#And god that feels like it happened SO MUCH longer ago than it actually did | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

thriftedtchotchkes · 10 months

Text

waiting to spill

pairing: mike schmidt x f!reader

summary: mike never thought your week-long trip home would lead to the discovery of a costly new craving

warnings: 18+ MDNI, established relationship, breeding kink, smut, desperate!mike, unprotected piv, creampie, riding, fingering, blue balls, mentions of pregnancy, cum play

word count: 3.9k

(based on this request)

Mike's praying the call goes through this time because if it doesn't, he might just lose his mind. You were supposed to land 20 minutes ago, but it's already half past 4 and your phone's still off.

Will it show how many missed calls you have? God, he hopes not. He's been redialing for the better part of an hour, hoping you landed early, but luck clearly isn't on his side. Every time it goes to voicemail, your voice taunts him. Just another reminder that you're not here—unreachable and untouchable.

Shitty fucking airline. He knew you should've taken an earlier flight, but he didn't want to be that guy. The one who tells you what to do and when, and makes decisions for his own benefit. He's a better guy than that, a better boyfriend than that, it's just—fuck, what is taking so long?

One more time. He'll try you one more time, and if it doesn't connect, he'll go sit on the couch and distract himself until you call him. He's already waited this long. He can suck it up a little longer. Probably.

He hits redial for the umpteenth time, his forehead thunking against the wall next to the landline, and then something miraculous happens. It rings.

Once, twice, and then you pick up. He doesn't wait for you to answer. Any patience he had left flew out the window hours ago and he doesn't care if you know it.

"Babe?"

You laugh softly on the other end, and it tugs at his heart...and his dick. Seatbelts click open in the background, and sounds of movement and chatter filter through the speaker.

"Hey, you. I actually just landed. I'll call you back once I get through customs, okay?" you reply, bright as ever.

It sets him off worse than he expected. You're so much more potent in real-time than on voicemail, and it's fucking with his sense of urgency. He doesn't want to rush you, but he needs you. So badly.

"W-wait. Can you come over? After you're done with the airport stuff, I mean," he manages to get out, interjecting cautiously before you can hang up.

"I was gonna stop home to drop off my bags and take a quick shower, but I can come over after that," you reply distractedly, likely dealing with overhead bins and other passengers trying to deplane.

He shakes his head, gripping the phone a little too tightly as he bites back a frustrated whine. That'll take too long. The airport's about an hour's ride from your apartment, and by the time you're done showering—no. No, just come to him. It's a shorter ride to his house, anyway.

"Just—you can do all of that here. Stay over and I'll drive you back to your place in the morning. Please?" he asks, desperation beginning to bleed into his voice.

It pulls your attention back to him almost immediately, and he hates how good that feels.

"Is everything okay? Did something happen?" you counter, misreading his plea as an emergency.

Your phone keeps shifting like it's tucked against your shoulder, and now it sounds like you're moving faster, hurrying like he wants you to, but for the wrong reasons.

"Everything's fine, I just need to see you," he says, willing you to understand. "Babe, I really need to see you."

He's too ashamed to spell it out. What would he even say? If he doesn't cum inside you soon, he thinks he might die? He's horny, not pathetic.

"Mike, that doesn't sound fine...," you sigh on the other end, your quickening footsteps audible through the receiver.

"Please."

You pause for a second, and his heart leaps into his throat. Don't say no. Please, don't say no.

"Gimme an hour, okay? I'll catch a cab to your place as soon as I can," you finally agree.

He breathes out a heavy sigh of relief, but it's louder than he realizes and you clock it on the spot.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, all good. I'm just glad you're back. Feels like it's been forever," he mumbles, somehow sated and yet anticipating your arrival more than ever.

He shifts anxiously from one foot to the other, wincing at the unexpected friction against the growing problem between his legs. The atmosphere around you changes and your responding laugh blends into the bustle of casual conversations and overhead announcements in your terminal.

"Can't survive one week without me, huh? I guess I'm bringing you and Abby along next time I visit my parents," you joke, but it's getting harder to make out what you're saying. "Look, I'm almost at customs. I'll see you soon, I promise."

The call ends, and he's left with the loneliness of a dial tone and an empty house. He hangs up and plops down on the couch, clutching the TV remote like a lifeline while he desperately tries to ignore the painful tent in his boxers.

An hour. He can handle one more hour.

He can't handle one more hour. It's been 45 minutes and he feels like he's about to burst. The worst part? It's his own damn fault.

He's the asshole who made the conscious decision not to jerk off the entire time you were gone, but he can't bring himself to regret it. He had his reasons. In about 15 minutes, it'll all be worth it.

Maybe less.

There's a knock at the door, and he's up and off the couch so fast, he's surprised he doesn't have whiplash. He wrenches it open to find you on the other side, a little stunned by the abrupt greeting, but worth every second of blue balls he put himself through.

"Hey," he breathes out, winded by his mad dash and the relief of you finally being here.

"Hey, yourself," you smile wryly. Your eyes drop to where he's not even remotely trying to hide his raging boner. "Ah-ha, so that's—"

But that's all you manage to say before he drags you into the house and slams your back against the door, shutting out your luggage and the cab driver still idling in the driveway. His lips crash into yours and you taste so good, it's dizzying.

Remnants of Sprite and spearmint gum linger on your tongue as it meets his, and he groans, wondering how he went an entire week without this. All that time, deprived of your addictive touch and perfect tits while he tortured himself, waiting for you to come back to him.

He can't decide where to put his hands first, roaming and squeezing from your waist, up your shirt—which he's just realizing is his—to splay across your ribcage. Pressing you harder into the door, he separates from your lips to mouth at the underside of your jaw, mumbling his appreciation between each harsh bruise he sucks into your skin.

"Fuck, I missed you," he pants, shamelessly grinding into your hip for relief. He wants you to feel how hard you're making him, so you'll understand all those missed calls.

"Yeah? I can tell," you laugh breathily, running your hands up his chest, pushing his shirt up as you go.

Your thumbs brush against his bare skin, sending a heady jolt straight to his cock, and suddenly none of this is moving fast enough. His hands drop to your ass, roughly tugging your hips into his, and you gasp in unison at the friction. Together, you fall into a frantic rhythm, rutting into each other like a pair of horny teenagers.

"Shit, Mike...," you moan his name, and he feels like he's dreaming. He has to be because nothing else in his waking world has ever felt this good.

Contrary to the rest of his body, he kisses you again slowly, savoring every noise he's coaxing from you and devouring them like a man starved. Your fingers thread through his hair, pulling him closer, and he swears he's never letting you leave this house again.

If by some miracle he does, he's going to make sure you're pumped so full of him, you'll be leaking him the entire time you're gone, unable to think about anything else. And when you come back, he'll do it all over again.

Damnit, he needs you in his bed, now.

He backs away from the door with you still in his arms, leading you further into the house down a path you know by heart. Briefly, he separates from your lips to lift your shirt up and over your head, then discards his own before tugging down the cups of your bra to latch onto a nipple.

You hiss at the contact, trembling as he teases it with his teeth, and immediately reach behind you to unclasp the offending piece of fabric. It drops soundlessly to the floor along with your jeans, underwear, and finally his boxers. Nipping sharply at the sensitive skin one last time, he pulls away to admire you, trailing his fingers down your arms until your hands are in his.

You're fucking beautiful. Your lips are kiss-swollen and glossy, begging to be kissed again, and your thighs are...wet, fucking hell. Fuck, he missed you. His mouth starts to water at the thought of licking into you, fucking you with his tongue while your thighs quake on either side of his head, but the painful throbbing between his legs is starting to overwhelm him.

He's positive, now, that if he's not inside you soon, he'll actually die. He's not just horny, anymore. It's so far beyond that.

Four more agonizing steps backward and he's finally passing the threshold into his room, so close to being on his back with you bouncing on top of him—except he doesn't make it that far.

The door shuts behind you, and then you're on your knees, wrapping those perfect fingers around his dick and guiding him between your lips. He panics. There's no way he's going to last if you try to blow him right now.

Tenderly, you lick a stray bead of precum off the tip, and his balls immediately draw up so tight, he has to slide your hand down to the base and squeeze to keep from cumming on the spot. He shakes his head, his eyebrows furrowing as he inhales sharply through his nose.

"Babe, I can't...," he grits out, struggling to find the words to explain himself. "I'll cum too fast, you can't."

You grin, leaning forward to press your lips against his white-knuckled fist.

"That's sort of the whole point, isn't it?" you tease, trailing back to his cock, seconds away from giving him the most intense orgasm of his life.

"I need to fuck you," he blurts out. It's short and to the point, but there's no use in pretending he doesn't. At this point, he'll be lucky if he doesn't explode the second he's inside you. "I need to fuck you so bad right now, I feel like I'm going crazy."

You pause to look up at him, your eyes roving over his face, lingering on his angrily ticking jaw. You get it, now.

"Hey, it's okay—you're okay," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss away another drop of precum. He chokes back a groan and reflexively jerks away, and you take the hint to release your grip. "Okay, fuck me. Show me how much you missed me."

But you don't have any idea what you're asking for, do you? He missed you so much. There's so much catching up to do, and he has so little patience left.

He doesn't waste any more time. With every ounce of self-control he's got left, he drags you to your feet and towards the bed, trying his best not to manhandle you up the mattress and onto his lap. He fails epically. The second he's flat on his back with you grinding down on him, his patience becomes a thing of the past.

"You ready for me? Because I'm not gonna be able to stop, and I need you to feel good," he's starting to babble, but he has a feeling nothing he says from now on will make any sense, and he needs you to want it as much as he does.

His hands slide up your thighs to your waist, and when he tugs you closer to notch at your entrance, he can feel you clenching wetly around him.

"Shit—," he breathes out, his biceps tensing as he lifts you and lines himself up. He pushes in just enough for you to stretch around the tip, and you steady yourself on his chest, your palms searingly hot on his skin as you squeeze him a little harder.

"Let me make you feel good," he says again, even though you're already letting him, already yielding to his steady push and pull. Every inch he gives you feels like taking a shot of tequila, and it's making his head spin. If he could hear himself anymore, he'd realize he sounds wasted.

"Let me fill you up, please," he begs, rolling his hips up to lengthen his thrusts. They’re so much easier now that you’re dribbling down him—so much wetter—but you're so damn tight, he has to force himself to look away from where you're joined and gripping the hell out of him. "You know, I-I waited for you—waited to cum, I didn't cum at all."

"Mike...fuck. That's good. That's so good, baby," you tell him shakily. "Give it to me. Nice and deep, you deserve it."

He keens at the praise—he couldn't have stopped himself if he'd tried—and your nails bite into his skin in response, nose scrunching adorably as you gush around him. He knew you'd like that. He knew you'd want it.

Look at his girl, so pretty on top of him, just waiting for him to bust inside you. Fleetingly, he wonders if you're still on birth control. Possessively, he doesn't care. Rationally, he knows he can't afford to knock you up, but shit—right now, he really fucking wants to. He imagines you in the same position you're in, horny and round with his baby, and suddenly he's never wanted anything so badly in his life.

He doesn't stop to think about whether or not he should. He doesn't stop at all, just like he warned you, not even when he's buried to the hilt and you're both struggling to adjust.

He just buries himself in you again and again and again until the sound of your skin colliding with his becomes a wet thock-thock-thock that bounces off the walls of his bedroom. The springs beneath him squeak dangerously as he pushes his bedframe to its absolute limits, but he can’t hear any of that, either.

His senses are in overdrive, and all he can focus on is how you feel around him. And he’s not nearly as deep as he needs to be. Rougher than he means to, he grabs your ass with both hands and starts to force you up and down his cock, gripping hard enough to bruise. He’ll hate how much he likes the idea of that later.

"S-so fucking pretty...gonna make me cum so hard. So much. Need you to take all of it," he pants with the exertion of lifting and dropping your full weight onto himself.

He can feel himself slamming into your cervix and desperately tries to think about anything else but emptying right into it, but the sight of you taking him like you were made for it makes it ten times worse.

Just looking at you makes him want to cum—your tits bouncing as you ride him, your pussy creaming down his cock and balls, and seeping into his sheets. Those pouty lips of yours moaning around pleas of harder and right there and don't stop, I'm cumming.

"Baby...babe—," your shattered voice cuts through the fog, and then he feels it. "M'cumming. I'm...Mike, keep going there, there. Don't stop, please don't stop."

Fucking hell, you're really cumming. Tight and wet, and clamping down on him like a vice. Somehow, he always forgets it's like this with you. That you cum this hard for him, that he's able to make you cum this hard for him. For a second, he feels overwhelmingly grateful. Then, he's planting his feet on the bed and fucking you so hard, you stop moaning and start screaming.

It's there. It's right there, so close he can feel it building everywhere. Sweat trickles down his temples, matting his curls to his forehead, and you brush them away, one hand braced on the mattress next to his head and the other buried in his hair as you ride out your high.

His balls draw up so tight, it's painful, and he thinks he might start yelling too, but he's too focused on the chase. He's too busy watching, dumbfounded by the perfect body coming apart on top of him.

The girl he waited for.

He tries to tell you. He tries to open his mouth and tell you that you’re everything he thought he’d never have, and that he wants to keep you forever. That he wants to be part of you, that being inside you is one of the rare places he’s ever felt wanted. But that’s not what comes out.

He’s too far gone now, and all he can manage is an incomprehensible stream of moans and sighs as he forces you flush against his pelvis, grinding into you as deep as he can reach. His eyes struggle not to close, nearly crossing as that familiar heat permeates his limbs and pools at the base of his cock. But it’s so much more intense than he can ever remember it being.

He lifts his gaze to your lips to find them moving, repeatedly forming a single word he can barely make out. But by the time he figures it out, he’s already giving you what you asked for.

Please. You’re saying please. He repeats it back, begging you to take it, thanking you for letting him have this.

His orgasm rocks him. As it peaks, he feels numb like he’s suspended in time, and then it slams into him so hard, he folds in on himself. He buries his face in your tits, his breath hitching sharply in time with the visible throbbing of his cock, and he’s immediately flooded with relief. But it won’t fucking stop. It lasts so much longer than either of you expect it to, pulse after endless pulse, and he holds you in place through it all.

When it finally subsides and sensitivity sets in, your nails scratching lightly across his back are what bring him back to the present. He lifts his head from where it's still pillowed on your tits, and you lean down to kiss his forehead.

Maybe he’s imagining it, or maybe he’s just been dreaming this entire time, but he swears you’re glowing. The final rays of late summer sun illuminate your dewy skin and soft curves, and as you move lower to kiss his lips, he unconsciously rests a hand over your stomach. It feels right—but only briefly. His head starts to clear the longer he licks into your mouth, and when you part, reality finally hits.

"Shit, I think I just got you pregnant," he breathes out, sliding his hand off your stomach to your waist before collapsing onto the mattress. "Shit."

He looks up at you in concern, his mind racing a mile a minute. What did he just do? He can’t—you can't get pregnant. Not with Abby, and your jobs, and his shitty finances. It just isn't an option.

And yet you’re still perched on top of him, snug around his softening dick, and he can’t bring himself to pull out. You don’t even seem remotely worried.

You're actually smiling. No, you're laughing, and he's still panicking and confused as hell. It gets infinitely worse when you accidentally push him out and his gut reaction is to plug you back up with his fingers, keeping his release from leaking out. This is so fucked up. He’s so fucked up.

"I mean—were you trying to?" you ask, raising an eyebrow. "Kinda seems like it."

Your eyes drop between your legs to where his hand is cupping your heat, irrefutable proof that you’re not wrong. So, why doesn’t that bother you?

"Babe, breathe," you smile softly, brushing a few stray hairs from his face. "I'm like, 98.8 percent positive you can't knock me up. Give or take, but we can check the box if it'll make you feel better."

It actually might, but the last thing he's going to do is admit it. He can't believe he didn't double-check something like that—but then again, he feels like he's been in a fugue state for hours, if not the entire week you were gone.

"You're still on birth control?" he asks cautiously, almost afraid to get his hopes up. He takes a deep breath like you told him to and it helps ease some of his lingering panic. Not all of it, but at least he's starting to think rationally and not with his dick.

"Mike. There isn't a single condom in this entire house. Yes, I'm on birth control," you laugh again, and even just the sound of it is soothing. It helps, too.

"And it definitely works? Because that was...a lot," he mumbles. He already knows he sounds like a total idiot, but he has to be sure. There's still a week's worth of his release plugged up inside you, and as much as it turns him on, he needs to know if he has to run out to the pharmacy or if he's free to do it again. And again.

"Have you ever fucked me with a condom on?" you counter. He scoffs at the question, and you clench around his fingers in retaliation.

"Of course, I have. Maybe not in a while, but early on, for sure," he replies confidently, even though he's not confident in his answer at all. Sure, he can't give you a specific example, but that doesn't mean it never happened.

"You literally came inside me the day we met," you deadpan.

His cock stirs at the memory, hardening distractingly against your inner thigh. That, he definitely remembers. He's pretty sure that's the night he fell in love with you, but he's hard-pressed to admit that, either.

"There's no way."

"And every time since then," you continue, looking way too amused at his misfortune. Can't get anything past you, can he?

Okay, so maybe it wasn't just your trip that triggered what happened tonight. Maybe it's always been a thing. His thing. You just look so goddamn good—filled with it, covered in it. Shit, he really shouldn't be hard already.

"Babe, come on. I do...it other places, too,” he reasons, sliding his hand up to tweak a nipple. But it becomes a moot point the second your breath hitches. So much for rational thinking. “I just—"

"You just really like cumming inside me," you finish for him, taking his cock in your hand and stroking him until he's as desperate as he was earlier.

He pulls his fingers free from your pussy and tries not to lament the immediate rush of cum that leaks out. It's okay. He's got plenty more to give you.

"Yeah, I really do."

thanks for reading!

(and so much love to @joelsgreys, @tinycozycomfort & @psychedelic-ink for your help & support, and for listening to me go on and on about this man <3)

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt x you #mike schmidt imagine #mike schmidt smut #mike schmidt #fnaf imagine #fnaf smut #fnaf movie #fnaf #five nights at freddy's

2K notes · View notes

mypoisonedvine · 2 years

Note

Hi hi! I’m sure you’re being flooded, but I’d love a little something about younger (20 or older though!) reader babysitting for dad! Steve. Smutty if you feel so inclined. Can be single or not, dealer’s choice!

I went wayyyy overboard with this, oops, but it was so sexy omfg

word count: 2k

warnings: huge age gap (45+ vs 20), unprotected sex, breeding kink, oral m receiving, sliiiightly mean dom steve, size kink, stomach bulge kink, daddy kink

You'd been crushing on Mr. Harrington for years, actually... even before the divorce.

It wasn't just that he was good-looking, although that was obviously part of it. It was the way he acted with you, it made you feel all girly and little and dumb; it was the way he played with his kids which made your uterus sob in envy; it was the way he wore reflective shades to the pool and you had to wonder if he was looking at you and seeing how much you'd grown.

For the longest, much to your dismay, nothing happened between you. You'd been trying to make conversation after he came back each night to finish your babysitting shift, but it never really worked. Nothing worked, actually, not even the skimpy outfits or the strategic bending over or the casual touches to his arm or knee.

Nothing worked until last night.

It started mostly normal, except that he was obviously in a worse mood than usual. You asked how his date went; he dodged the question. You pressed again, and he shook his head as he sat down on the couch, running his hands over his hair.

"It's starting to feel futile," he explained, speaking quietly knowing his kids were asleep down the hall.

"What is?"

"All of it," he breathed. "Dating, work, all of it."

You sat next to him, pulling your knees up on the sofa and tilting your head sympathetically. "Tell me about it," you offered.

Amazingly, he did. He told you about how each woman he went out with was worse than the last, and he didn't trust any of them with his kids. That made your heart skip; I'm his babysitter, he trusts me with his kids.

He told you about how rough the divorce had been, and then the custody arrangements. Apparently he was still dealing with that even though Mrs. Harrington had moved out probably almost two years ago now.

He told you about how hard his job was, how the hours killed him, how he could barely find time to spend with his family because he was putting out everyone else's fires at the office.

"That all sounds really stressful, Mr. Harrington," you cooed when he finished his rant. "You need to relax."

He chuckled a little. "Easier said than done."

"Maybe I can help you."

He raised an eyebrow in confusion, but his eyes went wide as he watched you get on your knees on the ground.

"Let me help you relax, Mr. Harrington," you pleaded, running your hands over his legs gently as they stayed slightly spread on the couch.

"Oh, uh— I— sweetie, we can't—"

You reached up to his belt, and even if his words were hesitant, he lifted his hips slightly to make it easier for you to unbuckle it.

"Are you— fuck— are you really—? Baby..."

It made your hips wiggle against the carpet hearing him talk like that. You got his fly open next, and started to rub his cock through his boxers underneath. His eyes followed your every move in disbelief.

He was just starting to get hard when you took him out, but he was already so big... your mouth was watering. You couldn't wait any longer: you looked up at him for just a second before you leaned forward and took his fat head into your mouth.

Groaning and tilting his head back, his hands found purchase in your hair instantly.

"Fuuuck," he breathed, "you're... you're so bad, sweetie, you know you shouldn't... oh my god."

You bobbed your head eagerly, feeling him swell and harden against your tongue until your mouth was stretched to its limit by his size. You hummed around him joyfully, revelling in the softly salty taste on your tongue. Stroking with your hand what your lips couldn't reach, you took a break after a few minutes to look up at him for approval.

"Where'd a sweet girl like you learn how to do that?" he asked with a long sigh. "Fuck, keep sucking... look up at me, baby."

You did as you were told, and he adjusted his hips slightly so it was easier for you to keep eye contact with him while you suckled at his throbbing head.

"Good," he praised, stroking your cheek as you worked. "Such pretty eyes... and that pretty mouth too, god. Take it deeper, sweetie, you can choke a little."

His hand helped push you down until his dick hit the end of your throat, and you gagged helplessly. He moaned loudest at that, eyes falling shut for a moment.

"Too big for your little mouth, huh?" he noticed. "Poor baby. Choke on me again."

You did as he said and noticed his hips rocking up to push his cock even deeper and gag you even harder. Tears welled in your eyes but he purred in satisfaction.

"Mm, good job," he praised, "you're so good for me, sweetie."

Needing a break for your throat, you pulled back and stroked him slowly as you made conversation. "How long has it been since somebody sucked your cock, Mr. Harrington?" you asked sweetly.

"Fuck, I don't even know— years? Before Allie was born, probably. She didn't... she never did it, really," he mumbled, and you tried not to bite your lip. Of course his bitch ex-wife never did this to him, he was probably so starved for affection for ages.

"That's such a shame," you pouted, "it tastes so good. I'd never be able to stop tasting you, Mr. Harrington."

"Then don't stop," he encouraged, pushing your head down again. You got back into the pattern, only taking breaks to lathe the shaft in long licks from base to tip; he seemed to like those a lot.

Sometimes you felt his cock throb and you hoped it meant he would come soon: you couldn't wait. You went on for a while longer, though, and started to get desperate for it. When his heavy breathing made you pretty sure he was close, you broke the pattern one more time to encourage him. "I want you to come in my mouth," you informed him. "M'gonna swallow it, sir, I promise."

"No, fuck no," he interrupted, surprising you. "No, I want that pussy. Fuck, I need your pussy, get up here."

You climbed onto the couch eagerly, straddling his lap as he started to pull your skirt up right away. He snapped your panties off like it was nothing, instantly groaning at the sight of your mound beneath; you felt so exposed in the best way, you worried you were going to drip right down onto his khakis with him looking at you like that.

"Fuck, sweetie, you're so gorgeous," he sighed, "such a gorgeous little pussy. C'mere..."

He held your thighs, petting them as he guided you down to his cock. He stopped looking at it once he was just barely pushing inside, instead starting to watch your face as you sank down onto his length with a moan. "Fuck!" you whimpered. "Fuck, too big, you're too—"

"Shh, shh," he soothed, "gotta be quiet, baby, the kids are asleep."

Your gut burned from how stupidly hot that was, and you bit your lip to try to keep it down. His cock reached the end of you and you jolted, trying to move back up, but he shook his head and kept guiding you down.

"No, sweetie, you need to take all of me," he scolded gently. "You're gonna take all of me, fuck, so good..."

Finally, somehow, he managed to get it all inside until your thighs were flush with his. You were shaking, it was so deep you were shaking; there was a slight bulge in your tummy where his cock filled you. "Mr. Harrington, it's too deep..."

He growled, actually growled, and held your hips tightly. "No, baby, it's just the right amount. You're taking me so good... all of my cock is in you, sweetie, you're doing so fucking good. Now just ride me."

Shaking and whimpering, you started to rock your hips on top of his; he sighed and watched you, looking wrecked in the best way.

"Yeah, fuck," he encouraged, "fuck, you know how long it's been since I had pussy like this? Tight, wet, young pussy like yours? You feel so fucking good..."

"You too," you moaned, "you feel so good, Mr. Harrington..."

He smirked a bit. "I think we're on a first name basis by now... but I want you to keep calling me that anyways. It's so fucking cute."

Pulling you a little closer, he whispered right by your ear.

"Maybe," he suggested, "you could even call me daddy."

"Oh, daddy," you pounced on the opportunity immediately, and he groaned in satisfaction. "Daddy, it feels really really good..."

"Yeah? Well then why don't you cream for me, huh? Let that cute little pussy come on my cock—"

You didn't even let him finish. You'd been worked up since he got here and it hit you all at once. He watched you proudly, thin laughter ringing in your ears.

"God, you're so sensitive," he groaned, "it's gonna take me a while, baby, I'm not as young as you... takes me all night sometimes."

You shuddered; "I don't have anywhere to be..."

"Yeah you do," he corrected, starting to guide your hips as your motions faltered from the exhaustion of coming. "Your parents are probably worried about you, sweetie. They don't know what a slut you are, do they?"

You shook your head. "N-no, daddy..."

"Fuck," he breathed, "you're so cute... show daddy your tits, sweetie— lift up your shirt for me and show me your tits."

He was more than capable of doing it himself, but he preferred to watch you roll up your tank top and let him see your tits, hardened from being so turned on by all this. You'd stopped wearing a bra around him months ago, and it was all worth it as he reached up and palmed one of your breasts.

"Mm," he hummed, "you've got great tits, baby— you show them off too much, though."

He slid his hand across your chest to touch the other gently. "I only did that for you, Mr. Harrington," you promised, "I just wanted your attention... wanted you to see how grown up I am..."

He smirked. "You got my fucking attention, sweetie."

With renewed energy, you started to take control again, riding him in earnest. "Really?" you confirmed hopefully. "Did you think about me, daddy? Did you ever jerk off and think about my tits?"

He delayed his answer by hissing a little, looking down at where your pussy slid up and down on him before tilting his head back again. "Yes," he admitted, "yeah, I thought about you. I would've done it a lot more if I knew you wanted me to."

"Of course I wanted you to," you giggled, "I have such a big crush on you, Mr. Harrington, I have for so long..."

"A crush, huh?" he laughed.

You nodded eagerly, whining when he held onto you tighter and started to thrust up into you off the couch.

"You know I'm more than twice your age, right?" he reminded you with a purr, and you nodded. "You know I'm older than your dad, right?"

Your head was spinning, but you nodded again.

"And you know I could get you pregnant... right?"

You moaned, head falling back, and he laughed.

"I knew it," he gloated, "I knew that was what you wanted— knew you needed some babies fucked into you, sweet girl. Daddy's gonna knock you up, s'that what you want?"

"Yes, yes!" you sobbed.

You weren't moving at all now, you were limp and useless as he thrust up into you hard and fast, making you cry and moan so loudly he had to cover your mouth. "I'll come, fuck, nice and deep," he promised, "and give you a baby, yeah? Get you so full and pregnant, just how you want it."

You were begging him for it, but it was all muffled into nonsense under his hand as he fucked up into you rough and fast. It ended with a groan, his head falling back and his body going limp under you as he came. You collapsed onto him, both of you sinking into the couch as you caught your breath.

His hands rested on your thighs still, sometimes petting them or moving up to your waist; you shyly hid your face in the crook of his neck, hardly believing that this really happened— and terrified you would wake up and realize it was all a wonderful dream. "Think I'm gonna need you to babysit for me again tomorrow night," he broke the silence suddenly. "I'll pay double for the short notice."

"I'll do it for free," you replied.

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fic #dad!steve harrington

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astonmartingf · 6 months

Text

VOODOO DOLL ; LH44

lewis hamilton x mercedes driver!reader

. . . hamilton is a penchant for opposing teammates, and after the previous one he somehow got stuck with another, but after years of dominance new emotions develop between the two.

amgf i am a sucker for yearning and fluff and this is exactly that, lewis the man that you are... also if the format is different from previous posts it's because i'm testing out formats

death of a bachelor ; masterlist

[2025]

“You called us for this?” Alonso raised his brows looking pitifully at you sharing the same expression as Nico from the left side. You groan in your palms, hiding your face from the two men.

“This is a big deal okay. Why are you invalidating my feelings?” Mumbling under your breath, you reason out hoping for a sliver of understanding. It’s been so long since you bottled your feelings, and as much as you hate to admit it, you might start-

“No one is invalidating your feelings other than yourself amor, otherwise why would you call us to convince you that you actually like-”

“Okay, okay, okay. Shut up will you, it’s like you want the whole world that I like…” You turn around, checking the surroundings. “Lewis.”

Nico pressed his lip into a thin, a short sigh leaving his mouth, “You’re in denial and in love.”

You shot Nico an incredulous look, a scoff escaping your lips, “I am not in love. Alo, tell him.”

The older Spaniard grimaced, shaking his head. “At this point, you may as well be- four years? He’s already moved to Ferrari for God’s sake and you have yet to make a move.”

You groan once more, reminding yourself of the signs and signals you missed or accidentally dropped towards Lewis. “I have made a few moves…” Your voice thinning as you feel two pairs of eyes staring right at you.

“And I’m embarrassed to say that they also flew over Lewis’ head. So no, don’t ask me what I said, or did- just ignore what I said.” You rest your head down on the table, sad and moping.

Nico laughs at you, “Look at the state of you, hung over a boy.”

“He’s not just any boy Nico, gosh you’re acting like you moved on quickly from him- this is Lewis we’re talking about. Heck that was a semi-platonic relationship you had going on there, how am I supposed to cope with actually knowing that I can’t be in a romantic relationship with him?”

A gasp left your lips, hands shaking as your cover over them. Avoiding Nico’s gaze who was still laughing at you, despite your jab at his relationship with Nico and Alonso who took a sip from his cup of tea.

“So you admit it…”

Alonso broke the silence leaving you nodding to yourself.

“I actually- Fuck.”

[2023]

Lewis sits in silence, watching Nico squint his eyes from the other side of the table. “When was this?”

Gulping, Lewis didn’t think this far. He was ranting first, and then eventually spilling in some white lies in between before Nico filled in and connected the dots. He should’ve known Nico would catch on- Lewis is being too obvious. At least that’s what he thinks.

Sighing, Lewis mulled over his thoughts gathering his words before speaking it out into existence. The three words he’s been replaying over his head for the last two years- When did things get complicated?

“Two years ago? I thought about it far longer than I’ll admit. But I’ve recently come into terms with it…” Lewis nods his head, sitting in silence with Nico.

“And what happened? What’s different?”

Smiling to himself at the thought of you, Lewis goes through all the times you’ve managed to tug the tiniest of his heartstrings causing him to malfunction like the current state of their engine. It was pitiful, not just the team, but the state of his heart.

“I don’t even understand… Which makes me even more furious! How could she do that to me? I think about her all the time, she’s not even racing anymore. She’s nowhere near me, yet she’s all I think about, it’s driving me insane. And don’t get me started on whenever she’s actually on the paddock- I see her what? Once a month, I go to the F1 Academy races to get a glimpse of her. I'm such a loser. And her face! How could I not stop by and greet her, she’s always enthusiastic whenever I’m there- Not to toot my own horn, but I’m pretty good company, and we are friends but God I wish she’d take in the signs I’m putting down. I like YN- too much at this point, I can’t believe it. And you! You’re laughing at my misery.”

Lewis raises his head, far too into his thoughts only realizing that Nico has been laughing at him for the past minute. His back flushed into the seat, legs crossed with arms resting on the table.

“At least one of us is enjoying this, because I’m a suffering loser, who can’t get a grip. She’s actually doing things to my mind. I’m acting crazy because of her.”

Nico bursts into laughter, “You’re- you have a lot to say about YN.”

Lewis scoffs, giving his friend a pointed look, “That’s all you have to say? Wow, I miss talking to you, but this- this is a personal attack towards me.”

Shaking his head, Nico wheezes at Lewis, “No, no, no… Think about it- look at you. It’s just funny to me, I remember when you first talked about her. You said, and I quote, “I will never like her as a teammate.” and you also compared her to me. Look at you now. I think it’s funny.”

Lewis shakes his head, disappointed. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Forget it.”

“No- you’re not taking all that back. Go on- tell me more.”

Lewis raises his brows suspiciously, “What? So you can tease me?”

Nico raises his hands in surrender, “Hey if not me who else would listen to you talk on and on about YN?”

“I know Seb would listen to me without judgment, and maybe Charles…” Lewis lists the few people in and out the grid who are aware about his feelings towards YN.

Nico raises his brows laughing to himself, “Oh Lewis, you truly are living in your own bubble- you’re too good for yourself. Guess how I know what you’ve been talking to Seb about? Right, he calls me to check on you.”

Lewis pales at the realization, how Nico is somehow always available, how he calls on the right time.

“And Charles, who calls Seb, who calls me. Right Lewis, there’s three of us- and you’ll always end up with me if you don’t get your act right.”

lewishamilton

liked by nicorosberg, charles_leclerc, and 21,582,953 others

lewishamilton me when my crush finally noticed me...

view 1,648,592 comments...

user1 EXCUSE NE? WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO AND HI?

user2 am i seeing this right?

user3 the power of yn

user4 why would you assume it's yn?

user5 i mean who else could get lewis to post like this?

user6 bro got 21 million people watching this confession

nicorosberg this is what you got from our conversation two years ago? embarrassing, even i can do better than this

sebastianvettel5 he's trying, leave him be

charles_leclerc is this what we've been waiting for the last four years? the bar is actually low

user7 what do you mean 4 years?

user8 HELP, they're actually implying that this is for YN

user9 there goes the lewyn fans going crazy it could be anyone 🙄

user10 can't a girl have their fun, jeez leave people alone

user11 it's embarrasing

user12 they're actually eating lewis up with this

nicorosberg this is your plan?

lewishamilton yeah, it's working is it not?

nicorosberg i don't think so man

charles_leclerc is she even on instagram?

lewishamilton ...

sebastianvettel5 for someone who has a crush on this person for the last 4 years i might add this is actually embarrassing behavior

user13 what is happening?

user14 i love this too much what the heck

user15 i know they're grilling him in the messages

user16 another one for the history books 😤✍️🔥🔥🔥

user17 it's blow after blow for hamilton

user18 he's a loser in love actually, does it make you stupid?

lewishamilton i don't care if i look stupid i want her to see this

amgf ahahahahaha the end! uhm... enjoy 👍 this actually had me giggling and shit wtf, maybe it's lewis maybe it's the fluff but /sighs/ the lore i can add to this fic... just you wait 😤

#f1 smau #f1 x reader #f1 fluff #lewis hamilton smau #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton fluff

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heartfullofleeches · 3 months

Text

[Request] Reader caring for a sick Remmy [Dollmaker Yan Oc]

Warnings: None.

Words: 1.1k

“Remmy isn't home right now…. Please come back later.”

Could this day get any worse?... Weeks, months even, building up the courage to ask you to hang out with him. It wasn't like he asked you out on a date or anything, not yet anyway. He still needed to test the water a little longer, make sure the signals he had picked up from you weren't figments of his imagination. All that time, all those embarrassing hours spent in front of the mirror practicing what to say given any outcome - flushed down the drain in one night.

Remmy could hardly open his eyes the morning you were intended to meet. You didn't even recognize him over the phone at first. In his heightened state of delirium from the fever racking his weary mind, he hoped the same would happen as you continuously rang his doorbell - demanding in the softest voice you could manage for him to open up.

As if he could be that lucky….

“And where, pray tell, would someone hacking up a lung over the phonean hour ago be right besides the hospital? It's not that far away. I can head over right now and check.”

….

“Open this door right now, Remiel. You're not going to flake on me twice today.”

Did you have to phrase it like that? Kicking a sick person while he could barely stand was cruel - even if you did come to check up on him.

“O…okay…. Remmy is- I'm going to unlock the door, just…give me a minute to clean up my room. I have some stuff out I really don't want anyone to see…”

The muffled shuffling of plastic splices between the click of the lock as Remmy unlocks the front door.

“60.”

“Crap.”

Hobbling away from the front door, Remmy clings to the hallway walls as he makes a break for his bedroom. The straight path twists and bends as his stress levels skyrocket from the very real fear of you finding out what he had stored. There wasn't enough time for him to hide everything. His top priority were the worst offenders - items he couldn't excuse as being a result of his relatively harmless hobby. Doll clothing fashioned after clothes you'd yet to wear for the public eye. Others you never owned and probably would never wear, unless they were for a partner or to make yourself feel good. Pictures of you hung up on his walls. So much to bury in such little time.

“They can't see that…That one either. God, they'd kill me if they saw-”

“Saw what?”

A hoarse yelp claws its way out of Remmy's aching throat. Standing in his doorway, you balance two separate bags in your arms - awaiting his response. Remmy hurriedly pulls the corners of his blankets over the space beneath his bed.

“I…threw up a bit ago. Guess I'm feeling worse than I thought when we spoke over the phone.”

In the blink of an eye you're by his side. Remmy flinches as you press the back of your palm against his forehead.

“Oh, Rem….” Concern oozes from your words as you set your bags down, taking hold of his arm. You're burning up. Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“You don't have to go through all this for me, Y/n. Really, I'm-” His sentence falls short as you scoop him off the floor, sitting him up on his bed. Were you always this strong - or had he always been this easy to carry? In that moment, Remmy felt just like one of his dolls. His head spins at the very thought. You take the opportunity to gently ease him down against the mattress, rolling the discarded sheets up to his waist. You pick up the plastic bags, setting them on the small table in the center of his room as you rummage through them.

“Got some chicken soup from this dinner down the street. If you can't keep anything down, maybe the broth will be a good place to state. Oh!- picked up some ginger ale too. That might help with your stomach too. Cough drops, cough medicine…. Do you prefer liquid or pills?”

Remmy turns his head away from you as he coughs into his fist. “...whichever…whichever you brought is fine.”

“Well,I actually bought both, but I can just return the other on my way home later. I'll go grab you a cup real quick.”

Heading for the door, Remmy’s meek voice calls out to you - barely about a whisper. “Y/n?”

Hand on the doorframe, you gaze over your shoulder at him. “What's up? Need something else while I'm in the kitchen?”

“No…” Remmy shakes his head, the pressure of a headache hammering at his skull. “Agh… Remmy… I just wanted to thank you…for this. You really didn't have to come over…”

A smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. “Don't think I did this for nothing. Gotta make sure you're well enough for our date next weekend. The park is nice and all, but that's where we always go. I expect to be taken somewhere else for our first date.”

“Date?” He couldn't have heard you right. But, you said it - twice. You disappear down the hall before he can properly question you. Was this all a dream? The conjurings of his ill mind as the sickness took hold? This felt better than anything he could imagine- Your hushed voice as you reenter the room confirms it. You wiggle your arm behind his head, helping him sit back up just enough to place the cup to his lips without him choking while swallowing. A part of him wished this was a dream. One that he'd never wake up from if he had the choice. Another dream come true was waiting for him once he got better.

“Remmy?...Rem?”

Soda spills onto your hand as the weight of his head crashes upon your shoulder. Did he…. fall asleep? Just like that? You hadn't even given him his medicine yet. At least the sleep will be good for him. You should probably go put everything else you brought up to pass the time until he wakes up.

“Mmm…”

Remmy’s face scrunches in discomfort as you part from his side, lowering his head onto the pillows as you stand. Your foot touches something soft beneath his bed. You reach a hand underneath - completely forgetting about his earlier warnings as your fingers wrap around the squishy item. A doll with instantly identifying features stares back up at you as you drag it from its prison. Funny - you don't remember wearing this shirt around Remmy. You only bought it a few days ago. You planned to wear it today before he told you the bad news.

Shrugging, you raise Remmy's arm - tucking the doll against his chest. His face melts into that of peaceful bliss, body curling around the doll as his other hand strokes its face as if on auto-pilot. You press a kiss to his forehead - shutting off the lights in his room as you depart for a second time.

#remmy my oc #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere insert #yandere headcanons #yandere oc #yandere blurb #male yandere #yandere fluff #yandere drabble

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azrielbrainrot · 2 months

Text

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 8

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: You struggle to come to terms with your supposed death, everything you've had and everything you've lost, all the blood that stains your hands, a mating bond, and most importantly, finding your place in the world after all of it.

Warnings: Feelings of depression, suicide ideation, a hint of social anxiety and agoraphobia, awful self image, all around angst sorry, some depictions of violence

Word Count: 6860

Notes: I actually got a little too lost in my head writing this chapter but it ended up being somewhat cathartic writing my feelings through someone else's. It ended up taking me longer than expected to finish this part though, I'm sorry for the wait. Hope you enjoy!

Part 7

You can feel him sitting by your door. Even if the deafening mating bond weren't screaming in elation at his proximity, the enhanced senses you've exhausted yourself training for in that Gods forsaken guild would have let you know. You don't deserve any of it. Not his worry, not his loyalty or his love, certainly not the bond. Maybe you had, a long time ago, but that female was ripped away from you, from him.

The shadowsinger probably paints a tragic picture. Sitting on the cold floor, back against the closed, heavy door, hunched over his own body, powerful wings laying by his sides, waiting for a selfish mate who will not open the door no matter how much he pleads or how long he waits, who can barely bring herself to get out of bed, let alone face the male whose life she brought nothing but ruin and heartache.

Ever since Rhys tore down the walls keeping your memories away, there has been a war raging inside you, one in which there will be no victors. It has been eating you away from the inside. You feel like two people have lived in this body before, led completely different lives, and have now abandoned it for you to deal with the scraps and somehow put the pieces back together.

It's almost impossible to keep up with the passing of time as you are. Weeks, maybe even months could have passed since that day. There was a sense of relief when the walls first came crumbling down, even happiness when you saw Azriel and recognized him as the male you loved beyond words, but everything else rushed into your mind the next moment and rendered you speechless.

One moment you had been sitting in Azriel's lap, and in the next the breath was knocked out of your lungs, and a deep ache spread over your body. It felt like your entire being was on fire and drowning at the same time as you saw numerous people die at your hands. It felt foreign, you felt foreign. You started clawing at your own skin, trying to get that hateful person out, ripping your flesh apart desperately. You don't remember what happened next, though you vaguely recall Azriel's anguished screams. Rhys had probably come and rendered you unconscious, effectively calming you down and giving you what must have been the last peaceful night of sleep since then.

You don't know who you are anymore. You can't be sure if you ever did. All those years ago, when you married Azriel, you thought you knew exactly who you were, what your values and aspirations were, how you'd spend your life. You had plans and dreams. It all feels like one giant, heartbreakingly realistic fantasy now, like that life in itself was an idealistic dream.

Looking back now, you know you had simply been sheltered. You had led a privileged life, protected by your parents when they were alive and then by Azriel. Because the person you so easily became when Norris took you had to be living under your skin all along, waiting for an opportunity to show her claws. Someone can't do even half of the things you've done if they had been truly good to begin with. Norris had simply coaxed this hateful, bloodthirsty monster out of you.

Perhaps you should have thanked him before you killed him, if it weren't for him you would have kept living that lie until your last breath. You would have tried tampering it down until you couldn't anymore, until that vile thing ripped open your skin, escaped its bounds and destroyed everything in its path. Would you have hurt Azriel if you had stayed? Killed his entire family in cold blood? The family who took you in like you were one of their own, who were there for you to show you love and happiness when you thought you had lost everything with your parents' deaths.

And what now? Which one were you now, if any at all? You know you're far from the starry eyed female who walked these halls a century ago, arm looped into her loving husband's, who was ready to face any challenge that was put in front of her so long as he stayed by her side. Who dreamt of buying a house and decorating it to both of their tastes, who planned a life by his side down to the last detail. In sickness and in health, in life and in death. What a joke.

The fearless killer was a stranger to you as well. She'd committed atrocities with this body, soaked your hands in blood, but she at least had a purpose, even if she hadn't been the one to find it for herself. The guild trained her, made her strong, and gave her missions. Her life had some sort of meaning, one even she wasn't proud of, no matter how many times she forced herself to emulate her handler, swallow down the guilt that threatened to eat her whole, but a meaning nonetheless. When she eventually snapped she would become one of the few who had been stupid enough to try and escape the guild, maybe even try to paint her blade with Norris' blood. That alone would have meant something, if only a whispered rumor across the guild's low ranks in between missions.

All you were now was a ghost. Slowly fading into the wallpaper, sinking into the bed. Spending your days staring into space, consumed by your own betraying thoughts, suffering through your nights as nightmares reigned free inside your brain. The worst part is they weren't simply nightmares. They were memories, your memories. You had lived through every single haunting image being shown to you. The blood coating your body, covering you in a sickenly metallic smell, had been spilled by your masterful blade, and you had walked away from every single one of those lifeless bodies, leaving them behind without a care as you searched for your handler once more, giving him news of yet another successful mission and awaiting a new one, a new life for you to take.

A sudden knock on the door brings you back to the present, somewhat. Your head turning to face the door, the first movement in a while judging by the ache that follows it. The knock had been soft, careful not to startle you - he's always so careful with you, even after everything, - but in the deafening silence of the room, it still echoed, making your headache worse.

Azriel calls your name, the way the syllables escape his lips sending a shiver down your spine. Even in this state the bond finds a way to make itself known, reminding you of the connection between the two of you, as if you could ever forget.

“I know you can hear me,” he murmurs. You can hear how defeated he is, how sad you've made him once again. It's all your fault, it's always your fault. “Like I told you yesterday, I'm here for you. I will help you through anything as long as you let me, as long as you want me by your side.”

He pauses for a moment, in case you'll give him a response for once. You envy his hope. If you had the courage to hope for even a second maybe you would have called out his name and invited him in, let him hold you in his warm embrace, and make it better, but hope had died along with you and you didn't know how to get it back, didn't know if you wanted to.

A pained sigh escapes him, resigning himself, for the night at least. “I'll come back tomorrow, and every day after that. I promise I will be here when you need me.” You hear him swallow, can feel him trying to steady his voice and keep strong for you in a time when you can't find any strength in yourself. “I love you, more than anything.”

His soft steps retreat, slowly dragging his body away from your door so he can go into his own room and lay in his own empty bed, far away from the wife who he thought he had just gotten back after a century but can't bring herself to even look at him.

The bond screams in your chest, a piercing sound that could make your ears bleed at its intensity. A tear escapes your unblinking eye, running down your skin until it loses its path as it reaches your ear, ultimately falling into the mattress. And still you don't move.

You study the lifeless body in front of you, inspecting the female's beautiful kohl lined brown eyes as they stare right at you unblinking. Listening for the sound of her breath or heartbeat, a sound you know will not come, never again. She had on an elegant silk dress, it was once a shade of green, now tainted with red. She was probably going to meet someone - her friends or her lover, maybe her family. Whoever it was wouldn't see her again, would only be left with bittersweet memories.

Reaching over her, you pull the blade still stuck in her chest out in one smooth, heartless movement. As you go to clean the blood off so you can put it away and escape, you take note of the knife in your hand, frowning down at it as you study the hilt, too intricate to belong to your standard knives. There was even a blue gem encrusted on it, you had never seen let alone owned anything like this.

Looking up, you find strangely familiar hazel eyes staring at you, unblinking as that female's had been. Your eyes travel to the knife in your hand once again as your brain races to keep up with the situation. It's coated in blood, you hadn't wiped it yet, so were your hands, there was so much blood. Your breath catches in your throat when you find a wedding ring around your finger, the blue gem shining under the moonlight.

The knife falls from your hands. Tears cloud your vision, a broken sob escaping you. Azriel. The corpse in front of you belonged to Azriel. You killed him. You killed your husband, your mate. It was all your fault.

You open your eyes with a gasping breath as if you'd been stuck under water. The image of your dead mate refusing to leave your mind as tears keep running down your cheeks, chest rising and falling as if you'd been physically running from this nightmare. It takes you quite a while to fully come to and realize where you were - sitting up in your bed, and not in an empty alley with a dead body at your feet.

It takes you even longer to notice you were not alone anymore. Wide eyes find teary, hazel ones searching your face frantically. As soon as you see him, it becomes impossible to ignore the way his rough hands hold you up, the soothing words he whispers even when he himself looks terrified

Unlike in that awful nightmare, Azriel stood before you breathing. He was blinking, and his heart was beating. Azriel was alive. He was right in front of you and he was alive. You hadn't killed him. The realization finally allows you to catch your breath, the weight at the base of your skull subsiding as you repeat the words over and over in your mind, counting the beats of his heart as you did.

The relief was short-lived though. The reminder that you had stabbed him in real life not so differently from how it happened in your dream making you reel back, back crashing into the headboard hard enough that it almost knocked the wind out of you, his hands dropping from their comforting grip on your head, the heartbroken expression on his face intensifying.

You're both frozen like that for a few seconds, your wide eyes watching his every movement as he stood kneeling down in front of you, hands stuck in the same place like you hadn't moved from under them. Even in the midst of all the chaos taking your mind hostage, you noticed the fear in his eyes. Was he afraid of you? He should be. Though you're not so sure that was the case since he tried reaching for you again as soon as he was pulled out of his stupor.

It makes you recoil even further into the headboard, a sob escaping you, recalling the image of his lifeless body playing in your dream and the way his blood stained your skin in the townhouse only a few weeks ago.

Tears flow down your cheeks with a new vigor when he calls out your name, an heartbreaking sound. You remember how much you loved to hear him whisper your name in that low, sweet timbre of his. It makes your chest tighten uncomfortably, until you can barely breathe now.

“Please leave,” you manage to push out.

“Wait.”

“You can't be here.”

Wrapping your arms around your legs, you hope he listens. You can't hurt him anymore than you already have, couldn't bear to live with yourself if you did, and for that you need him to go, need him to be out of your tainting reach.

“Please, my love. Let me take care of you,” he begs, his own tears escaping freely now.

My love. The way he says it so carefully, so sure of himself makes you sob harder. You don't deserve his love, his attention or care, you never did. And he doesn't deserve any of this pain, so you need him to go, you have to push him away.

“I can't…” Why are the words so hard to say? Why can't you just tell him to go and never come back? “Please,” you manage through a sob, an ugly sound in the back of your throat, hiding your face in your knees.

Azriel closes his eyes, salty tears running down his heartbroken face. He tightens his grip on the sheets for a moment, hard enough that his knuckles turn white. Telling himself to stay, or maybe forcing himself to accept your dismissal.

“I'll go,” he whispers out after a while, opening his eyes at last, defeated, “but if you need me just call out and I'll be back in a heartbeat, alright?”

You don't answer him, your entire concentration going into keeping your eyes off him. Trying desperately to push not only the haunting nightmare down, but also the mating bond, who demanded you seek comfort from your mate while you were trying so hard to push him away.

He gets up slowly, dragging his feet as he walks to the door, looking back at you multiple times as if he can't bear to leave you alone like this, as if begging you to call him back, but you've made your decision and you won't call out to him no matter how desperate you are.

“I was thinking it would be a good idea to bring you up to Rhys' cabin for a few days. You can stay in your room or go outside on your own, and I promise you won't even have to see me if you don't want to,” Azriel explains tentatively through the closed door. “It wouldn't be much different from being here except you could take in the fresh air of the mountain. You always used to love it up there, said it helped you think more clearly.”

This conversation hadn't come out of nowhere and it certainly wasn't entirely about a simple change of scenery - though you wouldn't be surprised if it doubled as a way of trying to get out of this room if nothing else. They were unsure about keeping you in this house, in Velaris even. You overheard part of their discussion on the subject, the tricks you've learned at the guild proving themselves useful at least as you approached the room without them noticing.

You had been curious when you felt most of the inner circle's presence in the house. For a moment, you had even panicked, thinking they would try to talk to you, maybe a form of intervention, but when it was clear they would all keep their distance, you couldn't stop yourself from eavesdropping on their conversation. You had already known it would be about you, or maybe the guild, for them to gather up in the House of Wind.

Given your current apathy and insistence on distancing yourself from everyone, they were worried about keeping you so high up in the mountain. No one had actually said the words, but the implication was clear, - if you so wished, all you had to do was open the window and let yourself fall through the wind, finding your sweet release as you crashed into the ground. And, even with some of their vehement denials, it was painfully obvious that they were all scared of it becoming a reality.

They had moved onto the topic of moving you off Velaris as well, almost at Azriel's insistence. They thought the city could be too suffocating for you since you seemed to want to be alone with your thoughts. And so the idea of moving you to the cabin for a while came up at Feyre's suggestion. You zoned out when they started trying to decide on the best way to bring it up to you, knowing you would refuse the offer no matter how it was brought up. The thought of making the trip there was exhausting on its own.

Azriel's shadows had definitely noticed you spying on the inner circle. You saw them swirling by your hiding spot in the hallway multiple times, lingering for a moment before moving closer to the door. You can't be sure if they had not alerted their singer out of their own volition, or if he had chosen to let you hear the conversation.

You knew he would be more than happy for you to step into the office and speak for yourself, but you barely had to give it any thought to decide against it. You didn't see the point in it. They were right about your lack of will to be alive. You genuinely couldn't bring yourself to care if you were in this house or the next, in Velaris or on the other side of the world, if they were the ones to decide it or not so long as they left you alone.

Truthfully, you didn't quite see the point in living either, and at the same time killing yourself felt like too much of a hassle. Not to mention that Azriel wouldn't survive your death this time, and hurting him was the last thing you wanted to do. Just the thought sent the bond into disarray, a weight growing in your chest and taking your breath away.

You hadn't spoken more than a few sentences to Azriel in all the weeks you've been here so you obviously haven't told him about the bond. The downside of that is that you don't know if he's felt it himself either. He has been devoted to you to say the least, but he always had, even before you died. Azriel always treated you like you were his entire world.

As if processing all your memories wasn't enough, the bond had somehow made things even more complicated. Every happy memory of the two of you together sent the bond almost vibrating with joy, pushing you to go and see him when all you wanted to do was disappear in this room. It makes you feel like you're not fully in charge of your body, just as it felt like watching back your memories at the guild.

“What do you think?”

His voice brings you back to the present once more. Your eyes finding the closed door, imagining him leaning against it on the other side, forehead leaning against the dark, carved wood, praying for an answer he knows won't come.

You consider saying something, to at least let him know you wanted to stay here just as you were, but your body wasn't agreeing with you, refusing to move or form out the words even if you were asking it to. You knew it would be better to refuse his offer, not only because you knew he wouldn't force you to leave if you told him you didn't want to, but also because hearing you speak after so long could lessen their worries, his worries. Still, you couldn't force yourself to even move your mouth.

Azriel lets out a sigh, that heartbreakingly defeated sound you've grown so used to, taking your silence as an answer. You hear him swallow, pushing back the tears and the heaviness you could almost feel in your own heart.

“It's alright,” he breathes out, “Just let me know if you change your mind.”

Alright. You were starting to grow a distaste for the word. How could it be alright when you've done nothing but hurt him? You disappeared on him for decades on decades, making him think you were dead while you were off killing people for money. Only to come back and try to steal from Rhys, stab him and then ignore him after they helped you recover your memories. He has been sitting at your doorstep multiple hours a day for weeks without getting as much as an answer. How is any of this alright?

You wish he would just forget about you. Maybe then you wouldn't feel so guilty for all you've done.

If it weren't for the magic pumping through this house your bath would have been freezing cold by now. The perfectly warm, lavender scented water the House provided almost pissed you off, and so did the oils and balms it presented you, urging you to take care of yourself when it was the last thing on your mind.

You've spent hours in the ostentatious tub, scrubbing your skin raw. Desperately trying to get rid of the disgust you felt every time you looked down at your own hands, always finding them covered in blood no matter how many times you washed them. Some things can't be washed out with anything, and you can't undo the things you've done.

After wishing to recover your memories so fiercely, you can't believe you find yourself wishing you could forget everything all over again, the happy and awful ones alike. Every time you remember your short marriage with Azriel, you end up reminding yourself of all the things you've done, of how much you didn't deserve even a second of the happiness he brought you during those years.

You remember when Azriel confided in you about the guilt he felt for the things he's done. You'd always soothe him as best as you could, thinking you could understand how he feels, telling him you'd always love him no matter what. It makes you cringe just to think how naive you were.

Everything Azriel had done had been by the High Lord's orders - unfortunately including Rhysand's father - but, whether it was the best solution or not, it was all for the good of the Night Court and its people. And even then you couldn't have imagined what that burden felt like on his back. You had fought before, helped them keep the court safe, but had hardly ever killed anyone, only getting that far when it was strictly necessary.

Now you had lost count of how many people's lives had ended by your hand, or you wish you had at least. Your nightmares insist on showing you every single person, one after the other playing incessantly in your mind. Now you know what it felt like to be on the other end of the conversation.

Letting out a sigh, you submerge yourself underwater, hoping to drown out your thoughts for even a moment. You almost felt bored today, which shouldn't come as a surprise since you've done virtually nothing in weeks, but given your current disposition it certainly was something new. It almost makes you wish you had accepted Azriel's offer of taking you up to Rhys' cabin though you still weren't sure you could make the trip there. The only way to leave this house was by having someone fly you down, which is probably why they keep you here in the first place.

It could be completely unrelated to your mood, but Azriel hadn't come by today. He warned you there was something important he needed to do when he left the night before. He rarely leaves your side these days, always sitting by your door or in the room next to yours, keeping his promise of being a simple shout away, so you know it had to be about the guild or the general safety of Velaris for Rhys to actually manage to convince him to stay longer than a few hours away from you.

Curiosity got the best of you, asking the question out loud while he was informing you through the door before you could stop yourself. He didn't answer right away, probably too surprised at hearing your voice after weeks of silence, so you didn't even realize you had asked it out loud at first.

When the shock wore off, he told you there were some suspicious movements close to the Hewn City, the smile noticeable in his voice despite the safety threat he was describing. Routine checks like these never took him too long, and with the added situation you were in, he would likely be back by the early hours of the morning.

You couldn't call them conversations at all, but hearing Azriel talk to you, sometimes to tell you about his day, telling you old stories or even new ones, the important moments you've missed in recent years, helped you not feel so empty somehow. As much as you were desperately trying to distance yourself and lay forgotten alone in this room, the fact that he wouldn't allow you to do it brought you a sense of relief.

These feelings were too confusing, wanting complete opposite things like this. You needed to be alone, were always just shy of a panic attack when you so much as caught a glimpse of anyone or heard their voice, but it was starting to feel like you still wanted them to reach out a hand dispute it all.

Your lungs start to burn after being left with no air for so long. You consider just letting it run out, put yourself out of this misery, but your hands reach for the sides of the tub, pulling yourself out of the water, air filling your lungs once again, chest rising and falling as you catch your breath. Even this you couldn't do right.

Getting out of the tub and cleaning yourself off with a fluffy towel, you move to walk out into the bedroom, but hesitate for a moment, glancing at the calming oils the house left you on top of the counter. You've scrubbed at your skin so much it's irritated and slightly itchy, the oil could help soothe it so you didn't end up scratching at yourself all night.

One of the oils smelled like lavender too, so maybe with a little luck and nothing else disturbing you, it would help you relax enough for you to get at least a few hours of sleep without any unwanted nightmares waking you up right away. You felt exhausted down to the bone, and wanted nothing more than a little dreamless peace, so you picked up the oil for once.

Sitting cross-legged on the floor, you search through the closet, finding it full of your old things. There was more than what Azriel had shown you before, when you still couldn't recognize any of them, a lot more in fact, it looked like he hardly got rid of anything. There were also things the rest of your friends must have saved from that time.

You hadn't stopped to think about what happened to everything you owned when you died, too consumed with every other thought. It seems everyone ended up keeping a piece of you for themselves, Azriel keeping as much as he could, desperately so.

Rummaging through the boxes, you pick up a necklace Cassian had bought for you as a Solstice present. It was simple in nature, but the blue stone hanging from it was absolutely gorgeous. He had been very proud of this find, and later that night Azriel had told you all about how he had begged Mor to help him get something special for you, since he wasn't too good at buying gifts for people but wanted your first Solstice with Azriel to go without a single misstep.

The necklace holds a nostalgic weight as you put it around your neck, letting it sit as you look through the rest of your things. There was a lot more jewelry in these boxes since you always had a love for shiny things, and Rhysand didn't have any sort of restraint when it came to his money. Once he had bought you an entire collection of gold, sapphire encrusted jewelry for Solstice, one that would have embarrassed you had you not given him an extremely rare cologne that same night. You even had to employ the help of Azriel's shadows to find it. Finding gifts for the High Lord was always an adventure.

Picking up one of the many decorated daggers the inner circle, including your mate, had gifted you over the years, you find it's the first dagger Amren gave you. It hadn't been a solstice or birthday gift, she had simply decided you needed it after an attack. You had more than enough daggers, even more if you went through Azriel's collection, but her giving it to you was a sign that she cared, in her own way. You had almost started crying in Azriel's arms when you realized the ancient, terrifying creature cared about you later that night.

Most of your expensive clothes seemed to be hanging in this closet as well, and almost all had either been gifted by Mor or you had bought them when you were shopping together. You wonder for a second if any of the old stores you used to visit were still open. You're also not entirely sure if you'd like any of the things you used to, dressing in color felt foreign to you now.

Even from your position on the ground, you knew the carefully wrapped dress hanging in the closet had to be your wedding dress, the thought making your mouth go dry. You thumb at your ring finger unconsciously, finding it empty. You had lost your wedding ring, Azriel couldn't have kept it since you had it on when you died. You find yourself wishing you still had it, as undeserving as you were of something so special.

Memories of the ceremony rush into your head, bringing tears to your eyes, it truly had been the happiest day of your life. You wonder if you would have still married him if you had known what was to come. Selfishly, you think you would.

You have to tear your eyes away from the garment, making your way through the boxes sitting at the bottom of the dresser once more to distract yourself. There were so many random things in here, even bookmarks and cookie cutters. He truly has kept anything that reminded him of you.

In the middle of it is sitting a dandelion preserved in resin. Azriel had given it to you when you told him you missed looking at the fields full of them as you sat under the trees when you were a child, finding the most comfortable looking one to take a nap. You used to keep it by your bedside, and looking over to the empty nightstand you think you might start doing it again.

At the bottom of the box were a few letters, a copy of your contract with Rhysand, letters your parents had written, and a few you wrote for Azriel. There was one in particular that came to mind. You search for it, knowing the inscription and date written on the envelope by heart. When you find it among the others, you open it slowly, hands shaking as you do.

You had written this letter for Azriel after he proposed to you, leaving it on his pillow for him to find one night. It had always been easier for you to write your feelings rather than saying them out loud, and so you had decided to do just that, pouring your heart out into the pages.

Reading through it brought tears to your eyes, sobbing silently at her precious feelings. No matter how naive or innocent she was, one thing you can't deny was that her love for Azriel was always real, your love for Azriel. You find yourself agreeing with every word you had written all those years ago, even when you felt unworthy of it. You still loved him as much as you did before, there's no point in denying that.

You don't know how many times you read the letter or for how long you sit on that floor, holding onto the dandelion Azriel immortalized for you, crying at everything you've lost, and everything you still have.

When Azriel comes by that night you find yourself opening the door, only wide enough for you to be able to reach your hand out, but it sets his heart beating dangerously fast nonetheless, the rush of happiness traveling through the bond somehow. You hand him the letter silently, and almost thank the gods when he carefully accepts it without touching you, without question, before closing the door back up.

You've never been good at explaining your feelings, much less when your head is as messy as it is now, but you hope he understands what you want to say with this gesture, you want him to know you still love him, that you always will. Judging by the way he starts audibly crying, much like you had been hours prior, you think he does, and, for the first time in weeks, those sounded like happy tears.

It's hard to say where the sudden courage came from, but your body moves before you have the chance to ignore it or talk yourself out of it. Getting out of bed and almost throwing yourself into the bath, letting the scented wash take away all the lingering cold sweats left behind by yet another nightmare.

Drying yourself off, and throwing on one of the dresses Mor had left for you quickly. She truly knew you well, even this warped version of you. The black dress was simple enough, although somehow too intricate for the dinner you were about to interrupt at the time, but it was beautiful.

She had come by your room not long ago, calling out your name softly, but unfortunately still scaring you in the process, unused to company as you were. The obvious panic shown by your heartbeat made her pause for a moment but it didn't completely deter her as she left a bag full of new clothes at your door, lingering only long enough to write out a note explaining she wanted you to have some updated clothes before going on her way, understanding you didn't wish to see or talk to anyone while holding out hope that you would one day.

You had waited for her to leave the house entirely before opening the door hesitatingly, and picking up the bag quickly, reading the note as well back in the comfort of your room. The kiss she left on the note, marked by her red lipstick, was so much like Mor that it made you cry.

That was the last time you had opened this door, and as your hand finds the doorknob you hesitate, heart beating so loud you think it might jump out of your chest. It takes you entirely too long to go through with it, but a loud, boisterous laugh coming from downstairs allows some of your courage to return.

Descending the stairs slowly, step by step, slowly putting one foot in front of the other, simultaneously trying to not make any noise and telling yourself you could do this. When you get closer to the dining room, close enough that you could hear them talking and find Azriel's shadows lazing around along the walls, you hesitate once more.

They sounded happy and you would only ruin the mood with your presence. Those thoughts quickly consume you, and almost make you turn around, but as one of his shadows suddenly passes you, sliding into the room to warn Azriel of your arrival, you round the corner and take the last few steps, walking into the room and facing the other three residents of this house.

Cassian stands up immediately at your presence, your name leaving his lips in surprise as he studies you with wide eyes. His familiar lack of subtlety almost brings a smile to your lips. You think it did at first, only to raise your hand and find your mouth set in the same line it had been stuck in for weeks, the muscles still unused, but you still stayed.

They were all frozen in place, as if scared that if they made any sudden movement it would send you back running to your room, and, truthfully, it probably would. Everyone's eyes are now on you, every single one of your instincts is telling you to turn back around, and you're still here. Maybe you can actually do this.

“I…” Your voice falters, you couldn't be sure when it was the last time you had used it. “I thought I could join you for dinner today.”

No one answers right away, still watching you as if they couldn't believe you were really standing there. You shift your weight from one foot to the other, closing your hands into fists, hard enough that your nails bite into the palms of your hands, the pain keeping you present in the moment. You wanted to approach the table, but felt entirely too exposed.

Nesta is the first to break out of the spell, grabbing onto Cassian's arm and pulling him back down into his chair, making you let out a sigh of relief. As soon as his butt finds the chair, Azriel also shakes himself out of his surprise, a blinding smile trying to fight its way into his lips while he attempts to act normally. His shadows all disperse to different corners of the room as he lets out a breath, one that seems to come from deep within him.

“Of course you can,” he answers at last. He comes up to your room and talks to you every day, but hearing it unmuffled by the door, his eyes locked on yours, makes goosebumps appear in your arms. It also sends you walking to the table, choosing the seat at the top instead of the empty one next to Azriel. One step at a time.

A bowl of soup appears in front of you as soon as you sit down. The worst part was over, you reminded yourself. Now you just have to sit and eat, let them get lost in their conversations and just push through. It takes them a moment to understand your feelings, but once again Nesta seems to read you like an open book, starting their conversation back up and forcing them to follow.

You hadn't eaten all day if you remembered correctly, but your appetite was the last thing on your mind, having to almost force yourself to finish the soup, as was the usual these days. It was also hard to keep track of their conversation as you kept repeating encouraging words in your head and ordered your limbs to keep moving, entirely too aware of your every movement.

They tried to be subtle, but every once in a while you could also feel their side glances at you. You never met their eyes though, staring into your soup as if it was the most interesting thing you've ever seen in your life.

Azriel's shadows seemed to be your biggest supporters, lazing around under your feet as if reminding you that you weren't alone. They were easier to deal with that Azriel himself for now, but as an extension of him, it felt like having him close.

You hardly say another word during the whole ordeal, the air so awkward it almost made you want run away multiple times, but you stay until you finish your food, and when you go back to your room, excusing yourself quickly, you're incredibly proud of yourself. Azriel tells you as much when he visits one last time before sleep as well, a warmth spreading in your chest at the words. Maybe all wasn't completely lost yet.

#azriel x reader #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel angst #azriel acotar #azriel shadowsinger #azriel fic #acotar fanfiction #acotar x reader

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uplatterme · 2 years

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false god

—sub!dainsleif/dom!amab!reader, priest!reader | reader is called ‘father’, throatfucking, cockstepping, first half is plot and then the other is filth.

—and after posting about writing for dain since january, i actually finally finished one for him!

This isn’t the first time that such a thing had happened to the Bough Keeper.

Such a thing was, accidentally teleporting himself to a place he didn’t mean to, partly due to exhaustion and sleepless nights.

It was often like these that the immortality cast upon him mocked him more than anything.

Droplets of water started to fall onto his hair, then eventually onto his body. He stares into the dark sky, the coldness of the rain bringing more comfort than it does harm.

Dainsleif sighs, and instead of teleporting away to his right destination, he starts to walk and explore this newfound place.

There isn’t much to say about where he’s landed himself, and frankly, he’s thankful for that. Silence is a gift for him nowadays and even when he’s isolated, it’s rare that he isn’t plagued by awful memories that keep him from just closing his eyes for longer than a few minutes.

His slow steps are halted though, when he sees that he has brought himself in front of a very peculiar building. The rain continues to soak his body as the man stares at the white architecture and the statue that is displayed in front.

He chuckles. Of course, it couldn’t be that easy. His luck had never been the one to land on his side, he didn’t know why he expected otherwise.

It’s quite big for a chapel, especially since he doesn’t recognize the figure in front. Still, it’s one of a god’s, nonetheless. He supposes he shouldn’t be surprised considering the lengths that devotees had gone to.

His curiosity gets the best of him when he goes nearer the said building, wanting to examine the sculpture. However, before he could even get a closer look, the wooden entrance opens.

The Khaenri'ahn’s first instinct is to transport himself away but finds that to be useless as he meets the eyes of another. What he didn’t expect next, is genuine worry.

“My goodness! Are you alright?”

He almost gets confused as to why one would react in such horror. He doesn’t have any blood on him, does he?

Dainsleif looks down, not wanting to traumatize a random stranger…and discovers that there’s nothing wrong with him?

He lifts his head back up, only to find you nowhere near the doors of the chapel. He wonders where you are for a quick second until he feels something warm covering his body.

“I hope my robe will make do…Come on, get inside. You must be cold.” His reluctance is evident in his face but before he can even say anything, he’s pushed inside the chapel, much to his distaste.

Him stepping inside such a place was too much for him already that he forgot the fact that he’s wearing a robe, one that he assumed was no ordinary one.

Dainleif wants to take it off and so he tries to, at least.

“Keep it. I apologize I don’t have any spare clothes at the moment.”

He really does not want to wear a priest’s robe.

“Did you come here for the mass? I’m afraid it ended an hour ago…Ah, but you can still stay until the rain stops.” You offer generously.

“No. I just happened to be passing by.” He explains.

He watches as your mouth gapes, looking for the words to say after you’ve just brought him in here out of his will.

“That makes sense…I was wondering why I haven’t seen you before. Not that it matters, you can still stay. The Chapel of our God is glad to help any troubled souls.”

He takes offense at that.

“Troubled, you say? That’s quite a big assumption of a man you’ve just met.” His tone is as monotone as ever, yet that doesn’t hide the disdainful look that lingers in his bright eyes.

You muse.

“Ah yes, a non-troubled person that enjoys looking gloomy and letting the rain pour all over them.”

Dainsleif bites his tongue at that.

“I’ll show you around.”

While it does interest him that this chapel worships a god that isn’t of the seven, that doesn’t mean that he wants to learn more about a dead god who was defeated in the archon war just like the others. Although he presumes that the way you tell of their tales makes it somewhat bearable.

Even if it’s not what he expected.

It’s not as overwhelming as he had thought, but perhaps that was due to the lack of nuns he usually sees when it comes to churches.

“Is there something wrong?” You ask fondly, stopping your rambling about your said god just to listen to him.

“Does this place have many attendees?”

“Not quite…but it’s a lot if you consider they’re followers of a God who isn’t one of the seven.”

Frankly, Dainsleif doesn’t get it. It’s not as if all these masses you lead would ever lead to something else. It’s just wasted hard work, if he’s to be brutally honest.

He can tell that there’s a lot of admiration and work you have put into this, but for what reason? What reason is there to keep spreading the word of someone you haven’t even personally met?

Would your faith waiver if knowledge of your god performing deemed evil acts is brought upon you?

“Should we continue the tour?” You ask.

He politely shakes his head, thoughts still lingering in his head.

“We must adhere to these values that our God has specified in their writings…that our way of living as a mortal is something that should be celebrated and not frowned upon…”

The non-believer sits at the last row of the chapel, somewhat half-heartedly listening to your words as you read passages from a book in your hands.

He only watches, observing the entire view in front of him. How people reply in unison whenever you say a certain phrase, an exchange that he finds to be quite strange.

The mass isn’t that long, yet you still manage to lead that hour with grace, making sure that every part of it goes well without any fault.

How you stand to the side, leaning on the podium with a smile as everyone sings along with the choir.

Dainsleif’s eyes meet yours and he sees you mouth a greeting to him.

…He supposed that he can stay for a minute when everyone has gone.

He sees you grin as you start walking towards him, your robe neat and tidy as ever.

Surprisingly, he speaks first.

“I’m surprised you still have a recollection of me.”

“It’s only been a few months.” You reply, your voice soft and soothing, unlike the way you spoke as you preached earlier.

Most people would choose to forget. “You’re different in person than you are earlier.”

“Perhaps.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence in the chapel, the mosaic windows dim the bright sunlight from the outside but that only results in the colored glass reflecting stunningly on your face.

He takes the initiative and speaks again.

“Is it because I’m not a follower?”

Your breathing catches on his ear. “Maybe.”

He wonders if you know of his lineage and if that’s the reason why you had kept an eye out for him, suspicions rousing through your brain.

“Father.” The change of tone to formality shocks you a little that you were forced to question why he’s suddenly calling you that.

Your awkward chuckle echoes through the building. “What are you calling me that for?”

“Just seeing if your attitude would change. If you’re truly as honest as you present yourself to be.”

You click your tongue. “Is there a reason you came here?”

There it is. A snarky tone. He knew he was right to come back here.

Why was he sent here before? Was someone playing tricks on him? The Abyss? The gods? He knows there has to be a reason for him being teleported here that day.

“May I ask how someone becomes a member of your church, Father?”

He hears you sigh deeply. Why?

Aren’t more members what you want and need?

“If that’s how you want to do this then…I’ll amuse you. Follow me, troubled one.”

Dainsleif’s fists close at the nickname.

He’s brought to a room that you once showed him the previous time that he was here. You never explained what exactly this room was for as he left just before you got to.

There’s a small fountain, clear and blue flowing through it.

“This is a small tradition we have. It’s based on one of the writings that…you haven’t read, but that’s alright. It’s not that difficult to follow.” You start to explain.

“It’s a symbol of starting anew, to wash yourself of the regrets you have.”

“And if I do not have any?” He questions.

“You do. Everyone does, even Gods.”

“You think gods regret the things they’ve done.” His patience is thinning inch by inch. He almost laughs at the ridiculousness of that sentence.

“That I do. According to one of the passages that—”

“How exactly do I know whether what you’re saying is genuine or just out of a damn book?” He interrupts.

You stare at him with a disapproving look. “You’re deflecting.”

“Excuse me?”

“What is it that troubles you?”

Nothing. He’s fine. He’s done with everything, there’s no use in pondering over what could’ve and should’ve been.

“Don’t act as if you’re superior to me.” He says, visibly upset.

“So much for becoming a believer.”

That’s when the grin is swayed off your face in just a few seconds as Dainsleif pins you to the wall, your head slightly tilted up as he grips tightly on your collar.

“Who sent you?” His enchanting eyes cross yours, not even a shade of fear in them.

“What exactly have you gone through that you think everything is out to get you?”

He stills at that. You’re not trying to push him off.

Instead, you’re conversing with him like he’s a lost lamb who’s unsure of where to go. An amenable priest who listens and asks.

He lets go. Your robe is now crinkled, and the mark of his fist is clearly evident.

You sit on the bench near the fountain, patting the empty space right next to it. Dainsleif refuses the offer, choosing to continue standing while he searches for the next words he’d like to say.

You smile.

“You don’t have to apologize or continue this. It doesn’t mean anything anyways if you don’t take it to heart.”

It’s such a strange sentence to hear from someone like you. You’re not..forcing him nor are you trying to sell him your ways by threatening him of what he may face if he doesn’t.

The Khaenri'ahn sighs, the words of apology already at the tip of his tongue.

“I’d prefer it if we were to continue.”

“You would?”

“I can still change my mind.” He jests, seeing you beam from ear to ear.

Dainsleif slowly walks towards the fountain, sitting beside you and laying his head down on your shoulder. The gesture is surprising to the priest but it isn’t turned away.

“I hope you’re quite ready, Father. This might take a while.” He says with his eyes closed.

“Confess your regrets, my troubled one.”

Eventually, it becomes a habit of his to visit you whenever he’s plagued with thoughts that make him anxious and question his choices.

And each time, you’re there to give advice. To lend a shoulder, and sometimes a little more than that.

He will never worship a god, but he’ll sure as hell worship you.

Dainsleif always waits patiently in the last row, watching you and listening to how your voice sounded rather than the message you’re conveying.

It’s soothing, in a way.

He doesn’t say a thing and only waits as you walk down the aisle with a smile.

It’s a silent exchange.

You place your hand on his shoulder and Dainsleif rubs the side of his chin on your hand, his eyes shut.

“Dainsleif.”

“Yes, Father?” He teases, a smirk forming on his face before opening his eyes.

Your fingers lift his head slightly before bending down to reach his soft lips. He doesn’t pull away, he presses them further as if it’s his salvation.

It’s somewhat sick that he’s found comfort in someone like you. He contemplates whether he’s walking the path of failure that the gods have planned, if this whole thing will eventually turn over just to punish him even more.

In the end, it’ll all be his fault. He’s the one who revealed secrets that you’ve never asked for.

“You’re making that face again, Dain.” You speak.

“What face?”

“The kind you make when you’re overthinking things. The one I want to get rid of.”

Dainsleif reaches for your hand, asking even if he knows the answer. “Pray tell, how exactly?”

“It makes me wonder if it’s a turn on of yours to get fucked in a place of worship.”

“Like how it’s a turn on for you when I’m on my knees and calling you Father?”

You laugh, caressing his hair as you look down on him.

“You don’t even worship the God of this place.” He looks so sweet like that, his head between your legs. Such beauty ready to kneel for you and do whatever if you ask him kindly.

“What’s the need when I already worship you?” Dainsleif says and takes you in.

Dainsleif never imagined he’d gladly be spending his time inside of a chapel, right in front of empty seats where anyone can walk in through those wooden doors, acting as if the altar is your hips.

And yet he’s letting you use his mouth eagerly, so used to how you taste that sometimes he himself craves for it when you two are separated.

“That’s right, love. Just think of me.”

He groans as you push further into his throat, his eyes wandering to you despite his breathing getting obstructed.

He loves the things you do. Whether it be hearing you talk so dearly to him, tugging his hair with the right amount of pull, or the way you fill his mouth nicely like this.

It’s yours.

The sound that escapes his throat when your foot presses directly on his crotch is loud and lewd, echoing through the empty chapel.

His cheeks lightly flush, grumbling something incoherent.

“Speak clearly, my lamb.”

He rolls his eyes at the mischievousness of your voice. You know he can’t, and yet you’re still asking him to do so.

He follows still, of course.

“M-Mo—ah!”

Dainsleif chokes as he tries to speak.

“Too much for you?”

He shakes his head and tries again.

“Mow—Moah-”

It’s not working. He’s stuffed full to even say it.

“Come on,” Your foot steps on his cock again. “There’s another way to plead. I’m sure a smart devotee of mine can figure that out.”

His chest heaves, trying to calm his breathing from the pressure and whining as it stops.

That’s when Dainsleif moves of his own accord, taking you even deeper than you already were. You can feel the vibrations from when he slowly pants, breathing through his nose more so he won’t pass out.

He bats his eyelashes at you, with a face full of sin.

Tears are starting to form in his eyes.

Please.

Dainsleif gags on your cock again, moaning impurely when your foot begins to knead more aggressively on his pants.

Your shoe adds even more stimulation and his cock aches wanting, no, begging for a release.

“Such a sinful body, no wonder the gods haven’t been blessing you.”

Fuck.

He continues to whimper, sucking your cock needily and knowing you’ll stop if he doesn’t do well.

“You get on your knees to be a slut, I wonder if they’ve bruised already.”

They do. They always do when you fuck his throat like this.

His mind is hazy and he’s close, he’s so—

“Hmgh!—”

“Not yet. Be patient.”

His body wants to buck down when you remove the pressure just seconds before he cums, but your hold on his head keeps him from doing that and he’s left to whine painfully.

The tears in his eyes finally fall and he stares up at you to be merciful, to let him have this one since it’s been a month of waiting to finally have you get him off like this.

“You want it?”

He nods and whines, begging for you to hear him out.

“Alright.”

When he gets permission, he sobs out on your cock, cumming inside in his own pants and soiling the floor. You feel how warm his breath is, his body is tired and trembling, but he keeps trying to make you finish as if it’s the only thing he’s made for. Even if he’s barely doing it well, too drunk with his tongue tired already.

The sight of that is enough to get you off.

Dainsleif tries to swallow but he doesn’t do it fully, cum dripping down his chin and coughing on the amount he can’t.

He finds it a waste that he isn’t able to. He stares, wondering if he should clean it up.

“Dain, it’s fine. You did amazing.”

His heart softens.

“Let me help you out, love.”

His head rests on your lap, your fingers playing with his hair. A tradition that you two somehow have ended up doing each time you finish.

He thinks it’s sweet and funny that you act so soft despite the things you say when having sex.

“Tell me.” You say.

“Tell you what?”

“What’s bothering you?” You question.

Dainsleif only snickers at that.

It’s you, Father.

#plattered writings #sub genshin impact #sub genshin #dom reader #dom!reader #genshin impact smut #genshin impact x reader #dainsleif x reader #sub dainsleif #sub!dainsleif

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spicyllewyn · 1 year

Text

Roleplaying with them.

(NSFW) Headcanons. - Moon system x reader. (+18)

Marc.

You had been feeling observed for about 15 minutes during your walk.

You were heading back home, as usual, too late for your own safety.

Nothing had happened to you so far, so what could you lose?

It wasn't until the whitish glow behind you appeared, combined with the shadow from the ground, that your attention finally turned to your back.

A few days ago, you had seen more than one moon painted on the streets.

You weren't surprised to come across him.

"How long have you been there?" He didn't speak, just shrugged.

"I can see my house from here, your job is done."

When you turned around, you heard him clear his throat. "Don't people thank superheroes more?"

He was no longer wearing the mask. His tousled curls fell over his forehead, and the tight ceremonial suit of Khonshu allowed you to see every detail on his body.

"I thought they did it only out of love for their fellow beings."

Another step, and you felt your breath catch in your chest.

"Does anyone do things for free nowadays?"

He was right. And by the way his eyes wandered over your body, you didn't need to think much to guess what he was referring to.

His gaze was scorching you and you wanted to kiss his jaw until your lips hurt.

And you gave in, because who else was there to thank the masked vigilante who protected the nighttime travelers?

One step closer.

You were still in the middle of the deserted street, in plain sight of anyone who decided to take a nighttime stroll.

You didn't care much, not even when the cold concrete of the sidewalk made your knees ache.

His suit vanished in front of you, your eyes locked onto the pair of dark jeans that now filled your entire field of vision.

You licked on the fabric when you realized that he was already hard under his clothing.

And although the cold did not cause anything in him, your tongue did make him tremble.

A little more of force and you would have yanked the button off his jeans.

You were both clumsy, desperate.

Before you could object, the tip of his cock was pushing against your throat.

"Just like that, sweetie." And just when you thought her voice couldn't get any deeper.

Turns out, the terrifying Moon Knight was also a fan of encouraging his partners during sex.

He kept complimenting you, reminding you how well you were doing.

Although his moans spoke for him.

He had no compassion for you, when his hands were placed in your hair you knew you were no longer in control.

He rammed into your mouth with the brutality with which you had saw him punch people before.

You could only hear the gurgling of your saliva every time it slid down your tongue.

And your eyes filled up with tears as your nose bumped against the veil of his abdomen, you could feel him push you further.

Until you ran out of oxygen.

With two touches on his thigh he understood what you needed, finally letting go.

Your hand had to take care of the job, your saliva made it easier to stroke his already sensitive cock.

He looked at you, and you looked back at him.

"Thanks for taking care of me." Your smile was mocking, and Marc could only think about how cute your little face looked destroyed by him.

A chill ran through him from head to toe as the heat in his abdomen began to rise.

He was so close. "Just like that. Don't stop, -ah, fuck, please." His pleas confirmed the obvious to you.

You stuck out your tongue for him, and the mere image was too much for him.

It was obscene, he could see in you how much you wanted to swallow every drop he had to give you.

He came on your tongue. Actually, he came on your whole face.

And you squeezed anything that was left on him with your hand.

“Shit, I love you.” He said with a breathy, broken voice.

“Marc, don't get out of character!”

Steven.

"Sorry for the hour! Are there still tours available?" "Oh, Gods. You are just in time for the last one! But I'm afraid it will be just you and me, we're about to close."

At least this way you could ask anything that crossed your mind.

Steven was… dreamy.

You weren't the biggest fan of museums, but the guy was really doing his job for society.

You probably learned more there than in months of history classes.

And he made it so… enjoyable. So easy to understand, so much fun.

His eyes were shining as he spoke, and the 2-hour tour felt like 15 minutes.

"This is the least visited part of the museum." "Why?" "Many people are afraid of the ocean."

Both of you whispered, squinting your eyes to gaze at each other in the middle of the dark room.

A soft blue light gave the perfect tone to Steven's face as he looked at the exhibits as if it were the first time.

You leaned in to read the plaque in front of a representation of a shark skeleton.

And within seconds, a body positioned itself behind you. His chest against your back, one of his arms slid under yours, and he made you raise your hand.

His fingers guided yours to touch the fake skeleton.

"They don't have bones, you know?" A breathy moan escaped from his mouth when you pushed yourself towards him. "Oh no?" You played dumb. "It's, ah… gristle."

You tortured him by continuing to see the figure for extra seconds.

And when you turned around, Steven was on his knees

You smiled.

“I think it's my favorite room.” And in one jump you climbed onto a kind of high step that supported some other figures.

As if his lips had a magnet towards you, he began to kiss between your thighs.

Because of course, the first thing you did was spread your legs for him.

He kissed on top of the fabric until he got desperate.

You never thought that the shy museum guide in the baggy clothes would have the strength to pull your skinny jeans down in one fell swoop.

You've been wanting to mess up those soft curls ever since you laid eyes on him.

Right now, with his tongue working on you, it was the perfect opportunity.

"Oh shit." Your voice echoed through the empty room as you pushed him harder between your legs.

Steven refused to pull away for air, and you happily kept him between your legs.

He looked like a hungry man, you could feel his saliva running between your legs.

"Y-You do an amazing job." “Well, I always wanted to be a museum guide.” oh so innocent

"Steven!" It resounded so loudly in the room that you feared someone would discover you.

But not enough to shut you up.

It goes without saying that you finished sooner than expected, the adrenaline rush of being caught was always a fetish for you.

And when you looked down, you almost fainted.

His huge chocolate brown eyes were staring at you, barely parted enough for you to see his glossy lips full of you.

He had the expression of someone about to get into some mischief.

"No." "Yeah." "Steven, no." “How are you going to rate my good work in the suggestion and complaint box if I don't please you?”

Before you protested, his mouth was on you again.

2 orgasms were not enough for him.

Not even with 3, you lost count after 4, and he only stopped when your legs threatened to no longer support your weight.

You trembled, your vision was blurred and you couldn't bear the suffocating heat that you were feeling on your face.

“Did you like the tour?” He asked innocently as he adjusted your pants and finally faced you.

His face full of saliva and your fluids.

"You're awful at roleplay." "I know." He kissed you and you cleaned his mouth area with your tongue.

He looked at you with more wonder than at his favorite pieces in the museum.

"Let me take you to dinner, okay?"

Jake.

The honking of a car made you rush out of your house.

Your furrowed brow and your lips forming a pout gave you away as you got into the taxi.

Apparently, you were having a terrible day. You didn't even greet the driver as you got in.

"Bad day?" His accent did catch your attention. "Bad life." You replied with a nostalgic smile.

You could feel him looking at you constantly in the rearview mirror.

"Who would allow a beauty like you to get into a stranger's car at this hour?" "My fiancé is an idiot."

You made him scoff.

"I bet I can make you forget about him in seconds." "Seconds is quite ambitious."

He winked at you.

And you felt butterflies in your stomach.

The teasing way you turned your back on him made Jake accept the challenge.

Only God knows where he parked the car; you had never been in this part of the city before.

Him talking about seconds wasn't him being ambitious.

It was him being realistic.

Because before you could react you had the words stuck in your throat because his cock was deeply buried in you.

You were turning your back on him once again, this time by his choice.

You swore you could hear the screeching of the car with every movement of his hip.

"Does he fuck you like this, cariño?" He growled in your ear.

His questions made you dizzy, his thick accent and his hot breath hitting your ear.

"I bet he's never made you moan like that before." “Aw, look at you, honey. All cock-drunk and whiney.” "Pídeme más, amor, pídeme que te destroce."

You were staining the leather seat with saliva.

And Jake would pull on your hair to try and lift your face up a bit.

He didn't want you to keep quieting your whining like that, you knew it.

"More." It came out broken from your lips.

And he complied.

You could never think of another man like that, although to be fair, you didn't mean to.

“That fucking death-grip.” And while Jake seemed in control, he wasn't immune to your tricks, your way of taking the bull by the horns. “Amor, no, please, no… You are going to…”

He came inside of you.

And you shivered, keeping him inside.

"Look at that, cielo." After a few seconds, he pulled out, staring. “Do you think he will take you back now that I marked you as mine like this?”

And you made him laugh by cursing him out loud.

"Amor?" "Uh?" "You're going to clean that up." He poked you on the nose. Your cheek felt wet against the seat, your saliva making you groan.

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rileyglas · 6 months

Text

The List ~Pt. 4 - Corruption~

Alastor (Hazbin Hotel) x Reader

Summary: An intense evening with Alastor starts to corrupt your judgment. Your list and morals are put into question as you start to uncover his intentions with you and the full scope of your abilities.

Themes: The usual angst, mystery (Alastor), Smut (oral and fingers), brief mentions of blood and bodily harm, cursing, fluff, actual plot, slow burn, and of course 18+ MDNI

3.3k Words (Ya'll wanted longer chapters so here ya go)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (You're on it!) Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 7.A Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

**sentences in italics are internal thoughts of the reader

Had someone told you two months ago that you’d be sitting in an Overlord’s bed with his head in your hands, you’d have called them insane. Tonight though, it was your reality. Just try to keep a clear head. You pull away from the grip Alastor has on your wrists but keep your body close to his. “I don’t understand. Why do you feel like you need to protect me? I’m just some sinner here for a chance at –"

Apparently, that was the wrong answer.

The Radio Demon’s antlers grow and his eyes flash to dials. Before you can register what’s happening he has you pinned into the bed by your shoulders, placing all his weight down as he climbs on top of your body. I’m so fucked. “Why do you insist on lying to me my dear? Do you consider me a fool? I could sense your power the second I walked into that meeting, and I felt your presence as soon as you crossed the hotel doors. Oh-ho no, you’re no ordinary,” he leans closer, “ - filthy sinner.”

His tone was taunting, nearly playful, contrasting with his agitated demon form. Two minutes ago he was pressing kisses into your skin saying he would never hurt you and now he’s trying to intimidate you? He might know more than you had initially thought, but this ‘almighty/all knowing’ attitude is starting to test your patience. You’ve tried being the sweet, helpless sinner long enough. I’ve always enjoyed playing with fire, Radio Demon – two can play your game.

A giggle bubbles out of your chest. “Oh, you sense my power? Then it is quite laughable you’d think I’d ask for someone to protect me. Especially…someone like you.” The lights in the room flicker violently causing all the bulbs to burst. Alastor disappears into his shadow as the room dims. Finally free from his weight you jump up from the bed, pausing to allow your eyes to adjust. The room was dark, but the faint light from the bayou granted some visibility. “I know you’re still here Alastor. Don’t waste your energy trying to scare me. I’ve faced far mor---” a force slams into your shoulder, pushing you to the other side of the room.

With a solid thud your body hits the wall but your head is braced by a hand. You can feel Alastor’s warm breath once again on your face. He towers over you, holding the back of your head while caging you in with his other arm. His lips find your ear, “Continue to question my competence or my power and I will have to remind you who…I…am.” You shudder from the rush of adrenaline surging through your body. He pulls back to study your face, awaiting your next move. Rule #4̷͈̔.̸̹̋ ̵̣̆N̴̤͘e̸̼̎v̸̥̂e̴̫̿r̴̤̆ ̶̲̑ĺ̶̖ē̷̖t̵̞̅ ̴̮̿y̴̘͊õ̵̬u̴̻̓r̶̥͌ ̷͙̿w̴̨̒e̸̺̎a̶̻̿k̸̮͋n̶̢͝e̵͇͛ṣ̶̏s̶͕͘è̸ͅs̸̬̔ ̶͎̈s̵̺̿ȟ̵͚ő̴͖w̵͔͝

I might regret this later but fuck it. “Remind me then.” You breathily tease. The demon’s pupils grow, and his smile widens, “As you wish, ma chère.”

Alastor’s lips crash into yours with a hungry passion - his tongue immediately begging to taste your mouth. The hand behind your head was now entwined in hair, gripping the base of your skull. The other hand forcefully pushed on your lower back to make your body flush with his. You throw your arms around his neck to deepen your kiss and feel - Oh my God…he’s completely hard. Did my defiance give him that much of a thrill? This was not how I thought tonight would play out. A warmth starts between your legs from his kiss alone. The initial plan to push the demon to his breaking point is being rapidly replaced with the desire to break him in other ways.

Your head is abruptly ripped back, making you cry out in pain and frustration. His fingers hold your hair tight as he moves your head to look up at him. “I tried to be gentle with you darling, but it seems like you prefer to make things more…. interesting.” Alastor uses his grip on your hair to drag you across the room, tossing you onto the bed.

The force of his hand reignites your initial rage, “What the fuck is your ---" his lips press back into yours. Pulling himself on top of you he pushes a knee between your legs, putting pressure on your clothed heat and making you push into him. A smug laugh rumbles in his chest. You grasp his vest to pull him closer, but he breaks away yet again to grab your hands - pinning them to either side of your head.

“Quite a position you’ve gotten yourself in dear. What was that about not needing my protection?” he leans over and drags his long tongue up your jawline forcing a whimper out of your throat. “Ah it seems your body betrays you. It’s crying out for me, isn’t it?” Letting go of your hands he snaps his fingers, queuing for his shadow to slide your pants down. The sudden rush of cold sends chills over your bare skin. Show SOME restraint. Don’t just lay here and let him think he’s in charge.

“I might be slightly unraveled but from what I see, you aren’t as in control as you think.” Your hand palms the prominent bulge behind his zipper. He freezes, having not expected you to touch him so aggressively. Using one hand to undo his belt and pants button, you use the other to continue to tease him through his clothes. “Seems like you’re the one who needs me.” you say slipping your hand under his boxers, starting to rub up and down his length. Alastor’s eyes roll back, and a deep growl settles in his chest. Got him.

To your surprise, Alastor is (for once) at a complete loss for words. He hangs his head as he grinds against your hand. You drink in the beautiful moans dripping from his lips with every stroke your hand delivers. The breathy sounds of his pleasure make you squirm under him.

You swear you hear a husky “no” when you pull away. Looking up, his eyes darken and his voice rumbles like gravel, “Mmmm, that’s it.”

Oh shit…

Alastor gets up and grabs your hips, ripping them to the edge of the bed. You hiss when his nails dig into your skin, creating red droplets around each of his fingers. He lowers himself to his knees and traces the cuts with his mouth – eagerly drinking up what little blood had spilled. Uhg – Cannibals.

There’s no time to process the stinging on your skin before you feel his teeth at your thighs, making a trail of bite marks and kisses up to your heat. He pauses to look at your now soaked slit, flashing you a wicked smile as hooks one of your legs on his shoulder and kisses just around where you needed him to be. You buck slightly, giving him all the permission he needs to begin devouring you, flicking his tongue and suckling like it was his last meal.

Your hand slides into his hair, being mindful not to grab his ears or antlers. You tighten your grip, pulling a groan from Alastor before you start to grind into the warmth of his mouth. Feeling your body plead for more, he hastily thrusts in two of his fingers, massaging in and out while your walls spasm around him. You feel him hum in amusement as his tongue continues to lap at your heat, your breathless whines fueling his hunger.

Tears begin to sting your eyes. The tension was too much, “Wait – no - not yet!“ you try to push away but he hooks onto your thigh, forcing you down onto his mouth. Looking down you meet his eyes, his stare silently begging you to surrender to him. You give in as your head and eyes roll back in sheer bliss. “F-fuck - Alastor!“ you call out to him as an unfamiliar blaze ripples through your body. You reach a point of no return – no logical thoughts, no background noise. Your only focus is to ride out your own resolve.

Alastor gently works you through the high. As your spasms ease up, he pulls away completely. You watch him remove his fingers and put them to his lips - licking each one clean. You can’t help but be in awe of the erotic view – hair disheveled, shirt mostly unbuttoned, and the glow of the bayou casting over his face as he savors the mess you’ve become, the mess he’s made of you. “Is this all it takes to make you beg for me, ma chère?”

A cheeky smile spreads across your face while you set yourself up on your elbows “Beg? I don’t beg for any man.”

“Oh darling…” he crawls over you, pressing a kiss to your forehead, “You’ll soon find out I’m far greater than any man. Let’s pick up this little conversation tomorrow, shall we?” Before you can respond, he snaps his fingers, making the world around you quickly fade out and back in. Just like that you were back in your room and on your own bed.

What in the actual fuck just happened? You stand up from your bed, still completely bare from the waist down. Could have at least sent me back with my pants, asshole.

As if hearing your thoughts you see a shadow slip under your door delivering your neatly folded slacks then bolting right back out. How the - you know what, no. I’m too tired for this shit.

Any other night you would have stared at the ceiling, mentally preparing for the next day, but not tonight. Your eyes close before your head hits the pillow.

Between helping Angel then Alastor throwing you around, you wake up feeling like you got hit by a train as expected. You drag yourself out of bed and head into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower will help wash away some of the tension. Removing your shirt you begin to examine your naked body in the mirror. Your shoulder was turning an ugly shade of green and smaller bluish-purple bruises riddled your arms, hips, and thighs, reminding you of every place his fingers touched. Guess he was rougher than I thought. You shake your head and laugh – realizing the twisted satisfaction you feel seeing the aftermath of the night’s events.

Your body welcomes the sting of the hot water as you step inside the shower. Closing your eyes, you begin to relax while your mind wanders.

Alastor was quite an enigma. He said he could ‘sense’ your power which surprisingly didn’t worry you as much as you thought. Oddly enough it felt like a small weight off your chest having someone in the hotel finally know some truth, though you would have preferred it to be someone, anyone, other than Alastor. What truly troubled you was the lengths he seemed prepared to go to earn your trust. He was a powerful demon Overlord; he had an arsenal of ways to get what he wanted – fear, torture, bribery, death etc. Hell, with his reputation you were half expecting him to offer up a deal – but he didn’t. Why bother kissing me? Why be so vulnerable? Was he just trying to get a rise out of me? Trick me? Of course he was. Did he really think I would magically trust him just because he made me -

Three loud knocks at the door jolt you out of your thoughts. “What’s up!?”

“Just checking in! You missed breakfast and the usual afternoon activities. Everything okay?” Charlie’s sweet voice called back to you. Damn I slept through the day?

“Oh sorry to worry you, just not feeling – I have a bad headache. Could you please send Nifty up with some tea? Thank you!” You really didn’t feel like leaving your room today anyway. If Alastor wanted to pick up your little chat so badly, he knew where to find you.

Finding out the day was already halfway over; you finish up your shower and get dressed in comfortable clothes - sweatpants and a large off the shoulder tee. No use dressing up when you have zero intentions on leaving your room or seeing anyone, other than Nifty of course. Unfortunately, the hot shower only temporarily relaxed your sore body – the pain in your back and shoulders once again begin to throb. You decide to kick back in bed with a book while awaiting tea.

You don’t even look up from your book when someone knocks at your door, “Come on in Niff – just set it on the dresser, please and thank you.” The door opens and your ears ring. Of course. I should have guessed.

“Well good evening my dear. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were trying to hide away from me. Did we not agree that we’d continue our conversation today?” Alastor hums as he walks into the room. He might not have been who you expected but at least brought the tea you asked for.

“Good thing you know better.” You jeer. Although you’re apprehensive of his illusively true intentions, you can’t help but smile at him looking so affable, pouring two cups of tea, and sitting himself on the side of your bed. “I’m just not feeling great, that is all. I’m tired and achy.” Reaching for the cup, your shirt moves to expose your bruised shoulder.

His eyes immediately lock onto your discolored skin. “And that wouldn’t be because of our little…altercation…would it?” his gaze wonders to see the marks speckled down your arms. His usually harsh stare softens as he sees what he did. Is that remorse?

“You didn’t hurt me if that’s what you’re asking. I usually feel like this after…” Stop stop STOP TALKING. Rule #2̷̦͒.̶̛͚ ̷̠͌N̶̰̄e̵̞͗v̸̹͝e̶̘̾r̶̜͋ ̵͉̌t̷̤̑e̶̹͒l̸̮̇ĺ̵͔ ̵͙̇á̴̠ ̷̦̅s̷̰̓ǫ̷̔u̵̺̅l̶̼͐ ̸̜̿w̶̪̆h̷͇̽a̶̡͠t̸̙́ ̷̖͠(̵̪̐o̶͖̾ȑ̴̨ ̶͓̊h̵̻͗o̸͎͠ẅ̵̢ ̶̝̕m̸̧̈́ṵ̵̔c̴̳̉h̵̡̀)̶̖̌ ̴̓͜p̵̡͐ö̴̡w̷͈̏ȅ̵̫ŕ̷͚ ̴̗͛y̷̳̔ó̴͙ư̷̞ ̶͔͘h̵̥̍a̴͍͘v̶̬̚é̵͈

He tilts his head, raising an eyebrow in curiosity, “After - what exactly? Wouldn’t have anything to do with why you fainted last night, would it?”

He obviously knows something.

You avoid his question, “You said last night you can sense me. What exactly does that mean?” Alastor sighs as he sets his cup down. He reaches for your hands like he did the night before, only this time he held them tightly in his, “Close your eyes.”

“Uhm - Excuse me?”

He huffs, “Have I not made it clear that I have no intention in hurting you?”

“I mean – “ you motion towards your bruises.

“Just close your damn eyes.”

You reluctantly close your eyes and listen to his instruction, “Concentrate on what you feel, and I mean really dig deep into the feeling your power gives you.” Okay fine I’ll play along, what’s the worst that can happen? You take a deep breath and focus on the flutters your stomach usually felt when you made a contract with a sinner. Of course you could feel the power each one gave you. The human soul was like pure energy, it was no wonder their collection was used to feed the Overlord hierarchy.

Feeling a pull, Alastor puts your palms flush to his chest. Your small flutters explode into full body vibrations - an intense static floods your veins and your hands begin to glow the soft pink you so often had to hide. The feeling makes you pull back in a panic. Damn him! How?

He responds to your look of shock with a breathy chuckle as stands up from the bed. Running his fingers through his hair, he looked all too pleased with himself. The arrogant reaction snaps what little patience you had left with him. You heatedly stand up as pink flames burst from your body and eyes while two small black horns crack through your skull. “What the HELL are you trying to get at Alastor? Why toy with me if you know so much already!? What the fuck do you want from me?” your voice was fierce but low. I don’t need Charlie or anyone else to hear me.

A smile crosses Alastor’s face, wider than you’ve seen before. His face would probably split if it went any wider. “Oh my dear, your demon form is beautiful.” He says coolly, placing a hand on your arm and hooking the other under your chin. His touch quickly brings you back to normal form. “Please sit, I can explain everything.”

“I don’t trust you,” you say as you both sit back down on the edge of the bed. His brows furrow at your statement, “Just hear me out?” You nod for him to continue.

“I took a…. sabbatical…seven years ago. When I returned, I felt drawn somewhere. My body began to ache from the pull. I could never figure out where I needed to go - until I walked into that meeting and felt you.”

“I’m…not following.”

“You know how magnets work? A negative charge and positive charge attract, or rather, are drawn to each other. Once together they create a force that can be unbreakable. The power we both possess does exactly that.” He grabs your hands again, flashing you a look of…is that excitement?

You’re skeptical of his idea, it sounded insane. Stupid even. But it made sense. You also felt the pull and ringing whenever he was around. As for opposites attract, that couldn’t be truer to the two of you. He rose to power by causing pain and carnage, abusing the souls he collected for his own gain. Meanwhile you were doing the exact opposite - protecting, healing, doing good for damned lesser souls.

“Okay say I believe all this - Seems like you would only want to use me and keep me around to feed your own power-hungry needs. I will not be some pet, locked away and only played with when it is convenient for you!” Your words come out involuntarily tearful. A pain burns in your chest at the realization that you wanted him to want you. Rule #3̸̭͗.̴̠̇ ̴͔̉N̷̙̉e̷̞͌v̶̪̾e̶̼̽r̶͍̈́ ̶̜̏b̷͈́ȓ̸͈ì̶̲n̶͚̍g̶̣̕ ̸̙̀a̷̼̚n̷̠̆y̶̺̕ö̶̫́n̷̯̈́e̶̤̅ ̷̯̽ť̷̪o̴̻̾o̵̱̚ ̷͙̃c̵͙̽l̴̞̋o̷̦̓s̵̪̎e̸̦̚

Seeing the worry flash across your face, Alastor grabs you with both hands and presses his lips into yours. Last night his kiss felt lustful and hungry. Not tonight. Right now, he kissed you like he would lose everything if he couldn’t have you.

He breaks the embrace, resting his forehead on yours, “I was never a good man. I will never be redeemed, nor do I want that for myself. I am selfish and possessive over the things I want. I will not lie to you, I want power. But I also want you. Not as a pet. Not as a tool. As an equal. Working together, not even the King of Hell can stand against us.” His words were calculated, voice smooth like whiskey – and you were drinking in every drop.

The list. Stick to the list. This has death written all over it. You can’t help anyone if you’re (more) dead, come on use the LIST! Rule #1̷̨͠.̷̗̓ ̴̡͝N̴͙̒e̶͐ͅṽ̷̬ẽ̴̲r̶̖͗ ̵̟́t̸̥̕ṛ̵̃ȗ̴̢s̶̙̃t̵̠̕ ̸̛̜à̶̭ǹ̷̫ọ̶͂ṯ̵̃h̸̢̒e̶̜̋r̶̳̒ ̸̯̓O̴̳̓v̷̖͑e̴͎̅r̸̮̀l̴̼͐o̶͚̕ȑ̴͕d̸̝̎

You pull his hands away, holding them between your fingers as you draw nervous little circles in his palms. “Alastor this is…a lot to take in. Your words are striking, but I need more. Prove I can trust you. Prove you want me by your side. Then maybe, maybe, I will consider your offer. Until then, I think it’s best we don’t speak about this to anyone. Deal?”

Alastor’s smile was soft with half-lidded eyes. “Consider it, a deal.” He leans into you as green and pink light flashes around the room. Your first deal with the Radio Demon, sealed with a kiss.

Tag List (Let me know if you would like to be added!)

@rl800 @fairyv-ice @looking1016 @martinys-world @sirens-and-moonflowers

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jae-bummer · 1 year

Text

Right Here With Me: The Morning After

Request: By popular demand: the morning after “Right Here With Me”

Pairing: Seventeen S.Coups x Reader

Genre: Fluff/Romance

Coups POV

It was quite possible that he had never hated himself more than he did in this moment. With a dry mouth, a raging headache, and his whole-body sore, he rolled towards his bedside table in search of a drink that did not contain any percentage of alcohol.

Flopping over a bit unceremoniously, he paused when he heard a soft grunt. Opening his eyes despite how loud the sun was being, he winced toward the warm body he had pushed into.

"Y/N?" he croaked. He wasn't sure if he was too quiet or if he had even said your name at all as you remained still.

Furrowing his brows (which was a huge mistake, any movement hurt) he tried to remember what exactly had happened last night. After working in the studio for a bit, the hip hop unit decided to blow off some steam at a local karaoke room. It only took a few minutes to realize that the night would be much more fun if you were there, so he sent a few mildly peer pressuring texts until you had eventually shown up.

That was where things started to get a bit fuzzy. He had drank. A lot.

Had he dedicated Drunk in Love to you?

Smacking a hand over his face and dragging it down, he let out a small groan. Surely, he didn't, but he had the worst feeling that he did.

His mind was a mismatched scrapbook of memories that didn't entirely make sense. He could slightly recall you helping him home. He remembered pulling you into bed with him. And he remembered...

Oh god.

Because you're mine. You always have been.

Smacking his palm against his forehead (and instantly regretting it) he tried not to panic. Sure, you were pretty much the light of his life, but you didn't need to know that!

But you were here... and if his warped memory was serving him correctly and he did actually say that to you...it could mean that you possibly felt at least even a little bit the same?

Or maybe you were terrified to leave him alone and risk him choking on his own vomit.

Semantics.

He was fucked. He wasn't sure what level of fucked, but he was. Every time he got drunk, he always managed to become a drooling mess when it came to you. He was much more capable of hiding it when he was sober, so obviously, he could never drink again.

...or he could just own up to how he's really felt all along.

Your POV

You whined quietly as you reached across the bed. Your apartment felt like it was easily subzero, and you were chasing after whatever warmth you could find. You had been warm only a second ago...

Ah, there it was. Snuggling into the side of what squishy comfort you could find; you buried your face into something that smelled vaguely of pine and alcohol.

Pine and...alcohol?

Your eyelids fluttered open, causing you to blink up at a very hungover Seungcheol who was staring at you wide eyed. You looked around slowly, quickly realizing you were in his bedroom, far from your own apartment.

"Sorry!" you gasped, beginning to untangle yourself from him.

He remained silent, watching you struggle, only to pull you back into his arms again.

"What-What are you doing?" you grumbled, pushing one hand slightly at his chest while he held firm to your wrists. "And were you watching me sleep?"

"Well," he said quietly, his voice hoarse. "When you say it like that, it makes me sound like a creep."

"Because it's a creepy thing to do!" you insisted. "Give me back my hands!"

Smirking, he tugged you closer again. Placing your arms around his torso, he moved to cuddle himself around you. "I don't think I will."

Savoring his warmth for a moment longer, you muttered into his chest. "Do you have alcohol poisoning?"

"Why?" he chuckled.

"Because I'm starting to think you've lost your mind," you hissed, leaning back to look at him. Just as before, he continued to watch you, a soft expression painting his face. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Do you remember what I said to you last night?" he asked.

You immediately went quiet and decided literally anything aside from the boy in front of you was easier to look at. "No."

"I feel like you're lying," he sighed, defeat in his tone. "But to be honest, I can't really confirm if you are or not."

"You don't remember anything you said to me?" you mumbled, feeling incredibly small. Just like usual, he was busy pouring out his heart when the drinks were flowing, but when morning came, things were back to business.

"Only bits and pieces," he admitted.

"Right," you sighed, finally easing away from him. Sure, you had cuddled plenty of times before, but right now, you didn't want to touch him. You knew this was going to happen. It was silly to think that he could ever mean the things he said to you in the dead of night.

Coups POV

He was fucking this up. Badly.

"Wait, wait, wait," he rushed out, pulling you to him again. "Just...wait for a second, okay?"

"What am I waiting for?" you grumbled, your face smushed against his chest.

"I just..." he trailed off, unsure of what words could even begin to convey how you made him feel. He was terrified to actually confess. What if it ruined everything? He couldn't risk losing you. Why were things so much easier last night?

"You just?" you repeated, waiting.

"I don't know," he said quietly. His hands falling limply back to rest on his sides.

"Great," you sighed.

No. Not great. He could not abort mission. Things were said last night. He wasn't even entirely sure what had been, but he knew it was enough to make this an awkward morning. He had come this far, so why not go a little further and just do the damn thing?

"I love you," he said before he could think better of it. Bringing his fingertips to his mouth, he was surprised the words had managed to fall out.

You stared at him, blinking slowly. "In what way?"

In what way. Of course you would ask in what way. You had said "I love you" dozens of times and none of them meant the same as this.

"In a..." he continued slowly. "Love way?"

"You love me in a love way," you coughed. "Brilliant, Coups."

"Y/N," he groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. He was exhausting himself, so he could only imagine how he was making you feel. "A romantic love way. I love you in a way that isn't appropriate for someone who is only your friend to feel."

You remained silent, shock painting your face.

"I love you too."

Your POV

"What?" Coups croaked.

You felt like your chest was on the verge of shattering. Had you admitted that? Out loud?

"I love you so much, Seungcheol," you said quietly, once again interested in looking at anything but him. "Last night...it was the first time in a while that I dared to hope that you felt the same."

"Damnit," he muttered. "I really wish I could remember what I said if it was that good."

You chuckled before shaking your head. "You called me out."

"For?"

"Being scared," you admitted. "But to be fair, it's easy to think everything will work out when you're a bottle of soju in."

"I'm not a bottle of soju in now," he smiled, tilting your face toward his. "And I'm still telling myself everything will work out."

You sighed, searching his face. "What if we mess everything up?"

"Don't you think I've thought about that?" he chuckled. "That if I screw this up, I could lose my best friend? Y/N, if we don't try, it's going to get messed up anyway."

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot pine over you for years to come," he said softly, reaching up to stroke your cheek. "Every day that I don't get to love you in the way I want kills me. I die a little inside every time I want to do something as easy as hold your hand."

"I don't want to lose you," you said quietly, already feeling the tears prickling behind your eyes. Your chest ached with the possibility of something so big changing between you.

"You will never lose me," he whispered, pressing his forehead gently against yours. "Like you ever could."

You snorted. "I'm just stuck with you then?"

"Yep," he grinned. "Let me be your bad habit. Even when you quit, you eventually find your way back."

"Mmm," you hummed. "You make addiction sound so romantic."

"It's a skill, I know," he laughed. Pulling away from you, he tilted your face to fully look at him. "We're doing this?"

"I think it's already been done," you sighed.

"Thank god."

Seungcheol's lips were immediately on yours. Every year you had been friends, every argument you had ever had, every drunken night, every almost kiss. They had all lived behind this moment and were finally coming to the surface. His mouth was searing as he tilted your jaw to get a better vantage. You clung to the front of his wrinkled t-shirt, scared to let go. You had never been kissed like this. You would be ruined for anyone else, which you knew Seungcheol was 100% aiming for. There was no anyone else. There would only be him.

He bit roughly at your bottom lip, causing you to whimper. His pained chuckle crept out in between kisses, his hands finally dropping to your waist and tugging you in as closely as he could. His words danced along your lips, "How could we have waited this long?"

He tasted like a mix of peppermint and the alcohol from the night before. How could someone who was nearly blackout drunk still taste so sweet the morning after? Your hands slid up to cup around his jaw, applying a small amount of pressure to pull the two of you apart.

Coups looked back at you with eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"Absolutely nothing," you whispered. "And I needed to take that in for a second."

His face broke into a smile before he kissed the tip of your nose. "It's been a second." And his mouth descended on yours again.

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amongemeraldclouds · 7 months

Text

better than revenge | chapter one: falling for me, dear?

Lorenzo Berkshire x Slytherin!reader (ft. Ex!Mattheo Riddle)

Series trope: Fake dating

Chapter one summary: While trying to hide from your ex-boyfriend Mattheo, you run into a potential ally and the scheming starts.

Warning: Swearing, allusion to cheating

Author's note: I prefer using I instead of you to refer to the reader. Feel free to comment if you’d like me to tag you when the next one goes live.

Aahh I'm so excited to publish this! It's my first time writing fan fiction and doing a series. I used to write fictional one shots years ago when I was 15. Anyway, enjoy reading! Happy to receive feedback.

main masterlist | series masterlist | chapter two: practice?

What is Mattheo Riddle doing in the library at this hour? He’s supposed to be in class.

I close my book and grab my bag. Trying to tame my racing heart, I sneak off to the shelves. He can’t see me, nope. He no longer has the privilege to interact with me in any way, not since he broke my heart.

I curse inward, walking back, further down the shelves. My eyes dart from him and the exit, mapping out my escape plan. If I wait for him to pass the next five rows of shelves, I can—

“Oof,” I drop my book as I hit something behind me. No, not something. Someone.

I nearly fall but then strong arms catch me. “Falling for me, dear?” I hear a deep, playful voice. Lorenzo Berkshire, we knew each other casually but he and Mattheo are rivals despite being half brothers so I never had much opportunities to speak to him when we dated.

“Ha, funny Berkshire. Maybe if you didn’t randomly stand by shelves, then people wouldn’t knock into you,” I say grabbing my things off the floor and composing myself.

He raises an eyebrow, “maybe if you didn’t walk backwards, you’d actually see where you’re walking.”

“Maybe if your brother stuck to his schedule and he was where he needed to be then I wouldn’t have to go sneaking around the damn library at my damn school. Like I’m the one who did something wrong,” I reply.

“First of all, it’s half brother. And second—what?” His eyebrows knit together.

“Why are you avoiding Mattheo?” His voice softens.

I look away from him and my cheeks burn. “I just don’t want to see him,” I whisper, trying to keep my voice steady. It’s been three weeks yet the memories felt fresh in my mind. A night of forbidden kisses and broken promises. I can feel my eyes sting and it takes everything in me to hold it all in.

“I don’t know what happened between you two, but knowing Mattheo, it was definitely his fault,” he says. I look at his grinning face and smile back.

“Listen,” he leans in conspiratorially and holds his arm out to lean on the shelf.

Footsteps grow louder as Mattheo approaches, watching you smiling up at Lorenzo while he stands intimately close to you. “Get a room!” He chides.

Lorenzo smirks at you then turns to face his brother, “stalk much? If you missed me, brother, you could have just called.”

“Fuck off, Enzo,” Mattheo bites out. “I heard a thud and had to see what is was about.”

“Always looking for trouble,” Lorenzo tsked. “You know what? I’ll take your advice. I’ll fuck off and we’ll get a room.” He turns towards me, “what do you say?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” I take his hand and force a smile, looking at Mattheo for the first time in weeks. God, I missed his brown eyes and those dark curls.

I inwardly slap myself to stay focused. “Thanks for the advice, Mattheo,” I say sweetly. I hold my head high and leave the library with Enzo, my sadness transformed to anger.

“Thanks for the save,” I bump my shoulder against Lorenzo’s once we’re far enough away from the library.

He bumps my shoulder back, “any chance I can annoy Mattheo is a great opportunity in my book.”

“So listen,” I start, an idea forming in my head. “What if we continue to annoy him?”

“And how do you propose we do that?” He asks.

“By continuing this” I point between us. I didn’t expect it but I felt courageous speaking to Mattheo earlier when I was with Enzo. It felt good.

Lorenzo smirks, “darling, if you wanted to date me, all you have to do is ask.”

I hit his shoulder playfully, “fake date. Honestly, I’m still getting over Mattheo. It wouldn’t be fair. I’m not yet ready to date for real.”

“Let’s do it!” He agrees enthusiastically.

“Wait,” I stop walking. “You agreed too easily, what’s in it for you?”

“Aside from the kindness of my own heart?” He smirks. I roll my eyes.

“Fine. Here’s a tale as old as time: my father wants me to marry a pureblood. Given my dating history, he doesn’t trust me to make the right decision so he’s been setting me up with his friends’ and allies’ daughters this past year. Now normally I don’t mind wining and dining with beautiful ladies, but at this point, I’m exhausted,” he sighs.

I frown, “Shit, that’s a lot of pressure. But why? We’re still young.”

“Right, but he wants to have a strategic marriage that will keep our social status or even elevate it,” Enzo explains.

I catch on, “My father is influential in the political sphere so it would definitely help you.”

“We don’t actually have to date, don’t worry. But it’s enough to keep him off my back just until we graduate and then I’ll have more room to breathe.”

“So that’s why Mattheo was annoyed earlier! If we date, he’ll think you might marry me and then his ex-girlfriend would be his sister in law,” I realize.

“Exactly, it’s a win-win situation,” Lorenzo grins then looks at his watch. “I have class in ten minutes. Meet me at my dorm later so we can go over the details in private?” I nod in agreement.

Lorenzo leans closer, “can I kiss you on the forehead?”

“Why of course, fake boyfriend,” I whisper with a small smile, finding an odd comfort in his proximity as he places a gentle kiss on my forehead. A few students around us whisper, witnessing something new to gossip about.

Fake dating, what could go wrong?

main masterlist | series masterlist | chapter two: practice?

#mattheo riddle x reader #lorenzo berkshire x reader #slytherin boys #mattheoxreader #mattheo riddle x you #lorenzo berkshire x you #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire imagine #mattheo riddle imagine #harry potter fanfiction #hp fanfic #enzo x reader #amongemeraldcloudswrites

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skribbyposts · 8 months

Text

stupid silly zosan (again)

Continuation of my tipsy Sanji post i made a couple of days ago!! you don't need to read that first if you didnt already but I am slowly nudging you.... to my page.... sumbliminally.... (go read it)

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

Zoro is at his wit's end.

It's been close to half an hour, and he's wandering in the dark alleyways of this random ass town trying to get back to the ship. In addition to that, He's carrying a very drunk and very annoying Sanji on his back.

"Marimooo," he drawls, swaying to the side. "Where the fuck are we?"

"Stop fucking moving or I'm gonna drop you, cook."

The position they're in is precarious as it is, Sanji's legs wrapped around Zoro's waist the only thing really keeping them both upright.

The cook's hands come from where they're draped over Zoro's shoulders to poke at his face. "You don't even know where we're going, do you?`"

"Like you know either," Zoro grumbles.

"Yeah, but you're mostly sober," the cook slurs.

...Fair enough.

Sanji yawns, the action driving his chin harder into the top of Zoro's head. "You're talking too long, hurry up so we can get to the Sunny."

"Maybe if you stopped fidgeting, I could actually walk straight and we would get there faster." Zoro grunts, hoisting the lanky man higher up on his waist.

"Fuck you, I'll walk myself back to the ship then." Zoro thinks Sanji attempts to get off his back, but the cook slumps back down almost immediately after raising only his head. "No, no no. that's not happening. Christ, how much did I drink? Marimo, I'm gonna die from alcohol poisoning-"

Zoro lets Sanji lament about his booze-tinted doom, mainly because he's still trying to figure out where the fuck they are but also because the blond idiot does this every time they go out drinking. He gets piss drunk off of what, two shots? and Zoro has to haul his uncoordinated, mouthy ass all the way back to the Sunny. Bonus points if he stops to spew his guts in an alleyway. Sanji stops talking after a few minutes, but the silence doesn't last for long.

"Did I tell you. We're going... uh... grocery shoppi-"

"Yes. Yes, you did, Curly. Six goddamn times."

"Okay, don't be a dick about it!" He feels the cook's spindly fingers sluggishly tug at his hair, pulling his head sideways and making them more unsteady than they already are.

"Stop. Moving," Zoro hisses as he stumbles. "You're fucking heavy."

Sanji giggles from behind him, and Zoro can feel the vibrations across his back as the blond speaks. "Oh, 'm sorry, you directionally challenged wad of grass. Maybe if you went the right way you wouldn't have to carry me any longer." "Shut up! It's too dark, everything looks the same."

"No, you're just fuckin'... what's the word? oh, incompetent. I bet you don't even know what incompetent means."

"I know what incompetent means."

"God, I'm so dizzy," Sanji groans.

"Stop complaining!"

They bicker back and forth, Sanji spewing insults in his ear while Zoro barks at him to shut up and wonders how many times they've passed that street lamp on the corner. Sometime during that, Sanji's head makes it into the crook of the other man's neck, and every time the cook speaks his lips brush over Zoro's shoulder. His hands have also taken up permanent residence in Zoro's hair, combing through the short strands as he complains endlessly. Zoro can't say he minds.

"Ah, we're lost," Sanji whines in his ear. "Completely, irre....irrevocably lost. Marimo, the ship was ten minutes from the barrrr."

"We're almost there, you impatient prick." They are not, in fact, almost there. Zoro trudges past what he feels like is the same house he saw fifteen minutes ago.

"Good... because m'gonna pass out."

"What?" The cook doesn't speak, and his fingers go slack on top of Zoro's head. "No, cook - damn it, wake up." Nothing but Sanji's soft breaths sound as a response.

Zoro looks around, surrounded by rows of dark houses and no boat in sight.

He heaves a long-suffering sigh. "God fucking dammit."

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

Zoro struggles for another 30 minutes trying to find the ship with Sanji as a dead weight the entire time. he hated it (not really).

Sanji, for the 27th time: we're going grocery shopping tomorrow Zoro, tired of his bullshit: I KNOW.

ugh theyre such dumb homosexuals making bad life choices. i want to make them kiss.

Every day at 3am I rise from my coffin to write zosan content. they make me sick <3333

#zosan brainrot #stupid gay people #roronoa zoro #vinsmoke sanji #one piece #zosan #blackleg sanji #lightweight sanji agenda #Sanji is so annoying i love him #zoro is lost #should i make an ao3 account to post these

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bettyfrommars · 1 year

Text

nightmare!eddie x reader

a Nightmare Factory blurb

I had several smut blurb requests to do with Eddie working his magic to give us a wet dream, including one from the lovely @jo-harrington that I will probably do something with separately, and it's literally all I could think about today, so I spit this out.

18+ONLY, somnophilia, smut, unprotected sex, squirting, reader receiving oral, pet names. Okay so, this is somnophilia because reader is actually asleep, but it's also...a dream. This is a consensual relationship, and they've been together for a while at this point (for those following the story, this is a time jump). It's a wet dream, but there is also evidence that they really had intercourse. wc: 1.3k

masterlist

authors note: I've decided we are going to jump around a bit in theis series because the non-linear way is more fun, I think. I still have a Headless Horseman Eddie coming soon, but this one felt very important xoxoxox

-------

Eddie got to work early that day and threw a sheepish grin down the hall at Kevin before plopping down in his chair for the group safety meeting to do with falling from extreme heights in dreams.

He hadn’t been able to see you in weeks and—my god—he missed you so much it made his heart hurt.

You’d been keeping your nightmare boyfriend a secret from your family and friends, but it was hard not to mention Eddie when you’d made sure his face was a fixture in your life. It started out as a few sketches when you first woke up, trying to keep his image fresh, but then it progressed to paintings and even a few sculptures. You had a whole journal full of notes and different ways Eddie had appeared to you, dating back to before you ever knew who or what he was.

“Last night, he came to me as ghostly whispers that swam in my head, and sang to me a haunting melody.”

You weren’t afraid of anything anymore, especially not your nightmares. Being chased by a masked killer? It was just Eddie, strolling by to say hello. A glimpse of a shadow monster behind you when you stood at the bathroom mirror? It’s just Eddie, coming around on his way to another job. A clawed hand grabs your ankle from under the bed? Of course, it’s Eddie—-he wants to tell you a story about something that happened at work before he forgets.

Two months ago, things had become more intimate between the two of you. There had been some yearning kisses before that, a bit of hand holding, but it was always a gamble because he said he didn’t want to mess up and get “taken off your route” completely, as if he were delivering newspapers or soliciting magazine subscriptions.

That afternoon, you took a nap, and woke up in the throws of a wet dream so fierce, you were barely able to touch yourself before you were cumming so hard it made you shake. When the wave subsided, you rolled over and looked at the ceiling with a smile spreading across your face: “Eddieee, was that you?”

You took that as a sign that he would return that night, and so you slept naked, ready to tempt him. The anticipation made it hard for you to drift off to sleep at first, but it wasn’t long before you felt his calloused hands moving up your thighs.

“Fuck, I’ve missed you so much, sweetheart,” Eddie whispered, waiting for you to acknowledge him. “Did you miss me?”

You moaned, still half asleep, but cognizant of his presence in your dream.

Your lower back bucked off the bed when his tongue sank between your legs, making your cunt throb.

“Damn, I love how wet you get for me,” he kissed your inner thigh and ran his nose along your slit, darting his tongue into your aching hole. His tongue was…longer than you remembered, and you could feel it fill you up and twist inside of you like a big snake on the run.

You whimpered and twitched, making him smile against your engorged pussy as it dripped for him and only him.

“You came so hard for me earlier today,” his whispers were far away but also right at your ear. One mouth sucked at your nipples and licked them while the other latched onto your core—as if there were two of him. “I need to taste it this time.”

Under your closed lids, your eyes moved from side to side and your jaw went slack as a long groan escaped.

You were close, and Eddie knew it.

He could feel your arousal bloom in his mouth, and he rutted it in the air of the celestial sphere the two of you were existing in.

Your whole body stiffened as you came, gasping, hips bucking up to meet his mouth, to let him suck every last drop from you.

“God, I’m so crazy about you,” he mumbled against your slit as he lapped you up, licking all the way back and teasing there a little bit.

You could feel your eyes fluttering open and you worried that you were waking up, “no no no no…” you repeated, becoming aware of the infinite blackness around you.

You saw Eddie’s head pop up from between your legs. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Eddie,” you breathed, relieved. You wanted to put your arms around him, to spread your legs wider so that he could be inside of you, but your limbs had minimal strength. “Where are we this time?”

It looked like you were floating in a dark night sky surrounded by a sea of bright, blinking stars. It felt like you were on your bed back in your room, but there was not a trace of anything familiar.

With a grin still wet from your gift, he crawled up on top of you to plant a few sweet kisses on your face. “We’re in the same astral plane with the rest of the soul suckers and the sex demons. I’m doing my best to lay low, so the head Incubus doesn’t know I’m here.”

Talking to your boyfriend and kissing him was great but you were suddenly hit with another blast of horniness so strong it made you clench.

“I need you, Eddie,” you whined against his mouth, finally able to move your hands up to undo his belt. “Inside of me this time.”

His clothes were off in a split second, as if he’d never been wearing any to begin with. Your hole gripped at nothing when the tip of his hard length rubbed against it.

“That’s it —fuck—just like that,” he held your hips up and sank in deep as your eyes fell closed again. You drifted in and out of the astral plane as he made you his with long, slow strokes first, hitting that perfect spot inside each time.

You chanted his name as he worked his fingers in the right spot, just like you'd taught him to the last time you were together. "You're doing so good, baby," you hushed. At one point, you felt like you were being lifted off the bed—becoming weightless—while he kept a steady pace.

He hesitated abruptly, pausing there, and you managed to open your heavy eyelids to look at him.

His expression was a serious one. “I’m about to cum, baby, but I wanted to tell you that I think I…I think I…”

But he couldn’t finish the sentence and your head rolled back as he continued, cursing at how good it felt.

Your second orgasm hit with a sense of release you’d never felt before, and you cried out, trembling, as sunburst exploded at your core and a velvet whip cracked.

“You’re cumming…all over me…oh my god,” and the sight of your release spraying onto his cock made Eddie pour himself into you on the spot, stuttering as your walls milked him, each of you babbling incoherent words of worship to the other.

In the aftermath, he took you in his arms from behind to spoon you close. He could feel your breathing change, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before you left dreamland through the magical door.

“I think…” he started again, brushing his lips on the shell of your ear. “I think I’m in love with you.”

—---

You took your time waking up, guiding yourself through another orgasm as the remnants of the dream lingered. As always, you tried to hold onto the feeling of him for as long as possible, gasping his name as you came again, and your head lolled from side to side on the pillow.

Once you were fully awake, the all too familiar sadness set in; the realization that he wasn’t really there, with you, like you wanted him to be.

Your spirits soon lifted when you felt his seed drip down your leg on your way to the bathroom, elated at the realization that you had successfully kept a piece of him with you.

One day, you’d figure out a way to keep all of him.

#Eddie Munson fic #eddiemunsonseries #eddie munson fanfic #the nightmare factory #nightmare!eddie #somnophilia #Eddie munson smut #stranger things smut #smut #eddie munson x afab reader

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emeritusemeritus · 29 days

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I have a request for you if it’s all right! May I please request a George Weasley x muggle girlfriend reader where they met while in a muggle park, and have been dating ever since? They have been bf and gf for a couple years now, and have managed to keep it a secret from everyone besides Fred, who is the only one who knows of George’s muggle gf’s existence. Now the Yule Ball is going to happen soon, and there’s no one else in the world that George would rather bring than his sweet girlfriend… Problem being that she’s a muggle and the Yule Ball is at Hogwarts. Him and Fred devise a plan to sneak Y/n into Hogwarts to go to the dance with George, and it’s all going well until Dumbledore catching a very muggle Y/n giggling with her wizard Bf George as they start to dance at the ball.

The couple would be panicked at first, thinking Dumbledore will Obliviate Y/n, but he just raises his eyebrows, winks at the couple, and lets them go on their merry way😂

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for this request, I had a lot of fun writing it and I’m so very sorry it took so long to post. Hope you are well and I did your idea justice 🖤

Cool Yule

Warnings: None really? Muggle!Reader x George Weasley. Slight angst in parts, troublemaking, we’re ignoring the international statue of secrecy completely. Multiple Disney references, references to soulmates but no actual discussion. Dumbledore is the GOAT. Probably spelling and grammar errors but I’m way too lazy to check again.

Word count: 3.1k (I got carried away, I blame the long hair)

Your boyfriend was a wizard.

An actual, honest to god, spell casting wizard with a magic wand, who attended a school for other magic users.

That was a sentence you'd never been able to say out loud since meeting George Weasley all those years ago, a secret you could never divulge to anyone and probably never could. You'd fallen for the sweet, ginger boy in the handmade knitted jumper all those years ago at the park that you'd accidentally barrelled into, dizzy from the swings and the laughter. He'd been kind, thoughtful and unbelievably gorgeous, three qualities of his that had only grown and developed with time.

His world was different to yours, a little behind and archaic in it's methods overall but it seemed quaint and sweet. He didn't have any understanding of technology and the only way to communicate was via letters that often arrived via an unreliable owl, a novelty that never wore off even after years of correspondence. You'd meet at the park nearly everyday during the summer when he was home from his boarding school, with your relationship quickly developing into a love story even the cheesiest Rom-coms couldn't portray accurately.

The downside, was that your relationship had to remain a secret. He didn't care that you were a 'muggle', his world's word for a non-magic person and was certain that his family wouldn't be displeased by it but admitting your relationship on your end would only bring on an account slaughter of questions that you couldn't answer. You weren't technically allowed to know about his magic use but George being the sweet boy he was, couldn't keep a secret from you any longer, feeling as if he was deceiving you somehow.

He also couldn't keep the secret from his twin brother Fred, unable to avoid the knowing looks and incessant questioning he was receiving from his perceptive twin. Fred was the only person in the world that knew about you and George's relationship, but he became a valuable ally who often covered for George to allow you both to meet. You'd never actually met Fred, though you'd heard many, many tales from George about their shenanigans, home life and future plans, it was like you knew him already.

Everything was going brilliantly between you both until his sixth year at the school, when you received the first letter from him since he went back to school.

He'd excitedly told you all about the Tri-Wizard competition and the two other magic schools that had joined together in the championship to compete. He'd told you of how he was frustratingly below the age restriction but that he and Fred were devising a plan to sidestep around the rules, as per usual, to put their names in for the chance to compete. But then he mentioned the Yule Ball, a great gathering between the three schools on Christmas Day that would be somewhat of a dance. He told you about his younger brother Ron's complete inability to find a date and Fred's ease at scoring one of the 'better' choices in their friend Angelina. He hasn't mentioned a date for himself but had joked about a lad called Neville that would probably end up going alone with a disparaging tone. Was George going to take a date? So not only would you not see him over Christmas break but now you had visions of him dancing the night away with another girl, how festive.

You hadn't replied to his last letter, unable to finish your response whilst your stomach knotted about the discovery of the ball. You couldn't get past the idea of George taking someone as his date, someone more like him, that fit in his world- someone that was everything that you weren't. It was inevitable really, your relationship breaking down due to the overwhelming differences between your worlds.

When Errol came banging into your window early on the following Saturday morning, giving you an almighty fright, you knew that it could only be a follow up letter from George. You opened your bedroom window and reached out for the heap of feathers that had unceremoniously slid down your window and collapsed into an owl-shaped puddle on your windowsill. You gave him a drink of water and allowed him to rest on your window whilst he lazily pecked at the window frame before he fell asleep.

You opened the letter against your better judgment, secretly wishing it away even as you opened the haphazardly sealed envelope. He was checking that you were okay, that he hadn't messed up the dates with your family's holiday and that you'd received his last letter; knowing Errol it was very likely that it might not have reached its destination.

You sighed, rubbing at your eyes and took a seat at your desk to quickly write a reply, ignoring the other ten drafts you'd started.

"Hi George, sounds like a lot of fun, I hope you have a wonderful time, who's your date? No you were right, we're going away over Christmas. Send my love to Fred as always. Talk soon. Love y/n."

Short, sweet and it got the point across. You looked at the writing, specifically the closing of 'love' but it was an unbroken habit that you instinctively had written- you still loved him so it was hardly a lie.

You gave the letter to Errol, scratching his little fluffy head to wake him up and told him to take it to George- with no rush. He huffed, chirped lightly and off he went with an almighty kick off, almost slipping off the ledge.

George's reply came later than night, though it wasn't Errol that arrived this time but rather an immaculately white owl with piercing brown eyes and a black beak that tapped at your window in an almost human like fashion. You accepted the letter and gave the owl a timid stroke, finding her completely beautiful.

"My sweet girl, why would I take anyone to the Ball when you're the only girl I want? Fred and I have been thinking and there might be a way to sneak you in, if you would accept the invitation? It's dangerous but so, so worth it to see your beautiful face. You'll need a dress of course and I've made a bit of money taking bets against the competitors so I can help out a little but I'm not sure how I'd get it to you or how I'd be able to change it to muggle money. I'd do anything to have you here. Please reply and let me know if you'd be my date. I love you and miss you so very much. Fred sends his love too, he's dying to meet you.

All my love, Georgie."

It took you less than five minutes to decide and to fire off a reply via the beautiful snowy owl.

It would be dangerous yes, but to hear how much George wanted you to be there, to hear the honesty in his words had made you realise how intensely you missed him and that it would all be worth it.

Secretive letters began to arrive, with codes and directions you were to follow. You'd told him in no uncertain terms that he was not to part with a single penny of his money, which you'd found out was a 'knut' in wizarding money. You had a little money saved from your birthday and from some extra chores and had managed to find a nice dress on a shopping spree with your best friend that you thought looked nice in George's favourite colour.

The issue would be slipppng away from your family on Christmas. How the hell would you manage that? As it turned out, it was easier than you thought. A big family Christmas with your siblings, step and half siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins galore meant that there were so many people around that you seemed to slip into the background anyway, a lost sheep amongst the herd. Your older brother knew something was up as soon as you arrived at your granny's house on the 22nd of December, ready to start the festivities. You'd packed your dress, along with the letters from George and the money you'd taken from the now broken piggyback from your childhood.

How you found yourself in a cold, damp tunnel at 7pm on Christmas Day, dressed up to the nines in your new dress was bewildering to you. You'd followed George's instructions exactly as they'd been written, trying not to question the often ridiculous requests that seemed so foreign to you and had inevitably ended up in exactly the right place... or so you hoped. After crawling through the dark and dreary tunnel for some time, you had begun to doubt your abilities and George's intentions, at least for a brief moment. Surely this dark tunnel couldn't lead to the marvellous castle George had described time and time again.

You let out a quiet sigh, heart pounding as you saw a brief flicker of light up ahead and began to panic, thinking you'd be caught. But then you listened, your entire body freezing in fear as your senses heightened.

"I told her to come this way, seemed like the best idea at the time," you hear a muffled voice whisper.

"Oh yeah drag your girlfriend through the darkest tunnel there is," the second, similar voice argues.

"Maybe she decided not to come?"

"Don't think like that mate, she'll be here."

George and Fred. It had to be.

You slowly moved forward, putting the fear behind you as you walk towards the light source and the hushed voices.

"George?" You say timidly, approaching the pair.

"Y/n?" He says, lowering his wand that was illuminated at the end.

The smile that shines from his face is enough for you realise that it had all been very much worth it, even traipsing through the dank tunnel for much longer than you'd have liked.

The castle was just as magnificent as George had made out, maybe ever more so, as he and Fred gave you a quick tour of the magical place. It was decorated with elegance and opulence, with an entire grotto's worth of fairy lights and garlands, though you were certain you'd seen the lights move more than once but didn't question it. Snow covered Christmas trees created a beautiful path throughout the hallways towards what was called the Great Hall. It was a sight to behold with silver tinsel and wall hangings adorning the walls, hanging from high up beams and some even just floating there as if levitating in mid-air. There was a huge ice sculpture in the corner of the room, filled at the base with refreshments and a selection of opulent desserts.

It was all so unbelievably beautiful, but yet it still didn't compare to George.

He wore a long black robe with a bronze coloured waistcoat with little golden stars all over the material, which complimented his fiery red hair in the most wonderful way. His shirt was white with little stripes and a bow tie that was slightly imperfect, only adding to the charm. Fred was wearing a very similar outfit and as you looked between the two, you couldn't believe your luck that you were here to experience this with your beloved.

Fred was incredible, a real jokester just as you'd imagined him but he was polite and very friendly, as was his date Angelina who you'd been briefly introduced to. George had pointed out more people who's names were familiar to you throughout the night but hadn't introduced you, to keep your little secret safe.

You'd danced and spun for what seemed like hours, the brightest smile beaming across your face as you giggled and laughed the entire time. Fred had taken over and had spun you around like you weighed as much as a feather, before he'd dutifully handed you back to your boyfriend with a cheeky wink. The music had suddenly slowed and a very romantic song came on, something you'd never heard before l, and it was only natural for you and George to move closer. His hands naturally fell to your hips, holding your body closely to his as you encircled your own arms around his shoulders, despite the height difference.

"You look so beautiful," he says in a low voice, looking down at you with a look that completely takes your breath away for a moment.

"You've said that already," you tease, keeping your voice equally as low and sultry, feeling as if you were in your own bubble entirely, barely swaying to the music as you held on to each other.

"I'll tell you as often as I can," he says cheekily, "you take my breath away."

"You look so handsome," you reply, feeling as if you were gushing with adoration for this boy.

His hand slips a little lower on your waist as you move ever closer, your hand slipping down from his high shoulders to clutch at the collar of his robes, both of you still gazing into each other's eyes as he leans down to kiss you.

You can’t verbalise it, or even begin to fathom how exactly it makes you feel, but for a brief moment in time, it feels like you’re surrounded by an invisible yet very permanent thread, like you were being bound together soul to soul. It envelopes you in its mist, entwining you and George together in a way that feels all-consuming. It’s peaceful and exhilarating all at the same time; but before you can even begin to realise what was happening, it all seemed to fade away, leaving you feeling nothing but warmth and love.

Pulling away, George dramatically twirls you around, dress flexed out around your legs, using your hand and you both giggle together. The laughter dies in his throat the second that he sees a figure moving towards him, the light and shimmer in his eyes dying like an extinguished flame.

An old man moves beside the pair of you, adorned in his finest silver robes with a beard longer than you'd ever seen. He looked almost comically like what you'd envisioned a wizard to be, so unlike how George has presented himself all these years; he looked like an archetype of Merlin himself, like Disney's imagining of ‘The sword in the stone’. He carries the air and grace of someone who is significantly important to the people around him, a commanding figure amongst the sea of joyous people. He meanders over to you and George with a knowing, yet ambiguous expression and he stops in his tracks to look over his half moon shaped glasses at you. He can see right through you and you are painfully aware of it. He knows you do not belong here, that you were a muggle amongst wizards, the little ugly duck amongst swans.

You swallow nervously, realising that this might be it for the two of you, that you could be in very real danger now. George’s hold tightens on you, wether out of protection or his own fear and you can’t help but squeeze back, sharing in his fear.

Fred and Angelina stop twirling beside you, two pairs of frozen bodies in the middle of the dance floor. You can feel Fred’s gaze cutting into you, no doubt carrying the same fear as his brother. What would happen now? You’d been caught.

To your utter amazement, the old man doesn’t cause a scene by cursing you out, doesn’t re-enact the scene in Lion King 2 when Simba banishes Kovu but without the singing giraffes and zebras. There’s no anger, no malice in his expression, only a mischievous twinkle in his eyes and a slightly raise of his eyebrow. He looks between the pair of you, as if he’s seeing something that isn’t there, that the two of you cannot see.

His lips upturn into the tightest of smirks and raises a long, somewhat crooked finger to the side of his nose, tapping it twice gently against the curved nose. He winks from his left eye and begins to walk away, almost chuckling under his breath to himself as he saunters over to a woman in vibrant green robes who had begun to notice that something wasn’t right. He whisks her onto the dance floor, ensuring that her back is turned to the two twins and their dates and leads her away through the sea of dancing couples under the pretence of leading the dance.

George audibly let’s out the breath he’d been holding under the scrutiny of the man and let’s go of his right grip on your waist just slightly, still clutching you protectively.

“Who was that?” You ask quietly, loud enough that only George would be able to hear.

“Dumbledore… headmaster,” he replies, though his voice is a little shaky still. He casts a glance to the large clock on the wall above everyone’s head and you see the slight frown pulling between his eyebrows.

“Let’s get out of here,” he says, reaching for your hand and beginning to pull you away from the dance floor, shooting a glance to Fred out of curtesy, silently communicating that he was stepping away. He doesn’t give you time to reply nor question his decision as he leads you by the hand through the crowd and out of the large wooden doors, leading out into the courtyard that is just as beautiful as the hall. He takes you to a nearby, unoccupied bench where you take a seat, adjusting the poof of the dress beneath you as you sit. The air is cold out here but you hardly notice, welcoming the slight chill after your little run in with the headmaster.

“Thank you,” George says quietly, almost absently as he watched you faffing with your dress. You look up at him in confusion, not quite sure as to why he’s thanking you.

“For everything, for trusting me and for coming here tonight,” he adds. “When I sent that first letter, I never considered you’d think I could spend this night with anyone else because there’s no one else for me. Never imagined that you would come, that you’d fit in so brilliantly.”

“It’s you I should be thanking,” you say, looking up to him with the sweetest, most adoring look you could muster. “You’ve introduced me to this whole new world and I’m so thankful I got to spend this night with you. I feel like Cinderella going back to her regular boring life after this.”

“Cinderella?” He asks, completely oblivious.

“I’ll tell you another time,” you smile warmly.

“No rush. We’ve got a whole lifetime.”

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #george weasley masterlist #george weasley fluff #George Weasley x reader #George Weasley angst #request closed #requests completed #completed requests #requests #anon answered

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