#here comfort for us working gals

[aliceramblez]

Dating the Hazbin Hotel Residents 😈

Tags: GN!Reader, Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Mature Topics (ie. Suicidal Thoughts, Alcohol Abuse, SA, etc), Spoilers For The Show, etc.

A/N: Ahhh yes, more brainriot for the pile 😌 I was more of a Helluva gal before the show aired, but now I gotta say these blorbos are a dear part of my heart! Hopefully y'all enjoy these as much as I did writing them!

Consider following my main blog @taruchinator for more solid content & feel free to leave a request here for future HCs~

Charlie 🌈

When the Happy Hotel first opened its doors and all of Hell started making a mockery of it, you were probably the only one who took it as a sign to try and improve from the low life that you were. It's not like you had anything else to live for, anyway.

As soon as you enter the building, you're immediately greeted by the bubbly Princess of Hell herself (along with a reluctant Angel Dust) who is more than happy to show you around and welcomes you with open arms.

You've never been shown this much kindness and sympathy for your situation before, so it naturally takes you aback and makes you wonder what the catch is. Turns out there's none and the Princess is probably the only sweet soul to live in this shithole.

As you grow closer, she asks you to drop the title and just call her Charlie. She also shares a bit about her situation and how her mother wanted to save sinners from the extermination each year, and now Charlie felt like it was her duty to continue this legacy until her dreams came true.

You can't help but feel touched over how much she cares, so you silently vow to yourself to help her in any way you can, just like she's done for you.

It doesn't take long before the two of you grow even closer and feelings begin to blossom, but you decide to ignore them since why would a Princess ever like someone like you?

But Charlie proves you wrong yet again, since one day she comes to you a blushing mess and confesses her own feelings, asking if you'd like to go out with her. You can't help but vocalize your shock since she could do so much better than a random sinner. She deserved better, too.

She looks at you with fondness in her eyes. “You've been by my side for so long and supported me every step of the way. Who wouldn't fall for someone like that?”

And thus, you are the luckiest person in Hell because you scored Charlotte Morningstar, and whoever says otherwise can get a knife to their throat.

She's the perfect definition of a sweet and patient girlfriend, never pushing you to do anything you aren't comfortable with (since you really aren't used to such adoration in a romantic relationship), but as soon as you give her the get-go, she'll be sure to shower you with as much affection as she can until the doubts in your mind disappear completely.

You aren't that far behind either. Albeit not as good as her, you do your best to be a comforting partner whenever she needs you. This is especially necessary after an extermination happens, which always leaves Charlie devastated and in need of a hug or words of encouragement because she doubts herself sometimes and wonders if the hotel is even working at all.

You remind her how it brought the two of you together, to which she smiles and agrees that at least something good has come out of it so far.

Vaggie 🎀

Both you and Vaggie used to work in the same legion under Adam with the rest of his exorcists. You knew of each other's existence, but didn't really talk much aside from whatever was needed in the midst of battle.

The day she spares a demon child's life, you're doing your rounds nearby and witness the whole exchange, including Lute coming over and ripping both an eye and Vaggie's wings for showing mercy. You don't know why, but it makes your blood boil.

“HEY! What are you doing?! It was just a kid, why not let it slide?”

And just like that, you become a target of Lute's rage as well, being ripped from your angelic status along with receiving a few nasty cuts, yet surprisingly not as bad as Vaggie herself.

Once the two of you are left to die, you immediately try to tend the girl's wounds with whatever you can. Vaggie can only stare in disbelief at what you'd done and questions why you even did so in the first place—now you were stuck just like she was.

“Guess I just don't like seeing injustice... Who knew Heaven could be so fuckin' shitty?”

You both laugh at the irony of it all, and that's when luck is finally on your side as Charlie finds you in the dirty alley and brings you back to the hotel to heal properly.

For the next three years you two stay at the Hazbin Hotel, helping Charlie in any way you can to try and make her dream a reality since deep down you hope that despite Heaven's corrupt system, there can be a small chance that souls can be redeemed. You hide the fact that you're ex-Anges though, since you don't wanna cause unnecessary drama.

During this time period, the two of you become better friends, having your own inside jokes regarding things you didn't particularly enjoy from your time as Angels, as well as learning more about one another.

You're the one to come to terms with your feelings first and decide to lay them on the table for Vaggie to see—she's always been a straight-to-the-point kind of gal, so if you're about to be rejected, might as well have it be done quick. But of course, she replies with her own declaration and desire to give a relationship a shot, which you're ecstatic about!

It's a bit hard at first since you never got to see much of romantic relationships in Heaven while training for murder every year, but you try and make it work. Both you and Vaggie work endlessly to try and make the other happy, and it only makes you fall for each other even more.

Also Charlie is your go-to wingwoman who will be there to give you the best advice to try and woo your girlfriend. She ships you two so hard.

Angel Dust 🕸

Working at a porn studio under an Overlord who owns your soul can be exhausting. You know this better than anyone since everyone who works under Valentino has contracts that won't let you get far with a leash. This is especially true with your friend Angel Dust.

You know about the things Valentino does to the spider demon—hell, everyone in the studio probably knows, but know better than to say anything about it. You're always there for Angel after particularly rough shoots, doing your best to comfort him in any way you can, though there isn't much you can do given you're in the same spot.

When he tells you he's moving to Princess Charlie's Hazbin Hotel, you're so happy for him! At least that will give him some distance from Valentino and his disgustingly filthy hands when he's not working.

This unsurprisingly doesn't bode well with the Overlord, causing him to throw fits of rage around the studio when Angel leaves for the day. You can't help but make a snarky comment that you definitely regret moments later.

“Can one blame him for wanting space from such an overbearing asshole?”

Without his favorite stress toy around, you end up paying the price for such comments. The kind of pain and suffering he puts you through is completely different from what you're used to. Is this the stuff he does to Angel? He leaves you naked, bruised and bloody in your room, and all you can do is muster what little strenght you have left to head for the Hazbin Hotel.

As soon as the door opens, you immediately tumble forward and start losing consciousness. The last thing you remember is Angel's horrified expression before it all fades to black.

Once you wake up and have been patched up, you explain what happened at the studio, and you could've sworn you saw fire in Angel's eyes as he holds on to you, fearing you might disappear at any moment. He begs you to stay in the hotel with him, and you agree without hesitation.

And so, your new routine of heading to work and then coming back to the hotel becomes blissful, not having to deal with that lunatic mothman more than necessary. You also get to spend time off with your best friend, which is always a plus.

Well, ‘best friend’ might not be the best way to describe it. You'd developed a crush on the spider demon even before this whole incident occurred, and now that you were spending more time with him, it only continued to grow.

With the line of work you two had, romantic relationships didn't seem to be a thing that crossed anybody's mind since why have a permanent partner when you could just go around fucking the hottest people in Hell? But you knew your feelings were far beyond from sexual, but didn't wanna ruin what you already had going for you.

One heartfelt drunken conversation after work however, makes you do a double take—Angel likes you back. And that both scares and excites you. But with both of you going over the pros and cons with each other, you decide to give it a chance.

You make sure to always have Angel's consent when it comes to physical intimacy—anything from holding his hand, to kissing to just cuddling. He jokes about not being a porcelain doll, but deep down you know he appreciates it.

You're also there for the rough nights, when he comes home wanting nothing more than to die again and let the earth swallow him whole. Words of reassurance are spoken and you can only hold him and let him cry as you vow to do anything in your power to stop this from happening again.

Husker 🍺

As one of the first guests of the hotel, like any wayward sinner, you find yourself in the bar more often than you'd like. Alcohol killed you in the first place, yet not even in the afterlife could you seem to pull yourself from its grasp.

It's a somewhat welcome surprise to find out that the bartender is going through a similar struggle. He still serves you drinks and lends and ear whenever he's not busy, but will occasionally drop the words of wisdom to watch your fill.

Eventually you two find yourselves doing this little back and forth and aid each other when you're in your dark places—Husk won't let you near the bottle if he sees you're about to knock yourself out, meanwhile you're there to look after him when he has one too many drinks and can't take care of himself.

Not to say he isn't a good drinking buddy—you've found out most of the gossip around the hotel thanks to this sneaky little cat demon and there's never a dull moment with him around.

You learn about his deal with Alastor during a particularly bad night, when Husk's had one too many and isn't thinking straight. You don't bring it up, but now have an eye open for whenever the Radio Demon drags your friend away.

Angel's the one who brings up your questionable relationship to the surface.

“So... you two like, fuckin' each other, or what?”

Your entire face goes red, and if it weren't for the dark fur you could swear you see Husk looking the same. He's quick to get rid of Angel's nosy ass, but now the seed has been planted in your brain—do you like Husk that way?

After careful consideration, you come to the conclusion that yes, you do. And it's honestly kinda terrifying considering how relationships don't usually work out in Hell, at least from what you've seen. Besides, even if you did try and confess, there was always the possibility of him not feeling the same and just being embarrassed by Angel's comment.

So in an attempt to make your feelings disappear, you stop frequenting the bar. Who knew the best way to stop drinking habits was trying to avoid spending time with your unrequited crush?

But of course, Husk isn't stupid. He sees the change in your behavior and let's it slide for a while, until he eventually corners you and asks what's wrong. You decide to get it all out of the way and tell him how you feel.

To the embarrassment of both of you, he holds your hand firmly between his and darts his eyes toward the corner of the room. “Next time you should ask before going off assuming things, ya got it?”

And so, your glass may have been empty that day, but your heart had never felt fuller.

Sir Pentious 🐍

You meet Sir Pentious when you sign into the hotel, and your immediate thought is just how can this snake man be so adorkable, it should be illegal.

As you greet the other residents and staff, you're quick to strike a conversation with him, which based on his body language he was not expecting. He starts telling you a bit about his weaponry and other contraptions, and you can't help but be fascinated by it.

You're a bit of a tinkerer yourself, albeit you've only dabbled in small scale projects—nothing compared to the massive canons and aircrafts that Pentious seems to be familiar with.

He acts like a kid opening gifts on Sinmas when he talks to you about his inventions, clearly never having anyone show interest before. Eventually he'll even ask for your input on certain smaller projects he wants to work on to help around the hotel, all to thank Charlie for being so kind to him and giving him a second chance. You're obviously eager to help!

You two start spending so much time together that the egg boys have started calling you ‘Boss #2’, much to Pentious' embarrassment and your amusement.

One afternoon once exercises are done for the day, the snake demon seems much more fidgety than usual as he invites you over to his room to continue working on his security system prototype. He's a blabbering mess once he has you sitting down and your heart just can't help but swell at each little syllable.

“Dearest (y/n)... you've, um, well... you are a huge inspiration for my work! A-And I wouldn't have been able to create any of this... without your help. You are kind, and smart and very talented.... and w-well, um I-”

You gotta silence the man with a kiss otherwise you two would be here all day. He's puddy in your hands and you can only giggle in return. “I really like you too, Pen.”

Everyone is either saying they called it or groaning in annoyance because fucking FINALLY, you two were just dancing around each other like idiots. The egg boys are just so happy to have someone else besides Pentious to be in their lives, and will do their best to look out for you just like with their own boss.

So yeah, prepare yourself for some sickeningly sweet gestures from this guy cause he will go above and beyond to get you what you need/want even if it kills him (again). And you can confidently say that you'd do the same in return.

Alastor 📻

After running in the same circles when you were alive, it's no surprise to you to end up in Hell, although you never would've suspected that you'd find yourself in the same place as him. It was honestly a huge relief not having to go through this all by yourself.

As Alastor exerted his dominance over Hell as the Radio Demon, you were powerful enough to be an Overlord yes, but rather liked keeping it on the down low instead of making a spectacle of yourself (Alastor was the one for theatrics anyway). Because of this, only select few knew of your true power and what you were capable of.

Instead, if there was one thing you were known for, it was being the only soul allowed to be close to the Radio Demon without the risk of death.

Yes, Alastor was a sadistic, cold-blooded and egotistical mastermind, but he wasn't a monster. You knew that better than anyone. Although the reactions he had to other demons treating you like a joke or calling you the ‘Radio Demon's Pet’ were not helping his case.

“ł₣ ɎØɄ V₳ⱠɄɆ ɎØɄⱤ ₴ØɄⱠ, ɎØɄ ₩łⱠⱠ ₩₳Ⱡ₭ ₳₩₳Ɏ Ɽł₲Ⱨ₮ ₦Ø₩ ฿Ɇ₣ØⱤɆ ł Ɽł₱ ł₮ ₳₱₳Ɽ₮ ฿ł₮ ฿Ɏ ฿ł₮...”

“Al, chill. You're gonna make them shit their pants.”

After his seven year absence, you immediately noticed something was wrong with him, and wouldn't stop pestering until he told you the truth—A deal he made and how his soul was now bound to someone much more powerful than he was.

You were obviously mortified and started looking into ways to try and find a loophole to this, but alas the Radio Demon would just give you his signature grin and tell you not to worry about it. It was his battle to face.

But of course you're quick to remind him that you've stuck together through thick and thin even in life, so there was no way you were letting him handle this by himself. You work as a team—always have and always will. You engulf him in a hug.

“We're gonna figure this out, Al. I promise...”

The grin remains, but his eyes widen slightly in surprise. He hesitantly returns the embrace, patting your back and wiping the tears you didn't even know you were shedding.

“There there~ To think such a sweet and innocent soul wound up in a gutter like this. I cannot say I complain as long as I have your delightful company beside me.”

And so when he says he has a plan that involves Princess Charlie Morningstar and her new Happy Hotel, you follow along. Whatever fate has in store for you two, you'll be ready.

Also Charlie is a sweetheart who could do no harm. Knowing Alastor, he'll probably do whatever he can here and there to help around for the cause. You also offer your services as an undercover Overlord, much to everyone's surprise when you reveal your status.

The Radio Demon may have a plan, but something tells you it won't involve bloody murder (unless extremely necessary or if someone really pissed him off).

Like you said—he's not a monster.

Lucifer 🍎

You and Lucifer were good friends at the beginning of Creation. While you were stuck with the tedious task of designing blueprints for the new ‘Human Project’ that headquarters had in store, Lucifer's Seraphim status allowed him to bring creations to life with the flick of a wrist, much to your delight and wonder.

His ideas and pitches for Earth were always so entertaining to listen to, and you would do your best to encourage him to show them to the higher ups to get them approved—His mind was just filled with joy and love and wonder that you'd never seen before.

Which was why it was always so disappointing whenever he'd come back and say that he was shut down and even mocked at. How could Heaven shut down such an imaginative mind in the creation of their biggest project yet?

To say you were devastated when you heard about his fall would be an understatement. You mourned the loss of your friend, knowing that he'd done nothing wrong and thinking it wasn't fair to him to receive such punishment just because he cared for the future of humanity.

Thousands of years later, you overhear the plan for Extermination of Hell kind. You didn't mean to walk by, yet here you were, under the direct eye of the Head Seraphims about to be downcast for something you had no control over—just like Lucifer.

“You're all self-entitled pricks! You think you can do whatever you want just because it doesn't follow what you define as good!”

You get a few good arguments before being cast downwards, leaving you in bad shape in a random alley with no wings and no means of escape. That is of course, until destiny seems to be on your side and Lucifer finds you, completely perplexed to see you here at all.

After getting treated, you tell him about the Extermination so he and Hell can prepare. The conversation of you getting cast down by Heaven gets glossed over, but he can feel the fury building up inside him. You were always doing things by the book—how could they do this to you?

Once the slaughter is over, Lucifer gets a meeting with Heaven and secures protection for both his daughter Charlie and you, to which they begrudgingly agree to keep him outta their hair. You can't help but feel touched by this gesture.

He's also quick to offer you a room to stay in, but you compromise by living in a seperate building from him and Charlie so you aren't a bother even though he says you aren't. In fact, ever since Lilith left, he's had to take care of his young daughter all by himself, so he's more than happy when you offer to help.

It doesn't take long for your feelings to start coming into the surface from all those years ago, and you gotta push them away because he's both married and has a child to look after! Besides, why would the King of Hell ever look in your direction?

Eventually though, he brings up the question with nothing but sweaty palms and a customized rubber ducky that says ‘I love you’ whenever you squeeze it. You blush furiously, but can't help but bring up your concerns, not wanting to replace Lilith in his heart. He looks into your eyes and says that he hasn't been as happy as he is now in the past thousand years.

Cue baby Charlie walking in on everything, and she just smiles and goes innocently. “Daddy! Is (y/n) staying home with us now?”

You two can only chuckle at the cuteness of it and you immediately go to hug her. You couldn't believe that you were blessed with such a wonderful family.

[ellieswrldd]

whiskey neat

pairing: cowgirl!ellie williams x f!reader

summary: ellie's a gunslinging outlaw who seems to have taken a liking to you, the pretty saloon girl.

content warnings: SMUT 18+ MDNI, thigh riding, train robbery, set during the 1800s, slightly awkward ellie, reader's 1st time with a woman

a/n: this is my thank u for 800 followers!! pic creds to riverexwren on pinterest 💗

“The necklace, hand it over,”

Your hands trembled with fear as you touched the locket strung around your neck. A shiny revolver was pointed at your nose and left you speechless.

Train robberies weren’t as common as they used to be, the law had grown stronger and outlaws were quickly becoming something of the past. At least that’s what the newspapers said.

Either the papers were wrong or you were just plain unlucky as you sat in the middle of a train robbery.

“I said hand it over,” The man holding the gun demanded, his eyes squinting as he inched the gun closer.

“Leave it, man, head to the front and help break those safes open, we don’t have time for your shit.” Your eyes darted past the barrel of the gun and landed on another masked assailant.

Auburn hair was tucked under a black cowboy hat, a scar running through one of her brows, striking green eyes, and a black bandana that covered the rest of her face. The man rolled his eyes and pushed past the woman, allowing you to find your breath. The woman’s eyes seemed to linger on your face before her brows furrowed and she looked back at the other passengers.

“Everybody stay seated, we’re just gonna take what we need and then we’ll be on our way, got it?” She stated loudly. Her hand rested comfortably on the handle of her gun as she spoke.

The following hour passed in a blur, you sat nervously in your seat as the woman kept watch. After a while, a few men returned and gave the woman a nod, bags of money in their hands.

“We’ve got the stuff, let’s get the hell outta here,” the man from earlier said. The woman looked back at him and nodded. She glanced back in your direction once more before leaving the train with her gang.

Just as soon as they had ridden off, the lawmen arrived. The train was up and running again and the officers went around interviewing the passengers as the train started toward the city. Everyone was rather shaken up but it seemed like there were few casualties, the only deaths being that of a few guards.

The rest of the day you were stuck in a haze, shaken by the robbery. People asked about the details but you simply shook your head and waved them away, it was clear you wanted to forget the whole ordeal.

Weeks passed slowly, spring turned into summer, and you eventually moved on from the train incident. Nothing ever came of it, the assailants were never identified and nobody was able to offer up any useful intel about the robbery so you simply continued on with your life.

You worked as a saloon girl at the local bar which wasn’t the best gig, but it certainly paid well. The busy atmosphere kept you entertained during the night and you were typically free during the days.

Dressed in a vibrant blue gown you sauntered around the bar, refilling drinks and sweet-talking some of the men, nothing you weren’t used to. As you made your rounds, you caught sight of someone who piqued your interest. She sat by herself at a small round table near the corner of the room.

Other than the saloon gals, women didn’t frequent the joint often so you always felt curious when you spotted a female patron. Something about this lady in particular seemed familiar despite the fact you couldn’t recall ever meeting someone like her. With that short, reddish hair she’d be hard to miss for certain, so why was she so familiar?

“You look like you could use a refill,” You smiled at her as you approached, a hand on your hip. She looked up at you and pulled her cigarette from her lips. After exhaling the smoke away from you, the girl sat up a little straighter and shrugged.

“Guess I could, or maybe I could just use some company.” Her voice was a bit raspy but it sounded like sweet honey to your ears. She passed you her empty glass and took another drag from her cigarette. “Whiskey, neat,”

You giggled and took the glass. You stepped away to refill the glass before returning to her table. She cracked a charming smile and nodded toward the seat beside her as she took the glass from your hands.

“Why have I never met you before? Passing through town?” You asked as you slid into the chair next to her. The girl tapped her fingers on her glass cup.

“Something like that. I’m not from ‘round here.” She took a drag from her cigarette and made sure to blow the smoke away from your direction.

“You seem awfully familiar, are you sure we’ve never crossed paths?”

“I doubt it,” She paused for a moment before speaking again. “I think I’d remember a pretty face like yours,”

You felt heat rush to your cheeks and you smiled. “Flattery won’t get you free drinks, miss…?” You trailed off, waiting for her to finish your sentence.

“Williams, but you can call me Ellie.”

The conversation between you two flowed easily, even with Ellie’s flirtatious banter. As it neared midnight you noticed the people begin to return home, of course, a few drunkards still milling about inside.

“I better go,” You said quietly, glancing at the door. Ellie bit her cheek and nodded. She threw back the remaining alcohol she had in her cup and stood up.

“Let me walk you home, it’s not safe for a pretty lady to walk home alone.” You laughed and rolled your eyes when you saw her outstretched hand.

“I assure you I am no lady,” You took her hand and stood up. Ellie chuckled and shook her head.

“Lead the way,”

You didn’t live too far from the saloon and for once you wished the walk was longer. Maybe it was stupid of you to get involved with someone who clearly didn’t plan on sticking around for long, but you pushed that thought to the back of your mind.

“I like that necklace of yours, it’s real nice,” Ellie commented, her eyes gazing at the locket, then falling a bit lower to the low cut of your bodice.

Politely, you thanked her and continued speaking, but something inside of you was stuck on her comment.

It was then that you finally realized exactly who she was and why you remembered her. The intriguing gunslinger who couldn’t keep her eyes off you while her partners robbed a train was the very same woman walking you home.

As you stopped in front of your door, you turned to Ellie.

“Ellie, I need to ask you something and I want you to be honest with me.”

The other girl looked confused but nodded.

“It was you on that train, wasn’t it?”

She stared at you silently for a second, her mouth slightly agape, it was as if she was trying to think of the right response.

“Be honest with me please,” You sighed. “I know we just met, but I like you and I like your company, and I want to know who I’m talkin’ to. I’m surely not pure, I’ve done bad things too, I swear I would never tell—” You rambled on before Ellie interrupted you.

“Yes, that was me.” Her voice was a raspy mumble, and her eyes were focused on her dusty boots.

“Okay,” The words escaped you as a whisper and suddenly you realized how nervous you felt. The nerves could be partially attributed to the fact you had confirmed your suspicions, but you knew they were because of something more.

“I wouldn’t hurt you, I hope you know that—”

“Do you want to come inside?”

Ellie bit her lip and nodded, a small smile forming on her face. She followed you inside while she tried her best to conceal the stupid smile that was pulling at her cheeks. You watched as she slipped her heavy jacket off and hung it on the coat hanger, and you inhaled when you saw the shine of her revolver tucked into her pants.

“You’re lookin’ at my gun,” She stated and followed your gaze. “I can put it away or something if it scares you,”

You simply shook your head and ran your hands down the front of your skirt. “I’m not scared,”

“Okay then,”

The tension between the two of you seemed to fill the entire room and you couldn’t seem to look Ellie in the eyes.

“Maybe I ought to go,” Ellie murmured. It was evident that neither of you wanted that, the way she was inching closer to you certainly confirmed that.

“Maybe you ought to stay,” You looked up and finally made eye contact with her. “You make me so…” You trailed off quietly as you looked down at her lips and registered how close she was.

“So what?” Her hand reached out and gently brushed against your wrist.

“…Nervous,” You breathed. It seemed like your lips were only mere inches apart.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,”

Ellie ran her fingers up your bare arm slowly before gently cupping your cheek.

“Don’t toy with me,” You mutter and Ellie laughed softly. She pulled you in and kissed you softly, her lips molding against yours.

The kiss was everything you needed. It was passionate and messy and perfect. You had never done anything like this with another woman before and it scared you, but Ellie’s lips moved so sweetly that it made you forget all of your worries.

It wasn’t long until the kiss turned from sweet to fiery with Ellie’s tongue sliding against your own and her hands traveling down your back. A soft moan escaped your lips when Ellie squeezed your hips gently.

“God, you’re so— you make me—” Ellie breathed heavily and buried her face in your exposed neck, her lips moving hungrily against your skin. Your hands traveled to her hair as she sucked and nipped at your neck.

“Ellie,” You panted her name and tugged her hair gently until she pulled away.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?” She muttered, brows furrowed.

“No! No, I loved that, I just— I’ve never done this before, not with a woman I mean,” Her hands remained on your hips as you spoke.

“I-I’ll help you, I don’t mind,” Ellie’s cheeks turned pink and she pulled you close again. “Should we go to your bedroom..?” She asked.

You nodded and intertwined your fingers with hers before leading her to your room. It wasn’t much but it was homey, charming even.

Ellie wasted no time to kiss you again, this time her hands moved presumptuously across your body. From sliding across your torso and chest to squeezing your ass through the delicate fabrics of your dress, Ellie’s movements only grew bolder with your responses.

Slowly, Ellie tugged the skirt of your dress up, revealing your skin inch by inch.

“Take it off me,” You whispered. And so she did, untying your corset like her life depended on it and carefully lifting the dress above your head, so as not to stretch anything. Then, finally, you stood before her completely bare.

“You are so beautiful,” She said, her eyes glued to the curves and shape of your body. You reached out and unbuttoned her shirt slowly but surely. Ellie’s breathing seemed to deepen as you moved lower, the curves of her small breasts now visible as you undid the last few buttons. Then, you took her gun from her waistband and set it on your nightstand for safekeeping.

Your hands found their way to the button of her pants next, shakily undoing them as she watched you intently. She kicked her pants off along with her undergarments and was completely nude.

“Show me what to do,” You met her eyes and waited for her to guide you. Her hands found yours and grabbed your wrists, moving your hands to her breasts.

“Touch me here,” She instructed. Ellie took in a sharp breath when you rolled her nipples between your fingers, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment. “Th-that's good, yeah,”

“What else?”

She bit her lip and took one of your hands, moving it to cup her cunt.

“You feel that? How wet I am?” You nodded quickly. “It’s because of you, because of how bad I want you,”

“M-Me too,” You stammered, suddenly aware of the wet heat in between your legs.

“Lay down, I’ll take care of you,” Ellie smiled and stood over you as you lay on your bed. Crawling on top of you, Ellie kissed you sweetly a few times before she moved lower and latched her mouth onto your nipple. Her tongue swirled around your stiff nipples, drawing out needy whining from you.

Her fingers began to slowly rub your puffy clit in lazy circles while she kept your legs spread. She wanted nothing more than to fuck you in every way possible, rough and fast, but she knew you needed something slow right now, something caring and gentle to get you started.

Ellie kissed and licked and suckled across your tits, a trail of hickeys and saliva all over your chest.

“Ellie,” You whined and squirmed beneath her. She was moving so slowly and it was nice, but you were so needy and you couldn’t take the teasing.

“I know, just– hold on,” She pulled away and moved to sit against the headboard of the bed. “Come here,” Ellie reached her hand out to you. You sat up and crawled over to her, sitting in her lap as she pulled you on top of her.

Ellie spread her legs out and cleared her throat. “Sit on my thigh,” You followed her instruction and straddled her thigh, one of your thighs on each side. “Yeah, just like that,” In this position, you could feel the heat of her skin against your entire pussy.

“What do I do?” You murmur, glancing down and back up at her.

“Put your hands here,” She placed your hands on her shoulders. “And just rock back and forth, slowly,” She inhaled deeply as you did what she said and you started grinding yourself against her thigh. Ellie’s hands found their way to your thighs and she squeezed your soft skin.

Low moans and whimpers came from your wet lips while you rubbed yourself against her. As you moved back and forth, you had begun to push your knee against Ellie’s clit just enough for her to feel a delicious friction.

“N-Now you can speed up, you’re doing so well,” She panted and gazed at you with half-lidded eyes. Her hands slid up from your thighs to your hips where she helped roll your hips a bit faster and harder against her thigh. Ellie had also begun to grind her clit against your knee, moaning your name as she too chased the pleasure.

By now her thigh was covered in your juices, shining in the moonlight that poured through your windows. Ellie listened as your moans grew higher and louder, and took that as a sign that you were nearing your climax.

Everything was sloppy and messy, but it was the best feeling you’d ever experienced. Your two bodies moving together sensually, both of you craving and chasing orgasm, your skin on hers.

Soon enough, both you and Ellie were crying out and shaking while you were overcome with pleasure. You fell limp against her and her arms encircled you.

The room was silent with the only sounds being you and Ellie’s breathing.

“That was—” You sighed.

“Yeah,” Ellie laughed softly and rubbed your back. “You did good,”

“You think so?” You ran a finger along her collarbone.

“I know so,” She gave you a smile. “You ought to get some rest, it’s late,” Ellie kissed your cheek.

“Only if you promise not to run off?”

“Okay, I promise,” She whispered. You pulled the bedsheets over your bodies and settled down for the night.

The next morning you woke up to an empty bed. You frowned and turned to the other side of the bed. Ellie stood by your window, a cigarette in hand as she blew the smoke through the opened window.

“Good morning,” She said when she turned her head to look at you.

As you looked at her your head raced with wild dreams and ideas, things you wish you could say and do, but you simply smiled at her and watched Ellie take another drag of her cigarette.

You would never be allowed to be with Ellie publicly, homosexuality was a sin in the eyes of society. Not to mention, Ellie Williams was an outlaw.

What you had done with her was wrong, so so wrong, and yet you couldn’t help but yearn for more.

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 4)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 3, Part 5

summary: You get your laptop fixed... eventually.

warnings: smut!! (finally lmfao) masturbation, mutual masturbation, tiny bit of voyeurism, recreational drug use, dry humping, etc 18+ Minors DNI

a/n: caught up to where the og oneshot ends so i wanted to switch it up!!

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 6.8k (still in shock i wrote all this lmfao, i'm strictly a <4k words kinda gal)

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

lips black and blue and gold.

You're frustrated. Bouncing off the walls, head spinning; and it's for a couple of reasons. 

First off: you haven't managed to find a laptop. Money you've worked damn hard for, and you can't really afford a new one. With moving around, you've burnt through quite a bit of your emergency fund. Enough to convince yourself you'll be just fine with a pen and paper in class, and the Google docs on your phone when desperate. It might actually force you to go to the library instead of half assing assignments the night before, you think. 

And there's your lab book, which you were smart enough to back up on your computer, but guess what? That's fucked; probably taken apart and sold for scraps by Miguel's mysterious friend , who you've conveniently never even heard of and–

"Just ask for an extension." He says, feet up on the sofa. Oddly enough, you've been doing that more often; spending time together. He's not holed up in his room as much, and spends time studying on the dining table, or pretending not to watch the soaps you've got on TV. 

"You're overthinking it. Explain the situation, chula, and it'll be fine." He doesn't even look up, just throws the statement in your direction like the lazy pass of a ball. 

You scoff, because he's right, and go back to overthinking. You think you can copy out the ruined half of your labbook by hand, and if you beg your OChem teacher for an extra credit project then–

"If I let you use my laptop, will you stop doing that?" 

"Doing what?" You frown as he walks over, and reaches to gently pull your hands apart. He turns your palms over, pointing at the raw edges of your fingernails. 

" That. " Mindlessly, you'd been picking at your fingernails, without even noticing. Looking up at him, he rolls his eyes. 

"...is that a yes?" You nod, hesitant, and catch the hint of a smile as he pads off to his room. 

When he returns, open laptop in hand, he thrusts it into your arms - and sits himself back onto the sofa. This time, he splays out facing you, avocado socks resting on your knee. You fight the urge to push him off, a small price to pay in return for his moment of kindness. He's been doing that more often now, slightly more touchy and maybe even… comfortable around you. Eyes flickering up towards him, you catch his. His brows knead together, and you return your attention to the screen just as quickly. 

You're going through the motions, more or less, logging into your college's portal and drafting up quick emails to send to your lecturers. But it's when you open up a new tab, that you see something at the top of the screen and pause. Mouse hovering over an incognito tab, hidden in a nest of referencing websites and scientific journals; it's there. Bold letters, in all caps: WOMAN POUNDED BY BIG BEEFY–

You shouldn't. You really, really shouldn't. Once again, you look up at Miguel, and he couldn't care less; tapping away at his phone, only stopping to look at the TV. Nevertheless, you shift to hide the laptop screen from him. But you're not going to look, or anything. You know better than to take a look at your roommates porn habits, the stuff he drools over whilst he fucks his fist; a big, dextrous palm wrapped around his shaft. 

You've done it. Clicked on the tab and nothing's exploded, as of yet. You turn down the brightness, with some shame, as if to make the paused video less explicit. But the image stays, a woman folded under the weight of the man above – in the middle of bullying his fat cock into her pussy. It's amateur; hot and sweaty and sticky, with only the woman fully visible. You suppose your curiosity's been sated, but you can't help but think…

…the woman. She looks like you. 

Tilting your head, you can't help but see the resemblance. Not the exact same of course - but her hair is similar, body type, skin tone, eyes. It's not close enough to be weird, you guess, but it's enough that that thought stays - burrows into you like an earthworm into an apple. Scrolling down, you see other videos, with the same woman, other women that look like you - the telltale red bar of watched videos. Evidence, but not really, and it makes you heat up. Your mouth goes dry, and you look over to him: only able to concentrate on the hand he's got spread out at his belly, the brown flesh peeking out - and how it looks just like the one on the base of the woman's stomach in the video. 

"...everything ok?" He's looking at you, suddenly; and you attempt to click over to your original tab, discreetly. 

He doesn't seem to notice, padding over to your side and leaning into your shoulder. 

"Yeah, no, I just…" All you can manage is a nervous smile. "The screen froze, so…"

"Oh." He gives the track pad a swipe. "Seems fine to m–" 

He freezes up slightly, and you watch as his eyes flick up the screen. The laptop is eased out of your hands, and he gives a few quick clicks. By the time it's back in your lap, the offending tab is gone. Imperceptible, his jaw shifts. 

"...Should be okay now."

You hum, a little amused at the display. He's seemingly unfazed, his little slip up notwithstanding, and leans back to lie up against you. Obnoxious, he splays onto the sofa cushions, his weight practically smothering you as you fight to push him off. You think he likes it – it's the only possible explanation – and gets off from watching you squirm. He seems desperate for a reaction, a child pushing boundaries and pressing buttons to see what exactly makes you tick. 

And that's the second thing: it works . He's  more touchy, and just as insufferable – jumping at any excuse to be near you, it seems. Miguel has a tendency to hover, follow you around the apartment as you talk aimlessly, and you do the same. You sit by against the doorway to the kitchen whilst he makes dinner; he floats around the door to your room when you try to study. In fact, you've spoken to your roommate more in the past week than you have in the past month; about anything and everything. Sometimes, he actually tells you where he goes during the day; off to lectures of his own, another tutoring session or his basically-an-unpaid-job of an internship. In your words, it seems like with the shit they make him do at Alchemex, he may as well be a full employee: with way fewer perks and a distinct paycut. It's almost as if they're paying for my degree, he says with an eye roll, practically hanging off your door frame. 

He does that a lot, now: arms drawn upwards to lean from the oak trim. Especially during lazy mornings in - he'll hang on the frame, and move to tug at your heel, waking you up despite fervent protest. Ultimately, it's a kindness and you don't know how to tell him how much you appreciate it; as he wakes you up on time to get to the library in good stead. You're still waiting on that laptop, debating whether or not to bite the bullet; but for now Miguel obliges, letting you borrow his now and then. 

He's not nice, you think his tongue is much too sharp for that; but he is kind, giving you some grace you're not too sure you deserve. It's more than what you've been given in a relationship of 4 years, and you don't know how to feel about it. 

Well, you do. Your talk on the living room floor not so long ago flipped a switch and all of a sudden you're paying attention to your roommate; really, really looking at him. He is very, very pretty; with a tendency for lingering touches disguised as something else. And you're out of practice: horny, frustrated, stressed. With the way he touches you; a hand on your back to greet you, a squeeze of your shoulder to tease, bare legs across yours on the sofa; it's a lethal combo. 

And here you are, headphones on, prepping to take a dildo. Incredibly self-indulgent, but you need it . You don't quite have the emotional stability for a one night stand (you think if someone touches you just right, you'll fall in love), but this dry spell has taken its toll. 

It wasn't just after the break up, either. Mismatched libidos had felt like a steady death knoll. Realistically, you knew Jaime was always too tired after a placement, but it didn't make you feel wanted. You just want to be desirable and fucked within an inch of your life – was that too much to ask? 

As a result, your toy drawer had grown: vibrators and dildos, clit-suckers and g-spot strokers; crude once said aloud, but all in search of something. With the stress of school and Miguel, Schrodinger's slut ; it's a wonder you haven't cracked it open earlier. 

You're on the floor, its purple base suctioned to the hardwood and towels to cushion your knees. Lower half completely exposed, it's an art , porn on your phone to complete the visage. The screen is smaller than that of the laptop you're used to, only providing some stimulation. And so, as you sink down on its silicone length, you can't help but think back to the sofa - and the videos squirrelled away on an incognito tab. Miguel, hunched over and fisting his cock to someone that looks like you; maybe even thinking of you – although the jury's still out, on that one. 

But you keep it close to your chest, rub your clit to the thought of it: you're his type, and maybe he'd fuck into you like the man on your screen. Broad, gorgeous shoulders and you wonder how pretty he'd look with scratches littered down his back, or hickeys sucked into skin: lips plump and messy and swollen. 

"Oh, fuck," You say it under your breath, knowing that whilst Miguel is out of the house, it still feels odd to put your lips around the pleasure that thinking of him gives. 

You speed up, the slap of thighs ringing out into your bedroom. The dildo is around 6 inches, sizeable; but you can't help but wonder how it compares to Miguel's. He might even be bigger; thicker, most definitely; and you bet his cock is just as pretty as he is. Oh fuck, and he'd tease; press into your hole just to snatch it away at the last second, rubbing persistent circles at your clit. You hear his voice in your head, the low grunts and groans you've memorised from all those nights he's spent with other girls. 

"Miguel,"  You're moaning shamelessly now. "...f-fuck, please–" 

There must be something electric in the way he fucks: with the litany of girls in and out of his bedroom, what keeps them coming back? He must talk them through it, whispering filth with his plush lips against their ear, and you wonder what he'd say to you. God , you'd give anything to hear it him say, just once, how beautiful he thinks you are; for him to wrap his hand around your neck and pull you close. You want him to fuck you; hard and deep and desperate. 

With that, your pace quickens and you gush around the toy. A spasm of limbs, and you're clamping down on the silicone – an orgasm that leaves you breathless and heaving. You convince yourself it's the taboo of it: fucking yourself to the thought of your roommate, after listening to his grunts and groans for the past couple weeks. He started it … thin walls, and all that. 

You ignore the want that lays stubborn at the pit of your stomach, riding through stuttering spasms as your orgasm winds down. You're touch starved, that's all, and Miguel's the closest warm body to latch onto. Nothing more, nothing less. Groaning, you shift, picking up your hips to gear up for another round. Just once more, so you know for sure. 

Thin walls. The sound leaks into your roommate's bedroom. But with your headphones on, you can't hear the sounds that echo back: Miguel O'Hara, back home early, with an ear pressed to the wall and desperately pumping his cock. 

~~~

"I'm not completely convinced, to be honest." You're in Miguel's car, tongue sticking out as you fiddle around with the dials. 

His gaze flicks over, and bats your paws off the dashboard. Flopping into your seat, you watch as he turns up the AC and switches the radio, as if reading your mind. 

"You really think I'd go through all this trouble?" He scoffs. "Bundle your ass out of the house and drive all the way here to…. do what exactly?" 

"Assert dominance in our shared ecosystem." You say it with finality, and he scrunches up his face in confusion. 

"...what does that even mean?" 

"Like in that nature doc you were watching the other day." 

"Well, the point was that spiders aren't hierarchical in the traditional sense. They form colonies that are… quasi-social, if anything, and–" He pauses. "Wait. You were paying attention?" 

You shrug. "I thought it was interesting." 

"Seriously?" 

"...no, not really."

You laugh as he pulls over to park, in a space next to what looks like an apartment complex. It looks way nicer than your place, with sandy brick and hedges that look well kept. Your laughter peters off. Miguel looks decidedly not amused. 

He opens the car door and clambers out as you scramble for the seatbelt. To your surprise, he opens the door for you; stretching out a hand for stability as you get out. When you both walk over to the intercom, your palm burns with his touch, and flexes with the memory of it. It's becoming a problem, his hands. You push down the beginnings of a hazy daydream. He presses a panel, waiting for the buzz. 

"Lyla? Could you let us up?" 

He waves demurely to the camera, and the receiver clicks. A cheery voice rings back. 

"...Us? Who's us, Miggy? Did you finally find a girl that puts up with your shit?" Her voice is singsong, teasing. With a smile, you watch as Miguel bristles, speaking into the slick panel. 

"My roommate, Jesus, Ly–" He says the next bit a little rushed, turning away slightly as if you still can't hear her loud and clear. "I thought we went through this, you can't keep trying to embarassmeeverytimeI–" 

She talks over him towards the end, rapid-fire banter that you can barely make out. 

"You never come and visit, except when it's 2am and you need to break into–" 

"Once! It was one time! Déjate, ya está bueno ya–" 

[Let it go, that's enough now–] 

"Let it go? No, no, absolutely not… what is it that you always say? It's the principle –" 

"Can you just fucking open the–" 

"What's the magic word?" 

He sighs, mouthing an apology to you. "Lyla–" 

"Magic. Word."

He mumbles. "Please." 

"Please what?" 

"Please could you open the fucking door."

There's a pause, and rustling over the intercom. The door buzzes open. 

In the elevator up, you keep quiet, trying your hardest not to burst out laughing. Miguel is visibly brooding; arms crossed and brow furrowed. 

"Don't." He says, with a pout you almost think is cute. Almost. 

"I'm trying really, really hard not to." You put your hands up, as if to surrender. "... Miggy."

"Fuck off." And then, a little softer. 

"...I told you I have friends."

~~~

You leave it at that until you're in Lyla'a apartment, when she opens and ushers you in. She looks exactly the way she sounds: pretty, mousy features, with her hair in short, choppy layers. She's bundled up into a plush white robe; heart-shaped sunglasses sliding down the tip of her nose. 

Miguel breezes past her, towards the murmuring voices you can just about make out in the front room. 

"Lovely to see you too, Miguel." It's under her breath, but when she turns towards you there's a twinkle in her eye. 

You introduce yourself, and she pulls you into a tight hug. 

"I know," She says. It's ominous, but her voice is light and airy. When you separate, she flashes a wide smile. "Lyla. It's nice to put a face to a name."

"Uhh, sorry. What?" She ushers you further into her apartment as you speak, confused. 

"Oh, Miggy talks about you all the time. Complaining , mostly, but in that way he gets when he's trying really, really hard to pretend he doesn't care. Like, he texted me yesterday and–" 

"Thaaat's enough." You feel hands on your shoulders, and all of a sudden, Miguel is steering you away from her grip. You stumble into her living room, so bright and airy your eyes have to adjust to the light that floods in. Looking around, her apartment is gorgeous; a spacious open plan, floor-to-ceiling windows with a prime view, and lush furniture. Everything about it screams expensive – especially in comparison to your paltry place. Maybe the shock is visible on your face, but you're in awe. She can't be much older than Miguel, right? She looks about the same age, mid-twenties, not too far-removed from college… and it isn't quite adding up. 

"How can she afford this? That's what you're thinking." There's a voice on the sofa that makes you blink. A young man with messy brown hair, a set jaw and 5 o'clock shadow calls out to you in between mouthfuls of pizza. "Lyla's… mmhgh… suuper fuckin' rich… mmfgh… that's how." 

It's then that you notice there are other people here, sprawled out on the sofa set; boxes of takeout on the side tables next to them. Of course Lyla's rich: only 20-somethings with money to spare have matching sofas. 

She's like Beetlejuice, or the Candyman, and pops up next to you when her name's said. 

"I work in tech! With a cute little job on Wall Street, and a part-time one white hat hacking." She clarifies. " Ethical hacking." 

She giggles like she's told a joke somewhere, and you nod – still not quite understanding. 

"...and some side gigs that aren't as ethical." A blond haired man next to Mouthful-Of-Pizza pipes up. "When are you going to introduce us, Miguel?" 

He's grumbling in the kitchen area, digging through the shelves for something. He returns with a bag of chips and dip in a container, flopping onto the zebra print throw pillows. Distracted, he waves a hand around the group noncommittally. 

"Uhh, Peter, Ben, Lyla." He gestures to you, saying your name, and then to himself; tearing open the bag at the same time. "-and Miguel. All done"

"My turn for questions, now," Miguel says, pointing at Lyla, looking at the boys to his side. "Is she…?"

"...super high? Most definitely." Lyla giggles at Ben's words, for good measure. 

"...right. Peter Parker, nice to meet you." He throws a thumb to the back of the sofa, where you notice a little mop of red curls peeking out. "And this is my little Mayday."

Peals of laughter erupt from behind him, and you notice grubby hands with a death grip to the cushion rest. Miguel leaps up, rushing to her side to help her up its back. 

"Ayyy dios mio." He scoops her up carefully, "Buenas, Arañita." 

Mayday is on his lap now, a little toddler of about 1 or 2, snaking herself around to hug Miguel's chest. She is certifiably the cutest thing you've ever seen: gap-toothed and giggly, with a smatter of freckles like someone's flicked a paintbrush across her nose. And with the way Miguel melts, you can die happy, knowing that you've seen the impossible: Miguel O'Hara, cooing and fussing over the little girl. 

"Arañita?" You ask, to no one in particular. 

"Itsy-bitsy spider." . ..is the sing-song, choral response from everyone but Miguel. They're mimicking his tone of voice, and he raises his head from May, looking around. 

"I don't sound- " 

"You do, dude." Peter sighs, tickling the little red head on the tummy; smiling as she collapses into bright laughter. "I don't have a nickname, and I've known you waaay longer than she has."

Miguel covers her tiny little ears, and says, "Eres un pendejo, Parker . "

[you're a dipshit, Parker] 

The scraggly man sticks his tongue out in response, and May pulls at his hair for good measure. He yelps, and Miguel passes her over to her Dad. The scene is funny, for sure, but you feel it's warmth more than anything. God, you can tell they've loved and laughed with each other for years; the kind of friendship you'd kill to have. 

"We just need whatever's left of her laptop, Lyla," He's blunt, batting away long forgotten chips and dip. "...and then we'll get going. Wish I could stay longer, Arañita, but I've got some work to finish off."

May makes grabby hands at him, and you melt. Who knows how Miguel can stay strong in the face of her big, round eyes. 

He gets up to stand next to you, arms crossed. The height difference is stark: his tall, solid frame towering over everyone else. It seems like an intimidation tactic, but you know him just well enough to tell: he's trying not to be swayed by puppy eyes and promises of food. 

"You just got here, Miggy." Lyla sighs. "We're going over prep for Jess', and we'll be two minutes, I swear."

"Oh?" His eyebrows light up. "I knew it! You were being evasive on the group chat, and Pete wasn't returning my calls…"

Huffing, he clasps his hand around yours, ready to storm out. "This is an ambush. A goddamn setup!" 

"Wait, Miguel, I need my-" 

"I'll pick it up later for you, okay?" It's said like an aside, so soft only you can hear it. With his hand around yours, it certainly feels more intimate than it should. And it seems like he realises a little too late, dropping your hand as your faces are mere inches away. 

"Um, we should… we should go." 

You look past him to the faces blinking at you guys, on the sofa. A pause, and then you're gulping down stubborn feelings to ask a question. 

"Jess' ? Is there a party, or something?" 

Lyla nods. "Yeah, and Miguel's meant to be picking up cake."

The man in question pinches his nose. "I can pick up the cake just fine. It's the whole… going to a party bit I'm not too keen on."

"Come onnn, you know Jess would love it."

"She'd love to blackmail me with some dumb shit I did drunk, that's for sure."

"It's her birthday, hardass ." Peter whispers that last bit, covering little May's ears like before. "She can have a little blackmail, as a treat."

"You're gonna say no to a surprise party ?" Ben echoes, shaking his head dramatically. 

"A surprise birthday?" You light up. "Miguel, you have to go."

His stony demeanor cracks, for a moment. You latch onto it, hellbent on wearing him down. He's always got his laptop out doing work, or cracking open a little notebook to prep a lab. When he's not at home, he's at that internship, or tutoring, or planning a tutoring session. Work, work, work; and you'll be dammed if you let him rot away in a little cage of his own machinations. 

"Come on, Miggy." You watch him bristle, prying at that little crack in the surface. This has to be done with finesse: present a challenge, and watch him scramble to prove you wrong. "You're telling me a couple of hours at a party's too much for you? That's it? " 

"That's not–" 

"S'what it sounds like to me." You shrug, a little smile on your face. The aim is to look as smug as possible; and it seems to be working. 

His jaw shifts, annoyed. Lyla catches on, giving you a crazed smile. 

"Even your roommate's gonna come." She says, an arm linked in yours. 

"I am?" She gives you a little dig, and you're spluttering. "Y-Yeah, I am!" 

You can see him fight with his own ego; but it's a one-sided affair. 

"Fine. " He strains. "Two hours, max. And then I'm gone."

Lyla gives you a squeeze, and then wraps you both up in a hug he desperately tries to fight off. Ben slots around you guys, and Peter's last to join, with Mayday squealing on his shoulders. 

Eventually, you get what's left of your laptop: a little thumb drive with as much as Lyla could save. You'd thanked her profusely, of course; trying to slither out of her vice grip of a hug, as best you could. She's absolutely batshit, the good kind; cryptic, and strange, but with a lot of heart. She makes you wonder, and they all do; just how did they become friends with Miguel? How do they fit? 

The man himself seems a little different, as if reinvigorated by being around friends. In fact, you catch him smiling to himself on the drive home. It's sweet; to see a different side of him around people he's clearly comfortable with. If only for a little while, he sheds the heavy weight he seems to carry around. 

Around the house, you notice he seems lighter – humming to himself whilst cooking dinner. That very day, you watch the little sway of hips as he stirs a pot; headphones in, singing under his breath. He can't sing for shit, of course, and he'd kill you if you ever uttered a word; but it's a sight you commit to memory, not knowing when next he'll be in such a good mood. 

There's still the question of a new laptop in the air, but you feel more settled by the events of the day. You're a little less fucked school-wise, you've got a party to look forward to, and potentially a drunk Miguel to make fun of. He goes to bed early; and you can hear the quiet drone of a podcast from the other side of the wall. He drifts off to the sweet, dulcet tones of Top Ten Genetic Precursors for Early Onset Dementia; one of his favourites, you've determined. 

All is well, for now. A tentative truce, and maybe, just maybe: you're finally friends with your roommate. 

~~~

There's something about dramatic irony that seems to smack you across the face, every time. 

You've come to somewhat of a understanding with your prickly roommate, and the stream of women in his bed seem to slow down, for a bit. He's hot, he's a whore; but he's sweet, with an eye for detail. He can read you with a scary amount of accuracy. Antsy and hungry from a long day? He leaves you scratching your head at his clairvoyance when you come home, chucking you a hot water bottle and a warm meal. You go to bed with a full belly, cramps abated. 

He's still a prick, of course. Sarcastic comments, and a massive grump – but you've learnt to deal with that. Just a couple of days after a seemingly settled week; what you can't wrap your head around is the pounding music from next door, at fuck-off-o'clock . He shouldn't be awake, let alone interrupting your late night study session. 

You're pissed, leaping from your desk to pound at his door. You're thudding towards his room, ready to deliver a well-deserved verbal lashing, and the door just… swings open. Empty; there's a window ajar and music pumping from speakers. Bachata and cheesy 90s R&B; which sounds suspiciously like his sex playlist. 

Yes, he has a sex playlist. And it really has no business to sound as good as it does. 

Nevertheless, you're resolute. If he's managed to sneak someone, at this hour, you decide he's going to get more than a stern talking to. 

There's clattering in the kitchen, and you whip around; half-expecting the giggle of another girl. When you walk in, it's just Miguel, rummaging through cupboards: a half-naked thief in the night. 

"Miguel?" 

He pops his head up from a cabinet, with a half-eaten piece of bread in his mouth. Caught red-handed, you suppose; and he gives you a little smile. 

"S'everyfin' – mmmfggh –" He scarfs the rest of it down. "Everything okay?" 

You squint. "No. Not really."

He chuckles, a slight rasp at the edges of his voice. Dickhead – what exactly is so funny? 

"You can't have your music so fucking loud, not when I'm studying. It's the middle of the night and–" 

Dressed in nothing but a pair of gray sweats, he's busying himself with a sandwich on the counter; clattering around noisily like he doesn't have full control of his limbs. Which is…. weird, admittedly. You'd trust Miguel to slice a grape with a machete – his dexterity is usually unmatched. Not that you'd made a habit of staring at his hands, or anything. 

"Are you even listening to me?" 

He nods, attempting to keep a straight face, but the faux solemnity does nothing to hide that droop of eyelids and slump of his shoulders. You get closer, pushing him to face you properly. 

"Oh, fuck," His eyes are a little red, hair messy and windswept. "Are you… high? " 

Miguel O'Hara? High? You'd never thought you'd live to see the day, honestly. His eyes go wide, dropping his sandwich dramatically. And then he's got a big hand at your shoulder, pulling you closer with a finger pressed to his lips. 

"Shhh! You can't-" Now, he gets close, whispering your name like he's saying something he shouldn't. "You can't tell anyone."

With the way he says your name it makes you light-headed. It's slow and careful, as if he's testing the way it feels spilling from his lips. And maybe, with the way he smiles, it feels good; tastes sweet wrapped around his tongue. 

"I won't." You breathe, and then you're both giggling.

There's something about the way he looks at you, peering under heavy lashes; basically eye-fucking you in the space of your tiny kitchen. You feel bare in a little t-shirt and sleep shorts; suddenly exposed. 

"You should…" He starts, cocking his head ever so slightly. "Join me, chula. "

It's soft; sinful, even; said as he coaxes you between his body and the kitchen counter. 

You don't trust your voice enough to answer, legs already shaky, so you nod. Slight, at first; and then with a little more gusto as the idea of him and you on his sheets – intimate, alone – creeps in. He stretches out a hand, and you take it; led to his bedroom like a scene you've seen before. All those girls before you; led to the dragon's lair like damsels in a fairytale. Except in this one, you suppose, you're not waiting for a knight in shining armour to save you. 

He sits you down on the bed, passing you a freshly rolled blunt. Passing it to your lips , more specifically; hand on your chin as he brings the lighter up to its end. Even prettier up close, all you can do is watch the press of plump lips, and pink tongue sticking out as he concentrates. As he leans in, there's a hand on your bare thigh. You inhale, deeply, and he hums with content.

"Good girl," He purrs, prying it from your lips to take a slow drag. 

"You're a bad influence." You murmur, watching as his eyes flutter shut. 

"You need to relax," He leans back, arm drawn lazily upwards. "This is helping."

"That's not–" Oh. You feel it now, a steady haze rolling over limbs. 

Miguel quirks up an eyebrow, amused. 

You repeat, slowly, "You're a bad influence ."

"Does it feel good?" You pause, trying to ignore his low tone; and the steady blaze that it ignites within you. Dragging your eyes to meet his, you see it: want, lust, something heavy that swirls behind them. 

You nod, itching for another pull. As if psychic, he gestures for you to come closer; and your lips almost slot against his. He exhales, and you inhale; in the closest thing you've come to a kiss in months. It makes you ache for just a little more contact, for those pretty hands to slot between your thighs and–

"Is this all I need to do for some quiet around here?" He asks, lilting. If only he'd stop talking; interrupting your fantasy with that stupid grin of his. 

You're shaking your head, laughing at the sheer gall . 

"You're fucking someone new every week, O'Hara. Loud. Who was it the other day? Cathy, Kayla –" 

"Sita, actually." He has a strange expression on his face. "And we didn't fuck. Just going over lecture notes."

"Sorry . Must have gotten mixed up with the half-dozen other girls in and out of here. Our apartment's not a brothel , Miggy."

He rolls his eyes, handing you the remnants of the blunt. 

"...s'not my fault there isn't anyone fucking you right."

You scoff. "How would you know?" 

"Thin walls. " It's cryptic. What the fuck does that mean?

You take a careful drag, and hand the blunt back – trying your hardest not to strangle him. It must show on your face as you tussle with the thought, because Miguel is staring; unabashedly, unashamedly. When you notice, it throws you off. 

"... what?" Ready to defend yourself, you huff. 

He shrugs. His expression is soft, reminding you of that night, not long ago. 

"You look like a painting."

You practically short circuit. You've been complimented before, of course. Hot, by men trying to get into your pants. Pretty, sometimes. Beautiful, the other times. Whether it's been sincere, you don't know – but you're smart enough to not overthink it. It's hard enough to live a life, as it is; and you'd rather not be bogged down by what others think, how you look whilst doing it. And yet, you feel your body betray you; a steady bloom of heat at your heart, like you've been stabbed. So deep, it spreads like blood on the front of a blouse. Like a painting, he says. And you like the way he says it; how it sounds spilling from his lips. 

Its implication sits heavy. Like a painting : hand-crafted, silken, soft –

He blinks, the crack of a smile on his face. And it ends in a fit of giggling, if you can even call it that. 

"Stop fucking with me." You grumble, and he thinks the way your face scrunches up with disdain is cute. There's probably an implication there he should unpack in therapy – how he likes it when you shout and put him in his place – but he's much too high to care. 

"M'not-" He quiets down, flattens his face into something resembling sobriety and gravitas. He gets a little closer, so close you can feel the heat of his body and flutter of lashes. With wide, dilated pupils, he stills - and it really doesn't help that he looks so pretty. 

"Can't stop thinking about you, hermosa." His voice is low, slurred with the weight of the blunt he's taken careful drags of. Every word makes you feel hazy, drawn in by his lips. " Fuck, all the time."

"Hear your laugh in my dreams, sometimes." He circles your bare thigh carefully, without breaking eye contact. With a thumb on your chin, he brings you closer, and closer still. Gently, you close your eyes, expecting the press of his lips against yours… 

…instead, you get a puff of smoke for your troubles. Reeling, you push him away. He collapses on the bed in a laughing fit. 

"... now I'm fucking with you." Rumbling laughter, and you've got the wherewithal to be embarrassed – hand still resting on his bare chest. 

A little cruelly, you push down, giving him an elbow to the ribs for good measure and he splutters with surprise – laughing all the same. 

"Asshole." You slur, and he grabs your arm to pull you onto the covers with him. You paw at him wildly, wrestling amongst the table of sheets. It's not a fair fight, not really; the wide expanse of his bare chest feels solid, and he's probably got more muscle in his pinky toe than you do in your whole body. Miguel is strong , but plays along regardless, pinning you to the bed with his hands around your wrists - but lets you turn him over just as quick. You're both laughing, the blunt long forgotten but its haze blurring the lines. You straddle his middle, hips flush against his and he keens; head back and cheeks flushed.

"Fuck," It's quiet, said as he writhes below you and you try to pin his hands above his head. Maybe it's the weed, but he lets you: eyes low, breath steady. And you stay like that, for a moment; bodies laid against one another. 

You don't know who starts it: the slow roll of hips, the swell of his cock bucking up against your heat. Regardless, you welcome it, letting the heat build up with the pressure at your clit. Your hips sway and all Miguel can do is watch. 

Lips parted, head back; and you set a steady rhythm that washes over you both.

Humping against one another, you get more desperate and drag your hands to his chest for purchase. Underneath you, Miguel practically purrs – one hand on your waist and the other clutching yours at his chest. 

"So, so pretty…" He sighs into it, wide palm pawing at your ass, shamelessly grabbing handfuls. By now, he's rock hard; and you feel him throb through the thin material of his sweats. 

"Fuck, I can't–" You moan, ragged, the roll of your hips gaining speed. 

Miguel coos, bringing a hand to your chin to pull you closer to the crook of his neck. 

"Too fast, hermosa. S-Slow it down for me." He grips your waist, forcing the pace to slow. Your hips stutter against his, delicious pressure making you cry out. And, God, you're close; pleasure building up at your gut. 

"Ohhh, fuck. Just like that, just like–" It's soft, whispered between the press of bodies like a prayer: reverent, intimate, a slew of garbled English and Spanish into the shell of your ear that goes straight to your pussy. 

"A-Ahi, ahi–"

[t-there, there–] 

Plush lips brush against your cheek, and you try so hard to not float away - with only his words to keep you tethered.  

"... no pares lo que sea que estes haciendo–ohh-fuck–" 

[don't stop what you're doing, oh fuck–] 

The coil at the base of your stomach snaps, and you arch into his touch as he does the same. Miguel spills into his sweats, heaving with the effort. He can feel the clench of your pussy above, and he chases it in the aftermath; craning his neck to finally get a kiss. Limbs heavy, you still manage to swerve so his kisses land at your jaw. He's grateful for the contact anyway it comes and sucks careful hickies into the skin: at your neck, your collarbone, and anywhere else he can reach. 

You sink into it, curl up on his chest like a housecat; his hands wandering the gentle slope of your back under your shirt. 

Limbs heavy, you pry yourself from his hands ever so slightly. He strains to follow you up, snapping back into the sheets like an elastic band. Still, he kneads at your flesh - bare thighs spilling from your shorts. 

" Miguel," You whisper, hand travelling past his neck to cradle his jaw. "Need more…"

You punctuate that last word with a roll of your hips. Wanton, conflicted; he groans . 

"It's late, chula. " He says it slowly, hesitant – like he can't believe the words are coming out of his mouth. He's still high, lost in the whispy remnants of that blunt. You've never known weed to make someone more responsible, and you flop to his side, a little childishly. 

Miguel makes sure to keep a hand wrapped around your waist, dragging his other knuckles up your exposed tummy so that it rides up to the swell of your tits. 

"And you've got that 9am."

You cover your face with the span of your hands, grumbling. From between the gaps in your fingers, you repeat, 

" ...and I've got that 9am ."

He traces lazy circles in your flesh. Maybe it's the blunt, or the afterglow of an orgasm; but you make him laugh, a gentle ache replacing the creak and shudder of gears. 

"Idiot." He says, kissing it into your skin. And he burns from the touch, fleeting; like the warm flame from paper lanterns, or the flicker of a lighter against cool night air. 

_

_

_

Miguel taglist (1): @d1lf-loverrr, @afro-hispwriter @ilovemiguelohara @weedxgirlx420 @ladydovahkiin180 @aaliyuh3 @sweetanimebakery @vvitcxen @rosecoloredlenses708 @daikondal @magikmina @impettywhenyouare @alonelygirlsuicidenote @plushyplants @javi0ca @rheeves @starrfruit @nikirikii @marsbars09 @foxglove-grove @mimooyi @crosshairclown @dead-by-light @kynamitedessert @naarra @wanderlustingcastaway @sagejin @cookielovesbook-akie @tangerineloverrr @gobblegluckgluckgod @wolfiepirate @jxxey3 @ebrysteria @elliemm @manchuria @youngghostpeachslime @weasleybuns

@ilovemuppets @vauriz @bonbyon @aimno256 @ancientbeing10 @tvije @venus1224idkpleaze @neteyamsbulletwound @chickenjefferson-blog @maki-z @jasjasthings @aiyaaayei @hyp-oh-critical @tea-earl-grey-thot @sunset-euphoria @moonsio @akiras-key@szaplsdropthealbum@levanneisdumb @naiya-patel17 @Serostapesweat @strawberrymiguel @yumeeesss @errorundyne-exe @spear-bitch @redsoleily @marsissoswag @slezhara @ye4gerzz @adlct515 @nanam1 @indigocookie @cincocosas-blog @starguiders @path0logicalpeoplepleaser@funkyfishy@whoreloll@eugeab@tarjapearce@maddielikesmoths@egotaestical

[atlabeth]

Girl for one get that glass of water! andddd this is a loose request but I LOVE knight Luke and we just gotta see them have that cinderella live action ball scene like romantic dancing maybe the secret garden as well but either way we gotta see these gals at a ball! Have a great day you're an amazing writer!

under the moonlight

fic about the ball

pairing: knight!luke castellan x princess!reader

a/n: thank you so much for this request it is so fucking cute lmao. i changed it a bit to make it work with my vision (bc they wouldn’t really be able to dance at a ball) but the core is that they're dancing together!!! and it is much more intimate and personal lol. here is the cinderella scene that the ask mentioned (and that i took inspo from because it's a beautiful scene lol)

wc: 2.5k

warning(s): basically all fluff

as usual, a mix of hcs and traditional fic!

ALRIGHT LAST TIME WE LEFT OFF princess was dancing with princes during the ball and luke was sulking at his first ever ball accompanying you as a knight 

and thankfully, that all goes okay. 

You don’t get murdered, Luke only goes slightly insane, and you don’t fall head over heels for any royals. 

All in all, a pretty alright night in retrospect. 

But post-ball is rough on both of you. 

You complain about how much your feet hurt from your heels and how uncomfortable your dress is and how your cheeks ache from smiling so much. 

To your surprise, as Luke follows you down the halls, he laughs. 

You stop in your tracks as you whirl around. “And what do you find so funny?”

“Nothing,” he says with a slight smile, almost private. “Just… good to be back with you, princess.”

A small smile of your own starts to creep on your lips. “It was only half the night, Luke.”

“And you have no idea how much I missed you,” he muses. 

You just shake your head and continue walking. “You’re funny.”

(he’s not joking. he’s just going through it now that he’s not training 24/7 and actually has time to feel emotions again) 

You finally get back to your room—thankfully, you got out of any post-ball events with any princes by citing exhaustion, and it’s very rude to demand more of an exhausted lady—and Luke shuts the door behind you as you sink into the edge of your bed. 

“God,” you groan as you immediately peel your heels off, letting out a sigh of relief. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to those.”

“If it’s any help, you looked very regal out there,” Luke says.

“It is my duty,” you say as you smile inwardly. “You looked very knightly out there.”

“And that’s my duty,” he says in kind. He gets a chuckle out of you. 

You begin to take everything off—you undo your hair from whatever elaborate style it was in, you strip your wrists and fingers bare of bracelets, bangles, and rings (though you leave a certain necklace on), you undo parts of your dress. When you take your nightgown from your chest and go behind your folding screen, Luke clears his throat. 

“Princess,” Luke says, “do you want me to—?”

“You can stay,” you say. “I don’t mind.”

And Luke, idiot that he is, gets all in his head. 

(Does she not want me to leave because she doesn’t even see me as someone who could like her like that???) (We’ve been friends for so long, does she just see me as an older brother???) (Does this mean she trusts me or sees me as like. a painting on the wall.) (what the fuck) 

It’s not any of those, poor boy. it’s just that you feel more comfortable around him than anyone because you’ve been around each other for your entire life—he knows you better than anyone. What’s the harm in him being in the room when you’re separated by a folding screen anyway?

but Luke is dramatic and also so fucking insecure when it comes to your feelings for him lmao 

and he has a reason to be i guess?? because at this point while he knows that he has feelings for you (hasn’t fully realized he’s in love) you haven’t realized your own. you just think you have a lingering childhood crush on Luke and it’ll go away as you get older and start being courted 

(spoiler alert: it will not go away.) 

so he gets all weird and silent, giving one word responses as you talk with him, and when you come out in your nightgown you immediately stare him down. 

“Luke,” you said, “what’s wrong?” 

He blinked, as if he wasn’t expecting you to say anything. “Nothing.” 

“Luke,” you repeated. “Come on.” 

“Nothing’s wrong,” he repeated as well. 

You crossed your arms. “Don’t act like I don’t know every single thing about you.” 

“If you do, then you should know that nothing is wrong,” he countered. 

You stared at him for a moment more, then you held out your hand. “Dance with me, then.” 

That actually seemed to throw him off guard as he frowned. “What?” 

“Did you go deaf back there?” you joked. “I want you to dance with me.” 

He managed a smile, though it was slightly awkward. It only made your smile grow. “I don’t dance, princess.” 

“Which is why I’ll teach you,” you said with a nod. “I’ve had plenty of practice.” 

“And I have none.” Luke gestured at his armor. “I’m not exactly suited for it, either.” 

“You can take off your armor,” you said. “It’ll make it all much easier. And a lot quieter.” 

“My job is to protect you, princess.” Luke laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. “I can’t exactly defend you if all the armor’s gone.” 

You rolled your eyes good-naturedly. He really did worry too much. “Nothing’s going to happen here, Luke—not now. I’ll even let you keep your sword with you if it matters that much.” 

He still didn’t seem sure. You inclined your head and took another step forward, still holding out your hand. 

“I’ll count you through it all,” you promised. “And if you like, I can hum one of those orchestra tunes they played earlier tonight. And I promise it’ll make you feel better.”

“...Fine,” Luke relented, and he started undoing his armor. “But you don’t tell anyone about this.” 

“Your secret is safe with me,” you remarked. 

It took a fair amount of time for Luke to get his armor off, but it took just as long for you to get every layer of your ball gown off earlier—and besides, you had endless patience reserved especially for him. The toned forearms revealed as he rolled his sleeves up certainly helped. 

“Are you ready?” you asked as you held out your hand again. 

Luke took it uncertainly. “I feel as if I’m the one meant to be asking you that.” 

“You can lead next time we train together,” you said with a smile. “For now, you’re in my domain.” 

You put Luke’s hand on your waist and reached for his other one, adjusting until it was right, then you looked up at him. “Does that feel alright?” 

His eyes were startlingly dark this close, surprisingly intense. He nodded. 

“Good. I’m going to teach you a few basic steps so you can get used to it.” 

Luke nodded again. You wondered why words seemed behind his grasp. 

yeah girlie I wonder why 

Luke is. not a great dancer 

You’re not surprised, and you don’t say a single word about it as you teach him the basics. he spent his childhood swinging a sword around, and you spent yours learning etiquette and ballroom dances lol 

He steps on your foot about ten times and apologizes like a freak every time, you just laugh and smile and tell him you’re fine. Sure, your slippers don’t provide much protection and Luke’s boots aren’t great against them but you honestly don’t even feel it. you’re too busy getting lost in his eyes lol 

And for someone who spent two years training like an insane person, he gets frustrated very easily when things don’t go his way. 

“How do you do this? It’s impossible.” 

“I learned this dance when I was twelve, Luke.” 

as much as you jest while you’re teaching him the basics you’re encouraging him the entire time because he’s your best friend above all else!!! and you honestly believe he can do anything lmao 

And he’s a quick learner! He didn’t become the youngest kingsguard in history by learning slowly. So soon enough, you’re actually dancing together. 

Luke’s hand on your back feels like the most natural thing in the world, and you can tell he’s actually starting to get a little into it. 

You didn’t have to count your steps off anymore, so you’d switched to humming one of your favorite symphonies from the musicians back in Aurelda. 

Luke is still focused on landing every move, but your lead and the music gives him confidence in this that he didn’t really know he had. He spins you, and you get an idea as you twirl your way to the balcony door. You open it and look back at him. 

“Princess—” Luke starts as he takes a few steps towards you, but you just shake your head with a grin and hold out your hand. 

“Trust me.” 

And he does, somehow. 

You didn’t know what part of himself Luke had to get to in order to actually go along with this, but he allowed you to fully take the lead. His eyes never left yours as you guided him through one of your favorite dances—sometimes you called out whatever move that was coming next, and he would do it perfectly. His instincts and reaction time, sharply honed by his training, actually came in handy. 

“And lift!” 

Luke braced his hands on your waist as he raised you into the air without missing a beat, and you found yourself actually laughing with pure glee as you landed. You grinned at Luke who had a smile smaller than yours, but that you knew meant the same. He glowed with exertion and the light of the full moon shone down on him. 

Angelic was the only word you could think of to describe him. 

“Princess,” he said, bringing you back to the real world, “are we done?” 

“I see no reason not to end while we’re ahead,” you said, slightly out of breath from his lift. “You’re a natural. Are you sure you’re not a prince?” 

Luke’s smile didn’t fully reach his eyes for the slightest moment—he covered it up before you could fully analyze it. “Thankfully, I’m not. Otherwise I would have had to do that all my life like you.” 

“Oh, it’s not that bad,” you said offhandedly. “Especially when you’ve got such a great partner.” 

Luke suddenly lowered himself into a bow, his arm held in front of his chest as he bent over. You couldn’t stifle your laugh in time, but he was smiling when he rose. 

“The only proper way to truly end a dance, so I’ve seen,” he said. “I wouldn’t be such a great partner if I forgot that.” 

You grinned as you took the skirt of your nightgown in your hands and bobbed into a curtsy. “Thank you for the reminder, my lord.” 

A shiver ran through you and Luke’s eyebrows creased. “You should get back inside. You’re not dressed at all for this weather.” 

“It’s simply a night chill,” you said, and you walked over to the railing and rested your forearms on it. “And it’s too beautiful a night to ignore.” 

“It truly is.” 

You heard Luke walk up next to you, so you glanced over. His gaze was only set on you. 

You felt your cheeks flush and you bit back your smile as you stared back up at the stars. For a moment, you stood together in comfortable silence. 

“Thank you for tonight,” you finally said. 

You could hear his frown in his words. “What do you mean?” 

“Exactly what I said.” You leaned a bit closer to the railing, shifting your balance. “Your presence always… calms me. And I was a bit nervous for tonight.” 

When Luke finally responded, it was more restrained than usual. “Why?” 

“Well, I was nervous tonight because you put the idea in my head that I was going to get murdered,” you said wryly. “And your presence calms me because it always has.” 

“So… I made you nervous and calmed you down for what I made you nervous about?” Luke shook his head. “I’m sorry, princess.” 

“Why are you apologizing?” You finally turned to look at him, the smallest smile on your lips. “Anytime I got overwhelmed on the floor, or felt as if I was going to keel over from boredom, I just searched around until I found you.” You shrugged. “The sight of you alone was enough to get me through the rest of it.” 

“And of course,” you tipped a shoulder as your gaze drifted back to the stars, “you danced with me for no reason. That gives you all the good will you need from me.” 

“It wasn’t for no reason,” he said. “It made you happy. That’s reason enough for me.” 

The chill in the air was a blessing as you felt heat rise in your cheeks, and your smile grew just so. 

“Besides.” You could feel his eyes on you as he continued. “This was my first ball. Anytime I got overwhelmed, I would find you in the crowd, and your confidence got me through it.” 

You chuckled as your gaze fell to the marble railing. You didn’t know if you’ve ever felt less confident at a ball—but knowing that Luke was looking for you the same way you did him made butterflies arise in your stomach. 

Warmth spurned all through you, and the fingers on your forearms felt bumps rise on your skin. You didn’t exactly know what possessed you as you cleared your throat and started back towards your room. 

“It’s late,” you said, perhaps a bit too hasty. “We— we should turn in. It’s going to be a long ride back to Aurelda.” 

You paused at the door, waiting to hear Luke’s footsteps or his voice, and it took a few seconds for him to do anything. 

“...Yes,” he eventually said. “I apologize for keeping you so long.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh to yourself as you opened the door and walked back in. Always so noble—it was no question he had knight’s blood in his veins. 

“It’s not your fault, Luke,” you said. “You were just meant to drop me off—I got you to stay.” 

You sat on the side of your bed as Luke put his armor back on. There was no point in it, but he refused to let the implications of him leaving your room at this hour in his underclothes fester. 

“I chose to stay,” he said. “I know better.” 

“You can give it a rest for a night, Luke,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m your princess, aren’t I?” 

“Certainly.” 

“And you are my knight.” 

“Yes.” 

“Then I don’t see how anyone could have a problem with my knight spending time with me.” You smiled as you leaned forward, meeting his eyes. A smile twitched on his lips for just a moment before he continued to get dressed. 

Soon enough, he was ready to go. Luke paused at the door, fingers on the handle, and met your eyes. 

“Thank you again for tonight, princess,” he said. “I…” 

His breath caught for a moment. His eyes flickered down to your neck. A millisecond later, they were back at eye level, and you allowed a knowing smile. 

“I enjoyed it,” he murmured. “Goodnight, princess.” 

“Goodnight, Luke,” you said softly. 

And you got one more smile out of him before he closed the door behind him. 

[fairyhaos]

How To Fucking Write: a guide by fairyhaos

[masterlist]

this post details:

STARTING A STORY

PACING A STORY

hi gays and gals and welcome to "how to fucking write", a post (series) where i talk about how i brainstorm for writing, plan for writing, write the writing, and everything in between. nothing too serious here lmao, but i'm definitely planning on making at least a couple posts on this bc a) it's fun and b) i wanna help! so if you find this useful then pls lmk by reblogging + drop an ask if there are any specific things u want me to give my two cents on ^^

okok and now without further ado,,, let's look at the topics i'll talk about in today's post!

#1 - HOW TO START A STORY.

.. bullet point one : have an idea

the first big thing is that you need an idea. doesn't matter if you're a pantser and don't plan out your writing before you start. that's totally fine! but before you begin, you need at least an idea: maybe it's a vibe, a character personality, a specific journey you want the characters to go on. maybe it's a piece of dialogue. maybe it's the ending- the point you want to end up at after however many thousand words.

whatever it is, it's best to have some inspiration, some idea of what you wanna do. no point in writing if you don't know what you're writing, you know?

(of course, that brings up the issue of Having An Idea in the first place, but finding inspiration to write is a whole other can of worms we can open in another post.)

.. bullet point two : practice

okay, so now you have an idea. how do you put that idea to paper? how should you actually start your story?

it’s all to do with practice.

it’s the most annoying piece of advice in the world, but it helps so much. you just have to write lots and lots and lots, to find the way that works for you. whether you wanna start your stories with pretty scene descriptions, with dialogue, with dramatic one-liners. finding your voice, your style, what’s most comfortable for you, is really really important. and takes practice.

an example, though: for me, i prefer either a line of dialogue, or one-liners that a) help immediately establish a character’s personality or can b) introduce an interesting setting.

[chan + swingset] — one-liner example

[hoshi + silly] — dialogue example 

but of course, everyone’s style is different. so i’d recommend playing around! find a list of one-word prompts and just write a few that inspire you, writing the beginnings. it’s important, also, that you’re having fun, because if you’re already struggling with starting to write, it’ll be even harder if you’re doing it while feeling stressed.

.. bullet point three (mostly just for longer fics)

maybe you don’t find a style, in the end. maybe you’re comfortable with all of them, which is totally fine! but then you look at your writing, and you think, “oh… this isn’t as good as i thought.” 

and it makes you want to give up. what do you do, then? how do you carry on with your start?

just put words to paper. it doesn’t matter if the words are terrible, if you’re making up shit and using placeholders for description words or whatever. just carry on, get to a place you’re happy with, like the end of a scene, or maybe a dialogue exchange you really like.

because now, guess what? you’ve successfully created a first draft.

making first drafts is actually so important. seriously. first drafts allow you to fuck up, allow you to write terribly. they help you fumble and trip your way to the finish line (or at least a rest point) so that you can go back and do better.

even if your first draft is terrible, it’s helped you make your way to a point you’re happy with. now you have a vague idea of what you want, even if the description or characterisation or something is way off. because now, you can edit it, or even scrap it and use only a few words from that draft in your next one. or maybe, if you look back at it, maybe it’s even decent enough for you to use. 

whatever it is, when you first start writing that story, think of it as ‘The Worst Draft’. because it probably won’t be as good as you want it, and it’s okay. just write, with no fears of it being bad, because that’s literally fine. it’s not set in stone. the backspace button exists. after your first draft is made, make another. and another, and another, because i promise, after that first draft, it only gets better from there.

#2 - PACING A STORY.

.. bullet point one : adding things

pacing is always really tricky. however, i do think that slowing a story down is easier than speeding it up, so here we go,,,,

finding out the exact way to slow down a story really depends on what type of story you're writing, but there are a few all-round things you can do which can help pretty much any setting.

if it's a scene with loads of dialogue, and things feel like they're jumping to the end topic too quickly, add descriptions. your readers are blind, writers, and they depend on you to be able to see what's going on. are your characters having a conversation on the street? take a break to describe what they see. are they in a coffee shop? maybe someone comes in with a huge noise, or their coffee arrives at their table. are they hanging in midair with nothing around them? well, describe the actions of the character they're talking to, then.

example: (from my seoksoo fic bc it's the only long fic i'm working on rn)

by adding character descriptions, movement, thoughts, instantly everything seems to have slowed down. it thickens time, allowing you to move at a more leisurely pace.

if it's a scene full of action, you can do the exact same thing. maybe there's a high-tension moment and something significant happens. slow down time there, describe something small in great detail. talk about the thoughts they're having.

and even if it's just an ordinary scene, describing is important. the setting, the characters' actions, their thoughts. it's okay to write too much. then you can delete things which make things feel like they're moving too slowly.

.. bullet point two : delete

not gonna lie, finding out how to speed up the pacing of the story can often be really specifically tailored to the setting of the story.

with stories that have loads of action (spy, apocalypse, etc) i'd recommend adjusting sentence length. you'll want short, punchy sentences, without loads of commas and clauses, but you'll also want to experiment with having those short sentences gradually get longer. it helps with tension and suspense.

it has to be short. running fast. something to elevate fear. quick, but also desperate, before they then spill over each other, picking up pace, all of the thoughts blurring together and going faster, and faster, and faster, and then-

then the penny drops.

people use the metaphor of music a lot, and it really does work that way. it needs to ascend to its climax: gently, cautiously, before sprinting upwards and only describing things like the barest emotions (the fear they feel, the panic, anger, anything) before everything reaches its peak and comes crashing down in a flurry of action descriptions.

but of course, the easiest way to speed up something is to delete. delete swathes of setting description. delete unnecessary dialogue. delete an entire scene and rewrite with only the things you remember (which can help make sure you only have the essentials in your scene, btw. very helpful).

it might take a bit of adjusting, rewriting, moving things around, but ultimately, quickening the pace of the story depends on the way in which you write things. be concise, be dramatic, and don't dawdle.

... and that's it ! if anyone has anything else they want advice on (how to structure, how to write dialogue, how to plan etc) then just shoot me an ask, because i'd love to help however i can :)

tagging: @selenicives who asked for this in the first place hehe ^^

[siythn]

Bon Appétit

NANAMIXREADER! When your husband comes home tired and in need of rest, the last thing you want him to do is further care for you. When he's clingy and in need of your attention, what can't you resist? _________ ♫ TELEPATÍA - kali uchis ❝ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ꜱᴇᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴛʜʀᴏᴜɢʜ ʏᴏᴜ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ, ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍɪɴᴅ, ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ᴅᴏ? ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴡʀɪᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴀʟʟ ᴏᴠᴇʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴀᴄᴇ ᴛɪᴍᴇꜱ ᴛᴡᴏ❞

TAGS - @skadee @dottedsilktie @gopher-gal

The door creaked open, announcing your husband’s return from a long day of exorcising curses and dealing with paperwork. As Nanami stepped inside, you could see the weariness etched into every line of his face, the exhaustion evident in the slump of his shoulders.

Using a towel to wipe your hands, you quickly abandoned the dinner you had been cooking. In a few steps, you find yourself standing in front of him, feeling your nose crunch up at the sight of his fatigued attitude. "Nanami, you're home," you greeted with a softer tone, reaching out to gently touch his arm.

Without a word, Nanami pulled you into his arms, enveloping you in a tight embrace. His warmth surrounded you, and you could feel the tension in his muscles as he held you close, seeking solace in your presence.

You wrapped your arms around him, returning the embrace with equal fervor, understanding the silent message in his hold. I mean, who couldn’t?

But here, close and personal, you could feel the weight of his exhaustion, the heaviness of his burdens, the uncomfortable intakes of breath. 

A minute or two goes by and Nanami seems pleased enough as he releases you. His tired eyes met yours, expressing silent gratitude. 

Releasing a breath you were holding, you took his hand in yours and led him over to the chiffon couch, pushing him down and guiding him to sit. “You should sit for a bit, you’ve been working hard.” 

Nanami didn't protest as he sank into the cushions, his eyes drifting shut as he let out a long sigh of relief. You watched his Adam’s apple move up and down as he tilted his head back, seeking comfort within the cushions.

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at the sight. As tired as he was, he never failed to amaze you with how handsome he’d always been. You can’t help but brag whenever given the chance. You had the privilege to call Nanami Kento your husband.

And what a husband he is.

Reaching out, you brushed a stray strand of hair away from his forehead, tracing the lines of his face with tender fingertips. "You know, you shouldn’t always overwork yourself," you whispered, cupping the side of his face while stroking his cheek with your thumb. "It's okay to let yourself rest."

Nanami's eyes fluttered open, the curves of his mouth curling into a smile. "Thank you, love," he murmured, sneaking a glance at your lips before returning his gaze to yours.

Giggling, you leaned in to press a gentle peck upon his lips. "Of course.” Taking one last glance at him, you walk yourself to the kitchen to finish up the dinner the both of you were going to share.

Taking out a cutting board, you grab the onion and place it on top; cutting it into small squares with a large knife before scraping it off onto the side.

Before you can start on the garlic, you hear lousy, heavy footsteps approaching.

Moving to turn your head, Nanami's arms wrapped swiftly around your waist, pulling you close against his chest. His warmth enveloped you, and you could feel the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back.

"Nanami—what are you doing?" you questioned, putting down the knife while leaning back into his grasp.

"I just want to be close to you," he murmured, voice muffled against your hair as he nuzzled in closer.

You couldn't help but go red at his words, feeling the trickling warmth rise your neck. "I know, but you need to rest," you insisted gently, turning to face him and placing your hands on his chest.

Nanami didn't argue, but he didn't move away either, his arms still wrapped tightly around your waist, as if he couldn't bear to let you go. He’s known to be stubborn, anyone knows he would never give up that easily.

"Alright, you can stay," you relented, giving in to his clinginess. "But promise me you'll sit down and rest when I finish this." You motion to the vegetables being chopped with your hands. He gave you a slow nod in response, eyes shut.

Chopping up the ingredients, you feel the slight weight of his body fall onto yours as his hold on you loosens. It’s not that you’re complaining, if he’s getting rest here, it’s better than nothing. But, the warmth that radiated from him against your back made you suppress the urge to shiver. 

Even if it’s embarrassing to admit you occasionally sneaked glances at Nanami over your shoulder, it’s not like you could help it, especially with his breaths brushing up against your neck. 

As you moved to grab the thyme, you felt Nanami's chin rest on your shoulder, his breath now tickling your ear as he whispered, "You're amazing, you know that?"

“I know.” You replied, trying to hide your suppressing grin from his face. Sliding your hands down to his, you unwrap the grasp he has on you. “Sit down at the table, or anywhere—I just need you to relax.”

“But I am relaxed,” he mutters with furrowed brows, scanning your face for what seems to be an annoyance as he connects his hands back together.

“It won’t take that long, I need to move around to cook, Nanami.” 

It takes a why won’t you listen to me look and a minute to get him to unleash the hold. But yet, you still feel eyes watching. From your peripheral vision, you see him watching you prep the meal with a focused gaze. When he catches you staring, he gives you a grin, knowing all too well you won’t protest.

For the next few minutes, you worked in silence, the only sound in the kitchen being the sizzle of cooking on the stove. The one that seems to be the loudest is Nanami's presence behind you, leaning against the countertop. Despite his words, you could feel him watching you, his gaze not broken.

"You know, you're not very good at listening," You tease, sliding the food from the cutting board onto the hot pan. 

You hear his deep chuckle echo throughout the kitchen, “I guess not," he admits with a small shrug. "Need to make sure my foods aren’t poisoned, though."

"Oh, shut up," you quip with a playful smirk, suppressing a roll of your eyes as you turn off the heat on the stove. "Could you get the plates?"

Nanami offers a tired smile as he nods. "Of course," he replies softly, moving past you towards the cabinet where the plates are kept.

But before you can even step aside to let him through, Nanami gently nudges you out of the way with a small shake of his head. "I've got this love, you can sit down," he insists, his voice warm but firm.

You sigh, feeling a mixture of appreciation and frustration at his stubbornness. "Nanami, you don't have to do everything yourself," you groan, reaching out to touch his arm. "It’s my turn."

But Nanami simply shakes his head, his expression determined as he retrieves the plates and moves to set them on the table. "I want to do this for you," he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours with unwavering sincerity. "It's the least I can do.” 

You sit at the table, watching your husband move around the kitchen with ease. Despite his exhaustion, his movements are precise and deliberate, it’s freaky the more you take in how steady he is, even when tired.

Finally, Nanami returns to the table, a contented smile gracing his lips. In his hands, he carries the plates, each one carefully arranged with the meal you’d had prepared earlier.

With gentle grace, he sets the plates down in front of you, and before you can thank him, he’s walking to the kitchen again. Now holding two glasses and a wine bottle. The both of you share excited looks once you realize what he brought you. 

He sits down across from you, not before pouring a glass of wine for each of you, the deep red liquid sparkled in the soft light of the kitchen. 

"Bon appétit," Nanami murmurs, raising his glass in a silent toast.

You smile and raise your glass to meet his. "Cheers," you reply softly, hearing the clink of your glasses meeting one another as you take a sip. 

“Maybe I’ll make dessert, treat us to something swe—”

“Absolutely not.” 

@siythn all rights reserved!

AUTHORS NOTE!- not my best by ANY means i just have to get something out oops!

[abstractnaturaldisaster]

is it over now? (was it over then?)

part five

part six: with the wilt of the rose

With the success of Eddie's Steve single as his bandmates had started to call it, the label had basically told Corroded Coffin in no uncertain terms to channel that energy into the rest of their album. It wasn't that Eddie didn't like the attention his song was getting and Steve absolutely deserved it, the lying piece of shit, but it was like getting permission to write angsty music about Steve took all the fun out of it. He was fully out of inspiration of the angst variety and had taken a hard left turn into moping, feeling sorry for himself, and being one thousand percent convinced that he was going to be single for the rest of his life and die alone.

Eddie was reclining in his giant beanbag chair (his nest as Steve used to joke with him), occasionally humming lines, strumming on his guitar, and writing more and more pathetically dramatic lyrics for most of the day until he reached his limit and pulled out his phone. It wasn't like Eddie was purposefully keeping track of people in Steve's life but over the time they were together his little gaggle of gremlins wormed his way into Eddie's life too. Unfortunately when he opened his phone it was to tweets of Dustin going low key feral over Steve's new role in some indie biopic but at the same time being crazy upset that Steve would be incommunicado as Dustin so helpfully added in his tweet. The kid was such a dweeb. Eddie flicked out of twitter and opened instagram hoping that his feed would be mostly possum memes. He scrolled idly for a while seeing new tattoo ideas and of course many cute furry animals doing many silly things until suddenly he was reminded of a particular face Steve made and Eddie (although he would never admit this) searched for Steve's public profile only a little disappointed that he hadn't posted anything more recent than when the two were together.

Because Eddie may or may not be a massive masochist and can't leave well enough alone, he decides to tab over to Steve's tagged pictures to see if there is anything recent. In between several tags of Steve being unfairly good looking in whatever movie he was currently filming, Eddie was taken aback by a post that was just of Robin and Nancy. They looked a little closer than just gal pals or whatever it was the tabloids called them while speculating how they could be friends while "fighting" over Steve. So much for modern feminism.

Before Eddie got distracted enough to go through a full rant that might include a fairly long section about how Ronnie was treated differently than the rest of his bandmates, Eddie focused back on the issue at hand. Why was Nancy who he highly suspected of stealing his fucking boyfriend posing like she was getting engaged to Steve's best friend. And why did they fucking tag him it it? Robin was snarky sure but she didn't seem like that level of bitch. Eddie took a deep breath and opened the fairly lengthy caption to see:

nancywheeler Hello World! It's been a long time coming but I am so excited to publicly announce that me and Robin (@buckster) are going steady. I know I don't post a whole lot about my person life on here (seriously, the rest of the world is so much more exciting) but you've always been so supportive of my coming out and sexuality related posts as well as understanding when I needed to set a boundary between my personal life and my online persona. I've been unable to share my most recent relationship for a really long time because of the public pressure of coming out and being a "marketable asset." Steve (@sharrington) could not have been a better support during this time and took a lot of public flak to keep Robin and I safe and comfortable until we were ready to be out publicly. He always offered up his home while I was visiting and kept me company while Robin was working. I guess us bi guys have to stick together, huh? Anyways, that's all for now. And no, we aren't engaged (yet 😈)

Eddie was floored. He had spent all his time since leaving Steve's apartment feeling very holier than thou and smug about everything that happened with Steve and the success his band was experience because of it. Although if one Miss Nancy Wheeler was telling the truth (which like as a journalist Eddie thinks she has to), Steve was actually helping his platonic soulmate find love with his exgirlfriend. If Eddie hadn't already felt kind of shitty for assuming the worst about Steve, this had to take the fucking cake. Eddie was truly done for. Put a fork in him. He's the worst person ever. Fuck. He needed reinforcements.

devilededs: uhm hi friends, i think maybe i am the asshole in the whole steve situation can u come to mine?

ronnie: you saw it? i can finally give you shit about being a total drama queen?

devilededs: what do you mean? why would you not tell me if you knew it existed.

ronnie: precisely because of this vibe right now.

devilededs: okay, everyone but ronnie pls come over i need snacks and maybe some really b grade horror but you have to indulge me in my sadness.

garbear: already on the way with your emotional support jeff and frank. we'll pick up snacks.

ronnie: if you let me problem solve for you can i come for snacks? i don't think i can handle moping eddie without trying to show you its very fixable.

devilededs: YES! FIX! ME! HOW! GET OVER HERE!

Eddie flopped back into the beanbag chair and let his notebook flop out of his lap. Thankfully his friends all had keys so he could continue to rot in place until Ronnie forcibly withdrew him from his hovel.

part seven

@lololol-1234 @swimmingbirdrunningrock @zombiethingy @grtwdsmwhr @dreamercec @anne-bennett-cosplayer @strawberryyyenthusiast @mensch-anthropos-human @kal-ology @ttyrussss @kristmkris @starman-jpg @wonderland-girl143-blog @child-of-cthulhu @legalmenace87 @adealwithher @practicallybegging @lunaraquaenby @stripey82 @lexyvey @goodolefashionedloverboi @mothmamhasyourlocation @mugloversonly (if you wanna be tagged in future parts feel free to comment! happy to add people)

[aves-ery]

CEO or Mob boss Wanda and stripper R👀 maybe she's just getting some visit to a certain club and she only have her for R but R is kind avoiding her. R is kind of snappy and feisty for Wanda but Wanda loved her more. One night she saw R entertaining other guests so she brought the whole club and kicked everyone out so she could have R all for herself.

Idk maybe you'd like to consider, btw you works are great and wonderful and so are you! Thanks!!!

one, thank you! two, this is ctually so bad bc I'm tired and for some reason forgot how to write good smut? but heres just wanda crazy for you.

pairing; CEO!wanda x stripper!reader

warnings; smut 18+ ONLY, infatuated wanda, praise!!, strap-on, fingering

if anyone saw wanda at a strip club, it'd be a field day for press. but quite honestly, she didnt care when she laid her eyes on you. she saw the flashes of the cameras when she walked in, but when she saw you in that lingerie, she didn't care what the articles were gonna read the next day.

wanda sat snug in a booth, watching you from afar. her silk button up was unbuttoned down to her upper stomach, her boobs only covered by her tight fitting sports-bra.

"i want that one," she pointed you out to all of her boss friends, a beer bottle still in hand. you were all over someone else, a lap dance she presumed.

one of the guys whistled you over, waving a "come here" motion. wanda knew it wasnt the way to get your attention, but you followed through, stalking over to them. you smiled, waving.

"hey gentlemen," you said seductively, plopping your pretty ass onto Tony's lap. wanda rolled her eyes.

"actually, as pretty as you are baby, this one wanted ya," tony pointed to wanda, and wanda waved her fingers.

"you just caught my eye, pretty," she said. you recognized the CEO immediately. you had to fight an eyeroll because no way in hell you were letting some snob like wanda touch you. you turned to the gruffy man whose lap you are on.

"i came over to see you," you avoided. the men around the table laughed, making fun of wanda. wanda just told them to all "shut the fuck up."

she tried to get your attention all night, buying you drinks, complimenting you, trying to just make you say hi. all she'd get in response is an eye roll and a "leave me alone."

"yo, get away from the girl she told you to stop," a bouncer said, pushing wanda away from you.

"look man, im not trying to cause a problem. she's just a pretty lady," wanda laughed, trying to use her charm to make him let her through.

"sorry, the girls not comfortable with you," the bouncer said again. wanda groaned, pulling out her wallet.

"c'mon ill even pay to just talk to her, man," wanda pulled out a few hundred dollar bills, and you rolled your eyes at the interaction. "i wont touch her, fucking promise. just wanna get to know the gal," wanda pleaded.

the bouncer looked at you, pointing at the money. wanda was at least holding 500 dollars in her hand currently. it was a silent agreement, and wanda was allowed into the private room

she handed a bill to the bouncer, then a few to you, before sitting in one of the booths. "you're a feisty one," she joked. you rolled your eyes.

"you can't buy me," she snapped. wanda nodded.

"im not trying to, babe. you're just... very intriguing," wanda said.

-

you had complained all of the next week, even after you didnt see wanda. you just didnt want her around, and didn't want her paying her way to you.

wanda found that out quickly, but she couldn't help it. you deserved to be worshiped with everything she could buy.

she sent you flowers, chocolates, everything to work. she didn't even know what days you worked, and she still sent them. Every time, you snacked on the chocolate and left the flowers in the trash. you didn't complain about that though. if she was going to spend money on you, she was going to laugh about it.

wanda came again two weeks later. she smiled and waved at you, but you continued flirting with a client. your hands on the man more than usual, making sure to get a rise out of her. you avoided her, but from close by. she'd call you over, and you'd give a lap dance to a guy near her.

wanda was fucking tired of it. that week, she bought the whole strip club. when you found out, you quit.

"no." wanda said.

"what?! you're fucking crazy. you're stalking me!" you screamed. wanda raised her eyebrows, standing up

"im not stalking you!" she screamed back at you

you laughed, "right. you're just fucking craz-" wanda kissed you. hard. you pushed her away, looking at her like she was actually insane, because she was, and then you kissed her back harder.

wanda grabbed your hips, picking you up and setting you on her desk. "you were just too pretty to leave alone. I'd buy the whole earth to be with you," she told you.

you thought she was joking, but she really wasn't. wanda was infatuated with you. when you looked her in the eyes, you could tell. you kissed her hard, allowing the woman you barely knew to have all of you.

"you're so pretty," wanda said, removing your sweater and kissing your breasts. you blushed, nodding.

"thank you," you whispered, moaning softly.

"you'll never have to work again, okay? and I'll win you over, i promise. I'll take you out on dates, I'll buy you dinner," wanda got on her knees sliding your shorts down, looking at you in the eyes. "I'll do anything, for you."

you blushed again, nodding, "win me over," you moaned. wanda nodded, sliding your panties over and taking you in.

"such a good girl," she praised, licking you fully. you shook softly, tangling your hands into wanda's hair. her lips found your clit, sucking softly.

you let out another breathy moan, and another as two digits pushed into you. your hand flew everything off the desk, and you lied back. wanda could deal with it later, you decided.

she was quick to make you cum, cleaning your thighs and kissing them both. she got rid of her pants, revealing a large red strap on. you looked at wanda with shaky arms and legs, smiling at her.

she didn't bother to take her button up off, only her pants and boxers, before shuffling towards you. "can i make you mine?" wanda asked, kissing your palms. you smiled up at her.

"yes," you said again, kissing her deeply. wanda smiled, lining her strap up with your cunt, before softly making her way into you.

the strap was the biggest you've taken, so you were grateful for wanda's soft nature. she looked at you, searching for any sign of discomfort. when she didn't find any, she started to go faster.

your hands found her back, gripping her shoulders and scratching down her back, "faster, wanda," you pleaded.

wanda nodded quickly, making sure to pick up the pace, "anything for you, doll," wanda kissed her thumb. she grabbed your boobs, kissing them both before kissing your lips. "you're so pretty like this," wanda said, kissing you again.

"thank you," you moaned. wanda's hand found your clit, rubbing softly until you came around her strap.

when you finished, she pulled out and washed you up with a washcloth. she then put you back into your shorts, and then her own hoodie.

"gonna get you back home and run you a bath, kay? dont gotta worry about anything ever again. I'll take care of you."

[abravesoul03]

THE DEVIL WITHIN?!

(WOLF'LO CHOCOL VER.)

GP! CHOCOL X FEM READER

NEXT PART

Warning: ( Illegal age gap!/GP!Chocol/ Angst / Reader being forced/ Reader's virginity being taken away /somewhat of drunk Chocol?)

Note: ⚠️THIS WHOLE THING IS PURE FICTION, ANYTHING SAID OR WRITTEN HERE IS PURE FICTION ⚠️

A/N: Hi sweeties I'm back, with another Devil within series. Actually my first one for a non DC character. Hope you loves enjoy ♥️♥️♥️

"such a fucking slut aren't you hmm?" Gayoung grabs your hair in a ponytail, tilting your head so could make eye contact.

"awnser me pretty girl? Standing at the side of the road, with that slutty outfit raising your hand for a dirty fuck to pick you up?"

You were really scared, You were so new to this. In fact this is not what you wanted at all. You were just a runaway teen. No home, no food, no one to help you. You tried to shelter yourself at a local park for a few days. Until one night a man approached you to be a sex worker under him.

"you'll get your own palace and food, on top of that money. Just one thing is exchange, be my sex worker? What do you say?"

The offer sounds like a fucking shit wreck but you needed the money so you agreed half hearted.

It was your first night out working. You were given a really revealing outfit . And there was a girl who helped you with your hair. The van was filled with a few other girls too. The guy who was now your boss stopped at a dark alley in Gangnam.

"ok girls we're here, and remember. What you earn, half of it is mine. Everyone get out except for y/n."

The girl who sat beside you could feel your nerves rolling up, she offered her hand in a comforting manner.

"hey, it'll be alright. You'll get used to it. It's the only way of survival we have." You nod keeping your head low.

Each girl got out one by one leaving you and your boss lastly. From the driver seat he turned to you and handed you a little cell phone. The ones which you can only make phone calls with.

"here take this, you have a special client tonight. She's one of our important ones. She specifically booked you. You'll get a phone call from her soon, and once your done call me and I'll pick you up from her place. Got it? Oh and don't get on her bad side. You can go now."

You got out from the van, as he drove away.

What did he meant 'she'?!

Special client?

Specifically booked me?

Your thoughts were burnt away as the cellphone rang. You hesitantly picked it up.

"H-hello?"

"look to your left, there's a black Supra right? Go to it and get in." The call was hanged up.

(a/n: yes sweeties I'm a Toyota Supra gal😍)

It was a woman's voice. Her voice was a little deep. You saw the Supra at far end of the alley and went towards it. Your steps got heavier as you neared the car. You got in and met by women who looked like she was in her thirties. She was wearing a hat, and somewhat had a light toned hair. That's what you make out of the darkness.

The air was getting awkward. You kept your head low. She didn't say anything and just drove off. Around 20 mins later she drove into a parking lot and parked her car.

"follow me." She spoke up and got out.

You did as you were told. Then you realised she had brought you to a hotel. She looked at you with cold eyes, you could have sworn that it would have pierced through your brain. She grabbed your hand walked with you. The both of you walked in the hotel, she pulled you towards the elevator.

You took a small glance at her when the doors opened. Her slender hand still holding onto yours. She was already staring at you. There was something in her that you exactly couldn't tell but she looked pissed, you weren't sure if she was pissed at you or something else.

Once the elevator doors opened at floor number 7, she walked out still holding your hand. She stopped at room '825', taking out a keycard and scanning it.

When you got in, she closed the door behind you took of her shoes and cap. You did the same. Soon she pulled you further into the room. From the looks of it, the was prebooked or something.

A few bags and clothes here and there.

She let go of your hand a sat on the bed, patting the space besides her initiating you sit with her as well, so you did. She turned onto the tv to break the silence as took a glass bottle from the bed side table. It looked like liquor.

She took off the cork of it and drank some of it, and yes you were right it was some type of alcohol. Great it was already worse enough to be sex worker and now you have to deal with a drunk one? Great, just great.

Minutes passed as you felt movement from your side. The women scooted over to sit closer to you. Her hand rubbed over your exposed thigh.

"Get up." Her voice was low. You did, waiting for her next command. She unbuckled her belt and took of her pants, to your surprise she was wearing boxers. She motioned her index finger telling to come closer. As you did she took of her remaining clothes, leaving her only in her boxers. Once you were beside her she pulled you on top of her.

"Take off my shorts." She commanded you. It surprised you, what was really behind that piece of fabric. A little soft looking cock was presented to you. This was your first time coming face to face with one. Both a dick and a women with a dick.

"Suck it."

You were still stunned as to what you were seeing, which led to your lack of response.

"I asked you to suck."

Again no response. She snapped the third time. Her left index finger and thumb holding your jaw. As she spat out through her gritted teeth.

"I. Asked. You. To. Fucking. Suck me!!"

Her right hand made contact with your cheek. She slapped you. Her eyes were hooded, with both lust and anger. She got up and pushed you onto the bed roughly.

"Didn't that fucking bastard told you not to get on my fucking bad side whore?!"

"H-he did, I'm s-sorry-"

Another harsh slap was delivered to your cheek. Tears filled up at the corner of yours eyes threatening to fall any minute. Your vision was being blurred. Is this what meant as in speacial client? Who's gonna treat you like shit? This is not how you wanted things to turn out.

"such a fucking slut aren't you hmm?" Gayoung grabs your hair in a ponytail, tilting your head so could make eye contact.

"awnser me pretty girl? Standing at the side of the road, with that slutty outfit raising your hand for a dirty fuck to pick you up?"

She pulled you closer and stuffed her dick into your mouth. Tears streaming down your cheeks, your cries and pleades being muffled by her cock. A few minutes later she pulls out from your mouth, tapping it againts your lips.

Your tried your best to beg her to let you go. This was disgusting. You just wanted die right now.

"P-please let me go, I-I don't want this a-anymore-"

This time her came up to your throat, choking you. "Let you go? Fine, let me use that fucking cunt of yours first whore."

She flipped you over, ripping of your panties off. She got behind you thrusting her fingers in you. It hurt you.

"p-please I'm begging y-you s-stop- Ahh!"

She smacked your ass harshly.

"Shut the fuck up. One more word and your done!!" She warned with another smack.

Your felt disgusted. Giving up your virginity to a complete stranger let alone like this, a sex worker.

You tried to spare yourself by trying to keep quiet. Excepting your fate. Tears streaming down your face, as you thought it couldn't get worse. She pulled out her fingers, thinking it was over.

Not until a sharp scream was elected from you due to the piercing pain at your core. Something big, hot and wet being pushed in. You felt her hand pushing your head down on the pillows, muffling your sounds.

The pain was getting unbearable, your insides were burning. And soon after it all went dark.

(*・～・*)(*・～・*)(*・～・*)(*・～・*)(*・～・)

A pair of strong arms were wrapped around your waist. Soft heartbeat ringing through your ear. Your arm draped over her belly.

Your eyes slowly opened, scanning the unfamiliar surrounding as memories from last night flashed out. You tried to move your arm, you were aware that she was sleeping besides you. You were careful to not wake her up. God knows what she'll do to you again.

But may luck not be on your side, she woke up from your movements. She gripped thightly onto your wrist looking at you. With that same cold eyes.

Your heart was pounding, is she going to do something to you again? But the thing she did was unexpected. She placed a gentle kiss your wrist and spoke up with her deep voice.

"I'm sorry."

Her words were more than enough to push you over the edge of your already overwhelmed state. Which made you break done on her chest.

"H-hey look please don't cry, I'm sorry if I hurt you."

Gayoung was confused, why were you crying? Did she hurt you badly? Did it still hurt?

She tried stroking your head as you pushed her hand away.

"D-don't touch me please, p-please don't h-hurt me."

Her eyes softened. She felt bad, she did pay for you but still she was sympathetic towards your state.

"look, let me help you. Do you need anything?"

Gayoung got out of bed put on her shorts and got you a glass of water and a painkiller.

"please take this, it's just a painkiller. I promise, please trust me."

You were really hesitant but did so, in hopes of your pain being reduced.

The room was once again silent. You staring at your hands. Gayoung sitting at the edge of the bed staring at the wall. A few moments later She got up switching on the TV, in hopes of breaking the silence.

But Gayoung wasn't definitely prepared to see the news. As the TV flashed today's headlines, one specifically caught her attention which made her whole body go numb and her face pale.

(MISSING TEEN Y/N L/N, 18, LAST SEEN ILSAN CENTRE 5DAYS AGO)

Your pic was then flashed on the screen.

Gayoung turned towards you, as your head hung low hearing the news as well.

"Y/N L/N?"

-THE END-

(─.─||）(─.─||）(─.─||）(─.─||）(─.─||）(─.─||）(((

A/N: Btw should I make a part 2 of this? Maybe where in Chocol discovers the truth about the reader?

[aaabsinthe]

Hi!! Can I request crushing and relationship headcanons for Junkerqueen with a fem s/o? Like how would she realize she likes them? thank you! :)

Junker Queen x Female Reader Relationship Headcanons

A/N: It's been a while y'all - boy am I glad to be back. Literally right after I posted my note about all of the stuff I'm working on, I got slammed with the biggest assessment I've had in my course so far (17 documents total once I'd finally finished it) and caught scarlet fever of all thing so it's taken a good while for me to finally feel well enough and have spare time to write - but here we are!

I'm so excited to write for my favourite built queen - this gif alone is makin me feel things. I'm going to format all of these the same way from now on with SFW and NSFW headcanons from now on. Ofc there will be warning for the NSFW section :)

I hope you enjoy anon despite the wait!

-Nat

SFW Headcanons

Odessa is the kind of gal that isn't really impressed by appearances.

Sure, she has her preferences and finds certain things attractive, but that isn't what piques her interest.

For Dez, it's all about personality, especially if you're the kind of person who is merciful and gentle with others.

This doesn't mean you have to be a doormat, in fact if you stand up for yourself (physically or verbally) when you feel as if you are being treated unfairly or others are being treated unfairly, that's possibly the hottest thing you could ever do in her eyes.

It's just something about the Peter Pan types that really captivates her. Not just in stealing from the rich and giving to the poor, but in being self aware of your strengths and using them to do right by those who are not in the same position of privilege.

This is how she figures out that her little crush on you was not just a little crush anymore.

She overheard you and another agent talking about life before the crisis, and found out that you used to do volunteer work every weekend delivering essentials to the homeless in your city and how much you missed your community outreach.

That and she watched you sock a guy in the face after he attempted to grope your friend at a bar.

It's healing for her and her inner child and she finds herself looking up to you as a role model - she's aware she's no angel and has done many questionable things to survive out there in the wasteland.

However she hopes that now as a part of Overwatch, she can be better and similarly to you, that she can use her position to help others less fortunate.

Dez is fine with casual or short term relationships and has had plenty in her time, she doesn't necessarily need to know someone to be attracted to them - but when she built that emotional connection with you, that's when she knew she was in for the long run.

The best part about dating Dez is that she isn't embarrassed easily - she's very open from the beginning which means conversation flows naturally with her. The downside of this is that for the first few months of being together, getting to sleep was nearly impossible, three am deep conversations just hit different.

This also means if you ever need anything, she is more than happy to accommodate.

Sick? She keeps note of the medication you need and when you need to take it so she can make sure you take it (and bring you water in your comfort water bottle to boot). That time of the month? If somehow the stash of your preferred products are out, she knows what you use - she will get you more without you even needing to ask (she will however check if you crave anything in particular on the way out).

Expect to be doing the same for her when she gets sick - she becomes the biggest needy baby when she's not feeling well.

She's stuck in bed? Yep. So are you.

Not even by choice either, she cages you with her arms and well that's that. There's no fighting this goliath of a woman.

Loves her cuddles - all positions.

Her favourite is being the little spoon though. It's not often that she gets to feel protected and cocooned (can you really blame her).

Loves PDA - particularly keeping an arm around your waist or you attached to her arm at all times, though she's known to do a casual steamy kiss in public when she's feeling particularly jealous.

If you're not one for PDA, she respects that boundary... However she will pout at you with those big red puppy dog eyes.

Absolutely hopeless at cooking and baking though not for lack of trying. Wakes you up regularly cursing about burning her toast.

Of course it's not all sunshine and rainbows.

Speaking of waking you up, Dez has nightmares somewhat regularly.

She's always so thankful to have you there to vent to if she needs it and cuddle with until she's calm enough to fall back asleep.

NSFW CONTENT WARNING

NSFW Headcanons (18+)

Sex to Odessa is powerplay, a safe space to be strong and vulnerable all in one.

Hard dom top - that control means everything to her.

This woman loves a good scrap (duh), if you choose to be a bratty sub, she eats that shit up.

Go ahead, try and buck her off of you, she's not even using half her strength. She can hold you down much harder.

Expect to be begging for mercy.

The two of you develop a safe word very early on in your relationship, Odessa would never forgive herself if she pushed you past your limit.

Definitely has and regularly uses an appropriately sized strap (ouch).

Dez has her kinks. Sex between the two of you is rarely vanilla unless other feelings are involved. She's entuned to what you need and your emotions, she knows when you need the gentler and less complicated sex or when you honestly just need someone to hold you.

That being said, she has a reasonably high sex drive. She can manage on her own if you can't or don't feel like it, but say the words and honestly she's ready when you are.

Though she really would prefer you called her Dez, Odessa, babe - really anything other than her title outside of the bedroom, call her your queen between the sheets - she'll go berserk.

Dabbles in pain play, something of an every now and then addition to the bedroom, it's not something she needs and the both of you really have to be in the mood for the more intensive side of sex. She does however love to see you take Gracie's hilt in every hole.

Unless you'd consider overstimulation a form of pain play. There is nothing she loves more than watching you struggle and beg with tears leaking from your eyes, completely at her mercy.

Light bondage when she doesn't feel like physically restraining you herself.

Claims your face as her throne whenever the mood strikes.

Speaking of claiming, your neck, collarbone and tits are never safe from her demanding mouth.

There aren't really many kinks that Dez would feel uncomfortable with, she would try pretty much anything before she knocks it.

Definite no though - I feel like she'd laugh at ironically calling her 'mommy'/'mummy', especially if you have a different accent, but considering her complicated family past, it just hits a little too close to home to take it seriously especially during sex.

Obviously amazing at foreplay, she knows what she likes which makes it so much easier from the start (not to mention her cheekily buying vibrating piercings just to mess with you) but honestly the best part is that she's enjoying herself just as much as you.

It's all give and take with Dez, you give as much as you get.

[ghostandsoap]

Someone Unexpected

John Price x Fem! “Peach” Reader

Tags: Price being a simp. Laswell being a queen.

Word Count: 2.3k

“I plan to be of good service to you, sir.”

It started as a suggestion to Captain Price.

At first, it was a gentle proposal that another member be added to his team. Price declined once, twice, three times. After his third refusal, the suggestion suddenly became a request…and then the request became a demand. 

Price fought it, and he fought it hard. He claimed that he didn’t need the manpower. He said that his force was just fine the way that it was. He stated that they didn’t need anyone else. 

But it seemed that the harder he protested, the faster he was losing the battle. 

John was promised that Kate Laswell would do all the work. She knew who to find, where to find them, and whether or not they were right for the position. Laswell knew Price, and she knew exactly what kind of person was going to meet his expectations…if not go beyond them.

John wasn’t having it. He grumbled and griped about it up until the moment that he sat down in Laswell’s office to discuss her choosing. He was rigid when he walked in, not even attempting to get comfortable when he sat down.

“Alright, Laswell. Who’s the lucky winner?” He groaned not, utterly miserable over the fact that he was going to have to give in to this.

“Come on now, John. That’s not very fair of you, is it?” She asked, furrowing her brows at him.

“I’m always fair,” He shrugged, shifting in the seat he was sitting in across from Laswell. “Am I so wrong for asking who you’ve so generously picked out for me?”

Kate didn’t see any sense in wasting time. She could sit here all day and stall, talking on and on to try and convince John not to be such a hardass about this. Although, Kate would be there forever if she attempted that, and Kate didn’t fancy spending her time trying to chip away at John’s stubborn nature. 

She reached into the top drawer in her desk, carefully retrieving a tan colored folder that was thick with papers on the inside. He had no doubt that they were organized and paper clipped into categories. He watched her open the front and quickly scan the first page before closing it again.

“Sergeant [L/N],” Laswell handed over a manila folder with all of the newbie’s personal information inside. “Confident, empathetic, and very intelligent.” 

“Empathetic?” John snorted. “Does he come with a bow in his hair?” 

“A little empathy wouldn’t kill you to have, Captain.” Kate fired back. “And she is as good as they come. I hand picked her myself.”

Price debated getting up and walking straight out.

Price knew that the world was different than when he was a rookie. More and more women were being employed and deployed to the military. He wasn’t against it per se, it was just that if he had the option, he would choose a man most of the time. In his experience, women tended to be less rough and could be totally unpredictable. Price couldn’t afford that.

“I need someone tougher than my usual pickings. I need someone that I can trust.” He argued with her. 

“You can trust her,” Kate said. “She’s valuable, John. She’s skilled in tactical training…both performing it and teaching it. She’s also advanced in first aid and field treatment.” 

That could be useful…

“Hm. What else can you tell me about her?” He went on, curious to know more.

“I’ve spent some time with her. She has quite the infectious personality, the kind that lights up a room when she walks in,” Kate said. “She knows when she’s the best in the room.”

So far, there wasn’t much that Kate had said that was selling Price on this woman. All he was hearing was that some innocent, happy-go-lucky gal was about to waltz her way into his team, expecting to run the show. 

Price couldn’t handle that. That was so far from what he needed.

“What do they call her?” He asked, wondering what kind of callsign was bestowed upon her.

Kate had a grin on her face, a certain expression that looked as if she were about to seal John Price’s fate.

“Peach.” She answered.

Price almost choked on his own saliva. Kate must’ve been kidding. She had to be kidding.

“Peach?” Price scoffed at such a girlish call sign.  “Why do they call her that?”

The smile on Kate’s face was genuine, but had a message behind it that let John know that he was letting his stubbornness shine through. Kate knew exactly the kind of person that would be right for Price’s force. There was no doubt in her mind that the woman she had in mind was perfect. 

“She has thick skin and is sweet as can be…” Kate beamed. “Not to mention, she’s a true southern lady.”

Oh no. No no no no. 

Price was biting his tongue. He had quite a few words to say about that. This had to be some kind of cruel, tasteless joke.

Not an American. Oh, God – anything but an American.

“Kate…” Price sighed in distress, rubbing his forehead with the palm of his hand. 

“John,” She held up her hand before he could say anything else. “One chance. I’m asking you to give her a chance. I wouldn’t have made this arrangement if I didn’t think she was right for your team.”

“And if she’s not?” Price returned.

“Then you can say ‘I told you so’. Just give her a chance. That’s all I’m asking,” She repeated. “She might surprise you.”

Doubt it. Nice try, Laswell.

Neither of them said much after that. Kate had said all she needed to, and she basically kicked John out of her office before he had a chance to share his thoughts. He walked out feeling defeated, as if he had no say or control over his force. 

He wasn’t hopeful. Sure, some of the assets and characteristics that Laswell had mentioned could be potentially useful. But Price had encountered potentially useful people in the past, and none of them turned out the way he wanted.

It was out of his hands now, and the least he could do was do exactly what Laswell had requested – give her a chance. 

But there was just no way that she was as good as Laswell said. Nobody could have it all. Nobody could impress Captain Price.

For now, all he could do was wait and see.

***

Today was the day.

Price was told that she would be coming in today to get situated before the mission they were heading out for the next morning. He was going with the flow at this point. He was just doing what Laswell told him to avoid getting yelled at. 

He was preparing to leave, considering that they were less than 24 hours out from heading to their mission’s destination. Not to mention, he was feeling a twinge of anxiousness to lay eyes on Laswell’s prized pick. 

He waited a good while before making his way to make his official introduction. He didn’t want to seem excited about it because he most surely wasn’t. 

When his stalling time was used up, he made the journey to the spare bunk room where she would be staying for the night. It wasn’t like she really had time to get settled because she would be packed up and off the next morning. 

Her back was towards him when he arrived at the open doorway. She was occupied with rummaging through her pack and she didn’t hear the man’s footsteps approach and stop at her door. He knocked on the frame of the door to make his presence known, which then grabbed her attention.

She turned around at the sound, eyes wide and glittering as she made eye contact with him. His blood ran cold and his muscles went tight all over. He was physically stunned, because she was not what he was expecting. He went to introduce himself, but she identified him and was on it first.

“Captain Price,” She greeted, her southern drawl dripping off each of her words as she reached her hand out to him. “I’m Sergeant [L/N]. But everybody calls me Peach.”

So I’ve heard.

His heart started to patter away in his chest when heard her accent. It was thick and clear, and it fit her like a glove. Her words were spoken with genuine respect and admiration for the man she was speaking to. He almost felt…honored to be spoken to by her.

She wore a smile on her face proudly. It was a glowing kind of look that could bring joy to anyone who witnessed it for themselves. She had a gentle look to her. She didn’t look mean or like she had been hardened by the world. But there was something lingering in her eyes, swimming in the depths of her pupils that let Captain Price know that she had a tough side. 

She was beautiful. There was no other way to say it. She was quite easy to look at. He had a hard time looking away from her, like she’d disappear right in front of him if he even dared to glance away. 

Her hand was still held out to him, a flicker of confusion flashing over her face. He realized then that he hadn’t said anything. He had only been staring at her and analyzing her mentally…and probably making her think he was off his rocker. 

“Sergeant,” He returned the greeting, reaching for her hand to shake it. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Her touch was addicting. The sensation shot up his arm and tingled through his body in a way that made him feel all kinds of fuzzy and warm. It made it hard to retract his hand, and it wasn’t until she practically snatched her hand back that the handshake was broken. 

“Laswell has told me a lot about you. She speaks very highly of you, sir.” 

Sir. 

It felt dirty hearing her say that. Then that made him feel dirty. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with himself all of a sudden. Maybe he was coming down with something…

Get it together, John. Not like you haven’t seen a pretty woman before.

“She seems to think highly of you as well,” Price cleared his throat. “Told me all about you.”

He smacked himself internally for saying it like that. The change in the look on her face was subtle, but enough to let him know that you were thinking that he was a total quack. 

“All good things I hope, sir.” 

His knees wobbled. 

“Certainly.” He nodded.

He suddenly realized that he was out of things to say. He had planned a whole list of questions to scope out what kind of valuable assets that she would be bringing to the table. Now, he couldn’t remember a single one of them. She didn’t seem to mind the silence, but he felt like millions of ants were crawling all over his skin.

I wonder what the rest think of her…

“Have you met Sergeant MacTavish?” Price voiced his question aloud without really meaning to.

“Soap? Yes sir,” She answered. “I’ve also been acquainted with Ghost and Gaz, Captain.”

She was quick. She hadn’t even been here three hours yet. Price was beginning to think that she was several steps ahead of him already. 

“Getting on with them then?” He asked, and her head tilted to the side.

“Sorry?” 

It occurred to him then that his vocabulary and hers were likely very different. Her accent and dialogue was alien to him, the same way that he assumed his was to her. 

“I mean are you getting along with them?” He chuckled. 

“Oh! We’re gettin’ along just fine,” She smiled sheepishly. “I plan to be of good service to you, sir.” 

He hoped so. He really hoped so. 

“Good. Are you all set to go in the morning?” 

Is it hot in here? It’s definitely just warm in here, right?

“Ready to go,” She smiled again, and he felt a sweat break out on his forehead. “Is there anything I can do for you, Captain?”

Oh, Christ.

He had to get out of there. He needed to go and take the coldest shower that he could stand. Maybe it would cool him off and slow his heart rate down. He was surprised at himself, because he wasn’t usually so…suggestive. 

“I don’t think so, Sergeant. You’re all set,” He withheld from wheezing out an exhale of a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “I look forward to seeing you, Peach.”

The name vibrated out of his throat and seemed to echo through the air. He liked saying it, and suddenly he was excited to get to say it more in the future. 

“Same to you, Captain.”

With that, Price turned on his heel and practically sprinted once he was out of earshot. That was unlike any first encounter he had ever experienced. No one had ever brought him to nearly crumbling like that. It was freaking him out, and he needed quiet time to calm down.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how unexpected this was. How unexpected she was. His hesitation was now more of a curious feeling. He was curious to know how she would do and what she was like in general. 

Something was different about her…but he didn’t quite know what it was yet.

Peach had a lot to prove to Captain Price. She knew it, and he knew it too. The good captain wasn’t totally sold on her just yet, but this first encounter was definitely dissolving some of his initial reservations. He could get used to having her around and having her in his life.

 Little did he know that she would become a much bigger part of it than he originally anticipated. And for that, he was forever thankful. 

Maybe someone unexpected wasn’t so bad after all.

[padfootdaredmetoo]

Please can I have a Tommy x daughter fluffy fic where as her mums died she asks him to come with her to try on ballgowns with her and he doesn’t like a few for different reasons but he gets emotional when she finds the perfect one

Hey Anon,

Hope this does it justice - this request got me in the feels. Thanks for waiting. <3

Warnings: Teen drama, mentions of funerals and death - peaky related stuff

There were a lot of things you kept to yourself when it came to your father. Most of which Esme and Polly would wrangle out of you and give you advice for. 

You were close with each other the same way you suspected other fathers and daughters were. He was there to comfort you in his own way (mostly just holding you tightly) when you needed him, he gave you books to read and would try to remember to ask you questions about how you enjoyed them. 

He was away a lot for business but he always called you before bed to ask how your day was. Some moments when he’d drank to much you saw the pain in his eyes when he looked at you, a spitting image of your mother but with his eyes. 

You adored him, and rarely ever asked him for difficult things knowing he was always stressed. 

“Awe, you miss us, don't you? Next time we go you’ll be old enough to tag along. An extra week won't kill you darling.” Esme’s voice rang out over the phone and your stomach sank. You were in a proper situation now. You said your goodbyes but didn't tell her why her taking an extra week's vacation with Pol was a problem for you. 

You lit a cigarette and slid down the kitchen wall. They would be home the day of the big charity ball, not the type of event you could get a dress for the morning of. They must have forgotten that they’d promised to take you when they got back. You didn't blame them, this was the one time they got away from kids and the business.

You could ask… Lizzie? She hung around the family, worked for your dad, and seemed nice enough to you when you came by the office. She’d probably be able to help you.

You needed a backup plan, Linda still hadn’t forgiven you for an outburst you’d had at dinner a few weeks ago, but maybe John would help you? 

You thought about getting ready with Esme he’d always tell her what looked good. Well, mostly how he enjoyed the way it looked on her, but still Esme always looked very happy with his commentary. 

You got up and flicked your cigarette out the window before going to ask for a ride to the office.

You showed up and Lizzie greeted you with a large smile. 

“Here to see your dad are you?” 

“Well, I was actually - I -” The words got caught in your throat, she was far too pretty. Thinking of her seeing your awkward body in dresses made you shrink away. “Have you seen Uncle John?” You said quickly. 

“Should be in his office.” She gave you a look and you thanked her. You knocked on the door and his voice called out. 

“Hey kiddo,” he said looking up from a mess of papers. “Your da’s got me right tangled in this stupid paperwork. Give him a kick in the shin when you see him next will ya.” 

“Sure.” You laughed. “Guess you're pretty busy then?” 

“Be lucky if we survive another week with the hens gone.” He sighed, there was no way he’d be out of this mess any time soon, but maybe he could just tell you what to wear.

“What erm- What types of things does Esme wear that you like?” He looked confused by the question. 

“Trying to impress a lad then? Odd person to come to for advice on that.” He scratched the back of his head but before you could fix what you said he’d already carried on.

“Look if he doesn't like you as you are then there's no point in going after him. Gal’s seem to think we care about all the fuss when really - we’re going to see eve-” 

“What are you doing, love?” Your father's voice called from the doorway. Happier than ever to see him you sprang up from your seat and moved to give him a hug. Jarred by what you figured John was implying you decided to just pluck up the courage to ask him to go. 

“Get that shit done John, needs to be out by tomorrow morning,” John swore at him and you followed your father out of the room his arm steering you into his office. 

“What did you need from John?” He asked moving behind his desk. 

“Well, I didn't want to bother you.” 

“Trust me, love if it's worth asking, it’s not worthy of Johns's advice.” 

“Ah, well, I need a dress for the ball.” You stated, and he gave you a curious look. “Um, well it's my first time really going, for the dinner and dancing and everything.” You coughed awkwardly. For a moment you hoped that he would just understand where this was going and tell you he’d help you, but you looked at his face and knew he was lost as ever. 

“SO” you said a little too loudly. “I erm - need to get a proper dress, Polly and Esme said they would take me but they won't be back in time.” 

You brought your gaze from the wallpaper once more to still see him still looking confused. 

“You can have any dress you want, just give me the receipt.” He shrugged. 

‘No- I erm. I just- need someone to go with me.” You confessed sounding irritated. “I don't know what looks good - I’m not good at that type of stuff. John always tells Esme what he thinks about her dresses when we get ready so I figured he would be a good person to ask.” 

“I’ll take you.” He said uncomfortably. “We can go after-” He looked down at his schedule. “Can it wait till after dinner?” 

“Oh, yeah - thanks” 

“No problem,” He said with a nod looking only slightly put off. 

“I’ll head back to the house -” 

“I’ll grab you at 7” 

You gave him a nod and then left the office saying bye to Lizzie. 

Dinner was nice, you rarely ever went out to eat. You rambled on about a book you were reading and your dad followed along. Eventually, you started to tuck into your meal and he sighed. 

“So there's a boy then?” He asked looking pained.

“No?” You said startled with a mouth full of mashed potatoes. 

“No?” Tommy repeated looking at you with the look he gave when he felt you were lying. As a kid, you thought he had superpowers and could see in your mind. 

“No” You shook your head grabbing your glass of water. 

“John mentioned -” 

“He didn't understand what I was asking. Don't need to be interested in a boy just because I don't want to show up in front of all those people wearing something embarrassing.” You said defensively, face flushing. 

Tommy let out a hum and finished the last of his drink. Your last comment seemed to put him off even more. 

You finished up dinner and then headed to a fancy-looking shop. The sign on the door said closed but you followed behind your dad as he pushed the door open. 

The lady barely took notice of you as she shook your dad's hand, ensuring she would take care of anything he needs. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as she touched his arm. 

He turned to you “alright free rein of the place, go pick some out that you like. I’ll start on this side.” 

You almost wanted to laugh as if it was a joke but your father moved passed the woman and started on the far wall. She looked over your body and began pointing out some to try on. 

You thought about her suggestions and said you would try them to be polite. If you turned up looking like a frosted cupcake Esme would never let you hear the end of it. 

You moved to the long dresses and found a nice dark red one. It was a shimmery fabric but it was dark enough that it wouldn't bring too much attention. You had a feeling that it was the right one, but with the lower neckline you felt it might be a fight to take it home. You decided it was worth it and asked the woman to take it to the dressing room for you. 

You found another few that you liked well enough, all of them were black and made of various materials. 

You met back up with your dad in the lounge and saw him sipping another glass of amber liquid, a cigarette in his hand. He met your gaze and held his hands up in mock surrender.

“Wasnt much help out in the field but it’s only because I have faith in your abilities.” 

You gave him a smile, happy to see him in better spirits. You put the first one on and hated it immediately. It was much too tight and it would be impossible to dance in. 

“Not very practical.” You waddled out and you watched him point back to the dressing room sternly. “Alrighty then,” you murmured feeling embarrassed. 

You tried the cupcake one on next and fought to work up the courage to walk out in it. You struggled to get it through the doorway and your father actually laughed. 

A proper healthy loud laugh that was contagious. 

“I feel like Esme would take the piss for ages if I wore this.” You looked yourself over in the mirror.

“Not just Esme. Didn’t think it would be possible to make you look anything less than gorgeous. In that line of thinking it might not be so bad after all. Don’t want this mystery boy enjoying himself too much.” 

“Dad!” You snapped before fighting back into the dressing room. “There is no boy.” 

“If you say so.” 

You wore one of the black ones next. You walked out feeling comfortable, you thought the black would go with any jewelry and looked classy. 

You looked at your dad and his face twisted slightly. 

“No black.” His tone of voice took you off guard.

“Why not? You’ll be wearing black?” you asked trying not to get worked up. 

“No black.” He said firmly and you knew better than to challenge him when he sounded like that. 

You went back into the room. 

“Ah - that leaves one left.” 

“Give it a go,” he called back.  

You pulled on the red one and loved it instantly. It was grown up, hugging you in all the right spots without showing too much skin. The color made your blue eyes seem electric. 

You liked it so much you didn't want to show it. What if he hated it as much as the black dress? Or thought it was stupid like the pink one. 

You took a deep breath and called out. “Don’t be mean.” Then stepped out. 

You looked at the mirror avoiding your father. It looked even better in the lighting. Eventually, the silence was too much. 

You watched him take the dress in and thought you saw tears in his eyes. You wanted to run back and hide. Why was he being so weird? Even if there was a boy, it’s not uncommon at this age. Heck, most of Esme’s sisters were married by 16. 

“That’s the one eh?” He finally said looking at you.

“Yeah. Think I look grown up, but not to - erm-  showy” 

“Grown up, is one way to put it.” He finished his drink and smiled at you. “I think you look lovely. Your mother has a necklace that will match with the color” He said softly. “-if you want to wear it.” He added hurriedly. For a long time, he thought her things might have been cursed, until one day he came home from a very long trip and said it was him that was cursed. You shivered remembering that night. You always avoided touching her things, her room untouched but not forgotten. 

“I would really like that.” You said feeling emotional, you realized that the panic was about wanting to look nice, but some of it was anger that your mother was not there to help you. “Did she wear this color then?” 

“Always red.” He nodded. 

“Ah - well, I can see why.” You looked back in the mirror. 

“Look - I know this sort of thing would have been more fun with Pol or Esme- and you probably miss your mum a lot these days. Lots of changes and whatnot.” He waved his hand uncomfortably. “But - well, I enjoyed this. I don’t mind being around for this stuff. I wouldn't have liked you more as a boy or anything like that” He cleared his throat. 

Tears started to spill over something you hadn't even realized you were worried about. 

“I love you.” You said. Felt strange standing on a platform saying it down to him as a saleswoman was probably judging them from the shadows somewhere. 

“Love you too.” 

On the ride home you both made jokes about different things, Arthur and John weren't very good at taking over for Pol and Esme and you enjoyed your dad’s commentary about trying to keep the place running. 

When things quieted down you finally felt that you needed to end this boy nonsense. 

“Dad?” You asked wondering how he kept the car straight while fumbling with getting a cigarette out and lighting it. 

“Yeah?” 

“There really isn't a boy, if there was John is the last person I would ask. One time he picked me up from school, years ago, and a boy, Tim Weatherby, had waved to me. He ran his car into the back of his parent's car three times before driving off.” 

You watched your father let out another laugh. “Always classy.” 

“I’d tell you first obviously. Esme would get too excited, and Pol would worry.” 

“And what would I do then Eh?” He asked raising an eyebrow.

“Probably meet him and scare his pants off.” You answered honestly. 

“That’s a good thing then?”

“Obviously. If he comes back it's because he really likes me.” 

__________________________________

EXTRA - Tommy's POV 

Watching her walk out in a black dress made the fleeting moments of humor leave him. He sort of saw her in the gown but his mind flashed back to that scared little girl all dressed in black.

“No black.” He said slightly out of control of the feelings biting into him. 

“Why not? You’ll be wearing black?” He could see that you wanted to argue but he couldn't stand to see you in that dress any longer.  

“No black.” He said firmly and you looked a bit deflated before retreating back to the dressing room. His mind pulled him back to that day. You attached firmly to his side, dressed in all black. The way you tried so hard to behave, tucking your face into his neck to cry as they lit the vardo on fire. How you even tried to hit Polly when she tried to take you from him. How you would panic if he was out of your sight for more than a few minutes. 

No black. He ran his fingers through his hair. 

The next dress hurt nearly as bad. Tears he had not cried in years welled up in his eyes as he looked at you taking in your body in the mirror. 

So much like your mother, the style of the dress, the color. You were going to be an adult in a blink of an eye. Only small traces of that little girl left in your features. Now there would be boys and time left with it being just the two of you would start to slip away.  

He thought the dress was much too showy, you didn't understand that yet though. Considering you would be standing next to him the whole night he figured it would be alright. You could pair it with your mother's jewelry and he could get Pol to convince you to wear it with a shall or something.  

Eventually, your eyes looked at him for approval and he felt guilty for snapping at you. There was a very evident look of self-consciousness on your features. He wished it came more naturally to him. 

“That’s the one, eh?” He said and enjoyed the way your eyes lit up. He may not be the best dad, but he would try hard to spend the last time he had with you. Find things to do with you, before you became busy with the rest of the world.

[argisthebulwark]

Promised to Forget You

summary: It took time for your life to stabilize, to find your new rhythm without him. Separating two lives that had once been twisted together was messy but somehow, you managed. You've thrown yourself into your work and forgotten all about him - until one fateful evening. You treat yourself to a night out at the local tavern, only to run into the last person you want to see - your ex husband. gn reader, no pronouns or y/n used. feat: Brynjolf, Vilkas, Miraak warnings: they're long lol. alcohol, perhaps some unhealthy relationship dynamics, sexually suggestive but not explicit. swearing masterlist

Choking on your drink, you splutter behind your napkin when Brynjolf walks in the door. His hair's shorter than you remember but that's the same smirk you'd once so foolishly fallen for. Sneaking another glance at him you're grateful for the cloister of bodies shuffling through the room, keeping you from his direct line of sight.

Against your better judgment, you have to admit that he looks good. The black shirt and loose jacket are unfamiliar but look nice against his skin tone. It's difficult to ignore him - you find your ears straining for the slightest hint of his lilted voice over the music and chatter. Your food grows quite cold but your drink is long finished, leaving you a little light headed.

Perhaps it's best to head home. You'd intended to stay out a bit longer and enjoy your first night free of duties but the sight of him leaning too close to some girl makes you feel ill. That's the smile you'd fallen for, the conspiratorial whisper he'd once used to form filthy little fantasies in your mind, her fingers curling on his thigh. It's hard to correct yourself - you're divorced, he's free to do as he wishes. You leave a handful of septims on the table and turn toward the exit, shouldering past a group of bards in your bid for a quick escape.

"Runnin' off already?"

His voice stops you dead in your tracks. The rest of the tavern grows too loud when you feel his fingers hook through the loop of your pants, tugging just enough to bring you closer. Your heart rails against your ribs when Brynjolf's chest brushes your back.

"Bryn, we shouldn't." Your voice wavers, face heating at the response you're having to him. Rationally, you should scold him and walk off - but he feels so good. You've missed his smooth voice and the familiar way he touches you, heart uselessly clamoring for more.

"And here I was hopin' to ask for a dance." You can hear the smug grin in his voice and know you're absolutely fucked. There's no room for rational thought when his lips brush against your shoulder. "You got time?"

No. You should tell him no. You fight against the urge to sink into his touch when he kisses your throat. This was the hardest part of separating - working in proximity of each other while unlearning the casual intimacy. You'd worked so hard to forget about his touch but it was all undone with that one kiss.

"'Course." You sound strangled but he sweeps you into his arms without warning. Brynjolf's body moves with yours as the music picks up, large hands holding your body against his and it's all so easy. Your arms still fit so perfectly around his neck, each movement as fluid and familiar as the last time you'd danced together.

"Thought you were here with someone else?" You manage to ask, earning yourself a grin - of course he can detect whatever jealousy is coiled up in the pit of your gut. It's wrong to feel but you can't seem to stamp it out; the picture of his lips grazing her ear, her hand resting so comfortably on his thigh.

"The gal from before?" Emerald eyes glittered in the low firelight when he leaned closer, the hand at your waist tugging you closer. You're hardly dancing anymore - intensity builds to new heights when his forehead presses to yours. "Don't know her. Just saw you lookin' and wanted to see how you'd react."

"And?" You can't keep your pulse from quickening at the implication. It's all so wrong but when your hand slides down to his chest you feel it there, that damned ring you'd placed on his finger all those years ago. It's hidden under his shirt but you'd know it anywhere.

"D'you still want me?" Brynjolf breathes, flooding your brain with every possible answer; no, you shouldn't want him. You've already had him and left him. You've put yourself through hell trying to move on from him but you can't say it. Your fucking heart won't let you say no.

"Bryn," you mumble, praying that he'll laugh it off. Despite your instincts you let one of his hands rest against your face and draw your mouth closer to his, quivering under his hold.

"'Cause I want you. Think I'll always want you." His words shatter your entire world. Your resolve breaks and you forget about all the distance, the weeks spent apart and uncertainty. You forget the fights and losing yourselves in the Guild, the loneliness and emptiness. All you can see is the man you've loved gazing down at you asking for another chance.

"We were a wreck at the end, Bryn." You gulp, flailing for the right answer. It's foolish to keep thumbing the wedding ring he's apparently worn around his neck but you can't help it. The knowledge is thrilling - he'd never gotten rid of his, either.

"That's why we gotta try again, love." Brynjolf begins to sway with the music once more and it's intoxicating to be held by him. "We try again and again 'til we get it right. What d'you say?"

You could refuse him. You know he'd accept it - he would let you leave the tavern and pretend nothing happened at the next Guild meeting. But with the familiar beat of his heart under your palm every cell in your body screams for more.

"Alright." You struggle to sound firm but it breaks at that goofy smile on his face. "We can start slow."

His kiss is brief but sets your body aflame. It's something you'd lost so many years ago but it burns through all your reasons to refuse him. Your body remembers his too well, eager for more even when he pulls away. It may be a mistake to fall for him once more, but you take solace in the fact that it will certainly be fun.

Exhausted but resolved on enjoying yourself, you drag yourself to the bar of the Bannered Mare. An unfamiliar bard plucks away a nice tune from the corner as you're handed a drink, not bothering with food. Being the Harbinger is an exceptional title but gods, it's sucked the life out of you. Working with Vilkas grows easier with time but the toll the divorce had taken on you both is glaringly obvious.

The drinks go down easy and for the moment, the weight from your shoulders lifts. As evening melts into late night other musicians join in and local couples twirl happily around the tavern's main hall. Maids bearing trays of ale and wine tiptoe carefully between their bodies and you find yourself looking quite pathetic; empty bottles piling up at your side as you gaze out across the sea of bodies.

The man who asks you dance is kind. His hands are respectful when you whirl around the tavern, a laugh bubbling out of you for the first time in ages. It is simple and easy, free from the pressure of responsibility that crushes you more and more with each day.

"I don't recognize you, are you an adventurer?" You ask as if you've emerged from Jorrvaskr recently.

"I am." He answers dreamily, a kind smile on his face. "I've been venturing across Skyrim's wilds since I was young, though I must admit that Whiterun appears to be quite the gem." His sneaky smile implies that your presence may have something to do with that comment, though he freezes before you can conjure a suitable reply.

"Mind if I cut in?"

You trip over your partner's feet, scrambling for something to say when his smile dips into a grimace. You know exactly who looms over your shoulder - he's probably glaring in that intimidating way only he can, the one that sends fear into the souls of any sane man.

Vilkas chuckles when the man stumbles over his apologies and hurries away. You turn on him, lips a bit loosened by the alcohol and stab a finger into his chest. The hand raised in greeting proudly displays that damned ring you gave him so many years ago, firmly in place on his ring finger.

"I told you to knock that off." You grumble, irritated by how unreasonably attractive he looks. Vilkas smirks down at you, easily hooking a finger into the chain around your throat to reveal your own ring. You gulp down whatever threat you had for him next, unable to counter the knowing look in those brown eyes.

"We should talk." He breezes past you, allowing the ring to thump against your chest. You take a moment to stare after him, brain struggling to catch up with the past few moments. Vilkas disappears through the tavern's back exit and like a fool, you follow.

Chilly air stings your skin after the pleasant heat of a roaring fire. Gathering your arms to your chest you approach the shadow of a man leaning against the stone wall, feeling his eyes follow every move you make.

"Alright. Talk." You instruct, trying to sound intimidating. It's a bit undercut by your teeth chattering - damned autumn chill. There's a slight rustle before his jacket is thrown around your shoulders, still deliciously warm from his body.

"I will always be your husband." His whisper is almost entirely stolen away by the wind. The tenderness in his voice wrecks you - you want to comfort him but hold back, watching his jaw grind as he glares out across the plains. "I don't care about what the census thinks or how we pay the fucking tax - I will never stop being yours. I've tried, trust me - I cannot stop seeing myself as your fucking husband."

He gulps, knuckles white against the stone and tears threaten your eyes. Your voice is too tight to speak and you venture one step closer, intoxicated by the smell of his cologne. One shaky hand reaches out and for the first time in ages, you feel him.

Vilkas shatters at your touch. His hands are in your hair, your body pressed between the chilly wall and the delicious warmth of him. Each breath comes out as a ragged breath and your heart nearly skips out of your chest at the intensity in his gaze, something you haven't seen in years.

"Tell me to stop." He pleads and for a second you consider it - you could brush it all off as a drunken mistake and return to Jorrvaskr. The ring weighs too heavily around your neck when you stare up at this man you'd vowed to love forever, the one you'd thought had grown too far away from you to get back.

"Tell me to stop and I will." He growls, eyes fluttering closed when you grab at the sides of his shirt. You still aren't sure whether you intend on shoving him back or dragging him closer, too flustered by the closeness you'd craved for years.

"Don't stop." Those silly words barely leave your lips before he's kissing you. It's all teeth and tongue, awakening a desperate hunger that's laid dormant within you for ages - hunger for him. Leading the Companions had wrecked your relationship but he;s here now, and he finally wants you just as badly as you'd once wanted him.

"I'm so sorry." He mumbles against your skin, clumsy fingers unclasping the chain at your throat. "I'm sorry it got all fucked up, I know we got too busy but I should've -" his strangled voice cuts off when he slides the ring from your chain. You both stare down at it, the flickering firelight reflecting in its scratched metal surface where it sits squarely in his palm.

He doesn't need to speak - you know exactly what he's offering. Vilkas' hungry eyes watch every little move you make and you suck in a deep breath. Years ago, you'd dreamt of a moment like this - apologies and tears and reconciliation. As the distance between you had grown you'd cut off those silly little hopes in favor of stability within the Companions.

"Please let me be your husband." Vilkas gulps, shredding through those years of doubt. With shaky fingers you pluck that ring from his hand, admiring it for a moment before placing back where it belongs.

As the Last Dragonborn, there is no end to requests for your time. Dragons to be slain and battles to win, armies to lead and disputes to settle. Citizens and royalty alike demand each second of your attention but tonight is yours. You'd left specific instructions with your steward to not be disturbed unless the world is quite literally ending and you intend on enjoying these few hours uninterrupted.

The wine goes down easily and you find yourself chatting with a few local patrons. They are either too kind to bring your title up or are blissfully unaware of who you are - it doesn't matter, you are merely glad to enjoy small talk without anyone ordering you to solve their multitude of problems.

"Darling." A voice you'd forgotten ages ago shatters your peace. Delicate fingers caress your shoulder, sweeping aside any hair in his way to your skin. "A word?"

The eyes of your new friends widen as they stare over your shoulder. You haven't seen Miraak in ages but you can still remember how he'd looked when you'd last parted - beautiful and devastatingly intimidating. You mumble some excuse to your fellow patrons and shove out of your seat, hurrying after the dramatic flow of his robes.

Anxiety sends chills toward your extremities but you bolster yourself for whatever he could want - he's left you alone for lifetimes, never sticking his nose into your life until the dragon trouble began. It had been far too many years since you'd limped away from that ancient temple, ragged and bleeding from the fight that had ended your long marriage.

When you round the corner, whatever speech you've been practicing is banished. Deep green eyes eat up every little move you make, arms folded across his broad chest. His dark hair is now streaked with grey and stubble lines the familiar angle of his jaw. His nose still bears a crooked bridge from that last fight you'd entered at his side - your healing magick hadn't been enough to straighten it.

All those memories and dozens more come rushing back when Miraak glowers at you. Stolen kisses and shared passion, whispered promises and that rushed ceremony binding your life to his. You recall every moment and are stunned, terrified to realize that you are no longer angry with him.

"Why are you here?" You finally ask, brows tightening. "Why now?"

"You dare to ask me this?" Miraak rises from where he'd been seated, though the intimidating tone of voice no longer scares you. Puzzling through your recent life, you cannot find any reason for him to reappear so suddenly - you are overwhelmed but no more than before, carving out a slice of peace by purchasing a home far from any major cities a few months prior.

"Unless you are offering aid with the endless list of royal requests, I cannot fathom why you've chosen to approach me now."

"Insolent." Miraak mutters, stalking closer to you. You reach for the blade at his side but he's too quick, standing inches away while your fingers barely brush the dagger. Rage has twisted his features but you can see the slight changes in him; scars in previously unblemished skin and wrinkles around the corners of his eyes.

"I like the grey." You tease, a thrill running up your spine when his hand smacks the wall near your shoulder. "Looks quite dapper on you."

"I have given you the space you so delicately requested." He seethes, clearly remembering the parting threat you'd left with him. "I have not bothered you once over the years -"

"How kind of you, dear."

"Until you chose to share an abode with another man." Miraak finishes, malice dripping from every word. You struggle to catch up - there's been a couple flings over the years but never have you found another love, romance has eluded your life since that fateful falling out with him.

"What -"

"I saw you." His arms cage you against the wall, body pressed dangerously close. You can't count the years that have passed since you've felt this fluttering deep in your stomach but he's glaring down at you, clearly expecting an answer. "I watched that mortal move his belongings into your home."

Oh. Gods, he's so wrong but it is far funnier than the truth - that you'd hired a steward to care for your home when it became overwhelming. Miraak had seen your friend and employee move into the spare bedroom and gods bless him, he thought that you'd finally remarried.

"Are you jealous?" You taunt, deeply enjoying the deep flush in his cheeks. You'll tell him the truth after having a bit of fun. After all the trouble he's caused you, it's only fair.

"No." He lies, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He smacks at the hand you rest on his chest, fingers closing around your wrist. Arousal replaces those butterflies when he pins your arm to the wall, the cold metal of his ring biting into your skin.

"You seem jealous, Miraak." You gulp down the urge to kiss him. Even if he looks dangerously handsome hovering so close and simmering with poorly contained rage, you should not kiss him.

"I think it's only fair for this mortal man to know that you have a husband." He snarls, hips pressing yours into the wall. You aren't sure if he wants to fuck you or kill you - the perfect balance you've missed all these years.

"A husband?" You laugh, trying to avoid holding eye contact for too long. He's always had a way of seeing right through you - and you don't want to give up this game too early. It's proving to be quite a fun time teasing him. "I haven't had a husband since -"

"We are bound."

"We have not spoken in ages." You counter, eyes fluttering a bit when his hips angle into yours. Miraak's grip on your hand is just firm enough to excite you.

"That does not break our vows." His lips trail over your jaw, tantalizingly close to your own. "I know you have never taken another lover so seriously - what makes this mortal so special? Can he do the things I've done for you? Does he -"

"He's a steward." You're gasping before you know better, too overwhelmed by the lovely sensations of his skin on yours. Even after all these years your body yearns for his touch - memories you shove away until those rare moments late at night suddenly blasting to the forefront of your mind. "He's my employee."

Miraak's grin is positively wolfish when you glare back at him. Each breath you take is tinged with his scent, skin tingling from his touch and for one moment your restraint slips. You kiss this man you've cursed since the day you left him, devouring him while familiar fingers twist into the nape of your hair.

"Truly?" He whispers, suddenly vulnerable when he speaks against your lips. "There is no other?"

You know the question is loaded but you are nodding, willing to throw away all those years of hate for a few more moments in his arms. Miraak's thumb traces down your throat when you kiss him again, far more tender than before.

"There is no other."

[keegansgf]

"pink is nice"

pairing: Valeria Garza x fem reader

synopsis: some domestic fluff backstory on Valeria's pink nails.

word count: 1.3k

tags: domestic bliss, fluff, silly wlw brainrot

A/N: Have you ever noticed Valeria has pink nails?? I have so many headcanons about her because she's just my little silly goose. Yes, she's 100% an artist and yes she has awful seasonal depression. I also think the y/n I've made for her is a beautician who does her hair and nails. Hashtag Valeria apologist lifestyle.

"Sorry that I don't have any more colors! I thought shades of pink, yellow, green, and blue would be cute for spring." You said while Valeria looked at your relatively empty nail polish organizer. "You could go with your usual picks too."

Her brows furrowed, eyes squinted, and she stood with arms crossed, deep in thought. Never have you seen someone so decisive with nail polish– it's cute, though! The people around Valeria could never see her in such a normal state– thank god you were able to witness this. You spaced out and stared at the organizer until she snapped you out of your trance.

"Pink is nice. I think I'll go with that." She kissed your cheek and handed you the nail polish, base coat, and top coat bottles. You fixed the throw pillows on your shared bed for extra cushion, one for you and one for her. She sat beside you in her spot, putting the polish next to you and handing you a nail file.

"You think you can shape them down? I think they're a little overgrown for work." She laughed while pushing her stray hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear.

"In your terms, they are. I hate filing them down, though... you have such pretty nail beds."

"I wouldn't be able to do my job properly with anything longer, but thank you for the compliment, amor. Sweet as always."

You jokingly groan at her response, continuing to file down her right hand. You both sat in a comfortable quietness, the occasional dog barking or car driving by being the only interruptions. Valeria darted her eyes around the room before circling her sight back to you, the floor, then to her hands. By now, you were working on her base coat. Her focus returned to you when you broke the silence.

"When we first met, I saw you as a purple gal. It's a very royal color historically– it fits you." You said, observing the bottle of hot pink nail polish beside you.

"Really?"

"Mhm. You usually don't pick bright colors, so it surprised me when you chose this. What's the switch up today?" Valeria bit the inside of her lip and looked to the side, trying to come up with an answer. If she had to be honest, it was just a pretty color– one of her favorites, too. She does understand where you're coming from, though. Her nails usually match her everyday closet, which are neutrals and some hints of blue from her jeans, so she opts for either black or shades of nude. They're colors that don't stand out too much but still make her feel pretty wearing them.

"I felt a little special. Spring is here, so it feels less dead, unlike winter. Plus, our anniversary is coming up! I'm in a good mood," She used her free hand to pet your head, not wanting to mess you up by shifting to kiss you. "I think a bright color fits how I feel right now."

 You smiled at her genuine happiness. It was rare for Valeria to come home without stress, walking in carrying her anger from a mistake her employees made or a mistake she made herself. Whenever that happens to be the case (which again, is frequent), she isolates herself immediately. Despite her line of work taking a fair amount of collaboration, she works by herself most of the time. That left a lot of speculation about what 'El Sin Nombre' was truly like, and not who Valeria Garza was under her work mindset. It amazes you that you were able to get to know her with how distant she was with the people around her. You're surprised she even wanted to date you– let alone marry you.

"As long as you're happy, I'm happy, love. Speaking of our anniversary, what do you wanna do?"

"Well... I think we could both benefit from going outside. How does dinner sound? We can still cook breakfast and lunch ourselves. I know you like spending our mornings together." She giggles.

"You know me so well." You laughed, finishing the base coat, and started with the main event; the hot pink nail polish chosen by your wife.

"It really is a nice color. It makes me forget the seasonal depression we both got out of." She said, examining the sheer first layer. She was right about the seasonal depression. You both get tired during December, then exhausted trying to start the new year correctly in January and February. It starts getting better in early March when you're finally caught up with life, and the pace quickens to prepare for spring.

"Now you have me wanting to use pink too. I might go with a lighter shade so we can still match."

After about three coats, you were finishing off Valeria's nails with a glossy top coat. She looked at her other hand which was drying to admire your work.

"Good job as always, amor! When can I not trust you with my nails? Thank you."

"It's nothing! Plus, it's been a while since you've taken some time for yourself." Valeria clicked her tongue and sighed, knowing what you were referring to.

"I know, I know. I missed being home, too." The only con to being married to her; she's rarely able to be home, especially nowadays with her bigger plans. As much as you appreciate the precious texts and phone calls while she's hours away from home, dealing with something work-related, it's hard to cope with life going on without her home. Your co-workers always see you mope around whenever Valeria is long-distance, and she's more serious than usual while operating away from home. You completed each other so perfectly– it was like tearing the sun and moon apart when you weren't together.

Every conversation you and Valeria had brought you closer; it was the reason you both took interest in each other from the start. One of the more hidden interests she had was art. She isn't into doing her own art– at least not often, but she could talk about how it impacts her for hours. You remember you were on a walk with her while admiring the street art of Las Almas after coming home.

"What made you start liking street art so much? You talk about it so passionately."

"Las Almas wouldn't be itself without the street art. I think it shows the community and the will of the people. I like it for that."

"Do you have a favorite piece?"

"Hmm... I don't think I could pick one if I tried. You're always my favorite work of art, though."

It makes you glad that she sometimes treats her trips as art tours, sending you murals in a new town she arrived in. Sometimes you think in another reality, Valeria pursued art and wouldn't be as stressed and overworked as she is now. But as long as she's happy with her life, all is fine. 

"Alright, they're dry- ah!" You got pulled into a hug while Valeria laid back on the bed, bringing you down with her. She peppered your face with kisses before deeply kissing your lips and burying her face in your neck.

"Thank you again. I love you." She said, sighing into you. You were on your sides facing each other while her arms were on your waist.

"I love you too. You're welcome, by the way." You giggled, wrapping your arms around her, enjoying her loving embrace. You stayed just like that for a minute, savoring the warmth before Valeria spoke again.

"Do you want to get snacks and watch a movie together? I call it an early anniversary celebration." She said while getting up on her elbows and giving you a wink. "I may have been able to work a little extra last month to be around you more."

"Of course, I want to." She got off your shared bed, helping you up to go pick movie snacks with her.

"Alright, let's go. This week will be just for us, I promise."

[pray4byron]

i’ve had quite a few people say in my ask box “you’re like the only fic blog i follow!” and honestly, i’m not sure why, because there are various hazbin hotel writers on this platform who are talented and deserve all the attention they have, and more! so i’m done gatekeeping my faves and am going to guide you to some peeps + suggest you fics from them!!

key:

❣️ = fluff

💋 = smut

🌧️ = angst

📖 = headcanons

💕 = top fave(s)

@bigfatbimbo — this girl is insanely talented it’s not even funny. her fics make me HUNGRY, STRAVING, THRISTY. like holy fuck. no matter whether it’s smut or fluff or something else, it’s great, she already has quite a bit of attention, but she needs way more.

anyway here are some of her fics i HIGHLY recommend you go read.

“and i saw sparks” lucifer x reader (💕,❣️)

hate sex velvette (💋)

lucifer w/ s/o who got their nails done for him (❣️)

silly vox hcs (📖, ❣️)

sub!lucifer (💋)

“the morning after” velvette x reader (❣️, mentions of 💋, 💕)

“i could be a better boyfriend” vox x reader (🌧️, ❣️, 💕)

@si1vya — they are a page specifically for matchups (i used to do them, but now don’t, as that event is over for my blog haha) but if i didn’t get to your matchup or you want another i highly suggest going to faith’s blog!! their so kind and generous and are insanely underrated and deserve the love💕

i’m not gonna list any posts because their a matchup page but still go check them out!!

@multi-fandom-imagine — chelsea is SO TALENTED !! her husk fics specifically make me feel so whole it’s not even funny. she also writes for a number of other fandoms as well, but i know her from her hazbin content.

i just found her recently, so this list may be short, but here are some fics i highly recommend from this gal !

lucifer giving reader hickeys (❣️, 📖, 💕)

giving lucifer a squishamallow (❣️)

adam, husk, alastor, lucifer helping you on your period (📖, implied 💋 in husk and adam’s section)

husk cuddling pregnant reader (❣️, 💕)

@hazbinwhoree — you love adam? this blog is perfect for you!! no matter the fic type, they always write adam very in character imo!! one of the newer hazbin blogs i started reading for xD oh so talented and give this blog so much love for their dedication to writing adam haha

“Hands” adam x reader (💋, 💕)

adam comforting reader (❣️, 🌧️, 💕)

“PTSD” adam x reader (🌧️)

general adam hcs pt1 (❣️, 📖, 💋)

“Not Today” adam x reader (🌧️, 💕, ❣️)

there are many others that i did not include due to the post getting fairly lengthy, this list has potential to grow, no doubt. but i just wanted to give a short shoutout to some of my faves, please check them out, their so talented haha

i have a few requests in my inbox rn, i’m gonna work on them tomorrow, maybe tonight, idk yet

[ariundercovers]

A Fork in the Road (When Paths Cross, Pt II-Javi Peña x Reader)

Pairing: Javier Peña x Afab!Reader (No use of y/n!)

Length: ~3k words

Series Summary: Chucho's been like a father figure to you since he helped you out of a sticky situation on your second day in Laredo. What happens when you finally meet his son, the former-DEA agent, who just happens to ignite you in a way that you haven't felt before?

Chapter Summary: The next morning. Chucho, water, and a promise.

Chapter Warnings: explicit 18+ graphic descriptions of sexual acts, fingering, hand jobs, mutual masturbation, Chucho being a Little Shit, Javi being a needy demon, spanish nicknames, idk what else its honestly pretty chill

a/n: Huge shoutout to my spouse who assisted me GREATLY with the Chucho/Javi/Reader breakfast dialogue. There was so much I wanted to convey there and it required a lot of finesse. He was instrumental in getting it there.

If you're so inclined, please drop a like and a reply/reblog! I live for your feeback, and it keeps me going and keeps me writing. Did you like it? love it? hate it? I want to hear all of your thoughts!

PREVIOUS PART (I) HERE

NEXT PART (III) HERE

You wake up in nearly the same position you fell asleep in, minus one large man behind you that you’re not entirely sure whether you imagined or not. As you blink your bleary eyes open, you recognize finally that you’re not in your apartment, and certainly not in your own bedroom. 

Oh, right. So… it wasn’t a dream, afterall.

You stretch your limbs out wide for a long moment, sitting up onto your forearms just as the door is opening. You pray that it’s not Chucho, and thank fuck, it isn’t. It’s Javi, holding two mugs of coffee. He smiles at you and hands you one that seems to already have cream in it.

“Seemed like the cream-and-sugar kind of gal. If I’m wrong, I’ll take that one and fix this one up for you however you like.” You smile widely back at him and bring the cup to your lips, the smell alone waking you up a bit.

“No, this is perfect, Javi. Thank you.” He nods, perches on the edge of the bed, and watches you as you sip the coffee in your hands. “Is Chucho up yet?”

“No, too early still. Why? Worried about him seeing you?” You shrug in response, not wanting to admit it, but you know he’s right. 

“Alright. You’ve got two options. You can run out of here quickly before he sees you, or you can stay and suffer through it so I can make you a proper breakfast.”

You smile softly and look up at him from where your face is buried in the mug. “And what’s your take on a proper breakfast, exactly?”

“Pancakes and scrambled eggs. It’s about all I can make, so that’s your highest offer.” 

You laugh in response and sip your coffee once more. “Yeah. That sounds perfect, actually. I’ll stay.” You’re a pair of consenting adults, anyway. What does it really matter if Chucho finds out? You’re not a teenager, and he’s not your dad. 

Except, he really has been like a father to you since you got here. You’re certain Javi wouldn’t lie about whether or not Chucho would be mad about it, though, so you do your best to let it roll over you and move along. 

Javi nods back at you with a little lopsided grin on his face and stands up, brushing off his jeans briefly.  Then he’s taking a few steps to close the distance between you and leaning down to press a quick kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll get started then. Join me whenever you want. And feel free to grab a shirt, or sweatpants, or whatever you want from my dresser if it's more comfortable. Open invitation.” You watch him as he leaves, bringing the coffee to your lips again as you sigh. 

This is not how you expected your weekend to start out. 

Half of a coffee mug and one quick clothing change later, you find yourself plodding into the kitchen from down the hall, one of Javi’s t-shirts pulled over your head and your coffee, half-drunk, safely held in two hands. Javi is, as he said he would be, diligently working on making a mess of the kitchen. You can’t help but smile at the easiness of it, setting your mug down on the table.

“Can I help?”

He shakes his head ‘no,’ but doesn’t turn to you as he continues. “Never. I’m making breakfast for you, not with you.” He turns then and smirks at seeing you in one of his shirts - it sets off a pang of possessiveness in his chest that comes out of nowhere. “Done soon, promise.”

You sit and watch him for a few more minutes, the domesticity granting you a peacefulness that you haven’t often felt since moving here. You watch him move back and forth from the fridge to the stove, eventually making up two plates of food and bringing them over to set one in front of each of you.

“Thank you for this, Javi, it’s very sweet of you.”

“It’s nothing, really. Just tryin’ to treat you right. Plus, Chucho would kill me if he found out I sent you out of here without some food in your belly.” You chuckle at that, as you can imagine it easily. Chucho does always seem to have a touch of a temper, and a keen ability to push Javi’s buttons with expert technique, as he demonstrated last night. He’s also strangely protective of you, for a reason you can’t quite place.

“Thank you, anyway. I appreciate it. And the coffee. And the shirt, actually.” You offer him a genuine smile and then turn to your plate, digging into the array he’s laid out for you. It’s shockingly well-made, which only surprises you because you can’t really picture him as much of a home chef.

You’re both working your way through your plates when you hear the floorboards creaking down the hallway and your head snaps in the direction of Chucho’s room. Your head turns just in time for him to emerge from his room, one brow quirked up at you as he makes immediate eye contact.

Ah. So that eyebrow is genetic, in fact. 

You shoot him an uneasy smile as you feel a heat rise to your cheeks, a bit embarrassed at being caught. You can’t help it - it feels like being caught by your own father.

“Mornin’, Pops.”

“Javier,” he responds, deadpan, looking Javi directly in the eye. The heat in your cheeks deepens as Chucho walks over to the stove, starting to fix himself a plate, as well. You and Javi sit in a stunned silence, bodies rigid with the palpable tension between you all. Chucho sighs, still facing the oven, and adds, “so… we’re having breakfast as well as dinner, now?” 

You can’t see it, but he has a smirk that rivals Javi’s on his face as he speaks. You snort, placing your coffee mug down before addressing him directly. 

“How could I resist a home-cooked meal from Javi himself?”

He turns with his plate now full, and heads toward the two of you. You can see the smile on his face as he walks up behind Javier. “I hope his cooking doesn’t scare you off of our standing dinner dates.”

Javi looks over at you with a wicked smirk and replies, “Oh no, I am certainly countin’ on those to continue,” and then, as soon as the words are out of his mouth, Chucho is smacking him in the head, cursing him under his breath. Javi rubs at the back of his head instinctually with a nervous chuckle and Chucho takes a seat at the head of the table, eyes darting back and forth between you two for a moment. 

“Listen, I’m not one to get in the way of things. Treat each other right and I’ve got no opposition. We’re all adults here.” 

You heave out a sigh of relief, grateful for the confirmation that he isn’t actually upset with you. You were feeling like a teenager getting caught red-handed with a pack of condoms by your parents.

“You got it, Pops,” Javi responds, and you turn to offer him a gentle look before shifting your attention back to your plate. Something warm blooms in your chest as you consider the exchange.

The three of you finish eating in a comfortable silence before Chucho excuses himself to go off and start the day’s work on the ranch. Javi takes your plate to the sink and when he comes back, he holds his hand out for yours, helping you out of your chair. You walk back to his room together and you start to gather up your things quickly, feeling once again like you’ve overstayed your welcome somehow. Plus, you need to get home and take a shower, brush your teeth, all the things you usually would have done by this point in the morning

“Muñeca, what’s the rush for?” Your head pops up to look at Javi, propped up against the edge of his desk with one foot crossed over the other. You take a deep breath before you respond.

“Just feel like I need to get out of your hair. Also, I need to change, and shower, and brush my teeth, and all the other stuff I do in the morning.” Shrugging, you go back to gathering your things, but you hear him shift and then in just a few steps bring his body within such close of a distance you think you can feel his body heat through the air between you. He tucks a finger under your chin and lifts, forcing you to stand upright as he tugs your head into alignment so that he can look into your eyes.

“At least half of those things, you can do here, instead. Don’t really want to let you go just yet, darlin’.” You’re lost to his gaze, blinking up at him with wide eyes. 

“And what are you suggesting, Javi?” He leans down and brushes your lips with his, pulling you into a much tighter embrace as his other hand snakes its way around your hips.

“You said you need a shower, didn’t you? Then shower with me, muñequita. We’ve got running water, too.” You giggle slightly, leaning up just enough to peck him on the lips.

“Well… since you put it like that…” Your hands find their way to his waist, fingers catching in his belt loops as you tug, trying to pull his hips in, against yours. His hand shifts from your chin to wrap into your hair at the back of your head, tugging lightly to expose your neck, where he promptly attaches his lips and teeth to. You groan, letting your head loll to the side as you close your eyes and let him lavish you with the attention of his mouth.

He pulls you toward the door, breaking apart only long enough to lead you straight across the hallway and into the bathroom. He sets you back against the countertop, arms caging you in as he leans in for a much softer kiss than the ones you’ve shared so far. It makes your head spin, twists your insides into a knot, and short circuits your brain for a moment.

When he finally pulls away, you’re breathless, pupils blown out wide and mouth hanging open as you gape up at him. His lips twist into a mischievous smile as he stares at you, his fingers fiddling with the edge of his shirt, still tugged tightly onto your upper body. He eases it over your head, dropping it onto the counter, and reaches for your jeans, deftly unfastening them so you can shimmy them down your body, as well. His shirt comes off, then, his own belt and jeans, and suddenly you’re standing in front of each other in just your underwear.

Javi turns to turn on the shower, letting the water heat up while he puts his hands all over you - sliding up and down your torso, chest, and ass. Gripping the meat of your ass tightly in two large palms, he presses your hips into his again and you can feel his nearly hard cock jabbing into your hip.

“See what you do to me, muñeca? All it takes is looking at you.” You smile back at the praise and run your hands along his arms, winding them around behind his neck as he leans in to kiss you. He checks the temperature of the water quickly and then leads you in, holding your hand as you step over the tub edge and under the spray. You have to admit, it feels nice, and it’s even nicer when he steps in front of you and floods your vision with the broad expanse of his naked torso.

You take your time washing one another, lathering and scrubbing and rinsing in tandem as your hands work all along each other’s skin. It’s such a basic but intimate action that it makes your heart swell to be able to do it, and sets off a pang in your chest when you remember you just met this man last night.

How in the world did he have you falling so head over heels already?

Organically, your gentle scrubbing and lathering hands turn slowly into more sensual touches. Javi’s fingers reach for your ass and inner thighs, hitching one of your legs up into the crook of his elbow. 

“Let me feel you, baby,” he drawls, head dipping to mouth at your throat as his fingertips tease at your wet folds. You push your hips into his hand in response and his middle finger finds your clit, drawing little circles around it as you moan softly. 

“Fuck, Javi, okay.” Your hands shift then, one moving to rest on his chest as the other reaches for his cock, settling in a loose fist at the base as you start to stroke him with a matching intensity to his lazy circles on your clit. He groans into you ear and presses his finger a little more directly before sliding it down to your entrance and pressing in. His thumb finds your clit again and you can’t help the little whine you let out in response. 

“Love all those little sounds you give me, muñequita. Every one of them goes straight to my cock.” He chuckles, nipping at your throat and then your jaw as he pumps his finger in and out of you, eventually adding a second finger. Your strokes along his length quicken, squeezing tighter and adding a little twist to it each time you make your way back up to the head. He moans deeply right into your ear and your eyes close softly, lost in the feeling of it.

With your back pressed up against the cool tile of the shower and the heat of his body pressed against you, it’s not long before he has you shattering into oblivion for him, cumming hard on his fingers as he works you right through your orgasm. As soon as you’re back in your own body a bit, your focus shifts to getting him off, hand diligently stroking his cock, thumb swiping over the reddened tip, until he’s cumming too, shooting bright white streaks all across your belly. 

You giggle a little bit and he lets go of your leg as you stand. “I think this shower served the opposite purpose. Now I need to wash myself all over again.” He offers a chuckle as he eases you back to standing, breath still heaving in and out. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll help you with that, promise. But give me a minute.” He leans in to kiss you again, though this time is totally different than the way he kissed you against the counter. it’s slow, sweet, gentle, even, his hands rubbing soothing circles over your skin. 

When Javi pulls away, he reaches up for the shower head and bring it between the two of you, rinsing off your stomach and himself with the warm water before replacing it and grabbing the soap. Just as he said he would, he carefully lathers you both up before directing you back under the spray and then himself. His lips find yours once more before he winks at you.

“Ready? I’ll give you a new shirt and stop holding you hostage here when we get out. Promise.” Another quick kiss from Javi lets him reach around you and turn off the spray, then turning and helping you back out of the tub. He steps out himself and gathers up two towels, wrapping one around your shoulders before he towels off his hair and his own body.

You take your time drying off and dressing, pausing every once and a while to offer each other gentle kisses and easy smiles. Things between you feel almost too easy, too natural. Togetherness comes to the two of you like second nature. If you knew any better, you’d probably be unnerved by it all, but you don’t, so you soak it in, instead.

Javi leads you back across the hall and, as promised, offers you a clean shirt and a peck on the cheek. He gets himself dressed and helps you gather your things, walking you out into the living room, where Chucho is back from feeding the animals and sitting in his leather chair for a few minutes of rest. Javi leads you to the front door, unlocking it and opening it for the two of you to walk out.

Chucho looks over to you with that signature eyebrow quirk and pipes in, “Same time next week?” You let out a little nervous laugh and you can feel the telltale searing heat work its way back into your cheeks.

“Yeah. Same time next week,” you respond, even more heat blooming in your cheeks, and Javi leads you out of the house. He walks you the whole way to your car with a gentle hand at your lower back, leading you along until you’re at the driver side door and he’s pressing your back up against it, leaning into you.

“I had so much fun with you, muñequita,” he whispers into your ear before nipping lightly at your earlobe. “Thank you.”

That same heat which had only just started to dissipate rises to your cheeks again, and a breath catches in your throat. Swallowing thickly, you look up at him with a small groan and smile back at him. 

“I did, too, Javi. you don’t have to thank me.” He shoots back a matching smile and lifts your chin to press a sweet kiss onto your lips. 

“Well, I’m thanking you anyway.” He pauses for a beat before he continues. “What do you think about dinner later this week, just the two of us? Or lunch. Anything you want. No Pops invited.” Your smile grows wider as his thumb brushes gently along your cheekbone.

“Yeah? I’d like that a lot, actually.” 

He kisses you one more time before taking a step back and shoving his hands in his pockets so he isn’t tempted to keep taking and taking. “Well… It’s a date, then?”

You nod and a light chuckle slips out that you didn’t expect.

“Yeah. It’s a date.”

~~~ a/n: don't forget to like/reply/reblog! I love to hear from you!