "I gathered that your marriage had been consummated by now. Thoroughly."

"Y-yes, of course. But I...discovered...that there are other ways for a husband to please his wife...and I was wondering if...if I could…do those same things to please him."

Your aunt looks utterly puzzled for a long moment, and then, almost stunned, she says "Oh Seven Hells, child. You are telling me you never sucked your husband off?"

A few court ladies walking near turned their heads, going white as sheets, while you, on the contrary, take a nice purple shade.

"Oh, don't look at me like that, prissies. We all did it eventually." she dismisses them, waving a lazy hand, and looks back at you. "You should do it, if you wish. Men love it. Your uncle used to ask—"

"I don't want to hear that, auntie, I'm begging you." you say squinting your eyes.

"Listen to me, child. Men love to think they rule everything, everywhere. But it is not always like that. And if you want to rule your husband's heart, you must rule in his bed first."

That evening, Aemond wanted nothing more than to lock himself in his room with his wife and forget all the hateful political talk he had had to endure at dinner.

You had not attended, and that had bothered him. Never would he have thought of marriage as anything more than a duty, yet there he was, wondering where you were, who you were with, and why you weren't in his rooms when he set foot in there.

"Where is my wife?" he asks the maid, and she keeps her eyes glued to the floor, saying "The princess spent the evening in the library, your Grace. She told me that she would be—"

"I am here," you say, appearing behind the young maid.

You see his chest sag as if a weight is leaving him, and he casts an icy glance at the poor maid "Out."

He is rarely kind to servants, but you can tell by his tense shoulders that something is wrong.

"Aemond, what is the matter?" you ask as soon as the door closes, walking up to him with a hand behind your back.

"Where were you? Why weren't you at dinner?"

"I was in the library."

"For four hours?"

"It was a tough read—"

He grabs your arm, gripping hour wrist harshly, and you flinch. "Aemond, I swear to you.” you say watching his eye on fire and a sneer twisting his mouth “You can ask Maester Mellos." 

Suddenly he lets you go, and looks down, closing his eye for a moment. But he doesn't apologize, he never does, and not because he is a Prince. It's just the way he is. He doesn't apologize, he doesn't say thank you, he doesn't say please.

"Aemond, what's going on?"

"I don't want to talk about it now. In fact, never. Not here."

You watch him carefully, and you nod as he moves to pour wine into a cup. You watch him gobble it up greedily, which is unlike him. So, you get close and move your hand from behind your back and say, "Anyway, I wasn't lying. I really spent four hours in the library...trying to decipher this."

You show him an old book, and the title catches his eye, cup held in midair. "Tales of the Dragonlords?" he asks frowning. "This is in High Valyrian."

"It is." you confirm as you move closer, and you steal his cup before saying, "Would you read it to me?" and you take a sip, of wine and courage.

He watches the liquid flow down your throat and then accepts the invitation, taking the book—the one he has read so many times he can recite it by heart. He opens it to the first page, but you say "No. Page 72."

There is a slight imperative tone in your tone of voice, and it thrills him, given how his eye glints under the candlelight. He drops it on the table, looking at you from head to toe, and says, "I'll read it to you later, sweet wife."

He steps closer but you back away saying, "Fine, then. I'll tell you what I understood so you can correct me or not." and at the same moment your own hands go up on your corset and you start pulling on the laces.

The gesture catches his eye like a moth to a flame and he stays silent as you pull all the laces and then slip off your dress, remaining in your underskirt. His gaze roams over you slowly, and with a soft smirk, he decides to play the game.

“Page 72, you said. How Dragonlords claimed Dragons.”

“Yes.”

"And why did it capture your interest? Do you wish to do it? Do you wish to claim a dragon?"

"I wish to conquer, not claim."

He comes closer and looks at you, breathing through his nose, restraining, always restraining, and then he's raising his hand to reach a lock of your hair falling on your shoulder, but you stop him, air as heavy as moss.

"The Valyrian sages say a dragonlord must surrender himself completely to the dragon. But it works both ways. The dragon must submit his will to their rider."

He looks at you without blinking, and you take his arms, guiding him closer until you turn and push him lightly on the bed. He sits and you slowly climb on his lap, knees caging his hips, heart is pounding in your throat like a hammer. You hear him taking a swift breath and pride pools in your bones because for once you have caught him off guard.

You can feel his crotch hardening by the moment, but the look on his face is not one of hunger or lust. It is pure and blessed devotion.

You wonder at the view, and your eyes roam on his face until...

"Can I take it off?"

There's no need to say what. His face goes hard as stone, eye looking away with discomfort, with shame.

"Please, Aemond." you whisper. "I want to see all of you. I want you to bare yourself to me as I did to you."

"It is not pleasant."

"I don't want pleasantness. I want you."

He stares at you for an eternal moment and then he caves.

A flash of sparkling blue catches you completely and you can do nothing but watch with lips parted, while he keeps his eye down.

You wrap an arm around his shoulders and lean your head against his to breathe one single word in his ear. "Gevie."

His arms are all around you, holding you so tight you might gasp for air. Instead you are smiling, breathing through his long silver hair. You are not sure if you aunt is right, if love is indeed a choice. You can't bring yourself to care because you are doing it already.

And then he's kissing you, seizing your tongue with his in a fierce consuming way. He slightly hikes up your hips, and his hand tries to slide between your legs, but you lace your fingers around his wrist, breaking the kiss with panted breath.

"No." you whisper, and he looks at you almost questioningly, mouth open and chest heaving.

"Lykirī."

His eye widens and you smile, secretly. "I know what it means now."

He smirks at this and does not miss the chance to be the ever diligent scholar. "But you said it wrong. The R is hard."

“Lykirī.” You say again, following his lesson, and in the same moment your hand leaves his wrist and goes down to his breeches. He dips his chin to look at it, at your hands unsure, and he too looks unsure.

“You don’t have to—“

“I want to.” You say, and your voice comes out firm and clear. “Please, Aemond. Let me…let me touch you.”

He realizes now that in all the times you have been lying together, you never managed to lay a hand on him. He likes to keep people at distance. Too many wrong hands have been on him. The Maesters’, inspecting, debating, healing without healing. That whore, taking what it was not hers to take, not yet.

But he wants you to touch him. He has dreamed of it, in any way a man could dream of a woman’s touch.

He looks at you for a moment, chest rising slowly, and then, without taking his eye off you, he pulls the laces of his breeches and guides your hand around his cock. You look down, exhaling a long breath at feeling his hard and hot flesh already pulsing.

He knows you don’t know how to do it, so his hands guide you at first, going slowly up and down, and the air comes out of his mouth slowly and labored. You look up at him, his eye is pitch black, lid growing heavy with pleasure, and your core clenches, desire pools in your belly and flows down.

He must hear the call of your body, because he releases your hand, still stroking him, and goes right between your legs. You gasp loudly, and he hums, delight dripping from his voice just as you are dripping on his fingers. He starts to pump his fingers and you can do nothing but moan, clutching his shoulders with your free hand, the other still around his cock, but the act is growing lazy, your mind can’t focus properly on what you are supposed to do.

“Listen.” he orders you, fingers moving faster and faster, and you do listen. Your soaked flesh coming undone at his scorching touch. “Who else has you like this?”

But this is a question he’s asking himself. Because no one else will ever have him bare like this.

“You. Just you.” you say hoarsely, eyes closing and hips rocking on their own accord.

“And who am I?” he whispers just as hoarsely, and yet his voice is like a whip on all your senses.

“My husband.” you cry, feeling the wave ready to drown you “Ñuha zaldrīzes.” My dragon.

You cannot care less about how you said it, because then your mouth falls open, nails digging into his shoulder while your trembling hips keep riding his fingers, clenching them like a vice.

Your head falls onward, leaning against his forehead, and you try to catch your breath. You watch his wet fingers go straight into his mouth while he looks at you, humming with pleasure. “You look so pretty like this.” he says with the ghost of a smile on his lips “I should fuck you in Throne Room with the whole court watching, so they know how pretty you are when you come for me.”

You laugh with your cheeks flushing, and he slides an arm around you, and you know he wants to pin you down on the bed and fuck you until you are muffling nonsense in the pillow. But this is not his game. This is yours, and even if you don’t know how to play, you will win.

“No.” you say, climbing down from his lap, and he looks at you with hunger and a tinge of thrilling curiosity. “It is my turn to claim.” You say with all the bravery you possess.

Not a moment later, you are going down on your knees.

Another small victory, because his eye widens as he had never done before, and you can see that this, the sight of you on your knees before him, is something he has been craving for, even dreamed of it.

His breathing is slow, and you are not even touching him.

You place yourself between his knees and you lean closer and closer, anxiety twisting your insides, but you want to do this. “Lykirī, nuha zaldrīzes. Surrender.” you take him into your hand, tugging slowly, and your lips linger on the tip, heart pounding in your ears and eyes fixed on him. “Lykirī.” You say one last time and then you are swallowing him.

He hisses loudly and his lips part, hands clutching the covers until his knuckles go white. He’s like burning metal inside your mouth—hot and hard. At first, you just taste him, running your tongue over the head, and he’s cursing under his breath. His hands twitch on the covers, restraining and restraining, but there’s no need. You take his hand while looking at him and you release it from your mouth to say “Teach me.”

It’s like you have just poured fire on more fire. His eye goes wild, he takes hold of your head and starts to guide you again, making your mouth engulf him once more and deep down to the base and then up to the tip again, filling the room with a wet gagging sound. You get the gist of what you’re supposed to do, so your head starts going up and down and up and down, and he actually moans for you, head falling back for just a moment before looking back, he can’t help but watch as you fiercely claim him.

You watch his chest heaving fast and your jaw is starting to hurt but you don't care, you are too absorbed by the view before you. You are too thrilled by the fact that, for once, you have made him speechless.

He's always so bold in the bedroom, so cruel in deciding when and how to give pleasure, and now he's utterly speechless. He can only curse without breath, and gasp and groan.

“Kelītīs.” he manages to say at one point, voice all husky and cracking. You don’t know that word, and you have no time to ask because in a blink, he’s slamming you onto the bed and he’s hiking up your skirt, but you get on your elbows pushing him on his back and climbing on him.

“I’m not done, valzȳrys.” you say feeling his hard length inflaming your core, so you lay your hips on it as firmly as possible. “I claimed, but I did not conquer.”

“You are fucking torturing me.” he points out, bucking against you.

“Conquests could last for centuries, dear husband. You above all should know that.”

“All I know now is that I need to fuck you.” he says placing both hands on the sheets to pull himself up.

“No, I will.” you promise, rocking your hips once more “This is my conquest, not yours.”

You keep rubbing your drenched core on his length until a sheen of sweat glistens on his forehead, and he's so hard he's leaking from the tip. "You are twisted, wife." he says with a dazed tone and you smile even if you can't take it anymore, but you rock some more, saying "I'm a quick study. And I'm learning from the best."

Finally, when you are so wet you are dripping on him, you raise just enough to slide his cock inside of you.

You gasp together and you brace on his shoulders to start moving. You both know you are not going to last long, so you start rocking your hips slowly, taking him to the hilt until you struggle for air.

“Move…” he orders but you just take the opposite road, slowing your hips in a delicious torturing way. “Do you know what else the Sages said? A rider must know their mount, feel their heat below them.”

But Aemond does not have a single drop of blood in his head right now to give you an answer, let alone play your game; he's just fire that burns and burns and burns and just like the Sages said, you can feel his heat, burning below and inside you. He grips your hips and starts to thrust inside you like the wild beast you are supposedly claiming, until you are moaning so loud your throat hurts.

“Yes—” he growls as you bounce on him “Just like that—you’re gripping me so well—fuck"

You both turn sloppy, a mess of sweaty limbs and teeth biting, clutching at each other with bruising grips, pulling at the roots of his hair when you’re about to fall from the highest sky.

"Come on, my sweet girl. Let go for me." he breathes into your mouth, forcing you to move even faster "Let go fro your dragon. Seal your conquest." And you do.

He follows right after, spilling inside while digging his teeth into your neck like fangs on a prey, muffling his loud groaning.

And you are smiling like a fool, a lovestruck fool, but most of all, a conqueror. 

Thank you so much for reading!! 💞💞

#likiri #liv(in la vida loca) #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #aemond x wife reader #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x wife reader #aemond targaryen fic #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen x you #aemond x you #aemond x fem!reader #aemond targaryen x fem!reader #aemond fic #aemond smut #hotd fic

[longing-for-the-past-times]

Roommate!Simon who only finds out you're sleeping with a stuffed toy, months after living together. It all begins when the plushie ends up mixed with his laundry and he finds the toy discarded on the bed

Roommate!Simon who has to do a double take because he hasn't owned a stuffed toy since he was 7 and what was one doing in his bed?

Roommate!Simon who then finds you out in the living room, a distressed look on your face as you seem to be searching for something

"I take it this is yours?", he asks as he holds the plushie between the very tip of his fingers because God forbid he is seen in the proximity of something such as childish as a toy

"Oh my God, Mr. Huggles!"

Roommate!Simon who can't help but blush when you snatch the toy from his hands and proceed to cuddle it in plain sight, squishing your cheek against the soft plush

It's been years since somebody held him that way

Roommate!Simon who comes home after a mission and finds you fast asleep on the couch, a blanket draped over your body as Mr. Huggles is squished between your arms and chest.

Roommate!Simon who becomes touch-starved and needy for the kind of affection you show to Mr. Huggles

Roommate!Simon who offers to do the laundry so that he could get his hands on Mr. Huggles. The feeling of the soft plush is foreign against his calloused hands and he takes a breath in, your scent still lingering

Roommate!Simon who buys you a Casper stuffed plush instead, having no regrets about lying about the plushie that now rests in his travel bag.

part one part three part four masterlist

#amy writes #5 am thoughts #cod ghost #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #call of duty imagine #ghost fluff #roommate ghost #roommate simon #roommate au

[zanarkandskylines]

₊✩‧₊◜ thinking about reader and bakugo’s intense “I’m home!” sex after he gets back from a month long mission. (follow up to this!!)

『 ♡ - k.bakugo x fem!reader 』 ꒰ tags & content ꒱ 18+ MDNI! masturbation, mentions of phone sex, toy usage (vibrator), praise, light dom/sub dynamic, pet names (baby, peach, sweets, good girl, princess - one mention of slut and whore but affectionately!), fingering, minor roleplay (bakugo in his hero gear & reader wears his mask), oral (blowjob), facial, cum eating, lots of dirty talk, nipple play, marking - biting/scratching, a sprinkle of choking, hair pulling, rough sex, overstimulation, creampie, aaand fluff! aged up characters to 22. ⋆ ˚ʚɞ — i didn’t expect this to be as long as it is, buuuut i had a lot of ideas of what they did when he came home...so there's a lot. what can i say? y'all missed each other! the smut immediately starts under the cut and does not stop until the end! 😵‍💫 ｡‧˚ʚ cross-posted to ao3 | word count; ~3.7k ɞ˚‧｡ -`✧ katsuki bakugo masterlist

It's been a long month without Katuski being home. You've done everything you can think of to keep yourself busy while he's been away - played games, read books, hung out with friends and worked overtime to make the days fly by. You called each other day and night, talking for as long as his assignments for the day allowed. Thankfully, they gave him his own room as an accommodation and didn't have to worry about sharing with anyone else.

Boy, did that come in handy.

You two are not shy and foreign to phone sex of all kinds, it was something you actually talked him into doing when you're apart longer than a week for work. FaceTime, voice notes, sexting; the full gambit. You had a private collection on your phone with all his voice notes that he'd sent to you over the years. You used it as "material" for when you're alone.

One folder was all for praise - "that’s my good girl," "go slow sweets, I wanna watch ya take every inch of me," "you’re so cute when you’re begging on your knees, baby," "love watching your soft lips wrap around my cock," "your moans are so fuckin’ pretty, peach," “god, y’have no fuckin’ idea how goddamn wild you drive me,” and more snippets of him coaxing you along to get you off.

The second folder? That was your sacred treasure trove. There were only three files, but they were some of the hottest things Katuski's ever graced you with. They were 10 minute audio clips of him jerking off to the thought of you, vocalizing every detail. Thank god for advanced technology because it allowed you to hear every mumbled ‘fuck’ under his breath, hushed grunts and audible shudders.

You didn’t have any other plans for the day - listening to your boyfriend’s sexy voice while you test out a new vibrator sounded like the perfect solution!

Stripping out of your clothes, you grab a t-shirt from his dresser and throw it over your naked body. It loosely drapes over the top of your thighs, barely hiding the fact you’re not wearing any panties. You grab the vibrator from your nightstand and lay in bed, phone nestled into the pillow next to your head. You decide to choose one of the three files at random. Before you even hit play, your face is flushed and heart is threatening to burst through your ribcage. It doesn’t take long for you to succumb to the gratification, getting lost in his husky moans and the hum of the vibrator.

You’re too busy to notice that the apartment’s front door has opened, along with the commotion of Katsuki dropping his bags in the doorway. He doesn’t say anything as he’s taking off his boots, assuming you could be taking a nap or had headphones on if you didn’t come skipping down the hallway. He didn't tell you he was coming home two days early and wanted to surprise you!

What a surprise it was for him to hear subtle mewls coming from your joint bedroom, immediately catching his attention. He was still in his hero gear, minus his gloves and gauntlets, with his mask settled into his hairline like a headband. As quiet as possible, he tip toes down the hall and peeks around the doorframe. He could hear faint audio playing and a buzzing noise, but couldn’t make out what it was until he got to the doorway.

When he peeked through the crack in the door, his dick throbbed violently as it tented his cargo pants. The sight of you sprawled out on the bed, viciously fucking your new vibrator in nothing but his t-shirt was hot as hell. And you were listening to...his voice notes? He was entranced by your delicious moans and how your legs twitched when the vibrator hit your swollen clit. Part of him jokingly thought you didn’t even need him right now, since you technically did have a version of him, but his selfishness took over instead.

Willpower be damned, he needed you. Now. It took everything in him not to pounce on you right then and there.

Katsuki retreats to the living room and sits on the couch, desperately fighting the urge to start playing with himself to the sound of you doing the same. Instead, he pulls out his phone and clicks on your name to call you. He could hear your phone’s audio shift from his own voice to your ringtone, a startled yelp escaping you.

“H-hey babe,” You answer, panting quietly. “What’s up?”

He almost bursts out into laughter, but keeps it together enough for his little charade.

“Everythin' alright? Ya sound outta breath,” Katsuki teases, but decides to get to the point. “Eh, fuck it. Come into the living room.”

He hangs up and hears your feet padding against the wooden floor instantaneously. Within seconds, you slide into view, overjoyed that he’s home.

“Kats!” You squeal, scrambling over to the couch and jumping into his lap. You’re peppering his lips, neck, cheeks and forehead with rapid fire kisses, giggling as he tries to still your movements to pull you into a warm hug. He nuzzles his face into your neck lovingly, returning your kisses tenfold.

Your excitement briefly makes you forget that you were just in the middle of pleasuring yourself before rushing to greet him. The realization catches up to you when you fully sit on his lap, his erection teasing your exposed slit. A heat pools in your gut at the thought of him catching you in the act - he heard you.

“Sorry for interrupting,” Katsuki says, hands gliding up your bare thighs and grabbing a handful of your ass, grinding your center against his own. The secondary contact causes a gasp to fall from your lips. You don’t respond verbally but lift yourself away from his lap, creating enough space between you two.

“What're ya-,” he’s cut off by you taking his right hand off of your ass and tucking his fingers against your soaked entrance. You take two digits and lower yourself onto them, coating his fingers in all your built up slick.

“I missed you,” you whine as he flexes inside you instinctually, petting your walls with his coarse finger pads. You start to move on your own, gripping his shoulders and riding his fingers to finish the job you started in the bedroom.

Katsuki is speechless, not even a witty remark coming to mind to tease you. His face burns hot when the sounds of your juices sloshing around his fingers fill the room, a heat creeping up the back of his neck. Since you previously wound yourself up, it doesn’t take long until you’re ready to explode. Your eyes are threatening to roll back into your head as you swirl your hips on his fingers. His entire being is pulsing with need as he begins to drills his fingers into you, knuckle deep, and drinks in all your breathy moans. The string in your belly is pulled taut - tighter than its been in the last month, snapping with an intensity that leaves your thighs quivering within seconds.

You come all over his fingers, down his hand and stain the crotch of his cargo pants.

“Hah, good thing they’re getting washed,” you joke breathlessly as you go to kiss Katsuki but stops you - he shocks you with something he’s never done before.

He retracts his fingers from your drenched cunt and swiftly smears it all over your lips before capturing them with his own, sharing your tangy release in ecstasy. He licks your bottom lip before sitting back, breaking the kiss and settling the two fingers back to your mouth. Your lips part ever so slightly at the pressure.

“Don’t ya think you taste divine?” He smirks as he watches you open your mouth invitingly, lazily sucking his fingers covered with your spend. You don't break eye contact with him the entire time, heavily panting like a dog in heat as your tongue leisurely trails the length of each finger. A thin string of saliva sticks to the corner of your mouth as you pull away from his fingers with a soft pop of your lips.

You reach for his mask in his hairline, pushing it back to fall into your grasp. Untying the small knot, you bring it to your own face and secure it around your eyes - just like he wears on patrol. Katsuki's giving you a curious look as you slide off his lap and kneel to the floor.

Oh fuck-

Putting your hands to his hips, you drag your fingers to the hem of his pants - he's scrambling to undo his belt while you yank everything to his ankles. His cock springs forward, bouncing off his clothed abs as it’s freed from the confines of his boxers. You can tell he’s aching for you to touch him, tip leaking pre-spend and blazing hot to the touch. With no hesitation, you edge his entire length into your mouth, tongue sliding delicately along the underside of his shaft and consuming every drop of him.

“F-fuck peach, should'a let you wear my mask ages ago,” Katsuki stutters, thighs trembling at the sight your lips enclosed around him. “’m not gonna…last long watchin’ ya like this.”

You start to slither your tongue around his length, subtly hollowing your cheeks and barely moving an inch. His tip hits the back of your throat as he grabs your hair, shoving you all the way to the base and meeting his soft blonde wisps with your nose. He's unable to control himself - your mouth just feels too good around his cock right now. Katsuki’s only known his own fist for the last month, you’re making him feel like a blushing virgin all over again with how fast he’s accelerating toward his orgasm. You’ve hardly touched - well, blown - him and he's ready to combust.

His grunts have morphed into higher pitched moans as he’s bucking his hips off the couch into your mouth in tandem with your own movements, ferociously chasing the building heat in his gut.

“S-shit, fuck fuck fuck!” he yells while ripping your lips off of him by your hair, endless hot ropes of cum painting your pretty face. His mask, your cheeks, lips, and chin are dripping with white, each droplet slowly making it's way to your jawline. The sight is enough to almost make him come a second time, needing to throw his head back on the couch to avoid eye contact momentarily and pull himself together.

You hum with satisfaction and rise from your knees, straddling him on the couch once more. In the heat of the moment, you grab him by the jaw and plant a messy kiss on his lips, smearing his paintjob in the process. In the lusty haze, he doesn't give a shit that you mimicked his actions. Honestly? He kinda liked his own flavor - it complimented your own, dancing together on his tongue.

“Don’t you think you taste divine?” you purr, repeating his sentiment and licking some of the smeared cum off his cheek. You untie the mask and let it drop from your face, realizing that you may have just ruined his professional hero gear. “This…is washable, right?”

Katsuki laughs. “Yeah, don’t worry ‘bout it. 's gotta be with how dirty hero work gets.”

The two of you get up from the couch and walk to the bathroom to clean up. Once he’s done soaking a wash cloth with warm water, you’re taking his place and bending over the counter to rinse the remnants of his facial from your skin.

Lucky for him, you’re still not wearing any panties. And bent over like that? Your ass and pussy are on full display, still glistening from your previous orgasm.

Katsuki crouches to the ground, kneeling behind you and bites your bare ass with a huff. The sensation makes you jump, water splashing all over the counter and collar of your shirt.

“Katsuki!” You yelp, shutting off the water and blindly reaching for a towel nearby. “You’re insatiable.”

“Like you’re complaining.”

His tongue then traces from the inside of your thigh and stops just shy of your center, a shudder of anticipation wracking your body.

“You’re playing with fire, Kat,” you warn, spinning around and lifting your leg, placing a foot on his shoulder to teasingly show off your messy core. His eyes dart up to meet yours, a salacious grin settling on across his lips.

“Then fuckin’ light me up, princess.”

Something in you snaps - an unexplainable strong hunger captivating your mind. You wanted him to absolutely obliterate you in any and every way possible.

Everything happens in a flash - remaining clothes are strewn across the floor, bodies pressed against the plush of the sheets when you fall against the bed, tangled and relishing in the bare skin contact. The sensation kindles the fire in your veins, begging for more of him - all of him.

"K-Katsuki," you whimper onto his lips, breathless between frenzied kisses. "I want - no, need - you to fuck me like you hate my guts."

Your lascivious request has Katsuki's head swimming in a lewd sea of thoughts, gritting his teeth to hold back the ravenous desire. He can’t help but fist himself in response before leering over you.

“Oh, is that how you wanna play this game, baby?” He growls into the shell of your ear, squishing you further into the mattress. "Want me to use you like a fuckin' toy, eh? Poundin' away at your tight-ass cunt 'til ya can't take it?"

You're too enraptured by the promise swirling in your head to form any logical thoughts as his hands travel to your breast between your bodies, palms blistering hot to the touch as he tweaks your nipple. "When ya can't walk tomorrow, jus' remember y'asked me for this."

The incoherent whine that escapes you is involuntary, a raw reaction to his words. You hear a pleased hum rise from Katsuki's throat as he towers over you once more. He places a few tender kisses to your neck before he fiendishly groans, "I'm gonna fuckin' wreck you."

Not a second passes before his canines are puncturing your delicate skin, threatening to draw blood with how deep he's sinking into the bite on your jugular. Katsuki releases only to keep biting anywhere he could latch on to as he roamed your body - your neck, breasts, collarbone, shoulder, nipples, hips, thighs - eager to mark every inch of you, claim you as his. It makes you squirm and your pussy ache with need, lightning bolts of pleasure coursing through you with each snap of his teeth. Usually when he bit you, he’d soothe the area with a few kisses - but now? He was a rabid fucking animal, carnality overwhelming his ability to think straight.

You're able to get a quick look at his ruddy cock when Katsuki leans back, repositioning himself while gripping your hips. You’re salivating at the sight - thick, swollen and pulsing, spend dripping down his length and coating the skin with a sheen of arousal. He’s heavily tracing circles into your hip bones, his firm clutch on your waist keeping you in place. He’s tugging your center toward his own, teasingly slipping the head of his cock between your creamy folds. You’re about to plunge down onto him when he pulls back, a wicked grimace crossing his lips. A dissatisfied squeak spills from your lips, pouting up at him with metaphorical hearts in your eyes.

“Y’want this?” Katsuki snarls, bouncing his dick against your mound, the contact causing you to inhale sharply. “Beg like the needy slut you are.”

Words are failing you as you attempt to fulfill his demand, the only sounds falling from your puffed lips a succession of jumbled moans.

“Cat got your tongue, princess?” He snorts at his own pun under his breath as he trails his palm up your body, resting under your jaw and fixating on the seductive gleam in you pupils.

“I know how to find those pretty words ‘a yours.”

Katsuki applies firm pressure to your throat under his finger tips, tilting your head upward to face him. Your hips buck up in response, begging for him to spread you open.

He clicks his tongue at your shameless plea. "C'mon baby, tell me what ya want."

His fingers flex over your throat, playfully interchanging how much pressure he's using over the pulse in your jugular. His gaze travels down your newly bitten and bruised body, pleased with how they adorn your features.

With every ounce of concentration, you blurt out everything lingering in your heat-riddled mind. "Break the fucking bed, rip my soul from my body, leave me choking on every word, ravage me until there's nothing left...please, Katsuki!"

You barely finished screaming his name before Katsuki releases the hold on your throat, roughly returning his grips to your hips and ramming his cock straight into your sweltering sex, the burning sensation rolling your eyes back into your head.

"Good fuckin' girl, baby."

He's hypnotized by the way your tits bounce as he fucks in and out of you at a feral pace, sweat glistening over both your bodies. The room's temperature heightens, the humidity only adding to the wild desire you're sharing.

Suddenly, he pulls out of you, leaving you confused and yearning. You don't have time to ask questions as he's rolling - shoving - you onto your stomach, arching your hips into place before resuming his unmerciful thrusts, growling and grunting from behind you. The new position has you crying out, intoxicated by the way his cock is hitting every hotspot along your walls and g-spot repetitively. You're unable to contain the sounds spilling from your parted lips as they harmonize with Katsuki's moans. He bends down to snatch your hair by the roots, forcing your head off the pillow as his other hand reaches around your waist, finger pressing harshly against your puffy clit. The wail that bubbles from your throat is sinful, overwhelmed as the coil in your core is wound tighter, tighter, and tighter.

"I fuckin' love when you moan like a whore, baby," Katsuki barks out between baited breath. "Ya keep screamin' like that, 'm gonna end up stuffin' your pretty pussy full 'a cum."

You flutter around his dick in response, stroking his length with every snap of his hips. "Hah, seems like that's what your beggin' for, isn't it?"

He screws his eyes shut, jaw clenched as he's inching closer to the edge. Your clenched walls coax his release to come rocketing out of nowhere, a guttural moan spilling out of him as he pumps you full of spend. The warmth is inviting - comforting, leaving you floating on cloud nine. Katsuki lets your locks drop from his grasp and removes his hand from your clit, folding over your back with exhaustion.

Imagine his shock when you push back against him, causing him to slide out of you with a schlep and fall back against the bed. You reverse your position to face him, taking hold of his shoulders to pull him into a sitting position and shove his back against the wall.

"Wha-"

You straddle his lap, springing his still-hard cock back inside of you and begin riding him mercilessly.

"One more," you whisper, voice low and demanding. "I know you can do it, my good fucking boy can give me one more."

Your nails are digging into his chest, red scratches left in their wake as you grind your soaked center against his shaft. Katsuki's stuttering, unable to find words as the overstimulation mixed with praise short circuits his brain.

"Ba-mmph-baby, wa-ahh-wait, fuck!"

Numerous beads of sweat roll from his hairline and drip down his cheeks, slack jawed from delirium. A second wave of release is rapidly rising in his abdomen, high pitched whimpers falling from his open mouth.

"Ah-almost!" you shout, fingers tracing his hardened nipples and pinching them roughly. He jolts, a final whine escaping him as the aforementioned wave crashes down, a second round of seed spurting out inside of you. Your own slick rushes to meet his spend, mixing together as it leaks from between your legs and into his lap.

"Holy fuck," Katsuki wheezes, barely able to speak. "Wh-where the fuck did you learn that?!"

Your legs are trembling uncontrollably as you lift yourself off of his dick, falling sideways onto the bed.

"I...just thought to try it," you sigh, "Never thought I'd get you to whine like that. Fuck, Kat. That was ungodly hot."

His face is burning red and heat traveling down his neck, somewhat embarrassed at his reaction of losing himself in the moment.

"Oh no, you don't get to be embarrassed! With half the shit you do to me?!" you tease, kicking his thigh jokingly with your foot. He grumbles, scrunching his brows together and crossing his arms.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop teasing you."

"Good, ya better. Now move your ass over and make room for me."

Katsuki flops next to you, too exhausted to get up from the bed. He wraps an arm around your waist and one under your head, cradling you close as your cheek meets his chest. You can hear his heartbeat thumping away as you close your eyes to the rhythm. He kisses your forehead before laying his head back against the mountain of pillows.

"Guess I should go away on missions more often if that's what I get 'ta come home to, shit. Feels like I just ran a fuckin' marathon."

You can't help but giggle, fighting off the itch to drift into slumber a little longer.

"I'm sneaking into your hotel room next time. No way am I waiting that long again!"

The two of you snuggle close, despite the ungodly amount of sweat coating your bodies and mugginess in the air, too enamored with one another to care.

"I love you so much, sweets. Don't forget that." Katsuki's voice is quiet, the words tightening in his throat as he speaks them aloud.

"I love you too, Katsuki. Forever and always."

He's satisfied with your answer as he closes his eyes, letting the wave of fatigue settle in his bones and lull him to sleep.

tagging @pastelbakugou as a thank you for the idea of a follow up 👀✨ no pressure tags!: @maddietries @slayfics @bkgrl @bub-ss hoping this was explosive enough! 🧡💥

#bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #bakugo smut #bakugo x y/n #bakugo x you #katsuki bakugou x reader #my hero academia smut #bakugo fluff #katsuki bakugo #bakugo katsuki #bnha bakugo #☆.rei writes

[chaepink]

Requesting Sukuna getting off from being stepped on by mean!gn!reader 🥺

King of Curses? ha! | sub!sukuna ryomen

wc: 1.1k+ words | masterlist

dom!gn!reader, mean!reader, dick & ball stepping, degradation, hair pulling, mention of slapping, porn with no plot, footjob(?), ooc sukuna

note : this was going to be a drabble but i loved this idea sm

If you were told that you would have the King of Curses on his knees in front of you as you step on his dick, you would've laughed and think it was crazy. If anything, you would think that whoever told you was out of their mind. But when the very exact scenario is unfolding right this moment, you can't help but be glad it's happening.

You sneer at the man kneeling underneath you. Pushing your shoe harder against the bulge in his underwear, you watch as sukuna groans, his hands going to grab your leg but you swat them away.

"Don't touch me you fucking whore. I can't believe you're actually enjoying me stepping on you. Its fucking pathetic, really."

A small moan leaves him at your degrade and as you press your heels against where his balls are, sukuna's eyes roll to the back of his head and he lets out a groan. You grimace when you see pre cum seep through the fabric and onto your shoe. Great, now your shoe is ruined.

"Dont you dare cum without permission, sukuna." His breaths are labored as he stares up at you with hazy eyes and a red face. His clenched fists lay on his thighs, knowing that if he disobeyed your rules, you'll leave him right then and there for him to jack off by himself.

His bratty and cocky demeanor is long gone after only just some degradation and face slapping. A red hand print lays still visible on his cheek, the stinging reminding Sukuna of just exactly will happen if he's bratty. Now he's reduced to nothing short of a stupid dog, eager for any sort of pleasure.

With only his underwear left on him, Sukuna feels exposed to you, especially when you're fully clothed. The way there's already a wet stain on his underwear only adds to the shame he feels. Even if he tried to hide it, the bulge he has is painfully obvious to you. There's a cold breeze in the air and sukuna tries to hold back a shiver.

Mere moments before, all that was running through his head is how about how he, the God of Curses for fucks sake, was kneeling down to you, a mere human. You looking down on him is demeaning enough towards his pride and ego. Though he's not sure how he got into this position in the first place or how you even found him, it seems like the pleasure got to him and he feels too good to even care. After all, its been a while since someone has treated him like this and given him pleasure. The foreign feeling has his usual demeanor slipping away.

"And people think that the God of Curses would be the one in control in situations like these." You laugh, making sukuna flush an even deeper red. "Yet look at you here, kneeling in front of me, dick already hard and leaking as just from me stepping on you. You're enjoying this way more than I thought too. What a dirty mutt you are." You coo, grinning at him as he swallows at the dark look in your eyes.

"How about you thank me, hm? Since i'm being so nice to you for helping you get off." You raise a eyebrow at him, daring him to even question your order.

Instead, he stays silent and slowly leans against your thigh, rubbing his cheek against it. It seems like sukuna is too out of it to have heard what you said, only letting out a small whine at the close contact and the warmth of your body.

You quickly make him snap out of it by grabbing a fistful of his hair and forcefully yanking it back, pulling sukuna off your thigh and to stand on his knees. His face scrunches up in pain as his eyes shut, a pained whimper leaving him. His dick subconsciously twitches at the stinging, prickling sensation that's left on his scalp from your pull.

"Did you not hear me properly? I'll say it one more time for you, sukuna." You grind your shoe down on his dick and lean down until your face is right in front of his. Sukuna lets out breathy huffs. You narrow your eyes at him as he slowly opens his own, blinking slowly up at you with glassy eyes.

Fuck, the way you're glaring at him so intensely like that and how you're just so mean to him makes his orgasm approach faster than he thought. He would've never thought that he would be into this but the way his dick throbs every time you do something would prove him wrong if he said he didn't.

"Say 'thank you [name] for stepping on my dick.' You better say it like you mean it too or i'm leaving you here to fuck your own fist."

Sukuna quickly widens his eyes. No! You can't do that. You won't leave him to pathetically masturbate by himself, right? Though when he gazes into your eyes, he finds no sign that you're joking. Instead, you only narrow your eyes at him, your patience quickly thinning.

His pride and ego is on the line, of course he's not going to thank you for stepping on his dick! He never asked for this anyways. Thats what the thoughts in the back of his head is telling him to say but when he opens his mouth, the total opposite leaves instead.

"t-thank you [name for stepping on my dick." Sukuna swallows when you stay silent, deciding whether or not it was good enough.

Suddenly a grin appears on your face and he gets shoved onto the ground, making his hard dick slide out of his underwear and out for you to see. Your foot immediately goes back to step on his dick, making Sukuna let out a embarrassing loud moan, his back slightly arching off the ground.

Before you could degrade him again, you're surprised when cum suddenly shoots out of his dick and onto his chest. Some even makes it on his face, making the entire sight even more erotic. Sukuna lets out a whimper-like cry at the sudden feeling of his long awaited orgasm. But he soon realizes what he's done.

It seems like even he's surprised as he widens his eyes at you, not having expected to cum that quick. Disbelief is shown on your face and you furrow your eyebrows. Whether or not it was a accident, he came without your permission. And the thought of it makes him shiver at what you're going to do to him.

"are you really that pathetic that you came that quickly from me just stepping on you? and i thought you were supposed to be strong. turns out you're just a dirty whore that likes to be stepped on."

You lean forward, putting your weight onto your foot and effectively making him let out a choked groan at the overstimulation. The rough texture of the bottom of your shoe grinding against his dick quickly has it hardening embarrassingly quick. The look of disgust is on your face but a glimmer of something entirely else too, maybe its lust.

“i hope your ready, baby.” Your foot trails down his dick and press on his balls as you grin at him. “cause i've barely even started.”

ty for reading to the end! ❤ - chaepink

╰┈➤ masterlist | rules

#chaepink.nsfw #dom!reader #sub!character #dom reader #dom fem reader #jjk smut #jjk x reader #sub sukuna #sukuna smut #sukuna x reader #sub character #sub jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujustu kaisen #sub!jjk #sub jjk #sub!sukuna #sukuna ryoumen x reader #jjk fanfic #jjk fic #jjk #sukuna ryomen #fem dom reader #dom! reader #ryomen sukuna x reader

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: Nothing big in this one. Memory loss?? Overprotectiveness?? Azriel losing it (but not that much just yet)??

a/n: Hi this is going to be a series :) thank you for reading <3

Part 2 ♡

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

As you blinked through the haziness, a dull throb echoed along the base of your skull. You sat up abruptly, feeling rocks and twigs digging into the backs of your legs, and winced as several shouts attacked your senses. You recognized none of them.

Gods, your head hurt. 

A few more blinks and the sun made an appearance, light assaulting your too-sensitive eyes. The leaves beneath your hands crunched and blew away in the balmy breeze, a few flecks of green still stuck to your palm as you brought it up to rub your head. 

“Don’t,” a feminine voice warned, and it was then that you pinpointed one of the shouts from earlier. But it was warmer now, calm. “Don’t touch your head, y/n. Azriel and Cas are getting help.”

You scrunched your face up but obeyed the command, taking steady breaths to try and manage the pain. The woman in front of you—blonde hair, brown eyes, a fierce expression—was like no one you had ever seen before. She was so incredibly beautiful you weren’t sure if you were actually awake. 

You took a pause. 

And then another. 

Who was the last person you had seen? 

“Where am I?” you asked instead, trying to appear sane. Your voice sounded unfamiliar. 

The woman’s expression pinched. “You’re in Spring Court. You remember that, don’t you? Rhysand sent us.” 

“Rhysand?” you repeated, the name foreign on your tongue. “Sent us for what?” 

“Well, we were supposed to be rallying Tamlin into re-fortifying his borders to win back the Summer Court’s good graces, but that beast is an idiot. Forging agreements with witches was quite possibly the worst move he could have made.” 

“Witches?” 

“I know, unbelievable,” the blonde ranted, sitting back on her heels beside you. “We came to help only to find out he had helped himself to the wicked. I knew he was distraught after Feyre, but to turn to this?” 

The pounding in your head was making it increasingly difficult to follow the tale the woman was spinning. Perhaps if you had more backstory, more information, you would understand what she was talking about. 

Desperate for that connection, you winced as you asked, “Um, not to offend, but… who are you?” 

Her aggravated expression crumpled into one of shock and concern. Her mouth parted, her brows came together at a point, and then she shifted, bringing her hands to your shoulders. When you flinched at the touch, the woman pulled her hands back, her fingers curling into her palms. “You don’t recognize me?” she asked, trepidation lining her tone. 

You shook your head, immediately regretting the action as pain shot up your neck. 

“Not at all?” she whispered. When your face remained blank, she pulled her hands into her lap. “Do you know who you are?” 

Another lapse in silence. 

“My Gods…” 

Darkness materialized nearby—swirling darkness. It reminded you of shadows and brought you a sense of peace for the first time since you opened your eyes. 

But then people started emerging from the darkness, taking up space in the vast forest, and that peace collapsed. Two large men with wings stomped against the twig-covered floor, causing a raucous disturbance as they began hurrying an older woman out from behind them. They both spoke in low, rushed tones and you wanted all the sound to stop. 

You ignored the woman’s directions from before and squeezed your head in your hands, your eyes snapping shut. It didn’t work, and you hadn’t expected it to, but Gods did your head hurt. It hurt and it was plagued by an impossible pressure that wouldn’t seem to let up.

“Mor, how long has she been awake?” one of the men asked. You felt him kneel beside you, felt him place rough, textured hands on your wrists in an attempt to pry your hands down. But he was gentle—so very gentle. 

“Azriel, she—” 

“Mor, if you could move aside. I need to look at her,” a much older voice chimed in. 

There was shuffling around you, new hands pressing to your face. You heard whispering that you couldn’t make out, and then the panic set in. 

You didn’t know these people. When you first woke up, the disorientation was focal; you were concerned about the pounding in your head and your whereabouts and that was it. But there were so many people here now, and you didn’t know any of them. 

You didn’t know who you were. Did they know who you were? They had to. 

“Majda, stop. You’re scaring her,” the man beside you, Azriel you’d heard him be called, practically hissed. 

Majda only hummed. “I am doing the job you brought me here to do. If I can’t work around a mating bond I will send you away, Shadowsinger.” 

Your breath came out in faster huffs, each one deeper than the last. You opened your eyes to try and gain some footing in the situation, still keeping your hands glued to your head. 

Your gaze went out before it went in, and you saw the blonde woman, Mor, beside a much larger man. His shoulder-length hair was messy and windswept, and he sent you a bittersweet, sympathetic smile that you couldn’t replicate. He watched with furrowed brows as your eyes darted from him, to Mor, to the wide forest around you. 

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t take her home first,” the man standing by the trees grumbled. “She would be more comfortable there.”  

“We didn’t want to move her with a head injury,” Azriel growled. “Not one from a witch.” 

His voice sent your attention towards him. Azriel was on his knees beside you, holding your wrists with his thumb circling the back of your hand in delicate strokes. He was painfully beautiful and you were left to wonder, yet again, if you were truly awake. When your gazes met, something foreign pulled at your ribs and the pressure sent an unexpected scream past your lips. You hunched over in a panic, yanking yourself away from those beside you.

That wasn’t right. None of this felt right. 

The older woman, Majda, cursed, staring after you as you pushed yourself further and further away. Each movement sent a new ache aflame in your head, but that didn’t stop you because you needed to get away. Your feet kicked up dirt and rocks and your hands tore with the effort but this wasn’t right. 

Azriel reached you before you could hit the tree just inches from your back. He held your head in his own hands and locked you in his gaze, keeping you trapped in the yellows and browns and the flecks that joined them. He took exaggerated breaths, wings flared out to block out the sun, and then he began whispering. 

It took a moment for you to understand the words, your heavy breaths mostly drowning them out. 

Something swished in the distance. More whispering, more secrets. 

“You’re okay. I’ve got you.” 

When Azriel’s voice finally came through, it was like a lifeline. 

“I’m here, my love. You’re safe. I know it hurts, I know.” 

It was odd, finding peace in a stranger. The shadows that seemed to dance around him swirled into shapes that framed your skin, and some of the panic felt foolish in their presence. They twisted and curved, somehow amplifying the cool tone of Azriel’s voice as he promised you things you had no capacity to understand. 

But he never stopped talking, not even when your gaze left his to follow his shadows instead. If anything, the action seemed to spur on the small beings more, and you wondered—for a brief moment—if he was controlling them. 

Something like amazement seeped into your panic as you whispered, “Who are you?” 

You didn’t know the man in front of you, that much was true, but he looked so… broken at your words. Something akin to pain clashed with his beautiful features as his jaw clenched to an unnatural degree. You were surprised that his teeth didn’t crack beneath the pressure. You wondered what else he could withstand—what atrocities he’d seen to make his eyes turn so dark when you spoke your words out loud. 

“No,” Azriel growled, chin hooking over his shoulder. His wings pulled back to reveal a new man, but this one looked slightly different from the others. No wings, different eyes. “You stay out of her head, Rhysand.” 

Rhysand. He was the one that had sent you here.

The concern on Rhysand’s face looked unnatural, like it didn’t belong there. “Az, it could help. Let me help her.” 

“You could make it worse. We have no idea what that witch did to her.” As Azriel spoke, shadows began to cover you more and more. Your sight became dim, your body camouflaged in darkness. 

“Looking in could be the only way to figure that out.” The next bout of silence was uncomfortable. The pounding in your head persisted, exacerbating to the point of tears along your waterline. “I know what you’re feeling, Azriel. I get it. But I want to help her, brother. You know I would never hurt her.” 

A twig snapped beneath a boot.

Azriel growled low in his chest. 

The pounding gave way to a sharp pain, and it made your senses lighter, less focused. 

You couldn't remember ever passing out before, but you thought it might feel like this. 

“Stay away from her.” 

“She doesn’t remember you, Azriel.” 

A choked breath. “Don’t touch my mate.” 

Darkness that surpassed the shadows finally granted you a reprieve from the pain. 

Maybe you'd wake up and this would all make sense.

Part 2 ♡

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel spymaster #azriel angst

[thoughtssvt]

gojo satoru never put his infinity up when he was with you. he liked to feel you close.

the first time he'd touched you— actually touched you— was an accident. one he'd never made before. all that happened was that your arms had brushed together. it was just for a short moment, but electricity ran under his skin and straight to his heart. he'd just felt so comfortable with you. so close. the moment was perfect, he was positive that all the stars had aligned when he was with you. he could be himself. you'd seen him through his barrier.

he became addicted.

he wanted to feel you that close every time.

even knowing his arm would fall asleep he would snake it under your waist, pull you in tight. he loved the way your hair would tickle his nose as he kissed the nape of your neck.

sometimes he'd get carried away. it was a euphoric feeling so foreign to the pads of his fingers. the thud of your heart against his palm, your calves tangling with his. you'd giggle saying that he was practically choking you.

"one more minute, i promise," he'd say, voice rumbling through his chest and against your back.

one minute became two and after two, well, you guessed you could get used to him melding your bodies together.

he found himself touching you every chance he got. his fingers massaging your scalp, elbows nudging as you walked side by side. sometimes when your legs were strewn over his he couldn't help running a hand up and down from ankle to knee, waxing his palm against your skin as he reached the bend.

he absolutely loved when you were the one to initiate touch. you could practically see a tail wagging when your fingers danced against his wrist just before sliding down to trace circles into his palms, his hand eager to intertwine with yours.

even on those sticky summer afternoons when all the fan was doing was blowing the hot air around he couldn't get enough of you. two clips swiping his hair out of his face (matching yours, of course), a cold patch on his forehead, he'd wrap his arms around you as you chopped away at refreshing fruit. his body encompassing yours, chin hooking onto your shoulder as he reminded you to be careful.

winter was his favorite as if he needed an excuse to cuddle close to you. the breaths of your giggles fanning his skin, your socked feet brushing together where you both hid under a soft, cozy blanket.

every night as he listened to your deep, steady breaths he thought about how grateful he was to have met you. he'd been so focused on being the strongest that he'd never given a fleeting thought to being weak. and god, when it came to you he got so weak. he wondered how it was ever a bad thing in the first place.

before sleep took him he pulled you in closer, felt your breath hit the back of his hand, your chest rise under his palm.

gojo satoru was almost certain that you and him and the love you shared together was the true meaning of infinity, so when he was with you he never had to put it up. one look in your eyes was all the forever he needed.

A/N : ngl i melted while writing this. let's be fr he'd be this clingy (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄)⁄

j‹𝟹

jjk men x reader masterlist | needy morning w/ gojo

bubble divider by pfparchive

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo x y/n #gojo x gender neutral reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk satoru #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojou satoru x reader #satoru x reader #gojou satoru x you #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou x reader #jjk gojou #gojo fluff #gojo satoru fluff #satoru fluff #gojou x y/n #gojo headcanons #gojo satoru headcanons #gojo satoru hcs

[cherienymphe]

Teenage Dirtbag IX (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: mentions of NON-CON, DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, violence (+ gun violence), gun kink, dacryphilia, attempted murder, mentions of blood, public sex, jealousy, manipulation, infidelity, underage drinking, drug use, canon ages, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | ➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: You’re charmingly spoiled. You’re too kind for your own good. You’re the princess of Figure 8 …and you’re way out of JJ Maybank’s league, but when he realizes that Rafe Cameron’s pride and joy is actually a bruised and battered damsel, he’s determined to save you.

Your rescue just comes with a price.

~

The first thing you registered was the most painful pounding in your head.

You didn’t drink often, and when you did, it certainly was never to the degree that you did last night. Your throat felt scratchy, your mouth felt dry, and your eyes felt tight. However, you felt like that last one had nothing to do with the drinking. Bits and pieces from the previous night came back to you, and you remembered crying into JJ’s arms about Rafe.

At the thought of your boyfriend, something tugged at the back of your mind.

You were lying down on an unfamiliar surface, both the fabric beneath you and the smell of the room foreign. It smelled like a mix of weed and ocean water and burnt wood, making your nose twitch, and when you finally peeled your eyes open…you paused.

Kie was knocked out on the chair across from you.

You stared at her for a good while in confusion before it registered that Kie wasn’t asleep at your house because you weren’t at your house. Your lips parted as you slowly lifted your head, eyes roaming over the inside of a house you’d only been in twice. You were still at John B.’s, and there was that tugging in the back of your mind again, something important—yet still unknown—nagging at you.

Much more awake, now, the rest of the night came back to you.

You’d drunkenly confessed the true nature of your relationship to JJ—something you were still conflicted about—and he’d kissed you again. You didn’t know if it was the kiss or the full weight of your confession hitting you, but you remembered stumbling away. You remembered drinking some more, throwing them back at an alarming rate, and ignoring JJ’s concern as he discreetly tried to get you to stop.

You recalled throwing yourself into another drinking game with Sarah and her friends, something that resulted in your head in the toilet. Your attitude had been contagious, Sarah and Cleo and Kie sharing a similar fate. John B. and Pope were high, you weren’t trying to listen to a word JJ said, and you’d passed out on the couch.

You’d passed out on the couch.

You hurriedly sat up at that thought, eyes wide and stomach turning.

You’d briefly wondered what time it was, but it only now registered that light was bleeding in through the window, and it wasn’t the light of the moon. Within seconds your entire body felt overheated, and your heart felt like it was in your throat. Stumbling to your feet, you almost tripped over Sarah on the floor, the loud thud of your foot making her groan.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, frantically looking around for your phone.

You heard Sarah mumble something as you rushed around the room before pausing.

You’d left your phone at Kie’s to make Rafe think you were still over there. You pressed your hand to your mouth, feeling like you were going to be sick, head spinning. It was the next day, and you didn’t doubt that you probably had hundreds of missed calls from Rafe, knowing your boyfriend well enough to know he would only call so much before just getting in his truck.

“Oh my God,” you mumbled again, and by this point, Sarah was waking up.

“What?” she groaned. “What time is it?”

Your stomach wouldn’t stop jumping, and you frantically blinked back tears.

“I need to call Rafe,” you forced out, trying to not be sick.

Sarah wasn’t reacting fast enough for you, sighing and sitting up, blonde hair going every which way.

“What…?”

“I need to call Rafe!”

You hadn’t meant to sound so shrill, Kie making a noise of disapproval as she was forced to wake up. You didn’t even consider that you’d be waking up the whole house, quickly wiping your eyes. Sarah was fully lucid and awake now, hurriedly standing and worriedly eyeing you. She swallowed, pausing for half a second before looking around for her phone.

You only just noticed that JJ was sleeping on the floor closest to John B.’s room, the blond standing as Sarah spotted her phone on the table. You pressed your hands to your face, trying to slow your breathing, but nothing was working. The air felt too thick, and your head felt too spacey, and your fingers wouldn’t stop trembling.

“Y/N…”

You ignored JJ, snatching Sarah’s phone as she handed it to you.

“Hey, I’ll talk to Rafe,” she gently offered. “You just got drunk and passed out. He’ll…”

You didn’t hear the rest of Sarah’s words, quickly making your way outside to the porch. You heard her sigh, Kie’s voice just barely reaching your ears as she asked something. Your hand wouldn’t stop shaking as you held it to your mouth, the other pressing Sarah’s phone to your ear. Your back was pressed to the wall as you sat down, knees pulled up onto the bench. You took a deep breath to try and calm yourself again, but it was in vain.

…because Rafe answered on the first ring.

“Where the hell-?”

“Rafe…”

You softly cut him off, swallowing at the silence that met you. Any remnants of a hangover were long gone the moment you realized you’d slept at John B.’s. The fear of what waited for you when you went home had sobered you up, mind going a mile a minute as you wondered what you were thinking last night. Rafe was so quiet—you couldn’t even hear him breathing—and you felt a few tears escape.

“Rafe-.”

“Where are you?”

The question was simple enough, but you actually felt bile rise in your throat at the thought of the answer. You briefly closed your eyes, pulling your lip between your teeth.

“I’m with Sarah and Kie and-.”

“I didn’t ask you who you were with…” you sank in your seat. “I asked where you were.”

You pressed your fingers to your lips, staring out into John B.’s yard. Your gaze focused on his van as the door opened, Pope scratching his head as he stepped out, and you surmised that he and Cleo had slept in there. Your eyes passed over them and focused on the dock out near the water, memories of what you did out there last night plaguing your thoughts.

“I’m already pissed, so…don’t make it worse by having me repeat myself.”

You pressed your hand to your face, fighting back tears and so angry with yourself for screwing up so bad.

“I’m… I’m at John B.’s.”

The immediate disconnect made more tears escape, and you squeezed your eyes shut. You heard someone step outside onto the porch—joining you—and the silence told you exactly who it was. You didn’t acknowledge him, looking away, and you weren’t sure why. He’d already seen you at your worst last night, but last night was different.

Last night you were drunk and running from your problems by chasing a bottle. Today you were sober and ashamed and wholly afraid of what was going to happen. Someone finally knew, but yet you felt no relief. You didn’t know how to handle someone else knowing why you were so afraid and quiet, right now.

“Is he coming here?”

JJ’s voice was clipped, and you could only nod. Recalling that you had Sarah’s phone, you handed it to him, avoiding his gaze.

“Can you give that back to Sarah?” you sniffed. “…and tell her I’m sorry for snapping like that.”

He didn’t respond right away.

“Y/N…”

His tone had you shaking your head, looking back out into the yard as Pope and Cleo made their way to the house.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” you whispered.

You both greeted them as they went inside the house, and from the corner of your eye, you could see JJ lean in.

“Just let me take you back to Kie’s, and then you can wait for him at home.”

You let out a bitter laugh, nodding.

“He’s already on his way…”

That you knew for a fact.

“As bad as things already are, trust me that it’ll be much worse if he gets here, and I’m gone,” you told JJ, finally meeting his eye.

You couldn’t place the look on his face, but you didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched as he stared at you. There was a huge elephant in the room between you, and for once, it wasn’t the kiss nor your complicated feelings for the blond before you. For two years, you’d been utterly alone in dealing with Rafe’s wrath, and you didn’t quite know how to feel at the worry bleeding into JJ’s gaze.

“You should go inside,” you quietly told him with a shrug. “I can’t imagine what would happen if he knew you guys were here too.”

JJ looked as if he didn’t want to listen to you, but eventually he did, and you were alone again with your thoughts. Even if you wanted to savor the memory of kissing JJ again, you couldn’t. The whole thing was tainted beyond belief, and if it weren’t for him periodically sleeping in your pool house, you would be sure that you’d never have the chance to see him again after today.

It was some time before you heard the familiar rumble of a truck, and you knew that Rafe had wasted no time and had probably run every stop sign just to get here. You glanced over when Sarah joined you on the porch, gaze apologetic as you stood.

“Let me talk to him,” she offered again. “What can he possibly say to a few girls having too much to drink and crashing?”

There was a silent agreement that Rafe couldn’t know about the guys’ involvement.

“You’d be surprised,” was all you said, sighing at Sarah’s pleading look. “That’s nice of you, Sarah, but I doubt it’ll make him feel any better.”

She merely ran her hand through her hair as Rafe’s truck came into view. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and the blonde teenager huffed.

“You know you deserve better, right?”

Her comment threw you, and unsure of how to respond, you only sent her a shaky smile.

“I’m serious,” she sneered, walking outside with you close behind. “He treats you like he doesn’t trust you, and instead of just going to therapy…”

Her words became louder once Rafe opened the driver’s side.

“…he’d rather take it out on you.”

“I’m not in the mood, Sarah.”

Rafe was talking to his sister, but you didn’t miss the cold look he fixed you with as he approached you. You shuddered when he placed a hand on the back of your neck the moment he reached you, lips grazing your forehead as he leaned in.

“…and you really have no reason for that. I took care of your girlfriend just fine,” she told him. “We just had too much to drink, and we fell asleep.”

Your boyfriend just hummed, pulling away to hold your gaze.

“Was that before or after the movie?”

His question came out low, so you knew that was solely for you, and when you merely pressed your lips together, Rafe’s nostrils flared. His hand was still on your neck as he guided you to the passenger’s side, only making the odd hum here and there as Sarah tried to plead your case. When he closed your door, your gaze traveled to the house, eyes lingering on the window as if you could see JJ inside.

“Give it a rest, Sarah,” you heard Rafe say as he opened his door. “You don’t think I know that you hate her being with me? Hmm?”

There was a heavy pause.

“I think you could treat her better, yes, but… You make it seem like I’m doing these things on purpose, Rafe!” Sarah hissed. “It was just girls having fun, and we lost track of time! You’re acting like she committed some grave offense instead of just behaving like a normal twenty-year-old.”

Your boyfriend didn’t respond to that, shutting the door in her face, and you reluctantly put on your seatbelt as he started his truck. You leaned your head back as you stared out of the window, savoring the view because this would be the last time you’d ever be on The Cut. At this point, Rafe was never going to let you out of his sight again if he could help it.

Reluctantly, you glanced at him, and your heart sank at the way he absolutely refused to look at you. Even if his knuckles weren’t completely white as his fingers clutched the wheel, you could almost feel the negativity radiating off of him. Against your better judgement, you said something.

“Rafe…”

You were cautious, unsure of how to proceed.

You’d never fucked up this bad before.

“Rafe, I…”

Your words died in the air when he held a hand up, not sparing you a glance. Mentally preparing yourself for what awaited you, you told yourself not to push your luck, sitting back and turning towards the window.

“Please, say something.”

You closed the front door behind you as Rafe made his way to the kitchen, basically ignoring you. Sarah was still at John B.’s, Ward was probably out taking care of business, and there was no telling where Rose was. Wheezie was probably the only one home, and you were only mildly sure of that only because she rarely left her room.

“Why? So you can give me some more excuses for you not coming home?”

You watched him grab a pot, opening the fridge.

“They wanted to smoke a blunt, and Kie didn’t want her parents’ house smelling like weed.”

It was technically the truth, only you didn’t specify who ‘they’ were. Rafe softly laughed to himself, but it was dry, lacking in humor. You watched him place a pack of hot dogs on the counter, filling the pot with water.

“Why should I believe you?”

His question came out quiet, and you swallowed when he glanced over his shoulder.

“You left your car and your phone at Kie’s,” he murmured, back facing you again. “Almost like you wanted me to believe you were somewhere you actually weren’t.”

You touched your forehead.

“That’s not what happened,” you whispered. “We were in a rush, and I wasn’t thinking.”

“Convenient,” you heard him drawl. “Just as convenient as you ‘knocking out pretty early’ the other week too when I went to Charlotte.”

Your heart dropped at that, and you pressed your lips together when Rafe fully turned around, leaning against the counter. He stared you down, and you frowned at him.

“I mean, what are the chances that you’ve done this twice, now?”

“Rafe-.”

“You see where my head is at though, right?” he wondered, gently touching his temple. “You see why I’m looking at my girlfriend and wondering if she’s actually a sneaky bitch.”

You flinched at the insult.

“…and what if it wasn’t even just you girls?”

“Rafe,” you started, stepping towards him.

“What if John B. and Pope were there? JJ?” he sneered, lip curling over his teeth. “What if you and your new little sidekick are lying to me?”

You took a deep breath.

“You don’t believe that,” you whispered. “…because if you did…”

You threw your hands up.

“We wouldn’t be standing here…talking…”

Rafe crossed his arms over his chest, lips downturned as he nodded. He stared at you for a nerve-wracking amount of time, blue eyes intense and unmoving. You didn’t know what he was thinking, and that always scared you more than knowing. When he let out a small sigh after some time, you didn’t allow yourself to feel relief just yet.

“Come here…”

Resisting the urge to hesitate, you did. There was no escaping whatever Rafe wanted to do, only prolonging it, and you expected a slap or a harsh tug on your arm or even a hand around your throat. You did not expect, however, his hand in your hair and another on the back of your neck. A pained gasp was all that escaped you, the events happening so fast that you only gathered your thoughts in time to press your hand into the counter.

Your face was hovering above the pot of boiling hot water, the steam and heat hitting your skin and making you wince. Your other hand came up on the other side, pressing into the stovetop, and Rafe only pressed down harder on your head. You cried out in pain as you fought to push against his hand, and Rafe only moved closer.

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, the heat making them water.

“It’s interesting how when I’m around or just around the corner, that phone of yours is glued to your hip…as it should be…”

He pushed your face further down, the sound of the bubbling water reaching your ears.

“…but the moment I give you an inch, the moment I try to be nice,” he hissed. “…all of a sudden you barely give it a second thought, and you just leave it wherever you told me you’d be.”

“Rafe,” you gasped, peeling your eyes open and staring into the hot water.

Your hand slid along the counter, hands clammy from fear and nerves.

“How fucking convenient,” he spat, pressing harder against the back of your head.

You could feel tears spilling over just as Wheezie’s voice reached your ears from the stairs. Rafe let you go, and you stumbled away from him, backing up into the fridge. Rafe’s entire visage was taut, eyes venomous and jaw ticking as he stared you down. Your eyes were wide, and you tearfully blinked, hurrying to wipe your face just as his youngest sister strode into the kitchen.

She scoffed.

“You’re not done with the hotdogs yet?” she practically whined. “You just put them in the water and boil them, Rafe.”

When he looked at her, his face softened some, and he chuckled.

“My bad, Wheezie,” he smiled. “Y/N keeps distracting me.”

They both looked at you, and you swallowed just as she sighed.

“He owes me hotdogs,” the younger girl told you. “You can have some too, but neither one of us will get any if he doesn’t actually cook them.”

She threw him a look to which he lightly laughed, turning back to the stove. You eyed the pot of hot water, pressing your nails into the counter as you cleared your throat.

“Sorry, Wheez,” you breathed. “I’ll try to keep him focused.”

Your voice was shaky, and when Rafe simply glanced at you, dropping the hotdogs in the water, you pressed your hand to your cheek, trying to cool your skin down.

You rinsed out your tub with trembling hands, watching the pink water swirl down the drain. You hadn’t stopped crying since last night, mostly quiet sniffles the moment Rafe rolled off of you, but you hadn’t been able to keep as quiet the moment he left this morning. With one look at the blood on your sheets, you wanted to throw up, but all you’d managed to do was break down.

You couldn’t take any more pain killers, so all that was left was a warm Epsom salt bath. It was far from relaxing, your sobs echoing around the bathroom as you scrubbed off semen and blood. One look in the mirror had you flinching, and you were never more grateful that your parents were out of town until Friday because you were sure this was the worst you’d ever looked. To make matters worse, you just knew the discoloration under your eye was only going to darken.

You tied your robe tight around you as you left your bathroom.

Only to stop short at the sight of JJ.

Your eyes were wide at the picture before you, the blond man standing in your bedroom. Your lips parted, and you opened and closed them, unsure of what to say or do. However, you quickly decided on something once you realized that he wasn’t even looking at you…but instead the sheets you hadn’t managed to pull off the bed.

“JJ…what…?”

You hurried across the room, throwing your comforter over your bed and facing him, gaze questioning. When his blue eye met yours, it wasn’t the warm welcome you were used to, and you hoped that he would ignore what he saw, but he didn’t. His eyes flitted over your face, drinking you in.

“What did he do to you?” he spat, teeth clenched.

You crossed your arms over your chest, looking around him and eyeing your open window.

“Did you break into my room?”

His expression didn’t change, and accepting that he was going to ignore your question until you answered his, you sighed.

“I don’t want to talk about that, JJ,” you whispered.

“Well, that’s too fucking bad,” he whispered back, moving closer. “…because you’re going to, or I’m telling Sarah.”

You blinked at him, disbelief filling you, and you scoffed. Shaking your head, you rolled your eyes towards the ceiling, falling to sit on the edge of your bed.

“What do you think happened?” you tearfully wondered, shrugging. “I screwed up…and I will be lucky if I can even go pee in a public restroom without him standing over my shoulder.”

Your lips trembled, and you looked away, tears falling. You could feel the blonde’s eyes on you, and you wiped your face.

“What are you doing here, JJ?” you asked in a small voice.

The other guy moved closer, looking down at you, and you swallowed under his scrutiny.

“After the other night and yesterday morning, I had… I had to make sure that…”

He trailed off, no point in finishing because it was visibly obvious that you weren’t okay.

“I saw when you both came home last night, and I climbed up as soon as he left this morning,” he continued. “I really wanted you to be okay.”

His tone sounded defeated, and you wiped your face again. When he touched your face, you winced, and you didn’t miss the way his nostrils flared. You couldn’t stop yourself from leaning into his hand, eyes falling closed when his other hand gently found a home on the back of your head, pushing you to rest your forehead against his torso.

“Where is he?” he asked, voice hard.

“He went to the club with Kelce and Topper,” you murmured. “He’ll be calling every hour or so.”

The ‘or so’ was to keep you on your toes. It was late into the night when he drove you to Kie’s, closely hovering as you got both your phone and your car, truck tailgating you the entire drive home. The moment you’d made it inside of your house, you’d been pushed onto the floor. What commenced was just a blur of harsh kicks and harsh words, and a manhandled journey up the stairs.

The moment Rafe got you into your room, he’d wasted no time in tearing at every article of clothing you had on. Every action—every thrust—was done with the sole purpose to punish you. You hadn’t meant to scream—you rarely did anymore—but it had just hurt so bad that you couldn’t help it. When JJ pulled you to your feet, you curiously eyed him.

He said nothing to you as he pulled your sheets off of your bed, throwing them into a pile on the floor. The look he gave you held a silent question, and you pointed to your closet. You wrapped your arms around yourself as he grabbed a clean set, fixing them on your bed for you, and you felt your throat tighten.

“JJ, you don’t have to…”

You trailed off when he looked over his shoulder at you before continuing the task. When he was done, he moved closer to you, gently taking your arms. He stared at your face with a frown before exhaling.

“You not wanting me to tell Sarah or anyone about this is crazy,” he forced out, jaw ticking. “…but I get it, now. I understand that he’ll…”

JJ took a deep breath.

“I get what’s at stake,” he whispered, eyes looking between yours. “…but you can’t tell me to sit back and do nothing. That’s the tradeoff. You want me to keep quiet, then you let me be here for you.”

You understood where JJ was coming from, and you looked down. Asking JJ to keep quiet about Rafe’s abusive nature was asking a lot, and expecting the younger blond not to worry or help or be there for you in whatever way was asking for even more. It wasn’t really fair, and you reluctantly nodded.

You sat back down on your bed when he left your bedroom, and your mind spun over the predicament you found yourself in. Did…did you have two boyfriends? Is that what JJ was? Or was he simply the guy who treated you well and snuck into your bedroom and kissed you sometimes? It wasn’t right, but then again, the whole situation wasn’t right.

No, you shouldn’t be cheating on Rafe, but Rafe also shouldn’t be hitting you and raping you and hurting you in whatever manner he could whenever he wanted. JJ treated you good, proven in the way he returned upstairs with something cold he’d found in your freezer. His gaze was apologetic as he gently pressed it to your face, and you were unable to stop yourself from wincing.

When JJ sat down next to you, he tugged on you until you were lying down in his lap, looking up at him as he gazed down at you. His free arm made itself comfortable around your waist, and you reached down to cover his hand with yours. You were so used to Rafe’s treatment that you paid no mind to the dull ache between your legs, just thinking about when JJ kissed you again the other night.

It was the last thing that needed to be on your mind, and you closed your eyes.

“You can’t stay long, JJ,” you murmured.

You heard him sigh, although it sounded more like a huff.

“Yeah, I know.”

You felt your eyes burn.

“I don’t think I’ll be going to The Cut again,” you said. “I kind of ruined that.”

You felt and heard JJ lean down, and when his lips brushed over your swollen ones, you opened your eyes. When he pulled away, the blond held your gaze, expression thoughtful.

“That’s okay,” he eventually said. “You don’t have to to see them. We’ll find a way, and…”

He took your hand with his free one.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispered to you. “You know exactly where to find me.”

Your chest felt warm at that, and you found yourself eyeing his lips. When he leaned down again, you closed your eyes, ignoring how conflicted you felt. You couldn’t go on like this forever, but JJ and his possible place in your future wasn’t something you wanted to think about. In the moment, after being brutally raped by your boyfriend, you just wanted to feel good.

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[ozzgin]

Yandere! Monster x Reader [Werewolf]

In Romanian mythology, Pricolici is an evil spirit believed to be born after the death of wicked humans, able to transform into certain animals such as ferocious dogs and wolves. The etymology is unknown, although it's suspected to be of Dacian origin, thus going as far back in time as the 1st century BC. An ancient creature has set its predatory eyes on you.

Winner of the Folklore Monster Poll celebrating Romanian history!

TW: obsessive behavior, violence, death

[Horror Masterlist] [More Headcanons]

He can tell it's a dream. Nonetheless, it always feels unbearably real. He can smell the incense, hear the hurried trample of feet underneath him. He wants to open his mouth and demand they stop. No words ever come out, the throat is dry and flattened by heavy despair. It's a dream, after all. The priests march on, and the spears are lifted. For a moment, he's blinded by their powerful, sharp glisten. As he gazes at the sacred circle, it occurs to him just how uncomfortable the shackles are. He becomes somewhat distracted by this irritating friction, so much he doesn't register the instructions given by the mysterious men. 

Centuries later, he would stumble upon an old history book by Herodotus that detailed his misfortune:

"The Getae are the bravest of the Thracians and the most just. They believe they are immortal, forever living, in the following sense: they think they do not die and that the one who dies joins Zalmoxis, a divine being. Every four years, they send a messenger to Zalmoxis, who is chosen by chance. They ask him to tell Zalmoxis what they want on that occasion. The mission is performed in the following way: men standing there for that purpose hold three spears; other people take the one who is sent to Zalmoxis by his hands and feet and fling him in the air on the spears. If he dies pierced, they think that the divinity is going to help them; if he does not die, it is he who is accused and they declare that he is a bad person. And, after he has been charged, they send another one. The messenger is told the requests while he is still alive."

The foreign hands tighten around his limbs and he takes a deep breath in, ready for the plunge. Truth be told, he's not too anxious. The first time was terrifying, but one becomes accustomed to death if it repeats itself, night after night as the years pass and millennia settle over it, like a thick blanket of ash and bone and dust. He doesn't remember the pain anymore, only the bitterness. The wrath. He had no business playing God's messenger. He hadn't wished to be choking on his own blood, rippling violently at the corners of his mouth as his eyes dart over the excited masses. There are claps and cheers, and hope, and peace. Just not for him. 

No matter, if they long so dearly after eternity, he'll become their very proof. A tangible undead, a creature of eternity. Let them gaze at their ardent desire as it claws their bowels out for the birds to feed on. Let them sing praise before their God as their soft throats detangle under his fangs. Before he knows it, the corpses lay mangled at his feet and he notices his horrid reflection swaying in the puddles of fresh blood. 

He has become a beast. 

And just like that, the nightmare ends. It always ends here. He pats the sweat off his forehead with the monotonous vigor of habit. It's already noon and the narrow street flocks with curious tourists and natives on their stroll. Every now and then he will venture into the city, just to get a glimpse of the world. He twists the knob and opens a window, enjoying the breeze that cools his skin. His tired eyes wander around with no purpose. 

That's when he sees you. Your wide, carefree smile as you converse with your friend. You're drawing circles along the edge of your coffee cup, propped over the table, entranced by your discussion. Your gentle laugh rings unexpectedly loud against his ears. He finds himself frozen in place, unable to contract a single muscle. 

"Oh, this trail is supposed to have some really nice sights." Your friend is shuffling through unfolded maps, spread out onto the small café table. "We should leave pretty early though, otherwise it'll get dark before the return."

You groan at the idea. Your friend responds with a chuckle. 

"Remember, our tour guide joked about werewolves roaming the outskirts. Do you want to be eaten?" She inquires with a cheeky grin. 

"You know I have a thing for monsters." You answer with a wink. 

The jokes carry on until the bill arrives, and you eventually stand up and merrily make your way down the street. For a brief moment you feel a cold shiver running down your spine, so you peek back inquisitively. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

Ah. By the time his focus returns, the sun is setting, reflecting its crimson rays over the old cobblestone. You've been gone for a while, so he must've been staring into the nothingness for good hours. He clears his throat, mildly embarrassed by his absent-mindedness. He isn't hungry, so he has trouble explaining his sudden captivation with a random human.

Even more bizarre is the consequence of the accidental encounter. The following nights are devoid of the usual torment. Has he ever had a peaceful slumber before? He can't recall. And yet here he is, vacantly eyeing the ceiling without the labored breath or cold shivers, faintly reminiscing about your amused expression. He frowns slightly at the realization that his recollection seems to contain less details compared to yesterday. Your face is smudged by the intense light of the noon, titled at an angle that allows no shadows to discern the features. What will he do when it's entirely gone? A faceless memory, anchored in the depths of his heart as a reminder of what could've been. Is there some universal law that dictates only misery remains unforgotten, or is he just exceptionally unlucky? Infuriating. 

The overwhelming sensation creeps upon him again. A primordial vengefulness that hasn't yet released him from its cold, bony fingers. For once, can't he be granted fairness? His jaw clenches and he marches out of the room. 

Tonight shall be a feast.

The lights are still on in the little tavern inn, and through the small windows he can make out the lively movement of the people inside. He glances at the waning moon one final time. The world may change, and the years may pass, but one thing has never left him throughout the centuries. Always bearing the same pallid, melancholic countenance, his taciturn companion rises, indifferent to the Universe. 

His back arches outwards, the bones tear and twist, the joints dislocate and the skin is giving way to coarse, thick fur. His eyes now carry an amber glow as they rest on the modest building. Without further hesitation, he pounces on the door and it folds like cardboard under his inhuman strength. The room goes quiet and all heads turn to him. He recognizes that look. A fleeting second of fear and curiosity, before true panic settles in. But they rarely have the time to scream. Just as the vocal chords contract and vibrate, their chests are trashed and limbs are tattered. Splattered visceral remains and blood coat the ground under his feral attack.

You squeeze your eyes closed and force your hands over your mouth to ensure your stillness to the massacre. You were just returning from the bathroom when you heard the wails and the wet sounds of mutilated flesh. You'd ducked behind the wall and hid under an end table. What the hell is that creature? You initially thought a wild wolf had somehow made its way into the tavern, but no animal can be this large. There is a backdoor, but on the other side of this hall. You'd have to sprint across the archway that leads into the main room. Then again, if it's this busy ripping the others apart...

No need to ponder your options much. Silence falls behind you, which means the creature must have finished its horrid sport early. His snout picks up a particular scent and he tenses up, expectantly. Could it be? 

The wooden parquet tiles creak under the weight of foreign footsteps; a human approaching you. You look up from under the table. Has someone dealt with the beast? Although you immediately regret revealing yourself. You freeze in your spot, hands propped on the ground, like prey awaiting execution. 

The man is unnaturally tall, having to crouch under the ceiling, with wild black hair and rough features. His chiseled face is painted red, and his clothing is torn apart and soaked in blood. His large hands end in sharp claws, and amid his ruffled locks you can distinguish animal ears. 

There you are.

Well, quite the irony to meet you here of all times and places. From this distance, you look even prettier. He bends over slightly to examine the details that have faded since the first encounter. A surreal experience, really. Seeing you kneel right in front of him and not as a figment of his imagination. He extends his fingers over your face and presses his nails in, leaving a vague trail of swollen, red skin. What a frail being you are.

"Your friend is alive, by the way." His deep, dissonant voice pierces the silence.

"O-oh." You gasp. You were so anxious you barely understood the meaning of his words.

"You may check on her if you so desire, however..." 

He considers it. Normally, even after allowing his anger to seep into cadavers and ruins, all he's left with is disgust and emptiness. Yet your presence seems to fill him with unfamiliar comfort. If one is drowning, is it truly selfish to hold onto the first thing that keeps them afloat? The only people who'd condemn such beggar are the ones that have never been underwater. They don't know what it's like to have your lungs tighten and collapse under the heavy pressure, waving your arms towards a surface that's never reached. 

"...You'll be coming with me afterwards."

You can only stare.

"Don't worry, I won't kill you." He attempts to simulate a smile. "I suppose I'm not too convincing like this", he jokes as he gestures towards his body, "But you have my word I'll never harm you."

"Why, though?" You manage to stutter, frowning in confusion. 

He's taken aback by your inquiry. Perhaps his statement is indeed more threatening than anything else. On the other hand, he hasn't conversed with humans in...longer than he can remember. What might pose as convincing in this case? Drawing out a rose and confessing his undying love among the bodies he murdered feels rather ridiculous. Suddenly, a passage he's once read comes to mind. At the time, it depressed him greatly. Now it feels like the only fitting reasoning.

"Do you believe in destiny? That even the powers of time can be altered for a single purpose? That the luckiest man who walks on this earth is the one who finds… true love?"

"Isn't that from Stoker's Dracula? How is it-" 

You pause and search his eyes. Golden trenches of loneliness and gloom. Your heart is heavy and your mouth curls into a grimace the longer you stare into these pools swirling with agony. 

"I understand." Is all you can mutter as you stand up. 

Have you had a choice to begin with? Not even the frothing waves of a storming ocean can come between a dying man and his only raft. 

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x darling #yandere fic #yandere imagines #yandere monster #yandere monster x reader #monster x reader #werewolf x reader #yandere werewolf #female reader #gender neutral reader #yandere horror #horror x reader #yandere oc #romanian folklore

[agendabymooner]

SOMETHING SNEAKY !!! LEWIS H. X FEM!READER (18+)

summary: lewis was known for his year-end parties. the grid would be shocked to find out what else he was known for.

content warning: smut under the cut (minors dni!), use of explicit language, pwp, lewis and reader on their sneaky link behaviour, p in v penetration, doggy or whatever pierre said, filthy, dom!lewis energy, fucking in a club bathroom vibes, utter nonsense— just lewis being filthy as fuck, drivers being drunk (max, charles and lando), bit of a twist at the end but not really???

rec music: disco tits by tove lo

note: shout out to @daaiissyyyyy for listening to my recent fever ramble at 11 pm— she gave me the thought to write for lewis after giving this music prompt eheh. i’m sick of sf23 and w14 so now i’m just writing ✨fuckall✨ enjoy xx

something sinful (smut) masterlist

a - n masterlist

o - z masterlist

if you’d like to get on one of my taglists, check this post out!

lewis was known for a lot of things: his sense of fashion, desire to make panty-dropping songs, his impressive record in formula one and of course…

the extravagant parties that never failed to live up to everyone’s expectations. 

now this was the first time he’s hosted a big party in his new york penthouse since his previous championship win before covid — 2019.

and 2023 was the most frustrating season for most drivers and lewis hamilton wasn’t an exception to that; after all, most teams splurged as much money as red bull did with their cars yet the crown was handed over to max and the austrian team in a gold plate. 

because of the same results every year, the brit couldn’t find himself to care much about it anymore.

instead, after the abu dhabi race he texted the group chat and invited them over for a party he was going to host after the prize giving ceremony. 

yet, when the drivers came over to his penthouse with their girlfriends and their peers — the host was found nowhere in sight. 

tove lo’s music boomed loudly as sweaty bodies hit the dance floor. the world champion - max verstappen - was chatting with the ferraris and lando about whatever the fuck he was planning to do during the break. most drivers were dancing and drinking. 

yet, amongst the sea of intoxicated and desperate people, none of them were lewis.

he was known for his parties. but what they didn’t know was that his parties were nothing but excuses to feel the adrenaline rush pump through his bloodstream without taking the drugs for it.

because he was upstairs in his room, thick cock spearing inside someone’s cunt as the woman screamed silently. her manicured nails clutching the sheets under her as drool escaped her mouth, her head down while her ass was arched up. 

lewis grunted as he lustfully traced down her spine and smacked her ass. “god, fuck! such a good pussy, doll.” 

“lew- lewis, fuck,” she cursed him in a foreign language that he couldn’t care to understand, her eyes rolling back as he continued to fuck her from behind. “i feel so full, oh~ god~ yes- yes- keep fucking me like that.”

“like this?” she let out a pitiful whine when he moved and roughly hit her sensitive spot with his cock.

her head was pushed against the mattress as she whined, his cock rubbing against the spot repeatedly while she inaudibly babbled. 

he demanded firmly, “you gotta tell me how do i fuck you, baby, otherwise i’m not gonna—“

“—fuck! yes, keep hitting that spot please,” she cried out, tears threatening fall from the pleasure she felt. 

in the moment of grunting and whining, no one downstairs could hear them as they fucked like rabbits in heat. thank god for the party that lewis had paid for. if anyone ever found out, they’d immediately assume that he only hosted this just to get her away from everyone. 

her walls clenched around him as he moaned aloud, “this pussy is so good— so tight f’me, princess.” 

the tip of his cock hit her cervix as she cried, “please lewis, please— wanna cum~”

“mmh~ god,” lewis groaned loudly, his deep lusty voice echoing inside the room alongside the slapping of their skins and her moans. “gonna cum soon, baby— gonna be a good girl and cum with me?”

“mhm yeah,” she nodded. 

“good because— ah~ keep doin’ that- i’m- ah fuck!” lewis grunted as his thrusting slowed. she came, too, her walls clenching around him still as she reached her climax and the sense of euphoria washed over her. 

lewis’ face was beaded with sweat and pleasure, leaning forward for a brief moment to keep his composure. his cock remained inside her as he pulled up her head and tangled his tongue with hers. 

he sighed, the sound of contentment covering up her quivering breath as he smirked mischievously.

this was a celebration, indeed.

this, however, was a celebration for the two of them only. this was how she rewarded him for putting up with this season, and lewis simply accepted her reward without hesitation.

after all, not everyone in the grid got to get a taste of her. if everyone found out, they’d be jealous. for one driver, they’d be furious— but lewis couldn’t find himself to care right now.

“lewis!” ten minutes later, charles, max and lando found the older british driver in his minibar. 

lewis looked at the trio with curious eyes as charles started, “have you seen max’s sister?”

lewis’ eyes narrowed for a brief moment, “max’s… sister?” he then looked at max with a questioning look.

“yeah, my eldest sister— i brought her tonight. you’ve met her earlier, remember?” the world champion asked lewis with the naivety that everyone else carried in the room. 

oh, lewis had met her, alright. 

he met her tonight. and the races before tonight. and the summer break. and almost everyday. not that the world champion had a knowledge of it. 

lewis let out an ‘ah’ as if he realized who the dutchman was talking about, “that sister! i think i’ve seen her—“

“mon sœur!” my sister! charles exclaimed, slurring out his words as he pointed at the direction of the staircase. “wait… max’s sister!”

there stood max’s sister, who looked less frazzled and fucked out than what she looked like ten minutes ago.

lewis almost chuckled. she’s quick to pretend like she hadn’t had a cock inside her just about now— that’s what lewis loved about her. she knew when to play pretend. 

max’s eyes narrowed at his sister while she approached the group. she immediately glanced at lewis, who merely smirked at the sight of her. max continued to pester her, “where the hell have you been? we’ve been looking for you for an hour!”

“bullshit,” lando called out with a laugh, “you were fucking singing disco tits the entire time! stop lying to everyone!”

the woman’s head cocked to the side as she smirked at her little brother. max’s face flushed red and shoved lando, “shut up.”

“well, i’m here now— and you’re drunk,” she pointed at max. “we’re going.”

“already???” max whined. “fineeee~”

“alright well,” lewis finally spoke. “it’s nice having you lots here. i’ll catch up with you soon, yeah?” but his eyes remained at the sight of her as he smiled. he wasn’t even talking to max or his friends— but her. 

she smirked too (not that the three younger men noticed) and nodded, “absolutely. we’ll catch up with you soon, lewis. thanks for the invite.” 

and it wasn’t even fifteen minutes later after the verstappen siblings departed when the knighted driver received a text.

the better verstappen 🥰: thanks for the invite, lew 💗 i hope the compensation paid off

lh 🫶: you know that times spent with you are worth more than one shitty season my love 😉

lh 🫶: def made things better after abu dhabi tho. what do you think about going to san marino and bora bora for the long break?

the better verstappen 🥰: for you? i’ll keep excusing myself from max’s family vacation plans baby

♡   moony’s reminder 🅶 (general): @hiraethrhapsody

♡   moony’s reminder 🅴 (explicit edition): @glitterf1

#lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton imagine #lewis hamilton smut #lewis hamilton x reader #formula one smut #f1 smut #f1 imagine #f1 fic #formula one x reader #f1 x reader #formula one imagine #♔ something sinful ⎯ f1 smut

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: your insane, psychotic best friend Wanda wants you all to herself after you go on a date with another girl. smut ensues ♡

content warnings: oh god where to start. get some holy water and read this in private ya’ll. jealousy, possessiveness, stalking, obsession, marking, choking, murder, knife play, blood kink, mask kink if you squint, restraints, sadism, masochism, pain kink, cunnilingus, foreign object kink, throat fucking with a knife, scissoring, degradation, wanda is INSANE you guys

word count: 5.2k+

masterlist

Only Yours

The chill of the night wraps around you, and you bite your lips to hide a smile as you fumble with your apartment key. With the help of a dim street light, you manage to find it, slipping it into the doorknob with trembling fingers as a sharp gust of wind makes it through your coat and settles deep in your bones. Still, it's not enough to dull the warmth of the successful date you’d been on all evening.

You’d had a lovely night, the two of you walking around a pumpkin patch as you talked for hours. By the end of it, you hadn’t realized how late it had gotten until your feet had started throbbing from walking around mindlessly. The slowly reddening skin of your cheek still tingles from where she’d kissed you, and you catch yourself smiling as you remember how shy she’d gotten right afterward. With the promise of a second date, you’d left after checking your phone to see several missed messages and calls from your best friend. 

Worried that something was wrong, you’d left a bit earlier than you wanted, turning down your date’s offer to return to her apartment and watch a movie in favor of checking up on your best friend. 

Your hand slips as you get lost in thought, turning the doorknob, and you frown slightly. You hadn’t turned your key yet, which meant that your front door was unlocked. Shrugging it off, and still riding the high of your successful date, you look around to ensure that nobody is behind you before slipping inside the dark entryway of your apartment. 

Numb fingers scramble for the light switch, and you blink in confusion when the hallway remains dark after you flip the switch a few times. Sighing, you bend down, undoing the laces of your boots and making a mental note to pay your electricity bill in the morning. 

Maybe you should schedule a doctor's appointment as well, seeing as you’d now forgotten to pay your bill (which never happened, you always remembered), and you’d somehow left your apartment unlocked the whole evening. 

Your footsteps are soft as you make your way towards your bedroom, your eyes locked on your phone as you pull up your texts. As much as you loved your best friend, Wanda could be a little possessive at times. The evidence of this was clear as you scrolled up a few times to reach her first message, which coincidentally started as soon as your date had begun. 

Rubbing slightly at your bleary eyes, you attempt to read the messages as you start thinking of ways to make it up to her. She really hated being ignored. Moving to stand in front of your window, you scroll and scroll, trying to comprehend each text. 

It seemed as though Wanda had lost patience, each text more frustrated and desperate than the last. Scrolling to the end, skimming the texts that documented her slow descent into a possessive rage, your eyebrows rose at the final message that had pinged through. 

‘Mark my words, you’ll never see her again.’

You scoff, having done this dance with her multiple times before. You’d go on a date, and she’d get jealous that your attention was focused elsewhere, even if only for a few hours. Then, you’d dedicate the entire next day to her, doing whatever activity she wanted until she was no longer upset with you. 

This time felt different, and as you look at the timestamp on the last message, you realize why. She’d sent that last message around forty-five minutes ago, which was when your date ended. You’d stopped by the store to buy her favorite drink, as part of your apology that you’d planned out, but your date had only been a ten-minute drive from your apartment. 

Wanda had never gone this long without texting you during one of your dates, and you bring up her contact before pressing the phone icon under her contact photo. Holding your phone close to your face, you put it on speaker while crossing your arms, peering out into the street as you search for her familiar red car. You don’t see it, and you frown down at your screen when your call goes straight to voicemail. 

Something was wrong. 

You feel something shift, the air around you moving slightly as you raise your head. Looking at your reflection through the glass of your window, you barely have enough time to register a figure in a ghostface mask behind you before strong arms wrap around you. 

The phone clutched in your hand drops to the floor as you struggle briefly, the scent of blood filling your nostrils as you’re dragged towards the bed. A cold sensation presses itself against your neck, and you freeze in fear at the sight of a knife in the reflection of the window. 

The sound of heavy breathing reaches your ear, and you can hear the stranger’s breath shake slightly as they pin you to the bed. You’ve given up fighting, terrified when the knife at your throat pricks your sensitive skin slightly and causes a dribble of blood to travel down the column of your throat and into the hem of your dress shirt. 

Rough hands tighten a pair of handcuffs around your wrists, your hips thoroughly restrained by the figure’s strong thighs as they use some rope to secure the handcuffs to your headboard. You’ve never regretted buying a headboard with bars more than you do at this moment. You can feel your throat closing up in fear, your heartbeat strong and fast, threatening to send you spiraling straight into a panic attack. 

As the ghostface figure sits back up, their gloved hands dragging slowly down your shaking arms, you catch a whiff of a familiar scent. The air becomes charged, vanilla hitting your nostrils as you breathe deeply against the knife pressed to your throat.

“I only know one person who wears vanilla perfume.” You manage to get out, your eyes boring into the eyes of the ghostface mask. The figure tilts its head, and you feel yourself relax marginally at the familiar sight. They press the knife harder against your throat, digging the tip in slightly, and you tense again. 

“Wanda,” You begin, but before you can say anything else, a gloved hand muffles your lips as the knife begins tracing down your collarbone. A thin red line blooms across your soft skin, green eyes taking in the sight eagerly from behind the mask. The sensation is painful but causes pleasure to bloom at the same time, and your cheeks redden with shame as you feel your arousal slowly build. 

“You know,” The voice is slightly muffled behind the mask, but you would know Wanda’s voice anywhere. You’ve practically committed her slight accent and lilt to memory, and you feel your heart speed up slightly at the low tone. “She wasn’t right for you. I could tell.” 

You smile slightly, having heard those same words after every date. But not the last part, you hadn’t heard that before. You speak, your words muffled by her gloved hand as it presses roughly against your lips, “What do you mean, you could tell?”

Moving her hands quickly, the figure lays the knife on your stomach before reaching up to remove the ghostface mask. Brunette hair spills out, falling beautifully around the dark black sweater Wanda is wearing. She tosses the mask somewhere onto your floor, her green eyes piercing yours as she picks up the knife once more, toying with the hem of your shirt. 

“You’re really oblivious, did you know that?” Her eyes are locked on the knife, sliding your shirt up slightly as she pops the bottom button off. It hits a wall somewhere, but you ignore it in favor of studying your best friend's face. 

She’s acting different, her pupils dilated so far that the green in her eyes is practically non-existent. Her chest is heaving, her tongue licking her parted lips quickly as she pops another button, revealing more of your skin. 

More of her canvas. 

Her knife digs in, tracing a thin line from the top of your waistband to your belly button. Your attempt to squirm, the pain coursing through you as her thighs tighten against yours. She’s breathing heavier now, and the next words she speaks come out rushed and disjointed. 

“You didn’t even know,” A low chuckle sounds out, heat blooming at your core as the sound wraps around you. “She was there, and I was there and you didn’t know.”

Your brows furrow, confusion taking over your mind as she pops a couple more buttons. She continues, her knife tracing over your ribs as her eyes roam your face. “She doesn’t know you, doesn’t know what you need. Doesn’t know how to take care of you.”

The fog in your mind dissipates slightly, and you think you finally understand where this is going. “And you do?” 

As soon as the question slips out, the sarcasm evident with every syllable, you regret it. Wanda’s eyes flash, and in one smooth movement, her knife twists under the front of your bra and cuts it, slicing through the rest of your shirt as she pulls back. 

“Of course I do, sweetheart.” Her words are hissed, her hands rough as she removes your shirt. “I’m the only one who does.” 

The knife is abandoned momentarily as Wanda traces her nails over the thin, red lines the cold metal had left behind. Swiping her thumb over the small cut on your neck, she brings it to her lips, groaning slightly as she sucks the blood off of her finger. 

Watching, your lips part at the sight, almost against your will. You try to shake yourself out of it, out of whatever daze Wanda had put you in, but as soon as your head moves her eyes are back on yours. 

“She tried to take you from me, they all did. So I took them away from you.” Her eyes are wide, her fingers frenzied as they dig into your skin, dragging from the underside of your breasts and down your torso. Harsh, raised lines appear, and you pant slightly as your hips raise in an attempt to throw her off. 

“Didn’t you ever question why they never responded to you after the first date?” Her words cause you to stop struggling, your movements halting as the pieces begin to click into place. You remembered all the times you’d cried into Wanda’s shoulder because you couldn't understand what had gone so wrong on the first date, that caused every girl to ghost you the day after. Snapping your eyes to hers, you see her nod as realization dawns on your face.

Wanda chuckles, moving closer until her mouth is close to the cut on your throat. The sound sends heat straight to your core, and your mind is thrown back into a confused haze. “You really are dumb, you need someone else to do the thinking for you, sweetheart.”

Without any more preamble, her lips meet your skin and suck. It's been long, much too long since you’ve felt pleasure like this. You find yourself holding back moans as her lips continue to suck, her tongue dragging along your skin as she marks your neck. Her teeth are rough, digging into your skin slightly as dark bruises bloom in a ring around your throat. 

You're hers. And now everyone will be able to see it. 

A pathetic whimper escapes you, and Wanda smiles against your skin. That’s exactly what she’d been waiting for, and she pulls back briefly to take in your half-lidded eyes and blown pupils. 

You have one last question, and before you can think too hard about the consequences of questioning Wanda, it pushes past your lips. “What do you mean, you took them away?”

The words hang in the air, silence filling the room as a slow smile makes its way onto Wanda’s face. She slowly reaches for her knife, a faraway look in her eyes as she traces the tip of it around your nipple. “I wasn’t going to risk you being taken from me.”

“Wanda.” 

Her eyes meet yours, her gaze hot as she takes in your pleading expression. She sighs, knowing that you won’t let the topic go until you're satisfied with her answer. Digging the tip of the blade into the top of your breast, she watches the blood bead around it while you wince. 

“Don’t interrupt me again.” Her words are hard, and you nod quickly. She rewards you by pulling the blade away and soothing the cut with her tongue. A moan escapes her when the sweet taste of your blood hits her taste buds, and she laps up as much of it as she can before pulling away to answer your unspoken request. 

Her eyes glint, and dread pools in your stomach. 

“I killed them.” She says simply, her tone flat even as her words are slightly breathy. “I couldn’t risk letting them free. Not while I was at risk of losing you. I can never lose you.”

Wanda’s voice is slightly frantic by the end of her sentence, and you can tell that she’s losing control. Her fingers are digging into your skin, the blade of her knife pressing against your ribcage as one of her hands makes its way to your throat. 

Squeezing tightly, she watches your eyes close at the feeling, your throat bobbing roughly beneath her hand. She feels practically drunk on power now that she finally has you, and no longer has to hide her obsession for you. 

It was easy enough to hide cameras and small microphones in your apartment, seeing as she practically lived there with how often she came over. It was more difficult to follow you on your dates, trying to stay inconspicuous even as rage overtook her at the sight of you with another woman. 

The best part, however, was after you said goodbye to your date. She loved the rush of power she received when the first thing you did was respond to her texts. She must have been on your mind during the date if you texted her as soon as it was over, right? 

Wanda couldn’t really feel bad for the women she killed, they were just desperate for you. They wouldn’t have treated you right, they didn’t even know you. Besides, they all wanted to take you from her, and she couldn’t let that happen. 

She would never let that happen. 

The sound of a strangled moan brings Wanda back into the present moment, and her eyes focus on your face as you try to breathe under her hand. Her eyes widen, and she snatches her hand away from your throat as she cups your face while you suck in deep breaths. 

“Are you alright, darling? I didn’t mean it, please forgive me. I would never hurt you, I just got upset at the thought of losing you. You know how much I love you, sweetheart. Please, say something.”

Wanda’s body weight is fully on top of you, her hands cold and smelling of iron as they caress your cheeks. It's gentle, and you can’t comprehend why she went from such a rough action to stroking your face with her fingertips. You want to scream, you want to push her off of you. You’ve never seen her like this, with wide eyes and short puffs of breath hitting your face. Her lips are inches from your own, her eyes frantically searching your face for any sign of pain. 

You want to push her away, but there are tears sliding down her cheeks and landing on yours so instead you tilt your face and press your lips against hers. 

The softness of her lips surprises you, and you find yourself not minding the slight taste of iron as she begins sliding them against yours. She’s a better kisser than anyone else you’ve kissed, and you find yourself leaning into her touch, instead of away from it. 

This is your best friend, she wouldn’t hurt you. She loves you.

Sharp teeth tug at your bottom lip, and you can’t help the tiny moan that escapes you at the feeling. She smiles at the sound, and you vividly remember the time you’d told her that you were a masochist, drunk on cheap wine as the pair of you watched 50 Shades of Grey and laughed at nearly every scene. 

You should’ve known she’d remember. Wanda seemed to remember everything about you, but you also remembered everything about her. Especially the sensitive spot just below her ear that caused her to whine, something you’d discovered during a drunk makeout session in a dirty club.

Arching your back even more and taking advantage of her slip in control when she groans at the feeling of your pelvic against hers, you attach your lips to that sensitive spot. Wanda practically writhes on top of you, a breathy moan leaving her lips as pleasure courses through you when her hands tighten around your breasts. 

Breaking the kiss, Wanda tangles a hand in your hair and wrenches your head back, exposing your bruised neck once more. She nips lightly at the skin, pain blooming whenever her teeth so much as graze the swollen bruises, and you whimper. 

“Wanda, please.”

The sound of your voice sends pleasure racing towards Wanda’s core. Grinding her hips down to relieve some of the aching pressure between her thighs, she pulls back and reaches for her knife. She’s never heard you beg before, and now that she has, she wants more. 

“Please what, darling? Use your words.” Her eyes bore into yours, and you shiver when you see something hungry in them. She slowly drags the knife over the swell of your breasts and down your stomach, creating new, deeper cuts. 

You can’t do much but moan and pant, the sensations quickly becoming overwhelming as pleasure shoots through you with each new cut. Wanda catches onto this, her smile widening until it's all teeth as she feels your hips attempt to roll from under her thighs. 

“I won’t ask again.” Her voice turns cold in an instant, her smile slowly fading as she watches you struggle to form a sentence. The knife stops, right on the inside of your hip. The tip digs in, dragging smoothly along your skin as green eyes focus on it. 

The only thing you can do is watch, your brain is much too fuzzy to form thoughts, much less any words. 

A particularly harsh stroke brings a moment of clarity to you, and when Wanda finally pulls the blade away from your skin, you realize that she’d been leaving deliberate marks. She’d been carving something into your skin. You feel your heart quicken at the proud smile that appears on those sinfully plump lips, and you let out a whimper as her eyes snap to your face. 

“Now you’re truly mine.” The words are whispered, but you hear them. Looking down, you see the letters WM engraved into your hip and look back at dilated green eyes in shock. Judging by the pain you’d felt and the amount of blood seeping out of her initials, the cuts were deep and long-lasting. 

“Wanda…” You don’t know what to say, but as the knife still clutched in her hand starts making its way towards your throat, you say the words she wants to hear. 

“I was always yours,” A wide smile makes its way onto Wanda’s face, and she throws the knife somewhere onto the bed as she cups your cheeks in her hands. 

Green eyes search yours frantically, her breaths uneven and short as she studies your face. Her voice is breathless and demanding, her accent slipping in between each syllable as her fingers dig into your face. “Say it again.” 

“I’m yours, Wanda.” Your eyes are earnest and the fear that had been building starts slowly slipping away as Wanda’s eyebrows raise softly. You can see the crazed look in her eyes fading slightly, and you catch a glimpse of your best friend underneath the possessive version of her. “I always have been, and you’ve always been mine.”

You’re surprised to find that you actually mean those words. 

“Now please,” You begin, your voice slipping into a whine as you become acutely aware of her pelvis grinding against your center. “Fuck me, Wanda.”

Hands make their way from your flushed cheeks and down to your chest, fingers roughly tracing the raised, red lines across your skin. You’re far too gone to feel any shame about the pleasure coursing through you at the pain, your hips rolling against Wanda’s desperately as she bends down to kiss you again.

Her lips are rough against yours, her teeth biting and pulling at your swollen lips as you try and keep up. She dominates the kiss quickly, her fingers pinching and tugging at your nipples as she slides her tongue against yours, a slightly iron taste hitting your tongue as she does so. 

You arch into her, no longer afraid of her touch. This is your best friend, and you know she’ll take good care of you, she always has. And now, she always will.

Wanda’s lips leave your own, and you suck in deep breaths, feeling light-headed from lack of oxygen as she sits up fully and begins removing your pants. She’s impatient, practically ripping the fabric as she pulls them down your legs. Her eyes catch a glimpse of the growing wet spot on your underwear, and she rips them off in one smooth motion. 

Before the fabric has even hit the floor, her tongue is hot and needy against your aching core. She didn’t even hesitate to put her hair up, instead flipping it casually over one shoulder as she moaned at the taste of you. She’d been dreaming about this moment for what felt like forever, and you’ve surpassed every expectation she had. Your hips jerk, the stimulation sending your senses into overdrive, and Wanda simply chuckles against you as she holds your thighs down. 

You can feel yourself dripping against Wanda’s face as she builds you up, your orgasm creeping closer with each deliberate swipe of her tongue. She eats you out like she’s been waiting for years, which you suppose she actually has. Her tongue swirls around your clit, and you risk a glance down, wrists straining against your restraints as you do.

Wanda’s pupils are so blown that you can’t see any green left in her eyes, and they’re glinting up at you as she smiles slowly. She winks, and you nearly faint from the sight before she takes your clit between her lips and sucks harshly. 

Loud moans reverberate around your bedroom as you throw your head back against the pillow. Your muscles strain beneath her fingers, your hips rutting pathetically against her face as you feel your orgasm closing in. You try to signal that you’re close, that she should stop, the sensations threatening to overwhelm you as the pleasure at your core builds painfully. 

Wanda’s tongue swirls around your clit once, her teeth scrape it as she sucks, and she moans against your dripping center. That’s all it takes, and within a second you’re coming, your clit pulsating wildly against her tongue as your pussy clenches around nothing, your cum staining her chin as she licks you through the aftershocks. 

“Fuck, Wanda. I…” You try to speak, your arms still thrashing slightly against the cuffs attached to your headboard. Her lips move over your still-overly sensitive clit, her tongue teasing the tip of it as it protrudes from its hood. “More, please. I want to feel you.”

Wanda detaches her lips, wiping your arousal off her chin with the back of her hand. You feel your clit throb at the sight, and you bite your lip as her eyes dart towards them. “Such a desperate slut, begging right after I’ve given you an orgasm?” 

You open your mouth, whether to protest or beg again, you don’t know. Wanda doesn’t give you the chance, pressing her fingers into your mouth until they hit the back of your throat. Your wide eyes look up at her as they water slightly, your lips closing around her fingers as you begin to suck. 

“Because I’m feeling generous tonight,” Wanda begins, reaching for her knife. Your eyes widen slightly at the blade in her hand, and she feels a wave of arousal make its way to her core at the sight. “I’ll fuck you harder, but I’m the one who gets to choose how I do that, not you. Understand?”

Nodding quickly, your eyes dart between the knife and her face as she watches your reaction intently. Her head tilts, tracing the blade gently across your skin until the cold metal reaches your overheated mound, and you bite back a whimper. 

The tip of the blade circles around your clit and you freeze as Wanda carefully maneuvers the sharp metal around your slick center until your muscles tremble from the effort of keeping still. Flipping the knife until the blade rests in her hand, she teases the entrance of your dripping pussy with the handle. 

She winks, “Don’t worry, I cleaned it for you, sweetheart.”

You whimper, biting back a moan as she eases the knife into you. Fighting the urge to fuck yourself against the handle, you bite your lip harshly, tasting blood as she slowly pumps in and out of you. 

Wanda is focused on the knife, watching as she thrusts it deep inside your leaking pussy and admiring the juices that coat it when she slowly pulls it out. She finds a rhythm, one that has your thighs quivering and muffled moans spilling from between your lips as the sloshing sounds of your pussy fill the room. 

Looking up, Wanda’s eyes lock on your bottom lip. It’s trapped between your teeth, beads of crimson blood forming as you pant and moan. Your eyes are closed, and Wanda realizes that you’re too lost in the pleasure to realize that you’re hurting yourself. 

She can’t have that, the only person allowed to hurt you is Wanda. 

“Open your mouth, darling.” Her words are soft, even as she harshly removes the knife from you, leaving you aching and wanting more. You comply, seeing the warning in her eyes as she teases your lips with the arousal-stained handle. 

Wanda’s lips part as her breaths become shallow at the sight of you sucking your own juices off her knife. Just when she thinks you couldn’t possibly make her like you more, you go and do something like this. She can’t take it anymore, and her own pussy is throbbing, begging her to release the aching pressure she’s had since the moment she stabbed that girl for the first time tonight. 

“Good girl.” You smile around the handle at the words, and Wanda smirks. She should have known that you had a praise kink, especially with the way you blush whenever she compliments you. 

“You like that?” She asks, moving the handle deeper into your eager mouth and pressing down on your tongue. “You like being called my good girl? What about this,” She pretends to think, moving the handle until you’re gagging around it. 

“You’re my desperate little slut, aren’t you?” Wanda knows she’s found another one of your kinks when she feels your hips roll against her and watches the blush on your face deepen. “It’s pathetic how wet you are right now, and I haven’t even properly fucked you yet.”

You whine, breathing through your nose as she fucks your throat with your arousal-covered knife. Wanda continues, the crazed look appearing once more in her eyes. “Is this all for me? Or do you get wet every time some insignificant pretty girl touches you? I bet you do, so desperate for attention that you’ll beg anyone to fuck you. But you don’t have to worry about that anymore, honey. Now I’m here, and I’ll treat you right.”

Wanda pauses, removing the knife from your mouth and setting it on the dresser beside the bed, before she stands and removes her own clothing, talking the whole time. “I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t even think about anyone else. Your pussy is mine, your pleasure is mine, your pain is mine, you’re mine.”

She pauses, completely nude as she moves to kneel over you. She feels her own arousal dripping down her inner thighs, and your eyes widen at the glistening heat between her legs. “All mine.” 

Green eyes so dark they’re black voids of obsession roam your body, tracing paths of fire over your skin as they admire the angry cuts left behind by her sharp blade. It’s not enough, and Wanda knows that it will never be enough. She’ll always want more of you, and you’ll happily give it to her. Because you love her, and no one else. 

“I do,” You say, your eyes bright as they lock with green ones. “I do love you, Wanda. I promise. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

Wanda realized that she must have said the last part of her obsessive thoughts out loud, but couldn’t help the sigh of relief at the confirmation of your feelings. She gets on the bed, positioning herself over you until her core is pressed against your own. Her eyes meet yours, and they lock intently on you as she begins moving her hips. 

The friction is almost too much, pleasure building quickly as you feel Wanda’s clit bump your own. You admire her long dark hair, taking note of the slightly smudged eyeliner under her intense eyes and the dark lipstick coating her lips as small gasps tumble out of them. You don’t think you’ve ever seen a more beautiful sight.

“Say it,” Wanda demands, her voice breathy. She moans, grinding herself harder against you as her orgasm races towards the surface. Her hands move, one gripping your breast tightly as the other moves to wrap around your throat. 

You try to hold your own orgasm back, wanting to please Wanda. Your words are strained, your tone desperate as you beg, “Say, what? Tell me and I’ll say it. Please?”

Wanda could cum just from those words, but she doesn’t. As much as she loves how obedient you’re being, she needs one more thing. “You're mine.” She manages to get out, her orgasm about three seconds away. 

Realization dawns in your eyes, and you smile up at her. It's all teeth and blood from the cut on your lip, and Wanda’s orgasm crashes over her at the sight. Your words are strong, soothing, and low as your own orgasm washes over you. “I’m yours, all yours.”

You feel a tendril of possessiveness worm its way through you at the sight of Wanda coming undone on top of you. It wraps around your heart and squeezes, and you think you understand how she’s been feeling this whole time. You never want to let her go, to let her be loved by anyone other than you. 

Wanda leans down, her breath hot against your lips as she kisses you. You kiss back with the same ferocity, biting down on her lips and claiming her as your own. She moans, her hips stuttering against you, and you smile. 

“Only yours.”

—

Taglist: @alexawynters @msvenablesbitch @marilynthornhilllover @lifespectator @milkeeteaa @imnotawitch

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[alltheirdamn]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

 Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway. 

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion. 

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes. 

You’d never love again. 

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road. 

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays. 

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life. 

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love. 

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake. 

“You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded. 

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved. 

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough. 

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil. 

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better. 

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long? 

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again. 

**

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement. 

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone. 

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled.  And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance. 

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest. 

“What was that?” Maria chirped. 

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you. 

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you. 

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles. 

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes. 

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked. 

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally. 

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement. 

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home. 

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit. 

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.” 

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true. 

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before. 

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours. 

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it. 

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly. 

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous. 

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in. 

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch. 

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget. 

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk. 

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated. 

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents. 

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out. 

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see. 

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here. 

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing. 

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip. 

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased. 

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body. 

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips. 

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned. 

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer. 

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?” 

Was he… flirting with you? 

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“What other flavors do you like?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.  

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered. 

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered. 

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered. 

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency. 

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality. 

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away. 

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends. 

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach. 

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked. 

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly. 

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built. 

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot. 

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained. 

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you. 

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer. 

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud. 

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. 

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car. 

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain’t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner. 

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck. 

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior. 

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar. 

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness. 

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile. 

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light. 

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably. 

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction. 

“This is me,” you sniffled. 

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked. 

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

#joel miller x reader #joel x female reader #joel x f!reader #joel miller x teacher!f!reader #joel miller fanfic #joel tlou #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller #pre outbreak!joel

[lunarw0rks]

SIMON X PLUS-SIZED S/O | HEADCANONS

warning(s): N/SFW (18+), smut/fluff/slight angst, implications of fatphobia, insecurity, body image mention, petnames, size kink (not for reader)??, softdom!simon, afab/fem!reader

w.c: 0.7k

˖⁺‧₊˚ MAIN MASTERLIST ♡ GHOST MASTERLIST ˚₊‧⁺˖

i'm a firm believer that SIMON loves plus-sized partners. he's not the most experienced with relationships, but above all, he enjoys bigger bodies most. so soft between his calloused hands. and warm — which is the perfect aid for his awful circulation.

and god forbid you have any qualms about your size? whether "thick", "chubby", or "fat", he'd never mind. call him crazy, but nothing hits the spot like a cushiony lover to thaw his stubborn heart. oh, how he tried to treat you the same as the rest, deflect and avoid the attention entirely. but there was something so radiant about you. as if your body was meant for him. to hold, to appreciate, to claim — to love.

SIMON grew tired of the superficial propaganda, frankly. no time for it. tomorrow isn't guaranteed for anyone, but especially not for him. for years, he felt trapped in a slump of wasted time, wasted potential. wasted emotions. bitterness for the sake of it, with no gain.

he found sweetness with you, inside and out. every inch of skin, all the bends and indents, ridges and curves that covered you. the stretch marks and cellulite that reminded him of paintings he'd seen in foreign countries; women's buxom bodies worshiped with each stroke of the brush.

once he had you, he knew he had to keep you. earn you. remind you every single day how breathtaking every bit of you was. in some ways, SIMON understands what it's liked to be loathed by nearly every passing stranger. the crinkled noses, squinted eyes, and taunting whispers that seem to follow him everywhere. but you? not a chance in hell he'd let you feel that again.

learns how to spot the signs of discomfort, which wasn't difficult since hyper-vigilance is his status quo. comparing yourself to others around, shrinking into your seat out of habit— that look of hurt in your eyes. he always gives a firm squeeze to your hip or hand, sometimes a faint whisper only you'll understand. "breathe, love." he rasps, not loosening his grip until your tense muscles relax.

even if not at the time or for several days, he always finds a way to reassure you later on. you're being seen by him, even when he's not always with you. there isn't a moment where he isn't yearning for more precious time with you. sometimes, he'll stand behind you in front of the mirror, chin resting on your shoulder. never breaks eye contact, unless you do first. raises his fingers to rest under your chin and adjusts your gaze until you're forced to admire yourself. "my gorgeous girl, look at her." SIMON whispers, pecking along your jaw.

he'd be lying if he said there weren't... other perks to the relationship. so much for his big hands to grip and enjoy, leaving marks for his eyes only the next day. crescent indents of his nails on the fat of your hips, reminding you of what you do to him. the night he had his pelvis flush against your backside, splitting you open on his length. the arch of your back, the jiggle of your ass and tits with every push of his hips. christ, he would do this forever if he could.

his hands often roam, finding purchase anywhere that will ground him. if he's not careful, you'll have him coming undone mere seconds after he is inside you. it's the vision of you; gaped mouth, slick with sweat and arousal, tummy squished against his firm build as his hips grind deep, hitting all your favorite spots.

god, and how you never seem to trust his strength fully. even when he's proved you wrong time and time again like you weigh nothing. and for him, you probably do. that sweet, bashful look in your eyes when he flips you over at the speed of light. or when he pulls you onto his lap, aching cock nestled between your thick thighs.

your hitch in breathing when he gives your plump pussy a solid smack — enough to keep you focused on the moment again. his thick fingers part your folds afterward, stimulating with your clit apologetically. "pay attention, baby. need you here otherwise 'm not gonna be able to cum. you don't want that, do you?" you can practically feel the smirk against your ear, using every ounce of strength within you to focus. he never makes it easy.

that blitzed expression never seems to fade, despite many, many nights of practice. is it wrong of him to hope it never does?

« divider cred. - cafekitsune »

#mw2 #call of duty #task force 141 #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #ghost x you #ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x female reader

[b33zlebubz]

That last ask inspired me so how about reader gets REALLY bad migraines and just disappears for the night, missing dinner and then breakfast the next morning. The team goes to investigate!

yet another drabble I wrote under the counter at work oupe

TAGS: unedited, silly shenanigans, fluff, platonic found family, no content warnings RECKLESS ABANDON MASTERLIST

It seems they all suddenly want to pay you a visit and you couldn’t be more annoyed.

All the stress of everything seems to have all caught up to you at once.  With the lights too bright, your stomach attacking your insides, and the invisible band that seems to be continuously tightening around your skull—you’re practically bedridden.  

Slowly, the team begins to notice, and it starts with Price.  You’re not at dinner and he doesn’t know what to make of it.

He figures, at first, you’ve fallen asleep.  You don’t answer the door when he knocks so he leaves you to get some rest—knowing you need it.  He shoots you a text to let you know that him and the others will be busy with briefings and training the rest of the night to which you respond, hours later, explaining your predicament.  

The next day, Gaz is at your door.  His knock is softer than Price’s.  This time, you sigh and answer from your bed.

“What?”  Your voice is gravelly and muffled by the pillow your face is pressed into.

“Heading off-base for breakfast if you wanna come along,” he says, before adding, “Soap and Ghost are with me.”

“I’ll pass.”

There’s muffled whispering on the other side of the door.  British concern and Scottish protest.  Then, Ghost’s voice comes through the door.

“You alright in there, kid?”  

“Fine,”  you answer.  “Sick.”

Deciding not to press, they all decide to leave you alone for the time being—their voices fading to hush whispers as they disappear down the hallway.  You’re quick to sink back into a restless sleep, the uncomfortable cot stiff on your back and the pillow too flat for your neck.  Your peace doesn’t last long, though, because about two hours later you hear another knock.  

You wait for the sound of a voice, or maybe a second knock, but they never come.  Instead, there’s just the shuffle of a bag.

Your curiosity, momentarily, outweighs your pain.

Slowly you get to your feet.  Deciding against the dreaded lightswitch, you grab for your phone and use the light of your lockscreen to guide you to your door.  Then, slowly, you turn the doorknob and peak outside.

Soap is crouched in front of your door.  Surprised, he freezes in the act of placing a plastic bag on the ground—and you both just stare at each other for a moment.  

“What are you doing?”  You ask slowly.

He scoffs.  Instead of leaving the bag on the ground, he tosses it to your chest and you catch it.

“The Captain said you were havin’ migraines,”  he pushes himself to his feet.

“So?”

“So—I know the shit they’ll give you down at the med-bay doesn’t do fuck,”  he gestures to the bag.  “So me and Gaz went and got you shit that does.”

You eye him suspiciously, the very prospect of him doing something nice for you foreign and off-putting.  You’re shocked, to put it simply, after having done nothing but fight with him since you’ve arrived on base.  When you don’t immediately reply, Soap takes a breath.

“Anyway, I have shit to do,” he shoves his hands in his pockets before he turns to leave.  “And you’re welcome.”

You stare after him for a moment, still processing the interaction.  It’s only when he’s sauntered off down the hallway do you retreat back into your room and open the bag, expecting cheap, off-brand Tylenol or maybe some tea.  Instead, what you find causes you to let out an audible sigh of relief.

Excedrin, a water bottle, and a cold compress.  Thank fucking god.

#john price #john soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #simon ghost riley #john price x reader #john soap mctavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #task force 141 #task force 141 x reader #call of duty #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty fanfiction #platonic fic

[andvys]

I knew you'd linger like a tattoo kiss | part twenty three

Warnings: angst, mentions of an ED, mentions of reader not eating, mentions of heartbreak and unrequited love. Not proofread!

Pairings: Steve Harrington x fem!reader , Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Summary: After weeks of staying silent, Robin finally confronts you about your feelings.

Word count: 4k

series masterlist

-

You stare at the tiled ground. Bouncing your knee and chewing on your nails, trying to calm your heart from pounding. The sinking feeling in your chest makes you so anxious. 

You shouldn’t have done this. 

You shouldn’t have offered to spend time with Steve. 

You shouldn’t have offered to go out with him for lunch. 

You should have gone with Eddie, like you normally do. 

What if he gets angry again?

What if he’s upset? 

Is that why he sounded so grumpy when you called him last night to remind him that you already made plans? No. He already knew about it since Saturday and he wasn’t mad or upset. 

Or, maybe he was just better at hiding it this time. He hurt you when he found out about the kiss with Steve. He hurt you and that is something he would never do again. You know it. That is why he kept his feelings to himself this time, right? 

Oh god. 

You really hope that he isn’t angry, hurt or upset. 

The last thing you want to do is hurt Eddie. 

You flinch in surprise when a large hand takes hold of your wrist. You look up with wide eyes, about to pull your hand back when you lock eyes with Steve. Your shoulders slump in relief and you take in a deep, shaky breath. You look down at his hand, still wrapped around your wrist. 

“Don’t do that,” he says as he softly pulls your hand away from your lips, looking down at your freshly manicured nails, “you’re gonna ruin your nails.”

Your heart flutters in your chest. 

Steve had always intertwined his fingers with yours, holding your hand tightly to stop you from chewing on your nails. His hold on your hand was more effective anyways when it came to calming your anxiety. 

His hazel eyes scan your face, he notices the worry etched in your beautiful features. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks, stepping closer to you, “are you okay?” 

His soft voice, his kind eyes and his words are almost so foreign. It’s been almost a year since your relationship ended and yet, you get taken back to it every time you’re with him. 

Every time you look into his soft eyes, every time you feel his gentle touch, every time you hear his kind words, you wonder why he had been so rough and harsh when you were still his. What changed? Why is he like this now? Why wasn’t he like this back then? 

Even in the beginning, when he was so good to you, he still wasn’t this gentle with you. 

“Y-Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re chewing on your nails. You always used to do it when you were anxious.”

He can see the way your eyes flash with surprise and the way your brows furrow in confusion. 

Did you really think that he forgot anything about you?

“Oh, I uh, I’m fine.”

He scans your face. You’re lying, he knows it.

You look both nervous and anxious and a part of him fears that he is the cause of it. 

“You don’t have to spend your break with me if you don’t want to.” 

“What? No! No, it’s not that. I want to.. I want to spend time with you. I-I mean, we’re friends, we can just hang out together,” you shrug, trying to give him a smile, “as friends, right?” 

He smiles. You’re blushing and smiling nervously. It’s cute. 

“Yeah. As friends.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence between you both. You stare at each other, neither of you making a move. You just stare at each other as he is still holding your wrist. For a brief second, he looks down at it, he loosens his grip around your wrist, letting his fingers glide down your knuckles and your ringed fingers. The urge to just take your hand and never let it go is so strong. 

He lets it go, raising his hand to run it through his hair, he takes a deep breath. 

“So, what do you want to eat?” He asks, looking around the crowded mall. 

You shrug. 

“I’ll have whatever you want.”

He furrows his brows when he looks back at you. 

“Is that so?” He asks, amused. “You always used to fight about where we should eat.”

A smile pulls at your lips, you nudge his shoulder, shaking your head at him. 

“That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it’s not,” you mumble, rolling your eyes with a smile on your face. 

“So if I say let’s get KFC, you will say yes?” 

A laugh falls from your lips. 

“Of course you want KFC.”

He raises his brows, “what’s that supposed to mean?” He chuckles.

You lick your lips, looking at the passing people before you lock your eyes with him again. You nudge his shoulder with yours as you start walking. 

“That’s like all you ever wanted to eat, Steve.”

“Yeah and that’s something you never wanted to eat,” he chuckles, “all you ever got was fries. Or mashed potatoes.”

“Well, the mashed potatoes are really good– oh, sometimes I stole your chicken though.”

“Nah, I shared it with you, dolly.”

You feel a pang in your chest. One that makes you swallow harshly, biting back the bitterness on your tongue. You try to leave the pain in the past but every time he says something that reminds you of your past with him, you feel the same pain all over again. 

The same pain that you have felt when he flirted with others. The same pain that you have felt when he started ditching you for her. The same pain that you have felt on the awful night he had broke your heart and everything that came after that. 

You look down with a smile on your face, trying to hide the hurt in your eyes. 

You don’t want him to see how much you are still hurting. He can’t see. He can’t know. Not when you want this to work out. Not when you want to give your friendship a second chance. 

You know that this might be a bad idea. 

Spending time with him. Being alone with him. Letting him back into your life like this but, he just means too much to you to just let him become a stranger again. 

You can be friends again, without wanting more, right? 

You know that you can do it, but can he? 

Can Steve accept being just a friend? 

A part of you thinks that he can’t. He had proven it a few times already, that he can’t be just a friend. It’s in the way he looks at you, it’s in the way he touches you, it’s in the way he says your name, it’s in the way he kissed you. 

But you want it to work out. You want him in your life. You want him to be your friend again. 

“Hey guys! Wait up for me!” 

You and Steve halt in your tracks, both turning around to see Robin rushing towards you both. 

“You gotta be kidding me,” Steve mumbles under his breath. 

“Aaron told me to take the break with you,” she smirks at Steve, who rolls his eyes at her. 

She knows that he was looking forward to this. The lunch date with you. Robin can’t let this happen, not when she saw how nervous you looked when you waited for Steve in front of Scoops Ahoy earlier.

She squeezes herself in the middle, wrapping her arm around your shoulder. 

“Let’s get some fries, girl.” 

A smile appears on your face, a look of relief flashing in your eyes, which makes her feel better about intervening. 

‘Sorry, Steve.’ She thinks to herself. 

-

Robin’s eyes roam your face. Her brows are knit together as she watches you. 

You’re sitting across from her, playing with the fries on your plate that you have only eaten half of. There’s a troubled look in your eyes, you are chewing on your bottom lip, blinking as you stare down at your lap. 

Steve is rambling, talking about some horror story Dustin had most likely made up while sipping on his Dr. Pepper. She isn’t really listening, too busy trying to figure you out. 

She wonders what you’re thinking about for you to look so.. sad. 

She needs to talk to you. She can’t wait till the summer is over. She needs to talk to you and she knows that you need to talk about it as well. 

“Hey Steve?” She turns towards him, interrupting his rambling, “can you get me something?” 

He sighs in annoyance. 

“What?”

She shakes her empty cup, giving him a hopeful smile, “another sprite?” 

He rolls his eyes at her but he stands up from his seat, “you’re lucky I like you.” 

She snorts. 

He gathers the empty boxes on the table, placing them all on the food tray. He looks down at you and the food you didn’t finish, “are you not gonna eat that, y/n?” 

Finally, you look up. 

You look lost, staring at him with a frown as though you don’t understand what he means. 

“The fries,” he mumbles, pointing at your tray. 

You look down, shaking your head, “n-no, I’m not very hungry,” you say, reaching for the drink as you look back up, “I had a big breakfast.”

He frowns, knowing that there’s no truth behind your words. There’s not much he can do about it though. Steve had worried about you and your wellbeing from the day his parents pointed out the changes in you. Ever since then, he had watched you closely, feeling more helpless than ever as there was nothing that he could do to help. 

He swallows, looking down sadly, he reaches for your tray, “alright. Do you want anything else?” 

“No, thanks,” you smile, shaking your head. 

He nods, giving you a smile back before he walks away, leaving you and Robin to yourselves. 

You wrap your lips around the plastic straw, looking out the window, you watch the people at the food court as you take a sip of your sweet drink. Unaware of Robin’s concerned eyes on you. 

Your eyes fall on the three teenage girls sitting by the big water fountain. The one in the middle is holding a magazine, reading something to her friends who are giggling at whatever she is telling them. One of them is wearing a green scrunchie on her wrist, it’s similar to the one you used to have. You don’t know where it went, it must’ve disappeared in one of yours or his drawers. 

She nudges your foot under the table, speaking your name softly. 

You tear your gaze away from them, raising your brows in question when you see the look on Robin’s face. The sad frown. 

“Yeah? What’s wrong?” 

She looks around, leaning closer after taking a deep breath. 

“Are you okay?” 

For a moment, there is nothing but silence between the two of you. She takes in the look of your face, watching the way your features twist into confusion. 

“What?” 

“Are you okay?” 

The feeling of the weight crashing from your chest into your stomach, suddenly makes you feel sick. You don’t know why her words affect you the way they do but, the longer you look at her and the longer you watch the concerned look in her eyes, you feel like crying. 

You blink, hoping that no tears will well up in your eyes. 

“Yeah,” you say after a moment of hesitation. 

Her shoulders slump and she sighs. She doesn’t have to say it out loud for you to know that she doesn’t believe you. 

“Why?” 

Robin takes a deep breath, leaning back in her seat, she raises her hands towards her face, running her fingers through her hair. 

“Y-You’re just, you’re not – can I be honest with you?”

You cross your arms over your chest, nodding, “always.”

“Okay,” she nods, sighing. “You’re different.”

“What?”

“You’re acting weird. You’re not yourself.” 

You straighten your back, leaning closer to the table, “what do you mean?” You frown. 

“Ever since that stupid date with that asshole, you have been acting weird, which is totally understandable considering what happened b-but, you were doing so good before that, you were moving on from Steve, you were doing better every day a-and after that night, you just, it’s like, you took ten steps back. And, I promise, I’m not judging you but I’m really fucking worried about you.” 

You’re a little taken aback. You didn’t expect this. 

“W-What?” You chuckle, nervously. 

“Just when you were getting better all this shit hits the fan!” 

You furrow your brows at her. 

“You’re not eating,” she points to the now empty table, “you’re friends with Steve again – which hey, I get now cause it turns out that Steve Harrington is actually a pretty nice dude now that he’s.. changed,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes. “B-But, you two kissed not too long ago and that upset Eddie which in turn upset you when he found out and acted like a total brat a-and– god!” She pulls at her hair, groaning in annoyance as she takes a deep breath again, “you should be focusing on yourself but you’re stuck between Steve who you are still very much in love with, obviously. And Eddie, who’s clearly more than just–”

Before she can even finish the sentence, you jump up from your seat out of sheer panic, slamming your drink on the table before you rush out of the restaurant, leaving Robin to  sit by herself. 

She calls out your name, throwing her hands up. She knows what you’re doing, you are trying to run away, but she won’t let you. 

She curses under her breath, pushing herself up from her seat and rushes out. 

It’s 1pm on a Monday, the mall isn’t very crowded, yet she needs a moment to find you. She squints her eyes, looking around for you. 

“God damnit, girl,” she mumbles. 

You’re fast, she’s gotta give you that. Every time you run away from something or someone, you make a quick escape and disappear into thin air. She keeps looking around until she finds you walking into the hallway that leads to the bathrooms. 

She follows you, catching up with you just before you walk into the bathroom. She wraps her hand around her wrist, pulling you back, softly. 

“Y/n.” 

You flinch, pulling your hand out of her grasp as you turn around to face her. 

“Leave me alone, Robin.” 

“No!” She shakes her head, grabbing your shoulders when you try to leave again, she slams you against the wall, keeping her hands on your shoulders. “I’m not letting you run away again – that’s what you keep doing, by the way, if you haven’t noticed. You run away from everything, y/n!” 

“T-That’s not true,” you mumble. 

“Yes it is.” 

You try to hide the fact that her words felt like a punch to your gut. 

“You keep running away from your feelings, you can’t even freaking face them!”

Your jaw clenches. You feel the anger bubbling inside of your chest. 

“You can’t even admit to them!” 

You know she is talking about him and it’s making your heart race. 

She’s right, you don’t want to face them, you want to keep running, hoping that they won’t catch up to you, hoping that they won’t ruin yet another good thing in your life. 

“Stop.”

She can’t see the tears in your eyes because you’re looking down, hiding them. 

“I know you have feelings for Ed–”

“Stop it, Robin!” You yell, trying to hide how nervous you are. 

She finally lets go of you and she takes a step back, eyeing you up and down with a shake of her head. She loves you, you’ve become one of her closest friends. She cares about you and your feelings, but she can’t stand watching you make yourself suffer. 

It wasn’t Ray who did this to you. He only triggered the feelings that have been inside of you already. You let the walls of lies crumble down the moment he touched them. You have never been okay, not even when you started to look okay. You were struggling, you were always struggling, even with Steve.

You are scared, that’s why you keep running instead of fighting for the things that you love. 

“You’re a coward.”

Another punch to your gut. 

The coil in your throat tightens and you swallow down harshly before you raise your head to look at her. You almost expect her to look at you in anger and disgust but instead you find the look of pity in her eyes. 

Tears well up in your eyes, your bottom lip trembles the longer you look at her. 

“You are so scared of everything and you keep running away from things instead of fighting for them. You loved Steve so much but you let him go so easily–”

You scoff, staring at her in disbelief. 

“Are you blaming me f-for what happened? A-Are you saying it’s my fault that he left me?” Your voice trembles as you speak. 

Her eyes widen and she shakes her head, raising her hands up, “no! N-No, that’s not what I’m saying!”

“Then what are you saying, Robin? Cause it sounds like you’re blaming me for the break up!” 

“I-I just mean that you let him go! You let him go even though you loved him to death! I’m not saying that he deserved you to fight for him because he really didn’t deserve it at all – this is about you, not him. You loved him and you didn’t bother to even demand real answers, you just let him go because you were scared of the real answers, you were scared of the confrontation, you were scared because you gave him so much and it still wasn’t enough b-but I know that you wanted to fight for him, I fucking know it and you know it too.”

The mask is slipping and you are forced to show how much you are struggling. 

“You ignore everything around you because you’re scared!” 

“N-No.”

“You never show how you really feel.”

You draw your bottom lip between your teeth, trying to stop it from trembling. You shake your head. 

“You keep lying. You keep lying to yourself and to everyone around you.” 

A flush creeps up your face, your heartbeat quickens. You feel both ashamed and scared. You thought you were good at hiding it, your feelings. 

“No,” you lie, again. 

“Y/n,” she sighs, giving you a sad look. 

“You aren’t lying?” 

You shake your head. 

“Alright, well, if you aren’t lying then tell me why you’re not eating or why you stopped talking to me about how you feel – cause at some point you used to talk to me.” 

Your shoulders fall and you close your eyes when you can no longer hold the tears back. 

She is right. 

She is right about everything. 

You lean against the wall behind you, trying to wipe away the tears subtly. 

“I saw you with Eddie, at the lake yesterday. I saw the way you looked at him before you pulled away. I saw you with Steve and the way you looked at him.”

“Robin..”

“No, don’t ‘Robin’ me!” She throws her hands up, “I’m sick of you pushing me away because you think that I will judge you and your feelings for them! I’m your friend, y/n. I’m here and I’m not going anywhere. I’m here for you, I’m here to listen, I’m here to talk, I’m here to help so please, please let me help you because I’m going insane watching you being so hard on yourself!” 

What did you do to deserve her? 

You are so sick of your feelings. 

You are so sick of falling in love and ruining everything because of it. 

You are so sick of setting yourself up for failure. 

You look back at her, bouncing your knee as you look at her through your tears. 

Her eyes soften when she sees how much you are struggling. She takes a step closer. “I’m here, y/n, and I’m not going anywhere. I promise. You can talk to me, about anything.” 

How can you talk about your feelings when you refuse to acknowledge them? 

How can you talk about something that you don’t want to accept?

“I-I just, why does this keep happening to me?” 

Robin’s heart breaks at the sound of your shaky voice. 

“What do you mean, y/n?” 

You swallow the coil in your throat and raise your hand, wiping your tears in annoyance. 

“I-I can’t reach happiness, no matter how hard I try to move on. There’s always something. I-I just can’t be happy. I keep ruining everything, Robin. Steve was my best friend a-and we ruined it, we ruined our friendship for a relationship that fucking sucked. He never wanted me, h-he never even loved me. I’m pretty sure he only loved the idea of us being together – despite the things he’s telling me now, I struggle to believe that he loved me. I loved him, I really fucking loved him and losing him hurt so fucking much – even now,” you whisper.

And for the first time, Robin sees how much pain there actually is, how much pain you have been hiding all these months. It’s in your eyes, it’s in your voice, it’s surrounding you. 

“I thought befriending Steve would numb the pain,” you breathe, closing your eyes to take a deep breath, “but I still love him.”

Her gaze softens, she scrunches her face up, watching the way you try so hard not to break down. 

“A-And Eddie,” your voice cracks and for a brief moment, you look up at the ceiling, trying to calm your breathing. 

Robin looks down.  

“I-I do.. I have – you’re right,” you stutter, closing your eyes, “you’re right about everything you said and I hate myself for it, Robin. I hate myself so much.”

Robin’s large sad eyes don’t make it any easier for you. 

She whispers your name, sadly. Not hesitating to pull you into a hug and wrapping her arms around you tightly. 

“Don’t say that,” she whispers. 

You don’t say anything, you just close your eyes and hug her back. 

“I ruin everything with my feelings–”

“No, you don’t. It’s not your fault, y/n. It’s not your fault, okay?”  

She listens to your sniffles, she feels the way your body is shaking as you try to keep the sobs in. 

A part of her feels guilty for being the trigger of all of this but the other part knows that this is what you needed. 

You need to talk about your feelings.

You need to let yourself feel. 

“You know what you need?” 

“Therapy?” You joke even though there’s tears rolling down your face. 

“Yeah that too but that’s not what I was gonna say.”

You pull away from the hug, chuckling at her words. 

“You desperately need a girls night, you need to talk to girls! You need to talk about your feelings, cry to your favorite movies and songs, eat sweets, get drunk!” She smiles, squeezing your shoulders, “I know Heather is busy with Argyle but Chrissy and I are here. We should hang out tonight, just the three of us, no boys allowed.” 

“I haven’t seen Eddie today though.”

“Oh my god,” she mumbles, rolling her eyes, “you know what? He’ll survive one day without you and you will too, like I said, you need a girls night.” 

“Girls night,” you nod, trying to give her a smile. 

“Yeah, now let's get you into the bathroom, you look like a racoon with your mascara running down like that.” 

You raise your hand to wipe it away but she stops you. 

“No, you’re gonna make it worse! Go,” she gestures to the bathroom, pushing you towards it. 

“Okay, mom.”

“Ew, don’t you ever call me that again.”

next chapter

-

tagging friends & mutuals

@taintedcigs @hellfire--cult @littledemondani @mysticmunson @wroteclassicaly @corrodedseraphine @corrodedcorpses @take-everything-you-can @trashmouth-richie @succubusmunson @xxhellfirebunnyxx @somethingvicked @sherrylyn628 @nemesis729 @chrissymjstan

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fluff

[buckyysdoll]

— 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐥𝐝 —

જ⁀➴ — bucky still struggles to come to terms with deserving the life that you gave him; cw: being parents?, brief mentions of Winter Soldier past, killing etc, bucky’s poor self esteem/trauma :( pairing: post fatws! bucky x f!reader

MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky looked down at the bundle in his arms, swaddled up in a baby pink blanket. Sweet little eyes — his eyes — looked back up at him, and in his hands was a faint, running tremble.

His daughter had all her mom’s beauty, and to look down at her was to look at you, too. Both of his girls, he loved beyond life. The slight tremor spread to his left, phantom limb.

He had never imagined that parts honed for killing could’ve been so gentle as this: to cradle a child, his child, his sweet baby girl in the arms that had only been weapons.

Bucky didn’t think that he even deserved such a chance to prove it was false, either.

That was, until he met you. Until you gave him the life that he held.

Still, it had taken weeks for your husband to touch your pregnant belly — with both hands, with the limb that had only stopped feeling so foreign to his body when you’d shown him how to love it. Because you had — you did — you loved it just like any other part of him; his story was his, and you’d sooner live swathed in his darkness than anyone else’s light.

Bucky often thought back to the first night it had changed. You’d been two months along. And he had cried to feel the baby kick up through the mound of your belly, and to the vibranium.

Almost as if his little girl was saying that it was okay. He was worthy. That no matter what he had done, he was here with her now. Her daddy.

It was seven months later by now, and that sweet little bump was a newborn child. It was two in the morning, and you slept soundly in the bed that you shared and that Bucky had crept from.

At least that’s what he had thought.

A soft gurgle had sounded from the beside monitor, and though she was most likely still sound asleep, Bucky couldn’t resist just one little look. He’d just go and check in on her. For a moment. That was all.

So rubbing his eyes and cricking tension from his neck, he had padded barefoot and half dressed into the nursery.

The one he’d painted any colour but red.

God, he’d spent hours putting that room together by hand — both hands. Day after day, until his eyes had read through furniture manuals to bleed.

You, of course, had helped too; painting walls but getting most of it all on your clothes.

And already, back then it was beautiful: the thought of your future, and the life that you’d made. And she was with you for all of that time, growing soundly and strong in your stomach.

His daughter.

Even now, it still felt like a miracle. Felt like more than he deserved. There were nights when his past still rushed him, and he ran cold with sweat, chased from dreams in your bed.

What if he hurt you? What if he hadn’t truly lost him, and he hurt his own child?

The Winter Soldier may be gone, yes — but how much was left in the man who remained?

And so, that voice came back again and again, all the time. Every day. The one that said that he shouldn’t have this; and that someday, someday he’d see. He’d be washing the dishes, cooking dinner, or walking the aisles of some grocery store — it didn’t matter. There was nowhere in the world where he could escape those thoughts — you do not deserve this life.

Nowhere but for this room. The room where his little daughter slept every night.

Because it was true, after all that he’d done. The people he’d killed, when it should’ve been him. He was never meant for it, should’ve died in the Great War back when he was meant to.

But then he wouldn’t have met you.

Wouldn’t have fallen in love with the woman who’d shared his apartment building, and who’s smile had taken his breath so completely that looking away seemed a crime. And to think he had somehow earned the privilege of the life you’d given him — to spend every night sleeping beside you, and waking up to your face? — was too much.

You, who stood in the doorway to the nursery right then, looking in, your face soft. Of course, you’d noticed his absence like an absence of yourself, and you’d turned in bed, felt for him and reached only empty space.

All warmth, all comfort gone.

But you stood there, now, in his tshirt, arms gently folded over where she had grown; your child who, now sleeping soundly in her father’s arms, was a plain and clear daddy’s girl.

Your eyes met Bucky’s tired ones but his smile was true, and so loving it ached. Love for his wife, for the home that you’d built so far from the hell that he’d long left.

Love for the daughter who yes, had your husband’s devotion.

You wouldn’t change it for the world.

#marvel #marvel fanfiction #marvel fics #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james bucky barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #james barnes #sergeant james barnes #marvel bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fic #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes fics #bucky barnes fanfics #bucky fics #bucky imagine #bucky barnes x wife!reader #bucky barnes x female!reader #bucky barnes x fem!reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky x you #bucky x f!reader #bucky x fem!reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x female!reader #bucky x y/n #bucky fluff #bucky barnes fanfic

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS:

💖 APHRODITE: Goddess of Love and Beauty 🕊

author's note: I had a sudden idea about writing some headcanons Camp Halfblood demigods being claimed and what it's like for each respective god and cabin, followed by a small blurb afterwards. Thank you for reading and please like and reblog! The order is not in order of the cabin numbers. [PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS MASTERLIST]

When you arrive at camp, you’re already got eyes following you. There’s something about you that draws people’s eyes to you. It could be your face, your hair, your eyes, your hands when they move, how you walk, how you move. So when you get claimed by Aphrodite, your fanfare is totally expected by others and unexpected when you get a magical makeover by your godly mother’s blessing. You’re dressed to the nines, your look done up perfectly like you're a movie star walking on the red carpet. People stare at you with awe and you can feel it.

The moment you are shown the Cabin, all you can think of is “Oh god it’s a god dang barbie mansion”; this may either fulfill your deepest childhood dream or your worst nightmare.

There’s gossip everywhere in the cabin. You’re hearing about people’s love lives, social interactions, and everything about the people in camp. Even if you’re not as romantically inclined yourself, you’re practically spoiled for choice for hearing about drama. There may be no TV or shows for you to watch, but this is the next best thing. It’s like the Kardashians, House Wives, and Golden Girls all the same.  

Shipping. So much shipping. Shipping between campers in your cabin and outside the cabin. Shipping between movie stars to literal characters. Heck, even self-shipping is encouraged! It’s a shipper's galore. 

The Aphrodite cabin likes to have fashion runs. A lot of the Aphrodite demigods become models and do a catwalk. But if you’re not that interested in being a model, there are still ways to participate. 

If you like to design and make your own clothes, the Aphrodite cabin has your back. You have access to all types of fabrics, patterns, and materials you could need. You have no shortage of models for you to work with. If you’re interested in doing make-up, cosmetic or movie makeup,  you have plenty of people to practise on. Even if children of Aphrodite have the ability to have permanent makeup and whatnot, it doesn’t mean you still can’t use your skills to be on fleek. 

You know the meme where you see a woman putting eyeliner with the sword to make sure it's sharp? You see that way too often.

You're swiftly proven that functionality being sacrificed for fashion is a myth. It can be done and it has been done, but it's just some outweigh functionality with AESTHETICS

Stans. Stans everywhere. People don’t usually see the Aphrodite kids fight and break character unless it comes to their stan. If you haven’t seen them fight before, you do now. You’re still reeling from the BTS stans.

K-dramas. K-pop. Enough said. 

You look at yourself as best as you could, it was both familiar yet foreign.  It was like looking at the mirror, seeing yourself and all the positives of your body. Even if you had a negative view of yourself, it was gone and changed.  

A girl stepped up, her black hair swaying, and you looked at her in awe as she smiled at you. “Hi! My name is Silena Beauregard, welcome to Cabin 10!” 

“Oh hi” you said lamely, but before you could say anything further, you saw a large amount of pink in your vision. “Oh my god” you couldn’t help uttering as soon as your eyes laid on the Aphrodite cabin. It was pink in glory, and all you can think was that it was a true to god barbie house. 

“Ah yeah,” said Selina, “Welcome to the Barbie house.”

“Wait it’s really called that?” 

“Well, we really shouldn’t be calling it a Barbie house, but ... .I do admit it is pretty much a barbie house” Selina whispered in the last part. 

You couldn’t help snicker and Selina gave you a knowing smile and wink, before she led you to the door.

“You ready?” she asked. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be” you replied after taking a deep breath. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be here for every step of the way” she reassured and you smiled back. As soon the door opened, there was a waft of perfume. It wasn’t particularly strong or particularly bad, in fact it made you happy, but you could smell it anyways. There was a twinge of emotion that stirred up in you; it reminded you of smelling a perfume that reminded you of home and love…for some reason, you had a flash of a woman holding you to her chest and you burying your nose into her, your eyes closing with warmth.

“Hey everyone, let me introduce you to our new half-sibling!” introduced Selina, gently putting a hand on your shoulder. You raised your hand and waved, introducing yourself. That was all it took before the flood work came. Immediately, all the inhabitants in the cabin begun to interview you from where you were from, your favourite colour, your favourite colour, band, and etc-

Your head was absolutely swimming but as you all talked to each other, sharing your likes and dislikes, you had a feeling you were going to be alright.

#pjo fanfic #pjo imagine #percy jackson and the olympians imagines #pjo #pjo imagines #pjo x reader #demigod reader #demigods #demigod headcanons #demigod h/cs #aphrodite #aphrodite imagine #child of aphrodite #children of aphrodite #silena beauregard #silena pjo #silena beauregard imagine #pjo reader insert #cabin 10 #aphrodhite cabin #percy jackson and the olympians imagine #percy jackon and the olympians