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redr0sewrites · 3 months

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Sick!Hazbin Hotel x Reader Hcs

i love reverse comfort sm. im also currently being brutally murdered by allergies but i prefer comforting others so here we are

🥀 Cw: fluff, crack, teensy bit of angst with comfort

🥀 Pairing(s): Lucifer x reader, Alastor x reader, Vox x reader, Adam x reader

Lucifer:

sick? him? please, the king of hell doesn't get sick!

thats what he claims anyways

lucifer brushes nearly everything off as just plain allergies, he could literally have a 103 fever and be shaking on the floor and would still be pouting and saying he's fine

the thing about him tho is that he's easy to take care of- after a little coaxing lucifer just sighs and nods glumly before pretty much submitting himself to your care

once he's admitted hes sick tho, he wants you around him 24/7

lucifer wants cuddles, hugs, kisses, he just gets so clingy when he's feeling under the weather

THIS MAN LITERALLY BURNS UP WHEN HE'S SICK ITS ALWAYS THE LITTLE ONES WITH THE HIGHEST RAGING FEVERS THAT LAST FOR DAYS like he'll be sweating and shivering and crying he gets hit HARD when he's sick and it happens so suddenly too- like one day he's fine and then the next he looks like he's one small wind away from collapsing

he lowkey feels bad about asking for things when he's sick so he'll say something offhand like "yk im in the mood for soup" and hopes you get the message

ABSOLUTELY THE TYPE TO GET FEVER DREAMS AND START RAMBLING WHEN HES SICK

like he'll wake up from a nap and still be half asleep and he just starts genuinely rambling about literally the most obscure things

lucifer definitely gets nightmares even when he isn't sick, but when hes feeling like shit and is so delirious he can't tell reality from fiction? be prepared for him to wake up crying and shaking, he just gets so so scared :(

lucifer feels bad about you taking care of him and wants to help, but will lowkey end up pushing himself too hard. PLEASE reassure him and tell him it's alright he'll literally melt

once its all over, lucifer will genuinely trust you more after you saw him in such a vulnerable state and is much more likely to come to you instead of hiding how he's feeling in the future

Alastor:

alastor? weak? lmao no

he would literally rather die than admit he's sick like he would literally just keep pushing on

alastor is one of those people that has an iron immune system like he VERY rarely gets sick but when he does its like torture

to even be alastor's partner you'd have to know him for a long time and you'd probably be able to read him pretty well (at least compared to other people), yet even you sometimes miss his sickness in the earlier stages

alastors biggest tell tale sign of being sick? exhaustion. he very rarely sleeps on the regular, but when he's sick that all catches up to him

he also gets more irritable and a little less composed, he'd be more prone to getting angry and would lash out if anyone asked if he was ok

alastors ears would also be turned back slightly, like most animals do when they're being aggressive, but its pretty much only obvious to people who know him closely

alastor never wants to be vulnerable or weak but you notice that his eyelids keep drifting of their own accord, and how irritable he's been, and it clicks to you that he's obviously not feeling well

approach him about it in private, while alastor does trust you he still doesn't want others to knowm

no matter how much you try he will not lay down, take medicine, or do anything (at least at first)

alastor genuinely thinks that he can just push through on his own and lowkey thinks you're worrying too much

however after two weeks of pure suffering and exhaustion, combined with no sleep and your irritation at his lack of will to take care of himself, alastor finally breaks

he'd prob come to your room at like 4 in the morning and just curl up on the edge of the bed, shivering a little but staying quiet

you wake up to him fast asleep, his ears twitching every once and a while as he rests peacefully near you

get a cool towel and lay it on his forehead to break the fever, and he'll just keep sleeping

he probably wouldn't wake up for at least a few hours, months of lost sleep are catching up to him at this point, giving you the opportunity to make him some soup and medicine

alastor will stir a little when you get out of bed but wont wake up, but once he does wake up he wants you to come back

when he's sick he wants you to be nearby, alastor isn't the touchiest person and being sick makes him feel gross, so he wouldn't want to be touched but would want you arround just to know you're there

this is probably the first step in him being more open to vulnerability around you, and while it may have been a bit of an irritating process to get him back to his usual healthy status, it's definitely worth it as he begins to trust you more

Vox:

lowkey a man child (affectionate)

vox is one of those guys who will take care of himself when he's sick, but he'll complain about it every step of the way

i think he's pretty responsible when he's sick, he'll take the day off and relax but won't do much other than that

he likes when you pamper him though, and a part of him lowkey enjoys being sick because he just gets to have your full attention all of the time (as if he doesn't already💀)

vox would be irritated about showing weakness and not being in control, but he wouldn't be irritated at you

if an employee was being too nosy about his wellbeing? yea he's pissed but if you're the one taking care of him, he'll just sigh and let you do what you want

VOX IS ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHOS LITERALLY ALWAYS COLD AND ITS AMPLIFIED WHEN HES SICK

he becomes like a literal ice cube he's SHIVERING and everything

vox has the cutest sneezes too, he glitches out and denies how cute his sneezes are but they really are adorable

vox takes like 2 baths per day when he's sick he hates feeling unclean, and def wants you to join him in the bath (just to relax, get your mind out of the gutter)

vox would be a little pissed about missing work, i think he's a bit of a workaholic and might try to work in bed or sneak some paperwork behind your back

it doesn't work though because he just ends up passing out anyway

vox is big on sleeping when he's sick he's definitely the type to just sleep it off and thats that

like he CRASHES in bed and just does not get up for hours

he sleeps like the dead too, his screen is blank and he barely moves in his sleep

like lucifer, he has fever dreams but they lean more on the weird side rather than the sad side

its funny but instead of talking more when sick, vox actually talks much less. he starts getting super quiet and a lot more needy for your attention

vox is more than happy to return to work and be back on his feet, but will send you a little thank you gift and pamper you in return for taking care of him

Adam:

manchild x2 (also affectionate)

adam DREADS getting sick like he genuinely hates it so much, he sees it as one of his own flaws and it makes him lowkey disgusted at himself

he whines like a baby over a common cold, its almost sad how the slightest sickness will make him act like he's on his death bed

adam whines and complains whenever you aren't around him, he wants cuddles and kisses and is 10x more clingy when he's sick

he has little to no appetite when he's actually sick but gets a huge appetite right after

like you'll have to force him to eat at least a piece of toast per day while he's actually feverish but once he's in recovery he's literally FAMISHED and will ask for so much food

he barely eats or drinks while hes sick it just feels icky to him

i also think he's the type to not want to move like he just collapses on his bed and barely moves an inch (unless you force him)

adam exaggerates when he's barely sick and then underplays it when he's genuinely really sick its lowkey so confusing

like he could have pneuomonia and be half dead and say he's fine but he could have the most common cold and complain foreverrr

he doesn't think you're genuine when you say you want to help him and take care of him, he thinks its just a joke since nobody has ever really taken care of him before

like sure he's been told what to do and bossed around and treated him like a foolish child, but no one has ever sat with him while he's sick and held his hand yk?

while he can be irritable and annoying while he's sick, he apologizes afterwards

its one of the few times he ever apologizes but he genuinely feels bad about lashing out

adam isn't used to being below someone when it comes to status or health and relaxing and letting someone else take care of him is kind of foreign for him, but you both work it out over time

while he isn't the easiest to take care of, he genuinely appreciates that you want to help him and wants to return the favor someday

I WILL MAKE A PT 2 OF THIS WITH MORE FEM CHARACTERS OR WITH HELLUVA BOSS CHARACTERS BUT I DIDNT WANT TO CROWD UP THIS POST TOO MUCH!!!!! ALSO SORRY FOR ANY SPELLING MISTAKES I WROTE THIS WHILE HALF ASLEEP ♥️ HOPE YALL ENJOYED THIS TEEHEE

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ceilidho · 2 months

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.

And then it lingers.

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else.

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

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icypenguin · 6 months

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★~ Genshin fontaine men cuddle headcanons!

HELLOOO im so sorry i didn’t upload last week T-T i was packing for a trip, i just got back from the trip hehee.. anyway this will include all of the men fronm fontaine, so please enjoyyyy!

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

★~Wriothesley: cuddling with wriothesley is like cuddling your personal teddy bear! he is too a body heater. you could say he likes being the big spoon more. but on a gloomy day for him, he prefers to be the small spoon. you both ALWAYS cuddle before sleep. even of you’re fast asleep first, he’ll cuddle you in your sleep. or when it’s a cold rainy day, you’ll cuddle on the couch with blanket cpvering the both of you and halfway finished hot cocoa on the table infront. you often put your head on his chest or shoulder when you’re cuddling and he loves it. he could be a go-to pillow actually. he always does this habit of inhaling your scent and caressing your hair while whispering sweet praises. hug him as much as you want, he pays no mind! he’s such a sweetheart honestly. he wants to keep you safe during the night.

★~Neuvillete: YOUR LOVELY OTTERRRR! he’ll caress your head and put his arms around your waist when you’re sleeping, just like a mother otter! he’s a protective one, you won’t be turning and tossing around in your sleep as he’s locked you in his arms. before sleep, he would cover your face in kisses while you giggle from its tickling sensation. he would tell you one of his story too so you’ll get bored a sleepy (he knows what he’s doing). if you wake up at night from a nightmare, he’ll be sure to make you safe. you’ll be tucked under the blanket, face burried in his chest and hand holding his. on a rare night, he would vent while you be the big spoon. you’ll try to calm his crying as it’s raining outside. he’ll curl while you caress his head, whispering comforting and reassuring words to him.

★~Lyney: WELL… i’d say he’s soft but maybe some other time he’s like… IT’S LIKE HE’S SQUISHING YOU. he’ll wrap his arm around you and squeeze you tight like you’re a baby kitten or something. he’ll pinch your cheek before kissing it then continue hugging you TIGHTLY. you did tell him ‘not too tight’ but well- i guess sometimes he forgot. you guys take turn to be the small and big spoon. if he’s the small spoon, he like to sleep on ur chest or tummy. he likes to move when he’s asleep. when you both wake up, you would find your legs tangled upon eachother and his or your arms on eachother face. if you’re sick, he would REALLYYY want to cuddle you, but lynette told him it’s best if not (booooo). even so, he read you a story so you’ll go to sleep while imagining the story and forgetting the sickness.

★~Freminet: HE LOVEEEES CUDDLES! he would be a bit shy to ask for cuddles but as time pass, he would warm up more and ask you for cuddle everynight and after you wake up. he’s such a sweetheart that he couldn’t pass the day without a cuddle from you! he loves being the small spoon. but you both often just cuddle like normal. he always put his arms around your waist and the other caressing your cheek. he’ll hum a lullaby for you and you’ll hum it together with him too. he loves it when you caress his head, it makes him feel sleepy. in the morning, after you both wake up and still feeling lazy, he would wrap his arms around your waist and kiss you a goodmorning while going back to cuddling you just like last night. he loves it when you caress his head. perhaps his penguin buddy could join in too!

★ ★ ★ ★ ★

THANKYOUSOMUCH FOR READINGG! im sorry if this sucks, its my first time writing for neuvilette and freminet but i hope you liked it! should i make a part 2 of monstadt men btw? let me know if you’re up for it, AND ALSO PLS SEND ME REQUESTS I HAVE NO IDEA ON MY MINDDDD AAAAAA ANYWAY HOPE YOU HAVE A GREAT DAY! advices are accepted, thankyou!

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #lyney x reader #genshin lyney #wriothesley x reader #genshin wriothesley #wriothesley x you #lyney x you #freminet genshin #freminet x reader #freminet x you #genshin headcanons #neuvillette genshin #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you

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wintrwinchestr · 7 months

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obedience | part 1

summary: you decide to act out after feeling neglected by joel for over a week. it doesn’t go quite according to plan, but his punishment does help you unlock a new kink or two.

warnings: 18+, smut, no outbreak au, daddy kink, d/s and ddlg relationship dynamics, brat tamer joel, degradation/humiliation (use of slut, whore, 1 use of bitch), orgasm denial/edging, boot riding, pet names (baby, babygirl, darlin’, sugar, sweetheart, honey, puppy), entering petplay territory??, finger sucking, one face slap but she likes it (and so do i), taking/sending nudes at work, subspace, hair pulling, joel cums on reader’s face, cum eating, two idiots who finally communicate and apologize to each other, gets soft at the end bc i’m a woman of many interests, reader can be carried by joel but no other physical descriptions, winter’s limited knowledge of what contractors do, pic of girl in the moodboard is for bra imagery only, reader looks just like you!! :)

word count: 4.1k

a/n: this is extremely self indulgent so please don’t look at me!!! lil shoutout to @pascalisbaby for inspiring me to write something just so i can use “puppy” bc their love’s gonna get you killed series has fucked me up extremely bad.

divider by @saradika

(read part 2 here)

It’s coming up on nearly a week and a half of Joel working long days and late nights at the latest suburban McMansion he’s been contracted out to. Each and every time he creeps into his side of the bed after you’ve already gone to sleep, never failing to wake you up in the process, he always has a different excuse. “My concrete guy was out sick today”, “the vendor gave us the wrong size rebar”, “the landscapers were in our way all damn day”, and other similar eye roll-inducing anecdotes that were followed up with sleepy apologies.

Tonight, you’re almost certain, will be just the same.

Slogging through yet another slow and uneventful day at your corporate nine-to-five, you’re practically counting down the seconds until you’ll be able to escape your drab little cubicle for the day. You aren’t exactly looking forward to going home, though, either. You know that all you have waiting for you will be another lonely night of heating up a frozen dinner, watching reality TV reruns until the ten o’clock news comes on, and then tucking yourself into a cold bed.

While you’re waiting around for a coworker to message you back about something painfully unimportant, you decide to get up to kill some time in the bathroom on your phone and stretch your legs a bit. You stand up from your rolling chair, grabbing your phone in the process, and head down the hall to the one single-person bathroom in the building that you know of.

You step inside and click the lock shut behind you, looking forward to having a rare few minutes to yourself without the threat of your manager lurking over your shoulder. You inspect your makeup in the mirror and address some flyaway hairs before leaning back against the sink and swiping your home screen into view. Your heart soars at the discovery of a text notification from Joel, but settles just as quickly when you read the words across your screen.

A couple of my dumbass guys fucked up some measurements again. Gonna be another late one. Sorry baby.

You let out an exasperated sigh and turn around to face your reflection again, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink and trying not to cry. How much fucking longer are you going to have to put up with this? You'd been getting through it alright so far, but his sterile text had ignited a raging fire deep in your stomach that made a scorching heat climb its way up the back of your neck.

You’re determined to get his attention tonight, one way or another. Even if it means pushing some of his buttons, riling him up, making him feel a few licks of that very same inferno. You’re feeling fucking bratty.

You undo the top few buttons of your blouse and shimmy it off your shoulders, exposing the blushing lace of the bra you had chosen when you were getting dressed this morning. Using one arm to hold your phone up to the mirror with the camera app open, you use the other one to prop yourself up against the sink and assist in pushing your tits together. As a final touch, you pull down one of the delicate cups along with its accompanying strap, exposing an already peaked nipple. Meeting your own eyes in the reflection and forming your glossy lips into a faux pout, you snap the picture and attach it to your text conversation with Joel. You type out a coy little message to go along with it and send it off.

that’s okay daddy. just sad i wore a rly cute bra today for nothing :(

While you anxiously wait for his response, you take a few more lewd photos to tease him with later, and make your way back to your desk after you button yourself up again and smooth out your skirt.

Sitting back down at your cubicle, you check your notifications to find a response from Joel, sent just a few seconds ago.

What’d I tell you about sendin me shit like that when I’m at work? Put your fuckin tits away babygirl. Not in the mood today.

Despite his harsh words, you know your plan is already working in your favor. You can’t help but giggle to yourself as you attach another one of the photos you had taken in the bathroom, this one of your matching lace panties pulled aside to expose your bare pussy to the front camera. You type out another flirtatious message and tap the button to send it.

idk what u mean daddy :( just miss u is all. she misses u too :((

You promptly turn off your phone and place it screen-down next to your mousepad, resigning yourself to a mere ten minutes of work before you can’t resist temptation anymore and pick it back up again to check for a reply.

Last warning babygirl. I got enough shit to deal with today, don’t need your slutty pictures distractin me. I’ll see ya tonight.

whatever. u don’t pay attention to me anymore anyway :/

You begin to regret your message as soon as you send it, worrying you might have taken things too far. But it was true; you’re upset, in a bratty mood, and feeling neglected. And, maybe you did want to work him up enough for him to take it all out on you, to fuck the attitude out of you the way you know he likes to do every so often.

A few seconds after you power off your screen to do a few more minutes of work, it illuminates again.

Oh I don't? When I get home tonight you better be kneelin in front of the door waitin for me undressed like a good girl. Not like the fuckin brat you’re actin like. And we’ll see about payin you some attention. Now pull your fuckin panties up and get back to work.

Your heart jumps into your throat as you read his text, now feeling exhilarated that your plan is officially in motion. After you’ve read his words through a couple of times, squeezing your thighs together and stifling a whimper as you did so, your trembling fingers type out a simple reply:

yes daddy <3

The remainder of your work day seems to pass by in slow motion, every minute feeling more like five. You can hardly bring yourself to focus on any of your mundane tasks, your mind constantly drifting to what you might be in for tonight. Will he spank you and leave red handprints on your ass for days? Will he fuck your face while you sputter and gasp around him? Will he work you over with his tongue until all you know how to say is “I’m sorry, Daddy”? As you shake yourself from your trance and try to focus your eyes again, you wonder why you hadn’t thought to act up like this earlier in the week. You keep your eye on the little digital clock in the corner of your monitor for the last five consecutive minutes of your work day, and as soon as 4:59 flashes to 5:00, you practically sprint out to your car in your hurry to get home.

–

You’re cuddled up on the couch underneath your favorite fleece blanket, already stripped down to your peony-colored underwear set like Joel had requested. The past couple of hours have been spent cycling between all of your streaming services and social media apps, trying desperately to find something to occupy yourself with until he gets home. You’re half-tempted to get up and walk some laps around the house, but around 10:30, you finally see the scanning headlights of Joel’s pickup as it turns into the driveway.

You immediately spring up from your little nest on the couch and prance over to the front door, kneeling a few feet in front of it just like he ordered.

In your excited anticipation to see him, you tune your ears to pick up every little sound you hear as he makes his way to you: the slam of the truck’s driver’s side door, the dull thud of his work boots heading up the walkway, the prolonged jingling of his keys as he fumbles with them to unlock the door. You’re sure he’s fidgeting with them for a few seconds longer than usual, just to tease you and keep you waiting. A shiver runs up your spine and you can feel your heart pounding against the walls of your chest as he finally turns the lock.

He calmly steps inside and closes the door behind him, dropping his dusty work bag onto the floor and stripping himself of his canvas tool belt. He stalks over to where you’re knelt on the hardwood, wrapped in your dainty lace for him like a little doll. There’s something arousing about the contrast between your barely-there feminine attire and his dark, practical clothing.

“Well, whaddya know, she can be good after all… Waitin’ for me all nice and pretty just like I asked. All it takes is an order from your Daddy to get you actin’ right again, ain’t that right, babygirl? Obedient lil’ thing…” He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger as he speaks, keeping your eyes trained on his. You nod up at him, doe-eyed and dazed, already feeling yourself beginning to slip into that familiar saccharine headspace.

Every time you had previously tried your hand at bratting, it never lasted very long, and tonight was already proving to be no different. He was right, after all, it doesn’t take more than a command, a look, a gentle grasp of your chin, to remind you of your desire to be good for him.

“What, Daddy doesn’t get a proper greetin’ after a long day o’ work? You already that far gone f’ me, can’t use your words proper like a big girl?”

“H-hi, Daddy… Missed you today,” you half-whisper, your voice sounding a little higher and further away than it did earlier in the day.

“Yeah, I know y’ did… I’ll bet your lil’ panties are ‘bout soaked through already, bet you left a wet spot on your fuckin’ desk chair just from daydreamin’ about what I was gonna do to you tonight, hm?”

Another silent nod accompanied by a pitiful little whimper. The blazing fire in your gut from this afternoon is quickly being replaced by something much more easily tamed, something more akin to a flickering candle flame than a wildfire. You struggle to keep your eyelids open as they begin to feel heavier with submission.

A stern look and a ticked jaw is enough for you to correct your wordless response.

“Y-yes, Daddy…”

“And what is it that you think I’m gonna do with you tonight, babygirl? Speak up, now…”

You rack your brain for a moment, suddenly unable to remember any of the depraved fantasies you had been conjuring up all day instead of replying to emails. You eventually land on a relatively straightforward answer.

“I th-think you’re gonna… gonna fuck the attitude outta me, t-teach me a lesson… right, Daddy?”

He lets out a dark chuckle, releasing your chin from his hold to give your cheek a couple of condescending pats instead.

“Aww, dumb lil’ thing… you thought Daddy was gonna touch you at all tonight, make that pathetic lil’ pussy cum after the stunts you were pullin’ today? Nah, I don’t think so… Open that slutty fuckin’ mouth.”

You’re reeling, taken aback by his harsh words, words that were certainly not in any of the countless scenarios you had been imagining at work. There’s a long beat of silence as you struggle to process his command.

You hear the smack across your face before you feel the heated sting of it, and it prompts a debauched mewl to spill from your parted lips.

“I said open your fuckin’ mouth…”

Your jaw falls slack in an instant, your pulsing cunt releasing an ashamed wave of wetness at the degrading slap. Joel shoves his thumb inside your waiting mouth, and you wrap your lips around it obediently as you swirl your tongue along its calloused landscape. It tastes salty, a little dirty, and you like it.

“Good girl, suck on Daddy’s thumb, tha’s it… dumb whore’ll suck on anything Daddy puts in her mouth, won’t she? Desperate lil’ thing… Bet you wish it was this fat cock instead, don’t you baby?”

You whine and nod around him, your hole squeezing around nothing as you look up at him with pleading eyes.

“Well… that’s just too fuckin’ bad, ain’t it? Tonight’s not about what you want, you can gimme that sad puppy look all you like, sugar, not gonna change anythin’...”

He pulls his thumb out of your mouth, and your slick lips try to chase after it until he wipes it clean on the side of your face. His hands make quick work of opening his stained work jeans and freeing his stiff cock from his briefs, taking it into one hand and beginning to pump it with languid strokes. He grabs a fistful of hair at the base of your skull with his free hand and taps the leaking head of his length against your cheek, adding to the dampness there from your own saliva.

“This what you want?” Tap tap tap. “You want Daddy’s cock? Hm? This what you been thinkin’ about all day, dirty girl?” He rocks his hips back and forth as he speaks, smearing his arousal along your skin.

You can’t help but squirm as a humiliated heat begins to pool in your tummy.

“Yes, Daddy, please let me have it, wan’ it so bad…” you beg.

He releases your hair and pulls his cock away from your face, making a show of massaging it and taunting you with what he won’t let you have.

“Nah, you ain’t gettin’ any of Daddy’s cock tonight, baby… In fact, I’m gonna stand right here and take care of m’self, and you’re gonna find somethin’ to rub that soakin’ cunt on while I watch…”

As the last of his words leave his lips, he steps one foot forward and nudges it between your thighs, looking at you expectantly. You lower your head to face his steel-toed work boot, covered in dust and dirt from his day at the construction site. Your mind still too deep in the clouds to understand what he’s asking of you, you lift your eyes back up to him for guidance. He juts his chin out in a silent “go on, then”, and you return your confused gaze back to his boot, the toe of which is positioned just in front of your aching heat. Your breath hitches and your eyes go wide as you finally realize: he wants to pleasure himself to the sight of you getting yourself off on his boot.

All at once, it falls into place how he wants the night to unfold. He wants to deny you. Deny you of his touch, his cock, even the privilege of making him feel good yourself… all because you acted out, disobeyed him, tested his limits.

“We understand each other, darlin’?”

“Y-yes, Daddy…” You meet his eyes as you speak, voice coming out a little unsteady. Any confidence you had while you were teasing him this afternoon is long gone, fully submitting to him now and completely at his mercy. He didn’t need to fuck you in order to put you in your place, he knew plenty of other much more degrading ways to rid you of your bratty attitude, to remind you of who you belong to.

You position your cunt over the filthy toe of his boot, the gusset of your lacy panties now completely saturated with your wetness. Your hands planted on either side of his leg, you try an experimental grind onto the leather-covered steel. A bolt of electricity shoots from your swollen clit to your fevered cheeks, burning with the eroticism of being made to humiliate yourself like this. He allows you to wrap your arms around his calf, using his sturdy form as leverage to rub yourself harder and faster against the solid material.

“Look at you, humpin’ my boot like a fuckin’ dog… that’s just what y’ are, ain’t it? Daddy’s lil’ puppy…” he teases, spurring you on with his words and the indecent sounds of his wet fist working along his thick cock.

You let out an involuntary yelp at the new pet name, which he’s quick to catch with a huff through his nose.

“Oh, she likes that, don’t she? Y’ like that, sweetheart, bein’ Daddy’s good girl, his obedient lil’ puppy? Yeah, I know y’ do… I got you trained good, don’t I? Do just about anything I want, won’t you? Got you rubbin’ that slutty pussy on my fuckin’ boot, for Christ’s sake, barely even had to ask… fuckin’ pathetic.”

The degradation makes your stomach swirl with a cocktail of embarrassment and pleasure. Your cunt flutters as you continue your frantic movements, releasing broken whimpers that sound something like uh huh and yes, Daddy. You’re sure that your slick has to be dripping down his boot by now, soaking straight through the leather and pooling onto the hardwood. You wonder if he might punish you for that, too, for making a mess of him and your freshly mopped floors. Just the thought of it has your hips picking up the pace, desperate to reach your high.

Your eyes are shut tightly as you pursue your orgasm, but you can still hear the shallow pumps of Joel’s fist and his stuttering breaths that indicate he’s close to his own release.

“Yeah, grind that sloppy fuckin’ puppy cunt on Daddy’s boot, there ya go… lookin’ like a goddamn bitch in heat… desperate whore… c’mon, puppy, make a fuckin’ mess for me…”

“I’m gonna cum, Daddy, gonna–”

Just as you feel yourself about to crest the wave of your climax, he pulls his foot out from under you and yanks your head back by another fistful of hair.

“Open up, puppy,” he groans as he splashes his hot release all over your face, aiming most of it around your mouth as you cry out from the denial of your own pleasure.

“Look at you, filthy girl… So pretty for Daddy, all covered in me,” he coos as the last few milky drops land on your cheek. Before any of it can start to drip, he scoops it up with his thumb and feeds it to you a bit at a time, and you continue to suck his finger into your eager mouth once again.

When your face is fully cleaned of his spend, he pulls his thumb from between your lips for a final time with a pop, and you stick out your tongue to show him you’ve swallowed everything he’s given you.

“Good girl,” he praises, petting the side of your hair in soothing strokes. “What do you say to Daddy, hm?”

“Th-thank you…” you choke out, still trying to steady your voice.

“And what else?” he asks.

You take a deep breath. “And… I’m sorry, Daddy,” you relent.

“For what, sweet girl?”

This was always your least favorite part, the part you struggled with the most: admitting that you were wrong.

“For being a brat today, for not listening and disrespecting you…” Your posture deflates, wondering if you should continue your confession. You remember one of the ground rules that was laid out when you first entered this dynamic with him, the one about how important communication is, and decide to keep going. “I jus’ feel like you’ve hardly paid any attention to me the past few days…” You start to sniffle as you speak, the overwhelm of it all finally catching up with you.

“Oh…” he breathes sympathetically. “Here, can you stand up, babygirl? C’mon, come sit on Daddy’s lap for a minute.”

He offers you his hands, and you use them to push yourself up onto shaky legs, feeling like a newborn foal. You wrap your arms around his neck and he scoops you up, carrying you bridal-style back to your cozy spot on the couch. He situates you in his lap, wrapping you up in your blanket again, and you bury your face in the warm expanse of skin between his shoulder and neck. You inhale through your nose, smiling to yourself and sighing contentedly when your senses are flooded with his natural comforting smell.

“I know I’ve been workin’ some real late nights recently… I’m sorry about that, honey,” he apologizes, rubbing comforting circles around your upper back.

“‘S okay, Daddy, ‘s not your fault,” you say into his skin.

“But I shoulda made more of an effort to give you some lovin’ anyway, I shouldn’t have had to wait for you to brat on me… Look at me, baby.” You lift your head and meet his sincere gaze, his eyes flicking back and forth between yours. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

“I’m sorry too, Daddy.”

“I know y’ are, sweet girl, I know…”

You exchange warm smiles, and he curls his pointer finger under your chin to pull your face toward his, placing a delicate kiss to your lips. He settles both of his large hands on either side of your face before breaking the kiss to press your foreheads together. You close your eyes and try to match his breathing, enjoying this moment with him.

After a minute or so, you break the silence. “So… puppy, huh? That’s a new one,” you giggle.

He laughs and releases your face from his hold, meeting your eyes again. “Jus’ wanted to try somethin’ new, I guess…” He snakes a hand under the blanket, thumbing over the damp crotch of your panties. “And judgin’ by this lil’ mess down here, I take it you liked it. Hm, pretty girl?”

Still sensitive from your earlier denial, you let out a high pitched little whine and an involuntary buck of your hips into his hand.

“See? Even sound like a lil’ puppy… Daddy’s good girl. You want Daddy to train you, babygirl, you wanna be his pretty lil’ pet?”

“Uh huh, yes, Daddy, please…” Your face is buried in his chest as you rut into his hand, squeezing it between your thighs, back to the same place you were just before he pulled his boot out from underneath you.

“Daddy was so mean earlier, wasn’t he? Not lettin’ you cum, punishin’ you for actin’ up… But I think you’ve learned your lesson now, huh puppy? C’mon, sweet girl, let go, soak Daddy’s hand…”

And you do. With his permission, you cry out, muscles spasming and cunt twitching as you finally ride out the climax you’ve been chasing all night. You’re panting by the time you start to come down after what feels like several minutes, exhaustion hitting you hard all at once. When some of your awareness has come back to you, you realize that Joel is gently rocking you back and forth on his lap, petting the back of your head and gently shushing in your ear.

“Shh, shh, you’re alright, babygirl, I gotcha, Daddy’s gotcha… So good for me, baby, my precious girl…”

When your breathing evens out once more, you muster the strength to lift your head from its place against his heart, and he chuckles at the sleepy and sated look on your face as you blink slowly at him.

“My lil’ puppy’s all tuckered out, huh? Let’s get you up to bed, darlin’, Daddy’ll tuck you in.”

He stands up with a groan, cradling you in his muscled arms, and carries you into the bedroom. You’re already drifting off to sleep when he sits you on the bed, carefully stripping you of your ruined underwear and helping you into a clean, sensible pair of cotton undies. He retrieves one of his oversized “Miller Contracting” shirts from his drawer and slips it over your head, helping your weak arms through the sleeves. Brushing your hair away from your face, he places a scruffy kiss to your hairline and helps you lay down onto the cool sheets. He pulls the covers up all the way over your shoulders, the way he knows you like, and smiles to himself when you burrow yourself into the sheets.

He takes a quick shower to rid himself of the grime and grit he collected on his skin during the day, and slips into bed beside you. Another private smile and a small shake of his head when you instinctually turn to face him and snuggle into his warm body, wrapping your arms around the breadth of his upper arm and inhaling the masculine cologne of his body wash.

He reaches across his chest to gently scratch at the top of your head, prompting a dreamy little noise from you. “Just like I said,” he whispers to himself, “a lil’ puppy.”

He wouldn’t have you any other way.

not really sure who to tag for this one, gonna use the same list from my last fic if that's okay!! anyone else please let me know if you'd like to be tagged on my future fics!!

tag list: @beefrobeefcal @gracieispunk @iamasaddie @rebel-held

#my writing #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #the last of us fanfiction #tlou fanfiction #daddy!joel miller #joel miller smut

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vanteguccir · 2 months

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Petals of death | Matt Sturniolo

Matt Sturniolo x reader | Slightly Chris Sturniolo x reader

Summary: The Hanahaki Disease is a rare illness where the patient throws up and coughs flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. In order to fully recover from the disease, it's necessary that the one they're in love with fall in love with them too. Or to fall in love with somebody else.

Warning: Throwing up, blood, stomachaches, lung aches, one-sided love, crying, death talk. PURE ANGST, with a happy ending.

Requested?: Yes, by anon.

Author's note: That is my work, I DON'T authorize any plagiarism! | English isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Part 2

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

Panting and covered in a thin layer of sweat, Y/N found herself emerging from the whirlwind of bad memories that enveloped her sleep. Her heart hammered in her chest, echoing in the silence of the night. With numb hands, she reached for the bedside lamp, bathing the room in soft yellow light.

Her heart seemed to be squeezed as the images still danced in her mind, an unwanted reminder of the emotional turmoil that consumed her.

In the center of his room, Y/N remembers seeing Chris sitting on his own bed with a relaxed expression. Next to him is another girl, perfect, with long hair and a radiant smile, who seems too comfortable in his presence. Their gaze met briefly with a complicity she knew very well, but at that moment, it cut through her like a sharp blade. His sparkling blue eyes carried a glow of intense love that she understood well because she saw it in her own eyes every time she thought of him.

Y/N closed her eyes tightly, running her trembling fingers through her hair, trying to ground herself when a sensation that was already quite common for her captured her throat. Coughing softly, she felt something strange shifting from her lungs. A heavy sigh escaped her nostrils at the sight of small rose petals cascading onto the fabric of the sheet covering her legs.

The initial feeling of sameness quickly turned into panic as she felt increasingly suffocated. The petals continued to sprout, climbing up her throat like a reverse slide and sliping from her lips between each cough, like a dark warning of an unrequited love that was eating away at her insides.

In a moment of frightening lucidity, she seemed to remind herself that this was just another attack of the dreaded Hanahaki disease. Flower petals, once symbols of beauty and romance, have become signs of a silent curse for Y/N weeks before.

The famous, but so rare illness that haunted the passionate hearts of those who dared to love without restrictions. When a soul found itself consumed by unrequited love, its body rebelled, expelling flowers and petals through painful coughs, a physical testimony to the deep emotional wounds that afflicted the heart.

It was quite hypocritical of the universe to create such a disease that affected those who love. Suffering from unrequited love was already too much, but apparently not enough.

Each cough was an explosion of petals that escaped her slightly bruised lips, dark red blood vibrating against the yellowish light, leaving a messy and disgusting trail. Y/N clenched her hands into fists on her sides, feeling her limbs give involuntary spasms, the flowers gathering on the bed around her more and more.

The strange, distressing sound of coughing echoed through the hallway of her house, cutting through the silence like a cry of distress. Nick, who was staying in the guest room - better known as his own room - wakes up suddenly.

His brain barely had time to register his sleepy mind or what time it was, worry consuming him as soon as his eyes opened, getting up from the bed abruptly. His feet tripped over the pieces of clothing thrown on the floor while his hands rested momentarily on the wall decorated with posters, trying to regain his balance.

The boy runs towards his best friend's room blindly, his heart beating wildly in his chest. He pushes the door open hard, finding the devastating scene. Y/N was above her own bed, curled in on herself, surrounded by a sea of petals, her face contorted in agony.

Without hesitation, Nick approaches, calls for her name escaping his mouth, desperately seeking a way to ease her pain.

"Shh, I'm here, I'm here." Nick whispers softly, kneeling on the floor next to her body and reaching out to gently stroke her back with one of his hands, his other one hovering over the sheets, feeling imposing at the sight of the confusing and unlikely mess of blood. "It's going to be okay, I promise."

With difficulty, Y/N looks up to meet the blue ones looking back at her, her teary eyes reflecting a mixture of pain and gratitude.

"Nick, I don't know what to do anymore..." She murmurs, her voice weak and shaky. Nick smiles tenderly in response, his free hand traveling to her clenched one, grabbing it firmly.

"Let's take one step at a time, okay? First, let's help you calm down." He carefully helps her to her feet, guiding her to the bathroom while whispering words of comfort.

Upon entering the small room, the brunette quickly guides her to sit on the closed lid of the toilet, moving nimbly to turn on the bathtub with warm water, adding a few drops of lavender essential oil that he knows is her favorite, with the intention of helping her body relax.

"Come here." Nick helps her stand again, helping her trembling arms undress her body, keeping it covered only by her underwear. "Let the water soothe you."

He holds her right hand firmly, guiding her until she sinks into the hot water. A sigh scapes Y/N's lips, feeling the heat enveloping her tense limbs as Nick sits on the floor beside the bathtub edge, ready to help her with the necessary.

"You will be okay." Nick whispers gently, watching the girl close her eyes and try to control her coughs.

While he offers her support with a calm aura never seen before in Nicolas Sturniolo, his heart is torn between care for her and a fierce anger toward his own brother that boils inside him, fueled by pain to see her in that state and injustice by what he witnessed every day since Y/N discovered the consequences of her unrequited love.

Nick holds himself back from screaming, from letting his fury consume all the space between them. But even in his silence, the girl could feel the tension emanating from his body, the intensity of his emotions throbbing in the air.

Nick vividly remembered the day he discovered the terrible truth about the Hanahaki disease that afflicted his best friend. He could almost see her anguished expression again, the silent tears that ran down her face as she confessed what a torment her unrequited passion had become. The memory of the revelation echoed in his mind like an incessant echo, mixing with Chris's trembling image.

Nick quickly shook his head, expelling the bad thoughts and feelings, focusing all his attention on the girl in front of him.

After Y/N had calmed down a bit, he helped her out of the tub, wrapping her in a soft towel before guiding her back to the bedroom, where he had her sit on one of her pink puffs, seeking for a comfortable set of sweatshirts, ironically, from Fresh Love in her closet.

"Are you feeling any better?" Nick asks her softly after making sure that her body was already covered in the warm outfit, his eyes observing her figure hugging the wet towel in her arms as if it were a teddy bear.

"A little." Her voice came out hoarse and worn out by the force she exerted when expelling the petals and flowers, feeling her throat scratchy with each breath.

"Come on, let's change the sheets so you can go back to sleep. You need the rest more than ever right now."

Together, they remade the bed, removing the scattered petals and replacing the sheets with fresh, clean ones, where the two lay down together, Y/N gently asking Nick not to leave her alone again.

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

The next day, Tuesday, after a restless night, Y/N and Nick headed to his house. It was recording day, and the oldest triplet couldn't find the courage to leave her behind. The atmosphere inside the car was tense but comforting. The girl drove cautiously, keeping close attention to the sensations in her body.

Upon climbing the entrance stairs, the two were greeted by the random sounds of a movie that escaped from the television sneakers and the silly fights between Chris and Matt, who were in the living room, thrown comfortably on the soft couch.

The wooden kitchen table was already filled with 21 different drinks that the boys would have to try and blindly guess the brand and flavor for that Wednesday video

YN tried to smile in greeting, but the weight on her chest seemed to suffocate her. A small "hi" escaped her lips, her hands quick to place her purse on the floor, next to the couch, before sitting on the other end of the upholstery, bringing her legs together beneath her body.

As she watched the triplets go over what would be done on the video, her gaze inevitably turned to Chris. Her heart sank as she saw him break into the most radiant smile at the mention of his girlfriend after Matt said something that reminded him of her. Every word that escaped his lips was like an arrow piercing her soul, reminding herself of the cruel reality that he belonged to someone else.

Y/N quickly looked away, trying to hide the anguish that was boiling inside her, but every passionate detail he shared about the other girl only intensified her own silent pain. She found herself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions, desperately wishing he could see her while fighting the sadness of knowing that would never happen.

And then it happened. A sudden coughing fit took her by surprise, shaking her body violently. The girl bent her upper body, undoing her intertwined legs and resting the soles of her feet on the floor, panting as the three brothers turned to her with concern. She quickly brought her right hand to her mouth, covering it.

"Is everything okay, YN?" Chris asked, frowning as his eyes ran over her figure.

Y/N tried to smile, but another wave of coughing overcame her. It was as if invisible thorns were piercing her lungs, tearing her from the inside.

"I...I'm fine." The girl muttered, struggling to catch her breath. Her eyes quickly found her palm, blood smeared on her skin, along with small broken petals. She swallowed hard, struggling to control her overflowing emotions. "I think... I need some air." Finally, she confessed, her voice shaking.

Without hesitation, Matt suddenly got up from his seat, walking towards her with agile steps, stopping in front of her body and extending his right hand, offering her help.

"Come with me." The brunette suggested softly, grasping her hand and guiding her out of the room slowly, Chris's confused question about what was happening fading behind their backs.

The two went down to the garage, and despite the pain in her body, Y/N smiled as she stepped foot in the room that was so common, but that meant so much to them. Sunlight filtered between the small windows of the gate, naturally illuminating the space that became small with the van.

Together, they sat on the floor, their backs against the back of the car, the silence comforting as she tried to calm her rapid breathing. Matt remained by her side, offering her silent comfort, his eyes conveying deep empathy, concern, and a hint of something that, despite it being hypocritical of her, Y/N didn't seem to recognize.

"You know..." Matt began, his soft voice breaking through as he fixed his eyes on the gate in front of his outstretched feet. "You could still consider having surgery to remove the flowers."

Y/N nodded slowly, pondering his suggestion.

"I know." She murmured, her voice thick with resignation. "But... I don't know if I can. I don't want to lose our memories."

Matt frowned, his orbs traveling to her side profile, running over every little detail momentarily.

"I understand." He whispered, even if internally, he didn't completely. How could he understand that the love of his life preferred to suffer in an unimaginable way for someone who didn't look at her in the same way that he himself did? "But you know that if you keep going in that way, it will only get worse."

Y/N looked down, tears starting to pool in her eyes. She knew what Matt was talking about.

Hanahaki disease doesn't have many cures, but those that did exist were intense; Having surgery to remove the flowers and, consequently, forget about the love feeling and all the memories that surround it, or having the feeling be reciprocated, or survive with that until your body can't take it anymore.

She knew that if she didn't remove the flowers, she would die. Eventually.

"I know." She admitted, her voice shaking slightly. "But... I can't, Matt. The memories with him, with you two... they mean so much to me. I can't just give them up."

Matt nodded momentarily, his own anguish rising in his chest along with the urge to scream to the seven seas how much he loved her and that he was there to give her the love she deserved.

It was an indescribable pain, witnessing the girl he loved more than anything in the world be consumed by a passion that wasn't towards him, and Matt wished with all his being that he could ease her suffering, even if it meant sacrificing his own heart.

"He's an idiot. For not seeing you, I mean." The brunette muttered, lowering his gaze to the ground between his legs. "He's lucky to have your eyes on him and to receive a love like yours."

༻﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡﹡༺

Days turned into weeks, and Y/N's condition only seemed to worsen, leaving her increasingly weak and vulnerable. Vomiting entire flowers became a frequent occurrence, a constant reminder of her miserable situation.

Now, she was no longer left unsupervised, Matt and Nick taking turns looking after her, despite her complaints and constant fear of becoming a burden.

On a particularly difficult night, she was at their house, in Matt's room, where she would sleep since Nick needed to edit the last Cut The Camera podcast.

The sound of loud laughter came from the living room next to the small hall that led to where she was; Chris and his girlfriend were playing some video game on the television. The sound was like a knife to the heart, and Y/N couldn't help but curl up beneath the thick duvet, feeling a wave of nausea and despair approaching her.

Matt, who was sitting in his gaming chair while answering some emails on his computer, soon realized her imminent agony, rising from the chair abruptly as violent coughs echoed through the walls of his room.

"Hey, hey, I'm here." Matt crouched on the floor next to her body, murmuring softly. His blue eyes ran over her fragile figure while his hand quickly found home on her back, massaging the covered skin.

Carefully, Matt pulled the duvet down her body, straightening his posture and picking her up in his arms, quickly carrying her into his bathroom. The boy helped her sit on the edge of his bathtub comfortably, with her face above the open toilet.

The boy gathered the loose strands of her hair into a loose ponytail secured by his right hand. He grabbed the washcloth from the sink, dipping it into the running water of the tap before pressing the wet fabric over her forehead.

"That's it, let it all out, sweetheart." He whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze.

His blue eyes squeezed shut as the sound of a loud sob followed one of her coughs, his own eyes filling with tears. Matt caught his bottom lip between his teeth in a death grip, swallowing back his sobs.

As the coughs slowly subsided, Y/N felt relief seep into her being, small sniffling escaping her nose while thin tears ran down her reddened cheeks, a deep sense of tiredness taking over her body. She felt completely exhausted.

"Are you feeling like throwing up again?" Matt asked gently, stroking her shoulders with his free hand, receiving a small shake of head in return. "Okay, do you want to go back to bed?"

"I... I don't want to get the sheets dirty if... If another crisis comes." She murmured, her voice weak and tired.

Matt nodded understandingly, a gleam of determination in his eyes. He quickly reached out with his hand that was previously on her back, pressing the flush and closing the toilet lid.

"You're okay." The boy whispered, his voice soft like a comforting breeze. "Come here."

He settled on the cold bathroom floor, resting his back against the freezing walls. Matt gently pulled her to sit next to him, his arms wrapping around her shoulders in a protective hug.

Y/N leaned against him, laying her head on his right shoulder and looping her arms weakly around his torso, feeling the comforting warmth of his body against hers. Their hearts beat in unison, sharing the weight of their worries, fears, and loves.

"Sleep, honey. I'll be right here when you wake up." He murmured softly in her ear, his words echoing almost as a promise of comfort and safety.

For a moment, Y/N allowed herself to close her eyes, letting herself be carried away by the feeling of peace that Matt's arms gave her, which she never felt anywhere else. Her breathing began to get lighter, indicating that sleep was finally approaching.

With a heart heavy with love, Matt gently leaned his head over hers, his lips delicately brushing her hair as he whispered words of love in the silence of the bathroom, believing that the girl was sleeping.

"If you only knew how much I could love you the way you deserve..." He murmured in a soft, loving tone. "I love you more than anything in this world, and I promise to take care of you forever, even when you are not aware of it."

The girl was slightly startled when she heard the words, her heart beating wildly in her chest and surprise flooding her mind. She expected everything but that. However, she remained quiet, savoring the comforting warmth of his arms and words, which unconsciously touched her heart in a different way. A good way.

Maybe the universe had better things for them.

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺

My asks are always open. My requests are closed at the moment since I have many to work in, but you can always send questions or simply talk to me 🩷💋

And remember to treat people with kindness always!

I'm so sorry if this is horrible, I tried my best, but I feel like I didn't reach my expectations ;( I'll try to do better on part 2!

~ taglist:

@lustfulslxt @ladybunny44 @worldlxvlys @earth2starkey @remussbitch @freshloveforthefit @il0vebeingdelulu @sturniolowhore @mimi-luvzyu @alorsxsturn @urfavgirllyyyyy @domizzzsstuff @sturnizd @hearts4chris @cupidzsq @dracoflaco @leah-loves-lilies @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @rootbeerworshiper @junnniiieee07 @elliesturniolo1 @sstvrnioloo @lightsgore @gidgett11037 @sturniolho @ksskianshd @ccolleenn @sturniolo-lover1317 @soimightlikeoldmen69 @hrtyjy @ldr-sl0t @breeloveschris @bellasfavbisexual @its-jennarose @sainzzsturns @ecliphttlunar @iammattswife @prettydollie @imwetforyourmom @sturnzsblog @h3arts4harry

(If you want to be added to the taglist, please comment here)

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gloomwitchwrites · 3 months

Text

Missed Hints

King Thorin Oakenshield x Female Reader

Content & Warnings (per the warnings MDNI): fluff, light angst, humor, pregnancy, suggestive themes, fade to black, established relationship

Word Count: 1.8k

With the pregnancy confirmed, you decide to drop little hints until Thorin makes the connections.

A/N: for @protosslady

ao3 // taglist // main masterlist

“You’re pregnant, your majesty.”

Those two little words are enough to make time freeze. You are cold, a bit hesitant, and completely unbelieving of what you’re hearing.

“Are you sure?” you ask slowly, needing to know if you’ve heard her correctly.

The midwife, Lena, smiles broadly. “As sure as the sun rises in the morning. I’ve been doing this for close to thirty summers now. Rarely am I ever wrong.”

Lena’s assistant, Petal, matches Lena’s smile with one of her own. It is radiant and sunny, a stark difference from your sudden anxiousness. “This is wonderful news,” she exclaims. “King Thorin will be so pleased.”

“Indeed,” agrees Lena. “And so will the people when it’s formally announced.”

Both women sigh at the same time, but you are not nearly as excited as they are.

You and Thorin did try for a child many times in the beginning of your marriage. It was enthusiastic—and constant—but nothing ever came of it. While it bothered you, Thorin never seemed to care. He told you that all he wanted was you and that anything else was a bonus.

That is still true. Thorin loves you.

But Thorin is being pulled in a different direction. Erebor needs attention, and Thorin throws himself into service attempting to tackle every obstacle and difficulty on his own. Most nights, he comes to bed late—usually when you’re already asleep. When you wake, he is usually gone, off to take care of his abundant duties. They are piling up, becoming a burden. Thorin does too much, and while you admire him for his dedication, you miss him.

To know that you’re pregnant is a surprise. It’s not that you and Thorin haven’t been intimate, it’s just that it hasn’t been nearly as frequent as in the past. While Thorin is gone, you have your own duties and responsibilities. When the two of you do have quiet time together, intimacy is brief but passionate and almost always followed by the two of you falling asleep in each other’s arms.

“How far along?” you ask, trying to place exactly when it might have taken.

When your cycle never came, you didn’t think much of it. That happens sometimes. But then didn’t occur during the next expected timeframe. With its absence came irritability and random bouts of sudden crying you couldn’t explain. Certain foods smelt odd, and while you weren’t emptying the contents of your stomach, constant nausea made it difficult to complete daily tasks. You knew then that something was different. And now the midwife has confirmed it.

But even with an answer, you’re not sure how you feel.

“I’d place you at about ten weeks. Perhaps eleven,” answers Lena with a slight shrug of her shoulders.

“That far?” you squeak, wincing immediately with how upset you sound.

Lena and Petal’s smiles start to diminish. Their enthusiasm melts away, replaced with furrowed brows and soft lines of concern.

“Is everything all right? You look a bit faint?” Lena places her hand on your shoulder.

“Yes,” you reply, though it sounds like you’re gasping for air. “Surprised is all.”

Their smiles return but it’s subdued.

This is supposed to be a happy occasion. A child means an heir, and it also gives the people hope for the future. Much of Erebor is still in pieces from Smaug’s habitation. That doesn’t even begin to include all the damage and death from the battle. Dale, which was once abandoned and forgotten, is starting to see life again as well. The races of Men are returning to it, hoping to rekindle its long-extinguished flame.

A royal child is a symbol of hope. It’s a moment of celebration for everyone.

“I think a bit of rest for the remainder of the day will do you some good,” says Lena softly. “We will prepare some ointments that you can use to relieve any aches or pains. Bloating is likely, and as the body makes room for the little one, you’ll have some discomfort.” Lena taps her bottom lip and then turns to Petal. “We’ll need to prepare some liquid supplements to take with meals.”

“Of course,” nods Petal. She begins packing up their supplies.

Lena squeezes your shoulder before letting go. “I’ll come check on you in a few days. Bring a few things with me. We’ll talk more then, preferably with the father present.”

“Yes,” you reply, absently rubbing your belly. “That would be best.”

The two women bow and depart quickly, leaving you alone in the royal bedchambers. The room is quiet and your breathing sounds too loud in such a large space. With hands clasped, you twist them over and over again in agitation, needing to move but unsure of how to quell the anxiousness. It’s stubborn like the deep roots of a tree that refuse to give up the dirt.

How are you to tell Thorin? How do you approach this when you rarely see him. It’s just one more thing to burden him with. Perhaps, if you dropped a few hints? Covertly toss the pregnancy in his direction and see if he picks it up?

You know deep in your gut that you shouldn’t worry over this. Thorin will be happy. He will be.

You spend the rest of the day as Lena instructs. Reclining, resting, and reading. Thorin is supposed to return tonight for evening meal. Whenever he promises an early arrival, Thorin means it. Rarely does he make promises he cannot keep.

As dinner is brought in, and the table is set, Thorin walks through the door. There is a bit of soot on his cheek like he’s been in the mines, and his cheeks are slightly flushed. When he notices you, he beams, and there is so much love there that you simply want to melt into a puddle on the floor.

“My love,” he says, moving toward you swiftly. The embrace nearly sweeps you off your feet. He plants a kiss on your forehead and draws back.

“You’re filthy,” you laugh, looking him over. Thorin has been in the mines.

Thorin shrugs sheepishly. “I had to help dig. Structural issues.”

“Wash your hands at least,” you playfully tease.

“Not interested in eating a bit of dirt?” he asks with a laugh.

“Go,” you giggle, pushing away from him.

Thorin disappears and you take a seat at the table. He reappears a few minutes later, face and hands clean. The clothes he wore before are also gone, replaced with simple, fresh attire. He takes a seat next to you, gaze darting over the spread.

“I’m starving,” you begin because it’s true even though you’ve been consistently snacking all day. “It’s like I’m eating for two.”

First hint dropped.

Thorin laughs, and the sound is sweet like honey cake. “I promise, love. You couldn’t eat for me. My appetite is insatiable.” When Thorin says insatiable, he pointedly glances at you with a heated stare.

You perfectly understand his meaning.

You attempt a different angle. “I’ve also been having the oddest cravings,” you say, starting to load your plate.

“What do you mean?” asks Thorin before he pops a chunk of bread into his mouth.

“Different foods. Things I’d never eat together otherwise.” It is common knowledge that pregnant women will often crave highly specific foods and food combinations.

But Thorin doesn’t appear to pick up on the hint. He frowns, then shrugs, continuing to eat without making a comment.

Sighing, you pick up one the freshly made rolls. “I think these buns need a bit more time in the oven.” You stare hard at Thorin, mentally sending message after message. “What do you think?”

Thorin glances up at you then down at his own plate that has five of them. “I think they’re perfect but if you’d like them more done, I’ll let the kitchen know in the morning.”

“Thorin,” you say flatly.

“Yes, my love?” His head slightly tilts, and his gaze becomes pointed. He’s starting to pick up on your agitation. You don’t mean to be cross, but you were hoping that he’d figure it out so you wouldn’t have to tell him outright.

Setting the roll down on your plate, you promptly divert the conversation to a different hint. “We’ve never talked about where we’d put the nursery.”

Thorin’s brow rises toward his hairline. “I didn’t think you wanted to discuss that until we crossed that hurdle?”

Does he hear himself? Does he understand the context of what’s coming out of his mouth?

“You’re right, Thorin. I didn’t want to discuss it until we needed to.” You repeat his words back to him, slightly leaning toward him as you speak to emphasize the point.

Still, it brushes right over his head.

“Some of the advisory council members have brought up financial concerns. Rebuilding Erebor is important but the needs of the people are pressing. Food. Proper housing.” Thorin begins slicing into the chunk of roast on his plate.

Maybe you are going to have to say it outright.

Licking your lips, you ignore Thorin’s change in conversation. “I did receive a few inquiries about baby clothes. Offers to knit a few items,” you shrug.

“That’s kind of them,” says Thorin slowly. “But why—” he pauses, “you’re not—"

Thorin’s features suddenly shift, becoming almost unreadable. His jovial expression is gone, replaced with a stern consideration.

Are you going to have to shout it at the top of your lungs?

Thorin’s lips part. Promptly shuts. Opens again. “Are you…” he begins but does not finish.

You start to nod, urging him on.

Finally, like light igniting in the dark, Thorin’s face transforms into one of shock, then pure joy.

“Truly?”

“Found out just this morning.”

Thorin abruptly stands, pushing himself and his chair away from the table. He is moving toward you, grasping your hands, bringing them to his mouth to kiss your fingers.

“Why not say anything?” he asks.

“I did,” you laugh. “Many times.”

Thorin momentarily frowns before his mouth turns up into a soft smile. “Clever.”

“You’ve been busy and I was unsure of how to tell you.”

Thorin’s thumbs rub little circles over your knuckles. “You can always tell me anything. Whatever is happening. Whatever is on your mind. I wish to hear it.” He kisses the tops of your hands. “Especially something like this.”

“Are you happy?” you ask, voice cracking at the end.

“Happiest I’ve ever been.”

Thorin pulls you up from your chair, his large, muscled arm sliding behind your waist. He drags you to him, his eyelids lowering seductively, all gentleness leaving him to be replaced with desire.

“Are you up for a bit of celebrating?” he asks.

“What kind of celebrating?”

“The kind that landed us here.”

“Thorin,” you gasp, lightly slapping his chest. He snatches your wrist, kisses the pulse point there.

“The food can wait,” and his voice ends on a soft growl.

“Thorin,” you repeat, this time with a rasp to your tone.

He seizes it, draws you even closer. “The food can wait?”

You nod. “It can wait.”

taglist:

@foxxy-126 @glassgulls @km-ffluv @sweetbutpsychobutsweet @singleteapot @glitterypirateduck @tiredmetalenthusiast @protosslady @childofyuggoth @coffeecaketornado @cherryofdeath @mrsdurin @therealbloom @ninman82 @thewulf @ferns-fics @beebeechaos

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droopywrites · 7 months

Note

did you ever did a part 2 to jjk dudes meeting their child who’s from the future?

⋆｡Part || of JJK MEN meeting their future kids｡⋆

Author's notes: I don't think I've posted it! Considering it kind of left my mind and the old draft is gone, but I did write everything I remember here. Also, it's like 3am and I wrote this crying, not proofread.

CW: Swearing, killing, cannibalism(?) like mention of eating people, children.

Pronouns used for the kids: She/her for Geto and It/its for Sukuna.

Part | (Warning, it's from 2021)

Geto

Starting off strong with Geto.

Definitely another girl. He's such a girl dad.

On a regularly scheduled day like always; it was wake up, talk with his connections, mingle with his family, check on Mimi and Nana, see whatever the hell the non-sorcerers wanted, get greeted by a little girl that wasn't supposed to be on the estate...

What the fuck.

How did she even get here? Why is she here?

Geto would stare at this child in confusion and look around, waiting for someone to claim her.

He has a soft spot for children. Sorcerers, of course. Non-sorcerers, debatable.

So, low and behold this little girl running up to him to clutch at his robes. Him trying to pry her off of him with her relieved cries of "Papa! Papa!" escaping her lips.

Papa?

Holds her by the shirt's scruff like a cat and squints, ready to scold her but pauses when he sees her face.

Because, holy shit, that's literally his twin. And suddenly every rare hookup played in his mind.

But no, she looked no older than 3. He hadn't been with anyone at that time, or ever yet. Not that far.

Drops everything for the next couple of days just to make sense of the situation, only telling his beloved family.

Mimi and Nana fawn over the idea of a little sister but are a bit restrictive if it's not a permanent thing.

The girl didn't speak much except for addressing Geto, the twins, oh and you.

You...?

You.

You, who had just returned from your trip overseas to oversee some tasks involving curses.

You, who the little girl immediately ran to and called "Mama! Mama!"

You, who Geto stared wide-eyed at and surprised as you two tried to settle the fact nothing even happened between you.

Yet.

When that little girl eventually left to her own time, with everything still fresh and confusing, Geto eventually approached you.

Because, well, he wanted to see that little girl again.

After few dates, then a relationship, then marriage. Maybe.

Sukuna

Listen, he is NOT spreading those cursed genes of his pre-human/post-cursed-spirit.

Man hates love.

But, during the Heian period. When some stupid kid wandered into his life as if it always belonged there, maybe, maybe, there was something else in that space in his chest but hunger and his definition of love.

So, there it was. Whatever it was. Standing there with large eyes focused on him with a semblance of admiration and malice.

"What are you looking at, brat?"

"You."

The audacity of this thing. He killed it immediately.

And then it came back. So, he killed it again. And again. And... what the fuck.

This little shit was persistent.

His kid. He doesn't know how. But definitely his kid.

A worthy successor? Fuck no, he's not dying or leaving it as some birthright to a hindrance.

Learning of its origins was pretty interesting, to say the least.

"Not a human? I figured. A curse made from me, huh? Someone weak must hate me so much."

That meant a human parent. Or multiple human parents. Gross.

He wasn't getting into that.

The kid was though.

It often visited this village to... eat? Kill? Fight? Whatever makes it happy.

...

The hell do you mean it was visiting its human mother?

It had a mother? It had a mother that cursed him so much it resulted in a personalized cursed child?

He could see it stare longingly at that woman's village and before he could even kill her, his offspring said goodbye.

"I'll see you in the future, yeah?"

And then Sukuna was sealed.

He probably searched for his offspring in the Modern era.

Author's notes 2: Stopping with these two because it's been a while since I've posted seriously on this account, 2 years? Maybe I've gotten better, maybe not. This was the idea but with updated better minds. Maybe I'll do the others separately again, Yuji, Yuta, Megumi, Toge. Just did the adults first. Doing Choso and Higuruma definitely.

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strawberrystepmom · 3 months

Text

NSFW - MDNI. cw: dacryphilia. self ship coded. gojo x f!reader. reader is a crier (couldn't be me....*looks away from camera insecurely*) gojo loves a crier he's sadist this isn't a new agenda but im still pushing it... | divider by cafekitsune, wc 1.3k

“And you know what he said to me? ‘You need to try harder.’ He actually told me, to my face, that I need to do more.”

Whatever was discussed today has clearly upset her, Satoru thinks to himself while laying on his back next to you on the floor of your bedroom, his hands folded beneath his head. Any criticism of you is rare and depending on how harsh it is, you react poorly. This is something he has learned many times over, coming to see you more than once to find you pouting about being less than perfection in someone else’s eyes thanks to the high standards you hold yourself to.

If he’s honest though, his mind is barely focused on the comforting part of his “sometimes boyfriend” duties. He’s more interested in how you look right now, his head turned to see your chest heave with little petulant sobs and your palms pressed against your warm cheeks. The physical manifestations of your frustration look like glitter trailing down your face in the evening light, leaving the tips of your fingers glistening and wet while you wipe them away. Without thinking, he reaches across your body and moves your hands, wiping away what you couldn’t get with his thumb.

“I could trap him in the void if that would make you feel better?”

A giggle followed by another sob bubbles out of you and Gojo feels pinned to the ground, the weight of his own desire for you in this vulnerable state borderline frustrating. Seeing your girlfriend cry and sob and whine should not make you hard yet here he is, tip of his dick begging to press against the seam of his sweatpants.

“No, it’s okay. I’m just being a baby.”

You are, but you’re his baby and he will not stand for you crying over someone or something else. He’ll just have to give you something to cry about instead, unable to hold back any longer, simmering desire turning into something bubbling over.

“Hey, look at me”

Rolling from his back onto all fours, his knees touch the carpeted floor and his palms are planted on either side of your head, framing your pretty face from his perspective. A shimmering tear trails over your cheek that leaves a wet trail behind it, your skin damp and dewy. The tip of your nose shines, your eyes are red rimmed, but Satoru finds it irresistible and always has. The reasons why aren’t a mystery to him, given how badly he wants you regularly but the blood rushes from his cheeks downward to his cock more quickly than he anticipated when he’s faced with you like this - needy and ripe for his picking. He’s half-hard thanks to nothing but the sight of your teary eyes. What an effect to have on someone who could bring the world to its knees if he were to wake up one morning and choose to do so.

“You look so good like this,” he croons and you squirm beneath him, a poor attempt to free yourself from the weight of his gaze. There’s nowhere for you to run or hide. You can’t play off his desire as a show when it’s just the two of you and he moves his knee to wedge it between your barely parted thighs.

Your palms press against his chest, legs kicking out pathetically around him. All it takes is a bend of his elbows and your chests are practically pressed together. Is it difficult to breathe because he’s so close or because you want him so badly? The tips of your noses touch and he dips his face, making you pucker in anticipation of his lips coming to claim a kiss from yours.

“Satoru,” you whine, mouth still half puckered in preparation for a kiss that doesn’t appear to be coming. “What are you doing?”

This draws a laugh from him, his tongue darting out of his mouth to brush against your cheek and the side of your mouth. The tear that left at trail is gone, a salty taste across his tongue, his mind associating that taste with nothing but you. His cock jumps in response.

“It’s always Satoru this, Satoru that, ohhhhh Satoru!” He mocks you lightheartedly, tone jumping into something nasally in his best impression of your higher pitched voice, the one he hears when his fingers are pressing deep inside of you. “Can’t I make you feel better like this too?”

Another tear falls from your eyes, following the same path as the one before it, settling in the cradle of your lips. Gojo leans down and kisses you on the mouth, tongue pressing against the seam of your lips to soak up every bit of the tear that remains. Your saliva mixes with his, your tears, the viscosities mixing into something more erotic than you could have imagined. Thin and sticky, just like the nectar that seeps from your cunt and drenches the cotton gusset of your panties that is wedged between your folds while you kiss him.

“Just let me…” he breathes between your lips, tongue slipping against yours. Even his voice is higher than usual, laced with desire and need you do not understand and are not about to question. “Let me do this.”

You hope he realizes that you aren’t “letting” him do anything, mind spinning in dizzying circles with every tear that runs down your cheek and hits your lips that he’s quick to take for himself. This is just as enjoyable for you as it is for him, one of his hands moving from the side of your head downward to your hip, playing with the waistband of your shorts. Your hips cant upward and he smiles against your mouth, your neediness more obvious than ever while reaching to grasp the back of his neck and hold him against you. He stops you, the palm on your hip pressing your ass back down to the ground.

“Have any more for me?” Satoru’s chest heaves when he asks, breath leaving him in warm puffs that live and die against your mouth. “You’re so pretty when you cry, baby, can you blame me?”

His tongue darts out again and he licks up anything that may have been neglected in his haste, the muscle running over the seam of your lips and the plushness of both lower and top. A moan, wet and breathy, leaves you and another round of fresh tears follow the path of the others before them. You want to argue with him, well aware of how you look with puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks, but your pussy aches and clit throbs in response to him. The words you want to say wouldn’t make themselves appear even if you tried harder to find them than you are now.

“Come on baby, gimme some more.” His encouragement makes you sniffle and his hand sinks below the waistband of your shorts and panties, fingertips trailing downward until they press against the sticky cleft of your pussy. “Just a little more and then I’ll make it better, okay?”

Nodding, you glance up at him and the shine of unshed tears makes him growl low in his throat. His fingers spread your folds open beneath your clothing and wetness soaks his fingers, tongue searching your face for wetness that can match what he is feeling right now. The mix of tears and saliva and your arousal are too much and he cannot wait any longer, pressing his knee against your clothed mound.

“Don’t stop crying for me,” he begs and you nod again, acquiescing to all of his requests as usual. You grind into the hardness of his knee and he chuckles, glad he followed his instincts to keep you here and like this, the kind of girl who will gladly cry and grind against a thigh if it means she feels better.

“I’ll make you feel better,” he assures with a chant against your lips, words interrupted with the sounds of how insatiable for one another the two of you are, smacking and sliding and pants and moans.

As if you don’t already.

#sadist bf <3 masochist gf #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #satoru gojo x reader #kendall writes #satoken

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cupidzgf · 5 months

Text

CHRISTMAS MORNING | SATORU GOJO

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ summary: satoru wakes you up on christmas morning to open presents. its 7 am and you want to sleep.

cw: mentions of sexual activity, non sorcerer au, rich!gojo, no pronouns, no smut, fluff, all of it is fluff. w/c: 1.8k a/n: my first post in a long time. ahh kinda nervous I hope you like it! merry christmas eve!

christmas was an occasion that satoru always went above and beyond to make special.

whether it was for his sake or yours, he made sure there was no way to get out of decorating his place, baking cookies, or matching christmas pajamas. not that you mind. you savored the time away from work to bask in each other's presence uninterrupted and entirely devoted to the holiday, but what perhaps made it even more so was the slow wake of your lover beside you.

his hands, warm from where they were pressed against your midsection during slumber, trace the curve of your spine. his fingers dip between the knobs of your vertebrae gently as if trying to rouse you as well. it works because your mind slips from your unconscious state into consciousness with the kisses he presses at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. sensing the shift in your stirring frame, his kisses grow in numbers as they rise up the column of your throat, lips brushing and pressing with varying pressure on previous faded marks.

you lay on your side, facing away from him, and satoru practically climbs on top of you just as your eyes flutter open to get your attention to fall solely on him.

in the blink of an eye, you're met with an infinite void of vivid, azure irises peering at you with an expression you can only describe as childlike.

"it's christmas." a dimpled grin beams from his too-wide smile, devouring your lips in one fell swoop before you can protest. satoru vibrates with excitement, and he pours every ounce into the kiss, holding your face with a giddy glee. "merry christmas."

a sleepy grin of your own curls at your lips as you try to regain your breath from the overwhelmingly passionate kiss you just received before speaking softly in an admiration-filled voice. "merry christmas, toru."

you lay there, admiring your boyfriend, as he practically jumps off the bed and pulls your arm. "c'mon, we have to open presents! pleaseeee," he whines impatiently, tugging at your hand like a small child. you groan, still exhausted from the long night at suguru's house, and attempt to roll over.

suguru's christmas eve party the night before had left both of you exhausted, though the way satoru acts, you would never have guessed. your friend was never one to skimp out on these rare get-togethers with your friend group, formed from years enrolled at the same college. the holiday atmosphere and the rich decor lulled you into christmas cheer, which always made for great nights of booze, food, and rekindling. dripping in wealth satoru insists on buying for you, the two of you made it back in the early hours of the morning, drunk and worn out from socializing.

this, however, did not stop satoru from fucking you into the bed like he had been deprived of your touch (he had clung to you the entire night), where you both passed out after a single round.

now you're paying the price for the long night as his eyes widen comically when you avoid him. he rushes to stop you by throwing himself over you and, despite your protesting, makes you face him.

"nah, uh, where do you think you're going? it's christmas! we have presents from santa–"

"--he's not real, baby. let me sleep a couple more minutes." you chime back, and his expression drops with a huff.

"you don't know that! and we only will when we look under the tree," he states jokingly, refocusing his abundance of energy on getting you up.

you scoff, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "yeah, like you would be on the nice list."

satoru gasps, loud and dramatic, falling to his knees in front of your bed with a cry.

"how could you say such a thing? i'm the kindest, nicest person you know!" he exclaims, a hand hovering over his heart to further the theatrics, and you can't help but roll your eyes at his exaggeration.

"you weren't very nice last night."

his eyes shift, darkening by a shadow passing over his irises as they gain a mischievous gleam. satoru leans over you despite kneeling on the floor. "oh yeah? well, you didn't seem to mind when i fucked your pretty pussy so hard she was crying and screaming my name–"

"ok, time to get up!" you interrupt, mortified by the vivid personification he used to describe last night, your cheeks set aflame by his teasing. you hide from his cocky chuckle and self-satisfied smirk, embarrassment churning in your gut as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"that's what i thought, sweetheart." cocky bastard.

you rummage the floor for a shirt, the blanket covering your lower half as you throw his santa hat off the first one you can find, which coincidentally is his.

satoru whines sadly when his shirt covers your bare breasts, a frown pulling his lips down as your once naked body, decorated in hickeys, is covered. "what's the point of my hard work if you're just going to cover it?" he gestures to the bruises, pouting with the familiar solum look he uses when he wants something.

"i'm not going out there naked, toru." slipping on slippers, you stand, craning your neck to look him in the eye. your exasperation does not go unnoticed by the white-haired male.

"there's no reason you can't," he suggests, tugging you in front of him and letting his hands settle on your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "it could be like a christmas present…to me!"

you raise an eyebrow. "i thought you wanted to open gifts?"

his face brightens as he remembers his original goal, his one-track mind making his hand tug you to the door without a second thought and newfound eagerness.

your living room is the same as you left it last night, with your cocktail dress strewn across the back of the sofa and satoru's shoes scattered across the hardwood, but what's different is the snow swirling in slow flakes outside the massive windows. it lands on the window sill, and the rest slowly descends to the world outside satoru gojo's penthouse. the bleak grey does nothing to discourage the sight of the luminescent christmas tree taking up your living room and glittering with a rainbow of lights against the grey sky in the ray of morning light.

a christmas morning crafted from a hallmark movie.

an array of presents ranging in various sizes and shapes overflows from under the tree you decorated weeks ago, and before you know it, you throw yourself into your lover's arms. a teasing remark sits at the tip of his tongue, maybe to poke fun at your elation, but he hesitates, fingers twitching at his side. in a moment so delicate it could be shattered like glass, he frames every second of the scene into memory, holding the warm and achy feeling in his chest close.

arms circle your body pressed tightly into satoru's, butterflies erupting from your stomach when you glance upwards and find him already staring.

"thank you," you muster every ounce of sincerity into your voice, swallowing the lump forming in your throat when he returns your gentle smile with his own.

"don't thank me yet. you haven't even seen what i got you!" effortlessly, he turns your attention away from the raw and achy emotions being pulled to the surface and onto you, where your eyes sparkle with eagerness.

the both of you find a seat on the floor and begin the seemingly endless presents and discarded wrapping paper; the laughter and joy that can only come from christmas morning echo off the walls you call home. and when the gifts are opened, and the faint tune of falling snow is all that's left, you are sure it can't get any better.

even as satoru nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, his lips parting to whisper the words on your skin that have never been uttered in a moment of complete clarity. "i love you."

it somehow becomes perfect.

bonus:

staring at your mountain of gifts, ranging from designer to everything under the sun you mentioned wanting during the year, piles around you, and the thrill of being spoiled by your filthy rich boyfriend quickly wears off into guilt.

was his presents thoughtful? yes. overwhelming? also yes. especially since neither the price nor the quantity of gifts you'd given him come close to what you have. so the shame of being spoiled and unable to provide the same, in turn, quiets you into an insecure ball of nerves.

"do you like it?" your heavy gaze lifts to find him, and he squirms where he sits, uncharacteristically nervous. he waits for your reaction with uncertain eyes, wringing his hands together to calm his apprehension. "i tried to get everything you wanted, but i know how you feel when i overdo things…"

"satoru," you breathe, looking over the gifts once more. the following words come in a gentle coo he's come to recognize are used to let him down easily. "i do love everything, but it is a lot. you didn't have to spend so much."

frowning, your gaze flickers to him, and his eyes dip, avoiding yours. "ah, okay. i didn't mean to upset you," he murmurs in a quiet, saddened voice, and you quickly shake your head, realizing he took it the wrong way. shuffling on your knees to where he sits, you fall into his chest. solid and well-defined arms circle your body without a word, and you hear the distinct sound of his breath hitching at the contact.

"never. you're too good to me and treat me so well, baby, but you don't have to spend all your money on me."

"trust me, i didn't," he teases, attempting to regain the lighthearted atmosphere, before adding in a more hopeful tone, "but i'm glad you like your gifts."

"oh yes, the lingerie set was especially thoughtful," you joke, and he cracks a smile at that. only your expression falls a moment later when you clear your throat. "i just hope what i got is okay. i know you've been asking for a new watch and those glasses, but it's hard to find gifts for someone who has everything. i'm sorry i didn't get you more."

the sad murmur and downcast expression made satoru's heart crack, remorse twisting his stomach into knots. "no, no, no baby, i love what you got me. i couldn't be happier with all of your thoughtful gifts." he kisses the top of your head, resting his head on yours for a quiet moment of admittance that makes you fall in love with him all over again. "but everything i want is right here with you, sweet thing."

#merry christmas #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru #gojo x reader #jjk gojo #satoru gojo #satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojou satoru x reader #satorugojo

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elliespassagerprincess · 6 months

Note

can u pretty please with a cherry on top make a part 4 to the milf abby 😔🙏🏼💟

Headcannons: Milf!abby anderson x reader (part 4)

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

Authors note: Ladies and pookies I'm back! This last week has been the worst and most painful week of my life but, I'm back and better than ever <3

☆ Milf Abby who gets your initials tattooed on her ring finger.

You felt her calloused hands grab your waist as you stood admiring the ring she got you.

“it’s pretty” you muttered

“you’re pretty” she said with a smile

“shut up Abby” you shoved her to the side as you felt your face grow hot.

The two of you stood in silence for a while, enjoying the peace and quiet you both rarely get with Aubrey

“you know” Abby started “if the bride gets to wear an engagement ring, what about their partner?”

Your brows furrow, at the thought.

“that actually makes a lot of sense Abby. We should get you a ring-“

but before you could even finish you sentence Abby lifted up her right hand revealing the tattoo.

“what the fuck Abigail”

☆ Milf Abby who refers to you as her wife long before the wedding.

“Yeah my wife and I went there”

“she’s my wife”

“my wife likes that show” “you know what they say happy wife happy life”

☆ Milf Abby who buys you white dresses as gifts just to see what you would look like in white, because she really couldn’t wait for the wedding.

☆ Milf Abby who’s literally a perfectionist and plans the wedding without a planner.

“No, you aren’t folding the napkins right” “that isn’t the right shade of pink”

☆ Milf Abby who asks her daughter to be the ring bearer and the maid of honor.

Aubrey looked at you with curious eyes as Abby placed the box onto her lap.

“dude what’s this?”

“Aubrey I’m not your friend, who taught you that word?” Abby sighed

“grandpa did” “of course he did. He really needs to stop-“

“Abby lets focus on the box” you interrupted her, knowing this conversation wasn’t going anywhere.

“Can I open it please?” Aubrey asked you, with a polite smile.

“of course she’s nice to you! You little gremlin-“

“Abby!”

Abby felt Aubrey pinch her arm at the gremlin comment

“why would you-“

“ok” you said with a stern voice “lets open the box, you guys can fight later”

sometimes it felt like you were living with children.

Aubrey’s small hands grabbed the box, eagerly tearing away the wrapping paper. In the box lay a simple white dress, with paper rings. The little girl gently grabbed the fabric, inspecting it. She saw the rings and it took her a while to get it.

“I’m carrying the rings?!” she yelled

“and we were hoping you’d be our maid of honor too” you pulled out a basket from behind you and the girls smile grew.

☆ Milf Abby who begs you to let her go with you when you go wedding dress shopping.

“please”

“Abby its bad luck”

“fuck the bad luck”

☆ Milf Abby who sends you thumbs down emoji’s the whole time you were gone.

☆ Milf Abby who doesn’t want to sleep in separate houses the night before the wedding.

☆ Milf Abby who sends you cringe Facebook minion memes and jokes because she misses you. This was your first night apart in months, but she knew after tonight she would be waking up with you next to her for the rest of her life.

☆ Milf Abby who barley slept that night. She wasn’t sure if she was nervous or excited.

☆ Milf Abby who gets ready extremely early. Her hair was out of her normal tight braid, and the hair fell to her shoulders. Her black suit hugging her in all the right places.

☆ Milf Abby who starts at herself in the mirror too long, and she suddenly notices her wrinkles, she suddenly notices the grey hairs.

☆ Milf Abby who gets cold feet.

☆ Milf Abby who starts crying because you didn’t deserve this.

You needed someone younger, some who doesn’t have back pains and complains about their joints hurting. Someone who wasn’t turning 50 soon.

Someone who won’t die soon.

You needed more than Abby.

Abby’s loud sobs filled the room as she looked at herself in the mirror.

She should call this off.

“Abby?” her head snapped to the direction of the door. It was her dad. She quickly wiped her eyes, and she sniffed a couple of times. “hey dad” he slowly walked towards her, and he gently sat next to her, putting his hand on her shoulder he muttered “you okay?”

The blonde sitting next to him broke out in sobs, her head fell to his shoulder “oh honey” he breathed as he held her close.

“Abby what’s wrong?” He felt his daughter tremble next to him. “i- I’m keeping her back in life” Abby started, and Jerry just sat and listened to her.

“I’m so old I’m probably going to die soon. Who wants to be married to a grandma? One of these days I won’t be able to get out of bed without complaining. And she’s so pretty and young- she-she deserves everything, and what can I give her? My future dentures?”

“have you ever thought that this is what she wanted?”

Abby lifted her head to what her father said.

“The fact she’s marrying you proves that the love she has for you is endless. She’s willing to look after you when you do get those dentures. She wants you as much as you want her Abby, don’t let your insecurities stop you from being with the love of your life. And yeah, you’ll get old, but she’ll be with you”

☆ Milf Abby who goes to the venue earlier than everyone to make sure everything is ok.

☆ Milf Abby who stood at the altar with sweaty palms, waiting for your arrival.

☆ Milf Abby who started crying as soon as you start walking down the aisle.

☆ Milf Abby who couldn’t take her eyes off you the whole ceremony because she realized that this was it. She was marrying you.

☆ Milf Abby who shed more tears than you did during your vows and she cried even more when Aubrey came with the rings.

☆ Milf Abby who practically jumps on you when they said she could kiss you.

You felt her hands grab your face, and she brought you in for a rough kiss.

The crowned screamed around the two of you and you heard the clicks of all the cameras. You felt Abby’s lips smile against yours before she pulled away putting her head against yours.

She whispered “I’ll love you forever”

“I love you too abs, forever and always”

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mayullla · 3 months

Note

Hello hello, good day/evening to you, hope ur week has been fine!

May I request (if its still open?) Yan!Baizhu with fem reader? It's rare to see someone write for him after all 🦋🌷 thank you

Title: Gold Rings

Character(s): Baizhu (Genshin Impact) Summary: You didn't remember your fiance after you fell from the cliff and were rescued but he continued to stay by your side as your doctor. Warnings/tags: Yandere Baizhu x amnesia fem!reader, manipulation, 2k word count

[ - A little present~! Event - Closed - ]

You stared at the ceiling, made of brown wood, but found nothing interesting. Awake with nothing to do, you could not help but raise your left hand at the ceiling, reaching for something that wasn't there.

You weren't sure what you were reaching for.

But all you could do was stare at the ring on your finger. A thin gold band reflected the sunset light from the window.

You remember nothing. Nothing at all.

You were still healing; your body ached in pain if you moved too suddenly, even when most of it was somewhat healed. It was hard to stay still, frustrating as you tried to remember the past, as if you were trying to reach the fringes of the past yet barely able to touch it.

"You should rest, my dear." You almost jumped, startled at the calm yet disappointed voice. It wasn't loud, but after staying in the room alone for a long time, your ears were sensitive to his voice. "I brought you some food. Have you slept well?" the voice asked.

You recognized that voice somewhat, not as a voice that you heard in the past that you could not remember, but it was the first voice you heard after waking up in this room. Dropping your hand to the side of the mattress, you pushed yourself up slowly with his help. Sudden movements made you dizzy, which you had to learn the hard way. Looking up again, you looked into his golden eyes, slit pupils. His eyes almost reminded you of that of a snake.

"Y-yes," you told him, nodding your head slowly, which prompted a smile on his lips and a crinkle in his eyes. "Ah, that is good. A good rest is always needed when you are sick," he told you as he took the stool that was beside your bed and took a seat on it, placing the food tray on his lap. You had to think for a moment... What was his name..? He had told you before, but it had escaped your mind for a moment as you blinked owlishly at him.

“Hmmm?” He looked at you, tilting his head as if wondering why you were staring at him like that.

Baizhu.

Baizhu... you thought to yourself, a hidden delight that you were able to remember his name when you didn't remember much else. He... he was your doctor.

And the man to whom you were engaged.

He was the first person you saw when you opened your eyes, right beside you, sleeping on the chair with his head on top of his crossed arms on top of the bed. You saw the dark circles under his eyes and his pitiful state. Yet your awkward movements caused him to get up, his eyes wide like saucers as he held your hand, crying and pained.

You didn't remember much after that, forced to go back to sleep still too tired. But you remembered the shock and pain in his eyes when he saw the confusion in your eyes as you looked at him. The question of who he was looked like you had shattered him greatly, yet he kept up the act of someone strong. Asking you questions like your name and who you were, most of which you were able to answer. He asked you if you knew how you ended up here, but you didn't remember that.

He tried to be as gentle as possible with the news. Amnesia. You were out and about collecting herbs in horrible weather in the high cliffs of Liyue, where you had a slip and fell, tumbling down a small cliff. Thankfully, you were just smart enough not to head to the steep cliffs, for if you fell from the high mountains, you would have probably died.

Baizhu was kind... too kind, in fact, you thought to yourself, feeling nothing more than a stranger. You didn't understand his kindness when there were no memories to back up the overly kind gestures. Most doctors would not go to this point, to be fair, kind... They didn't try to see their patients almost every hour, every day.

But you also felt guilty.

Because even though you didn't understand the reason, there was a reason why he acted like this. You still remember the pain in his eyes when he realized that you didn't remember the time spent with him, his love, or your own love towards him. He barely covered up all his pain with a smile and his glasses, with the snake around his neck observing him as you looked at him with guilt.

You lived alone in the harbor of Liyue, having moved here and stayed for a long while now. Baizhu told you that you worked for him, with Qiqi collecting herbs and medicinal flowers for ingredients for medicines and remedies. Baizhu said that you were a hard-working person and that sometimes you would help at the pharmacy too.

"I could make some time and head to your home again today. I tried to look for your diary, but even when I looked everywhere, I wasn't able to find it," Baizhu said with a sorrowful expression. You had asked him to send someone to fetch your diary so that you could see your own past that you had written.

However, it was not found.

You shook your head, telling Baizhu that it was okay. Maybe the diary was with you when you were up in the mountains, as you sometimes took it with you outside. Baizhu looked heartbroken, unable to look at you in the eyes, as the proof that you and he were lovers, other than the rings, was gone. The snake that was wrapped around his neck was not there to cover up the awkward silence between the two of you.

You felt guilty that you didn't remember, unable to remember something that was almost like it didn't happen. Looking at his hand, a ring shined under the light from the candlestick. The sun was setting, and before it got too dark, Baizhu had lit the candle. A simple band, yet the same color as yours. You wondered what your relationship with him was like, how much you showed it outside to the public and inside, how long you had feelings for him, or who confessed first. You do not remember even one thing. Reaching out, you placed your hand on top of his, smiling at him.

You wondered if you should trust him. It would be awkward if not hard to start everything again, but if your relationship with him was real, then you thought that it would not be hard to bring those feelings back again. You remembered the people who visited you, Qiqi, who you remembered was a zombie and had a hard time remembering, talked to you in a way that showed she knew you. She would often hand you some flowers that she picked at the mountain, hoping that you would get well soon. Clearly, that was enough to tell you that you were at the pharmacy often or had multiple trips to the mountain with her collecting herbs.

Not only that, the people who knew you also visited, some friends who stayed by your side. While a little awkward at first, having a hard time sinking in the fact that their friend may not be remembered, many of the memories spent together, while some others were more mature about it and tried to help you whenever they could. They all said the same thing, though, that you were a private person when it came to love, but they were also not surprised by the ring on your hand. Some said that they noticed it before the accident but didn't have the time to comment on it before, as you looked very busy to stop and have a chat about it back then.

They didn't look all that surprised when you told them that Baizhu was your fiancé, as he had told them a little while ago before coming here. They also thought that it was highly likely that it was him of all people. They had seen you two together multiple times before, after all, though not announced as a couple, there was certainly chemistry there, one of them commented.

When you were finally able to go out, many regulars who had to visit the pharmacy often greeted you in surprise when they finally saw you. They had heard of what happened and could only feel sorry as they asked if you were alright. It was there too that people talked about you and Baizhu being together. "It was horrible that such a thing had happened to such a lovely couple," an old grandmother commented. When you asked them to go into more detail, the granny and older ladies all told you in enthusiasm of how cute the two of you were while they watched from the side waiting for their medication.

It was hard to believe, yet the more people talked, the easier it became to believe that you and him were lovers. Your engagement was recent, and you didn't have enough time to tell others about it before the incident.

Baizhu watched as you talked to the elderly who told you many stories of what they saw between you and Baizhu as you listened to them, hesitantly wondering if this was the truth or not. Other than the engagement rings, it must have been difficult to believe that you and him were lovers with hardly enough physical proof. All you had to go with was him and the people's words.

How splendidly did this work in his favor.

You see, you were never his to begin with. You had a lover who lived deep in the mountains, whom you would visit often on your trips. You kept it a secret from everyone. The only reason why he knew when it would have been difficult for him to follow you up high mountains was Qiqi.

Qiqi, after all, was very fond of you and more often than not tried her best to remember moments by writing them in her diary to keep. It wasn't him looking at the small girl's diary that he knew that, but more so a slip of the tongue of some sort. Whenever it was the two of you who went on a trip, Qiqi always came back telling that she had remembered someone talking to you often, also helping her get to flowers that were a little difficult to grab easily due to her height.

It seemed that you had started to take an interest in another man. Baizhu wasn't happy, annoyed more than anything that you had fallen for someone else. Changsheng mocked him for his frustrations, but was startled by his irritated demeanor. It wasn't supposed to show, and most didn't notice, but he supposed those who knew him knew that he was in a very bad mood right now and learned to avoid him unless it was something very important.

Yet before he could do anything drastic, it seemed that the archons had done everything for him instead. You just had to go to him in this heavy storm and hurt yourself. You knew of the storm, yet the feeling just didn't sit right with you as you continued to think about that man. Something was wrong. You left the pharmacy even when Baizhu told you not to leave.

How shocked he was when you came back very injured and with amnesia. Even if he was saddened, scared even, that you were in pain, Baizhu could not help but become a little delighted.

When you looked so worried, your poor, soft, lovely heart was unable to stand the idea that he was hurt when it was all a lie in the first place that he was your fiancé. Changsheng pointed out sarcastically that he was deranged in the head when it came to you. Too sly already, yet when it came to you, it seemed that he was greedy.

And maybe he was, when you were placed right in front of him, how could he not consume his precious little thing’s mind?

281 notes · View notes

photo1030 · 5 months

Note

Pls do a fic or smthing where readers old guy friend finds her and they reconnect and they’re both crying and Arthur is like who is this and reader is like he’s my closest friend from home I haven’t seen him in ages and Arthur is all jealous kinda

Hi, Kids!

So sorry for the wait. Life has been busy, but I've been plugging away on this one. Thank you so much for this "ask"! This was actually an idea that I had for my regular "Arthur x reader" fic, so I was happy to oblige. I wrote this to coincide with my reg fic and I decided to go more angsty than smutty for this one, so I hope that is OK for the Anon who asked.

**Special thanks to @readingcoco for beta-reading for me. Your help was priceless.

LEATHER AND LACE - SAY HELLO TO AN OLD FRIEND

Summary: Arthur is none too pleased when you run into an old friend from your previous life.

*This is not my image. This belongs to Rafa on Pintrest. Beautiful work there.

Masterlist

Tagging: @daisybvck

The banging of an anvil echoes heavily in your ears, the deafening ringing thumping in your brain. You and Arthur have wandered into the busy town of Cripple Creek to see the local farrier. You have spent the last day hunting and while coming down through the valley pass, your horse, Blue, had thrown a shoe. Never one to neglect your horse, you insisted Arthur take you into the closest town to get him some attention immediately.

Now, Arthur is a firm believer in taking proper care of one’s horse, as a man’s horse means his survival. But the way you fuss over this spoiled animal as if he were your child causes Arthur to just chuckle and shake his head at you.

Coming out of the farrier’s building, you shield the sun from your eyes as you look around at the townspeople. The area seems pleasant enough. It is a depot location for one of the railroad lines, so there is a lot of traffic. People are coming and going, always in a hurry to go somewhere or nowhere. But always in a hurry to get there all the same.

You passed several pungent livestock farms on the way here, but now you can inhale deeply, enjoying the fresh air being pulled into your lungs. A slight breeze kicks up, lifting the soft tendrils of hair that frame your face to sway gently in its wake.

Arthur looks over as he lights his cigarette, amused at how your eyes roll closed and your whole body relaxes in a rare moment of peace and quiet. He really should get you out of that camp more often. Maybe he’ll hold off a bit on returning home, and the two of you can spend some more time alone together.

You can feel the bulk of him leaning in closer to you as his gloved hand runs down your spine to land on the small of your back. “Well, what do ya think? Should we get a room for the night or just rut about in the woods like we usually do?”

Your lips pull into a smile at his suggestion, and when you open your eyes, you are met with Arthur’s twinkling suggestively at you. Your face immediately brightens as you turn your body into him, hands finding their way to his broad chest. Your fingertips play with the upturned collar of his faded black button-down shirt. Giggling with excitement at the idea, you push up onto your tiptoes, your nose flirtatiously inches from his. Arthur’s hands settle comfortably at your hips, his arms enfolding you.

“Y/N? Y/F&LN, is that you?”

A vaguely familiar voice distracts you from answering Arthur’s question, but you can’t quite place it. Turning your head in confusion, you search for the source, and suddenly, your eyes widen with recognition.

“Robert?” Your gaze lands on a tall, slender man making his way through the crowd towards you. He is well-dressed in a blue and gold brocade vest and has auburn hair neatly combed back. He’s sporting more facial hair than you remember, giving him a distinguished look. He’s a bit older now, but you’d recognize that wide, toothy smile anywhere. An unexpected shriek of excitement escapes your lips as your hands slip away from Arthur. “Robert!!”

Arthur stands there dumbfounded as he watches excitement overtake your whole body as you run into the waiting arms of this mystery man. Who in the hell is this person? And why did you just abandon Arthur to embrace him like that? You and this strange man hug each other tightly, laughing and smiling as if God himself had gifted you each other.

“I thought you were dead, Y/N!” the man exclaims, holding you at arm’s length so he can take a good look at you.

“I thought you went to Europe! I thought I’d never see you again!” you laugh incredulously. Shaking your head in wonder, you throw your arms around the man’s neck again.

Arthur stands quietly, eyebrows knitted together, lips pulled into a thin line. He doesn’t like this one bit. The only person he’s ever seen you this excited over is him. Arthur’s fingers tap impatiently along his belt where his hands sit idle, as he waits for you to finish this reunion. Eventually, he clears his throat to try to turn your attention back to him.

Finally remembering yourself, you turn towards Arthur. “Arthur, this is Robert, my best friend.” Arthur’s eye catches how your arm eagerly loops around the man’s elbow. “We knew each other as kids. We grew up together back east!” You continue to gush as you present your old friend to your current lover. “Robert, this is Arthur.” You motion to the mountain of a man standing to your right.

Robert’s face lights up as he boldly strides closer, extending his hand out to shake Arthur’s. “So nice to meet you, Arthur!” His voice chirps with bravado and swagger, instantly making Arthur’s skin crawl. When Arthur doesn’t reply with the same enthusiasm, Robert turns back to you, eyebrows raised with curiosity. “So, is this your…husband?”

A slight giggle comes from your lips at the suggestion. “No, we’re not married. But he is mine.” You smile proudly at Arthur, your hand reaching over and squeezing his. Arthur smiles down at you as his body drifts slightly closer to yours. His strong arm snakes around your waist until you rest protectively against him. When he sees you beaming at him, it sets him at ease a bit with this intruder and he tries to relax a little.

“Robert, is it? Well, Robert, looks like you and Y/N go way back, huh?” Arthur asks, trying not to come off as annoyed as he feels right now.

“Oh boy, do we. We used to get in all kinds of trouble together.” Robert waves his hand in emphasis, then reaches out to tap your arm. “Y/N, remember when we used to sneak out and stay up ‘til 3:00 in the morning?”

You cover your mouth in embarrassment. “God, if my father ever found out what we were up to, he’d have taken a belt to me for sure!” you roll your eyes.

Robert’s dark eyes fall upon you with a sweet and nostalgic look, one held with affection of a time long past. “Used to be you and me, spitting off the edge of the world, right?” He leans over to wrap his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from Arthur and into his side.

You smile affectionately back at your friend, nodding in agreement. “That’s right. You and me.”

‘You and me’ - The phrase sticks in Arthur’s brain, a phrase you should only be using in reference to him… not some other random fella. His lip curls into a slight sneer of contempt, however, you are too caught up in the camaraderie with your friend to notice.

“We need to catch up! Come on, let’s get a drink and a bite to eat. I want to know everything that’s been going on with you since we last saw each other,” insists Robert, tugging on the sleeve of your white cotton tunic.

“Oh, yes!” You turn towards Arthur. “Can we, Arthur? We have time, don’t we?”

Right now, Arthur wants nothing more than to get you away from this man, this town and everyone else in the world. But he can’t say no to that wishful look on your face. He doesn’t have the heart to crush your hope. That has always been Arthur’s weakness: he can never say no to you.

“Fine, I guess we got some time to spare,” Arthur reluctantly agrees, trying to hide the disdain that threatens to break through his patient facade. You clasp your hands together, giving a little hop of excitement.

The three of you turn to head down the side of the street, with you and Robert chit-chatting incessantly the whole time. As you stroll along, Robert explains how he has become a lawyer and is traveling to California to take care of some estate affairs for a prominent family. He is just stopping for a layover in Cripple Creek to catch a connecting train.

Instead of going to a saloon, you reach a little restaurant along the main strip in town and head inside. Robert orders a bottle of the best liquor the bar has to offer, and you all sit around a table as he proceeds to tell you of all the gossip from back home.

Robert is so animated and full of life and fun, not caring at all about the judgmental looks of others as he loudly tells you anecdote after anecdote. But he’s always been like this. For as long as you’ve known him Robert doesn’t care what anyone thinks and therefore is free to do as he pleases. This is something that you have always loved about him and why you were such good friends when you were younger. He was a breath of fresh air in a stuffy upper-class world. And to be honest, you always had a bit of a crush on him, too.

“So, David and Clare got married, you know,” he smirks. Of course, Robert is referring to your ex-fiance who you were betrothed to, who, as it turned out, was sleeping with your friend the whole time.

“I figured as much,” you reply dismissively.

“Huge obnoxious wedding, of course.” Robert waves his hand with a flourish.

You huff out an unimpressed chuckle. “I figured as much,” you repeat again.

“Wasn’t even six months, and the rumors were flying about his infidelity.” Robert laughs at the absurdity of it. You roll your eyes and take a large swig from your glass. “You dodged a bullet there, my friend.” Robert gives you a wink.

Arthur has to stifle a snicker at the irony of the man’s choice of language.

“Probably should’ve just married you myself,” smiles Robert. The statement makes you blush a bit under Robert’s affectionate gaze. But it is a statement that sets Arthur on edge.

Arthur patiently pretends to listen as you and Robert continue to laugh and joke about old friends and the social scene you left behind, the pair of you growing more and more chummy, until eventually, you find yourself resting a hand on Robert's forearm as you speak. Arthur clenches his fist tightly under the table, his eyes staring at your fingers and watching as they absentmindedly dance along Robert’s arm. It is not intended to be a flirtatious move, as it is a mannerism that you often do when you are excited about what you are talking about. But it is an action that Arthur resents all the same right now.

You try your best to involve Arthur in the conversation but to be frank, you are discussing people and places that he has no frame of reference for. The only thing that does pique his interest is the way Robert keeps referring to you. That certainly has Arthur's attention. But he has to be careful. He can see how happy you are and doesn't want his temper to burst your little bubble. However, if he had his way, he would be grabbing you by the wrist and dragging you to the closest hotel to make you forget your own name, let alone another man's.

Arthur hates that you have this “other language” and bond with someone who is not only outside the gang, but outside his class altogether. He’d forgotten where you came from and what you’d given up to be with the Van Der Linde gang and him along with it. And this conversation with this ghost of your past only confirms it. Arthur tries not to glare at Robert as he takes in the man’s fine clothing and clean hands that have probably never seen a day of labor in his life.

The whole thing is a harsh reminder that Arthur may not only be holding you back in life but actually pushing you down.

“So,” Robert finally turns his attention away from you, ”What do you do for a living, Art?” Robert asks innocently.

The very sound of Robert’s voice makes Arthur bristle. “The name…is Arthur,” he grits out. “And it’s none of your damn business what I do.” At this point, Arthur wants nothing more than to plant his massive fist in this pompous fool’s face.

You instantly pick up on Arthur’s annoyance. You can see his steel blue eyes set hard as his fist clenches around the glass in his hand. Arthur’s head tilts slightly to the side as he watches Robert, and you know from experience that he is measuring the man up. Robert is only being nice, ever the extravert, but he has no idea what sort of man is sitting across from him.

“Easy now, Arthur,” you chuckle nervously as you pat his burly forearm. “Robert is only asking out of curiosity.” Arthur shoots you a look that you can’t quite place. “Arthur does a little bit of everything,” you quickly answer Robert to avoid further awkwardness. “He’s done bounty work, loan collecting, things like that.”

“Interesting,” muses Robert.

“Well, I’d rather be an honest sinner than a lying hypocrite,” asserts Arthur as he levels his gaze across the table at Robert.

“I assume you work with horses quite a bit, too, then?” Robert pushes as his eyes roam up and down over Arthur.

“I do.”

“Figured as much. You seem pretty ‘rough and rugged’ like the cowboys we read about back in the city.” Arthur’s eyebrows knit as his mouth turns into a slight frown. “Oh, I don’t mean anything by it, friend! You look fantastic!” Robert insists. “In fact, I couldn’t be happier for Y/N. Looks like she’s got herself a real man. Those sniveling, uppity simpletons back home were never her type.”

“And I assume you are?” Arthur asks. This causes you to look at him questioningly.

“Me? Oh, no. We were never like that.” Robert waves the comment off, not reading the underlying meaning of Arthur’s question.

“He’s right. Being married to Robert would be like being married to a puppy,” you joke, trying to lighten the ominous mood that Robert is thankfully oblivious to.

“True. But, you have to admit, we would have made quite the pair, wouldn’t we?” Robert leans over and nudges you in the side with that wide smile of his again.

Arthur roughly grabs his glass of whiskey and throws it back, the bitter liquor hitting his throat, before he slams the glass down onto the table.

“What are you gettin’ at, there, Robert? Hmm? You think Y/N would be better off with you than me? Is that it?” The icy stare that Arthur throws at Robert is cold enough to frost the windows of the room. His chiseled jaw sets tightly, his body tense as if about to explode. Your stomach drops as you realize that Robert has indeed crossed a line with Arthur, whether he has intended to or not. And you find yourself at an impasse: do you stand by your man, or do you defend your oldest and dearest friend?

Finally, seeing that Arthur is not amused by his antics, Robert takes the hint and clears his throat nervously. “Well, it has been so wonderful to catch up with you, Y/N!” He stands up from the table and adjusts his vest, running his hand over his hair to make sure everything is still in its place. You and Arthur stand as well in anticipation of the farewell. You are reluctant to say goodbye to your friend, and Arthur is anxious to leave.

The three of you silently file out of the little restaurant together and onto the busy sidewalk.

“I truly hope we can do this again sometime soon, Y/N. Maybe if I swing through these parts again, I’ll reach out.” Robert says hopefully.

“I’d like that, Robert. Please do.” You affectionately place your hand on his arm. “I’ve missed you quite a bit since I’ve been out here.” You give each other a tight hug, one that lasts a bit longer than Arthur’s liking. But then again, Arthur doesn’t like anyone touching you for any reason.

“Arthur, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Robert smiles and sticks his arm out to shake Arthur’s hand again, which he reluctantly does. Arthur’s large hand dwarfs Robert’s as it clamps down extra hard. “Take good care of our girl, yes?”

“Sure,” Arthur deadpans. “Our girl.”

Robert gives you both an awkward smile and turns to head back down the street towards the train depot. Your eyes follow him as your chest feels heavy at having to say goodbye to a part of your past.

When you turn back to Arthur to thank him for his patience, you are met with his hard face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he snaps.

Sighing in exasperation, you cross your arms over your chest. “Don’t give me that.” You knew this argument was coming.

“Just that you seem awfully close with that Robert fella.” The contempt in Arthur’s voice is not lost on you.

“Well, yeah, he’s my best friend.”

Arthur’s jaw clenches just a bit more at your answer. “Uh-huh.”

Your head tilts slightly to the side, eyes narrowing as you study him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Like I said, you two seem awfully close.” His voice drops low and slow, almost spitting out the words like a spoiled piece of meat.

“That’s because we are. He was the only true friend I had, Arthur.” You shuffle your weight from hip to hip, becoming increasingly uncomfortable under Arthur’s scrutiny. You suddenly feel like one of his marks.

“Uh-huh.” Arthur’s simple responses quickly escalates your annoyance as you watch him pull a cigarette out of his pocket, striking the match on the nearby building with enough force that the wooden stick almost snaps between his fingertips.

“Oh my God, are you jealous?” you ask, disturbed at the turn in the conversation.

“Nope.” Dipping his head down, his eyes are hidden by his dusty, worn hat as his fingers bring the cigarette back up to his lips.

“No?”

“Alright, maybe I am,” he suddenly spins on you, face turning crimson. “Maybe I don’t like how excited you get to see another man. Maybe I don’t like you all laughing and smiling at someone else.”

Your heart begins to pound in your ears, taken aback by his surge of anger. “Arthur-”

“Don’t!” he barks at you. “Just…don’t! I can’t compete with that, and you know it!” He points his finger accusingly at you.

“Arthur, I'm not asking you to compete with anyone! In fact, there’s a reason why I left all that behind.” You step towards him, arms raised to embrace him, but he blocks your hands with his own.

“Save it!” And he storms off, leaving you standing there on the sidewalk. Butterflies swirl in your stomach, leaving you queasy. A storm of guilt, frustration, and yes even anger, rages inside your chest. You wrap your arms around yourself as you try to make sense of what just happened.

“Damn it, Arthur,” you mutter.

—---------------------------------------------------

Rather than chase after him, you decide to leave Arthur be and give him time to cool off. There’s no talking to him when he gets like this, as it usually escalates into a fight if you push it. You feel awful for making him feel bad, as you are well aware of how self-conscious he is. But then again, what about your feelings? You have every right to visit with an old friend and a dear one at that. Yes, you know how it looks. You and Robert always did have a special bond that bordered on the flirtatious side. But you love Arthur. And he knows that. You love him with a depth that could swallow the stars. And you are getting tired of having to constantly prove that to him.

After an hour of wandering the local shops to stall for time, you decide to find Arthur, knowing exactly where you’ll find him. Your boot heels click along the worn floorboard of the porch outside of the saloon. You can hear the chatter and piano music coming from inside. You look through the window, eyes searching for your target. Between the small sea of dusty hats and hulking shoulders, you catch sight of that familiar form that you seek.

Walking into the building, your hands roll over each other, fingers intertwining, as you take a shaky breath when you approach Arthur at the bar. You glide onto the stool beside him, fidgeting slightly to get comfortable. He sits quietly, still brooding with a menacing vibe radiating off of him. You motion to the bartender, who walks over when he catches your eye. “What’ll it be, Miss?”

“A beer, please.”

“Comin’ right up”. It only takes a minute for him to grab a bottle and set it next to the coin you’ve already placed for him. His thick, ready fingers pick it up off the bar top with a pleasant nod of approval as he sets about his previous task.

You spin the bottle between your fingertips, looking at Arthur from the corner of your eye. “So, are we going to talk about this?”

He continues to sulk quietly, lifting a shot of whiskey to his lips and downing it in one. His jaw clenches at the sting of the cheap liquor, but he promptly pours another shot into the diminutive glass, the bottle half empty at this point.

“Alright, fine.” You take a swig of your beer.

“Where’s your ‘friend’?” Arthur grunts without even looking at you.

“Robert is about to get on a train.”

“Mmhmm”.

“Arthur-”

“Alright, look, I’m sorry,” he interupts, slicing his hand through the air as if to end the argument right here. “Please don’t make a big deal outta this.”

“What were you worried about? That I’d run off with Robert?”

“Wouldn’t you?” he blurts out bitterly.

“You can’t be serious?” Your face twists up in shock. He only answers you with a snort of derision. “Arthur, I was excited to see an old friend. That’s all,” you stress emphatically. “You have to remember, I am surrounded by your people, your family, all of the time. This is the first time I’ve seen someone from my previous life.” Your tone unwittingly begins to take on one of annoyance as you try to plead your case. But it is an argument that is falling on deaf and angry ears.

“I’m sorry, I thought the gang was ‘your people’, too,” he bites back. Arthur can be a reasonable man until he is provoked, and then reason doesn’t factor in at all.

“Well, they are,” you backpedal sheepishly at his harshness. Your gaze falters to land on the bottle in your hands before attempting to meet Arthur’s again. “But you know what I mean. You can’t be angry because I was happy to see someone from my life that, heaven forbid, didn’t involve the Van der Linde gang.”

Artur just pouts in silence. You are getting really irritated at this point, but trying to remain calm and not cause a scene.

“So you’d just let me run away with Robert rather than talk to me and ask me to stay with you? Is that it?” you huff.

“Couldn't help but notice how excited you were to hear about everything back home. Almost like you miss it. Pretty damn clear after your little visit today that you don’t even belong here. Maybe you should.” And another shot gets poured into the glass.

Damn it, and there it is. The thing that always seems to be present in your relationship: the idea that you still don’t belong, even after all this time and everything that you’ve done. Arthur still doesn’t see you as “one of them”. And it is a sting that doesn’t sit well with you at all.

Your eyes begin to well up as you try to fight the lump forming in your throat. ”I can’t believe you just said that to me.” Your lips tremble slightly with emotion, a mix of betrayal and anger swirling and bubbling up inside you like one of Pearson’s stews.

The very insinuation is hurtful to you. You have turned your life upside down for the gang and for him. And yet, it seems it will never be enough. It’s as if you are being punished for having a decent life before you were thrust into this new one. You didn’t fit into society back east, and it seems you still don’t fit here either.

“Stop with the theatrics. I ain’t in a mood for it.” Arthur slings back another shot of whiskey.

“You really are an ass sometimes, Arthur,” you stammer in disappointment.

He immediately slams his shot glass down on the bar, shattering it. The action startles you, your eyes shooting wide open. Arthur finally turns to face you now, his eyes burning into you so intensely that it causes you to cringe. You know damn well that you’re not perfect. But, it always made you feel special that Arthur seemed to think so. But the look he’s giving you right now is plain enough for you to know that he no longer believes it.

And the wounded expression on your face enrages Arthur even more. The sight of you cowering like a lamb to slaughter because of his anger is too much. He’s furious at the everything right now: you, Robert, this town, and more importantly, himself. He grabs the whiskey bottle on the counter and whips it at the wall, sending shards of glass flying into the thick smokey air to rain down onto the immediate vicinity.

With your breath shaking, you slowly stand and back away from him. For the first time ever…you are afraid of him.

The tumultuous noise alerts the bartender, who promptly yells at Arthur. “Hey, watch it! You gotta problem, you take it outside! Don’t be causing a ruckus around here!” He shoves his thick, meaty finger towards the doors.

“Mind your own goddamn business ‘fore I give you a problem!” Arthur shouts back, now standing as well, leveling his gaze at the bartender.

With Arthur distracted by the barkeep, you turn and push your way through the now-curious crowd and make a dash for the door.

Your feet clumsily carry you down the steps as you sprint into the street, eyes watering and hands trembling from anger.

“Hey! Hey! (Y/N)!” It doesn’t take long before you hear Arthur’s gravelly voice hollering down the street for you.

“Leave me alone, Arthur!” you shout over your shoulder, not even bothering to turn around. Tears of anger are dangerously close to flowing as you walk even faster, your arms pumping back and forth to propel you further down the road. But Arthur is quick to catch up to you with his long strides.

“Where you goin’?” You can hear him quickly stalking up behind you, his spurs jingling heavily in the dirt of the street.

“Doesn’t matter, right? I don’t belong here, remember?” You throw his words back into his face with such a biting tone. “Maybe I’ll see if there’s a seat next to Robert on the damn train!”

“Like hell you will!” Arthur yanks on your arm, his grip painful like a vice, spinning you around.

But before you can even think clearly, your hand flies as if of its own accord, and you hear the sharp smack land across his cheek, cracking in the air before you feel the sting against your delicate hand. Arthur’s head snaps to the side from the strike, his eyes twisted shut from the impact.

Gasping, your eyes shoot open in shock as your hands immediately cover your mouth. You stand there, silent and trembling. Your chest heaves with broken breathing and choked sobs as you take a few steps back from him. You hate him so much right now. Not because of what he’s said, although that is bad enough, but because he has pushed you to this point. You never, ever want to hurt him. Arthur is dearer to you than life itself. You had never imagined raising a hand or weapon to the man you so desperately love, and yet, he has pushed you, backed you into a corner, to do so.

“Oh…I’m sorry,” you utter, the sound barely a whisper. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.” Your eyes are glossy with unshed tears as your unwavering gaze never leaves his face, waiting with bated breath for his reaction. As you blink rapidly, a tear finally escapes your lower lash to cascade and roll over your hot cheek.

Arthur freezes before his gaze slowly turns back to you. But what he sees shocks him. The very sight of you in your heightened state almost breaks his heart in two. Shame coats his insides as he realizes his jealousy has gotten the best of him. And the pain and fear in your eyes is worse than any bullet to the gut, rocking him to his very core.

Arthur’s expression journeys from one of rage to shock to one of absolute remorse. He says nothing, which begins to terrify you even more. Arthur is known for his temper, even taking his frustrations out on you when needed. You pride yourself on the notion that Arthur may be difficult to handle but never for you. You have always been able to read him, to know his mind better than himself, which is why he relies on you so greatly. You set his world to right when it goes off-kilter. But now, you feel a great divide between you. You stare at him with no idea of what will happen next.

Arthur’s strong arms extend out towards you as a silent apology. But instead of falling into them, you shrink back from him. He halts immediately, turning his palms up in surrender. But slowly, he steps a bit closer to you. Arthur reaches out again, wrapping his hands carefully around your biceps. He can feel you tremble slightly under his fingertips.

Regret sits heavily upon his brow. You can see the self-reproach embedded into his eyes as he stares into yours, searching for forgiveness that he prays you’ll grant him.

Your eyes leave his face, a silent understanding settling between you as you focus on the buttons of his shirt, watching as his chest rises and falls with his calming breath.

With a deep sigh, he silently escorts you into the privacy of the immediate alley, gently pushing you back against the siding of the post office.

“You’re mine.” Arthur does not say this out of anger or possession. Nor has he faltered into a blubbering mess. He simply utters the statement as pure fact, no question.

“Am I?” you stammer. Your eyes lift to search his, looking for any doubt that may still linger.

“You sure as shit are.” Arthur’s voice is low but carries the loving undertone you always take refuge in as the slightest hint of a grin pulls at the corner of his mouth.

“Really? Ten minutes ago, you were ready to let me walk out that door. Told me that I shouldn’t be here.”

Arthur pulls his lips inward at the dismay in your quaking voice. “I shouldn’t ‘ve said that. That was me being a goddamn idiot. But, it is true, ya know. You don’t belong in that gang, Y/N. I keep tellin' ya you’re too good for it. You deserve the finer things in life, things like Robert can give ya.”

Your shoulders fall with a painful sigh as your eyes gently drift shut again. You are so tired of having this same conversation over and over again.

“But,” he continues, “I do want you there. I want you with me. I need you, Y/N. We need you. It’s selfish, I know.” His chin bobs slightly in acknowledgement. “God forgive me, but we do.”

“That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Arthur. I want to belong somewhere. And to someone.” You look at Arthur with an almost desperate expression on your face. Your whole life, you’ve been floating like a leaf in the wind, bobbing about with no particular place to land. You thought you had finally found your place, your home, with the Van Der Linde gang, no matter how unlikely it seemed. And when Arthur threw it back in your face, it was like being pushed off a cliff to free-fall backwards with no one to catch you.

He lifts his rough hand to cup your face, his thumb ghosting over your cheek. “I won’t ever let you go, Y/N. Not ever. Not even if someone else comes along.” Your eyes begin to flutter again as the feeling of his skin on yours reassures you. You wrap your own hands around his wrist, holding his hand in place as you lean your face into his warm palm.

“Arthur, I promise you, you have nothing to worry about. The way you make me feel when I look at you is why I could never look at another.” Your eyes sparkle brightly in earnest, the last of your tears rimmed along your lashes.

He only hesitates a moment before he pulls you close to him. He secures you safely against him where you belong, your chest pressed up against his as powerful arms coil around you to lock you in. Arthur lowers his face to nudge your nose with his before planting his lips to kiss you slow and deep, taking your breath away.

When his lips separate from yours, Arthur briefly rests his forehead on yours before pulling back to look into your face once more. His eyes are intense and reflect a deeper shade of blue than you’ve ever seen. A wolfish grin begins to emerge under that peppered beard stubble as his finger tucks a rogue strand of hair behind your ear.

“Like I said, Y/N, you…are…mine.”

#arthur morgan #rdr2 #red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan rdr2 #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 fanfic

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steddietogo · 1 year

Text

Steddie grammys au part 2

Part 1

------

Steve is texting Eddie Munson via the private message function on instagram. Because that's just the kinda shit that happens to him now. One day he's at the Grammys doing his job and the next, the lead guitarist/lyricist of a famous rock band is following his instagram account (Dustin and Robin had lost their collective minds) which is full of dorky pictures of him with a group of high schoolers, his cat and Robin. And that one picture of Robin and him at pride, posing with a lesbian and pansexual pride flag respectively.

His follower count has also gone up by couple extra thousands and there are a couple DMs from people he's never heard of, saying some unsavoury things about him. It's all very intense and dramatic. Needless to say, his account is private now.

The thing is, Steve has been flirted with during interviews before, he's a good looking guy and he knows it. It's just never happened with an international rockstar before—then immediately went viral for the entire world to see.

Didn't peg you as a cat person Stevie

Then there is the other thing. Eddie Munson flirting with him in his DMs. Which kinda sorta makes him forget how to be a person. Steve Harrington is nothing if not a people person, always knows the right thing to say. But with Eddie he barely just manages, no sign of the alleged lover boy he had been in his high school years. Eighteen year old Steve would cry if he could see the bland ass conversation he's having about his cat of all things.

I'm not

He just barged into my house one day and refused to leave

Eddie is hot, and rich and famous. Did he mention hot, because he is. Painfully so. Steve will never forget his all black ensemble at the Grammys where he had been standing a foot away from Steve in his bejewelled suit jacket with nothing underneath it.

Point is, Eddie is intimidating. He seems so far away with his rockstar status and the hoards of fans worshipping him like he's their god. What could Eddie Munson possibly want from Steve Harrington?

Would you like to get dinner sometime?

Eddie's latest text is staring up at him like its going to jump out of his phone and attack him. Its too late to ditch and run, Eddie knows Steve has seen it so he needs to come up with a response. Soon. So Steve does the only reasonable thing and barges into Robin's room at ass o'clock in the morning.

"Say yes Dingus!" Robin says, after kicking him in the shin for waking her up.

"But—" she silences him with another well placed kick.

"Listen, no one who just wants to bang you asks you about the shitty retail job you had in high school, Steven. Even if he only wants to sleep with you, you're gonna get a fun night out of it and like bragging rights or something," He supposes she’s right. Eddie did seem very interested in Steve’s personal life. He really did hope it is a date though. If only he has the balls to actually ask him.

"I'd be so jealous of you right now if I liked men, so get out of your head and go have some fun. Now get the fuck out and let me sleep,"

------

Eddie picks an upscale rooftop bar with private seating and a breathtaking view. He's there sitting at the booth half an hour before their scheduled meet up time out of nerves.

Eddie sometimes hates that his public image takes precedence when people meet him. The truth is that he is a little bit of a loner. Never got the point of physical intimacy without a connection no matter how much people tend to think he's the type of person to have a different person warming his bed each night.

It makes dating so hard when the perception of Eddie the rockstar doesn't line up with who Eddie the person really is. Eddie rarely even takes the first step anymore. It took the combined ragging of his entire band for him to even gather the courage to message Steve.

"Hey," a voice greets him from behind.

Steve is here. And Steve is an enigma. An ex high school jock who used to babysit a bunch of middle schoolers. He's so full of delicious contradictions and dry humor and it's impossible not to like him the more he learns about him.

But there’s still the question of what Steve expects of him that Eddie dreads a little. Above all, Eddie just wants Steve to like Eddie the person so badly.

------

“A fire extinguisher,” Eddie’s eyebrows are somewhere up in his bangs.

“Yep,”

“Against an armed robber,”

“I swear I had grey hairs at seventeen because of those kids,” Steve knows how sappy and fond his voice sounds when he talks about the kids. It’s never been something he could help.

The night’s been going a lot better that Steve had expected. Eddie is funny, and dramatic and it’s hard not to feel giddy from the attention he utterly devotes to Steve. They have a nice dinner, and exchange stores over drinks and it’s feels like a real date. Steve can practically hear Robin in his head telling him to stop being such a dingus and overthinking everything.

They go quite for a second, Eddie suspiciously focused on his drink when Steve feels his boot nudge against his shoe. Steve nudges back and soon instigates a game of footsie neither of them acknowledge above the table. It ends with Eddie’s foot trapped between Steve’s ankles and a faint rise of colour in his cheeks as he takes a comically large gulp from his drink. It’s just adorable.

"Can I kiss you?" The words are out of Steve’s mouth before he even realises it. Before he could beat himself up about it, Eddie turns a slightly worrying shade of crimson but he's nodding and thats all Steve needs before he is leaning over the table.

It's nice, it's really fucking sweet and not at all how he had expected Eddie to kiss, but Steve is quickly learning that nothing about Eddie is what it seems like. The kiss is all soft presses of their lips, wet, languid slides of tongue at the seams of his mouth. Steve feels a little dizzy when he pulls away and drops back into his seat, happy grins mirrored in both their faces.

———

Its a couple months after that when Eddie starts trending again. He posts a picture taken by Gareth, post show as he lays on top of Steve on the couch. Steve has his arms around him, lips pressed to his gross, sweaty hair.

Caption says: Happy birthday to my sweetheart <3

———

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #platonic stobin #stranger things fanfiction #steddie grammys edition #mine #it’s currently 3.30 am #I’ll tag everyone who asked tomorrow #imma sleep now #enjoy

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jamil-s-wifey · 10 months

Note

Hello :3 Can I get a long scenario with my dearest Jamil?

I really love him so much >///< so here is my scenario, I hope you can accept

Jamil got sick and has a fever. MC stayed beside him and nursed him for 3 days without blinking and finally he recovered. He started to remember her care during his illness after his fever dropped. And when he woke up, MC hugged him tightly. A bit long, huh? 😅 I would be happy with little NSFW, not gonna lie.

Well hello there, fellow Jamil enthusiast~ It has certainly been a hot minute, hasn't it? It is my utmost pleasure to present you with the *long-awaited* scenario at hand! A bit of NSFW, some heart-warming fluff and Jamil finally getting a GODDAMN break, coming right up! It's not full on NSFW, just a lil bit, as requested, I don't know why it turned out like that- still, I hope this is good! (Tbh, it fits the scenario)

P.S. This hit close to home, I used to be a very sickly child and I still catch all sorta sicknesses a lot easier than normal people. So, what he will experience here is all based on very PERSONAL and very SALTY experience. 🙃

"What am I gonna do with you? You can't keep pushing yourself so much!" You murmured, pressing a cold cloth to Jamil's forehead as he slept soundly.

.......

Jamil hated being sick. Pretty normal right? Everybody hates being sick.

But to Jamil, sickness meant pushing through and continuing with his chores, regardless of his wellbeing. Imagine cooking above a hot stove with a high temperature. Can't be pleasant, can it?

But even the hardest stones could crack under enough force - such is the way the world works. It was towards the end of the day, as Jamil was preparing Kalim's dinner, when he felt his body give out under him. All day he'd been going around with a fever, he felt as if his own body was rotting on the inside, screaming at him to stop and have a break. His eyes were watery and felt as though they were burning in his eye sockets.

He couldn't even reach a chair to sit, before his knees buckled and he fell to the floor - too dizzy and too weak. Rarely did he ever get this sick, but this time it was bad. He moved to a more comfortable position and remained like that, trying to gather enough strength to get some medicine..... He most certainly didn't realise he'd fallen asleep, too tired to move, nor did he hear Kalim's worried voice when he found him on the floor in the kitchen.

And Kalim? Kalim was terrified! Quickly he called on his dorm members to move him to his room and immediately called you, crying on the phone, worried that Jamil might never wake up. (That's not how colds work, Kalim-) Worried about Jamil, you immediately rushed to the Scarabia dorm, medicine in hand.

_____________

And now here you are, in the present, taking extensive care of your near delirious not-quite-boyfriend-but-kinda-love-interest. He'd occasionally wake up and exchange barely audible pleasantries with you, drink his "extra healthy and full of good stuff" chicken soup (whatever that was supposed to entail) and then fall back into slumber. His fever has gone down drastically, but the utter exhaustion left in its wake has kept him bedridden. Apparently it was a seasonal fever, which just so happened to hit Jamil, who in turn chose to ignore it in the beginning.

You'd taken the liberty to remain situated in his room for about three days.

Day one was the worst - high fever, clattering teeth and a sleepless night to boot. You'd change his shirt every time he'd drench it in sweat whilst fighting off the fever. You'd switch up the cloth every time it lost its cooling effect, you'd remained by his side the entire time, least he needed something anything at all.

"Once you get better, I'm so gonna yell at you for not taking better care of yourself.... You're lucky I love you." You'd mumbled, barely audible in the quiet of the room as he slept.

Day two was better - he slept through most of it and you could in turn prepare some soup, as well as cover most of his chores, get a pass from the teachers AND even leave him some of your notes for when he recovers. (Look at you go! He'd better propose imo)

Now, on day three he was evidently much healthier. Finally he gave up trying to get out of bed, and instead lay resting, drinking his medicine, feeling utterly pampered by you.

_____________

"How long have you...been here?" You seemed pretty tired in his eyes. The moment you heard his voice you immediately threw yourself gently on him, gently crushing his bones in a hug.

"A while." You responded, face buried in his chest. In reality, you hadn't had a proper night of sleep in about 3 days. You DID sleep, Kalim even prepared a guest bedroom, but you chose to remain next to Jamil for most of the time. "Do you know how worried I was?"

"You didn't have to do all this, you know? You could've get sick too."

"I could've, but I haven't. For somebody with such a keen eye and monstrous deliberation, you really don't know how to take care of yourself properly." You quipped back, moving to sit on the bed next to him.

"As, so I'm being reprimanded now." His gaze softened. "Thank you....for taking care of me these last few days... I've forgotten what it's like to not have to worry or do anything... I feel like I've slept a lifetime... I don't know how I could possibly return the favour."

You can't stay mad at him. He knows it, you know it. Hell, even the Great Seven know it.

"Return it by recovering completely."

He chose not to continue the conversation. He knew arguing was pointless.

"You know, while I was sleeping, or trying to, I was mostly aware of what was happening around me." He began, pushing himself up, in a sitting position. "When you'd quietly hum to yourself, or cuss when you couldn't find something..."

"Ah- well, did you now? Sorry if you had a difficult time falling asleep because of me. " you felt your cheeks warm up a bit.

"No no, please. It's fine. You've taken such good care of me. I just... couldn't help but hear something, which perhaps I wasn't meant to."

He reached out, tangling his hand in your hair.

"Something about you loving me?"

...

Nope, all that heat in your cheeks? Gone. Now it was just coldness and dread.

He saw your frazzled state and chuckled. "I guess I'm really lucky, to have you to take *such* good care of me, huh."

He leaned in, but stopped just centimetres away.

"I shouldn't."

You heart dropped even lower, if that was even possible.

"I could get you sick.~" There was a lilt to his voice, but his eyes showed concern.

"Oh, for fuck's sake-" you leaned in, smashing your lips onto his. He smiled into the kiss, pulling you towards him.

Naturally, you moved to sit in his lap, his hands moving to your waist.

"Your feelings are returned, for the record." He mumbled in between heated kisses. The more heated the kisses became, the more his hands would wander until-

In the blink of an eye, he flipped you over, so that you were underneath him. Skillfully he unbuttoned the first few buttons of your uniform, revealing more of your neck and collarbones. "I think I have a way of returning the favour. You took such good care of me, I think it's my turn~"

His attention moved to your neck, leaving heated languid kisses and playful bites on your skin. His hand trailed down to spread your legs, moving between them. Every single touch of his was intoxicating. Pretty quickly your shirt was thrown on the floor, the supple flesh underneath - covered in hickeys.

"Are you not going to undress as well? Or should I do that for you?" you asked, breathless, yet teasing in manner. Well. As teasing as one could get, given how achingly turned on you were. "Like you didn't have more than enough time to appreciate the view, during these last few days." he teased right back, but his hands moved to grip the hem of his t-shirt, pulling it over his head.

"I've wanted to do this for a long time." He practically purred, fingers gliding over your stomach, gently trailing lower and lower.

"Of course, you can tell me to stop anytime."

"I don't want you to."

"As you wish, my dear. Then I'll make sure to indulge, taking, tasting, touching every single part of you. "

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