#halo beauty dry skin

[shibaraki]

OPEN ARMS, OPEN EYES ┊ GOJO SATORU

tags: GN reader, no curse au, meet-cute, gojo has a visual impairment (modern take on his six eyes), the divine dogs are service animals (seeing-eye dogs), original child character, reader is babysitting, fluff + flirting, (takes place in my foster dad au)

wc: 3k

Overhead, the bell rings a soft welcome. You quickly shuffle Kota out of the drizzle and into the warm embrace of the cafe. A full staccato can be heard over the soothing music as the wind begins to whip the rainfall against the windows. You sigh, having escaped the worst of it.

Kota squirms, his pink face scrunched into a glare as you bend to undo the buttons tucked beneath his chin and let down his raincoat hood. Free from the nylon confines he shakes out his hair and swipes at the strands stuck to his damp forehead with a whine.

“I know little man,” you murmur placatingly, reaching for the napkins on the nearby condiment bar. You pat his skin dry from his cheeks to his neck, and then under his cuffs around his wrists. His sniffling has allayed, to your relief. “Is that better?”

When he doesn’t answer you look up and find him entranced by something across the threshold. You follow his line of sight and feel the breath stolen from your lungs.

The stranger is imposing and beautiful in a way that is hard to look at; yet it’s the intense air of confidence and ease about him that makes it impossible for you to look away. Standing tall at the counter he’s all slender angles and fluid movements in his fitted white dress-shirt, rocking on his heels as he waits.

The shelves fixed to the wall behind the counters are littered with decorative trinkets doused in warm-gold light that crowns his white hair like a halo. Everyone’s focus has gravitated toward him, so much so that they don’t appear to notice the large black dog at his feet.

Kota, however, paid the man no attention. Instead his chubby fingers curled around your shirtsleeve to tug insistently at your arm, “Puppy!”

There’s a blue padded harness strapped to the dog’s torso, ‘assistance’ printed in bold reflective letters across the chest and along the adjustable handle. Their body language shows that they’re comfortable but alert, ears standing tall and twitching in Kota’s direction. Kota, who has managed to free himself from your grip.

And is tottering towards the service dog.

You rise to stand and amble after him, frantically whispering his name. “Kota—no. You can’t pet the dog,” your arm scoops around his belly to keep him from tripping as you grab the back of his coat and gather him to your front. The boy stomps his foot and whines, forcing his body pliant in protest and becoming deadweight.

Nervous about causing a disturbance you survey the surroundings. Nobody stirs. A woman and her two young children are seated nearby, and she offers you a sympathetic smile. You grimace, steadying Kota on his feet.

“But I wan’a pet the puppy,” Kota warbles, making grabbing motions toward the dog.

“You can’t sweetheart. Look,” you run a soothing hand down his back. Bringing him close you point at the blue harness. “See what they’re wearing? Can you read that word?”

Kota’s brow knits in concentration. “S’big word,” he says. You smile at his seriousness and suppress the urge to squeeze him.

“That word says ‘assistance’,” and he repeats it with imprecise intonation, thrice before he’s satisfied. “That’s right,” you praise him, sneaking a kiss to his temple. A frisson of happiness has him burying into the crook of your neck. “Do you know what it means when an animal is wearing a coat like that?”

Kota shakes his head.

“It means,” you cast a quick glance to the owner and almost swallow your tongue. His face is angled in your direction, as if listening in on your conversation, though his eyes are well hidden behind a dark pair of glasses. “It means that dog is working. They have a very important job to do, so we can’t interrupt them. It would be bad if they got distracted, right?”

Kota thinks long and hard about this. A litany of emotions wash over his expression. It ranges from confusion, to petulance and sadness, then finally, acceptance. “Yeah. Okay,” he nods, staring longingly at the fluffy tail sweeping back and forth across the tiles.

“Good. Now you’ve learned something new today. You can tell your parents all about it once I get you home,” you stand straight and brush down the front of your jeans. “How about we get some cream puffs to celebrate once it’s dry out, hm?”

“Yeah!”

The disruption thankfully hadn’t bothered the dog. You watch as the man drops his hand to his hip and they immediately nuzzle into the touch. “Good girl,” you hear him croon as his fingers crook behind her ear. Then he cocks his head and a pair of lustrous eyes are visible over his opaque, round-rimmed glasses.

Hair prickles on the nape of your neck. His stare settles just beyond your shoulder. The pigment in each iris is oddly dispersed and startlingly light, a clear blue with infinite depth, as if they were plucked right from a celestial body. “Thanks for keeping him on a leash,” he tells you with teasing cadence, mouth curled into a smile. Kota gives an affronted grumble and you laugh, combing your fingers through baby-soft hair.

The man inclines toward Kota, “Her name is Maya, by the way. You can’t pet her but you can say hello”.

Enthralled at this development Kota bends his knees in an bouncy little dance. “Maya-chan. Hi. My name is Kota,” he gurgles, hands covering his cheeks. Maya simply snuffled, a long tongue licking at her snout, and shifted on her front paws.

The attractive stranger nudges his dark glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. He wets his lips. “And what’s your name?”

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for you to realise he is asking you. Rattled by the prolonged silence you set your sights firmly on Kota and clear your throat to introduce yourself, “It’s nice to meet you”.

“Yeah? I don't get to hear that too often,” he replies, mouth thin as if fighting a broader smile. It’s a lovely shade of balmy pink. “I’m—”

“Gojo-san?”

The barista glances up from reading the name on the ticket, visibly flustered that he interrupted. “I’m sorry. Your drinks are ready,” he makes an aborted motion to hand the tray over and then seizes. “Ah—would you like me to take this to your table, Gojo-san?”

“That’d be great,” nothing about Gojo’s visage, nor his posture, changes. You feel pinned under his broad scrutiny. Anticipation swoops through your stomach as he angles his gaze in Maya’s direction, where Kota remains besotted. “Y’know, my other dog is here too. She’s actually retired now, so you can come and pet her if you want, Kota-kun”.

You balk. This guy.

“Yeah!” Kota effuses, crashing into your legs. He pats at your thighs. “Please. Can I, can I?”

You cast a lingering glance at the poor weather, a sheet of rain obscuring the view to the street, and ponder what Kota’s parents would want. As he’s an only child they’ve expressed their desire to get a pet in the near future. It could be a good lesson for him, and you have nothing to do until the shower calms.

“That's—kind of you. If it’s no trouble…?”

“Wouldn’t offer if it was,” Gojo replies. You are at least reassured by the fact that he doesn’t sound all that put-out. More than anything he looks pleased, like the cat that got the cream. He gestures toward the poor barista, waiting to the side with fingers flexing around the tray handles.

You nudge the little boy, “What do you say?”

Kota takes a deep breath, the air pushing out his cheeks. He bows, hair falling over his eyes, and gives an emphatic: “Thank you!”

Gojo’s runs a hand through his hair. It looks silky. A smooth glide, no tangles caught on his knuckles. Then he rolls his shoulders, expression schooled into something comically serious. “In that case I’m going to need you to do something, Kota-kun,” he says.

The tone has Kota’s spine ramrod straight. “This guy here is going to my table. Think you can walk behind him and lead the way for Maya?”

Kota’s eyes are wide and sparkling. He vibrates at the promise of responsibility. You observe the exchange with an odd fondness. Gojo is a stranger. Yet he has somehow has managed to win over the most stubborn kid you know.

“Maya,” he kisses his teeth. Maya rises to attention, locking onto her owner while he readjusts his grip on the harness handle. She tracks the movement of his free hand through the air as it comes to lightly tap Kota’s shoulder. “Follow,” he states.

Spurred into action as though commanded himself, the barista leaves to find Gojo’s table. Kota looks to you seeking permission. You nod and he wanders closely after the man on his little legs, glancing back every few seconds, brighter each time he notices Maya trotting onward at his heel.

Gojo’s gait is languid and purposefully slow. There's buoyancy to him as he navigates the space, trusting Maya completely to get to their destination. You walk a suitable distance from his side, inwardly dithering and unsure whether or not to push aside the few chairs obstructing the path. Maya doesn’t appear concerned. You’d hate to break her focus.

She takes Gojo deeper into the cafe with confidence. Tucked away in an alcove at the back of the room is a booth. In the booth is another dark haired boy, much older than Kota, around twelve or thirteen if you had to guess, and curled under the table is another large dog.

The boy is not impressed in the slightest. He frowns at the sight of you and Kota, disgruntled. Thoughts visibly pass over his face and whatever conclusion he comes to he glares up at Gojo for it.

As the barista sets down the tray of drinks the cups rattle against their respective saucers. He bows and slips away. Kota is beginning to squirm again. You can tell his patience is waning.

“I’m being glared at, aren’t I?” comes Gojo’s amused murmur. Though the boy’s ire isn’t directed at you it feels awkward to be in the line of fire.

“You are,” you reply, pinching the back of Kota’s hood to prevent him from diving under the table. “Are you sure this is fine? If your son isn’t—”

Gojo waves his hand as he strides forward, carefully resting it on the backrest of the cushions and he uses it to pivot himself into the booth. “Not my son. More like a nephew, or something. Right, Megumi?” the boy—presumably Megumi—flares his turned up nose and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Or something,” he says.

“Maya,” Gojo continues in a clear voice. “Down,” Maya is deliberate in where she rests, remaining within his reach. “Stay,” her paws cross one over the other, and she rests her chin atop her wrists. When she’s settled, he coos another, “Good girl”.

Maya’s tail swishes happily. Megumi grunts. “Don’t be like that, Megumi. The kid only wanted to meet Ren,” Gojo drawls. At the mention of her name Ren crawls out from under the table seeking attention. “Why don’t you show Kota-kun how to pet her?”

“Why me?”

“You’re older. Set an example,” Gojo rests his cheek in his palm, taking his glasses off to hook them on the end of his slender finger. Those startling eyes drag aimlessly over your form as he sighs, “Tsumiki would be so disappointed if she knew”.

At that Megumi’s arms drop in deference. He scoots out of his seat and coaxes Ren to sit. She’s a lovely dog, and big, with a luscious thick white coat and soulful eyes. He sticks his hand out, expression a complex mix of boredom and determination. Like he didn’t want to do it, but if he really had to, he wanted to do it well. “Kota-kun, right? Give me your hand,” he says.

Kota bounces on his toes and obediently drops his hand into the older boy’s. “You have to let animals smell you first. Let them decide if they want to be touched,” Megumi guides it toward Ren, proffered and upturned for her to scent. She nuzzles into Kota’s small palm and licks it for good measure, making him squeal.

Gojo melts into the booth cushion, entirely mellowed out. You stare at his profile, appreciating the soft line of his cheekbone right to the shell of his ear, just peeking out under fluffy white hair; lightly cow licked at the ends from the rain, curling right around the stud in his earlobe.

Feeling the weight of your gaze his eyes slide over and you quickly turn away. In the seconds you spent distracted Megumi has shown Kota where Ren likes to be scratched the most. Kota beams as he strokes down her flank, making her tongue loll out and her hind leg reflexively twitch.

You clear your throat. “She’s very pretty isn't she?” you muse, bending to Kota’s height and smiling gently at Megumi. Ren’s warm puffs of breath fan over your fingers as you let her smell them. “Is she the same breed as Maya-chan?”

“Yeah. They’re cousins,” Megumi answers stiffly. There’s a tinge of pink in Megumi’s cheeks now as he buries his hand in Ren’s fur, vying for reason not to look directly at you. “We’re letting them spend time together before we send Ren away”.

“Eh?” Kota’s bottom lip wobbles. His head whips around to Gojo, “Away?”

“Not like that,” you quietly reassured.

Gojo crossed his ankles under the table and reclined with his royal milk tea, wisps of steam curling over the rim. “Ren is too old to do her job now,” he smiles behind the cup, “She’s going to live with a good friend of mine and his two sons. Don’t worry”.

This comforts Kota a bit. “What, um,” he pats Ren’s face, and your heart aches, because he’s being so uncharacteristically gentle. “Maya-chan really has a job?”

“She really does”.

“But babies can’t work,” Kota beseeches. “Mama told me so”.

Megumi huffs, though you think it’s more of a laugh. “Maya isn’t a baby and she isn’t a puppy anymore either,” he says. The proud gleam in his gaze doesn’t escape you as he points at the younger dog. “She’s the best of her litter. I helped pick her”.

“Megumi has a good eye for that kinda thing,” Gojo sets down his cup and gestures to his uncovered eyes, framed by pale and unfairly long eyelashes. You are secretly grateful for the excuse to look at them again. “My eyes? Not so much. That’s what I have Maya for—and Ren before her. She helps me get around”.

Kota’s jaw slacks and he makes a long, drawn out sound of understanding. Ren bounces from paw to paw and you marvel at just how good she is with him. Calm, and attentive. Reacting whenever he reacts. Remnants of her training that she’d likely never lose.

“Go—go…”

“Gojo-san,” you prompt gently as Kota’s brow knits in that very familiar ‘I-don’t-want-to-cry’ manner.

“Gojo-san,” he tries again. “M’sorry your eyes don’t work good”.

Mortification washes over you. “Kota, sweetheart. You can’t just say that—”

Gojo barks a laugh loud enough to draw the attention of onlookers. While he remains unaffected, growing evermore amused, you shy away from their curious stares with a grimace. “Don’t worry. He meant no harm,” he says. “And look, it’s not that I can’t see anything. Want to know something cool?”

Megumi sighs indolently and you suspect he’s heard this spiel before. Kota unfurls from his brief flinch and nods. Gojo tips his chin and bends forward. Kota stares right into his lucent eyes, mesmerised.

“I can see shapes. To me you’re just a weird smudge,” Kota giggles from behind his hands as Gojo pretends to wet his thumb and makes a rubbing motion, like he were wiping Kota from his vision. “But I have too much pressure inside of my eyes. So I don’t just see shapes,” Gojo leans closer and lowers his voice into a conspiratorial whisper, “I see colours around things, like when you squeeze your eyes shut real tight”.

“Woah,” Kota breathes. His fingers clench and unclench where they’re clutched around his coat. “What colour am I?”

The older man decides to entertain the question and pauses to consider Kota with a ruminative hum. You find yourself waiting with bated breath, a shamefully scant portion of your brain focused on the vibration from your jacket pocket. Numbness is spreading up your feet to your calves, knelt on them for too long, but you don’t want to disturb the atmosphere.

“Red,” Gojo answers decisively.

Kota covers his mouth. He swivels on his heels to find you. “That’s my favourite colour!”

“It is,” you echo as you rub his shoulder, your tone gentle and indulgent. Your phone buzzes again and you slip it out from your pocket to check the screen. “Ah,” a brief glance toward the cafe window informs you that the rain has mostly stopped. Gold slats of sunlight are flooding the wet pavement. “It’s your parents, little man. They’ll be expecting us home soon so say your goodbyes”.

“No”.

“Kota”.

A stubborn beat passes. Sulking, Kota is deliberate and slow while he gives Ren a final stroke. “Bye bye, Ren, Maya-chan. Bye bye Megumi-nii. Bye bye Gojo-san”.

“Sure,” Megumi chokes somewhat at the honorific. “See you, Kota-kun”.

Gojo listens to the interaction with a smile. Close lipped and genuine. Though small the weight of it causes his eyes to crinkle slightly at the corners. “It doesn’t have to be goodbye forever,” he suggests.

You hesitate, “Meaning…?”

“If we exchanged numbers then Kota-kun could keep in touch with Maya and Ren. I’ll send cute pictures”.

Megumi scoffs and it makes the blood prickle under your skin. Your face feels hot. “Right. For Kota,” you reply dryly, mouth trembling as you valiantly try to keep the smile out of your voice. He must sense it anyway, because his own widens and he holds his phone out to you.

Kota claps excitedly while you input your name and number. “And how do I know you’re not a bad guy?” you ask, saving the details before closing out the app and handing the phone back.

“I pinky promise?”

Shaking your head amusedly you fix Kota’s coat collar, refastening the buttons before petting Ren farewell. “I suppose I’ll take your word for it,” you tell him. “Thanks again, for letting Kota meet the dogs”.

“My pleasure,” Gojo returns.

“I’ll—we’ll be seeing you, then,” you wave at Megumi, directing Kota toward the front of the cafe. Gojo drapes his lithe body over the table surface and rests his chin to his hand, as if watching you go.

“I’ll text you,” he chimes after you. People lift their heads as you scurry through to the entrance.

What have you gotten yourself into?

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader

[rynbutt]

pierced. epilogue. | spencer reid.

It's Spencer's birthday and there are a lot of things to be shared.

you can find the other parts on my masterlist.

cw: fem!reader, 18+ content (MDNI), kissing, other stuff shhh

a/n: im pretty proud of this one fr

His kiss against your lips was feverish– it was hungry and wanting, punctuated by his warm hand desperately squeezing the skin of your thigh, the other tangled in your hair as it sprawled over your pillow like a halo. 

You were always breathtaking like this– your face contorted in pleasure as you breathed soft whines and moans, unable to form coherent words. Spencer found it fascinating, how you bewitched him body and soul. You made everything melt away with your gentle touch and your soft kisses. Maybe it was how you cradled his face like you would divine art. Maybe it was how you looked at him, eyes so sultry and enchanting yet wide with innocence.

Spencer couldn’t handle it half the time, it drove him mad how he longed for you in every aspect of his life, how he spent every waking minute away from you wishing you were wrapped in the safety of his arms, where he knew no one and nothing could harm you. 

“Happy birthday, baby,” your voice was breathless as you whispered the words against his lips. One of your hands pressed into the nape of his neck, the other gripped the wrist beside your head, holding onto anything that would ground you in reality.

Spencer responded by kissing you again, swallowing your breathless moans as he snapped his hips against the soft flesh of your ass. The sounds were lewd and salacious, but it only provoked him further. His grip on your thigh was bruising at best, his mind growing foggy with desire as he lost control of his ability to notice the obvious strength he had over you.

You didn’t mind though– you never did. It only spurred you on further, your moans and whines growing louder and louder as your belly warmed. Tonight was supposed to be about him. It was his birthday after all and you wanted him to be the centre of attention. But when you spread your legs for him, your curves adorned in delicate lace, he couldn’t help himself.

“Spence–” You cut yourself off as another whine left your dry throat; it seems you forgot how to naturally function when Spencer’s cock was splitting you open, your head filled with nonsense the moment he filled you to the brim.

“Fuck, angel–” Spencer’s voice was low with lust, his lips pressing to the underside of your jaw. His breath was warm against the column of your throat, his lips pressing desperate kisses to your smooth skin. 

Spencer never got tired of you, he knows he never will. He’s so hopelessly in love with you and you have him wrapped around your delicate finger despite what you like to think. You were wrapped around him so tight, your core pulsing around him with such desperation.

He’s surprised he lasted as long as he did. You looked so beautiful with your skin adorned with intricate lace and bows– he kept it on while he fucked you, admiring every dip and curve of your body, truly convinced every part of you was carefully crafted for him and him alone.

Your hands combed through his hair as he calmed down, your legs tangled with his and the sheets. While fucking you was his favourite pass time; this part was always worth the wait. His body was heavy with exhaustion but he couldn’t take his eyes off you. You were always so gentle, something he both envied and valued in you. You were safe; you were home.

“Marry me.” The words left his lips in a whisper. It bothered him how he hadn’t asked you yet– how he hadn’t even thought about it until that very moment. Spencer had always questioned the notion of marriage, wondering why people did it when– to him– it seemed outdated; almost pointless. He saw it with his own parents and he saw it with his friend, but with you it was different. Calling you his wife made him feel warm, being able to put a ring on your finger and call you his forever. He was going against his own reasoning and Spencer was willing to say his old way of thinking about marriage was wrong. Because with you, it seemed like the only reasonable choice he had ever made.

Your fingers stilled against his hair, your heart beating hard in your chest. “What?” You almost thought you misheard him.

“Marry me.” Spencer spoke a little louder, his chest blooming with warmth at the smile that tugged at the corner of your lips. You gently covered your mouth as a small surprised laugh left your throat, you didn’t mean to laugh, you really didn’t, but Spencer Reid– The Dr. Spencer Reid– wanted to marry you. “Don’t laugh, I’m serious,” he feigned offence, pulling your hand away from your face.

“I’m not laughing at you, I just–” You sighed, eyes blinking up at him softly, “You, Dr. ‘I don’t really believe in marriage’ want to marry me?”

He let out a breath. “I’ve thought about it.” He thought about it for maybe four seconds before deciding because he already knew what the answer would be, “and I want it. I didn’t think I would, but then I met you and… it just seems like the only logical progression.”

“Mm, I love when you talk about logical progressions,” you teased, your hands cupping his face gently, resting your forehead against his.

“You still haven’t answered me.” Spencer wasn’t nervous, he knew you loved him and wanted to be with him. Even if you said no, he wouldn’t mull over it because he would know that you had your own reasons. 

“What do you think the answer will be?” You were curious and it was so easy to tease him. He didn’t like when people pushed his buttons, but you could push all you like and he would adore you all the same.

“I think you’ll dance around it just to annoy me,” he started with a grin, “but inevitably you’ll say yes because the idea of getting to call yourself Mrs Reid would be too good to pass up.”

Oh how he knows you.

“Mm, you caught me,” you giggled softly, drowning in the softness of his beautiful brown eyes. You brushed your thumb over his cheekbone, “I’d love to marry you, Spencer.”

He smiled coyly. “See?” 

You rolled your eyes playfully, scooting yourself closer to him to press against his warm skin. He draped an arm over your waist, pressing his nose into your hair and breathing in your scent. This is exactly how he wanted to spend his 30th birthday, with you wrapped in his arms, tracing letters into your hip as your nails gently scraped against the skin of his back, following every gentle ridge of his ribs and spine, memorising his body beneath your fingertips.

“Are you sure we have to go?” Spencer called to you as he stood in front of your full-length mirror tying his tie. The end of the day came far too quickly– one minute he had your warmth wrapped around him, your lips and bodies clashing in feverish need. Now he was getting ready to go to dinner at a new fancy restaurant deep in the city when he would much rather stay tangled with you in bed.

“Yes, baby,” You replied, lining your lips in your bathroom mirror. “Penelope and JJ want to make tonight special for you for your birthday.”

You had already made it special. You made him breakfast, spoiled him far beyond what he deserved, then let him have you for hours. His birthday was already perfect but he knew his friends had tried hard to do something nice for him– but you said yes to his marriage proposal, so he’s doubtful this dinner could at all improve his day.

You stepped out of the bathroom, clasping the necklace Spencer had got you for your birthday last year around your neck. Your heels clicked against the floor in a way that was so alluring he was ready to ditch the dinner and have you again. But you would definitely protest, not wanting him to ruin your perfectly styled hair and makeup. He would just have to hold it together for a bit longer.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, a smile playing on his lips. Your dress hugged your hips and waist, the neckline showing off your cleavage and the slit up the side to your mid thigh sending him reeling. You smiled at him, reaching for his tie to adjust it.

“You look very handsome,” you pressed up on your toes, kissing his cheek. His hands fell to your waist, holding you close as he pressed a peck to your lips. “Alright, we should go.” Spencer let out a soft sigh, holding his elbow out for you to link your arm with his. You chuckled softly, holding his bicep as the two of you left your shared apartment. 

Spencer’s fingers were laced with yours as you walked into the restaurant, walking slightly slower than he normally did since you were in heels; something you found rather adorable. Derek saw him first, wrapping his arms around Spencer and patting his back as he wished him a happy birthday. Derek planted a kiss on your cheek as he hugged you next, letting the rest of the team swarm Spencer with hugs, birthday wishes and presents. Spencer pulled your chair out for you before sitting down next to you, scooting his chair slightly closer to yours. He had his hand on your thigh the whole night, his thumb stroking the side of your knee. 

“More drinks! This is a day to celebrate!” Penelope cheered, pouring herself and JJ another glass of wine. Derek swirled his tumbler of whiskey around, lifting it up in a cheers motion to Spencer.

“Amen to that,” he nodded before taking a sip.

“What are you having, Reid? On me,” Emily offered, eyes narrowing at the man of the hour. Spencer waved her off, not typically one for drinking.

“Give mine to Y/N, I’m good,” Spencer said. 

“No, no, I’m good, Spence,” you squeezed his hand under the table. 

“Whaaat!” Penelope looked at you, stopping mid-sip of wine. “My loves, we must celebrate!” She pointed at the both of you and Spencer rolled his eyes playfully.

“Fine, but nothing too strong, please,” Spencer gave in, earning a cheer from everyone at the table. 

Emily turned to you, “what’s my girl having? Gin and tonic? Spiced rum? Wine? Name it and you’ve got it,” she grinned.

“No, I’m really good, thank you,” you replied with a breathy laugh, desperate to get the attention off of you. Emily noticed your slight embarrassment and backed off, getting up to get Spencer a drink from the bar. 

You quietly excused yourself, getting up and taking your purse to the bathroom. Spencer could tell something was bothering you. He excused himself to Hotch, following you to the back of the restaurant. He gently knocked on the bathroom door, calling your name. You washed your hands in the sink, letting out a sigh before opening the door.

“Are you okay, angel?” Spencer asked, voice laced with concern. He searched your eyes for a moment and he could tell something was on your mind.

“I’m pregnant, Spence.”

Spencer felt his mind go blank, his eyes widening at your confession. You didn’t sound upset when you said it, nor did you sound thrilled. You wanted to gauge his reaction before you started tangling yourself up in your own thoughts. 

After a year of dating, Spencer had mentioned the idea of kids to you, asking you if it’s something you wanted. You knew he wanted it, he was so good with kids and kids gravitated to him. It made your heart swell whenever he would play with Henry or Jack, wondering if that’s something you wanted for yourself. You wanted to give him that, of course you did. But when he asked you, you had just got a promotion and you were about to begin your second semester back at school and Spencer’s job was crazy, it didn’t seem like adequate timing. So you told him one day.

One day was apparently today.

“You’re… You’re pregnant?” He repeated, his voice barely above a whisper as the words sank in. His heart fluttered at the idea of you carrying his baby, a little boy or girl, he didn’t care. You were going to have his baby. He was going to be a family with you.

“Yeah, I am,” a smile tugged at your lips. “I wanted to tell you in a more… creative way? Like hide it in a book or give you a crossword or something but–” You cut yourself off, gently shrugging your shoulders as Spencer reached for your hands.

“How–How far along are you?” His voice was shaky, he was so nervous and excited and had no idea where to put all the emotions he was feeling.

“Eight weeks,” you grinned.

“Shit,” he cursed, a smile breaking out across his face. He pulled you in for a kiss, his hands cupping your cheeks. You held his suit jacket in your fists, kissing him back with just as much excitement and love. He pulled away slightly, “this is by far the best birthday present.”

You chuckled softly, “lucky her parents are hitched,” you teased.

“You know you can’t actually tell the sex of a foetus until 18 to 21 weeks, baby,” he said matter-of-factly. He gestured his head to the side, “it’s possible as early as 14 weeks but–”

You kissed him again to shut him up, “call it a mother’s intuition, Spence." Spencer led you back to the table, refusing to let go of your hand for the rest of the night. He had a lot of trouble sitting on all the news he had to share but he would tell them another time, all he wanted to do was spend the night with you and enjoy every waking minute of you.

a/n: i know most of you won't read this but i just wanna say thank you for reading this, i know it's not super canon compliant but it was more just a fluffy little series for me to write and i had a blast. and i know not everyone likes the pregnancy trope but god dammit! our boy deserves a family of his own!

i will definitely be doing more series in the future and i'm already working on another project that i hope you'll all like! anywho, love all of you and imma give you all a fat kiss goodnight, muah!

taglist: @crazycat-ladys-blog @cillsnostalgia @secretly-tumb1r @33-81 @elissanatok @outrunangelss @cultish-corner @666-gothic-bat-666 @evvy96 @littlemarvelstan8 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @meg-black @dreamsarebig @anuncalledbridge @fioletowelowe @ladylincoln @spencereidsgf420 @bollzinurmouth @scarlettssub @ipseitydelrey @donttrustlove @mcntsee @ruziazyn @valinherfantasyworld @khxna @maybe-not-this @shardsofmarxx @danadinosaur3 @justsarahbella @ah-blossom @lorelaireid @btskzfav @reidsdoll @pinkpantheris @violetvsworld @readergf @pangirl-fangirl @emideadpoets @blackbeautyiloveyouso @amethyst-marie368 @amethyst-marie368

#criminal minds #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fluff #x reader #cm spencer #dr reid #spencer reid x reader smut #spencer reid smut #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid x you #cm smut #criminal minds smut #spencer

[ddejavvu]

HI!!! Please can i request an awkward!glasses reid oneshot where he’s like pining over the reader?? maybe with a bit of tension ;))) but he like slips up and says something like ‘god ur beautiful?’ THANK UUUU

The rain pouring down in massive, silvery sheets does nothing to dull your halo, Spencer thinks. Actually, it might make it shine brighter, a haze of mist clouding your form as you traipse through the downpour.

"Seattle sucks!" You gush, raising a hand to smear away the wet strands of your hair that cling to your face, "God, why can't Arizona have another murderer running around?"

"The rain is actually a good forensic countermeasure - it washes the blood away so that he can drag the body wherever he wants and we won't be able to follow his trail." Spencer has to shout to be heard over the splattering of water upon the sidewalk, and he tries not to cry as he feels water seeping into his boots. Rossi had treated the entire team to a pair of galoshes after his precious Italian leather shoes became mottled with mud, and though they're helpful for trekking through the storm, they're also fantastic at catching rainwater.

"I hate it when serial killers are smarter than us!" You plunge your hand into the pocket of your jacket, digging out the key fob for the car. You unlock it with a beep and the taillights shine in the storm. You're more than happy to throw the door open and slip out of your jacket, taking minimal rain damage to your outfit as you slide swiftly onto the driver's seat of the van.

Spencer hears you let out a groan as the car roars to life, and so does the heater. You throw your head back against the seat, hair stringy and soaked, face dripping with rain.

One droplet slides down your nose and dips between the curve of your lips, something you can't bring yourself to care about as the heater blasts the chill from your blood. He watches you melt into the seat, and only one thought comes to mind: "You're beautiful."

His voice is a quiet murmur, and he's also speaking over the torrential downpour outside, so you don't catch what he says, thankfully. He doesn't know why his brain had miscalculated his thought and sent it down through his mouth instead of just his head, but he fumbles to snatch the opportunity you give him to save himself.

"Hm?" You turn to look at him, brows slightly raised in curiosity.

"My boots are full!" He blurts, cheeks red but not from the heat as he reaches for one of his rain-soaked shoes, "I- I- There's rainwater in my- my boots, and I need to-" He tugs the rubber off of his foot and turns it upside-down outside of the car so that it splashes off of the pavement, and he jams it back over his soaked sock while furiously avoiding eye contact.

Your pants were looser than Spencer's own, and you'd been able to tuck them over the mouth of your boots. Yours aren't even remotely soggy inside, so you laugh incredulously as he releases his tsunami before you drive off.

"Spence, that's insane," You watch as he stuffs the second boot back onto his foot, "You poor thing, are your socks all wet?"

"Yeah," He breathes, finally shutting the car door and trying to relax his tensely-held muscles as he comes down from his embarrassment, "Uh- yeah it's fine, though. They'll dry out."

"Use the foot heater," You flick a button on the center console, and hot air seeps from a vent beneath the glove compartment, "That better?"

"Yeah," Spencer toes off his boots, letting the warmth aid his chilled skin and damp attire, "Thanks, Y/N."

"Thank you," You nod and turn your eyes to the road as you pull out of the parking lot.

"For what?" Spencer looks briefly over at you, glasses spattered with raindrops.

"For calling me beautiful," You grin.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid one-shot #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid headcanons #spencer reid headcanon #spencer reid hc #spencer reid hcs #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #spencer reid blurb #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid dialogue #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader fanfiction

[dyeher]

“We should get married.”

The sun is too hot. You’re too sweaty and dehydrated and horny and miserable to even entertain Mikey’s lackluster proposal. It’s not even a question. It’s a statement.

He looks serious too, and hot and sweaty and delicious. You want to lick the stray beads of sweat that have collected at the base of his throat.

But you can’t because it’d be unprofessional. So, you ignore him. Adjusting the lens on your camera to snap a few more pictures of him in the natural light.

There’s a giant hibiscus tucked behind his right ear and his head is tilted up to face the sky. He’s glowing. Between him and the orange hibiscus you’re not sure who the sun is loving more.

“Did you hear me?”

“Don’t move,” you instruct, ignoring him again. He’s turned to you for acknowledgment and the light catches in the strands of his hair. It frames him in a halo of light, and in this position the hibiscus pales in comparison to him. Him and his entirely too beautiful face. His upper body flexes lightly with the movement, exposing his tattoos for the camera and when he lifts a brow at you, your mouth goes dry.

“Don’t ignore me.”

“It’s too hot Mikey,” you complain. You’re still snapping away because Mikey is moving and every shift in the muscles of his arms as he turns toward you fully, the clenching of his abdominal muscles, you aim to capture them all.

“This was your idea,” he points out.

He’s right. It was your idea and you don’t regret it. Not when you get to see him like this (because there are very few people who can see him like this and you’re truly honored to be one of them).

He sits back, pressing his hands into the soft grass behind him and elongating his torso. His jacket falls open wider and more of the small tattoos scattered across his torso are revealed. You snap a few quick shots of him from the neck done.

“I know,” you smile as you sink onto the grass next to him to click through the last five pictures you’d snapped. They’re your favorite so far.

The first is a body shot that highlights the golden pendant that’s nestled in the hollow of his throat. There’s a small butterfly tattoo on his left collar bone and Roman numerals on his right. The tattoo above his Adam’s apple matches the wording in the pendant. ‘Monster’ printed in typewriter font.

The second is a torso shot. His skin is damp from a thin layer of sweat and the sun casts his normally pale skin in a golden glow. You’d managed to capture a bead of sweat as it trickled down between his abs.

The third makes you freeze.

“Delete that,” Mikey says from over your shoulder. The heat from his body seeps into your thin shirt as he plasters himself to your back.

He’s smiling in the picture. His head tilted downward as he looks at you through his lashes, a secretive smile playing on his lips. It’s breathtaking. You’d captured his entire top half. The flexing muscles in his arms, the bunching of the muscles in his shoulders.

“Nope!” you giggle, holding the camera out of his reach. Mikey glares playfully at you.

“The only way—” he lunges, eyes locked on your own, and snatches the camera from you, ignoring your indignant yelp“—you’re keeping this is if you say yes to marrying me.”

You squint, folding your arms in front of you. “You’re not serious.”

Mikey places the camera down carefully and turns his attention to you. “I am.”

He reaches for your hands and drags you into his lap, guiding them to his shoulders and settling his own on your waist. Your eyes narrow further as he pulls you closer to him. “I’m very serious.”

You’re a little taller than him like this and when he tilts his head up to look into your eyes the hibiscus falls free from behind his ear.

“I want to marry you,” he continues. “And then you can take as many pictures of me as you want.”

You swallow, your heart suddenly thundering as Mikey continues to stare at you. “As many pictures as I want? Do you promise?”

Mikey chuckles. “I promise.”

You eye him skeptically.

He presses a soft kiss to your chin. “I’ll even let you post some of them.”

Your eyes widen. “Really?!”

He presses a kiss lower to your throat, his hair tickling your chin as he nods.

“You’re not trying to trick me into saying yes right?”

Mikey lifts his head to level a blank look at you. “Would I need to trick you?”

“Fair point,” you acquiesce.

He leaves a kiss on your right cheek and then the corner of your mouth and when his tongue comes out to lick along the seam of your lips you sigh.

He takes advantage of that and kisses you deeply. When he pulls away you blink dazedly at him.

“Ask me to marry you again after I’ve had a shower,” you blurt.

Mikey’s brows furrow. “What?”

“I’m too sticky and sweaty and hot to think straight and your cock is right—” you roll your hips, dragging your clothed sex along his erection “—there! I’m not thinking straight.”

Mikey chuckles. “How about after I’ve fucked you ?”

You pause. “In the shower?”

Mikey groans, head falling against your shoulder. “Sure, I’ll ask you again after I’ve fucked you in the shower.”

“And I’ll say yes.”

“You fucking better,” he says. “I’d hate it if you forced my hand.”

You pretend you don’t hear the threat in those words.

#mikey x y/n #mikey x reader #mikey x you #manjiro sano x you #manjiro sano x reader #mikey fluff #manjiro sano fluff #tokyo rev x reader #tokyo rev fluff #tokyo rev x y/n #tr: beyablade.

[msgexymunson]

Forbidden Fruit Part 4

Description: Your relationship with Eddie is all consuming. How will you deal with the aftermath? 

A/N: I love this series, this Eddie, and you lot. You're beautiful and I love you. My God, comments and reblogs are my lifeblood, please comment, please reblog. I’m not always responding due to my mental health but I see you and I love you I promise. 

Warnings: NSFW, Minors DNI, this isn’t for you babies, p in v unprotected sex (surely you know this by now) Age gap, Eddie is 43, reader is 21. Violence, I’m not saying more I don’t want to ruin it ;) 

4k words 

Masterlist   Part 1    Part 2   Part 3 Part 5

Light dapples through the hotel curtains, uncovering swirling dust motes in the air, dancing in front of your vision. Yawning, you feel warmth and safety; Eddie's side flush with yours, your legs entwined in a sleepy embrace.

His breathing is slow and deep. As your hand rests lightly on his chest, you can feel it. In, and out. It's comforting, a comfort that reaches into your bones and warms them from the inside out; your entire being at peace. The skin on his chest is soft, a slight spackling of chest hair lays under your hand. Unconsciously, you're already running your hand through it, fingers stroking his inked chest. 

Hair splayed on the pillow underneath him in an angel's halo, his lines are finer, relaxed. He looks so peaceful and content that it makes your heart swell. A smile plays at your lips, one that touches every part of you. A perfect moment. 

The steady breathing changes, and he moves beneath you, a rough hand reaching up to stroke your shoulder.

"Mornin' sweetheart." 

His voice is gruffer than usual, enriched with sleep, the deeper cadence unknown to you before this moment. God, you would do anything to hear it every morning. 

"Morning baby." Returning his greeting with a croaky one of your own, he wraps his arms around you tighter, almost possessively. 

"This is nice." 

You purr your approval, tightening your own grip around him. 

"So, breakfast?" You ask.

"Five more minutes." He replies, pulling you on top of him to deepen the hug. 

********************

The day was spent together, being the couple you never got to be in the real world. Breakfast at the hotel was delicious, you held hands until it got in the way of eating. Then a drive, where he took you shopping and bought you a dress just for you to wear tonight. You told him you'd pay for it but he insisted. Lunch at a quaint cafe in town was just perfect. Then a walk, arm in arm as you explored the place. 

Back at the hotel, you were taking advantage of the suite he'd booked, soaking in an enormous bubble bath you're pretty sure you could do a few laps in. You had invited Eddie to join you, but in his words, 'if that happens we're never gonna eat dinner sweetheart.'

Drying off, you get ready for your date tonight. The other bra and panty set you bought just for Eddie resides under the beautiful purple satin dress he had bought you, along with your own hold ups and heels. Piling your hair high on your head in the fanciest updo you can manage without a team of hairdressers, you frown at your reflection. Not perfect, but good enough. 

Mascara, a soft eyeshadow, and a lipstick to compliment your skin tone completes the look. Transfer proof, of course. You were going to dinner with Eddie after all. 

As you're spritzing perfume, you hear Eddie's deep muffled voice from the other room. 

"You ready princess?" 

"Yup, coming." 

Breathe, it's Eddie, why the hell are you nervous? 

But this is the first date you've been on with him really. Butterflies flutter in your stomach in expectancy. Exiting the bathroom, you lock eyes with your date. 

Eddie looks good. Ridiculously good. He's handsome, that's a given, but seeing him in a suit? Fucking hell. 

The black suit jacket he's slung over his shoulders looks expensive, clearly tailored to him, with matching dress pants. A black shirt with a slight sheen to it clings to the muscles on his torso, it might be satin, or silk. He's even wearing smart shoes; they gleam in the light. No tie, you notice. Not that it surprises you, he doesn't look the type to even consider a tie, even for the most formal occasions. Not that you miss it; the top buttons of the shirt are undone, showing off his chest tattoo and a thick silver chain. 

"Eddie, you clean up good." You smile. Real good. 

"Sweetheart, fuck me…" He's frozen, staring at you. 

"Eddie, you've seen the dress!" You laugh, walking towards him. 

He stumbles back, holding his hands to his heart as if you shot him. 

"But I didn't know you'd kill me when you put it on!" He exclaims, dramatically falling to one knee. 

"Eddie…" you laugh, walking toward him.

"I don't know… if I can… go on." He breaks down on the floor, hand outstretched in a silent dramatic plea. 

"Eddie you idiot!" You giggle, grabbing his hand and pulling him upright. 

You're impossibly close now, bodies an inch from touching. All joking forgotten, he grabs you by the waist, pulling you close. Hot breath fans across your face as his lips nearly touch yours. 

"We better go to dinner. You look so, so, sexy, that if we don't…" a kiss is forced onto your waiting mouth, full of longing. 

"I'll hike this dress up and fuck you against," stopping to look around, he points, "that wall." 

Your fingers wrap around his, bringing them to your mouth. 

"Maybe later." 

"Hmm, promise?" 

"Promise." 

Tugging him toward the door, he huffs dramatically, flinging his head back like a toddler. 

Making your way to the door, you turn around suddenly. 

"Wait. We need to play the part, right?" 

Eddie looks at you, amused.

"Yes? What you thinking sweetheart?" 

A plan comes to mind, making you shiver with anxiety. Hoping against hope that Eddie doesn't run a mile, you take his hands in your own, sizing up a likely candidate. That ring looks perfect, the backing is a straight band. Taking it off his finger, you place it on the ring finger on his left hand, backwards. You do the same with one of yours. 

Holding your makeshift wedding bands next to each other, you look up at him. 

"See? Playing the part." 

He surveys them for a moment, a moment that has your heart beating in your throat.

"Perfect." Bringing your fingers up to his lips, he kisses the makeshift band. 

"Dinner?" 

Shoving your feelings down as far as they'll go, you swallow the lump in your throat and grab his outstretched hand so he can lead you downstairs. 

Arm in arm, you enter the dining room together. 

"Mr and Mrs Munson, here for dinner?" 

Your heart skips a beat at his words. 

It's just a part we are playing, that's all. Don't let it go to your head.

"Of course, please follow me." 

After being ushered to a table, you order food and drinks. Then you talk, and talk, and talk. He's really opening up to you finally. All about high school, his love for music, his life. The conversation continues as you eat, about him becoming a mechanic, finally opening his own shop and building it from the ground up. He's charming, and funny; each piece of information gives you just that little extra insight into the man you've come to care for so much. 

You start to tell him about your own life, some things you've never told anyone before. You speak about school too, your qualification in English Literature that you are working towards which you'd mentioned before, and looking to train as a teacher after that, which you hadn't. Or, you thought you hadn't. 

"I know sweetheart, you told me that." 

"Did I?" Racking your brains over the last couple of months just leaves you coming up empty. 

"Yeah, about six months ago. We were in the kitchen, I was helping out, fitting the stove. You were wearing that blue skirt with the flowers on." 

Oh.

"You remember that?" Wide eyed, you pause from taking a sip of your wine and stare at him. 

"Yeah. Sorry, that came out really creepy." He smiles but doesn't meet your gaze, as if he's ashamed. 

"Eddie, how long have you had a crush on me?" 

"Honestly? Nearly a year. I remember seeing you all dolled up for your 21st and thinking I was being a fuckin' pervert." 

"Well, that makes me feel a little better. I kinda had a thing for you around the same time. Dressed up a bit when you were around." Admitting it is embarrassing, but also freeing. A weight you didn't know you were carrying is lifted, flying free to the heavens. 

"Ah, so that wasn't my imagination. Why'd you think I helped out around yours all the time? I gotta admit, that bikini you got, the red one. Fuck, that was when I knew I was down bad" he smirks, reaching over to hold your hand. 

"I got it for you." You whisper, touching his outstretched hand. 

"Naughty girl." 

Your thighs clench under the table. A rush of blood to your cheeks aided by the wine you've drunk makes them burn hotly at his words. 

"Sorry to interrupt." You both turn to see your waiter looking very awkward. 

"Would you like any more to drink? Or the dessert menu?" 

Eddie looks at you for confirmation. 

"No, no we're fine. Can we take the rest of the wine upstairs?" Eddie's eyebrows raise at you, fingers stroking the hand he's still holding. 

"Of course, have a pleasant evening Mrs Munson." 

As the waiter departs, you stand up immediately. 

"Oh it's like that, is it?" Eddie's grinning, the devil dancing in his eyes. He palms the bottle and pulls you from your seat so fast you may have whiplash, guiding you to the elevator. 

Once the doors close you are on each other like a rash sharing an urgent, messy kiss. One of his hands is in your hair, pulling you toward him greedily as your tongues fight for dominance. You pull at his shirt, silky material bunching under your desperate hand. 

The elevator doors ping open and he throws you over his shoulder like a caveman, landing an awkward smack on your ass since he's still holding the bottle of wine. You shriek as he practically runs down the hallway, placing you down gently to fumble with the room key. 

Throwing your arms around his neck as he does so, you press needy open mouthed kisses to him, hitting any skin you can reach. Eddie's breathing is laboured, from his impromptu sprint as well as your attention on his neck. 

"Sweetheart, I can't get the damn key card in the thing when you do that!" 

Laughing, you suck a bruise in his neck making him groan as he puts the card in the slot. It flashes red once, twice, then finally green, the door swinging open taking you by surprise, so much so you nearly fall. 

Vision sliding sideways as Eddie drags you in the room; he kicks the door shut with his foot and reaches for you once again, slamming your back against the wall. 

"Was it this wall?" He asks, voice a throaty growl as he undoes his belt with one hand and whips it through the loops at lightning speed. 

"Huh?" Thoughts are impossible right now, unable to see through the alcohol and lust that clouds your judgement. 

Eddie's hand reaches and grabs you by the neck. All you can focus on is his rough grip, squeezing at the sides of your throat, and the heartbeat hammering in your cunt. 

"The wall I was gonna fuck you against. This one, yeah?" 

Nodding emphatically, you reach your eager fingers to his pants, palming his rock hard length. 

"Fuck." Letting go of your throat he pulls your dress up and over the curve of your ass, exposing the tiny thong you were wearing. 

"These new too?" 

"Yeah." 

As you answer he rips them off, the flimsy lace falling apart. 

"I'll buy you a new pair." 

His mouth is on your neck before you can protest, teeth biting harder than usual as he unbuttons his pants to push them hastily down. 

Calloused fingers seek your pussy, rubbing through your folds. 

"God, you're already soaked sweetheart." 

You whine, back arching against the wall. 

"Just fuck me Eddie, please, I need you." 

The tip of his hardened cock runs through your seeping wetness as he lifts you up. Legs clamping around him instinctually, your fingers grasp the lapels of his jacket, tearing it down his arms. It's flung off and away, your hands gripping his shoulders. 

He plunges his throbbing length into you then, large hands grabbing you by your ass, helping him to fuck up into you at an unforgiving pace. 

The sounds of your conjunction are slapping through the room, your slick making dirty squelching noises that would make you cringe if you had any thoughts in your head. All that's echoing in your brain is Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. A heartbeat.

He's pounding into you so hard your head starts hitting the wall, the thunk echoing. 

"Fuck, sorry, just hang on," he says, gripping you harshly and carrying you over to the bed. He throws you down, making the air force out of your lungs with an 'ooft' noise. 

Then he's pulling your knees up, giving you no time to breathe as he pushes into you hard, hitting that spot inside that makes you quiver and beg.  

"Eddie, Oh God!" 

His grip, his thrusting movements, his harsh demeanour has your head spinning. You're on the brink of unravelling. 

"Eddie, please, can you- fuck, can you hold my throat again?" You plead, voice hot and raw from moaning. 

"Sweetheart, anything for you." Gravel in his voice. His lips curve into a smile, but there's no mirth in it. His face is hard, and something about it is setting your insides on fire. One hand glides its way up and over your curves, coming to rest on your neck. Rough finger pads squeeze onto your throat at the sides, not too hard, though enough to make your head reel and your pussy clench. 

The string holding you to this reality snaps then as you gasp for air, fibres flying free. You unravel, entirely and completely, dissolving into a mess of tangled threads. 

Eddie merely grunts his appreciation, fully lost in the depths of your cunt, beast mode well and truly activated. Short fingernails dig into the flesh of your hips, ass, thighs, hard enough that you're sure he's drawing blood. 

He releases into you with a bloodthirsty groan, nearly collapsing onto your fucked out form. 

After a few breaths, he manages words. 

"Sorry princess. I get a bit… rough when I've had a drink." 

"Don't apologise. That was… Just, need more of that." 

"Now??" His eyes widened impossibly at your words. 

You giggle at the incredulity in his voice. 

"Maybe in like, ten minutes?" You pout.

"Twenty." 

"Done." 

********************

The time had come. You had both had to rid yourselves of the fairytale, the fantasy, and drive back separately to your real lives. It left a bitter taste in your mouth, a lemon rind of reality soaking onto your tongue, sour and unwelcome.

Saying goodbye was a sickening experience that you'd rather forget. A brief hug and kiss in the hotel car park, making you feel cheaper than you ever did. Like some sort of prostitute. It hurt, more than all of this put together. 

Driving away with tear stained cheeks, you sought solace in the roads of tarmac ahead of you. That, and the last words he spoke to you which echoed your head, 'soon, sweetheart, soon.' 

You pulled up to your family home and noticed your mom's car in the driveway. Walking in and dumping your bag at the foot of the stairs you shout out in a feigned cheery voice. 

"Hey, I'm back from Stacey's house!" The lie you had told them. One of many.

"Hey honey, we were just heading out! Tell us about it later, we'll see you soon!" 

Your mom rushes by you in a cloud of perfume and smiles, your dad in her wake. A kiss is laid on each of your cheeks as she waltzes out. 

The house is silent and still. You move to the kitchen to fix yourself a drink. 

A knock startles you for a moment, making water slosh out of the glass in your hand. Looking up, you see the vision of your desire silhouetted in the patio windows. T-shirt tight across his frame, hair dishevelled, and his usual bright face frowning with discomfort. 

You open the door and he stands there, looking you up and down, like he hadn't seen you for a week, even though it had only been a couple of hours. He makes no move to join you however. 

"Your parents, they gone?" .

"They just left. Why?" Your eyebrows tighten in confusion but widen in surprise when he strides inside, grabbing you by the ass and lifting you up. 

He drops you unceremoniously onto the counter top, your nearly bare ass on the hard granite. His lips are on your neck, but instead of hot kisses, warm breath is breathing life into you.  

"This weekend, it was supposed to be it." 

"What do you mean?" You ask as your stomach drops. 

"This." He gestured to the air between you both, "was it. I was going to say goodbye." 

"But, Eddie-" 

He interrupts your heart burning to ash, stopping the flames with a simple wave of his hands. 

"I said this was supposed to be it. But I-I can't." He lifts his head to look you in the eyes, hands gripping onto the flesh of your thighs desperately. 

"I care about you too much. We need to come clean, fuck the consequences." 

His mouth is on your jaw, nipping at you harshly, hands groping at your flesh as if this were the first time, or the last time. 

You moan, throwing your head back as your fingers grip at his shoulders, feet digging into his back to force him between your legs, closer to your expectant heat. 

"Honey I forgot my purse-"

The world freezes. Your mother, still as a stone, stuck in between shutter speed frames. Her keys have fallen to the floor, splayed on the floor in her shock.

"What the fuck!" 

Your dad stands behind her, face twisted as you've never seen it; volatile, angry and red. A vein is popping deep in his temple, cheeks nearly purple in their rage. 

Eddie steps away, body shielding you with his hands held upward in supplication. 

"Mick, look, we can explain-"

"Explain? Explain why you've got your hands all over my daughter??" 

"Listen, I-" 

"You fucking listen, get out of my house!"

Eddie steps away from you, hands still outstretched to the heavens as your mouth falls open. You're in shock, limbs refusing to respond to the impulses you're sending via your brain to move, damn it, move. 

Eddie exits the front door, your mother and father behind him. 

Finally, your legs find it in their muscles to listen. You shakily follow, finding your lover standing on the grass on the lawn, your father in front of him, clenched fists at his sides. 

It's not long before your fathers fist strikes out, landing on the side of Eddie's face with a glancing blow. Eddie staggers and stands firm, eyes flashing defiance, but hands making no move to defend himself. 

"Eddie, what the fuck do you think you're doing? She's half your age!" 

"Mick, just listen, I know what this looks like, I'm sorry, but-" 

"No, there's no sorry, she's my fucking daughter!" 

The other fist lands, hitting Eddie square in the eye. This time he falls backwards onto the well manicured lawn, hands still reaching to your father, begging. Neighbours are beginning to edge their way outdoors, drawn by the carnage.

"But I love her!" 

The words you never thought you'd get to hear were spilling from his soft lips, not a doubted syllable between them. The words you begged for silently, in the dead of night. Time stands still, at least for you. Your mom is frozen in time with you, hand hovering over her mouth. Your father, however, breaks the spell. 

'Get the fuck off of my property." 

As Eddie stands, you remember your voice. 

"No! No, Dad, I love him too. I love you Eddie!" Tears brim in your eyes, threatening to spill over your cheeks at the slightest blink. 

"You, inside. You don't even know what love is!" His angry fist is outstretched toward you, giving you a frightening glimpse of your father that you've never known.

"Mick, calm down, we should listen-" 

Your mother is silenced with a violent glance. 

"Inside, both of you. We'll talk in the morning." 

There's nothing you can do but witness Eddie getting up and walking to his house without a backwards glance. 

********************

Three days. It's been three days since that fateful encounter; three days since you knew your feelings towards Eddie were reciprocated. Your mother and father have practically kept you under house arrest during that time, holding some unknown shift pattern in order to keep you there. 

As far as you're aware, your father has lost it. It was never in him to discipline you as a child, but it seems he reached his limit that day, threatening to incarcerate you until the end of your time on earth was spent. 

Your mother is softer about this, but no amount of talking seemed to sway him. You'd even tried to sneak out of the house to find him at the foot of your window. 

It was early. Sunlight was seeping through the folds of your curtains as you lay there, cheek fastened to your pillow as it has been for a while. Bed sores were a real threat; not that you cared. Nothing mattered anymore, apart from the fact that Eddie loved you, and you loved him, and you were never going to see him again.

A distant noise reverberated outside, one you barely cared about. Footfalls then, on the landing. Familiar footfalls. 

As your door flings open, you look up with bleary eyes.

"Did you mean it sweetheart?" 

It's Eddie, your Eddie. Flinging your body off the bed, you envelop him in an urgent embrace. 

'Oh Eddie, I'm sorry, I didn't know that-' 

'Shh sweetheart, it's OK. Just… did you mean it? Do you love me?" 

"Eddie, I love you more than anything." 

His lips press against yours, hard, firm and brief. 

'Good. Pack a bag. We need to be quick."

"Why, where are we going?"

"Vegas."

Masterlist

Tag list (if you want to stay please reblog my sweethearts!) 

@hereforshmut @g4ys0n @winchester-angel @eddiemunson95 @corrodedcoffincumslut @shazzie33 @severusswife @daluamaia1 @callsignraver @lightvixxen @newlips @eddiethefreakkmunson @hollster88 @ali-r3n @bebe07011 @roanniom @eddiesprincess86 @eddiemunsons-missingnipple @daisyridleyyyy @lolalanaie @dandelionnfluff @latedawnsearlysunsets92 @luv-flor7777 @topaz1983 @pixxie2004 @harmfulb1tch @findmeincorneliastreet @eddies-puppet @fertilitygodkiszka @freshsagegarden

#ms gexy writes #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie x you #eddie x reader #older!eddie #older eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie my beloved #eddie munson x fem reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x younger reader #stranger things x reader #stranger things smut #stranger things #stranger things x you #stranger things x y/n

[minaturefics]

Between the Shelves

Gift for @tolkien-fantasy ❤️: Gale x librarian!Reader, and a scene where he helps her get something from a high shelf.

A/N: My first time writing Gale - I tried very hard to get his speech and his mannerisms right. Hope you enjoy it friend!

Gale x librarian!Reader

Fem reader

No content warnings

1.9k words

---

It was raining again in Waterdeep. The cool spring showers were yet to give way to the more temperate summer drizzles and the wind still held the lingering chill of winter. The library, however, through arcane means, remained comfortably warm and dry. You looked up from the patron registry on the counter for a moment and surveyed the room. 

There were only a few people milling about between the shelves, and one or two scholars sequestered away in the reading nooks poring over books. There was the soft whisper of turning pages, an occasional cough or sneeze, and the faint scratch of pen on paper. A slow morning, but that was a relief. At least you wouldn’t have to chase out handsy youths or deal with yet another patron accidentally setting fire to something.

Really, those wizards should know better than to mutter random incantations they find scrawled in the margins of books. 

You glanced back down at the registry and your eyes lingered on one of the names. Gale Dekarios. Your fingers hovered above the neat, cursive script, and a wistful sigh escaped your lips. He had wandered in a few weeks ago and spent a good few hours perusing the shelves. He had stopped by the counter with a stack of books and, while you filled out the borrowing cards, had rambled on about how delighted he was to find such a quaint library. 

From then on, it seemed as though Gale dropped by the library every few days. He would linger by the counter on his way in or out, commenting about the weather, chatting about some city gossip, or putting in a request for a new book or series of texts to be added to the library. He would lean on the counter, his robes stretching over his broad chest, and smile at you, his eyes alight with something you could not name. 

But then he would be gone, and you would be left with your books and pens and the endless quiet, eyes always drifting towards the door, wondering when he would walk through again. 

With a sigh, you stood up and stretched. Maybe it would be better to put the nervous hum underneath your skin to good use — there were books to sort and shelve. You turned towards the nearby cart and began organising the books, the rhythmic task pushing out thoughts of him. 

-

Gale walked around his sitting room, gathering books into a small stack in his arms. Was that all of them? He checked their due dates to be sure, but he supposed if he missed one out it was a good excuse to drop by the library to see you again. For a moment, he was worried that perhaps he was being too obvious. But how could he not return again and again?

He had been enraptured the moment he stepped into the library and saw you in a beam of sunlight. The light had haloed your head, your auburn hair nearly gold, and your beautiful blue eyes had shone from behind your glasses.

“Off to the library again, Mr. Dekarios?” Tara asked from where sat curled up on the armchair. “You’ve been going an awful lot recently.”

“Yes, well,” he cleared his throat, “what can I say? They do house some interesting texts and tomes.”

“And also, perhaps, an interesting librarian too?” she asked with a smug smile.

“Tara!”

“I know it’s been a long while since you’ve… courted someone, but this is really no way to go about it.”

“I’m… taking things slow, just gauging her interest. If there is any. Gods, I hope there’s some.” He glanced at her. “There’s no harm in that, is there?”

“You can hardly gauge her interest when you are barely showing any. Chatting about the weather? Putting in requests? I would be hard pressed to call any of that romantic conversation.”

He looked down at the books in his arms. Was he truly going about it at a glacial pace? It had been some time since he attempted to woo, let alone flirt with, someone.

You were so lovely and funny, and he so out of practice, that he thought going slow would reduce the risk of him putting his foot in his mouth. But perhaps Tara was right — banal small talk was not conducive for anything more than a passing acquaintance.

“Wait, have you been spying on me?”

She blinked at him, eyes full of mischief,  and then turned away and licked her paw, a clear dismissal. He shook his head and smiled, and headed out to the library.

-

“You’re looking wonderful as always,” a familiar voice said, and you turned. Gale stood by the counter with a stack of books and a smile on his face.

“Gale,” you greeted and placed the books you were sorting back onto the cart, trying not to flush at his words. “Back for more books?”

“Er, yes. I’m back for more books. This is a library after all, and a fine one at that. I say, I must commend your book borrowing system here with the cards and all that. It’s very — very —”

You blinked at him. “Old-fashioned?”

“Yes, perhaps, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing! Those larger libraries with their magical systems and arcane book tagging are at risk of interference if there are any fluctuations in the Weave. And of course, it’s quite nice to have the personal touch of one’s name written on a card and kept in a drawer.”

What was going on with Gale? He was usually quite chatty but this felt more like an anxious ramble than a casual conversation.

“I’m… glad you appreciate it,” you said, eyeing him.

“Especially in such a beautiful hand as yours. Were you formally trained at school in the art of penmanship?”

“Uh, no more than any other student.”

“Well,” he said with a slight bow of his head, “you have certainly outclassed your peers.”

A smile threatened to break over your face and you ducked your head to hide your rising blush. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“I was… hoping for a recommendation. Not for any of the arcane tomes, mind. Just… a regular book.”

“Alright,” you said slowly, taking his returned books and placing it on the desk to deal with later. You glanced around the library — it was fairly quiet and you could afford a few moments away from the counter. “We could have a look together if you’d like?”

His eyes lit up and a wide smile spread across his face. “Yes, please, after you.”

He walked beside you as you made your way down the aisle. “Are you looking for anything in particular?”

He shook his head. “I’d happily take one of your recommendations.”

He had a professorial look about him. Intellectual. Maybe he would enjoy some literary fiction? Or would that remind him too much of school? You turned down one of the aisle and paused in front of the wall of books. You scanned the spines, muttering the titles, thinking out loud. 

“This one was well received by the critics, and this one here is good if you like something gothic, oh, but I suppose this might be good if  you’re into —”

“What about the one up there? The, uh, the one with the spine of red and gold?”

You followed Gale’s gaze up to the book in question. “That? Well, I suppose no one can resist a good epic.”

You stretched, wobbling on the tips of your toes, and reached for it. Your hands scabbled at the air, fingertips just barely grazing the shelf the book was on. You landed back on your heels with a huff and glanced down the aisle. “I’ll need to find a footstool, if you don’t mind waiting, I’ll —”

The front of his robes brushed across your back. You could feel the warmth from him, smell his scent of musk and paper, hear his voice, low and rumbly from above you. “No need for that,” he said with a chuckle as he reached up. 

Pressed between his body and the shelf, you could do nothing but stand there, enveloped by him. What terrible, wonderful torture, to have him so close and yet for him to mean nothing by it. You squeezed your eyes shut, whether wishing the moment would last longer, or be over quickly, you couldn’t decide. But then he was stepping back, moving away, and the cool air of the library rushed to meet your heated skin.

“There,” he said with satisfaction. You stared at the shelves, eyes focussing and unfocusing on the book titles. “Erm, everything alright?”

“Yes, yes of course,” you said in a rush, schooling your face into something neutral and whirling around to face him.

He was no more than a step away. “Are you sure?” He tilted his head a fraction, brows knitting. “You’re looking awfully flushed.”

You fought the urge to press the back of your hand to your cheek and you looked away.

“I’m perfectly fine, really.” The bell from the counter rang out and you jumped at the chance to hide how flustered you were . “Now if that’s all, I need to head back…”

“Wait. A moment, if you will.” His hand shot out to grasp your wrist, but he withdrew it just as quickly. “Forgive me. Um.” He cleared his throat. “I must confess I did not really come by for a book.”

“You… didn’t?” You frowned at him, confused. “I mean, all we have here are books. If you were in search of something else…”

“I am in search of something else, but I rather think what I’ve been searching for is right here.”

His eyes were soft and warm, his smile tender and affectionate.

You stared at him. 

“Oh.”

“Yes, I…” He gestured awkwardly, the heavy book still in his hand, and gave a strained laugh. “I realised I haven’t been particularly clear in the past and it was at the behest of a… a friend… that I thought I should speak plainly.”

Your lips parted to reply, but he carried on, a rueful smile on his face.

“Now, I wouldn’t want to make things awkward for us, for you, I mean, especially here in your own library.  If, well, if you do not reciprocate my interest, have no fear — I will take my patronage elsewhere and you will not have to worry about our paths crossing.” His smile faltered and his eyes grew sincere. “Truly, I will go if you ask.”

Your heart raced, your breath hitching in your throat, and you let out an incredulous exhale. “And… if I ask you to stay?”

A grin broke out across his face. “Why, then, I find I have no choice but to stay.”

You stood there for a moment, just looking at him, taking in the grey around his temples, the way his hair curled around his ear, the creases at the corners of his eyes.

“We can’t stay here forever, you know,” you said with a playful smile, “the library closes at seven.”

“A pity, forever in such a place would be a veritable paradise.” He laughed. “No matter, I can think of at least ten other places that we could go. The gardens, if you’re so inclined? Or maybe to one of those lovely little restaurants that opened up near the harbour?”

The bell rang out again and you glanced towards the counter. “Ah, I’m wanted at the front. But maybe later…?”

“I won’t keep you,” he said with a slight bow of his head. “Shall I meet you outside by the fountain? Seven?”

You nodded, already turning away, and threw a smile over your shoulder. “Until then.”

His eyes were full of promise and anticipation. “Until then.”

---

I am 100% convinced Gale would try to flirt by complimenting you on your skills/abilities. Also 100% convinced Tara secretly keeps tabs on his attempts at dating.

#gale x tav #gale x reader #bg3 #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep

[whoreforharlow]

Glad It's You

Author's Note: a little smutty Jack x virgin!reader fic requested by @jackharlowsbaby00 to @jackharloww . Hope I did it justice!

The original ask: "Omg! Okay so I have one of like an 18+ but the reader being a virgin and like really really nervous for her first time and jack comforts her through it and they have a good time!"

Warnings: p in v intercourse

"You alright?" Jack whispered into your ear. The two of you were settled on the cozy sectional at his house, a movie you weren't paying attention to playing on the flat screen mounted on the wall. He seemed engrossed in it, but you couldn't bring yourself to focus on the storyline. Your attention was on his arm around your shoulder, fingers gently brushing the skin your tank top left exposed; your attention was on his hand that laid innocently on your exposed thigh, your tiny pajama shorts riding up a bit; your attention was on the feel of his body under yours as you were pressed against him, each rise and fall of his strong chest alluding to the muscles that were hidden beneath his shirt.

"Mhm," you hummed, meeting his gaze with a tight lipped smile before turning back to the movie. You couldn't help yourself, your mind these last few days wandering further and further away from what could be considered decent thoughts about your boyfriend.

You two had been together for the last four months, and it didn't take long for you to blurt out that you were a virgin when he first attempted to initiate any intimacy. You hadn't meant for the words to tumble out so abruptly, but you had panicked a little bit, never having done much more than some innocent kissing. He was quick to reassure you that he didn't mind and that he wasn't going to pressure you into anything you weren't comfortable with. Jack kept to his word, going at your own pace and making sure you were comfortable with him.

"You sure? You seem distracted." You blushed a bit at his observations. He was right. You were distracted by him, his body, his scent, his presence. His tight gray tank and basketball shorts didn't help your cause either.

"I-" your mouth went dry as you caught the smirk on his beautiful face, his blue eyes shining under the bright lights from the screen in the dark room. He looked truly angelic, his curls framing his face like a halo, the little freckles peppering along his nose and cheeks giving him a youthful boyish look, his perfect teeth exposed through his plump pink lips as he smiled at you.

"I'm sure." You squeaked out, looking away from him once again. You felt your heart hammering in your chest; for the first time in a while Jack made you feel really shy under his gaze. He didn't respond much, just humming along as he settled back to watch the movie, his body shifting and readjusting under your weight before once again pulling you into his side. This time it was his hand on your thigh that drew light circles on your skin which made you jump up immediately from the couch. You stood there awkwardly, a humorous look on Jack's face as he looked at you with a raised brow.

"I, uh, I'm gonna go to sleep." You announce, faking the best fake yawn you could muster, turning around on your heel and all but sprinting to Jack's room. You face palmed yourself, thinking about how stupid you must've looked. You felt flushed, your brain pushing forward every desire you had, playing small clips of what you wished you had the courage to ask Jack to do to you. You plopped down on his bed, burying your face into the pillow and wishing the night would end.

Of course wishes never come true.

You heard the door open behind you, and you held your breath in hopes to convince him you actually fell asleep in the last seven seconds.

"I know you're not asleep, babe." Jack chuckled. You felt the bed dip as he crawled over to you.

"Go finish your movie." You spoke into the pillow, burying your face even deeper.

"Why don't you come finish it with me? Or better yet, why don't you tell me what else you'd rather do?" You wanted to question what he meant by that last part, but you didn't need an explanation once you felt him run a finger from the back of your knee up the back of your thigh to where your shorts ended just under your ass. You whirled around, pulling your legs away from his touch like it was fire, your eyes wide as you looked at him in disbelief of how this man could have known what you've been thinking all night.

His face held a goofy smile as he tried to hold back a laugh at your bewildered look. He knew how shy you were regarding intimacy, and his favorite thing was to tease you a bit to bring you out of your shell. The two of you had had plenty of make out sessions where you both had gotten a bit handsy, so he was surprised by how jumpy you had gotten from his touch.

"I-I-I don't know what you're talking about." Your claim was weak and you knew it. Jack could see right through you, you knew that. If Jack was anything, it was observant. He had caught every lustful glance you took of him, noticed every time you shuddered from his touch, or preened under his gaze. He could practically see the pornos your brain was playing out in your mind every time he caught you staring at him. He noticed how you were needier lately and more sensitive to his touches, hell even just a glance from him had your knees ready to buckle.

"Hmm." He just hummed along, crawling closer to you as you scooted back, you were so close to the edge of the bed he was sure one more scoot and you'd fall right off it. He wanted to keep teasing you, but he was also careful because he knew how your nerves could cause you to shut down if it got to be too much. Instead he settled himself against the headboard in the middle of the bed, keeping a short distance between you two, wanting to make sure you didn't feel cornered.

He just held out a hand to you, giving you the choice to come to him instead, and you were more than eager to. You jumped right into his lap, letting his arms hold you tight as you try to calm your racing heart.

You've always been a shy person, a little quirky and dorky growing up, and though you hoped that you would grow out of that, it seemed to stick with you into adulthood. It was what intrigued Jack the most about you, yet you couldn't see how anyone could like that, especially being in your mid 20s. The more you got to know Jack, the more you got to see that he also had his quirky and dorky ways about him, but unlike you, he could turn them off and become this sexy and smooth person. You were envious of that, feeling like maybe Jack would prefer someone more sexy and less... well, not sexy.

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?" He spoke the words against your forehead as he held you tightly to him. You shook your head, cuddling closer into his chest as your brain played out another explicit scene.

"Well, do you want to know what's going on in my head?" You shook your head again, not knowing where he was going with this. "Too bad, I'm gonna tell you anyway," he chuckled.

"I'm thinking about how sexy you looked tonight at dinner. I'm thinking about how that dress hugged your body so good, hugging all your curves," his hands ran along your body slowly, accentuating his words, your breathing picking up as you shut your eyes.

"I'm thinking about how this ass looked so good in that fucking dress," his voice was deeper, his hands reaching down to the fleshy mounds, shifting you so you now straddled his lap, immediately hiding your face in his neck again.

"I'm thinking about how badly I wanted to fuck you. I wanted to fuck you against the front door before we left, in the car on our way there, hell I wanted to fuck you right at that dinner table in the restaurant." He spoke the words so casually, his lips close to your ear, his breath making you shiver, "I've wanted to fuck you this entire night, baby," he confessed, "and then we come back and you're running around my house in this sad excuse for pajamas," you know exactly what he's talking about. Your silk tank top and shorts barely covered anything, but it was all you had clean and you were in a rush to pack a bag to spend the weekend with Jack.

"You've been teasing me all night, really testing my self control. But you wanna know what's really been testing me?" You shook your head again, making him chuckle. "Your eyes." His voice dangerously low in your ear. "You've been giving me those pretty little "fuck me" eyes the whole damn night." You felt your mouth dry at his words, you hadn't realized you were being so obvious.

"Is that what you want, baby? You want me to fuck you?" His head nudged the side of yours, his hands still rubbing against your ass and thighs. You took a deep breath, nodding your head slowly, not having the courage to look up at him.

"Too bad I'm not gonna fuck you." He sighed dramatically, making you pull back and look at him in disbelief. There was no way he was going to work you up like this and then pull the rug out from under you.

"Wh-why not?" You were disappointed at his admission.

"Because... I'm going to make love to you instead." He said with a smile on his face, making you roll your eyes at his silliness, pushing his shoulder as you let out a giggle.

"That wasn't funny, Harlow." Replacing your smile with a faux pout.

"I just wanted to get you out of your head, babe. It's just me and you here, there's nothing to be shy about." His hand came up to cup your cheek, you nuzzled into his warm palm as you gazed at him lovingly. He was honestly the sweetest and most patient person you'd ever met. Ever since you two had gotten together, he was always so attentive to you, making sure that you always felt comfortable and secure.

"I'm glad it's you, Jack." You whisper to him.

"I'm glad you chose me, baby," he whispered back, pulling your face to his for a sweet kiss. You sighed against his lips, your hands resting comfortably on his shoulders as you just took a moment to think about what was about to happen. You smiled against his lips, his own lips pulling into a smile as you two pulled away to look at each other. You blushed a bit and he quickly pecked your nose, before pulling away to grab his phone. His thumb quickly moved across the screen for a moment before you heard music playing softly through the speakers, then the lights dimming as he swiped the screen slowly. He placed the phone on the nightstand, his full attention back on you now.

"Sorry about that. Had to set the mood for my girl. Do you want anything? Anything to make you feel more comfortable?" He was so sincere as he asked, but you shook your head unsure of what else to do. You honestly weren't sure what one would need to feel comfortable. You, of course, weren't dense and you knew about the ins and outs of sex, but you didn't have any personal experience.

"Don't worry, we'll take it slow, okay?" You nodded again, feeling too nervous to speak. "Let's get you back out of that pretty little head of yours. I know just what to do." He smiled at you, pulling you back in for a kiss, his skillful lips effectively relaxing you. He pushed you down on your back, laying your head down on the plush pillows. He used one arm to keep himself hovering above you, his other hand slowly caressing your waist. Your hands were in his curls, pulling and tugging on the soft ringlets, making him groan.

He pulled away, his lips leaving wet kisses down your exposed neck and collarbones before pulling away to lift his shirt up over his head, tossing it elsewhere. You took a few shy glances at him, but kept looking away.

"It's okay, you can look. Hell, you can touch too if you want." He winked, making you giggle. You worked up the courage to really take in his torso, reaching out your hands to trace along the contours of his upper body: his arms, his shoulders, his chest, down to his stomach and the waistband of his shorts. You take a glance up at his face, a smirk on his lips as he watched you, making you blush and look away, pulling your hands away from him and covering your face with your arm

"Hey, nothing to be shy about. I'm all yours, baby." He says, pulling your arm down. "All yours tonight." He places a kiss on your cheek. "Tomorrow." A kiss on your other cheek. "The day after that." A kiss to your nose. "And the day after that." He now peppers kisses all over your face, once again pulling you out of your shell, his facial hair tickling your skin and making you giggle. He pulled away to let you both breathe, the two of you lightly out of breath.

"Just so you know, I'm nervous too." He says shyly, making you look at him in disbelief. Jack? Nervous? Impossible.

"I know what you're thinking, but yeah, I am nervous. I've never been with someone I love this much before, and I really want to make this the best possible experience for you." He confesses. "I'm nervous about fucking it up somehow." He chuckles, a blush creeping across his cheeks.

"Like you said, it's just me and you tonight, J." You reassure him, lacing your hand in his and giving it a squeeze. He smiles at you, leaning down to capture your lips again. Your actions were slow, really taking your time to taste one another and unwind.

"I think it's unfair that I'm the only one topless here." He teases once you two pull apart, his fingers playing with the strap of your tank top before pulling it down a bit. He wasn't in a hurry, but he wanted to test the waters with you. He trailed kisses across your chest and shoulder, his lips brushing against the top of your sensitive breast. Jack brought a hand to your waist, above the silk of your top, and slowly crept it up to under your breast, not going further until he felt your hand in his hair tight and your back arch. He took the cue and cupped your breast and gave it a squeeze, making you moan. He brought his tongue across the exposed flesh that bulged out of the tank top before leaning down to capture your pebbled nipple through the fabric.

"Jack," you gasped, squeezing the hand that was still intertwined with yours on the bed. You'd never felt anything like that before, the warm wetness of his mouth, even over the fabric, was enough to have you moaning. Jack couldn't get enough of the noises coming from your mouth, each sound egging him on more and more.

"More Jack, please," you begged. You pulled your hand out of his hair, pulling down the top of your tank, revealing yourself to him and he took no time to capture the puckered nub into his mouth. The previous sensations with a silk barrier were nothing compared to the texture of his tongue as it lapped at your chest, the sharp tugs of his teeth and sucking of his lump lips had you dazed. You couldn't think, your head cloudy with the new experience and you just wanted more of it, pushing his head against your chest, making him chuckle against you.

"Did my pretty girl like that?" He hummed as he pulled away, earning a sound of protest from your lips. You were left exposed as he pushed away from you slightly, observing your disheveled state—hair messy, eyes wild, skin flushed, one breast out of your now twisted tank top. He was in awe of you. You, on the other hand, felt shy; your hand moving to adjust your tanktop and preserve your modesty, but his free hand captured yours and pulled it to rest on the bed near your head.

"There's no need to hide, baby. It's just me. I already love you clothed, now I just want to love you naked too." His words made your heart skip. The two of you had exchanged "I love yous" about a week or so ago, and you weren't sure if you'd ever get used to hearing those three words coming from his lips. Every time you did, it felt like a dream that you never wanted to wake up from.

"I love you too." You said, looking up at him prettily, making Jack groan.

"Say that again while looking at me like that, and I'll cum right here in my pants." He joked, making you giggle, puckering your lips to let him know you wanted another kiss, which he happily obliged. You let go of both of your hands that were intertwined with his, cupping his face and running your hands through his beard, loving the feel of it under your fingertips.

After a moment, you pulled away from his lips breathless, resting your head on his as you kept your eyes closed for a moment. You took a deep breath before pushing against his shoulders as you followed him to a sitting up position. You grabbed the hem of your tank top, peeling it away from your body with the intention of tossing it elsewhere, but you pulled it back to cover yourself once more. You looked up at Jack with wide eyes, your nerves shooting back up at the thought of being topless in front of a man for the first time. You opened your mouth but closed it again, unsure of what you even wanted to say in that moment.

"It's okay, baby. It's just me, just Jack." He reassured you. "You don't have to take it off if you don't want to, you can put it back on. Whatever you're comfortable with." His hand came to rub your arm that was held tightly against your chest. You shook your head. You really wanted to do this, you wanted to be vulnerable with him.

"C-can I have another kiss?" You asked shyly, your eyes almost teary, making him pout at your nervousness.

"You can have whatever you want, baby." He promised, cupping your cheeks and delivering a kiss worthy of an Oscar in hopes of comforting you. It was a kiss that had you forgetting all of your insecurities, your arms abandoning their post against your chest, dropping the silk as you leaned up and climbed into Jack's lap, your arms wrapping around his neck, your chest pressed right to his. A deep groan left his throat, exciting you as you continued to kiss him like your life depended on it. You enjoyed the feeling of skin against skin, finally feeling his warmth without any barriers, his soft chest hair tickling you as you pressed yourself harder against him, distinctly aware of the bulge you felt against your inner thigh.

You felt his hands leave your face, slowly making their way down your neck and shoulders, feeling their way across your back and waist, coming over to your sides to brush your hips and stomach, before creeping up to cup your breasts again. You pull away, enjoying his nimble ministrations, your head falling back as you ignore every insecure thought and just enjoyed the feeling of his touch. He watched you pull away from his body, your hands steady on his shoulders as you bared your torso to him, his eyes feasting on what no other man has ever.

"You're so beautiful baby, beyond beautiful." His words were quiet, as if he was in disbelief that someone could be so beautiful. You blushed, but resisted the urge to cover yourself again. You squeezed your eyes tight as you felt his fingers begin tracing the outline of your upper body, leaving no part of you untouched. His lips met yours quickly, before placing another kiss on your chin, then across your jaw, down the column of your neck to the front of your throat, and down your sternum. You felt him stop between your breasts, the two mounds cupped in each hand as he brought them together, his face nuzzled between the flesh as he blew raspberries, making you giggle and push him away.

"You did not just do that!"

"I've been wanting to motorboat these titties since I saw them in that top you wore on our first date." You recalled the black velvet corset top you wore, the stiff underwire basically had your boobs pushed up to your chin. You were adamant that it was inappropriate, but your friends vetoed your request to wear something else.

"Happy now?" You laughed, looking down at him from your perch on his lap.

"Very! But, I think I'm gonna be an even happier man by the end of the night." He winked, a finger tugging at the waistband of your pajama shorts before letting it snap back against you. You blushed, looking away from him, feeling nervous all over again.

"Lay back for me baby." He gently commanded. His hand on the small of your back guiding you back down to the bed, your heart racing at the thought of what was about to happen.

"Are we gonna... now?" You ask nervously, feeling embarrassed about even asking.

"No, baby, not yet. I gotta make sure you're ready for me, just relax." You released a sigh, not necessarily of relief, but a sigh nonetheless.

"Just trust me, okay. Can you do that?" You nodded.

"Uh-uh, I need to hear it." He insisted.

"I trust you, J."

"Good." He hadn't realized how much of an affect hearing you say you trusted him would have on him. He smiled, warmth blooming in his chest. He took this very seriously, wanting to make sure your first time was perfect.

He leaned down, pressing a few kisses to your chest before moving down to capture your nipple in his mouth again, his other hand giving attention to the other, massaging, pinching and tugging. He wanted you to get lost in the sensations like you did the first time, and he could tell by your body language and moans that he had accomplished just that. He pulled his mouth away, moving slowly down your stomach and navel, placing open mouth kisses on the exposed skin. His fingers gently played with the band of your shorts, his eyes looking up to try and meet yours but your eyes were closed and head turned away.

He made the executive decision to continue, slowly peeling down the silk fabric, noticing the soaked patch along the inner seam, the fabric darkened with your desire for him. His actions were slow, giving you the chance to stop him at any time, but instead you lifted your hips up to assist him in his task. You allowed him to pull the fabric away, your thighs pressed together as you attempted to hide yourself from him. He discarded the fabric, coming to lay beside you, two of his fingers coming to rest under your chin and guide your face back to his. Your eyes remain closed, and he took a moment to look at your face, pouting at the thought that you were uncomfortable with him seeing you.

"Open your eyes, pretty girl." He whispered to you, his hand caressing your cheek. You shook your head.

"C'mon, let me see those pretty eyes." He asked again, placing a kiss on each eyelid, your lashes tickling his lips. Your eyes fluttered open, a little teary because of your nerves. He grabbed your hand, holding it in his as he brought it up to his chest, over his heart which was beating fast.

"I'm nervous too. It's perfectly normal." You were still baffled that Jack could feel nervous, he was always so confident in everything he did, it was something you admired about him. You just nodded in response before pulling your intertwined hands away from his chest, putting them on your navel and guiding it lower. You unclamped your thighs, relaxing a bit as you both watched your hand guide his between your legs. You widened your legs a bit, allowing him more space as you let his hand go, your hand now simply resting on his forearm as you allowed him to explore your most sacred space.

You scooted closer to him, resting your head on his arm that he used to keep himself up, your free hand pulling him down to kiss him again. You felt two fingers slide between your folds, slipping through with the ease of your slick. You both moaned at the feeling: you at his fingers rubbing against your sensitive flesh and him at the warm wetness that he was excited to feel wrapped around him. His fingers were slow and gentle, just rubbing your mound, his ring and middle between your folds with his forefinger and pink on the outside. He paid attention to every sound you made as you two kissed, adjusting his speed or pressure to see what reactions he could elicit from you.

He was cautious as he dipped his middle finger inside you, slowly pressing the digit inside you, your wet walls welcoming it with ease. His motions were slow and you didn't have much of a reaction, so he decided to add a second, his ring finger pressing in as well. This time you gasped at the sensation, the two fingers filling you in a way you hadn't felt before. It was different than your own fingers, two of his feeling like 3 of yours. You moaned at the feeling, his fingers curling against the spongy ceiling of your core repeatedly

"Oh, Jack," you moaned, your head pressing into his bicep as you pulled away from his lips to breathe. You nodded, biting your lip to stop another moan as he used his thumb to apply pressure to your clit.

"Jack, please," you felt that familiar knot in your stomach, stronger than you had ever felt it when it was just you alone. You gripped his forearm, scared he'd pull away. You widen your legs, shifting your hips to the rhythm of his fingers.

"I've got you, angel." He applied just a bit more pressure, keeping the same steady pace as he listened to every one of your moans get louder until you let out a breathless cry, your back arching as your thighs clamped around his hand. He kept his fingers moving inside you, his fingers feeling the gush of wetness your orgasm released.

Your breathing was heavy, your body buzzing from your orgasm. It wasn't your first orgasm, not at all, but it was your first given to you by someone else and it felt better than anything you'd ever felt before. You opened your eyes to see Jack watching you in adoration, making you blush and look away with a shy smile. He chuckled a bit, pulling his hand from between your legs.

"Have you ever tasted yourself?" You shook your head. You never thought about it before. He brought his now soaked fingers to your lips and you hesitantly took just the tips between your lips, tasting the bland fluid before pulling away with a scrunched face. It didn't taste like much, a bit salty in your opinion. He chuckled and took the digits fully between his lips, moaning at the taste.

"I can't wait to taste you properly." He stated, pulling away to move down your body, but you reached out to stop him, slightly uncomfortable with the thought of having him eat you out.

"Jack... not this time?" Your statement came out more like a shy question.

"Sure, angel. Whatever you want." He was quick to reassure you that you were in charge. "Next time." He promised with a wink, making your face burn at the thought.

"You know," you cleared your throat, "It's unfair that I'm the only one naked." You pointed out, snapping the waistband of Jack's basketball shorts against his hip as he had done to you earlier.

"I couldn't agree more! Where are my manners, princess," he was eager to get naked, jumping up from the bed to take off the final barrier. He jumped back into bed, making you bounce and giggle at his theatrics.

"Better?" He wiggled his eyebrows at you, completely exposed without a single care in the world. You lowered your gaze to your hands in your lap, bashful to take a peek of what the fabric had held covered all this time.

"You can look, you know. I don't mind. I'm all yours." He reassured you. You looked up at his face for a moment, his smile was kind and reassuring. You slowly allowed your eyes to trail down his body, gasping once you saw his hard dick, both long and wide. You glanced back at him with wide eyes, nervous of how that was meant to fit inside you. You had obviously seen a dick, granted not in person, but you've seen them nonetheless. Your girlfriends always reassured you that the size of dicks in real life were significantly smaller than the intimidating ones in porn. But here laid Jack, with a dick big enough to have its own category in porn.

"I..., is that...,will it...," you couldn't form a sentence as you tried to look away from it, but couldn't. It was pretty, almost mesmerizing as you watched it bob under its own heavy weight. You looked back up at Jack, a proud smirk on his face.

"Don't worry, it'll fit." He winked, reading your mind and answering your most pressing question. He got up on his knees, coming to sit in front of you so you could get a closer look. You took a moment to gaze upon the naked male figure in all its glory; Jack truly looked sculpted, carved from the finest marble. You'd never seen a naked man in person, but you were glad that Jack was the first.

"Can I...?" You glanced down at his length and back up at his eyes. He nodded and smiled encouragingly. You started your descent from his shoulders, getting up on your knees in front of him for better leverage. Your hands working their way down the contours of his body, tracing the veins and muscular outlines until you reached his happy trail. You skipped touching his dick, opting to massage both of his thighs, feeling the powerful muscles under your hands. You finally found the courage to trace a finger from the base to the tip, swirling your finger around the bulbous head making Jack hiss at the sensitivity.

"I'm sorry!" You pulled your hand away, but he brought it back, encouraging you to hold the base of him.

"It's okay, it's just sensitive. Just be gentle." He informed you. You held him in your palm, handling him gently as instructed. You didn't do much, afraid of hurting him in some way, but you stroked him a bit, enjoying the way eyes closed and he groaned. You pulled your hand away from him, gently laying it on his thigh as his eyes reopened.

"You're really pretty, Jack." You shyly complement, referring to the face he made when you were pleasuring him just moments ago.

"Not as pretty as you, my love." He smiled and pulled you in for a short kiss. He pushed you back against the bed, reaching over to his night stand to grab a small foil packet. You lifted yourself on your elbows and watched him with curiosity as he opened the wrapper, positioning it on the head of his dick. You reached out your hand, placing it on the latex and attempting to roll it down, but you were unsuccessful alone, looking at an amused Jack for assistance as he helped guide your fingers to lower the rubber down his length.

"Thank you, my little assistant." He teases as he came to hover over you again. "Hmm, maybe we can role play that some day." He mused, making you giggle and roll your eyes. By now you knew that he was just trying to keep you out of your head with a few jokes.

"You ready, angel?" He asked you with soft eyes. You nodded to him, but you knew that he would want to hear you say it.

"I trust you." You reminded him again, ready to take this next step with him. Jack lowered himself between your legs, you found a comfortable position with them on either side of his waist. You felt him rub himself between your folds, the abundance of slick coating him to aid in his insertion. You felt the bulbous head press at your entrance, pressing and pulling back a few times before finally pressing in at a slow pace. You closed your eyes as you felt Jack's forehead rest against yours.

"You're doing so well, baby. So good." He whispered, his lips grazing yours as he spoke the words. You tried to keep your breathing steady, focusing on his words as he spoke to you. There was a stinging as he stretched you open, your body tensing at the foreign intrusion, causing Jack to pause.

"You just gotta relax f'me, okay?" His words were strained as he fought the urge to bury himself in your wet heat. He'd waited months for this, willingly and happily of course, but nonetheless waited months to experience this. He placed kisses around your face, kissing away the lone tear from the corner of your eye.

"So... you come here often?" He joked, making you choke out a giggle at his silliness. Only Jack could make the most intimate and vulnerable moment of your life light and easy. Once your fit of giggles died down, Jack decided to test the waters and press in further, pressing in to about the halfway point before he heard a pained cry escape your lips.

"I know, baby, I'm sorry. If I could take the pain away, I would." He promised, you nodded your head against his, knowing that he meant every word of it. You kept your eyes closed, your face scrunched as you felt the girth of him stretch you open.

"Just keep going, J. It's okay." You told him.

"We can wait, there's no rush."

"No, Jack. Just do it, please. I want to get this part over with." You weren't sure what was worse, the burn of the stretch or sitting in anticipation. You'd rather just rip the bandaid and get it over with.

"Please, Jack. I want to feel you." You looked up at him with pleading eyes. You knew he was hesitant about hurting you, he hated that he's already hurt you and hated the fact that he was about to do it again. He nodded, leaning down to kiss you as he slid the rest of the way in, making you cry out. He was swift with his movements, pressing in fully and groaning at the feeling, his thighs shaking as he ducked to nuzzle into your neck. He felt guilty that what brought him intense pleasure also brought you pain. He pulled away from your neck, pressing a kiss to your cheek and asking if you were okay, you just nodded and looked away from him.

He rested his head on your cheek, the two of you panting in each other's embrace before he moved to capture your lips with his. His arms came to cradle you to his body, kissing you passionately. As your body relaxed you began moving against the pressure inside you, rocking your hips gently. Jack pulled his head away from you, watching your face as you continued to move your hips; your eyes were shut, brows furrowed, mouth in an O shape as you took in the foreign sensations between your legs. You felt Jack nudge his nose against yours, getting your attention, your eyes fluttering open to meet his.

"You okay, princess?" His eyes searched yours. You nodded and smiled at him, your hips finding a rhythm that felt good as you continued to rock against him.

"I wanna feel you, Jack." You shyly whispered, not knowing how to ask him to move. He took your hint, pulling back his hips just a bit before pushing back into you, the two of you moaning. He continued like that, each thrust pulling out a little further, pushing in a little harder, testing the waters, carefully analyzing your reactions.

"Oh God, Jack," you couldn't help but moan in his ear. You had never felt something like this, the fullness of him inside you reaching a place you truly didn't know existed. You had heard about sex, read about sex, watched it, but nothing could compare to the actual feeling of it. The connection, physical, emotional, spiritual, was indescribable. You held on to Jack as he expertly worked your body, angling your hips as he continued thrusting and grinding a place so deep inside you. Each thrust wound the coil in your abdomen up tighter and tighter, his lips attacking any exposed skin that he could kiss, his hands caressing your body in a way no man had ever done before. It was all enough to have you crashing over the edge, a fire licking its way from your core to the tips of your fingers and toes, waves crashing over you again and again, your body drowning yet your spirit being brought to life all at the same time.

You held on to him, your legs wrapping around his waist, arms around his neck as you tried to catch your breath. You were sensitive all over, your body shaking and twitching with what felt truly like electricity. As you regained your awareness, you let your muscles relax, slowly releasing him and letting your limbs collapse onto the bed. You felt Jack pull out of you, falling over to your side as he pulled you close to his sweaty body, a kiss delicately placed to your forehead as he caught his breath.

You looked at his beautiful face, his skin completely flushed as he laid there with closed eyes. You watched him for a bit before having a curious thought.

"Jack?" You called to him. He just hummed in acknowledgment. "Did..., did you, um..., uh-," you weren't sure how to ask him.

"I did," he chuckled, opening his eyes to look at your curious face.

"You did?" Even though you felt embarrassed, you still wanted to make sure he was satisfied.

"Yeah, baby. You were probably too into your own orgasm to realize I came too." He teased, making you blush.

"Sorry," you apologized, feeling a little selfish for not paying more attention to him.

"No need to apologize, baby. Just means we've gotta do it again." He wiggled his eyebrows as he came to lay over you. You giggled, brushing his sweaty curls out of his face to kiss him.

"You did so good, angel. So proud of you." He whispered, his tone soft but serious. You blushed and thanked him, if it weren't for his patience, this experience could have gone in a completely different direction.

"So... what was that idea about you being my assistant, hm?" He teased, going back to his silly self and making you giggle.

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#jack harlow #jack harlow imagine #jack harlow smut #jack harlow fic #jack harlow x reader

[antis0cial23]

Heart and Lungs

Lewis Hamilton x Reader

Summary: Reader is in a bad crash during a race that Lewis had to sit out

Warnings: Mentions of blood and injury, kinda dark, no use of names, religious themes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The world spun, just as her car did off the track. All confidence left her body with every roll of the car, thanking whatever angel that made the halo that kept her safe. her car crashing into a barrier with the noise of a thousand oceans, maybe a radio, rushing in her ears before nothing, the absence of everything. No sight, no sound, only a taste. A taste of blood settled deep in her bones. All she could do was accept it, and she did. Metallic and hot, sticky and wet. Everything came crashing down within seconds, but every roll of her car was years of her life. Blood. Red. Racing. The car. Crumpled, ruined. Expensive. She felt like she was on a cloud, light. Floating. Then the sun was shadowed. Dark. Cold. And for some reason, it hurt. Pain, sharp yet dull. Everywhere. Just like the dark it was all-encompassing. Final. Or was it?

            He watched from the sidelines as her car spun out, rolling like waves from the far seas. Fear. Heavy, strong. He prayed to whatever god existed or would listen that she would be ok. He heard the gasps around him at the final crash of metal against metal, ringing out in sick harmony. He heard the echoes of questions sent to her radio. Everything echoed. Loud, big. His world shattered in seconds. Crumbling, fading. His vision blurred with black, eyes honing in on her mangled car, mentally on his knees, begging for anyone to listen to his prayers. He was quiet. Silent, empty. He watched the med cars speed by, thinking he would give her his lungs so she could breathe, his heart to hers could beat, his health so she could simply be. Be safe. Be alive. Be well. He sat still, watching. Unmoving, broken inside. He watched as they got her from the car, unconscious, Still, unmoving. Her visor broken, red leaking from under her helmet. Vivid, vicious. Blood. Her upper body resting on a medic's leg, he wished it was him. He wanted to be the one there with her, telling her he had her. Hell, he’d rather it be him unconscious and bleeding rather than her. She would be safe if it was. But she wasn’t. She couldn’t be as blood was left in her wake. Like a sick path to find her, it trailed behind where she had been. She wasn’t dead, no. Not yet. Yet.

            Let her be alive, his prayers changed as he saw her body in a bed. He prayed that her heart was beating, her lungs breathing because if they weren’t, he’d give her his. He’d always have her even if she didn’t have him. If they hit rough waters, he’d be the one to give his life to keep her dry, safe, and alive. Alive. Breathing. Please be breathing. And she was. Heart monitor beeping rhythmically, just like the seas of torment his mind sailed. They used to be kings and queens, ruling the world. But like ancient limestone, it all came down within seconds. He saw the cuts on her cheekbones, her brows, her forehead from the shattered visor. Dried blood stained her beautiful skin red, angry. They tormented him just like the gods who never answered. Who sat and watched as her life was barely spared.  He cursed them and denounced each and every one. For if they were real, it would’ve been him. His lungs bruised, his heart damaged. Not hers, never hers. But gods were cruel. They took. Don’t take her from me. Her heart continued to beat; lungs continued to breathe. For now.

            So lord when I die, I want to live on the outskirts of heaven. She thought. For the first time in days. Wildflowers and honeybees line the dirt roads, that’s where I want to hang my wings. Welcome me from my gates of iron to yours of pearl. Streets of coal to yours of gold. Blue skies and dogwood trees. Her mind wandered, no sound penetrating her skull. Her serenity. Please welcome me to fields of hay, green grass full of shade from the light of you. She wasn’t met with the light of the gates, their reflection but a distant memory. She was met with the light of the sun, shading her face with orange. Please take me still, welcome me to you. Her body hurt like no other pain she had experienced, besides a warm hand on hers, keeping her from truly fading. Maybe not yet. Maybe this is ok. The warmth squeezed her, her name on his lips. His. Him. Oh. He was there, watching over her from wherever she was, by her side. Her angel in the dark, her warmth in the cold. Her lungs when she couldn’t breathe, her heart when hers couldn’t beat. Him. Please don’t take me, not yet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Inspired and some lyrics used from

#formula one #formula 1 #formula racing #lewis hamilton #mercedes amg petronas #lh44 #sir lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fanfic #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton imagine #Spotify

[puddingyun]

loving (also known as drowning) . ݁₊ ⊹ j.wy

wooyo x reader

wooyoung asks you to keep him company while he's in the bath . ݁₊ ⊹

: 691 words, drabble, kisses, nudity, fluff, references to religion :

a/n: inspired by 'silence' from the don't bother to knock series ˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗ requests open ♡

The bathroom was illuminated only by candlelight, flickering against the wall as it tried to run from its own shadows. Candles lined the edges of the bathtub, stuck in place by their own melted insides, and stood in clusters on each side of the sink tap. A few even glowed on the floor, wax slowly filling the divots between the tiles like a river trying to find its way back to sea through drought-dry land. The dim, orange-yellow light that they emitted reflected off of the water in the full bathtub, plunging the room into the nervous, wavering light of a cave at sunset.

Wooyoung sat motionless in the tub, the reliable rise and fall of his chest making timid waves in the bathwater. His eyes were shut, lashes unmoving where they rested against his cheeks. He'd likely been asleep for some time, lulled into dreams by the steamy air and the glow of all of the candles. You watched him carefully, worried that if his head lolled to one side or the other he'd burn his cheek or hair. His skin still bore a scar from when he'd stretched in bed and accidentally held his ankle in the flame of one of his candles. When he'd startled, he'd pressed his foot further into the hot wax, causing it to splash against his skin. Even now, the burn took the shape of a splash, curving around his joint the way a lover would.

For all of your worry, you were growing sleepy yourself, head resting against the wall and thighs pressed against the cold tile beneath you. Naked except for a worn pair of underwear, you didn't feel unlike a pilgrim finally kneeling before their God, dirt biting their skin as they dropped to their knees to begin worship. The candlelight formed a flickering halo around Wooyoung's head, painting the slants and slopes of his face with skittish shadows that made him more beautiful to you than any rendition of Mary and pallid cheeks stained with tears that would never dry. This shrine, built of candle wax and lukewarm water, tiles and grout, was more holy than anything else you could imagine, and all because Wooyoung sat at its centre.

When Wooyoung had asked you to sit with him while he bathed, you hadn't asked any questions. You'd joined him in the bathroom and stripped as he stripped, water thundering against the porcelain of the tub as it began to fill. With the music of the running water and the smell of blown out matches still fresh in the air there hadn't been any need for words. As you'd come to learn with Wooyoung, there was no need for explanations between friends. All the explanation you needed was in the reverent kisses you trailed along the nape of his neck, down to his shoulder blades and over every beauty mark that adorned him. Each kiss was a promise: as long as you'd love him, there'd be no need for explanations.

You pushed yourself up from the floor, feeling where the tiles had left behind their indents on your skin, and crawled forward to kneel by the bathtub. You slowly dipped your hand into the water, watching how it hugged your skin like it never wanted to let you go. You traced a fingertip over Wooyoung's open palm, his skin wrinkled from being in the water for so long, and then slid your fingers between his. His hand was limp as he slept, but still you felt your blood rush faster in your veins. He was your lover but he looked a lot like your God too. You rested your cheek against the cold edge of the bathtub and looked down at where your hands were intertwined.

"Good night, sleep tight.

Dream sweet dreams for me,

Dream sweet dreams for you."

Your soft singing, barely above a whisper, echoed in the room and returned to you sounding lonelier and more melancholy than when it had left. You stroked a thumb over the vein pulsing in Wooyoung's wrist. When you turned your head to watch him again, he was already looking at you. 

#pirateeznet #jung wooyoung x reader #jung wooyoung fluff #ateez x reader #ateez imagines

[polyamphilza]

Baby steps

I wrote a short soft fitpac thing as a gift for @routeriver because they're very cool and I don't know how else to befriend people other than writing for them - please enjoy <3 -🍄#2

AO3 link if that's easier to read, the formatting got messed up on both I'm sorry

Fit often wondered why he'd been allowed to keep most of his memories. 

Sure the others had some of theirs from the far past. Phil remembered Techno and their adventures together, he seemed to remember Wilbur though a lot more recent history was fuzzy. Cellbit could remember his time in prison. 

None of them seemed to remember as much as Fit did though. He felt the only time he’d lost was how he ended up on the train to Quesadilla island in the first place. 

Maybe they weren't all there, and he couldn't tell what was missing, but when he sat in bed at night staring at the ceiling, memories replayed in his mind. 

2B2T, first logging in and seeing the chaos of spawn. The first time he'd made friends, been given gear, only to be double crossed. The sleepless nights, wondering if he'd die, flinching as the sun rose only to realize he'd made it through another night. 

His first kiss, rough and messy, nothing he'd ever wanted from a first kiss but it got the job done as skin grew heated beneath grabbing hands. 

He'd tried to ask Cucurucho once, why he remembered. The bear had just stared with that same ever present creepy smile. 

Fit often wondered who he would be if he had forgotten his past. If he'd arrived on the island as a new person, a fresh start, unworried about possible old grudges coming for him and forgetting the calluses on his hands were made from fighting. 

Would he still hesitate? 

"Fit?" 

He startled, though you wouldn't know it from the outside. He stayed still as he looked over at the voice that had said his name, trying to figure out when he'd left his room and gone outside for fresh air. 

"Hey Pac, what's up?" He asked with a tired smile. 

Pac came to sit beside him with a small grunt of effort. He wasn't wearing his leg, instead using a crutch to keep his balance. He must have been in bed, or about to be when he'd come outside instead. 

Fit couldn’t ignore what a huge sign of trust that was. He didn't know if he could lose his prosthetic with anyone, it made him too vulnerable. 

Maybe for Pac he could. 

"Nothing, nothing. I was uh, coming to check on you and you were not there." Pac explained. The darkness hid his blush for the most part. 

"Aw, I'm sorry. Did you need me?" Fit asked, worried he'd let his roommate down. 

"No! No, I did not need you." Pac cleared his throat. "I just had not got to see you today. I wanted to, before I slept." He admitted shyly. 

Fit's mind took a moment to process that, and translate the meaning behind the words. "Oh, you missed me." He realized and smiled. 

Pac pulled his hoodie up to hide the lower half of his face a bit, clearly flustered at being called out. 

He nodded, keeping his gaze elsewhere. 

"I just get used to seeing you, you know?" He tried to explain. "You are a uh, a here always." 

"A constant?" 

"Yes, yes a constant." Pac smiled and nodded. "So I wanted to see my roomie before sleep." He bumped their shoulders together and chuckled. 

Fit looked over at him and felt warmth flow through his veins stronger than a good shot of whiskey. 

Pac's hair was dark, a beautiful contrast to the bright moon haloing behind his head. His smile was small, but still showed the dimple on his cheeks. He knew that if Pac pulled his lips back a bit more he'd get to see his sharpened teeth and the adorable gap between the two front ones. 

They sat there for awhile in silence, enjoying the presence of the other. Fit's mind continued to spin. 

"Pac," He started, stopped, licked his lips. He dragged his palms over his thighs, suddenly feeling sweaty. His throat was dry. He opened his mouth to continue only to pause again. No words would come out. 

"Fit?" Pac said after a moment, promoting him to continue. 

What if he had forgotten? Would he still hesitate? 

"... I like being your constant. You're mine too. I don't want that to change." Fit blurted out quickly, then bit his tongue and looked away. He covered his mouth with his hand as he found an interesting bit of grass to stare at and inspect nearby. 

He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. 

It was as truthful as he could be at the moment, and already he was wondering if he’d gone too far, if it was too much too soon. 

"I like it too." Pac mumbled, and it was the specific tone of voice he had when he was blushing and embarrassed. "I like it a lot." 

Silence stretched between them, and Fit thought that was okay. It was a comfortable kind of silence, with the wind blowing past softly. 

Maybe in another timeline, maybe another universe, he wouldn't hesitate. Maybe he would pick Pac up and kiss him soundly and admit just how much he cared about him. Maybe they would share a bed every night, and Fit would feel comfortable taking his prosthetic off in front of him. Maybe they would hold hands, and cook together. 

Maybe he could be happy. 

He wanted to believe he could have that here too. 

"Do you want help back to bed?" Fit offered. 

Pac blushed and giggled. "Yeah, yeah if you don't mind. Put those janitor muscles to the test." He joked. 

Fit laughed softly as he stood and picked Pac up. He thought about how nicely that color red suited his cheeks. 

"Alright, no funny business or I'm tossing you over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes." He warned playfully. 

Pac giggled and rested his head on Fit's shoulder, his hand laying flat against his strong chest. "Okay, no funny business. Professional business only." He joked. 

Fit brought him to bed with a smile on his face. He watched as Pac's eyelids grew heavy and he started nodding off. 

In the dim light of the room, with only God as his witness, he pressed the barest hint of a kiss to Pac's forehead and pulled the blanket up over his shoulder. 

Baby steps.

#fitpac #fitmc #pactw #q fitmc #q pactw #hideduo #my writing #qsmp hideduo #i don't know how to tag thingsssss

[sybaritick]

cal sybaritick's

durgetash fic recs 🔪⚙️

i love durgetash. i love evil/evil power couples. i love the drama and the religious guilt and the self-recognition through the other (derogatory) and the insane definitely-not-safe-sane-and-consensual kink.

for this reason, i have read several hundred durgetash fics on ao3. here is a non-exhaustive list of my favorites!

all of the recs will be marked with pronouns, race, and genitals (when relevant) of the durge for your convenience

An Obedient Butcher, A Beast On A Leash by NeverwinterThistle

durge notes: og/white dragonborn dark urge (my favorite!!), he/him with dick

E / 4.8k / sadism and masochism, choking, frottage and grinding / complete

The room was warm. It smelt strongly of skin; overheated, overcrowded, overscented to hide sweat. Fill for this prompt on the Baldur's Gate kink meme: Gortash and the Durge are lovers, but due to the strict orders of tyranny in all things that Bane requires, Gortash is not allowed to bottom, on pain of retribution or revocation of Chosen status from his god. And, well, maybe Gortash really wants to. What might their sex look like with such a restriction? How do they deal?

this author has done multiple incredibly good durgetash fics but this is definitely one of my favorites. the dynamic and push-and-pull between them is excellent, and you can tell they truly do respect each other in a sense, despite being godawful people. they glory in their empire of blood and that's so much fun. and of course, the kink in this one is delicious... yknow, every time i do fic recs i have the impulse to share things no one needs to know about my personal life for at least a couple of them, but you know what, maybe i can keep it to myself just this once. but the point is the way gortash wants to let durge tear his ass up but can't is incredibly hot, and i particularly like that gortash essentially considers it an outdated religious restriction... that bottoming is not actually indicative of True Submission in the way Banites are told to believe it does.

lose the halo, don't need to resist by @lamortactuallywrites

durge notes: they/them half-orc with dick :)

E / 7.0k words / bondage, orgasm delay/edging, kink negotiation / complete

There is no absolution to be found here. They wonder if their father is watching, if Bane is watching, if they will each know the wrath of their gods before the night is through. Yet somehow, with blood drying tacky on their hand, bruises pressed deep into their flesh, and his mouth hot around them like he was made for this, it feels private. Protected.

i adore the kink negotiation in this. gortash is such a jackass (affectionate)... and once they're in it, durge snapping back like an angry dog, struggling so beautifully, when they're too tied up to really fight back is hot. someone insulting you so desperately because in reality they know they're not the one in control is. extremely hot. like "come on tell me more about what a monster i am while you're tied up begging for me to touch you" ygm??? read the fic it's good.

Mutual Manipulations by fermiparadox

durge notes: he/him drow with dick

E / 3.1k words / hate sex, power dynamics, handjobs / complete

Bloodlust is its own kind of aphrodisiac.

i love the characterization of both Durge and Gortash in this one-- resplendently awful. and considerably less trusting of each other, in a way that's very enjoyable. this is absolutely hate sex, and done very well... Gortash wants to subjugate Durge and keep him on a leash, and Durge wants to murder him violently. beautiful!

Marsember Syrah by say_lene

durge notes: she/her with pussy

E / 5.7k words / dom/sub, [consensual] mind control, power dynamics / complete

After a successful operation in the High House of Wonders, Bhaal's Chosen and Bane's express their admiration for each other. It is, predictably, very tense. “Ah, so you’re concerned for my wellbeing,” he said – calm, even as a thin trickle of blood rolled down his neck. “You needn’t be. Our masters commanded us to cooperate, after all, and in suffering me to live, Bhaal opens the door to veritable rivers of blood. You know him better than I, of course, but surely even the Lord of Murder can see the value of delayed gratification.”

this author has done multiple incredibly good durgetash fics, but this one is my favorite. i love the way they characterize gortash. anyway, normally, being the mind control/brainwashing/hypnosis/etc fetishist i am, i would barely have anything to say about this other than "read this for the mind control descriptions they're so hot that i've read this fic at least four times." (which i have). however not only is that hot but everything else is *also* extremely hot, and well written/well paced. particularly the way gortash "offers" durge lesser banites to kill, and how she enjoys it so, despite not quite wanting to just let him hand-feed her like that yknow... very tasty.

Yank of the Leash by BlueCloverInGreen

durge notes: he/him with dick

E / 28.2k words / dom/sub, grooming, noncon and dubcon / complete

Many, many potential triggers. Please read the tags carefully. I will also post specific tags before each chapter. This is a work in progress and my first project. Critique is welcomed and appreciated. Not beta read.

definitely do mind the trigger tags on this one, as the summary mentions, but it's a great guilty pleasure-- and by guilty i mean you'll feel something for finding it hot considering how dark it is, especially with regards to the grooming aspect. i can read some very gory fics, noncon, heavy kink, etc and not question how into it i am, but this fic?? this fic made me feel guilty and uncomfortable and that's a compliment. it definitely gave me the sense "yeah, Gortash would want it like this"

Knowing by @chocolatecatcupcakecheese

durge notes: they/them

E / 3.4k words / power dynamics, cunnilingus, bondage / complete

“What were we to one another?” Tav asks at last. “We were allies before,” Gortash says. “We—” “Allies?” Tav interrupts, sing-song with insinuation. Gortash takes a slow, steadying breath against the echo of desire. That teasing tone of voice is so damnably familiar. “Yes.” His voice emerges lower than he intends. Tav laughs, a single exhaled note of contempt. Gortash steels himself and does not move away when they step closer, close enough to share the same breath. “Is that all?”

oh hey, gortash is trans in this!! that's definitely a favorite headcanon of mine. and it's totally for story-based reasons only (he's so transhumanist cmon) and not because i am also transmasc and also have several power-hungry techbro sellout things wrong with me. anyway, the way they talk to each other in this is *so* fun... their dynamic-- and their foreplay and dirty talk (which for a normal couple would perhaps not qualify as dirty talk) is great.

ménage à quatre by isolasea

durge notes: second person (you) with pussy

E / 2.9k words / power dynamics, BDSM, dubious consent / complete

Your Urge and his Hand, on each side of your mind and body, pulling you apart. Or, Gortash: [fucks like a tyrannical despot] Durge: [surprised pikachu meme face]

this fic is so much fun for the d/s power kink stuff and it also has some excellent lines wrt gortash's obsession with control. i mean right at the beginning even, “All murder and no play in the Church of Bhaal?” that and gortash trying to put another finger in durge even while he's fucking them and they're barely taking it as it is-- it's so greedy and so very fitting for him.

#bg3 #bg3 fanfiction #durgetash #enver gortash #cal txt #fandom

[sailor-aviator]

Fool's Fare Teaser

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader

Summary: Captain Jake "Hangman" Seresin had come close to swinging from the gallows more times than he would care to admit. He's stolen, cheated, even killed. The worst thing he's ever done? Broken the heart of a woman. Having broken the heart of the woman whom Davy Jones himself had fallen for six years ago, Jake is now cursed to live as something not dead, but not alive. He's doomed to live a half-life for the rest of his existence unless he manages to obtain the treasure Davy Jones deems most valuable. The problem? He has no idea what it is, and he only had seven years to obtain it.

Series CW: Violence, Swearing, Supernatural themes (not the show), Jake Seresin, slow burn, references to sex work, suggestive language, eventual smut, fluff, angst, firearms, etc. There will be chapter specific warnings!

A/N: Alright, here's the teaser for Pirate Captain!Jake I've been dangling in front of y'all's noses lol The teaser is from further into the fic, so you probably won't see it for a while, and to be COMPLETELY honest, some of this might change, but I at least wanted y'all to see what it was you signed up for. As always, reblogs, comments, and likes are encouraged and appreciated! Find me on AO3 under sailor_aviator where I will be updating my fics as well!

His golden blonde hair shimmered in the evening light. The sun kissed the horizon just passed his shoulder, creating a halo that glowed around him. If you didn’t already know him, you’d think he was an angel. He stares at you as if he can see into the very depths of your soul, his olive green eyes never wavering.

“Do you believe in Davy Jones, Tesoro?” he asked. There was that damn nickname again. He still refused to tell you what it means, and the crew were too tight lipped about it for your liking.

“I believe he’s a scary story that parents tell their children about to scare them into being good,” you responded, thinking back to the stories your own father would tell you. What would he think if he could see you now?

Jake gave a humorless chuckle, closing his eyes. He ran a hand through his golden locks, looking out over the side of the ship and to the sea. Opening his eyes, he looked back at you with eyes ablaze. “I can assure you, he’s real.”

“Stop teasing,” you snapped, crossing your arms and fixing him with a glare. He gave you a wry smile.

“If only it were that,” he started. “I didn’t believe in curses until six years ago.”

“And what happened six years ago?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

Jake paused. “Six years ago, I met a woman. She was beautiful, sweet, caring. The kinds of things most men want in a woman.”

“And you don’t?” you questioned.

“Those are nice things to have,” he hummed thoughtfully, then he gave you a small smirk. “But I’ve always wanted a little more.”

You ignored him. “So, I’m guessing you took this woman to bed?”

“I did,” Jake admitted, pursing his lips. “And then I left her. Only, I didn’t know that there was another man in love with her at the time.”

“And he beat you senseless?” you guessed.

“Haven’t you been paying attention, darlin’?” he chuckled. “That man was none other than Davy Jones himself. Risen from the deep to enact vengeance on little, old me.”

“Right,” you scoffed. Surely he couldn’t be serious? “And what, pray tell, does this curse involve exactly?”

“I, and everyone in my crew, are destined to exist on this earth in limbo. Not alive, but not dead either. A half-life. We eat, but we are never full. Our food tasting like ash.” He stood up, walking slowly towards you as he continued talking. “We drink, but our thirst is never quenched. The finest wines leave our throat dry like the desert.”

He cupped your cheek, stroking it before resting his thumb on your bottom lip. “We can touch, but we cannot feel. Even now, I can’t feel the warmth of your breath or the softness of your skin.”

“Must be lonely,” you said softly. A look of despair ran across Jake’s face, and it was then that you knew in your heart that he was telling the truth.

“It’s agony,” he admitted quietly, dropping his hand back to his side.

“Did Davy Jones give you a way to lift the curse?” you asked, a sense of urgency in your tone.

Jake didn’t say anything for a moment. Then he sighed, “I have to find what he considers to be the greatest treasure of all.”

“And what is that?”

“He didn’t say,” Jake muttered, head hanging low.

Your brow furrowed. “But, how are you supposed to find it if you don’t even know what it is you’re looking for?”

“Isn’t that the point?” he snorted, a humorless smile etched onto his face as he stared at you.

“Well, you have all the time in the world to find what it is you’re looking for,” you offered, giving him a soft smile. He shook his head.

“Old Jonesy only gave me seven years to find it before the curse becomes permanent.”

“Seven years?” you exclaimed, ice drenching your bones. “But you said this happened six years ago!”

“I did,” he said softly, watching you put the pieces together.

“But, that means…” you trailed off, horror overtaking your sense. Jake nodded.

“I only have one year left to find the treasure.”

#top gun maverick #jake hangman seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin fanfiction #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin x you #jake hangman x reader #jake seresin fic #jake hangman x you #hangman x reader #top gun hangman #fool's fare #teaser

[thegigilwriter]

02 | “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

Summary: 26-year-old Lucy Asa Mitchell did not know what was in store for her when she first bumped into Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. After an instant mutual connection followed by a sweet whirlwind romance that swept both their feet, Lucy found herself being immersed deeper into Bradley’s world of the Navy, F-14s, and deployments. What she didn’t expect was finding was the answer to an elusive part of her past — the identity of her long-lost father.

Masterlist

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, Inaccuracies of the Navy and Marine Biology, Implied religious theme

02 | Halo-Halos by the Beach 🍧

Monday May 29, 2023

Lucy

Grasping at the pebbled edge, Lucy lifted herself from the water and laid down with her feet still submerged. Her eyes drifted far above the glass ceiling of the arena, the sky looked like a pot of ink spilling into various hues of blue and purple. She breathed as slowly as she could, her chest rising steadily and falling at the same pace.

Only 25 laps, Lucy. Thatʼs it. Thatʼs what the doctor said.

Resisting the strong urge to throw herself into the water once more, she rose to her feet swiftly and grabbed her towel on the bench.

She wiped the water from the mirror, steam still present in the air. Glancing towards her hair brush, she began to towel her hair dry. It fell from the sink ledge, and the clatter against the tiles was resounding in an empty shower room. Surely the steam will result in a frizzy aftermath, nevertheless, Lucy began to comb — for the sensation was simply comforting. She looked at herself in the mirror. In truth, Lucy Mitchell was average-looking. Olive skin. mahogany hair, brown eyes, and a slightly wider face than she had liked. She had two moles: one at the corner of her left eye and the other at the right corner of her lip. These were her God-given attributes. No mesmerizing irises or kissable lips. A lot of people remarked that she was a carbon copy of her mother. They did have the same features, so Lucy always wondered why her mother was far more beautiful than she.

In her mind, Bradley Bradshawʼs dimple beside his swoon-inducing smile and the velvet tone of his voice appeared. She could feel the graze of his fingertips as he first handed her the fallen tape, his bicep beneath her palm, and his warm skin as their arms brushed when they sat together in the front seat of his Bronco. Her eyes returned to her reflection. Sighing, she clasped on her small string of pearls and her cross, and placed the strap of her beige-colored tote on her shoulder. She walked to the parking lot to her dark burgundy-colored Nissan Versa, opened the driverʼs seat and hopped right in. Placing her tote in the passengerʼs seat, she then folded her hands atop the steering wheel and pressed her forehead against them.

God, even he can wear the scars on his face so good.

She looked at her dashboard.

It was 5:50 in the morning, and she was going to be late for church.

“Lord, I am not worthy to enter under your roof,ˮ she whispered. “But only say the word and I shall be healed.ˮ

There was a a pause of silence and then a shuffle of movement. From the furthest pew, Lucy watched the backs of the processors rise and line up towards the altar. Her eyes moved towards the enormous stone cross that was carved from the natural stone wall and stared at Jesusʼ face. She must have been for quite some time for another churchgoer beside her to nudge her gently against the arm. It was Tita Ramona, with her kind eyes, smile lines, milky complexion, and mourning veil with Chantilly lace and a scalloped edge.

“Itʼs time to receive him again my child,ˮ She looked at Lucy kindly.

As she walked solemnly up the aisle, she couldnʼt help but feel a sense of relief seeing many familiar faces with their heads bowed towards their clasped hands.

After walking down the aisle and receiving Him with a quiet “Amen,ˮ she returned to her seat and knelt down in prayer. She didnʼt really know what she could say or what to ask, so she remained in silence. Her gaze was drawn towards a woman in a green forest frock, and beside her, two sleepy little children in their navy-colored school uniforms. Lucy smiled as the sister leaned her head tiredly against her brotherʼs shoulder. He looked at her annoyed, but patted her head softly. She didnʼt know when she started crying — it was absurd to her— how fast the tears ran down her cheek. Beside her, Tita Ramona took her hand in hers.

“Does it ever stop?ˮ Lucy asked quietly.

“No,ˮ she replied to her after a long pause. “You just learn to live with it... and eventually, it will hurt less. Give Him your tears, now sweet child — give Him your tomorrows and be thank Him for today.ˮ

So Lucy did, and she asked for one more thing.

“Lord, if heʼs the man youʼve sent for me, let him sit with me in front of You.ˮ

She looked at the cross again. She looked at the backs of the church-goers on their knees — just like she was. She didnʼt feel so alone anymore.

She turned the keys to her apartment and let herself in. She placed her tote on the hatstand, her shoes into the wooden compartment, the fresh pandesal on her countertop, and turned the kettle on. As the water boiled, Lucy lay down on her grape-colored couch. She lay sideways facing the TV console, her most recent creation, which also served as a home to two two-year-old tortoises. Lucy slid off of the couch, hung her fingers in holes of the mesh cover, and peered at them. The foreground was covered in random ceramic tiles that Lucy had found at Goodwill. The coco coir and topsoil hybrid substrate was speckled with succulents, interestingly shaped rocks, and pieces of Mopani wood. At one corner was a painted clay plant pot tipped on its side where the tortoises could take refuge, and in another was a shallow terracotta dish plate filled with water that Lucy made in one pottery class. Two heating lamps were installed on either side of the enclosure.

“Hello Tip and Toe,ˮ she smiled at them. Toe stared at her with a mundane expression (assuming tortoises can have expressions) as he worked on some lettuce, and Tip emerged from the water basin to greet her. Lucy took the mister from the top of the console, opened the hatch on the side, and began to spray the interior. She laughed as the tortoises closed their eyes, as if savoring the cool water.

With that, she proceeded to water the hanging plants as well: her succulent Mother of Thousands, her Hindu Rope plant, her various Spider plants, and her Garden String of Hearts. By the window sill — her tomatoes, kalamansis, chives, various herbs, and her ferns. After tending to her green children, she approached every one of her Walstad shrimp and snail bowls — six of them to be exact, that were all over the apartment.

When she was quite finished, she took the kettle and poured herself some hot water for her hot chocolate. Sitting on the couch with the paper bag of pandesal, she turned the TV on . She tore a piece of the bread in her hands and dipped into her drink.

“Give him a date for when Maryʼs out of mourning,ˮ The Countess Dowager, Lady Grantham said from the screen. “No one wants to kiss a girl in black.”

Lucyʼs gaze lingered towards her bookshelf and the lonesome guitar on its stand beside it. She sighed and looked at the clock above. It was already nearly noon.

Bradley stood against the Bronco, hand in his pocket, and another on his phone. It was 1:50 in the afternoon and Bradley was waiting for Lucy. He had already saved the location of their first date on his phone. So he went ahead and opened his photo gallery for the screenshot of the address when to his surprise, there were shots from yesterdayʼs events. Perhaps it was Nat who had taken them when Bradley had to go to the washroom when they were at that Shake Shack. There were wacky selfies of Nat and an annoyed Sam, and the last two pictures were of Lucy who seemed to be engaged in a conversation with the latter. Her eyes were shining and her smile was wide in both of them.

Bradley stared at the photo for a while until the creak of the gate in front of him caught his attention, and there, was Lucy in the flesh. She was wearing a green, delicate, cap-sleeved top and an off-white bohemian long skirt with sandals. She had removed nearly all the accessories she had don on when they first met, save for her string of small pearls and little cross on her neck. Her hair was in a half-up, with curly locks framing her face.

“I see that you are consistent with your sense of style, Lieutenant,ˮ Lucy chuckled. Yes, to her, Hawaiian-print shirts were corny and should only be worn on cruises. But that with a pair of denim pants, a fitted tank top, and a pair of aviators on Bradley Bradshaw? He was the exception.

“What can I say?ˮ Bradley smirked. “I gotta maintain standards.ˮ “And you, Lucy Mitchell...ˮ he drawled.

Lucy raised a single brow in amusement as he drew closer to her.

“Are beautiful.ˮ

“W-Well—“ She blushed profusely. “Iʼd say have pretty good standards too, Lieutenant.ˮ

“Without a doubt,ˮ Bradley was smiling at her pink cheeks, and offered his hand to her. Lucy was the smallest woman Bradley took on out for a date and he couldnʼt help but let out a few chuckles as he helped her up into the Bronco. It was endearing, and he couldnʼt help but like the way her smooth and dainty hands felt against his big and rough palms.

“I think Iʼm too short to ride this one Lieutenant,ˮ Lucy joked. “Youʼre fun-sized!ˮ Bradley laughed.

After loading in the Bronco, Bradley set the location on his phone and turned on the radio.

“Welcome to our first official date, Lucy Mitchell.ˮ He said as they pulled into the street.

“Glad to be on board,ˮ Lucy played along.

“So—“ Bradley began.

“Oh my goodness!ˮ Lucy exclaimed, as she reached her hand for the radio dial. “I love this!ˮ

“You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain,ˮ Lucy sang, her eyes closed, and her hands poised as if she was holding onto some drumsticks, following the beat with zest. “To much love drives a man insane!ˮ

Lucy averted her gaze towards him.

“You broke my will, but a thrill.ˮ

She did a cute little head bang before singing aloud:

“Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!ˮ

For the entirety of the song, Bradley didnʼt speak — not because of Lucyʼs avid iteration of Jerry Lee Jewisʼ Great Balls of Fire — but from genuine shock, from the fact that she knew every word and part of it. If the universe was sending Bradley a sign that he should marry someone, it couldnʼt have been more obvious than Lucy Mitchell head-banging to the piano solo and dancing jerkily in the front seat of his Bronco.

They arrived at Sitaʼs some minutes later. Bradley had to duck under the threshold and go down some steps to enter the quaint little shop on Newport Avenue. The eclectic vicinity was illuminated with pale-yellow fairy lights and the walls were one giant, vibrant mural. There was bamboo furniture placed casually around the venue, as well thriving ornamental plants. Bradley and Lucy approached the counter, where a rotund and cheery middle-aged woman was wiping it down. She had a hibuscus flower in her dark coils with olive skin, and deep-set eyes.

“Hey!ˮ She boomed, reaching over the counter to embrace Lucy. “I havenʼt seen you for so long!ˮ

“Hello Bonnie,ˮ Lucy smiled. “Howʼs the new terrier?ˮ

“Heʼs delightful!ˮ Bonnie beamed. “Me and Marcus are seriously considering taking him in!ˮ

“Thatʼs great!ˮ

“Now, now—“ Bonnie looked over Lucyʼs shoulder. “Whoʼs your new friend?ˮ

“Bradley, Bradley Bradshaw,ˮ he shook Carolʼs hand.

“Nice to meet you, Bradley,ˮ she smiled. “Do you work with, Lucy?ˮ

“Not at all,ˮ Bradley replied. “Iʼm dating Lucy.ˮ

Bonnie turned to Lucy, absolutely gobsmacked. Lucy glared at Bradley with playfully as he held up is hands with a chuckle, as if to express his innocence.

“Lucy Mitchell!ˮ She gasped. “Itʼs about time!ˮ

“Just get us the two specials, please Bonnie.ˮ Lucy blushed.

“Alright, alright I wonʼt tease now!ˮ She laughed. “Now you two have fun, Iʼll have your order out in a minute.ˮ

“Thank you,ˮ Lucy breathed as she took a beeper from the counter and lead Bradley towards their seats.

“She seems like the life of party,ˮ Bradley remarked as they sat down.

“Bon is like the sun,ˮ Lucy said as she set down the beeper and tucked her purse against her side. “She attracts nearly everything that comes into orbit.ˮ

“So quite like you?ˮ He smiled.

“You flatter me Lieutenant,ˮ Lucy laughed. “But I am not a sun person.ˮ

“Then what would you say you are?ˮ

Lucy fell quiet in thought.

“I would say Iʼm the poet who admires them,ˮ Lucy replied.

“Wouldnʼt you rather be the flower or stars?ˮ Bradley wondered.

“These are all beautiful things. But what good is beauty if there is no one to receive it or if there are no words to venerate it — to immortalize it?ˮ

“Maybe beauty isnʼt important if itʼs temporary,ˮ Bradley replied. “Thereʼs something more intangible about the sun — more than its aurora borealis and rainbows. It makes plants grow and the seasons change.ˮ

Lucy gazed at him considerably.

“I meant what I said earlier. Youʼre a beautiful woman Lucy Mitchell, and itʼs more than skin-deep,ˮ Bradley gazed into her sweet caramel-colored eyes. “So imagine my surprise when I thought I heard Bon say that youʼve never been on a date before.ˮ

Just then, the beeper resounded noisily. Bradley gently pried the device from her fingertips as he knelt in front of her.

“Iʼll get it, Angel.ˮ

Lucy was blushing profusely now. Her heart was beating thunderously against her warm chest. This specimen of a man. This good-looking, smooth-talking Casanova had no right to be this impressive — especially for her official first date. Somehow, it infuriated her. But when he flashes that priceless smile, all rage simply evaporates and all is well.

Bradley returns with two, big fancy plastic bowls of cold dessert, grin large as he approached their table.

“Okay— maybe this is my first date,ˮ Lucy admitted. “But you are certainly not the first man to ask me on one.ˮ

“Glad Iʼm up to your standards Angel,ˮ Bradley winked. “I do have a proposition Iʼd like to run through you, if you donʼt mind?ˮ

“Go on.ˮ

“I appreciated how you were so direct with me yesterday, so I figued Iʼd return the favor. How about this? You can ask me any 10 questions youʼd like about anything.ˮ

“And in return?ˮ Lucy raised a brow.

“I can ask you any 10 questions I like.ˮ “What if I donʼt answer a question?ˮ

“Then you have to give me something else,ˮ Bradley smirked. “A meal, a performance, a kiss...ˮ

“Nice try,ˮ she chuckled. “But Iʼd like to take you up on that anyway, Lieutenant.ˮ

“Okay, but before we start what — is this?ˮ He gestured towards the dessert.

“Itʼs halo-halo,ˮ Lucy grinned at his amusement, picking up the cup and savoring a lick of the purple yam ice cream on top. “Itʼs shaved ice and ice cream and sweet beans and jello and evaporated milk and egg custard and rice krispies. Itʼs the most chaotically delicious dessert to ever exist.ˮ

“You...ˮ Bradley chuckled. “Have a way with words. Alright, how do we eat this?ˮ “Itʼs in the name,ˮ Lucy smiled. “You mix-mix!ˮ

Bradley watched her lips grow wide as she relished the satisfying crunch of the ice against every beat of her spoon.

They drove up the coast, blaring the radio and singing along, and stopped for some fries at a nearby McDonaldʼs. Bradley parked the Bronco and helped Lucy down before they slipped off their footwear and strolled on the warm sand by the cool water edge. They treaded the peaceful landscape side-by-side in a comfortable silence.

“Mmmh,ˮ Lucy sighed. “Fries and halo-halo and the beach.ˮ

“I think Iʼve underestimated how fun first dates can be,ˮ she remarked.

“No,ˮ Bradley shook his head. “Youʼre just lucky that your first oneʼs with me.ˮ

“How lucky I am indeed,ˮ Lucy laughed.

Bradley turned to her.

“Alright, hereʼs my first question.ˮ

“Fire away.ˮ

“Where did you grow up?ˮ

Bradley stared as Lucy licked her lips.

“Before I moved to Oregon in middle-school, I grew up in this... beautiful little place called El Nido. Itʼs in an island called Palawan, a part of the Philippines.“

“I think one of my buddies went there for the summer,ˮ Bradley spoke. “Was this buddy of yours into scuba-diving?ˮ

“I think he is,ˮ Bradley nodded.

“El Nido tends to attract their kind. Itʼs really no wonder why I became a marine biologist.ˮ

“How about you? Where did you grow up, Lieutenant?ˮ “Just Virginia,ˮ he replied.

“Iʼve always wanted to visit. Thereʼs Mount Vermont, Monticello, so many natural parks...ˮ

“Maybe we can take a road trip someday?ˮ

“I like the idea of that,ˮ Lucy smiled.

“So Sam told me the other day that your team studied whales in particular...ˮ Lucy hummed in confirmation, as she popped a fry into her mouth.

“Out of every living thing in the sea, why whales?ˮ

“It wasnʼt really in my plans to study whales. When I first came to Umi, I was working in reef conservation. We basically traveled, built artificial reefs, grew corals, and did some education promotion stuff— I loved it. One day, my team and Dr. Agnesʼ — my boss now— boarded on the same boat on our way to Florida. On one of our free days, we all hung out in a baby Manatee reservation. I guess... she was intrigued with the way the calfs were following me around and clinging to me. Before I knew it, she was having me sign my transfer papers over to her team and handling the whale interactions.ˮ

“Wow,ˮ Bradley chuckled. “Are you some secret baby Manatee whisperer, or something? I promise I wonʼt tell.ˮ

“Careful Lieutenant,ˮ Lucy teased. “I might just count that as your third question.ˮ

“How kind of you not to,ˮ Bradley teased back. “Look, you may not be some whisperer and you yourself may not know— but youʼre kinda easy to be with, Angel. And over the years Iʼve learned that animals are one of the best judges of character.ˮ

Lucy gazed at him considerably.

“Thank you Lieutenant,ˮ she said softly. “But I think Iʼd prefer being part of a team of scientists for my abilities as a researcher, over my qualities as a person, donʼt you?ˮ

“Sure,ˮ Bradley replied. “But youʼd be surprised how there are more smart asses out there than people who choose to be kind — and look at our world. Itʼs still a shitty place.ˮ

“Perhaps thatʼs one of the reasons why I switched over to whales,ˮ Lucy mused. “You see so many ugly and hopeless things in conservation and you feel so helpless when you can‘t do anything to fix them.ˮ

“Thereʼs many things in this world you and I can never fix, Angel. The least we could do is live the lives we want to lead.ˮ

“Did you lead the life you want to lead so far?ˮ Lucy asked. “Why did you want to become a pilot? Those are two separate questions by the way. I have seven left...ˮ

Bradley chuckled.

“Flying multimillion aircrafts and landing them on boats is cool and all, but I became an aviator because of my dad. He was a really great pilot and a great guy, and Iʼve always looked up to him. I wanted to live my life like he did.ˮ

“Was?ˮ

“He died when I was two,ˮ Bradley sighed. “He broke his neck when he was trying to eject. His call sign was Goose and just like you — he loved Jerry Lewisʼ Great Balls of Fire.ˮ

“He had impeccable taste,ˮ Lucy spoke. “He should be proud though… he gave the world a decent pilot and a girl an amazing first date.ˮ

Bradley laughed.

They sat on the beach together, their half-finished dessert cups buried partly in the dunes. Sand clung to their skins and the richly-colored glow of the setting Californian sun came upon them as their amount of allotted questions slowly dwindled to none.

“You know,ˮ Bradley drawled. “I technically didnʼt answer one of your questions.ˮ

“How honest of you, Lieutenant,ˮ Lucy remarked.

“I havenʼt led the life I wanted to live,ˮ Bradley gazed at her, her sweet-colored eyes drawing him to her. A stray hair fell on her check and he tucked it behind her ear.

“Not yet, at least.ˮ

“Since I didnʼt answer that when you asked me, I guess it means I owe you one huh?ˮ

Lucy was far too preoccupied with his handsome visage — the indents left by the scars on his face, the sincerity in his eyes that her melt with every stare, the shape of his lips, the trembling locks of his charmingly curled hair, and his oh-so suave mustache.

“How ‘bout another date, Angel?ˮ

I’m so excited! Looks like their first date went amazing✨ Their next date is a little more inventive, and I’m hopeful that I can emphasize a more intimate aspect of Bradley’s character while as much as possible remaining true to his canon. You can read 03 | A Hike and a Dance here!

#rooster top gun #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #top gun #top gun maverick #top gun 1986 #top gun fanfiction #top gun imagine #top gun fandom #top gun fic #top gun masterlist

[acursedworldofaus]

Dragon’s Blood (Part 1)

Yandere AFO x Oblivious (AFAB) Reader

CW: implied non-con, implied somnophilia, implied trespassing, implied stalking, implied impregnation/breeding if you squint.

Gray dawn light streams through your window. You turn away from the unwanted brightness, trying to eek out another morsel of sleep by burying your face in your pillow, noticing sleepily that it smells oddly sweet, spicy, and earthy, somewhat like dragon’s blood. The scent is like a ghost of an echo, though, and the more you chase it the less you smell, as if you imagined some phantom fragrance. You write it off as residual imprints of smells from your shop in favor of pretending you aren’t conscious. Unfortunately, hiding only works for a few minutes before the uncomfortable feeling of wetness between your legs drives you to the bathroom for another early morning shower. Ordinarily, you would shower once before bed, but now you find yourself showering twice a day: once after work, and once before to prevent yourself from walking around with slick fluids caked onto your thighs and labia. If you don’t, it’ll congeal, dry, then flake. 

Gross.

You glare at yourself in the mirror after you strip naked, wondering what the hell happened for your brain to have weird wet dreams every night this month. You keep waking up soaked with damp panties. The weird splotches dotting your skin from your collarbone to your ankles haven’t gone away either. If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were bruises, but that can’t be it. How would they get there after all? You sure as hell haven’t fallen recently. Maybe you have a blood disorder you don’t know about? Which, now that you think about it, isn’t random bruising a sign of that?

You decide to go see a doctor if it doesn’t change anytime soon, quickly washing away the night’s slimy residue before getting ready as normal and heading into work at your tea, herb, and spice shop. You grab a cinnamon roll along the way and make tea once you arrive, then sip and nibble as you prepare for opening. Hours pass normally as your regulars drop by for their orders. One of them, a gentleman by the name of Shigaraki, always comes by for something or other. He stops by today as well, all smiles and easy conversation, smelling faintly of something sweet, spicy, and earthy that seems oddly familiar, no doubt due to how often he visits. As per usual he has his charisma cranked to the max, and flirts with you nonstop as you package his latest order, aka the most recent tea you recommend he try.

“I can’t help but notice, Tea-chan, that you seem to be glowing today,” he comments in his lilting tone, just shy of purring.

”Really? I certainly don’t feel like it,” you murmur. “I haven’t slept properly for this entire month. I keep waking up feeling tired.”

And it was true, too. On top of waking up uncomfortably wet, you keep waking up feeling bone tired. Perhaps another thing to look into? All together, each individual observation sounds like a symptom cluster you really may be sick.

”Really,” Shigaraki-san insists. “You look even more beautiful than usual.”

His complement makes you blush. You finish wrapping up each canister and transfer them all into a colorful paper bag emblazoned with the shop logo. Your hands brush as you hand it to him, and he accepts it with a winning grin. His red eyes gleam like rubies in the brightness of afternoon sun, while his white hair shimmers with a golden tint. A halo of light surrounding his head lends to the illusion of an otherworldly being clothed in human skin standing before you. Something stops you from labeling this hypothetical supernatural creature as angelic. 

“Well, if that’s the case, then thank you, Shigaraki-san. I appreciate such kind words even if I don’t feel they’re true.”

”I’ve told you that Hajime is fine,” he says, waving away any future attempts at distance or formality. “And of course they’re true, Tea-chan, whether you believe them or not.”

He’s tried getting you to use his first name without an honorific for his last three visits, but it feels too informal, too forward. 

“Fine, fine,” you relent, reddening further. “H-Hajime. Thank you. Please take care.”

Triumph flashes in his eyes followed by amusement and affection before his features smooth out and return to normal. He tips his hat to you in lieu of a verbal response then departs for who knew where.  It’s not as if he shares much about himself besides once telling you he helps people with their Quirks. You assume he means he’s a Quirk counselor. It explains his bespoke suits considering how much those counselors make in a single week. 

You put him out of your mind as ninety-six year old Takeda-san hobbles in for an herbal mixture meant to help with arthritis pain. You have a duty to your clients to keep your head clear so you can meet their needs. You dole out teas and herbal remedies for upset stomach, for anxiety, for ear ache, for sleeplessness and headaches. You shove all thoughts of how handsome Hajime is, how good he smells, how soft his skin looks, and countless others down until they quiet, at least until closing. Unbidden memories of him spring to the surface as you lock up at sundown, ready to make the journey back home.

#afo x reader #yandere afo x reader #yandere x reader #all for one x reader #yandere all for one x reader #shigaraki x reader #villain x reader #yandere all for one #yandere afo #yandere bnha #cw noncon #cw somnophilia #cw implied impregnation

[violetlunette]

Runaway Chapter 10: Phantom

Summary: After searching for so long Lilia finally finds Silver. But is it too late?

Previous Chapter

Master List

Ao3

Notes: *Twst spoilers for Chapter/Book 7

Lilia continued the search. Yet, while the vines became thicker, there was still no sigh of the rumored specter nor a clue to confirm that his son was here. Lilia was starting to lose hope.

‘Did I choose the wrong place?’ He growled as he clutched the ring around his neck.

“Argh, fuck! Stupid piece of shit!” he cursed, using his other arm to swipe at his tearing eyes. It served Lilia right, though. What was he thinking following a dumb--

“Urk!”

Lilia was nearly choked as the chain suddenly yanked him forward by the throat. He was so surprised that he ended up tripping down the large hill.

“FuuuhhhAhhAhahAhhh!” His cries went up and down as Lilia rolled.

Crash!

WHAM!

Lilia's body hit a large boulder at the bottom of the hill.

Upside down, the world continued to spin around him as the fae's mouth, bones, and muscles all groaned.

“Ughhh! Of course!” it was just Lilia’s luck, wasn’t it? Shit, was all this bad luck that Leprechaun king’s way of getting revenge for tricking him that one time 300 years ago? Cause if so--

Whoooosh~

The area turned gray, layered by a strange mist that slowly filled the air. Around Lilia, the vines began to move like snakes  cricking  and  cracking  as they did so.

“ Ah, ah, ahh, ahhh, ahhhhhhh~... ”

The notes of a song drifted overhead and fell like raindrops. A song that was both strange and familiar...

It tugged at Lilia’s heart, springing tears to his eyes as his breath caught in his throat. Then he remembered.

It was one of the songs he used to hum to Silver when the lad was a baby, to calm him after a terrible nightmare.

A song he nearly had forgotten…

A shadow fell.

Then he saw it.

Lilia’s gaze widened in horror.

“It can’t be…” Above him was a  phantom .

Despite living long, Lilia didn’t have an extensive experience with Phantoms. Though recently they had become more frequent, for a long time, they were rare.

Yet, despite his lack of knowledge, Lilia felt confident in saying that no Phantom was as beautiful as this one.

Its form was that of a Princess in sorrowful blue, floating upon a swirl of black mist. Like all Phantoms, it had an ink bottle for a head. This bottle was in the shape of a heart with a green light glinting off the glass. Atop the odd head, it wore a tarnished crown. It reminded Lilia of the ring that led him here. Yet what gave the Phantom its true beauty was its golden halo of hair. It hung in ringlets around the Phantom’s doll-like frame. Despite the green glow around the specter, it gave off no light, only a nimbus of darkness. 

It sang a haunting tune like an old music box created to lull a child to sleep.

What held Lilia’s attention, however, was the figure she carried between delicate arms.

The man’s mouth fell agape, eyes growing twice their size as his brows pulled inward. His body began to tremble as the cold of winter plunged down his spine.

Through quivering lips, he muttered, “It can’t be... Silver! ”

Ink smeared across skin pale as the grave. The black streamed from closed eyes like tears, making it seem as if he were a boy crying in his sleep. The silver hair, for which he named, lost its moon-like shine and had become a dull gray, frayed like cobwebs. But none of that was what lit the terror that made Lilia’s old muscles turn to stone, nor made his heart stop dead as if shot with a bullet or turn his blood to ice. What did that was the blade. Said blade stabbed through Silver’s heart. The sword also pierced the Phantom, pinning him to its breast. The Phantom stroked the teen’s hair like a child, singing her lullaby. Lilia felt his mouth dry as he whispered, “It can’t be…” He then cartwheeled himself upright, turning as pale as the moon as his irises nearly vanished. His breath began uneven as he began muttering to himself, “No…It can’t…Please, no...” The chant became more and more desperate till it became a prayer. Mentally, he begged his mind to tell him his eyes were playing tricks. That it was all an illusion or a bad dream. Otherwise, the reality would be that his son was dead and that—that thing was cuddling his corpse like a doll. ‘No…’ he told himself. Lilia forced his panic back, and his rational side took over. ‘Silver could still be alive, just under an enchantment. Or could that…’ Could be his Overblot? It was difficult to see as the Phantom and the blade blocked most of his form. Regardless, Lilia knew his first step; freeing Silver from-- The Phantom turned an eyeless gaze upon him. Lilia crouched, clenching his jaw to stop his teeth from chattering from the chill going through his bones. Watching the foe closely, his hand moved to his clever, ready to pull and fight when-- It vanished.

Lilia blinked. He blinked again. Once more to be sure. Then his mouth dropped open.

“Huh? What...no...No!” Confusion turned to horror.

Silver was right there.  He was right there!  Dead or alive, Silver was right there before Lilia! And now he was gone!  Again!

“Silver! Silver!” Lilia ran to the spot where the Phantom had disappeared, swallowed by the mist of the late noon.

“Come on, come on, come on!!” Frustration filled the fae as he clawed through the mist as if the action would reveal his lost son.

Alas...

“Augh!”

The anguished cry tore from his throat as the father fell to his knees.

S L A M !

He pounded a fist into the dry soil as his legs hit the ground. “FUCK!”

As the man's fingers dug into the dirt, a few tear drops escaped his eyes, his body shaking from frustration.

He was so close!  He was so close,  and yet—and yet…

Hick, sob, hick…

Lilia slumped forward, over weighed by grief.

“F--fuck...”

~*~

Once he regained himself, Lilia called Idia. Well, sort of.

He called Sebek, who took the phone to Idia, apparently breaking his door down to do so. The other was not at all pleased.

“Sorry about that!” Lilia apologized, cutting short the complaints. Had he not been so emotionally exhausted, Lilia would have laughed or found some amusement in the situation. “But I had something I really needed to ask.”

Lilia then went on to explain the appearance of the Phantom and its odd actions. Lilia wasn’t familiar with Phantoms, but he knew them to be aggressive. Silver’s Phantom, on the other hand, took one look at him before fleeing.

Idia sighed sadly.

“So, even Silver…” he mumbled. He trailed off before returning to the topic.

“It’s rare, but it’s not, like, unheard of for Phantoms not to attack,” Idia explained. “There are some who are, well, cowards and will choose to run instead. From what we can figure, it depends on how the person who blots over handles stress.

“Like, Riddle has a temper, so when he's pissed, he lashes out at everybody.” Lilia heard the story of Riddle’s blot from Carter and how it acted like a large child throwing a tantrum. Even Malleus’ Phantom had lasted out like a beast in pure rage. But Silver wasn’t like that.

Yes, the teen got mad and upset. He would occasionally yell as well, as rare as it happened. But when he was truly upset to the point his heart broke he ran.

‘Just like when he found out we weren’t related…’ Lilia closed his eyes as he recalled the memory and the child’s broken expression.

“ So… you’re not my father?”  Lilia had been so stunned not by the question but by the torment on Silver’s face as the words were muttered through trembling lips.

Lilia flinched as a metaphorical dagger pierced his soul. That same anguish was on his face in the dream world, his body shaking like it had as a child.

“ Father… I—I…”  Lilia’s heart broke.

‘Oh, Silver…’ After everything that happened, it was no surprise that Silver was distraught to the point where he must have felt like he was drowning. However, it took more than an emotional state to blot everyone over.

The teenager would have had to have used a lot of magic. The broom ride would have been tiring but not enough—

Then Lilia realized; ‘Meet in a Dream.’ Silver Unique magic.

Silver used that spell for who knows how long to save everyone. He also took travelers with him to several dreams. So, even though his body was resting, it must have taken a toll on his mental state and mana. And then with everything he had discovered and gone through…

A knot twisted in his stomach as his chest became heavy.

‘The reason Silver blotted over was…’ Because of him. Because Silver wanted to save everyone from his mistakes--

Lila’s grip shook till he tightened it on his phone.

“Then what about the Phantom in this case?” he asked Idia, keeping his voice firm. “Are you saying it’s not dangerous?” It wasn’t Idia’s voice he heard next.

“Well?! Answer him!”

“Eep! Stop shaking me!” Ah. Lilia forgot Sebek was there. From what he could hear, Sebek had become quite emotional about Silver’s state. Knowing Sebek, Lilia was surprised Sebek held back this long.

“Sebek, control yourself,” Lilia ordered. “Idia; is the Phantom dangerous?” There was an exasperated groan from the other side as Idia attempted to pull himself together.

“Uggghhh...Diasomnia...can’t deal…” He took another moment to compose, but Sebek barked something, and Idia jumped into his answer finally.

“Eep! Kinda?!” He (and Lilia) made Sebek back off before going into more detail. “They’re usually pretty harmless till cornered. Then they lash out like a trapped rat, ya know?” Then the Shroud sighed heavily as if something heavy was dropped on him.“The real issue is that while it's running the life is still being drained from its host.” Lilia’s skin nearly went transparent.

‘ Shit! ’ He forgot that. He forgot that a phantom drained its host of their life force.

Which meant that even if Silver was alive now--

“You mean… Silver’s going to die?” Sebek’s question turned the whole world static. He didn’t even hear Idia’s response.

Die, die, Silver? His Silver? His son? No! No, no, no!

“Hey, Lila? Ortho’s contacted STYX officers. They’re sending over a troop. It would--” Lilia hung up, his heart racing in his ears as he started running.

His jaw clenched as he breathed hard through his nose, his eyes growing wild. He didn’t know what would happen from here on out, but he knew this;

Silver was NOT going to die!

--

Next chapter

#mine #twst #twisted wonderland #twst silver #silver twst #silver vanrouge #lilia vanrouge #silver twisted wonderland #lilia twisted wonderland #lilia twst #twst lilia #twst diasomnia #twst runaway #twst fanfic

[daisychainsandbowties]

6 and avatrice for the angst prompt please and thank you

davy jones au. cw: blood, gore, extreme gay pining

///

The hilt of the sword tangles briefly on Beatrice’s knuckles as it drops from her fingers. They are slippery, hanging limp with wetness leaking down over metacarpals, dampening her palms and sliding through her fingers until they reach the tips.

drip, drip, drip

In a chorus around her, everywhere. From the torn mast overhead to the ropes swinging limply, casting horrible twisting shadows on the deck of the ship, backlit by the breaking storm.

The clatter of blade onto wood is a damper sound than it ought to be; the whole world is salt-drenched and rank with the hanging, mist-thick scent of iron.

Blood. She should say it, will have to say it eventually if only to acknowledge the shape slumped in the middle of the deck. A beautiful tangle of limbs, splayed open with the shirtsleeve on her right arm torn away to reveal a blotch of black ink running all over her skin.

But it’s not ink.

Even from clear across the deck Beatrice can see how the marks on Ava’s arm shine, like they are real things freshly dredged up from the ocean floor and not pictures stabbed into her skin. They tangle from her wrist up past her forearm and they resemble tentacles – splotched with suckers, twisting and writhing and almost bumpy beneath the surface of Ava’s skin.

Her chest rises shallowly, stutters on the exhale. The ship lists, and in the corner of her eye Beatrice can spot a familiar shape on the horizon; the others, coming at last to find them, Shannon no doubt standing behind the wheel with her hair plastered against her scalp with saltwater, rainwater.

They’re too late.

Beatrice takes a half-step forward, almost slipping on the – she has to say it, has to – blood that has spread in a weird, wind-wicked halo around Ava. She, too, is red-daubed, strands of hair stuck to her face by clots, chunks, unmentionable things, but Beatrice knows the words for them.

She’s not Camila, but anatomy is a thing held in books as well as in the surgeon’s quarters and so Beatrice knows all the bones of the body and how the word heartstring comes from Latin meaning tendinous chords, but she always misreads it as tenuous chords. Maybe both translations are true.

This, for example, feels tenuous and has to do with her heart.

Limping across the deck, Beatrice moves toward the shape of a girl who is much more than she appears. It is easy to picture her as she was before everything… happened. How she stood on the deck with one hand raised, suddenly fierce as fire when the captain pressed the tip of his blade teasingly into Beatrice’s throat. They wanted her to summon up a lightning storm to set the Cat’s Cradle alight on the horizon where it pursued them.

The men laughed as Ava squirmed free of their hands, tripped over her own boots on the deck and then winning back to her feet, snarling at them to “Let her go!”

“Or what?” the captain had laughed, pressing forward lightly but hard enough to slip the very tip of his blade into Beatrice’s throat. Not deep at all, but enough to send a ribbon of blood sprinting toward her collarbones.

She remembers Ava holding up her hand, then. Menacing. Her face could never be expressionless – there was too much to her for that, but a certain blankness stole her eyes and made them black as the deepest water. Storm clouds split overhead, leaking light down through the sailcloth and the ropes and the bodies swarming overhead in the rigging.

“Let her go,” Ava repeated. Slow, like she had any leverage.

Beatrice did not fear for her life – not these days, with the bite of her tattoos gnawing deeper at the bones in her wrists and her arms with every passing year. Magic has a cost, every weaving sending the ink deeper into her, parting tendon and ligament. Stealing into her calcium, her marrow. Soon, she’d hardly be able to step onto dry land without her debt tearing her to pieces.

But it had been her choice to be leashed to the ocean, but that didn’t mean Beatrice wanted to let go of soft, dry sand. Of solid ground and grass and the feeling of a horse underneath her. The breathlessness of standing atop a cliff with the waves crashing far below.

Most mages died before the price came to that, and were grateful for it. Beatrice was not unlike them. She was ready to pay when the debt came due.

And yet it scared her, this once – the idea of leaving Ava alone with the men who had been sent after her, who had captured her in a net like an animal and hauled them both through the portside streets. Beatrice could see bruises on Ava’s face, her neck. She knew that there would be more underneath her clothes, patched over her stomach and her back where they’d beaten her almost unconscious while their mage trapped Beatrice in a cage of light.

A knife at Ava’s throat had stopped the glow in her mage tattoos and she’d let them strike her to the ground, staring blearily at Ava who lolled against a stranger’s chest with a blade at her throat shaving off the fine hairs that grew over the line of cartilage Beatrice had traced with her eyes again and again and again. She’d always wondered what those fine hairs would feel like against her tongue, her lips.

Maybe it was a flaw they shared. Beatrice trapped between her own power and the knife at Ava’s throat and Ava, driven to some unseen edge by the tip of a blade pressed against Beatrice’s neck.

She’d wanted to cry out, to tell Ava that she wasn’t worth dying over. That she was already half-dead and had been since the day she said her vows and felt whispers of unearthly light flow from the harbour waters and into the fresh-inked skin on her arms.

But then Ava had taken on that deadened aspect, had reached up and ripped away the sleeve over her right arm.

Beatrice had assumed scars, when Ava did everything in her power to keep her arms covered up even when Camila snapped at her about hygiene and set her to cleaning knives instead of helping with wounds.

She was only a little wrong. Instead of scars, she’d watched Ava unearth an arm fully sheathed in strange, grey-black tattoos. They gleamed, and the captain tore his blade from Beatrice’s throat and shouted something.

Too late. Ava stood, grimacing at her bared skin. Beatrice’s hand had risen to the cut on her throat, half-intending to dart forward and try to steal the captain’s blade, but before she could move there was a ripping sound.

Unmistakable. Beatrice had listened to skin tear a thousand times and she knew the song of it, the burst of blood and sinew as bone came to protrude out of pulpy flesh.

This time, however, the sound came from Ava and it was not the sound of something cutting into her. She stood alone on the deck, men arrayed uneasily around her. Wetness rippled along her arm as the not-ink inside her skin undulated and then, with a disturbing lack of fanfare, something long and wet and real burst out of Ava’s skin.

She’d screamed, knees buckling onto the deck, as something massive erupted from her outstretched arm, swallowing it in a mess of reaching tentacles. They crashed across the deck almost too fast for the eye to follow, but Beatrice let a twinge of magic into her body and sharpened her sight. Did it on instinct and regretted it as she watched the tentacle shapes spear through men.

They twisted into bellies and plunged into open mouths, ripping wherever they went. Bulging out as men screamed and trembled and tried to run. Blood showered over the deck and the tentacles writhed up into the rigging, tearing through sailcloth. Ropes snapped and men fell like missiles onto the deck. They broke.

In the middle of it, Ava was almost invisible but Beatrice spotted her as she felt the tentacles move gracefully past her. Cold where they brushed her arms as they plucked men high and ruptured them and sent bits thumping back onto the deck.

Beatrice tried to shut her eyes but she couldn’t. Foolishly, she even took a half-step towards Ava as another scream reached her. She would know Ava’s voice anywhere even in the worst sound it could make.

Her feet didn’t manage to carry her far.

She fell onto the deck as something hit her across the shoulders – something wet – and found her hand slapping down inches from a sword-hilt. She grabbed it, dry-heaved as iron flooded into her mouth. The stench of blood so thick it felt like she was submerged in a soup of it.

When she won back to her feet, blinking sweat and saltwater out of her eyes, scrubbing at them with her forearm, Beatrice found the deck empty. Quiet. Still.

Dead.

There was only Ava, slumped on the deck with her arm miraculously intact.

All of this flickers through her mind roughshod as she walks unsteadily toward Ava. Drawn across the deck, ignoring everything but ava, ava, ava. Her knees give out just as she reaches Ava’s side, depositing her down.

With a shaking hand, Beatrice pushes the hair away from Ava’s face and finds muscle shifting under her fingers as Ava grimaces.

Wakes.

“Are you alright?” Beatrice rasps, surprised that she can speak at all with Ava staring at her like that. Like she’s a miracle, or a nightmare.

“Bea?” Her voice breaks around the edges. The rain is already turning the blood fainter and fainter on her skin, from dark red to light, to pinkish. Her eyes roam over Beatrice’s face and – gods, she must look a wreck.

But she doesn’t take her hand away, touches the corner of Ava’s jaw very gently. “Yes, it’s me.”

Coming back to herself, eyes widening, Ava pulls away and Beatrice feels scalded by the absence of her. She draws her tattooed arm against her chest as though there is any point in trying to hide it.

“Don’t touch me!” Her voice is high, faltering, terrified. “It might come back, it might…” She breaks off, crabbing back across the deck. Fruitlessly – her heels slip on the deck, carrying her nowhere but a scant few inches away.

Ava.

She looks pretty even now, with the wet writhing shape of her arm clasped to her chest. Blood in the hollow of her chin, coated thick on her neck. Rainwater sending trickle-trails down over her brow.

There are tears in her eyes as she shakes her head, looking around at the devastation. “Fuck, fuck. I didn’t mean to- it wasn’t my choice. I don’t know what this- how it works or why or, or…”

She trails off, just staring.

Beatrice stares back. She feels beside herself, like she’s riding an adjacent path to shock, to horror. All she can feel is relief. Strange, strained, but so palpable it makes her chest ache.

She doesn’t reach for Ava because she’s seen her flinch from the most casual contact, not knowing how to take it. Beatrice picked her up off the street back when Ava couldn’t read, or write, or add up past twenty or do multiplication or fight with a sword.

All of these things Beatrice has taught her. Snappishly, waspishly, patiently over months of sailing and fighting and trying not to die.

“It’s okay,” she says instead of touching – which she wants, desperately, to do. Sitting back, cross-legged on the blood-soaked deck, Beatrice tries make her face behave. Judging by Ava’s expression, she fails.

“Why are you not freaking out?” She asks, low. The only sound is dripping and the waves rolling under the ship. They’ve tacked oddly into the wind with the sails torn away.

The Cat’s Cradle must be getting close. Did they see what happened?

Beatrice looks at ava, shrugs. “You know me, I’m-”

“Unflappable.” Ava almost smiles – she’d given Beatrice that description of herself offhandedly when Beatrice had failed to react after stepping into the surgery just as Camila started sawing through a man’s leg.

“I didn’t really mean it as a compliment,” Ava adds, rubbing self-consciously at her face and only succeeding in smearing a palmprint of blood across it.

“I’ll take what I can get,” Beatrice deadpans, then makes her expression serious. “I won’t tell the others what happened. They… wouldn’t understand.”

Nor do you, fool.

Ava looks uncertain, “What about you? Do you know what this is?”

“No, but later you’ll tell me everything you know about it. We can figure things out from there.” She makes her voice more certain than she really feels. Power like that is mythical, the sort of thing they keep in books Beatrice doesn’t bother to collect, scowls at self-importantly when she sees them in portside bookshops.

Ava’s lower lip wobbles. She looks very small, hunched on the deck, hair plastered against her scalp. Her shirtsleeve hangs in tatters around her mid-bicep and the tattoo crawls all the way up there. Beatrice finds herself wondering how far it goes, if it crawls across Ava’s chest.

But the others are getting close. She can make out the shape of Shannon’s ship clearly now, racing across the waves toward them. Beatrice stands, careful not to slip, and casts around for an intact piece of fabric only to find her stomach turning again at the devastation around them.

Ava stands, too, but keeps her gaze studiously on her boots.

She looks up at the sound of tearing fabric, “Uh, what are you doing?”

Beatrice rips the hem of her shirt away, leaving a silly-looking bare patch of navel. It is mostly clean, still – shielded by her jacket. She wraps it around her hand, leaving a long piece to dangle, “We should cover up your arm before the others arrive. I’ll tell them that this-”

She looks around at the gore scattered everywhere, “I’ll tell them I did this.”

“Bea…”

“It’s alright,” she says. Not snapping, but firm, stepping forward with her hand extended, “Now, give me your arm. Quickly.”

Ava does, and Beatrice finds herself astonished by how ordinary her skin feels. Not slimy where the tentacle-shapes rest, just warm. She wraps the hem of her shirt around and around, tugging Ava closer so that she can twist it around her elbow and up along her bicep.

“Here,” Beatrice says once she’s finished, shrugging her jacket off her shoulders. When she looks up – no, surely Ava wasn’t staring at the slant of her navel revealed by her torn shirt. Why would she?

Ava looks startled, “No, Bea. I can’t take your jacket. It’s… part of your outfit.”

That almost makes her laugh, “My what?”

“You have, like, an ensemble thing going on. Dark with silver accents.”

“Do I?”

“Oh, don’t act so innocent. I’ve seen you picking through your shirts. No one does that kind of colour co-ordination by mistake.”

It’s good – strange, but good – to be arguing once again about stupid things.

“Anyway,” Ava continues, looking everywhere but at Beatrice. “I can’t take it from you.”

Beatrice forces the jacket into Ava’s hands. “I insist.”

Dark eyes examine her – aghast, almost. Beatrice turns to look at the horizon, pretending to ignore the sight of Ava slipping into her jacket. It is much too big for her, but Ava sighs as she touches the buttons on the front, no longer shivering.

The rain is cold. Beatrice hadn’t noticed.

#davy jones au #avatrice #ava x beatrice #warrior nun #ty for the prompt! #the girls are!!! covered in blood #and sharing clothes. the essentials