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fallow-hollow · 5 months

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five stages of grief

…ft! kabru x gn! oblivious! reader

…tags! pining, confession, kabru is a bit of a freak about this, oblivious reader, reader is an adventurer

…word count! 2671

…notes! spreading my kabruganda to the masses!!! kabru is my me so I very much enjoy writing him

denial

At first, Kabru was so convinced that there was something behind your happy-go-lucky exterior.

You were so skilled in the dungeon, able to make it down to floors that even he hadn’t traversed yet. So you must have a good grasp on tactics, not only in battle, but also when socializing! Yes, maybe you read people expertly when they’d respond in kind to your friendly behavior…..

During the stage where you’re acquainted but don’t know much about each other personally, he spends so long crafting theories about what’s going on inside your head.

His party members get sick of hearing about it halfway through the second week.

Once you meet again in person, he’s ecstatic to have an opportunity to take a closer look at your inner workings. His words and mannerisms are calm and purposeful, but there is a certain spark in his eyes, almost trying to illuminate your thoughts and feelings with its shine.

Over the course of the conversation, Kabru starts getting a bit confused at his lack of new findings about you. It takes you saying something particularly damning for him to finally reach the dreaded conclusion.

“I don’t usually run into you in places like this.”

Kabru had encountered you one evening after exiting his room and seeing you and a few party members at the bar. It was nothing short of a strike of luck, and most certainly not him deliberately staying home that evening because he’d overheard your plans to go out.

“Hm?” You perked up, looking at him with a blank expression that was quickly replaced with a kind smile. Even trying to look closely, he couldn’t find anything present in your face except for a simple joy.

He would approach you with long strides, placing one hand on the back of your chair as to be friendly and intimate, but not so intimate as to make you recoil from a touch. The wink he gave you was with the eye facing away from the others on the opposite side of the table, ensuring most of them wouldn’t notice his flirtatious gesture.

“Want me to buy you a drink?”

Immediately, you raised one hand in polite refusal, your smile turning into more of a sheepish one. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d be able to pay you back. I wasn’t going to splurge much tonight anyway….”

As you talked, Kabru pulled up a free chair and sat down, a gesture that cemented himself in the conversation and setting. He noticed when he sat down in the middle of conversation, it made people less likely to turn him away than if he were still standing.

“No, no.” when he shook his head, his dark curls did a swishing movement. Once he looked back at you, he gave a half-lidded smile, only a tinge sultry in hopes you’d pick up his hints. “Your company is more than enough payment for me.”

Your party could only stare on with absolute pity as you waved your previously raised hand dismissively, giving what Kabru could only assume was a reassuring nod. Why did you think he needed reassured….? What did you think he meant?

“It’s completely fine, no need to be polite! We’re beyond such niceties at this point, I’d say. After all, I consider us to be at least a little bit friends, right? You don’t need to buy me a drink just to hang out!”

For a brief period, Kabru felt as if his whole world was spinning around him, before then shattering at the unknowing sledgehammer of your words. These statements and mannerisms suggested something far more than just a passive rejection…… no, it was something much darker.

You truly were as dense as a brick wall.

anger

Kabru doesn’t always react….. too calmly when people defy his expectations.

He’s able to keep a smile on his face just fine, but on the inside he’s screaming.

What do you mean there isn’t more? Where’s the scheme? The ulterior motive? The familiar secrets he can unravel and use to his advantage? Is it so bad that he wants there to be more?????

I’ll be honest, the man experiences his fair number of homicidal thoughts about you. In a strangely romantic way!

You’ll be chatting away with him, each remark and flirtation absolutely flying over your head, and inside his mind he’s just going I should gut them right here and sort their bones and vitals by size if they won’t let me dissect them the mental way.

And then seconds later he’ll go haha what was that! Anyway yes tell me more about the cute bird you saw last week.

I think Kabru does a lot of journaling, so he has a fair number of notes about you. Sometimes they’re drawings of you with notes about your appearance and physical mannerisms, other times he writes more free form about his thoughts regarding you. When he gets particularly frustrated, the writing can became scratchy or heavy handed to the point that it’s unreadable or nearly tears the paper.

The silence and solitude of the night was briefly interrupted by Rin rolling over in her sleeping bag. She was just beyond the range of the firelight where Kabru was still writing, and he could only barely see the way she squinted at him through her own tiredness.

“What are you scribbling about so late at night?” The mage would try to start another sentence, but be cut off by a yawn. If she was trying to be intimidating, it certainly wasn’t working. “Go to bed, Kabru, or else you’ll wake up to being sprayed by an undine if I have anything to say about it.”

That was a rather unpleasant thought….. even if the threat wasn’t legitimate, Kabru recognized that he’d probably spent far more time writing than intended. It was embarrassingly easy to get distracted when it came to you….just another thing that irked him about you. Yes…..’irked’. That’s most certainly the word.

“I’ll wrap it up soon, sorry to disturb your sleep, Rin.” With a grumble, the girl rolled back over, leaving Kabru to glance at his notebook for just a brief moment more before closing it. The writing was near illegible, but he still knew the words by heart:

‘I wouldn’t mind if they were scared of me. Maybe, if they sat on the other end of my sword, trembling and wide-eyed like human prey, I’d get to see a truly untouched side of them.’

bargaining

After the shock and rage subsides, Kabru tries to make you realize his feelings through pretty much every method imaginable except for confessing.

It feels like the man always appears at your side, always claiming he ‘happened to be in the area’ or something similar. And you never even question it, infuriatingly for him.

Your party members often tell you that something is up with the guy, that he’s hanging around you a suspicious amount but never being fully transparent, but you’d feel so bad about being suspicious of him when he’s done nothing but inquire about you and even offer gifts on rare occasions!

Kabru isn’t exactly the richest of adventurers, so gifts or treating you isn’t a regular occasion, but it’s certainly something he resorts to as a last ditch effort to try and get you to realize that he’s interested in you romantically.

Once he even tried to offer you a flower, but you still didn’t take the hint.

When you saw the flower in Kabru’s hand that day, your first thought was being so flattered that he remembered your conversation about which ones you both liked.

“Oh, Kabru!” You exclaimed with pure joy, causing the man to become embarrassingly excited that perhaps you had finally noticed the meaning behind all his gestures. Were you finally moved and wowed by his considerate, perfectly planned gift.

Clapping your hands together, you would beam and say, “You liked my favorite flower so much that you wanted to get one for yourself?”

A fly could’ve soared down Kabru’s throat in the time of that pause, but you paid it no mind, instead eagerly awaiting his reply.

The look on Kabru’s face was a completely blank smile, his bright blue eyes seeming to have almost burned out like a pair of oil lamps. Then, as he regained his composure, those lights flickered back on again, albeit wavering slightly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take it yourself? If you like it so much, I’d be happy to let you take it home.” Poor Kabru, he should have learned by now that hints have no effect against the impenetrable fortress that is your cluelessness.

Your grin was the nail in the coffin, letting him know you had something in your head that was absolutely not anything he could anticipate from anyone else. “But why not use it as some decoration? Your party members always talk about how sparse your room is, and it could even remind you of me when I’m away! Here—“

You ushered him closer, a hand now on the small of his back giving him sparks that teetered between pleasurable and painful. The free hand gestured to the plant he held so delicately, pointing out different features like the petals, stem, and so on. “I can even tell you some facts about it; that’ll help you enjoy it that much more deeply whenever you see it! And you’ll remember our conversation!”

The way you could be so resistant to his advances yet so sweet to him could be nothing short of torturous sometimes.

depression

For a while, something fairly rare happens to Kabru: he falls into a slump.

He spends a long time in the dungeon, slashing away at monsters as if it might help him clear his head. His teammates notice that he can get more aggressive in combat than usual, but never really ask him about it.

He also becomes more spacey during mealtimes, and while some peaceful silence is nice, having Kabru of all people be so uncharacteristically quiet for so long.

It comes to the point that something similar to an intervention happens one day after dinner.

“What’s up with you, Kabru?” Mickbell wasn’t one to beat around the bush, immediately starting his line of questioning while looking at his teammate, void of mischief or amusement. “You’ve been all broody and silent all week. Can’t just expect us to not ask about it.”

“What Mickbell said,” Kuro concurred almost immediately after.

The tallman did his best to blink away his tiredness and offer a more confident look that he usually used when trying to rally his team under an idea or calm them down. “I didn’t mean to make you guys worry that much about me. It’s just something I’ve been personally interested in, so it’s not something you guys need to worry about.”

“A personal problem?” Rin cocked a brow. “If I know anything about what interests you, it’s probably a person.”

“Haha, caught me red-handed like always.” He raised his hands in faux surrender, though Rin didn’t seem to be put at ease by the gesture, so he tacked on another statement. “I was surprisingly stumped on what tactics to use when talking to a certain person, it’s really got me thinking.” Averting his gaze to the side, he could almost conjure an image of your grinning face in the corner of his vision. “It’s pretty exciting, though, so I don’t mind.”

“Ugh, I knew it!” The half foot threw his head back in exasperation, causing Kuro to extend one arm behind him in case he fell. “It’s that brick-headed adventurer you’re getting all cozy with, isn’t it?! What, you thinking of starting a new party?”

While Mickbell was busy stomping his foot to punctuate his accusation, Holm merely hummed. The gnome usually stayed pretty impartial to matters like this, but that didn’t mean he could always resist throwing in a comment or two.

“I’d be stumped too if I thought about human interaction like a battlefield.” His tone of voice remained soft, but his words were still quite pointed. “You really have to be upfront about your feelings sometimes, you know that? At least, if Mick’s description can actually be trusted.”

“Hey, what’s that supposed to mean?!”

After those two broke down into petty squabbling, Kabru could merely try his best to mask his realization behind a tight-mouthed grin.

Holm was right, and he hated it more than anything.

acceptance

Okay, this is the part where Kabru actually bites the bullet and talks about his feelings. Truly a miracle of life.

Kabru can have a lot of trouble being fully vulnerable due to feeling like he’s losing control, so he does his best to maintain control over the rest of the outing. He arranges the time, location, even makes sure to get there first. It’s the most he can do to not feel completely helpless at the whims of his own fickle heart.

When you arrive, a new wave of nervousness hits him that’s almost like nothing before. Kabru has slain men without a second thought, and here he is resisting the urge to tremble because he has to tell his crush he likes them.

He starts off with small talk, sort of building up to his confession while also beating around the bush just a little. Asking you how you’ve been, if you’ve done anything noteworthy, if you’ve meet any new people…..

Eventually, Kabru decides that if he waits any longer, he may instinctually try to hide his intentions in the long strings of small talk he’s making, so he finally takes that leap.

He said your name, and your eyes flickered up to his face. Even if you were spacey at times, you never stared past him or through him whenever he was addressing you. It made him feel….strange. It was odd to feel truly perceived at times.

“Can I be….. terribly honest with you?” He cards his fingers through his curls and closes his eyes, and you couldn’t help but notice how effortlessly beautiful he looked.

“Of course,” you responded without thinking. Not like you ever needed to think twice about your appreciation for the man. More than that, really.

There was stillness, and all you could hear was Kabru’s deep inhale through his nose. He intended to phrase it more eloquently, he really did, but when he opened his eyes again and saw you waiting on his words with baited breath, there was this instinctive fear that maybe this would be his only chance. That you would walk away or disappear, leaving him with only the memory.

He didn’t want just a memory.

“I want you to know that I love you above all else.”

Your mouth hung agape like his had many times in response to your own remarks. Were it not for how shocked he was at his own words, he would have chuckled at how cute you look.

Before he could even scramble to elaborate on his uncharacteristically blunt comment, you blurted out in a similar fashion, voice slightly raised and head perked up,

“You really feel that way?!”

Faced with your blushing face, Kabru could only affirm the feelings that you promoted from somewhere deep within him. “Yes, I’d been trying to win you over for a long time, really.”

If you were flushed before, then now you were nothing short of flooded with embarrassment from ear to ear. Despite this, you were smiling, wobbly and sheepish. “I mean, it’s not like I’m shocked in a bad way or anything — I always thought you were really wonderful, too wonderful for me anyway. I really never thought you were pursuing me of all people!”

For the longest time, your denseness had given Kabru untold grief. Upon seeing you state it so plainly, however, he just couldn’t find it in his heart to be upset. Not when it was one of the things that made you so fascinating.

“I’d sort of figured as such, yeah.”

#ʕ•ᴥ•ʔ fallow’s works!#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi imagines #dungeon meshi x reader #delicious in dungeon #delicious in dungeon imagines #delicious in dungeon x reader #kabru of utaya #kabru dungeon meshi #kabru x reader #kabru of utaya x reader

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1800titz · 4 months

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WOOO second part to the pornstar!au (Tiger Harry). Find the first part here

If you'd like to read more goodies from me (including a RIDETHET!GER threesome, already up!), my patreon is HERE :)

CONTENT/WARNINGS: p-in-v, anal sex, Sir kink, choking-ish, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 4K

“They’re both just such pretty holes,” Harry coos, and he thumbs apart her lips before folding over her to reach for his priorly discarded smartphone. His confession is mottled by a sigh, “…I simply cannot decide.”

Tiger has perfected the art of edging.

Not even in a literal, tethered-from-the-sweet-peak-of-precipice with an iron hand wrenching backwards sense — though, she’s seen plenty of that through his camera work. It’s a finely formulated craft, making her skin itchy and her cunt weepy before he’s even really touched her. And he hasn’t. She thinks, maybe he’ll nip at her clit with the pads of a forefinger and thumb, but he doesn’t even do that. Instead, he takes a step back. The phone pings. Action.

“Spread,” Harry tells her. Light. Easy. Pats at one cheek, “Here.”

Y/N obliges. She rolls onto her shoulders and tucks her arms behind her, splaying her fingers and pulling the flesh apart there. There’s a hiss like a breath coming in through little nooks between his bare teeth. It feels absolutely glorious.

And lewd. A torrid kind of heat climbs up her neck. Lingers in the apples of her cheeks when Tiger pets at her thigh — probably taping a close-up vista of her oozing pussy — and comments, “Look at that pretty, little cunt.”

Her digits jolt over her flesh, squeezing it apart almost desperately when he traces the back of a finger beside her clit, and then meanders up to her leaky entrance, prodding with the tips of two fingers. Not quite breaching. Tiger slinks one — a forefinger— up the short trail of her taint and nudges at the hilt of her plug, tracing the petals. Stuffed with silicone flora. Pretty.

“Fuck. Fucking gorgeous.”

He sighs all soft behind her, and trails lower.

“I think—“

Harry scopes the hood of her clit with a thumb and then pulls it back to scrape with the pad of his middle finger — a motion that makes her jerk and wrests a soft sound from the back of her throat. A deviously mirthy hum comes from behind.

“I’ll fuck you here—“

The tip of a finger brushes her weepy, pulsing seam.

“—first. Stretch you out a bit before. Sound good?”

She hums against the sheets. Please. Tiger traces the rim and sinks in to the second knuckle with paltry notice. His fingers are long, fill up more space than her own. Lengthier than hers. Girthier. They prod at the nooks and crannies that yearn to be grazed with little effort on his part, and by the time he’s sunk to the base of his chilled ring bands and added a third digit, Y/N is nearly drooling into the sheets.

“You are such a tight, little thing, sweetheart,” Harry hums. Enunciates his speech with the wet squelch of his fingers plunging, cradled warm and wet by her sloppy pussy.

A mewl gets muffled in linen when he scissors the pair, stretching the seam taut, and rolls his thumb in slippery circles where her slick has trickled. There’s heat swelling in the trench of her tummy; a warm tide pool sloshing in waves that crest. Higher and higher. Building. It overcomes her — this tsunami, blighting her ataraxy until she’s a slobbering mess at the foot of his bed, keeled over.

“Gonna—“ Y/N warns, brows pleated and mouth pried apart, tongue brushing bunched fabric with little couth.

Tiger milks her through it, rigid fingers pumping and thumb swirling clusters of spheres into her pulsing flesh, until all that’s left of her are melty shambles with a weakly fluttering cunt. And it does flutter, throbbing emptily as his digits withdraw. Sucks onto them like it doesn’t want to let go, and then spasms around bare atoms like it needs to be corked back up.

“Good girl,” Tiger praises. He sounds soft and pleased. Concentrated as his cockhead prods at her hole— “Got my fingers all wet, too. That’s two for two.”

He swipes them at the back of her thigh, so she feels how slick. The pink border of his mouth is probably twitchy. Traces of a smile scratch at his dialogue the way something claws in the pit of her tummy as he nudges with the fat tip. She feels melty. Frozen fudge on a summer day dribbling down the handle. She thinks, for a moment, with her knees and her shoulders seeping into the mattress, that English has slipped her mind. Nothing plucks at her vocal cords, almost as if they’ve been snipped entirely. A high sound crawls from the back of her mouth, though, when Harry tucks his cock into her.

He’d been big in her palms — the pads of her digits hadn’t quite kissed around his shaft when she was kneeling, sweeping her tongue at the slit of his ruddy head, and her jaw had strained wide apart to fit him in and swallow him down. Even still, Y/N hadn’t anticipated the stretch. He bullies his cock into her — just about halfway — forcing against her spongy walls in a way that’s nearly too much. Like a paw wriggling into a glove that’s two sizes too small. She feels him in her belly, deep, as he sinks in, inch by inch (hisses escaping the cracks of his bared teeth and scraping at the edges), and bottoms out. She tastes clean cotton on her tongue, mouth wide and muted dumb, eyes screwed.

A gasp shatters the lull, like one sucked in bobbing to the surface of a sea that’s going to ripple and kick her back under. It thaws in her achy lungs as a soft, dreamy moan when Harry fetters her wrists with one hand at the small of her back, rocks out, and pumps back in.

“There you go, little bird. Nice and—“

She cries out as his hips snap.

“Full?”

He rolls out slow, and her fingers twitch when he pummels in to the hilt. Ragged, little noises scarper from her mouth like he’s punched them from her from the inside. The ping of the phone sundering its video doesn’t register, but she realizes he’s tossed the phone again when he pets his free hand over her ass and stamps a sharp, stinging blow to it. Harry sets a brutal pace, then. Soft strokes that strain her rim taut and give her room to adjust simmer off when something scathing boils in the trench of his belly. He grapples her joints in his palm firmly, and the tempo of his hips smacking into her morphs merciless. Used and abused.

“Oh, fuck, yeah,” Y/N whines when his thumb presses at the hilt of petals stretching her littlest hole.

“Fuck, yeah,” He mirrors, snarling, and twists at the plug to siphon a whimper.

Inferno spumes her arteries when he wriggles the plug out, groaning, and replaces it with two wet, blunt fingertips. Three. They stuff her fuller than the plug had and have her wheezing for oxygen to mingle with the scorch that permeates her veins.

Her knees shuffle over the sheets, she squirms when he drills into her again and again and again, and he grapples at a love handle to keep her tight in place, “You asked for this— and you’re gonna take it, baby.”

Y/N does. There’s not any alternative when he hammers into her and burrows half-moons into her flesh with the ends of his short nails, but she doesn’t want there to be. She scrapes at the side of his palm with crooked fingers — the one that cuffs her wrists together and pants into the sheets.

She’s seen Tiger fuck. She’s watched the videos — a little redhead clawing at the stair-railing with wet eyes as he coiled her hair tight over his knuckles from behind, or a brunette keening under his frame as he tucked her calves over his shoulders, pounding in from the tip to the hilt and all the way back out. The ones with a curvy blonde clawing at the sheets, whimpering as he pummeled between her thighs, and the one where the woman with the pixie juddered helplessly over his lap, crying out as he stippled a slick trail of open-mouthed kisses up her jugular and manually bounced her over his cock with a firm grip at her hips that dwarfed her size. Y/N has seen so much of the impact in screen captures — slobbered chins, streaming eyes with mucked kohl and smudged liner. Tips of noses hued cerise or pinky and lips swollen and sloppy with spit. Still, she’s somewhat surprised to feel mirrored evidence over her own face as tears drip in rivulets over the apples of her cheeks, as she gnaws at her bottom lip and drools onto his expensive mattress. It’s not the aftermath yet, and Y/N is sure she’s going to be a disheveled mess by the time the camera on the dresser shuts off.

His cock spits ribbon after ribbon into her with little warning. He pounds into her, something cruel and brutal, husking growls. A groan slides up from the depths of his chest, and he slurs a string of curses, fingers twitching in her other hole when he empties into her pulsing cunt. Y/N absolutely milks him through it. Her slick walls spasm over his cock, and she whines like the same effects curdle her bloodstream and erupt across neurons.

When Harry pulls out, fisting at the base and gruffing a hum, he thumbs a bead of cum that leaks out to coat her clit. She absolutely sings, at that.

He lets go of her wrists. Twisting his fingers gently from between her cheeks, Harry blows out a breath and—

Y/N keens like he’s slapped her when Tiger splays his palms over the globes of her ass, spreads, and spits where he’d been fingering her apart. It’s glorious. Harry presses his cockhead to the glob of saliva smearing, still manhandling apart one cheek, and tells her, “Spread,” voice worn and mottled with pants like his heartbeat is thundering ichor in his ears.

She does. Her own heart hammers behind the caging of her ribs when he makes a lewd sound, breathy and awed as he smacks over her asshole with the head. He slides against her perineum when she jolts, spine zagging, and hums.

“Is it gonna fit?” Y/N beckons. Her cheek smushes to the wet spot she’s made against the sheets. It’s the most gloriously humiliating revelation.

He winds around the room to the nightstand, where, through tear smeared peripherals (like a bleary windshield coated with condensation), she watches him cull a bottle of lube. The cap clicks. Harry sets a knee up, and the bed creaks, meshing with a sound of amusement and a slick hand working lubricant over his shaft. Her lashes flutter as Tiger works two wet fingers into her, to the hilt, unceremoniously, scissoring. He pulls them out.

“F’course—“

Y/N gnaws into the smooth, slicky flesh beside her molars.

Tiger grunts. She’s forced to arch at the palm over the dimples at the base of her spine. As if to test the theory, the slippery head of his cock nudges to the puckering seam.

“…We’ll make it fit.”

Taking anal from Tiger, Y/N learns, is a feat.

A pornographically debauched sort of rite of passage. She’s seen the pictures, too. The teasers he’ll post on X with only the pink tip of his cock in frame, a ringed, vibrantly lacquered hand cradling the back of his partner’s thigh to tuck up and showcase an asshole oozing cum. And the videos; the ones where the girls rake their nails into his tri’s, knuckles bleached, necks strained as garbled moans climb up their throats as he burrows in. They’re always blissed out, after; their visages melty and the lines where their foreheads and hair meet teemed with sweat. She has to wonder, though, as he prods in, how they quite make it fit.

A high sound and a tight squeeze part-way over the tip has him petting his fingertips over the metacarpals spiking through the skin at the back of her hand.

“Just breathe for me, baby,” Harry tells her, soft unlike the seat of his jawbone and the grit of his ivory teeth, after, “I’ll go— slow.”

Y/N inhales. It’s stolen from her lungs in the form of a long, low groan when he stuffs the tip past and the rim rides over the ridge.

“Is that too much, baby? Yeah?”

She suckles a bit of the sheet between her teeth when he mends the stretch of his sloppy, wet cockhead with a thumb that swipes from her leaky slit and meshes cum against his cock and the taut rim of her other hole.

“…That’s okay, we’ll get you there,” Harry coos, “That’s the hard bit all done, yeah?”

It’s all hard. Hard, vascular flesh like a rock spearing her open, sinking in, sedate and measured. Viciously careful and slick, accompanied by a vicious stretch, despite the lengthy preparation. He’s measured in the way he stuffs in, nearly centimeter by centimeter, pausing along the way down his shaft. Even still, it’s an ache that settles deep the further he sheathes — the kind she feels down to the marrow in the little bones constructing her spine, her pelvis, her ribs when they refuse to expand for her lungs.

“Relax, sweetheart, relax. Squeezing me so snug.”

It’s just advice, but it’s strained; filthy. It makes her cunt twitch.

“Push out a little for me. It’ll— yeah, slide in nice an’ easy if you do,” Harry coaxes, pausing the leisure roll forward of his hips. Her hole flutters over him. He makes it another inch.

“Just like that, little bird.”

She’s been holding her breath for twenty-three seconds by the time Harry pats at one of her hands and instructs, “Play with your pretty clit.”

It’s sore, but not in the way that it aches as he presses into her. The pads of her fingers brush milky cum that’s managed to seep out with the flex of her muscles, and they draw a circle over the sensitively overstimulated bud that droplets have leaked over. Her lips pry apart that way her fingertips pry bliss into the outstretched palms of her neurons, grappling for pleasure.

“Oh.”

“S’it sore?”

“Mm-Mhm.”

“But it feels good,” Harry states.

It’s just that — a statement, no inquiry to the borderline prideful cadence of his words when he sinks in three-quarters of the way. It’s enough to have her breathlessly wheezing over her noises, digits stuttering in their shapes as she pinches at the hood.

“Breathe,” Tiger chastises.

For the first time, his voice is whetted, like the edge of a cutlass, and she imagines his dark eyebrows creasing. The tattoo of a ruddy handprint — a smack — gleans a loud cry enmeshed from the sheer sting of it and the way Y/N jolts, bouncing forward and back on unanticipated inches. It’s cruel. Mean with his peal of laughter.

He’s soft again. Mirthy. “You did that, not me.”

“You startled me,” she argues. Her chortles flux into another, blunt, “Oh,” when Harry rocks out a little and back in, cooing in feigned ruth.

“Oh, did I?” Harry murmurs, trailing a wide palm up the indent of her arched spine with shallow plunges, “Poor baby.”

She squirms when his fingertips wind to the vale of her waist, scrabbling up the ladder of her ribcage lightly. It’s only for a split second, but it draws a squawk and a string of giggles; in turn, a low hiss from him.

“Fuck,” Harry grapples onto her hips, craning his neck, a grin lining his syllables when he admits, “Every time you laugh, s’like, squeezing me.”

It’s devious — the way his palm scopes the cinched flesh in the same area it had the first time, reveling in the squeal the wriggling pads pry. Her jaw clinches and she nearly bites through her tongue when her teeth latch together. Despite the stretch, her hips lurch forward on their own volition and her knees shamber towards the headboard, the circles over her clit all but forgotten as her arms outstretch for freedom. It only gives him a wider canvas.

A soft huff seeps from his nostrils, like the view of her hectically sprawling is entertainment. He pins her bones in place by the hips and lugs her back, sharply enough for her to groan at the pump into her.

“No,” Harry scolds, tacking an ankle with his hand. He bends one of her knees back and keeps a grip over a love handle on the opposite side. “Where d’you think you’re going? I wasn’t done.”

He’s polite enough to cease the tickle torture. Considerate, on his part, she supposes, since he’s got the sole of her foot aimed to the Rough sawn oak beamed ceiling. The gunge of kindling lust spumes, and it clogs the sharp anticipation of his thumb pressing to the tender spot between her heel and the ball of her foot, like cruor. Instead, Tiger hones on jabbing into her fluttery asshole, drawing a slew of progressively humiliating sounds. Her top teeth seal over the sheet and she gnaws the fabric in between her incisors like a feral dog.

She doesn’t really get it until his balls are slapping against her flesh with the fervor of his tempo; what it’s like to be used and abused by Tiger. Mostly, it entails being glazed with cum, inside and out; utilizing the same loads to swipe over her clit that leaks from her sloppy cunt as he pounds into her ass with little mercy. No intent to give. And still, he gives plenty. She feels him deep, spearing somewhere between the knobs of her spine and the soft flesh sheathing her tummy. She can’t recall a time she’s felt so full, vena thrumming something sanguine mottled by him. The ache spurs the bliss building at her pulsing clit, and she retires to chew at the back of her free hand, tucked under her wet face.

Just up until the point when he yanks at her hair from behind, spiking tingles at the crown of her head, and directs through husky breaths, “Sit up. Up. On your hands.”

Y/N clambers. An inky forearm hitches over the column of her throat from behind. A sharper arch, a muscular bind over her neck, a palm that dwarfs the knob of her shoulder, and hammering at her backside with no remorse. His nails claw into her love handle, and in turn, Y/N scrapes at the tits of his mermaid, her flowy tendrils, her tail.

“You really— are a little anal whore, aren’t you, little bird?”

She slobbers over his forearm, “Yes, Sir— oh— shit, oh, fuck,” so he spiles her mouth with a couple of his fingers. She nips at his knuckles, and he digs green into her deltoid.

“Fhuh—“ Y/N slurs around the digits.

He strokes a stuttery whimper from her taste buds.

She keens, shrill, when Tiger slips his fingers out and smears her own spit over her cheek, “Oh, fuck— you’re so deep—“

Her eyes are screwed, and even still she feels the pant of his grin against the opposite cheek. The way his lips ghost and graze her skin wetly with a low murmur, “Fuck, yeah.”

He twists his head and siphons the same fingers to his own mouth, gets them wetter, and bats the hand between her legs away to pinch at her clit. To fuse saliva, and cum, and desperation, working ardent over her bud.

“Such a fucking mess. S’leaking all over my balls, you know that?” Harry purrs, nipping at her earlobe when she whines, trembling, “M’gonna fuck it back into you, after.”

Y/N erupts. It spalls into flinders with sharp borders, somewhere between his cockhead burrowing deep in her tummy, the stretch around him, the pads swiping at her clit, and the filth he muzzles into her hair. She shakes like a waving bract, torn apart in his palms, spewing cries. The tight spasm over his cock has Harry chasing his own release, shuddering behind her and doubling down in a brutal tempo that draws soft whimpers from her mouth. The sharpest one comes when his chest rumbles flush with her back on a long groan, and he twitches in her as he presses deep and empties every bit that he can manage.

Rough sex, even with a borderline stranger, merits a soft touch to meld the jagged edges of the shards back together. When he seeps out, hissing softly and bobbing, slicked with cum and lubricant, Y/N crumples into the sheets like the junctions of her joints have unfused, slipping from their sockets to melt away into a puddle. It provides an optimal view of her abused holes, one puckering at the air and dripping fresh cum. Just as he’d promised, Harry spoons a rill that trickles out with the pad of his thumb and brushes it back over the slick hole he’d just been tucked into. Feeds it back in to coax a mewl.

“Two for two,” Tiger parrots, dragging the backs of his knuckles up her thigh. It’s an obvious reference to two orgasms each, now, and wears a smile.

If Y/N wasn’t so melty, she’d probably snort. She manages something like a grunt with her face planted to the mattress. She’s probably losing brain cells. The bed doesn’t feel breathable.

Harry nudges at her hips until her pelvis sinks flush against the sheets and her feet dangle over the edge of the mattress. Then, he crawls up over her, cock brushing her clean skin soiled along the way. She rolls over against her will. Gets bracketed by his arms as he looms over, mussed, damp coils of his hair pendulous.

“Hello.”

She swallows. Her ass is going to absolutely ache tomorrow. Y/N finds she doesn’t mind.

“…Hello.”

“You took that well,” Harry tells her, head cocked and talc glinting.

The boundaries of his ruddy mouth tick upwards into a lax smile, and even still, there’s an eagerly …awake mien to his composition. She wonders how, after that, and how his cock hasn’t gone down, a plurry in shade and sloppily oiled. It prods against the bone at the side of her pelvis.

“You …gave it well,” she responds, forming the words despite the way they feel garbled in her mouth, between her parted teeth, off her lips like the crevices of her gums have been numbed with lidocaine.

He ducks his chin and laughs.

Y/N ends up lodged by his armpit, tangled by the firm muscle of his arms, thighs flush together, with her cheek squished to the plush of his pec; a cushion over where his heartbeat is clattering.

“I’m all sticky.”

“You like it,” Tiger sighs, raking a palm back through his tendrils, off his forehead, and musses the tousled curls there further.

It feels nice when his fingertips graze up her nape, sliding into the forestry of her roots. They tug lightly at the follicles at the back of her skull in a way that makes euphoria seep down her nape. It settles in the first knob of her spine and slink through to the next. She rolls her shoulders.

“D’you wanna shower? I’ve got one of those rain showerheads on the ceiling.”

If her inner thighs weren’t crusting over, the suggestion would probably feel like a much more intimate dyadic. Especially because she’s well aware he’ll slide in alongside her, slippery. Soapy froth sluicing down his abdomen, sudsy palms cupping at her backside, trailing between her thighs, and rinsing the evidence of their collaboration down the drain. It tastes like another sex tape altogether.

Harry has grapefruit musk body wash and a citrusy shampoo in his shower. They’re the same ones she’ll lather into her own matted bird’s nest.

He notes, from the sink, twisting the silvery band and thumbing over the center, where a tetragonal, incarnadine stone is seated, “You got my rings all sticky.”

Y/N stretches her arms over her head. There’s semen spilling down the insides of her legs. She twists her head and meets him in the mirror just in time to see his eyes crest, his mouth purse and carve into a simper.

“D’you wanna polish them off with your tongue?”

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itsmrshamilton · 2 months

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Watch Him Rise

Summary: Lewis & Y/n watch their son's first competition. Y/s = your son's name.

A/n: guys, 100 of you?? Thanks for the liking, commenting, reblogging and reading🫶 I saw these pics of Lewis and thought they were so cute. Its giving WAG or SupportiveDad.

"Can you please sit down, it hasn't even started yet." You admonished your husband who was standing with his hands on his hips, eyeing the arena. You two had just found your seats and set down your belongings but Lewis refused to move from his position.

"I have to make sure he sees me! Support matters, love." He responded adjusting his bucket hat and moving his hands back to his hips. "Yes, I-" "I also need to scope the whole arena so we know where to look when his name is announced." He continued to assess the grounds.

You sighed in resignation and focused on unpacking drinks and supportive gear. You two had bought everything from bucket hats, to t-shirts, to foam fingers and pom-poms. All in the colours of your son's gymnastic team's colours. Your matching shirts had 'HAMILTON' printed in all caps and had a family picture at the back.

It was his first competition since he started training two years ago. His interest in the sport was a surprise to you and Lewis because you had never brought it up nor had you participated in it as children yourselves. But you were happy to do anything to make your son happy no matter how short his obsession with the craft. Luckily (cause you forked out thousands), your son remained devoted and passionate about gymnastics. He was the one who woke you up on weekends for training and asked to spend hours after school practising in the backyard.

Lewis was incredibly proud. He went from being worried about a bone injury to researching new moves and routines for your son to perform. He looked up the best coaches, got the best reviewed gear and most importantly, attended every single practice. The support he received from his father when he was growing up was what drove him to be his son's biggest supporter. Lewis understood how much of a mental game sports really were despite the physical strain they caused.

The day you gave birth to your son, you felt your heart double in size and increase in the capacity it had to feel love. When Lewis held him for the first time, it grew even more. And since that day, watching Lewis easily take to fatherhood and complete the simplest of parenting tasks made your heart ache and expand some more. You didnt think it was possible to feel so much love. Their matching brown eyes brought bright smiles to your face and it was your lifelong goal to constantly see joy reflected in those eyes.

"Oh, there he is! There's the team!" Lewis raised his voice in excitement. "Y/s! Y/s! Up here! You're going to do great!"

You stood up to wave your pom-poms in your kid's direction. He looked at you two through his mop of dark curls, grinned and waved. Nothing was embarrassing for him. Yet, you thought to yourself. You were lowkey dreading the teenage years but you put your all into cherishing these current days.

"Hi baby! Go smash it! Wooo!" You yelled at him. The parents around you were beginning to look on in annoyance but you paid no attention. This first competition was something you had spent months waiting for so you wouldn't allow your son to feel inadequate or unsupported.

A loud voice boomed through the speakers, announcing the start of the day's events. Your son waved one last time before turning to his teammates and coach. You and Lewis sat down to watch. You leaned on his arm and he turned to press a kiss to your temple and grasp your hand in his. The events began and you separated shortly every now and then to clap for the other kids. At this age, the events were not complicated and mainly consisted of the vault, parallel bars and balance beam. The floor was covered in busy bodies of varied ages all dressed in shiny kit and doing their best to score well. The mother in you wanted to give everyone full points for the adorable effort they put in. Lewis, on the other hand, sounded like a professional judge beside you. He was leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees and muttering to himself.

"More power. Don't flex the feet. Lift now. Mm. Too slow. Release. Mmm. Pull back." It had taken him less than 2 days to understand this sport's rules and regulations. In fact, he had crammed so much gymnastics information that if you asked him a rule about F1 right now, he'd spend hours trying to recall the correct answer. It was hilariously cute and you admired him greatly for it.

"Next up on the vault, Y/s Hamilton!" The big voice boomed. Lewis stood to cheer as you dug around for the sign to hold up: 'Soar high, Y/s! Fly!'. It was covered in glitters, stickers, jewels and more.

Your son stepped up to the end of the mat.

Your eyes began to water slightly as he pushed the curls away from his forhead and closed his eyes. Lewis had taught him to take a moment to envision the routine and make intentional movements before starting. A second later, he opened them up. Even from your distance you recognised the fierce look of determination in them. The same look Lewis got before a race and before he signed on a new business venture. You were so proud of that look because according to it's history, only great things followed.

Y/s took off sprinting down the mat and you felt your heart move to your throat. "Right. . .now" You heard Lewis mutter beside you. "Twist, tighten, lengthen. . . release. Release!" He went through each of the movements mentally while he watched his son soar, flip, twist and land perfectly on the mat. "Yeah! That's my boy!"

You jumped up and down squealing with pure bliss at Y/s's achievement. Lewis scrambled to get his phone out to record the scores the judges selected. You noticed that his hands trembled slightly as he reached up to swipe a lone tear on his face. His smile still bright and proud.

"Y/s Hamilton. 10s across the board." The voice boomed.

The two of you erupted into bigger cheers and grabbed each other before steadying the phone that was recording. It caught your son jumping up and down in excitement and high-fiving teammates. He turned to the stands to wave at his parents and receive all the kisses they blew at him. "Oh Lewis, our baby!" You whispered when everything had settled down. He pulled you towards him and hugged you tightly. Together you watched your son get warmed up for the next event. His smile so wide it showed all of his gaps and baby teeth. "He's only just beginning to rise." Lewis said to himself. "And we'll be here til he reaches the top."

💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌 💌

Why did I nearly make myself cry? Guys, I had to take a break for a couple of weeks because I was doing too much on this app and not focusing on my real life, lol. Thank you for reading. Remember to interact before you leave. This is not a part of the "tattoo of us" series.

#lewis hamilton #lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton x you #lewis hamilton fic #lewis hamilton x black reader #lewis hamilton fluff #f1 x reader #lh44 #f1

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 9 months

Note

Hi hi hope I'm not too late to request something. If I am feel free to just delete this

Anyway can I ask for headcannons with a gender neutral reader with Sebek, Vil, Idia, and Leona with a s/o who loves to use cheesy pick up lines on them after they've started dating? Like they're already dating and their partner comes up to them like "Do you have a name or can I just call you mine" lol

Idia Shroud:

Some cheesy lines just get Idia to roll his eyes, knowing you’re purposely trying to get a reaction out of him, but some do manage to get exactly what you want. Hearing a genuine declaration of love, a confirmation that your souls are tired, and you compared him to an angel (your angel, specifically), he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He normally spiraled from embarrassment after, trying to hide the pink tips of his hair before you waved the victory flag right in his face, rejecting the fact that such normie pick-up lines could be super effective on someone like him.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona wants to know what he did to you to subject him to the horror of pick-up lines when you already had to get through the hurdles all couples had at the beginning of a relationship. He could be surprisingly smooth himself when he wanted to, delivering the lines straight back at you as if it were a competition. He wanted to out-woo you and if that didn’t work; he wasn’t above fighting dirty. He knew the exact glint you got in your eyes when you were about to drop a new line and he acted first, smothering your lips with his own to successfully wipe your mind of anything but responding to his touch.

Sebek Zigvolt:

You have a 50/50 chance of it going right over Sebek’s head, or it piercing his heart like an arrow when he fully understood the meaning of your honeyed words. Pick-up lines weren’t effective for wooing him but they did provide you with a source of entertainment, especially when Sebek responded with genuine concern as to what must be wrong with your eyesight or if you had really injured yourself looking for him. He seemed a little frazzled when you stated you were just flirting with him, wondering why you felt the need to steal his heart when he had already offered it to you without pretense.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil would show respect for a well-crafted yet still cheesy pick-up line, as long as it met his expectations. He judged based on word choice and confidence in your delivery, giving you a rating for each line in hopes of you finding a line to truly sweep him off his feet. He is still hopelessly endeared by your silly behavior, his heart nearly skipping a beat when you explained your reasoning for this to him. People were naturally too intimidated by Vil to flirt properly, so you thought he deserved the normalcy of, even if for only a short amount of time (and from someone he was already romantically involved with).

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Idia Shroud #Leona Kingscholar #Sebek Zigvolt #Vil Schoenheit #Idia Shroud x Reader #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Sebek Zigvolt x Reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader

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fraugwinska · 5 months

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A very incomplete list of Hazbin Hotel Fanfiction Authors/Geniuses

I cannot believe the awsome, talented, absolute magnificent people I've met through this fandom. Writing FF for Hazbin Hotel has become one of my greatest joys in life, and reading the stories and creations of my fellow friends and idols is something that can brighten my whole week - and we don't gatekeep. So, if you're in search for a good read, here are a few of the SUPER AWSOME people I stalk (and I want to stress - this list is never going to be complete, but I'll try to edit it as there are just SO MANY GODDANG MASTERS out there!) @bapple117 If you love #RadioStatic, you have to read 'Bluest Monday' (completed) and the follow-up 'Say Hello, Wave Goodbye' (WIP) She'll break your heart in the most beautiful way. If you don't fancy that but Alastor is your go-to, then you will want to dive in head-first into "If You Can't Say Somethin' Nice, Don't Say Nothin' At All" (complete). But as before, be ready for a rollercoaster of emotional moments and extremely spicy shenanigans.

@hazelfoureyes Goddess of the smut, Hottest writer in Hell - If you're horny, Hazel has got you covered. Especially her 'The safeword is Radioapple'-Mini-series will make you sweat like a Zumba-Instructor on crack. Be prepared to blush, tremble, die and immediately ressurrect, because yes. She is THAT good.

Clover/corruptedteacups on AO3 With whooping 75 chapters and 300k+ hits, her Fanfic 'The Red means I Love you' is one of the best, most detailed slow-burn-pining-angsty-smutty-will-they-wont-they Masterpieces I've read so far. Alastor is magnificent and I guarantee you'll fall in love with Clover, the bunny who captures the heart of you deerest red demon.

@melodyonthewireless Highly underappreciated (imho), her fic "A Match made in Hell" (WIP) follows her OC Sybil down to hell, into the Hazbin Hotel and consecutively the arms of Alastor - but don't you dare underestimate the pink, harmless looking doe. Sybil's witch powers and her sassy, witty personality is quite the match to the established readio overlord. It's such a read, and the wait between chapters the sweetest agony!

@macabr3-barbi3 She delivers every. single. TIME. Her Short stories and One-Shots are like Pringles - Once you pop, you can't stop. I'm deeply in love with 'Dream a little Dream' (WIP), 'Nothing I can't Handle' (WIP) makes me run for a cold shower and did I mention the countless one-shot-candies that make you mouth water and your toes curl?

@slutforalastor/InconspicuousBosch on AO3 Whether it's the One-Shots on tumblr (omg the PRIEST ALASTOR BIT *fans face*) or the incredible Choose-your-Path-Fic "Say it with a smile" (completed) - you will be both amazed at the artistry of the wording and storybuilding and blushing at the sheer craft of the smut and sexual tension.

@impale-me-radio-daddy Founder of the kink #antlerplay, his series of 'The Lookalike' is steamy, outrageous, utterly magnificent and filthy down to the bones. Be prepared for some serious questioning of your own preferences, because you WILL get some epiphanies. And that's a PROMISE.

@hurthermore Listen. LISTEN. Bimbo is the mini-series that had me on a friggin CHOKEHOLD. It takes a special talent to make one so invested in THE radio demon, gentleman a la carte Alastor believably pining after and pounding a lovable, dumb airhead sinner with a fable for skimpy dresses and leave you at the end wanting for seconds and thirds!

As I said, this is a highly incomplete list, and I'll absolutely edit this list as I go. But I needed to put this out in the world. To all of the above, and all of those which I didn't include YET but most certainly will -

I ADORE YOU, I PRAY AT YOUR FEET, YOU ARE AMAZING BEINGS AND I LOVE YOU.

Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #ao3 fanfic #hazbin hotel smut #radiostatic #radioapple #alastor x oc #alastor hazbin hotel #fraugwinskaandfriends #ily fellow beings #author appreciation

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tragedybunny · 1 year

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A Little More Than a Nibble - Astarion x F!Reader

Astarion wakes you up at camp looking for a late night snack. You both end up with something a little more. (Fluff, Angst)

Yes I'm on the Astarion train. How can you not love him?

This short is set before Astarion's act 2 confession

Something called to you from the dark, stirring you out of sleep. Fragments of the waking world brushed against your consciousness; a dying fire, a far off owl calling, a presence hovering over you. The cold influx of terror lasts only a moment as you realize the presence is not only familiar but expected at this point. “Are you awake darling?” Astarion’s voice exudes the beguiling charm that’s become so familiar to you, familiar enough you’ve started to catch the hint of artifice that lays behind it.

Sleep-heavy eyes drift open to find him kneeling down next to you, red eyes fixed on you. The deep slumber is hard to shake off and your answer is no more than a drowsy whisper. “I am now.”

“Oh apologies my sweet but I was just wondering if…” He lets the words hang for a moment, waiting for your mind to catch up, to finish the implication. Really though it could only be about one of two things since you’re the one in camp that’s been both fucking and feeding him. And with the ungodly hour, you can easily conclude which it is.

“No luck hunting?” He deserves at least a little teasing for waking you like this.

“Actually I was thinking about you and couldn’t get the taste of you off my tongue. Would you mind terribly if I had just a little taste, just a slight nibble?” Perhaps you’ve been too indulgent with him and he’s grown used to getting his way with you, a habit you really should put to an end. If only the mere suggestion of those teeth at your neck didn’t make you quiver with excitement.

Still, it won’t do to placidly let him have his way every time. “You say slight nibble, and I wake up woozy the next morning. I fail to see what I get out of this little arrangement.”

For a moment, you think you see the slightest hint of hurt at your refusal, before he swiftly resumes his flirtatious persona. “Why, you get my gratitude and affection. Both of which are undying, I might remind you.”

It’s not the honeyed words that convince you, it’s the ghost of an emotion, the possibility of vulnerability, that there’s something beneath the mask he shows everyone, even you. Not that you would really refuse, you’re too far gone for that. Life as the daughter of a noble house of Baldur’s Gate primed you for this, to fall for a man so wrong, and dangerous, and not at all anything you should want. Rebellion after years of complicity, years of forced perfection and crafted smiles, of doing everything expected of you. The Illithid ship had given you a terrible burden, but it had also been more freedom than you’d ever known in your life. Freedom that didn’t necessarily come with inbuilt wisdom. Silently, you throw back the covers, beckoning him into the bed roll beside you. With a satisfied smile, he gracefully slides in, body pressed against yours.

The first time you’d let him do this it had been awkward, sloppy almost, a fact explained by the later revelation you were his first. Now familiarity has led to comfort, intimacy of its own sort. Different than just sex, but no less thrilling. An arm around your waist, he buries his head into the crook of your neck, lips brushing up against it in a gentle kiss first that makes you shiver before the bite.

The sharp ice of those teeth piece your skin and drive into the blood flowing in your veins. Then you feel it, the echo of your blood flowing into his veins. It had frightened you the first time but now it sends a wave of bliss through you. An involuntary sigh escapes you and you know if his mouth wasn’t full, he’d be tormenting you for how much you enjoy it. Arms loop around his shoulders, pulling him tighter against you, as though you are begging for more. You are though aren’t you? You can’t get enough of this, of him.

Drifting away, you lose yourself in him, a sweet surrender to an inexorable pull. As promised though, he’s only taken a taste when he lets up, pulling away, and licking any drops from your skin. The control he’s starting to show is impressive, even if it leaves you yearning for the strange connection of his feeding. Knowing that he never lingers after any encounter between the two of you, you unwrap your arms which feel so much heavier now, letting him go. Unexpectedly, he remains, head now resting on your chest, forehead pressed to your cheek. “Not going to eat and run?”

“In such a hurry to be rid of me?” He murmurs, his face hidden so you don’t even have a chance of reading his expression.

You’re not naive, despite what the others might believe. There’s nothing more you expect beyond what already passes between the two of you. Even if you believe you could care for him, he’s not open to you that way. Still, even if the tone is nonchalant, you feel there’s a loneliness behind it he's not quite hiding all the way. “I didn’t say that.” He doesn’t ask directly to stay and you know he won’t, so you pull the covers over the two of you and put your arms back around him and without saying another word.

With a subtle shift, you feel him get near your throat once again before stopping himself. “Perhaps I should go.”

“You don’t have to, I trust you.” Tentatively, you reach a hand up and softly stroke it through his silver hair. First he tenses, and you wait for a reproach for being too tender with him, but none comes. A moment later and you feel the tension release and he relaxes again. Your eyes are heavy, your body desperately craving sleep, but you're afraid there will never be another moment like this, with him so close, and not pushing you away. So you fight to stay conscious, and keep your fingers moving gently as long as he allows it. Sleep comes to claim you again though, and just as the world fades around you, lips brush your collarbone and the arm around your waist holds a little tighter.

The dawn comes, and the camp stirs. When you find the empty space in your bed roll, you tell yourself your heart doesn’t break a little and get ready to get on with your day.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x f!reader #astarion x tav #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #my writing #my fanfiction

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ddejavvu · 1 year

Note

I love you how you write your Reid fics, and I don’t know if you’re taking requests rn so if you’re not just leave it here and take this as just my appreciation of your craft lol

But if you are!! I’ve always had this idea in my head of when Spencer first explains why he doesn’t shake hands in the early seasons, saying it’s more sanitary to kiss, and the reader is his girlfriend and is passing by as he says it and goes “Doctor Reid, it’s a pleasure to meet you!” And pecks him on the lips like making a point of how abnormal it would be lol. And Spencer just smiles awkwardly and the people he’s with laugh AND I JUST LOVE THAT IDEA ITS SO WHOLESOME. Ik it’s just short little moment but I think it’s so cute!

that is adorable! oh to make spence blushy <33

"SSA Morgan," Hotch gestures to Derek, and the man waves at your guest, a doctor working alongside the BAU to provide a second opinion. You and Hotch had driven to pick him up from the university he teaches at, and all you need to do is introduce him to the rest of your team before he can be briefed on the case.

"This is SSA Prentiss," Emily shakes his hand, but Spencer stays behind her with his hands dug into his pockets, "And that's Doctor Reid."

"Uh, I don't shake hands," Spencer smiles awkwardly at the doctor, "It's nothing personal, it's just that the number of pathogens shared during a handshake is staggering. It's- uh, it's actually safer to kiss."

You step around the doctor with confidence, forgoing a handshake and leaning right in to peck Spencer on the lips.

"Of course. Doctor Reid," You feign a first-time meeting, "Pleasure to meet you."

"Um," His face goes red, hot beneath your touch, and you can hear Derek and Emily snickering to themselves while Hotch tries biting back a smirk for professionality's sake, "Doctor, she's my- my girlfriend."

Thankfully, your guest is good-natured, and he chuckles warmly, "And here I thought I'd be getting lucky."

"We'll have you work right over here," Hotch leads the doctor away, glancing back at you and Reid with measured amusement in his eyes despite pointing accusatorily at you, "Your meeting ends here. Reid, you're with Prentiss. Y/L/N, take Morgan, and get some work done, please."

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

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megalony · 7 months

Text

It's Yours

This is a new Evan Buckley imagine, based on an anon request. I hope you will all like it. Any feedback is always much appreciated and thank you for all the lovely requests I'm trying to work my way through them.

Taglist: @lunaticspoem@sj-thefanthefan@hellsdragon@im-an-adult-ish@crazylittlethingg@allauraleigh@onceuponadetectivedemigod@ceres27@avyannadawn@sleepylunarwolf@coverupps@justagirlthatlovedtoread @musicistheway @avada-kedavra-bitch-187 @luula @missdreamofendless @bradleybeachbabe @woderfulkawaii @amberpanda99 @daggersquadphantom @marvel-and-chicago-fan @angryknightstatesmantrash @minjix @lyjen @kmc1989 @itsmytimetoodream @noonenuts @hiireadstuff @ashie-babie @classyunknownlover @jayyeahthatsme @sp1ritssz

911 Masterlist

Summary: (Y/n) breaks up with her abusive boyfriend, and finds a lot more than she bargained for with Evan, the guy at the bar who takes her home.

Enjoy.

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

Pushing her glass across the bar, (Y/n) stretched her arms out in font of her and leaned her head forward. Her lips curved into a small, tepid smile and she nodded at the bartender to refill her empty glass. She wanted her fourth drink and she wanted to feel a buzz. Now.

Usually cocktails gave a very strong buzz despite tasting nothing like alcohol and feeling more like orange juice. (Y/n) wasn't feeling anything tonight.

Her fingers curled around the long neck of the cocktail glass and she rolled the glass between her finger and thumb so she could remove the edging of sugar all around the rim of the glass. Once each fleck of sugar was gone, (Y/n) downed the drink all in one go.

She watched the bartender disappear to the other end of the bar and lazily pushed the glass away from her again. He would know to refill it once he came back this way.

When she felt her phone vibrate next to her arm, she twisted her arm to try and reach for it. The cocktails must have started to have an effect as her hand knocked her phone off the edge of the bar rather than reaching to grab it. At least it landed on a carpeted floor. No chance of having a broken screen to finish off a horribly rough night.

(Y/n) leaned down over the side of the bar stool and grabbed her phone, but as she reeled back up again, the back of her head bashed into something.

A gasp burned at the back of her throat and her free hand moved to cradle the back of her head, letting go of the edge of the bar that she had gripped to keep her balance. Before (Y/n) even started to sway or wobble, a hand curled firmly around her elbow and her temple pressed into someone's abdomen.

"I- I'm so sorry!" Words tumbled from the stranger's lips like a waterfall.

The hand that was around her elbow effortlessly took her weight and lifted her back up so she was sitting upright in her seat again like she weighed nothing more than a feather.

No words left (Y/n)'s lips when she looked up.

He was handsome. The striped black and white shirt he wore seemed two sizes too small for him. It made his shoulders bulge out against the material and the short cuffs over his biceps looked like they were digging into his muscle like a turniquet trying to cut off his circulation. He had a broad, hard chest and high-waisted black trousers pulled tight over his hips.

His hair was the colour of brown sugar and formed soft waves that were swept to the back of his head.

Those eyes were the deepest shade of blue (Y/n) had ever seen and they looked glossed over as if they were crafted out of clay and paint that hadn't had chance to dry. His lips were a dark shade of rouge and when he darted his tongue out over his lower lip, (Y/n) found herself taking a sharp breath.

"Are you alright?" Concern pooled in his enlarged pupils and she realised his hand was still holding onto her elbow. While his other hand was clenched tight around a beer bottle that was meshed up into his shirt.

"I'm okay," Her voice came out quiet and weak and (Y/n) internally cringed at her tone. Why did she sound so childish?

She dropped her hand from the back of her head before she trailed her palm over the back of her neck and down between her shoulders. She must have clocked her head into his elbow and spilt his drink. His bottle was half-empty but (Y/n) could see beige droplets coating his hand and down the neck of the bottle. Some of the beer had gone down the back of her cardigan and through to her shirt.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't looking, uh… can I buy you a drink, to say sorry?"

His hand finally dropped from her elbow and (Y/n) suddenly felt lonesome and cold, but she tried to brush off the feeling.

Evan watched the way her eyes darted down to the bottle in his hand before she looked back up at him. The way she bit her lip made his chest tighten and he could do nothing but watch the way she brushed a loose strand of hair back behind her ear.

"I spilt your drink, I think I owe you a drink." When he motioned towards the vacant stool next to her, (Y/n) wordlessly nodded and turned to face the bar again. She dropped her phone on the counter and waved her hand to grab the bartender's attention. "What'll it be?"

"Whatever you're having."

"Two more please, keep them coming." (Y/n) slid her glass over the counter before she rolled her neck and shivered. She could feel the beer soaking into the back of her top and it made her skin prickle.

Her arms reached down behind her and she shimmied her black cardigan off her shoulders and let it pool on the floor, curved around the legs of the stool. At least her shirt didn't feel like it was soaked in beer, not a lot had spilled on her, thankfully. And the bar was starting to get crowded, all the bodies meshed together pushing into the bar, mulling around for a table and the people dancing in the far corner were creating a lot of heat. The AC didn't seem to be working either which wasn't helping.

Evan felt his breath hitching in his throat when she let her jacket drop down to the floor. It made her hair fan across her shoulders that were exposed to his eyes and he let his eyes wander down her frame despite everything in him telling him not to oogle.

She was wearing a dark navy blue shirt that hung off both her shoulders with thin straps and the bottom of her shirt was tucked into her jeans that cut off just before her ankles. He could see her foot swaying back and forth, rocking and shimmying the small black heels on her feet like she was waving daggers around for protection.

He could feel his teeth sinking into his lip until his eyes trailed down her arms.

Bruises.

She had fresh bruising pooling on her lower left forearm that was closest to him and markings and scratches around her wrist. When Evan trailed his eyes back along her exposed skin, he noticed a deep red scratch along her neck starting just beneath her ear.

When their eyes locked, Evan forced his lips to curve into a smile and he kept hs eyes trained on her face so she wouldn't think he was staring at her oddly.

"I'm Evan, but everyone calls me Buck."

"(Y/n)."

She nodded her head at him and slid a glass his way and her smile made Evan's stomach flip. He could see her sinking her teeth into her lip to stop her smile from becoming too wide as if she thought smiling somehow ruined her features or would push him away.

He took the glass and clinked it against hers before taking a large gulp. "What brings you here?"

(Y/n) tried to pace herself and only drink half her glass instead of throwing the whole drink back in one. She didn't want to embarrass herself or push away the handsome stranger who had decided to talk to her tonight. Her finger moved to swirl around the rim of her glass and she slowly collected the tiny cubes of sugar before she bit down on her finger and let the sugar dissolve on her tongue.

"Bad night… what about you?" It had been a bad night for (Y/n). One of the worser nights she had spent and the only solace she could find was drowning herself in alcohol to try and make the panic dwindle away.

Marcus had no right to speak to her the way he had done tonight.

Every time he threw a fist at her, (Y/n) walked away. He was starting to become dangerous. For the last four or five months, (Y/n) must have walked out on him over seven times already. When he tried to hit her, she left. When he grabbed her and tossed her onto the sofa, she smacked him and walked out, promising herself she wouldn't go back.

It was harder than she thought when he turned up on her doorstep, refusing to leave. It felt easier to let him worm his way back into her life with sordid excuses and feeble promises of never being that cruel or rude or hateful again. She had been with him for two and a half years. It was hard to throw that time away and call it quits.

Especially when no one else seemed to want to be around her and all she could hear in the back of her head was Marcus's voice telling her she couldn't do any better than him. No one else was going to put up with her or want to be around her and if she truly loved him and knew he loved her, she didn't have the right to walk away.

"I've just pulled a triple shift and… I don't know, didn't fancy going home to an empty place, I guess."

Evan hadn't been home in over two days and this afternoon when he finally finished his long shift and was able to go home, something told him not to. He showered and changed at the station, left his jeep in the station car park and made his way into town.

Something told Evan to wander into a bar and have a drink. Going home to an empty apartment wasn't appealing. He and Taylor had broken up; he couldn't be dealing with someone who wasn't willing to put him first and who could so easily break his trust without thinking it was a problem.

And when the rest of the team were going home to their families, Evan suddenly felt lonelier than ever and he wasn't going home to cement that fact in his mind. At least not unless he was drunk and able to cope with his loneliness.

"What do you do?"

"I work for the fire department. You?"

"Oh wow. I'm a book editor, nothing as exciting or strenuous as you I'm afraid." (Y/n) finished the rest of her drink and something within her told her to prepare for Evan to leave. After all, what would a fireman be doing talking to a little book worm like her?

But surprise flooded her face and parted her lips when he pushed their empty glasses across the bar and asked for a round of shots. Was he really going to stay and talk to her? Why was someone like him sitting with someone like her? If he thought he had to stay out of pity (Y/n) would correct him. He didn't have to hang around for her benefit, he could go home with anyone in the whole place or chat up someone else.

He wouldn't want to spend the rest of his night boring himself to death talking to her… would he?

He stayed. (Y/n) wasn't sure how long they had been sat at the bar, but it was long enough for the bartender to switch shifts with someone else and for the music on the dance floor to get even louder to accomodate everyone piling in the bar.

Glasses lined the bar in front of her and Evan and she could tell he was getting tipsy now whereas she finally started to feel that drunken buzz that made her head swim and her muscles to loosen up and feel relaxed.

She loved the way Evan leaned his head on his arm and grinned over at her. He suddenly looked so childish and carefree and overall charming, even after however many drinks they had downed during the evening.

She didn't want to tear her gaze away from him, but she looked to the right when her phone started to vibrate and jump on the bar.

It was Marcus.

Without thinking, (Y/n) double clicked the side button and cut the call. She wasn't giving him the time of day. Not when the call disappeared and she could see flashes of all the texts he had sent since she walked out the door.

'Where are you?' 'Where the fuck did you go?' 'You need to come home. Now. We have to talk.' 'Why do you always do this to me?' '(Y/n) ANSWER ME!'

Blocking his number didn't work. Marcus would just change his number and turn up on her doorstep and make her unblock his phone. He never seemed to let her go and (Y/n) always let him back in.

Not this time. Not after he'd gone so far as to try and grab her neck. If she hadn't of swung her fist out and clamped him round the side of the head, she knew he would of strangled her. It was why her neck now burned with a large scratch and why he had tried to grab her and twist her wrist to prevent her from leaving. She wasn't going back to his place anymore. She wasn't going to let him back into her apartment or let him walk all over her and get controlling again.

They were finished and Marcus had to understand that. He had to know he couldn't have anymore control over (Y/n).

"All good?" Even in his drunken state, Evan noticed the shiver that rolled down (Y/n)'s arms and the way she delicately brushed her fingertips absentmindedly over the mark on her neck.

But when she looked back at him, her lips curved into a smile. A genuine, dazzling curve of her lips that was nothing like how she had tried to smile at the start of the night. He watched her push her phone away and turn on the stool until she was facing him and her knees bumped into his.

"All good," She repeated with a drunken nod of her head.

Evan wasn't sure where the sudden burst of adrenaline came from, but he pushed up so he was sitting straight and he leaned across until he could just about nudge the end of his nose against hers. His left arm stayed slumped on the bar while his right hand reached out to cup her jaw.

He brushed his thumb across her jaw and gently swiped it across her lower lip that he couldn't stop staring at.

He stole all the air from her lungs when he kissed her.

(Y/n) reached her hand out to cup the wrist that was near her chin and she held onto him for dear life, as if letting go would cause her to fall and never land. She felt his tongue prodding at her lips, asking for entrance while his fingers curled around the side of her jaw, but Evan's touch was so much softer and more reaffirming than what she was used to or expecting.

When he pulled back, (Y/n) tipped her forehead against his and heaved to catch her breath back. She could feel his breaths fanning against her lips and his lower lip started to swell from where she had sank her teeth down into it.

There was a hooded look in his eyes and his lips curved up into a widespread grin that felt infectious.

"Wanna get out of here?"

(Y/n) leaned over until her free hand could slide over Evan's knee and shift along his thigh while her lips captured his. She felt his leg jump when she squeezed his upper thigh and leaned closer until she was about to fall off her chair and directly onto his lap. He had stolen the words right out her mouth.

She did want to leave. She wanted to get out of this crowded bar and she wanted him to take her somewhere. Anywhere. As long as he took her with him.

"Definitely."

***

"Can we talk?"

'You're not the one I need to talk to.' Those words hung on the tip of (Y/n)'s tongue but she couldn't bring herself to say them. She couldn't say something that would rile him up and provoke him, that was the last thing she needed right now.

(Y/n) curved her arms around her chest, binding them tight to see if it would do anything to reduce the panic swarming through her chest or make her think of him. Of Evan. If she closed her eyes and squeezed tight enough, it might make her feel like she had him wrapped around her.

She wanted to feel that sense of security he gave her.

Her head tilted back against the brick wall and she dropped her eyes to her feet, not wanting to give Marcus the satisfaction of looking him in the eye.

She had gone almost three months without seeing him or bumping into him. This was the first time she had properly managed to break up with him and stay away from him for good. She didn't go back and ask to smooth things over. She didn't have him banging on her apartment door at one in the morning because he knew she would have to let him in or risk neighbours calling the police.

He hadn't turned up at her place of work- until today, for near on three months.

(Y/n) had finally started to move away from him and move on and she had found someone who she had suddenly become attached to.

Sleeping with Evan the first night she met him hadn't been something (Y/n) planned to do, but it happened nonetheless. Waking up in his bed had been a shock for both of them, but not a bad one.

She left for work the next morning before realising she didn't get Evan's number. When she closed her eyes, she could imagine that second time she saw him.

* She was being silly. It was probably a one-night stand for him. He most likely didn't give her his number for a reason. He didn't want to see her again or call her or text her. She was just a distant memory that could already have faded from his mind for all (Y/n) knew. She was the bookworm he picked up two weeks ago at a bar. He could have picked her up and brought her home to win a bet.

Would he really have brought her home if he only wanted one night with her? Why not ask to go back to her place instead of his? Why let her see his home and know where he lived and let her stay the night if all he wanted was sex that could be forgotten in the morning?

Why would he-

Her breath caught like a lump in the back of her throat and her arms bound around her chest so her hands could scrunch up in her shirt when her eyes locked on him.

He was home. The last two times (Y/n) had tried to visit and see if he was home, he wasn't in and she could only guess that he was out at work.

She watched the way his hand tightened around the door and his jaw slacked and for a horrible moment, (Y/n) thought he was going to slam the door shut in her face. She thought he was going to roll his eyes or sigh or plainly tell her to leave. But he didn't.

"(Y/n)." Her name fell from his lips like an angel falling from grace and before she could move, Evan was suddenly reaching out for her. "Finally."

Evan's last word caught her by surprise but he didn't give her the chance to question what he meant by that. His arm swooped around her waist and he reeled her inside like she had been stood out in the rain for far too long. Her hands found his shoulders to steady herself before she tripped and she wanted to smile but she couldn't.

His lips devoured hers before she could grin or say hello or ask him how he was.

She let him lean down and plaster his chest up against hers and she almost melted when his hand pressed up against her lower back to keep her close. (Y/n) had been thinking of what to say if he ever opened the door to her when she dropped by.

When she left for work after their night together, he'd asked her to call him and she promised she would. But she walked out the door and picked up Evan's keys by mistake and then realised when she got to work that she didn't even have his number saved in her phone.

She could of slid the keys beneath his apartment door and said no more about it, but she held onto them for the chance that he would be home when she came by. And she needed her keys back. She was using her spare set of keys to get in and out her apartment.

When he pulled back for air, Evan pulled (Y/n) inside and nudged the door shut. He let his temple press down into hers and he couldn't stop the grin that spread across his face. He didn't have any way to get hold of her after she left. He didn't have her number, he didn't know where she lived or where she worked. All he had was the bar they met in and that wasn't much help.

He had been praying she would come back to his place and after two weeks, his wishes had finally paid off.

He kept both his hands clamped down on her hips as if needing to make sure she wasn't about to break free from his arms and try to disappear on him again. He could barely register the way she pulled out his keychain from her pocket and jingled it in front of him.

"Thanks," He breathed quietly against her lips as he moved one hand from her waist to grab the keys. He tossed them onto the side unit near the door and leaned down until his hands cupped the back of (Y/n)'s thighs.

He felt the way her hands slid round from his shoulders to cup the back of his neck and she let him lift her up so her legs could hook around his torso.

The feeling of his lips attaching back to hers made (Y/n) feel lightheaded and she dug her nails into the back of his neck to try and ground herself. But it earned a guttural groan to vibrate up through Evan's chest and the sound only made her press her lips down harder onto his. She sunk her teeth into his llip and gave a sharp tug while he turned and started to walk into the apartment.

And she was sure she heard him mutter "I'm getting your number this time," against her lips. *

"Can we talk?" Marcus's voice came out a lot sterner and colder this time and it made (Y/n) grimace as she pulled herself out of a memory and back to the present.

She juggled her bag higher on her shoulder and nodded. Her arms stayed wrapped around her waist for comfort more than anything else and she pushed off the wall and started walking. He could follow her this time. Marcus could follow her head and her instructions and realise they were doing things by her rules.

He wasn't grabbing her and dragging her away, he wasn't picking where they went and he wasn't going to steer the conversation his way.

(Y/n) needed to talk to him. She needed to make sure he understood that the last three months had been the best of her life because she had been away from him. They were broken up this time, for good, and she wasn't going back to him.

She had had two one-night stands and a date with Evan and that was what (Y/n) wanted. She wanted to try and make something with Evan and forget Marcus was ever in her life.

(Y/n) led him round the corner, away from her work and to the nearest cafe. When Marcus tried to reach out to hold her arm, she shook him off and added a safe amount of distance between them so not even their arms could accidentally brush together.

"What do you want to talk about?" Her voice was cold and indifferent and she found a table in the corner of the cafe, out the way of everyone else. It was a strange coincidence that Marcus had found her today. Right when she knew she had to talk to him to make sure things were ironed out between the, before she had to talk to Evan.

She slumped into a seat and dropped her bag beneath the table by her feet while Marcus moved to sit opposite her.

He dragged his hand through his hair, brushing the loose, greasy curls away from his eyes and behind his ears. He pressed both his elbows down into the table and kept one hand curled around the back of his neck like he was holding his head up as if his neck had suddenly been broken.

"Us."

(Y/n) couldn't refrain from rolling her eyes and she let herself sink back into the uncomfortable wooden chair with her arms still crossed over her chest.

"This is the longest you've held out on me. When are you gonna come home?" He always seemed to think referring to his place as home would soften (Y/n) up and make her want to go back with him.

She had moved out of her old apartment and moved in with Marcus after being together a few months. But last year after he grabbed her by her hair in public, (Y/n) moved out. She got her own apartment and left him. It didn't stop Marcus from coming back time and time again and (Y/n) usually went back to him. Their turbulent relationship had been on and off again for over a year now, but (Y/n) always kept her apartment and never went back to living with Marcus.

She would stay with him from time to time, but she never lived with him. It wasn't safe. And she didn't want to be in a relationship with him anymore.

"Being with you isn't my home Marcus, and you know it." She could feel panic rocketing through her chest when Marcus suddenly sat forward and leaned over the table. But whatever he wanted to retaliate with, he swallowed down because a waitress came over to ask for their order.

"Coffee." He grumbled while he clenched his hands together in front of him and pressed his knuckles against his lips.

"Iced tea please," (Y/n) pulled her sleeves down over her hands and dropped her arms so her hands were left on her lap.

"(Y/n), come on. You always come back. We're good together, you're supposed to be with me and you need to come home. I've forgiven you."

(Y/n) face dropped and she sat upright with a scoff. She could feel tears bubbling over in her eyes already and she tried her best to bite them back and control herself. How dare he. Why was he trying to pin this on her? Who could she kid, he always made it seem like it was her fault. If he hit her, she provoked him. If he shouted, it was because she argued with him first. If she left, it was because she was being petty and stupid. Nothing was his fault. Ever.

"You- you've forgiven me… what for? You were the one who attacked me-"

"I didn't attack you, stop exaggerating." He snapped his jaw like a crocodile and slammed his hands down when the waitress brought their drinks over. He made the poor girl jump back and spill some of the iced tea down her hand, but neither of them dared say anything until she walked away.

"I was the one with the bruises! You tried to grab my throat, why the Hell would you need to forgive me when I had every right to leave?"

Anger riled through (Y/n) and she suddenly didn't want her drink anymore. She reached out for the straw and started to prod and poke at the ice cubes clinking together in the tall glass. She had nothing to apologise for.

When Evan asked where the bruises on her arms came from and the scratch on her neck, (Y/n) didn't see the point in hiding it. She found herself being suddenly open and honest with Evan and she wasn't sure why. He made her feel safe. She felt able to tell him that Marcus had a flaring temper that made him aggressive and sometimes, (Y/n) didn't know what set him off.

Evan hastened to tell her she didn't do anything. None of this was her doing and she had no reason to apologise to Marcus now.

"Just come home-"

"No. Marcus… please, listen to me now." (Y/n) pushed her drink to one side and stretched her hands out to plant them on the table. "This has to stop. I don't want to be with you, I'm done with you. With everything, it's finished. So you need to start leaving me alone, for good."

He laughed. He had the nerve to sit there and laugh as if she was telling him a silly joke or as if this was all a game and he thought he was winning.

"Why would you say something so stupid? You do this routine every time we have a fight, (Y/n). You come crawling back, always have and always will-"

"I'm pregnant."

She spoke before she lost her nerve.

(Y/n) had to tell Marcus because she was ninety percent sure that her dates weren't mixed up and that this couldn't be his baby. They used protection whereas (Y/n) knew she didn't when she was with Evan. A rookie mistake, but it made her sure this was Evan's baby and not Marcus's.

But she needed to tell him because she wanted him to stay away from her. If he knew she had moved on and slept with someone else, he would be jealous but he might just stay away from her now. And he would do the math in his head and try to work out for them both and make sure this wasn't his child. (Y/n) couldn't have a baby with him. She couldn't have that attachment to Marcus for the rest of her life or she would never be free of him.

"You're joking me, right?" His lips quirked up to one side and he folded his arms over his chest like he thought this was some sort of test.

"No. I'm about eleven weeks-"

"You can't be."

"What?" Her shoulders dropped and she sighed. If he wanted evidence she would take the test out of her bag and show him the results from her trip to the doctors. That would be enough to prove to him that she was having a baby and he had to give up and leave her alone now.

"I can't have kids (Y/n). I'm infertile, so you can't be pregnant. Stop trying to fuck about and twist everything, if you want me back you don't have to come up with this lame excuse."

He couldn't see the relief in her eyes. Marcus couldn't sense the adrenaline fluttering around in (Y/n)'s stomach as she sank back in her chair and threw her head back. Her eyes fell closed before her head started to swim and she found herself grinning very slightly.

It was Evan's.

If Marcus couldn't have kids, it had to be Evan's baby just like she predicted it would be. Now she thought about it, (Y/n) was sure when she first got with Marcus, she remembered him saying something along the lines of 'you don't have to worry about that' when she asked if he had protection. She paid no mind to it, she didn't give it a second thought.

But he was adamant, he was being serious. (Y/n) could see it in his eyes and it made her happy beyond words. She would never have something that attached her to Marcus for the rest of her life. If she wanted to cut him from her life, she had every right and every chance now. It just left Evan for her to worry about.

"(Y/n)!"

A bolt of pain shot through her knee when Marcus slammed his foot into her leg but she bit down her cry and jolted to look back at him. Her hands fumbled to grab her bag beneath the table and she pulled out the positive pregnancy test so she could slide it across the table.

"How can you-"

"Because it's not yours, Marcus. So you need to stay away from me now, I'm through with you."

He really was slow sometimes. It didn't dawn on him that when they separated, (Y/n) might find someone else or sleep with someone else for a one night stand. He thought she moped around her flat, waiting for him to call or come back and ask her to come home. He thought (Y/n)'s world revolved solely around him and that showed how shallow he really was.

"Well then who the fuck's is it?" His voice suddenly boomed around the cafe and (Y/n) shivered, sinking down in her seat when heads started to turn in their direction.

This was why she wanted to talk in public. She had been planning to call and ask to talk but she wanted to be somewhere with witnesses. (Y/n) was through with being alone in a secluded flat with Marcus and not having any way to prove how he treated her when he lost his temper.

"Who have you been whoring around with? Do you even know his name? Who have you slept with?"

A scream burst past (Y/n)'s lips and her shoulders hunched inwards as she leaned towards the wall on her left when Marcus lashed out. He grabbed her glass of iced tea that was in the middle of the table and launched it her way, narrowly missing her head by half a centimetre.

She could feel the ice cubes hitting her arms before they clattered to the floor and a whole load of the cold tea drenched her neck and her right arm, soaking through her shoulder and into her waist and made her shiver. Glass sprinkled against the wall behind her and (Y/n) stayed deathly still with her eyes closed, waiting for the atmosphere and the glass to settle before she dared move.

Her trembling hands planted down on the table and she tried to stand up, she wanted to leave now.

Marcus was causing a scene and (Y/n) hated being around when he did something like this. She didn't want the attention falling on her and right now, people were getting up from their seats and trying to approach them. She wanted to go home.

"Please don't do this-"

"You think I'm letting you get away with this little stunt? Tell me his name!"

(Y/n) scraped her chair back and stumbled but she couldn't move quick enough before Marcus latched his fingers into her hair and wrenched her towards him. Her nails scratched into his wrist as she screamed, closing her eyes as tightly as she could when he pushed her down to her knees.

She could feel the broken glass and soggy tea soaking into her knees and it felt like blisters had suddenly sweltered onto her skin when the sharp, jagged pieces tore through her leggings and into her skin.

No one dared move closer when one of the waiter's approached and Marcus threw a chair in his direction.

(Y/n) pinned her hands over her head and tried to take deep breaths. Her blood was pounding in her ears and her stomach was churning, but she could just about make out a frightened woman say she was dialling 911.

She didn't have the strength or the energy to try and get up when Marcus leaned back over her again. She kept her eyes tightly closed but she could hear the cafe door opening and the few people inside were starting to rush out onto the street. No one was going to come near Marcus when there was a knife on the table next to him and is eyes kept going back to it.

He would attack anyone who came near.

Her body shuddered and she cried out when Marcus gripped her chin and tilted her head up, shaking her head until she groaned and finally looked up at him.

"What's the fucker's name?" His voice turned oddly calm and serene and it made (Y/n) shiver down to her shoes.

(Y/n) tilted her head to the side to pull out of his grasp and she held her head high when Marcus crouched down in front of her. His elbows rested on his knees and he laced his fingers together between his thighs while he waited somewhat patiently for an answer. His chest was heaving, spit was dribbling down the corner of his chin and his eyes were wild. (Y/n) had never seen such a frightening, rabid look in his eyes before.

She didn't answer. Instead, (Y/n) lifted her head so they were level and spat in his face.

Her head reeled to the right when he slapped her. The back of his hand lashed out against her face and she knew he'd managed to cut her cheek with the sharp edge of his ring. The pain countered out with adrenaline after half a second and all (Y/n) could feel was panic bubbling up in her chest like a pot about to boil over on the stove.

She couldn't remember the last time Marcus had been like this with her in public. He always kept their fights behind closed doors, he knew how to play the situation in public. He knew how to pretend to be clingy or sweet or act a gentleman and then throw his fists when they got home. The news had clearly derranged Marcus today.

"His name."

"Why? Do you want him to give you some pointers?"

When he reeled back to slap her again, (Y/n) thrust her arms out and rammed them into his chest to knock him off balance. The moment he fell onto his back, (Y/n) used the nearest table as leverage to get herself up onto trembling legs. She stumbled over Marcus and aimed for the door while she heard him roar and slam his hands and feet into the floor to try and get up.

A ragged, breathless scream left (Y/n)'s lips when she felt Marcus behind her and she curled her hand around the door and yanked it open. She flung the door open as fast as she could while she ducked down to the right.

Marcus's hand went straight through the glass pane. His fist burst through the glass which imbedded into his forearm and scratched down his wrist. But the window pane didn't completely shatter. (Y/n) had unintentionally trapped Marcus's arm in the door and it was her chance. She crawled through the small open gap in the door and stumbled into the doorway.

Her legs gave way and she slumped down onto her knees, moving to sit down with her back up against the wall as she heaved each breath through bubbling cries.

The sound of sirens overpowered the sound of Marcus screaming as he tried to drag his hand back through the window.

A fire truck pulled up. They must have been the closest emergency service available when that woman called 911. The police had to be on their way soon, they needed to take Marcus into custody and keep him as far away from (Y/n) as possible.

"LAFD, what's the situation here?"

(Y/n) watched the older man climb down from the truck and leave his helmet on the side of the pavement. He had a red label in the centre of his helmet that read Captain. He was in charge. He made his way towards one of the waitresses but when the rest of his crew started to climb down from the truck, (Y/n) felt lightheaded.

Evan.

Oh God. This was his station department. This was the team he told her about, the people he worked with.

Why did he of all people have to come to this call out? What if Marcus said something and Evan caught on? She didn't want to have this conversation with Evan now. He wasn't going to be happy when he learned the girl he slept with was now pregnant. The girl he barely knew. The girl with a troublesome ex hovering in the background.

More tears streamed down (Y/n)'s face when Evan's eyes locked on her and she saw the panic bubbling up inside of them. She saw the panic written across his face and the way he picked up the pace to rush towards her.

"We're not finished-"

"No!" (Y/n) scraped her palms against the floor until they started to give her cuts and scratches. She pushed herself to her feet and stumbled out into the street as Marcus freed his arm from the door and flung it wide open to try and grab her again.

Her body started to flag but (Y/n) ran, flinging her arm out at the captain who tried to grab her to calm her down. She wasn't aiming for him.

"S-stop him! Make h-him stop- please!" Words flew past her lips in a fluster as she made a beeline for Evan.

Her hands scratched deeply into his bicep and she used his arm as leverage to swing herself around and move behind him. Her face pressed between his shoulder blades and her hands scrunched up around his arm. Evan could feel how badly she was shaking when she started to make him jitter back and forth on the spot. He reached his left arm behind him and clamped his hand down on (Y/n)'s hip to keep her safe and secured behind him like he was a human shield.

It didn't take much for him to gather that this had to be her ex.

"Get back." The words seethed past Evan's lips while he reached his right hand out and slammed his palm into the man's chest. He gave him a forceful shove backwards while he walked back into (Y/n) and nudged her to move a few paces away. He needed to keep a safe distance between them all.

"Sir- that's enough. Stand over here so you can be assessed or we'll have to restrain you."

Bobby and Eddie grabbed one of Marcus's arms each and dragged him towards the doorway of the cafe. They slumped him down onto the floor with one of Bobby's hands pinned into his chest while Eddie held his damaged arm to try and take a look. They had the right to restrain him if he was going to try and attack someone in public.

The police were on their way to this scene now anyway, he would be arrested once he was patched up and given the all clear.

A deep sigh burned past Evan's lips before he released his hand from (Y/n)'s hip and turned around to face her. He could see the shaking rattling through her body and tears were streaming down her face although she did look a little calmer now than when they first pulled up.

"Are you alright… did he hurt you?"

(Y/n) rubbed her hands together, trying to flick off the grit and gravel stuck to her palms. She had a few little cuts on her hands but nothing substancial.

She stayed quiet when Evan held her wrists and pulled her hands up so he could inspect them for himself. But when he tilted his head to the side and looked down, his shoulders sagged and he bit down on the corner of his lip. Her knees were bleeding. Shards of glass were poking out through her leggings and blood was trickling down towards her ankles.

"Let's sit down, I'll take a look at that for you," He motioned down towards her knees but he turned to look over his shoulder when (Y/n) shuddered. Her eyes were focused on the scene behind him.

"Sir-"

"Marcus!"

"Alright. Marcus, let's put it this way. You try again to attack her, we restrain you and you'll be arrested. What is this argument about?" Bobby was getting tired. He was tired of trying to push Marcus down and make him stay sat down on the floor in front of the cafe.

He must realise that he and the other girl needed to be checked over and he couldn't try to keep attacking her in public like this. They had to be kept separate for their own sakes and he needed to let Eddie treat his arm that was cut up and still had shards of glass imbedded in it.

"Ask her! Ask her whose it is." Marcus flung his right arm out towards (Y/n) who visibly flinched and took a step back. "Go on. Whose bastard child is it, 'cos it sure as Hell ain't mine!"

A groan tumbled past (Y/n)'s lips before she brought her hands up to smother her face.

Why wouldn't he stop? Couldn't he for once, just leave her alone and stop causing a mess of everything? It didn't make things any easier that Evan was here and (Y/n) knew for certain that he had just heard what Marcus had said. He wasn't stupid. He could put two and two together and make four. He was going to find out and this wasn't how (Y/n) wanted to have this conversation with him.

It wasn't fair.

Panic radiated through (Y/n)'s system when she dared to move her hands down to cover her mouth and nose, allowing her eyes to be visible.

Evan had gone deathly pale. His hands were held halfway out between them like he wanted to reach for her but didn't know what to do or how he was supposed to act now. His eyes had gone suddenly blank even though his pupils had blown wide and his jaw slacked but he still didn't say anything.

Turning on her heels, (Y/n) stumbled away and moved as close to the fire truck as she could. She needed to be away from them all. She didn't want Evan to stand and look at her like that and she didn't want to be anywhere near Marcus. She didn't want to hear his threats or see those horrible, beady eyes glaring daggers into her. Being around him made her a target because he wasn't calming down at all.

Her body jumped when familiar hands clamped down on her arms and stopped her before she could walk any further.

Her back slumped down into a familiar chest and (Y/n) stayed still and silent, allowing Evan to gently turn her to the right. He moved her over until she could sit down on the step at the back of the fire truck.

(Y/n) rubbed her hands up and down her thighs while Evan stood in front of her, his knees almost touching hers with how close he stood. He had one hand on his hip and the other was dragging slowly through his hair until the waves were disgruntled and flopping about on his head.

"What did he mean? Is- are you- God, are you pregnant?"

(Y/n) rolled her lips together and kept her head tilted down, but she managed to lift her gaze just enough to look up at Evan through her lashes. She couldn't find any words. All the air was stuck in the back of her throat creating a blockage that was making her lungs quiver and tense in her chest. The only right answer was yes but (Y/n) couldn't bring herself to say it so she simply nodded her head.

"Is it mine?" His voice suddenly turned soft like he was melting before her and it made (Y/n)'s eyes narrow on him.

He wasn't shouting at her. He wasn't riling up, getting ready to start a fight with her or argue or say how much of a shitty situation this was. He wasn't even frowning at her. He was just… looking at her. Staring down with those soft blue eyes and those ruby red lips that were pressed together in a thin line.

"It's yours. I, I wasn't gonna tell you like this I swear." (Y/n) found her voice but it was meek and fast-paced until she was tripping over her words. And her hands were digging into her thighs to try and calm herself sown.

A quiet hum vibrated past Evan's lips before he moved to crouch down in front of her. His eyes trailed back along her knees that he would have to assess soon and try to patch them up. He moved his hands to her thighs and carefully parted them so he could kneel between her legs, feeling her trembling knees dig comfortably into his waist.

"Are you mad?"

"Mad?" Evan couldn't stop his lips from quirking up into a lopsided smile and he squeezed her thigh until she gathered the strength to move her hand and cup his wrist. "Why would I be mad? This might not be the ideal situation, but it's not a bad one either."

(Y/n) had played on Evan's mind since the moment they met. He couldn't think of anything or anyone else except her. She was the only thing playing on Evan's mind and he felt intoxicated by her; addicted to her.

This wasn't how he would have chosen for things to play out, this wasn't the perfect order for things to go. But this was the situation they found themselves in and they would have to make the most of it and see where it led them. Evan had always wanted kids, he knew that from the off. And now it seemed fate had decided this was the moment he started to have kids and something told him this was a good thing. Something told Evan that this was going to work out just fine.

"Really?" (Y/n) leaned forward until she was close enough to cup Evan's face in her hands. Her thumb brushed across his cheek and she leaned her forehead against his when a brighter smile broke out on his face.

"Yeah… I guess we've just done things in a different order to everyone else, huh?"

(Y/n) could barely comprehend his words when his lips pressed against hers. Maybe things were going to work out after all.

#evan buckley #evan buckley x reader #evan buckley imagine #imagine #911 imagine #buck x reader #buck imagine #bucky x reader

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oneforthemunny · 22 days

Note

🦇🍯🌀 here r mine instead (redid it)

mafia!eddie, fluff, pet based.

"God fuckin' dammit," Eddie's hiss rang through the halls, echoing in the most cryptic of ways, leaving you halting with hesitation.

"Can you fucking do this shit right? Do something right for once in your life, Gareth." Eddie snapped, tone filled with agitation.

"Sorry, I'm not a fuckin' arts and crafts expert, Munson." Gareth snapped back, tone just as biting, filled with sarcasm. "I don't know how to do this type of shit, man."

"Oh, you don't? Don't bullshit me. You used to make disentanglement puzzles and fuckin' scrolls every week. Don't tell me that bullshit- Diablo, sit- just fuckin' do it." Eddie growled, his voice growing more and more irritated with each step you took.

You lingered for a moment, hoping your footsteps were quiet, muffled by the carpet as you crept around the corner, peeking into the office.

The boys must have heard you, whining and squirming with defiance, only to be corrected by Eddie's sharp click of his tongue.

"Fuck! He moved." Gareth huffed, tossing the canvas to the side, with a growing pile of others. "This is so stupid. Why are you doin' this, Munson?"

"Because- Just, shut the fuck up and do it again." Eddie sneered, nerves grated with irritation. He craved a cigarette, maybe a joint. "Don't use as much paint this time."

"Then you do it." Gareth huffed, throwing his hands up. "You try and dip their paw in this shit. They're moving-"

You leaned in, seeing the gaggle of Dobermen sitting at attention, tails wagging at the sliver of sight of you. Diablo wrapped up in Eddie's arms, his right paw lifted, coated in... paint?

"-God, all you do is bitch." Eddie grunted. "I'll fucking do it, since you can't-" His eyes caught yours, snapping back with intensity that had Lucifer running, taking his master's shock as his chance to run to you.

"Baby," Eddie's voice caught, breaking boyishly in his throat. "You're- I thought you said after five?"

"Nice, real nice." Gareth laughed humorlessly. "Did all this shit, and look. Surprise ruined. Good going, dumbass." He rolled his eyes at Eddie, standing.

"Martha Stewart over here is trying to surprise you." Gareth muttered when he passed you. "You deal with him. He's your's now."

Eddie grumbled under his breath, shoulders slumping with defeat as the dogs ran to you, Diablo leaving a trail of paw printed paint behind him.

"What... What are you doing?" You whispered, looking at the pile of canvases, a few on Eddie's desk, others tossed in a pile.

"I, uh, I was trying to make you something." Eddie admitted, muttering towards the ground. "I wanted it to be something special. Like priceless kinda thing, and... and I saw something similar at a shop- Well, it was a painting, but I thought I'd make the real thing with each of their paw prints, but I fucked up and asked Gareth, that worthless fuck-" Eddie cut his rant short, breath catching when he saw you.

Your eyes wide, face neutral in an unreadable way as you scanned the room. Eddie's heart skipped, palms sweaty. "I, uh, I'm obviously getting you a better gift too." He added quickly, not wanting you to think this was your only birthday gift. "I just... I thought you'd like this too."

He paused, your eyes not meeting his, slowly walking towards the two canvases on his desk- Vecna and Lucifer's names printed on their respective canvas, a perfect paw print above them.

"Do you?" Eddie said after a moment, his voice way needier than he would have ever allowed with anyone but you. Your eyes met his. "Do you like it?"

A laugh bubbled up through your chest, head swimming with emotions, heart swelling so much you thought it might burst out of your chest. "Like it? You- Eddie," Your voice shook, holding back a wave of emotions. "This is the sweetest, most thoughtful thing anyone's ever done for me in my whole life."

Eddie's chest loosened, letting his nerves fall and pride take their place. "Really?" Eddie whispered, petting Diablo's head as he returned back to his side.

You nodded, tears brimming your waterline. Here he was, the man with the roughest reputation in most of Indiana, doing crafts- for you. Making a gift just for you. Sure, he could buy anything, would buy anything for you. But still, he chose to give you something truly priceless.

You pulled him into a sweet kiss, one that left you both burning with excited, loving heat, pressing kisses to his cheeks, noses rubbing together as you muttered strings of thanks and praises.

The rest of the night, you spent with your boys, carefully stamping each paw print on the canvas, despite Eddie's protest that it defeated the gift aspect. You assured him this was the greatest gift.

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cassafrassie · 1 month

Text

testing the waters - (also on ao3) length: 2,938 words rating: G (v mild swearing)

It’s a slow, hot, lazy late August afternoon. The world has been saved, triangle demon vanquished, Grunkle Stan’s memories slowly returning to him, and Dipper and Mabel Pines lounge on the front deck of the Mystery Shack soaking up their last moments of summer before returning to Piedmont in just a few days.

Dipper lays flat on his back on the wood slats, watching the trees sway in the warm breeze while Mabel sprawls on the couch, tapping away on her phone.

“Oh-ho-ho!” She says after some time, breaking the easy silence.

“What?” Dipper asks, glancing at her but not moving.

“Nothing…” she replies in such a mischievous tone that Dipper immediately knows it’s anything but nothing.

Dipper lifts his head to get a better look at his sister. She’s grinning like a mad woman as she taps something on her phone.

It makes Dipper uneasy.

“Mabel,” he says, slower. “What is it?”

Mabel ignores him at first, still tapping away, but eventually looks down at him with a smug smile on her face.

“Time for you to get your own phone I think, bro-bro.”

“What? Why?”

“Well you can’t exactly expect me to be the middle man for you and your girlfriend forever.”

“Girlfri—…?” Dipper trails off as Mabel tosses him her phone, open to a short text conversation.

Pacifica: Mabel. Tell your brother to meet me at Lake Gravity Falls at 4PM today.

Mabel: OoOooh. Looking to do some more huggin’ are ya?? Or maybe taking it up a notch? 💋💋😘

Pacifica: Ugh, just tell him.

Mabel: What’s the magic woooord?

Pacifica: Now?

Mabel: Come on Pazmatazz we practiced this.

Pacifica: Don’t call me that.

Mabel: P

Mabel: L

Mabel: E

Pacifica: Fine! Please! Just stop!

Dipper throws the phone back at Mabel, a little rougher than he needed to.

“Do you have to be like that?” he bites out.

“Um, securing your romantic future? Yes, you’d think you’d be grateful, jeez. Make sure you shower before you go though, you smell like the inside of a gym sock.”

“Who says I’m going?” Dipper says, flopping back down on the deck. “She can’t just boss me around like that.”

“Sure, Dip,” Mabel says, returning to her texting.

---

Two hours later Dipper finds himself showered (he needed to anyway, okay?!), changed and waving his thanks to Soos for the ride as he trudges down toward the lake from the parking lot. To his right he sees the lake’s marina. It’s mostly modest speed boats and fishing vessels, but rising like a skyscraper above all the rest is a large pleasure craft, at least 80 feet from bow to stern, with the familiar “N.W.” emblazoned in gold script along the side of the bow. He figures this must be his destination, so he heads down the dock toward the end, where the massive yacht rests bobbing in the water in the final slip.

“Pacifica? You there?” he calls out from the dock, finally reaching the boat.

Pacifica’s blonde head pops out from a door to the interior almost immediately. She bounces up on deck and trots over to the side, leaning over to peer down at him.

“Dipper! You came!”

She’s is wearing a striped purple polo top similar to the one she wore the night the Lilliputtians attacked, simple pleated white shorts and camel-colored boat shoes. Her long hair is pulled back into a low ponytail and the overall effect is classy but understated. She looks… nice, Dipper thinks before shaking the thought away.

“Well you kind of made it sound like I didn’t have a choice.”

Pacifica shoots him a grin that’s just a little dazzling in the late afternoon light, and before he knows it his feet are carrying him up dock's boarding steps to the side of the boat. As he lifts his foot to step onto the yacht, however, Pacifica holds up her palm, stopping him.

“Ah, ah, ah, Pines! First rule of boating etiquette. Always ask for permission to board.”

“You invited me here!” he shoots back.

“Manners still matter,” she says, flipping her hair.

Dipper groans. He feels annoyance rising in his chest and is about to tell her to forget it, but then he studies her face and he sees the playful smirk tugging at the corners of her mouth.

Oh. She’s… messing with him.

He feels his own mouth quirk up at the sides.

Well two can play at that game.

Dipper clears his throat, straightens his back and assumes an air of hyperbolic chivalry.

“Very well, Miss Northwest. Would your highness deign to grace herself with my presence by allowing me to step aboard thine’s most glorious seafaring vessel?” He finishes with an exaggerated twirl of his hand.

Pacifica giggles and holds out her hand to him palm up. “She will. Dork.”

He grips her welcoming hand and allows her to help him come aboard, taking a second to find his footing on the gently bobbing boat before releasing it.

“Pretty nice, uh, schooner you got here.” He says, hands on his hips, looking around.

Schooner? Is that even right? Why is he trying to impress her with big boat words? He doesn’t know a darn thing about boats.

Pacifica quirks an eyebrow but lets it go. “Yeah, it’s fun,” she says wistfully. “But I’m pretty sure it’s going up for sale next week along with the manor.”

“Oh,” Dipper says rubbing his neck. “Do you know where you’re moving yet?”

He feels just the slightest confusing feeling of guilt tugging deep in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t feel bad about Preston and Priscilla getting found out for their years of crookedness, but Pacifica didn’t really have anything to do with that.

“Another mansion here in town. It’s way smaller though. Only one swimming pool,” Pacifica says, her face falling briefly, but she shakes it off.

Dipper chokes back a snort, all feelings of guilt instantly evaporating.

“You want a soda? I can show you around,” Pacifica asks, though the way she confidently strides back toward the interior leaves him with the impression that’s it’s not really a question as much as it is a command to follow.

He trails after her, following into the inner cabin of the boat. They enter a spacious galley. The walls are lined in deep teak wood and a massive crystal chandelier hangs in the center of the room. Dipper thinks this seems pretty impractical for a boat, but then again little about the Northwests has ever been practical.

A steward brings a silver tray with an assortment of sodas and juices. Dipper picks a Pitt Cola from the offering and then continues following Pacifica deeper below deck.

“So, uh, what’s the occasion?” he asks, following her down a narrow staircase and down a hallway lined with staterooms. “You just showing off the last of your family’s spoils before it goes to the auction block?”

Pacifica rolls her eyes as she stops at a door near the end of the hall.

“No. Well, not just that.” She opens the door, which leads to a small storage room. She doesn’t turn on the lights, but he can make out that the cabin is filled with boxes and chests from the warm light coming in from two small portholes. “This is the main reason.” She grips a large trunk in the corner with both hands and tugs it out from the shadows. The same “N.W.” monogram is etched onto the lid, the faint light catching the gold script.

As she tugs, Dipper feels the cabin shift around him unnaturally. He realizes the boat is pulling away from the dock. He braces himself against a wall with one arm, but Pacifica isn’t as quick on her feet and she stumbles forward. Dipper reaches forward with his free arm and grasps her around the middle. Her hair ends up in his face.

Lavender, again.

“I gotcha,” he says.

Pacifica grasps onto his arm as she steadies herself, then meets his eyes for the briefest of moments before turning away from him abruptly.

She coughs. “Thanks.”

Dipper feels his face flush. Not going to think too hard about that.

Pacifica turns back to the trunk, kneeling down and fiddling with the lock.

“My family has had these tapestries for as long as I can remember. I’m not sure where they came from, but I took the one in my bedroom down the night after the party. I didn’t know why at the time, but after the last few days things started to come together… so I took the rest down too and stashed them down here.” She looks over her shoulder at him. “Mom and Dad don’t know.”

Dipper feels a burst of pride swell in his heart at her small rebellion, whatever this is.

He leans over her shoulder as she lifts the lid to the trunk, but freezes when he sees what’s within.

He sees the eye first. That piercing, maniacal eye. Then the shape and color. And its enough to send him gasping backward, air completely leaving his lungs.

“Dipper?” Pacifica asks, spinning around toward him.

Dipper’s heart feels like it’s stopped. Where’s the wall? He needs to grab on to something. His arm waves behind him until it finds purchase on the side of the cabin.

“Dipper!” Pacifica continues. “Shoot! I’m sorry, I should have warned you.” She slams the lid shut and turns to grasp Dipper’s shoulders. “Hey, hey look at me.”

Dipper reluctantly meets her eyes, but he’s glad he does. Her blue meets his brown and he sees her concern and immediately feels calmer. In the recesses of his mind, fleetingly, he had feared that this was all some sort of trap, but when he sees her sincerity he knows she’s still on his side.

“You’re okay. I’m here. Crap, I’m so sorry,” she goes on, lowering her eyes but still gripping his shoulders.

Dipper feels the oxygen returning to his lungs and his head clearing.

“No, no it’s okay. I’m okay. It was an accident,” he says, taking a deep breath.

Pacifica looks back up at him, lip quivering. She releases his shoulders.

“Hey,” he chucks her under the chin lightly. “All good. Nothing wounded but my pride.”

She gives him a wary smile.

He returns it, feeling relief as he watches her features slowly relax. She really is pretty, huh?

Shit.

No.

No, no, no we are not doing that right now, brain.

He clears his throat.

“So… uh, why exactly are you showing me this?” he finally asks, breaking their eye contact and gesturing to the trunk.

“Oh! Right.” Pacifica tucks a strand of hair behind her ear as she straightens up, putting her hands on her hips. “I want you to help me get rid of it.”

Dipper’s mind races through memories of spells and incantations he read in Ford’s journals. Was there one for expelling physical objects from reality? Could they summon a self-contained fire that wouldn’t compromise the boat? Maybe if they contacted the ghost of Archibald Corduroy he would be able to bring the tapestries to the… ghost realm? If that’s a thing?

Pacifica looks at him curiously. “Uh, hello? What’s going on in there?” she asks, tapping his forehead with her pointer finger.

He continues studying the trunk. “Just trying to think of the best way…”

Pacifica raises an eyebrow. “Come on, Pines. Lake Gravity Falls is 742 feet deep at its center. Where do you think we’re going?” She gestures around her to the moving yacht.

Oh.

Right. Well that could work too.

With some effort and griping the two manage to bring the trunk up the stairs (“Pivot! You have to pivot!” Pacifica had sniped more than once) and on the main deck of the boat.

Together they lift the heavy chest to the railing at the stern, letting it balance delicately just shy from tipping over. They each hold one handle.

“Any final words?” Dipper asks, turning to face her.

“Good riddance.” Pacifica says, still staring at the trunk, eyes focused on the “N.W.” monogram. She turns to him. “Let’s do this.”

Damn, she’s fierce. He gives her a half smile and nods.

They each let go of their respective handles and give the trunk a firm push. It goes tumbling overboard, falling the dozen or so feet it takes to reach the water before hitting it with a satisfying splash.

Dipper and Pacifica stand side by side, watching it sink below the surface slowly, murky darkness slowly obscuring it from view. Then it’s gone.

Pacifica turns and leans her back against the railing, letting out a long exhale. “Wow, it’s crazy how much better I feel.”

Dipper smiles at her. Her features do look more relaxed. Like a heavy burden— or curse, maybe—has been lifted.

He nudges her side with his elbow. “So this tub is going away in a few days right? What do you say we enjoy it a bit before it’s gone?”

Pacifica turns to face him and grins.

---

A couple hours, an impromptu water gun fight, and a few unceremonious pushes into the lake later, Dipper and Pacifica lay next to one another on their stomaches at the bow of the boat, each wrapped in a fluffy towel. Together they watch the sun drop below the tree-lined horizon. Orange and pink gives way slowly to purple and blue. Dipper lets his eyes drift from the hazy sky to the gentle waves created by the yacht cutting through the lake surface, and finally to his new friend. Her eyes have shut and her head is cushioned on her arms. The soft light of the dusk plays on her delicate features, and he takes a moment to watch the steady inhale and exhale of her breathing. He feels himself smile, and decides to let himself indulge in the warm feeling that comes with it. Just for now. Even if he still isn’t sure what it means.

After a moment her eyes flutter open and her cheeks dust with pink. “Guess I dozed off a bit?” she asks, scrunching up her nose.

“Yeah, but it’s okay. It’s been a big day.”

She yawns and looks at the horizon.

“So I guess you’re going back home to California soon, huh? After your party?”

“Yeah… but is it weird that to say that Piedmont doesn’t really feel like home anymore?”

“No.” She turns to him. “I think ‘home’ can kind of change. I never used to feel like Gravity Falls was where I belonged, honestly.”

“Really? Do you still feel that way?”

“I’m not sure… I feel at home right now though, I think.” Her cheeks grow rosier.

Dipper smiles, feeling his own cheeks warming once again as well.

“What are you gonna do? After?” he asks, not really knowing precisely how to articulate what he means, but trusting she will understand.

“I don’t know,” she laughs. “Back to school, I guess. Maybe I can convince my parents to let me start boarding. I’m just a day student right now, but there are a bunch of kids who live too far to go home at night. I wouldn’t mind staying away from my parents for awhile.” Dipper isn’t sure he completely understands how private schooling works, but before he can ask she keeps talking. “Mom and Dad—they, uh… fight a lot, you know? And I kind of think it’s just going to get worse now that we’re only really rich and not insanely rich.” She drops her chin to her rest on her right forearm, lets her left arm dangle over the side of the boat.

Dipper flashes back to four months earlier, hearing his own mom and dad say the most horrible things to one another late at night in their kitchen, long after he and Mabel were supposed to have gone to bed.

“Yeah,” he starts, slowly. “That’s… rough. I get that.”

She tilts her head to him, eyes wide. “You do?”

“Yeah...” He lets his own head fall forward, cushioned by his laced fingers. “I’m not really sure what I’m going to be walking into when we get back, either. Family-wise, I mean.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“Honestly, not really. It’s too pretty and peaceful here right now.” He meets her eyes.

“Another time then,” she says, like it’s not even a question.

He feels a smile tug at his lips. On a lot of people, such declaration would come off as presumptuous, rude even. But Pacifica’s so naturally confident and matter-of-fact that it’s just… endearing. Honest.

And he knows it’s true, too.

“Yeah, another time.”

The yacht’s crew eventually brings the boat back to the marina just as the stars are beginning to make their first appearances in the evening sky. Her driver gives him a ride home, and clambering out of back of the town car, Dipper notices Mabel peeking through the Shack’s curtains. He rolls his eyes and turns back to where Pacifica still sits in the back of the car.

“So you’re coming to our birthday tomorrow, right?” he asks.

“Duh, I am the Party Queen after all.” She winks and his stomach does a funny little flip. “It would be cruel to deprive you of my presence on your birthday.”

He laughs and shakes his head, sends her a final wave and smile over his shoulder as he makes his way back to what will almost certainly be an interrogation of epic proportions from his sister.

But, yeah, maybe Mabel is right. Maybe it is time to get his own phone.

#dipper x pacifica #pacifica northwest #dipcifica #dipper pines #dipper and pacifica #gravity falls #dippica #gravity falls fanfiction

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baddiewiththebook · 3 months

Text

Over the Years | e.m x reader [18+] | p. 1

-> The origin story of Eddie Munson, and how he fell in love with the worst person he possibly could - his best friend.

-> eddie munson x you (she/her)

-> friends to lovers, slow burn, angst

-> warnings - strong language, suggestive themes, smut [18+]

a/n - another short chapter, but please bare with me here.

-> <-

June 1972

Eddie Munson has taken your doll. Your precious princess with the silver tiara glued to the top of her head (because you lost the tiara once and you wailed for hours until your mom found it, and she decided to glue it to her head to keep this from happening again).

Never go past the porch. Your mom has repeated time and time again. So, you sit with your feet kicked out in your gingham dress that your mom insists you wear.

Across the trailer park, Eddie is counting down the minute until “blast-off.” Tying your doll to a toy rocket he got with his allowance from his uncle, he knows that this thing won’t go to Mars. Perhaps, a nice landing in the tree hanging above his house would be nice.

It would - until Uncle Wayne soils his plans.

“Eddie!” Uncle Wayne scolds with a newspaper rolled into a swatting weapon. Smacking Eddie upside the head, he warns, “you be nice to her and give her back that doll!”

Eddie huffs, “I wasn’t going to hurt it.”

“Why don’t we give her one of your toys to play with?” Wayne smirks knowing he’s about to win this tireless battle. “G.I. Joe would look pretty in a dress and a little makeover.”

“Ugh,” Eddie tears the strings that hold the princess doll hostage, “I’ll give the toy back. Jeez!”

“And apologize,” he sighs.

Eddie kicks the dirt below his feet and storms across to the trailer there. You’re a pain in his side. Blubbering about a doll? Really?

Wayne constantly reminds him that you’re younger. Actually, you’re about two years younger than Eddie. You can’t chase him around like he wishes. There’s not many kids his age in the trailer park, and the ones that are his age fear the Munson name.

You’re not sure you want to be friends with the boy who keeps taking your dolls to throw around. There isn’t much choice now that your mom has to work, and she’s handing you over to Wayne in the mornings. She offers him a list of emergency contacts, and warns him not to feed you too much sugar.

It’s then you’re left to play with the thief, who steals your dolls. And, for a while, Eddie ignores you. He digs in the dirt with a plastic shovel until he finds a slimy worm. Thinking this would be the perfect time to show you he’s in charge around here, Eddie grows a sly grin. He hovers over you, while you take a keen interest in the toy dump truck left in the sun. Dropping the worm onto your hair, you squeal and shake off the invading insect.

Despite his short victory, you’re now toying with the worm. Rolling the creature between your fingers, you find a nice spot of wet dirt for your friend to crawl around in. Muddy hands grasp at the legs of Eddie’s pants.

Wayne rolls in laughter from the porch. There hasn’t been a moment that Eddie has gone so mute. A shrunken look of dispare drops against his nephew’s face. Jutting out his lower lip, Eddie goes back into his corner to play in the dirt. It just so happens that Eddie’s crafted his own little mud pile, so he can fling a clump or two in your direction.

It isn’t until Wayne is done wiping the tears away from his eyes that he realizes what Eddie has done. Standing on his two feet, ready to scold his nephew, you’re actually too quick for him. You toss mud back.

Thus, a mud fight begins.

Mud in between your fingers and mud between your toes and maybe some mud even squeezes behind your ears.

Wayne waves his hands desperately trying to get the children to stop throwing mud at each other, but alas it is far too late. By the time he gets either of you wrangled, you’re dripping in muck and so is Eddie.

There’s no way he’s trusting either of you inside of his house in such a state. Wayne gathers a garden hose from his neighbor, who will just have to deal with it.

The older man makes sure the water won't freeze your skin, or cook you dry before holding the nozzle at your feet.

“Spin,” Wayne directs.

You wave your chubby little arms back and forth, before wobbling in a semi circle. Warm water douses your entire body. Still, mud manages to cling to the parts of you that Wayne doesn’t see. You’ll have a bath later in his house, and Wayne will offer you some of Eddie’s clothes that he’s outgrown.

During Eddie’s hose down, the young boy shakes and rattles like a wet dog. He flings a disastrous amount of dirt across the trailer park, and onto you and Wayne. Before he can wrap a towel around Eddie, the boy is weaving past him into the house so he can get to the shower first.

“Boys,” Wayne rolls his eyes.

You giggle at this.

“Oh, but you’re as pretty as a peach,” he tells you, “don’t worry. My nephew will come around.”

Wayne brings you inside, and has to help you bathe yourself off. At first, he lets you splash around in the water by yourself feeling a bit uncomfortable washing a young girl. When you discover the joy of throwing water outside of the shower, Wayne steps in to help you. He’s also there to wrap you in a towel, and he helps dress you.

Eddie has already claimed a comfortable spot on the couch. There’s a screeching car chase happening on the blaring television in front of you. This couldn’t possibly be what your mother would approve of you watching.

Wayne’s belly tightens.

“Ed-,” but he stops himself.

Bobbling around the carpeted living room, you squeeze around the shoes left in the middle of the floor. You’re reaching the edge of the sofa where Eddie is. Eddie breaks from the television to scoot forward to the edge of the couch. He puts his thumbs under your armpits and holds onto your chest tight as he lifts you onto the couch with him.

Eddie doesn’t really think you’ll scoot in so close to him. There’s plenty of room that even his uncle could fit between you two. But, you chase after him as he gets comfortable sunken into the cushions.

There’s a moment when the older boy freezes unsure how to handle another person in his space. His eyes go wide and stare a hole through your head. It’s curious your mom chose to put your hair in pigtails - anyone could tug at them. As tempting as that might be, Eddie resists the urge when the car on television crashes on the side of the road. You slap your hands together and laugh.

Wayne mutely coos at the two kids on the couch. Perhaps his nephew will have a real friend out of you one day. That would warm his heart.

“Uncle Wayne?” Eddie kicks his feet out.

“Yeah?” Wayne replies.

“Can we have popcorn?”

“Sure, kid."

-> <-

[Sep. 1974]

tags -> @leelei1980 @sheneedsrocknroll92

#eddie munson x female!reader #eddie munson #stranger things #stranger things imagine #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #eddie munson preference #eddie munson fic #stranger things fic

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transform4u · 3 months

Text

Sin of Pride

Derek Day, 35, had carved out a thriving career in marketing strategy, navigating the vibrant streets of New York City with a calculated finesse. After years of climbing the corporate ladder, he had secured a comfortable penthouse overlooking Central Park—a sanctuary amidst the urban hustle where Derek, alongside his husband, Alex, cherished morning walks with their dog.

Always affable, Derek effortlessly blended into any social setting with a warmth that drew people in. Yet, the youthful nights of endless parties in Manhattan's glittering nightlife had waned for him. What used to be a whirlwind of glamorous events and exclusive clubs now felt hollow and exhausting. Raised in a bustling suburb of Boston, Derek thrived in an environment steeped in academia and creativity. From a young age, he gravitated towards literature and history, finding solace in intellectual pursuits.

Switching into casual attire, Derek glanced at his reflection in the mirror, noting the slight wrinkles that marked his aging face. Instead of chasing after the next big party, his evenings were now filled with dinners with close friends—writers, musicians, and fellow intellectuals.

Tonight, longing to recapture a spark of his youth, Derek decided to visit one of his favorite gay bars in the Village. Though lately, he had often ended up at the piano bar down the street, singing showtunes and enjoying a sensible glass of wine, tonight was different. The pulsating rhythm of Pride weekend in New York City filled the air of the vibrant gay bar, an explosion of colors and bodies entwined in celebration. Rainbow flags draped from the ceiling fluttered in the chaotic whirl of flashing lights, while the beat of music throbbed through every corner of the crowded venue. A Kylie Minogue anthem continued to erupt from the speakers, igniting a wave of cheers and applause.

♪ "Can't get you out of my head Boy, your loving is all I think about" ♪ Half-naked men in glittering shorts spun around with abandon, their bodies glistening under the neon glow. Shirtless twinks danced, bears in leather harnesses clinked glasses of rainbow-colored cocktails with daddies. Jocks, leaning against the bar, flicked through their phones, lost in a series of Grindr messages.

In the dimly lit back, the stage lights flickered to life, casting an eerie red hue that contrasted starkly against the rainbow-splashed surroundings. Dressed in a gown of deepest crimson that cascaded like spilled blood, the mysterious drag queen known only as Lilith Lamentation stepped into the spotlight. Her face, painted with an otherworldly beauty, bore an enigmatic smile that hinted at ancient secrets and dark desires.

As Kylie blared over the speakers, Derek was reminded why he didn't frequent such places anymore. He contemplated heading home, but then the sound of a campy showtune and the allure of a mysterious drag queen's performance beckoned from the back room.

Ordering a crafted cocktail, Derek found himself drawn towards the music, his steps guided by curiosity and a yearning for something new and vibrant in his life.

As Lilith glided across the stage, her gaze pierced through the sea of faces, a silent promise of something beyond the ordinary. Her voice, when she spoke, carried a mesmerizing cadence that held the audience captive.

"I bring Lilith's gift of Virility and Strength," she hissed, her words laced with a chilling undertone that seemed to echo through the very foundations of the bar. "For you, and for all in your tiny, vile, incessant universe."

The crowd erupted into cheers, mistaking Lilith's words as just another campy performance. They clapped and whistled, caught up in the spell woven by her presence, unaware of the ancient power that pulsed beneath her theatrical veneer.

Meanwhile, Lilith continued her hypnotic dance, lip-syncing a campy showtune like she was Bette Midler in Hocus Pocus. Her movements were deliberate, each step a silent proclamation of dominance over the fleeting pleasures of the mortal realm.

And as the crowd grew, Lilith's smile widened, her eyes gleaming with the knowledge that tonight, she would claim her due from those who dared to indulge in the euphoria of the night.

As the final crescendo of the campy anthem filled the air, Lilith stood at the center of the stage, a mesmerizing figure amidst the pulsating lights and swirling colors of the gay bar. Her voice, dripping with allure and mystery, carried over the ecstatic crowd. "Come on you poor unfortunate soul, Go ahead! Make your choice!"

Derek, amidst the swirling sea of revelers, felt an inexplicable force guiding him forward. It was as though Lilith's eyes, dark and mesmerizing, had locked onto his with an unbreakable gaze. "And for my next trick, I need one brave volunteer," Lilith hissed, her words dripping with a seductive promise that seemed to pull Derek through the pulsating crowd against his own will.

"I volunteer!" Derek's voice erupted, a blend of exhilaration and uncertainty echoing in the cacophony of cheers and music. His steps were propelled towards the stage where Lilith stood, a figure bathed in the neon glow of the bar's lights, radiating an aura of mystery and power.

"So, sweetie, tell me, are you having a glorious Pride weekend?" Lilith's voice, smooth and intoxicating, resonated intimately as if she already knew the deepest secrets of Derek's heart.

"Oh, yeah. I rarely go out anymore, what with my loving husband and always being so busy at work," Derek blurted out, his words rushing forth in an attempt to bridge the enigmatic connection Lilith seemed to forge.

"How nice… But wouldn't you like to relax? Wouldn't you prefer a life that was easy?" Lilith's smile widened, a glint of mischief dancing in her eyes like shards of broken mirrors reflecting hidden desires.

"I mean, sure… But you know us gays, we're always busy," Derek replied, his voice tinged with a mix of hesitation and fascination under Lilith's penetrating stare.

"Don't worry, Derek. I'll soon fix that," Lilith's tone dropped to a whisper, her gaze delving into Derek's with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. "Oh, Derek, I see such fire in you. Such anger. Why do you hate straight men so much?"

"I don't… They're just… They're just all so dumb. They act like they're so great with their big muscles, telling everyone what to do. They're so obnoxious and crude. Like, I tried to rush a frat in college and they wouldn't let me because I'm gay," Derek's words spilled out, each syllable laced with a mixture of bitterness and defiance.

"Oh, Derek. That's exactly what I wanted to hear," Lilith's voice carried a knowing edge, a subtle promise of something profound stirring beneath the surface. "Think back to all those cruel, obnoxious, crude straight men. Those muscles. Those frat boys. Because soon, you're going to be just like them."

A charged silence fell over the crowd, a moment pregnant with anticipation as Lilith's words hung in the air. Then, as if under Lilith's enchantment, the room erupted into cheers and applause. Wicked grins spread across the faces of twinks, bears, daddies, and every gay man present, reveling in the impending spectacle.

Derek stood on the stage, bathed in the kaleidoscope of lights—reds, greens, purples, and blues swirling around him in a mesmerizing dance. The disco ball above spun faster, casting fragmented reflections that mirrored the tumultuous whirl of emotions within him.

In that fleeting moment, Derek felt a profound shift, as if Lilith's gaze had unlocked a hidden part of himself. Her eyes held him captive, a silent promise of transformation that beckoned him into a realm where identities blurred and possibilities stretched beyond the horizon.

As the disco ball above them spun, casting fractured beams of light across the stage, Lilith's voice resonated through the air, weaving a dark incantation into the throbbing pulse of the club. "Embrace the bro within his soul's domain, Let toxic traits unleash and reign. From caring man to crude and bold, Shape his spirit, let the story unfold!"

The music momentarily ceased, creating a brief, eerie silence that hung like a veil over the crowd. In that pregnant pause, Derek felt a strange sensation creeping through his mind, a dull ache that intensified with each passing second. He brought his hands to his temples, trying to soothe the throbbing pain that seemed to radiate from within.

His thoughts, once clear and sharp, began to muddle. Concepts he had effortlessly grasped earlier in the evening now slipped through his fingers like sand. Memories of his husband, Alex, flickered in his mind, but they seemed distant, as if shrouded in a haze that dulled their clarity. His marketing expertise, honed over years of diligent work, felt like a distant echo fading into the background.

Meanwhile, unseen to Derek but palpable in the changing air around him, his face began to shift. His weak chin squared off, morphing into a strong, chiseled jawline reminiscent of a jock's confident smirk. His nose widened slightly, and his eyes, once warm and expressive, furrowed into a steely gaze that spoke of brash determination. Lips that were once unassuming plumped up subtly, while his teeth, previously ordinary, gleamed with an unnatural perfection and whiteness.

The transformation continued as Derek's face altered further, the lines and wrinkles that hinted at his age smoothing away as if erased by an invisible hand. His hair, styled in its usual manner, shifted gradually to a sharp fade, a haircut sported by the athletic jocks he had envied in his college days. Its color shifted subtly, mirroring the vibrant hues often seen among those who exuded confidence and swagger.

Before Derek's bewildered eyes, his reflection in a nearby mirror no longer resembled the man he knew. It was a face that carried an air of entitlement, of privilege.

And as the beats of the club music resumed their pulsating rhythm, Derek felt a strange sense of detachment from the life he had once known. His memories of Alex faded like wisps of smoke, his career achievements slipping away into the abyss of forgotten knowledge. He was no longer the man who had walked into the bar that evening; he had become something else entirely, a creation of Lilith's spell that now prowled the stage with a newfound confidence and arrogance.

As Lilith's dark magic continued to surge through Derek, a peculiar sensation gripped him—a feeling of time unraveling, pulling him backward through the years of his life. The dull ache in his head intensified, pulsing in rhythm with the shifting memories and sensations.

At 34, Derek felt a surge of youthful energy, memories of recent years slipping away like pages torn from a book. He blinked, finding himself at 30, the weight of responsibilities and adult concerns diminishing. At 26, the carefree spirit of his mid-twenties enveloped him, followed swiftly by the uncertainty and excitement of being 23. Then, at 21, he stood on the precipice of young adulthood, the world brimming with possibilities. He was just a junior in college, barely making it by.

Through the haze of confusion, Derek's awareness wavered. He chuckled dumbly, a laugh that echoed with a newfound simplicity. "Uh, what the fuck bro. What am I doing in front of all these people?" His voice, once articulate and refined, now carried a rawness, a rugged quality that matched his shifting persona.

"Oh, sweetie. You volunteered, don't worry. We have a few prizes for you. Care for a shot?" Lilith's voice, smooth as silk yet tinged with malice, cut through Derek's befuddled state.

"Fuck yeah, bro!" Derek's reply boomed with a deeper timbre, his adam's apple visibly protruding as his voice dropped several octaves. He eagerly accepted the shot offered by Lilith, the liquid burning down his throat like liquid fire.

As the fiery concoction coursed through him, Derek felt an intense heat spreading from within. His clothes, once neat and casual, began to morph and change. The basic flannel shirt and jeans dissolved into sweaty gym clothes—a ratty shirt clinging to his broadening chest and shorts that hugged his thickening thighs.

Derek's muscles ignited with a burning sensation, expanding and bulging with each passing second. His pecs swelled into thick mounds of manly flesh, straining against the confines of his shirt until it burst open, shredded into tattered nothingness. His abs popped into existence, chiseled and defined, forming a tight eight-pack that rippled with every breath.

His biceps ballooned, veins pulsing with newfound strength as they tore through the sleeves of his shirt. The muscles of his shoulders broadened, widening his frame until he felt like he could barely fit through the stage doors. His quads and legs, once slender, bulked up with dense muscle, his stance becoming more stable but heavier with each breath.

Standing on stage, Derek breathed heavily, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his transformed body. He flexed instinctively, feeling the power coursing through his veins, a sensation that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Lillith smiles and nods, "Good, now imagine that you are one of those jocks you hated so much. You're at a party with all your friends, drinking and having a great time. Suddenly, you feel an intense pain in your chest. It's like someone is squeezing your heart with their bare hands. Think about what those idiot bros craved so much" "Beer, boobs and bros" Derek grunts to Lilith, between a dumb-as-nails laugh that seems to ring throughout the crowd.

Derek gasps as he imagines the feeling of his heart being crushed by invisible hands. The pain is unbearable and he can't breathe properly. He tries to scream but no sound comes out of his mouth. His vision starts to blur and everything around him starts spinning rapidly.

Derek's mind drifts back to one of his many drunken nights at the frat party, where he had been hitting on girls and trying to impress everyone with his macho behavior. He remembers how he had downed shot after shot, feeling invincible and ready to take on the world. But then something caught his eye - two guys making out in the corner of the room.

At first, Derek tried to ignore it; after all, it was just a couple of guys having some fun, right? But as they continued their public display of affection, Derek couldn't help but feel uncomfortable. His homophobia started to grow stronger with each passing moment. He began thinking about how disgusting it was for men to be so openly gay in public like that. It made him sick!

Suddenly filled with rage and an overwhelming sense of masculinity , Derek stumbled towards the edge of the stage, the two men who were now locked in a passionate embrace. "Quit it you fags!" he screamed at them while flexing his chest muscles for added effect.

Derek was becoming everything he hated in straight men, caricature of toxic masculinity unfolded with a hypnotic allure that captivated the crowd. His once relaxed demeanor shifted into a display of exaggerated machismo. He was becoming nothing more than a dumbass, toxic straight douchebag.

With newfound swagger, Derek squared his broad shoulders and flexed his muscles, each movement deliberate and exaggerated. His shirt strained against his bulging arms, a visual testament to the physical strength he now glorified. As he strutted across the stage, the crowd roared in approval, their cheers echoing off the rainbow-adorned walls.

Memories flooded Derek's mind, snapshots of wild frat parties where he had been the life of the raucous gatherings. He recalled the adrenaline rush of football games, the thunderous applause as he led his team to victory. The intense memory of being named captain surged through his thoughts, filling him with a sense of invincibility and entitlement.

Derek's cognitive faculties seemed to simplify. Basic math calculations became secondary to posturing and asserting his newfound persona as an alpha male.

As the memories of his past hookups and the frat flooded his mind, Derek's actions became larger than life. He leaned into the role of a swaggering jock, embodying stereotypes of entitlement and arrogance. The crowd, caught up in the spectacle, cheered louder with each display of machismo, celebrating Derek's transformation into a symbol of exaggerated masculinity.

His newfound demeanor allowed him to act like an unapologetic jerk without consequence. He would interrupt conversations with dismissive remarks, mockingly tease others, and even flirt shamelessly, often crossing boundaries with his comments. Despite his behavior, people didn't recoil; instead, they laughed and admired his audacity.

Derek's popularity seemed to soar regardless of his actions. People sought his attention and approval, drawn to his confident demeanor and the allure of his unfiltered personality. His ability to command attention made him the life of the party, the center of every conversation, and the subject of admiration among many.

One vivid memory from Derek's upbringing flashed through his mind—a childhood spent in opulence, shielded by wealthy parents who indulged his every whim. He recalled demanding the latest gadgets, designer clothes, and extravagant vacations without hesitation. His sense of entitlement grew with every fulfilled desire, shaping him into someone who took what he wanted without consideration for others.

Lilith observed him with a mix of amusement and calculation. She leaned in close, her voice cutting through the music, "Now Derek—hmmm, Derek is such a boring name. You're much more like a—Thad," she declared with a sly smile. "You drip wealth and arrogance with every breath you take."

At Lilith's words, something shifted. The name "Derek" seemed to dissolve into the air, overshadowed by the swaggering persona of Thad. The crowd, caught up in the spectacle, erupted into cheers and applause. They raised their glasses in a toast to Thad, celebrating his transformation into a symbol of audacious entitlement and unbridled privilege. You see it wasn't just Derek's mind-altering him, the crowd fueled his change into the most obnoxious, toxic straight bro. Someone they secretly wished they could fuck but could never have.

Thad, now fully embracing his new identity, flexed his muscles and strutted confidently through the bar. His face bore a smug grin, embodying the embodiment of self-assuredness and entitlement. In this moment, he was no longer Derek, the mild-mannered professional; he had become Thad, the embodiment of wealth, arrogance, and societal rebellion.

As the night wore on, Thad's presence loomed larger, overshadowing any trace of the person Derek once was. His actions and words became increasingly brazen, drawing admiration and laughter from the crowd. To them, Thad was a hero—an icon who defied norms and embraced a life without boundaries.

Lilith watched with satisfaction as Thad's persona continued to grow stronger throughout the night. She could see the change in him, how he was becoming more confident and assertive with each passing moment. It was as if a newfound power had awakened within him, one that allowed him to push past his previous limitations and embrace a life of unrestrained desire.

As Thad walked up to the busty blonde bimbo who had been eyeing him all night, Lilith couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement. She could see the lustful thoughts running through his mind as he imagined hooking up with her - it was almost palpable how hard his dick got at the thought of it. This was exactly what she wanted for him - unbridled passion and carnal desires that knew no bounds.

As Thad approached the blonde bimbo, he couldn't help but flex his massive biceps for her benefit. She giggled dumbly at his display of bravado before playfully slapping him on the chest. "Ooh, you're so strong!" she cooed in her ditzy voice.

Thad grinned smugly and ordered a round of shots for them both. They clinked glasses and downed their drinks in one go, their eyes meeting with an unspoken understanding that this was just the beginning of a night filled with debauchery and pleasure.

Without another word, Thad leaned in and started making out with the blonde bimbo passionately. His hands roamed freely over her body as he groped her ass cheeks and squeezed her ample breasts through her tight dress. She moaned into his mouth, encouraging him to take what he wanted from her without hesitation or shame.

As Thad whispers into the blonde bimbo's ear, "Hey, babe. Why don't we go back to my frat house. You'll love it. hahaha" The dumb blonde can only giggle uncontrollably. Her eyes light up with excitement as she nods her head eagerly, grabbing onto his arm possessively. They stumble out of the bar together, laughing and shouting over the loud music that still plays inside.

Outside, it's a cool summer night with a light breeze blowing through campus. The air is filled with the scent of summer and alcohol as they make their way back to Thad's frat house. As they approach the front door, it swings open revealing an absolute mess: beer cans littered everywhere; pizza boxes stacked high on top of each other; empty bottles strewn about like confetti; couches covered in stains from God knows what substance… It truly is a disgusting sight to behold!

Undeterred by their surroundings or lack of hygiene, Thad leads his new conquest upstairs to one of many bedrooms filled with similarly disheveled furniture and filthier sheets than you could imagine possible. Once inside this makeshift love nest he begins undressing her slowly while she helps him remove his clothes faster than he can manage alone due to how drunk he was at this point.

Their hookup is nothing short of passionate yet sloppy – kisses are sloppily exchanged while hands roam freely across each other’s bodies without any regard for personal space or boundaries. They move from making out on top of unmade bedsheets stained beyond recognition towards grinding against one another before finally collapsing onto said bed in an exhausted heap post-coital bliss… Or maybe just exhaustion? Who knows?

All that matters now to Thad is the fact that he's the king of his domain – the big man on campus. He loves being able to strut around with an air of superiority, knowing that everyone looks up to him and wants to be like him. His life as an entitled fratbro is everything he could have ever wanted: endless parties filled with booze, drugs, and beautiful women; never-ending streams of money from parents who don't want their precious little boy getting into trouble; and most importantly, respect from his peers for being one of the biggest, douchiest guys around.

Thad takes pride in his physical strength too – working out religiously every day so he can flex those muscles whenever possible. He enjoys showing off by picking up girls or throwing back shots like they were nothing more than water bottles at a high school football game. And let's not forget about all those ridiculous hazing rituals designed specifically for new pledges - nothing makes Thad feel more powerful than watching some poor freshman suffer through them while everyone else laughs. Thad was hot shit and he knew it.

#gay to straight #male tf #transformation #douchebag tf #homophobia #nerd to jock tf #jock tf

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misswynters · 15 days

Text

Lure in the Deep

Ewan Mitchel x reader

[SYNOPSIS: You both are actors starring in a movie where he plays a sailor and you play a siren.

[note | it’s a bit cheesy and short, but i just had to write something!, will probably fix later

Massive blue screens surrounded a large water tank, the waves created by hidden machinery that mimicked the gentle rise and fall of the ocean. The ship, a meticulously crafted replica of an old sailing vessel, bobbed in the artificial water, its sails catching the wind from strategically placed fans. It was a perfect illusion, transporting anyone who stepped onto the set to another world.

You stood just off to the side, dressed in a shimmering costume that clung to your form, reflecting the light like scales. Your role in the film was one that had drawn you in the moment you read the script—a siren, the embodiment of the sea's allure, cursed to sing men to their doom. The role required a delicate balance of ethereal beauty and an underlying darkness, a challenge you relished.

Across the set, Ewan Mitchell was getting into character. His transformation into the role of the sailor, a man hardened by years at sea yet still capable of wonder, was nothing short of remarkable. Ewan had an intensity about him that made every role he took on feel deeply personal, and this one was no exception. His sailor was a man haunted by the sea’s beauty and danger, drawn to it despite the peril it posed.

The scene you were about to shoot was a pivotal one, where your characters would meet for the first time—a moment of tension, temptation, and mystery. It was one of the most crucial parts of the film, the moment where the sailor’s fate would be sealed by the siren’s song.

The director, a meticulous man with a passion for detail, called for quiet on the set. The crew hushed, the sound of the waves and the creaking of the ship filling the silence. The cameras were ready, focused on the ship as it drifted through the water.

You took a deep breath, letting yourself sink into the character of the siren. You were no longer yourself—you were an ancient being, bound to the sea, cursed to live beneath its surface, and doomed to lure sailors to their doom with your voice. The script had described the siren as both haunting and irresistible, a creature of beauty and danger in equal measure.

“Action!” the director called.

The cameras began to roll, and the scene came to life. Ewan’s sailor stood at the bow of the ship, his hands gripping the railing as he stared out over the dark water. The wind whipped through his hair, and his eyes were distant, lost in thought. He was the perfect picture of a man who had seen too much yet still found himself entranced by the mysteries of the sea.

As per the script, you began to sing, your voice soft and melodic, carrying across the water like a whisper on the wind. The song was one of longing and loss, a siren’s call designed to draw the sailor in, to make him forget everything but the voice that beckoned him closer. Your character’s voice was meant to be her most powerful weapon, a lure that no mortal man could resist.

Ewan’s sailor stiffened as the sound reached his ears. His eyes searched the water, trying to locate the source of the song. The camera captured the moment perfectly—his confusion, his curiosity, and the growing pull of the siren’s voice. You could see the internal struggle playing out in his expression, a man torn between his instincts and the overwhelming urge to follow the sound.

Following the director's cues, you slowly emerged from the water, just enough for the sailor to catch a glimpse of your character. Your costume shimmered in the moonlight, your eyes meeting his with a gaze that was both inviting and foreboding.

Ewan’s performance was captivating. His character’s eyes widened slightly as they locked onto yours, a mix of fear and fascination crossing his face. The camera lingered on this moment—the siren and the sailor, their fates intertwined by the pull of the ocean and the curse that bound you.

The scene was supposed to be tense, filled with the unspoken promise of danger and the inevitability of the sailor’s doom. You could feel the energy between you and Ewan, a silent understanding that made the scene feel real, almost too real. It was as if the set had vanished, leaving only the two of you, the sea, and the siren’s song.

As you continued to sing, Ewan’s character slowly stepped closer to the edge of the ship, his movements almost trance-like. The script had called for him to be drawn in, compelled to move closer despite knowing the danger. Ewan’s portrayal was spot-on—his body language conveying both the struggle to resist and the growing compulsion to surrender.

The director had planned for this moment to be one of slow, deliberate tension, but there was an electricity in the air that neither of you could ignore. The scene was taking on a life of its own, evolving beyond the words on the page.

Suddenly, the director called for a cut, his voice breaking through the spell. The crew erupted into motion, the illusion shattered as people rushed to reset for the next take.

You and Ewan stayed in place, both of you still caught in the intensity of the moment. His eyes met yours, and for a brief second, you wondered if he had been as deeply affected by the scene as you had. There was something in his gaze—a lingering connection, perhaps, or just the residue of a powerful performance.

“That was… something,” Ewan said quietly, breaking the silence between you. His voice was still tinged with the emotion of the scene, a testament to how deeply he had immersed himself in the role.

You nodded, trying to shake off the lingering effects of the scene. “Yeah. It felt… different.”

He gave a small, almost shy smile. “You make it easy to get lost in the moment.”

The compliment caught you off guard, but you managed a smile in return. “Likewise. Your performance was incredible.

Ewan shrugged, his modesty a sharp contrast to the intensity he brought to his characters. “Just trying to keep up with you.”

Before you could respond, the director approached, a wide grin on his face. “That was fantastic, you two. Absolutely perfect. Let’s get one more take, just for safety, but I think we’ve got it.”

The crew reset the scene, and you took your place in the water once more, waiting for the cameras to roll. As the lights dimmed and the ship was once again bathed in moonlight, you felt that familiar pull, the transformation back into the siren who haunted the deep.

“Action!” the director called, and the scene began anew.

Once more, the song rose from your throat, the melody haunting and beautiful. Ewan’s sailor reacted just as before, his body drawn to the edge of the ship by the irresistible pull of the siren’s call. But this time, something was different—there was a depth to the connection between your characters that hadn’t been there in the previous take. It was subtle, but it was enough to change the tone of the scene, adding layers of emotion that made it even more compelling.

As the scene played out, you found yourself lost in the moment, the line between reality and fiction blurring once more. There was a raw intensity to Ewan’s performance that drew you in, making it feel as if you were truly the siren and he the doomed sailor.

When the director finally called “Cut!” you both stayed in character for a beat longer than necessary, the weight of the scene lingering in the air. It wasn’t until the crew began to move around you that you snapped out of it, the spell broken.

“That was… wow,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Ewan nodded, his expression still distant, as if he hadn’t fully come back to reality yet. “Yeah. That felt… real.”

You smiled, the tension between you easing as you both returned to yourselves. “You really brought the character to life. It was incredible to watch.”

He returned the smile, this time with a hint of his usual charm. “I could say the same about you. I think we make a pretty good team.”

As the crew began to dismantle the set, you and Ewan lingered for a moment, the connection between you still humming in the air. It was a connection born from your characters, from the intensity of the scene you had just shared, but there was something else too—a spark that made you wonder if it was only acting or if there was something more.

“Maybe we’ll get to work together again,” Ewan said, his voice laced with a hint of hope.

“I’d like that,” you replied, your smile widening. “I’d like that a lot.”

And as the lights dimmed on the set of “Lure of the Deep”, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, there was more to the story yet to be written.

taglist: @spn-obession @soulsbrne @beebeechaos @mymoonempress @demigoddessqueens

banner: @cafekitsune

#house of the dragon #hotd fanfic #hotd season 2 #hotd imagine #hotd x reader #ewan mitchel x reader #ewan mitchell #ewan x reader #aemond x fem!reader #aemond x you #aemond x reader #actor x reader

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ks-dreams-fantasies · 1 year

Text

a/n: I haven't been on here in forever! This one is about Travis Kelce because I think everyone should be obsessed with him. Here, Enjoy !

Warnings: Fluff, Teasing, Smut (F receiving)

Words: 2,391 (Not proofread)

Pairing: Travis Kelce x Reader

MIDNIGHT FUN | TRAVIS KELCE

The night was alive with the buzz of the charity event. Good music was playing, the clinking of glasses could be heard as well as the hum of conversations from people talking and laughing. All kinds of fortunate individuals filled the room: singers, actors, athletes and many more. In the heart of the elegant venue, amidst the sea of well-dressed guests, you stood making cocktails behind the main bar.

You were too busy serving drinks to notice the pair of eyes burning into you. You finished making your Negroni before handing it to the guy that was waiting at the bar, giving him a smile. He tipped and thanked you before moving away, leaving you to make direct eye-contact with the tall and muscular man standing behind him, a few feet away from you. He was in a conversation with some other guys, but he wasn’t really paying attention to what they were saying, his gaze focused on you. You diverted your eyes, as a short blond lady waved at you, you moved towards her and her friends for their order before getting right back to work.

From where he stood, he could see your body moving smoothly behind the bar. You were in your element, and it showed. Your eyes were sparkling with a quiet confidence as you meticulously crafted some exquisite cocktails for all these known faces. Travis, never one to shy away from seizing an opportunity, excused himself before approaching the bar.

You turned your attention to his towering presence, your gaze meeting his with a mix of professionalism and intrigue. ‘’Evening, what can I get you sir?’’ you asked, your voice carrying a subtle note of confidence.

Travis, ever the charismatic figure, studied the array of bottles with a playful glint in his eyes before looking back at you. ‘’I’ll have whatever you’re having.’’ He replied, his voice carrying the resonance of someone accustomed to taking risks. You squinted your eyes, smirking with a hint of playful challenge.

‘’Are you sure you can handle it?’’ Travis chuckled, his confidence unwavering. ‘’I can handle anything baby.’’

You accepted the challenge with a nod before turning around to retrieve the bottles you needed as you blushed lightly. As you began crafting a complex cocktail, your fingers moving with precision, Travis couldn’t help but to look you up and down, analyzing your every move.

You were wearing a little classy black dress, that was hugging you in all the right places and showing just the perfect amount of cleavage. He licked his lips looking as you poured the liquid mixture into two different glasses.

You handed him his drink before he held his glass and nodded his head towards you. You watched him take a sip as you took yours, your eyes dancing with amusement.

The cocktail was a masterpiece, a blend of flavors that left Travis genuinely impressed. ‘’You have a way with those drinks.’’ Travis remarked, leaning casually against the bar. You glanced up, a playful smile playing on your lips. ‘’Well, it’s all about finding the right combination, isn’t it?’’

His gaze held yours, a magnetic pull that neither could deny. ‘’I’d say it’s more the person behind the bar. The drinks are just a bonus.’’

You arched an eyebrow, your eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘’You clearly know what to say to charm the ladies.’’ He grinned, unfazed. ‘’Good thing I have plenty more where that came from.’’

You laughed before some older guy called for you to serve him. ‘’If you’ll excuse me.’’ You said before attending the other guests leaving Travis with interest and desire in his eyes. He went back to his teammates, Pat nudging him with his elbow. ‘’ Shut up, man.’’ Travis responded with a chuckled.

After a while, your colleague came back behind the bar, signaling that it was your time to take a small break and get some fresh air in the back of the building. You sat down on a bench outside, taking in the breeze on your warm skin. You couldn’t help but think about your interaction with Travis. His confidence on the field was only matched by his charisma off it. You had to admit, he was smooth.

Travis was there to support a cause close to his heart, an organization that provided opportunities for underprivileged youth. He was enjoying his night, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the pretty girl behind the bar. From the corner of his eyes, he spotted your figure back behind the marble counter. Travis had been talking with Jimmy Fallon and Paul Rudd about the upcoming game against the Jets. They exchanged for a little bit, before Travis noticed his glass was now empty. He excused himself from the pair to get himself another drink.

He strode through the crowd, his tailored suit fitting him like a second skin, a charming smile on his face. Your eyes met again once he approached you. ‘’Hi again.’’ He said with a grin ‘’Your drink was so good, it’s already empty.’’

‘’Well, what do you want me to tell you, I’m good at what I do.’’ You replied playfully ‘’Would you like another drink?’’ He nodded softly leaning closer towards you. ‘’Surprise me.’’

His low voice made you clench your tights slightly as you smiled and started to work your magic. You extended your arm handing him a new concoction. You leaned in close, your voice a sultry whisper. ‘’I call this one the ‘Midnight Fun’, one of my personal favorites.’’

‘’Oh yeah? And what kind of fun should I be expecting at midnight?’’ Your pulse quickened, the air suddenly charged with an electric energy. You felt bold so you got on your tiptoes, moving your upper body over the bar, you face resting near his ear. ‘’You would be lucky to find out.’’

The moment the words left your mouth, Travis’s eyes turned dark. You stayed there a few more seconds, giving him a perfect view of your chest before you pulled away slowly with a wink.

Before he was able to speak, you turned around hearing a low grunt coming from his throat. You moved further down the bar, glancing at him over your shoulder, smirking with a sense of victory. Travis’s eyes were glued to your ass, not even trying to hide it as he tugged his bottom lip between his teeth.

‘’She’s got you wrapped around her finger man.’’ Pat said as he landed a hand on his shoulder, chuckling lightly.

As the night wore on, the lively atmosphere of the charity event seemed to fade into a background hum, leaving you and Travis in your own intimate world. You found yourselves in a playful dance of glances, your chemistry becoming more palpable with every passing moment.

‘’ You know, I never got your name.’’ You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was, you recognized his voice and his cologne the moment he approached you. ‘’Y/N’’ you answered as you grabbed some bottles, starting a new drink for the clients on your left. You asked him his name in return, and he looked slightly taken aback. You knew who he was, but you didn’t want him to have the satisfaction of knowing that you were a football lover just yet, so you made it seem as if he was just another guy at a charity event.

‘’I’m Travis’’ he answered, leaning in closer to you, his voice a low, velvet caress. ‘’I must say, you have a way with your hands Y/N. The way you handle those bottles…’’

You met his gaze, a sly smile playing at the corners of your lips. ‘’Oh Travis, it’s all in the wrist action. You have to know just how to … control the flow.’’ He chuckled, the double entendre not lost on him. You finished the drinks, handing them to the two ladies, waiting patiently for their cocktails before looking back at Travis, a small grin on your face.

His gaze never wavered from yours. The room seemed to shrink around you guys, leaving only the two of you in your own intimate bubble. ‘’I have to admit, I’m rather envious of those lucky bottles. They get to feel your touch all night long.’’

You leaned in closer, your lips grazing his ear. ‘’If only you knew just how much I can do with my hands.’’ You leaned back and could see the desire in his eyes. Your fingertips drifted on his firm hand that was laying on the counter in front of you. ‘’If you’ll excuse me, I have to use the restroom, I’ll be right back.’’

He wanted to follow you but he wasn’t sure if he should, he looked at you go as you swayed your hips, glancing at him over your shoulder, winking at the tall man. He followed close behind, looking around to make sure no one was paying attention to what he was about to do.

He grabbed your waist tightly and pulled you into an unoccupied bathroom, pushing your back to the wall after he closed the door and locked it. You looked up to him at the noticeable heigh difference. You exchanged looks and you both could feel the tension in the small room.

He took one step closer to you as he stared at your lips for a moment, coming back to your eyes. He sighed and you just couldn’t take it anymore. You grabbed him by the neck and crossed the small distance between you so that your mouths could touch.

Travis cupped your face with his right hand as his left one grabbed your waist again. The moment was heated, the kiss was rough and filled with desire. Your hand navigated to his chest feeling his toned muscles contract at your touch. You sucked on his bottom lip, gaining a low grunt from him before you smiled slightly against his mouth. You pulled your face back for a second, and could feel him breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling against your body. Travis went back to your lips hungrily, and in that moment the only thing you could focus on was him and the feeling of fire pooling in your lower abdomen.

He bit his teeth down on your lip and dragged it backwards, eliciting a moan from the back of your throat. He pressed his body to yours like it was even possible as he buried his face into your neck, kissing along your jawline. He ran his tongue on your exposed collarbone, hands circling your body as they landed on your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly.

‘’Fuck, Travis.’’ You panted, your hand running across the waistband of his trousers.

‘’I’ve been wanting to do that all night, baby.’’ His voice rasped as he continued to travel his hands down your body. He caressed your leg before bringing it up to his hip, as the hand he placed on your thigh began to slither up towards the part of your body that needed him the most.

Travis’s fingertips finally get to the fabric covering your heated folds. You nodded before he effortlessly placed his hand over your black lace underwear, perfectly over your slit.

‘’Already so wet.’’ He playfully whispered as he rubbed upwards, feeling the wetness in between your tights. He slid your underwear down your legs as he bent down to pick them up and carefully placed them in the front pocket of his blazer.

‘’I’ll keep those.’’ He said smirking and looking up at you. You looked down towards him, your eyes meeting once again, as you anticipated his next move. He brought your right leg over his shoulder for much better access. He started kissing and licking the inside of your thigh carefully, edging you closer as you moaned quietly.

Before you could understand what was happening, he swiftly grabbed your other leg and placed it against his head, standing up again to his full heigh as you shrieked in surprise and excitement. Your body was now resting against the cold tiles, one of your hand was resting on the ceiling and the other on the back of Travis’s head as his shoulders supported the entirety of your weight.

Before you could even ask him to do anything, you felt his mouth apply pressure to your wet pussy, his tongue lapping at your folds with expertise. The new sensation caused you to let out a soft moan and you could feel Travis smile against you.

The knock on the door startled you, but Travis dismissed it quickly.

‘’Occupied’’ he said loudly, so the person on the other side of the wall could hear him properly. He quickly went back to devouring you like a starved man, moving his tongue skilfully, reaching all the right places as he snaked a hand around your thigh, his fingers moving towards your clit.

You could feel the familiar knot in your lower abdomen begin to tighten as you moan loudly.

‘’That feel good baby?’’ he asked cockily and proud as you nodded while mumbling incoherently. You were a mess. Your head was thrown back, lips parted and panting as your chest moved up and down rapidly.

‘’Travis, I’m … I’m so, oh my god’’ you tried to say as he moaned against your pussy, sending a wave of vibration all over your body. You could feel yourself getting closer by the second. His mouth continued to work your folds, your breathing getting heavier, and your body started writhing as you cried out his name, coming. He licked you clean and took his time with you, leaving a trail of kisses on your thighs as he slowly and carefully put you down on your feet.

‘’What time do you get off?’’ you smirked. ‘’Why, you want me to return the favor?’’ you answered back, winking at him while you tried to control your breathing. He laughed quietly before stepping closer to you to give you a small kiss on the lips.

‘’Actually, I was thinking about an early breakfast, if you’d care to join me.’’ he asked you, as he took your hand in his, playing with your fingers, looking at you to study your reaction carefully. He was genuinely interested, he wanted more, more than just a hookup.

‘’I would love that’’ you smiled back, blushing.

#travis kelce #travis kelce nfl #travis kelce x reader #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce oneshot #travis kelce fic #kelce x reader #nfl imagine #travis kelce smut #nfl fic

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