#than x zag

[maetheellen]

the boys

#thanatos #zagreus #hades game #hades supergiant #hades fanart #than x zag #thanatos x zagreus #zagreus x thanatos

[bluelemonns]

finished lineart for Aphrodite!

#tried to make her gauntlets representative of other things in the game #L arm has ares #R arm has dionysus + bow for cupid/artemis + owl for athena #leg gauntlet has zag x than #aphrodite #aphrodite hades game #aphrodite hades #aphrodite art #hades #hades game #my art #lineart #GAH working on her rn is so scary #so much pressure #and its such a long process #pray for me

[amongemeraldclouds]

sweet dreams

It should have been simple: boy meets girl then falls in love. Except everything only happened in his dreams. Can Theodore Nott bridge the gap between fantasy and reality to get the girl of his dreams?

Inspired by Taylor Swift's song, Guilty as Sin?

Theodore Nott x f!Reader

Warning: Fluff, some smut so 18+ only MDNI, characters are aged up. Uses a magical concept that deviates from canon.

✿ Masterlist | 2.9k words

Prologue

The door creaked as you swung it open to leave The Three Broomsticks, eager to breathe in the cool evening air. You scrunched your note as smoke invaded the fresh air you hoped for and turned towards the culprit, Theodore Nott. You didn’t know him personally, but guys as popular as him did not need introduction.

He didn’t notice you as he took another puff and the streetlamp cast him in a soft halo. It was not fair how some people could look so effortlessly gorgeous. 

“Want one?” He reached out when he finally saw you staring, offering you his pack of cigarettes.

You huffed, “No thanks, I was hoping for some fresh air.”

He simply shrugged and turned the other way, smoking in a different direction and out of your way.

You hoped the cool air could return some of your sobriety, but nothing was as effective as a good ol’ near de*th experience. You looked up when you heard someone shrieking from the distance, growing louder and louder until you saw a broomstick zig zag across the sky that was quickly hurtling towards you and Theo.

Theo was quicker than you, holding his wand out and casting a spell just fast enough to redirect the impact to an open space. By the time you held your wand out, you had enough wits about you to cushion the witch’s fall.

You ran towards her to make sure she was fine. She laid on the ground as if she was peacefully sleeping, oblivious to the accident. You crouched beside her, arm outstretched to wake her when-

“Oh bumbling broomstick!” She yelled out and sat upright. You yelped in surprise, yanking yourself back and landing on your bottom. Theo was there within seconds, offering you a hand.

You took it and it was unbelievably soft, his grip strong as he supported you back up from the ground. You registered the smell of alcohol and cigarettes with a subtle hint of expensive cologne. You wanted to take another whiff, but reminded yourself to focus.

“A - are you okay?” You turned back to strange woman, careful to keep your distance this time.

“That chap knows sod all about wizard engineering. Mixing magic and muggle work - ridiculous!” she spat in disdain, dusting off her dress.

She turned around, catching your worried look and Theo’s stoic expression, noticing you both for the first time. “Oh my, where are my manners?” She asked, straightening her back and introducing herself.

“I’m Miss Amelia Adams, thank you for rescuing me,” you shook hands and smiled at her politely, introducing yourselves in return.

Your eyebrows knit together as she fished around her bag, looking for something.

She beamed when she found it and held out a daisy for you. “To properly thank you, please accept this flower,” she then leaned in conspiratorially, “it grants a wish.”

She winked before gathering herself and her ‘bumbling broomstick’ as she called it. “Well, I’m off,” she declared, walking away as quickly as she had come before you had any chance to say goodbye.

You were stunned, holding the flower in your hand. You scoffed at the idea of wishes, the only way to get something is to go out there and take it. Hard work and strategy was far more effective than any wish. After a few moments of awkward silence, you turned to Theo. “That was…” you trailed off, trying to find the right word.

“Odd,” he completed for you, just as stunned as you were.

“Are you okay?” You asked Theo. He grunts and you reassured him you’re fine in return.

“Have this flower, you saved us first. Thanks, by the way. You should get the wish,” you said casually, only half believing the mysterious Miss Amelia.

He accepted it and placed it in his coat, stoic expression still in place. When he said nothing else, you turned on your heels to go back to your friends in the pub.

You paused when Theo called after you as if saying goodbye as an afterthought. “See you at school?” He said. It seems he recognized you too.

You turned around and gave him a friendly grin, “in your dreams,” you said in a playful tone. Despite being school mates, you and Theo revolved around different orbits. You experienced just enough failed relationships to know better than to start a friendship with Mr. Emotionally Unavailable.

He just smirked and watched you go before returning to his cigarette. Had he held the flower in his hand, he would have noticed it glow before bursting into tiny glitters, a wish about to come true.

That night, Theo first dreamt of you.

Main story, months later

The booming party music faded when Theo heard the familiar sound of your laughter. He shifted in the Slytherin common room couch as his entire focus gravitated towards you like you were the sun his planet revolved around.

It was always disorienting, he thought, to hear and see you somewhere outside his dreams. Mostly because you never looked his way here but in his dreams, you’ve given him everything he ever needed and more.

He recalled the first words you ever said to him in his dream, “you again?”

“Is that such a bad thing?” He asked with his boyish grin, amused. He wasn’t used to seeing this reaction from others except for his friends.

He no longer remembered the rest of that conversation, but one minute you two were laughing at something silly and the next, he was tucked comfortably in bed. It was then he realized it was all a dream he could just laugh off and forget about. It was no longer funny by the third night he kept seeing you. 

You both discussed how absurd this all was until you realized how fun it could also be. So you tested different ways you could take your power back and control the dream you found yourselves in. He discovered you were smart and funny, it warmed something in Theo’s heart that he did not care to examine.

Soon enough, he was flying with you through the sky, swerving through clouds as the stars blurred past like strings of fairy lights. You both flew like it was the most natural thing in the world, no broomsticks needed. He felt like a kid again, fearless and free.

One time, he went to a muggle amusement park you heard so many great things about. You rode on roller coasters and ferris wheels then ate candy floss. You would have gotten a fever the next day from all the sugar and shouting if not for the fact this all happened in your dreams. He had never felt happier.

On quiet nights, you laid on cool grassy hills enjoying the evening breeze. Sometimes, you watched sunsets on the beach while listening to the ocean waves. Those were his favorite days. You told him about your big plans and ambitions. He tried to stifle his smiles, but your energy was so infectious. The world felt bigger and brighter when he was around you. 

He’d tell you about his mother. How close they were before they were permanently separated. He said he kept her alive by remembering their happy moments that he’d tell you stories about. He also talked about his strained relationship with his father and how silly his friends were, but oh how he’d d*e for them.

He found himself spilling thoughts and secrets he could never tell anyone else. He stammered every now and then, not used to opening up, but you were so patient. He felt safe with you because you’re a good listener. Besides, wasn’t he basically just talking to a figment of his imagination? He tried not to overthink it.

Theo felt the couch beside him dip as the familiar smell of smoke and cologne announced Mattheo’s presence. “Want to go for a smoke?” He asked with a smirk as he flashed a joint.

“Later, okay?” Theo replied distracted, his focus still on you.

A student rose from the couch and moved away as Lorenzo approached. Thanks to their popularity, the boys always seemed to find a convenient seat when they needed it. He joined the two with a grin, drinks in hand. Mattheo took in Enzo’s disheveled hair and loose tie. He accepted the drink and gave him a high five knowing he already had his conquest for the night. Theo accepted the drink and just held it.

“Who’s the lucky girl?” Mattheo asked, taking a swig from his cup.

Enzo blushed and took a sip of his drink. “You know I never kiss and tell.”

Mattheo rolled his eyes in response, “until you’re drunk enough.” He pushed Enzo’s cup back to his mouth. “Come on, drink up.”

Theo tuned out the conversation and he saw you dancing with your friends, your hips moving to the beat of the music. His eyes darkened as he remembered how those hips rocked into his. It didn’t take long before you first kissed him under the stars when the conversation died down, simply because there was nothing else to say.

All other thoughts and sentiments could only be expressed in the way your fingers gripped his wavy hair, when he bit your bottom lip and you moaned against him. Before he knew it, you were reciting his name like a prayer even though it felt anything but sacred when he slammed his hips into your dripping cunt. He savoured the way your nails scratched his back. He didn’t know until then how someone’s grip could make him feel so wanted.

He always made sure you knew he how much he appreciated you:

“Fuck, you’re taking me so well amore.” 

“I’ll make you feel so good principessa, I’ll ruin you for anyone else.”

“You’re so beautiful when you’re on your knees,” he’d say as he stuffed his hard length down your throat.

He memorized your shape and knew just where to touch you to be rewarded with your filthy moans and curses. He liked making your eyes roll to the back of your head. Loud screams, sheets gripped, chest heaving. He took delight in the way you came undone for him, your little whimpers were so cute he could not resist thrusting faster into you so he could feel you clench against his desperate cock again and again.

His favorite part was after he came inside you when you swiped your finger on your upper thigh and brought his spilled seed to your lips. You said you loved the way he tastes. He always said you could have as much as you want, he was all yours and you were his.

“Theo, mate?” Blaise called out to the unresponsive boy who gazed intently at the crowd.

He turned to Mattheo and narrowed his eyes, “how much weed did you give him?” Blaise couldn’t help but worry about his friends, it was exhausting really. Mattheo pushed Theo outside his comfort zone whereas Theo pulled Mattheo back in when he went to extremes. They always kept each other in check, but he was worried that balance could tip off at any moment. 

“Easy on the accusation, he’s a big boy. He can do what he wants,” Mattheo replies defensively. “Besides he hasn’t taken any green, he’s too high on that girl already. Been eye fucking her all night.” 

Mattheo’s harsh words finally cut through Theo’s daydreams and his jaw twitched in annoyance, “I’m not. You should talk about her more respectfully.”

Enzo chimed in, “you know I hate agreeing with Mattheo, but he’s right.” Ignoring Mattheo’s de*th glare, he continued, “there’s nothing respectful about the way you’ve been looking at that poor girl.”

Theo just rolled his eyes and groaned, not wanting to discuss this with his friends. Even if he did, he wouldn’t know where to start. Instead, he stood up and said, “I’m going out for a smoke,” and walked away before anyone could protest or go with him.

As he walked, his thoughts returned to you. One day, you laughed because of his jokes. He laughed because he was in love with you.

It was all so ridiculous, but it had been months and he could no longer deny his feelings. He always thought love was overrated. How can others go out there declaring love like it’s a wild adventure you’re about to embark on? Love that you would fight and break for? He didn’t want an adventure nor a battlefield.

Then there was you and he realized everything he knew about love had only been one version of it. Being with you restored his breath and calmed the butterflies in his stomach. It’s a love that did not challenge him to be better, but instead told him he is already good enough. That he was always enough. It’s the kind of love that felt like home. It’s what he never knew he needed.

You haunted him even when he was awake. He was always tempted to approach you to see if the things he saw in his head could be real. His only clue was the way you wore ribbons in your hair and how it matched your mood to the stories you’d tell him.

He noticed you wore red when you were angry like the time you had to do a group project by yourself. You wore blue when you felt sad and green when you felt generally peaceful. His favorite was pink because it meant you were happy. He noticed how the closer you got, you wore the pink ribbon more often. But today, you wore a black ribbon. He had never seen it before and it worried him. Then again it was only a theory, maybe it didn’t mean anything.

So he always talked himself out of approaching you. Theodore Nott was used to broken things whereas everything with you and about you was perfect. He knew at the very least to leave it well enough alone.

His thoughts carried him to the Astronomy Tower where he lit his cigarette and stared at the evening sky.

“You always seem to be polluting the fresh air I go out for.” Something in his heart froze and then burned brightly. It was you. He heard the smile in your voice before he turned around to look at you. Salazar, you were so beautiful.

“You always seem to find me when you need fresh air. Are you sure you’re not just looking for me?” He teased, but nevertheless moved to extinguish his cigarette. 

You chuckled at Mr. Arrogant who always knew his way around girls. “I was joking, keep your cigarette though your lungs probably hate you.”

He scoffed, he already hated himself. But mostly, he hated how desperately he wanted to reach out and kiss you without being a total creep. “I’ll survive,” he replied, taking a final drag before snuffing it out. “What brings you here?”

“Aside from the not-so-fresh air?” You grinned before turning serious. “This is a nice place to think.”

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Salazar, he’s relentless. “I’m in an impossible situation and I’m starting to lose hope,” you admit. So that’s what the black is for, Theo realized.

He scrunched his nose as he thought twice about what he was about to say. It was so silly trying to hold back when he’d give you the moon and the stars if you asked for it. “Whatever it is, you shouldn’t lose hope.”

You laughed at him and let out an exaggerated gasp, “coming from Mr. Emotionally Unavailable?”

He laughed in return, “ah, my reputation precedes me.”

“Exactly, so don’t go around saying things like that. People might think you have a heart behind that big brain of yours.”

“Wouldn’t want that, would we?” He leaned in conspiratorially.

“No, everyone would stare at you then.”

“You know it’s rude to stare.”

“Oh yeah? What should I do instead?” You challenged.

“Kiss me,” he said with a smirk, a half joke and a half plea.

You laughed and took a step back, placing distance between you. So this was how he got girls, you mused.

Salazar, he was losing you. If he was going to try, he had to be sincere. No charms, no masks. “Amore, I…” he began but grew self conscious at the nickname. “I mean, I wanted to…” he started then stopped. “I wonder if…” he tried again.

“I know,” you said, fire burning behind your eyes at recognition. This was the boy of your dreams. Awkward when he tries to be sincere and it was so adorable. It always made you feel special because you knew he had walls for the rest of the world. But with you, he was at home.

You closed the distance to meet his lips and the kiss said everything he needed to know. All those evenings together talking beneath starlit skies, exploring flesh and soul, falling in love. They were real.

His hands found the curve of your hips so naturally as he pulled you closer against him, just like he’s done countless times. He savoured the way your fingers made their way through his hair. Everything felt electric, at once new and familiar. It was better than anything you had dreamed of.

When you both broke for air, you found yourself blinking in disbelief. “How do we both have the same dreams?”

Theo just shook his head as if to say he didn’t know but then he remembered your first meeting. There was a witch with a bumbling broomstick and a flower. His eyes widened. “The flower from all those months ago.”

Your eyes lit up with remembrance, “the mysterious Miss Amelia!” You brought your hand to your lips, “I didn’t think it was real. I said you’d see me in your dreams.”

“And now you’re my dream come true, amore,” he said, pulling you in for a hug.

 You giggled at how sweet Mr. Not So Emotionally Unavailable could be. “And you’re mine. See you tonight then?”

He chuckled, “and then tomorrow I’ll take you on a real date?”

You scrunched your face, “but now we can’t fly through the stars anymore.”

“Oh, I have other ideas,” he whispered in your ear.

Your heart leapt to your throat and anticipation hummed in your veins. After all, some things were sweeter than dreams.

✿ Masterlist

A/N: I've mostly written for Enzo and Mattheo until now but when I thought of this plot, I just knew only Theo could do it justice. So this is how I wound up writing my first Theo fic. Hope you liked it!

#theodore nott x you #theodore nott x reader #theodore nott imagine #theodore nott smut #theo nott #theodore nott #slytherin boys x reader #slytherin boys #amongemeraldcloudswrites

[feyreswaterybowels]

⭒The Silent One⭒

#1 Azriel x Fem!OC

⭒Part 1⭒Part 2⭒Part 3⭒Part 4⭒

Word Count: 4k

Summary: Velaris was home to many pleasure houses but when the high lord learns the owners of these houses aren’t abiding bu long reigning laws he and his inner circle steps in—in the process taking in an Illyrian female that had been abused and tormented.

Warnings/Tags: mute character. slow burn romance. trauma. sexual abuse. found family. building romance/trust after trauma. violence. strong female character. protective!azriel. protective!IC.

Authors Note: All likes, re blogs and comments are welcome, appreciated and highly encouraged! Let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for the next part! Bold italics are mental communication, regular italics are inner thoughts.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

The smell of smoke was thick in the air. The floor was wet, the air moist and chilled. The building Azriel and Cassian just entered was one of the many pleasure houses in Velaris. This was no ordinary visit for pleasure. No. They were on a mission per their High Lord’s command.

The Velvet Pearl was a pleasure house where those who entered could pay for sexual services. Men and women alike were welcome and the Pearl was known to have anything a person was looking for—whether that be a specific species, body type, hair color, skin color or a specific act. It could all be found here. The Mistresses made it their job to comb through the streets looking for those who would enjoy the work.

That’s what led their mission here tonight. Pleasure houses are no secret in Velaris. They are out in the open. There can be one found for many vices. Gambling, dancing, drinking and of course sex. There aren’t many rules for these houses by the High Lords command, but a big one had been broken recently.

Consent.

The law of consent in these pleasure houses is major, one of the most important to the High Lord, Rhysand, and the ones before him. One cannot force another to drink. One cannot force another to gamble. Once cannot force another into sexual acts. Any person visiting or working at these establishments must be there of their own free will.

With the pleasure houses specifically this rule had been broken when one of Azriel’s spies fled into Rhysand office, informing him of many pleasure houses buying fae citizens off of families who needed money. The high lord was shocked, they hadn’t had any issues like this in centuries. He immediately summoned his inner circle looking to them for advice.

That’s how Azriel and Cassian ended up here now. They, and a few other soldiers, were to patrol the pleasure houses for the next few night. Look and listen for any signs that confirm the information given to them.

The Velvet Pearl was a very niche business. A large luxurious building, mirrors lined the outside walls reflecting the beauty of Velaris on the outside. The inside however was lined and decorated in blacks, red, green and golds. The lights were low and colorful. A huge bar with various types of wines, liquors, spirits and beers. They always had heavy music playing. Poles and stages for the workers to dance on. On the upper most floors were doors lining the walls. Private rooms that could be paid for and used for the services.

However, the luxury ended when one entered the Dungeon as they called it. A fitting name for the place they had just entered. The place where one picked their partner for the night. Caged cells lined the room and sat atop one another zig-zagging around the room like a maze. Males and females, mostly lesser fae but some high fae as well, a few different species. All naked. All pressed against the bars of their enclosures. Heavy lidded eyes trained on the two massive Illyrian warriors before them. Reaching out to touch, but not actually touching, they all knew better than to touch anyone who doesn’t explicitly ask for it. Some of them, however, touched one another through the bars, enticing a buyer to take them both for the night.

“I’m really good at wing play, I’ll make you cum in less than a minute,” A pretty fae, purred. Lesser fae Azriel noted, long dark hair curled around her perky breasts, skin a dark blue with eyes to match. She was definitely attractive.

“Sorry, I prefer it to last a little longer than that,” Cassian winked at her, getting a giggle in return. Azriel rolled his eyes but a barely there grin that only his brother would notice played on his lips.

They continued on. Looking at every fae in the room. Analyzing them, reading their body language making sure they truly wanted to be here. These fae, as they should, all seem to love their job. That’s how it should be. It’s when they got to the end of the line, nearly out of the room that things took a turn.

A cell that was previously empty was now occupied by a female and a mistress—mistresses only accompanied new workers. A snap echoed through the space and the two warriors shared a look before walking over. Both hiding their shock at the sight in front of them.

There pressed against the back of the cage was a female, not just any female though. Her eyes were wide as she watched them approach. Eyes scanning their wings, siphons and weapons. Pushing herself into the corner and trying to cover her nakedness with her hands. Another snap echoed, her hands dropping to the side as she cried out when the mistress struck her thigh again.

“No need for that,” Azriel growled. His shadows raced around him, curling around his ear to whisper to him.

Glamor. The female is glamored. They hiss.

He gave Cassian a side eye before locking eyes with the mistress.

“Remove her glamor,” Azriel ordered. The mistress blanched, eyes wide in shock.

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“Do we need to tell Thane you don’t know how to follow orders?” Cassian snarled. She gave a meek head shake.

“As you wish,” She said before waving her hand, the glamor shimmering away leaving both men there shocked at the sight in front of them.

Azriel heard Cassian's intake of breath. Hidden behind that glamor was a pair of Illyrian wings, bound behind her in a way that was obviously very uncomfortable with the way they twitched and shifted in their bindings.

“Remove her binding as well. Do you know what can happen to Illyrian wings if they stay bound like that?” Cassian said, arms crossing over his chest in an attempt to not rip the bars from the cage. The bound female looks between the two men, cautious and weary as the Mistress narrows her eyes.

“She’s unclipped and doesn’t know how to control them. We bound them so she doesn’t hurt herself or someone else,” the Mistress explained, but it wasn’t the right answer to give.

“Unbind her now,” Azriel ordered, his voice a booming echo in the room, it was not a question. The Mistress understood that tone, turning to the female, grabbing her roughly and turning her. She cut the rope and the wings instantly sagged, finding relief outside of the bindings.

“See, she can’t even hold them up,” the Mistress snapped, pushing the female back against the wall.

“She can’t hold them up because the muscles have been weakened due to lack of use caused by binding them,” Cassin snarled right back, satisfaction coiling in him at the way she flinched away. “How the hell did you acquire an Illyrian female without even knowing anything of their basic anatomy?”

The Mistress glared at him again. “She was sold to us unsullied by a third party. Half Illyrian, half high fae. Her father gambled away all of their money, he was in debt and sold his daughter off to pay his debts.”

“The purchasing of females to work in pleasure houses is illegal. You are in direct violation of breaking that law,” Azriel spoke, staring the woman down. “Open the cage. She’s coming with us.”

The cage opens and Cassian gestures for the mistress to exit the space. She looks at the female before reluctantly stepping out. Azriel steps but keeps his distance.

“I’m Azriel. What is your name?” He asked, catching her green eyes that almost seemed to glow in the dim lights.

“Don’t bother. She’s had her tongue removed,” the Mistress answered, mouth snapping shut when Cassian’s head snapped in her direction.

Azriel growls low in his throat, but stops himself when he catches the look on the female's face in front of him. Terrified. She was absolutely terrified.

“It’s okay,” he offered softly, stepping further into the cage “cover yourself.”

She looked at him skeptically. Weary. Cautious. She glances at the stick the mistress leaned against the wall then down at her red streaked, bruised thighs. She was scared he was going to hit her if she covered herself. He silently ordered one of his shadows to remove the stick from the room. Rhysand would definitely be hearing about that.

“No further harm will come to you, please, cover yourself,” Azriel soothed, shifting so she was out of view of the horrible Mistress behind him.

She watched him for a second before she dropped her head down and slowly folded her wings around herself, effectively covering her body.

“Have you ever winnowed before?” Azriel asked, watching her brows furrow. “Don’t be scared. I need to touch you but I’m only going to wrap my arm around you okay?”

The female was hesitant, but took a step forward. Those two men were terrifying, but they never looked away from her face unlike every other male who only stared at her body. Maybe wherever they were going to take her would be better than this place.

Azriel outstretched his hand, watched her eyes track the movement and take in his scars and siphons. Though she still seemed terrified she shifted in a way that he could easily wrap his arm around her back.

“You’re coming with us, too,” Cassian snarls to the Mistress, grabbing her before slapping his hand down onto Azriel’s shoulder.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

One minute they were standing in the pleasure house then the next there was nothing but swirling darkness. She clung to Azriel, somehow finding comfort in the arm wrapped securely around her.

When things came back into view the first thing she noticed were the stars in the sky. It had been so long since she saw the sky. Only she hadn’t been able to focus on it long, realizing they weren’t on a flat surface they were in the air and…falling.

A scream threatened to escape from her lips but that arm tightened around her and they were no longer falling but gliding lower and lower until they swooped through a window. She couldn’t really tell where she was at but as soon as her feet hit the ground she collapsed into herself. She pulled her knees to her chest inside of her winged cacoon, pushing her forehead against them and willing the sickness in her stomach to go away.

She didn’t look up at the sounds of a struggle, trying to ignore the grunting growls of a male who had just been slapped before the high pitched voice demanded, “Let me go! Take your hands off of me, you have no right!”

And she had been too scared to look up when she heard a booming voice that seemed to shake the very ground she was clinging to.

“He had every right,” is what that booming voice said, commanding silence from everyone in the room.

The silence was deafening.

She heard the sound of heels clicking, closer then further away then back in her direction again. She still didn’t look up. Not when she felt those heels next to her, or when the person wearing them wrapped something warm around her.

“My High Lord, please—”

“Take her to a cell,” That voice ordered again, not as loud but just as commanding and for a moment she thought they were talking about her.

She was about to beg. Don’t make me go. Please. Please, don’t take me to another cell!

It was only when she heard the other female, the Mistress, struggling again that she realized he wasn’t talking about her. He wasn’t locking her away…not yet anyway. When the struggling stopped and the shouts could no longer be heard. That’s when she looked up.

Her eyes instantly met dark violet. He looked similar to the other two males…golden tanned skin, dark hair, tall, but no wings. Unless they were hidden like hers had been.

“My name is Rhysand. What’s your name?” The voice asked, soothing almost, easing the tension from her shoulders.

“She can’t speak, Rhy,” the male from earlier, Azriel spoke. “They cut her tongue out.”

There’s a sharp intake of breath beside her and she remembers someone had been beside her. She looks up, taking in the heels, red silk top, blonde hair curled, and a pair of deep brown eyes on a beautiful face.

There is sadness in those eyes, etched in her flawless face and she has to look away. The anger flashing in those violet eyes isn’t much easier to look at.

“If I get you a pen and paper can you write?” He asked, again that voice soothing her in a way she didn’t quite understand. She shook her head.

Her father never taught them to read or write. They had no need for either being locked in that basement…that dark, cold, terrifying basement—

The male, Rhysand as he’d been called, frowns. Looking towards Azriel as if they were having a silent conversation before his eyes fall on her again and he takes a step forward, crouching down so they were eye level.

“I’m a daemati. Do you know what that is?” Rhysand asked. She shook her head again. “It means I can see and enter into people’s minds. Like this—hello, my name is Rhysand.”

Her eyes widen as that voice echoes in her head. What is happening right now? She meets Rhysand’s eyes, mouth falling open slightly. “You can hear me, too?”

“I can,” he responded out loud. “May we have the pleasure of knowing your name, sweetheart?”

She thought for a moment. No one had asked her for her name. They called her a lot of things…but never her name. She swallowed thickly, cleared her throat and nodded slowly.

“Cassandra. My name is Cassandra.” She answered, watching a warm smile come over his face as he stood and took the last few steps, offering his hand to her.

She doesn’t hesitate, placing her hand in his and allows him to gently pull her to her feet. She glances in the direction of Azriel and the pretty blonde just as the other male from before enters the room.

He shares that same look with Rhysand, like they’re communicating silently and now she knows that’s most likely the case. Rhysand dips his head in answer to whatever was said.

“Let me properly introduce you,” He says, gesturing to the three people in the room with them. “This is Azriel, Cassian and Morrigan. Everyone, this is Cassandra.”

Her heart skips in her chest. She hadn’t realized that it could feel so nice just to hear someone say her name. She gives Rhysand a small grateful look, hoping he understood what it means. He just gave her a single nod.

“Cassandra, you are officially under the protection of the night court,” Rhysand said, as she stood there staring at him. She felt something in her mind, like an opening and assumed it must be him waiting to see if she needed to say something.

“High Lord?” Cassandra asked and he nodded though he looked confused.

“Yes, I’m a high lord. Do you know what that is?” he asked. She shook her head, shrugging her shoulders meekly. The four of them share a look and it makes her want to drop back down into her cocoon and hide. “We can do a run down of titles and histories later. I am High Lord of Velaris, I rule this city and all of the people in it. Cassian is the commander of my armies. Azriel is my spy master. And Morrigan is my third in command as well as my cousin.”

Cassandra stands there. Everything coming from his mouth sounded foreign as if he was speaking another language. She nodded her head but it was more than obvious she didn’t really understand.

“Morrigan will escort you to your room—”

“Room? Not cell?” She asked surprised, not meaning to cut him off.

“You are not a prisoner, Cassandra. So, no, you won’t be sleeping in a cell. You will have your own room and you can do as you please,” Rhysand promised. “I have two amazing females, Nuala and Cerridwen that will tend to you. I would also like you to know I’ve placed a special ward on your room. No male will be allowed to enter your room, not even me unless you specifically invite them in. I want you to feel safe here. No one will lay a hand on you again without your permission. Not here. Not anywhere. Not ever again.”

Cassandra isn’t exactly sure what to say or what to do. No one, not even her own family has ever been this kind or considerate of her. She feels the tears in her eyes as she looks at him.

“Thank you.” Is all she can manage.

“There’s no need to thank me,” He shakes his head. Genuine. Sincere. There’s no trick behind his kindness. “Nuala and Cerridwen will take care of you, if you need anything ask them and they’ll get it for you. Once you feel comfortable and settled please come join us for dinner if you’re hungry. Do you need any special foods?”

“No…just soft foods. If there’s meat it just has to be small,” She answered, not wanting to show how special it felt that he asked that question silently.

“Not a problem at all,” Rhysand promised, giving her a small smile before waving Morrigan back over.

“Come, you’ll be right through here,” the beautiful female speaks, her voice smooth and warm. It reminded Cassandra of her mother.

Cassandra gave a small head nod before following Morrigan. The stone floors cold under her bare feet as she pulled the cover tighter around herself. The large, wooden double doors opened seemingly on their own accord. Cassandra looked back, locking eyes with Azriel, that male with the shadows, for a moment before they turned out of the room.

They walked down the hall in what Cassandra could only describe as comfortable silence. It gave her time to take in the beautiful home that seemed to be carved from…stone? Accented by wood and golden lights.

Cassandra slowed when they passed a particularly beautiful painting that caught her eye. The click of Morrigan’s heels slowed as well. The painting was of a large city, glow lights, and a bright river all at the base of a beautiful huge mountain. She scanned the painting. It felt so warm and inviting just like this home and the people in it.

“That’s Velaris,” Morrigan says from behind her. “Have you ever seen the city?”

Cassandra’s eyes stay on the painting and shakes her head. She hears the other female swallow thickly but still can’t tear her eyes from the beautiful painting.

“This is the city, it holds houses and businesses,” Morrigan begins pointing at the painting and tracing around the area she was talking about before moving to the brightest, most colorful part of the painting. “This is what we like to call the Rainbow. It’s where our artists of all kinds live. I like to go there to eat the music, it’s home to the best pastries, too! This here is the Sidra River, it’s sparkling blue in the daytime and winds all the way through Velaris. And this is where we are. We call it the House of Wind.”

Cassandra’s jaw drops a little when Morrigan points to the mountain, to the house carved in it. She looks around then back at the painting. Beautiful.

“One day, when you’re feeling up to it, you and I could have a girls day in the city. Just me and you. And I could show you all of the best shops, we could walk along the Sidra, you’ll love it. But only when you’re ready!” She clarified and Cassandra finally looked at her hearing the excitement in her voice.

“I don’t have many female friends and I can only have so much fun with those males,” She said, a smile stretching her red painted lips.

Cassandra tried to return the smile but she was sure it didn’t look genuine, she liked the idea of being…friends with Morrigan. But she didn’t know what all that entailed. Would Morrigan expect things of her if they became friends? Like those girls at the pleasure house?

“Come let’s get you to your room,” Morrigan cut through her thoughts and Cassandra offered a small nod before following once again.

Two more turns and a flight of stairs got them to where they were going. Two beautiful females stood outside an open door, dark skin with eyes and hair to match.

“Nuala and Cerridwen,” Morrigan motioned to each female, “this is Cassandra. Please, help her get cleaned up, changed and settled in. Cassandra, once you're settled, like Rhys said, please, consider coming to join us for dinner.”

Morrigan offers a smile before turning away. Cassandra’s hand shoots out to grab her wrist, to stop her, only to realize what she’d done and let go immediately, stumbling back a step.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Morrigan soothed, reaching out to steady her. “Would you like me to walk in with you?”

A jerky head nod was the answer she got.

“Alright, come,” She breathed softly, walking in the room first and waiting patiently for Cassandra.

When she entered the room her mouth fell open at how large it was. Situated in the middle of one wall was a huge bed—so huge she was sure she could lay on it, stretch her wigs out as far as they would go and still have room to spare. The covers were white and looked so fluffy. There were glowing lights all around the room. The opposite wall of the bed held a wall of glass less windows. Another wall held a table and chairs and a shelf with books. Then the other side opened into a large bathroom.

“Take a moment for yourself. Your life is about you now, Cassandra. You will never be used for someone else's pleasure or entertainment ever again. This is your room. This is your home now,” Morrigan speaks and Cassandra feels her eyes tear up but then Morrigan's heels are leaving the room and those two dark skinned beauties are leading her to the bathroom.

⋆ ݁⟡ ݁☾ ݁⟡ ݁⋆

As soon as she was out of the room Morrigan broke down. Hot tears slid down her cheeks as she made her way back to the room she left the other three male in. She had just calmed herself when she walked in and saw them standing together.

“Is everything okay, Mor?” Cassian asked, siphons gleaming atop his hands.

“I don’t think she’s ever been outside before, Rhys,” and just like that Morrigan’s eyes were brimming with tears once again. Rhys fixed her with a look urging her to explain, an ache in his own chest. She takes a breath, looking up and wiping the tears from her eyes. “We were passing that big painting of Velaris and she had no clue what she was looking at. She had no idea what her own home looked like. And on top of that she was terrified to even walk in the room alone, I had to walk her in. And—and she looked at the room like she didn’t believe it was real. Especially the bed and I keep thinking that maybe she never even had a bed!”

Cassian is the one to walk over and offer Morrigan the comfort of a hug. “It’s okay. We’re gonna take care of her now. Find all the people who did this, help her through it all and help her find herself. She’s gonna be okay.”

Rhys and Azriel look at one another. “There’s no telling how many other girls like Cassandra there are out there. I’m hoping she will join us for dinner so I’m able to ask her some questions without her feeling cornered. Azriel, Cassian, I want you two to go talk to that mistress, find out what you can without harming her…for now. Her and anyone else involved will be prosecuted accordingly. Go. now.”

#acotar #slow burn #acotar fanfiction #azriel #azriel fanfic #azriel x reader

[munson-blurbs]

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13

Summary: A disastrous PTA meeting and an unfortunate grocery store encounter have you and Eddie questioning whether or not you deserve each other.

Warnings: a bit of dirty talk (18+ just in case), feelings of unworthiness, Carol Perkins and Billy Hargrove make appearances, mentions of bullying, small allusion to drug use and poverty, arrest, tiny allusion to Eddie's breeding kink

WC: 7.1k

Chapter 13/20

Divider credit to @saradika Special thanks to @girlwiththerubyslippers & @corroded-hellfire for helping with this chapter!

Your Thursday mornings at Hawkins Preschool usually involve a light tap on the door and a blink-and-you-missed-it wave from Eddie; maybe a wink if no one’s looking. Today, he’s stopped by the classroom with a steaming styrofoam cup in hand.

“I thought you only brought me coffee on Mondays,” you laugh appreciatively. You take the still-hot beverage from him, folding back the plastic tab and blowing on it lightly before taking a sip. It’s made just as you like it and warms you from the inside out.

Eddie smiles, crossing his arms over his chest an leaning in closer so his leather-clad shoulder grazes sweater-covered one. “Ah, but the PTA meeting is after school today.” As if you could forget forty minutes of unpaid work that could be spent reading, resting, snuggling up to your thoughtful metalhead boyfriend… “Figured you could use an extra boost of caffeine to help you power through.” He lowers his voice to add, “I’m sorry I won’t be able to make it. But Wayne’ll be there.” He squeezes your hand quickly just as Abby Carver approaches you. 

You pull away so fast that you bang your elbow against the side of the desk, biting the inside of your cheek to suppress a yelp. “What can I do for ya, Abby?” you ask, smiling through the throbbing pain.

“Joshua said that he’s taller than me!” she whines, messily swiping at her ruddy tear-stained cheeks. Her dad only dropped her off five minutes ago, and she’s already conjured up a crisis. Unsurprising, but exasperating nonetheless.

You peer over at Joshua Harrington, who is currently constructing a racetrack, unbothered by Abby’s distressed state. Your gaze flits back over to the little girl in front of you. “Honey, he is taller than you,” you gently explain, watching as her bright blue eyes begin to well up again.

“Yeah, but he doesn’t havta say it!” she protests, stamping her sneaker on the speckled tile floor. It’s one that lights up, little red and blue and green twinkles dashing along the side.

You nod, sucking in your lips in a feeble attempt to keep a straight face. “Well, you can just play somewhere else. And we’re gonna get started with circle time in a few minutes.” Time to sing the Good Morning song–again. If the kids didn’t beg for it every day, you would’ve scrapped it months ago, but it keeps them entertained.

Once she scampers off, already zeroing in on a group of girls dressing up some time-battered Barbie dolls, you turn your attention back to Eddie. 

“We’re still on for Saturday?” you ask, a subtle reminder of your upcoming date at Enzo’s. It’s a fancier restaurant than either of you are used to, but Eddie had insisted on it.

He nods quickly, scratching at the back of his neck like he does when he’s nervous, though you’re not quite sure what’s on his mind. “Y-Yeah, I’ll pick you up at 7?”

“I can’t wait.”

At 3:15, you and Will trudge into the classroom that’s serving as the meeting venue. It only takes a moment for you to remember that it’s Ms. Marion’s room, and your eyes scan the walls for Harris’s artwork. You find it easily; it’s the best in the class. It’s a drawing based on the saying, ‘March is in like a lion and out like a lamb,’ and each kid drew a picture of the two animals. Harris has meticulously added details to his. He’s drawn a zig-zag line under the lion’s pink nose to represent his aggression and given the lamb a puffy coat of wool, while the other kids just drew smiling lions and a circle to represent their lambs’ bodies. He’s also included a speech bubble hovering above each of their heads; the lion’s says “ROR!!!” and the lamb bleats “BAAA.” 

Will’s gaze follows yours, and his lips turn up into a smile when he sees what you’re staring at. “He’s a talented kid,” he remarks. “We gotta have him sign something now so we can say ‘we knew him when.’” 

You nod your head in agreement and return his grin. You’ll have to tell Eddie to have Harris swing by your classroom after school tomorrow so Harris can autograph some drawings.

Wayne comes in a few minutes later, taking a seat behind you and Will.

“How’s your day going, Wayne?” You turn around in your chair and greet him. Seeing the older Munson always lifts your spirits. He’s wearing a flannel, checks of olive green and white, over a white t-shirt that proudly proclaims: My Favorite Person Calls Me Grampa.

Wayne gives a little shrug; for him, it’s the equivalent of a beaming smile. “Can’t complain. Didn’t get too much pushback from Harris when I dropped him at the baby-sitter’s.” He explains that Claudia Henderson still has a bunch of the games her son had played with, and Harris loves going through the toy bin and finding something new. “Well, new to him. That stuff’s gotta be nearly twenty years old by now.” He scratches the white-gray whiskers on his cheek and chuckles. “Jeez, ‘m old. I remember buyin’ those kinda games for Eddie when he was a kid.”

More parents and teachers file in and, eventually, the PTA president stands at the front of the classroom and calls the meeting to order. The idle conversation gradually ceases, and Linda Wright presses her lips into a thin smile and smooths nonexistent creases in her khaki slacks.

“Welcome, everyone,” she begins, clasping her hands together in front of her. “Thank you all for being here. We have quite a few items to cover today, so let’s get to it!” She’s far too chipper for your liking, and you wince involuntarily as she excitedly announces the upcoming parent-child talent show. It’s an annual school-hosted fundraiser, and apparently a popular one; there’s a soft roar of discussion before Linda wrinkles her nose in irritation and shushes the group.

“Oh, Ed’s gonna love that,” Wayne leans in and whispers to you. “He’ll probably be more excited than Harris.” He sits up straight when Linda clears her throat and glares in his direction.

The president launches into a tirade about kindergarten readiness strategies, handing out little pamphlets to the parents and guardians. The cover displays an overly-enthusiastic teacher surrounded by a small group of students who are closely attending to a fake lesson.

You hear Wayne grumble under his breath: “What is there to be ready for? It’s kindergarten, Jesus Christ.” and you have to stifle a laugh.

Linda luckily doesn’t hear his lament. “I’m opening up the floor to any questions or concerns.” Now is the time that people typically start gathering their belongings and resume unfinished conversations. It’s precisely what you plan to do until you hear an all-too familiar snide voice from across the room. 

“Yes, I have a question.” Carol Perkins stands up. She places her hands on her hips and pulls her lips into a smirk. “What is the school’s policy on parent-teacher relationships? Romantic and…otherwise?” Her gaze sweeps over to you, hovering there for a bit, and you realize with a sense of dread that she’s enjoying this. “Because, to me,” she splays her manicured fingers over the center of her chest, “it just seems completely unprofessional.”

The PTA members start whispering amongst themselves, eyebrows raised in excitement as they try to determine the culprit amongst themselves.

You want to crawl into a hole and die. You can feel Wayne’s eyes on the back of your head, as though he’s silently willing you to remain composed. The only other person who knows of your relationship with Eddie is Will, and you can tell that he’s doing everything in his power not to wrap his arms around you in a hug.

At the very least, the principal is not tolerating the dissolution of the meeting into a gossip session. “Ms. Perkins, we can discuss this at a later time. Privately.” Sue Sinclair’s expression is stoic, unreadable, and you’re not sure whether she’s angry at you or Carol. How would she know it’s me? But logic has no reason with emotion taking center stage, and you’re all too grateful when Chrissy Carver shifts the conversation to organize a ticket sale committee. For the most part, it seems like Carol’s little outburst has been swept under the rug. The meeting concludes as some parents leave while others stick around to schedule playdates, but you remain seated.

A hand on your shoulder startles you from your humiliated stupor, and you look up to see Will looking at you. Sympathy radiates from his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he softly reassures you. “I don’t think anyone knows, and even if they do, who cares? Harris isn’t in your class anymore.”

“I-I know.” But Frankie is, which means I’ll have to face Carol every day, I’ll have to deal with her smarmy expressions and backhanded comments. The blood drains in your face when you think about her spreading rumors to the other parents, their amused stares as they drop their children off to be in your care.

Wayne speaks up as he stands, leaning his gnarled knuckles on the seat of the folding chair for support. “Darlin’, you’ve got nothin’ to worry about. It’s no one’s business who you’re with.” He brushes some dust off of his dungarees and walks with a slight limp towards the door, the remnants of an old injury that flares up in the colder weather. “I gotta go get Harris, but you keep your chin up.” He gives Will a quick head bob that the younger man returns, having developed somewhat of a camaraderie with the elder Munson during the various post-graduation Hellfire sessions held at the trailer.

Carol says nothing as she leaves the room, deep in conversation with Steve Harrington and his wife. If they don’t know about you and Eddie yet, you’re confident that Carol will ensure they do soon. Dread pools in your stomach at the thought of small-town gossip flying, your professionalism being called into question, the possibility of you losing your job. And everyone will know why. 

Eddie’s hands tremor with excitement; his whole body buzzes with energy as he grabs the receiver off of the glass countertop. He dials your number–his favorite seven digit combination in the world–and beams the entire time. As soon as he hears your, “hello?”, he’s practically shouting into the phone. Volume control has never been his forte, especially after years of blowing out his eardrums with loud music.

“Babe, guess what?” He drums his left hand fingertips on the counter, a rhythmic pum-pum-pum to keep his breath steady.

“What’s up?” 

He notes hesitance in your tone, but chalks it up to exhaustion from your extended workday. “I applied for that manager position? The one I told you about on our first date?” He hears your soft “mhm,” before proceeding. “And I got it! Ash just told me now!” He smiles, pressing the receiver to his ear with his shoulder as he organizes paperwork into a pile. “Eddie Munson, getting the girl and the job? Never in Hawkins’ wildest dreams!”

There’s a pause on your end of the line before you reply. “I’m so proud of you, Eds. No one deserves this more than you do.” 

Though there’s still an air of something Eddie can’t quite identify, it’s woven with genuine pride for his accomplishment. His fingertips keep busy as they graze up and down the phone cord. “Now we, uh, really have something to celebrate at Enzo’s.”

Another pause; this one is so long that he wonders if the line disconnected. “Um, about that…” you finally speak up, and Eddie hopes you don’t hear the gigantic sigh of relief that escapes his lips, “maybe we could just do something at my place? Grab takeout, watch a movie or something?”

His relief evaporates almost as quickly as it came, and he puts his weight on his forearms and lowers his voice. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, just been a long week.”

It sounds too automatic, too rehearsed to be true. Eddie doesn’t believe you, but he needs to get to Wayne’s and pick up Harris before his uncle leaves for work. “I really wanted to take you out, show you off, y’know?” He clears his throat, scrambling for words. “We can talk more about it later. Try to get some rest, Sweetheart.”

“Mmkay,” you mumble, and Eddie hopes he’s not just imagining the smile in your voice. “I’ll try. Say hi to Harris and Wayne for me.”

He ends the phone call promising that he will, hanging up hesitantly. What happened between this morning and this evening that had you backing out of the date and retreating into your home? 

I shouldn’t have tried to hold her hand, he grimaces, pulling out of the parking lot and onto the main road towards Forest Hills. That was so stupid; she was at work, and the kids were right there. Way to go, Munson. 

Eddie continues to brood about his faux pas all the way until he gets to Wayne’s, slapping a smile on his face as he relays the news about his promotion. The smile becomes less forced the more he talks. He’s suddenly consumed with thoughts of buying a house with a yard, a pool–well, maybe not a pool; he’s not making that much money–but definitely space for Harris to run around and play.

And in this fantasy world he’s created, you’re standing on the front porch, sipping coffee out of a World’s Best Mom mug–possibly the only mug Wayne doesn’t already have nailed to the trailer wall–made just the way you like it. You’re laughing as you watch Harris sprint back and forth across the grass. Eddie imagines it neatly cut, but the reality is that it would probably be more than a bit overgrown.

He’d sneak up behind you, snaking arms around your waist and resting his head on your shoulder, pressing soft kisses onto the back of your neck–

“That’s amazing, Ed!” Wayne claps a hand on his nephew’s back, drawing him out of his daydream and thrusting him back into reality. He pulls him into a quick hug, not overabundant in affection, but his delight seeps through. “You talk to your girl yet?” 

“First person I called.” My girl. The first person I called was my girl. She’s my girl and I’m her man–

“Good.” Wayne responds pensively, smoothing down his unruly mustache whiskers and reaching for his pack of Camels. He shoves them into his side pocket, right on top of the lighter. “She could use some good news after that shitshow of a PTA meeting.”

Eddie’s brows crinkle, pinched together in non-understanding. “What are you talking about?” he asks before calling out his son’s name to bring him from the bedroom. He can hear the bed springs creaking, which can only mean that Harris is jumping on the old mattress. Apparently, breaking his wrist didn’t result in a lesson learned.

“She didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” He slams his palm onto the countertop as confusion melts into frustration. Weren’t you past this? Past keeping secrets and masking emotions?

Wayne sighs, weighing his options. Ultimately, his allegiance is to his nephew, so he divulges what happened that afternoon, heart sinking as Eddie’s face falls with each word. “She seemed real shook up,” he concludes the story, digging out the pack of cigarettes. Delivering news that devastates his nephew has him urgently craving a smoke. “I wanted to stay and talk to her, but Claudia had somewhere to be at five.”

Eddie chews on his lower lip, pulling off a bit of dry skin with his front teeth. “Yeah, no, ‘s fine.” He calls Harris out of the bedroom again, patience sufficiently thinned. Of course Carol Perkins would shoot off her big mouth about your personal life. It’s not like she had anything better to do. None of that is surprising. 

What worries Eddie is why you didn’t tell him about it. Were you embarrassed that people knew you were together? Is that why you didn’t want to be seen at Enzo’s with him? Would you agree to a restaurant far outside the bounds of Hawkins, or was this shame rooted deeper than small-town gossip?

Wayne can sense his anxiety, and he scrambles to dam up Eddie’s flooding thoughts as he fumbles to put the cigarette between his lips. “It’s pretty damn obvious that you two care for each other. Dare I say, you lo—”

“Wayne!”

“Fine, fine,” Wayne chuckles and grabs his lunch pack. The ceasing of the bed springs indicates that Harris has stopped jumping, and Eddie can hear toy cars clattering into a bag. “But you should just talk to her. Make sure she’s okay.” He lowers his voice as Harris finally emerges. “I know it ain’t been easy to hear rumors your whole life, but this is new to her. Cut her a little slack.”

Eddie looks around the trailer at what was his first real home. He’d bounced from place to place with his parents, dodging angry landlords and their threats of eviction. From a young age, he’d learned to dread the end of the month, knowing that conflict was inevitable. Screaming voices, accusations of hiding money, when anyone with working eyes could see that they’d all but stuffed it in a pipe and smoked it. There was no love; only survival. Wayne was never the cookies and milk, family dinner, Leave it to Beaver type, but he offered Eddie something he’d never had before: safety.

Now, Eddie scoops Harris into his arms and follows Wayne out of the trailer as he locks up. There’s not too much of great value; possibly just the TV, but even that’s on the fritz. And unless a thief had a hankering for hokey mugs and baseball caps, they’d probably leave without taking a thing. “Thanks, Old Man.”

“‘S what I’m here for,” Wayne says, pressing a kiss to Harris’s mop of curls. He pauses, and then does something he hasn’t done in years: he kisses the top of Eddie’s head, too. “Not just a pretty face, y’know.”

On Saturday evening, Eddie finds himself at Bradley’s Big Buy, scouring the aisles until he locates the small refrigerator holding various flower bouquets. The chill hits him in the chest as he opens the door, crouching down to get a better look at the offerings through their tissue-paper wraps. He’s determined to take you to Enzo’s, and he’d hoping this small gesture will show you that he can be the man you deserve.

He finds a bouquet of pink peonies and grabs them from the display case, clutching them proudly. They’re delicate and beautiful, just like you. He raises them up, the petals tickling his nose when he inhales the fresh scent, when he overhears Billy Hargrove speaking in a hushed tone:

“Thought you were stopping by after that parent meeting thing.”

“My idiot husband came home early,” a woman–Carol Perkins, Eddie realizes–punctuates her lament with an irritated sigh. “But speaking of that meeting–I’ve been meaning to tell you: guess who’s also hooking up?” She doesn’t wait for him to answer before divulging the gossip, “Frankie’s teacher and Eddie Munson.”

“The teacher and the Freak? No way.” He sticks his tongue in his cheek and chuckles maliciously. “Didn’t know she was down for that kind of stuff.”

“Keep it in your pants,” Carol huffs, as though she’s not stepping out on her own husband. “But I’m serious! He brings her coffee and leaves her stupid love notes.”

Eddie squeezes his eyes together as he cringes. Billy’s second round of mean laughter transports him back to the time the jock grabbed his brand-new D20 off of the lunch table and used his basketball skills to chuck it into a far-off trash can. The ruby red die sunk into the mountain of discarded lumps resembling mashed potatoes and half-eaten meatloaf, forcing Eddie to trek across the cafeteria and fish it out of the pile of old food. “Love notes? What, is he in high school or something?”

Carol snickers. “Guess he’s making up for all the times he didn’t bother, since he knew no girl in this town would go for him.”

“Looks like he had to go for an import,” Billy jokes, drawing a hideous cackle from his friend. Eddie can practically hear the man’s ego inflating at the way Carol fawns over him.

“And a desperate one at that,” she snorts. “I mean, can you imagine lowering your standards enough to be with Eddie Munson?”

“Let’s hope she comes to her senses eventually,” he agrees. “So, is your husband home now…?”

All Eddie can think is to run, to get the hell out of there before anyone spots him and notices the pink tinging his cheeks and the tears welling in his eyes. He’s so focused on leaving and getting past the two bullies that he forgets about the flowers in his hand, until an infuriated voice calls after him.

“Hey! Get back here!” The manager rolls his eyes when he recognizes the culprit. “Eddie Munson. Of course. I should’ve known that shoplifting isn't too juvenile a crime for you.” 

Eddie can hear Billy and Carol poorly stifling their amusement at his misfortune. He struggles to find the proper words to explain himself as his entire body is engulfed in the flames of embarrassment, burning him from the inside out. “No…I didn’t mean…it was an accident…”

The manager shakes his head with a biting laugh. He’s a graying man who should have been retired fifteen years ago when Eddie was actually shoplifting. The liver-spotted creases around his eyes are particularly visible when he sneers, “Heard that one before. Prob’ly from you.”

Anger burns in Eddie’s throat, but he swallows it. “Look, let me just pay for these, and I’ll get outta here.” He starts to fumble for his wallet, but the old man shakes his head.

“Nice try. I let you off easy too many times when you were a kid, and look where it got ya.” His cold hand clasps Eddie’s bicep as tightly as his feebleness allows. “I’m calling the sheriff. He can decide what to do with you.”

“Shit-shit-shit,” Eddie mumbles, yanking himself from the man’s grip. “Y’don’t have to hold me; I’m not gonna run away.”

To his surprise, the manager lets him go, though it’s likely due to his advanced age rather than trusting Eddie to do the right thing.

He’s taken to the back room, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor and biting his thumbnail. A quick glance at his watch tells him that he’s supposed to pick you up in 15 minutes. He breathes out a long sigh, scanning the bulletin board hastily fastened to the wall with a lone flyer advertising medical benefit sign-up. Upon closer inspection, he reads that it’s for the 1990 fiscal year, and he can’t help but wonder if that’s the last time the stodgy old Bradley ever offered insurance to his overworked, underpaid employees. 

He says a silent prayer to whatever gods are listening that Hopper is the one who answers the call. The chief will give him the benefit of the doubt and probably tear the old fart a new one for wasting his time.

Purse, keys, lipstick, condoms.

You have everything you need for your date, save for one minor detail–Eddie.

You’d expected him to stop by your classroom yesterday to say good morning like he normally does, but he didn’t show. He would’ve called you if Harris was staying home sick; a brief peek out your window during recess confirmed that the littlest Munson was present. He ran around the playground with one of his friends from the birthday party, blissfully unaware of the turmoil churning within you.

Eddie definitely heard what happened at the meeting, you realize miserably, and he doesn’t want to deal with the backlash he’ll get from dating his kid’s former teacher. From anxiety blooms visions of the convoluted game of telephone perpetuated by Carol, the story getting more absurd with each retelling. 

At 7:30, Eddie still hasn’t shown. He’s not exactly Mr. Punctuality, but thirty minutes is pushing it, even for him. His tardiness does nothing to ameliorate your fears. This was clearly too much for him—you were too much for him. 

You’re about to wipe the makeup off of your face and change into your coziest pair of pajamas when the phone rings, startling you slightly.

“H-Hello?”

“This is a collect call from the Hawkins County Jail. Do you accept the charges?” an automated voice bleats, too chipper for the circumstances it’s reporting.

You’re caught off-guard by the question and the tone, and you choke out a strangled, “yes” and the line rings twice.

“Sweetheart? You there?” Eddie. Eddie, Eddie, Eddie. Relief floods your body until you remember where he’s calling from.

“Y-Yeah, I’m here,” you say, and it’s only when your fingers start to cramp that you recognize how tightly you’re gripping the receiver. “Why are you in–”

He sighs into the phone, and static briefly clouds his voice. “Long story,” he mumbles. “Can you just come and get me? There’s, uh, no bail or anything.”

“I’ll be right there.” You waste no time in grabbing your keys off of their hook, nearly forgetting to shove your feet into shoes in your scramble out the door. You’re ashamed to admit that for a millisecond, you consider the possibility that he’s been busted for dealing, but you shake it off lest it further infiltrate your psyche.

You pull up to the jail exactly twenty-eight minutes later, the fastest you can get there without flying down side streets; the irony of being pulled over for speeding on your way to the police station was not lost on you. Flinging the car into park and killing the engine, you fast-walk through the entrance and hope your nervousness is hidden by the air of confidence you’re faking. 

“I’m here to pick up Eddie—er, Edward Munson?” His legal name is clunky on your tongue, like it doesn’t quite belong to him. 

The officer behind the desk wears a name badge that reads “P. Callahan.” He puts down his copy of the Hawkins Post and presses his lips into a thin line as he reaches for the walkie attached to his shirt pocket. 

“Hop, is Munson ready to be released?” Released. Like a wild animal who needs to be kept away from the general public for their own safety. 

The officer on the other end—Chief Hopper, you presume—confirms that Eddie is good to go, and a door opens shortly after that. Eddie trudges out, shame and frustration marring his beautiful face. 

You sign whatever paperwork is required before silently taking Eddie’s hand and leading him to the car. He holds it tight, a shiver of a tremor rocking through it.

“Babe, what happened?” you ask once you’re safely outside, away from where the officers can hear you.

Eddie lets go of your hand to throw his arm around you dramatically, leaning with his whole body weight. The sudden force of it has you stumbling, but he catches your fall. 

“It’s awful being on the inside,” he whines, trying to lay on an exaggerated pout, but his smile pokes through. “You’ve made me too soft for prison, baby. Couldn’t stop thinkin’ about you and almost got shanked.”

His joke subtly informs you that he’s not ready to actually discuss it yet, and so you roll your eyes and play along for now.  “Poor thing. Locked up for a whole forty minutes.”

“It was more like forty-five,” he protests, “and every second counts when it’s spent missing my girl.”

“You’re so full of it, Munson.” My girl. If he never calls you anything else but his girl for the rest of your lives, you wouldn’t complain.

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind, pulling you in so your back is pressed against his chest. “Full of longing and devotion!”

“Sshh!” you chastise him lightly through your giggling. “Get in the car, crazy man.”

“Crazy ‘bout you!” Eddie says, booping your nose. As soon as your fingers wrap around the gearshift, he’s resting his hand atop yours. It trembles slightly.

Tell me what happened. Don’t keep any more secrets from me. I won’t judge you or leave you. I’m your girl, remember?

It takes a few blocks before you finally work up the courage to ask, “Is everything okay?” It’s a stupid question; you don’t get arrested if everything’s okay, but the alternative is a more straightforward, Why the hell did I have to pick you up from jail?, so you acquiesce. 

“‘M good.” He gives your hand another tiny squeeze and attempts a smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. 

You sigh, poorly hiding your impatience for answers you need to know. “Can we talk about what happened?” 

His slow release of breath is in sync with your foot pressing on the brake pedal as you approach a stop sign. “Not a big deal. Just a misunderstanding.”

“A misunderstanding that led to you getting arrested?” Stop hiding. Stop pretending. Stop acting like this is fine when it clearly isn’t. Stop making me feel like you don’t trust me. The words get caught behind clenched teeth, threatening to ooze through the gaps.

“Yup.” He leans back in his seat and closes his eyes as though giving a sufficient response to end the conversation.

You drive another few minutes before you spot the sign for Lovers Lake in the distance. There’s only one surefire way to calm his nerves; whatever it is he’s keeping from you, there’s a reason he hasn’t worked up the courage to say it. 

Eddie sits up and peers out the window in confusion when you veer to the exit. “Where are we—”

“You’ll see.”

Parking in a spot secluded by trees and the dark of night, you turn to him and stroke his cheek with your thumb. “Can I make my man feel good?” you coo, taking his earlobe between your teeth and tugging lightly. You can feel the small bump where his piercings used to be.

“Shit, baby,” he breathily groans, adjusting the seat so you have ample space to straddle his lap. His hands fly to his belt buckle, undoing it and pulling the leather strip from its loops. Though his pants aren’t as tight around him now, you can still see the outline of his now half-hard cock beginning to press against his fly. “‘S exactly what I need.”

But it isn’t solely the act of sex that he needs, although it would be a farce to imply that he didn’t crave the feeling of you wrapped around him. It was the public nature of it; the way that anyone could walk by and see you on top of him. Could see you choosing him. The teacher choosing the Freak. 

You roll your hips, denim-on-denim creating a delicious friction that draws moans from both you and Eddie. Your lips chastely graze his neck, trailing kisses upwards until you reach the prickly stubble along his jawline. 

Eddie’s hands grab your ass, claiming it as his. “Feels—mmf—feels good,” he grunts, letting out a soft chuckle when he adds, “gonna make me cream my jeans if you keep grinding on me like that.”

“S’okay,” you shrug, maintaining your tempo. You press your lips to his and he whines into your mouth. “Just wanna ease your mind tonight, Eds.”

“Yeah, but the face you make when you cum? Christ, babe. Makes it even better for me.” He scoots you off of him for a moment, laughing again when he sees your lower lip jut out. “Let me just grab a condom, you needy little thing.”

You bury your head in the crook of his neck and begin sucking on its supple skin as he fumbles for his wallet. “Fine, fine,” you grumble, a teasing lilt in your tone. “The last thing we need is for people seeing that you knocked me up.”

Eddie freezes beneath you, his wallet falling to the weather-mat with a thud. “Wh…what?” His voice is below a whisper, volume compressed by emotion. 

“We’ve only been together, like, a month.” It’s too obvious a point to confuse him. There’s no way he really wants a kid with you right now. “We can’t have a baby—”

Eddie vehemently shakes his head, effectively cutting you off. “But that’s not what you said.” You see hurt in his eyes as you try to piece together the puzzle. The fact that you can’t immediately identify the source adds another element of frustration for both of you. “You said that we can’t have people seeing that I knocked you up. Why…why wouldn’t you want people knowing that I…?”

The imagined swell of your belly that he’d hoped you proudly show off, mindlessly caressing it as you walk hand-in-hand with him, is now covered with layers of clothing, even in summer’s heat. You’re tugging a cardigan closed, determined not to let anyone see the shame you’re carrying along with Eddie Munson’s child.

“I just figured you wouldn’t want people talking about you,” you manage, thinking of the rumor that had spread after Harris’s injury. You bring yourself back to the driver’s seat, and it takes another moment before something else dawns on you. “You wouldn’t be upset by people knowing? I mean, not that we’d, y’know, have a kid right now…because you already have one, and this is all so new…” You clamp your lips together to shut yourself up, having already blabbered on for too long.

Eddie shakes his head, tousling his frizzy curls. “Why would I be upset? You’re my girl.” Worry ripples through him, evident through his expression. His doe eyes grow even wider, and he spins his rings around his fingers. One slips and bounces off of the passenger seat, but he doesn’t move to retrieve it. “You still want to be my girl, right?”

“I still want to be your girl,” you confirm, watching his body decompress with relief. “I just don’t want to make things even worse than they are. I mean, you can’t even tell me why you were in jail tonight. That’s a pretty big deal, Eds.” There’s a lump in your throat as you force out your feelings. You hate confronting people, hate drawing information from an unwilling party. But Eddie is your boyfriend, and this is serious. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he mutters, keeping his head on the headrest and eyes trained on in front of him; his unwillingness to look at you serves as an act of defiance. “I had to hear about the PTA meeting from Wayne.”

The contents of your stomach curdle like milk in the sun. “You’d just told me about your promotion,” you stumble, unable to find footing in your meek protest, “I didn’t want to—”

“So, yesterday? Or today?” he pushes, a tango of anger and hurt dancing in his darkened pupils. “You could’ve called me.”

You could have; you’d certainly considered it more than once, but you didn’t want to bother him. It seemed like such an asinine complaint: Oh, Eddie, a grown adult bullied me, another grown adult, at the PTA meeting. Did I stand up for myself? Nope. Just sat there and tried not to sob like one of the kids I teach. “I thought if you knew what people were saying, you wouldn’t want to be with me anymore. You’d think I was too much of a burden.”

“You?” Eddie gawps, nearly choking on the word. “You think that you’re the burden? That you’re the reason why people are talking about this?” People. Not just Carol. The information slips from his lips, but he doesn’t catch it. “Nah, Sweetheart. In the equation of ‘Teacher’ plus ‘Freak,’ you’re hardly the problematic variable.”

“‘Teacher plus Freak?’” 

“Teacher,” he says slowly, pointing to you, “Freak.” He brings his forefinger to his own chest. “I’m kinda used to it; just sucks when it affects other people.” He looks at you through his soft brown eyes. “People I care about.”

You’re unsure how to respond, so you say nothing. You vaguely recall Jess telling you about his high school nickname, but you had no idea it had stuck after all these years. 

Eddie sighs, shifting his position to get slightly more comfortable. “Tonight, I was at the store getting some flowers for you. And, um, I heard Carol and Billy Hargrove talking about how you had to be desperate to be with me. That you’d realize you’re too good for me and leave.” His teeth dig into his bottom lip and he lowers his head. You watch a tear slide down his cheek, and he sucks in a messy breath as he tries to control the dam of emotions threatening to burst.

“Too good for you?” The notion is almost comical, and you have to hold back an incredulous laugh. “Too good for the man who rescued Grandma after she locked herself in her room? Who came to her funeral? Who gave me another chance after I made an ass out of myself?” You use your pointer and middle fingers to tilt his chin upwards until his gaze meets yours. “Too good for the man who would do anything for his son?”

“No,” Eddie shoots back, “too good for the guy who grew up being taunted because he played Dungeons & Dragons instead of basketball. The guy who abandoned his pregnant girlfriend to go on tour. Who treated you like shit just to avoid getting close to you. Who…who got arrested for accidentally taking flowers from Bradley’s because he’d stolen from them so much that no one believed him when he said it wasn’t on purpose.” He recalls swiping candy bars, jars of peanut butter, and the occasional six-pack of Pabst during his rebellious teenage years. After he’d schlepped back to Hawkins, proverbial tail tucked between his legs, there was more than one occasion where he’d ripped diapers from their boxes and tucked them into his jacket pocket, walking as casually as he could until he was a safe enough distance to exhale and run.

You take a sharp breath in. “That’s what happened tonight?”

“Yeah,” he says; the admission is a sack of bricks being lifted from his chest. “Those schmucks got in my head, and I walked out the store with the flowers like a fuckin’ idiot.” He replays the scene in his head, inwardly cringing at his desperation to flee the premises and inadvertently drawing everyone’s attention to him. He starts to laugh, but anger, sadness, and relief all brew together and the dam bursts completely. One tear multiples to two, four, eight, until he’s simultaneously choking on sobs and laughter, the overlapping emotions wreaking havoc on his nervous system.

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” he manages through another half-laugh half-sob. He swipes at his cheeks with open palms, and you reach for the travel box of Kleenex you keep in the glove compartment and hand him a tissue. “Thanks.”

“You don’t ever need to apologize to me for crying,” you murmur, barely audible as you press a kiss into his mess of curls just behind his left ear. “I want–I need you to be able to show me what you’re feeling.” Eddie blows his nose, loud and honking, and your lips turn up into a small smile. “Why do we let them get to us?” you wonder aloud, a question more for you than for him.

“I was thinking about that,” Eddie muses, stuffing the used tissue into his jacket pocket. He’ll try and remember to toss it later, but part of him knows he’ll find it there tomorrow. “Like, I didn’t give a damn what they said about me back in high school, but now, as an adult, I do?” He takes a deep breath through his mouth. “And I realized…it’s because I never cared about what they thought of me. Not really. But, fuck, I care about what you think of me.” He swallows before stroking your cheek. “I want to be enough for you.”

You kiss the tip of his nose, letting your lips linger there longer than necessary to ensure the feeling of belonging becomes entrenched in his pores. “You’re enough, Eddie. You’ve always been enough.” Your hands find his, and you lace your fingers together. “I have an idea. Why don’t we grab some takeout, maybe pick up a bottle of wine, and bring it back to my place.” You immediately worry that you’ve proven his point of not wanting to be seen with him, so you quickly backtrack. “We can still go out to dinner; I just figured…after the night you had…”

He silences you with a kiss of his own, nose nudging the side of yours. “I’d love that.” Before you can start the car again, he says, “what Carol said at the meeting…did it really make you think I wouldn’t want to be with you?”

You nod solemnly, breaking his heart all over again. “You already have so much on your plate. I didn’t want to be another problem to deal with.”

Eddie’s expression hardens, but his frustration isn’t directed towards you. It’s for anyone who has ever made you feel like loving you is a chore. He does the only thing he can think of doing: he takes your face in his hands, fingers tucked behind the smooth skin of your ears, and peppers your face in a flurry of kisses.

“Eddie!” you cry out through a fit of giggles. Your eyes squeeze together as his lips tickle your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your chin. 

He only pulls away to take a breath, and when he does, he’s smiling through shiny eyes as he continues holding your face. “You are not a problem. Never.” He pauses, collecting his thoughts. “We make each other happy. And if anyone tries to fuck with that, we’ll just…sic Harris on them.”

The gray clouds that were scattered across your brain dissipate at the mere idea of the boy charging at Billy and Carol like a miniature rhinoceros. Insecurity still hovers over you, waiting for the perfect blend of sadness and vulnerability to strike, but it’s not quite as heavy as it was before. 

You aren’t too much for Eddie, and Eddie is enough for you.

And you’re everything to each other. 

--

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#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #tui

[starsforselene]

Pairing: Bang Chan x afab reader

Rating: explicit MDNI

Contains: fingering (f receiving) oral (f receiving) chatty Chan, masturbation (f) hot roommate walking in on you

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You’ve had a crush on your roommate, Chan so long he’s part of your weekly self love sessions. However, this particular Sunday night, Chan comes home early and overhears you.

Note: it’s just a little self indulgent pointless smut.

—/

“God damn it,” you mutter between clenched teeth as your head hits your pillow.

You fling the now lifeless vibrator across your room where it lands in your dirty clothes pile; with a sigh you stare at the ceiling, the dull ache between your thighs almost mocking you. It’s Sunday night and normally the only time your roommate, Chan, is gone long enough for you to get some alone time in since he’s got his weekly boy’s night at his best friend’s place. As luck would have it you forgot to charge the damn thing after your last session.

Now, you’re laying in bed, half cocked and out of fun options. You could either suck it up and get ready for bed, or handle things…manually. The thought of facing Monday morning unsatisfied is not ideal so you figure it’s better to take care of things the old school way. Closing your eyes, your hand roams down your stomach towards your center, slipping between your folds to gather the slick that had collected from your earlier ministrations, swirling them around your still-swollen clit. You let out a low moan as pleasure starts to build back up, steady and warm in your core.

It’s not long before images start flooding your mind: long, strong hands roaming over your body; soft lips kissing their way through all of your sensitive spots. You gasp as pleasure thrums through your body; visions of dark hair tickling your thighs as a sly smile peeks up from between your legs. A low moan slips from between your lips along with a muttered name as your fingers circle your clit faster desperately wishing it was his mouth, his hands bringing you closer to edge.

“Fuck, Chan,” you whimper, fingers working your bundle of nerves as you picture his tongue there instead.

Your breath quickens as your release approaches, legs buzzing with pleasure that zig zags its way up to your belly where it coils tight. Chan floods your mind: his long fingers inside you, pumping in and out as his lips suck on your clit—things he’s never actually done but you’ve thought of more than you can count. Your hips buck as you approach your high, sheets slipping off into a heap at the foot of the bed.

“Hey, did you remember to put the stuff—Shit!” Chan closes the door as quickly as he opened it.

“Oh my God! Why didn’t you knock! Jesus, fuck—Chan! What the hell!” You shout as you scramble to cover yourself despite the damage being done. Your heart is thundering in your chest, hands shaking as you wrap the sheets around yourself.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t—I just thought that—“ Chan says from the other side of the door, voice filled with panic.

”You thought, what exactly? That you’d barge into my room?!” you shout back as you get up and walk across the room, opening the door to find him standing there, his back to you.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d be, uh, busy. I wasn’t sure if you had put the clothes in the dryer or if you needed me to do it.”

“You could’ve just looked in the washer? Why are you even home? I thought tonight was boys night?” you ask the back of his head.

“Oh, I didn’t think of that. Boys night was cut short, Han has an early meeting tomorrow. I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…anything.”

“Turn around, Chan, I’m covered,” you huff as you lean against the doorway.

He obliges, face and ears red as he looks you directly in the eyes as if he’s willing the rest of you to not exist.

“Did you see anything?”

He swallows hard and you know right away that whatever comes out of his mouth is going to be a lie.

”I didn’t, I promise. I was in and out so fast I didn’t really see much.”

“Much or anything?”

“I didn’t see a lot…I promise. It was more what I—nothing.”

“Chan,” you say as he’s looking at the floorboards like they’re fascinating works of art. “It was more than what?”

“What I heard,” he admits, glancing up at you. “Or what I thought I heard! Maybe I misheard you or I made it up or something. Listen, I’m sorry. I’ll just go and we can forget this happened.”

He makes to leave but doesn’t, like he’s got something else to say. Your heart is hammering in your chest along with a thousand thoughts running through your mind.

“Just tell me. I don’t feel like tip toeing around this for days. It’s embarrassing enough you walked in on me masturbating. I don’t want a repeat of the time I caught you in the same position last year. We skirted around each other for weeks, it was beyond tedious.” The memory of that night fueled many Sunday sessions for you but he doesn’t need to know that.

Chan sighs in defeat and runs a hand through his hair as he glances up at you.

”I heard you moaning my name before I came in. At least I thought I did,” he says in a rush.

Your stomach drops down to your feet, heat rushing up your neck and into your face. Curiosity gets the better of you and you find yourself looking at Chan to gauge his reaction. He doesn’t look utterly disgusted, which takes you by surprise. Instead, he meets your gaze with his own, eyes darker than they were a minute ago, the connection sending heat through you. Your breath catches in your throat as you slowly realize that Chan looks the opposite of disgusted.

“Oh. Umm, well…”

“So did you?” he asks, eyes on yours still, slowly peeling away your resolve.

”I might…have…”

The air shifts between you like your admittance has opened a door that barely had hinges to begin with. Chan’s eyes alight with something you can’t quite place but it makes your core throb all the same.

“Why?”

The question catches you off guard and you straighten out of your haze.

“Why what?”

“Why were you moaning my name while you were touching yourself?” he asks as if he’s asking whether you want to make dinner or have take out.

You stare at him, unsure whether he actually wants an answer. He’s watching your face, almost like he wants to make sure he isn’t crossing any lines but also like he’s wanting to see if those lines can be erased instead. Your crush on your roommate is something you barely even acknowledge to yourself but right now, with the way he’s looking at you, it’s hard to think about much else other than your go-to fantasies of him and how they might become reality.

“I-uh-I- was thinking of you,” you say and immediately regret. Shit, why did you just—

“Do you think of me a lot when you do that?”

“Chan, I-“

”I think of you. I think of you a lot, actually,” he says quietly.

Your eyes meet again and that heat flares. You suck in a breath and sit on the edge of the bed, looking up at him. He looks less embarrassed than earlier, that line fully crossed now. He walks into the room and sits beside you, the heat from his body permeating through you.

“You…think of me?” you mutter as you fidget with the edge of the sheet, incredibly aware of how naked you are underneath.

Chan takes a deep breath, exhaling it slowly.

“Yeah, I do. Have for a while.”

A thrill runs down your spine, that familiar heat pulsating in your center. Chan thinks of you when he’s—you take a breath to push the thoughts away.

“I like that you think of me like that,” he adds softly.

You look back up at him and find molten fire in his eyes. It matches the fire burning inside you.

”What do you think of when you think of me?” The words escape you before you can even think of stopping yourself.

Chan smirks, like he knows he’s got you, turning to face you as his hand reaches up to cup your cheek. Your pulse quickens along with your breathing but you immediately want more. His thumb grazes your cheek, he leans in but stops short, as if waiting for you. All thoughts of hesitation leave you, a quick nod is all it takes before he’s bridging the gap between you. His lips are soft, tentative—at least until you kiss him back.

The moment the switch flips is almost tangible. Every glance, every accidental touch, every single time you thought of Chan in ways that you shouldn’t culminate in this moment where his lips are on yours and all you can think is more. You deepen the kiss with a moan, dizzy with this new feeling of having Chan’s lips on yours. His tongue explores your willing mouth, his hands moving down your arms and grabbing around your waist to pull you closer. You groan, his touch igniting small fires in its wake that burn brighter the more he touches you. His lips leave yours with no warning, breaking the kiss; it’s a bucket of ice water over you.

”Do you really wanna know what I think about?” he asks between panted breaths.

God, yes, you almost say but hesitate. You squeeze your thighs together to find reprieve for the ache that robs you of self control. His eyes never leave yours, pupils blown wide as he waits for your answer. The nagging curiosity wins over any doubt that might try and dissuade you; you need to know.

“Yeah, I do,” you whisper.

“Can I show you?”

You’re nodding before you can stop to think about it; all you know is that now that he’s touched you there’s no going back. Chan leans in, electricity sparking between your bodies the closer he gets, and he kisses you softly. His lips move slowly down your cheek, featherlight kisses that travel down your jaw towards your ear where he hovers, breath fanning over the soft shell of your ear.

“Lay back on the bed for me. Make sure you take that sheet off.”

Arousal rushes out of you at his words, a small whimper is your only response as you stand up and gingerly remove the sheet from around your body, exposing yourself to his hungry eyes. He takes in your naked form greedily, tongue darting out to wet his plush lips, an obvious bulge in his pants that makes you clench around nothing as you settle on the bed for him.

Chan stands at the end of the bed and looks at you, at first it’s full of desire but something clouds it. Your furrow your brow, panic rising in your chest. Maybe he’s changed his mind? Maybe it got weird? You know it should feel weird to you but it doesn’t, you’ve had feelings for Chan for far too long but maybe he doesn’t feel the same way? You reach for a blanket to cover up when he sighs.

”Are you having second thoughts? We can stop, you know. I understand if it’s weird,” he says.

Your chest feels light again, at least you’re on the same page—kind of.

”I’m not! I was worried you were having second thoughts—that maybe you didn’t like me like this and just got caught up or something.”

Chan chuckles and kneels on the bed between your legs, running his hands up your legs and settling them on your thighs, making you shiver. He licks his lips as his eyes roam down your body and settle on your face.

“I promise you that I’ve been fantasizing about this for far too long to have second thoughts,” he drawls with a half smile. He lifts your leg and slowly kisses his way up to your knee while his other hand spreads your leg to open you up for him. His eyes are obsidian, his want for you almost palpable. “Watch me baby, hmm?”

A pathetic whimper is all the response you can provide, body covered in goosebumps of anticipation as you watch Chan lower himself between your legs. He takes his time; kissing and caressing your thighs, slowly coming closer to the pulsating heat at your center. He bites and sucks the sensitive skin at the apex of your thighs and you gasp, fingers digging into the sheets when he quickly licks the pain away.

You feel the smirk against your skin as you hear his deep chuckle, it’s enough to make you dizzy with need. You’re about to beg for relief when he licks a broad stripe from your entrance up to your clit, moaning when he finally tastes you.

“Oh, fuck!” You cry out, shuddering as pleasure rocks through you, hands gripping his hair to keep yourself grounded.

Chan groans against you, tongue circling your clit just enough to make your hips buck up against his face; a silent, desperate plea for more. He doesn’t seem to take, taking his time licking and tasting every last bit of you, making his way back towards your entrance to dive his tongue inside enough to prolong the sweet torture only to stop and taste his way back up towards your throbbing clit. He licks and sucks on your clit until you’re a whiny, quivering mess; every nerve in your body buzzing with pleasure and desire.

“Chan,” you whimper between panted breaths as you lift your head to look at him.

You’re not sure what it is you’re asking for at this point but his dark eyes look up at you with molten desire in them as he smirks.

“I got you,” he purrs as he slowly inserts two fingers into your heat.

The deliciously slow stretch takes your breath away, your head falls back against the pillow as pleasure warms its way through your veins. How he knew what you needed before you did adds to the building tightness in your belly. He hums in approval as his fingers press against the sensitive spot inside you that makes you gasp and clench around his fingers, taking his time stroking it. You writhe on the mattress, Chan’s name falling from your lips with each pump of his fingers in and out of you, stars exploding behind your eyes with every drag of his fingers against your walls.

The heat builds in your belly, coiling tighter and tighter, making your toes curl and your eyes squeeze shut. Chan’s soft voice brings you even closer to the edge with each half moaned encouragement like he’s enjoying this just as much as you are. He presses his thumb against your bundle of nerves and the room spins, pleasure radiating through you and tears spring to your eyes; it’s too much but not enough.

“P-please, Chan,” you plead, voice barely a whisper, body wound tight.

He groans in response, fingers working you faster as his thumb flicks your clit. It doesn’t take much until the coil inside you breaks and you’re lost to the overwhelming release that crashes over you. Chan moans along with you, sending shocks of pleasure through you as he coaxes you through your high.

“Mmm, that’s my girl,” he chuckles darkly as he kisses your inner thigh.

A shiver runs down your spine as you start coming down, everything covered in a sweet haze that envelops you.

“That was…really something,” you breathe, covering your face with your hands.

“Better than what I imagined,” he responds as he kisses his way up your body until he’s settled between your legs.

He caresses your sensitive skin while placing soft kisses over your cheeks and eyelids, sweet nothings about how long he’s wanted you peppered in between.

“What now?” you whisper, a beat of uncertainty panging in your chest.

“We can figure that out in the morning. I’m tired,” Chan replies gruffly.

You giggle and roll your eyes, a smile settling on your lips. You’d argue but you’re tired and satisfied and his arms are way too inviting; you’re not too concerned with whatever comes next.

Knowing him, it’ll be the best thing that’s ever happened to you.

#Bang Chan imagine #Bang Chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x you #skz smut #skz imagines #fic

[formulanando]

Say Yes to Me | Fernando Alonso x Reader

part 2 to boy it's you i desire

fem!reader x dbf! fernando

word count: 2.4k

minors dni!

taglist: @scarlettmurphy @nizem8 @sarahedwards16 @ashf1 @all--that--jazz @rhey-007 @spanishgp @savrose129 @roostersluvvr (sorry if i missed you!)

warnings: age gap, swearing, mentions of sex, mentions of masturbating, and a pinch of smut

Fernando had gently taken you by the arm once more, and led you to the pool, which was a mere few meters from where you had been. He pulled you closer to him, and almost as a reflex, you put your hands on his chest. Your back was to the pool, while his face was tantalizingly close to yours. You looked up at him slightly, as he was not much taller than you. He had an absolutely stunning, devious grin on his face. He pulled back, your hands falling away. Part of you wondered why he moved so quickly. Did you misinterpret his glances that you pretended not to see? Was he just playing with you? You were at an irritating loss. You were not even able to tell if there was thick, sexual tension, or if you just really, really wanted there to be. You were biding your time.

 Before you could say something to him, or even take another breath, he pushed you into the deepest end of the large pool. You were unable to even react fast enough to grab him, or something to keep yourself from getting soaked.

“‘Nando! What the hell was that?” You sputtered, slowly swimming over the pool’s ledge. You pushed your hair away from your face, slightly irritated that you were going to have to wash your hair again later that evening. 

The only thing that could fix that was having someone in the shower to do it for you… Thinking about him in the steam, carefully rubbing your body with your favorite shower gel would drive you over the edge in every way. Him standing before you, slowly sliding his hands down your sides, while you tangled your fingers in his hair. Holy fuck, his hair. You had no issue thinking that when you were left to wash the dishes, or reading before you went to bed, but not when Fernando was this close to you. Even worse, you knew he would see your lips upturn into an accidental smile, and ask what you were thinking about. You could always be honest. But, the “I was thinking about you fucking me in my shower!” route was a little too bold for you.

“I did nothing. What are you talking about?” He laughed, and said your name while shaking his head. He lowered himself to a crouch once more, then rested his hands on the pool’s ledge, examining the flowers that your mother had planted on the other side of the garden. As the world had learned, he was a flower padre, and he distracted himself at the worst time. Turning his head away from you was a mistake. You grabbed his wrists, effectively yanking him into the pool with you.

“Ay, cariño, it is one thing when I do it to you!” You quickly swam away, daring him to swim after you. He did exactly that. You messily swam a few zig-zags around the pool, before you were able to make your escape. You knew you were not going to be able to stay away from him for long. He was so fit, even if he was practically a fossil. You darted across the grass, drops of chlorinated water flying off your skin. You could hear Fernando’s footsteps closing in. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see that signature, self-assured grin growing as he shortened the gap to you.

As embarrassing as it was, your heart was pounding in your chest. In a last ditch attempt to stay away from Fernando, you bolted behind an older, wide tree in the corner of the yard. Your tall fence was just behind you, with a few scattered plants to the side of you. Mulch crunched under your feet as you began to slow your pace, knowing you had nowhere else to turn. He went to grab your shoulder, but managed to grab the one tie of your bikini top, causing it to come undone on one side. You quickly caught it, vaguely embarrassed about the situation the two of you were in. There you were, practically cupping your tit in front of one of the hottest men you had ever met. You only faced him, as you needed to scoot past him in order to properly fix your bikini. Apologies began to spill from Fernando’s lips, wanting to try and remedy the compromising position. He had wanted to rip that bikini top from your gorgeous frame, but this was an honest accident. 

“Jesus Christ,” you muttered. A frustrated sigh fell past your lips. It was absolutely impossible to tie the strap with the cruel combination of pruney fingers, and wet hair continually dripping down your neck, onto your shoulder. You let your hands fall to your side, forgoing the strap for a moment. You did not need to deal with angry tears on top of being fucking mortified. You roughly ran your hands down your face, preparing to try again.

“Let me help,” Fernando walked over, and was standing within a meter of you. He was easily able to tell that you were struggling, since you had not moved or really said anything in a few minutes. He figured he could at least end the awkward silence that fell over the entire yard.

“No, Fernando. I promise, it’s fine.” It wasn’t that you were upset with him, you wanted him to touch your shoulder. You just were not in the mood for having another stupid interaction to fantasize over. One that meant everything to you, and definitely meant nothing to him.

“I caused this, and you will let me fix it. Come here.” His tone became stern, and it was not something you expected. You decided to mess with him. He was leaving tomorrow, and if your stunt missed the mark, you had no idea when you were going to see him next. You closed the gap to him enough so he could reach the strap, but not enough to be called into question. You calmly swallowed, preparing for your little, albeit insane, plan.

“Well, since you want to help, why not do some more work?” You stared into his eyes. Letting your hand drop from where it was supporting your top, you moved both of your hands to untie the other strap. You figured it was now or never. The bikini top fell from your body, leaving your chest entirely bare. The only clothing covering you now were the equally small, matching bikini bottoms. The look in your eyes playfully dared him to do whatever, make his mark.

For a brief moment, Fernando’s eyes were full of shock. You were unable to tell if you had overstepped, and you fully prepared to fix your swimsuit, then retreat into the depths of the house until he left. While you were still momentarily swimming in panic, Fernando was suddenly within mere centimeters of you. Looking into his eyes, you slowly closed the gap to him. The way you felt during that kiss alone called into question why you had not sought Fernando out sooner. Fucking hell, you were addicted after twenty seconds.

You woke up in your house’s guest bedroom the next morning, the sun was barely beginning to rise, as it was just peeking above the horizon. The dim light was just shining through the blinds, casting small rays across Fernando’s face. You saw a few of your things strewn about the room, intermingling with Fernando’s belongings he had brought for the week. It made you picture a beautiful life with him, if only you were not almost twenty years his junior. Or if there was not an even more glaring elephant in the room: him being a man you call tío. The idea was tantalizing. Sharing a home, having a Christmas tree, little feet running around. You brought yourself back to the present, realizing you will only enjoy him like this once.

You and Fernando’s naked bodies were intertwined, the sheets wrapped around you. You were curled into him, and your head was lying close to his chest. You could hear his quiet breaths over the eerie silence of your family’s home. As you shifted your weight, preparing to begin the day, Fernando groaned. He placed his hand on your back, rubbing your shoulder blades, then tracing your spine with his finger. You smiled, trying not to shiver. He was trying to press you closer to him, if that was even physically possible. Heat radiated off his smooth skin, making it difficult to want to leave his intense embrace. 

“Cariño, stop moving. We have the house to ourselves. And, I want to feel that mouth of yours again.” His voice was soft, as everyone’s is when they first wake up. He was smiling as he talked, evidently feeling very pleased with himself. 

“Shut up.” You laughed in response, swatting at him. You would indulge him at some point, of course. You needed to enjoy every inch of him while it lasted.

You were the most beautiful woman Fernando had ever seen. He had never been more glad to see your parents and brothers disappear in the middle of the week. Your moans echoed in his ears. He pictured the pleasure in your eyes when he devoured you like a man starved. The large, raised scratches in his back cemented how good he made you feel. He is a selfish man, as most racing drivers are. The next time you fucked one of your little boyfriends he wanted you to be thinking of how he got you to unravel so easily. On his fingers, in his mouth, everywhere. His name spilt from your mouth, like a prayer before death. 

His fingers, and his mouth were more than enough. They were too much. His tongue would ghost over your pussy and clit, his breath fanning across where you needed him most. His cock was unfathomable. Not unrealistic, but thick and long enough where you felt instantly full of him. He took you on your kitchen island first. You were both still wet from the pool, leaving a trail of water throughout the kitchen. You two kissed with fucking ferocity, stumbling through your large home, neither of you wanting to lose the other for a millisecond. You had an all-encompassing, carnal need for him. Aftering inhaling his cologne, while feeling his lips begin to trail down your neck, it was game over. There was no way to explain this, write it off as a childhood crush. No one fucks their father’s closest friend on a kitchen island because of a crush from the days of roll-on lipgloss and temporary tattoos. 

From the second your lips brushed, you knew there would be no need to fake an orgasm, and play pretend. Bowls clattered as you hastily climbed on the countertop. You swear you had soaked through your bikini bottom before he had even laid a finger on your body. Following your stunt in the backyard, you felt zero need to re-tie your bikini top. Your small bottoms ended up on the tile soon enough, with Fernando’s wet clothes following in quick succession. Every movement was rushed, sloppy, messy. Hips slapping, and moans bouncing through the rooms of your parent’s home. Every fantasy you created while you touched yourself paled in comparison. The sex had you at a loss for words. He was the only man you could imagine laying naked with on your kitchen island, languidly making out with following multiple orgasms. 

In the early morning, the dim sunlight fell on him so beautifully, glinting off of the newfound gray that intermingled with his brown hair. Still locked in his embrace, you ran your fingers through his hair. He had let it get longer than he had in the past, and you prayed he stayed away from a pair of scissors. You suddenly pulled at his hair, eliciting a groan from Fernando. 

“Don’t tease, amor. I hate that in my old age.” You turned once more, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips, smiling into it. You finally peeled the sheets from your body, and got up. 

Even though the Spanish sun was hot, and the Spanish man next to you was even hotter, the tile beneath your feet was perfectly cool. You walked around the room, gathering your toothbrush, clothing, and other small items you scattered in the room the previous evening. You put everything in a pile on the dresser. Fernando’s suitcase laid in front of you, and you decided to dig through it for a shirt to wear that day. You decided on one of his Aston Martin team shirts, nothing incredibly fancy. You pulled it over your naked frame, and grabbed your things from where they briefly rested. It was not too big on you, so it covered a little bit of your ass at the very least. You were going to quickly go to your room to get dressed. You knew putting makeup on was out of the question, as it would probably be smeared from your face soon enough.

As you moved toward the door, Fernando called for you to come back. You told him what you were doing, and you were met with a brief protest that you laughed off. You would return to him quickly, and your fresh clothes would end up in a rumpled ball on the floor. You came back to the room less than ten minutes later, a cloud of your perfume trailing in your wake. You were still wearing his shirt, obviously, but with shorts and a bra on. Like a normal person who had not spent the last eighteen hours fucking their dad’s closest friend! 

You climbed into the bed, crawling to where the most handsome man you had ever met lay, oblivious to any other noises. You sat on his lap, and straddled him. 

“So where did we leave off, papí?” You smiled up at him, knowing how much he loved hearing you call him that. His facial expression changed, a devious grin taking over his face. You knew you were in for a literally wild ride.

Before you moved another centimeter, you happened to hear the front door of your house open, the entryway filling with your parents’ and brothers’ voices.

—

author's note: i am eternally sorry for how long this took me! college burnt me out from writing, and my first semester was an emotional rollercoaster. thank you so, so, so much for reading! i will proofread this more closely in the next few days, but i hope it was worth the wait! please shoot me any feedback you have, or if there's something you think i should write next. xoxo

#fernando alonso #fernando alonso x reader #aston martin f1 #f1 #dbf! #aston martin #fernando alonso smut #fernando alonso x you #fernando alonso fic #aston martin formula one

[essentiallyleaf]

day 20. cockwarming. with. jisoo.

1105 words.

tags.

kinktober ‘23, idol x male reader, cockwarming, angst, i don’t even know anymore, possibly the coldest cockwarming fic to ever exist, so much angst and for what.

notes.

short and a little rushed. sounds just like every day of my life. exhaustedly, leaf.

You plop down on the bed, barely able to take your black dress pants off before the dizziness gets the best of you. Jisoo is there, laying still, facing away from you and towards the cloud-shielded moon outside of the open window, like she always is. You can’t really tell if she’s awake or not, and the alcohol certainly doesn’t help.

This must be what they mean when they talk about magnetic fields. We’re immersed in them all the time, but we can’t see it, something about a wavelength our eyes are not tuned to. It’s like even when it’s past your bedtime (which on a weekend night like tonight is at least three hours after your regular bedtime), the sky completely starless, when you zig-zag through the streets and keeping your balance requires a voluntary effort, when your white shirt has more than one almost fully dried Bordeaux stain on it, you don’t know why or how, but your red needle always points back home, back to her.

You always manage to find your way to your shared bed, well, shared right in this moment, but often, too often one could easily argue, the bed feels hollow and freezing as Jisoo’s in it alone. Maybe that’s why the first thing she does when you lie down on it, is take your strong arm and wrap it around her waist to hold her close and share some of your alcohol-boosted warmth, and keep her own arm over it as if to ask you to never let go, never leave her again. She’s awake. Your natural response is to use your other hand to brush her long, silky black hair and watch it flow through your fingers, but as she feels your breath caress her shoulders, she knows that you can’t promise much more than that.

This shouldn't work. Well, to be fair, it isn’t working. But throwing stuff away, whether it’s dropping old photos in the fireplace, or leaving an entire relationship behind you to possibly never see your special person again, that hurts. It’s not just about the value of it, no, if that was the case, if that thing you’re throwing away still brought value to you, then you wouldn't be getting rid of it, right? It’s about admitting that something went wrong along the road, that things didn’t work out, that a wrong turn was taken, and that maybe, you were the one who took it. So the only thing you can do is turn away, keep going down that road, and if you ever happen to look back in a moment of accidental lucidity, justify your own mistakes.

So Jisoo reaches back and starts rubbing the outer side of your naked thigh, slowly traveling up to your ass as you lay a trail of quick kisses on her shoulder. Once she starts fiddling with the hem of your boxers and pushing her own butt back towards you, you get the message. You take your underwear off and stroke your dick a couple times before her nightgown is hiked up and her cheeks fully envelop your length. Your pecks take a trip up to her neck while both of you start shifting your hips up and down, back and forth against one another’s, a couple of low moans leaving your mouth.

It was your fault, but what if it wasn’t? What if that girl, what was her name even, hadn’t asked you for a lighter? What if she hadn’t looked at you all night with those warm brown eyes, what if she hadn’t asked you for a ride home? Any of those would’ve fixed this. The nights of yelling at each other’s faces and the nights of dead silence, the feeling of unbridgeable distance even when holding hands, the cool air of beach days in the middle of August. Maybe invisible walls are the best solution in some cases, and fuck it if they break some people’s immersion, as long as you can see the sun rise in the distance, you can live with not being able to touch it.

Jisoo suddenly stops her motion just to raise her thigh a little, suggesting you to enter. You align yourself with her slit and penetrate her warmth, her slick coating easing you through her walls and quickly letting you bottom out inside her, but as soon as you try to retreat, she puts a hand on your hip, halting its movement. She just places her thigh back down and stays still for a few seconds. A few seconds that enclose some kind of understanding, or, a feeling of understanding, at the very least. Most of the times when you have a revelation, an epiphany, you have no idea what the fuck is being revealed to you, you only see the light bulb turn on. Your kisses get wetter and longer, traveling from her upper neck to her ear and to her jaw, your hand finds itself on her soft, perfectly sized mound. She starts contracting her abdominal muscles repeatedly and rhythmically, squeezing your shaft between her tight walls, your pelvis still fixed in its place. You see her skin glow more than usual under the faint moonlight, and you think you taste a little salt as your tongue brushes her cheek, which you can’t help but groan on every time Jisoo tenses around you.

Invisible walls are not meant to be broken. They’re meant to disengage, to discourage. What does it say about us when they manage to do what they’re meant to? Is it sad, disheartening? Does it speak about our sense of agency as a whole? What if you did something different, what if it was your fault? You can’t go back, so what can you do about it now? Another night of getting drunk, another night of having sex, in each other’s embrace but miles away.

Your hand feels up her thigh as hers reaches between your legs from the back and starts massaging your testicles. You can’t hold back anymore. Her abs contract once, twice. You stop counting, she feels too good. Your thigh wraps around hers as you cum inside, letting out multiple guttural moans right next to her ear. You drop load after load of white paint onto her walls and into her womb.

You think you hear a little sniffle. Again, the only response is to caress her hair and leave one long kiss on the back of her head. Not more. Sometimes we hurt people that love us, love people that hurt us. And if it’s true that opposites attract, then likes must also repel.

-

footnotes.

sorry if this is depressing. how can i help you get back to horny, the superior mood? lunatically, leaf.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #girl group smut #idol smut #female idol smut #kpop fanfic #kpop smut #idol x reader #idol x male reader #blackpink #jisoo #kim jisoo #blackpink jisoo #blackpink smut #jisoo smut #kim jisoo smut #blackpink jisoo smut

[bunviie]

proving a point ღ

pairing ⋆ღ‧₊˚ gojo x black!reader

synopsis ⋆·˚ ༘ * reader gets upset over a few comments from her students and decides to prove a point by sucking off her boyfriend! 3

content ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ oral (male receiving), cum eating, exhibitionism, established relationship

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ღ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡�� ࣪ ִֶָ☾.˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

nighttime critters sing annoying chants, thumping into the glass windows occasionally. you stomp your way along the jujutsu high halls. shoes tapping down onto the floorboards, the echo bouncing from wall to wall as you power-walked to your boyfriend’s classroom.

you slide the doors open and there he is. gojo sits at his desk, the surface mildly covered in mini gift bags. the soft pastel colors are decorated with cutely stamped logos. you deduce that they are sweet treats. he’s in the process of stuffing his cheeks full with a dessert when the door flies open.

startled by the abrupt entrance, gojo flinches and drops his cream-pasted rice cake. it leaves residue in the corners of his mouth but your expression relents.

you walk up to his desk, still in a rushed pace when you drop to your knees, hands already adjusting the elastic in his waistband so that it's down to his ankles. gojo is still in mild shock when he cleans his face, eyes flickering from his treats, to you and to his crotch that slowly begins to harden. it was only when you grabbed the base of his cock did he reach out and hold onto your wrist. the action doesn't stop you though. you used your other hand to occupy and— and gojo grabbed onto that one as well. he left both of your arms suspended in the air, holding them up high above your head. this makes you stare up at him and gojo instantly melts.

“what's going on? what's wrong?!” he asks, worried undertones can be sensed. 

you look away, pouty and all huffed up. your chest heaving up and down, reluctant to go back to its usual state. your eyes are doing that ‘zig-zag’ thing. left and right, up and down and gojo just knows your mind isn't here. 

“who upset you?” he uses his free hand to direct your focus at him and even then, your eyes have yet to meet his.

the question only riles you up more and your boyfriend lowers your arms to console you. he holds your hand and pulls you up to sit in his lap. his arms laced around you promptly.  his face inches from yours as he studies yours some more. his gaze practically burned holes in the sides of your face. slightly uncomfortable from his staring, you tried your way out of his grip. you don't even know why you even attempted. your weight falls back down onto his body effortlessly. skirt riding up with your shirt pulled out of it, more wrinkled than before. your legs were slightly spread, his own separating yours further apart. arms locking themselves back around your middle. he has you in his hold and you just know he won't let up. 

“i was teaching a class..” you start.

“mhm..” the tips of gojo’s fingers grazed your skin, the contact right away causing goosebumps. “and these…students…” your words leave you shakily. 

“yeah?”

“they made a few smart..remarks.”

“like what?” he responds blankly, his mouth leaving tiny spots of saliva along your neck and shoulder blade.

your face scowls as you recall it.

you stood in front of the classroom. it's noisy and growing more chaotic by the second. students were doing their own thing and didn't show an ounce of consideration or respect for the adult in the room..that is you. they didn't listen, they didn't want to. your warningful words fell on death’s ears.

“as a sorcerer, having complete control over your d–”

you were interrupted by a loud thud. a teen falling on the floor ensues boisterous laughter from everyone, from tipping back in a chair. you ignore it and try to get back to what you were saying.

“...domain will benefit you highly on the battlefield. it gives you the chance to– hey, can everyone focus up here please?”

the students are well preoccupied with their phones, giggling and shoving screens in each other's faces while keeping their loud chatter at great volume.

“you know what, if you guys don't care about saving lives, then why are you here?” you had reached your limit, finally garnering some attention. your question earns you snickers.

“calm down, we’re all paying attention,” a girl stands up

“what's wrong with her ass?”

taking in a deep breath, your arms fall to the side. “you guys are wasting my time. that's all.”

“it's not like you have somewhere better to be right now,”

“no you guys, i think she has a husband or somethin’, maybe she wants to go home.”

“husband? where?”

“it can't be true,”

“probably tryna get some lovin,”

“i don't think she’s getting any at home yall,”

“cause there is none at home.”

“find a link up or something, miss,”

“basically that i don't get dicked down at home.” you simply say. snapping back to the present. feeling the irritation intensify all over again. gojo laughs, covering his mouth in the process. you stare back at him and roll your eyes but he keeps laughing. his dick hits your knee occasionally from the joyful movements.

“i’m sorry, i’m sorry. but, what?” he laughs some more. you sit there and feel stupid for even bringing it up. 

it takes another moment for gojo to calm down, and when he does, he places his hand on your back. “so was that what that was? you were trying to prove a point?” you sense his gaze and his annoyingly charming grin.

“well get to it then,” he suddenly says, swinging his arms behind his head.

at his request…you suddenly no longer needed to prove a point to anybody. the order given makes you feel self-aware. especially with his soft longing eyes that followed your every move. you sit in his lap, hesitant about whether you want to do this or not and gojo senses your reluctantness. hand coming down from his head to hold onto your cheek, leading your lips to his. you can taste the sweet substance from what he ate earlier. he pulls away slowly, eyes dropping from yours to your lips and down to your chest and you feel your air caught up in your throat. and to further raise your blood pressure, his hands cling to the buttons on your blouse, unbuttoning them, his gaze returning to your face while he leaves your tits to sit up perfectly on your chest. you had started to sweat, face sticky and somehow you already looked a mess when all he did was kiss you. gojo smirks and scoots further down his chair. not wanting to fall from his new position, you catch yourself and stand up on your feet. ogling at his manspreading figure, you slowly got back down to your knees and in between his legs as you were before. face to face with his still-hardening erection. feeling shy from his watchful stare, your dainty hand settles once again to the base of his cock. beginning at a slow pace, it moves up and down, not able to reach his tip in this state as his dick was always a two-hands job.

“don't forget to get it all wet,” he speaks softly to you, though in a more teasing matter. he sits comfortably above you, grabbing the dessert he dropped earlier to eat the rest of it.

this man. 

your eyes don't pay any mind to him though, just at the task at hand. you get closer and hover your mouth over his tip. gojo flinches from feeling your breath. he must be sensitive. it's leaking and growing puffier by the second. this reaction only boosts your confidence. happily knowing that you had such an effect on him, to torment him further, you gradually fixed your mouth atop his shaft. stopping your movements prematurely to sweep your hair to one side of your neck, giving your horny boyfriend an eyeful of it and your chest. he audibly curses to himself and finds his stuttering hips bucking the air. you smile knowingly and slide your warm lips down his cock. deciding to deep-throat him early on. you didn't want to tease him any further as that would only result in you missing a few days of work.

your mouth attempts to engulf his being, yet you fail miserably. his length is warm in your mouth and your mouth doesn't make it any better. gojo visibly shudders when you insert him into your mouth. body jolting from the sensation that is the inside of your soft plump cheeks. you rub him against them before ultimately pulling away, licking from his base up, your gentle eyes stare up at him and something just stirs up inside him. you smile tauntingly, swallowing him whole on your second go.

you gag, you choke, bobbing your head and putting in the work of pleasing your man. drool escapes your mouth and drips onto your breasts and down to your thighs. tears had welled up and fell past your cheeks, smudging and building up the ruined makeup look around your eyes. your baby hairs that were efficiently laid now stood up, appearing frazzled from the sweat forming on your face. how you were already this messy is an answer you do not have.  your hands operated simultaneously in the out-of-reach areas. your spit aids you wonderfully as a lubricant. your tongue flicks and sips at his slit, ensuing loud moans from gojo. 

your eyes glance up at him quickly, squeezing your thighs together at the sight. he had completely abandoned his treats. head thrown back and beautiful deep plethoras of your name slips out of his mouth. his mouth opened ever so slightly every time your lips popped off of his raging erection. sweat trickled down his face as well, feeling the heat as you noticed that at some point of this all, he had taken the time to unbutton his shirt, letting both sides fall respectively to his sides to reveal his heavenly sculptured body. you can practically feel yourself drool some more. tempted to run your hands over his tempered abs.

his fists grip the edge of the desk, beginning to thrust his shaft further back into your mouth. your eyes fluttered between opened and closed. feeling him reach that far back has happened before but it still surprises you. slurping and other obscene sounds of you sucking got distinctly louder by the second. you had almost forgotten that you were still at school. the classroom doors remained open and so did the windows, allowing any bypassers to witness such lewd acts. the thought unfortunately turned you on more. gosh, how were you so shameless?

the tight hold on the desk turned into inconsistent banging, alarming you with just how loud you two were. though, gojo didn't seem to care either. his body jolts again and he tells you he’s nearing his end. you want to acknowledge this but aren't able to as gojo stands up from his seat and thrusts deeper into your mouth, holding you by your head as he stuffs your face full of his cock. your hands helplessly find their way to his thighs, holding onto them tightly. he mutters an excess amount of curses. saying how cute you look with your teary eyes and full lips wrapped around him. he praises you for it too.

“god, do you know what you do to me?” he asks, breathless.

you want to nod or shake your head but you still aren't able to seeing as your boyfriend has complete control. “ah, right. i'm sorry. you can't answer that right now,” he chuckles. feeling a little silly from his question.

he smiles down at you and uses his unoccupied hand to caress your cheek and release in your mouth. it startles you and you choke on his seed that slid down your throat. his smile only grew wider at the sight. sighing out a breath he seemed to have been holding onto and sits back down in his chair. you, catch your breath. your finger comes up to scoop the remaining substance from the corners of your lips, and into your mouth to suck on.

with a tattooed smile still on his face, gojo pulls you up back into his lap.

“you know i have been thinking..”

“mhm..?” you hum mindlessly, hands subconsciously coming up to your throat.

“maybe i haven't been doing my best. i mean, since those students seem to feel that way. i must not have been doing a good job at pleasuring you,” he wears a wicked smirk. your eyebrows quirked up, confused about what he was running on about. his fingers further ride up your skirt. bunching it all up to your waist where he grips your underwear. “also, aren't you the one who took so long to suck me off? i felt tormented.” he dramatizes and your cheeks go hot at the realization.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ღ‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡�� ࣪ ִֶָ☾.˚ʚ♡ɞ˚⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

it's a beautiful day. the sun is beaming and the birds are singing. your class of students sat and walked around idly on the field, awaiting you.

fortunately for them, they spot you descending the stairs to the field with sensei gojo by your side. you appeared to look a little untidy and your legs looked wobbly. they begin to murmur around, utterly bewildered by the sight. 

“ms. l/n, is gojo sensei joining today?

“class started forty-two minutes ago, you know,”

“did something happen?”

your students throw you questions left and right however, your mind is far from hearing them. your attention is on gojo’s hand, his hand that’s on your lower back, and his lips that whisper sinful nothings into your ear. your thighs clamped together, mind going back to earlier this morning. gojo kisses your cheek and walks up to the students, hands behind his back. ensuing a group of gasps and whispers.

“you with the funny-looking hair, what one of the main benefits of a simple domain?” he shoots a question.

the student stumbles over her words. “it allows you to control time when you’re in battle.”

gojo’s face scrunches up, blinking a few times at the girl’s response. “no. you, can you use your cursed technique inside of a domain?” he asks someone else

“no you can't, you’d be completely out of control,” the student answers confidently. gojo just stares blankly out of amazement.

“wrong and you all would know this if you guys weren't so interested in me and my girlfriend’s sex life. now honestly, none of you would survive on the battlefield, and that's me just encouraging you. so how about we all mind our business and focus on exercising some spirits, huh?” 

the students are loss for words, probably from embarrassment. you almost let out a laugh from your lover’s antics when you felt his semen leak out of you. out of response, your body leans forward and you clamp your thighs together harder. slowly starting to regret letting gojo leave your cunt stuffed with his cum.

#x black reader #x chubby reader #anime x black!reader #anime x chubby reader #jjk x black reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #gojo x black!reader #gojo x chubby!reader #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x black!fem reader #jjk x black!reader #jjk x chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x black reader #jujutsu kaisen x black!reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby reader #jujutsu kaisen x chubby!reader #bunviie

[written-with-blue-ink]

Hey, what are your thoughts on how Zagreus would gain a crush on the reader? Just pure fluff please

Yeah, no prob hon! Since you didn't specify, I'm gonna do headcanons!

Zagreus X GN!Reader

He probably first saw you right before he went on his killing spree throughout the Greek Underworld, like every other shade who entered the House of Hades: waiting for a decree from his father.

I love Zag but he isn't the perceptive type. Many souls come through the Throne Room daily, an uncountable number that has to go through admissions, paperwork, etc.

The first time he ran into you though, he caught sight of someone at the entrance struggling to get used to the fire and smoke that Asphodel is engulfed in.

Being the gentleman his father didn't raise him to be, he offered to help you find a better place to make your space.

Taking one of the rafts together was weird for you to say the least. There is really only space for one so he pulled you close, making both of you blush in embarrassment.

I mean, a mortal soul holding onto the chest of the God of Blood and Rebirth? How sweet!

You have to admit, him fighting was brilliant and attractive. He was strong, graceful, and tried his damnedest to protect you (even though you are already dead and can't really get hurt)

About two stops later he introduces you to Euridyce, who is more than happy to take you in like a mother bird protecting her nest.

Zagreus' affection for you mostly grew over time with consistent visits to Euridyce's humble abode

The little things that came out of the three of you talking, you break out of your shell really.

Your laughter and wittiness with both him and Euridyce are major things.

Bandaging up a wound or giving some small drachma to help afford items at Charon's shop.

Your pep-talks and advice when it comes to strategy in the upper levels.

These small gestures of kindness mean the world to someone like Zagreus who didn't have a caring parent or many friends.

He brings little gifts for you too, especially when Persephone returns

Pressed flowers or little things he knicked from the palace for you to use.

He's not ready to tell his feelings yet but he just enjoys the moments he spends with you.

#zagreus x reader #hades supergiant #zagreus #zagreus hades #hades zagreus #hades game x reader #hades game #zagreus x gn reader

[hoseoksluna]

STORY | knj

pairing: soft dom!namjoon x reader

genre: smut

word count: 7.8k

summary: yours and namjoon’s story is a bit more perverted than traditional.

warnings: serious big dick namjoon, rough touches, hair pulling, use of pet names and titles, dom/sub dynamics, horny namjoon can't help but palm himself:(, desperation, masturbation, spanking, praising, tit slapping, nipple play, teasing, oc and namjoon not being comfortable with certain practices, playful orgasm denial, oral sex (m. and f. receiving), rimming && ass play :3, cum eating yum yum, tit fucking, orgasm countdown fuck

note: smut is so fucking difficult to write but i loved every second of it. i love writing about namjoon, he just makes me feel so safe. this is purely my fantasy with him and i'll probably dream about this for a long, long time. please, take your time reading this as it's pretty long. i hope you enjoy it and that it makes you dream like it made me dream. as always, let me know what you think in the comments, like the post and if you want to—reblog, but i won't pressure you angels <3. love you guys so much, thank you for all the love. kisses!

side note: i miss namjoon and i wish he were here. all i can do is watch his lives and pretend he never left for the military.

Namjoon makes himself comfortable on the wooden chair before you.

The scene is set. Like a mermaid bathing in the sun, you rest your elbows on the cold rim of the ivory bathtub. Small surges of violet-tinted water, perfumed with your scent, blanket your body in a thin layer of glittery sheen. They kiss the tiger stripes along the curve of your bottom as it rolls over, passing by the dip in the small of your waist, breathing in your patchouli fragrance in greeting. The bath bomb, cornered by your knees, sizzles and spins, the width of the tub allowing your form to float like a little fish in the open sea as copiously as you please.

A gift from your loving boyfriend. Both the clawfoot, and the bath bomb.

The scene expands. Your Eric slouches in his seat, balancing his greatest and most stellar possession on top of his lap with one hand while he runs the other through his silver mane. He fits perfectly in the picturesqueness of the background. Soft orange and chocolate tiles zig zag behind his back, transposing him momentarily into a sunlit illustration, where he rests in the shade of a palm tree on a faraway beach. Reads the book to pass the time as he waits for you to emerge from the waters. Sets it down on his lap as soon as his gaze catches yours. Periwinkle clams for a bra, panties thin and translucent from the oncoming waves, you rest your front on the sand. He smiles down at you and you know for a fact you won’t be able to get on your feet. Might have to learn how to walk, too.

You keep this picture in your heart. Mentally, you rip out the page. Fold it and tuck it somewhere within you to keep it safe.

Legs outstretched by the sides of the tub, clad in slacks in the muted color of a persimmon, it’s almost as though you’re propped on his lap. Sporting a simple white button-down, sleeves rolled, you’re close enough to touch the material if you so much as wished so. From his angle, Namjoon sees nothing but the roundness of your eyes through the brownish rims of his glasses, hair unkempt in their dampness as the short paper thin layers frame your flushed face in such a celestial way. If he were to lean over, it’d be a different kind of book.

The one in the clasp of his hand isn’t a tale as old as time.

It’s one of your favorites. An existential story that ridicules the traditional. A transfusion of liveness to a certain forgotten room of your heart. The unlit one while the others brim with sunlight, with the golden sepia projection of the contents of the fairytales you love so much made into stop motion. A coloring book of some sort, hues fitting into the lines by your helping hand—the attention of your eyes. 

Metamorphosis by Franz Kafka. The book that sweeps away all those cobwebs in that chamber. Makes it less lonely.

It’s all you had talked about on your dates when you and Namjoon first started dating, having been reading it at the time. You had confided in him that the writer was the only person who understood you without ever learning your name, without familiarizing himself with the subtleties of your calamitous life.

No one has ever shared something so vulnerable with him, especially not on the first date. Not that he’d gone on many, but the few that fell into his grasp were hell to get through. Insufferable, to say the least. Absolutely superficial.

He went home in the rain thinking of you. Not for boyish reasons. But for reasons of literary character, of melancholy nature that squeezed his long-unexpressed heart in perpetuating intervals too consistent for his liking. Filled it with a nectar bubbling with a newly blooming love for books, with a sudden longing to be found within the words. His body decided for him that it was yours. Yours to teach again how to read between the lines.

The scene breaks out of the margins on the page.

“Is the water warm enough?”

The idea constructed by his own geniality, it’s by his will that you’re basking in your bare femininity before his eyes. Idleness lingered in the living room between the pair of you, the flimsy curtain by your balcony lifting and falling in a little dance as the cold air perfused the place with the drowsiness of winter. Pulling his eyes away from the TV to sink a soft kiss into your hair, Namjoon muttered into your ear: “How about I draw you a bath and read to you for a little bit?”

You said nothing. The click of your phone turning off and your hasty movements to untangle yourself from the warmth of his limbs answered him for you. Leaving your clothes as a trail for him to follow, you gave him a glimpse of your ass, arched and pointed in the draft before you ran away. Before he scolded you with his index finger like a father, raising to his feet to close the balcony door.

In two seconds he joined you in the bathroom. Leaned against the doorframe as you circled a pink roll-on lip oil you’ve been obsessed with lately around the perimeters of your lips. The one that makes them look bigger, juicier. That makes them more fun to kiss and toy with. The one that leaves his length sticky once playtime is over. You seem to cast aside little trinkets of yourself for him to collect everywhere you go.

Tits pushed towards each other while you slightly bent over the vanity sink, tapping the excess into the fullness of your mouth, Namjoon palmed himself. The tiredness from work earlier weakened his self-control to the point of unrestrained indulgence. And the plumpness of your ass just encouraged it.

You fluffed your hair and Namjoon ran the bath. Disappeared into the kitchen for a moment to retrieve the purple bath bomb from the plastic bag on the counter, one that he got from the convenience store for you. Dragon fruit and hibiscus. Thought of the twinkle that would sparkle beneath your lashes upon seeing it. Wasn’t disappointed when you exceeded his expectations.

Having seen it in the mirror, almost microscopic and round in his big palm, you turned on your heel and burst into giddiness as he took off the plastic packaging with his teeth. You pouted in gratefulness when he showed it to you. 

“You planned this, didn’t you?”

You hugged him, locking your hands behind the nape of his neck. Maybe he did, maybe he didn’t, and he told you so. A bit hoarsely, though.

Namjoon struggled not to moan. Groaned a little when he felt the curvature of your belly against his hardness and the pointed nubs of your tits beneath his pecs. Managed to conceal it, thankfully, by clearing his throat and by allowing an authentic grin to bloom on his dimpled face at your joy. Thanked the heavens for all the bath bombs in the world.

He placed it in your much smaller palm for you to plop it into the increasing water. Watched your eyes widen at the gilded glitter spreading around. Spurred you to get in. Held your hand as you lifted one limb, then the other. Knelt by you as you engulfed yourself in the violet tinge, your hair swirling around you, silky and ethereal, coming to a stop at the top of your head to fix a splendid crown for such a princess like yourself.

Namjoon turned off the tap while you rested your back against the curved wall of the tub. You swooshed your hands around, gathering the glitter into the fine lines of your palms. Looked up at him in elation, the twinkle doing its thing in the glossiness of your eyes, and smiled. Namjoon smiled back at you. His hand reached out to your chest in a fervent need to touch you. The glitter adorned your chest with its perfect speckles and they resurfaced when you arched your back in response. Clung to his palm in the middle of your tits, held on tighter as he took a detour to your chin by brushing across your sensitive nipple to hear your little mewls because if he made a sound, then you must, too. Because if he was horny, he must get you on the same page as well. Fairness is very important to Namjoon.

He squeezed your breast hard. Pinched your nipple between his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger in broken intervals, similar to little dashed lines of Morse code. You imagined he was telling you something through that secret language as you closed your eyes during an intense wave of pleasure coursing down your body, and perhaps he truly did because he pulled your legs apart harshly when you pressed them together. Punished you by lightly slapping your tit—the same one he abused with those firm touches—the force splashing you in the face with violet pearls. All as if you disobeyed the command he transmitted wordlessly.

The command possibly being: Only I will give you the release you need when I decide it’s time.

You bit your bottom lip to suppress the neediness erupting in you. Namjoon wrapped his hand around your throat and you dragged his rolled sleeve further up his arm, so it wouldn’t have gotten soaked in the water. He smeared your lip oil just because he wanted—just because he could, scattering the rosy tint around your mouth messily. He took advantage of the aftermath of his punishment and collected those tender beads, now translucent upon your carmine skin. Not with the thumb as you expected him to, but using the pillows of his lips, he kissed the round bulb on your cheek. It melted on the puffy surface when he withdrew. He looked you in the eye for a mere beat of time before he lowered to your other cheek to collect another trinket. None of the corners of your mouth were overlooked, not even the button of your nose. He peppered those kisses to erase the harshness of his selfishness, supporting your lifted chin with his long thumb beneath it, still sticky from the consistency of the lip oil, apologizing, smoothing down his sternness until you giggled.

Once he cleaned you, Namjoon returned the digit to your smudged mouth, delicious in his sight due to the essence of sloppiness that gets his length even harder in his pants. He presses the pad against it, already craving your tongue. You kissed it, a thank you for his softness, before you granted him the access. Tongue toying with the tip, you said hello in the mother language of the love stored in your bodies for each other. Wrapped both of your hands around his wrist. Didn’t break eye contact. Smiled, teeth showing happily, when he bit his lip, but soon got distracted by a small movement on his groin area out of your view.

You peeled your back off of the tub to curiously take a peek, but Namjoon pushed you back to your place. All while his thumb remained sucked by your mouth. You frowned at him, dismayed by his recurring roughness that you weren’t used to.

Namjoon tapped your cheek twice with his fingers to let you know it was enough and rose to his feet.

“Joon, what’s going on? Why are you so rough with me?” you asked, voice tender, the question shooting arrows into the wideness of his back.

Stopping in the doorway, he hung his head, fingers coming to intertwine with the short hair above his neck. “I’m sorry, baby. Let me get the book.”

A moment later, he returned with the stellar possession in one hand and a wooden chair in the other. He slumped against it, fingers finding the first chapter unwittingly.

You swam forward as if to the shore, propping your elbows on the rim to be closer to him.

“Is the water warm enough?”

You nod, your teeth picking at the excess skin on your lips. Namjoon notices and, as if registering the reason why you put on the lip oil in the first place, he leans towards you and rubs away the smudginess he caused. As if the walk into your dining room sobered him enough from the dark wine of his lust that he now regretted his actions.

“You really scared me when you were rough,” you said calmly, unafraid to uncover your feelings, knowing you’ll be caught now that you’ve jumped head-first into the hungry sea of honesty.

He apologizes again. Repeats it in the aphonic form of a deep chaste kiss.

“Won’t do it again,” he promises. “Unless you ask me to.”

Your lips form a smile, but it quivers into a straight line just as quickly as it appeared. The yet unknown cause behind his untypical behavior troubles you.

“Did something happen today at work?”

Namjoon sighs. “No, I’m just tired.”

“Just tired or tired of your job?” you try, tilting your head to the side, remembering this isn’t the first time quiet broodiness clutched his figure when the clock struck five.

“Both.” He kneads the heel of his palm against his eye. 

Not expecting his honesty, your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. It propels you to investigate further. Gives you the green light. Namjoon usually keeps to himself when it comes to work-related storms, holding respect that reaches the bottom of his heart for those above him and for his peers as well.

“Did someone make you upset?” you ask, paving your way in this inquiry to the realm of understanding so you can help him. At least in a small way.

He drops his hand, gazes up the ceiling to stare at a fixed point. Perhaps he’s looking for words, perhaps he’s avoiding the question altogether. The regret of your prying swallows you. You’re afraid you’ve overstepped a boundary. 

You reach out your arm, wrapping wet fingers around his wrist on his lap. The gesture says, ‘you don’t have to tell me but I’m here,’ and you squeeze the limb to emphasize that. As if he heard you, he looks down at you. His eyes that are usually narrowed into slits now round in tenderness. The swallowing lets go, the lump that threatened to obstruct your throat disappears.

“It’s Friday, Joonie, and you can forget about your job for a little while. It’ll get better,” you say, caressing his soft skin.

To your another surprise, Namjoon nods. Slips his fingers into the hollowness between yours, squeezing back, saying, ‘I hear you.’ Your heart jumps with gladness that you haven’t made a mistake, that instead your reassurement made a difference.

To lighten up the atmosphere, you begin to joke around.

“Should I beat them up?” You raise your brow in mischief, a goofy smile coating your face in lightheartedness.

A grin cracks on his face. “Don’t get your hands dirty for me, baby.”

You scoff, half-seriously and half-unseriously shaking your head at his eagerness to please but never letting himself be pleased. “But I want to. I’ll do it for you.”

Namjoon shakes his head as well. Leans over to you. Cradles your head in his hands and kisses you. Picks the hair plastered on your face and puts it away. You forget all of your jokes for a moment, breathless. Your neediness nudges you in your sensitive parts, reminding you of its lingering presence. 

“Come on, Joonie,” you coo, prolonging the vowels, the best you could come up with considering his allure, “I’ll fight them,” you start to construct your imaginary plan, the dimples adorning his face making it a bit harder for you to get the words out, “then, they’ll be scared of me and they won’t bother you again. Because if they do, I’ll smash their fucking teeth in. And then… then, you’ll get your peace for good. Easy.”

Namjoon listens with his features bathed in enamoredness, seemingly lost in a deep thought. A twinkle, a twin to yours, glistens in his eyes. Dimples out provoking you, he softly smiles at you. Coyly. He’s unaccustomed to being the one fought for. He’s always been the one who fights. The one who settles, resolves, makes things right. He’s never been the person these things are done for by another person. It makes his heart pulsate in a strange new rhythm. 

He stretches out his hands and runs his fingers through your hair. Begins to plait an intricate braid down your back, keeping you caged in the confines of his arms. Safe. Protected. His warrior princess.

“There’s something else you can do for me,” he mumbles, finished with your braid. Now your hair is away from your face, just like he needs it for what he’s about to do.

“Oh?” You raise an eyebrow in question, your smirk growing on the side of your face. “Like what?”

“I’m so hard for you, baby,” he whispers into your ear, shoulders hunched, lips tracing the edge of your earlobe. A secret just between the two of you. “My body’s confused. I need a release.”

Even though you saw it coming, even though you saw it a hundred times before, you can’t help but gasp at his desperation, bare and open before you. It’s a new experience each time. Thrilling and titillating, the vividness and ferocity of his sexuality. It causes a flock of playful butterflies to buzz you with electricity in your tummy and a shiver to run down your spine. You feel your own neediness making itself known again and you squeeze your thighs together. 

This is the Namjoon you know. Strong in his softness. Mellow. Intense. The Namjoon who showed you plain roughness was a stranger to you, one you could take the time to get to know, because now you understand that the incentive to act like he did was his frustration from work. You can’t really blame the natural inclination of his body—his body that is yours to love in all shapes or forms.

You perceive he needs to let out some steam—he said so himself. Proud of him for voicing it out, a decision to be his helper already makes a way to your heart. You no longer feel slivers of consternation slithering in your veins. Knowing the cause, knowing it’s still your Namjoon helps you submit to the call of his needs. If a dab of roughness is what entails the sand-speckled footpath to the seaside of his well-being, you’ll take it. Welcome it, even. Within the realm of your established boundaries, that is. 

“Can I see?”

The book falls to the floor with a thud. Namjoon stands up. 

Ever so eager. Responding to his body language out of pure instinct, you hum and lift yourself to your knees. The outline of his engorged length, tight in his pants, greets you and you will your brain not to tell your fingers to rub your swollen clit. To busy your hands, you grip the rim until white brushes along your knuckles.

Emerging from the water, it left you smothered in a luster of wet silkiness. Namjoon’s eyes rake over your bare femininity. Heavenly, pure, seraphic. Groans a little loud. Doesn’t know whether to touch you first or his painfully hard and heavy member. You move your body to the side wall of the tub and he follows you, hand opting for his girth to relieve himself a little bit. 

You sit prettily on your folded legs and lean over, pulling his wrist away. You plant a dewy kiss to the middle of his clothed length and look up at him, just at the right time to catch him whimpering. Your clit pulses again and you feel like crying, needing release as much as he does. He doesn’t make it easy for you, making sounds like that.

“What does my baby girl need me to do?” you ask, stroking his member while stifling your giggles at the title that fits him so well. 

“Baby girl?” He frowns down at you. 

It’s usually what he calls you, hence why his confusion. And you call him by an entirely different title, too.

A giggle does escape your mouth after all. You squeeze at his tip, drawing those delicious whimpers out of him again.

“Only needy little baby girls make sounds like that. You are needy, aren’t you?” You lick that sensitive part, palming his balls. 

Namjoon whines. 

The shift of dynamics, the change of titles ever so dizzying to the mind. He doesn’t even have the strength to correct you. 

He grips the back of your head and moves you away from his cock. Then the realization he’s being rough again wafts over him and he softens his hold, fallen stray hairs coming to rest at your temples. Namjoon tucks them behind your ear. Taps you on the cheek once.

“Get to sucking off your baby girl,” he rasps. 

You smile. Find it immensely attractive that he’s embracing the pet name while still being dominant. A masculinity in its true form.

“You can be rough with me if you want to,” you say, wanting to make that clear. “I think I can handle it.”

Namjoon traces the shell of your ear with his thumb, pondering.

“Just don’t hit me, okay?” 

He says your name sternly, as if you offended him. “I would never deliberately hurt you. How can you think that?” 

“No, I meant—” You lick your lips. “Don’t slap my boobs or anything. You can spank me, I like that. But don’t be as rough with me as you were. Can we take it slow? Is that okay?”

He stares at you for a moment.  

“Do you trust me?”

You nod, turning your head to press a kiss into his palm. “Yes, I trust you.”

“I’ll teach you, then. We’ll take it slow,” he says, fingers stroking the side of your cheek, where a small amount of fluff creates a path for him to lay down his silent love on. “It was a mistake on my part for not preparing you for it, and for that I’m sorry. But I’ll teach you. Show you how good it is.” He pauses. “Until you beg me for it.”

Your throat dries up. The pulsing in your cunt unbearable. 

“Fuck, Namjoon. Save the talk or I’ll come on the spot.” 

“The talk is important,” he reprimands you. “Whether you come or not without my permission is your problem.” 

“Shit,” you whimper, gripping his hand on your cheek. You tighten your hold as if to brattily change his mind on having this kind of control over your orgasm because you need to come as soon as possible. And not just once. You’re sure your dewiness is leaking into the water. 

“No bad words or I’ll fuck your filthy mouth.” 

You gasp. So unused to this side of him. But it turns you on, now that you feel safe. Turns you unstable.

“Say you’re sorry.”

You’re tumbling out the words before he’s even finished with his sentence. “I’m so sorry.”

He beams at your immediate submission, purring at the quintessence of your compliance. Wants more. “Who are you apologizing to?” 

You pause. His usual title almost slips off of your tongue. But since this is new and you’re both experiencing a new dynamic that causes you to feel so playful, that guides you ever so gently and carefully into the kingdom of subspace, you opt for the pet name that suits him well. “To my baby girl,” you say, laughing softly. “I’m so sorry, baby girl.” 

He laughs as well, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. You’re giddy that you’re allowed to be wild, your inner child healing and quivering within you. You overflow with the desire to kiss him.

“What for?”

He wants you to say the full sentence. You take a deep breath. 

“Baby girl, I’m so sorry for having a filthy mouth and saying bad words.”

“Hm, do you regret it?” 

You almost curse again. “Yes, I do. I’m sorry for being bad.”

“Good. Get to work, then,” he says. “Make that mouth useful.”

Fuck.

“Kiss me first, please. Make it better,” you beg, fluttering your eyelashes at him. 

Namjoon moans and you bite your lip. Bends and sucks it between his, deepening the kiss as he opens your jaw and slips his tongue inside. Massages the muscle against yours. Makes those sounds again. Palms his cock. Withdraws with a pop. 

You mewl in satisfaction. That kiss alone ruined you. 

“Good girls get kisses.” Hand under your chin, he squishes your cheeks. “You’ve been exceptionally good. I’m gonna destroy you.” 

He kisses you again with the same intensity but briefly, inhaling your skin. No tongue this time. 

Cheeks awash with rosiness, you hastily unbuckle his belt. Not to cut time and get to his promise faster—on the contrary, you’re dying to pleasure him. He doesn’t help you like he normally does; he merely watches you as you pull down the cotton material of his slacks along with his boxers down his muscular thighs. Only when you wrap your lips around his cock from the side does he throw his head back. Thrusts his hips. 

He’s rock hard. The weight of him makes you absolutely fucked out.

Namjoon likes you there so he keeps you still—there in the middle of his girth. You moan, producing as much saliva as you can to gratify him while he uses your mouth, alternating between keeping those pillows firm and soft. When he gets you to his tip, he expects you to swallow him, but you merely move your head from side to side rapidly, flicking your tongue. Namjoon groans lowly, a string of curse words spilling from his throat. His precum drops onto your chin and you suck in a breath, horny beyond your mind.

You swipe your index finger to collect it. Check if he’s watching before you plunge the digit into your mouth. Roll your eyes back as the tanginess overwhelms your senses. Namjoon hisses. Grabs your braid as if it were a ponytail. Kisses you, aching to be one with you. You feel the vibrations of his fervid mania in unity with him like this and it echoes down your body once he pulls away. 

“Take it in your mouth.” 

Namjoon holds it at the base for you and you find the long vein that you favor so much. Pepper kisses along the length of it, feeling it throb in tandem with your clit. Straightening your spine, you bite your lip. Give him an utter look of adoration before you swipe your tongue along the slit. Humming in delight, you slip him into your mouth. Your cheeks hollow and you begin to bob your head, fingers following your movement, bumping into his fist. Tears pool in your eyes when you dare to inch closer to his hand and even though you gag, you try your hardest to keep him nice and tucked in your warm throat. You sputter and cough, swallowing around him, because you deem he deserves it, knowing how much he loves it when your flesh contracts around him like that, and Namjoon groans deeply. It fills you with a dose of satisfaction almost akin to an orgasm, the lack of oxygen in your brain heightening the experience so much that your head spins. 

“Such a good girl,” he whispers. “Breathe, baby.”

He slips out of your mouth. Pats you on your head before he sinks his fingers into your hair, gripping at the roots. Ascertains you pay attention to him. 

“Don’t do that again,” he says, softly. “You need to breathe. Take a deep breath with me.”

You’re still on your knees and he’s merely looking down at you. You fold your hands on your lap. Your mind is so empty that you’re not sure how you feel right now, having been entirely focused on his pleasure. 

Namjoon inhales deeply with his nose and you do the same.

Inhale, exhale. 

Fondly, he caresses you on your cheek.

“I just wanted to make you feel good,” you explain yourself, thinking that you should.

“I know, baby, and you did. It’s okay, I’m not mad at you.” He smiles at you. “You hear me? I’m not mad at you.”

You nod your head yes. Pout. 

“You feeling okay? Take a deep breath for me again.” 

You do as he says, your senses returning to you like a warm spring wind. 

“Better now?”

You nod again.

“Words.”

You wet your lips with your tongue. “Yes, I feel better now.”

“Good. Do you still wanna continue?”

“Yes, Namjoon. I wanna make you come.” 

Almost like you flipped a switch, his eyes darken. 

“Hands behind your back,” he rasps. 

You oblige, crisscrossing your wrists below the dimples on your lower back.

“‘Atta girl. Back to work, come on.” 

It’s much harder to do so without your hands, especially in the position you’re in. You hesitate.

“I don’t know if I can,” you admit. 

He tuts in pity. “Should I use you then?”

You roll your eyes back, the idea intoxicating your body. You feel woozy. 

“Yes, please.” 

“Focus on your breathing, okay?” 

“Yes, Namjoon.”

Humming, Namjoon grabs your hair gently and sinks your mouth down on his cock, moves you up and down slowly. You focus on not just sucking in your cheeks but also on breathing through your nose like he told you, although you can’t help but moan around him. It turns you on how he manhandles you to his liking so delicately. You swirl your tongue around his tip once he wants you there and you let out a series of whines and whimpers. He keeps you there for a little longer, moaning after you, the sounds creating a paradisiacal symphony. You twist your head in half circles as you continue sucking him, slobbering all over him, using your tongue to flick beneath the mushroom. 

“So good, baby. Yes, fuck.” Namjoon squeezes his eyes shut. “You’re gonna make me come.” 

You pull away, but a string of saliva still connects you to him. 

He blinks at you. “You want a spanking?” 

You run the tip of your tongue along the top of your lip, giving him the eyes. Cock your eyebrow at him. Namjoon draws a sharp breath in. 

He leans over. One hand tugs at your braid firmly to arch your back over the edge of the tub. The other smacks you sharply on your ass cheek, smoothing over the sting. You moan, nipples rubbing over the cold surface, curse words dying on your tongue. Namjoon grips the flesh, spanks you again. Skims his fingers over your exposed heat. Repeats it on the other cheek, twice in a row. You wiggle your hips, needing to feel more, needing him to touch you right there between your legs. You cry out into his ear.

Letting go of your braid, Namjoon kisses you beneath your jaw. Slides his tongue along the sensitive spot, sucking it between his lips. A secret message that he hears you, that he’ll fuck your needy cunt soon.

“Think you’ll be a good girl for now?” 

Furrowing your eyebrows, you nod a few times. Not a single rational thought passes through your brain. 

Namjoon straightens. Pulls down his foreskin for you. “Spit on it.” 

You watch as your liquid love trickles down and lands on his tip. He hums and surprises you by wrapping your hands around his girth, spreading down the lubrication with you. You feel the ridges and the thick vein in a new, vehement way and even though you’re not the one pleasured, you moan. The simple up and down movement grows in rapidness that your body follows, emulating the effort, making it seem like you’re bouncing on a dick. Your ass splashes the water around, creating tender waves full of love, inherited from your still leaking dewiness. 

His hands are so warm enclasped around yours, pressed tight. Not once unclenching.

You start blabbering. 

“You’re so big. I can’t even wrap my hand around you.” You make sure to look him in the eyes as you say it. “So big in my mouth, too. Could barely fit you.” 

Your words set those twilit embers in his eyes on fire. His breathing quickens. He’s close again and you’re stunned, once more, by the vividness of his sexuality. Your hands go limp in his grasp.

“Nuh-uh, keep up the pace,” he husks. “Thought I was your little baby girl?” 

You shake your head, willing your hands to gain strength again, but it has no source to draw from. “Not anymore.”

Namjoon chuckles, darkly. Notices your movements fluctuating, arms shaking. “Tired?”

You nod and he unclasps his hands. You twist your wrists in circles to alleviate them from a cramp. 

Then, you get an idea.

Sitting back on your heels, you arch your back. Tip your chin down and spit on your chest, the essence flowing down the pathway between your breasts. You do it again, though this time you spread it on your skin. 

“Fuck, baby,” Namjoon mumbles. Unbuttons his shirt. You squeeze your nipples with both hands as your eyes flick to his, then down to his exposed chest. “How are you gonna address me, huh? What’s my name?”

He forcefully tugs the fabric off of his arms, tossing it on the floor. His body—with its vulgar beauty, broadness and definition—takes your breath away. You don’t let it show, or perhaps you pretend that you don’t because you allow your hand to travel down your stomach. Namjoon imitates you, running his fingers down the chiseled muscles that make you drool. He stops at the hair adorning his pelvis. You don’t.

You rub circles on your clit instead.

“Daddy,” you cry out in pleasure, announcing his title—his rightful, most fitting title. Face contorting at the brisk, blooming flashes of sensuality rising up your form.

His body tenses. It’s like he’s stopping himself from reaching for you, pulling you out of the bathtub and spanking you until your bottom resembles the water. Or tugging at his length until he paints you white with his cum. 

You make it easy for him. 

Lifting your body, you step over the edge of the bathtub. Kneel at his feet on the fluffy black mat. Far enough for him to see purple liquid pearls make their way down to your cunt. Far enough for him to see how you resume those circles on your bundle of nerves, fingers reaching to your hole for lubrication. You roll your hips into your hand, arm propped behind you.

“What’s this show?” Namjoon rasps, his cock twitching. “I don’t remember giving you permission to touch yourself. You wanna end up with zero orgasms?”

You pause. 

“That’s what I thought,” he says. “I believe you have unfinished work to do.” 

You smile mischievously. “You want it bad, don’t you?” 

Namjoon nods. Holds out his hand. “Come to Daddy.”

Exuberantly, you leap into his arms. Namjoon throws you over his shoulder like you weigh nothing and walks into your shared bedroom. Sets you down on your bed, spreading your legs, and he crouches between them, reaching into his bedside table for the tool that he wants. 

The aroma of strawberries lovingly boops you on the nose. Namjoon squirts a good amount of lubrication on your chest, paying special attention to the pathway in the middle of your breasts. He massages it in, incorporates your sensitive nipples in the preparation, coaxing whimper after whimper out of you by squeezing them and rolling them between his long fingers.

“I’m gonna make a mess,” you say, grinding your hips against nothing.

Namjoon clicks his tongue. “Already?” 

Your dewiness oozes out of you onto the bedding. To prove your point, you lean back on your elbows and lift your knees, revealing your dripping hole and the shine of your soaked folds. Namjoon stares at your cunt but doesn’t touch, doesn’t blink. He bites his lip. Flicks his eyes to yours. 

He kisses the middle of your tummy. Moves over to your heat. Licks a tiny stripe on your clit.

You cry out.

“Namjoon!”

Hands on either side of your waist, crawling up to you, he growls. “Good girls are patient, aren’t they?” 

He doesn’t wait for your response. 

“They take what is given to them and they finish what they started,” he continues. “Don’t they?”

You nod.

“And you are a good girl, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl.” 

“Then thank your Daddy for what he gave you.” 

Your walls squeeze around nothing when you hear him utter his title. It refreshes your body with energy. 

“Thank you, Daddy.” You smile. 

Namjoon kisses you, rewarding you.

“Sit up.”

Changing the layout, it’s Namjoon who reclines halfway on the bed while you sit perched on your knees between his legs, cock in your face. He spurts the lube on his length and jerks himself off, his skin shining in the abrupt spillage of burnt-orange sunlight from the window. Watches your eyes round in astonishment similarly to the way they did earlier when you had gazed upon the glitter swarming around you. 

He nods at you, giving you the green light, and you sheathe his girth into the tightness of your squished tits. You may start a face pace from the get go, fucking him into oblivion, but all Namjoon sees is the whites of your eyes, the glimmer, the pure enjoyment of what you’re doing while the rest of you is immersed in subdued late afternoon shadows. Sweat glistens on the planes of his face, dribbling down to the strained column of his neck.

It’s intense. So intense that he can’t vocally react. 

Precum appears once more on his mushroom, displaying his arousal, and you slurp it up, the braid coming undone—your hair falling around you like a curtain. 

It’s brutal. It’s wet. 

Namjoon gathers your hair to the side in a makeshift ponytail and leans over to be closer to you. Needs you like this. Feels his relief catching up to him the more effort you put in, the more you stick out your tongue to flick at that sensitive part of him whenever you can. 

“Want your come. So bad. Want it all over me,” you whisper, and that’s it for him. 

“Say please,” he murmurs, and it’s barely a sound, but you hear him. 

“Please, Daddy, come for me.” 

Pulling your hands away, Namjoon takes charge. Fucks your tits in frenzy, your hair, now half dry, tickling your skin. With his thumbs, he stimulates your nipples to coax those little sounds of yours and—

“Play with your pussy,” he commands. “But don’t come. Tease yourself like you teased Daddy.”

The relief on your face inches him closer to his. He hears the wetness as you dip a finger in, your walls sucking it in. He hears your breath get stuck in your throat. The slow crescendo of your moans. Suddenly, he hears himself too. 

Whiny, desperate, so unlike himself.

It’s a fortress of safety, his forehead on top of yours. His nose bumping against yours. Open mouth ghosting over the sounds of your well-deserved pleasure. It’s a safe place for him to come in.  

And he does. 

Ropes upon ropes of come color you ivory white, color you clean. The reversal of a coloring book—changing the lines, changing the scheme, changing your life. 

You milk him dry, your pussy long forgotten. Milk him until he pushes you away, chest heaving, unable to catch his breath. You just watch him, his seed hot on your chest. Glittery. And not just there. On your neck, on your chin, in the wavy strands of your hair. 

You’re in awe of him. You can see the pressure leaving him like a ghost slinking out of the window. 

Namjoon takes off his glasses. With two fingers, he collects as much of his essence as he can and plunges them into your mouth. The other hand rests on the crook of your neck, thumb protectively over your throat. “Swallow.”

Not for long. Namjoon throws you on the bed. Doesn’t waste time.

He laps up your pussy, clit to hole, sucking your labia into his mouth. He does it again, but this time he travels a bit further. Clit, hole, ass. Tongue flat. Your screams are muffled by the rumpled bedsheet you grip.

Going back to your leaking hole, he circles the flesh before he dips the tongue in. Wraps his arms around your ass to control your squirming, feeling the dip of your spine as the sunlight kisses it. Dust particles spiral in the air—Namjoon sees it. The dark grey curtain keeping half of the world shrouded in dimness while the other illuminated, a picture cut in a heart shape due to the deliciousness of your ass. 

Fuck, Namjoon longs to play with it again. 

He spits on it, rubbing the saliva around it before he slides his tongue back into your wet hole. Says hello to it—long time no see—teases it, before he dips his thumb in. You arch your back even more, welcoming the intrusion, and Namjoon kisses your pussy lips as a thank you. He quivers with the craving to fuck you right there in your ass, but knows better than to do it. You’re not ready for it. 

Spreading you more open, while keeping his thumb there in that sweet place, he begins to focus on your poor little clit. Swirls his tongue around it firmly, sucking it until your back trembles—goes up and down like a seesaw. The kisses he leaves there are obscene, loud, full of thankfulness that he gets to play with you. Full of love for you that he burns bright with—that propels him to flick his tongue harder. And full of joy that his stress is gone. Joy that you’ve been the helper unscrewing the steel body of heaviness off of his because, as of now, his bones feel lighter.

“You’re so good for me.” He smacks his lips against your cunt. “Fucking Daddy like that when he needed you.” 

Vigorously, he rubs his face against you, shaking his head from side to side. You stretch your fingers behind you and helplessly grip the back of your thighs. Namjoon catches one of your hands, holds it with his free four fingers, sucking your clit. 

“Thank you, baby,” he whispers, withdrawing to pay attention to your other hole, missing it. Abuses it once he spits on it, eating it, dipping his tongue in with ease since he stretched you. Fucks you there in the only way he can. 

“Wanna come?” he asks and as he waits for your answer, he goes lower to drink your freshness, not letting a drop go to waste. 

You’ve lost your voice screaming. “Yes, Daddy, please. I can’t hold it in anymore. Please, let me come,” you croak. 

Namjoon makes a sound of appreciation, proud of you for holding out for so long without saying anything.

“I think you can,” he says. Stuffs a finger into your dripping hole and lets you adjust for a moment. Adds another. “I think you can hold it while I count to ten.” 

His digits pump into you slowly. Kneeling by your side, he turns your head so you can see him, twisting your body into the position he wants. The curve of your back is so beautiful in his sight that he can’t help but run his free hand over the route that your spine has become. The route he wants to plant kisses on like flowers of various colors, adding to the coloring book, erasing the old. 

And he does. Begins at the nape of your neck. Picks up the speed.

“One.” 

You cry out. First before your tears rush out, pooling in your waterline. You clench your whole body in naive hope it would stall the orgasm, but it quickens it, squeezing his fingers in, so you relax your muscles. 

“Two.” 

A kiss to the first round protrusion of your spine. Shifting your weight to your shoulder, you take his cock into your hand. 

“Three.”

The middle of your shoulder blades. You hear your wetness oozing out of you, the relief prowling closer. You whine and Namjoon understands.

“Hold it or I’ll stop,” he whispers. “I can feel your pussy squeezing around my fingers. Relax.” 

You match your pace with his. Namjoon begins to pant. You feel his hot, heavy breath beneath your shoulder blades. 

“Six.” 

Ass shaking from the force, he jackhammers into you. Pulls out for a moment to spank you, a merciful gesture, before he’s back in. Leaves a wet fingerprint on your skin.

“Eight.”

The last protrusion of your spine. You silence your moans by pressing your hand against your mouth because they bring you closer to your orgasm, however Namjoon yanks your arm away. 

“Make those pretty sounds for me, come on,” he huffs, kissing both of those dimples on your back. “Ten. Come. Come for Daddy. Come all over his hand.”

And you do.

It’s a paradise, the heat closing in on you. The loss of hearing, the muted ringing, resembling the flap of a bird’s wing. The loss of surroundings as you’re momentarily transported somewhere entirely else. A gilded illustration, perhaps a lively projection. Something, somewhere, where all is good. The orgasm rips through you and the repetitive echo of his name leaving your mouth is what brings you back. Away from the storybook into a brand new coloring book.

Namjoon strokes your hair. 

He holds you in his arms, but something sticks you uncomfortably together. You peel yourself off of him and cringe. Strings upon strings of his come, gleaming with speckles of glitter, do not want you to leave. You sit on his thighs, resting your palms on his chest. 

He kisses you. “Are you okay?”

You nod with droopy eyelids. 

He carries you into the shower and makes a way for all colors of the rainbow to perfuse your body. To create a new storyline for the day, for the week, for the month. Reds and pinks show their faces first in the steam, and even though Namjoon is glad to see them, he looks forward to meeting the rest. To learning their objectives so he can fulfill them. 

Grabbing the yellow book on the way back to the bedroom, Namjoon makes himself comfortable beside you. Is careful not to touch your face out of habit because you have a face mask on; careful not to bump into you either because you have a plate of mozzarella and sliced tomatoes on your lap. He kisses your hair, though. Doesn’t have the strength to fight internally—grabs your jawline and ever so slowly and heedfully, he kisses you, fingers finding the first chapter unwittingly. 

“When Gregor Samsa awoke one morning from troubled dreams, he found himself changed into a monstrous cockroach in his bed.” 

© 2024 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved.

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[kiss-me-cill-me]

i’m not sure if anon has already requested a character for that song but if ur up for it CAN WE HAVE THAT SONG WITH JONATHAN CRANE. also i just listened to that song for the first time in like 3 years and got major deja vu lmao 😭

also ps i love u and ur writing !!!

This is related to another ask from an anon, requesting a fic based off of Katy Perry's song, The One That Got Away. I am so sorry to both of you that it's taken me forever to write this, but thank you for your patience and support <3

Now We Pay The Price | Pt. 1

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k

Summary: Life hasn't turned out exactly the way you wanted it to. Isolated and distraught as you watch time slip by while you sit, trapped in Arkham, your only wish is to recapture the way that things used to be.

Warnings: Angst, whump, sexual themes but no explicit smut, mental health themes, obsession, unhealthy relationship dynamics, mention of needles, mention of sedatives, unrequited love, established past romantic relationship, ambiguity

A/N: I hardly ever write angst, so please be gentle with me lol. But with the song inspo, I couldn't help but go in that direction. Slightly nervous to post this, but also happy that I've branched out from my comfort zone a bit!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Lying on your stomach, feet in the air, you stretched the thin cotton sheets with your hand. Just enough to give them the tension you needed to glide a ballpoint pen over the fabric, scratching over and over the same mark to make it appear complete. This was far from the perfect medium for doodling - but sheets were what you had, and so they were what you used.

Even the pen was contraband. You knew you weren’t supposed to have it. What anyone thought you’d do with it… honestly, you had no idea. As if you could use a pen for anything other than what you were wrapped up in doing now - carefully and determinedly drawing hearts.

You stopped to rest your head for a moment on the pitifully thin pillow. Across the room, blank white concrete stared back at you. Day in, day out. Endless. The same room with the same walls.

Picking up the pen again, you placed the tip right in between the lobes of one of the many hearts. Scratch, scratch, scratch. A messy, zig-zagging line bisected the doodle. 

Broken.

You sighed, and started to color a different heart, filling it with blue ink that didn’t seem very inclined to stick to the bed sheets. It was slow going. The deep azure tint reminded you of deoxygenated blood, like you would see in a textbook diagram. Once the heart was completely filled, you moved dutifully on to the next.

A rustling at your door made you jump. Quickly, you stuffed the pen under your pillow, and turned up the sheets to hide your drawings. It wouldn’t be very good for you if anybody saw them.

You sat up, arranging your rumpled jumpsuit as neatly as you could. Leather straps hung off the sides of your bed, and you spared them a glance, bristling at the memories of having them lashed over your body. 

The metal door slid open slowly, until you could finally see…

Him. Your heart skipped a beat and a half as he stepped stiffly into the room, pulling the door shut behind him. He didn’t make a show of locking it, but it was still all too hard to miss the way his hand stopped short at the keyhole, before slipping into his pocket.

“Jonathan. I’m so glad-”

“Don’t call me that,” he bristled. “In here, we don’t know each other. Please. You always forget that.”

“...Dr. Crane,” you corrected yourself. 

His tone was so bitter that you could feel it in the very back of your throat, trying to claw its way down to your heart. You swallowed, trying to bite back the taste.

“I’m sorry. I was just happy to see you.” You smiled, pushing through your discomfort, for his sake.

Crane was clearly agitated. He took a few steps into the room, before turning around and facing the door. For one brief moment, you couldn’t see his face, until finally he turned back. His eyes were ice as they stared down at you.

“Do you have any idea how difficult you’ve been making things for me?” he spat. 

The accusation hurt, of course. Though you knew very well what he meant. You had been acting out, more than usual, as of late. And although it wasn’t without a purpose, you could see that it was wearing him thin. But… how else were you supposed to see each other? 

Arkham Asylum wasn’t exactly known for its model patients. It took a lot to get Dr. Crane’s attention.

“If we spent more time together, I wouldn’t be so difficult,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even.

Crane pinched the bridge of his nose, in that way that you were well acquainted with. He’d always had that habit. Back when you’d first met, you had loved making him get frustrated - just enough for a laugh. Some things never changed.

“You’re really backing me into a corner,” Crane sighed. “And I really wish you wouldn’t.”

“Let’s talk,” you offered, patting the bed. “That’s what you’re here for, right?”

Crane, reluctantly, sat down. You could sense his exhaustion in the way that he almost collapsed onto the bed, hands gripping the edge for support. You inched a bit closer, enough so that your knees touched briefly. Crane pulled away.

You wanted to reach out; put a hand on his shoulder, just like you’d done so many times before. He used to like it when you touched him. Sometimes, you liked to think that yours was the only gentle embrace that he had ever known. Maybe it was silly, but the thought of it always made you feel better.

Now, Crane’s eyes held nothing but menace as he glared over at you, as if you were a stain on the bed sheets. You wondered, vaguely, what had happened to change things.

So much. So much that had led you to this place, where you could be so close to him and yet felt more separated than ever.

“I hate to say it, Doc, but I think I’m going crazy in here,” you joked, trying to lighten the mood.

He barely had a reaction; a deep sigh the only hint that he’d heard what you said at all.

“And why do you think that is?” he asked, finally. 

The psychiatrist in him always came through to shove even more distance between you. Like a shield, put up just when you’d started to press through the fog of tension that hung heavy in the room. You swallowed your frustration at being kept out, and tried to answer him honestly.

“Because I barely get to see you,” you replied.

That was the wrong answer, and Crane’s shoulders swung abruptly to face you. 

He was scary like this. Almost scary, anyway. If you didn’t know him better, the look in his eyes would have sent you cowering. 

But you did know him, so well, and you remembered with sudden clarity that he’d always been bothered by feeling inadequate. You felt awful; you hadn’t meant to imply that he wasn’t doing enough.

“I’m sorry,” you soothed, before he could say anything. “I know that you’re busy, but-”

“But you continue to make yourself into a problem,” he hissed. “You know the only reason you’re in here instead of rotting away over at Blackgate is because of me, right?”

You nodded, too shocked by embarrassment to speak.

“Then for my sake, why don’t you act like it?”

“I’m…” You paused for a moment, sharp tears welling up in your eyes. “I’m just… lost without you,” you whispered. “You know that. I always told you I would be.”

The first tear fell, and you tried to hide your face.

“Don’t cry,” Crane sighed.

You could hear the harsh tinge of annoyance in his voice, and wished that it was anything else. Even his pity would have been better than knowing that your feelings were now nothing but inconvenience. You choked on your own throat, trying to stifle a sob.

“Please don’t cry,” he mumbled, slightly softer this time.

But now that you’d started, you couldn’t make yourself stop. If anything, the tears were only coming faster, and you felt yourself start to shrink into your own chest. The little black pit that always seemed to sit there, now swiftly opening up to swallow you.

With a deep and lingering exhale, Crane pulled you close. Suddenly, you were back where you both had been, so many years ago: one person’s cheek pressed into the other’s shoulder. Tears soaking into fabric that seemed to be stained with sadness. You let out a half-laugh, half-sob, and nestled into the crook of his neck.

“Remember when I used to do this for you?”

Crane stiffened slightly beside you.

“Things have changed since then,” he muttered. 

Your memory suddenly flashed back to the first time he had used the words “dysfunctional attachment” to describe you. That had hurt worse than anything else. Even more than all of the other occasions to come, when you’d heard those same words and worse fall from his lips. They could never truly compare to that first time, when your whole world had come crashing abruptly to the ground.

His arm dropped away from you, but you kept your face pressed into his shoulder.

“Things haven’t really changed,” you said. “I still belong to you.”

“You don’t.”

Two words that stung worse than hundreds of needles. You tried to pretend that the wind hadn’t been knocked out of you, as you replied.

“I do. And I will. Always.”

You looked up at him with wet eyes, a trace of the old life that you’d shared together still evident deep within your pupils. Even if only the memories of it lived inside of you, they still lived. They were still something.

“You need to move on,” Crane said flatly. “I know it’s not easy in here, with me…” He sighed. “I did what I could to protect you, but maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed out of your case. Blackgate would have at least given you distance.”

“I don’t want distance,” you whispered. “I just want to be with you.”

“You can’t be.”

Always so stubborn.

“I could be, if you’d help me get out.”

Confusion flashed across Crane’s face, quickly replaced with raw terror. 

“Escape Arkham?” His eyebrows furrowed, nearly knitting together. “You can’t be serious. Do you even realize what-?”

“I know, I know,” you hummed. “But just think - we could run away together, just like we always talked about.”

“Stop.”

“Don’t you remember? We promised-”

“Things. Change.” Crane’s voice almost shook as it thundered.

You brought a hand up to his face, gently coaxing until he looked at you.

“But they don’t have to,” you breathed. 

Your eyes drifted down to your wrist, to the space just below your thumb, and over the little tattoo that was etched into your skin. A heart - just like the ones littering your blanket, hidden carefully from Crane’s view.

“Remember when you gave me this?” you asked, holding up the tattoo in front of him.

“No; I remember you doing that to yourself.”

“At first, sure,” you chuckled. “But then, you helped me to finish it, ‘cause-”

“Because I didn’t want you to hurt yourself,” Crane muttered. “Just like you always seem to. Even now.”

You ignored his remark as your hands drifted down to collect one of his pale wrists, then lifted up to your face. The sleeve of his suit jacket slipped back, revealing the spot where once, long ago, you had given him the same mark. Just with a felt-tip pen; he would have never allowed you, even back then, to deface his own body in the same way you had yours. 

At the time, the impermanence of it hadn’t seemed to matter. You’d been too distracted; elated by the way that his and your matching blossoms of ink had pressed up against each other as you’d held hands. 

Now, you pressed a kiss to the blank space.

“Us against the world, Jonathan. Remember?”

Suddenly, his fingers pressed into your face, digging into the sides of your chin as he forced you back into focus.

“Don’t call me that,” he warned, once again. “How many times do I have to tell you? That life doesn’t exist in here.”

Your hands still dangled from his wrist as he continued to crush your jaw, not letting you look away. But this was the one part of him that you didn’t want to face. The part that didn’t need you anymore.

“Jonathan. You know the reason I’m in here, don’t you?”

“Are you asking if I know about your case? All of the crimes you committed?” he huffed. “Because yes - I was very involved in the trial, and it was nearly impossible to keep everyone else in the dark about…”

Us was the word that he couldn’t bring himself to say.

“That’s not what I mean,” you said. “I mean, do you know why I did those things?”

“Stop - please don’t tell me this again.”

“I did them for you,” you cried, your emotions getting the better of you again. “I do everything for you. So don’t you dare pretend you don’t need me, when really the only fucking reason you’re not stuck in here with me is because I always-”

“Stop.”

Crane’s hands tore away to grab you by the shoulders, wrenching you back to reality. Somehow he always managed to do that. To pull you straight out of the riptide, just as it was about to sweep you away.

“I never asked you to do what you did,” he hissed, articulating each word between clenched teeth.

“But I did it anyway,” you spat. “Because you always get into trouble. Because I told you I’d be there for you, no matter what. And because I always keep promises.”

“I don’t need you to anymore.” Crane’s hands squeezed you uncomfortably. “I don’t - I didn’t need you to ruin your life for me.”

“My life isn’t ruined if it’s for you.”

“Jesus Christ…”

Crane’s hand came up to rake through his hair, but before he could pull away fully, you caught him. Fingers clenched tight to the front of his suit, you pulled back and forced him to fall with you. Your back hit the bed, and Crane scrambled to catch himself before his full weight could slam into you. His body perched just above yours, caging you in his arms.

“This. You must remember this.” 

Your words were a whisper, barely loud enough to pass from your lips to his ear, despite how close he was. Your legs frantically came up to tug at his waist, trying to force him closer.

“This was the only time I felt alive,” you continued. “When we were like this. You remember.”

How could he not? You could still live in that moment, if you tried hard enough. As if it had been only yesterday. Both of you nervous and fumbling, nearly falling off of the bed as he hovered over you and you clung to him. 

The way that your bodies had melted together, almost desperately, in a way that had made you feel certain that neither one of you would let go. Letting go then had meant something worse than death; it meant a life that dragged on without you and him together. 

The stale echoes of passion still rang in your ears as you looked up, silently begging for him to rekindle the spark that had been there.

Crane’s expression was all but impossible to read. His face half-hidden beneath bangs that fell into his eyes. The two-second pause was like a lifetime as you awaited his answer.

“Of course I remember.”

Your heart soared, flying recklessly up.

“But that doesn’t mean it’s the same now.”

Broken. Smashed hard against the cold floor of your cell.

“I don’t believe that,” you breathed. “I can’t. I-”

“You need to,” he interrupted. “Because it’s the truth.”

You stayed stock still on the mattress as Crane briskly pushed himself up, disentangling himself from your limbs. He exhaled as he tugged at his jacket, trying to make himself presentable. 

You weren’t sure how he could find the nerve, after ripping your whole world apart.

“I’m upping the dose on your sedatives,” he informed you, still not meeting your gaze. “But I would prefer if you could find it within yourself to behave so that I don’t have to. I don’t like to do this, but-”

“Appearances…” Your voice drifted through the room. “Have to be kept up.”

He had told you as much, probably dozens of times. Just like he’d told you the old life between you no longer mattered, or even existed. If it ever had.

“I’m glad you understand,” he said shortly. 

His back was already turned, but you looked up to watch him drift out of the room, quickly pocketing the keys on his way out. 

Your head fell back, hard, but the sensation did nothing to ground you. You felt all too lost and adrift; trapped in a situation you had created. This wasn’t how things were supposed to end up.

Your hand drifted silently under the pillow, and wrapped around the barrel of the pen that was still hidden there. 

Suddenly, grotesque understanding of all the reasons why no one would want you to have such a thing flooded into your consciousness. The possibilities were many and bleak, but they all led back to the same conclusion. It was just like you had told Crane earlier.

If your life together didn’t exist in this place, then the only solution was to leave. 

You smiled. With resolve swirling dangerously inside your veins, you vowed to make sure that nothing like this ever happened again. You were going to be together, no matter what. 

There would be no getting away.

This fic now has a Part 2! Read it HERE

#jonathan crane x reader #jonathan crane #cillian murphy x reader #angst #LemmyFics

[palioom]

sweet, sweet icing

summary: dieter is decorating the cookies you baked with a very special kind of icing

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader word count: 2.0k warnings:18+ content; no use of y/n ; baking; oral (m receiving); cum eating; established relationship; facial (not the beauty kind)

a/n: the first of my little "kinkmas" collection - one christmas/winter themed fic for every advent

• masterlist •

It was chilly out, the wind whirling snow up against the frosty windows, howling as it passed by. People dressed in thick layers were hurrying home to get out of the icy cold, illuminated by the beautiful lights placed throughout the city.

A world so unlike their apartment - warm and cozy, full of string lights and silly little Christmas decorations. Reindeers and Santas and glowing stars hanging from the ceiling, almost seeming like a wonderland of some sort.

The smell of freshly baked cookies hung in the air, wafting into every room from the kitchen where the still warm cookies laid on the countertops, ready to be decorated.

It had been her doing, taking all morning to prepare the dough, using all kinds of different cookie cutter forms to shape them before finally baking them. She loved the baking part, enjoying the silence in the kitchen while Dieter still slept. He would only try to eat the dough and mess with her otherwise – she had learned that really quickly the first few times she had tried to bake with him present.

But Dieter loved decorating cookies. They always ended up looking like an LSD trip gone wrong, as well as less than family friendly sometimes, but he really enjoyed doing it. It was an outlet for his creative side and even though there were less cookies than before he had entered the kitchen, she gave him full reign over it.

Like now, hearing him hum along to some music before it was cut off by a brief laugh, while she sat on the sofa, hot chocolate warming her hands, just watching some random Christmas movie. She would go and keep him company, but the mess he created just annoyed her, preferring to see the finished results once he had cleaned up.

Because when Dieter decorated anything in the kitchen it tended to go just like when he was painting – colour everywhere, spilled icing turning the kitchen counters into a sticky nightmare that all the other chocolate chips and sprinkles and sugary forms clung to. 

So, exactly what one would expect of Dieter.

Behind her, she could hear some grunting coming from him, but she ignored it. Figuring he was doing God knows what. Maybe picking up some things he’d knocked over or searching some cabinets for more things to slather onto the baked goods.

She couldn’t wait to see what he had done this time around and she wished she had taken just one cookie for herself before retreating onto the sofa. Oh well, her hot chocolate would do for now.

Eventually, the noise behind her completely vanished as she concentrated on the movie, barely noticing when Dieter appeared in the living room.

“Babe, they’re done.” His voice pulled her away from the TV, eyes flying over to where he was walking towards her. Baggy shirt hanging off his broad shoulders, the area around the belly stained with all sorts of colourful things. She was sure that his loose pants also bore some marks of his wild adventures in the kitchen, but she couldn’t really see on the already wild pattern. The underside of his nose was dusted with powder, and she really hoped it was anything but coke. “They’re so fucking good.”

She laughed, eyeing the colourful cookies on the plate he held in one hand, looking just like she had expected them to. They were crazy, for the lack of a better term, but not messy. There was a certain method to how Dieter worked, both on set and when being creative here at home, and decorating cookies was no exception.

To a new eye, the weird shapes on some seemed random and applied without care – colourful swirls and zig zags and dots, seemingly random colours drawn onto the shapes of Santa and Christmas trees and reindeers.

But she could recognize some patterns, like from his pants or previous paintings he had made while high as a kite. She swore she could even see some shapes in them, objects that got lost in the assault of colours.

Or maybe she had just lost her mind after spending so much time with him.

There were a few remarkably plain ones, too. Just all green or all white, no sprinkles or anything else added to them.

“They look awesome, Dee!” She said, taking one cookie in the form of a star, drowning in orange and yellow swirls. 

He looked like a little kid as she took a bite, all excited, biting his bottom lip in anticipation. Maybe he was a little too excited, making her laugh after she finished the cookie.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

With his dishevelled hair and the sheepish grin, it almost looked like he had been up to something. 

Did she even want to know what it was?

Maybe he had completely ruined the countertops this year? The floor? Or maybe even the ceiling?

She remembered one year where he had somehow managed to cover the kitchen ceiling in colourful specks.

“Just excited for you to try ‘em!” Dieter said, taking a plain white one, holding it out to her. Looking so sweet, yet naughty. “Take this one.”

She sighed, shaking her head with a laugh. “I want one of those with sprinkles.”

The plain one would just be boring icing, and she really had her eyes on the ones littered with sprinkles. Or the ones where Santa had his pants down, complete with a tiny dick drawn onto it.

Who else was gonna come up with this other than him?

“Nah, this one first, babe.”

Relenting, she leaned forward to take a bite from the cookie he still held out to her. Expecting more of the sugary taste of the icing, but finding no sweet taste, beside the cookie itself.

In fact, it tasted rather… salty.

Dieter’s eyes glinted mischievously as her eyes shot up and found his, widening just slightly as it dawned on her.

He hadn’t seriously-? No, he couldn’t have.

The noises made sense now. All the grunting and giggling.

“Dieter?” She asked with a small laugh, her hand coming up to her mouth as she chewed. He really looked like a kid that had done something really bad which he found joy in regardless. “Oh my God, are you serious?”

Dieter laughed too now, deep and warm, shrugging his shoulders with that same sheepish smile on his face still.. 

“Surprise flavor, babe.”

Yeah, he absolutely was serious. The idea had come to him after he had actually spilled some of the icing over the counter, watching it drip down onto the floor, it really had taken his mind elsewhere.

Elsewhere being the mental image of his cum trickling out of her fucked out pussy, his cock twitching at the thought. To be fair, he had tried to resist the mental image for a while, cleaning up what he had spilled before he continued drawing onto the cookies.

But his dick ached and the thought of jerking off onto some of these pretty little shapes before feeding them to her just wouldn’t leave him alone.

So, he had done it. The mental image of her eating them was enough to make him feel hot, then he thought about getting caught doing it by her. Biting his fist so he wouldn’t be too loud and make her suspicious, he came all over a few of the sweet treats in almost record time, quietly laughing.

To his surprise, she ate the second half too, grinning around it as she did.

“You got any more of that icing?” She asked, and just the tone of her voice made his dick twitch again. Her hands wandered below the hem of his baggy t-shirt, nails lightly scratching over the soft skin of his belly before finding the waistband of his pants.

Now this he hadn’t expected.

“Mhmm, I don’t know, baby.” Dieter said, putting down the plate of cookies onto the table next to him. “Wasted it all to make these for you, but maybe I have some left just for you.”

She giggled, biting her bottom lip as her thumbs hooked into the band of his pants and pulled them down to reveal his still soft dick. Of course he wasn’t wearing any underwear at home.

Easy access, he called it.

Scooting closer to the edge of the sofa, she ducked her head, sucking one of Dieter’s heavy balls into her mouth, hearing his breath hitch above her. One of her hands wrapped around his dick, slowly hardening in her palm as she played with his balls.

Dieter’s fingers curled into her hair, holding it back in a makeshift ponytail, watching in fascination as she licked and sucked at them with a low hum, grinning when her eyes found his.

This definitely was a better outcome than what he had imagined – having her laugh at his prank before getting mad that the kitchen looked like an absolute fucking mess. 

Not getting him hard so she could suck his dick.

“You really like that icing, huh?” He asked with a lopsided smirk, watching how she took his half hard cock into her mouth while her hands continued to fondle his balls. 

She nodded, getting wet at the feeling of him hardening in her mouth. 

“Gonna be my own personal cookie to decorate?” Dieter asked, his hips rutting forward. Her mouth just felt too good, her tongue swirling around the head and sucking on it. “Fuck, you’re sweet like one.”

A short laugh left her before she took more of him into her mouth. “Yeah, gonna be your cookie, wanna be dripping in your icing.”

Dieter laughed, too, his hips canting up in time with the bobbing of her head, his groans becoming louder as he thought about his cum all over her face. Thick, white streaks painting her cheeks and lips.

Practically begging for it with those pretty eyes, he was unable to drag this out particularly long.

No, he had to decorate just one more.

“Gonna make you look like a cinnamon roll.” He rasped, his hips speeding up and seeing her become more frantic. “All sticky and sweet and, fuck-”

Spit dribbled down her chin as her lips released him with a small pop, her hands now wrapping around his slick length and pumping him. There was that lip bite again, stroking him right over her face with those eyes that just challenged him to cum all over her.

“C’mon, Dieter, I need your icing.” She whined, her brows knitting together in desperation as her hands worked him faster. “Please, baby. We can make some cream pie after, too.”

Oh, fuck.

Her words pushed him right over the edge, a whiny sound crawling up his throat as his cum shot all over her face and waiting tongue. Rope after rope, all while she kept stroking him to get to every last drop with a low, approving hum.

Sucking the tip into her mouth again after, just to make sure that she got all of the icing he had to spare, even when her tongue on his soft head threatened to overstimulate him.

“My favourite kind of icing.” She giggled, licking her lips before smacking them. The way Dieter looked down at her was both adorable and hot, almost like he was a kid that just got the best gift ever. “I’m so happy you still had some left for me, Dee.”

Snapping out of his trance of admiring his decorating work, he laughed, bending down to kiss her. Stealing all the air from her, based on her breathy laugh as he pushed her back onto the sofa, crawling over her.

Not minding the mess at all.

“Now I’m really interested in that cream pie.” He groaned as his tongue slipped against hers, tasting both the cookie and his cum on it. “Let me help with that.”

Her laughter turned into a moan as his thick fingers wandered into her sweatpants, all muffled by his mouth.

Baking definitely was her thing, just as decorating the goods was his.

There was no better way to get into the Christmas spirit than this.

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo fanfiction #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #the bubble #kinkmas 2023 #my writing #pedrostories

[dailyadventureprompts]

do you have any advice for running and/or adapting prewritten modules?

DM Tip: Coloring outside the lines. 

A piece of advice that’s vitally important for DMs, especially newer DMs to recognize is that presenting our party with a fleshed out, vibrant world is a magic trick mostly reliant on us having enough easily adaptable world-pieces laying around. It’s a matter of building the track as they go, and though modules provide a box full of pre-selected track pieces that can be useful building that backlog, the process is still reliant on YOU to fill in the blank space and account for the odd directions your party might end up in. 

As such, it’s important for us to look at modules not as a recipe that must be followed to have a good time, but as a concentrated dollop of inspiration/jumping off point upon which we can create our own adventures. There’s a similar philosophy behind my own adventure prompts, as I seldom expect people to be able to use them 1:1. Even I have to adjust things and change details when turning a series of individual prompts into the material of a campaign. 

The first step when you’re thinking of adapting an existing work  (whether it be a module or a narrative you want to turn into an adventure)  is to ask yourself and your players if this is the right fit for what they want to play.  There’s no point in adapting an adventure focused around a heist if your party wants to be out exploring the wilderness, and there’s no point in adapting a wilderness exploration adventure if your party wants to do a political thriller/urban mystery.  Just like with creating a homebrew campaign, you want to match the story to the expectations of your players. Trying to build a machine without knowing what it’s for is an exercise in frustration, as is trying to build a story without knowing the general direction you want it to be going.  

Next is to read the work back to front, making notes as you go, specifically looking for: 

Interesting ways the narrative could spin off from this, and what adventures might occur if your party make different decisions than what the story allows. 

What emotional work you need to build into the party’s backstory/previous adventures/to have them make the decisions you NEED them to. 

What happens if the party fail at each major step of the journey. 

Ways you think you could do X thing better. 

After you’re done with that, read another work with similar themes/subject matter with an eye of salvaging it for ideas to improve the first. Most modules have a direct path in mind with a few major branching points. What you want is raw material for when your party zigs when the original writers expected them to zag, as well as extraneous details that can make otherwise thin plot beats into sturdy pillars of your story. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve averted disaster or disinterest in my games by importing an npc or worldbuilding detail from something I’d recently read/watched into a narrative I’d thought was fully planned out but was just failing to fire

Finally, sit down with a notebook and try writing out the adventure step by step. Any time you get fuzzy on the details, it means you haven’t internalized the story you want to tell, and would end up running things by the book. This isn’t bad necessarily, but it’s the difference between a musician who has to go slow and follow along with the sheet music vs one who’s practiced enough to be confident in their performance. Recreating it like this might also let you see narrative potential that wasn’t necessarily evident in your first attempts.

Art

#dm tip #dm tips #dm starterpack

[tinydefector]

*jumps in again* i love how you write and im starting to feel like a bother to request some more😭 but but if you don't mind, ultra magnus x gn! reader where he's scolding them for being reckless and sneak off to go meteor surfing with Rodimus. He's not mad, just worried sick for em then reader just storms off and he didn't bother to chase after em, wanting to give them space.

Later, he bumped into Megatron and had a lil chat when Megs pointed out how Magnus is treating reader like his kid(sparkling). Mags denies it but then later connects the dot, like "omg, he's kinda right" que to him went off to find reader which in their room, distracting themselves with some work and he apologize for yelling and vice versa with reader for sneaking out.

Also, if you want, you can add like a bonus bit at the end where Mags praise reader for the excellent report they turned in and reader accidentally say "thanks dad" make it worse if some bot was around when they said that *cough* roddy *cough*

RULES OF PARENTING

Took me longer than expected to write this out.

Platonic/ Parent and child with Ultra Magnus and Cybertronian Reader. Slight hints to Megatron x Ultra Magnus as a treat.

Other information I decided to write the reader as an Outlier but their ability, form and everything else is left up for the reader to decided themself. Other than the fact they are the youngsters on ship and smaller than the larger bots nothing else is stated.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: none

Request and ask open, read pinned post

______________________

laughter comes from around the corner, Rodimus and his friend bolt through the ship. "Keep up Rods!" The younger bot yells out. Their hoverboard is servo while they both bolt towards the shipping bay. It wasn't often the two got the opportunity to go asteroid surfing.

Rodimus hurries after, pushing his engines to keep pace through the twisting ship corridors. His intake splits in a fierce grin.

"Hey, wait up!" he calls back, At the threshold they transform, Rodimus jumps onto his board, taking off into the asteroid field. "Alright runt, you asked for it!" Blue optics glint with loving malice. "First to finish a loop and back wins! Loser takes the others reports."

He peels out with a throaty roar, engine howling, not waiting for the start. Cheating? Maybe, but racing was war, and all was fair in love and circuits blown! Let the games begin.

"Your on Roddy!" They shout back at Rodimus before taking a leap out onto their hoverboard. "Wooooooohhhhhoooo" the shout out. They both tear out of the shipping bay on their hoverboard, darting nimbly between support struts like a razorwing on the hunt. Their wild grin is audible even without comlink.

Rodimus bellows a rival cry, engine snarling as he rockets through the asteroids in a shower of blue sparks. Every sensor hones to the night-shadowed chase before him, picking out the board's glints between outcroppings as their rider zig-zags across the field like liquid mercury. Shouts of challenge fly between them over the comms, goading fierce competition.

Adrenaline sings in Rodimus' lines as he closes the gap, swerving within reach, laughter falls from the two as they race and chase each other. Two kindred spirits living utterly within the moment, simply living for the speed and freedom the stars grant.

From the command centre, Megatron observes the asteroid field feed with keen optic. Movement on the edges draws his gaze - two familiar signatures darting nimbly amid the tumbling rocks, weaving hazardous loops and stunts with the heedless abandon of youth.

A low growl rumbles in his powerful frame at their recklessness and endangerment. But watching closer, caught by flickering motions on the monitor, even his hardened spark must soften.

Laughter crackles through the open commlines as they toss chunks at each other in joyful battle, dancing dangerously along the rim. It sparks memories of ages past, when he himself was prone to such reckless ventures in the mines.

He returns grimly to his charts. But the ghost of a smile still plays about unyielding faceplates, echoing wild laughter across the stars. The loud steps of Ultra Magnus making his way towards command has megatron debating. "Rodimus, I'd recommend you both make your way back to ship, less you want Magnus to lecture you again" He calls out, trying to make sure Ultra Magnus doesn't catch them.

Through the open comm, Rodimus and the other bot share a look of mingled dread and mischief at Megatron's ominous warning. Their daredevil games come with risks.

"Slag it, it's Mags," hisses Rodimus. "We better scram before he throws the book at us!"

Their laughter follows, swerving nimbly aside as Rodimus roars past in a spray of grit. "Like he ever lets us have any fun! Race you back, slowpoke!" With that taunt, they gun their board, kicking up plumes of dust under newly ignited thrusters.

Rodimus snarls a challenge, punching his engine into overdrive to give chase. Though his massive frame handles with ungraceful power, the Captain drives with a fearless intensity rivalled only by Megatron himself in his glory days. "You're on!" He shouts at them.

From the bridge, Megatron watches their mad dash with a derisive snort. Fools to the last, but at least they snatched excitement where they found it, consequences be damned. A trait he can almost respect, Rodimus is a wild sparked bot and the young bot wasn't much better taking after the Prime as if they were batch mates. But Rodimus was fiery protective of them and that's all Megatron could ask.

As Magnus walks in he glitches out when he sees the two bots bolt across the asteroids on hoverboards. Magnus' commanding boom fills their comm channels, causing them both to flinch. "By Primus What are you two doing!, Do you understand the danger you are putting yourself in, not to mention protocol!" He shouts

"That sounds like Big Mags alright," chuckles Rodimus, danger-circuits alight. He guns his engine recklessly, tempting providence with stunts that wring pained static from Magnus' voice.

Beside him, the other bot is all bravado, doing tricks that ought to terminate mere mortals. "Lighten up Mags, we're just having fun!, Megatron's providing supervision" Their laugh is wildly carefree as they swerve through spiralling space debris, back to the shipping bay.

Magnus' reply is a wordless warp of wrath and protocols violated. On the bridge, Megatron observes with sardonic amusement.

Their elated whoops echo into the sullen ship as the two bots land, laughter is passed between them both, they knew they were in for a lecture but neither of them could really care at that moment. They both make their way through the ship.

Megatron watches as Magnus starts having a meltdown, seeing the smaller bot out in the asteroids.

From the command deck, Megatron observes Magnus' escalating tirade with sardonic amusement.

The security director paces like a caged turbofox, field frothing with protocol violations as he excoriates Rodimus and his cohort.

"Reckless endangerment of themselves! Disregard for safety protocols!, I expect this from Rodimus but not from them!" Magnus huffs, massive hands clenching and unclenching. His plating vibrates with barely contained voltage.

Megatron's red optics follow the scene with cynical mirth. It seems some things never change, no matter the millennia - law-bound enforcers and daredevil upstarts will always clash.

He cuts off Magnus' tirade oft. "Let the youngsters play. A little uncontrolled chaos now and then builds character. They aren't causing any harm, primus knows they could be doing worse things, circuit boosters, waging wars" His chuckles.

When Rodimus and the young bot make their way through the halls Megatron and Ultra Magnus are making their way towards them. And Rodimus decides to tease them over getting in trouble.

"Well well, look who's in trouble now," he rumbles, teasingly as he nudges the other bot. One massive hand snakes out to gently tweak an audial fin, eliciting a stubbornly stifled giggle.

They try to swat him off, armour fluffing out in a mock display of aggression. "Back off toaster, you're one to talk!" But their field reflects only playful antagonism toward their mismatched partner in crime.

Rodimus laughs, low and smooth. "Oh, I'm not the one Magnus has his pelts in a twist over. You're the lawbreaker here, delinquent." He buffs their chevron condescendingly with a knuckle plate. 

Magnus' grumbles as moves closer. The younger of the two delinquents makes a startled peep, ducking behind Rodimus for scant protection. Their field sparks with mischief and apprehension in equal measure.

Rodimus' engine rumbles a chuckle. "Face your punishment like a mech, squirt. I'll see you in the brig... cause i know thats where im heading" And with that, he steps aside, leaving the young to the Security Director's.

"Rodimus you sell out!" They hiss, Rodimus takes off running before transforming and disappearing around the corner.

Magnus begins going off over both their stupidity and the danger that they had put themselves in.

"Rodimus! When i catch you!" Magnus bellows, at the retreating autobot. His field boils with tightly restrained indignation.

The younger spreads their servos innocently, though poorly banked fires still smoulder behind their smug optics. "What? I was just having a little fun."

"Fun? You call endangering yourself and flouting safety protocols fun?".

"Do you have any idea the liability you've incurred with your selfish stunts?" Magnus huffes, he's not angry just disappointed.

"We were just blowing off some steam. No harm done" they try to defend themself, it was harder when Rodimus wasn't here to back them up.

Magnus optics bulging. "The rules exist to protect life! One mistaken twist could've terminated you both. Do you not understand that" He looms over them, servos gripping their shoulder plating. "Explain yourself. What do you have to say for putting yourself in harms way like that, this is something i expect from Rodimus but you, im drawing a line, no more hoverboard"

"Magnus I'm not a sparkling!, I can have fun, you can't just take my board!." The huff out in anger, "we didn't do anything bad, we just went asteroid surfing, what's the big deal!, Megatron was watching the whole time!" They shout stopping their pedes on the ground as they squint at the enforcer. Magnus' jaw works soundlessly, circuitry spluttering at such blatant insubordination.

Megatron's low rumble cuts through the charging tension.  "Easy there, scraplet. Magnus they are right they aren't sparkling, let them enjoy their youth" he states trying to calm down the situation.

"That is NOT the point!" Magnus hisses through clenched denta, glowering down at the insolent youngster. But the outliers field remains resolute, tiny hands fisted on hip joints. A sigh like rupturing turbines escapes Megatron where he observes, unseen, from command. Stubborn fools the both of them.

Magnus flashes incandescent, but dares not defy a direct order. With stiff, grinding steps, he departs, field boiling.

Only the younger bot and Megatron remain.  "Rules exist to guide, not imprison. Life's greatest lessons often arise from...bending them, on occasion. Try not to give Magnus a spark attack please" Megatron states while standing waiting for them to walk with him.

"I know Megs but he's been up my Tailpipe over everything I do, reports not being right, having fun, primus I can't even hang out with Rodimus without him getting grumbly at me, 'don't do that, don't do this, no you can't go out on this planet it's too dangerous ' he's not my Sire! "  They hiss out in anger, plating rattling lightly from pent up frustration.

Megatron chuckled. He strides the corridor in heavy, purposeful pauldrons, field enveloping smaller frame protectively. "Take it from one who knows - authority stems more from fear, you're the youngest on board, it's only natural that older mech's will try and protect you. Though I do believe Magnus does need to take a step back"

Red optics regard the young mech keenly. "Stand tall. Pursue your passions . And should he overstep, remind him in no uncertain terms who you are. Your strong sparked"

He crouches fluidly before them , digit gentle as steel beneath a chin. "You were made for greatness, little one. Never forget, don't let him stifle your youth, but try not to make him short circuit" A ferocious grin spreads across their face before they take off down the halls.

Ultra Magnus sits in his office, the enforcer's helm is pressed to his servos as he lets out a groan, he has overstepped.

Megatron's mass fills the security office like encroaching gloom, eclipsing what little light permeates the sparse, regulation-bound space. Magnus senses the ex warlord's intrusive field and looks up wearily through digits.  

"What do you want, Megatron?" The enforcer's usually stalwart voice holds only exhaustion. Heavy pedes carry Megatron before the desk, where he looms over Magnus imperiously. Yet when he speaks, his tone resembles dark mirth more than threat.

"Come now, Director. Is one impudent youngster truly more than you can handle?" Crimson optics gleam with sardonic amusement. "Your methods lack finesse. Rebellious sparks respond better to understanding than oppression."

Magnus' field flares defensively. "With respect, keeping order is rather outside your expertise. Some of us prioritise crew safety over spectacle."

One of Megatron's digits raises Magnus' chin, forcing optic contact. "Order through fear is a leash, not leadership. True power stems from willing allegiance, not force alone. It took me along time to learn that Ambus"

"Energon for thought. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more orders I need to read through to make sure Swerve isn't trying to order EnerGULP or Biofuel to try and fake as Energex " he states while beginning to type away on the data pad.

"Megatron, they are reckless and going to get themself off-lined or worse" Magnus tried to argue back.

"Ambus you'd be rather harsh to them, they are young, I'm aware of that, but you're treating them as if they are your sparkling" Megatron states. As the enforcer's optics go wide Megatron stifles a chuckle.

Magnus meets Megatron's scarlet gaze with quiet defiance. "My role is keeping order on this ship, not coddling delinquents." 

"Yet it seems you have been coddling one rather too much, they are at that stage, if you keep a lock and chain on them they are going to rebel,be glad it's only Rodimus, Tailgate and Drift they tend to be with. Would you rather they be around DJD" Megatron asked with a raised optic.

"Absolutely Not!" Magus shouts.

"My point stands Ambus, perhaps spend some time with them, learn what they enjoy doing, they are rebelling because they don't have the option, they are stuck in a ship with nothing to do, they see Rodimus as friend, batch mate." are his parting words. Magnus watches Megatron's departing form with troubled optics and churning processor. His counsel, however cryptic, raises discomfiting points...

With a heavy ex-vent, Magnus pulls up files on the youngsters in question. The youngest and Rodimus - one a scrappy outlier, the other a wild spark flouting authority at every turn a prime. Opposites yet drawn together like magnets. Why was he so invested in protecting this little outlier

They young outlier sits in their suite, sulking. After the fight with Magnus they had decided it was easier just not being around other bots, they had shot Rodimus a quick message stating that they wanted to be left alone for the rest of the cycle.

They fidget with their data pad huffing in annoyance as they try to fill out their reports.

When the doors open and they see Magnus they grumble. "What do you want?"

Magnus stands silent in the doorway, emanating not wrath but uncertainty. His field broadcasts a cautious olive branch amid pulsing regret. "May I enter?" His tone holds none of the usual stern command, 

When they shrug off tired assent, Magnus steps within cautiously, a massive frame filling the space.

Optics rove the bare walls and solitary form, glimpsing an existence circumscribed not by choice but necessity. His tanks churn anew. How had he failed to see the cages, invisible yet profound, binding errant sparks aboard this vessel?

Gingerly Magnus lowers himself to one knee, meeting their averted gaze evenly. "I came to apologise," he rumbles slowly. "My conduct toward you and Rodimus has been...regrettable, I'm sorry."  

The young outlier watches guardedly, searching that earnest regard for signs of tyranny or deceit. Magnus also acknowledges his protectiveness and worry over the younger cybertronian.

A sigh escapes Magnus' vents, massive shoulders slumping. "You must understand, my role demands ensuring all under my protection remain safe and functional."

"Then why do you treat me differently?" They shoot back. Magnus goes quiet for a moment. His optics hold a gentle light as they find the younger bots. " When I see you, youthful audacity, venturing into dangers I endured long ago...it stirs memories best left buried. I watch the war wipe out so many sparklings,  outliers taken and used for war"

His field pulses rueful ghosts of harsher times. "I never meant to curb your spirit, only shield you from hard lessons learned too soon." Massive fingers lightly brush an audial fin in a gesture both paternal and penitent.

"Perhaps...I allowed duty to eclipse my function as guardian to all aboard." A bittersweet smile tugs at plating. "Megatron, of all mechs, said i needed to step back"  

Optics meet in earnest appeal. "If you'll permit it, I wish to walk a new path, try and be better, it won't stop my worry but you don't deserve to be caged ." His field pulses only patience, regret and stubborn care worn soft by wisdom's dawning light. Care for the future of this young bot.

"I know I'm a young spark, but I'm not a sparkling Ultra Magnus, I know I'm the youngest on ship but I'm not a sparkling " they states quietly. The two sit beside each other.

Magnus nods solemnly, settling beside the young mech and curling his field around their smaller frame protectively.

"You are right. I treated you as one much younger, when your spark burns as fiercely as any aboard." A massive hand rests gently on a plated shoulder.

His gaze holds Tiny's earnestly. "From this moment, consider me not a jailer but guardian here to ensure your path remains lighted, not bar it. To advise and shelter, if you'll have me, I... I will try not to short circuit over your dangerous activity." A beat of silence as understanding passes unspoken between them. Then Magnus offers a small, indulgent smile.

"I've much to learn as well, little one. I'm sorry, I have been as Rodimus calls it a stick in the mud" he states and it makes the younger burst out laughing.

"Can you help me with these reports, I'm struggling with understanding what you want, the words keep moving around and I just don't understand" they state while holding out the data pad. Magnus leans in closer slowly reading over everything before trying to break it down for the outlier.

Things are peaceful for once between them, he helps with the small things and realises a lot in that time. But when he does eventually leave he catches a small slip up from them. "Thanks Sire" they call out, it makes him stiffen but a smile crosses his face as he leaves, he wouldn't tell anyone how it made him feel. 

#transformers #transformers idw #transformers x reader #transformers lost light #rodimus #megatron #ultra magnus #transformers megatron #transformers rodimus #transformers ultra magnus #minimus ambus #tf mtmte #mtmte #mtmte rodimus #megatron mtmte #mtmte ultra magnus #mtmte megatron #idw #idw rodimus #megatron idw #idw transformers #idw megatron #idw ultra magnus

[nobodylikety]

Hey, I'm kinda back! First of all I want to apologize for the pending requests :( I had writer's block and recently I started another semester at Uni so I'm barely writing anything 🥹 But I hope this little something about Pup! Dani can make up for it </3

Puppy! Danielle x Fem! Owner! Reader, Hybrid AU, Fluff.

Although you've bought Danielle all kinds of toys —plastic bones, balls, strings, even a squeaky toy in the shape of a steak— as soon as you get out of bed, ready for breakfast, you discover two things: Dani is not here. Your left slipper is gone, too.

Oh, my.

Still groggy from drowsiness, and more asleep than awake, you make your way across the room only to discover the entirety of the picture. Four more shoes are missing, both left and right, and the toys —the ones Dani was so amused playing with last night— are scattered all over the floor.

This is Dani's idea, you think as you bend down and pick up the squeaky steak-shaped toy, the aussie puppy's favorite. Maybe you can distract her with that (when you find her) and thus retrieve your footwear, if they're not already buried in the yard. Hopefully not.

"Dani! Where did you go, sweet girl?"

No answer.

"Dani? Dani! Where are you?

The hybrid doesn't answer your call either, so you end up leaving your room, toy in hand. You walk slowly, so you can look around carefully, in case you find any sign of Danielle's presence.

You live in a pretty little house, in a nice, familiar neighborhood, with access to a large backyard, and it suddenly occurs to you that this very spot might be the one where the puppy could be, playing around. It occurs to you that because, first of all, Dani has rambled on about 100 times about how much she loves the backyard, and because second, but not least, there are freaking footprints all over the floor.

They're mud stains, with Danielle's footprints in them. And boy, must she have been going around, because the footprints follow different patterns; zig-zag, in circles, in a straight line. You lean a little, examining the tracks that are fresher, because the mud spread on the ground is still wet, and you follow that trail of footsteps to the sliding door that leads to the garden.

The door is slightly open and when you open it all the way to get out, the morning breeze blows against your face. Brr, it's cold, and you feel a shiver down your back as you walk down the two small steps leading to the courtyard. The light morning dew keeps the grass pleasantly damp (not wet), but it looks so untouched that it doesn't look like Dani has been around.

If anything, everything is the same: the perfectly mowed lawn, the plantings of gypsophila and chrysanthemums, the little wooden bench where you sit to watch the sunset. Nothing is different...until, as you walk along, you notice small mounds of dirt and uprooted grass in one corner. Ding ding, there she is.

You follow that trail and, as you get closer, the pile of dirt and grass gets bigger, uncovering a shoe half-buried in a hole, and beyond that, the person responsible for said occurrence. Because of course, Dani not only leaves a trail of mayhem wherever she goes, but she's innocent (and dumb, in Haerin's words) enough to stay at the scene of the crime.

"Dani!" you call to her, approaching quickly. She's squatting, digging with both hands another hole to bury the lost slipper. She doesn't perk her ears up, doesn't seem to hear you, and keeps digging. "Danielle, for the love of all that is good what are you doing?"

The Australian shepherd puppy twitch and perks up her ears, recognizing your voice. She turns and her tail starts wagging, unbothered by being full of dirt from head to toe, she lunges to hug you so tightly that the two of you fall.

"OWNER, OWNER, OWNER! I MISSED YOU SO, SO, SO, SO MUCH!" Danielle squeals and spins in circles, tail wagging. She's super excited to see you at last. From the hybrid shelter days that Dani has a habit of waking up early, so when she comes to your home she does the exact same thing, so during the hours when you were sleeping, she has really missed you.

That's a lot of alone time for the innocent, restless puppy.

"I missed you too, puppy" you respond with a gasp, because Danielle's weight (who isn't exactly feather-light) is half cutting off your air supply by repeatedly jumping on you.

"VERY MUCH, VERY MUCH?" yep, Danielle doesn't know how to speak softly. She has to scream. Or bark, for all intents and purposes.

"Uh-huh, very much."

"Owner sleeps a lot," Danielle whines, frowning and pouting. "I got bored. But because I missed you so much, I stole your shoes. It's just that I wanted to play, y'know? and now I want to play too! Will you play with me?"

So many "play" in one sentence, you sigh, closing your eyes for a moment. You're going to do what the puppy wants...but in a moment. You need to catch your breath and be able to stand up.

"I'll play with you, but let me get up..."

But Dani, excited to know that you will play with her, doesn't listen to you. She jumps, spins, runs, and countless times manages to knock you down again and again. You are already tied as to who is dirtier for the dirt.

"PLAY, PLAY, PLAY, PLAY!"

"DANIELLE, I CAN'T GET UP!" you say, before another shove sends you flying. It's surprisingly strong. "Okay, that's it. I'm dead. Not moving from here."

If you'd said that to Hanni (which is like the most well-behaved), she'd probably drop her antics aside. But it's Danielle, aka 'I take things literally'.

"DON'T DIE, OWNER, YOU GOTTA PLAY WITH ME!" Danielle and her dirt-filled hands clamp down on your shoulders, whipping you around like a rag doll.

"Y'know, I thought you were going to say 'don't die, but because you love me."

"That too, BUT YOU HAVE TO PLAY WITH ME! I WILL DIE OF BOREDOM IF YOU DON'T PLAY WITH ME! so you play with me, or I'll bury all your shoes."

"Are you threatening me?"

"Um, no?"

"Uh-huh, I'll pretend to believe you." you shake your head, with some exasperation. Danielle relents and pulls away a little, just enough so she can do her little puppy eyes in an 'I didn't do it' kind of way.

God, this bratty puppy.

"So, yeah? we play?" insists the puppy, crawling towards you. She has dirt on her knees, dirt on her hands, and even leaves in her hair (and probably smells pretty nasty), but somehow inexplicably you strike her as the most precious living thing.

"Hey, sweet girl, let's make a deal. Yeah?" you get down on your knees, facing Dani, looking at her very lovingly. Even when Danielle does that kind of shenanigans on a constant, almost daily basis, it's like physically impossible to get mad at her.

If it's possible, you even love her even more. Her innocence, her energy, the transparency with which she expresses her feelings, are too much for your heart to handle. "first you're going to bathe, i'll put you in clean clothes, and then we can play. sometimes the dirt has bugs that can bite you or hurt you, and i don't want that for you. i promised you i'd take care of you, remember? that's why it's important to be clean, without dirt."

Dani nods, looking at you with those big eyes she gets whenever you talk to her. Her puppy dog look is a true reflection of the purity she possesses, and in turn, the undisguised affection in her eyes. She admires and loves you, and you reciprocate such feelings.

"You see? you're a good girl, Dani. Very good girl, and I love you so much" not caring that you are both full of dirt, completely obviating the fact of getting dirty, you clasp the puppy in a warm embrace.

"I love you too, owner."

"Now...who wants a bath then play?" you ask with a playful little smile, kissing Dani's head, her plush little ears, then down her forehead, nose and cheeks. Dani stifles a bark of happiness, as she wiggles in your arms, before letting go and darting off into the house, screaming in a baton, "BATH-BATH-BATH!"

God, you adore her so much.

After Danielle enters the house like a bullet, you stare at her for a moment, smiling without realizing it, your heart overflowing with joy and love. That puppy, who in a daily dose fills your yard with holes and buries your shoes, has brought into your life the most wonderful, unfading happiness.

Life with Dani feels like a vast ocean of possibilities that opens in front your eyes; new adventures, the almost certainty that nothing is impossible, and in general everything that you could live together with Danielle, because next to her, you can be sure that everything will be fine.

That everything is limitless, just like the sky, as long as you have each other.

#hybrid!au #kpop hybrid au #new jeans x reader #new jeans imagines #hybrid!newjeans #puppy!danielle #new jeans danielle #danielle x reader