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theragethatisdesire · 2 years ago

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scary dog privilege - best friend!eren x reader one-shot, 18+!!

hellooooo i have had this in my wips for like two entire months and i am giddy and ready to share it. this hopefully will just be a one-shot, but you guys know i love to create a universe for each of my erens so god only knows where we'll end up with this one. best friend eren appears to be my angstiest, broodiest one yet, and i love him lol. wanted to make some use of classic fanfic tropes, so here we get best friend eren and fake dating!! woohoo!!

beware: this is absolute, pure filth once you get into it lol

pairing: eren jaeger x afab reader

wc: 9.1k

DISCLAIMER: this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

CWs: smut, consensual hook-up, rough sex, biting, dirty talk, oral sex (fem!receiving), alcohol use, cussing, squirting, penetrative vaginal sex, swearing, use of names (baby, pretty baby, my girl), crying, multiple orgasms, eren being a menace per usual, jean's an asshole (i'm so sorry you guys know i love him but it had to happen)

have fun ;)

This is a terrible idea, and it had been from the start. You know it and so does he, but you had insisted. Now that you’ve made your bed, you have to lay in it, you suppose. You press your forehead to the cold, tinted window of Eren’s ridiculous muscle car, ignoring the vibrations from the rock music he’s blaring and the consistent fluttering in your stomach, and think back to your conversation earlier that week.

“Come on, Eren. It’s just one night!”

“And what about after? When you run into Sasha at the coffee place or Armin after work? Did we just suddenly ‘break up’?” Eren scoffs, pushing past you to grab a Red Bull out of the fridge. You collapse into one of the barstools in his kitchen, having prepared yourself to accept defeat from the moment you posed the question.

“I just can’t face him alone,” you sigh, “it’s only been four months and Sasha told me he’s hooked up with not one, not two, but three girls already. I haven’t even had a drunken makeout at the bar.”

“So? Just because Jean’s been whoring around doesn’t mean you have anything to prove.” Eren's tone is thoroughly unimpressed as he pops the tab to his energy drink.

“You’re my best friend. I just need one tiny favor.”

“Who would even believe us? It’s not like it’s a huge party- we know everyone going.”

You cock an eyebrow. “How many times have Annie and Mikasa tried to con us into a double date? Connie’s been teasing us for years, not to mention the waiter at lunch the other day–”

“Fine!”

“Fine?”

“Fine. I’ll be your date for one night. But all of the explaining is up to you. And,” Eren takes a sip, leveling a glare at you over the top of the can, “I’m going on the record as saying that this is a bad idea.”

He may be reckless, arrogant, and a bit of a brat, but if Eren Jaeger is one thing consistently, he was right. You chance a glance at your “date”. He’s in his typical uniform: black hoodie, black jeans, the little silver chain he never takes off, key swinging over his chest as he turns the car. He looks good, appealing even. If Jean dares to show up with a girl, she won’t consider you to have downgraded, that’s for sure.

You consider your own outfit, an anxious fist tightening in your stomach at the thought of seeing Jean for the first time as an ex. He would have hated it. Your nothing-to-the-imagination outfit is all thanks to Sasha.

You had clued Sasha in on the plan; you hoped having one more agent in on your secret would help sell the act. Sasha had gone all out, lending you an incredibly low-cut black top and some black leather pants that would have caused at least a twenty-minute argument with Jean. Had he not dumped you, you remind yourself bitterly. Sasha had insisted you borrow her all-black outfit to match Eren’s typical attire “just to be cute”. In hindsight, her enthusiasm about this whole situation should have been a red flag, but you’ve already gotten everything lined up, and it’s too late for regret.

It’s far too late for hindsight, too; you’re already ten minutes into receiving the official girlfriend treatment from Eren. He had worn you down on picking you up, opening the car door, the works. Hell, you wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled out a bouquet of roses at this point. You can hear his obnoxious tone now: Even if you’re my fake girlfriend, you’re getting the full package. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes.

Eren parallel parks smoothly on Armin’s quiet street, unusually busy with the buzz of a house party and lined with your friends’ cars. It’s Connie’s birthday, but Armin always hosts. It’s an unspoken rule at this point; you aren’t sure why he keeps volunteering, especially after Sasha had projectile vomited all over his bathroom at the last get-together, but again, dig your own grave and lie in it. You and Armin are in the same boat there.

When the car switches off, Eren takes a moment to consider you, wrapping and unwrapping his long fingers around the steering wheel, a nervous tic he’s had since high school. “You ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh, reaching for the door handle. Before you can wrap your hand around it, Eren leans over and pinches you harshly on the thigh. “Ow!”

“I open the door, remember?” Eren says, visibly annoyed.

You roll your eyes at him.“Isn’t this a bit much?”

“You think I’m going to be caught dead letting my ‘girlfriend’ open her own door? I have a reputation to uphold.”

You decide to bite back a snippy comment about the many girls who cried over Eren in college and cross your arms over your chest, pouting instead. “Fine.”

If Eren can be dramatic, so can you.

As naturally as if he had done it a hundred times, Eren slings his arm over your shoulders on the walk up towards the door; the weight of it, both physically and mentally, is heavier than you’re willing to acknowledge. When you catch sight of Bertholdt, Reiner, and Annie peering through the window, a flutter of nerves erupts your stomach; you reach a hand up to play with Eren’s fingers, absentmindedly spinning one of his rings and trying to sell the look as best you can. “We better pull this off.”

“It’ll be fine, just follow my lead.” Eren pulls you closer, kissing your hairline. Goosebumps rise all over your body; not at the action itself, but how disturbingly easy the affection seems to come to him. As Eren knocks on Armin’s bright red door, you pack that thought away and shove it to the back of your mind to collect dust.

“Hi…guys?” Armin’s friendly smile upon opening the door falters in confusion as he takes you in, absorbing the sight of you two intertwined on his doorstep. Armin’s wide, blue eyes flick between the two of you, and you can see the gears churning in his head, trying to make sense of how awfully close you and Eren are. Pitting your fake relationship against Armin’s intellect is the perfect first test; a nervous sweat breaks out under your skimpy outfit.

“Sup, ‘min?” Eren smiles back, the very picture of nonchalance, extending his free hand to shake Armin’s shoulder.

“Come on in.” Armin, ever polite, turns to allow for plenty of room for Eren to pull you inside. He doesn’t outright ask why Eren’s holding you, but his eyes betray his suspicions. It seems like your plan, as terrible as it is, is working. One down, a dozen or so to go.

Never dropping his arm from around your shoulders, Eren steers you into the living room where one of Connie’s favorite bands is already blasting from the speakers. Annie and Mikasa are curled up together in Armin’s recliner, hands interlocked as usual; Sasha and Connie are positioned at Armin’s bar cart, violently shaking two cocktail shakers apiece; Reiner, Bertholdt, Marco, and Jean are on the couch, arguing over something sports-related. With a sinking stomach, you notice that there’s only one unoccupied seat left in the room.

“My two favorite lovebirds!” Sasha cries, abandoning her cocktail shakers and rushing over to give you a hug. Upon Sasha’s impact, Eren drops his arm and grabs your hand that’s closest to him as a substitute, never taking his hands off of you. His actions are pointed, purposeful; every pair of eyes in the room looks between the two of you in surprise. You can practically feel a hazel-tinted laser beam burning a hole into your forehead. “You guys are so late; honeymoon phase gotcha already?”

“Laying it on a little thick, Sash,” you whisper into Sasha’s ear, cheeks burning. To your chagrin, Eren only curls his mouth in response.

“What?” Connie frowns, still shaking his drinks. “How long has that been a thing?”

You pause, your heart nearly stopping. You should have made up a story, you realize, something to explain–

“Just a few weeks.” The still-strange weight of Eren’s arm around your shoulder returns, and his jade eyes rest on you, adoration beaming through his always-cool gaze. Against your will, butterflies start dancing in your stomach; apparently Eren’s quite the actor.

“Yeah,” you jump in, grateful for Eren’s lead, “we just wanted to feel it out before we told everyone, that’s all.”

“Sasha knew.” Mikasa raises a suspicious eyebrow. Annie smirks at the two of you, a knowing look on her face.

“It’s about time.” Marco appears from the kitchen with a huge bowl of tortilla chips in one hand and salsa in the other. “Good for you guys.”

You can’t help yourself, finally meeting Jean’s eyes. He’s openly scowling at you, which is to be expected; where Eren is a criminally smooth liar, Jean wears his heart on his sleeve. You recognize that face all too well: anger to mask heartbreak, the same face he wore when you used to fight. For the first time, it occurs to you how cruel this plan might be, how Jean might react to you moving on with a mutual friend. Guilt washes over you, cold and heavy.

“Thanks for giving me a heads-up before you moved in on my fucking girlfriend, Jaeger,” Jean snips, taking a long swallow of his beer.

The guilt drops away from you as quickly as your jaw; you’ve forgotten what a prick Jean can be. Eren has been slowly guiding you over to the singular remaining seat throughout the conversation, and after Jean’s comment, he tugs you down firmly onto his lap. He rubs a large palm over your thigh, a blatant gesture of ownership.

“Not your girlfriend anymore, Kirschstein.” You can hear the distinct note of pride ringing through his voice, hear the nasty look leveled at Jean without turning to face him. It’s been fifteen minutes of fake dating, car ride included, and you can already feel the friendship line blurring. Your head spins.

“Anyway,” Armin, ever the gracious host, interrupts, breaking the awkward tension that has settled over the room, “what bar does everyone want to head out to later? Connie gets the first pick, being the birthday boy.”

The conversation in the room picks back up into a familial bickering over the evening’s next destination. All of your friends have become accustomed to the occasional awkward moment over the years now that some of you have begun to couple up; Mikasa and Annie especially are notorious for bickering like an old married couple, no matter who’s around.

“I need a drink,” you murmur to Eren, moving to stand.

“Do you mind getting me one, babe? Don’t want to lose our seat.” Eren pecks you on the cheek, smiling up at you as if everything about your situation right now is normal, natural for him. Jean’s eyes follow you every step of the way, and your face burns.

Over the years you’ve been friends with him, it’s never been lost on you that Eren’s attractive, not after the dozens of women he ran through in his college years. Peeking over your shoulder now, however, feels like you’re seeing him for the first time, seeing him the way the world sees him. Heavy-set dark brows frame his bright eyes beautifully, his jaw’s grown sharp and severe, and his lips are soft and pouty, stretching into a wicked smirk with sharp canines. He had grown into a heartbreaker, and he’s your best friend and now fake boyfriend– you swat away your private admiration as soon as it comes, taking a deep breath to center yourself and rifling through the bar cart in a daze.

“Want me to make you one?” Sasha waves a bright red concoction under your nose. “Connie and I made them- it has three different types of liquor in it, and you can’t taste any of it!”

One sip of the tiny cocktail straw has your nose wrinkling in disgust. You’ve worked behind a bar since the day you turned twenty-one, and the drink Sasha’s offering you tastes like an overly-syruped nightmare. “Um…no, that’s okay Sash. I’ll probably just stick to beer.”

Connie sticks his tongue out at you. “Boring!”

Predictably, Sasha pouts. “Okay, but we’re definitely making you take a shot. We can chill it in the kitchen, want to help me get some ice?”

Holding up a bottle of tequila, she cocks her head toward the kitchen and wobbles her eyebrows madly. You almost laugh; anyone who can’t pick up on a hint from Sasha is walking around with earplugs and their eyes closed.

“Fine. Let me just grab Eren a beer, and I’ll meet you in there.”

“Ugh, couples,” Connie rolls his eyes, wandering over to fiddle with the dusty karaoke machine that Armin claims broke years ago. You’ve always been dubious as to the truth of that, but knowing your friends, you can’t blame him.

Opening the cooler, you smile to yourself; Armin remembered your favorite IPA from the brewery down the road and stocked the cooler accordingly, nestling a few Hazy Daze’s between Reiner and Bertholdt’s domestics. You pick your way through the haphazard seating arrangements back over to Eren, holding a cold Budweiser bottle towards him. He pauses in his conversation with Reiner, grabbing your hand that holds the beer and removing it from your hand, bringing your knuckles to his lips, brushing them over in a light kiss. He looks you up and down lecherously as he does it, a dangerous curve to his lips.

You return a weak half-smile, doing your best to not appear outwardly shaken by Eren’s behavior and keep the what the fuck? thoughts from showing plainly on your face. Eren waves you off to the kitchen with a light pat on your bottom, innocent as ever.

“How’s it going?” Sasha asks, safe now in the privacy of the kitchen. Her face is already full-flush with excitement and that awful cocktail she was sipping.

“I mean, it seems like everyone’s buying it. Jean looks pissed, though.”

“What were you expecting? He’s always thought Eren had a thing for you.”

“Everyone thinks Eren has a thing for me,” you roll your eyes, “at least it’s working in my favor now.”

Sasha fixes you with a glare, wobbling slightly. “If you don’t think Eren actually has a thing for you, you must be blind. Deaf, too.”

“Sasha–”

“I mean, even if you hadn’t told me, I would have fallen for it. Is it not, like, weird for you guys? That it’s just natural for you two to–” Sasha burps, interrupting herself, and giggles. “Just makes ya think.”

“Sasha!” Connie calls from the living room. “Let’s do Eye of the Tiger first!”

“Woo!” Sasha shouts, abandoning you and running into the room to take part in the newly-revived karaoke festivities.

You stand alone in the kitchen, shell-shocked by Sasha’s observations. The truly irritating thing is that she’s entirely right. Not only do Eren’s little kisses here and there, the constant touching, even the pet names come naturally, it almost feels…nice. It’s as easy for you to receive his affection as it is for him to give it. You peek around the corner, grimacing at Sasha and Connie’s amplified wailing, just wanting to look at him. Really look at him.

Kicked back, beer in hand and jacket thrown over the back of his chair, Eren oozes charisma. Even doing nothing but holding a conversation with Mikasa, the room gravitates around him. Jean’s angry glare never leaves him; Armin has switched to drinking Budweiser, even though you know he hates it; Annie’s nodding along with whatever Eren’s saying; even Sasha and Connie are angling their performance around him, alternating between singing together and holding their microphones towards him, trying to elicit a reaction. He has this undeniable magnetic force, one that you aren’t exempt from.

You’d met him nearly a decade ago, in high school, and initially couldn’t stand him. His hair-trigger temper had hardly cooled with age, and his ego had gotten unthinkably larger, but you grew to find both of them charming– to a degree. One thing led to another, and before you knew it, Eren was the one cleaning you up and getting you drunk after every bad breakup, introducing you to all of your favorite sports teams and lending you jerseys for the games; hell, he even read that smutty fairy fantasy series you’d been obsessed with in college. Had the man you attempted Star Wars marathons with until you both fell asleep really looked like that the entire time?

He catches your stare, beckoning you over with one long, crooked finger. As his girlfriend for the night, you have to obey, even though you would much rather roll your eyes at the cliche.

“Missed you,” he mumbles as you sit back on his lap, breath hot against the shell of your ear.

“You too,” you respond accordingly, wrapping your arm lovingly around his shoulder. Eren’s eyes flit down to your cleavage, but knowing him, it’s impossible to discern if it’s part of the act, or Eren being himself.

His hands rest comfortably over the casing of your pants, one on your thigh and one on the small of your back, one thumb rubbing circles into your soft flesh. Reveling in the drag of his rings over your clothed body, you couldn’t help but wonder how they’d feel on your bare skin, on your throat, on your–

Surprising yourself at the dirty direction of your thoughts, you swallow your beer too quickly, coughing. Eren, who had coincidentally been taking a sip at the same time, laughs at you mid-sip, choking beside you and spraying beer out of his nose.

The entire room bursts into laughter; Eren regains his composure and joins in good-naturedly. You giggle along, relief coursing over your body. Sure, Eren might look a little extra handsome tonight and be a bit touchy because you asked him to, but he’s still Eren.

“They’re practically in sync already.” Hitch, Marco’s girlfriend who had apparently joined the party while Sasha and you were in the kitchen, rests her face on her hand dreamily.

“It’s a little freaky,” Annie observes with narrowed eyes, but the slight curve of her lip betrays her. Not only were they believing your little farce, but they were happy for you. That’s enough to make you flush a little, realizing how naturally everyone’s just accepted your fake relationship. Everyone but one person, at least.

Jean suddenly stands, ripping a beer from the cooler and storming into the kitchen. The laughter dies as quickly as it had come, everyone exchanging nervous looks.

“I’ll go talk to him,” Eren offers, nudging you off of his lap. You blanch.

“Eren, I don’t know if you should-”

“It’s fine,” Eren drops a soft peck on your forehead, walking away before you can stop him. You meet Mikasa’s eyes, wide and concerned. To everyone else, Eren’s walking calmly, not a hint of aggression in his gait. But you know him, know him well enough to catch the anger simmering in his eyes, quiet, but there.

Jean and Eren have always been friends, albeit reluctant ones at first, but too similar where it counted not to get along. That had abruptly come to a halt when you had fallen for Jean. At first Eren had been confused, but over time that confusion had melted into constant irritation. Jean and you were wrong for one another, you know that in hindsight, but at the time, you had chalked all the fighting up to a passionate relationship. The constant tears had driven Eren nearly to a breaking point; multiple times you had begged him not to bring his frustration to physical blows. And now, your fake-boyfriend slash best friend and ex-boyfriend with the two worst tempers out of everyone you know are “talking”. You bite down hard on the inside of your cheek to keep the worry in your chest.

“Are you alright?” The question comes from Armin, who’s placed a steadying hand on your shoulder. “I’m sorry that Jean isn’t taking the news well.”

“There’s no news,” Mikasa says low enough for none of the others to hear over the music, now standing directly behind Armin.

A neat little cross appears between Armin’s eyebrows. “They’re-”

“Faking,” she interrupts Armin, “they aren’t dating.”

Armin stammers, trying to correct her and apologize to you for her at the same time, but you just sigh. “How’d you know?”

“One of you would have told me,” she shrugs, “or at least I’d like to think you would.”

“It’s just…I couldn’t bear to show up alone, not with Jean here and apparently sleeping around since the breakup.” You cross your arms over your chest, grabbing your own shoulders tightly. It’s your fault, you know it is, but you had only wanted to feel a little less pathetic, a little less heartbroken. Drama had been an unfortunate and unexpected side effect.

“Why would Eren agree to that? It seems silly,” Armin muses, noticing your glare and immediately turning bright red, “I- I don’t mean you’re silly, just, you shouldn’t-”

“You know.” Mikasa bumps him. The slightest hint of a smile plays on her face, a knowing look directed at you. You frown, trying to look confused through the pink rising to your face.

A loud crash from the kitchen catches all of your attention, saving you from an uncomfortable line of conversation but making your heart beat that much faster. Dashing to the kitchen door, the entire house party hot on your heels, your thundering heart sinks.

Eren has Jean pinned up against Armin’s cabinets, forearm tight against the other man’s neck. Jean’s still seething at Eren, raw ego washing against the cool anger blazing in Eren’s eyes.

“Need to learn how to watch your fucking mouth, Kirschstein–”

“Eren!” Your voice is surprisingly firm, given the nauseating mixture of embarrassment, confusion, and panic swirling in your stomach. “Let him go!”

“Do you want to tell her what you said, or should I?” Eren hisses, nudging into Jean further. Jean’s eyes dart to you, back to Eren, and for a fleeting moment, you have hope that maybe this all can be resolved peacefully. And then Jean makes a fatal mistake.

He spits directly in Eren’s face.

Just as Eren swings, Reiner collides with the two, just barely catching Eren by his forearm before he can make contact with Jean’s cheek. Bertholdt, as always, is Reiner’s shadow, grabbing Eren by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Jean. It takes Connie, Reiner, Marco, and Bertholdt to restrain both of them, Armin standing in the middle and shouting how ridiculous the fight is above the curses.

“It’s my fucking birthday, Jean, come on bro!” Connie growls, pinning Jean to the cabinets with his back.

“Jaeger- back off!” Reiner manages to pull him back a few inches, hardly able to contain Eren, who’s struggling furiously, in his massive arms. Jean finally relents, slouching into the multiple arms holding him back. After several seconds, Eren does the same, never taking his eyes off of Jean. Into the shocked silence, Armin bravely speaks first.

“Maybe we should leave,” he suggests awkwardly, “take the party elsewhere.”

You pity him, poor Armin and his hosting inclination. Eren finally turns to face you. The wrath laid bare in his eyes sends a chill over your body.

“We are,” he spits, sparing Jean one last threatening glance before storming over, grabbing you harshly by the wrist, and practically dragging you towards the door.

“Eren, wait–” you try to reason with him and dig your heels in, but it’s fruitless. Eren’s strong, stronger than you, and you don’t stand a chance stopping him now that his mind’s made up.

He doesn’t drop the act at the car, ripping your car door open, waiting impatiently for you to step into your seat, and slamming the door behind you. As soon as he turns the ignition, the same angry rock music you had listened to on the way over blasts from the speakers; Eren makes no move to turn it down and neither do you. After so many years together, his temper rarely scares you anymore; it’s more of a nuisance than anything when it flares. You stare out of the window, seething with anger, arms crossed and foot tapping.

Five minutes into the drive, you realize Eren isn’t taking you to your house, but to his. What he’s thinking, you can’t be sure, but you go ahead and start making your plans to give him an earful and call your Uber the moment you get there. You just can’t wrap your mind around why he would attack Jean and embarrass you like that– Eren may have been a hothead, but rarely did he let his temper escalate to that degree, especially against a friend.

Eren whips his car into the driveway, parking with such force you nearly knock your head against the headrest. You reach for your door handle, ready to throw it open, but Eren’s faster. He hits the child lock button and slams his own door behind him, storming around the car.

“The fucking child lock button?” You leap out of your seat once he’s opened your door, glaring up at him with your fists curled by your sides. “Is that what I am, Eren, a child?”

“Come inside.” Eren’s voice is low, dangerous. You’re too angry to indulge his temper.

“No,” you snap, “I’m going home.”

No sooner have you pulled your phone out to call an Uber than Eren snatches it from you, sliding it into his pocket. He repeats himself, more forceful this time. “Come inside.”

You stand rooted to the spot for a beat, so angry you aren’t sure what you want to do more: run home, punch him, or kick his precious car headlight in. Eren simply glares down his strong nose at you, face unreadable as ever, rage still glittering in his eyes.

“Come inside, please,” Eren repeats himself again through gritted teeth. You decide you’ll indulge him and go inside, hear him out, and then punch him. At least it’ll catch him off guard, and you’ll have a better chance of getting your shot in. Without another word, you stomp up the walkway to his house, into the house, and into the kitchen, shoving your shoes off. Stupid fucking kitchens, you think to yourself, kicking your bare foot against the base of his kitchen island. Immature, but the little burst of violence feels good.

Whether Eren’s house smells like him or Eren smells like his house you’ve never been able to decide. The distinct scent of him envelops you: a boyish, sharp smell, laced with a hint of the weed he kept in the living room. Ordinarily it’s a comforting smell, but tonight, it nearly makes you sick with irritation. Fighting with Eren is something you do rarely, but you know the both of you well enough to buckle down. Arguing with Eren means you have a long, nasty, and emotionally gutting night ahead of you. You’re more than ready, fists shaking by your side.

“What the hell was that, Eren?”

He doesn’t answer, swinging the fridge open and grabbing a beer. He twists the top, tossing it aside carelessly and taking a healthy swig, bun bouncing on the back of his head, making no move to acknowledge your presence.

“Answer me!” Your voice rattles the cabinets. “Yeah, was the fake dating a stupid idea? Sure, fine, it was stupid, but starting a fucking fight with Jean on poor Connie’s birthday–”

“You didn’t hear what he said,” Eren says simply, still chugging his beer and avoiding your gaze.

“What could he have said to make you do that? What was so awful that you had to–”

“It was about you.” Eren finally brings his eyes to yours, staring you down through the little hairs that have escaped his bun with such intensity that it nearly knocks you clean on your ass.

Your heart stutters. “You– what did he say?”

“Told me if I wanted to taste your ‘slutty pussy’ so bad, I could just smell his breath. S’why he spit in my face.” Eren’s fingers wrap and unwrap around the beer bottle anxiously.

Your mouth drops agape, tears immediately springing to your eyes. No, you set your resolve, praying your body cooperates. “He…he said that?”

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d been fucking him?” Eren spares you another scalding look. Your temper flares at his anger, one fire against another.

“Excuse me?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Eren snaps, “this whole thing was your idea. What am I to you, just some toy you can dangle in front of your pussyboy ex boyfriend? How long have you been fucking him?”

“I haven’t been fucking him,” you hiss, “he lied because he was jealous. And you’re not some toy, you’re– you’re my best friend. I needed you.”

Eren freezes, eyeing you across the kitchen. His expression has changed, infinitesimally so, a pinch of the fury fading from his face but none of the heat. It strikes you that in the years you’ve known him, he’s never looked at you like this before, not once. “Say it again.”

“You’re my–”

“The other thing.”

“I needed you.”

“Again.”

“I needed– fuck, Eren, what is this? Some kind of game?”

He stalks toward you, silhouetted by the light behind him and looking sinful, closing you in. He’s forceful and shameless as he backs you into the counter, as quintessentially Eren as he can be. “Say it one more time.”

“I…needed you,” you indulge him, brain slowing down to pick up each little detail. His cologne– when did he start wearing cologne?– musky and thick in the air, one of his tattoos peeking above the collar of his shirt, the tangible sensation of emerald eyes dragging along every inch of you.

“I like the way you say that,” his tongue darts out, wetting his lips. You stare blatantly. His mouth is red, pouty, and full, bottom lip a little chapped from where he was chewing it in the car. “That you need me.”

Words are lost on you; even if you could gather something to say, it would probably get stuck in your throat the moment it materialized. His presence is choking you. He brings one of those massive hands up, cupping your jaw, running a thumb over your lip. His posture, looming over you, is demanding, almost hungry.

“Do you still?”

“Still?”

“Need me.”

You blink, eyes still watery. “How?”

“You’re a smart girl,” Eren murmurs, hot breath laced with beer fanning over your face, “you know. You’ve always known.”

You do know. When he ghosted a hand over your thighs at the bar, when you fell asleep on his chest watching a movie, the way he had kissed your head, nearly fought Jean, protected you at every twist and turn. You had kept it relegated to the recesses of your brain, slid a hand between your legs and allowed it to simmer to the surface, maybe for a moment, before pushing it back down. You had always known. He has you on the edge of a cliff, and with a thin gasp, you understand him now: he wants you to jump. And so do you.

“I still need you. Now.”

Something critical snaps in both of you. The countertop digs into your lower back, a beautiful, aching pain blooming up your spine to meet the sting of his teeth sinking into your bottom lip. He’s kissing you; this magnetic, maddening man is kissing you, hard. It’s all tongue and teeth, fingers wrapping in hair, hands exploring familiar places in a new way. Greedy, demanding sounds slip through his teeth as he paws at your clothes, squeezes your curves through the silken shirt Sasha had lent you.

“This shirt is ridiculous,” Eren pants into your mouth, “wish I wasn’t about to rip it off of you.”

A little whimper leaves your mouth at that, and your knees buckle. Eren catches you, grabbing you by your torso and lifting you up onto the kitchen counter; you use the extra height to wrap your legs around his hips. A groan from deep in Eren’s chest rumbles against your lips as he rolls his clothed cock insistently against you. The low, simmering heat in your stomach catches fire; he’s big, even through both of your pants, rubbing himself into where you need him most. A hand creeps up your neck, grabbing a fistful of hair and forcing you to look up at him. It hits you how large he is; six feet and some change of taut, corded muscle, bad intentions, temptation.

His voice is quiet and controlled, so close to your face that his nose moves against yours as he speaks. “I’m going to take you to my room. If that’s not okay with you, I need you to say it right now.”

You nod urgently, relishing the burn in your scalp where he holds your hair tight. “I want it- want you.”

Eren slides you off of the kitchen counter and holds you firmly around his waist, making a beeline for his room. You mouth at his neck, enjoying the little grunts he makes against your ear. You drop unceremoniously onto the bed, left to watch as he tears off his shirt.

Oh, and do you watch. It’s difficult to comprehend that your best friend is the man standing above you. You’ve seen him shirtless countless times, but not like this: chest heaving, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, muscles flexing as he reaches for your shirt, ripping it from you and tossing it away. Your eyes draw towards the defined v leading down beneath his jeans, and you wonder how it might taste under your tongue.

Your bra comes next, Eren moving down to take your lips in his again as he deals with the clasp. He pushes you onto your back, kissing down your neck, sneaking harsh bites in between the gentle presses of his lips.

“Careful, Eren– you’ll leave marks,” you gasp, pulling at his hair.

“Good,” Eren replies against your neck, emphasizing his point with another deep bite to your neck, “you wanted everyone to think I was your little boyfriend, didn’t you? Let them see.”

Your panties grow damp and hot against your core at that; you have no other response than to choke out a stunted moan.

“Fuck, you have no idea,” he growls, traveling down, teeth scraping the top of your breast, “what you do to me. How long I’ve wanted you.”

Your mind falters, caught in the crosswires of Eren’s confession and the way you’re clutching his head to your breasts, fingers desperately threaded in his dark hair and pulling him as close as you could get him. His mouth is so hot it burns, even against your feverish skin.

“Remember…” Eren muses, mouthing his way down your stomach, “remember college? When you’d wear those slutty little dresses out?”

“I remember,” you breathe, impatient and urging him towards your lower half.

“Used to come home from the bar and jerk myself off, thinking about this sweet little cunt,” Eren tears your pants down your legs, panties following, “could practically see it in those short ass dresses. I’d cum thinking about how you’d sound when I stuck my tongue in it.”

A lewd whine rips out of your throat before you can stop it. Eren’s pressing your thighs open now, and his words and the quick little swipes he’s making across your clit are making you dizzy.

“Fuck…” Eren trails off, eyes wide, “got such a pretty pussy. Just look at you.”

“Eren, please,” you’ve never been the begging type, but the bright green eyes peering up at you from where your legs are propped open by broad, strong shoulders take your sense away.

“I’ve got you,” he shushes you, grinning as he leans into your center. A thick stripe of a lick up the center elicits a groan from you both. “So fucking sweet. Knew you would be.”

Eren hooks his arms around your legs, dragging you down the bed to be flush with his face. Eren’s no amateur when it comes to women, you know that, but you had never dared to let yourself imagine what that might translate to in practice.

He licks little figure-eights around your clit, not quite hitting it; he’s teasing you, the antagonist that he is. You tremble under him, little gasps and whimpers puffing out of your lips. Eren smiles contentedly against your pussy, nose flush with your clit, nudging against it rhythmically as he licks through your folds, circling your entrance. You bring your hands down your body, grabbing a fistful of dark hair and pulling him closer to you; you don’t even know what you want, the singular word more ringing in your head like a church bell.

Eren chuckles. “You need something?”

“Stop fucking with me,” you breathe, inwardly cringing at the desperation in your voice, laid bare for him to see. You brace yourself, looking down to meet his eyes, and instantly regret it. The anger has faded entirely from his face, replaced by an unyielding hunger. A wet, wicked smile plays at his mouth; you can physically feel your cunt dripping just at the sight of him.

“You want me to stop fucking with you?”

“Please, Eren, I need you–”

“That’s all you had to say.”

And then, like he does with everything else in his life, Eren licks into you like his life depends on it, like he’s trying to drown himself in you. His tongue pushes in and out of your hole, swirling around your clit, and you can distantly hear the most obscene sounds you’ve ever heard slipping from your mouth. He’s so good, better than you’ve had in years; you throw your head back against the bedspread, hardly able to focus on breathing.

Just when you think it can’t get any more intense, Eren slides one long finger inside of you, curling it against a spongy spot in your walls that makes you see stars. He chuckles at the loud, long moan that you let out.

“My girl likes being full, doesn’t she?” He pumps his finger slowly, testing your limits. Your walls clutch down on him, begging.

“M-more,” you stutter, barely able to form a coherent word through your panting.

“What was that?” You can hear the shit-eating grin on his face.

“I need– fuck– I need more.”

“Magic word?”

“Please, Eren, fuck!”

“Good, good girl,” he coos, pushing another finger into you, “so sweet and needy for me, yeah?”

Your eyes fly open at the stretch, the fullness of his fingers moving inside you. His other hand comes up to push on your lower stomach; your head snaps up, and you frown at him, panicked.

“W-what are you– oh,” you hate yourself for it, but you can’t even speak as he applies pressure onto your abdomen. You feel strange; it’s just right and too much all at once. The familiar bubble of an impending orgasm swells in the pit of your stomach, but it’s more intense, wetter than you’ve ever felt it.

“Close?”

“Mhm,” you force out through gritted teeth. Eren moves his elbow slightly, just enough to bear down on your hip bone where you’re pushing your hips up towards him unwittingly. “But it- it feels weird…I, I can’t–”

“Sh,” he murmurs, mouth back against your clit, “you can do it, just for me, I know you can. It’s going to feel so good, you’ll see.”

Your eyes roll back in your head as you teeter on the precipice, blood roaring in your ears. You want to, you need to–

“Cum all over my fucking face baby, give it to me.”

The band in you snaps, your eyes rolling back into your head. You can feel your cunt spasming around his fingers, pushing something out. Liquid sprays from you, all over Eren’s face, soaking the sheets beneath you. You can’t even hear the lewd sounds coming out of your mouth, too surprised at the gushing orgasm. It finally winds down, and once you gather the energy, you shove insistently at his hand still pumping in and out of your sensitive pussy.

“You have the messiest little cunt,” Eren chuckles at you, wiping his face and kissing his way back up to your gasping mouth, “knew you were a squirter.”

He lands a few gentle taps against your sore pussy, and you flinch.

“I–I’ve never…” you take a shaky breath in between every word, “never done that before.”

Pride illuminates his face. “Really? I knew you could do it– just for me, right?”

You nod, sitting up on trembling elbows. “Your cock, I– I want it in my mouth. Please let me.”

You reach down to fumble with the button of his jeans, but Eren grabs your wrist, pulling your hand up to kiss it gently. “Next time. I’d never forgive myself if I busted before I got to fuck you.”

Too overwhelmed to answer, you simply nod again, sitting back as he shimmies his pants off. Once you catch sight of it, your mouth waters. He’s big, bigger than you thought, wide enough to where your fingers wouldn’t touch if you grabbed it, and long enough to make you gag. The thought goes straight between your legs, cunt still throbbing and clutching around nothing, and a rush of anticipation washes over you.

Eren flips you over onto your stomach, shoving a couple of pillows underneath your hips to prop your ass up. “Christ,” he exhales, landing a sharp smack to your ass.

“Please, Eren- oh!” You jump; Eren’s circling your asshole, using the mess you’ve already made as lube to pop the tip of his thumb in. “Eren…”

“You’d let me fuck you there, one day, I bet,” he mutters, more to himself than to you, you think. Your body tenses in response, the memory of your first glance at his cock fresh in your mind. Eren swears under his breath. “Maybe next time, then.”

You hear him spit, hear the slick sounds of him lathering himself up. You have a brief moment to think to yourself, with the last glimmering shreds of consciousness in your orgasm-dazed mind, that this is Eren. This is your best friend, pinning you to the bed by the back of your neck, rubbing your lower back, admiring you, fucking you. And then the head of his cock is pressing into you, and that last little bit of hesitation gives way.

“Oh, baby,” Eren bends over you to growl in your ear, “never gonna forgive you for keeping this perfect pussy from me all these years.”

“Eren, it’s so– oh my god,” you trail off, eyes rolling back into your head as a few more inches of him sink into you. The way your body stretches for him, the way he fills you, is unbelievable, sweetened by just the slightest burning sensation.

“Fuck,” he hisses, pressing his forehead into the back of your neck, “you feel so fucking good. Best I’ve ever had.”

You whine at that, pushing your hips back into his and forcing him to bottom out. Eren swears against your skin, nearly collapsing on top of you. Your cunt pulses around him, desperately trying to hold him. You can hardly fathom the weight of him inside you; you’re just so full, the word runs through your mind on a loop.

And when he rolls his hips into yours– you nearly start praying. He drags against your walls so nicely, you nearly cum again then and there. He works up a torturously slow rhythm, grinding his hips into yours. You bite down hard on your bottom lip, trying your hardest to suppress the obscene groan about to leave your mouth. You taste blood.

“Never giving this pussy up,” Eren grunts above you, “never letting you give this to anybody else again. It’s mine, isn’t it?”

You nod into the pillow beneath your head, tears pricking at your eyes. He’s picking up the pace now, and the exquisite push-and-pull rhythm of Eren moving inside of you coupled with the fact that it’s Eren moving inside of you is destroying any semblance of intelligent conversation you can muster.

“Say it’s mine,” his face is beside yours now. A hand grabs your hair, turning your face towards him. You know how dazed you must look, mouth open in a permanent gasp, eyes watery and full of hearts. “God, you look fucking incredible. Say it.”

“My…my pussy is,” you swallow hard around the delicious knot of shame in your throat, “yours. It’s yours.”

“That’s my girl,” Eren sits back up, thrusting even faster, “my pussy, my girl. Isn’t that right?”

“Yes,” you pant, canting your hips back against his, feeling your next orgasm approach embarrassingly fast. Eren understands, already knows your body as well as he knows you, and moves the angle of his hips just so to hit that spot he had found so quickly with his fingers earlier. You keen, drooling into the pillow, letting him fuck you stupid.

Eren shoves you over the edge for the second time that night. It’s toe curling, almost violent in nature, the way you cum around him, listening to him hiss as you tighten around him, vice-like. He fucks you through your orgasm for just long enough to see you through it, and flips you onto your back the moment you begin to twitch and shove at his hips, desperate for a break.

You slowly blink your eyes open in surprise, letting the tears roll down your cheeks, expecting to see Eren lining himself up, ready to fuck you senseless once more. Instead, he’s studying you, wiping a tear from your face, licking it off of his finger. There’s a moment happening here, an important one, one you don’t have the mental capacity to absorb right now.

“I want to see you now,” Eren says quietly, “need to see your pretty face when I cum, m’kay?”

You nod dumbly, not knowing how to respond to him in the thick air hanging between you. Before Eren can get any more words out of his open mouth, a loud ring startles you both.

Your phone is buzzing on the floor where it fell from Eren’s pocket; the name on the screen nearly stops your heart. Jean.

You stare into Eren’s eyes, a long, silent beat passes between you both. Your hazy mind is scrambling, grasping at anything you can say to take his mind off of the awkward interruption, but to your surprise, Eren cracks a grin. It’s a wicked grin, prettier than the devil himself and twice as evil.

“Your other boyfriend calling? Checking up on you?”

“He’s not my-”

“Better not be. Not after what I did to you tonight,” Eren’s voice drips with ego. Something in his eyes is territorial, carnal.

You find your words, but they come out quiet. “He’s not. Never again.”

Eren’s grin grows darker. He’s nudging your knees apart with his own, reaching down and pulling one of your legs to wrap around his waist. He’s pushing himself in now, the ringing of your phone fading into the background as the all-encompassing stretch of Eren inside you takes over your thoughts.

“Such a good girl,” he coos, thumbing at your bottom lip, “such a good mouth. Always telling me what I want to hear.”

You nod again, urgently this time, pulling your other leg up to hook them around his waist, hold him inside you, make sure he never leaves again. You’re addicted already; addicted to the pressure in your abdomen, addicted to the way his tip kisses your cervix, addicted to the taste of his sweat as you lick a strip of it from his face, cheekbone to temple.

“I…” you aren’t sure how to articulate how good it is, how good he is. A defeated laugh of your own making interrupts you. “You feel so fucking good. I feel so fucking good right now.”

“God, just look at you, all fucked out for me. You love it, don’t you?” Eren kisses your forehead, face to face with you after propping his elbows on either side of your face. “Love how I fuck you like a whore, don’t you? Tell me, baby.”

“I love it,” your voice is quivering, and you’re vaguely aware of tears streaming down your face. You’re overstimulated, you at least know that, but he just feels so good that asking him to stop seems more painful than letting him keep hammering into you.

“My pretty baby, you’re so fucking perfect,” Eren rambles, “so pretty when you cry for me.”

You can’t break away from his gaze, not through the tears or the rapid-fire speed of him fucking into you. Your legs are shaking so badly you can barely hold them up; Eren’s letting a flurry of little grunts and groans fly out, grabbing onto your cheek with one hand.

“Gonna cum soon,” he huffs, hips still pistoning into you hard enough to hurt, “gonna cum in your pussy, really make it mine, okay?”

“Okay,” you whimper, clamping down on him at the mere thought of it.

“Fuck, you like that don’t you?” He seethes against your forehead, thrusts beginning to falter. “You want to be mine? Want this pretty cunt stuffed full of my cum?”

You can feel him getting closer now, sloppy thrusts punching into your cervix, the ache of bruises forming on your inner thighs as he uses you, chasing his orgasm. You force your eyes open, meeting bright, hypnotizing green. Your voice is going to break, you know it, you hate it, you love him for it. “I– I want to be yours. P-please cum in me Eren, I need it.”

He slams into you one last time, holding his hips as tightly to yours as he can manage, cumming deep inside you with a breathless curse. You arch your back, relishing the feel of his cum in you, warm and filling. Even in your fucked-out mind, you know it’s a lot; you can feel the drip of it, seeping out around his cock and down onto the sheets. The leaden collapse of his body into yours, the gradual softening of him inside you, grounds you, pulling you down from the clouds and back into the bed.

It’s Eren on top of you, sweaty skin clinging to yours, his cum that you begged him for leaking out of your abused pussy. Your eyes shoot open. He’s incredibly heavy, your breath still coming out in short puffs as you try to catch it. He slides out of you; one last pitiful whimper leaving your lips as you find yourself empty.

“Holy shit,” Eren breathes out into the tension, a humorless and exhausted laugh punctuating his statement. As he rolls off of you, you’re overcome with the urge to smack him.

“That’s one way of putting it.” You scrounge around in the bed, trying to find the edge of the sheets to cover yourself with. Eren lays beside you, arm tossed over his eyes, as if the entire axis of your friendship hadn’t just flipped on its head. After a beat, you speak your mind, testing the waters. “I should probably call Jean back.”

That catches his attention. Eren sits up, scowling at you. “Why?”

“Maybe he wants to apologize.”

Eren snorts, rolling off of the bed and pulling you up with him, bridal-style; you aren’t sure where he’s taking you, but all the fight’s been fucked out of you, and you melt into his arms, eyes falling closed. “Who fucking cares?”

“I might,” you answer quietly, adjusting to the heat radiating off of his body. When your eyes open, you realize he’s carrying you to the bathroom to clean you up. Your heart thuds sadly in your chest, overcome with so many emotions you couldn’t begin to name them if you tried. You almost want to cry again, for a different reason now.

Eren sits you on the toilet, not responding to your small confession. He drops to his knees before you, reaches a long arm behind him over to the fixtures on his obscenely large bathtub, pushing the plug in and turning the water on. You draw your knees up to your chest, suddenly feeling incredibly exposed. Satisfied with the water temperature, Eren turns back to you, one hand placed firmly on each of your kneecaps.

“You don’t need him,” he says, solemn as you’ve ever seen him, “and from what I saw tonight, you don’t even want him. You know that now, right?”

There’s something about the way he says it, a hidden thread of pleading woven into his words. Your exhausted brain holds onto that, but your heart refuses to believe in it, broken and beating wildly in your chest.

“I just–”

“I meant it, you know,” Eren avoids your direct gaze, eyes flitting over every feature on your face, “I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. Meant every word of it.”

You pause, wondering absentmindedly if he can hear the pounding of your pulse. “Really?”

“We don’t need to get into it now,” he shrugs, “but you know that. You know I’d do anything for you. You know I’d treat you well. ‘M not a bad guy.”

Your chest aches. “I know, but Eren–”

“So that wasn’t the best sex you’ve ever had in your life?” He fixes you with a singular, raised eyebrow, so serious that you giggle in his face.

“You might have me there.”

“Better than horseface?”

“Watch it.”

The light returns to his eyes; it loosens a hard little piece in your chest, flooding you with warmth. It hits you just how much you love that little sparkle amongst the green, just how much you would give to see it as often as you can. “We won’t talk about it, for now at least. I’ll get us cleaned up, and we can go watch–”

“Mamma Mia,” you blurt, hopeful.

“No fucking shot. But we can watch something else of your choosing, if you let me eat you out again.”

“Eren!” You smack his shoulder, scandalized. Both of you laugh; your fake outrage is twice as funny considering the state of you right now, smeared makeup and bruises on your neck.

He grins crookedly back at you. “That’s not a no.”

#aot x reader #eren x reader #eren jaeger x reader #eren yeager x reader #eren jaeger smut #eren x you #eren yaeger x you #eren yeager smut #aot fanfiction #eren jaeger fic #eren jaeger fanfiction

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somethingvicked · 20 days ago

Text

First time

An Eddie Munson one-shot.

warnings: female reader, fluff, light smut, light cursing.

The first time Eddie saw you was pretty uneventful. You were the new girl at Hawkins high and while he thought you were pretty, he didn’t give you much thought. Your style wasn’t his style – you were dressed in a mustard colored turtleneck and a checkered skirt in the same yellow color, black knee socks, on the preppy side – and he could’ve sworn you had never heard a rock song in your whole life.

And he was the one talking about others being prejudiced?

However, when he almost collided with you at the water fountain, he spotted something around your neck that made his whole brain light up with excitement and dopamine.

A golden ring hung around your neck in a silver chain.

”How’s the Precious doing?” he heard himself ask, waiting for you to reply with some kind of line of your own.

Instead you stared at him like he was insane. Although, on the plus side, you didn’t run away, screaming; always something.

”Excuse me?” you asked.

”You know – the One ring. One ring to rule them all? Gollum’s Precious?” You frowned and shook your head. ”Umm, this ring belonged to my grandmother. She died recently. It’s her wedding ring. She left my sister her engagement ring and me the wedding ring,” you explained and Eddie thought he had never felt more like an idiot in that moment, blushing from his jaw to the tips of his ears.

”Oh,” he got out, ”I’m... I’m so sorry for your loss.”

”Thank you,” you said and then you held out your hand, introducing yourself.

He had expected you to turn around and never speak to him again – in fact, he wouldn’t blame you if you did! But you didn’t.

After he had told you his name you had smiled a little and asked him what he really meant when he talked about the One ring. It was clear you had never read The Lord of the Rings, but he decided not to judge you for that. Gareth hadn’t read it either and he was okay, after all.

He told you that it was from a book, or actually a book series, Lord of the Rings, just as the bell rang.

You looked intrigued. ”Too bad we got to cut this short. But... can I join you for lunch? You can tell me more about then. It sounds really interesting!”

Eddie didn’t believe his ears but he nodded eagerly. ”Sure! Well, I sit with the other in my club, Hellfire Club. But you’re more than welcome to join us.”

Once again he would have thought that you would snort and tell him ’never’ but you didn’t. ”Oh, that’s what the shirts are all about? It’s a club? Nice,” you said, smiling. ”Yeah, I’d love to! See you at lunch then!”

And that was how your friendship started.

Eddie wasn’t proud of it, but in the beginning he was a bit suspicious that you were only hanging out with them until the popular people reached out to you. You were pretty, clearly not a metalhead or a nerd – why wouldn’t they?

Then he thought that you had simply not realized that hanging out with him and his friends would kill any chance you had of becoming popular and so you were stuck with them.

But he quickly understood that he was wrong. You may not be a metalhead or a member of Hellfire club – at first – but... you viewed him and the others as your friends and you were loyal to a fault when it came to friendships.

You were civil with the cheerleaders, because they rarely harassed Eddie and the others, but since the cheerleaders and jocks often came as a package, and the jocks were well known for harassing Eddie and his friends, you weren’t interested in joining them.

Eddie had thought long and hard on whether he should admit his judgemental suspicions about you, but one night after he had finished his weekly show at the Hideout with the band, the both of you had gotten a little drunk and he had told you. You had seemed a bit hurt but then said you could understand it, considering how everyone at Hawkins high treated Eddie.

You in turn told him that you had been suspicious of him when he came up to you, thinking he was trying to hit on you – apparently that was another reason you distrusted the jocks, one of them had hit on you on your first day, even though you had seen he had a girlfriend while in class – but the moment Eddie started talking, or more accurately, when he asked if your grandmother’s ring had belonged to Gollum, that’s when you understood that no, this guy wasn’t hitting on you.

You were grateful, you said. Even though it had been somewhat awkward you were glad that Eddie seemed to see you as a person, not as just as the new girl to score with.

That’s why Eddie felt so bad when he started to develop new feelings for you. He had always thought you were pretty, but he hadn’t thought of it... that way.

Now he did. He could barely glance at you without being awed by your beauty, not just your looks but the warmth of your personality shining through, a personality he loved so much.

Yes. He loved you. He was in love with you. And he didn’t know how he was supposed to deal with it, being so close to you all the time, but not in the way he truly wanted.

He wanted to kiss you. Pull you close, wrapping his arms around you, hold your hand, carrying you in his arms... it just went on and on.

He never thought you would return his feelings. Not once in a thousand years, especially not after telling him that him not hitting on you, was the reason you felt so safe with him.

But that wasn’t the only thing that stopped him. He wasn’t even sure how to... actually hit on someone.

Eddie had never had a girlfriend before. He had never even dated anyone. Thereby, he was a virgin with zero experience with girls.

So he did his best, trying to keep his feelings for you in check. It was better to simply stay friends with you than not having you in his life at all, right?

The fact that you never dated anyone either was a blessing for him, but he often wondered why. You got asked out plenty of times, but you always said no.

For a while he wondered if you were into girls, like Robin, but considering how you sighed dreamily at Johnny Depp every time you and Eddie watched Nightmare on Elm Street, he didn’t think so.

So one night when you were staying over at the trailer, whilst sharing a joint, you told Eddie that another guy had asked you out that day, but you had turned him down.

Eddie felt jealousy flare in his chest, despite the fact that you had told the guy no. He wanted you to be his! For everyone to know you two belonged together, make all the other guys stop thinking they had some claim over you.

He grumbled a little as he realized that his own thoughts about you was quite similar to wanting to have a ’claim’ on you, but he couldn’t help himself.

Maybe it was the weed or maybe his curiosity just got the better of him, but he finally asked what he had wondered for so long:

”You keep turning every guy down. Why? I mean... is there no guy you’re interested in?”

You looked at him, holding the joint between your fingers, your eyes a bit glazed over.

”Oh, Eds,” you sighed, ”of course there is. But the guy I want... he has never asked me out.”

Eddie once again felt that burning jealousy flare up inside him, making him clench his jaw, his eyes grow hot as if he was going to cry.

He didn’t know who that guy was but he already hated him with a passion.

”Huh,” he said, running a hand through his curls, looking away for a moment so he could blink the tears away. ”Maybe... maybe you should just... ask him out then.”

Yes. He said that. Because no matter what, he loved you and he wanted you to be happy. Even if it was with another guy.

”I don’t know... what if he turns me down? I’m not sure I dare to risk it... I don’t want to lose him,” you whispered, and Eddie frowned.

”Why would you lose him? I mean, if he has never asked you out... wait, is it someone you’re close to?”

Suddenly he wondered if you were in love with Gareth, or Jeff? Could he survive that? Seeing one of his closest friends with the girl that Eddie himself loved?

”Yes,” you nodded. ”Very close. But not as close as I want. I just don’t know how to tell him. Because... in the beginning I said that I was grateful that he hadn’t tried to hit on me.”

For a moment Eddie’s brain stood still. It was like a sign had popped up that said ’information overload’.

Then he blinked as it cleared.

”Wait... the guy you... it��s me? You want me to ask you out?!”

You nodded, your lower lip trembling, clearly in fear.

”Holy shit!” Eddie whispered, staring at you, his eyes wide.

You snorted. ”What does that mean, Eds? Do you want to... go out with me?”

”No,” Eddie said and then his jaw dropped at his own stupidity, whilst your face fell. ”No, no, no, no!”

”That’s five ’no’s’, Eds,” you said, ”I get it.”

”No! I mean... yes! I mean... I want to be with you. Yes, I can ask you out and take you on a date, but I already know that I’m... that I’m in love with you! I’d like to... be your boyfriend immediately.”

As he said that, your sad frown turned into a giant grin and you climbed into his lap, hugging him tightly. ”Really? Oh, Eds! That’s... that’s what I want too! I’m in love with you as well. I just didn’t know how to... it seems so silly – I was grateful for you not hitting on me, and then I fell in love with you! But you know what? I think I fell for you, because you didn’t hit on me. Because you saw me as a person first, a girl second.”

That was how you and Eddie became a couple.

But despite being your boyfriend Eddie still feels uncertain. Not about his feelings for you or even about how you felt about him – you made that clear every day when you told him you loved him, followed by a big kiss.

No, he was feeling insecure about the fact that he was a virgin. He had never even kissed a girl before you.

Eddie had been worried about that too, that he would be a bad kisser, but the first time you two kissed he simply had followed your lead (and the lead of every romance movie he had ever seen) and you had never complained, so he figured he wasn’t that bad.

Sex, though... yes, he had watched a lot of porn and gotten off to it during the years, but... he had a feeling that wouldn’t be enough preparation. He wanted to be the best you’ve ever had.

He didn’t know exactly how many you’d had and it didn’t matter to him. Except about him wanting to be the best part.

But that had more to do with his fear of you realizing that you were too good for him, and leaving him.

You were pretty, kind yet fierce, loyal, funny... you could have anyone and yet you chose him. But would you still want him if he couldn’t please you? If he turned out to be the actual one-pump chump?!

Luckily for Eddie you had sat him down one day and asked if he was okay with taking it slow. ”I just think this is so special, what we have. I want us to truly revere it, before going further. Is that okay?”

Eddie had almost fallen to his knees and thanked you, so relieved was he. Now he had some time to prepare! Exactly how he was going to do that, he didn’t know yet, but one step at a time.

”Of course. That’s what I want too, sweetheart. You’re the most precious thing in my life. Just like Gollum told the Ring,” he said, giving a little joke at the end, making you snort before you kissed him.

One might think he just wanted to take it slow because he was scared of being bad in bed but in truth he agreed with you. Despite his worries, he completely agreed with you, that you should treat your relationship with reverence, because it was special.

On the other hand, sometimes it was hard – pun intended – when you two made out and he just wanted to place you on his lap and thrust into you as hard as he could.

A couple of weeks went by, turning into months, Eddie and you being as happy as could be, still in that honeymoon-phase where you felt you needed to be by the other one’s side every hour of every day or you’d die.

The fact that you had been friends before becoming a couple and spent a lot of time together already didn’t matter.

One night you and Eddie were lying on his bed, making out while his DnD rulebook laid long forgotten on the floor. He was supposed to teach you how to make a character – since you couldn’t be without him during the Hellfire club game nights – but that plan was soon forgotten.

Eddie’s hands moved up and down your back, feeling the softness of your breasts pressing against his own chest, the scent of your shampoo and perfume heavy in his nostrils, felt you kissing him, your tongue swirling around his own, how you...

Eddie’s eyes suddenly flew open, wide as saucers. It was no secret that he was hard, he knew you could feel it, but that had happened a few other times and since you two were taking it slow neither of you had brought it up.

Now your hand was on top of his erection, slowly pressing down, making him let out whimper.

”W-what are you doing?” he almost squeaked out.

”I just want to help, Eds,” you cooed, ”when I said I wanted to take it slow I didn’t mean that we can’t do anything. It can be comfortable for you. Let me make you... comfortable,” you joked with a wink, starting to unbutton his jeans.

”No, wait!” he almost yelled and you jumped back as if he had threatened you with a gun.

”Eds... what is it?” you whispered, almost looking scared of him.

Eddie swallowed. But he understood that it was better to tell you what was really bothering him than make you think that he was actually insane.

”Look, baby, I just... I have never... never done...”

An understanding look came over you and you took his hand. ”You’ve never had a girl jerk you off before?”

Eddie shook his head. ”Not just that. I’m... I’m a virgin. A complete virgin. Before you I hadn’t even been kissed! That’s... that’s pathetic, right?”

Your eyes widened. ”No, Eddie, that’s not pathetic, why would it be that? Everyone has to start somewhere – is it pathetic for everyone else that has never been kissed?”

Eddie snorted. ”I don’t think there are many other guys that are over eighteen and still haven’t had their first kiss. And if it is, then I don’t think it’s because they’re the town freak that no girl wants to come near.”

You felt so sad when he talked about himself that way. ”Listen to me,” you told him, pulling his chin toward you so you could look into his eyes. ”Those other girls... they are stupid. Have you never heard the phrase ’gentleman in the street, freak in the sheets’?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, but had to laugh. ”No, I don’t think I have.”

”Being a freak doesn’t always mean bad things. But regardless. If those girls are stupid enough to judge you like that, then you’re better off without them. Their loss is my gain. I’m... I’m happy to be your first.”

Eddie felt a little better but he was still a bit worried, confessing the last part of his shame:

”I’m just worried, that since I haven’t done anything, I will blow it before it has even started – literally!”

Now you had to laugh and leaned your forehead against his. ”If you do, it’s okay. I’m pretty sure I can get you ready again.”

He tilted his head and looked at you. ”I bet you’re an expert in this.”

Now it was your turn to sigh and look embarrassed. ”Eddie... you’ve just confessed something to me, can I confess something to you?”

”Of course,” Eddie said, wrapping his arm around you. ”What is it?”

”I... I’ve actually never had sex either.”

Now, he almost fell off his bed in pure shock. ”What?!”

”No. I jerked off my last boyfriend a couple of times. And in return I got a really lousy fingering that felt like he was trying to dig his way to China. It lasted like thirty seconds and then he was wondering why I hadn’t cum yet. That was pathetic.”

Eddie may never had had sex but even he thought that sounded... yeah, the way you told it made him want to cross his own legs.

”But the point is... I did want to take it slow with you, yet at the same time... it was more because the only thing I’ve done is that – fingering and handjobs. I thought you would be disappointed if I couldn’t suck you off without gagging, or if... if it hurt the first time we made love and I had to ask you to stop.”

Eddie’s jaw dropped and he hugged you even tighter against him. ”What?! Oh, sweetheart... I would never do that. Never, ever!”

”Deep down I knew you wouldn’t. But I didn’t know you were a virgin, I thought you would compare me to some other girl that had made you feel amazing.”

Eddie snorted. ”Even if some other girl had made me feel good, it would never be as good as with you. I love you. ”

He had to laugh at the whole situation. You and Eddie had walked around, being worried about pretty much the same thing without knowing it.

”I think we need to work on communication. Otherwise we’re pretty great,” you said, as if you read his thoughts.

He nodded. You did as well. Then you suddenly smiled.

”So... what about it, Eds? Do you want me to...?” you gestured toward his crotch.

Eddie had softened somewhat while you were talking – especially when you described the whole ’digging for China’ part, but now his erection returned again with full force at the thought of you touching him there. Jerking him off. His cum covering your hands.

It was tempting. But there was something else he wanted even more.

”If... if both of us were worried about disappointing each other... could... would you like to... try? Have sex?” he wondered carefully.

If you weren’t ready he wouldn’t press it, but feeling you completely was the only thing he could think about right now.

You were quiet for a little while, then you smiled. ”Yes. I think so.”

Eddie was sure he had died and gone to heaven at that moment, pressing his lips to yours in a deep kiss.

First you two kissed. There was no rush, you had the whole night. He pulled you shirt over your head while you unbuttoned his jeans, all while still kissing.

Then he thought he had died and gone to heave again when he saw your black lace bra underneath your shirt. Your breasts were perfect, fitting his hand perfectly.

He had to peel your matching panties off of you since they were so slick from your juices that they stuck to the skin.

You licked your lips when you caught sight of his cock, saying you wanted to taste him, but Eddie knew he only had so much willpower left. If you put your mouth on him he would shoot off like firework.

”Next time,” he promised, ”just like I want to taste you too.”

When you were both naked he rolled you underneath him before putting a condom on, slowly pushing your legs up as he slid his cock against your sex, making you whimper.

”Can I... push in?” he wondered and you nodded shakily.

He knew that it might be uncomfortable for you so he took it slow but you didn’t seem to feel any pain.

As he bottomed out inside you, you moaned loudly, bucking your hips against his, clearly impatient for him to start moving.

”No, no,” Eddie whimpered, ”hold still! If I move even an inch now I’m going to erupt so hard you’ll end up through the roof.”

You giggled and Eddie groaned as he could feel the vibrations in his cock.

”It’s okay, Eds,” you whispered. ”I want you to move. And if you cum before me, we’ll deal with that. There’s always next time, right?”

He supposed you were right.

With slow movements he started pushing in and out of you, clenching his jaw at the pressure invading him, almost too much to handle.

You were so wet, tight and so warm... he would never be able to use his own hand again after this!

Had he thought he had died and gone to heaven before? That was nothing. If he could do this to you for the rest of his life, then he wouldn’t need a heaven.

You moaned, wrapping your arms around his neck, raising your legs even more to give him better access.

That seemed to work, because suddenly you cried out. Eddie was first worried he’d hurt you, but now you clawed against his back, your legs hooking around his waist, heels pressing into his ass to get him even deeper.

”Clit,” you whispered, tears brimming in your eyes from the pleasure. ”Please, Eddie, rub my clit! I’m... almost...!”

You were almost there?

Swiftly Eddie slid a hand down between you and started to rub your clit. He wasn’t sure how to do it exactly, but he didn’t need to worry, because you nearly snarled at him and moved your own hand down, placing it on his and showed him how to do it. After just a second or two he got the hang of it, and as he rubbed you, your eyes rolled back into your head as you bit down your lip, so hard he was worried you’d bite through it, all the while he felt you get even tighter, your walls fluttering around him.

”Cumming!” you cried and Eddie’s eyes widened, as he finally felt okay to chase his own release as he had made you cum.

He increased his pace, finally letting go on all of his restraints, letting out a sound that was almost a growl as he tensed up, his whole body going stiff as a wire as he filled the condom.

For a moment it was completely quiet except for both of your panted breaths. Then he looked down on you, you smiling at him as he was the only one in the world that mattered.

”That was...”

”Yeah,” Eddie said, nodding, leaning down to kiss your lips. ”It was.”

He rolled to the side, taking the condom off and tossing it in the trash before wrapping his arms around you, both your bodies slick with sweat.

”That was a great first time,” you told Eddie and he grinned.

”I’m glad to hear it. It was great for me too.”

Another moment of silence.

”Hey,” Eddie said, making you look up at him beneath your eyelashes.

”Mmm?”

”Can we... do you feel up for trying for our second time now?”

taglist: @stranger-things-mania @quinnyficsy @ali-r3n @spider-starry

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seat-safety-switch · 4 months ago

Text

You know what's weird? Chain link fence is weird. We all just accept it as being a normal urban blight, that it's cheap and unpleasant. The more you think about it, though, the more unlikely it gets.

For starters, it's very hard to make if you're just a regular Jane Fixit. Wood fences? Any idiot can make one with a tree, a cutting device, and enough time. Traditional Gaelic rock fence? Rocks and mud. Brick retaining walls? You can make bricks out of dirt and hot. Wrought iron? Now we're getting a little more difficult, but it's also special dirt, lots of hot, and beating the living piss out of it.

Galvanized steel chain-link fence? That, my friend, requires industry. I don't see your uncle being able to extrude number-two steel wire from his asshole, nor your aunt spending her entire afternoon knitting together approximately two inches of chain link fence.

So maybe it's this impersonal nature that makes us hate chain-link fence. It's cheap because it cheapens the soul. Not because a machine can make billions of miles of it per nanosecond and your landlord buys it in garbage-can-sized rolls. Duct tape for enclosing and restricting the public commons without big expenditure. Also, you can see your neighbour suntanning naked in his backyard through it. Not much privacy.

Here's the real value of chain-link fence: twelve cents a pound. Give it that artisanal charm by cutting fun shapes in whatever chain link you encounter, and pocketing the off-cuts. You'll be making pizza money, but more importantly, putting the soul back in our fine city. By making the impersonal personal, a terrible exclusionary enclosure can now become a terrible exclusionary enclosure that some weirdo cable-cuttered the shape of a dong into.

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shapard · 7 months ago

Text

Tantrum🕷️

Satan x Succubus!fem!reader

Tw: Smut, slow burn, therapist x client, Satan being Satan to the low life, p in v

Satan is so Hot

Part 1 > Part 2

The story begins after the cut

You exhaled slowly, your breath shaky as your eyes scanned the list of today's clients. One name stood out like a drop of blood on pristine parchment: Satan. Yes, the Satan. You’d laughed when the receptionist first told you. Surely, it was some dark joke, right? But the chilling sincerity in her eyes told you otherwise. For the next month, the King of Wrath himself would be your client. His personal therapist—or "anger coach," as they called it—was conveniently on vacation, leaving the responsibility to you.

Your fingers hovered over the file, tapping lightly on the thick paper. His profile was sparse yet enough to send a chill down your spine. Anger issues. As if that needed to be stated. Brutal, cruel, unpredictable. Lies often. Has a dangerously short temper. And the last line, hastily scrawled like a warning, stood out the most: Approach with caution.

The note on your pad detailed when and where you were to meet him: Satan’s castle. Even the thought of it made your stomach churn. The clock on your desk screeched, breaking your trance. It was time.

Your palms were clammy as you left your room, dread curling around your spine. The limousine waiting outside was overkill, with its glossy black finish and an interior too luxurious for comfort. You sank into the seat, but even its plush softness couldn’t ease the knot tightening in your chest. Your fingers toyed nervously with the fabric of your shirt. "Why am I doing this to myself?" you muttered, your voice a hoarse whisper.

The drive stretched on, the limousine cutting through a landscape that seemed to grow darker, more twisted with every passing mile. Gnarled trees loomed like skeletal hands, their shadows dancing over the cracked road. The closer you got to his estate, the more oppressive the air became, thick with heat and a faint metallic tang that clung to your throat. When the car finally stopped, your breath hitched.

The castle loomed above you like a blackened wound carved into the earth itself. Jagged spires clawed at the sky, and the air was heavy with the faint stench of sulfur. The gates creaked open, revealing a procession of imps scurrying about with feverish purpose. Their glowing eyes briefly landed on you before darting away, like vermin avoiding a predator.

You swallowed hard, stepping out of the limousine. The ground beneath your sneakers radiated an uncomfortable heat, as if the very earth resented your presence. You hesitated, looking up at the fortress before you. Every instinct screamed for you to run. But you were a therapist—for Lucifer’s sake, you’d dealt with impossible clients before. Just not ones who could incinerate you with a single breath.

A small, hunched imp dressed in a tattered butler’s uniform approached, its head bowed. Without a word, it gestured for you to follow. You obliged, your legs moving stiffly as if weighed down by chains. The castle’s interior was worse. Shadows seemed alive, twisting and curling around corners like smoke. The halls were cavernous and eerily silent, save for the echo of your footsteps against the stone floor.

You were led through corridors that gleamed with wealth. Gold littered every surface, accompanied by piles of glittering jewels—rubies, diamonds, and sapphires, carelessly heaped as if they were nothing more than pocket change. It was suffocating in its opulence, but it was the odd details that unsettled you. A scorch mark on the wall, as if something—or someone—had been obliterated there. Deep claw marks gouged into the stone.

When you entered his chamber, the atmosphere shifted entirely. Heat rolled over you in waves, and the room smelled faintly of ash. Your eyes roamed over the space, catching glimpses of heavy iron chains, monstrous workout equipment, and a hulking throne that seemed carved from molten rock. And then, your gaze rose.

He was there.

The dragon loomed in the far corner, a creature of pure, terrifying majesty. His scales shimmered like molten obsidian, and his horns, wickedly curved and sharp, glinted faintly in the dim light. His golden eyes burned like twin suns, locking onto you with an intensity that made your stomach drop. His chest rose and fell with a deep, growling breath that reverberated through the floor.

"So," he rumbled, his voice a deep, guttural drawl that made the air vibrate. "You’re the replacement.”

You froze, your body rigid as his gaze raked over you. His tone dripped with disdain, his lips curling into something between a snarl and a smirk. You felt like a mouse under the eye of a serpent.

“A succubus?” he sneered, the word laced with contempt. His massive frame shifted as he lowered his head, bringing his razor-sharp teeth dangerously close to your trembling form. His eyes narrowed, a flicker of amusement dancing in their molten depths. “For a succubus, you look... innocent.”

You flinched as his claw moved, its sharp tip hooking under the edge of your buttoned shirt. With terrifying ease, he pulled you closer, the heat radiating from him suffocating.

“Sir,” you managed, your voice wavering as you fought to hold your ground, “this is… inappropriate.”

The dragon chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Inappropriate?” he repeated, his tone mockingly sweet. “Oh, little one, we’re far beyond ‘appropriate’ here.”

For a moment, the tension was unbearable, his golden gaze locking onto yours, unyielding and searing. Then, with a huff, he released you, his massive claw retracting as he settled back.

“Let’s see how long you last,” he muttered, his voice laced with dark amusement. “They always break, you know.”

Your knees felt weak, your breath shallow as you took a hesitant step back. This wasn’t going to be like any other client you’d dealt with. And as his gaze lingered on you, predatory and calculating, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into a game you didn’t fully understand—a game where the rules were written in blood.

“Let’s start with something simple—an introduction.” You tried to project confidence, raising your voice slightly to ensure he could hear you clearly. The weight of his molten gaze bore down on you, but you kept your posture straight. “Before we can trust each other, we need to know each other.”

Your words hung in the air, daring to challenge the suffocating silence. His golden eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his reptilian features. You forced a smile and continued, your voice steady despite the thrum of fear in your chest. “My name is Y/n L/n. I’ll be your therapist for the time being. In my spare time, I enjoy drawing. Now, would you care to introduce yourself?”

The room seemed to grow hotter. A deep huff escaped from Satan’s nostrils, the force of his breath stirring the papers on your clipboard. His head tilted ever so slightly, as though studying you from a new angle. “You know who I am.” His words were low and blunt, carrying the faintest edge of impatience.

You kept your expression neutral, though your heart thudded painfully in your chest. “Of course, I know. But I’d like to hear it from you.” Your tone was calm, measured, even as the edges of his form seemed to ripple with heat.

That caught him off guard. His brows furrowed, and for a moment, his eyes lost some of their predatory sharpness. His breathing, which had been fiery and erratic, grew slower, more controlled. “I am Satan,” he said at last, his voice still low but tinged with pride. “The Sin of Wrath. The first sin.”

You didn’t flinch, though the words carried a weight that pressed against you. Liar. The truth was well-known—Lucifer was the first. But you kept that observation to yourself, instead lowering your gaze to jot something down on your notepad.

The scratch of your pen seemed deafening in the charged silence.

“What are you writing?” His tone was sharper now, irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. You glanced up cautiously, noting the slight flare of his nostrils and the way his claws flexed against the stone floor.

“It’s nothing important,” you assured him, your voice soft but deliberate. “Just a few notes for me. Is that okay?”

His eyes narrowed further, glowing faintly as if testing your words for deceit. After a tense moment, he leaned back, the massive muscles in his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah… I guess.”

You allowed yourself a small exhale, the pen trembling faintly in your grip as you made another note. “Thank you. So, tell me—what’s your favorite hobby?” you asked, keeping your tone light, almost conversational.

Satan blinked, clearly caught off guard again. “Hobby?” he repeated, as if the concept were foreign to him. A pause stretched between you, and then he shrugged. “Uh… I like working out.”

Internally, you groaned. Great, you thought, suppressing the urge to roll your eyes. A gym bro with anger issues. But outwardly, you smiled, though your fingers tightened slightly around your pen.

As you scribbled his answer, you felt a subtle shift in the air. His gaze hadn’t left you, and there was something unsettling about the way he watched you now—curious, calculating, like a predator studying its prey. The edges of his mouth twitched, as if he were amused by something only he understood.

“Do you always write so much?” he asked suddenly, his voice a little too casual.

You froze for half a second before looking up. “Only when it helps me understand my client better,” you said evenly.

Satan’s lip curled faintly, exposing a hint of razor-sharp teeth. “Interesting,” he murmured, leaning forward slightly. His massive frame seemed to loom larger, casting a shadow that swallowed the light around you. “You seem… different. For a therapist. For a succubus.”

The word dripped with disdain, but there was an odd curiosity in his tone as well. Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to hold his gaze.

“I don’t think I fit the usual mold,” you replied lightly, though the words felt thin against the heavy atmosphere.

Satan chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “No, you don’t. But we’ll see how long that lasts.”

The way he said it felt more like a warning than a casual remark. And as the room grew unnervingly quiet again, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had just stepped into something far more dangerous than you were prepared for.

“Anyway,” you began, trying to dissipate the strange tension in the air, “what do you usually do to calm yourself?” Your voice was steady, professional, but you were acutely aware of the weight of his golden gaze lingering on you.

Satan tapped his claw against his chin, the sharp tip glinting faintly in the dim light. “I work out,” he said simply.

You nodded and placed your notepad down. “Have you ever tried anything else? Something less… physical?”

He shook his head, leaning back with a nonchalant shrug. “No.”

“Interesting.” Your pen hovered over the page, a faint smile tugging at the corners of your lips. Bingo. A potential breakthrough, something to work on next week. “Maybe you should try something new,” you suggested, glancing up at him to gauge his reaction.

Satan raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing slightly. “Something new?”

You nodded, maintaining your professional tone. “Yes. There might be situations where you aren’t able to work out. Finding an alternative that brings you calm can help—something you enjoy that doesn’t rely on strength or exertion.”

You could see him thinking, his gaze becoming distant for a moment before snapping back to you. Then, he said it, blunt and unapologetic:

“Sex.”

Your pen slipped slightly, leaving a faint mark across your notepad as your head shot up to meet his gaze. “Excuse me?”

“Sex,” he repeated, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “I enjoy it. Specifically, I love to dominate. It brings me a sense of calm, of control.”

The heat in the room seemed to spike as his words hung in the air, heavy and electric. You felt your breath hitch slightly, your professionalism faltering under the weight of his admission. Your teeth caught your bottom lip, a subconscious reflex as your mind betrayed you with images you hadn’t invited.

Satan, towering over you, his claws dragging possessively over your skin. His deep growls vibrating against your neck as his body pressed you into the bed like prey. The way his molten gaze would devour every inch of you, a predator savoring its prize.

The thought was dangerous, forbidden—and utterly intoxicating.

“You’re quiet,” Satan observed, a faint smirk curling at the edge of his lips. He leaned forward, resting his massive claws on the table between you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to sit straighter in your chair, though the heat creeping up your neck betrayed your inner turmoil. “Not at all,” you lied, your voice wavering slightly.

His smirk widened, the sharp tips of his teeth glinting faintly in the low light. “Liar.”

Your breath hitched again as he stood, the sheer size of him making the room feel smaller, more suffocating. He stepped closer, his movements slow, deliberate, predatory. His shadow fell over you, and you tilted your head up to meet his gaze, your heart pounding furiously in your chest.

“Tell me,” he said, his voice dropping to a low, velvety growl. “Have you ever let someone take control of you? Completely?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but no words came out. His presence was overwhelming, his golden eyes boring into you with an intensity that felt like it could strip you bare.

“Let me guess,” he continued, his voice smooth and teasing. “You play the role of the confident therapist. Always in control, always composed. But I wonder…” He leaned closer, his claw tipping your chin up slightly. “What would happen if you let go? If you surrendered—for once?”

Your pulse raced as his words sent a shiver down your spine. The air between you was charged, thick with tension that felt ready to snap at any moment.

“I—” You barely managed to speak before his smirk deepened.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he purred, his voice dripping with dark amusement. “I can see it in your eyes, feel it in the way your body reacts to me.”

Your breath quickened, your mind a blur of conflicting thoughts. This wasn’t supposed to happen—this wasn’t professional. But the pull of his presence, the raw magnetism of him, was impossible to ignore.

As he leaned back, giving you a moment to catch your breath, his smirk softened into something darker, more sinister. “We’ll see how long you can resist,” he murmured, his voice like a promise—a challenge.

You swallowed hard, gripping the edge of your notepad like it was a lifeline. Whatever line had just been crossed, there was no going back now. And the worst part? Some small, treacherous part of you didn’t want to.

You glanced at the clock on the wall, the ticking seconds echoing louder in your ears as you realized the session had come to an end. It felt like both a relief and a punishment. You cleared your throat, trying to regain your composure. “Our time is up for today.”

Gripping your notepad tightly, you rose from your chair, the slight tremble in your legs betraying the inner conflict you fought to suppress. “I’ll see you next week?” you asked, your voice carefully measured, though the second heartbeat between your thighs throbbed mercilessly, reminding you of how thin the line was between professionalism and raw, unspoken desire.

Satan leaned back into his seat, his massive frame exuding power and ease as his ever-present smirk stretched across his face. “You’re quite interesting, you know that?” he said, his golden eyes glinting with something dark, something dangerous.

The way his words curled in the air, dripping with molten heat, sent a shiver down your spine. And then he said it—your name.

“See you next week, Y/n.”

The sound of your name, as it rolled off his tongue like a lazy threat, like a predator marking its prey, felt like fire licking at your skin. It wasn’t just the way he said it—it was the way he owned it, as if your name wasn’t yours anymore but his to use, to savor, to command.

You swallowed hard, your throat dry as you fought to maintain control of yourself. His gaze lingered on you, heavy and consuming, as if he could see every thought, every reaction you tried to bury. The room felt smaller, hotter, as if the very air bent to his will.

You took a deep breath, willing the flush creeping up your neck to subside, and bowed your head slightly—a courteous gesture, but also an excuse to break free of his burning gaze. “I’ll… take my leave now,” you managed, your voice steadier than you expected, though your body betrayed you with every trembling step toward the door.

The silence stretched, but you could feel him watching you, his presence looming even as you turned your back to him. Each step felt heavier, your legs weaker, as if some invisible tether pulled you back to him.

“Y/n,” he called softly, his voice low and dripping with amusement. It was enough to stop you in your tracks, your hand hovering just above the door handle.

You turned slightly, not enough to meet his gaze but enough to let him know you were listening.

“I’ll be looking forward to it,” he said, his smirk audible in his voice. “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.”

Your breath caught, and you didn’t trust yourself to respond. With a hurried nod, you pushed open the heavy door, stepping into the hall as quickly as you could without outright running.

As the door closed behind you, the weight of his words lingered, wrapping around you like a vice. Each step away from his chamber only made the ache within you stronger, and the echo of his voice—dark, commanding, possessive—played on repeat in your mind.

When you finally reached the outside air, you exhaled deeply, pressing a hand to your chest as if to steady the wild beat of your heart. But no matter how much distance you put between you and him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were still trapped—bound not by his hands, but by his voice, his gaze, his presence.

And the worst part? You weren’t entirely sure you wanted to escape.

______________________

Your mind drifted to Satan again, as it often did these days. His golden eyes, the low timbre of his voice, the weight of his presence—all of it lingered with you like an intoxicating haze. It was wrong to think of him this way, wasn’t it? You're the therapist. A being of ancient power. Yet his words from the last session whispered through your mind, sending a shiver down your spine: “Next week… I expect us to get much more personal.” What did he mean? The thought left you breathless, your lip caught between your teeth as you tried to push the memory away.

With a sigh, you turned your attention to the mirror, pulling yourself together. Today was a new session, and you needed to remain professional. No room for fluttering thoughts or the heat that crept up your neck every time he said your name. After all, you had a job to do, and you’d prepared exercises meant to calm, not... whatever this was. You brushed out your hair, adjusted your outfit, and gave yourself one last look. You could do this.

The drive to his mansion felt longer than usual, the limousine’s quiet luxury giving your mind too much space to wander. By the time you arrived and stepped out, your palms were clammy despite the crisp air. You gathered your supplies—a palette, brushes, a canvas—and headed to the imposing doors. They opened with a creak, and there he was, standing tall, his figure sharper than usual in a tailored outfit that clung just enough to his form to make you notice. Was he doing this on purpose? The thought made your cheeks flush.

“Satan,” you greeted, keeping your voice steady as you stepped inside.

“Y/n,” he said simply, his golden eyes locking onto yours. He always said your name like it was a secret, something sacred.

You set your supplies down, the clinking of brushes breaking the charged silence. He tilted his head, his gaze flicking over the items with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. “What is this?” he asked, his tone edged with intrigue.

“Painting,” you said, smiling softly. “It’s something that can help channel emotions. I thought it might be worth trying with you.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but the flicker of interest in them was unmistakable. “You think this will calm me?”

“It’s worth a shot,” you replied, your tone light. “But first, I need you to… shrink a bit. Your current size might make it tricky.”

He arched a brow but complied without argument, his towering form diminishing to something more manageable. Even so, he still loomed over you, his presence filling the room in a way that made your breath catch.

You handed him one of your favorite brushes, your fingers grazing his. The brief contact sent a spark through you that you tried to ignore. “This one’s precious to me, so don’t break it,” you said with a teasing smile.

His golden eyes darkened slightly, his gaze lingering on you. “Why would you entrust me with something so valuable?” he asked, his voice low, almost reverent.

“Because I think you’ll manage,” you said simply, turning to demonstrate. The truth was, you trusted him in a way you couldn’t explain, and the weight of his gaze as you worked was almost palpable.

You dipped your brush into the paint, your movements fluid and purposeful as you applied color to the canvas. You explained the process, your voice calm, almost hypnotic, as you encouraged him to let his emotions guide him. “It doesn’t have to be perfect,” you said, glancing at him. “Just let it flow.”

Satan watched you intently, his focus shifting between your hands and your face. There was something mesmerizing about the way you moved—graceful, confident, entirely at ease. He tried to mimic your strokes but grew frustrated when his didn’t have the same beauty. Fire flickered briefly at the corner of his mouth as his grip on the brush tightened.

“Take your time,” you said gently, your voice softening. “You’ll manage.”

Those words seemed to echo in his mind, silencing his frustration. Slowly, the tension in his shoulders eased. His golden eyes settled on you again, and this time, there was something softer in them—something that made your heart skip a beat.

“Pretty,” he murmured, the word so quiet you almost missed it.

You glanced up, assuming he meant his canvas. “It’s not bad for a first try,” you said, smiling.

But when your eyes met his, you realized he wasn’t looking at the canvas at all. He was looking at you. The intensity of his gaze made heat rise to your cheeks, and for a moment, you were lost in it.

“I… meant your canvas,” he said quickly, the faintest hint of a stammer in his voice. He turned away, focusing on his painting as if the moment hadn’t happened. “I suppose this isn’t for me,” he added, his tone returning to its usual steadiness.

You sighed softly, setting your brush down. “That’s okay. We’ll find something else to try next time.”

When it was time to leave, you gathered your supplies, his lingering gaze following you to the door. “Till next time, Y/n,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You smiled, bidding him goodbye before stepping into the limousine. As the car pulled away, you stared out the window, your reflection blushing faintly. “Cute,” you muttered under your breath, thinking of his fleeting shyness.

And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to think of him a little differently too.

As the limousine glided down the winding road back into the city, Y/n leaned their head against the cool glass of the window. The world outside blurred into streaks of light and shadow, but their mind was too preoccupied to notice. Their chest tightened as they replayed the day's moments, each interaction with Satan etched into their memory with vivid clarity.

His golden eyes watching them, the way his brows furrowed in frustration only to soften when he heard their encouragement, and that one unguarded word he’d uttered—“pretty.” Y/n sighed and closed their eyes, the image of his intense gaze surfacing unbidden. He had said it so quietly, yet it echoed in their ears, lingering like a secret between them.

Why am I letting this get to me? Y/n thought, shaking their head. Satan was their patient. A being to be studied and guided, not… admired. And yet, there was something about him—something magnetic and impossible to ignore. His raw power was undeniable, but beneath the towering presence and occasional flashes of anger, there was a vulnerability that Y/n couldn’t help but find fascinating.

When the mansion’s doors had first opened to reveal him, standing there like some otherworldly figure carved out of the very shadows of the underworld, Y/n had been struck by how human he seemed despite his demonic origins. He was capable of humor, of curiosity, and, at times, even shyness—like when he stammered over his compliment and turned away. That brief flash of awkwardness had been disarming, endearing even, and it left a warmth in Y/n’s chest that refused to fade.

_______________

The past few weeks had been a blur of trial and error as you and Satan searched for a way to calm his tempestuous nature. Every method—meditation, physical exercises, even music—had ended in failure. Yet, with every attempt, the two of you had grown closer. Comfort had crept in between the boundaries you’d initially set, a warmth that softened the edges of your professional relationship. Perhaps it was too much comfort.

Frustrated, you ran your hands through your hair, tugging slightly as you let out a groan. “What’s left?” you muttered, mostly to yourself. You hated admitting defeat, but the lack of progress was wearing on you.

“Are you okay?” Satan’s deep voice broke through your spiraling thoughts. He leaned against the edge of his desk, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as they scanned your face. Concern lingered in his tone, though there was something else in his expression—something darker, more intent.

You sighed, leaning back against the wall, your shoulders sagging. “Yeah, I’m just… out of ideas,” you admitted, rubbing your temples. “Nothing seems to work. Maybe you were right all along—this isn’t going to change.”

A low growl escaped him, and he moved closer, the space between you shrinking with every step. “There’s one thing we haven’t tried,” he said, his voice a seductive rumble. He reached out, his clawed fingers brushing along the curve of your neck with a gentleness that sent a shiver down your spine. The ruby necklace he’d given you weeks ago caught the light, glinting like a drop of blood between you.

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching. “I’m open,” you replied, though your voice wavered. You weren’t sure what you expected him to say, but the tension in the air was thick enough to drown in.

His lips curved into a slow, wicked smile, and his eyes seemed to glow brighter. “Let me please you,” he said, the words both a question and a command.

Your brow furrowed in confusion. “What do you mean?”

His hand slid lower, taking yours in his. His touch was firm but surprisingly warm, and you couldn’t ignore the way your pulse quickened. “For weeks, I’ve been thinking of you. Not just as a distraction from my anger, but as something—someone—I want to consume. Every thought I’ve had has been about how to lure you in, how to make you mine.”

Your heart thundered in your chest, your body tingling with the weight of his confession. He slipped a delicate, shining ring onto your finger, the smooth metal cold against your skin.

“I’ve never felt this way before,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near-growl. “I’m throbbing for you, aching to show you what it means to be claimed by me.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but the words caught in your throat as he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear. His clawed hand moved to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

The first touch of his tongue against your neck made you gasp, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity straight to your core. His other hand cupped your jaw, tilting your head to the side to give him better access as he traced slow, burning lines along your skin.

“Satan…” His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as his claws found the waistband of your pants, the sharp tips grazing your skin without breaking it.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” he murmured against your throat, his voice raw with need. “Tell me you want it too.”

You didn’t trust your voice, so you nodded, your hands clutching at his shoulders as if to ground yourself. That was all the confirmation he needed.

With a growl, he lifted you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. His lips crashed into yours, the kiss rough and demanding, leaving no room for hesitation. His sharp teeth grazed your lower lip, and the pain mingled with pleasure in a way that made your head spin. His hands roamed your body, one clawed hand tangling in your hair while the other gripped your hip, holding you firmly in place.

You gasped as he tore open your shirt, the fabric giving way like paper under his strength. His golden eyes roamed hungrily over your exposed skin, and the heat in his gaze made you shiver. “Perfect,” he growled, his lips descending to your collarbone as his claws worked your pants down, leaving you bare beneath his burning gaze.

He pressed his body against yours, his skin hot like fire but not unbearable. The sensation was intoxicating, his power and desire radiating off him in waves that left you trembling. His mouth found your chest, his tongue and teeth teasing sensitive skin until you were writhing beneath him, your nails digging into his shoulders as you fought to keep some semblance of control.

But control was the last thing Satan allowed. “Let go,” he commanded, his voice a low snarl as his hand slipped between your thighs. His touch was rough but precise, drawing sounds from you that you’d never made before. He smirked against your skin, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you.

You couldn’t hold back anymore. Your hands roamed over his chest, tracing the hard lines of his muscles, the heat of his body searing into your palms. His growls deepened as you touched him, and when you whispered his name again, it seemed to drive him over the edge.

He latched onto your nipple, his hot, eager tongue swirling around the sensitive peak as though it held the key to quenching a deep, unrelenting hunger. The heat of his mouth sent a surge of pleasure coursing through you, your back arching instinctively to press closer to him. Each flick and tug of his tongue was deliberate, rough yet skilled, and it drove you wild with every second.

Your hands found his horns, gripping tightly as a loud, unrestrained moan tore from your lips. The sensation of his horns beneath your fingers—solid, commanding, and so uniquely him—only heightened the intensity of the moment. He groaned in response, the vibration of it against your skin adding a tantalizing edge to the pleasure.

As you opened your mouth to say something—perhaps to beg, perhaps to curse his name—his massive hand moved swiftly, covering your mouth and silencing you with an almost possessive dominance. His palm was warm, his claws just barely grazing your jawline, a silent reminder of his power.

“Shh,” he growled against your skin, his voice thick with desire and control. “No words. Just feel.”

The command sent a shiver down your spine, your muffled protests turning into needy whimpers against his hand. His golden eyes flicked up to meet yours, the intensity in them making your pulse race. He didn’t need to say more; the look alone spoke volumes. You’re mine, and I’m going to show you exactly what that means.

His free hand trailed down your side, the sharp edge of his claws leaving ghostly trails that tingled with a mix of anticipation and pleasure. He shifted slightly, his lips abandoning one nipple to lavish attention on the other, his teeth grazing it just enough to make you gasp against his palm.

“Such sweet sounds,” he murmured between kisses, his voice a deep, sinful growl that left you trembling. “I want to hear every single one.”

He claimed you fully then, his movements powerful and relentless as he pushed you to your limits and beyond. The roughness of his touch, the possessiveness in every kiss and thrust, sent you spiraling into a state of pure bliss. He was consuming, overwhelming, but it was everything you hadn’t known you needed.

When it was over, you were both breathing heavily, your bodies tangled together on the floor. His claws traced lazy circles on your skin, the sharp tips surprisingly gentle now.

“You’re mine,” he murmured, his golden eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that left no room for argument.

You smiled, brushing a hand through his tousled hair. “Yours,” you whispered, and for the first time in weeks, you felt completely at peace.

“I need to take you fully,” he growled, his voice rough with restraint, though his burning gaze made it clear his control was hanging by a thread. His golden eyes bore into yours, aflame with desire and something deeper—possessiveness, perhaps, or the primal need to claim you completely. His hot breath fanned across your face, each exhale like a spark threatening to ignite you from within.

You swallowed hard, your body trembling beneath him as you nodded, unable to form words. He stood, towering over you even in his "smallest" form, and the sound of his belt buckle clicking open made your heart skip. His hand gripped the base of his shaft, his claws brushing lightly against his skin as he stroked himself. His movements were deliberate, slow, as he smeared the slick arousal you’d already left on him along his length. The sight of it was utterly mesmerizing.

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath, his voice a rumble of raw need. His eyes darted to your smaller frame beneath him, the contrast between your softness and his powerful figure making his jaw tighten. Your body trembled under his intense scrutiny, and the way you shuddered only seemed to spur him on.

“You’ll take all of me,” he promised darkly, his lips pulling into a feral smirk before he positioned himself at your entrance. Slowly, he began to press in, the stretch almost overwhelming as he filled you inch by inch. The thickness of him made your breath hitch, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as your body struggled to accommodate him.

When he was fully seated inside you, he let out a guttural groan, his head falling forward as if savoring the way your body gripped him so tightly. “Perfect,” he muttered, his voice laced with awe and lust. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

He started to move, his thrusts deliberate and forceful, his pace building with every stroke. The wet, sinful sounds of your body meeting his filled the den, mingling with the guttural sounds he made as he lost himself in the rhythm. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through you, his rough movements perfectly hitting every sensitive spot.

“Look at you,” he growled, his voice thick with pride as he watched your body arch beneath him, your moans spilling out freely. “Taking me so well—every inch of me.”

His hands gripped your hips tightly, claws digging in just enough to leave marks as he pulled you into each thrust. His pace quickened, his breathing harsh and uneven, a symphony of raw need that filled the space around you.

Your moans turned into cries of ecstasy as he pounded into you harder, the force of it making your head spin. The pressure building inside you was unbearable, each stroke bringing you closer to the edge. He growled your name, the sound reverberating through the air as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear.

“You’re mine,” he rasped, his voice breaking slightly as he thrust even harder, his control finally snapping. “Say it.”

“Yours,” you gasped, your voice trembling with pleasure and submission. “I’m yours.”

The words seemed to ignite something in him, his movements becoming even more relentless. His growls deepened, and the way he pounded into you left you utterly breathless. Every nerve in your body was aflame, and as you reached your peak, the intensity of it shattered you completely, your cries echoing through the den.

Moments later, he followed, his movements faltering as he let out a deep, primal groan. You felt him shudder above you, his body rigid as he spilled into you, marking you in a way that felt both physical and otherworldly.

For a moment, the only sounds were the two of you catching your breath, the heat of his body still pressed against yours. He leaned down, brushing a surprisingly tender kiss against your forehead, a stark contrast to the ferocity he’d shown moments before.

“You’re mine,” he repeated softly, almost as if reassuring himself.

And as you lay there in his arms, thoroughly claimed and utterly sated, you knew he was right. You were his. And you didn’t want it any other way.

Saw no one making shit about him so here I am your savior. Damn y'all.

💫

Masterlist

#Helluva Boss #Helluva Boss Satan #Satan #Helluva Boss x reader #Sin of wrath #x reader #you #Satan x reader #Helluva Boss Satan x reader #Oneshot #damn #here ya go #Smut #Satan Smut #therapist

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strungnews · 2 months ago

Text

Ever wonder where exactly Mark gets his puppy eyes from?

Its no secret he uses those bad puppers constantly just to get his way. Be it by you, William, or his own mother.

Time and time again he gets away almost scott free of consequences, you really should be grateful that he doesn’t abuse his charismatic power. Or else you’d be stuck in a ditch screaming for your life while he most likely munches on something you specifically told him that was for you only.

This question quickly gets answered through a small series of events unfolding like a badly placed domino, a chain reaction flicking that lightbulb inside your head.

You’ve been at the mercy of Mark and William for a while. Only because the three of you did a quick rock paper scissors battle and winning. But you guys went by majority rules, and was peer pressured into doing it instead.

“You’re their favorite!” William says, and grunts when Mark nudges him with a childish pout.

“Fine.” You conceded. They only give you a thumbs up in show of support, their hushed whispers spill through the cracks of the door.

“And bring me some soda!” William added. Another thing to snatch away from the very daunting task of going downstairs past the big boss battle (Mark’s parents) and quickly coming back in one piece.

“Good luck!” Mark further encourages with a toothy smile, or lack thereof. He always had a habit of losing teeth as a kid, and said kid is swiftly clicking the door shut a moment later.

Debbie’s a patient person, kind and loving. Like nothing could move her.

But she’s been having an ‘off day’, and it was hard to approach her when it happens in the rare instances of the life’s natural balance of their home.

“Nolan, how many times have I told you about this?” She waves a hand, pointing to the mess he had tracked in. You can only see the large plains of his back, but by the looks of it, he seems dejected.

“Debbie, I swear I didn’t do it. It must’ve been the kids when they were going out-“ and her sigh cuts him off. Like a damn knife slicing through cake.

“Nolan, please.” She puts her hands up, exasperated as she looks away from him and at the thought of this grown man pinning the blame to the young unassuming kids who were silent upstairs.

“Please, just clean up this mess.” And Nolan complies with a defeated nod. He turns around and you catch a glimpse of his face. Your cover most likely blown at the very top of the dim staircase, when an immediate response is gasped from your mouth.

Nolan Grayson. Head man of the house, bigger than most men you’ve ever known—reduced to this state only a woman like Debbie ever could. His ways of persuasion leaving no effect unlike her son’s. Worth a shot, he shrugs.

“Hello?” Debbie calls out, and Nolan’s expression quickly snaps and hardens. You book it back up into the room and jump into the covers.

“What happened?”

“Shh!” The sound of footsteps slowly makes its way to Mark’s room. It cracks open with a creak, eyes most likely roaming over their ‘sleeping bodies’, before shutting it closed. The sounds of feet padding slowly descends away.

“I know your secret!” You loudly declared, giggling with your hands to your mouth.

You haven’t been able to look at Mark and Nolan the same. Every time Mark got scolded by him growing up, all you could imagine was his face and his dragging feet. A snort would come right out of you.

“What’s so funny?” Mark says to you with his brows furrowed and lip jutted. Just like Nolans. But he had everything his father lacked in being convincing with his pleading eyes, which is what made Mark so deadly.

“Nothing.” You smile.

#mark grayson #mark grayson x reader #mark grayson x you #mark grayson invincible #News report!#was gonna make this a but angsty with a plot twist at the end but i decided against it #i was nice today.

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ughdontbeboring · 1 year ago

Text

only you.

Thor x Black/WoC reader

reader comes home a little tipsy and Thor has to remind her, she’s the ONE.

Warnings: Slightly smutty? Insecurities, Thor is that man. Reader is tipsy but she’s totally ok with her man dickin her down.

note: this is my big story back, I don’t think I’ve posted in like a year? not sure, also this is super rushed so not super proud but I had to get it out my head. Also there’s going to be an alternative version of this because I couldn’t decide how I wanted this to go. That will be posted in a week or 2. I have a hard time writing Thor idk way, he’s one of my favs but such a complex character I think. Also only one mention of readers complexion but can be read by anyone.

don’t give permission for my works to be used in any form. If you likes it reblog, share it, love it all that good shit.

⚡️

He watched her as she stumbled slightly in her high heels to where he laid in their bed. How she had managed a whole night out with Val, Natasha and the other women in those things he’d never understand. She made it look so effortless, the way her hips and loose hem of her mini dress swayed with every step she took. Women were definitely magical creatures. His heart thumped against his ribs a little harder as he watched his lovely little woman approach.

Even in the low lit room mostly covered in darkness he could make out every detail of her, maybe it had nothing to do with the ability to see as much as it did with the fact that he had memorized every part of her years ago.

She was wearing a brown chain mail dress as she called it, her hair down and loose, very little makeup and matching high heels. How Thor had allowed her to leave him without taking her on sight, he could only make sense in her power over him. What she promised when she returned to him that night if he allowed her to leave unscathed by his need.

She stood at the side of the bed with her arms cross her chest, a slight frown on her beautiful face as she stared down at him. Thor lay slightly sitting up against the reinforced headboard.

“What is wrong my love” He questioned up at her with genuine curiosity though he had a sneaky suspicion of what kind of mood she may be in. Even if she didn’t admit it, he was sure he knew what she’d need tonight.

“I-you-“ She started before being cut off by her own hiccup.

“Do you need water little one?”

“Yes, No! I- no listen” she started again before her voice drifted off and her eyes started to shift lower along his naked chest and torso before landing on the thin cool sheet that hardly did anything to cover his muscler thighs and slightly soft cock.

She bit back a moan as Thor watched her pretty thick brown thighs clench within arms reach of him. His stomach fluttered slightly at the scene before him and at the sweet scent that started to fill the room.

She seemed to focus on something she wanted to say to him before squaring her shoulders.

“Did-uh did you love that one uh barmaid on that planet..uh the..-“ she started determinedly as her buzzed mind would allow, her eyes rolling up as she tried to remember.

“No” Thor answered swiftly and honestly as he cut her off. He was so sure it almost made her angry at him and it annoyed her more because it’s not even something to be upset about she should be happy he seemed so sure but her tipsy mind wasn’t fully on track yet.

She sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes at him.

“Wait, you didn’t let me fisnish you-you don’t know which one-“

But Thor was quick as he pulled her over his lap and into the empty space next to him, his large body quickly finding his place between her soft thick thighs.

They both let a groan slip as their bodies came in contact. Thor’s bare cock between their bodies, laid snuggly against her panty covered cunt. The wet patch his veiny shaft rocked up and over making him groan.

“It does not matter, I’ve loved none of them” he spoke truthfully again without hesitation, one arm holding him up as his eyes followed the moment of his cock.

She felt like her world as spinning as she looked up at him. She knew she shouldn’t have but the mention of significant others, their ex’s and flings left her mind to wonder too much about Thor’s long life. It was something she really never let herself focus on in the few years they’d been together. But even the girls night out and plenty of shots couldn’t shake her mind from Thor’s earlier comment in front of everyone, about a planet so bizarre, it led to the new information of a one night stand.

“Not even, not even, that one Loki said uh the” she tried. Remembering when she first met Loki, he had tested her by trying to rile her up with talk of Thor’s past lovers. Only to apologize shortly after when he realized for himself she was the one, the only one for his brother. But now that information did nothing for her jealousy.

“No” was Thor’s firm answer as his body slowly rocked into hers harder. His deep eyes raking over her. She looked like a vision. Her hair all around her surrounding her head like an halo, breast basically coming out of her dress from the lack of a bra. Her chest heaving. She was an Angel, Thor was sure the only one in all the universe and she was his.

“Thor! You’re not letting me finish!” She kicked her feet very childishly causing Thor to bite his lip to stop from laughing as he stared down at her. Nothing but amusement and love in this bright blue and brown eyes. “Ok the one from-“

“No. No. No and no, little dove the answer to that question will always be no” he said cutting her off again.

His large hand grips her face, as the other continued to hold himself above her, as she stares up at him completely doe eyed and utterly in love despite her little outburst. He loved her all ways but this way, so open and so needy was one of his favorites, his cock twitched and thicken at the sight and feel of having her fully willing for anything he’d do beneath him.

“Little queen, it matters not who you mention, who anyone could mention from over the centuries of my life. I have loved none of them, even when I thought it could be love you’ve came into my life and shown me how foolish of a God I was to ever consider that love” he spoke truthfully.

The tears swelled in her eyes as she took him in, her fingers dancing all over his face before tracing her thumb along his bottom lip before he started to speak again.

“Because in all these centuries, in all the galaxies, in all the universe I have ever only loved you, I could never have loved another, not when your love exist and even in death it could not fade”

“Thor-“ she sobbed lightly.

“Shhh little queen, I know, let me remind you there is only you for me, there is only we” Thor spoke against her fingertips, before sucking her thumb softly into his wet mouth and rolling his hips into her. She moaned at the contact of skin to skin, she hadn’t even notice Thor rip her thong, his veiny cock pushing up along her bare wet cunt.

“I am yours completely” Thor said before he swiftly buried his thick cock in her til the hilt, her eyes rolled back as her loud gasped filled the quiet room.

#thor #thor odinson #ughwrites #Ughthor #thor odinson fanfiction #thor odinson imagine #thor odinson smut #thor odinson x reader #thor odinson x y/n #thor odinson x you #thor x reader #thor smut #thor odison imagine #Chris hemsworth #chris hemsworth fanfiction #chris hemsworth x you #chris hemsworth x reader #thor x black reader

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oncasette · 2 months ago

Note

elfsong tavern — "you're allowed to feel these things." + astarion (because i fear this prompt was written for him)

the death of peace of mind

pre-confession!astarion x fem!reader

summary: 0.8k

“I’m okay,” you say, holding out the palms of your hands as if that were all the proof he’d need after seeing you nearly bleed out at the Inn. One of those winged freaks had dug their claws deep into your back. It would’ve been fine. You’d been through worse, even just on this journey of yours. Shadowheart had already been on her way to heal you when Astarion had lost it. Daggers flying and flaying skin from bone, fangs tearing through anything that had the misfortune of getting close, more than one arrow directed through the skull of a winged horror or, even, Marcus, the fist that had shown up and caused all of this.

Then, his hands, cradled in crimson, had pulled you into a grip so tight it had stolen the breath from you.

or the one where astarion can't fight the fear of losing you.

masterlist

“Go away,” Astarion grunts. Your fingers hover at the seam of his tent flap, hesitating at the sound of being caught. You weren’t sure how you thought you could sneak up on him this late at night, or if you were even attempting to sneak up on him at all. Still, you waiver.

“Astarion?” you ask softly.

A scoff, then a rustle. His hand creeps out just enough to give you a glimmer of his face under the moonlight barely shining through the shadow curse. “Darling, you do know the meaning of the word away, don’t you?”

Blinking, you lower your hand. You’re a beat away from opening your mouth to respond when Astarion begins again.

“Well, come in, then, if you’re just going to stand there gawking all night,” he grunts before shifting back to lay on his bedroll, the tent flap fluttering shut behind him. You crawl in after him.

His tent had always been on the sparser side. A bedroll, a tattered blanket, more than one empty bloodjar–a wonder no one had caught onto his affliction before his nighttime snack–and a backpack full of his arrows and armor. Recently, though, you’d noticed some additions. Nothing crazy, or gaudy, as he’d like, but enough to make note of.

The dagger you’d found at the goblin camp. He’d been all fangs when you’d handed it to him, accepting it with little less than a barb at the fact that it’d been the first piece of equipment you’d found that was suitable for his needs. You’d found more since, but the ritual dagger still sits beneath his pillow in case your camp becomes compromised in the middle of the night. The toad teapot you’d nicked from the hag’s lair. He’d teased you mercilessly when he’d found it in the camp chest later that evening, ribbing you with a pinch at your waist and a curl to his lip. An amulet you’d found beneath a rock in the druid’s grove dangling like a chain from his backpack, one he put on each night after he fed from you to heal you from your bloodloss.

Additions, you realized, of your time with him.

“Are we just going to sit here and stare at each other, then?” he asks. The ring on his finger glints as he twists it. The matching band sits on your own hand. The engraving on the inside of it feels heavy as you remember it. True Love’s Caress.

“Astarion,” you say, quieter this time, but just as soft. The tips of his ears droop a bit.

“I don’t-” he cuts himself off, jaw clenching enough for the rest of his sentence to come out in a mumble. “want to talk about it.”

You eye him cautiously, your gaze falling over the way the candlelight softens his usually sharp features.

Then, his hands, cradled in crimson, had pulled you into a grip so tight it had stolen the breath from you.

“I know you’re okay, Darling,” he says. His head tilts, eyes narrowed. The wall you’d been picking at for weeks now was starting to come back up.

You shift closer to him, just enough to where your knees are pressed together while mirroring his criss-crossed legs. Your outstretched palms still linger in the air between you.

“You’re allowed to feel these things, you know,” you say slowly. A scoff escapes him, bitten off and sharp. You don’t reach for him, don’t push, but you leave yourself open for him to take if he chooses. “You’re allowed… to be afraid… for someone else.”

He doesn’t meet your eye as his hand finds yours. It’s not hard, or even much of a hold, but he rests it there. Clean from blood, clean from the day, just your skin against his.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admits.

“That’s okay.”

“I don’t-” he cuts himself off with a sigh. “What if you hadn’t been okay, Darling?”

“Withers would have brought me back.” “And what if he couldn’t?” he snaps. His hand is still in yours, gentle despite his tone.

“Look at me,” you murmur. He hesitates, but his eyes find yours in the low light. The carmine catches in the candlelight. “I’m okay. I’m alive. I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You can’t promise that, my sweet,” he whispers.

“Then let me be here as long as I can,” you reply. You’re not promising him the world, barely promising enough to ease the ache still clenching his lungs, but it seems to calm him. His shoulders ease, his ears droop further, his jaw unclenches.

A short nod. “Okay.”

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion ancunin #astarion ancunin x reader #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate astaion

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theriverbeyond · 11 months ago

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DEATH FIRST TO VULTURES AND SCAVENGERS

🦴 Harrow, photo editing, bones et al by me! 📸 photo and harrow robe by @trickstercheshi

took these pics like 2? months and then totally forgot to post them here! anyway Harrow currently features 122 hand sculpted bones (86 of which are in the rosary!), not counting the spares I made or the 336 resin teeth I bought & drilled for her bracelets and waist chain.

my central requirement for this cosplay is basically that every bone (except the face/ear jewlery) HAS to be made as close as possible in size and shape to an anatomically accurate human bone, because I am nothing of not committed to the inherent wonder of human anatomy. this means: no bone tits, no sizing bones up or down as convenient for aesthetics, no animal bones. I think it turned out great and I'm soooooo excited to make EVEN MORE bones for when I wear her next >:3

rigcage progress is documented on tumblr here, and under the cut are some extra ramblings & detail photos of her rosary & stole!

the rosary is based off of normal catholic rosaries, altered it to fit Ninth House aesthetics. a normal rosary has 5 sections ("Mysteries") made of 10 beads each.

MY rosary has nine (9!!) sections for the Ninthefold ressurection, with each section being made of 8 bones. specifically, each section is made of carpal bones, and there is one carpal bone per section to represent each populated House. anatomy fun fact! humans have 8 different carpal bones in the body (one set in each wrist) all of which I lovingly sculpted to attempted anatomical accuracy.

phalanges are the "separating" ("Our Father"?) beads, and the hanging centerpiece is a metacarpal articulating with 3 phalanges -- "the knuckle of your great-grandmother that represented the Rock, and the Universe, and God." (HtN p. 118).

I went back and forth on what I wanted the centerpiece to be, because "knuckle" has an original anatomical meaning (the talus bone -- of like, sheep, so not an option here per my central requirement) but it also has several colloquial meanings. I've heard "knuckle" being used to describe both the interphalangeal joints of the fingers and the metacarpalphalangeal joint as well. I actually did end up sculpting a life sized human talus bone to test how it would look as the centerpiece, but rejected it due to it simply looking very goofy due to scale and size (it was too big 😔). I also learned how to do a proper hail mary knot for this!

anyway: behold some more pics

for Harrow's stole, I was inspired by @/thatbonejunky's art here as well as @/bondibee's art here! I really wanted to lean into the religious leader aspect of her character. Harrow as not the Reverend *Daughter*, but the *Reverend* Daughter -- especially as this is, due to my own proclivities, definitely a Butch Harrow™ cosplay. The fabric is this cool celtic pattern from JoAnns and the skull is applique + hand beading! I went back and forth on if I should give her tassles on the bottom or not but honestly it came down to tassels just seeming more dramatic, and Harrow deserves this

phew ok that was a lot of rambling. all bones are made of creative paperclay, an air dry clay, and painted with basic acrylics. did you know you can find hundreds of free 3D models of bones free online on sketchfab or by searching "[bone name] 3D model". what was i saying. anyway. i love bone :)

#the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #the locked tomb cosplay #gideon the ninth #harrow the ninth #tlt cosplay #harrow cosplay progress tag #gideon nav talking time #YAYYYYYY #i love bone :)#idk what times r good for posting but ive been awake for likr 14 hours now so send post

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soulofapatrick · 7 months ago

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"I’m your idiot" - Senami Shinazugawa x female reader

Summary: You get injured and Senami panics for once

Words: 4K

Warnings: blood; injury

Notes: I just finished Demon Slayer hehe

Y/N’s POV

The Butterfly Mansion is so close now. Its rooftops peek through the dense forest, like a distant promise, barely visible above the treetops. The faint clash of swords echoes on the wind, sharp and rhythmic, a sound that’s both reassuring and agonising. Every step I take feels heavier, as though my body is being pulled down by invisible chains. My legs tremble beneath me, struggling to carry my exhausted frame. Blood, sticky and hot, pools beneath my uniform, seeping through the fabric and staining my skin. It’s a constant, unrelenting flow, a reminder that I’m barely holding on.

Sanemi’s going to be furious.

The thought cuts through the fog of pain clouding my mind like a blade. His voice, sharp as always, rings in my ears: Why didn’t you call for backup? What the hell were you thinking? Those words will bite—harsh and unforgiving—but what stings more than the anger in his voice is the worry that always follows. It’s the worry that weighs heavier on me than anything else.

I stumble, my foot catching on a loose rock, and I barely manage to grab hold of a tree trunk to stop myself from crashing down. My knees threaten to buckle, but I force myself forward, one step after another, despite the waves of dizziness that threaten to swallow me whole.

The courtyard is so close now—just ahead, an open space where the Hashira train. My heart stutters in my chest, a jarring mix of relief and dread. I don’t want him to see me like this, vulnerable, broken. But I know I can’t make it much farther. I’m too far gone.

By the time I reach the courtyard, my vision is nothing but a blur of shapes and colours, spinning as if I’m caught in a storm. The sound of sparring fills my ears—Mitsuri’s laughter, light and infectious, Obanai’s dry remarks laced with annoyance, the sharp clang of steel meeting steel as Giyuu’s blade clashes against Sanemi’s. The noises are distant, muffled, like they’re reaching me through a thick veil of water, as though I’m standing at the bottom of a deep well.

I take one more step.

My body betrays me. My legs give way beneath me, and the world tilts violently. The ground rises up to meet me, hard and unforgiving, as I crash to my knees. My palms scrape against the dirt, rough and raw, and a sharp jolt of pain shoots through my side. I choke on the coppery taste of blood in my mouth, swallowing back a cry that threatens to escape.

For a moment, I can’t breathe. The world spins, my vision darkening at the edges. The pounding of my heartbeat fills my ears, drowning out everything else. But then, through the haze, I see them—the Hashira—training under the sun, their movements swift and fluid, their presence grounding me, even as my strength fades.

“Y/N!” Mitsuri’s voice slices through the fog, high-pitched and laced with panic. My head jerks toward her, and I catch the sight of her wooden sword slipping from her hands, forgotten as she freezes in horror. Her eyes widen in disbelief, her face draining of colour as she takes in the sight of me.

Her cry cuts through the air, sharp and unrestrained, drawing everyone’s attention in an instant. Giyuu’s movements falter, his typically serene composure briefly disrupted by a flicker of concern that crosses his stoic features. Obanai stiffens, his eyes narrowing as they fixate on me, sharp and calculating, the gears in his mind turning in silence. And Sanemi—

Sanemi freezes mid-swing, his body tensing as if time itself has slowed. His sword, once poised to strike Giyuu with practiced precision, slips from his grip and crashes to the ground. The clang of metal against stone echoes across the courtyard, the sharpness of the sound making my already fragile heart skip a beat.

“Y/N!” His voice shatters the tension, cracking with raw, unfiltered panic, cutting through the chaos like a blade.

I barely register the rush of his footsteps—fast, determined—as he breaks into a dead sprint toward me. My arms tremble, the last vestiges of my strength giving way, and before I can crumple entirely to the earth, his presence is there, like a storm rushing in to steady me.

Sanemi drops to his knees beside me with such force that the earth beneath us seems to shudder in response. His hands are on me instantly—rough, urgent, but somehow tender—as he pulls me against his chest, cradling me like I might slip away if he isn’t careful.

“Shit, shit,” he mutters under his breath, his voice barely a whisper but full of panic and disbelief. His eyes rake over me, taking in the blood soaking through my torn uniform, the tremors that wrack my body with every shallow breath. His fingers press against my side, and I can’t help the sharp intake of breath, a flinch of pain that I can’t hide. “What the hell happened to you?”

The words barely reach my mind through the haze of pain clouding everything. I try to respond, but my throat is so dry, parched, that all that escapes is a weak, rasping sound—an echo of a voice that feels like it belongs to someone else.

“Damn it, don’t talk,” he snaps, his voice harsh, but the fury in his words is quickly undermined by the trembling of his hand against my side, the softness that lingers despite the anger in his tone. “You’re bleeding everywhere—how long have you been walking like this?”

I summon what little strength I have left to lift my gaze to his, meeting his eyes—stormy and frantic, filled with a mixture of disbelief, anger, and something softer, something buried deeper that I can’t quite place. With great effort, I force my lips into the faintest of smiles, even though every fibre of my being aches in protest. “Didn’t... want to bother you,” I whisper, each word a struggle, each breath like shards of glass in my chest.

His expression contorts, his lips parting as though to say something, but no words come. For a moment, he simply stares at me, his chest rising and falling rapidly, as though he's at war with himself. He’s torn, and it’s painfully evident—torn between the fury that surges within him and the vulnerability that threatens to break through.

“Bother me?” he growls, his voice thick with emotion, his hand tightening around me, but not in a way that would hurt. “You’re—” He stops himself, inhaling sharply through his nose as though trying to calm the storm inside him, trying to keep himself from unraveling.

Behind him, Mitsuri hovers anxiously, her hands clasped over her mouth, her wide eyes filled with worry. Obanai stands a few steps back, his usual calm indifference replaced by a rare flicker of unease. The atmosphere around us is thick with tension, heavy and suffocating.

“Giyuu, go get Shinobu,” Sanemi barks, his voice cutting through the silence like a whip, his command sharp and unwavering despite the chaos swirling inside him. He doesn’t look up from me, his focus entirely on the fragile weight of my body in his arms. He’s shaking, but he won’t let it show—not yet.

I hear the rapid retreat of Giyuu’s footsteps as he races off to find Shinobu. His footsteps fade into the distance, and in the silence that follows, Mitsuri takes a hesitant step closer. Her voice trembles, barely more than a whisper, as she asks, “Is she—Sanemi, is she going to be okay?”

Sanemi’s jaw tightens at the question, and his lips press into a thin line, a flicker of something dangerous flashing in his eyes. He lifts his gaze to hers, the flicker of panic momentarily giving way to a controlled mask of determination. But when his eyes dart back to my face, the fear he’s trying so desperately to hide is unmistakable. It’s there, in the way his pupils constrict, in the way his hand—still cradling me—quivers.

“She will be,” he says, his voice firm, though the conviction falters like a thread pulled too tight.

His forehead drops to mine, and I can feel his breath—hot, uneven—against my skin. His presence envelops me, grounding me in a reality that feels dangerously distant. “You’re an idiot,” he murmurs, his voice low, cracking with restrained emotion. His words sting, but it’s not the anger that cuts deep. It’s the tremble beneath them—the rawness, the fear. “You could’ve died out there, and for what? To spare me a little worry?”

I manage a weak laugh, though it comes out more like a dry, desperate wheeze, and a bitter taste coats my tongue. “Figured you’d... yell at me less.”

His fingers tighten against my side—almost painfully so—and his shoulders tremble with the weight of emotions he’s fighting to suppress. “You think I care about that right now?” His voice cracks, fragile and breaking. “You think I care about how much I yell at you when you’re bleeding out in my arms?” His words are strained, raw with anguish, and the desperation that laces his voice sends a chill through me, more potent than the pain. “I just—” He stops himself, biting back whatever else he wants to say, his chest rising and falling as he draws in a shaky breath.

“Sanemi...” I whisper his name, my voice barely audible, but it seems to carry the weight of everything unsaid between us.

His lips tremble, and then, before I can even blink, he interrupts me, his forehead pressing harder against mine. “I’ve got you,” he says, his voice a fierce promise, though the cracks in his tone betray the fear that’s clawing at him. “You’re going to be fine. Just—just stay with me, okay? Don’t you dare close your eyes.”

Mitsuri kneels beside us, her hands hovering over me, as though afraid that the slightest touch will make everything worse. “Sanemi, I think—” she begins, but her words falter in the air, swallowed by the tension.

“I know,” he snaps, but then his voice softens as my breathing catches in a strained gasp. “I know,” he repeats, almost to himself, a mantra in the silence that follows.

The world around me tilts, fading further into a haze as the darkness creeps at the edges of my vision. But still, I feel him—his strength, his warmth—as he gently, but urgently, lifts me into his arms. The movement is careful, as if he believes that any jolt will shatter me into a million pieces. And still, his heartbeat pounds in my ears—loud, frantic, wild—but steady enough to hold on to. His arms are like iron bands, yet there’s a tenderness to them, a desperation that breaks through the tension.

As he rises to his feet, his voice drops to a mutter, too low for anyone else to catch, but not too low for me. “You’re everything, you idiot,” he breathes, his words laced with an agony so pure it almost cuts through the darkness threatening to swallow me whole. “Don’t you dare leave me.”

And even as the shadows tug at my consciousness, pulling me deeper into oblivion, I cling to him. To the sound of his voice, jagged and frantic. To the heat of his body, holding me together. To the promise buried in the depths of his words, a lifeline tethering me to the world, even as everything slips away.

——

The first thing I register is the sterile scent of herbs and salves, mingling with the faint scent of wood and fire. My body feels heavy, weighed down by exhaustion, but the softness of the futon beneath me is a welcome reprieve from the unforgiving battlefield. Each muscle aches as if I’ve been torn apart and stitched back together again, but for the first time in what feels like forever, I’m allowed to rest.

I try to shift, but a warmth at my side stops me, pulling me back into the stillness. Slowly, my senses sharpen, and I realise my hand is wrapped in something rough, something solid. A warm, unyielding presence. I blink, my vision blurry at first as the light filters through the window, and my gaze lands on him.

Sanemi.

He’s slumped in a chair beside the bed, his body curved toward me like a lifeline, his head resting gently on my thigh. His white hair spills messily over the edge of the blanket, soft strands caught in the light like streaks of moonlight. His grip on my hand is firm, almost desperate, as if even in sleep, he’s afraid I might slip away.

I blink back the sting of tears at the sight of him, his exhaustion written across every line of his face. His brows are furrowed even now, as though he's still fighting, still caught in some nightmare he can’t wake from. I feel a pang deep in my chest—this man, this warrior, so strong and unwavering, yet here he is, vulnerable, caught between the worlds of dreams and fear.

My free hand moves without thought, trembling fingers sliding gently through the mess of white hair, like I can anchor him to me in the way he’s always done for me. His hair is coarse, yet soft to the touch, like him—tough and unyielding, but full of unexpected warmth. I thread my fingers through it, offering a gentle, soothing stroke.

He stirs almost instantly, his head lifting slightly, his eyes blinking open slowly, groggily at first. The confusion on his face fades almost immediately, his eyes locking onto mine with wide-eyed shock. And then, a relief so intense it fills the room with the weight of it.

“Y/N?” His voice is rough, hoarse, as though he’s been yelling at the world for days, his throat raw from disuse. But the fear in his eyes, the way they soften when they settle on me, tells me everything I need to know.

“Hi,” I whisper, my throat dry and scratchy, the words barely leaving my lips.

For a moment, he doesn’t move. Doesn’t even breathe. His whole body freezes, like he’s afraid if he so much as blinks, I’ll vanish. Then, his hand tightens around mine, and he leans forward, his face hovering just above mine.

“You’re awake,” he breathes, his voice cracking, his face inches from mine. His hand drops from my hand only to cradle my face, his thumb brushing along my cheek in a gesture so gentle, it feels like the softest of prayers. “You—damn it, you’ve been out for four days.”

Four days?

I echo his words softly, my voice faint, barely audible. “Four days?”

He nods, his forehead dropping to rest against mine. His breath is shaky, uneven, and I can feel the tension in his body, the weight of everything he’s carried these past days, all of it pouring out in that single exhale. “Four damn days of you lying here while I—I thought I might lose you,” he mutters, the words laced with the kind of pain I’ve never heard from him before.

My hand moves again, resting softly against his cheek, feeling the roughness of his skin beneath my palm. His eyes snap open, and I smile faintly at him, the curve of my lips weak but genuine.

“I’m here, Sanemi,” I murmur softly, my voice a quiet assurance against the storm he’s been weathering. “You didn’t lose me.”

His breath hitches, and for a moment, he doesn’t speak. He only stares at me, his jaw clenching as if he’s fighting to hold back the flood of emotions threatening to spill over. And when his voice finally breaks the silence, it’s barely a whisper—so quiet, yet so charged with everything he’s been holding in.

“You scared the hell out of me,” he says, his voice low and trembling, the words laden with an intensity that shakes me to the core. His grip on me tightens, and I feel the weight of his heart pressing against mine, raw and unfiltered.

“Don’t,” he cuts me off, his voice sharp but his touch impossibly gentle. “Don’t apologise. Just... just promise me you won’t do something that stupid again. Promise me, Y/N.”

His words slice through the air with a force that makes my chest tighten. There’s a desperation in his tone that I can’t ignore, an unspoken fear that tugs at the deepest part of me. He’s trying so hard to be the brash, no-nonsense Sanemi—the one everyone knows, the one who wears his pride like armour—but here, in this moment, with me, he’s stripped bare, vulnerable and raw in a way I’ve never seen before.

“I promise,” I say, and the weight of the words makes them feel like a vow. I mean it—more than I can even put into words. I won’t put him through that again.

His shoulders sag in visible relief, and for a moment, he just holds me there, his forehead still pressed against mine, grounding me. It feels like time slows, the world outside of this room falling away until there’s nothing left but the two of us—this fragile moment, this fragile promise.

Then, almost as if remembering who he is, he pulls back slightly, his face hardening in the way only Sanemi can. But his hand doesn’t leave my face, his thumb still tracing idle patterns along my skin, a touch so soft it contrasts with his words.

“You’re still an idiot for not calling for backup,” he mutters, the sharpness in his voice still there, but it’s tempered with something softer, something more... tender.

I can’t help but smile at him, the corners of my lips lifting in a small, genuine way. “I’ll call next time,” I promise, the words coming easy now.

His brows furrow in mock frustration, but the softness in his eyes betrays him. “There better not be a next time,” he growls, and despite the threat, there’s a protective warmth in his gaze that melts something inside me.

I laugh weakly, the sound light, but enough to ease something in him. He lets out a breath, low and quiet, like he’s been holding it in for days, and then... he leans down. The pressure of his forehead against mine relieves some of the tension that’s been mounting in his body, but then, as if drawn by some invisible force, he presses his lips—barely a touch, a whisper—against my forehead.

It’s fleeting, a soft, warm caress that holds more weight than any words could. The kiss sends a spark racing through me, igniting something fierce and unrelenting in my chest. The fear, the pain, the exhaustion—it all fades into the background, leaving only one undeniable truth in its place: I almost died without ever telling him how I feel.

I can’t let that happen.

Before I can overthink it, my hand shoots up, fingers curling around his jaw. His eyes widen in surprise, and I see the shift—his guard goes up, just for a second, before I tug him down, closing the space between us. His lips are still warm from the kiss on my forehead, but this time, the kiss is mine to give.

He doesn’t pull away. There’s a hesitation, a moment of shock in his eyes before they soften, and then he’s kissing me back. The world outside of this moment ceases to exist—there’s only the feeling of his lips on mine, the pressure of his body against me, the taste of relief and longing. His hand moves to the back of my head, holding me to him like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go.

When we finally break apart, my breath is shallow, my heart pounding in my chest as if it’s trying to make up for lost time. His forehead rests against mine again, and I can feel his pulse—rapid, frantic—matching my own.

“You’re... you’re still an idiot,” he whispers, his voice a little more hoarse than before, but there’s something softer in his tone now. Something he hasn’t allowed himself to say, something I can feel through the way his fingers tremble lightly on my skin.

“I know,” I breathe out, my voice shaky. “But I’m your idiot.”

He huffs out something between a laugh and a sigh, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided grin. “Damn right you are.”

The weight of everything we’ve been through lingers in the space between us, heavy but comforting, as if we’re both silently acknowledging the unspoken bond that’s been forged through our shared trials. It’s a quiet understanding—one that only the two of us can fully grasp.

Then, without warning, he leans down again, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that’s softer this time, slower. There’s no rush, no desperation. It’s about something deeper, something more meaningful. Every brush of his lips against mine feels like a confession, a promise of everything he hasn’t been able to say. It’s a tenderness I’ve never seen from him before, and it catches me off guard in the best way.

But, of course, nothing can stay perfect for too long.

Behind us, there’s a faint cough—awkward, yet still loud enough to interrupt. Sanemi jerks back slightly, his body stiffening as he glares over his shoulder, his face flushing an impressive shade of red. Mitsuri stands a few feet away, her hands pressed against her flushed cheeks, eyes wide with an excitement she’s struggling to contain.

“I—sorry!” she squeaks, her voice high-pitched and practically vibrating with excitement. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! I just—um—should I get Shinobu?”

Sanemi’s scowl is quick to return, but the harshness of his usual tone is absent, replaced by something softer, more resigned. “Go!” he barks, though his voice is far from venomous. The slight embarrassment in his eyes gives away his true feelings. “Just... go.”

Mitsuri, clearly trying not to burst out laughing, nods eagerly before darting off, her excited giggles trailing behind her like a whirlwind. I bite back my own laughter, my hand still resting gently on Sanemi’s face as I meet his gaze again.

The shift in energy is palpable. What had been a tender, quiet moment now feels lighter, more relaxed, even though a faint blush still colours his cheeks. Sanemi’s scowl softens as soon as he looks at me, and I can see the weight of his emotions finally beginning to settle.

“We’re going to talk about this,” he says, his voice firm, though there’s no anger behind the words—just an undeniable sense of care.

I can’t help but smile, the corners of my lips twitching up as I stare at him. “About what? The fact that I’m still breathing?”

His eyes narrow in mock suspicion, and I can see the mix of affection and frustration swirling in them. “Don’t push your luck,” he mutters, though there’s a spark of amusement dancing in his gaze.

“I’m serious,” I tease, my fingers gently tracing the outline of his jaw. “I’m not going anywhere, Sanemi. Not now. Not ever.”

His expression softens again, and for a moment, it’s like the world outside of this room has stopped spinning. It’s just the two of us, wrapped in the aftermath of everything we’ve survived and everything we’ve yet to face. The unspoken words between us are more powerful than any argument or confession could ever be.

He finally gives a small nod, his thumb brushing across my cheek. “I know,” he says quietly. “I just... I wasn’t ready for it. But I’ll get used to it, I guess.”

I laugh softly, the sound light and free. “Good,” I say, my voice full of affection. “Because I’m not planning on going anywhere either.”

Demon Slayer Masterlist To be made TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

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elysiality · 23 days ago

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࿐ྀུ 𖠑 JOBS I THINK THE YELLOWJACKETS WOULD HAVE IN A NO-CRASH AU (because I'm bored as hell)

JACKIE TAYLOR — professional soccer player. not because she's good at it or anything— she just wants to. realistically, she would've probably been Jeff's wife but I choose to believe that she went to Rutgers, had her lesbian awakening when she realised how much she missed Shauna and then pursued a professional career in soccer. or she starts up a chain of general convenience stores or smth. also think she has tattoo artist potential but you guys aren't ready for that conversation yet.

SHAUNA SHIPMAN — publishing house owner or a writer for children's books/YA thrillers. I think it's safe to assume that with proper medical care and assistance and y'know, food, Shauna would've delivered her baby and been a much happier person overall. she goes to brown and majors in media studies or something and then completes her education to start writing her own books. her and that damn journal are inseperable, so why not start a career in it? (I also choose to believe her and Jackie would atleast date if not get married— or she starts dating Lottie ayy-) could also see police agent as a career for her.

LOTTIE MATTHEWS — again, realistically, she would probably have been groomed to take over her father's business. it's either that, or she goes to uni and studies business/luxury branding and management and then ends up working for a luxury brand consultant/model OR she detours completely from the posh life and starts over from scratch by pursuing sports as her career (which would probably get her cut off but hey, atleast she and Jackie are together !) or what the hell, she starts a cult.

NATALIE SCATORCCIO — indie rock band guitarist or child service worker. no in-between. she would've either wanted to choose a fun career that she enjoyed doing or, knowing how empathetic she is, would've wanted to work and ensure that other children didn't have to go through what she did. she takes her job very seriously.

LAURA LEE — she starts a queer youth camp for Christians or becomes a pre-school teacher (presumably in a catholic but accepting school). she's so devoted to her faith, I can't even imagine she'd do anything else. she also has the vocation to become a pediatric nurse, actually.

VAN PALMER — either runs a video rental store like she does in the actual timeline, but finishes college with a business degree first to help actually develop her brand further or she works as a professional wedding photographer for queer people. yeah. also has grease monkey potential.

TAISSA TURNER — still think she would become a lawyer, and maybe pursue state senator? she'd probably leave Wiskayok so there's that. I think she would've been much happier to be a lawyer in a no-crash au, especially since I assume that she and Van get married when it's legalised and go everywhere together (which is one of the reasons why Van became a wedding photographer!!) (TAI TURNER FOR PRESIDENT ??)

MISTY QUIGLEY — pediatrician, ob gyn or something in astrophysics. while I do think Misty more or less chose the correct career for herself in terms of field, I feel like she doesn't really have the vocation for nurse?? like she was terrible to all those old people?? but she's definitely smart enough to get into science.

TRAVIS MARTINEZ — he works on a farm or he's a firefighter. next. also has street artist/tattoo artist potential.

AKILAH — beekeeper, horticulturist or marine biologist. need I explain? she's so nature-aligned that again, I can't see her doing anything else...

MARI IBARRA — nutritionist or dietician. she's the dumb girl who's surprisingly good at numbers when it comes to food. I genuinely don't think she likes being the chef, it was just a necessity so she did it :/

MELISSA HAT — I don't know. genuinely. professional hat-wearer. model, in layman terms.

GEN — neurologist or cardiologist.

COACH SCOTT — he quits, the girls throw a big party for him, and he moves in with Paul, running a sports equipment store :)

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miyaagis · 9 months ago

Text

ெ˚❀ if we leave, will anybody notice? fushiguro toji

lovers shouldn't hide, not when their love is as genuine as a child's laughter. and their forever faithful witness? the moon, keeping their shared adoration a secret from daylight.

but even she has a dark side. so when it lands in reverse, expect your secrets to no longer be yours.

explicit content‐mdni. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ non sorcerer au, rich daughter!reader, stablehand!toji, forbidden love, pretty nasty oral (male receiving) bc he's all gross and sweaty, feminine pet names, mentions of urine and bad smell lol, mentions of guns and violence, mentions of breeding, too much plot i got carried away (• ᴖ •｡)

word c. ₊˚⊹ ᰔ 1,647

kinktober m.list

the longer the days dragged on, the more restless your heart and conscience became.

five days and four, almost five, torturing nights since your lover had been taken away from you, and you felt at the brink of hysteria. where was he? was he even alive? it haunted you to your very core that he could be lying lifelessly, his handsome face tainted by violence when his biggest crime was to love a woman of a different social class than his.

“how dare a low-born, dirty servant like him touch an inch of your skin!”

he wasn’t even a servant, but one of the men in charge of managing the stables at your family’s residence. Toji certainly didn’t deserve the blame, taking into account that it had been you who carelessly exposed your nightly rendezvous spot.

insults and screams were exchanged between your father and Toji—the latter defending your love even as he was muzzled and dragged away from your side, a sight that had you weeping endlessly.

with the weight of your parents' anger during the day, nights were reserved for your grief, lurking in the shadows of your home like a stranded ghost. had you been sobbing, like most nights, you would've missed the pained laments coming from the kitchen.

the staff left hours ago, but it only made sense that once you reached the kitchen, you'd be met with one of them, most likely finishing their duties. after all, who else could it be?

however, it was dark and empty with no one in sight.

“who's there?”

the noise was clearer this time, sharper. a muffled groan coming from behind the rusted door of the old storage room that only grew into desperate bellowing when the door creaked as you opened it.

a naked man stood before you, limbs chained to a metal rack, and with a hollowed bull’s head over his own.

it was instant, having been familiarized with his body, you knew it was him before he could even speak. she recognizes him and calls out his name, getting more muffled sounds and pants from him, confirming her suspicions.

"Toji?"

he bellowed in agony, pulling at the chains even if it teared painfully at his sore muscles. his deep roar shook your soul, your heart growing uneasy upon seeing him suffering in such an inhuman way.

rushing to him, your cries flew easily, sobs and gasps rocking your body as you clung to his waist.

"what did they do to you!? are you alright?" you wished so badly to see his face, to somehow know what was going through his mind but all you could see were the dull eyes of the bull, "I'm getting you out of this."

"no, love..."

with trembling hands, your fingers tightly grasped the animal's head and pushed it upwards, a frustrated gasp turning into a sob when you realized the weight easily surpassed your strength.

“baby, it’s so heavy. i can’t–” your words cut off as you tried again, grunting and forcing your muscles to lift it but it was useless. the guilt pressed down on your heart as a fresh set of tears ran down your cheeks, “i can’t lift it. i’m so, so sorry…”

each sob was a stab to his heart, already picturing your pretty eyes brimming with tears.

“my love…” he tried to sound gentle yet firm, to be a source of strength for you. but it was obvious he was also overtaken by his own pain by having you so close and not being able to see or touch you, “it’s alright, doll. it's not your fault. i'm not mad, baby.”

your arms wrap around his waist, not caring of the layer of sweat and grime covering his form. it must've taken around five minutes for the never-ending weeps to turn into small sniffles. neither of you spoke, not trusting your own voices and instead letting your bodies do the talking.

his usual scent was overpowered by days of sweat, the buildup of dirt on his body emanating a strong stench. as soon as you stepped into the dusty room, your perfume contrasted beautifully against the foul smell, his body reacting immediately to your soft body clinging onto his.

“Toji,” his name fell from your lips in a breathless murmur, your eyes traveling down to his twitching shaft against your hip.

with a deep inhale, he flinched when your damp lips kissed his exposed skin, starting at the center of his chest before moving down to his pubic bone. a muttered curse from him let you know he liked the attention, as well as his semi-hard length bobbing upwards.

his flushed tip made its way past the foreskin, barely peeking out before you decided to help. with just one stroke, it was finally exposed to your eyes, heart rate spiking up at the sight.

as the bulbous head pushed through, it exposed his slit adorned with a translucent bead of pre-cum, your hand grasping it firmly once it stood fully erect. you could feel the tingling between your legs, juices slicking up your entrance as your eyes marveled at what was presented before them.

the limited air around his head began to suffocate him, or was it your trembling touch? either way, he feared he'd end his oxygen supply just by your touch on his dick.

with a gentle flick of your tongue, you licked the pearlescent drop from his crown, earning you a shiver and the deepest rumble from him. the taste was different than usual, stronger and a bit acid.

"I missed you," a mere whisper, but it held a heavy sentiment, "oh, Toji... I missed you like you have no idea. I feared you were–"

the unfathomable thought caused you to stop speaking and just nuzzle against his groin, grounding yourself and focusing on the fact that he was there with you.

he wished to see you so badly, to reassure you that everything would be fine. however, the sudden flares of arousal mixed with his dehydration sent his almost delirious self into despair.

you didn't seem to mind the state of his body, your pretty lips coating his shaft with gentle kisses and licks that only resulted in more pre-cum to leak onto your lips.

with practiced ease, you finally wrapped your mouth around him, suctioning softly while your hands massaged the rest of his length.

the taste was considerably hard to ignore, pungent and with traces of concentrated urine. but the thought of his own taste mixed with sweat on his poorly cleaned member aroused you even more. he's your man—there's not an inch of him that could disgust you. and it only revealed how bad the state of his body was, very likely dehydrated and malnourished.

it was so wet and lewd, a mess of spit and pre that allowed your mouth to glide all over his member. he could picture it vividly, his heart aching for missing such sight.

"nghh fuck– not gonna last at this pace, princess," his hips jumped forward, your tongue soothing his twitching member by gliding against the underside.

"s'okay, baby," you focused instead on the tip, your lips wrapping around the soft flesh tightly.

deeper growls followed your harsh suckling, drawing out drop after drop of him, causing his balls to tighten already.

"shit, shit, fuuuuck– slow down, woman... m'getting so close," he tried to stop you, voice raw and husky as he felt like melting inside your warm mouth.

his voice was heaven to your ears, proud to have him at the brink so early. you couldn't imagine how lonely he must've been the past few days, not knowing his fate, and the thought of it tugged at your heartstrings which encouraged you to give him a sliver of the love he deserved.

"don't care, baby. come in my mouth," encouraging words of praise could undo him, you were aware of that, "c'mon, please? you already taste so good..."

oh, you were begging so prettily, worshipping his aching cock like it was the tastiest thing you've had in your life.

how could he deny his baby from something that belonged to her?

three spurts of semen followed instantly, streaming from his flushed tip and towards your eager mouth. it was euphoric and a catalyst for him, the post coital clarity dawning on him that he's not willing to give you up.

"mhm, baby... so eager," he laughed but was interrupted by his own gasp as you tongued his slit, "fucking shit– you gonna lick my cock raw?"

his threat only made you giggle, deciding to stop messing with him and just kiss his softening length.

bounded to those chains, there’s nothing he can do but take what you're giving him, fists aching to place your legs over his shoulders and bury his dirty cock inside your plush insides, to see the look in your eyes when he’s pounding so fast that all you can do is take it.

he should've gotten you pregnant when he had the chance, but he vowed to make sure not to make that mistake again.

once you had calmed down and finally noticed the industrial pliers on the rack, you clipped the bull's head open, needing to see his face, to kiss him.

“good girl,” what was left of the bull’s head lied a meter away, damp hair on his forehead and an unkept stubble decorating his jaw as he watched in fascination his fragile, spoiled girl trying and failing—how cute—to break his chains, "there's no rush, baby. we have all night."

he vowed to himself that once you freed him from those chains, no one would get on his way this time. not your father, not your mother, absolutely no one. there was no gun within an acre of land capable of stopping him from having you.

he’d make sure of that.

#鬼。miyaagis #kinktober #kinktober 2024 #jjk smut #jjk x reader smut #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #toji smut #toji x reader smut #toji fushiguro smut #skyetober.24 #toji.xo #dividers: anitalenia / dollywons

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alexanderlightweight · 15 days ago

Note

Hi, all your wonderful series are just chef's kiss.

Could I ask for a follow up after Magnus and Ragnor discussed who needs to be offed to prevent Kelpie!Alec from finding out. Would love to see if they found a ritual for the council to discreetly cleaned up everyone. Especially Camille and making jewellery out of her soul for Alec.

Thank you.

thank you so much! uh this got a bit more team immortal being soft about each other? I think I don't know I just love them. here is the last bit I hope you enjoy

<3 lumine

undertow

“Camille was before Alexander and while I know I’ve mourned her plenty, I haven’t even seen her in the last half a decade.” Magnus says half an hour later as he frowns at a page, “I don’t think using her as a focal will work. Now for what we want, or need. What I had with Camille was something far deeper than what I’ve shared with any since she broke my heart.”

Ragnor’s heart falters before galloping wildly in his chest, he begs the world and his very magic that Magnus has not changed his mind, that Magnus will not relent in his justice against Camille once again.

“But she still needs to be dealt with.” Catarina’s voice cuts through his panic. A soft, gentle reminder yet firm, like a life-giving river that still cuts through rock, over time.

Magnus doesn’t react poorly.

He doesn’t even turn, a half-hearted scoff of laughter bursting from his lips as he flips another page.

“Of course she does, and quickly. I just don’t think she should be included in this ritual... will make it a bit messy don’t you think?” And then Magnus hesitates, finger tapping on a line of faded ink. “And while I have wooed Alexander by his own customs, I’ve hardly courted him by my own, let alone what is demanded for a warlock of my rank. Something made from the heart of my last true lover will do nicely to prove my sincerity.”

Catarina understands his meaning before Ragnor and she smiles, teeth sharp and gleaming with delight as fondness and joy crinkles the corners of her eyes. Her hair gleams like starlight against the deep indigo of her skin and the universe blinks at him when her lashes flutter and her eyes close with laughter.

“If your boy does ever find out the truth, you can prove your intentions are true despite the misunderstanding. As is your ardor. Doubling up, even tripling the courtship gives it more legitimacy as well. Your Alexander can hardly feel cheated when you’ve chained him to you with vow and magic, oath and deed.”

Magnus nods, pleased by the answer they’ve found and Ragnor finds that he’s just still marveling at how easily Catarina follows Magnus during one of his moods.

Mainly the kind of brilliant mood that Ragnor is far too old and exhausted to keep up with this late in the season.

“How on earth did you manage to glean all that from what he was saying?” Ragnor can’t help his grumble even though he keeps it low. “I was still worried we’d have to re-convince him to do away with the leech.”

Catarina tuts and smacks his fingers with a flick of magic but doesn’t disagree, which means she’s agreeing.

“Yes, I could see your panic when you thought that once again, she’d escape what she’s due.” Cat’s voice dips into an anger so soft it feels like ash against his ears, “however Magnus is too enamoured to currently remember anything but his disdain of her. The pain she’s held over him, toyed at him with, it’s not vanished but it’s no longer raw.

“She can no longer hold the good memories like a sword against the bad when he’s creating almost nothing but good memories with his boy. There’s something now that exists, more interesting than the pain, more bright than her bitterness and in order to not let the wounds be reopened, he knows he has to let go. Before—” Catarina’s voice trails off and she glances over to where Magnus is engrossed in a diagram, “before he had to hold onto the pain. It was proof she cared for him, loved him, at one point. Even if it was all a lie, he needed that lie, but he needs it no longer.”

A moment passes between them, silent and understood and full of love for each other and Magnus, who gleams like a small sun under their adoring gaze.

“This one,” Magnus calls to them, voice raised with dark glee. “Not only will it rejuvenate the wards of the Labyrinth. It will also work without the other Elder's needing to be involved beyond their magic in the ritual."

“Oh, very clever.” Ragnor himself would never have considered using such a unique ritual in such an innovative way, but that’s all the more reason for why he insists Magnus join him when he researches.

The ritual will erase connections.

Typically those of blood but Magnus has no blood to erase left in any realm, except that of his father. However there is another use, for those who hold worshippers and wish to cleanse their followers and start anew.

With the use of semen and saliva instead of blood or a tether of worship, Magnus can instead find those anointed by his touch and in a way, excommunicate them.

From life.

AN:

Alec is napping (magnus is not sleeping right now he’s just disappearing when Alec does sleep to plot) in the new roof pond and Magnus is going to have a hell-of-a-time luring his darling out from the cool waters

Magnus is going to sleep eventually, he just wants some things straightened out first.

#lumine writes #writing wednesday #writing wednesdays #undertow #magnus bane #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #malec #team immortal #catarina loss #ragnor fell

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darknight3904 · 15 days ago

Text

Every Breath You Take

Chapter Sixteen- Lincoln

Tommy Miller x Reader, Slowburn!Joel Miller x Reader

Summary: You get to know your cargo, Ellie as Joel leads the way to Lincoln.

Warnings for this part: Canon typical violence, themes, language, gore, and horror.

Word Count: 2.4k

Previous Part / Series Masterlist / The Last of Us Masterlist

August 2023 Outskirts of Boston

Your boots crunch on the forest floor. Joel’s broad back stares at you as he stands next to a river, eyes fixed on something you couldn’t see. The kid, Ellie, was sitting propped up against a tree, silent for once as she picked at her nails.

Birds flutter overhead as you stare up at the blue sky, mind racing to replay the events of the day. Another person you knew was gone. Tess got bitten in a fucking musuem and the Fireflies had been attacked at the State house.

Tess had used herself as cannon fodder against the hoard of infected that had sensed your presence after Ellie stepped on one of those damn chains of cordyceps. Joel had been entirely unreadable the moment Tess pulled her shirt away from her collarbone, showing him the difference between her bite and Ellie’s arm. You barely knew what to do as she spoke, trying to convince you and Joel Ellie was the real deal, telling you to get her to Bill and Frank’s.

Before you knew it, Joel was grabbing Ellie and yelling your name to get you moving as Tess declared she was going to blow the State Building sky high with the fuel the Fireflies left behind. Your head had whipped around, shooting her a lingering look as Joel told you to move quicker, the distant sound of infected filling your ears.

Tess had given you a nod, a firm one, that was the last image you had of her. She didn’t even look scared, of course, when was she ever? She’d always known just what to do, giving you and Joel orders like she knew the future somehow.

You sigh deeply, there was nothing you could do about it, you’d have to move on, another person you knew who was dead now. Your gaze turns to Ellie, who has Joel’s brown coat draped over her legs. You don’t know when that happened, but it’s kinda…sweet almost that he’s letting her keep warm with it.

The sound of snapping twigs has Joel turning, head on a swivel as his eyes meet yours. You freeze for a second before walking up to stand beside him, staring out at the flowing water and the way it sparkles when the sun hits it just right. Your eyes fell to the small rock tower he’d built, it was something stupid really; no tower of rocks was going to reverse the past few hours.

“I’m sorry.” You softly say, “I know you and Tess were…close.”

The words Joel tries to conjure up die on his tongue, and he simply nods, eyes barely meeting yours before they fall back on the water that gently splashes over both your boots.

“We’re headed to Bill and Frank’s. Figure they might know what to do with her.” Joel finds himself saying. Right to business, it’s easier than thinking too much about what he could’ve done back in the city to keep her from being bitten.

You nod and he’s grateful that you’re not pushing him to talk about his feelings or whatever bullshit shrinks do. Not that you’re a therapist or anything…he just doesn’t want to discuss what happened to Tess, how he might’ve been able to stop it from happening.

“So, you think she’s the real deal?” You ask, referencing the girl behind the two of you

Joel glances over at Ellie, who is already staring at your turned backs.

“I dunno.” He sighs tiredly. This day feels like it’s been a thousand years long, and it’s barely even noon

You return to Ellie and your bags, Joel cautiously staring at her.

“There are more bugs out here than I thought,” Ellie says suddenly, referring to the tall trees

You gave her a look from your place behind Joel, she was poking the bear with this small talk of hers.

“I was thinking-” She starts

And here it comes.

“I don’t want your sorrys.” Joel cuts her off

“I just,” Ellie says, “Wanted to say that no one made you guys take this job, you made this choice, the three of you did.”

You watch her carefully, not sure what her point is in telling you and Joel this.

“I don’t want to be blamed for something that isn’t my fault.” She finishes

You look over at Joel. Of course, Tess isn’t her fault, she knew the risk of the open city, you all did. Joel gives Ellie a nod, ah yes the trademark Joel Miller communication. Don’t feel like actually talking? Just give a nod or a grunt and your message has been conveyed.

“How much longer?” Ellie asks next

“Five-hour hike,” Joel says, glancing in the direction of the road that will lead to Lincoln.

Ellie nods, her arms swinging at her sides as she hands Joel his jacket back, “We can manage that.”

The three of you walk beside each other, shoes making soft stomping sounds as Ellie takes in her surroundings and asks you and Joel just about every question in the book.

“How long have you been in Boston? Are you guys related? Are you guys from Boston?”

“Been here about 18 years, we’re not related, originally from Texas. That’s-”

“I know where Texas is.” She cuts you off

Great. Fedra makes their kids study geography, the world is saved. A singular minute of silence before she’s talking again. Thank god there weren’t many infected out here.

“I feel like I know you.” Ellie says, “Your face is familiar.”

You look over at her, scanning her figure as you try to think about where you might’ve seen her. At first, your brain is empty, you don’t hang out with kids, and your only friends are Tess and Joel. Technically, Ophelia too, but she didn’t really like you; you were just forced coworkers in the orphanage.

The orphanage. This is the little shit who knocked over the mop bucket like four years ago!

“You’re that kid I reported.” You blurt out

“Reported?” Joel asks

“She fell into a bucket while Ophelia and I were mopping. Apparently she’d done it like a zillion times before that, too.” You say

“Okay, it was like five other times, not a zillion.” Ellie defends herself, “Second, you two were taking up wayyy too much room in that hallway.”

“We were doing our jobs.” You point out shooting her a glare

“Yeah, well…”Ellie trails off

You roll your eyes. What an idiot.

“When we get to Bill and Frank’s, I’ll make you mop their floor.” You hum

Ellie’s nose wrinkles at the thought of chores, “Are they nice? Bill and Frank?”

“Frank is.” Joel says, “Bill is…”

“Well, he’s Bill.” You finish for Joel, unsure of how to describe Bill. Total hardass? Evil overlord? Yeah, they fit the description, but there was more to him.

You think about Bill and Frank, it’s been a bit since you last saw them. Back in June was the last time you’d been in Lincoln. Frank wasn’t doing well, and it had nearly made you cry the way he struggled with even the simplest of tasks now.

“You’ll like Frank.” You declare, “Frank likes everyone, he’s like…a golden retriever.”

“What’s a golden retriever?” Ellie asks

“It’s a dog who loves everyone and everything.” You say, “When we get you to the Fireflies, maybe Marlene can find you one.”

Ellie scoffs but doesn’t comment on your explanation.

“So, how long have you two been together?” She motions to the two of you, Joel on your left while she’s on your right.

Joel clears his throat almost nervously, “We ain’t together.”

“No like…working together or whatever it is you guys do.” Ellie clarifies

“We’ve known each other since before the outbreak.” You say honestly

“Ohhhh…wait, how old are you?” Ellie asks, looking at you as if she can’t decide if you’re 70 or 17.

“You talk a lot.” You sigh, normally you weren’t one for prolonged silence but this kid was seriously talkative

“Are you like 50?” Ellie asks

Fifty?! Were you that washed up already?!

“I’m 39.” You huff, “I’ll be 40 at the end of this month.”

Ellie nods, whispering, “Ancient.”

You roll your eyes at her comment, “Yeah, well, if I’m ancient, then Joel here is prehistoric.”

Joel says your name, his voice deep and gruff as he nudges you with his elbow, it’s a warning to knock it the hell off before he gets upset.

“Oh, and how old are you then?” Ellie asks quickly

Joel glares at her for a moment, you can tell he’s debating answering, “56.”

“Oh yeah, prehistoric.” Ellie agrees with you and you snicker. Maybe she wasn’t so bad.

You reach the old gas station in good time. Joel and you begin shifting old shelves around trying to remember where the stash was. It’d been awhile since you’d been here, where the hell did he hide the supplies?

Ellie wanders off into the back office ignoring you as you tell her not to go far. All this work for a truck you couldn’t let her die in a run down gas station.

“Fuck…” Joel curses, surveying the ground, great he’s as clueless as you

The two of you continue to struggle and you ask after another three minutes, “Is there even anything here?”

“Yes, there’s something here.” Joel says, “I know it.”

You roll your eyes, oh of course because he knows it, it has to be true. A loud clang sounds from the office and you turn your head to the half closed door, Joel approaching it cautiously as he calls Ellie’s name. You expect the worst as you hear shuffling, expecting to see Ellie stagger out, half eaten by an infected. Instead, she cockily waves a box of tampons in Joel’s face.

“Picked over my ass.”

Ellie requests the gun Joel’s leaving behind. She’s been denied twice by you and Joel. The two of you are working well together, keeping this kid in line so you can get out to Wyoming. You didn’t know what you’d find there. Joel was going for Tommy, but what were you going for? Tommy as well? That didn’t seem right. Who knows if he’d even want to see you? You sigh and your feet drag a bit, you think of the warm shower that will await you in Lincoln, and the conversation you’ll be able to make with Frank and the glare from Bill you’ll get after cracking a stupid joke. At least you’ll have that before embarking across the damn country with Joel of all people.

“Holy shit!” Ellie exclaims, stopping suddenly to stare into a big open field where the wreck of an airplane from twenty years ago rots away, “Either of you ever fly in one of those?”

“Few times.” Joel says

You nod, thinking of the tikes you’d flown to Disney World with your parents and the time you’d visited your Aunt Helena in Maine one summer.

“Lucky…” Ellie declares

You think back to the uncomfortable mess that was traveling in an airplane, the limited leg room and shitty snacks, not to mention how bad it’d be to get stuck in the middle seat.

Joel scoffs, voicing your opinions out loud, mentioning the overpriced sandwiches they sold and the lack of room.

“You got to go up in the sky.” Ellie points out, not buying your or Joel’s misery for one second

“Yeah, well, so did they.” He points out morbidly

Way to be a ray of sunshine, Joel.

By the time you’re within one mile of Lincoln, Ellie has officially exhausted your social battery. You can tell Joel’s tired of her too, neither of you are used to talking to a stranger this much, most interactions with them were all business. It’s not like you hated her…you just needed a bit of silence. Instead, you found yourself answering questions about the outbreak and what life was like before to a curious fourteen-year-old. You even accounted for what homecoming dances and pep rallies were. Ellie declared them dumb, and you and Joel agreed as you thought about how bad your butt had hurt after sitting on the gym bleachers for hours while the cheerleaders flipped around on the mats.

By the time you reach the gate to Bill and Frank’s, you can tell something is amiss. Normally, Bill’s sensors and cameras would pick you up and have the old man waiting for you on the other side of the gate. In recent years, he’d waited on the porch, unwilling to leave Frank alone in the house.

Instead, nothing but the scuttle of fallen leaves greets you. Joel punches in the gate code and the three of you slip inside. You stare at the dead flowers outside the house, Frank would never let them go like that, Bill kept up with all the aesthetics just to keep Frank happy. He worked to keep their house a home.

When Joel finds the front door unlocked, you begin to worry. Sure, it was entirely plausible they were somewhere together, maybe out back or perhaps in the middle of a midday nap. But leaving the door open? Bill would never.

“Wait here.” Joel points to the dining room table, which has an abandoned set of plates, rotten food atop them

You follow Joel to the bedroom, his knuckles have barely brushed the door when Ellie calls both your names, her loud voice bouncing off the walls of the silent home.

She reads the letter slowly, her soft voice filling your ears as you tighten your hands into fists, your nails biting into your skin as you let your eyes flutter shut. Bill and Frank, both of them dead, are lying in their bedroom down the hall. You swallow thickly as if your saliva is beginning to choke you and glance at Joel whose face remains unreadable, the same face he’s worn every day for the past twenty years without Sarah.

Joel takes the letter, skimming it over before turning on his heel and disappearing outside. You point at the chair, wiping a tear off your face,

“Stay.” You tell her

You find Joel in the garage, hands planted on the hood, his head down. He turns to look at you, eyes filled with something you can’t make out, sadness perhaps. Maybe remorse.

“Battery will be done in a couple of hours, let’s stock up on some stuff,” Joel says quickly

“What’re we doing with her?” You ask your voice barely a whisper

“Take er’ with us. Maybe Tommy is still in contact with some Fireflies.” Joel guesses

You nod, turning around and leaving the garage. Outside, you take a deep breath, trying to calm your mind and give Bill and Frank a proper mental goodbye. By the time Ellie has made it off the first step of the porch, you’ve pulled yourself together, leading her back inside to gather supplies for the journey ahead.

Next Part

Comment to be added to the tag list. This tag list is not chapter by chapter; I carry the tags over to each part.

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hoe4sports · 11 months ago

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Intuition

Jessie Fleming x reader

Note from the author: the train to angstytown is leaving. This is a fic to highlight women in abusive relationships.

If you experience domestic violence, please seek help at your closest emergency line.

Summary: After growing up with Jessie and dating your way through college; you split up. Years later you play for the same team, but Jessie has a bad feeling about your newly acquired fiancé. You need help, but you don’t know how to ask for help.

Warnings: Mentions of domesticated violence.

You sat in front of the mirror wondering if this is it. This situation that you have gotten yourself in is turning into a living hell. But you can’t help it. It’s addictive.You realise that can’t navigate the situation anymore, the reigns are beyond your control. The eggshells are becoming too many and the scares are taking a toll on your health.

On the table infront of you, is your bright pink hairbrush and your makeup. You grab your hairbrush, brushing your hair slowly. It hurts when you brush it, as your scalp has become sensitive due to all the impact it has taken. But, it’s okay, you think. She dosent mean it. You used to love your hair. It was your greatest asset. When you were a teenager, a young girl, all you wanted was to have long beautiful hair. But now, all you want to do is to cut it off. You feel like it holds you down. It’s like chains covering your arms and feet. Like if you were to go for a swim, you would drown in the lake from the weight of the chains. Gosh, you think to yourself. You don’t even recognise yourself anymore. The shadow of the person you used to be is slowly becoming too heavy to carry by yourself, but the thought of having to admit the truth feels even heavier. However, if you are gonna make it out of there, you are gonna have to share the backpack filled with rocks with someone else.

You have been weighing out the options you have for a few weeks. There is a short window of time coming up. It’s less than a weekend, but if you can get someone to help you then you’ll manage to get done in time. But you have a doubt in your mind, then again, she probably dosent mean it.

Every time your work up the courage to tell someone, you freeze. Gosh, why is this so hard you think. This isn’t love, but your fiance just happens to be stressed. She doesn’t mean it, you think. There is a lot of stress at work. And you haven’t really been the best partner. You had left your toothbrush on the sink the other day and she had flipped like a switch. Telling at you about anything from her pants not being washed to the glass you left on the counter. Whenever this happens, you do your best to stay silent and calm. It’s okay, you think. She always apologises afterwards when she calms down, and she says that she is gonna change for the better. But, change takes time, you think. Maybe all your fiance needs is more time. For you to be more flexible. More empathetic. More understanding. More helpful. Less annoying. Less frustrating to deal with. Maybe you just needs to find a way to be good enough for her, perfect for her. But you don’t know what to do to become perfect because your fiancé has told you that you are the furthest thing from perfect. You don’t blame her, she’s just telling the truth you think. She doesn’t mean it as a negative thing, it’s all said with good intentions you decide.

A few hours later, you arrive at practice. Jessie instantly sees you and her cheery self comes over. She knows that you have been pulling away, but her mind is fighting over whenever to say something or not. At the end of the day, it isn’t really her business. But really, it is. You used to be close. Not just the kind of close where you had sleepovers at each others dorms or the kind of close where you know the other’s favourite foods or colors. It is the kind of close where she knows what you are thinking before you do, they call it intuition. It had started back when you were neighbours in Canada as kids. You went to kindergarten together, middle school, high school and somehow ended up in the same dorm at university. 20 years together with someone does something about you. She knew you like the back of her hand, and you knew her. It had been a few slip ups with you two in high school, but only when partying. You had kissed her, but she had forgotten. She had admitted her feelings to you, but you had forgotten. It was the circle that neither of you knew how to get out off until Jessie admitted to liking you in College while laying together to watch a movie. You couldn’t really remember why you broke up, but it was civil. Jessie knew you better than anyone else. And that was why she was worried. Her nights would be filled with what if’s and questions about how you were feeling and what she could do to help.

Jessie’s intuition started ruffling her mind when she met your fiance just shy of a year ago. You and Jessie had been dating in college, but when Jessie left to play overseas; one of you had called it off without really knowing why. It was heartbreaking. Soulshredding. Decapitating. Jessie was the kind of woman that was too good for this world. She would always bring you coffee. Or let you borrow her half zip. Or drive you home and wait until you had gone inside until she drove away. Jessie never wanted you to be perfect. She actually never wanted you to be anything that you didn’t want to be. A part of you still wishes that you stuck together after college. But Jessie deserved better. Jessie was perfect. She was just so perfect that it hurt seeing her with any of the girls she dated.

Jessie shortened the distance between you and greeted you with her typical bright Jessie smile. You had been playing together for just a year, but Jessie knew you. She knew that something was off. She knew that you were engaged, but she never sees your fiance at your games. She noticed that your fiance never posted anything of you online. You always excuses her with that she was busy or that she really didn’t care for football. It’s was lie. Your fiance told you that until you started playing better, you didn’t deserve to have someone watching you. She said it was wasting her time. She made sure to explain how it felt embarrassing to her when she had to watch you make mistakes on the field.

“Hiya Y/N, excited for today?”

You look at Jessie confused. A part of you freezes. If you have forgotten something important, your fiance will punish you for it. Taking your phone away. Making you run laps until you throw up from exhaustion in the pouring rain. Have you sleep outside in the dog’s house. Jessie notices you scared look, and you reaction dosent help her fears.

“Hey Jess, what’s today exactly?” You say with a slight treble in your voice.

“Media day! You and me have a few hours of media duty together, just like the old days”

You smile softly. Shit, you think. Shit, shit, shit. That means that you will be late. You won’t have dinner ready for when your fiance comes home. Your fiance will be furious. Enraged. Disappointed. God, you think. You promised her that you would be better, but here you were again. Not getting better. The worry creeps up on you while you sit down next to Jessie’s cubby. You rub your knees anxiously. The beauty of worrying about a lot of things is that many things can be done on autopilot. Like tying your cleats. Like putting on your shin pads. At one point you went from being excited to put them on to feeling worried and anxious. Like you wanted to throw up. Not over if you could score a goal or not, but over what your fiance would think of you. Pathetic. Fiasco. Disappointed. All words that she had used to describe you. You decided to try to push it to the back of your head. To a spot where you don’t have to think about it. You figured you would just dissociate until practice was over.

The media woman brought you and Jessie into a game of “who’s most likely to”. You feel your heart become lighter. It’s something that won’t cause issues between you and your fiance. She won’t have to worry. And you won’t have to feel scared. The woman is going through how the game works. Your head won’t allow you to focus. Instead you straighten your shorts and make sure that your sweater is zipped up. If it isn’t zipped, your fiance might think that you are trying to get attention from other women or that you have cheated on her. If your shorts is too short, she’ll think you are a whore. All her rules are taking a toll at you. But you try to suppress it, and it seems like you are doing a mighty fine job. But only for the moment.

“Who is most like to get a yellow card?” Jessie reads. You both point to you. Phew, you think. No argument. But your fiance is going to be pissed about you being known to getting yellow cards.

“Who is most likely to score a goal?” You read. You feel stressed for a second. You are a forward, but you suck. You are terrible. Not even sure why you are allowed to play football for a living. You point towards Jessie, who points towards you. Shit, you think. Jessie disagrees. You pray that she won’t be mad. Jessie raises her brow at you, but you ignore it. “That’s not true!” She complains, but you laugh it away.

“Who is most likely to control the music in the lockerroom?” Jessie reads and she instantly points towards you. “Just this afternoon, she infiltrated my ears with Sabrina Carpenter and please please pleeeeease.” She said as she shoves her shoulders in yours. It makes you smile, and you nod into the camera. You feel slightly more comfortable.

“Who is most likely to forget something?” You read. You let out a small giggle before pointing to Jessie. She raises her hands. And you smile. “Jessie used to forget everything in college, it was so bad that I started carrying an extra of everything in case she needed it”. You say before looking down. You could feel your protective wall lowering. Jessie smiled at you before playfully rolling her eyes. “I can’t even deny it! I’m sure you can find tons of pictures of me running around with clothes that has her number on it or even her pink cleats” Jessie finishes before slapping your knee playfully.

“Who is most likely to try to argue with the referee?” Jessie reads before giggling. “Y/N here, would always defend me when we played back in college. She would practically fly across the field to argue with the ref or the opponents if needed.” Jessie finishes leaving you blushing. Shit, you think. If you blush, your fiance might think that you like Jessie. Well, you do like Jessie. But you won’t admit it. That was probably how everyone felt about someone they dated in college, right? You look at Jessie who points to you, and you give a shy smile before pointing to yourself.

“My name is Jessie Fleming, and this was who is most likely to with Y/N. Thanks for watching!” Jessie finished and the crew stopped recording pleased with today’s footage. You looked over at Jessie who hopped out of her seat while taking the time to thank the crew for spending time creating content, you nodded in agreement.

As you were entering the locker room, you both headed to your own cubbies. You were busy trying to find a new pair of socks and slippers that had somehow gotten lost in the cubby. Your brain was trying to figure out how to tell Jessie that you needed help. That you needed her. But you were scared to step on Jessie’s new girlfriend’s toes. You were terrified to overstep your boundaries.

Jessie decided to break the awkward silence that was building up.

“So, how’s Hannah?”

You froze at the sound of her name. Scared of what you were allowed to say and what you weren’t allowed to say. The situation was turning into what you needed it to be, but also what you dreaded. You wanted to fall apart infront of Jessie. To have her scoop you up and hold you, like in college. Have her take you home and get your things before letting you stay at her place until you had yourself sorted.

Your eyes turned towards Jessie who were still awaiting a response. You fiddled with your engagement ring. A ridiculously big rock. Nothing like you wanted. You wanted simple. She gave you big and flashy. Jessie knew this. She knew that you despised the ring, but that you didn’t want to seem ungrateful. Jessie knew because she had wanted to purpose to you after college. She knew everything from how you wanted to be purposes to, what you wanted to wear, how you wanted your nails done, the size of the ring and even the type of ring. Jessie had gotten so far that her grandmother had handed down her engagement ring to Jessie, so she could purpose with something extremely meaningful. You longed for Jessie, and Jessie longed for you.

“H-Hannah? Uh, she’s working.. uh, a lot” you stuttered while feeling your eyelids burning. Your head was pounding. Your heart was beating so hard in you chest that you felt sick. The blood was rushing in your ears. It felt like all the nerves and receptors in your brain was twisting making the room spin.

“Oh really” Jessie said very much unimpressed as she huffed. You turned to look at her and she was busy fighting with her curls. She never liked Hannah. She felt as if Hannah rushed you into a relationship and an engagement. The proposal was nothing like Jessie knew you wanted, perhaps that made Jessie hate her even more. Hannah had purposed just shy of a year of being together. She had guilt tripped you into saying yes, telling you that if you’d say no that you would be a brat, ungrateful and a terrible partner.

“Is she still busy being the equivalent to a walking asshole?” Jessie spat out before closing her cubby hard and turning around to look at you. You didn’t know what to say. You felt like all the air was sucked out of your lungs. A single tear fell from your cheek. It was quickly wiped away in an attempt to cover up the damage that your fiancé had done.

Jessie was now getting suspicious that her intuition was right. She had felt weird about the relationship since day one. Her hate from Hannah had increased every match day when she saw how heartbroken you were when she wasn’t there to watch. She’d watch you turn into someone you never were. A complete stranger to whom you really were.

“Is she treating you good? Like really properly good?”

Jessie sat down next to you, both of your faces turned forwards. Her hand slowly laid itself on to of yours covering your engagement ring. She couldn’t help but wish that it was her ring on your hand. Her hand gently stroke yours and she scooted closer to you. You felt her side touch your side. Tears were now forming rapidly in your eyes.

“Sunny? What happened to you? You were always so happy, smiley and always laughing. My mom always called you sunshine”

Jessie asked. Her hand reached for you cheek as she wiped away some of the tears you had flowing. They didn’t seem to stop. But you didn’t make a sound. It made Jessie’s heart hurt even more. She didn’t know what to say that wouldn’t make her seem biased.

“Do you remember the family bbq? That was when my mom called you sunshine for the first time. I asked my mom about why she was calling you that, and when she told my why I insisted on calling you Sunny too, even though we were just kids“ Jessie continued.

She was right. Her mom would always call you sunshine. You were always a happy kid. Always smiling, laughing and talking. The joy of being alive was radiating through your eyes as a child. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to answer Jessie, but you didn’t know how. You needed help to get away, but the words felt so big. So strange in your mouth. Like they were a foreign language you had yet to learn.

“You really were my sunshine, you know? My sunny. You are still my sunny.” She said as she laid a hand on your back. By now, the tears were constantly streaming down your face. You cried silently, not letting a sound out. The sight broke Jessie. This side of you was a stranger to her. You threw your arms around Jessie. She held onto you while your tears streamed down your cheeks. Your eyes were red from crying. Your mind exhausted from trying to be someone you weren’t. You looked up at Jessie who smiled sadly back at you.

“Help me, Jess” you whispered as you cried your brave tears. Jessie pulled you in tighter and kissed the top of your head, like when you were kids and your great grandmother passed. You felt strangely safe. Like you were transported back to college. To your good days. To your best days.

Jessie looked down at you while holding you. She whispered into your ears. “I’m gonna get you out of there, Sunny.” Her voice broke when she saw your sad face.

“Because you were my sunshine”

#woso imagine #woso x reader #woso fanfics #woso community #woso soccer #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming

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lxkeee · 1 year ago

Text

CHAINED BY DESIRES

—ONESHOT

Pairing: Lucifer Morningstar x Sinner! Fem! Reader

Genre: Romance

Warnings: Lucifer owns your soul in this one. Slightly suggestive at the end, no smut.

Notes: I noticed that many writers have been writing about the reader preening Lucifer's wings and I may have accidentally joined into writing one.

SMUT | NAV.

Lucifer Morningstar, despite being the ruler of hell, the symbol of evil. He never really is the type to make deals in exchange for a person's soul. Well, he owns one soul—a sinner's soul, the soul of [y/n]. He managed to save her one time from other sinners while he was out on the pentagram city. The girl offered her soul in return, promising her loyalty and he rejected at first but the sinner was persistent.

“You're highness, please. Please accept my soul, I want to work for you. I swear to you my loyalty.” the girl says, kneeling in front of him, pleading to him to accept her soul. Lucifer was nervous, he never tried owning a soul before and this sinner is persistent.

“No.” Lucifer deadpans making the female sinner pout, looking up at him with those pretty eyes. He gulped nervously, he didn't expect a sinner to be this beautiful. He shakes away the thoughts, guilty for thinking about such lustful thoughts despite just recently splitting with his ex-wife, Lilith.

“Please, I trust you more than I trust these demons around me... Please, I can work for you.” She pleaded with teary eyes that made him guilty, Lucifer sighs, clearly already second guessing his decisions as golden paper appeared out of thin air, floating towards the sinner.

“Alright, fine. Please read the fine print.” he deadpans and the sinner's eyes gleam as she reads the paper. Lucifer wasn't asking much of her, he just wanted her as his assistant as he had trouble managing his own kingdom after Lilith left and he promised to only own half of her soul inside the palace.

“Well, is the agreement to your liking?” he asked, running his hands through his hair. Already contemplating if he's doing something right.

“Yes, thank you so much Sir!” She says as a pen manifested out of thin air and she gently grabbed it and signed her name—[y/n] in a pretty cursive writing. The paper rolls into a scroll and to seal the deal, Lucifer offers his hand for a handshake.

“I hope you don't disappoint me.” he says with a small smirk and [y/n]'s shakes his hand and gold immediately surrounded them and a golden chain was wrapped around [y/n]'s pretty throat, the chain attached to Lucifer's hand.

[Y/n] brought her hand to feel the chains around her neck, she's surprised it isn't tight—it felt comfortable even. Like a necklace. Lucifer watched her, admiring the chain around her neck and admiring that her other eye had a black sclera—a symbol that her soul had already been owned by him.

With a smile he began to walk out of the alleyway, “Follow me, you'll begin working today.” he says and the girl follows him eagerly.

It has been seven years since she started working for him, surprisingly, [y/n] was able to professionally do her work as his assistant, usually the one overseeing important matters in his place. At first, Lucifer doubted her for her skills but she proved him wrong. He can't function without her help.

All these years, [y/n] has been his rock. Making sure he's not breaking down, making sure he is properly taken care of.

Lucifer admits to himself that he is slowly falling in love with the woman, how couldn't he? [Y/n] is amazing, beautiful, kind, and smart.

Knock, knock, knock.

He flinches, his thoughts momentarily cut off from surprise. He turned around to see you at the door, a worried look on your face.

“Sir, I brought you dinner. We're having crispy chicken fettuccine tonight,” she says as she walked inside his room and placed down a plate of the dish on to his coffee table, “and for dessert, your favorite apple pie.” she says softly with a smile, placing down a plate of a single slice of apple pie right beside the plate of pasta.

Lucifer smiled at her, giving her a small nod, “Thank you, [y/n].” he says and the woman nodded and gave him a small bow, “It is my pleasure, sir. Excuse me.” she says softly and turns around to leave the room.

Before she could leave he stopped her, “Wait...!” he calls out, [y/n] stopping as she turns back around to look at him, giving him a raised eyebrow.

“What is it, Sir?” she asked softly, leaning against the doorframe. Goodness, she looked so attractive leaning against the doorframe with her hands crossed over her chest, the black suit paired with a red tie hugged her frame perfectly, showing off her curves.

Lucifer's cheeks heat up as he admired her form and also from the inevitable question he wanted to ask, he's been wondering when the perfect time he could ask her. It's not like it would be the first time they did it but he's embarrassed, he's embarrassed to ask her for help to preen his feathers. [Y/n] helped him countless times with his wings before but now that he already came to the realization that he has feelings for his assistant, he's having second thoughts as his wings are one of his most sensitive areas.

(You thought he wanted to have sex didn't you? SpongeBob that is so disgustin—me too.)

But his wings have been rather unkept and itchy lately and he's in desperate need of assistance as he has three pairs of wings.

[Y/n] looked at Lucifer with a raised eyebrow, wondering why he suddenly became quiet, “Is everything fine, Lu?” she asked worriedly, calling him the nickname she gave him instead of 'Sir'. Lucifer chuckles softly, “I am fine,” he says nervously before taking a deep breath, “I was wondering if...” he trails off.

[Y/n]'s cheeks flushed a little, her mind already jumping to multiple scenarios. “Is he going to ask me out?” she thought to herself, ears warming at the thought. [Y/n] won't deny to herself that she developed a crush on her boss, the literal king of hell, the most beautiful angel heaven created. She doesn't want to give herself hope, considering how much she knows the man is deeply in love with his ex-wife, she can't just replace Lilith.

Lucifer looked at her, clearly flustered and embarrassed, “I was wondering if you have time later? I need some assistance with my wings.” he whispers shyly and [y/n] swear she could hear her thoughts shattering as she forced a smile on herself, “Of course, I have time to help you. I'll drop by after dinner to help you with your wings.” She says with a smile, I knew it.

Lucifer nodded, a small grin on his face, “Thank you, [y/n]. I wouldn't know what to do if you weren't here.” he admits softly, the glow of the chandelier highlighting the softness of his handsome face, making her heart hammer against her ribcage.

[Y/n] smiled at him, praying that he couldn't hear how loud and fast her heart was beating, “The pleasure is all mine, now... Please excuse me.” [y/n] says with a smile, a hand over her heart as she gave him a curt bow before her body transitioned into a shadow and she quickly left his room.

Lucifer lets out a heavy exhale, his heart beating so loud and fast against his ribcage. Why does it feel like I just finished confessing to her? He thought to himself, cheeks warm and red like the apple he offered to Eve.

He plops to his bed, his arm over his eyes as he tries to calm down his fast beating golden heart.

He eventually got out of bed, taking the plate of pasta that [y/n] prepared and brought it to him. Taking a bite, warmth spreads to his cheeks. Delicious as always.

“Alright, let's get started with those wings, shall we?” [y/n] says softly as she sits beside Lucifer, his wings spread apart as he lies on his bed, stomach first, using his arms as a pillow or support for his head.

Her hands caressed the bone that connects his wings to his back, making Lucifer whine.

You don't have any idea what you're doing to me.

They both thought at the same time, unknowingly. Cheeks warm, goosebumps running down their skin.

[Y/n] began to untangle the feather tips—the tips where it accidentally snucked in an area where it isn't supposed to, pinching the newly formed feather, rubbing it ever so gently to remove the shell.

Lucifer began to relax, finally feeling relief from his feathers. Occasional moans and whimpers leaving his lips, her fingers against his sensitive wings, making his stomach flutter and warm. There is just something with this act that feels so intimate for him.

[Y/n] was focused, ensuring that she is doing a perfect job in preening his feathers, grooming his wings to absolute perfection like the angel he is. She admires his wings, white and pure, soft to the touch. Tracing her fingers on the alula of his wings, making the male shudder.

It took some time, considering Lucifer had six wings. [Y/n] was able to finish in helping him with his wings. “And done,” she says with a satisfied smile and Lucifer hides his wings away, turning around to face her, now lying on his back.

They stared at each other, half-lidded eyes. Cheeks warm, [y/n] clears her throat and breaks off their staring contest.

“Well, is there anything else you need help with?” [y/n] asked, returning to meet his eyes, looking down on the man lying on his back. The soft glow of the chandelier makes his features prominent—the softness of his cheeks, the plumpness of his lips, his red eyes through his eyelashes. Absolutely divine.

Lucifer clears his throat, words stuck in there. So many unsaid words waiting to be said. Finally finding strength to speak, he looked at her with a small smile.

“That would be all, thank you.” he says, avoiding her gaze. [Y/n] just gave him a raised eyebrow, clearly not buying it. She can feel that there's something bothering him, he literally owns her soul, she could feel his internal struggle.

With a sigh, she places a finger underneath his chin, tilting his head so he looks at her eye-to-eye, “Come on Lu, I can tell there's something else that's bothering you.” she says to him, Lucifer's cheeks reddened, caught off guard by the act.

“Uh-well...” he stammers, nervous. He can already feel the words already climbing up his throat threatening to spill out of his lips.

“I am afraid to say it, I am afraid that it'll ruin us.” he whispers, avoiding her gaze once more. [Y/n]'s eyes softened, unsure what he meant with that.

“What do you mean, Lu?” She asked, voice gentle like winds that used to caress his skin whenever he flies around heaven. With a deep sigh, he gathered hus courage and looked at her.

“I am in love with you... Ever since we met and each day my feelings for keeps getting stronger and stronger and I don't know how to hide it anymore and I am scared you'll leave me.” He says in one breath, closing his eyes as he was afraid to see her reaction.

It took [y/n] a moment to process his words, when she did, her jaw dropped. Heat creeped up to his cheeks, heart thumping loudly against her chest. For a brief moment, the world slowed down and the only thing she could see was him—Lucifer, lying on his back and on his bed with his eyes closed. Strands of his light blond hair falling gently into his face, cheeks reddened more than usual. He loves her, he actually loves her back.

Using her fingers to tuck away the falling strands of hair away from his face, his breath hitched at the contact of her skin against his.

“Lucifer, look at me please?” [y/n] asked softly, hand cupping his cheek. Lucifer shakes his head, “I am afraid that the moment I'll open my eyes you'll be gone.” he admits softly and weakly.

[Y/n] sighs softly, eyes soft and half-lidded, “Please? Open those beautiful eyes for me?” she pleaded, silently chuckling as the redness of Lucifer's cheeks darkened even more.

Lucifer hesitantly opens his eyes, seeing [y/n] beautiful face first looking at him with so much adoration. Did she used to look at him like that before?

“Luci...” she began, placing a hand on his cheek, “What'll happen if I say... I love you too?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper. Lucifer's eyes widened, ears heating up, his stomach fluttering like there were a million butterflies inside it.

“I too would like to know what'll happen...” he admits softly and [y/n] chuckles, “But one thing I am certain of is that... I want to be yours.” Lucifer admits, sure and confident. Catching her off guard, he admires how the red blooms into her cheeks, the usual and composed woman now a blushing mess.

But that doesn't mean he wasn't flustered, he didn't even know what came over him to say those words. But he is sure that that is what he wanted—to be hers.

“Oh stars... Lucifer, you're making me want to kiss you so bad...” [y/n] says with a chuckle and Lucifer held her hand, kissing her wrist.

“Then what's stopping you?” he asked, looking up from her hand, his lips still pressed against her wrist. Eyes half-lidded as he gazed at her.

[Y/n]'s breath hitched, flustered, “Are you sure it's okay?” she asked softly and Lucifer nodded, “Yes, please kiss me.” he pleaded, almost desperate.

Gathering enough courage, [y/n] slowly leans down to kiss him. She was taking some time and Lucifer just placed his hand behind her neck, pulling him down so her lips would crash against his.

Lips moving against each other, they kissed each other with desperation. Seven years of wanting each other, waiting for this moment. They finally have it. Moans and whines, leaving their lips.

“Please... [Y/n], I need you.” Lucifer pleaded, desperate to feel all of her. “As you wish...” she whispers, equally desperate to feel him.

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