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strawbeerossi · 1 year

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This Is Me Trying

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Ex-wife!Reader

Description: Spencer shows up at his ex wife’s door late in the night, riddled with guilt from years of their separation and needing to confide to her why he left her the first place.

Content Warning: Prison arc discussed but no spoilers, mention of PTSD, mentions of drug addiction/relapse, mention of violence, heart wrenching angst, crying, cunnilingus, fingering, unprotected sex, missionary, lovemaking, aftercare, happy ending.

Word count: 4.5K

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The last thing that she expected was to hear a firm knock against her apartment door. It was ten in the evening, who would need anything from her this late? Maybe it was Mrs. Martin, the sweet little old lady next door, wanting to drop off some freshly baked treat that she wanted her to try before she took it to one of her game nights. Which, Y/N had to admit, she loved when she’d come by with her signature chocolate chip brownies, she always made a heaping amount to share with her younger neighbor just because she expressed liking them one time.

She was approaching the front door. Using the peephole of the door, her heart sunk. Instead of seeing an older woman with a plate of treats in her hand, she was met with Spencer Reid.

It had been years since they talked last, the last time being a tearful Y/N begging her husband not to walk out the door, to stay and work out their marriage that she was afraid was starting to crumble into a thousand pieces. She could remember the bitterness, the hatred in his voice.

“Wait! Spencer, baby, please.” Y/N’s voice was hoarse from sobbing, her throat raw from having to yell over his loud voice just to get him to listen. “I know it’s hard but I need you to stay, we can work this out together. You know that. We always do.” Spencer was turning his head to face his wife, already packing his clothes away. “I don’t want to fucking stay. I don’t want your pity. Ever since I got home, you’re treating me like I’m some sort of child! I’m not!” His tone was laced with venom, enough to make the tears spring up in Y/N’s eyes again.

She knew prison would chip away at the Spencer she’d fallen in love with five years ago but she never expected things to go down like this. She’d done everything she could’ve thought of. She always made him some of his favorite dishes, she’d read to him, she’d hold him when he sobbed in her arms and relived the most traumatic experience he’d went through thus far. It was never enough.

He was different now. Irritable, temperamental, and he had a hard time composing his anger, not to mention that his once beautiful honey colored irises were dull, almost lifeless. He lost himself in prison, he wasn’t ever going to be the same. Instead of always greeting her with a hug and a smile after his days at the BAU or after cases, she was greeted to him starting to distance himself from her. It went from him coming home an hour late, to two hours, then three. She stopped making dinner, she stopped staying up to wait for him, she even stopped trying to reach out to him.

There was guilt, her brain rattled with so many what-ifs. If she left him alone more, would he have stayed with her? Would he have given her the same amount of love and dedication he’d once given her before? What could she have done to make him slowly begin to push her away, to serve her with fucking divorce papers?

Her tears stained the documents, her signature blurred out from how much she sobbed over the idea of losing the one real thing she’d ever known. No matter how much she wanted to hate him for his decision, she just couldn’t. Spencer had her heart, he took it with him out of the door when he left her, tucked away in his suitcase covered by the numerous suits and other necessities.

She was pulled out of her pain filled memories the moment she heard yet another knock. Was this a cruel joke? She was taking in a breath, collecting what little confidence she could manage to build up before she was unlocking the front door, her hand shaking from fear. As she was opening the door just enough to peak her head out, her lips were pursed in a fine line.

“Spencer.” Y/N spoke, her gaze firm on the man who had given up on her. “Hi, Y/N.” His voice was soft, a stark contrast to the tone of their last conversation. “Can I come in..?” He asked, though his hand was slowly resting against the front door as he pushed it open, Y/N taking a few steps back to grant him access. She should’ve slammed the door shut, she should’ve locked it and sent him on his way. Yet here she was, slowly closing the door as she invited him to make himself at home.

“What are you doing here?” It took a lot of courage for her to open her mouth, her arms slowly crossing over her chest. She wasn’t going to cry anymore, mainly because she was so tired of crying over him. She’d done it enough within the past few years, if anything, she should’ve been out of tears.

“I’m here to talk.”

“Talk about what?”

“Y/N. I haven’t been honest with you. Guilt has been eating away at me and I can’t help but feel shitty.”

You should.

She’d never say it out loud but judging by the face she made, Spencer already knew what went through her mind.

“I just want to apologize. You are owed that much. Whenever I got out of prison.. I was a different person entirely. I stopped putting much effort into any of my personal relationships..” He began, which before his ex wife could cut him off, he was looking up from his feet with glassy eyes. “It’s because I was getting comfort from.. Other influences. Dilaudid.”

Spencer’s last addictions never defined him throughout their entire relationship, in fact, she was proud of him. He’d been doing so good, the temptation coming up every now and then but she’d be there to push him, to give him so much love and support to try and curb the relapse that could occur.

“Drugs change the writing of neurotransmitters in your brain, which can lead to aggression or mood swings. That’s why I was always hostile towards you and why I didn’t want to be around you.” Spencer explained, eyes on the ground in shame while his hands were coming up to rest over his face. “I knew I had a problem, I did. There was one day when you were trying to get me to eat lunch and.. I wanted to hurt you.” His voice broke at the admission, unable to meet her gaze. “That made me realize that I had a problem. A problem that I couldn’t control. If I couldn’t control my emotions, I would get to the point where I couldn’t control my actions..”

Just the thought of that scared the hell out of him.

“I left because I didn’t want to hurt you. It would kill me if I ever did anything to you. I mean, I was already spiralling because of the vivid nightmares from prison. PTSD and drug use are a horrible combination, dangerous. I couldn’t risk hurting you.”

The explanation had hot Y/N like a ton of bricks. How could she not notice he had a relapse, she was supposed to be by his side and she couldn’t even fucking tell that he was struggling with impulse control as well as his emotions. “Why didn’t you tell me? Spencer, I could’ve helped you.” She whispered, stepping closer to her ex husband while slowly taking her hands in his.

“Because you didn’t deserve a damaged husband who would weigh you down. I can’t expect you to babysit me all day and night, it wouldn’t be fair to you. You have a career, you have friends, you have so much going for you. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself if you threw your life away to essentially take care of me.” His words were barely above a whisper, as if the two had a risk of anyone listening in on their conversation.

“You are not damaged.” Y/N scolded softly while she was squeezing his hands slowly. “Spencer, I love you so much, I’ll always be here for you. Wife or not.” She said softly while her hand was now coming to rest gently against his cheek, as if he were fragile and one wrong move would shatter him like a stained glass window.

Spencer was finally meeting the irises that he couldn’t ever get out of his mind, the way there was a shine in them. Eyes were the window to the soul and hers reflected a beautiful, colorful soul and a strong fighting spirit she always carried with her. Even when she was broken down, that shine was there.

Her love was radiating onto him at the smallest touch, the man’s eyes closing briefly as if to compose himself. “I love you so much, Y/N. I will never be able to forgive myself for the way I pushed you away, the way I ended our marriage. I should’ve confided in you sooner. I just.. I was worried about you.” His words were genuine, a gentle smile spreading across his face. “You have no idea how much I’ve missed you.” He whispered soon after.

If his pupils could be the shape of hearts, they would be. One thing about Y/N was that he adored her. He cherished her, took care of her. Even in the end when things went south, part of him still had that love that was locked away behind a crippling addiction that broke him down in the worst way possible. “When I wanted to just go back to using, I thought of you. How proud you’d be of me if I held off, how you’d tell me I did an amazing job getting back on track. You are my inspiration.” He whispered, his hands coming up to cup her cheeks, holding her face in his hands as his thumbs traced over her soft skin.

There was a soft smile gracing Y/N’s features. “I am so proud of you. It takes a lot to admit when you have a problem, it takes even more to better yourself. Even if I’m not fond of the way you went about it, I understand.” She was honest. She didn’t like how he had to divorce her and disappear from her life. Nobody in their right mind would be okay with that.

For the first time since he’d came inside, there was a content silence filling the living room. It was comfortable. For the first time, home felt like home. However as the both of them stayed within each other’s embrace, it wasn’t long before Spencer was leaning down to kiss her.

Their lips met in a bittersweet collision, as years of longing and unresolved emotions surged through their bodies. The kiss began tenderly, a delicate exploration of familiar territory, before gradually intensifying with the fiery passion that had once defined their relationship. In that moment, they momentarily forgot the pain that had driven them apart, reveling in the sheer magnetism that still bound them together. There was no more pain, no more wondering what had gone wrong.

Their tongues danced in a rhythm only they could understand, tasting the remnants of past love and the promise of a future reignited. As they reluctantly pulled away, their gaze locked, and they both knew that their love still burned strong, an everlasting flame that kept them bound together. After all they’d been through, the love and care was permanent.

While drawing in a breath, Y/N kept her gaze on Spencer before slowly running her hands up his chest. It wasn’t a suit tailored for him like she’d been so used to before, instead a casual cotton shirt. In a way, it was comforting. He thought about her at times where he wasn’t chasing evil men and women on cases, when instead he was home at.. Well, wherever he lived now.

“Do you want to stay tonight?” She asked after a moment, her words coming out slow and her tone delicate, as if she had to worry about scaring him off if she was anything but. “I always sleep so much better with you..” She added on soon after while playing with a loose thread on the shirt, almost as if she had to distract herself from the way her heart was nearly beating out of her chest.

It gave her flashbacks to when she and Spencer had first started dating, the both of them being soft with each other. The way that they’d both be nervous to ask the other to stay the night or when they’d be laying together and spoil each other in the wonders of intimate touch, their lips moving in sync.

That seemed so long ago now.

“Yes,” Spencer responded, not needing to spare a second thought. “I’d love to.” His own heart was racing, the feeling of being home slowly coming back to him. The comfort of Y/N being home, willing to hold him when he needed her. Tonight, he knew he needed her. In more ways than one.

Without a passing thought, the woman was being lifted into his arms while Spencer was reattaching their lips. There was love and need, yearning for the soft touch that they once shared. With the feeling of fingers tangling in his longer hair, he was almost running back to the bedroom that he’d remembered so well.

Without breaking the contact of their lips, Spencer was leaning down while carefully placing Y/N on her back, as if she was breakable. She needed to be handled with care, with appreciation. Not anyone would accept their ex husband despite his faults or listen to him when he’s explaining why he left. Most women would probably slam the door in his face. Not Y/N. Not the woman with a heart of gold. He didn’t deserve her love but she was willing to continue serving it to him.

Once she was on her back, Spencer was slowly pulling away. “I love you.” He whispered, the words just falling out of his mouth, reverting back to the ways that once were. The nights where they’d lay in the darkness, embracing one another during lazy post-coital conversations before falling asleep in those same positions.

“I love you so much.” He repeated as he felt like she needed to know his feelings never changed. His lips began to trail down her neck, his hands running down the silk nightgown. “I love you.” Y/N finally whispered in return, her head relaxing in her pillow while her eyes were fluttered shut, melting at each placed kiss.

Spencer let his teeth graze the now burning skin of her neck, eliciting a beautiful moan to fall from the woman’s lips.

This was heaven.

His lips were moving from her neck soon after that, his head lifting while the two were interlocking in a shared loving gaze. “You can keep going, you know.” She whispered, a little giggle leaving her lips at the way his eyes glistened in the soft lighting of the bedside lamp at her urging him to continue.

Spencer’s fingers were coming up to the flimsy straps of the nightgown, slowly pulling them from her arms while leaning down to trail kisses along her right shoulder. His hands were working to slowly tug the sleep garment off, almost as if he had to carefully unwrap a present to preserve the wrapping paper. He didn’t want to rush this. He wanted her to see how much he truly did love and miss her.

He’d take care of her tonight.

Once she lifted her hips to assist in discarding the nightgown, he was drinking in the sight of the near bare woman in front of him.

Spencer had eidetic memory, however, when it came to Y/N’s body, you’d think it was his first time seeing it. The way his cheeks would flush, the way he’d revert back to being the shy man who couldn’t help but stare as if she were a beautiful oil painting hanging in one of the highest esteemed art galleries in Paris, France.

He was now sitting between her open legs, eyes scanning over her body as his large hands were slowly running up her inner thighs. “I’ve missed you, so much.” He spoke, gaze now moving to the beautiful smile that was spreading across her face. “I’m glad you’re here.” She spoke softly, the two basking in the moment. There was no rush, no. Instead, they were enjoying the intimacy of soft touches, admiring bodies, sharing longing glances.

“May I?” He asked, fingers now getting dangerously close to the place where she needed him most.

“Of course.” Her head nodded, a blush on her face.

The panties she had on had a sizeable wet patch in the center of them, her body reacting so positively to his kisses, his touch, everything. His fingers were slowly running over her clothed cunt, electricity shooting through her body at the mere touch.

“My beautiful girl.” His voice was husky now, fingers looping in the waistband of her panties before he was tugging them down her thighs, a groan ripping from his throat once he could see her glistening pussy, sticky with arousal. “God, I love you.” He repeated for what felt like the millionth time in the night.

Spencer was getting up momentarily, pulling his shirt over his head before discarding his pants as well, leaving him in his boxers. As he’d gotten onto the bed, he was now laying between her thighs, hips pressed into the bed for when he ultimately needed relief of his own.

With one hand keeping her plush thighs apart, his tongue was now licking a stripe up her pussy, collecting just a taste of her arousal. Hearing her shaky breath from above him was enough to encourage his movements. After a few more long and teasing licks, his fingers were coming up to spread her puffy labia apart, his lips blowing cool air while the woman was mewling from pleasure, goosebumps spreading across her skin.

He ate like a man starved, his tongue lapping up all she had to offer to him, like eating one of the ripest fruits on the vine that was bursting with more flavor and sweetness after being freshly pulled from the tree branch. His chin was coated in her glistening juices, his nose brushing against her clit while his tongue was focused on swiping over her velvety walls.

With the sounds of pornographic moans filling the room along with the way her fingernails were digging in his scalp, it became to a point where Spencer was desperate for relief, his hips rocking against the mattress while he was focused on bringing the woman to her peak. As soon as he could feel her thighs begin to shake and her words were more incoherent, he knew what was to come next.

It wasn’t long though until he was pulling away, chuckling at the way she was desperately clenching around nothing as soon as he pulled away. “Hold on, pretty girl.” He purred, getting his fingers lubed up with his own spit before he was plunging them into the woman, a low moan leaving his lips as she was greedily clenching around his digits and pulling them in more.

“There we go.” He praised, the two fingers being thrusted inside of her needy core.

“I’m gonna— oh fuck, Spencer.” Y/N breathed out as her eyes were squeezing shut, her words encouraging him to fuck her faster with his fingers. She could feel the coil tightening in her stomach, her moans and whimpers of his name falling steadily from her lips.

All it took was him curling his fingers and pushing against her spongy sweet spot before she was cumming around his fingers, her hips rocking steadily against Spencer’s hand as she was doing her best to catch her breath, chest rising and falling rapidly.

As she’s ridden out the high, Spencer’s hair was being tugged in a gesture that was telling him move your ass, Reid.

So he was nearly stumbling to crawl up to hover over her again, the two attaching their lips in a much needed, more messy kiss than before. “Please,” She mumbled against his lips, making Spencer pull away. “Please what?” He asked, needing to hear her say it.

“I need you.”

Those words had his already hard cock aching in his boxers, making him stumble a bit just to get them down his legs before they were being tossed with the rest of the clothes in the bedroom.

“I don’t have a condom.” Spencer spoke, letting out a hiss of pleasure from the feeling of her hand wrapping around his cock to give it a few tugs. “We don’t need one. I don’t care right now.” Her voice came out in a desperate tone, making the man nod as he was letting her line up his tip with her leaking mound.

He was pushing into her slowly, sinking all the way to the hilt while the two let out a collective moan, Spencer’s head falling against Y/N’s shoulder as he let his eyes flutter shut, kisses being sponged to her shoulders as he gave her a minute. The way her hands were gripping onto him was a big indicator that just like himself, she’d probably not really gotten much action in a while.

“I’m ready.” She whispered, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as she was practically hugging him close. “I’ll go slow.” He spoke in return, now lifting his head to smear their lips against one another’s.

Spencer loved slow and intimate sex, the way they were pressed flush against one another, drinking each others moans while the world slowly stood still. His hips were thrusting at a steady pace, the feeling of her legs wrapping around his waist just to try and bury him impossibly deeper inside of her.

It was the ultimate form of love. Being able to savor one another, enjoy the closeness. There were times in the past where the two would talk and even giggle with one another while his cock was buried inside of her. It was comforting in its own odd way.

Tonight though, there wasn’t much talking. Instead there was soft, loving kisses, the mixture of moans and groans falling between the both of them, as well as the sound of the bed squeaking along with each thrust that the man made.

There was nothing but love in that bedroom, the two whispering sweet nothings to one another and making promises that would fully be fulfilled going forward. This was going to be the start of something beautiful, that was something the two were confident of.

“I’m close,” Spencer’s words were being muffled into Y/N’s mouth, the woman slowly pulling out of their shared kiss while she was bringing her hands up to cup his cheeks. “Me too, don’t stop.” Her words were soft, a moan leaving her lips as she was letting her eyes flutter shut, head falling back against the mattress as she could feel her stomach tightening again.

“I love you so much, Y/N. Fuck.” His words slurring together as he brought one hand between their bodies, his thumb swiping over her clit in order to have her cum first. He prided himself on pleasuring her first and foremost, himself being mostly an afterthought.

As the warmth of her orgasm was washing over her, Y/N was hugging him as close as she could get him while a soft cry of the male’s name slipped from her lips. Chasing her orgasm, it wasn’t long until Spencer was letting go, a few more thrusts doing the trick as his warm cum was filling her to the brim. The feeling had the woman shuddering in pleasure.

With a thin layer of sweat coating their skin and their bodies still intertwined, Spencer was turning his attention down to the woman who he felt an intense and burning love for. “I promise you that I am not going anywhere this time. I’m tired of fighting M on my own.” His words were soft, his breathing still uneven. “I love you and I never want to be away from you like that again..”

“I love you so much more. You know that I’m always here for you, right? No matter what you’re struggling with. We are supposed to always be by each other’s sides. I made that promise to you and I never intend on breaking it.” Y/N assured.

“How about we to get cleaned up?” The make suggested, forcing himself to move away from the warmth of her embrace briefly. Instead of letting her get up though, Spencer’s hand was wrapping around her ankle before he was playfully pulling her to the end of the bed, making the woman laugh as she was being lifted in his arms.

“You could’ve broke my leg!” She gasped, a teasing tone chasing the words as she was letting her arms wrap around his shoulders, lips pressing kisses across his face.

A she was carefully sitting her on the edge of the tub, Spencer was turning on the faucet. After he’d gotten the water warm enough for the both of them, he’d retrieved the plug for the drain. Approaching the bathroom cabinet, he was kneeling down and rummaging until he was grinning triumphantly as he was retrieving a bottle of bubble bath soap, holding it up. “I knew you’d never get rid of this. As dumb as it sounds, I was so pissed because I didn’t take this with me.”

After putting a generous amount of the soap in the tub and watching it foam up, he was waiting until the tub was filled to their liking until he was turning off the water. He was the first to step in, getting comfortable before holding his hand out to help Y/N get in, a smile on his face. Even if it was a little awkward considering he was a tall guy in a small tub, they managed to get comfortable together with her on his lap.

One of her hands was collecting a bit of bubbles from the water before she was moving to place them over his face, a little laugh leaving her lips as she’d given him a bit of a bubble beard. “How old are we?” Spencer asked teasingly as he was doing the same thing with her, the two unable to help the soft laugh filling the bathroom.

“So, I have a legitimate question,” Spencer began while leaning back against the tub, a smile on his face. “Does this mean we have to get married again?”

The question made Y/N pull a face as she was pondering over the question. He had a point. How did this work?

“I say yes. Only because I think you owe me a much bigger wedding this time.” She joked, making the male laugh.

“My queen gets whatever she wants.”

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oneforthemunny · 2 months

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a teeny tiny modern!eddie blurb i had rattling around my noggin. loosely based on real events (my ex is a pos and modern!eddie is an angel lol), but made me giggle when i thought about it. kinda smutty but nothing graphic more-so just alluded to. enjoy <3

“Hey, pretty girl.” Eddie grinned, half-lidded hazy eyes lighting up when you walked through the door.

“Hi,” You mumbled, hip bumping the door to push it closed, shoulders heavy after the exhaustion of the day.

“Did you have a good day?” Eddie chirped, flicking his mic up on his headset, pulling it off his messy curls. “Sell lots?”

You snorted lightly, purse sliding off your shoulder onto the coffee table. “Oh, yeah. Dealt with ten year olds wanting foundation matches all day.”

“Ten?” Eddie frowned. “Can ten year olds even wear makeup?”

“Apparently they can. And they’re very particular.” You rolled your eyes, rubbing out the growing knot in your shoulder that was beginning to ache. “Did you empty the dishes?”

“Yep.” Eddie nodded. “Loaded them up for you too, baby. Got you another one of those candles you like. Your stash was runnin’ low.” He smiled proudly.

Your lips twitched, trying to fight back your own flustered grin. It did make your heart flutter, Eddie always did. “Thank you.” You muttered instead. “I’ve gotta get out of these clothes, and I’ll-” You started to lean over the couch, lips hovering over Eddie’s, his parting lightly to fit yours before you stopped. Halted by a familiar smell.

“What- What’s that smell?” You sniffed, turning in the air before your nose found the source. “Are you- Why do you smell like that?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Eddie tugged at his t-shirt, nose pressing towards the underarms of his shirt. “I took a shower today, but then I had to meet up with some people. I didn’t think it was bad-”

“-No, it’s not that.” You snapped, eyes narrowing down at him. “Why do you smell like Bum-Bum Cream?”

Eddie paused, blinking at you. “Bum-Bum?” He repeated, brows lifting. “Is this a joke? Like Up-Dog-”

“-Eddie,” You huffed. “Don’t fuck with me right now. What? Did you have another bitch here?” Your teeth gritted, gaze flickering in seething fury around the apartment for anything- any sign of infidelity.

“What?” Eddie gaped, turning to look at you. “No, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t do that-”

“-Then why do you smell like that?” You screeched, throwing an arm out at him.

“Smell like what?” Eddie countered, voice raising in defense.

“The most recognizable smell in the world? You couldn’t tell your bitch not to wear that-” You smacked the door to your shared bedroom open, halting in the doorway.

“I didn’t fuck anyone!” Eddie followed, throwing his hands up. “Why do you always start this shit? I’ve never-”

Your eyes narrowed, stomping towards the bedside table. There, on Eddie’s side, amongst the phone chargers and empty carts sat a box of tissues next to the familiar yellow tub of cream. Half screwed on, greasy on the lid- recently used.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” You huffed, snatching the jar, grimacing at the slick, greasy substance still left on the lid. Pivoting, you turned to Eddie, hoisting the jar towards him.

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“This is what I’m smelling.” You snapped. “This is Bum-Bum Cream. My Bum-Bum Cream.” You jabbed a manicured nail onto the logo.

“Oh,” Eddie quipped. “Yeah, I did use that.”

“Used it?” You growled. “You used my fucking expensive lotion to jack off?”

Eddie’s cheeks tinged with pink embarrassment, eyes wide and round like a child caught, still with some mischief that made your skin crawl with irritation. “Well,” He started.

“Well?” You gawked at him. “Eddie, this is- You can’t use this!” You unscrewed the lid, mouth falling open at the large scoop that was now missing from the middle. “Are you- Do you know how expensive this is?”

“No.” Eddie admitted, swallowing a smile. “I just thought it was lotion-”

“-You have lotion!” You snapped. “You have your Nivea or whatever-”

“-I ran out!”

“So you use this? My lotion? My expensive lotion?” You growl. “How- How does this not burn your dick off? It’s a fucking fragranced lotion.”

Eddie shrugged, lips curling in a shit eating grin. “It felt kinda nice, actually.”

Your nose curled in disgust. “You’re fucking sick, and you’re buying me a new one.”

“Fine.” Eddie’s hands slid down your arms gently. “I’ll buy you a new one. I swear. I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t use that one.”

“Don’t use any of my lotions to jack off.” You glared at him. “And put it back when you’re done.” You shove the lotion back at him.

“Alright, alright, hey- look at me, baby, please?” Eddie cooed, lips still curled with a smile you wanted to smack off his face, nerves rattled with annoyance. You glared at him, shoving your work jeans down with a huff, not missing the way Eddie’s eyes lingered.

“I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t mean to. I’ll buy you a new one. We can go right now if you want.” He muttered sweetly, his soft tone making your heart swell.

“No, it’s fine.” You huff, rolling your eyes, pulling your top off. “We can go later. Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.” Eddie lifted his hands playfully. He waited a second, turning the yellow tub around in his hands. “It is good stuff though. Can see why you like it so much-” He dodged your balled up shirt you flung at him with a loud cackle, scampering to the bathroom to put it back on the counter.

also this is the lotion / sol de janerio's bum bum cream referenced lol. a very canon event i fear. hope you enjoyed!

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sc0tters · 8 months

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Birthday Do Over | Quinn Hughes

summary: it’s Quinn’s birthday and you can’t help but fuel your need to see him.

request: yes/no

warnings: swearing?

word count: 1.53k

authors note: I wasn’t going to write this but when the request came in and it being Quinn’s birthday the opportunity was too great to pass up. Kaylin if you see that I used your answers to my cake questions, surprise? This piece is a lot of flashbacks people so pay attention to the regular italics!

You knew you shouldn’t have been doing this.

But as the three red bulls in your system kept you up you couldn’t help it as you stood in the kitchen baking.

October 14th, Quinn’s birthday and his first since you two were no longer talking.

Surely you should have been fine staying at home enjoying the comfort of your bed but instead you were in the bakery.

Quinn watched you start your dream as you bought the bakery but he never got to watch you fully live out the dream as you two broke up before it opened.

So the cake you made was from your memories of what he liked eating at late hours of the night in your apartment.

Bowls of different icing flavours were in a line “why can’t I try it yet? Quinn complained watching your hand swat his away “because I’m not ready so you need to wait.” You explained in a duh tone.

Over the last week you had been building a menu that had each of your favourite flavours that you had made throughout the years, as well as some new ones and those were what he was meant to try.

Quinn let out a huff causing you to smile “shut your eyes.” You brought your spoon into one of the bowls as the boy listened to you.

His eyes screwed shut as his mouth hung open “let me know what you think of when you taste this.” The spoon dropped a bit of icing onto his tongue causing him to close his mouth.

The sweet flavours melted into his tongue as he moved his arms getting excited “that was delicious.” Quinn announced as he opened his eyes to look at you again.

It made you laugh “that isn’t a flavour,” you shook your head as you sent him a look waiting for an answer “give me a hint baby.” The hockey player pouted as he reached over the counter to bring you to him.

His hands wrapped around your waist as you stood between his legs “it’s this one.” You brought the bowl to his nose but he still couldn’t get it “it’s my take on cream cheese-” the gasp Quinn let out made him sound like a child who just learnt Santa wasn’t real.

You smiled shaking your head “it was cheese!” The American grabbed a spoon again so that he could taste it again.

It was clear that the dials in his brain were turning as he came to terms with it “you make cheese good.” His words made you laugh “you give me too much credit.” You corrected him placing the bowl back on the table.

Quinn brought his hands from your waist to your jaw “don’t think I give you enough at all.” He mumbled running his hand over that bone as you leaned down to kiss him.

Both of you got sucked into it as the world felt like it stopped around you.

But it didn’t and the smoke alarm started going off “shit!” You groaned quickly pulling away from him.

As you whipped your icing you smiled remembering that night in the apartment that you now moved out of with the extra cash you had been making you were able to use to get more space.

It was another reminder of a milestone that Quinn missed yet still it wasn’t out of his own choice.

Part of you should have felt sorry for his neighbours as you two argued for what felt like the twentieth day in a row.

Your hand raked through your messy hair as you tried to remain calm “maybe I should go.” You shrugged avoiding Quinn’s irritated scoff “you always leave when things get fucking tough y/n!” He complained totally unaware of how much smaller you got in that moment.

If you chewed at your cheek any harder you would have drawn blood “look Quinn I love you.” You blurted out as you dug your nails into your palm “but this isn’t working anymore.” The hockey player was your world, that’s what happens when you date someone for three years.

But the reality that the arguments were now outweighing the normal conversations that you two had was weighing on you and the t was no longer at a point where you could act like it wasn’t around anymore “what are you trying to say?” The American knew what you were trying to say but he prayed that this was one time that he was so wrong.

Tears formed in your eyes “this is goodbye Q,” you frowned walking over to him as you pressed your lips against his cheek.

Before Quinn could process that you had left him the door to his apartment shut with a slam.

You were gone.

The final touches always scared you the most. It was like the moments when you screwed here were the ones where you wanted to cry.

Which was why you did a happy dance as Quinn’s birthday message was written out perfectly “perfect!” You smiled placing the piping bag on the table.

Below you sat absolute cake of his dreams, the red velvet cake and cream cheese frosting were complimented by the blue, green and white icing colours that you used.

The gold edible topper balls were for how you saw Quinn. Your shining star that could guide you anywhere.

If you had to find Quinn as a cake you would be looking right at it.

The boy grew impatient as he watched you work “this is an art Quinn.” You explained joy giving him the chance to complain “you put too much pressure on yourself.” You had been tasked with making a cake for Luke’s birthday and you weren’t going to screw this up.

You sent him a look trying to tell him to shut up “I’m trying to make this perfect.” You spoke in a duh tone as you were working on making the icing the perfect shade of red “you could give Luke cake batter and he’d love you.” Quinn’s voice made you laugh as you shook your head.

Luke was definitely the easiest man to impress.

You prayed that Quinn still lived in the same apartment that he was in before the summer. Fears that someone new occupied his home were greater than the ones you held about the ideas of him moving on.

As the sun had barely came over Vancouver you were just grateful that the doorman of the building recognised you because you would have been waiting for hours without him.

It was quiet in the building though as once you stepped into the elevator you hadn’t seen another person. Which is why you thought you were successful in getting to Quinn’s front door unnoticed.

But of course the universe wasn’t going to make your life that straight forward so as you placed the box on his doormat a laugh let you know that you were no longer alone.

Quinn leaned against the wall as he pulled his headphones out of his ears “you’re up early.” He smirked remembering how he could never get you out of bed early.

His bed was warm, and that was your excuse “Quinn!” You groaned reaching out to feel him no longer there “yeah baby?” He smiled seeing your eyes barely open.

Your pout was clear “come back to bed.” You tapped his side of the mattress “I’ve got to get to the rink.” The hockey player sat on your bed next to you as you let your head rest on your pillow once more.

He watched as your breathing slowed once more signalling that you were asleep “I’ll see you soon love.” The boy leaned over to press a kiss to your temple before he quietly tucked you into the duvet letting you bask in the comfort of his beds warmth.

You awkwardly picked the box up “I came to drop this off for you.” You explained turning to show him what you were holding.

Being a hockey player a cake wasn’t something you got in the middle of the season “thank you y/n.” He smiled seeing your cheeks turn red “I should get going.” You sucked at your teeth as you sent him a nod trying to move past him.

Quinn knew that he couldn’t let you leave again “wait,” the hockey player sighed feeling his shoulders grow lighter.

Your nod made him smile “you want to come inside?” Quinn’s offer made him feel nervous as you stayed quiet “I won’t be able to eat this cake by myself and if I get Brock over I won’t get any-” he began to ramble before you cut him off.

The giggle you let out made him go quiet “you know I’ll never say no to cake.” Your confession made him nod as he opened his door “it’s about time we caught up.” The door shut behind you both but this time it wasn’t the end of a chapter.

No this was the start of your second chance, the redo if you will. And this time you two were going to make sure that you didn’t screw it up.

This time was going to count.

#quinn hughes oneshot #Quinn Hughes imagines #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #oneshots #imagines #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #nhl imagine #nhl oneshot #amber writes fics

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chocsra · 9 months

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"Size that Broke the Bonds of Love, (kind of.)"

15! Chuuya x implied fem! reader

A/N: sorry i havent been posting! i got busy w school, enjoy! thank you @sstarshroom for the idea <3 content: you turn into a child and placed in the hands of chuuya to take care of you in the mean time, oneshot, no physical descriptions but uses she/her pronouns, fluff, pure love, friends, slight skk, dazai mention, dazai interaction, pre-relationship, NO ROMANTIC SHIT W A TODDLER

"Can't Dazai just cancel the ability?"

The redhead's feet were planted across from the Port Mafia bosses desk, his hands were placed in his pockets as Chuuya let out a hesitant sigh. The man across from him only chuckled stiffly as his white gloved-hands folded atop the wooden establishment, slick black hair cascading around his pale face. "She'll die. Just a few days, Chuuya, just a few days." Mori Ougai assured, forming a polite smile across his face with slight wrinkles lining his skin; watching as you huffed in a tiny body made from a ability user's work - you were the size of a toddler, even smaller than Elise. Your clothes were too big for you, and you had a scowl on your face that screamed maturity despite your 'chronological' age.

Chuuya glanced at you, tapping his shoe on the polished marble flooring. He was always a dick, whether it'd be out of arrogance or irritation, but you always stuck around; maybe you two were this shitty thing called 'friends'. The boy stared at your tiny figure, almost chuckling in victory that he surpassed someone in height. He thought of all the times you weren't afraid to smack him while laughing, or make fun of an embarrassing voice crack he'd slip out as an attempt to be intimidating. Chuuya thought that he had to repay you in some way, as a friend.. and well, a person.

"Fine." He quips, an annoyed smile creeping on his face; though Mori couldn't help but chuckle at the fact that it reeked of endearment. "I'm not babysitter, though. Just.." Chuuya pauses, spinning around on his heels to walk out of the man's guarded office. "Repaying a friend." The redhead nods in agreement with his statement, turning his head to urge you to follow him. Mori lets out of a mocking laugh, repositioning his once elegant posture in the leather seat. "Friend? Whatever helps you sleep at night." The mafia boss smirks, snapping his fingers, signalling the guards to open the office's sleek brown doors. "Whatever.." Chuuya rolls his eyes, continuing to stride out of his office.

"Careful, girl. I'm the real boogeyman."

Chuuya pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance, letting his arm be used as protection by you from the terrifiying Dazai Osamu. Your face contorted in irritation and slight fear, causing Dazai to send a mocking smile in your direction. The brunette wore a black and white suit with a large raven overcoat draped over his shoulders; gaining a rather large frame supported by his tall height, it made the young boy look horrifying to a child. "Chuuya! I don't like that thing! Kill it!!" You whine, grabbing onto his clothed arm even more, the redhead rolled his eyes as he sat lazily on the leather couch of the mafia's lounge rooms.

Dazai only let out a hearty laugh, leaning forward towards your small face. "That thing? Don't hurt the boogeyman's feelings, kid." the brunette smiled cruely, taking a a bandaged nimble finger just about to boop your nose with 'wholesome' intent, before Chuuya swats his hand away. "Dude, you're gonna kill her." He scowls annoyed, before sliding his gloved hands under your shoulders and hoisting you onto his lap. Dazai straightened his posture and adjusted the sleeves of his overcoat, "Ugh - c'mon, Chuuya. Enough child's play, let's go to the arcade." he gives an exaggerated sigh, causing you to frown even more. Chuuya shakes his head, "Nah, unless you wanna bring her with us." he points to your figure rested in his lap with a mocking smirk, causing Dazai to groan in annoyance.

"It's always about [Y/N] and not us - what about Double Black, man?" the lanky teenager whines, slowly pacing around the room. "Fuck Double Black, you suck." the redhead retorts with a scoff, letting your hands wrap around his gloved thumb, playing with the comforting feeling of his hands. Dazai wiggles his eyebrows in response, "Huh. Y'know, Chuuya, your ears always go red when you lie." he smirks, causing the ginger to twitch an eye and cover his ears in utter shock. "Shut up!" He scowls, before switching to a more endearing smile as you look up at him with pure offense for meddling with your playtime.

It's been a few days since your transformation, you and Chuuya had been walking in the park downtown for quite some time; he was in black slacks and a black varsity jacket with several pins supposedly from one of the former members in the Sheep. He ran a gloved hand through his hair, his other one was grasped by the tiny fingers of your hand.

He sort of missed your reactions to his fake confidence, or the scowl on his face if you ever teased back. Actually, he missed a lot of things about you; since you can't really talk to toddlers, he missed your shameless jokes and talking about booze he never got to share with you. The boy was starting to get worried, it's been more than a few days, what if you never turned back? What if he had to watch you grow up so agonisingly just as he realised.. the boy shook his head back to reality, there was nothing to realise, pull his shit together.

"Chuuya, can we get ice cream?"

"Mhm."

The redhead stopped at a bench, before reaching into his pocket to pull out some cash. Striding towards the small truck selling ice cream, he didn't bother to look at the menu; since he'd have your favourite memorised.

"Thank you."

He smiled softly at the cashier, before turning around with two cones in his gloved hands; walking towards the bench.

Chuuya's eyes darted to the empty bench, no child in sight - have you been kidnapped? Shit, if he wasn't so fucking stupid all the time-

You stood on the concrete of Yokohama's park. looking like a lost puppy as you adjusted the new clothing you were wearing. The sun gleamed off your confused face - but the sight was one of the things Chuuya dearly yearned for; the presence of your teenager self, just as annoying as it was before.

Chuuya wasn't a cheesy guy, girls were never a priority nor has he ever exclusively looked for a girlfriend. However, maybe it was the playlist you recommended him of tunes filled with romance, maybe it influenced his actions; maybe the fact that it was you who recommended it made the knot in his stomach tighten as he looked at your stupid face, and stupid hair, and..

Drop.

The two cones fell to the concrete, but the sound of food clashing with the floor was the least of his concerns. The boy rushed over to the tree you stood under, the light that gleamed off your face, the mischevious sparkle that glimmered in your eyes, and as if the first song on your romance playlist came on all over again, he.. he hugged you. Chuuya wrapped his arms around your shoulders, surprising you as he buried his nose in your hair, pulling you into a tight hug.

"What the hell?!"

You shout, smacking his back at the sudden affection. The boy only hushes you with closed eyes, intaking your scent that he longed for so long. "Shut up, let's go to the arcade right now, yea?"

Oh, Dazai isn't going to like this.

#Spotify #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd chuuya #chuuya nakahara #15 chuuya #15 light novel bsd #bsd x reader #chuuya x reader #dazai osamu #teen skk #teen soukoku

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3d-wifey · 10 months

Text

And They'd Find Us In A Week - Chapter 1

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 5.3k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! A/N: Don't be scared to click the embedded links, you might get an auditory surprise (Ai voice cloning works wonders)

Past (i) - You

[15 & 16] - THE CAPITOL

Pine is a simple wood. It grows in abundance, representing purity and innocence. In Eleven, it’s saved for children. Children like Cane. Only thirteen years old, but at the end of his life. He died in the initial bloodbath from a knife in the heart, you saw it yourself as you were running away. You had made eye contact with him for a split second and had contemplated waiting for him behind one of the many buildings encased by overgrown greenery. But, within the next second, those eyes had clouded over and cannon fire rang in your ears.

He looks so small in his pine casket, you note. The pale shade of his little brown face is the only giveaway that he isn’t sleeping.

His parents come to stand before him, withdrawn in their grief for their youngest child. They each place a fruit in his hand: a pear in his left, and an apple in his right. One for himself and another to share with whoever comes to take his soul.

Neem, his brother, holds up his sister Venus, the youngest girl. She is distraught, wails bouncing through the clearing. Their oldest sibling, Vera, hadn’t been permitted to leave the fields to come to the burial.

Chrysanthemums represent death, mourning, life, and goodbyes. Roses represent life, grief, and sadness. You watch as the adults of the town move in to help his family cover him head to toe in the petals. A few of these flowers are shipped to the Capitol to be used aesthetically, you’re sure. Such an odd thought knowing the rest are used here only for funerals.

You can’t help but think about how close you came to being the one under all those flowers. You imagine your mom having to place the fruits in your hands by herself. The hand on your shoulder keeps you pinned in place as Venus’s knees buckle. Your mom squeezes you to her side and you look at her tightened face. You aren't the only one imagining it.

The grave has already been dug and above it sits his headstone, a rock bigger than both of your hands combined with his initials and his age carved into it.

C.B.

You stare at that rock long after they put him in the ground and cover him in dirt. At the end of the ceremony, all of the children in attendance get in line to hug the family. This one is no different. You’re only fifteen, but you’ve been to many funerals. Only one stands out: your dad’s.

You remember being ten and getting irritated at how sticky the pomegranate juice made your hands, but you preferred it to the painful lump in your throat. You had to be lifted so you could place the fruit in his cold hands and you don’t think your mom put you down after, holding you close to her chest as the town’s children hugged you.

You’re at the back of the line nervously picking at your nail beds. There’s a certain amount of guilt tied to being the one who survived, especially in the face of the grieving family. You haven’t spoken to them since you got back a month ago—it took a while for the Capitol to return his body—but you know they don’t blame you. That’s just not the way people think in Eleven. You don’t turn against your own.

You’re nervous because you have a bigger part to play other than offering condolences and you promised Cane you’d complete it.

Before you go in to hug his father, you speak.

“I, uh, have something for you.” You pull a small bear figurine out of your pocket, crudely carved from wood. “Cane, he gave it to me to give to his family the night before we went into the arena. Just in case I managed to come back.” Something neither of you had any real hope of happening, but you understood the gesture for what it was. He wanted you to bring him back to his family. So you protected it with your life, literally.

And now he’s home.

And that’s what cracks them, you think. His mom’s lips quiver and his dad makes a pained noise when you place it in his shaking grip. And Neem, who has tried to stay strong for his family, gasps around a sob. Venus pulls you into a hug, tears dripping onto your neck.

A breeze comes through, shaking the leaves in the tree and cooling you from the humid heat. You like to think that it’s Cane’s way of thanking you for not forgetting him.

“Your accent is just darling. Say something else, say something else!” The woman in front of you exclaims. You can’t remember her name, but you’re pretty sure she never introduced herself to you anyway. In fact, you don’t think anyone has introduced themselves to you.

"Like what?"

"Like what?" They mock your voice, clapping like you’re a dog that did a trick. You smile around the embarrassment. Maybe for your next act, you’ll play dead. "Oh, that is just a treat."

You've officially been the winner of the sixty-seventh Hunger Games for six months and thirteen days. It's the end of your Victory Tour and all you have to do is tolerate the Capitols poking and prodding at you until the night is over. Though, that's easier said than done.

You remind yourself to make a conscious effort to bury the accent, sound a little more like them. The old you wouldn’t give a damn about how a Capitol perceives you, but the old you didn’t get pawed at nearly as much as you have tonight.

Your dress cinches at your waist uncomfortably. The heels you were forced into press painfully into the calluses on your feet, and you've eaten so many pastries that your jaw aches. Foreign hands pat at your hair, stroking and pulling at the curls as you recount for the fifth time how you escaped the tributes from District Five.

"I climbed to the top of a building and jumped between rooftops while they looked for me on the ground—"

“Skip to the part where you get your scythe!” Someone yells from the crowd, cutting you off. You purse your lips and bite your tongue so hard that you taste metal.

"Alright. Two days in, I was… gifted a scythe from a sponsor—"

"And you used it beautifully!" Another person calls from your left.

"Yes, that move you pulled off against that poor boy from Nine was simply marvelous!" A voice shouts from behind you. You remember him. How could you forget? The "move" you pulled off wasn't intentional. As a warning, you swung your scythe in wide arches, but he ran at you and the blade slit his stomach open. You think he did it on purpose, knowing how it would end for him. You put him out of his misery with his own knife.

He was the first person you killed in the arena. The first thing you had ever killed.

You bite into a muffin, and it tastes like ash on your tongue.

You try to ignore the multiple hands on your shoulders, arms, and neck; all moving to touch any bare skin they can reach. But it's hard to ignore soft hands that have never known a day of work. Much different from your own calloused palms, made rough from your days of harvesting crops and climbing high in trees to pick fruit.

You keep quiet as they talk at you, never actually trying to engage you in the conversation. You grimace as a hand touches your face.

"God, you are stunning—isn't she stunning?" A taller man smiles down at you with golden teeth, moving your face this way and that with his sharp nails.

"Oh, just gorgeous! Who knew they were hiding such a diamond in the Agriculture district, of all places?" The group breaks out in howling laughter, as if the very notion of something worthwhile coming out of District Eleven is outlandish. Somehow, both a joke at your expense and one they expect you to join in on.

You're willing to bet all of your earnings that none of these people have the slightest idea about life in Eleven, what it's like to be truly hungry. Children are being hung for stealing food and here they are, gorging themselves just to throw it all up. You're shaken by the thought that you are completely alone here. Forced to endure the abrasive attention of the Capitol residents until they grow bored with you. You contemplate how easy it would be to escape. You aren't sure how much longer you can go with people petting you like a domesticated animal. Maybe, if you make yourself sick from drinking those vomit-inducing drinks, you could make a strategic retreat with minimal fuss. "Excuse me, ladies, gentlemen," a smooth voice breaks through the crowd before a lithe body follows. The man—or boy, rather—is tall, all tan skin and sun-bleached-hair. Every eye falls on him as soon as he steps up, and you can understand why. Finnick Odair. He's objectively attractive; beautiful, even. You can tell from the brazen way he holds himself that he already knows that. Pink lips are settled in a smug smirk, but they don't take away from his eyes. If you were a writer, you could have authored a thousand and one poems about those eyes alone. "You wouldn't mind me stealing tonight's guest of honor for a dance, would you?" It's quiet, and the crowd looks at each other. They clearly don't want to give you up—their brand-new toy. But who can say no to Finnick Odair? Exclaims of oh, certainly and of course are called out before he comes to stand in front of you. Someone pulls the saucer of miniature cakes and cookies from your death grip and you feel bare before him. You had seen him two years ago during his games. Then, six months after that he came to Eleven for his Victory Tour, apologizing to the families of people he didn't know nor care about. He was just another pretty Career laughing and being gushed over on Caesar Flickerman's couch, pretty low on your list of priorities. But now—well, it was one thing to see him on screen, it was another to be in front of him. It's a lot like standing in front of the ocean, you imagine. You had seen it secondhand, through train windows and simulated in arenas, but nothing could prepare you to see it in person. He doesn't push you to take his hand, just holds it out in front of him like he has all the time in the world. Like he knows you'll take it, eventually. The temptation to reject him is strong. You’d pay money to see the look on his and everyone else's faces if you said no and walked away.

You reach forward and a callused palm meets your own. You trust him as much as you do everyone else vying for your attention here, but he's the lesser of two evils. You tense up as you follow him, mentally preparing yourself to be surrounded. But he doesn't lead you to the center of the dancing mass like you thought he would. Instead, you both linger on the edge, barely close enough to be a part of the crowd. He faces you and asks, "May I have this dance?" Overly formal in a way that nobody else here has been with you.

"We're already here, aren't we?" You say as if you weren’t just contemplating leaving him behind. You step closer to him as the band starts a new song, your right hand holding his left and the other on his shoulder. His free hand lays on your waist, a fraction above the slit on the side of your dress.

“Have you been having fun?” He picks, certainly nonexistent, lint off the shoulder of your dress. Is your eye twitching? It has to be. You want to place a hand on it to tamp down the spasms, but, instead, your nails dig into his shoulder through his suit jacket.

“What? Are you not enjoying your time in our great nation's capitol?” He deadpans. Your mouth tries to twitch into a smirk and you smother it down.

You narrow your eyes. “What’re your thoughts on lying?”

He inhales slowly, head tilting side to side contemplatively. “Depends. Am I the one lying?” You shake your head. He shrugs. “Then, I hate it.”

“Then, I won’t answer,” you shrug back. He lets out a puff of air from his nose, a laugh?

"I'm surprised Seeder isn't here with you. She talked you up a big game, you know. Very confident that you'd win." His eyes sweep over the crowd of dancing couples before settling on you. “Guess, I should have bet on you too, huh?”

You don’t know how you feel about that. Why would Seeder be that confident in a semi-malnourished fifteen-year-old with no combat skills?

You definitely wouldn’t have bet on yourself. If you were in his shoes, you would’ve put money into one of the Careers. Maybe that one girl from Two—perhaps the most muscular person you’ve ever seen. She was benching at least twice her body weight in the Training Center, but you think it was just an intimidation tactic. Though, a pointless one, since she didn’t even make it out of the Cornucopia. You suppose no amount of muscle can combat an axe to the back of the spine. “I wouldn’t have if I were you. But now that you've actually seen me, do I meet all the expectations she set?” You partially joke. Partially because as much as you hate to admit it, you are curious. Why you’re curious about what he thinks of you will remain a mystery. “Now that I've actually seen you? No,” you look up at him in shock before he grins like a shark, teeth on display. "You exceed them. Don't get me wrong. You were beautiful on screen, but the TV doesn't do you justice." He does little to hide the once-over he gives you. It was meant to be caught. You don't know what to say. You've been excessively complimented and fawned over since you were reaped, but somehow, it felt different coming from him. His gaze felt different. Like he actually saw you. You throw that thought away. Finnick is a known flirt—a playboy. He means nothing by it and neither does the look in his eyes. "She's pregnant. Seeder," you clarify, abruptly changing the topic. “About seven months along. She's resting at the hotel.” Traveling for so long had taken its toll. Not to mention the stress of just being in the Capitol. Snow, the bastard, wouldn't let her stay behind, even though Chaff was willing to take her place as your mentor on the tour. "Ah, congratulations are in order then."

"Please,” you scoff. “I'm sure you didn't come up to me just to talk about Seeder." Your gaze bounces around his face as you do everything in your power to avoid eye contact with him.

“Why not? I can’t ask about a good friend?”

“If you’re such “good friends” shouldn’t you have already known she was pregnant?”

“Touché.” He concedes with a nod, his smile still in place. Or at least you think he does. You aren’t entirely sure what touché means. “I came up to you because you looked like you were one more scone away from using it as a weapon." The laugh you let out is a surprise to you both and you have to bite your cheek to stifle it. You haven’t been doing a whole lot of laughing over the past six months.

"Was I that obvious?" He's quiet for a moment as he stares at you and you don't dwell on it. Instead, you focus on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose.

You're only a year younger than him and, yet, there's something about him that feels far older than any other sixteen-year-old you've met. The way he carries himself—something sharp-edged hidden under indifference, an alertness in his eyes that you're sure mirrors your own. "To anyone who cared to look," his voice deepens as he hums. It really is smooth. "Definitely." "Am I supposed to believe that the Capitol's darling cares about little ol' me?" "So, you do know who I am." His lips shift into a shit-eating grin, preening as if he caught you in a lie. He’s probably used to people fawning over him, and that’s something you’d never do. Be that as it may, you can acknowledge that there might be something worth fawning over. “Who doesn't?” It’s been two years and people are still talking about his games. And for good reason, you have to admit.

"Touché...again.” He tilts his head with contemplatively narrowed eyes. You narrow your eyes right back simply based on the fact that he did it first. “You know, that’s the second time you’ve—” "Seriously, what're you hoping to achieve here? You've gotta have a motive. Everyone does.” You push, cutting to the chase and sounding more accusatory than you meant to. But, he’s a victor too, right? Maybe you can toe the line here without repercussions waiting on the other side.

"Hmm, blunt. Even you?" He questions, continuing when you nod. "What's your motive for dancing with me, then?"

You could have said no to this dance, but that would’ve meant staying surrounded by them. This, being with Finnick, is a breath of fresh air in comparison. He may not be Eleven or from any other district that’s similar to yours, but he is District. That’s gotta be worth something—some kind of kinship.

"I'd do just about anything to escape those vultures," you pause. Then, feeling emboldened, add, "And I guess you're not terrible to look at." If you were going to be forced to stay here, you might as well find your fun where you can. And talking to Finnick is fun. Undoubtedly, the only fun you've had all night.

"Oh, thank you," he laughs, mirth coloring his cheeks a pretty shade of pink. "You know, I was worried about that."

"Is that so?" You smile, trying, and failing, to not step on his feet.

"Definitely," he pauses for a second, seemingly deciding on something before answering your question, "It’s just that—you remind me of someone. They got wrapped up in the Capitol; thought they could handle the…” he makes a wide sweeping gesture to the gluttonous pageantry around you and you get it: the extravagance, the theatrics, the Capitol of it all. “But the Capitol asked for more than they were willing to give. And, well...I couldn't save them." His eyes look glazed as he trails off. His face is grim, his smile gone so fast it's almost like it was never there to begin with. You find that you want it back. "And you want to save me?" You guess, heart in your throat.

"Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. The people here? Every single one of them wants us. They want to talk to us, touch us, sleep with us," you swallow at the look in his eye. "But they don't see us as people." He leans towards you and you freeze. For a split second, you think he's going to kiss you. That doesn’t scare you. Instead, he hovers by your ear. What would you have done if he had kissed you? You don't think you would've moved away. That scares you. "Me and you," he hums, lips against your ear, "Well, we might as well be a completely different species to them. We're lesser than. Beloved pets at most, tamed beasts at least."

“It wouldn’t be the first time.” You live in Eleven, after all. There’s a reason no one goes looking for the kids that go missing from the fields. According to the people in charge, there’ll always be another to take their place. You sigh through your nose and turn away, but immediately turn back to Finnick when you make eye contact with the smiling man with gold teeth.

He shakes his head, lips curled into a frown of disgust, "Look at them, the way they linger at the edge of the crowd." The hand on your waist moves to the small of your back as he spins you. "You see how desperate they are to get in your good graces?" You peek over his shoulder at the people watching you, teeming with anticipation.

"Is that not what you're doing?" You ask, your cheek pressed to his. "Trust me, sweetheart. If I was trying to gain your favor, it'd be somewhere a little more private with a lot less talking." He doesn't give you enough time to reply, not that you know how, before continuing. "I'm doing the same thing I've done since I was reaped," he lowers his voice, almost like he's imparting some kind of secret. To the right person, maybe he is. "Surviving. I'd suggest finding your allies now if you wanna do the same. " And then he turns to place a chaste kiss against your cheek. To anyone watching the two of you, it would look like he's just flirting with you. You shiver as he pulls away from you, taking all the warmth with him. He looks down at you for a moment longer, locking you in his gaze. You had never really seen the ocean, you remind yourself, but, through him, you're staring at it now. Vast and limitless. All-consuming. He brings your knuckles to his smooth lips, and he smirks. The urge to shiver again is alarmingly strong as his mouth moves delicately against the skin of your knuckles as he begins to speak. "Until next time." You catch the shimmer in his sea-green eyes. It has to mean something, something worth pursuing. You've never known the ocean, but as you watch Finnick walk away into the crowd of adoring Capitols, you think you could grow to like it. There's a drive in him that's rare to see outside of Eleven, let alone in the Capitol, and it further proves your assumption right. There’s a kinship between the districts that only the victors are privy to—you and Finnick might be cut from the same cloth, and that’s made even more apparent by the way the masses move in to surround you both. You jump as trumpets sound around you and a spotlight shines on the balcony. You missed your chance to escape. It's time for Snow's speech.

Present (I) - You

[23 & 24 ] - DISTRICT ELEVEN

It’s winter in Eleven. There’s little worse than winter in Eleven. You must have forgotten to close your window when you left in a rush because the air in your room is practically crystallized, and you mull over the idea of igniting your fireplace but decide against it.

Normally, you would go to the Capitol after being invited to a party, your prep team would scrub and shave you from top to bottom, and Snow would introduce you to your client for the night. Then, you would stay in your hotel room and have time to recoup before you left. But, this time, there was no party. Only a very important partner of Snow’s who is not a patient man. So you left in the early morning and made the trip back the next day as the sun was rising. Seven hours there, seven hours back. You’re dead on your feet and your bed has never looked more tempting. You stand before your vanity and grab a makeup wipe, dragging it over your face and revealing the bags under your eyes. You're tired, bone tired. You kick your heels off. You unzip the back of your dress and let it fall to the ground. Staring at yourself in the mirror, you press on one of the bruises littering your neck. You follow the trail to the top of your chest, breast, stomach, and hips. You frown at yourself. What a pitiful painting you make. "It's starting!" Your mom calls from down the hall and you sigh, looking at your bed mournfully. You'd usually avoid Snow's announcements like the plague, you don't want to look at him more than you already have to, but it's different this time. It's the Quarter Quell. The last Quarter Quell had double the amount of tributes, and Haymitch told you how he only won by the skin of his teeth. So, despite yourself, you're curious to see what kind of nightmare Snow comes up with. There's also something else driving you. A man you met in passing at the party. Plutarch Heavensbee. He was strange, but a different kind than you were used to from the Capitols. He's taking the place of Head Gamemaker after Seneca Crane's untimely death. He spoke in riddles, always hinting at things of importance without saying anything at all. And there's a nagging feeling in the back of your mind surrounding something he said. "I understand that there’s a certain kind of…job that President Snow has employed you for. If I told you there was a chance to put an end to it, what would you say?" "I'd say you should cut back on the Morphling." "I assure you, I'm sober," he laughed, "I can't go into detail right now. I just need to know, when the time comes, that I can trust you to fight." Fight. It’s an interesting term, but you wonder if it has the same definition for him as it does for you. You doubt it. Very rarely is there ever any overlap between the way of thinking for Eleven and the Capitol. The people of Eleven fight every day and you’ve heard the other districts have finally picked up on the habit. Riots upon riots upon riots and it’s all thanks to the kids from Twelve. You still can't decipher what he was telling you and you’d usually chalk it up to the regular Capitol jargon. But there was something, something different that you couldn’t put your finger on.

You throw pajamas on, something soft that won't irritate you, and walk to the living room. "Here: sugar, berries, and licorice root, just the way you like it." Your mom hands you the cup and pretends she doesn't see the marks on your body. You're thankful. She looks tired too, older. "Thank you, Ma." You say, for more than just the tea. "Of, course. Now, sit, sit. He's walking out." You settle gingerly on the couch beside her, sorer than you thought, and pull your legs under you as Snow stands behind a podium. He lets the audience quiet down before beginning. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is the seventy-fifth year of The Hunger Games. And it was written in the charter of The Games that every twenty-five years, there would be a Quarter Quell to keep fresh for each new generation the memory of those who died in the uprising against The Capitol." You drink carefully from your cup as he continues, steaming liquid burning the roof of your mouth. "Each Quarter Quell is distinguished by Games of a special significance. And now on this, the seventy-fifth anniversary of our defeat of the rebellion, we celebrate the third Quarter Quell," you place your cup on the table and fidget with your bracelet as Snow pulls a letter from an envelope, "as a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of The Capitol. On this, the third Quarter Quell Games the male and female Tributes are to be reaped—" The hairs on your arms stand on end. You brace for the blow. "—from the existing pool of victors in each district." "No. No, no, no, that's not, that's not right." You shake your head. It doesn't take long for your mom to start sobbing beside you and you…you can't breathe.

You suck a breath in and it feels like it's being funneled through a filter. Not enough, not nearly enough. Your heart's beating fast, faster, the fastest it’s ever beat and you're getting lightheaded. You stand up on shaking legs and stumble to the door, glass shatters as you knock a vase over in your pursuit. You need more air, you need, you need—you step out onto the snow-covered porch, submerging your bare feet in the white powder. It’s odd, it rarely snows here.

You kneel down and grab fistfuls of snow, smearing the ice on your face and grounding yourself. You breathe and you rationalize. You can breathe. You're taking in frigid lungfuls of air and you are breathing. You stare down the long walkway leading to your home, covered in both ice and snow. Across from that walkway is a cow pasture and past that pasture are woods. Vast and open and if you will it, no one would be able to find you. You wouldn’t be able to leave, not with the giant electric fence surrounding the district, but they wouldn’t find you.

But Snow could find your mom.

You stay out there until your feet and hands go numb. And then you stay until it hurts to move your fingers and toes, the skin of your shins and knees prickling with the temperature drop. You stay until your mom drags you in herself. "Let's warm you up." She says, but she's mostly talking to herself. She wraps you in a blanket and sits you on the couch. She goes to the kitchen and comes back with a fresh cup of tea. Saliva gathers in your mouth at the thought of drinking anything, so you use it to warm your hands instead.

“Oh, look what you’ve done to yourself.” You look to where she’s hovering over the carpet. Red footprints lead from the door to where you are now. You must have stepped on the broken pieces of the vase. You wait for the sting of pain to come now that you’re aware of the wound, but there’s nothing.

“I’ll go get something to clean you up with—”

“Can you just…can you just sit with me?” You ask and look away when you catch her frenzied gaze.

“Yeah, of course, baby. Of course.” The couch dips with her weight as she sits beside you.

By now, Caesar Flickerman is recapping the announcement to the audience with his cheery co-star. You can never remember his name. You're as still as a statue as Caesar goes over a list of remaining victors. You don't move when your mom holds onto you. She holds you and she holds you and she cries for you. You don’t think you have any more tears left in you.

“Now, it always hurts to say goodbye, Claudius, but I can admit there are a few lovely victors I’m particularly attached to.” Oh, you think, that’s his name. Doubtful that you’ll remember it.

“Yes, Caesar, I completely agree. Here’s one of mine now. From District Four: Finnick Odair!” Your eye starts to twitch, lower lid spasming. They play clips of him. Finnick waving to the audience as he walks on stage, Finnick posing for the camera at a photo shoot, Finnick walking down the red carpet at a movie premiere.

You imagine footage of him being reaped for the Quell and saliva is gathering in your mouth again, stomach flexing as you gag. You double over, nausea washing over you as you try to keep what little is in your stomach down. Absently, you feel a hand rubbing your back in wide, soothing circles that aren’t doing a lot to soothe you.

You were wrong. You do have tears left in you.

A/N: 1.) your arena is inspired by Valle dei Mulin in Italy 2.) The people of 11 all have farm and gardening-related names. (Neem tree, venus flytrap, aloe vera, Mass Cane) 3.) Cane had a crush on the reader similar to Peeta's initial crush on Katniss 4.) Each district has a different accent depending on their geography

#the hunger games #hunger games fanfiction #catching fire #hunger games catching fire #finnick odair #finnick x reader #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair fanfic #and they'd find us in a week

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blingblong55 · 7 months

Text

Woman -Philip Graves NSFW

creds: @/vhenan_virabelesan on instagram (for that shirtless pic)

Based on a request:

god i love your writing can you write a belly dancer reader x graves id love to see it maybe when he goes to the middle east for Hassan or an entertainer part of the Urzikstan Liberation Force

---- F!Reader, belly dancer!reader, MDNI, 18+, unprotected!sex, some fluff ----

A/N: women are goddesses, so…here's Philip Graves worshipping that

It was ages since this happened but when he was back in the Middle East, the memory became so recent.

There you were, beautiful body on display as he watched how your body moved so incredibly smoothly. His eyes are glued on just you. In a way, he thanked his mate for dragging him out of base for a night out. All the other men let women sit on their laps but he disregarded the other women because, to him, you were the centrepiece. The skirt was so low and still, it gave him lots to dream about. You knew he was watching, he knew this too and that's why he gave you a smirk and a wink. You teased him more and before you even reached him, you walked back to your spot.

The whole night, he was hypnotised by you. Your curves, the way your glare was on his the whole time, those curves of yours and how with every body movement, you kept him on the edge of the seat. Why do you have to be so enchanting? To be this beautiful, that should be a crime. Lucky for you, he wanted to be the punisher.

The music fades away, his mates with beers and women by their sides and still, he didn't care for any of them, not with you in the same room as him. You walk away, your body calling his name with every step and before he got up, his friend brought a girl over for him. "No, I rather not," he gets up and walks to where he last saw you. Without sight of you, he continues walking, searching for that stare, searching for the curves god herself sculpted on you.

He spotted you but with every step he took, you got further from him. It was a dream, trying to reach you that the way there felt so dreading, so irritating. Once he finally tapped your shoulder and your gaze turned to him, that is when he knew that he didn't want to wake up from this. "Hi, I'm Philip and you ma'am, you are a goddess." You chuckle. He had that American charm. "R/N," you shake his hand and he smiles. "Hm, what a name, R/N," he said in such a way that it felt as if he was savouring the taste of your name in his mouth.

"Say, you want to get out of here, maybe to just talk?" He suggested and you took his hand. It was nice, that he wasn't already wanting to claim your body like any other man and when he and you were walking outside that is when you turned to him and asked, "So, I assume you are one of the soldiers?" A nod from him and a chuckle, "Yes but I promise I'm not rude or loud as you may think." And after much talk, you both learned much from each other's past.

He was raised by a military family, generations of it and he was aspiring to be like all the men in his family. Suburb child, oldest brother and the one who got a degree all as he worked in the military. He shared stories and laughed at a few of his stupid mistakes. You gave him a somewhat false story. You were a dancer to help yourself get out of the country someday and travel to other parts of the globe. In reality, you were working with Farah. She grew suspicious about more Americans in the country and made you pretend to be a belly dancer to gather intel. You lived in a flat alone, except for the cat that bothered you all over the lounge. Truth to that was the cat part but in reality, you lived at the the Urzikstan Liberation Force base. You gave him some childhood memory which was real and it explains the knee scar.

After some drinks and a long walk to a flat in which you and the rest used to spy, you took Philip to the bedroom. His lips melted to yours, hands touching you with eagerness. He pushed you to your bed, his shirt coming off so effortlessly it turned you on even more. His muscles are so prominent they push you over the edge. As he kissed your lips or body, he so smoothly slipped you out of the clothes that adorned you. "Open your mouth, darlin'." Your lips apart as he spit in your mouth and then made you lick his fingers.

It was erotic, the feeling he evoked from your body that needed him. A deep chuckle from his lips when you let out a soft gasp as his fingers played with your clit. "Phil-" His lips back on yours. In between kisses, he ushers, "Just let me control you, be a good girl and just feel this." God how much you needed him to control this moment. It had been a while since a man took care of you this way and this was long overdue. You nod and he smiles, "Good girl," from his lips the hungry whisper escaped. He parts your legs properly and kisses your lips, neck and chest. His calloused fingers felt so good as they fingered your hungry cunt. You clench around the fingers and he goes feral. He can't take it anymore and instead of giving you passion, he gives you dominance.

His lips and tongue praise your clit and tight cunt. Fingers spread you open for him as you grip the bed sheets. He smirks knowing he can already feel you throb, your clit becoming so sensitive to his tongue that he sucks on it just to hear you cry a moan. Tonight, he is in control of every orgasm. You might been with boys before but not with a man who knows the female body right. His hand gripping his hair, pushing him more into you. He spits on your cunt and then licks it before letting his tongue slip inside and keep you opening that cunt of yours for him.

His jeans were already a mess with pre-cum. His tip was so swollen and dripping with pre-cum that it made him pull away from you. Hands undo the belt that he ties your hands with to the bed and then his jeans come down. Boxers to the floor as he gives your mouth the hydration it needs. Your tongue laps at his tip before he grows desperate and pushes your head. Your mouth to his shaft as he forces you to look up. His cum leaking all over your mouth so quickly, giving him more reason to fuck the feeling of need out of you.

He pulls out, "Open your mouth, darlin'" his hands caressing your face. More spit on your mouth as he kisses you and lets himself savour your kiss. You look at him, drunk with his cum already. He opens your legs again and then begins to rub your clit, teasing it until you are bucking your hips for his fat cock. He is so big you aren't so sure how he fitted in your mouth and how it'll fit in your cunt. "We'll make it fit," he knew that look and he was ready to stuff you with his cock.

The tip, rubbing into your entrance and letting out whimpering begs, "I'm ready," "Please…fuck me." It wasn't until you pouted that his cock finally slipped inside of you. Waves of pleasure flow through your body as he fucks your cunt. Your moans are soft now louder and more desperate with all the thrusts he gives you. Your back is arching, eyes closed as he keeps slamming his big cock in you. His balls slapping against you, your hands wanting to leave marks on his body. "Is my pretty doll close?" He leans in and kisses your sweet lips.

Your desperate nod left him with a dark chuckle. His hand, wrapped around your neck like a perfect necklace. "Give yourself to me. Let me own you," he whispers angrily. Your slick covering his cock. He slaps your tits and then you smile. "You like that?" he keeps slapping them until he begins to nibble on the soft breast skin. Your nipples are covered in his kisses. Your moans are barely loud as he keeps choking you.

You look at him and he knows from how you clench that you are close. "Scream who owns this pussy," his grip harder. Pleasure roaming your body as the thrust is more animalistic. Your tits bouncing, your juices squirting on his cock. He throws his head back. The way your cunt clenches around him, milking him for every drop of cum. Your cry, your body so sensitive and shaky as he begins to fill your pussy with his cum.

"Fuck…oh fuck..just like that pretty girl," he moans loud and closes his eyes. A smile on him as he watches how his cum drips from your cunt. "Philip, I…please…I'm so..ngh…so..so sensitive." Your tears fall down your face but even then his fingers can't stop rubbing your clit. He only chuckles and shakes his head. "No doll of mine tells me what to do," his hand on your neck again.

One final moan from you makes him pull out. His finger pushing his cum back into you. "Phil…fuck.." "take it, r/n, be a good girl," he whispers in your ear. "Please~" Your head is thrown back as his fingers finally pull away from your cunt.

Seven years later he still masturbates to the image you left for him. Your body is covered in his cum and hickeys. Now as he looks at your photo in the frame of his office, he smirks knowing every night, he goes back home and fucks your cunt and not his hand no more. For some time, when he was horny and needed relief during work hours, he would send you videos of his cock, leaking cum all as he moaned your name over and over again.

It was true what they said about him later on. He became a lover and a soldier. Being around you and parading you as his girlfriend. Back then you would've laughed at Farah for making such a joke and now you blush when flowers appear at the base. "See you in three weeks, doll. -Phil G." "Seems like you got the American boy in love with you," Farah mentions as she walks past. "You'll have to thank me for what I created," she jokes and you roll your eyes.

Ever since then you became the feared girlfriend of the merciless commander Graves. Everyone teased you for it. Some didn't know about the fling you had with Philip. No one knew what you and he did that night years ago. And as all good things come, his gestures of love became sweeter. Kisses on the cheek, hand and neck. Whispers of sweet nothings when you were in his office. His hand holding yours when you walked around base.

A necklace draped your neck with his initials. Over time, his title changed and so did your last name. At home, he became a husband who didn't even allow you to lift anything. More so when you got pregnant. Home became a sweet word he proudly bragged about to everyone. "My wife this, my wife that." He was known to be cocky but when he finally had a ring with his and your initials on that pretty hand of yours, he became even more cocky. Every man and woman knew that his body and heart belonged to his beloved. No need to share a beer with a woman on his lap. Not unless she was you.

Now as you stand there with his three kids and the fourth and fifth on the way, he looks back at the time his wife let him claim her for the first time. Your sweet stare and the kids giggling, that is what resulted in worshipping a true goddess.

A/N: I canon he is a god at eating pussy and no one can change that anymore. Also...can you tell I love to lure the whores into thinking I had some smut and more fluff? its called teasing my nasty whores<3

Tags:

@searendezvous @liyanahelena @luvecarson @underwatertales @angeitearz @unicorngirly1 @johfaam0 @goldenmclaren @ghostslillady @moonsua1 @frazie99 @katybaby00 @spicypicklesoh @viomast @saoirse06 @vampsquerade @alxexhearts @baldwinhearts @tiredmetalenthusiast @jinxxangel13 @strangepuppynightmare

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steddieas-shegoes · 1 year

Text

Chapter 4

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3

Steve arrived home to Robin anxiously pacing.

“Steve! Oh my God. I thought you died.”

“Robin, I literally talked to you an hour ago.”

“You could’ve died in the last hour!”

He smiled at her dramatics. She had his location the entire time, and she easily could have called him any time in the last hour if she was that worried.

She wrapped him in a hug, which was shocking enough on its own, but Steve couldn’t help his confusion when she also kissed the top of his head.

She held him for over a minute and Steve started to wonder if someone had died and she didn’t know how to tell him face to face.

“Robs?”

“Dingus?”

“Is everything okay?”

“Are you okay?”

Steve realized Eddie had probably told her everything. Oh for fuck sake.

“I am begging you to never bring anything of this up to me ever. Like, even if you think it’s okay to talk about it, assume it isn’t. I am never going to talk about this with you. Not ever. Not even on my deathbed. Not even when I’m drunk.”

“Eddie said you should.”

“I will. With Eddie. Not you.”

Steve turned to walk to his room and ignore Robin for the rest of the day, but he could hear her footsteps following him.

He sighed and turned around.

“I’m fine. Eddie took care of me. I’m going back there tonight so we can talk. I’ll keep my location on and you can check in with both of us, okay Mom?”

“Wait wait wait wait. You’re going back there tonight?” Then, she seemed to remember how he even ended up with Eddie. “WAIT! Your tattoo! Show me!”

Steve could do that much at least. He’d been talking about this tattoo for so long and he was really excited about how it turned out.

Eddie had unwrapped it and done the first round of cleaning and moisturizing, making sure Steve was paying attention so he could do it by himself today.

He hadn’t been able to look away from it for nearly ten minutes, the colors more beautiful after the redness of his irritated skin went away.

He held his wrist out to Robin, unable to keep the smile from his face as she looked at it and smiled up at him.

“He did great with this. Will is gonna flip.”

“I hope he likes it. He has an appointment with me tomorrow so I’ll be able to show him.”

Will was one of his best kids. He never had to actually worry about his future, Will knew exactly what he wanted, got good grades, had nearly perfect attendance, and worked towards his goals without any help from Steve. He’d been through a lot though as a child, and his mom had insisted that he regularly meet with Steve just to talk.

He came to appointments once a week, but him, along with his two best friends Dustin and Mike, would often spend their lunchtime in Steve’s office. They weren’t exactly popular, and bullies targeted them often for their size and their interest in more nerdy things. Steve let them, even though the principal had told him he was setting them up for failure in real life. Steve always said this was real life and feeling safe wasn’t a failure.

But this tattoo would really mean a lot to Will. He hoped so, at least.

“When are you going to Eddie’s?”

“7.”

“Bring protection.”

“Nothing’s gonna happen.”

Robin just gave him a look and walked away.

Nothing was gonna happen. Eddie said so.

– – – – – – – – – – – – – – – –

When Steve got to Eddie’s place, he was already home, and…cooking?

“Something smells good.”

Steve made his way into the house, brushing past Eddie and looking around. He hadn’t spent much time noticing things earlier, but now he could.

There was a lot of art on the walls, but none of it looked like what was at the shop. This looked more abstract, with a few random watercolors sprinkled in. He noticed pictures frames along the shelves and bookcase that held more records than books. The coffee table looked cluttered, mostly books and sketches spread out along the top.

The couch was old, but looked comfy, and the armchair in the corner seemed mostly unused. A few hats hung from the corner it was placed in, none of them looking like anything Eddie would wear.

Did he have a roommate? Is that how he could afford a house?

“You can set your stuff in my room if you want. You remember where it is?”

Eddie’s voice being so close behind him startled him, but he immediately relaxed when he felt a hand on his hip.

“I remember.”

Eddie squeezed his hip once before letting him go, walking towards the kitchen instead of following Steve.

Steve took in the pictures hanging up in the hall, but didn’t get a close look at any, already rushing to get back to Eddie so they could talk. Robin had given him another look before he left that said there’d be more than talking happening tonight, but he really trusted Eddie when he said they’d be taking it easy.

He dropped his bag on Eddie’s bed, smiling to himself when he saw that the bed was made.

Eddie didn’t seem like the type of person to make his bed, so maybe he was trying to impress him?

Steve shook the thought away. Nothing is happening tonight. He may not even want you in his bed after you talk.

He made his way back out to the kitchen, where Eddie was closing the oven door and placing a casserole dish of something that smelled like heaven on the stove.

“What did you make?”

“Breakfast casserole.”

“Breakfast? For dinner?”

Eddie smirked. “No laws can hold me down.”

Steve resisted the smile he felt trying to creep onto his face.

Eddie really did a number on his whole “I don’t smile for anyone” exterior.

“What’s in it?”

“Well, normally I do a french toast one that has fruit and maple syrup, but you didn’t seem like the type to enjoy that.”

“Excuse me? That sounds amazing,” Steve crossed his arms across his chest and stared at Eddie.

“We can have that next time.”

Next time, next time, next time.

“This one is hashbrowns, cheese, eggs, and bacon with biscuits as the base.”

“That sounds…heavy.”

“We can eat heavy. We don’t have any physical activity to commit to later.”

Steve couldn’t help it, he started pouting.

A small part of him had hoped that maybe after they talked, something would happen. Not necessarily sex or even subspace, but some making out, maybe some handjobs? Yeah, he’d hoped.

But he recognized the boundaries Eddie was setting, and he respected him for sticking to them, even if he really wished he didn’t.

Eddie poked Steve’s bottom lip playfully.

“No need to pout. If our discussion goes well, maybe next time?”

“Promise?”

“You’re gonna be trouble, aren’t you?”

“I dunno. Am I?”

“And a brat. Noted.”

Steve had never, not even at peak spoiled rich kid, been called a brat. Not even jokingly. He was a little offended, but he could see the hint of a smirk on Eddie’s face letting him know that would be part of their discussion.

“Are we gonna talk during dinner or after?”

“That’s up to you. I’m happy either way, sunshine.”

Steve felt warmth spreading in his chest at the nickname. He’d never been called sunshine either. Being terminally grumpy since your teenage years kind of eliminates that possibility.

“I have some questions so maybe we could start there during dinner?”

Eddie nodded and turned to grab plates and forks for dinner.

“Before you start though, I wanna make sure you know that I will always be honest and do my best to answer your questions, but there are some things I don’t know. I’m not a professional. I’m certainly experienced, but there may be things you want to know that I’ve never done. I don’t want to mislead you, so if there’s stuff you still need to know after this, I have contacts who can probably help.”

Steve felt so out of his depth here. Eddie had fucking contacts for this.

“Stevie? You okay?”

Steve shook himself out of his thoughts. He couldn’t let himself feel nervous about this. Eddie was kind and wanted him to understand and wouldn’t expect anything of him. He could do this.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Sorry. Just feels a little overwhelming.”

Eddie paused mid-scoop and glanced at Steve. He set the serving spoon in the dish and walked the few steps over to Steve, wrapping his arms around him gently and hugging him to his chest.

Steve quickly found his spot, nuzzling against his collarbone like he belonged there.

“That’s why we’re taking this slow, having discussions first. You can’t go into all of it the way you did last night. It’s dangerous.” Eddie rubbed his back slowly and Steve fought back the noises trying to escape from his chest. “I won’t feel comfortable doing anything at all with you until we’re both comfortable, okay?”

Steve nodded against his chest.

Eddie pulled back and tilted his chin up to look at him.

“You have to use your words, sunshine.”

“Okay.”

“You understand what I said?”

“I understand.”

“Good boy.”

Steve couldn’t contain the whine he let out. Jesus Christ, what was happening to him? He’d never been like this. He’d never made that noise before in his life.

“Alright, sunshine. Let’s eat.”

Steve didn’t want to separate from him, but Eddie didn’t go too far. He made sure Steve was right next to him as he grabbed their plates and walked to the table, setting them down next to each other instead of at the chairs across from each other.

“Don’t want you too far,” Eddie said with a fond smile.

Steve hated the way his heart skipped a beat. Eddie was going to send him into cardiac arrest if he kept this up.

But he did his best to ignore it, take a deep breath, and sit down in the chair.

His anxiety was high, and he was worried he may not be able to even eat, but Eddie took a bite and looked at Steve expectantly.

Steve picked up his fork and took a bite.

“Damn, this is good.”

“Thanks, sunshine. It’s hard to fuck this one up, but I’m glad you like it.”

Steve smiled at him and took another bite.

Where to begin?

He knew Eddie would let him lead, acting as more of a guide for the conversation than anything else, but Steve suddenly didn’t know where to begin.

“Um. I guess I kinda wanna start by saying something?”

Eddie nodded, smiling softly at him and showing him that he could be patient with whatever Steve needed to say, even if it took him some time.

“I’m not, like, a virgin. I mean I know when it comes to this stuff I kind of am, but I’ve had a lot of sex. With women and men. I mean, I almost got engaged once. I’m not new to that.” He ignored the amused look on Eddie’s face and continued, though his voice wavered. “And I’ve seen some stuff in porn or whatever. I’m not completely oblivious to how this works.”

“I don’t think you should go off of what you’ve seen in porn.” Eddie cleared his throat. “Sorry to interrupt, I just didn’t want you to think that’s accurate at all. Most vanilla porn isn’t even accurate, let alone any type of BDSM stuff. I don’t want you to think I have a dungeon or something with whips and chains attached to the walls. That isn’t what this is about for me or most anyone, really.”

Steve felt himself flush.

He’d said he wasn’t a virgin, but he’d never talked so openly about sex with anyone. He reminded himself that Eddie was still very much a stranger to him, and this kind of talk is something that close friends or significant others might have.

“What is it about? For you, I mean?”

There. That was a good start. Learning more about what Eddie did might help Steve understand what he was trying to accomplish.

“I mean, for everyone it’s about power and control or submission. But everyone has different ways of accomplishing those things and things they’re comfortable with.” He took another bite and chewed while he seemed to think of his answer. “For me, it’s about being in charge of someone’s release, whether it be sexual or not. Making someone feel good in a way they can’t experience on their own or with someone else. Having the power to know exactly what they need and give it to them or hold back. Find what makes that person tick and use it to make them feel better than ever.”

“That’s what you like? Seeing someone else get off?”

Eddie let out a small chuckle.

“I guess in a simplified way, sure. But that doesn’t always happen. You didn’t get off last night did you?”

“No, but I was dropping apparently.”

“Before that though. You still got to subspace, and you stayed there a while, even though you never got sexual gratification from it. You just felt good. Sometimes feeling good just means a plateau, not a peak and then fall, ya know? I like to help someone maintain that plateau as long as possible.” He took another bite and nudged Steve to do the same. “I love helping someone peak, too. But that isn’t always on the table.”

“What if I want it to be?”

“Getting ahead of yourself, sunshine. How about you have a couple more bites while I talk?”

Steve nodded and took another bite, watching Eddie as he formed his thoughts.

“Sex is obviously a part of this. I won’t say it doesn’t end that way most of the time. But there are parts of this that aren’t sexual at all that are still just as good. Your tattoo wasn’t sexual at all, right?” Steve shook his head. “Exactly. But you got there. Sometimes, it’s more just giving up the control. Some subs don’t even like the sex parts, you know. They like someone to give them rules and tasks to follow and punishments for when they don’t. I have a friend who is a sub who doesn’t even take off his clothes during his sessions. It’s different for everyone and it’s usually trial and error. That’s why safety and trust is such a big part of it.”

Steve felt like his head was spinning.

“Is that why people use safewords?”

“Yeah or the stop light system, or in some cases, just physical signs. That has to be agreed on before you ever go into a scene, even if it's someone you’ve done scenes with before and trust. You may love being spanked until you bruise on Saturday, but end up hating it on Monday if you’re not in the right headspace for it. It’s not just the sub trusting the dom with everything, it’s the dom trusting that the sub will use their safeword if they can’t keep going. Sometimes that’s hard for people to understand. It goes both ways. Both parties have control, just in different ways.”

“You know a lot about this.”

“I’ve been in a few serious relationships with the dynamic and all my friends have been part of the scene for years. What I don’t know firsthand, I’ve heard plenty about.”

“Okay, but what if I do want the sex stuff to be part of it?”

“If you do, then you have to be open about hard limits before you start. You have to have a safeword and use it if things start to go bad. You have to let yourself test the waters, but not jump into them if that makes sense.”

Steve nodded. It did make sense. He was probably jumping the gun a bit, but he felt like maybe he could trust Eddie to find and test his limits.

“So you wouldn’t wanna do that with me?”

“I didn’t say that, Stevie.” Eddie turned to him and placed his hands on his knees, massaging them lightly. “I’m not a jump right into anything kind of guy, even with just plain vanilla sex. But I’m really careful about starting with sex stuff right off the bat. Oh, stop pouting, sunshine. I’m not saying no.”

“But you’re saying no now.”

Steve knew he was still pouting, and maybe being a bit unreasonable. He normally took things slow too, at least when it came to more than random handjobs or blowjobs at the club. It still made him feel like Eddie might not be interested in him the way he was interested in Eddie.

“I’m saying not yet. There’s a difference. I’d love to be able to do that with you. But you need to experience more first.”

“Like what?”

Eddie studied his face for a moment. Steve felt like he could see right through him, which would have alarmed him more if he wasn’t certain that Eddie was going to be able to make him float again.

“You like to be praised.”

It wasn’t a question, but Steve nodded. He’d figured that much out at least.

“That’s a good start. You can be praised for a lot of things. Sometimes just being told to sit still and being told you’re doing good can make a person float, you know.”

Steve didn’t think he could do that. He certainly believed some people could, but he figured it would take a lot more for him.

“I don’t think I can do that.”

“Do you want to try?”

“Now? I thought we weren’t doing anything tonight?”

Steve was suddenly overwhelmed with nerves again. Despite the fact that he’d wanted something to happen when he first got here, he was now wondering why the hell he thought that was a good idea.

“It doesn’t have to be now. But it would certainly be a good start when you’re ready. Simple, non-sexual, easy to safeword out of if you get uncomfortable, unlikely to drop from it. It’s just an idea. You can always say no.”

Steve didn’t want to say no. He was nervous, sure, but he wanted it. He wanted to try. He wanted to make Eddie proud.

“Could we try tonight?”

“If you finish your supper and we talk about a safeword, yes.”

Steve took three more bites and ignored Eddie’s laughter at his clear excitement.

“So, what can we use for a safeword?”

“Up to you, sunshine. Mine is Metallica.”

“Can I use yours?”

Eddie thought about it for a moment.

“For tonight, yes. But you should have your own in the future.”

“Don’t like sharing?”

Steve smirked at Eddie, who rolled his eyes but smiled fondly back at him.

“More like you may not want to keep doing scenes with me and having your own safeword is best.” He got up and brought their plates to the sink while Steve waited patiently in his chair. “You can go sit on the couch. I’ll be there in a couple minutes.”

Steve sat on the couch with his hands folded in his lap, trying to push away any nerves he had over what they were about to do. If all went how he hoped, he’d maybe go to subspace again. Eddie sounded like he could get him there, but he didn’t know exactly what Eddie would have to do.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Eddie came into the room and sat down next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into his side.

“Alright. We’re gonna relax for a few minutes first. You’re tense and you won’t be able to just go right into it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for, sunshine. Just let me hold you for a few minutes, okay?”

Steve wanted nothing more than to never leave Eddie’s side, his arm wrapped just tight enough around him so he felt like he couldn’t escape, his body warming him up just enough for comfort.

He didn’t know how long they stayed like that, and he didn’t really care, all he knew was the next time Eddie moved, he had to open his eyes.

“Alright, sunshine. Gonna move you a little so your head is in my lap, okay?”

“Mhm.”

Eddie adjusted him so he was laying with his head in his lap and his legs out along the length of the couch. He had a hand in Steve’s hair, scratching at his scalp gently, while his other hand was tracing circles on his arm.

“Mmmm. ‘S good,” Steve mumbled against Eddie’s thigh as he let his eyes slip closed again.

“Good.” He felt a gentle tug on his hair and his eyes shot open. Eddie was smirking down at him, but went back to gently scratching at his scalp. “Just testing. You remember the safeword?”

“Metallica.”

“Good boy. You use it the second you feel like you have to.”

Steve ignored the flutters in his stomach at being called a good boy again.

It went on like this for a little while, nothing new happening. Steve started to wonder if Eddie understood what the purpose of this was, when he suddenly felt Eddie stop all movement.

He whimpered, then felt Eddie’s hand tug at his hair harder.

“You have to stay quiet, sunshine. Keep being a good boy for me.”

His tone was different. Not quite stern, but not as soft as before either. Steve didn’t have to know him better to know that he should listen to him.

“I’m going to watch a show. You just sit right there for me and look pretty.”

Oh. Jesus Christ.

Steve was already hard. From that? Really Steve?

He managed to stay quiet this time, but he knew the second Eddie touched him again he would moan.

But Eddie didn’t touch him again.

He turned on the tv and casually looked for a channel. When he found one, he watched with his hands by his sides, not even resting against Steve’s skin.

Steve knew this must be part of it or they wouldn’t be doing it, but he felt himself growing frustrated at not getting any attention.

Minutes passed like that. Steve wondered when Eddie would acknowledge him again, but didn’t want to risk saying something.

Then a hand was in his hair, playing with the ends as if Eddie had never stopped.

Steve let out a content sigh and closed his eyes again.

“Being so good for me, sunshine.”

Steve smiled to himself, keeping his eyes closed so he could relax fully against Eddie’s lap.

The noise from the tv turned distant, but the fingers in his hair felt like fire. Or maybe ice. Both? Could be both. They just felt nice.

Steve drifted, not realizing he was going until he was already gone.

Eddie knew the moment it happened’ Steve’s entire body relaxed entirely against him and the couch, and he let out a sigh that could’ve been held in for years with how loud it was. He didn’t open his eyes, but Eddie didn’t need to see them to know they’d be glazed over.

“So perfect, Stevie. Feeling good, huh?”

“Mmm.”

Eddie smiled down at him, even though he wouldn’t see it.

He wouldn’t let him stay down for long, just for the rest of the show.

Not that he was watching the show.

Not when he had Steve in his lap, floating away because of his gentle touches and words.

Chapter 5

TAG LIST: @invisibleflame812 @inmoonywetrust @captain-daryn @carlyv @lillemilly @spectrum-spectre @raisedbylibrarians @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @mightbeasleep @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @bornonthesavage @loguine-linguine @bejeweledbaby @bisexualdisastersworld @eddiemunsonswife @sadcanadianwinter @messrs-weasley @i-write-stories-not-sins-bitch @maya-custodios-dionach

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #chapter 4 #grumpy sunshine trope #tattoo artist eddie munson #guidance counselor steve harrington #dom/sub #dom eddie munson #sub steve harrington

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mamayan · 10 months

Note

Hey babes!! Last night late night thoughts got to me real hard, so I was think Yandere! Vampire! getou. Reader is like a princess, her grandma made a deal with him years ago about the 1st female child beared from readers mother will be given to him. And after a while of having reader, which he uses as a blood bank sort of, he takes small drinks from reader every so often, he falls in love with her. Thank you for your time!! 💗💗

Okay but like, you’re making me remember my teenage years of being vampire obsessed! 💖

TW: Oral (M!) • Humiliation/Degradation • Yandere Themes • Kidnapping • Vampire Themes

Geto’s face isn’t the least bit amused.

Not your adorable pout or wet eyes are enough to fix his ruined mood. He’s in fact quite furious with your act of rebellion against him. No matter how Royal you think you are, how pampered and cherished you once were, you were nothing more than a pathetic excuse for a blood bank. Albeit his but nonetheless, you didn’t seem to know your place.

“What’s wrong little Princess?” The smile crawling onto his lips is mocking. His sharp gaze piercing into you, and it’s not shocking to see you tremble just a bit under his gaze.

“You were the one who asked, don’t act like such a useless crybaby. I haven’t even done anything yet.” His is irritation palpable, tone venomous as he looms over you. It didn’t matter that your tears were falling, body language conveying fear despite how you struggle to maintain a shred of dignity.

It’s his least favorite. How you still seem to think you’re still a beloved Princess, and not his pass time for him to use and toy with.

“You want to visit the vile hag who sold you to me for a more secure position on the throne? The reason you’ve fallen from grace to hell?” His words are full of ridicule, not just for your position but your bleeding heart for others.

Your insistence on finding the good in everything, the ability to love even a pile of shit.

Your insistence on being kind even to him, the monster who only wants to ruin you. Geto hates it.

Hates how much your tears have his pants too tight. How the fear and crystalline water drops down your face make his fangs ache to sink into your soft skin. To taste your irresistible blood and sink his cock inside you. Fuck you until you don’t remember you were ever anything except his personal harlot for him and his pleasure alone. There’s nothing better for Geto than reminding you of your new station in life.

Beneath his feet.

“Fine little Princess, I’ll so mercifully allow it—if you get on your knees and convince me. Show me how desperate you are to see dear your grandmother with that mouth, and I’ll consider it.”

Cruel. That’s all you can think as he leans over you, a curtain of silky black hair covering you two off from the world. Almost like lovers whispering, but the flash of his pointed fangs and dark eyes reminiscent of a vortex swirling with madness, it’s not difficult to tell yourself he’s evil incarnate. A beast within the skin of a beautiful man. Not human.

You do it every time. Hesitate and battle your will to maintain your dignity versus your love for your family. This isn’t your first request to visit home, last time he’d only allowed you to peak at your parents and siblings, their laughter and happiness without you revolting and comforting all at once.

You’d been forced to watch for a while too, his hand not giving you reprieve. You were made to witness how they’d completely moved on, so quickly without you. Geto drinking in the pale and sick expressions you made with delight before feasting on you.

“Don’t tell me you don’t really want to go? I’d have thought you more compassionate little Princess, doesn’t your heart break thinking of her dying without you by her side?” His teasing words had you finally bowing, as you always did before him. Sinking to your knees with a vacant stare as you prepare yourself for the humiliation to follow.

“That’s a good girl. Not so hard is it?” His praise is empty, you know better than to be tricked by his wicked words and intentions. “You need to show a little more enthusiasm dear, or I won’t be convinced of your desperation.” His hand sinks into your hair, gripping tight and painfully, yanking your head to smash your face against his crotch. His hard erection grinding through his clothes against your cheek, rubbing the fabric painfully into your soft and delicate skin.

You know what he wants, already convincing yourself it’s for your beloved grandmother and you’d do anything to see her.

It was Geto himself after all that teased you with her impending passing. His hatred of humans no secret and sadistic joy in your suffering no secret.

You moved, your knees already aching on the cold marble flooring of his home as your shaky hands fumble and undo the buttons of his trousers.

His hot leaking cock freed by your hand.

“Hmm…” you flinch at his grip in your hair nearly tears the strands out, freezing and gasping painfully. He stares down at you as if contemplating.

“Humans are so similar to dogs don’t you think?” You aren’t given any time to decipher what that means, soon being dragged across the floor by your hair over to Geto’s favorite pillow to sit upon. Almost like a throne where his servants and slaves would worship.

Your cry of pain and pleas ignored as usual.

He releases your hair finally, taking up a spot on his pillow with his legs spread wide and cock standing high against his lower abdomen like a proud display. Leaning back on both hands, his lazy posture appears debauched.

“Don’t you think the most desperate display is just like how a dog begs?” Your eyes widen, staring up at this vicious monster as horror dawns on you.

Of course it wouldn’t so easy. His need to humiliate and degrade you too strong for him to pass up an opportunity to make you beg.

“G-Geto please—“

“Ah ah… that’s not how dogs beg, now is it?”

“…w-woof…” Geto loved it, the tears streaming down your cheeks, the appearance of pure submissiveness. He could smell your sweet scent thickening, because try as you might, he knows this arouses you as much as it does him. Your pride not allowing you to truly embrace being his slut quite yet.

“Really, do you even want to see her? I suppose not—“ You panic as he tries to put his cock away, dropping onto all fours and crawling towards him, barking like a dog and even panting. Your pink little tongue sticking out and drooling.

Geto’s enraptured by the absolutely pathetic display of yours. The way you leave your hands on the floor, and use your face and mouth to take his cock between your lips.

He’s kind too, leaning back again and not denying you a chance at redemption. He’s a generous master after all.

“That’s a good girl, so you do know how to act?” One hand comes to lightly rest on the back of your head, while you lick and lap at his shaft, shivering in shame as you taste his precum leaking from the soft tip. It doesn’t matter that you’re crying, Geto wouldn’t have it any other way.

The way you slobber and begin to try and work his thick long cock into your mouth is adorable. Your ass sticking up in the air like a bitch in heat while choking on his length a sight for sore eyes.

“Fuck—you really were made to be a cocksleeve weren’t you?” He grunts in pleasure, sinking too deep into your throat and gagging you painfully.

As you try to pull back in panic, lungs and throat on fire, his hand locks and keeps you in place. His hips rutting up as he laughs.

“Haha! What’s wrong Princess? I’m just helping you out. Desperate little mutt like you can’t handle your master’s cock? I need to rectify that don’t I?” His grip is iron, and you shake and gag as he uses your throat like a true toy for his pleasure. The silent screams and whimpers trying to escape your mouth only vibrate your throat and arouse him further, his thrusts becoming mildly violent. The way your tongue moves around wildly trying to make room for him and your throat tightening as you try to swallow what spit isn’t dripping down your chin and his cock, all of it have his balls pulling up painfully. “Don’t fucking bite, I’ll make you really sorry if you do.” He moans, chuckling through his groans and grunts of pleasure as you become nothing more than the mutt he calls you as he fucks your face. “Cute little Princess, you found your true calling haven’t you? I’m going to cum, take it all slut.”

“…!” Your vision is going dark as you finally go limp, fully submitting beautiful for him as his hot load shoots down your throat and straight into your belly. He holds you there, no possible way for oxygen to get you as he lets every drop go down before he releases you.

You drop limp like a doll as only a wheezing noise escapes you, air finally filling your lungs and extinguishing the fire inside them. Your wet snot covered face blank and finally to Geto’s liking. You’re stupid expression enough to have his cock hardening again.

“Aw~♡,” he coos, beginning to disrobe fully now, grabbing your pliant body and dragging you into his lap and arms. He’s mockingly rubbing his face against yours, looking like one might with their pet after they do something cute.

“You don’t think that was enough to convince me do you?” His words bring you back to life, eyes wearily meeting his.

His smile appears softer, but his eyes never lie.

He’s shifting you, so he can nip and lick your neck where he intends to drink.

“Always so sweet…” he murmurs, sinking his fangs in and moaning as the taste of you explodes in his mouth. You’re unable to resist the rush of pleasure which follows him drinking from you, whining in his hold. “Be good pet, save that energy, I’m going to taste your cunt next.” His vulgar speech leaves you shaking as he savors you, licking and sucking on your skin even after he’s fed.

He pulls back to look down at you, messy and ruined looking in his hold. “I’ll give you another chance little Princess, to show me how desperate you are~♡”

He’s not going to let you go see the vile woman which sold you to him. The disgusting humans which you so love and call family all to happy to dance on your corpse for a leg up in life.

No, you just need to be obedient and sweet to him alone. No need for thoughts revolving around anything but him, he’ll ensure it with time and proper training.

Once he makes you his familiar, you’ll stop aging and the memories of your life as a human will fade.

You just need to stay his good little Princess.

#yandere geto suguru #18+#geto suguru #getou suguru x y/n #x reader #yandere Geto suguru x reader #yandere #vampire geto suguru #jjk #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #mdni #drabble #request filled #geto suguru x female reader #x female reader

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xmalereader · 1 year

Text

Simon Riley X Male Reader

|| Masterlist ||

Authors note: Guess who’s back?! I’ve been gone for a month and have come back with a lot of inspiration and new ideas! So, I’ll be starting off with another baker reader because so far this idea has become a very popular and favorite amongst a lot of readers!

Summary: Reader is a single father who owns a bakery with their son. Simon has recently gotten himself a job there after helping Alex in the past with opening, the relationship between them grows and a new discoveries are made.

Warnings: Fluff, baker reader, single father, OC Alex, Simon is a hunk, baking skills, mentions of past abuse, past memories, simons past life, mentions of work, reader is a good parent, dating.

Word count: 2.1K

—

Simon had made himself a new routine that involved the bakery. He’d grown used to waking up at such early hours that he decided to put them to a good use by using that extra time and arriving to the bakery where he would usually help Alex with opening and getting the ovens turns on and place cleaned up before they open. He’d told himself that he’d only help the small family for a few days after the delivery incident, but after that he continued to come to the point where Y/n officially hired him.

He didn’t need a job, the money he earned while working with the military was enough. But, he was given a chance to spend more time with both Alex and Y/n, accepting the position and only working for a few hours. Most days he’d stay around until closing and help the two with cleaning. Even though he wasn’t a great baker himself he still tried when it came towards baking small pastries or perhaps some simple cookies for customers to enjoy. Simons regular duty was to mainly clean the place up and remove the chairs from the tables, setting them out properly.

While Alex checked the back room and double checking that all ingredients are available and in good condition. The teen was only seventeen and yet, he acted responsible towards his fathers bakery, keeping it clean and stocked. Simon is always impressed by the kid, finding out that he plays the violin, works with his father, and has graduated early from school. He didn’t attend university since his future was to continue on with the family business and keep the bakery open and going. Simon knew very little about Alex’s past but knew what the kid had gone though.

Y/n had told him a thing or two about Alex’s real parents, causing his blood to boil at the thought of an innocent child being abused. It brought him terrible memories that not even he wishes to remember. So, Simon grew protective over the kid, keeping a close eye on him whenever he dealt with customers on his own. The kid had gone through a tough life but he knew how to take care of himself when it comes towards his family business.

The day had grown cloudy and cold, raining pouring down hard. Simon made it to the bakery on time but had gotten drenched with rain on his way over, covering the floors in water as he locks the door behind him.

“Rain got you, huh?”

Simon looks up to see Alex by the register, grinning mischievously at Simon. He hums to himself as he goes back to counting the money to place inside the register while Simon made his way around the counter. “It’s pouring hard.” He mumbled, removing the hood on his head, frowning when the wet cloth touched his skin.

“Dad said that it’s going to be raining this whole week and we usually get the most customers during this weather. They all come in to get a warm drink.” Alex closed the register and glanced over to Simon, taking notice of his wet clothes. “My dads upstairs getting ready. I can check if we have any dry clothes in your size?” He offers.

Simon shakes his head. “I’ve dealt with worse weather conditions.” He grunts, removing the hoodie and revealing a simple white shirt as he hangs the jacket. His balaclava all wet that he grows irritated and rips it off his head, revealing his face as the warmth hit his face.

“Well, if you need anything just let me—“ Alex had turned around with a towel in hand, freezing in place as his eyes widen. His silence gets Simons attention and looks down at the teen who continued to stare. It occurred to Simon that this was the first time that Alex was seeing his full face, actually seeing him inside of hiding behind a mask. He too freezes, not knowing how to react or what to say during this type of situation.

It wasn’t until Alex finally speaks up. “Your blonde?” He points out to Simon’s messy hair which was slight damp. “I know I’ve seen your eyes but they look even darker—like the ocean water when the sun first rises!” He exclaims with a soft smile on his face.

Alex’s sudden reaction is enough to give Simon some comfort. He’s used to hiding behind a mask that Alex’s statement is the first that he’s ever heard in a while. He lets a small laugh slip past his lips while Alex continued to examine his face. “You look like any normal guy, although…” he groans. “Yep, your definitely my dads type.” The teen rolls his eyes, already knowing how his father is going to react when he comes downstairs.

He throws the towel at Simons face before the sound of tapping shoes is heard. Y/n was dressed warm for the cold weather, stepping downstairs into the empty bakery as he first turns to Alex. “Are the ovens turned on yet?”

“Not yet, Simon just got here.” He points over to Simon who was drying his face.

When Y/n looks over his smile falls open, eyes wide as he stares at Simon. “W—what—“

He clears his throat. “What happened? Did the rain get you?” He questions, obviously. He was taking in simons looks, head tilting slightly as he takes in the slight stubble that he had showing along his jawline. His hair was damp and a dirty blonde which gets Y/n staring all mesmerized.

He doesn’t know how long he was staring until Alex claps his hands in front of his face, pulling him out of trance and getting startled. “Yes?” He mumbled out, turning to face Alex who frowned. “I get that he’s attractive but I need the stoves turned on.”

“What? Attractive, what are you talking about?” Y/n nervously chuckles, side stepping Alex as he goes around the counter, taking his apron as he continued to ramble. “I don’t know what your talking about, I’d rather turn on the stoves then look at—“ He turns to glance at Simon who was staring back at him with a small smile on his face, causing Y/n’s breath to hitch. “I—stoves!” He squeaks out, stumbling into the back room to get the stoves started while Simon chuckles.

He sets the towel aside and turns to Alex who grins. “See? Dad has a crush on you.” He tells him, focusing back on putting the clean cups away and setting a few out for quick drink orders. While Simon grabs his own apron to put on. He was having second thoughts on putting the balaclava back on but seeing Y/n’s reaction stopped him from doing so. Instead he gets to cleaning without his mask, focusing on his task as he draws the blinds and sets out the chairs.

—

Throughout the day, Simon is able to keep his face exposed for about two hours before he grew uncomfortable and anxious. His balaclava is still wet and hasn’t dried yet, Alex had taken notice of his discomfort and offered him a black face mask that is used whenever someone was baking and couldn’t deal with specific ingredients. Simon had accepted the fake mask, even though it didn’t cover his entire face his anxiety had gone away once he’s able to hide half of his face.

With the bakery now open and students pouring inside to avoid the horrible weather he’s able to step back into routine. “Behind!” The two hears Y/n call out as they moved forward, avoiding the hot tray of cookies that was placed in front of them. Y/n smiles widely.

“Oh! Mr. Y/n these smell amazing are they new?” One of the college students ask as they pay for their drink while Y/n nods. “Correct! I was working on these for a few days, trying to get the right taste and texture. Would you like you?” He offers.

The student nods their head. “How much will it cost?”

“On the house! I’ve only made a few so I can’t sell them yet but I’ll appreciate some honest feedback.” Y/n looks around for some napkins to hand the cookies out with but doesn’t find any until Simon holds out a small pile to him which he accepts with a small ‘thank you’ and began to hand the cookies out to the nearest students who asked for one. A few gave him honest criticism, letting him know what was missing and what he could possibly add. He takes in all the information with a smile on his face.

“Very well, I’ll be in the back working on this new recipe again.” Y/n sighs deeply, picking up the empty tray. “Don’t work yourself to hard.” Simon says. Y/n looks up to him and nodded. “I won’t, I just want to make sure that I get these right.” He’s determined to make the best cookies ever!

“You said you made a few, have anymore in the back?”

“Oh! I do, would you like to try one?”

Simon gives him a nod before he’s being guided to the back where Y/n had left a mess all over the baking table, flour and a mixture of other ingredients were all over the table. He hums happily to himself, ignoring the mess as he pulls out a tin can and pulling the lid open to reveal the same cookies he finished baking. “I kept a few in order to die some taste testing and to keep track of ingredients I added.” He offers one to Simon who takes it, giving it a hard stare and lowering his face mask to take a bite of the cookie.

Y/n watched him in silence, always getting caught off guard whenever he showed his face. He felt warm inside and his face always grew warm and avoids to stare at Simon longer, instead he focused on cleaning his mess and using a rag to throw the mess away. “So…did you like it?” He questions, glancing at Simon.

“I like everything you bake.”

Y/n blushed deeply, chuckling a little. “Don’t lie, there has to be something I bake that isn’t too your liking.”

“I would say the coffee but Alex is the one who makes it, not you.” Simon eats the last part of the cookie, smirking at him as he swallows.

“That doesn’t count, that’s Alex’s doing.” Y/n rolls his eyes.

“You’re right but, like I said. Your baking is good and I can’t find a single one to complain about.”

“There’s always something to ask about.” Y/n picks up some of the bowls he was using and walks over to the sink where he placed the bowls inside and turns on the water. Simon followed his every move, pulling the mask back up and suddenly asking.

“Alex says you have a crush on me.”

Y/n’s hands grow slippery as the dish slips from his hands, falling back into the sink and splashing water all over his apron. “What—?” He gasped out in shock and disbelief, taking one of the clean towels to dry himself with even though it wasn’t much help.

“I don’t—well, maybe, No! I don’t I—“ He groans in frustration as he tries to dry his clothes faster but nothing works. Simon steps forward, taking the towel from his hand and setting it aside. His hands sneak around Y/n’s waist and turns him around, his back facing him while Y/n gasped and grows stiff.

“You do or you don’t?” Simon asks again while he worked on the aprons knot and getting it untied. “I do…” Y/n responded back. “But, I understand if you don’t feel the same don’t force yourself to say anything.” He chuckles nervously. “It’s something small and I don’t usually get attracted to anyone.” He rambled on, Simon allowing it as he got the knot untied and gently removed the apron from around his neck.

Y/n turning back around without thinking as he continued. “—it’s not really a crush but an attraction? Or I think that is considered a crush?” He whines, throwing his head back in defeat. “I admit I’ve had a thing for you ever since you came in!” He confessed.

Simon silently watched, amused. He sets the wet apron aside and focused his attention back to Y/n. “Ever since I came in?”

Y/n nods, avoiding his stare.

“I thought I scared you.”

Y/n whipped his head up, almost giving himself whiplash. “Never! I knew that you were a softy after helping Alex.” He huffs out, finally looking into Simons eyes as he lets out a soft breath. The two staring in silence until Simon is the first the cut the tension between them. His voice is soft as he leans down to match Y/n’s height and asking.

“Go on a date with me.”

—

[ AN: Credit goes to all artists! ]

#male reader #ask admin #simon riley x male reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #Simon Riley #mw2 spoilers #cod mw2 #ghost mw2 #baker series

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codename-mom · 2 months

Text

Cookie jar

Summary: The team is on the field without Hotch who's on a leave for some days, but they have to call him anyway. Suddenly, something happens and everybody worry about Jack.

Characters: BAU team and Jack Hotchner

Contents: TW a child is hurt (but everything is fine) and a tiny bit of angst because can't be anything else but anxious.

This is a text written for the KidFic CM challenge organized by @imagining-in-the-margins.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

The team had gathered in the room the police had assigned them – a cubbyhole, so to speak, cluttered with cardboard boxes and mops – and Derek dialed Hotch's cell phone number. The latter was on leave for a few days. His men were reluctant to call him when he did, so that he could enjoy his time away from Quantico to the full, but they had no choice. The first clues found in the field echoed those of an old case the director and Jason Gideon had worked on in the past. As the latter had vanished into thin air, they could only contact the former.

He picked up after several rings.

“Hotch?”

“One moment, he stopped him on the spot. Jack, I said no. I’m coming back.”

Morgan had put his phone on speaker so that everyone could follow the conversation, and so they all heard the TV gradually fading away, until it was almost muffled. They imagined he must have gone to his bedroom, or some other room where he could close the door behind him.

“What's the matter?” he asked, in an annoyed tone.

“Sorry to bother you,” apologized Emily, trying to appease him.

It wasn't certain that this impromptu call was the cause of his irritation, but if in doubt, it was best to try and smooth things over.

“Tell me,” he ordered, his intonation unchanged.

“We've potentially got a resurrected serial killer,” the ex-policeman attested.

“If I tell you: branding on the shoulder, chains on the ankles and whipping. Does it speak to you?” went on Dave, next to him.

A silence passed, during which he had to return to his memories.

“… Yes, but the culprit was sentenced to life.”

“Actually, he passed away last month, Derek clarified. But the last victim was killed on Monday.”

“His accomplice was released for good behavior last year, but his file disappeared, Prentiss explained from across the table. Can you remember his name?”

“I imagine you've already searched the digital archives for this information.”

“Affirmative, confirmed Penelope, who had come with them for the occasion. And there’s nothing. The guy just disappeared.”

The agency manager fell silent again. For a long time. The profilers stared at each other, tense.

“Hotch?” impatiently asked Morgan.

“Just a moment, I'm trying to remember, thundered his superior. His name was… De…”

A loud crash and a breaking glass could be heard in the background, and everyone froze as the giant shouted:

“Jack!”

A door opened and footsteps moved away from the handset. Clearly, the giant had left his phone behind. Tension gripped the whole group, their senses on the alert and their hearts pounding against their ribs.

“Did we kill tiny-Hotch?” moaned Garcia, on the verge of tears.

In the distance, the voice of the father calling his son made them fear the worst. Then the little boy started screaming at the top of his lungs, and everyone shuddered.

“Apparently not,” ironized Emily, who wasn't putting up much more of a fight than her colleagues.

“What do I do? wondered Derek, unsettled by the situation. I hang up?”

“Maybe he'll come back to us,” Spencer stated uncomfortably.

“I don't think so,” objected JJ, listening intently to the distant din.

“Why?”

“This is clearly the cry of a child in real pain.”

As the only mother in the unit, they trusted her judgment without a hesitation.

“Well, maybe I'll hang up now,” voiced Morgan, ready to press the button.

“Wait,” advised Rossi.

Jack was still crying loudly, perhaps a little quieter than a few moments earlier, but more importantly, they noticed that the sound was now moving. And he grew weaker and weaker until he disappeared completely.

“It sounded a lot like a door slamming,” Prentiss claimed, her eyebrows furrowing.

“You can hang up now,” Dave confirmed.

Derek obeyed sighing. He hadn't expected such a turn of events and now felt guilty about what had just happened. He knew the kid a little and he was always delighted to see him, his eyes shining with admiration every time. Like his counterparts, he didn't know what had occurred, but feared that something grave had happened, which would leave neither the child nor its progenitor unscathed.

“It could have been worse,” pointed out JJ.

Everyone looked at her, bewildered.

“Are you kidding? Retorted the brunette. I don't know what’s going on, but it's serious enough that Hotch left with him.”

“Yes, but Jack was crying.”

“So what?” inquired Morgan, confused.

“That means he was conscious,” Reid attested confidently.

The man who had taken over the leadership of the team when Aaron was absent took a long breath and ordered his peers to get back to work in spite of everything. They worked with this question in the back of their minds: how was Jack doing? Based on the thin clue left by their superior, they searched, groped, and modified their profile until they found a certain Denis Porter, who turned out to be their unsub. All this in record time. Since they were in the neighboring state, they returned to the Quantico offices while it was still daylight. Immediately, the worry that had been nagging them all came back to mind, and synchronously, they looked at their phones. None of them had received a message, which didn't reassure them at all.

“Penelope, do you have any way of knowing which hospital he was admitted to?” inquired JJ.

“Why do you ask? teased her colleague, who immediately took to her keyboard. I'll do it right away, my little ones.”

She typed the toddler's first and last names into her search engine and the result appeared almost instantly on her screen. All gathered around the analyst in her colorful lair, they read the information at the same time.

“Let's go,” commanded Emily, leading the way.

A few minutes later, they jumped in two Bureau SUVs and headed for downtown Washington DC, following the itinerary on their GPS. They parked quickly and hurried to the reception desk. The nurse behind the counter was somewhat surprised to see the herd arrive, armed and determined, but was reassured to see Derek's warm smile. She directed them to the pediatric emergency room on the other side of the building. Together, they made their way through the corridors until they reached another admissions department, where they were given the room number.

They shared a similar fear at this moment. They dreaded discovering the state of the youngster and prayed the titan wasn’t ready to drop again. He'd already suffered enough; he didn't deserve to be in even worse shape. Morgan didn't have the courage to knock on the door, which was ajar but not wide enough for them to see what was going on inside. Rossi did it for him.

“Knock, knock!”

“Come in,” Hotch reacted, in his usual tone.

They took a few steps and saw the boy lying on a bed, in a hospital gown, his head turbaned, but grinning from ear to ear. His father was sitting in a chair on the other side of the bed, and a brief chuckle lifted the corner of his lips. Relieved, all the agents took Jack in their arms one after the other – except Spencer, who simply banged his fist against his. The girls added a kiss on his cheek and told him he was very brave. The effusive reunion over, Aaron declared:

“Denis Porter.”

“Yes, we found him,” Dave replied, squeezing his shoulder.

“Good.”

He didn't have the expression of someone satisfied with their work. He still looked distressed.

“What happened?” said JJ, asking aloud the question they'd all been asking themselves.

“Mister wanted a cookie. I pointed out to him that it wasn't the right time, but he waited until my back was turned to take one.”

“And?” bounced Prentiss.

“Well, he had his cookie. A lot of cookies. And the jar itself.”

The adults' gaze swiveled towards the injured boy, who gave them his best little rascal smile. He had no regrets about what he'd done. Some of the visitors felt sorry for him, once again showering him with hugs, while the others shook their heads in disappointment.

“Concussion?” continued JJ.

“It’s what we’re waiting to see. He has been under observation since 3:30 p.m.”

They reflexively glanced at their watches. He had been here for almost three hours.

“He looks okay, Derek remarked as he sat down on the bed next to him. Right, buddy?”

“Yeah.”

“Tomorrow you'll be a hero at school,” affirmed Rossi, leaning against the bedposts.

“Yeah!” exulted Jack, proudly.

“Because he took a cookie jar to the forehead?” judged Emily, eyebrows furrowed.

“Scars,” Reid whispered, in a tone of obviousness.

“… Guys...” sighed the three women in unison, as they saw the same victorious expression on the faces of their male comrades.

Someone knocked on the door and a nurse entered, a little disconcerted to see so many people in the room.

“Mr. Hotchner?”

“Yes,” responded the interested party, rising to his feet.

“Can you come with me for a moment?”

Instinctively, he turned to his offspring and met his irises.

“We'll look after him, Hotch, Penelope reassured him, having grasped the source of his apprehension. Go.”

His teammates nodded in support, and Aaron very gently kissed his son on his bandaged forehead before leaving the room. Without them needing to ask, the hero of the day began to tell them all about his adventures, dwelling on unimportant details, forgetting the end of some of his sentences to go back and move on to something else, and surely exaggerating certain facts. All this with boundless energy and plenty of grand gestures that definitely appeased them about his state of health.

However, Morgan saw the nurse pass by again in the other direction out of the corner of his eye and was puzzled not to see Hotch reappear immediately afterwards. He waited a little longer, in vain. He apologized to his fellows and returned to the corridor. He discovered the giant a few yards away, leaning against the wall, a document in his hand. His pupils turned towards the ground, he seemed lost. Derek felt a vise tighten around his throat. What if…?

“Trouble?”

“What? gasped the manager, rudely jolted from his thoughts. No. This is the exit voucher. Everything is fine.”

The former policeman relaxed.

“So why the long face?”

The agency head lowered his nose, dodging his gaze, before sighing. Then he lifted his chin and turned his dark irises on him.

“… How did your mother do it?”

“To what?” he reacted, taken aback by this private question.

“To raise three children on her own into perfect adults.”

He couldn't help but burst out laughing, even though his interlocutor had spoken very seriously. At least he understood why he looked so downcast when all the indicators were green. As usual, the ex-prosecutor scourged himself for not having been able to protect a loved one, when there was no reason to do so.

“I'm not sure she'd say that,” he joked to lighten the mood.

“You arrest serial killers and, from what I've seen, your sisters don't seem to be into organized crime.”

Seen like that, indeed, his mother had done a very good job of keeping them on the straight and narrow. But that didn't mean the road wasn't full of bumps.

“Hotch, what happened was an accident, as it happens in every family in the world. I did the same stunt when I was a kid and, obviously, I'm fine.”

It was the truth. He himself had taken a tin of candy on the corner of his skull when he was a little older than the director's son. He had climbed onto a chair and then onto the kitchen counter before stretching out to grab the object of his desire, which his mother had placed as high up in the room as possible. In the end, he found himself in the emergency room with a huge lump on his forehead. The images were no longer so clear in his mind, but he still remembered his mother's concern as she brought him unconscious to the hospital. The same expression of anguish and guilt appeared on his neighbor's face.

“Hotch, Jack's moving, he's talking, and he's got clearance to get out of here. So, everything is okay.”

“Then why do I feel like the worst father in the world?” he retorted, not daring to look up.

He almost replied that it was because he had very low self-esteem, but restrained himself to give him a more consensual, but no less correct answer.

“You were scared for him, it’s normal.”

“But it's not just that, he despaired, peeling himself away from the wall to walk down the corridor. I constantly asking for help. To Jessica, to Haley’s mother, to my own mother… even JJ. I’m incapable of taking care of him all by myself.”

Morgan was touched despite himself by the disarray of his opposite, who was still struggling to adapt to his new life as a single father. Not being in his situation, he couldn't really give him advice, but could always try to make him see reason.

“Hotch, I think all parents ask other people for help. My mother would ask other women in the neighborhood for advice, and some of them would even babysit us. Your mother must have done the same thing, JJ does and I'm pretty sure Haley did too. You're no more incapable than anyone else.”

He and his sisters had spent entire afternoons and weekends at their aunts' so that their mother could work or simply have time for herself, and none of her children had had the audacity to reproach her in any way.

“… I wish I could be as sure as you are.”

Derek rolled his eyes and held back from kicking his butt. His propensity for only seeing the glass as half empty annoyed him to no end, but he tempered his urge to strangle him by reminding himself that the context wasn't helping either. So, he chose a gentler method.

“Does Jack smile?”

“What?” exclaimed Aaron, raising his nose.

“Do you see Jack smiling?”

“Yes.”

“Laugh?”

“Yes.”

“Does he tell you he loves you? Without you having to tell him beforehand or giving him something he wanted?”

“Yes.”

“So, everything is good.”

The giant analyzed the exchange they had just had, and his subordinate saw his features gradually relax. He fixed his gaze in his again and, with a pale smile, said:

“… Thank you.”

Morgan's lips stretched warmly, and he laid a hand on his shoulder in return. The two men then went to the little boy's room, where his father told him the good news.

___

This idea jumped in my head after my first watch of season 5 and this dialogue between Derek and Hotch, where Derek has decided to write his own report to leave more free time for him to take care of Jack (because he knows what it is to be a single parent).

That scene was so cute, that I needed to imagine another peaceful moments between the two of them. Because we all know that they appreciate each other more than they will confess it. Because boys are boys...

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punsmaster69 · 4 months

Text

14/FEB/20XX

passing around to everyone his hand-made valentine's cards and heart-decorated goodie bags, papyrus hesitated almost unnoticeably while giving one to mettaton.

he also gave him a note, but i didn't ask what it said.

alphys and undyne came over earlier to pass around their stuff, but left pretty soon to go. y'know. have a valentine's date.

"Hey, Mom. Look!"

frisk raises one of those chalky heart candies. it reads, "GOAT".

"What a coincidence!"

"...Though, were those not supposed to contain compliments?"

"sounds like you 𝗮𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮 give your mom a slang lesson, kid."

flowey shot me a dirty look over the pun.

papyrus wasn't paying attention for once - too busy talking with mettaton.

"Calling someone 'the goat' is a compliment."

"What does it mean?"

"It's like saying someone is the greatest, basically."

"Then I think you are 'the goat', my child!"

not sure what the expression meant, but flowey definitely had... 𝙖 look on his face. somewhere between cringing and the general annoyance he's had for all of today increasing. frisk laughed a little and gave tori a hug.

irritated by the entire essence of valentine's day apparently, flowey's rage was sated mildly with candy.

——

mettaton whispered something to my brother, and then papyrus spat some random excuse to leave; jumping out one of the windows.

at least he opened it this time. (tori's been working with him on the breaking-windows thing.)

shortly after, mettaton quietly got up and left to go find him.

——

tori gave me a quiet smile.

i glanced at the time.

giving her a small nod, she rose from the couch.

"There is something I must do. I will be back later tonight. Please be good for Grillby."

grillby nodded like he agreed.

toriel stops by her room before leaving.

frisk and flowey argue about something, but i'm not paying much attention.

about thirty minutes go by.

i rise from my seat with a yawn.

"welp. it's gettin' late, and i'm having a 𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁 time keeping my sockets open. gonna make my way home before i crash on the couch here again. seeya, kiddos."

"you too, grillbs."

i fist bump with the remaining folks with fists to bump, and step out toriel's front door into my room.

"It's HEART to believe how much I love puns!" read the shirt i swapped my current one for. i grab the card and chocolate from the bottom drawer of my dresser.

a pretty magenta-ish sweater with a ribbon at the neck; heart shapes exposing the shoulders, and a light pink pleated skirt.

that's what the old lady waiting in my living room was wearing.

"Oh! It is the shirt I got you!"

"it's fitting for the occasion."

"And fitting you well, it seems."

i hand her the card and chocolate. i'm thankful that she laughs at the cheesy jokes i'd scribbled in there, but i can't shake my nerves still.

tori presents a small cake with a heart on top and a plastic rose.

"you're probably right to be giving me a fake one."

"I feared that a real one might not last long in your hands..."

as planned, me and her went to a small theme park with a few rides; just like the one we went to in september. this time though - the entire place was decorated in hearts and valentine's-ey imagery.

an employee stopped us at the entrance.

"Here's your couple discount bands! Today only."

toriel nodded and accepted the bracelets with a smile. she quietly put on on my wrist, and the other on hers.

𝘴𝘩𝘦'𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘢𝘺 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘸𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴.

.....

but, she didn't. she only kept my hand warm in hers, squeezing it gently.

i didn't say anything either.

maybe she looked at me to see if i would, but i couldn't do a thing but move my gaze anywhere else.

maybe that was the wrong decision.

maybe it was stupid that i was excited about it.

maybe it's stupid that my soul is still beating so much thinking about it.

but damn am i one

𝙨𝙢𝙞𝙡𝙚𝙮 𝙞𝙙𝙞𝙤𝙩

right now.

fuck.

#undertale #journal #sans #papyrus #frisk #flowey #mettaton #undyne #alphys #alphyne #papyton #toriel #soriel #sans x toriel #(smiles cutely)#(this chapter has been planned for a while)#(this chapter had concept art just to help me visualize)#(going insane)#errmmmm he said bad word put a dollar in the swear jar ?!?!11!

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dadriusbiggestfan · 5 months

Note

Drabble idea - Darius hears some random bystander complain about Hunter being adopted by him, and Darius snaps.

Darius had been having a relatively good day, He had managed to negotiate with Hettie Cutburn over building plans, successfully give Hunter a gift without the boy trying to repay him with in the first twenty minutes, got Eberwolf to take his weekly bath early, and even managed to get rid of that one annoying black head on his nose.

However he needed to get him quickly before he missed the start of ‘Real House partners of the left foot.’ It was a new season, and he had managed to talk Hunter into watching it with him!

He was walking through a deserted street, trying to get home, when he noticed two men working at the end of the road.

One of the men was entirely foreign to him, with rich dark skin and a thick mop of dark orange hair, but the other was annoyingly familiar, the ex-scout had been assigned to him for one to many missions.

“And it’s just not fair- that little brat used to walk around the place like he owned it, and he gets away with no consequences, and I honestly don’t believe that abused crap for a second- we’d have known if the Emperor was beating him, for titans sake! Just because everyone is fooled by his sweet little Angel act, doesn’t mean I am, he’s lying to everyone about his true self, and I’ll prove it!” The former scout, a muscly man with olive green hair, a pale complexion, and a thin scar over his eyebrow, said bitterly.

Darius was only half listening, the words not properly processing in his head, until…

“And then the spoilt brat gets adopted by some rich, stuck up coven head! As if he wasn’t being spoiled enough by his uncle. He’ll be the next big issue we have to face, mark my words.”

Darius only knew one child who’d ever been supposedly beaten by the emperor, and was conveniently adopted by a rich coven head. His child.

Hunter meant so much to Darius, and him making the decision to confess the abuse he’d suffered at the hands of his Uncle to the court trying to track Belos’s extensive crimes had been a decision he’d cried and sobbed over in the days following, despite the surprising amount of support he had received from scouts and guards in the castle who had seen blood stains and bruises which had matched his claims.

And to hear someone dare deny it, to say his poor baby had been spoiled and had never suffered filled him with boiling hot rage, pricking and tearing at his skin.

As much as he knows he could easily win a fight against this man, he has Hunter to think about now. He can’t go and start fights with people because they say one irritating thing.

“Honestly- I’d have paid to watch that little brat get the shit knocked out of him-“

Nevermind, yes he can.

The man is on the ground before Darius even realised what he’s doing, Darius is screaming profanities at the man who is struggling to get away, clearly taking him and his orange haired accomplice by complete surprise.

Darius does let the man go, eventually, before encasing him in a wall of abomination.

Darius stalked closer to him, the man was made of muscle, but for however buff and toned he was, Darius was always that little bit stronger, and it was obvious the man had received a nasty fright.

“Don’t you ever talk about my poor boy like that ever again, you have no idea what he’s been through, and if I ever even suspect that you’re talking shit about him like some gossiping teenager, you’ll be sorry.” Darius promises, looking at the trembling man. His orange haired friend had left the scene.

Darius let the man go, and let him run off.

Anyway- where was he?

Right, his show starts in around fifteen minutes, he has to hurry, especially if he wants to hug Hunter beforehand.

#hunter deamonne #the owl house #darius deamonne #dadrius #this is so sloppily written #but I’ve had a rough draft of this type of scenario for a month or two #and i May as well put it to to use

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away-ward · 1 year

Text

Arrival

Summary: On the day of Indie's birth, there's one last person to introduce her to. Canon-compliant

Edited July 18, 2023 for grammar and phrasing.

Will

I rocked and bounced and swayed. I could sit down but there was too much energy coursing through my body to keep me seated. Emmy slept in the bed next to me, head resting on the white hospital pillows. Even with IV tubes, hair knotted and sticking to her forehead, and that shitty paper-thin gown, she was still the most beautiful woman.

And mother.

I swallowed, looking down at the little baby in my arms. Thanks to Winter, I've had plenty of practice holding one, not that it stopped me from shaking as the nurse passed her to me. She was so pink and warm and tiny in my large hands. None of Damon's babies were tiny like this. Those boys were monsters from day one.

Not my girl. She was sweet and delicate, with a soft smell and blue eyes that I'm hoping won't stay blue. Green is a Grayson trait, and if one of my kids inherits them, cool, but I'm dying for this one to get her mother's chocolate-browns.

Two light knocks at the door before it cracked open. I knew who to expect. Hours after the delivery, most everyone came through and left, promising to return in the morning after Emmy and baby had a chance to rest. Only one person hadn't shown their face yet.

The door open to reveal two black eyes glinting in the light that spilled in from the hall way as Damon let himself in without a word. He closed the door and kept the lights off, leaving us in the pale glow from the window. Leaning back casually, arms crossed over his chest, he watched me hold my child with a superior smirk.

Irritation simmered in my chest. At first, I was pissed he wasn't here. I knew it was his need for revenge that kept him away. He had to make a point. I regretted not being there for Ivarsen, and I've told him that. I thought we were in the clear, but as Em and I were allowed visitors, I couldn't ignore the stab of pain at his no-show. With each group, the joy I had became clouded by the bitterness of him not being there. I tried to hide the way I scanned the room, looking for him, but Em still caught it. Each time, she'd take my hand, squeezing it once to bring me back to the moment.

Looking at him now, I was just happy that I didn't have to share this with anyone else.

My smile broke the tension first as I tore my gaze from him. I had to, because for some reason, I couldn't look away from the new life in my arms for too long. When I confirmed once again that she's real and she was there, I looked back up. My vision blurred and I realized, a bit embarrassingly, those are tears.

I was crying.

Again.

Stupid fuck. My smile grew.

Damon grinned. "Are you dad now?"

I knew if I tried to speak, my voice would fail me, so I swallowed and nodded. Damon shoved off the door, walking closer to inspect the newest addition to our constantly growing family.

"About time you started catching up," he critiqued, peering closer. He lifted a brow, pretending to be unimpressed. "This the foretold William IV?"

I laughed. We had decided to follow Damon and Winter in keeping the gender a mystery until their arrival, but we made no secret that we were hoping for a boy – the next William. We knew either way we'd be over the moon, but between Mads, and Ivar and Gunnar, none of us really expected this.

And I guess newborns don't look all that different, but I was a little offended he'd think my son would be so small and soft.

"You ready for this?" I challenged. Damon lifted a brow in questions and I tilted my daughter to meet the face of who I knew would be her favorite uncle. "D, meet Indie Aspen Grayson. The first, if she so chooses."

I swear I felt his heart stop. He looked from her to me back to her, eyes wide. It wasn't often I got the jump on him. This was my favorite surprise so far.

"A girl?" he whispered, looking at me. Looking back at her, he said more to himself and with pride, "Our first girl."

I shrugged. "Well, technically Athos -"

His cutting glare shut me up. We all loved Athos, and accepted her as one of our own. Somehow, that girl was perfectly suited to the Fane's as if she were made for them, but I wouldn't deny that this felt different.

Indie cooed gently and I immediately went back to rocking her.

"I was downstairs," Damon said. I glance up, reading him. "The entire time. For hours, I've just been sitting down there, waiting for this."

I nodded, accepting his non-apology. "Your point's been made. Don't do it again."

"I'll catch the next one."

I laughed. The next one, huh? I glanced behind me to Em, half expecting to catch her mid-eyeroll.

Turning back to Damon, I asked the one thing I'd been dying to ask since he walked in. "You wanna hold her?"

Damon's chest heaved with a sharp exhale as he raised his arms to take her. I adjusted my hold on the bundle, pausing at the last second.

"You'll give her back, right?" I teased, smiling at him.

He didn't take the bait, his eyes only for Indie as I passed her over. "Maybe. We'll see."

"He will if he knows what's good for him," Emmy muttered from the bed beside us.

I looked down, seeing her half-lidded gaze watching our daughter in Damon's arms, soft smile playing on her lips. I couldn't help myself from leaning down and pressing a kiss to her temple. Hovering over her, so close my eyes couldn't take in all of her at once, I breathed her in. She was a vision. Perfection.

Her hand came up and cupped my cheek. I needed a shave. I needed to go relieve myself. And I could probably use a shower.

But mostly, I needed to see my daughter again.

Emmy's eyes drew away from me to where Damon had moved to the window of the private room. With one more kiss, I left her side to join him, wrapping a hand around his shoulder and looking down at Indie. Her eyes had opened and she was looking at Damon like she knew him. It's possible she recognized his voice. He was around Emmy plenty until the final weeks when she stayed home as a precaution. Even then, Winter came around to keep her company and Damon usually followed soon after. Still, I thought it was something else. Something I couldn't put a name to.

A weaker man might be jealous or suspicious, and I was once, but I understand now. Damon and I, and the others, are one in the same, tangled together and inseparable. Our bond doesn't only cover us; it transfers to what we each love.

"You might not be getting her back after all," he joked. At least, I hoped it was a joke. A part of him sounded serious.

Emmy made a noise behind us, a low groan, and I turned to see her trying to sit up. I glared, silently telling her to stay put. She should know better. Annoyed, she slouched against the pillows, keeping her eyes on Damon's back. God, she's gonna be a great mom.

"About that," I said to him. I looked out at the view of Thunder Bay. The local hospital was small, only three stories, so we weren't towering above the town, but it was enough to get a good eye-full of our kingdom. We were building, moving through our plans at a steady rate. By the time the kids were starting school, we'd have this place well on lock.

But that meant enemies were coming our way.

I'd like to say losing both of us would be unlikely, but Emory lost her parents at eleven years old. She was pregnant for the anniversary of their passing this year and it made us aware just how prepared we need to be.

For everything.

I continued, "Em and I have discussed it, and if anything happens to us, we want you and Winter to step-in." I waited for him to answer but he remained silent. I cleared my throat. "I believe you'd call it a Godparent."

"Though please don't teach her about God," Emmy said.

"Chill, he's been to Sunday School. Used to do confession and all that," I retorted. I was joking awkwardly because he still hadn't answered. "Plus, he's got that rosary. Must mean something, right."

She made another sound of discontent.

Smiling, I looked to Damon. His silence had me worried, though I'd never admit it. Maybe he doesn't want the extra responsibility. He and Winter weren't done having kids, and it's not like my kids would be abandoned if the Torrance's didn't take them in. The only reason we're putting it on paper is for the legality of it; so there's no confusion or hold up in the system. We had no doubt that our family would take them in them if we couldn't be by their side. But of all my friends, nobody would keep them like Damon. He had a sort of ferocious protectiveness over the kids that's even more terrifying than when we were teenagers. Until Mads and Ivars, I didn't know he could get any worse. And Em could act annoyed all she wanted, I knew that like me there wasn't anyone she'd trust more in this scenario.

Finally, he looked over, regarding me for a moment before looking out at the town, but I saw it. I made the right call. Nothing would have ever stopped him from protecting my family if I couldn't.

"Fucking moron," he said, "that's the exact opposite of a Godparent. The term you're looking for is legal guardian."

Ha. Caught him. "So...?"

"Send the papers in the morning."

I laughed. In the morning, he said, as we looked at the sun rising over the horizon.

Notes: I have this idea that Damon would have a special connection with Indie. Thank you for reading/commenting/liking, and spending a few short minutes with me. As always, I'd love to hear you thoughts.

sending my love.

Master List

#devil's night series stuff #willemmy #will grayson iii #emory scott #devil's night series #damon torrance #my fic #post canon

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wren-of-the-woods · 1 year

Text

Love, Joy, and Kittens

When Geralt and Yennefer finally get a room at an inn after weeks of travel, Jaskier expects to spend a calm evening with his lovers and sleep in a real bed. This plan is derailed when they find an unexpected creature in their room. Or: In which Geralt, Yennefer, and Jaskier meet a kitten. Established Geraskefer, 5k, rated T. Also on AO3!

Jaskier was having a lovely week.

Ciri had gone off with Lambert and Coën. According to Lambert, they were “having some uncle-niece bonding time.” Jaskier had suspected that this would involve a large number of explosives, cursing in various languages, and very little room for anything else, so he had suggested that he, Geralt, and Yennefer travel alone for a time and rejoin them in a few weeks. The relief on Geralt’s and Yennefer’s faces at the idea had been highly amusing.

The three of them had been wandering the Path for almost a week. It had, for the most part, been wonderful. Jaskier got to spend time with his lovers, singing at them and making them laugh. He got to appreciate their beauty all day long. He got to spend every night cuddled up to the two of them, reveling in the warmth and safety.

However, he did not get to do any of this cuddling in an actual bed.

Their financial reserves were not exactly plentiful and, with Ciri gone, they did not have any real reason to prefer the comfort of an inn over the convenience of a bedroll in the woods. Jaskier understood all of this perfectly well. This did not mean he was happy about it.

He may have complained about it a little bit, but, well, he was a bard. If Yennefer and Geralt didn’t want to hear a little whining now and then, they shouldn’t have brought him along.

Jaskier hadn’t expected anything to come of his grousing. Jaskier had been wrong.

After a particularly long day of travel, Geralt and Yennefer apparently came to an unspoken agreement. Geralt led Roach into the first town they came across and Yennefer headed in the direction of the inn. Jaskier’s confused and halfhearted objections (“What? Yen, that’s not really necessary, I know we don’t have much coin. I’m really fine, I swear!) were met with firm denial (“Shut up and let us spoil you, idiot), so Jaskier deemed it best to give in.

He made as though to protest at the price the innkeeper named for the single room that was apparently available, thinking to offer his services as a bard in exchange for a discount, but Yennefer cut him off before he could. She handed over the money and nodded in approval when Geralt began to drag him upstairs. She followed them shortly after.

“I still think I should have performed,” Jaskier was saying. He tugged halfheartedly at the grip Geralt had on his hand, though he could not claim that he really minded the touch.

“You’re exhausted,” said Geralt.

“I think that, as irritating as the innkeeper was, this town does not quite deserve your half-asleep caterwauling,” said Yennefer with a smirk as she came up behind them.

“Hey! I’ll have you know that you two are the only ones who I grace with my half-asleep caterwauling. Everyone else gets only my performance voice or my drunk caterwauling. Sleepy Jaskier is a gift that only you two get to see.”

“We’re grateful,” said Geralt, “But you really should sleep. Without singing.”

“Just because I’m not a great and powerful magical being doesn’t mean I can’t handle a little fatigue, Geralt.”

“Yes, and acting like a child who doesn’t want to go to bed is such a good way to prove your strength,” said Yennefer.

“Excuse me,” Jaskier said as they approached their room, “I act only with the greatest of grace and—”

A mewling sound from the other side of the door cut off his words.

It was soft enough that Jaskier barely heard it, but the way Geralt froze and stared at the door was enough to assure him that he was not imagining anything. He blinked.

“What’s that?” he asked.

Yennefer was frowning. “I don’t know, but be careful.”

“Is it magical?”

“I don’t think so.”

“It doesn’t smell like a monster,” Geralt agreed.

“Who knows what the innkeeper put in there, though?” asked Yennefer. “It could be a trap.”

“Yes. Be careful.”

The three of them stood there for a moment, staring at the door. It occurred to Jaskier that they would likely look rather comical to an outside observer.

“Well? Are we going in?” he asked.

After a moment of hesitation, Yennefer stepped forward. Slowly, carefully, she opened the door and peeked inside the room. She was silent for a long moment.

“Well? Is it dangerous?” asked Jaskier.

“I’m… not sure,” said Yennefer. Geralt stepped forward with a frown to lean over Yennefer and peek in the room as well.

“What the fuck?” said Geralt.

Jaskier’s heart pounded. He tried to get a look inside the room, but it was effectively blocked by the bodies of his witcher and witch. He stood on his tiptoes. It was no good.

“What is it?” he asked again. “A trap? A monster? Please don’t tell me we have to find somewhere else to sleep. My feet are already killing me. Why aren’t you saying anything? Is it gruesome? Can I see?”

With an irritated glance at Jaskier, Geralt stepped back. A little shakily, Yennefer opened the door and entered the room. Jaskier shoved past her and saw, sitting directly in the center of the room’s only bed—

A tiny, fluffy, orange kitten.

Its head was almost comically oversized for its body. Its tail was neatly tucked around its paws. It was looking at them with an adorably bewildered expression, appearing rather like it had just been woken up from a nap. Jaskier thought it could probably have sat in one of Geralt’s hands with very little trouble.

Jaskier stared at it. It stared back.

Jaskier burst into uncontrolled, delighted laughter.

Yennefer shot him an irritated look. Geralt shuffled awkwardly behind him. This only served to make Jaskier laugh harder.

“A kitten!” he wheezed when he caught a breath between giggles. “You were so nervous— You paranoid bastards— I cannot believe— It’s just a tiny kitten!”

“It might be a trap,” Geralt protested weakly.

“You could probably eat it in a single bite if you wanted to, Geralt!”

“That’s morbid,” said Yennefer. She sounded amused.

“And you!” said Jaskier, wheeling around to face her. “You said you didn’t know if it was dangerous! Yennefer of Vengerburg, the most powerful and feared mage on the Continent, was unnerved by a tiny little cat!”

“I can strangle you, Pankratz.”

Jaskier was overtaken by another fit of giggles.

The kitten mewled again, this time sounding rather disgruntled. Jaskier whirled around to face it.

“Oh, you poor dear. Did we wake you up from your nap? What are you doing here, anyway? Where’s your family?”

“It’s a cat,” said Yennefer. “It can’t understand you.”

“Oh, I thought it was a terrifying supernatural being capable of destroying nations.”

“On second thought, maybe strangulation is too good for you.”

Ignoring her, Jaskier approached the bed. Slowly, he held out his hand towards the kitten. It sniffed his fingers then mewled again. Gently, Jaskier stroked its head with a finger. Its eyes went wide. For a moment, Jaskier thought he had gone too far, but then the kitten pushed up into the touch. Jaskier’s heart positively melted. He kept stroking its head, unable to help the grin that spread across his face.

Behind him, he heard Geralt slowly sidle into the room. The kitten did not react.

“Are you sure it’s a real cat?” Geralt asked Yennefer. Jaskier glanced back to see him staring at the kitten, almost transfixed. “Cats don’t like witchers.”

“I don’t feel any magic,” Yennefer admitted.

“It’s kind of hard to be afraid of someone who’s halfway across the room and looking like a frightened pigeon, even if you’re a cat,” said Jaskier.

Geralt scowled and ignored him. “It can’t stay on the bed forever. We need to sleep there.”

“That is an issue,” said Jaskier thoughtfully. He turned to the kitten. “What are we going to do with you, hmm?”

“Again, it can’t understand you,” said Yennefer.

“Ignore them,” Jaskier told the kitten. “They do not understand the concept of whimsy.”

Slowly, Jaskier shifted so he was sitting on the bed beside the kitten. It did not seem overly bothered by the change. Jaskier moved to stroke its back. It looked content. Very gently, Jaskier brought a hand under its ribcage and picked it up, moving his other hand to support its hind legs and then cradling it against his chest. It mewled confusedly and squirmed a little, looking up at him, but he kept stroking it and it settled within a few moments.

He could feel its tiny chest rise and fall against his hands as it breathed. Its fur was slightly matted in places and it could probably have used a bath, but at that moment, Jaskier could not have imagined something softer or more pleasant to touch. It closed its eyes. Jaskier felt his heart melt a little more at the trust it was showing him.

He glanced up at Geralt and Yennefer to see them still on the other side of the room, looking at him with something that looked startlingly like awe.

“You can come over here,” he said instead of giving in to the flustered feelings trying to overwhelm him. “No need to cower.”

“I don’t want to scare it,” said Geralt, and Jaskier’s heart broke a little.

“You won’t scare him,” he said.

“Him?” asked Yennefer, raising an eyebrow.

Jaskier shrugged. “I’ve decided it’s a he. Orange cats usually are, I think.”

“How do you know I won’t scare him?” asked Geralt, returning them to the original topic.

“He can probably smell you perfectly well from here. If he was going to be scared, he already would be.”

Geralt hesitated. “I don’t know how to act around cats.”

“That’s okay. I’ll show you.” When Geralt still hesitated, Jaskier looked to Yennefer. “Come on. What are you waiting for?”

Yennefer frowned at him. “I’m not scared. I just don’t want to get fleas.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “I’m sure you can magic away fleas as easily as blinking. Get over here.”

After a quickly-hidden second of trepidation, Yennefer stepped forward. She looked at the kitten. The kitten, after a moment, looked at her.

“Mew?” he said.

Yennefer looked back at Jaskier, seeming uncharacteristically uncertain. Jaskier had to hold back a laugh.

“Come on,” he said. “Pet him.”

Slowly, Yennefer reached out to stroke a hand over his head. He blinked up at her, rather bemused.

“Keep going,” Jaskier said encouragingly.

Yennefer continued to stroke the kitten, first his head and then his back. Within a few moments, he settled and closed his eyes. He looked very content. Yennefer stared down at him with shock and a tiny bit of delight.

Jaskier decided that it was time for her to ascend to the next level.

“Here,” he said, and handed the kitten to her.

Jaskier had seen Yennefer achieve feats of unimaginable bravery. He had seen her fight her worst fears with determination, seen her battle hordes of monsters that might have made even the most skilled of witchers hesitate, seen her face down armies without flinching. Yennefer was brave. She was powerful. She was, in a word, incredible.

She was also looking down at the kitten he had just placed in her hands with an expression that could only be described as terror.

“I don’t know how—” she started to say, then cut herself off with a panicked gasp when she had to fumble with the squirming kitten to keep him from falling. He mewled indignantly.

“It’s okay,” said Jaskier, reaching forward to help. “I’ll show you. Here, you put your hand where it’ll support his weight, under the ribcage is good. Yes, just like that. Now you— yes! You’ve got it.”

Yennefer ended up sitting on the bed beside Jaskier, carefully cradling the kitten to her chest with both hands. The kitten was rather disgruntled by the whole affair, at first, but when Jaskier gently encouraged Yennefer to free a hand and continue stroking him, he settled down. He snuggled into Yennefer’s arm. After a few moments, his eyes slipped closed.

Yennefer’s eyes widened. She swallowed.

“Is he sleeping?” she asked hesitantly, her voice so soft it was almost a whisper.

“Yeah,” said Jaskier, feeling a grin spread across his face. “He’s taking a nap.”

“Oh,” she said softly.

She sat there for a long moment, quietly stroking the kitten. She seemed unable to tear her gaze away from the tiny, fluffy body in her arms. Jaskier found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her. She pet the kitten so gently that it was almost painful to watch, care and tenderness written into her every movement. Her expression could only be described as awe. In that moment, Jaskier was unable to think of anything that could possibly be more beautiful.

After a few long minutes, she looked up. Geralt was still standing against the far wall of the room, watching the little group on the bed with what appeared to be a mixture of fondness and longing. Yennefer took one look at his expression and sighed.

“Get over here,” she said. Jaskier nodded. Geralt, after a moment’s hesitation, obeyed.

His approach was slow and silent. When he came within a few paces, the kitten stirred, looking up at him with his ears slightly flattened. Geralt froze. Jaskier hushed him and scratched him under the chin, while Yennefer kept her hand resting on its back. That seemed to do the trick. The kitten settled back down into Yennefer’s arms. Jaskier gestured Geralt closer, and at his behest, the witcher sat down cautiously on Yennefer’s other side.

The kitten was still awake and watching Geralt with a little bit of wariness, but he did not seem overly bothered by the witcher’s presence. Jaskier internally cheered.

“You can pet him,” he whispered to Geralt.

“I don’t want to scare him,” Geralt said again.

“You won’t. Yennefer and I will help.”

A little bit of Yennefer’s uncertainty returned. “I can try, but—”

Jaskier waved her off. “Nonsense. He already likes you. Go ahead, Geralt.”

Geralt hesitated. “But—”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “You can make fun of me if I’m wrong. I take responsibility for any and all kitten-related disasters. Go ahead.”

Geralt huffed, amused. Jaskier hid his smile by looking down at the kitten.

Slowly, Geralt crouched down so his head was more or less level with the kitten. He swallowed, reached out, and gently ran his head down the kitten’s neck and back.

“Mew?” said the kitten. He looked up at Geralt. He blinked.

“Keep going,” said Jaskier softly.

Geralt stroked the kitten again. When he did not panic or run away, Geralt did it again.

“He’s soft,” he whispered, entranced.

“Yeah,” said Yennefer, her voice equally quiet.

They both stared down at the kitten, who was content in Yennefer’s arms as Geralt stroked him. The kitten looked very small and helpless beneath Geralt’s big hands, but did not seem particularly bothered by that fact. Jaskier felt himself growing a little teary-eyed at the sight.

“Do you want to hold him?” Yennefer asked after a few moments.

Geralt’s eyes went wide. He glanced at Jaskier, nervous. “Do you think I can?”

“I do,” said Jaskier. “He already likes you, see?”

He gestured at the kitten, who was meowing in quiet protest at the fact that Geralt was no longer petting him. Geralt looked back at him. His face softened.

“I suppose,” he said. He looked up at Yennefer, then back at Jaskier. “Will you help me?”

Yennefer nodded.

“Of course,” said Jaskier. “Here, Yen, you can hand him to Geralt just like how you picked him up. Just support his weight— yeah, there you go. Geralt, you do the same thing.”

After a few moments of fumbling and a few disgruntled mewls from the kitten, Yennefer managed to deposit him in Geralt’s hands. Jaskier had been correct; he could have sat on just one of Geralt’s hands without too much trouble. Geralt was carefully cupping him with both of his anyway. The sight made Jaskier struggle not to dissolve into an unhelpful puddle of affection.

“What now?” asked Geralt, sounding almost as nervous as he had when Ciri first asked him to help her with her hair.

“You can put him in your lap, if you want,” said Jaskier. “You might want to get comfortable, though. Cats don’t always like to move once they have a nice person to sit on.”

After glancing at the bed consideringly, Yennefer crawled up to lean against the rather rickety headboard and patted the spot beside her. “Come on. I think we can all fit.”

Jaskier scooted up to sit near her, leaving space for Geralt between them. Geralt glanced up at them, then down at the kitten in his hands. The kitten had started to nibble on one of his fingers. After a moment of consideration, Geralt cautiously got to his knees on the bed and hobbled over to them, being careful to keep the kitten from being jostled. He settled in between Jaskier and Yennefer and set the kitten gently in his lap. The kitten flailed a little at the new position, but it took only a few moments for him to settle on one of Geralt’s thighs.

“Keep petting him,” Jaskier said encouragingly.

Geralt obeyed. On his other side, Jaskier saw Yennefer resting her head on Geralt’s shoulder and looking down at the kitten. For several moments, the three of them sat in content silence. Then—

“It’s vibrating,” said Geralt, sounding adorably terrified.

“Oh!” said Jaskier, delighted. Now that he was paying attention, he could hear the faintest of rumbling sounds from the kitten. “He’s purring, Geralt. That means he feels safe and content. He’s happy.”

“Oh,” said Geralt. His voice was filled with awe.

“We made him do that?” asked Yennefer. She spoke softly, as though trying not to interrupt the kitten’s purrs.

“Yeah,” said Jaskier, matching her tone, “We did.”

Yennefer smiled. It was not an expression of triumph or of power, not assured or sarcastic. It was not the smile she liked to show to the world. It was small and soft, tender and a little uncertain. It was directed at a small ball of orange fluff lounging in a witcher’s lap. Jaskier knew at that moment that no song he could write would come close to describing her beauty.

“I wonder where his family is,” Yennefer mused after a long few moments of content silence. “He can’t have gotten here all by himself, can he?”

“We can ask the innkeeper tomorrow,” said Jaskier. “Looks like he’s alone at the moment, though.”

“He isn’t,” said Geralt.

Jaskier blinked. “Please don’t tell me there are more cats hiding under the bed and you didn’t tell us, Geralt.”

“No.” Geralt looked rather embarrassed. “I just meant… we’re here. So he isn’t alone.”

Jaskier gave the kitten a thoughtful look. “I suppose that’s true.”

Yennefer looked back and forth between Jaskier. A small frown appeared on her face.

“He might have a family,” she said. “You can’t just take him.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Jaskier protested. “I just think he can stay with us tonight, is all.”

Yennefer looked at him skeptically. “That’s what you said when we found you trying to hide a baby griffin in your backpack.”

“That was one time—”

“It was extremely memorable and also idiotic. I am not letting you live it down anytime soon.”

Geralt casually removed one hand from the kitten to cover Jaskier’s mouth, muffling his indignant response and reducing his words to spluttering. Yennefer giggled at the sight, and Jaskier felt the fight drain out of him at the sound. Sensing his surrender, Geralt removed his hand and started to pet the kitten again before it could stop purring.

“The griffin thing was stupid, but this isn’t a griffin,” Geralt said diplomatically. “I think he can stay the night if he wants to.”

Yennefer subsided. “I don’t see why not.”

The kitten mewled a little. The three of them glanced down to see him resettling himself on Geralt’s legs, apparently having decided that he could make himself more comfortable than he already had.

“We’re going to have to move him eventually,” said Yennefer reluctantly. “We need to sleep somehow.”

Jaskier considered that for a few moments. “Maybe we can put him on one of the pillows. As long as no one rolls over in their sleep, he should be all right.”

Geralt looked doubtfully at the bed. The three them of sitting side by side were already rather squished.

Jaskier rolled his eyes in Geralt’s direction. “I don’t see you offering any better ideas.”

“I think we can make it work,” said Yennefer. “We’ve slept in smaller places.”

“All right,” said Geralt.

“I suppose we should lie down, then,” said Jaskier. Though he was reluctant to break the moment, he was still sleepy and knew that they needed to rest if they wanted to get anything done the next day.

After a few moments of shuffling and some rather disgruntled sounds from the kitten, they managed to get settled in a way that was comfortable for everyone. Geralt was on his side with an arm thrown over Jaskier’s waist. Jaskier was on his back so that Yennefer could lie half on top of him in the way she sometimes preferred. The kitten was curled up on a pillow behind Yennefer’s head. Jaskier’s arm was around Yennefer’s shoulders to keep her from rolling over in the night and crushing the kitten.

Yennefer was warm and heavy on top of Jaskier. Geralt’s breathing was slow against his side. Jaskier drifted off within moments, feeling safe, loved, and content.

The next morning, Jaskier was awakened by tiny and very sharp claws kneading directly on his bladder.

He yelped and flailed, trying to sit up. He was not very successful. This was mostly due to the fact that his right arm was trapped under a warm body and there was a thigh pinning his legs down. The kneading continued. Jaskier squirmed again, more frantically. He tried to free his arm to remove the pressure on his bladder, but—

Yennefer yelped as she went tumbling off the bed and thumped onto the floor.

Geralt sat up like a shot, looking around frantically and reaching for a sword on his back that was not there. Jaskier, now free, wasted no time in sitting up and gently but firmly removing the kitten from his person.

Geralt glanced between Jaskier, the kitten, and Yennefer, who had managed to sit up enough for her head to poke up above the edge of bed.

“...What?” asked Geralt weakly.

“Yeah, Jaskier, what the fuck?” asked Yennefer.

She clambered back onto the bed, giving Jaskier her most ferocious glare. The effect was slightly ruined by her spectacular bedhead.

Jaskier gestured emphatically with the kitten in his hands. “This fucker was poking me!”

Geralt frowned. “Why did that mean Yen had to fall out of the bed?”

“She was trapping my arm. I was desperate. Sorry, Yen.”

Yennefer glared at him. “I could turn you into a toad.”

“Listen, if I hadn’t removed him from my bladder we would have had a much worse situation on our hands.”

Yennefer looked at Jaskier’s apologetic face. She looked at Geralt’s expression of confusion and fond exasperation. She looked at the kitten, who looked distinctly unrepentant.

Unable to help herself, she dissolved into giggles. Jaskier was rather alarmed for a moment — had she just come up with a magnificent punishment for him? His face must have done something interesting, because Yennefer looked at him and started to laugh even harder. Behind Jaskier, Geralt chuckled a little as well.

“How did he even get to your stomach?” he asked. “He would have had to crawl over Yen’s head without waking her.”

Jaskier looked thoughtfully at the kitten. “He’s a master of stealth, I suppose.”

That sent Yennefer off into another round of laughter. Jaskier found himself unable to keep from joining her with his own helpless giggles.

Geralt looked between the two of them and shook his head fondly.

“I’m going to get us breakfast,” he said, leaving them to their merriment.

Jaskier and Yennefer had caught their breath and mostly regained their composure by the time Geralt returned with some food. Yennefer had the kitten in her lap and was petting him absently. He looked very happy with himself.

“I asked the innkeeper about him,” said Geralt, gesturing to the kitten with the hand that was not carrying their food. “She says he’s been hanging around the inn for a week or so, being fed scraps by the guests. No sign of any family, but he seems to be doing well enough. He’s healthy.”

“Is the innkeeper fine with him being here?” asked Yennefer.

“She doesn’t mind him as long as the guests are happy and he keeps some mice away, but she’s had some complaints about him sleeping on beds. She might have to find a way to get rid of him if he doesn’t stop.”

Jaskier looked down at the kitten, pensive. “I hope she doesn’t have to. It would be a shame to keep him away from people if he likes them.”

Yennefer patted Jaskier’s shoulder. “I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

Yennefer reached for the bread that Geralt was carrying and began to eat. Geralt passed another portion to Jaskier. The three of them munched their food contemplatively, looking at the kitten.

“I feel like we should name him,” mused Jaskier. “Calling him ‘the kitten’ in my head is starting to get weird. I need something to shout when I’m reprimanding him.”

“What do you want to call him, then?” asked Yennefer.

“I don’t know! What do you think?”

They sat quietly for a few minutes, the silence only broken by the kitten’s purrs.

“Well,” said Geralt when no one offered any ideas, “There’s always Ro—“

“No!” shouted Jaskier and Yennefer simultaneously.

Yennefer smacked Geralt’s shoulder. “Not Roach. You can name all the horses you want, but I draw the line at cats.”

Jaskier nodded. “We can think of something better. I believe in us.”

Geralt subsided with a huff. There was another moment of thoughtful silence.

“Cirilla the Second?” suggested Yennefer.

Jaskier flopped back down onto the bed, buried his face in a pillow, and groaned loudly. “I loathe you both.”

“I don’t see you having any better ideas,” Yennefer protested. Jaskier groaned again and rolled onto his back.

“What have I done to deserve this?” he asked the ceiling.

“Is that an insult or a compliment?” asked Yennefer with a smirk.

“It can be both.”

“I’m not so sure. That would require complicated things like nuance and finesse. I am not sure a bard of your caliber could keep up. Perhaps we need someone more practiced, for instance Vald—”

“How about Mackerel?” Geralt said loudly and rather desperately, cutting Yennefer off before disaster could strike.

Jaskier and Yennefer both fell silent. They looked at Geralt. They looked at the kitten. They looked back at Geralt.

“Is your entire repertoire of names made up of fish?” asked Yennefer, and Jaskier burst into laughter.

Geralt looked on with some disgruntlement as Jaskier’s guffaws slowly faded into giggles.

“What?” he asked. “It’s a decent name.”

Yennefer rolled her eyes. “Retrospectively, I’m grateful you didn’t go back to claim Ciri when she was young. The poor girl would have ended up saddled with the name Perch.”

“You are an idiot,” said Jaskier to Geralt. “An utter and complete moron. I love you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said, flustered.

“Do you have any better names, Jaskier?” asked Yennefer.

“Absolutely not. Mackerel is hilarious. We’re keeping it.”

Yennefer sighed but failed to hide her smile. “Oh, fine.”

They finished their breakfast in companionable silence. When they were finished, they sat on the bed for a while longer. It was comfortable, after all, and they were in no particular hurry. Jaskier determinedly did not think about any other reasons he might have for not wanting to leave the inn.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Geralt said eventually, reluctant.

Yennefer sighed. “Yeah, we’ll have to get going if we want to meet Ciri and Geralt’s idiot brothers in time.”

Jaskier hauled himself to his feet.

“Let’s get to it, then!” he said with false cheer.

With practiced ease, they packed up their things. They were ready to leave within minutes.

They did not leave.

The three of them dithered in the room. Geralt gazed out the window. Yennefer checked corners for anything they might have somehow lost. Jaskier fidgeted with his notebook.

“Well,” said Yennefer, “I suppose it’s time to go.”

She went to stand in the doorway. Geralt and Jaskier joined her.

None of them moved.

They looked back at the kitten, who was once again on the bed. Mackerel looked back at them. He meowed.

Yennefer heaved a deep, longsuffering sigh. “We’re taking him with us, aren’t we?”

Geralt sighed. “We might.”

Jaskier whooped so loudly that it startled Mackerel. He darted back to the bed and scooped the kitten up in his arms. Mackerel mewled in complaint.

Jaskier stroked his head in apology. “Sorry for startling you, darling, but you’ll be much happier about it soon. You’re coming with us! You’ll get to see the continent. You’ll get to experience all sorts of varied and delightful table scraps. It’ll be lovely.”

Across the room, Jaskier heard Yennefer trying to stifle a laugh. He ignored her.

“You’ll get to meet so many people,” he said to Mackerel. “You’ll get to explore the world. You can meet our family, too—”

Jaskier cut himself off with a gasp and turned to Geralt and Yennefer, his eyes shining. “Ciri is going to love him!”

“Oh,” said Yennefer with a grin. “Oh, she really will. This is going to be great.”

Jaskier nodded enthusiastically. “This is going to be the best decision we’ve ever made, I can feel it.”

“What do kittens eat?” Geralt asked reasonably, looking rather exasperated at their antics. “We can’t just let him starve.”

“We’ll figure it out,” said Jaskier. “He can’t be that hard to feed.”

Yennefer nodded. “He’s been living off scraps and what he can catch so far. I’m sure he’ll be all right.”

“It’ll be dangerous on the path,” said Geralt.

Jaskier scoffed. “Mackerel is a smart cat. He can take care of himself.”

Geralt looked as though he might protest again, but at that moment, Mackerel meowed. Geralt looked down at the tiny ball of fur in Jaskier’s arms. Jaskier saw the exact moment Geralt’s last arguments drained away in the face of the adorable creature in front of him.

“I suppose he can come,” said Geralt with a sigh.

Jaskier whooped again. Mackerel meowed. Yennefer laughed. Geralt, seemingly despite himself, smiled.

The three of them shouldered their packs, Jaskier passing Mackerel to Geralt to free his hands. They left their room. On their way out of the inn, Yennefer stopped to let the innkeeper know they were taking Mackerel while Geralt retrieved Roach from the stables. The innkeeper seemed happy enough with the idea and waved at them with a smile as they left.

They set off on the Path, with Geralt leading Roach and Yennefer and Jaskier walking beside him. It was just like any other day in the last week — except this time, there was a tiny orange head poking out of one of Roach’s saddlebags, and Yennefer was having a hard time suppressing a smile. Even Geralt looked visibly content.

Jaskier’s lovers were happy. They had, somehow, despite everything, adopted a cat. Despite Yennefer and Geralt’s persistent issues with attachment and commitment, they had agreed to take a kitten with them on their travels for no reason other than sentiment and sympathy. Jaskier was so very proud of them.

Stopping at that inn was the best decision they ever made.

#the witcher #geraskefer #jaskier #yennefer #geralt #the witcher fanfiction #geralt x jaskier x yennefer #this is the third thing i've posted in as many weeks which is wild #wren writes #i wrote and edited this very quickly so idk how well-written it is but i'm fond of it #self-indulgent fluff my beloved <3

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