#so fluffy I nearly suffocated

[ilsanslut]

꒷♡꒷ GAME OVER!

♰ synopsis: in which you seek attention from your boyfriend and end up paying the price. content/trigger warning(s): 18+. smut. gn!reader. full-nelson. rough sex. tummy bulging. creampie. angry(?)!nagi. minor degradation. cursing. ꒷꒦

“Stop it, Y/N.”

Seishiro warned you without looking up from his phone screen for a moment, his fingers still dancing across the glass with expert skill. You were lying beside him on the couch, your bare foot on his bicep, gently nudging him to throw him off his game. You couldn’t help yourself. You wanted his attention, but instead, he chose to play some dumb mobile game. So, you decided to take it upon yourself to get his attention—by lightly kicking him until he paid attention to you.

“Y/N.” His typically soft tone grew a bit of a firm edge, with the slightest hint of frustration making itself known to you.

You giggled to yourself, partially in amusement and partially in incredulity, as you were surprised to hear the slightest infliction of irritation in your typically lax and impassive boyfriend, who, in his own words, “doesn’t get angry because it’s bothersome feeling negative”. Was that about to change? Were you finally about to make Seishiro angry?

There was only one way to find out, right?

You gave him a few moments of reprieve, allowing him to get sucked back into his game and forget about your little mischievous self, despite your antsy toes wiggling against his deltoid giving you away. It appeared to be working because Seishiro's eyes were wide and unblinking as they became laser-focused on his screen, even drawing the device closer to his face just as his tapping became near manic when you suddenly jolted your foot forth and even managed to push Seishiro aside for a second.

“Y/N!—”

GAME OVER, YOU LOSE!

You were so shocked that you could not even contain your laughter. You cackled maniacally as you were holding your stomach at the fact that Seishiro lost, moreover became frustrated with you.

“Haha, I can’t believe it! See, Sei? This is what happens when you chose to ignore me~.”

Though you quickly stopped laughing when your boyfriend's piercing gray eyes locked with yours, his stare was owlish and unwavering, boring fiercely into your own. What made matters worse was that he did not even look angry, but you could feel it radiating off of him in harsh waves that nearly suffocated you and immobilized you where you lay. Your breath caught in your throat as dread suddenly chilled your veins, your mouth gaping as you tried to think of something else to say in your defense, but it was futile.

“So that’s what that was, huh?” His tone was chilling, effectively silencing any rebuttal you could’ve thought to muster up. His head cocked to one side, fluffy bangs shadowing his unblinking eyes as they continued to pierce into your own.

“You just wanted . . . my attention?”

“M’sorry, m’sorry, Sei~! P-please, I can’t! I won’t do it again, I pr-promise—!”

Seishiro had ripped through your underwear, thrown you on top of him, and folded you in a full-nelson to fuck you silly before you could blink. You were choking on your own words as your boyfriend’s cock pistoned in and out of you at a furious pace, leaving you breathless with every unrelenting thrust, each one more vigorous than the last. You could feel him hitting the deepest parts within you, battering your inner walls, and pumping every last bit of his frustration with you into your tight hole.

“But isn’t this what you wanted, Y/N?” He muttered into your ear from behind you. The crazy bastard didn’t even sound breathless as he fucked you within an inch of your life. “You wanted my attention, didn’t you? Wanted to make me angry? Make me lose my game, hm? You wanted this, didn’t you?”

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, both in ecstasy and vexation, your jaw lulling open as you babbled incoherent curses through your drooling brims. The pleasure was so great, you felt so full, you could hardly think, let alone form a proper sentence! Not to mention, in this nigh-pornographic position, you were gifted the sight of not only your striker boyfriend pounding you senseless but also the prominent indent that appeared on your belly from every time his stupidly big cock reached the deepest depths within you.

Not caring for a response from you, Seishiro let out a series of soft, muffled grunts from his lips as his cock throbbed within you. “Since this is what you wanted, you should be able to take it, no?”

“B-But Sei! Your too—mpfh! Y-You’re too damn b—”

“—What? Big? You cry about that all the time, Y/N, and yet you take my cock like the pretty slut you are every time without fail.” You could practically hear the eyeroll in his voice as he spoke, pausing his thrusts for merely a second as he adjusted his grip on you, attempting to pry you open further as though you weren’t already splayed out above him. Interlocking his fingers behind your head and pushing himself firmly onto his heels, he basically growled into your ear, “So do me a favor and shut up and take it.”

Without warning, he used his newfound leverage to pound into you with enough force to make your vision go white and your toes curl in the air as he pummeled directly into your sweet spot, eliciting a series of pleasured shrieks and breathless mewls from your drooling lips. You’d be sure to apologize to your neighbors later.

“Ah, there it is. Y’gonna cum f’me?*” He grunted, his breath hot against your ear, as his cock twitched inside of you.

“Oh my god, y-yes! Sei, yes, yes, yes!” You squealed as the knot in your belly tightened.

“Hmmfh, then go on, pretty. Make a mess f’me.”

Before you knew it, you did exactly that, coming undone as you made a mess atop your sweaty and partially clothed bodies. Simultaneously, Seishiro let go inside of you, both of you breathlessly moaning in unison. Your back arched off of his chest as you felt thick, hot ropes of steamy, milky cum shoot into your depths and bloat you full of his seed. It was heavy, too, a result of Nagi not jacking off often, as he found the action to be ‘too much of a hassle when I have you’.

His grip slowly released on you, gently setting your tired and quivering legs down to rest as he lay beneath you, equally exhausted. Even as he did so, his cum still languidly pumped ropes of cum into your abused hole as it slid out of you, making a mess of the poor cushions beneath you two. You would never be able to hold it all, but as you both descended from your highs, neither of you seemed to mind.

Before you could relish in your serenity, you felt a sharp swat on your thigh from your boyfriend beneath you, who now held a small pout on his lips. “Next time you want my attention, just ask. I was about to beat my high score.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes playfully as you gazed lazily up at the ceiling. Oh right, that’s what started this mess, huh?

“Mmm, I dunno, Sei.” You drawled, your voice laced with mischief. “If you’re going to fuck me like that every time I bother you while you play, I might have to do it more often~.”

Seishiro said nothing in response. He didn’t even stir beneath you. That is, until your body was turned over and you found yourself face-down on the cushions, trapped beneath your boyfriend's weight, his thick forearm encircling your throat from behind.

“S-Seishiro—!” There was a squeal in your voice as you felt his arm tighten around your throat, pressing you hard against the cushions with his massive bulk and body weight.

“S’that how you feel, Y/N?” His voice was deep, with the faintest of growls beneath it, as he held you taut in his grasp. Between your thighs, you felt his heavy cock hardening once more as he lazily humped it against you, causing your eyes to widen. After emptying the entirety of his balls into you and fucking you into next year, he was getting hard again?!

“Maybe you still haven’t learned your lesson.”

Oh, you’d be lying if you said you weren’t absolutely enthralled by Seishiro when he was like this, and you would most definitely be lying if you said you weren’t going to mess with him while he played again.

ⓒ vampiie 2024 — all rights reserved. please do not repost my work outside of tumblr, modify, or translate my work in any form. please do not share my work on tiktok or any other site.

[cordeliawhohung]

In Limbo [Chapter 12]

mafia!141 masterlist | In Limbo masterlist | general masterlist | taglist | playlist mafia!Simon Riley x fem!Reader

love notes

cw: anxiety (per usual)

wc: 3.8k

Simon stares at the bathtub. 

It hasn’t changed a bit over the last decade or so. No, it’s been a lifetime ago since he was thrown into this tub and its frigid water. Still has the same pale, cracked tiles with ancient peeling caulk. Perhaps the spout is a bit rusty — tiny speckles dot the iron like high impact splatters in old, oxidized blood brown. They sit and fester, like cancer growths on decaying lungs. 

He swallows and doesn’t appreciate how tight his throat is. Serpentine constrictions plague his neck as if he were a tasty mouse — he’s surprised he can even breathe. This feeling is so unfamiliar to him, something he’s removed himself from, and now he doesn’t know how to handle it. How to force it into submission. A fluffy cotton towel and fresh set of clothes rest on the corner of the counter next to the sink. It screams at him. Reminds him of what he came here to do. 

It’s only water. He’s bigger now. 

Five minutes, he promises himself — five minutes, and that’s it. 

In reality, it’s significantly less than that. Short hair is easy enough to wash and rinse, as is his body. A part of him is used to washing up quickly, in some terrified way. Less time under water, the better. Less time in here the better. Without any blood or grime to scrub away, he’s even more efficient. Soap, scrub, rinse, repeat. 

Soap, scrub, breathe — breathe. 

Then, the tiles start to whisper to him. Hushed echoes of the past bounce around at his feet, saturating the tub, filling it up until it’s at his knees. It’s all briney tears, spit, and viscous snot. Muffled cries that can’t quite leave his throat. Childish begging. The yearning for his mother. Fists gripping his shirt. 

An unceremonious squeak sounds as the water ceases. Fat drops dribble out of the showerhead as clawed fingers drag the curtain open, cold air rushing in to meet his exposed body. Old scars pucker and dance along his skin as goosebumps form, and he sucks in a breath through the brume wafting around him. Pale blue walls turn grey; like dead, rotting flesh. He swallows. His throat is still tight. 

Soft cotton rubs across his abrasive skin as he dries himself and quickly dresses. Moisture wicks from his skin and it feels like sweat instantly replaces it. It seeps from his skin. Anxiety brewing into something tangible and rotten. A thin fog obscures the mirror he attempts to look at, leaving only the shadow of him on its surface. Huffing, he rubs his bare hand across the glass. With such heavy nervosity gripping his throat, he half expects to see a scared child as the image of himself forms. Instead, it’s him — just him — his father’s eyes and all. 

A knock declares itself with a sharp crack, but Simon’s eyes don’t wander a bit. He stays, hands on either side of the counter, gripping the tile as if he’ll fall through the floor if he doesn’t. The only thing that prompts him to finally move, to crack the stone encasing his body, is the soft sound of anxious feet shuffling against the floor outside the room. 

When Simon opens the door, you’re certain you’ve upset him somehow. Furrowed brows and firm set lips make your grip tighten, nearly snapping your toothbrush and small tube of toothpaste in half. You look up at him like a wounded dog. Tail between your legs, lip caught in your teeth; you try to smile, but the malaise hanging around him is thick enough to suffocate even you. Then, something snaps. He melts. Eyes softening as his shoulders fall, lips parting to speak and then saying nothing. He looks you up and down, still dressed in your pajamas, and then smiles. 

“Am I takin’ too long?” he teases. 

“No, just wondering if I could squeeze in real quick to brush my teeth before breakfast,” you sheepishly admit. 

Warmth swirls around your body and envelops you as Simon steps to the side, letting you steal a spot at the counter. Though Simon smiles at you kindly, something feels wrong with that room. It festers like a bad wound — a dead body that wasn’t quite cleaned up. Spoiled viscera still soaking the floor for the flies to eat. You stare at your hands — at the way your fingers grip your toothpaste, trying to squeeze it out onto the brush — and you think for a moment, that maybe; maybe that rot comes from you. Sullying everything you touch. 

“Is that kid’s toothpaste?” 

Fluttering eyes land on Simon as you open your mouth to reply. Nothing comes up but a strained laugh and a half formed smile as you bashfully look down at your items. 

“Uh, yeah,” you nod. 

“I’ve got real toothpaste if ya want it,” he offers, shaking the tube. You stare at it, that classic minty green freshness flashing in reflective foil as he does. Cracks form in your smile, and you feel your stomach turn. Even the mere thought of it nauseates you. 

“No thanks I… erm… don’t like mint,” you admit. 

Your admittance feels like you’ve laid some hot sin before him, and you avert your gaze in favor of spreading a generous line of paste on your brush. Imitation fruitiness coats your tongue as you shove it into your mouth, and you grimace. You had forgotten to wet your brush. The texture is rough and sandy, yet you persist. 

Simon shrugs. “Suit yourself.” 

You try not to let him see the way your eyes water when he begins to brush his teeth. Abrasive mint overpowers your senses, seeping into your nose and churning in your stomach. It’s too strong. Offensive. 

You disguise your disgust with a cough. 

Breakfast is a quiet event. With the Christmas cheer dwindling into the back of everyone’s minds, the delectable meal of pancakes, sausage, and eggs is brought to the front. Mrs. Riley’s cooking truly is remarkable, and you can feel yourself missing her meals already. Bruce keeps you fed plenty well at work when he can, but there’s something different about eating in the presence of her warm gaze. Pale blue eyes flicker like sapphire flames as she glances back and forth between you and Simon. The look on her face isn’t lost on you. That quiet simper that stains her lips. 

It screams. Shouts at you. You are welcome here. 

“So, back to London, then?” Tommy asks as he wipes his mouth clean of crumbs. 

Humming, Simon nods. “Yeah. Work tomorrow night. Gonna get busy with the new year.” 

“Everythin’ going well then at the club?” Beth chirps. 

It’s a simple question — an innocent one. Still, it has Simon and Tommy sharing glances with one another. A million words are shared in an instant with one simple exchange. Tight lips, tighter fists; this is what happens with men like them. There is always bound to be some sort of dark secret they keep buried with the old versions of themselves; the versions they had to snuff out. 

“Well as it can,” Simon nods. 

Simon doesn’t completely beguile her. As far as anyone else is concerned, the club is doing fantastic. Only occasionally does he have to bloody his hands and toss out patrons who are too pissed for their own good. It’s an easy job. A simple one for a man of his talents. 

But there are names that lurk in the depths. Swarming in ruined water, waiting to capture their next prey; their next victim. Andrei. Though he’s been off having his fun with you and his family, the bastard’s name and face etch in the grey matter of his brain. It’s quite the balancing act, hunting a man who vanishes into smoke and mirrors all while trying not to concern you with the mess. His skin itches at the thought — that terrible memory of you. Doubled over, blacking out. 

What would have happened to you if he hadn't been there? 

Clearing his mind, he reaches for the plate of toast just as you do. Knuckles knocking, you retract, hand falling back into your lap. Had he not known better, he would have thought he electrocuted you.

“Sorry,” you mutter, awkward laugh expelling from your lungs in a pitiful huff. 

He looks at you, curled forward in your seat like a shriveled bug; always making yourself small. Always too afraid to take up the space you need. His hand persists, fingers gripping a golden slab of toast before placing it on the plate before you. Only then does he retrieve one for himself. 

“Nothin’ to be sorry ‘bout.” 

Once plates are cleaned, it’s time for farewells. Simon refuses to let you assist in packing things up. Only lets you gather your items into your bag before he’s stealing it like a bandit and shoving it into his car. You don’t know why you even bother to do anything for yourself anymore. Not when you’ve got Simon around. 

“Gonna bring Chip home for Easter?” Tommy asks.

Once he’s managed to get your bag situated next to his in the backseat, Simon retreats, back straightening out and stretching as he slams the door shut. His brother leans against the trunk, arms crossed and shivering in the bitter Mancunian winter. For a moment, all Simon can do is shrug. 

“We’ll see,” he deadpans. 

“Oh, come off it,” Tommy rolls his eyes. “Sleepin’ in the same bed as her, gettin’ all cozy on the couch; takin’ the fuckin’ piss outta me sayin’ shit like that.” 

“What I do in my personal life doesn’t concern you,” Simon says nonchalantly, fingers shooing the man away. “Now up. Off my shit.” 

Tommy huffs, and it’s cynical. Boiling acrimony laces his words as he mumbles: “Used to think the same thing once. Next I knew I was nearly gettin’ gutted like a pig.” 

Flooding memories cause Simon’s eyes to gloss as they sear through his brain. Unpleasant bile eats at his esophagus as he recalls that day at his old job. A butcher’s shop. He would spend his life quartering swine, never once thinking about how similar humans are to pigs. Tender meat. The fiber of muscle and skin. A sharp blade sinks into flesh all the same, no matter what it’s called. The blood is just as warm. The gasps are just as cacophonous. 

Tommy’s warning is clear. It causes his diagram to freeze as dark eyes cut through the air to find you. Like he’s scared you’re already injured. Like he’s ruined you. His heart ceases to beat when he finds you on the porch, little Joseph wrapped around your leg. 

“Bye-Bye Auntie Chip!” he says, unabashed with his gaiety. 

Red hot embarrassment burns Beth’s face until her cheeks are the same shade as her hair, and within an instant she’s beckoning her son off of you. Just as always, you are kind. Smile and shake off the awkwardness with as much grace as you can muster. You assure Beth it’s fine — you’re not sure what you are, be you an aunt or something else, but the title fits snug. Like the first thing you’ve ever worn that fits properly. 

“It was lovely having you,” Mrs. Riley cuts in, easing the tension. She’s bundled herself up in a thick blanket draped over her shoulders like a shawl, and still she shivers so fiercely you swear she’ll turn blue. Despite the tremor, she reaches her arms out to you, welcoming and warm. 

You accept her embrace without a second thought, and for a moment things are quiet. Nothing rings. Nothing buzzes at the tip of your brain stem. There is only the quiet, and the scent of lavender. It leaves your body yearning in a way you haven’t felt for quite some time. A bitter tainted nostalgia that dances along your spine and weaves through your ribs — and yet it is welcoming all the same. 

“Thank you for having me,” you whisper. Your voice decays in your throat. Half formed and hardly ejected. 

Mrs. Riley steps back, but you can’t bring yourself to let go. You know you should. You’ve always had to let go of everything eventually, but your fingers flinch and your arms twitch, and you realize this time you can’t. Some sort of mawkish pain squeezes your heart and you fear you’ll crumble. Crack and splinter into dust that the December wind will carry away without so much as a second thought. But she doesn’t let you. Instead, she holds you together, scooping you up in her arms until you’re buried in her. Pressure builds and twists behind your eyes, and you ignore the way your throat begins to shred itself. 

“You’re always welcome here, dear.” 

They wave from the porch when you and Simon leave. A proper send off that has you smiling to yourself and aching for their presence again. An odd sort of solicitude shrouds your thoughts as you hit the motorway. It’s useless. Doesn’t announce why it’s there or why it ails you, and yet you’re stuck with it anyway. Perhaps it’s just that skin you were supposed to outgrow. The one that tightens and suffocates over time until you’re gasping for breath. 

Whatever it is, it carefully subsides as Simon settles in his seat, fingers reaching to turn the heat up. It’s impossible to pinpoint exactly why you’re stuck with such lassitude these last few days, but you only feel it worsen as the heat warms your skin. Leaning against him, nearly falling asleep on the couch, resting in his arms… he feels safe. Like you can rest and wake up knowing everything — including yourself — will be fine. 

He offers you his coat to use as a pillow just as your eyes begin to grow heavy. You don’t even argue anymore. Don’t say that you’ll be fine. That you can stay awake. Or that you can just rest your head on the jittery window. It feels nice accepting his help. Allowing him to dote after you; you think he’s the only person who can be kind to you without leaving a bad taste in your mouth. So you take it. Bunch it up and curl into a ball in the passenger's seat as the hum of the engine sings you to sleep. Tobacco and nicotine envelope your senses; it’s stronger on his coat than it is himself. Washed less often. Burrowing into the stitches. 

You sleep so well you don’t wake up until you reach the outskirts of London, and even then you’re only roused by Simon rubbing against your arm. Limbs extending, you stretch as much as you’re able to in the confines of the car as you rub at your face. The afternoon glow ignites the frost lining the railing that leads up to your apartment complex, but it looks like glitter on dull cement. A waste of something pretty. In whatever festive cheer your ancient, crabby landlord can muster, you notice a spindly wreath on the entrance. Perhaps it was his attempt at making that dilapidated building feel more homey — if anything, it feels more fake than ever. 

Simon opens your door with a smile as he helps you out of the car. He’s still on a mission to refuse to let you carry your bag, and he lets you lead the way inside the building as he trails behind you like a good dog. Creaky stairs announce their existence all the way up to the second floor, but their song is quickly drowned out by the violent vibrating of Simon’s phone. 

He plans on ignoring the call until he reads Johnny’s name as the ID. 

“Hello?” he answers. His voice catches you off guard, and he watches as your head snaps over your shoulder to look at him. He gives you a reassuring smile as he shakes his phone, and you smile back. 

“Got a hit on your dance partner.” 

Simon’s heart skips a beat. That deadly killer in him begins to surface — the one that’s cold and calculated; the one that can’t afford to let feelings get in the way. His face hardens as images of Andrei’s face flash across his mind, but he knows he can’t be too standoffish. Not when he’s with you. Not when you don’t know something’s wrong. 

“Workin’ through the holiday?” he asks, attempting to tease but it comes out too gruff. 

“My girl was workin’ a double. Had nothing better to do,” Johnny shrugs. “Aye, but listen. You remember Milena Romanova? Makarov’s financier?” 

Simon scoffs at the name, bitter bile rising in his mouth just as you both reach the second floor. “Plays well with Garrick’s mum, doesn’t she?” 

“If by playing well you mean threatens, sure,” Johnny deadpans. “Anyway, Kyle caught sight of her at some bullshit aristocratic party his mum was throwing on Christmas Eve and Andrei — whose last name is Nolan, I’ve learned — was there with her.” 

The tension in Simon’s jaw grows so tight he can hear the way the enamel in his teeth creaks with the pressure. It’s an easy conclusion to draw. One that has his chest growing tight. 

“Whatever mess Chip has got herself in… Riley, if Makarov’s got his sights on her-”

“I know,” Simon interrupts. It’s sharper than he intends, but he doesn’t apologize for it. 

Johnny sighs, breath crackling on the line. “One more thing… you’re really not gonna like this.” 

Somehow, Simon’s managed to fall behind you. Several paces back, he sees you standing at the entrance to your apartment, and you’re frozen. Eyes locked on the doorknob, wide as saucers, lips parted as if to say something and yet nothing comes out. 

“Security system here at the club caught some weird activity on cams yesterday,” Johnny continues. “Checked them out this morning and… well, it seems as if Andrei’s not the only one hanging around where he shouldn’t be. Marco was here, and it looked like he was looking for someone.” 

Your door is open. Slightly ajar, hardly even cracked, but it’s open. You swore you locked it when you left, but it doesn’t matter when there’s splintered wood on the ground at your feet. Simon’s hardware and new screws held up plenty fine; the door plate isn’t even bent. Still, it can only do so much when the wood it’s screwed into is as soft as butter. The air is wrong. Too thick. Like water. Like smoke. Like it’s someone else’s breath. 

Eyes welling with tears, you turn to look at Simon. His face is like stone. Hard set and rigid as he continues to hold the phone to his ear. The line has gone silent. His throat bobs as he swallows. 

“I gotta go.” 

The line dies. 

Neither of you speak when Simon gently pushes open the door. You hold your breath as he does. Quiet hysteria builds in your chest as you wait for an eternity to see what’s become of your home. The door creaks and whines as it falls open, hitting the wall, revealing the state of your apartment. 

Nothing is in place. Plastic plates and cups litter the ground in the kitchen along with old pots and pans. Cupboards and drawers are open, completely emptied of their contents, all dumped into a pile on the floor as if setting up a pyre. The rubbish bin is knocked on its side. Old garbage is strewn about, staining the faux tile as nameless black bugs enjoy the rot.

As the two of you cautiously press inside, you catch sight of the way your clothes hang halfway out of your dresser. Plastic hangers lay shattered outside your tiny closet. The bathroom light is on, and when you meander inside, you find the mirror is shattered. Your reflection is warped. Wrong. And still, it perfectly reflects that terror. A drop of blood stains the sink. It’s old. Hagriding. Clotted. Hardened. You stare at it, and it screams back at you that you have made a very grave mistake.

There isn’t an inch of your apartment that Simon leaves unchecked. Hackles raised, he turns every corner with care, eyes darting around like an animal ready to strike. But there is nothing. Your flat has always been too small to properly house yourself, let alone hide away anyone that would cause harm. There is no one. No Andrei. No Makarov. 

No Marco. 

You stand in the midst of your home like a lost child, spinning in circles as you take everything in. Wide eyes, scanning like a hawk, or some clever fox finding her way out of some precarious situation. Trepidation coils around your chest as you attempt to hold back sobs, but your diagram shudders despite your efforts. You are both overcome with terror and yet so devoid of emotion, because in some way, you know you deserve this. 

You brought this on yourself. 

“Fuck,” you curse, hand slapping over your trembling lip. 

Simon’s ears perk at your voice. Heavy feet crush rubbish and clothes as he reaches for you. He’s careful, as if trying to calm a spooked horse. Warm hands bleed through your skin as he holds you steady, but you don’t look at him. All you can do is continue to take in the mess around you. 

“It’s gonna be alright. We’ll get this sorted, I promise,” he assures you. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you snap. 

Hands brush against his chest as you push yourself away from him, a hyperventilated sob rattling your throat in the process. You nearly trip on a cup as you stumble away from Simon, and you press the heels of your hands into your eyes. 

“How the fuck could I forget. I’ve… never… fuck,” you mumble. 

Simon says your name, but you refuse to hear it. Utterly disconsolate, you continue running away, feet meandering throughout your room as if you’re in a drunken stupor. He lets you. Watching you carefully as the emotions overwhelm you, lets you feel what you need to feel as you stare at the crumbled remains of your life. 

The only thing that isn’t ruined is your bed. 

You freeze. It’s perfect. Pillows fluffed. Blankets neatly pressed along the mattress. It looks professionally done with a folded lip at the top for ease of grabbing. Spotless — it almost looks lovingly done. 

You don’t remember making your bed before you left. 

Careful feet approach the furniture as your nerves begin to fry. You feel your mind begin to shut down. There’s no fear or anxiety or anger — there’s just you and your shell. You’re so far underneath the waves that there’s no use in screaming for help. All you can do is let the tide carry you forward. 

A pristine envelope sits quiet and docile on top of your blanket. It’s unmarked, but there is no mistaking who it belongs to. Simon slowly approaches from behind, hands outstretched, requesting that you hand it over to him, but you refuse. Shouldering him away, your quivering fingers can hardly undo the seal. It tears. Shreds like cloth. You retrieve the note inside. 

Missed you on the 25th. Will collect late fee on the 28th. You know better than to call the police. Don’t stand me up this time.

-M

[motherlvr]

Your Morally Gray Neighborhood Spider-woman

SPOILERS FOR ATSV, this includes the plot of ATSV

Word count: 2.9k

Pairing: Prowler! Miles Morales x Spider-woman! Reader, Earth 1610! Miles Morales & reader

This is a continuation of Part 1 but may be read as a stand-alone. this will probably be the last part of this for now, thank you for reading!

Summary: During a minor identity crisis, you question your morals. Further adding to your list of problems, it seems like Miles has a twin brother he failed to mention to you.

Warnings: nothing too serious, established relationship with Prowler! Miles, possessive miles, Major spoilers for ATSV, not canon, minimal cursing, jealousy, reader is so silly sometimes, i got sappy at the end sorry, fluffy ending

A/N: just know that if u interact with any of my works then i literally love u with all my heart

You weren't sure where your morals lie, but you assumed they were in the gray area. Matter of fact, you must be colorblind.

Could you even be considered a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-woman anymore? You were sure it was against your moral code to be dating a guy that you had previously described as a "cold-blooded killer." Who were you now? The Morally Gray Neighborhood Spider-woman? It wasn't nearly as catchy. Maybe you were an anti-hero now. Is it possible for a Spider-person to be an anti-hero? Surely not, you thought.

Interrupting your thoughts was the buzz of a phone. Miles' phone. You soon realized your present state, burrowed against your boyfriend on his bed. He had a suffocating grip on you, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go. Letting you get a breath of air, he loosened his grip on you to check his notification.

He slowly unwrapped his arms from around you and started to rise from the bed. He pressed his lips to yours before saying, "Lo siento, mami. Uncle Aaron needs me." He started putting on his Prowler gear.

To be frank, you were sick and tired. You've heard the same excuse over and over from Miles. At this point, you didn't understand why he was being so cryptic. What secret is there to hide if you already know he's the Prowler?

"Miles, enough with that vague shit. You keep acting like you're Batman or something." You sass, rolling your eyes at him and laying up in his bed. It was surprising how much he let you get away with. If anyone else had said that to him, he'd claw their throats out, surely.

"Let me come with you, Miles." You suggested, immediately jumping off his bed to follow him. He didn't like that idea. Not one bit, and it was clear on his face. "Hermosa," Miles started, but you interrupted him, pointing a finger at his face. "You know damn well I am fully capable of protecting myself. Just let me into your life, Miles. I want to see what's so important that you have to go and ditch your girlfriend yet again." You dramatically sigh, hoping he'll cave. After a few moments, Miles eventually gave in. "Fine. C'mon, princesa." He sighed and gestured for you to follow him.

He led you to what seemed to be a sketchy, dull, and grimy basement. If he wasn't infatuated with you, you'd wonder whether he was plotting to murder you down here. Upon further inspection, it was actually an apartment. As your eyes scanned the eerie room, you noticed chains hanging on the walls and an abnormal amount of weapons. However, there was also a large flatscreen and a kitchen. You could only assume that this was their Prowler Cave.

Other than the random civilian tied up on a punching bag, it looked like a fairly normal room. Almost cozy, if you were being generous.

Speaking of, why was there some poor boy restrained on a punching bag? You could barely see him due to the punching bag being larger than him, but from your current standpoint, you could only assume he was around your age or younger.

Miles stepped in front of you, holding a hand out to prevent you from taking a step further. Curling your lip in a frown, you shooed his hand away and continued walking, but stopped before the hostage could spot you. He stayed behind, lurking in the corner.

Miles' uncle greeted you both, "I've got a surprise for y'all." Apparently, Miles had let his uncle know in advance that you were welcome into his Prowler cave.

Miles, ever loving his dramatic entrances, jumped down from the corner he was lurking in. You had to stifle your laugh.

Uncle Aaron rotated the punching bag, revealing the unfortunate boy that got restrained upon it. Your jaw fell to the ground. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. How was this possible? You started to wish you had paid attention during Physics.

Attached to the punching bag was a near-identical copy of your beloved boyfriend. His eyes were wide full of fear, and for a second, you felt pity for him. Uncle Aaron left the room, leaving only you and the two Miles.

"Your dad is still alive?" Miles asked his impersonator, astonishingly unfazed by the fact that there was a copy of him staring him directly in his eyes. "What?" The impersonator questioned. "Your father, you said he's still alive." Miles repeated, his voice piquing with interest. "Yeah." The copy replied in a low voice. His face had no remnants of fear, it morphed into confusion instead. "Who are you?" The fake Miles asked, his eyebrows furrowing. He reminded you of your boyfriend in that way.

Your dearly beloved Prowler opened his mask, "I'm Miles Morales. But you, you can call me the Prowler." He said, his accent exposing. Those simple two sentences had more of an effect on you than they should have.

"If I don't go home, our dad is going to die." The fake Miles says with fear in his voice. "Your dad." Miles interjects coldly, lacking sympathy. The hope was slowly fading from the other Miles' face. He shook his head and said, "Please, you have to let me go." with more assertiveness than before. Your boyfriend leaned closer to the fake, "Why would I do that?" he inquired.

Deciding to interrupt their stare-down, you stepped out of the darkness and made yourself known to the fake Miles.

His face lit up with recognition. He whispered your name, "Is that you?"

"First off, how do you know my name?" You questioned, raising a confused brow. This whole situation was starting to creep you out. As you stepped closer to him, both of your spider-senses went off.

"You're like me." You both said in unison.

Your boyfriend was watching this interaction, narrowing his eyes. The fake Miles was only giving your boyfriend more reasons to keep him confined here.

"Look, you've got to help me. In my universe, you were my girlfriend too. Except you weren't Spider-woman. Don't you have a sense of morality? Hasn't anyone told you that with great power comes great responsibility?" The poor guy was practically begging you. You were sure that if he wasn't tied up on a punching bag, he'd be on his knees pleading with you. Which would be a fun sight to watch, you think.

You scoffed at the fake Miles Morales and replied, "You said it wrong. It's, with great ability comes great accountability." Rolling your eyes. This impersonator couldn't even get the quote right.

"That's not-" He cut himself off. "Whatever. You've got to help me, please." The fake Miles pleaded with you. He started to glitch, this universe was taking a toll on him already. As you stared into his eyes, he reminded you of a miserable, dejected puppy. Unbeknownst to you, the less-menacing Miles Morales was only stalling to charge up his venom strike.

Fortunately for him, he didn't need to resort to his venom strike just yet. That would only make this situation harder for him to get out of. He wasn't planning on getting on the bad side of another Spider-person.

"I think we should help him." You broke the silence, turning to your Miles. He was about to argue with you when you continued, "Not only because he's a fellow spider-person, but also because it's harder to resist someone when they look exactly like you, Miles." You grinned, teasing him.

As always, Miles couldn't deny you. He growled to his other self, directing the clone's attention away from you. "You're lucky my girl was here to save you this time, spider. I would've had no issue leaving you here to watch you rot."

As you untied Miles from the punching bag, he mouthed a "Thank you" to you and said,

"Do you guys happen to have a watch that can teleport me back home?" in all seriousness. It was almost comical. "No, but maybe I could help you out." You responded. "I have a good friend, Peter Parker. He's a scientist that specializes in quantum physics, I bet he could help. He works at Alchemax." His eyes seemed to lighten, "You know a Peter Parker?"

On the way to Alchemax, your boyfriend decided the phony version of himself was getting too comfortable with you. He was asking you way too many questions such as,

"How did you become Spider-woman?" The same way you did, Miles.

"How long have you been Spider-woman?" Ever since I got bit by a spider.

"Why are you with the Prowler?" He's not such a bad guy. A few seconds passed and you said, Nevermind. But that's what makes it exciting. You wink at him.

And that's when your lover decided to step in. He interrupted whatever Miles #2 was going on about. "Shut up for once." He snarled at him, towering over his clone. Within a second, your boyfriend had his copy in his grip with his razor-sharp claws in his face, a warning. You noticed sparks flying from the other Miles' fingertips. Why don't I have electric powers? You pondered. Not wanting to witness a homicide today, you pulled your boyfriend away before he could get the chance to slaughter himself. Or at least the morally good version of himself.

Your Miles snaked his arm around your waist possessively. He glared at the other Miles through his screen mask, but you were sure Miles #2 felt his sinister stare. He and you were walking a few paces ahead of his duplicate.

Some days, you weren't sure whether you wanted to kiss him or throttle him during his sleep. Although you couldn't deny that a part of you liked seeing him like this.

“Settle down, babe. He’s not my type.” You reassured him. He almost felt appeased, until he rethought your words. “Not your type? Mami, we look almost identical.” Your Miles said with irritation in his tone. You laughed at his confusion as you shook your head.

Although they were nearly identical in appearance, you noticed clear differences. For instance, your Miles had an intimidating and menacing presence. While the other Miles had more of a "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-man" energy to him.

"No, I mean, he's a little too dorky for me." Your boyfriend seemed to approve of your response, gazing at you. You shivered under his watch.

“I heard that." Miles #2 muttered, following behind you two.

Miles’ gaze was still set on you. He didn’t intend on breaking it any time soon. Although you couldn't exactly see his eyes, you could feel his stare. Nervously glancing the other way, you avoided eye contact. Because you knew that if you looked at him again, you'd pull him in and wouldn't be able to pull away. You felt like you were pinning for him all over again.

You glanced back at him, "Miles, stop staring at me. I might kiss you.” In an instant, his mask was off. He pulled you into a searing kiss, cupping your head with his hands. You reciprocated immediately.

His kiss was demanding and forceful. You could hear the thump of your heart, increasingly becoming louder. It was only a few moments long but felt like forever. He pulled away sooner than you'd liked, leaving you desiring more. “Had to show him that you’re my girl. Sólo mía. Right, princesa?” He stared into your eyes, making your heart pound impossibly faster. You cheekily nodded, the words being lost on your tongue. Miles smirked in satisfaction and closed his mask as you all approached Alchemax.

You strode into Alchemax like it was your second home and looked for Peter's office. Your boyfriend treaded right by your side, while the other Miles strayed behind you like a lost puppy. Which essentially, he was.

Successfully finding Peter's door wide open, you knocked. He looked up from his pile of work. Peter greeted you with a smile, "Come on in. It's great to see you, kid. But, uh, why is the Prowler in my office?" He said to you, his voice barely above a whisper. The Prowler in question was menacingly yet quietly standing in the corner of Peter's office.

Peter looked slightly green, but you consoled him. "Oh, don't mind him. He's my boyfriend." You shrugged. Peter shot you an extremely concerned look, judging your taste in guys, no doubt.

You simply smiled and patted him on the shoulder, "But anyway, Peter. This is Miles, he’s from a different dimension." You pointed at Miles, who stood stiffly next to you.

"We were hoping you could help us create an inter-dimensional teleporter. Or rather, a watch that can jump universes?" You told Peter.

The scientist seemed fascinated by this information about the multiverse. “That's a specific request. Lucky for you guys, I've been working on a prototype. Be wary that it is just a prototype, so there's no guarantee it'll work." Peter said.

"Great! I just have to make sure I get out of here before I either glitch to death or Miguel and his spider-team show up to beat me to death." Miles awkwardly said, scratching the back of his head. His glitching issue was getting worse the more time he spent in your universe.

Spider-team? No one's ever told you about this. If this "Spider-team" really did exist, why weren't you invited? No, you take that back. You could name a couple of reasons why you weren't invited, starting with your boyfriend who was standing next to you in his full Prowler suit. This is what you deserve for not being a Friendly Neighborhood Spider-woman, you sigh.

"Let's hope this works then." Peter says with an unsure tone. He cuffs the watch around Miles' wrist and changes the settings.

Silence falls upon the room as you all observe the watch flash for a moment, and then go dim again. How anti-climactic.

"Oops, sorry guys. Wrong settings." Peter Parker awkwardly laughed and fumbled with the watch again, and then said "Alright, this one should work."

Suddenly appearing to your right is a captivating portal of sorts. It was in the shape of multiple hexagons and had an orange hue. You couldn't take your eyes off of it, you'd never seen something so alluring. Other than your boyfriend, that is. You chuckled at your inner monologue.

Peter was ecstatic, “The other scientists doubted multiversal travel existed, but this is a critical discovery in the history of science!”

Miles, the Spider-Man one, was bewildered. He could finally go home and save his father. “Dude, this is awesome! I can't thank you guys enough. Maybe I'll see you guys again sometime." He smiled, referring to Peter and you.

Miles #2 seemed to be leaning in for a hug when your boyfriend interjected. He stood in front of you and glared at the phony version of himself, "Not too friendly now." he scowled.

“Chill, man! I didn’t mean it like that!" Instead, Miles gives you a two-fingered salute and fist-bumps Peter. "See you around." He finally says, jumping into the portal and wasting no additional time.

The portal closed behind him and you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride. Maybe you weren't a morally gray neighborhood spider-woman after all.

Who were you kidding? You're dating a murderous asshole. You must've been guilty by association.

You just hoped that the dorkier version of your boyfriend made it to his universe, and wasn’t sent to a completely different one yet again.

Shaking off the thoughts, you told the scientist, "Thank you, Peter! You were a big help." You hugged Peter and waved him goodbye. "Anytime, kid." He replied. Your prowler followed you out, his hand settling on your waist.

As you returned to Miles' house, you sat on his bed with him and said, "You know, your cooperation has to count for something. Even if you were just brooding the whole time."

"I'm the Prowler. I wasn’t brooding, ma.”

"Whatever you say." You rolled your eyes at him. "Anyway, you didn't kill him, so that's a start. I'm proud of us!" You gleamed at him as you mentally patted yourself on the back.

"You know I love you, ma. But you talk too much." Miles said, pulling you by the waist into his embrace.

You knitted your eyebrows as you replied, "Babe. It runs in every Spider-person. Didn't you hear how-" This time, Miles was the one shutting you up by pressing his lips to yours in a surprisingly soft kiss. His gentle lips moved against yours, and you couldn't help but melt into his touch.

You smiled into the kiss, deepening it. You didn't need words to show him how deep your affection for him lies. If you could, you'd freeze time to forever stay in his hold.

-----------

Dating the public’s enemy number one had to be diminishing your PR. Not that you had one, anyway.

Initially, you worried that your terribly different lifestyles would inevitably lead to the end of your relationship. The Prowler and Spider-woman was an unlikely combination, after all. You snuck out at night to fight crime and restore justice, while he snuck around with his uncle to be a hitman of Kingpin. But you loved him like no one else could.

He invoked emotions in you that you weren't completely familiar with. Your mind was consumed by thoughts of him. You couldn't breathe with him around, nor could you control how fast your heart throbbed. But you would gladly suffocate if he was the one taking your breath away.

And you had a feeling that your sentiment wasn't unrequited.

-----------

hermosa - beautiful

lo siento - i'm sorry

sólo mío - only mine

princesa - princess

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Bro how would they react if they found out u got pregnant? Cuz yk their pirates and stuff so what would they do? U can do whoever but ik i want shanks, zoro, and mihawk you can do other people or not do the ones or dont do this at all👍 i want i jus want you to be comfortable writing this if you want to write it at all😭

I enjoyed writing this SO MUCH, thank you for the request!!

I just did Zoro, Shanks, and Mihawk for now. May end up doing one for Sanji and Buggy as well if anyone wants, but since I ended up writing these as little short stories instead of headcanons, I just decided to focus on those three this time.

Shanks is already such a dad honestly I lub him <3

So here we gooooo

Whoops

OPLA! Zoro, Shanks, Mihawk x AFAB!Reader

SFW, so fluffy I'm suffocating

Wordcount: 4.6k

No warnings, I think?

Zoro

It took you some time to dredge up the nerve to tell him. It was just a one night stand, after all. A lot of alcohol involved, nothing special. Sure, maybe you’d had a crush on him for a while, but that was in no way relevant. The incorrigible amount of liquor you had consumed had more than done the trick of acting as liquid courage, given you had awoken the next morning in his hammock, both of you stark naked, just a hungover tangle of limbs with no real memory of anything past making out on the quarterdeck while everyone else was staying the night in town.

That had been awkward enough—your eyes locking as you both stirred awake, your face turning beet reed as you scrambled off the green-haired swordsman and quickly threw on enough of your clothes to be able to safely escape, him speaking up behind you as you hurriedly dressed yourself.

“Did we—uh—”

“No idea,” had been your quick, curt response, making sure you didn’t turn around and meet his eye again. “Bye.”

“Wh—? Wait a minute—”

But you had already been out the door. You spent the following days, the following weeks avoiding being alone with the first mate of the Strawhats under any circumstance, avoiding any situation where you might have to actually talk about what had happened between the two of you.

But now you had to talk.

Middle of the night, with everyone else safely asleep so they couldn’t overhear, you stood over him as he lay asleep himself in that same hammock. You stood there for a long, tense moment, arms crossed tight over your stomach, tapping your foot lightly as you looked down at Zoro, deliberating over whether you really had the guts to go through with this.

You decide you have no choice, and you nudge his arm. “Wake up,” you say quietly.

He snores in response.

You sigh to yourself, and nudge his shoulder a little harder, say it again a little more forcefully. “Wake up, come on—”

He gives a small growl of protest at that, rolling his shoulders and stretching his toned arms out behind his head, before tucking one hand under his neck. He squints at you in the small, dark cabin, blinking slowly. The groggy, astonished sort of manner in which he mumbles your name makes your heart skip for a moment.

“Wha…?” He glances past you toward the cabin door, toward the darkness outside on the deck, and asks, “What time is it?”

“Two in the morning.” He quirks an eyebrow as you toe the wooden floor, staring off to the side, biting your lip. “We…need to talk.”

“At…two in the morning,” he repeats slowly. You hum in affirmation and give a small nod, already feeling your face starting to heat up—and you hear him sigh.

Then his hand is around your forearm, and you’re gasping out in alarm as he pulls you down across his chest until your eyes are level with his, your foreheads nearly touching.

His hand slips further up your arm, up your shoulder, back behind your neck, and your blush only grows hotter as he gives you a smirk. “Don’t think there’s really much to talk about.”

And he pulls you down, seizing your lips with his own.

Your brain all but short-circuits. You can barely remember how to breathe as your thoughts whirl. He kissed you. There isn’t a drop of alcohol involved this time, and he still kissed you.

Don’t think there’s really much to talk about.

Maybe that crush of yours was more mutual than you thought it was.

Your eyes flutter shut as you melt against him and return the kiss with a slow sigh, forgetting for a moment what you were doing here in the first place, your tongues meeting and swirling together, his hand drifting down your back, curling around the hem of your shirt and tugging at it and—

And this was exactly how you got into your present predicament in the first place. You tear your lips away from his and sit up at the edge of the hammock, flinching. “No, we…” You glance over your shoulder at him, briefly meeting his eyes as he stares up at you cautiously. “We do need to talk, I…” You swallow, and decide to just rip off the bandage, just say it. “I’m late.”

He’s silent for several seconds, and as you sit there, inwardly panicking, dreading his reaction, he finally speaks up.

“What the hell could you be late for at two in the morning?”

“What—no, I—” you sputter, jerking your head to look over your shoulder at him, sharing his stare of bafflement, as you realized he had no idea what you meant. “I…my period. I—is two weeks late.”

His brow furrows for a moment as that sinks in.

And his eyes slowly widen, and you look quickly away, flinching again, hanging your head.

“O…oh.” He sits up himself, swinging his legs over the side of the hammock to sit next to you, exhaling a slow sigh. “Shit.”

“Mmhmm,” you reply in a weak sort of hum, practically a whimper, watching him run a hand back through his hair from the corner of your eye, his eyes wide, unblinking, glued to the doorframe.

“I…guess it’s a good thing we’ve got a doctor now.” You glance over at him, swallowing nervously as he gives a small, breathless laugh, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for him to be upset about it, even angry. It was just a stupid, drunken one night stand, after all.

Wasn’t it?

Not really much to talk about. His words ring in your head as you watch him fall back across the width of the hammock with another laugh, resting a hand over his eyes. He said it right before he kissed you, sober this time, as if maybe…there was more to it than just an alcohol-fueled one off fling.

“Y…you’re not upset?” you ask carefully, looking down at him.

“Nah,” he says, laughing a little again. He lowers his hand down to rest over his abs, meeting your eyes with a little bit of a grin. “I mean, it is kinda my fault.”

“It takes two,” you point out, frowning.

“Yeah, but you were drunk.”

“We both were.”

“You were really drunk.” You purse your lips and shove at his ribs as he laughs again, sitting back up. He drapes his arm around your shoulders, sighing and shaking his head. “Shit.”

“Shit,” you agree, nodding. “I guess…we talk to Chopper in the morning and…figure things out from there?”

“Yeah. Guess so.” You’re both quiet for a long moment, staring out toward the darkened deck. “You know…” You glance over when he sighs slowly again. “This crew’s…pretty much the closest thing I’ve ever had to family. That most of us have had, probably. Whatever happens with…this—we’ll all have each other’s backs.”

He isn’t at all wrong, and the thought is enough of a comfort to bring a slow sigh of relief from you as well, a small smile to your lips. You shift a little closer and rest your temple at his shoulder, your hand over his, your eyes slipping shut.

“Anyway.,,” Your eyes open when he speaks, and without warning he pushes you back down into the hammock, pressing his lips to yours—and your eyes flutter shut again as his tongue brushes your bottom lip amid the slow, playful kiss.

“Wait—” You draw back from it just as abruptly as you were drawn into it, lifting an eyebrow, fighting a smirk. “Isn’t this sort of what got us into this situation to begin with?”

“Yeah,” he says, lowering himself down to his elbow. He smirks as well, his hand resting at the crown of your hair. “But it’s not like you can get any more pregnant.”

You can’t help but giggle at that, hooking your arm around his neck and shaking your head, smiling. “Fair enough,” you agree, and lift your head to press your lips to his again.

Shanks

It all started three weeks ago, when you first missed your cycle. Your paranoia and anxiety that it could mean that, meant you had stopped drinking entirely. Shanks had been too busy to pick up on it, or simply as carefree and oblivious as ever.

But this morning you had awoken early, perhaps earlier than anyone else on the ship. You checked the position of the log posse and adjusted the course accordingly until it was pointing straight ahead again—and that was when you realized, by the sound of a match striking behind you, that you weren’t the first person awake—and someone had noticed the cessation of your drinking with the rest of the crew.

And almost the moment Benn Beckman confronted you about it, you blabbed your worries to the first mate, and you were fairly sure he nearly swallowed his cigarette.

“You’re what?”

You had joined the Red Hair pirates as a navigator around eight months ago, and had quickly fallen for the charming captain. There was no real agreement that there was anything more between the two of you than casual sex and flirting, nothing exclusive; but it hadn’t escaped anyone’s notice that the two of you were spending more and more time together, and that from an outsider’s point of view it looked a lot more like romance than anything casual.

But you were dead terrified that this news would ruin everything.

Beck just shook his head, grabbed you by the shoulder like a misbehaving child as you ranted, and walked you toward the door to the captain’s cabin. He opened it, and gestured at you to get in.

“You don’t come back out until you tell him,” he said, and you flinched at his stern tone. “Got it?”

“Got it…” you sighed wearily, hanging your head as you entered and shut the door lightly behind you. You had the idle hope that Shanks might be asleep as you entered but now, standing in the doorway, you can see clearly that he isn’t. He’s sitting up against the headboard of his bed—the same bed that you’ve been sharing every night for at least six months—and squinting at a map in the dim light of the lantern hanging from one of the bedposts, wearing an unbuttoned white shirt and black boxers. He looks up from it mid-yawn, and waves at you, nodding at the empty side of the bed to his right.

“You’re up awfully early,” he comments as you kick off your boots and climb into bed next to him.

“Just checking the course,” you say as he hands the map off to you—an old treasure map that you found helping clean out his rather cluttered desk a few weeks ago. “Any breakthroughs?”

“That.” He indicates a crude sketch of what appeared to be a statue. “It’s in Arabasta.”

“You’re sure?” you ask, looking over at him, and he nods slowly. “Oh, great. That’s…”

“Crocodile’s territory,” he says, as you let out a sigh that mirrors his own mildly dejected tone. “If we dock there we’ll be up to our tits in his Baroque Works wackjobs. Not that they’d pose us much of a threat, but…balance of power and all that.” He sighs himself, grabbing the map away from you again and tossing it off the side of the bed, where it flutters slowly to the floor a few feet away. “Not to mention it looks like it’s out in the middle of the desert somewhere. Not worth the time.”

“I guess not,” you say, frowning as you watch him sink back into the bed, his eyes slipping shut, unbothered by what might have been a disappointment to almost anyone else. He hadn’t mentioned the map to anyone else except for you and Beck, had kept it otherwise entirely to himself in case it did turn out to be a bust. Nothing ever really seemed to get under his skin.

You close your eyes for a long moment, bracing yourself. Maybe, just maybe, this wouldn’t get under his skin either. Just as you open your mouth to speak, however, he speaks up himself.

“Now, something that’s much more worth my time…”

“Oh—!” You let out a small cry of alarm as he tugs you down suddenly to lie with him, and he shifts so he’s facing you, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his hand creeping slowly up your stomach to where the lapels of your shirt are tied shut, grinning wickedly.

“…is the beautiful woman in my bed who is, frankly, wearing far too many clothes.”

You can’t help but giggle a little as he sets straight to attacking your neck, his lips trailing down the column of your throat as he deftly works the knot loose, lightly nipping at your collarbone as he shifts you onto your back and brushes the lapels of your shirt open. Maybe you could drop it for now, just for now, you think disjointedly, your eyes slipping shut as his fingertips brush over one of the cups of your bra. Just until…

No. No, if you put it off again, you’re just going to keep putting it off.

“No—wait—” You grab his hand, pulling it away, and he lifts his head, raising his eyebrows in puzzlement. You swallow, glancing away for a moment before returning your gaze to meet his. “We…need to talk about something,” you say quietly.

The confusion in his eyes quickly shifts to concern at your hesitant tone, and he slowly lifts himself away from you, sitting up on his knees. “Alright,” he says, just as slowly, just as cautiously, looking at you as if you’re a ticking time bomb about to go off at any second. “What exactly is it that we—”

“I’m pregnant.”

You just blurt it out, before you can stop yourself, so suddenly that Shanks stops mid-sentence with his mouth hanging open. His eyes widen to saucers as he gawks at you, and he blinks rapidly a few times. “B—be—beg pardon?” he stammers.

You just swallow nervously and nod—you know he heard you. He draws in a deep breath, shoulders going limp, and lets it out after a moment as a tremendous sigh, running his hand back through his hair.

It was rare, if ever, that you had seen your carefree captain in an outright panic, but seconds later he was on his feet, pacing back and forth across the cabin, his hand curled over his mouth. You sit up as well, alternating between glancing at him and staring down at your knees, your stomach tied in knots. You’re sure that this is it, this is the end, this is your final stint sailing with the Red Hair pirates. A ship is no place for a child, after all, for a baby, for a woman with child—

He stops pacing suddenly, his hand slipping down to his chin. “Midwife. We’re going to need—that’s what they’re called, isn’t it?” You lift your head, staring at him in mild alarm as he resumes pacing, now rambling aloud. “We’ll need a midwife, I hardly think Hongo’s qualified—might know someone who is, but…” He shakes his head. “Still probably a good idea for you to talk to—have you?” he asks, stopping to look over at you, and you shake your head rapidly. The only inkling you have that you are pregnant is that you’ve gone well over a month without a period; you had been far too scared to talk with the ship’s doctor about the concern, afraid that he would go straight to Shanks and you would be shoved straight off the ship at the next populated port.

“We’ll need to set that up immediately,” he half-mumbles, and resumes pacing again. “How far along do you think you are?”

“I—er—” Your head is absolutely spinning. “M…maybe eight weeks?”

“Eight? That’s two months, tha—that means there’s only seven more, we’ll need—everything, crib, clothes, probably a rocking chair…”

You listen in growing astonishment as he rapidly lists off everything, already planning far more than you had even thought to, not even the slightest bit upset. He seems almost…excited. You swallow, exhaling a slow, shaking breath, your eyes burning a little as relief floods through you.

“…diapers—” He stops in his tracks again, lowering his hand from his chin and looking at it, frowning. “How am I supposed to change a diaper with one ha—”

He looks over sharply when a small sob escapes you before you can lift your hand to muffle it. You lower your head, closing your eyes tightly, gripping at the edge of the bed as that overwhelming flood of emotion becomes too much to contain.

“Oh—sweetheart…no, no no…” You hear him sigh, his footsteps quickly crossing the room. The bed sinks beside you as he sits down and wraps his arm around you, pulling you tight against his chest and resting his hand near the nape of your neck. “It’s alright, love,” he murmurs gently, combing his fingers through your hair, pressing a kiss to your temple. “It’s alright, we can handle this, okay?”

“I—I thought—” Your breath hitches as you turn your head so your cheek is pressed against his shoulder. “I thought you’d be mad,” you force out. “Th—that I’d—I’d have to leave and—and—”

He tightens his hold around your back, letting out a few soft chuckles and shaking his head. “That’s an absolutely ridiculous thing to think,” he tells you.

“It…didn’t seem ridiculous to me,” you say quietly, your voice choked.

“Well, it is,” he assures you again. “I don’t—look, love.” He shifts his hand from the nape of your neck to your cheek, lifting your head and pressing his forehead against yours. His thumb wipes away the tears streaming down your face, and he smiles warmly. “I don’t want you anywhere but right here. With me. Okay?” Your breaths leaves you in a trembling sigh at the sincerity in his soft tone, the softness in his brown eyes as he gazes into yours. You swallow, and nod quickly, closing your eyes for a long moment.

You draw in a sharp breath in surprise when you feel his lips press lightly against yours in a slow, tender kiss that eases almost all of your tension away in an instant. one of your hands slipping from your lap to rest against his knee as your lips just barely part.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and the knots in your stomach are gone as he lowers his hand to rest it there, smiling. “And we can handle this.”

“I…I love you too,” you whisper, and his smile only broadens at that.

He kisses you again, more firmly this time, before standing suddenly from the bed.

Before you can fully register what’s happening, he’s already heading out the door of the cabin and out onto the quarterdeck, calling out loudly, “Lads, I have an anno—where is everyone?”

You hear Beck scoff from somewhere nearby. “It’s four in the damn morning,” he says. “Probably sleeping.”

“Ah. Right.” A brief pause, and then Shanks goes on, so happily you can practically hear him grinning, “I’m going to be a dad.”

“Yeah,” says Beck. “Congratulations. Now maybe go put on some damned pants.”

“…Right.”

Mihawk

You already know he isn’t going to be happy. After your first missed period, you mentioned children. Merely in passing.

And he had immediately expressed his gratitude that there would never be any of the vile creatures roaming the halls of his castle.

Another three weeks, and you don’t have a choice but to bring it up. You’re losing sleep over it and he’s noticed, because of course he’s noticed. Mihawk doesn’t seem to miss anything, where you’re concerned—except perhaps this, which he seems to have not one single suspicion of.

You lay back on a plush sofa in one of the dens, your head resting in his lap as he sips a cup of coffee and flips through the newspaper, your eyes barely open. All you want to do is sleep. You’ve barely slept in a damned week, his words haunting you every time you do, his potential reaction to this upheaval of the peaceful existence you have both lived at his castle for the past several months.

“It’s likely because you’ve stopped having a glass of wine before bed,” he says, and you sigh to yourself. You had outright lied on that account, told him that for no reason you could discern you were suddenly getting horrible headaches any time you consumed even a drop of alcohol. “It’s been almost two months, you could try again.”

“N…no,” you say. “I can’t.”

He lifts the newspaper and glances down at you, lifting his eyebrows—waiting for you to elaborate. It’s now or never. You pull yourself up, drawing up every ounce of resolve in your body to meet his eyes as he looks at you in growing perplexity, his sharp eyes darting briefly down from your gaze as you bite your bottom lip lightly.

“I…can’t because…” You’re already feeling lightheaded, already reeling from the threat of what may come to pass. “Because I’m pregnant.”

His eyes remain locked onto yours for several tense seconds. He slowly folds down his newspaper and sets it aside on the end table. Slowly, gently as if you’re made of porcelain, he moves a hand down to your shoulder and lightly pushes you up into a sitting position. He opens his mouth, lifting his hand as if about to speak…and closes it again.

He tries once more, and words seem to fail him yet again.

And then he stands from the couch abruptly, without a word, and strides out of the room.

You’re fairly sure you know where he’s headed. You pull in a slow, deep breath, steeling your nerves to the best of your ability, before your rise to follow him. Surely enough, as you expected, you find him in the kitchen, pulling the cork out of a half-full bottle of wine. He glances briefly over his shoulder as you enter.

“How did this happen?” His tone is level, but you notice how he fills his wine glass nearly to the rim.

“Well, you see, when a man and a woman—” The glare he levels upon you shares none of your attempted humor, so you just sigh, leaning back against the kitchen island and crossing your arms. “Probably after that warlord meeting a couple months ago?”

“…Ah.”

That’s all he says on that matter—there isn’t much else to say. Whatever had happened at the meeting was a mystery to you, but it evidently had gone very poorly and been an absolute waste of his time, as he had returned to Kuraigana Island that evening in a bit of a foul mood and set immediately to downing two and a half bottles of wine. You had joined him in the endeavor, and the rest of the night was more than a bit of a blur. You only really knew that you both woke up on a couch rather than your bed the following morning, that you yourself could barely walk from the stiffness in your thighs, and that you had both bickered lightly through your shared hangover about who was going to get up to make coffee, before both giving up and going back to sleep for more than half the day.

“Well. This is…”

He doesn’t seem to be quite sure what it is, so he takes a sip from his overfull wine glass instead, leaning back against the counter opposite you, staring at the wall but clearly not actually seeing it. His eyes are far away, unfocused.

“…unexpected,” he finishes finally.

And takes another sip of wine.

“Mmhmm,” you hum in agreement, both your hands gripping at the counter behind you. You pull yourself up to sit there, your gaze glued to him, carefully studying his face for any sign of emotion, any reaction, but there’s nothing—just that blank, miles away stare. “S…so…what do you…what should we…” His eyes shift over to you, but only briefly, before shifting down to his wine glass.

“I…” He cringes slightly before going on, as if the admission physically pains him, “…don’t know.”

You know there are two things that Mihawk hates above all else in life—unexpected news, and a lack of control. Right now, experiencing both at once in tremendous measure, you can almost see the thin thread of his patience beginning to fray, and you aren’t sure what might happen when it breaks.

You swallow nervously, lowering your eyes when his gaze shifts over to you again.

You hear him sigh in resignation.

“We’ll need to find a doctor immediately to be sure,” he says curtly, and you give a stiff nod in agreement, glancing up at him. He’s staring down at his wine glass again, and continues to do so in silence for several long, tense seconds.

“You’re angry,” you say quietly. He sighs again, shaking his head, and sets the glass on the counter behind him. Your eyes fall to your knees once more as he crosses the kitchen toward you, and shift over to your hand when he rests his over it.

“Not with you,” he says lightly. There’s something different about his tone, but it isn’t anger. It almost frightens you more when you recognize it as uncertainty. You’ve never seen him uncertain about anything.

He pulls your hand lightly, and you slip off of the counter and onto your feet, sighing slowly yourself as he tugs you back against him, his arm curling around your waist. He brushes your hair behind your ear, behind your shoulder, and your eyes slip shut as his lips graze your neck. “I’m not sure if I possess the skillset necessary to be a very…adept parent,” he murmurs.

You can’t help but chuckle a little at that, relaxing back against him as his lips brush your neck again, a silent reassurance that he genuinely isn’t upset with you. “I’m sure you’ll do fine.” You rest one of your hands over his at your waist; and you bring your other up, curling your fingers in his hair near his temple. “I can hear it now,” you say airily, smirking a little, and you go on in a mimicry of his dry, deadpan tone, “’Now, now, we’ve already established Daddy’s cross necklace is not a toy.” You giggle at his irritated sigh, as he pulls his arm tighter around your waist.

“Then again,” he says, “I do have to deal with you being a brat every day and I’ve yet to murder you.”

“See?” You pat his cheek lightly, and he grabs your hand to stop you. “Good practice.” You lean to the side a bit and turn your head, smirking at the wry look he gives you, and pressing your lips to his lightly for a moment. He exhales a slow sigh as your lips part, tilting his head forward until your foreheads touch. “We’ll figure it out,” you murmur softly.

“Yes…” His fingers lace through yours. “I suppose we will.”

[itsonlydana]

Hey hey, saw ur requests were open for Thranduil and knew I needed to submit something!

Could you do a Thranduil x fem human reader where she braids her hair without knowing the significance for elves? They both have feelings for each other but neither has said anything, supper fluffy ending y’know?

Thank you in advance and have a great day!! :))

Beautiful misunderstandings | hobbit

pairing: Thranduil x fem human!reader 👑

You simply wanted to accept an invitation to a celebration, but something about you makes the elves literally drop at your feet. Can Thranduil resolve this misunderstanding, or will he be affected as well?

tags/warnings: just lots and lots of fluff, no warnings

word count: 3,6k

an: to be honest, most of what i wrote is my own headcanons because i did not find lots about hair culture with the elves.. so please: educate me! Are there some hcs in the fandom? :)

+ masterlist + rules + 🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot and keep me writing <3

The forests of Greenwood greet you with open flames of torches licking up their hot tongues against the dark skies, coloring the path the horse trots along in their amber lights and the wooden smoke that fills the air. Evenly distributed along the pathway they light up just enough of Greenwood that it doesn't take away from the sight that awaits you at the end, where the trees give way to an equally decorated bridge and the foliage thins out enough for you to take in the tall arches framing the open doors of the Great Elvenking's halls.

You have already been a guest for many of Thranduil's festivities ever since he established trading relations with your small fisher town. Due to the bond that twirls around the two of you in some unfathomable and complex manner, you also know that nothing he ever does is anything but grande and imposing. 

Still, you can't help but push your lower lip in between your teeth. 

Not once have you gotten the impression of standing out more than the difference in race and status already marked as obvious factors, neither Thranduil nor his elves treated you like you felt right now: 

Completely out of your known waters.

The elvish customs were far too many for you to know them all and you always try your best to consider all and everything that you've learned in the two summers you could consider yourself an acquaintance to Thranduil. Whatever form this acquaintanceship took on is another worry, or rather, another unknown that you can't exactly express to anyone. 

It's nearly as confusing as the steps of the dance you studied in your room before you left this morning, a step forward and two back, Thranduil asking you to accompany him to his dances but never dancing with you. 

Tonight, you want to change this predicament of always ending up in the arms of another elf while the one you yearned for watches from the sidelines! You didn't work this hard for the fabric that hugs your figure in a beautiful dress for nothing and even if the fabric isn't as shiny or light as the dresses the elves wear and the stitches marked your fingertips with the evidence of the labor and long nights, you are proud of the garment. 

The wind plays in the hem as you emerge from the guarded forest and its thick and dense foliage and it winds itself around your legs after you dismount your horse. A quick kiss to his muzzle, followed by an exhale of warm, familiar breath and you hesitantly let a servant take him away, mumbling a soft "Thank you" while you stay where you are and watch until they disappear around a tree.

Nervously you start walking up to the bridge, the reckless water under it crashing against the stone walls and it goes along with the blood that pumps high and fast through your body and rushes in your ears. The atmosphere is loaded, sizzling under the nearly suffocating heat that's only bearable in the cool shadows of the palace in front of you so you don't waste another second. 

You brush off the hood of your riding coat, smoothing out some fly-away hairs that escaped the braid you carefully weaved earlier this day as you duck your head in reverence to be allowed in these sacred halls. 

Whispers catch up to you from outside, a breeze dancing through leaves.

When you lift your chin again, you find that it's not the air affecting nature but rather your presence halting nearly all the elves that gathered on the first bridge inside the caves. 

They say elves are graceful and purposeful in their movements – the way dozens of eyes are locked onto you and lips move in not-so-silent murmurs defiles that claim though.

It's nothing you haven't encountered before, the talks behind your back that came along with Thranduil's attention shining down on you like the sun – hot, engulfing you completely and rendering you breathless as well as a bit sweaty at times whenever he looks at you, and you learned how to handle it. His attention brought forth a lot of awareness of his folk to the woman who visits Thranduil just as often as he rides into your town and becomes the topic of conversations for weeks. What's a girl to do except accept that a King never comes alone?

You're used to elves watching you, most of them in respect. Thranduil's authority radiates onto you, as well as the protection that he swore would lay upon you as long as he's there to give out orders.

The first elf whose eyes you questioningly meet drops to his knees in the same instant, barely a breath of time passing by. 

A gasp leaves your throat.

Words do not follow. They remain echoing in your head, pushed back by the spectacle that spread before you like wildfire. Too fast, too much.

Within seconds of you entering, the buzz of lowered voices dies down as elf after elf either bows or completely meets the ground they are standing on. The spectacle is confusing and throws you completely off; this reaction is nowhere near what you've experienced before and you do the first thing that comes to mind to handle this totally unsuspected confrontation of elves bowing to you, a human from no known family and nothing to your name other than the weight it carries on Thranduil's tongue.

The only thing you manage to stammer is: "Good evening," and a high-pitched, "Thank you?" before you take your legs into your hand and dash over the bridge. 

Thoughts as unstoppable as you run through your mind while you navigate the curving halls of the underground palace, the stonewalls not cool enough to diminish the heat that sits low in your neck, growing the longer you think about all that has happened between Thranduil and you and how it's not much more than nothing but a close alliance of human and elf. 

One that you hope would take on a different turn, because some of the actions by Thranduil could be considered friendlier than one would treat an ally or friend. You think back to all the gifts you have received, the white gems for example that, barely bigger than your nails but woven into the upper part of your braid, reflect the light and throw silver dots against the walls that lead you to the point Thranduil had asked you to meet him in one of his many letters. 

The route involves more encounters with more elves, some bow more subtly, their hands on their chest in a greeting that you do know, and some others, mostly those who've already fallen in barrels of wine and are less sophisticated in their movements in their drunken state who repeat the word "bereth" as if it's a prayer in a language that's far beyond you to make out right now. 

At the end of the hallway, you make out the back of a familiar blonde and even from afar you notice the resemblance that Thranduil's silver circlet has to the silver ribbon you have woven into your hair in a similar way and height how his circlet would look placed on your head. 

Is this what brought such uproar to the elves? Have you accidentally copied their king? 

"Thranduil!" you call out, his name lacking any title though not out of disrespect. You have the highest respect for the King of the Elves and slip a "Your Majesty" rather often into conversations because you know how much he favors his name from your tongue and teasing him like that brings a joy to you that you can't explain anyway else then: 

Hearing him laugh and smile or roll his eyes at your antics fuels the love you harbor for him.

Now is not the time for teasing chit-chat, you are desperate to find out if you have actually misstepped by presenting his gifts like this at a festival that's solely about him.

He turns at the sound of your voice and, oh lord, even his eyes widen as soon as they land on you and you want to perish rather than step any closer but the hurry in your legs and the nervousness in your stomach makes it impossible to do anything else but run to the one soul in this world that brings you comfort. 

You arrive at a full stop, and your heels would have stirred up dust if you were a mare. 

Now it's not only Thranduil's eyes that seem to have developed an inability to stray farther than your head; his mouth falls open as well and he makes no effort to close it again. The fact that this behavior is completely ungracious and ill-mannered has apparently not dawned on him yet. The longer you spend helplessly looking up at him, you swear you can see most of his thoughts visibly inching away behind that baffled expression.

At first, there's nothing.

Then some clarity returns into the blue eyes you love so much and Thranduil exhales a quiet: "Berio nin." 

Now, that's Sindarin you've heard before – that the context he has said these words were moments when he playfully begged the Valar to aid him with you tormented him in some way throws you off your balance even more and you take a step back. 

"I did not–" you start and raise a hand to wave it at all of you, "This, I had no idea. Did I offend you? Or the elves?" 

"Offend?" Thranduil asks bewildered.

"Well, the way they reacted. I wasn't sure," you laugh distraught. Thranduil's eyebrows instantly furrow, and you're quick to follow up: "Not in a bad way!" you explain and he loosens up, "They, um, they bowed? And some may have fallen to the ground?"

"Ah," he chuckles and his reaction calms you a bit. He could've been screaming or throwing you out. If he's laughing this can't be that big of a serious misstep. Thranduil looks at you through lowered lashes and runs his tongue over his teeth, a smile threatening to break through the serious expression he tries to obtain. "I believe a conversation and education is in order. If you would follow me to have this conversation somewhere else," he says and holds out his arm for you to grab.

He leads you around a corner and another one, walking swiftly yet seemingly in no hurry until Thranduil opens a door and quickly pulls you inside the room. 

Candles littered all around light up what you immediately understand to be his private chambers, the many robes you recognize, the colorful falcons with shimmering scented oils and shells full of jewelry, pearls, gems, and rings in gold and silver. There, right where Thranduil stops in front of you to block out your view, you take a peek at a giant bed behind flowy white curtains. 

You blush.

Even more so when you see Thranduil blush as well. His eyes return to your hair again, just like he had on the short walk to these chambers; tilting his head down to you as if some magical force bound him to staring at you in a manner he hadn't done before.

"You are my guest so I see it to be my responsibility to clear up what may have been a–" he pauses and his eyelashes flutter as he thinks of a fitting word, "a misapprehension. Not that you could have possibly known the outcome of what you doubtlessly suspected to be a kind gesture." 

You nervously cross your arms behind your back, intertwining your fingers so you do not meddle or ruffle the carefully layered fabrics of your dress. "I solemnly swear I was not up for any mockery."

His eyes widen again. "I would not have accused you of such!"

You tilt your head in confusion and bite down on your lip, ungraceful as well and a habit you should definitely quit, especially in the company of a King.

"What was it that startled the elves?" You think back to the way Thranduil had reacted, the wide-blown eyes, the pink lips formed to a delicate 'o' – "As well as you, Thranduil. You couldn't even get a word out except for a prayer." You let out a single laugh to cover up your embarrassment. 

The elf lifts his chin higher as if that could prevent you from noticing the blush deepening, growing much more red than just a delicate pink that stands out from his ivory skin but not much that it couldn't be interpreted as a light intoxication of either wine or fresh air. 

"I do not remember that," he lies with a dismissive voice. "Anyway, let me clarify the current dilemma instead of wasting time discussing the past." 

"Definitely not that far back that you could count it as 'the past' but sure," you sigh and decide to ignore the glare he sends you as you confront his very unsubtle passive- aggressive change of topic from him to you. Thranduil had centuries of building up a thickheadedness to lead the Woodland Realm and you had mere months on your hands in trying to push a way through it.

"Well, the behavior my folk portrayed was simply said the respect they pay for any honorable and eminent," Thranduil says, not batting an eye over the unbelievable words that come out of his mouth.

"What?" Your voice is nothing but a high squeal, "Why would they do that? They know I'm just a human!"

Thranduil scoffs, "Just a human, she says. Do not dismiss yourself in any way and most definitely not as just a human. Humans are such fascinating creatures, all those feelings compressed into an ephemeral life and bodies that endure pain and even if you waste away to dust you try to mark down your existence into every stone that you touch." Before you can burst into tears at his rather sentimental and emotional view of your people, he continues in a tone more factual: "To answer your question– you conveyed that I was courting you and they simply knew there would be grave consequences if they did not respect my intended." 

All the air left your body in a singular exhale, thus leaving you to grasp at the few thoughts that stayed through the cut-off of oxygen. Not that they were any good.

Courting you? Being his intended? 

You can only stare at him aghast. 

"But– courting? You weren't, we weren't– there was no courting!" you stammer.

The world is reeling. 

Black spots dance in the corner of your sight.

It takes all your focus to stand still and not sway back and forth, giving in to the abrupt slide downward reality has suddenly become. 

"No," Thranduil says.

A part of you withers at the finality of the statement because of course, he, Great Elvenking Thranduil, would never be caught courting a human. The absurdity of it must be why he was laughing earlier, praying to the Valar to become a witness of what must be your greatest humiliation.

"No, there was. I was simply waiting for your realization as well as acceptance to officially proclaim it."

Now it's your mouth that falls open without any strength left to prevent it.

Thranduil swallows, hard, his jaw set tightly and his eyes fixating on you. "All that I did, and thought to do, was in prospect of taking you as my betrothed," he states; the smallest of quivers underlining the massive impact this admission causes to him. He lifts one hand to his chest, pressing his knuckles against the fabric where underneath his heart lays. "I ache to love, treasure, and worship you. Every second of all the days I may have the pleasure of your company in my life or it shall be colorless from now on."

His eyes glitter, the endless blues of the sky, affection burning in them like the sun, broadening your horizon of what you believed love to be and there is no doubt in your mind that Thranduil's words are nothing but the truth. Confounding as that truth should be, it is that – certainty.

A smile breaks on your face, watery and wet as tears of pure happiness spill onto your cheeks and even if your heart has been on the tip of your tongue at every word you have ever said to him and in every glance that you have ever directed in his way, the need to validate his revelation.

You step carefully step closer and the hem of your dress brushes against his gowns as you close the bit of distance. Thranduil watches cautiously, leaving his hand against his heart, and only tips his chin down to follow you until you step into his personal space. The whole regal and stoic image he portrays even after confessing his love passionately mere seconds ago breaks as you feel his wavering breath and you swear you can hear the loud pounding of his battered-yet-strong heart. 

"Is it my hair?" you ask quietly and catch him off-guard. 

Thranduil smiles and his chest heaves in a deep inhale of air. "Yes," he laughs in an exhale, "Do you wish to know how you managed to completely dismantle me? Rob me of all powers?" 

You nod once and one hand of his comes to rest on your shoulder from where he leads you to a silver basin standing in a corner decorated with more oils and vines climbing the stone walls.

The sight that the clear water inside it shows you, Thranduil standing behind you, more than slightly taller, brings a warmness to your cheeks. Even if the prospect of his image finding a constant in your life from now on is undeniable, you're not sure if you will ever get satiated by it. 

Thranduil slowly reaches the elaborate braid you are so proud of despite the public tumult it had caused. "There are many things sacred to my folk and hair –" he starts and lets his fingers travel the length of free-falling hair, "holds the memories of our history, our connection to the Eldar and kemen – the earth. We do not cut it but rather let it grow to pay our respects to Eru for his creation, the natural and untouched world, flows in us all. It bears the marks of our ancestry though many cultures convey their personal history in many different ways." 

You listen intently, trying not to get distracted by Thranduil's hands smoothing your hair and the deep rumble of his voice wrapping around his language that pulls you into a trance. 

"Among us Sindar, we wave our customs into the very strands of this sacred hair. Our warriors, for instance, adorn themselves with tightly woven braids, serving not only as protection in battle but as a testament to their strength and unwavering discipline."

"The intricate and jeweled braids you wear," Thranduil's fingers glide along the white gems, thus nudging them against your head, "they speak volumes of noble heritage and high standing. Even if you do not have royal blood in your family, a braid like this will be more convincing to the contrary."

You blush as you realize how you unknowingly changed your entire status.

"By adorning your hair with the jewels I bestowed upon you, you declare to all my claim upon you," Thranduil chuckles and meets your eyes in the water, "Braids are the essence of our heritage, denoting rank and occupation, and they speak volumes in courtship."

"Oh," you say, "I knew Elves court through gifts. Would I have known this…"

Thranduil shakes his head, smiling widely as he continues playing with your hair, "You say that but not once have you realized all that I have given to you were of my pursuit."

"Well, I– this wasn't… I thought you were being nice," you sputter and grow even redder in the face.

"Unbelievably rude and ungracious to consider me ni–" he interrupts himself and shivers, "No I will not speak in such obscene language." Thranduil raises an eyebrow before returning his attention to the lesson in courting, "Through these intricate weavings, we convey our intentions and the profound depth of our bonds. While dalliances are not uncommon, my folk only marry once in their life."

"Love is eternal and unwavering, and each twist in our braids declares the union of our souls. By weaving your hopes and pleas for reciprocation into your hair, you speak a silent yet powerful language. The braid you chose, resembling my crown and adorned with my jewels and a silver ribbon akin to my own hair, could not have delivered a clearer message."

"So I basically lied to your elves," you pull a face in shame, "Great."

"You may call it a lie," Thranduil says slowly and his hands travel to rest on your shoulders. You lean into the gentle pull and let him turn you around so that you are face-to-face again. There is a dedication in his eyes, a look of hunger and yearning, "Or," his voice sounds even deeper and reverberates through your entire body, zipping up your spine that you automatically straighten, "You allow me to present our courtship openly if a deeper connection is what you desire to form between us."

Your heart thumps in your chest, double the tempo that one would call normal and it only speeds up when Thranduil cups your face in his hand and his fingertips graze the silver ribbon that sits tightly against your head.

"Allow me," he repeats, quieter. 

"Your word and the world will know you are mine," he pleads.

You waste not a second to ponder over what your heart already decided. "I allow it."

©itsonlydana 2024, character art by MiracleAna on Devianart

[sleepingelvhen]

Ah, the men with their fluffy hair and their multi step routines.

Because Jing Yuan definitely takes very good care of that fluffy mane, and I bet it's so damn soft and silky. Jing Yuan and his sleepy self, overwhelmed by work, relaxing in a shower or bath at the end of the day, happy to maintain his hair because he finds it more relaxing than taxing.

Jing Yuan, who smells like Sandalwood and Yuzu and whose skin is so soft to the touch from the lotion he wears. Self care isn't a chore for him. It's a reward after a long day of boring paperwork or training. Spa days are every day and are just as enjoyable to him as a game of star chess.

Imagine how mornings are with him. How he avoids getting up early at all costs, pressing his face into your neck, and pretending that he's still deep asleep. He might even do a soft, fake, snore if you try to shake him awake. Because he's not getting up. He never gets enough sleep, and you're so warm. He could just fall right back into the nice dream he was having.

Jing Yuan and his love for playing board games with you. He's not just amazing at star chess. He loves other strategic games. Don't expect him to go easy on you, though. How else are you gonna learn how to beat him?

Imagine how easily he could distract you while playing. He's staring at you, eyes half lidded, and a little lazy smile on his lips. He's watching you make decisions - watching you think - and he finds it so attractive. His smile will stretch into a grin when you notice him staring, feeling triumphant when you blush.

Jing Yuan and how, when he has to go work, he will kiss you gently on the forehead, fingers gentle in your hair while he promises he'll be back later. Every time he dozed off at work, he's thinking of how he'd much rather be cuddled up next to you.

Imagine how happy he would be when his lion, Mimi, ends up adoring you. The large feline brushes up against you, licks your face, and even lays down on your lap, nearly suffocating you. Aeons, he'd be so happy, knowing that his love and his cat love each other too.

Jing Yuan would love to read to you rather than complain about how boring his day was. When he's home, he's trying to forget about his duties and relax. So then comes the nightly spa, with the long baths and showers, the lotions and massages, and him reading a book out loud to you by candlelight.

You're probably the first to fall asleep, surprisingly. As consistently tired as he is, Jing Yuan finds sleep eludes him many nights. Maybe it's the stress keeping him up, or his consistent worries that he prefers not to speak of, but he's still awake when you've passed out. Your head in his lap, his hand idly scratching your head or back while he just looks at you.

How lucky he is to have someone stay his side. How wonderful that you have not disappeared.

[thebenjiblackwoodexpress]

Delicate part.3

Gwayne Hightower x reader

Description: Gwayne chips away at Y/N's wariness towards him through his gentlessness and considerate actions. They grow closer in friendship until she falls ill, prompting Gwayne to realise Y/N's company has become essential to him.

Writer's note: dedicating this to the mother of Gwaynism and an actual icon @just-some-random-blogger and the lovely @liafiction, you gave me so many ideas with your shopping list of Gwayne traits and I have to credit you 💚. Also crediting Victoria for writing the descriptions for this fic, as she's much better at it than I am.

Gwayne is the sweetest boy in this and would definitely make a great girl dad.

Warnings: female reader, asexual reader, touch averse reader, very fluffy, mention of periods.

Having passed a week in the company of her dear friend, Alicent's brother Gwayne, Y/N was surprised at how quickly they had formed a friendship. Her first interaction with him, when he had frightened her, had made her wary of him, assuming that he would be just as coarse and forward as other knights she had been forced to interact with at Court. When he had caught her in his arms and kissed her hand, she had unceremoniously pushed him away from her, finding such physical contact to be discomfiting. She had never been able to fully explain her aversion, even to herself. She knew only that such physical displays of gallantry from other knights made her uncomfortable, knowing as she did that they were usually considered to be a prelude to courtship and marriage, something she knew she did not want. Her anxiety on this front had only increased at her father’s frequent reminders that her sole purpose as a Lady of the Court was to bind their House in marriage to another powerful House. The thought of marriage and rearing children with any of the obnoxious lords she had encountered at Court left her feeling nauseated and panicked, a feeling she knew Alicent shared with her. Before Gwayne Hightower’s arrival at King’s Landing, she and Alicent had wiled away many an hour fantasising about living in Oldtown together, far from the suffocating expectations of their fathers and the Court.

She was more than a little surprised when she quickly found herself becoming nearly as comfortable in Gwayne's presence as in Alicent's, since he had proven himself to be a true gentleman and friend. Since the day of their meeting, he had never solicited physical contact with her, other than to subtly tilt his elbow in her direction or position his palm slightly towards her after first assisting his sister from a seated position. Whilst these gestures were so subtle as to be missed by others, Y/N's heart was warmed by these chivalrous attempts to offer her his assistance without embarrassing her by forcing her to verbally refuse them. She was, additionally, pleasantly surprised at his own silence on the matter, never appearing to take offence at her quiet rejections of his assistance, only continuing to smile at her and laugh with her with a gentleness and kindness that stirred a warm feeling in her heart towards him.

It was this consistent gentleness in his manner towards both his sister and herself that led her to take his free arm on the seventh day of their acquaintance, when he came to collect her with his sister holding his other arm. It was worth pushing herself out of her comfort zone just to see the pleasantly surprised faces of both of her friends. The soft expression Gwayne directed towards her, in particular, had her feeling simultaneously elated and nervous, in a way she hadn't felt before. As the three walked happily, side-by-side, through the grounds, Y/N felt a degree of contentment she had never felt in the presence of two people.

From that day on, she had continued to take Gwayne's arm and his hand when he offered it to her, surprising herself, even, at how natural it felt to do so. She had begun to really look forward to the routine the three had established. They would walk and read together, talking of their childhoods, their hopes and dreams, creating their own world away from that of the Court. Gwayne took an interest in every mundane detail of her life, personality and hopes for the future, gazing at her with the same degree of attentiveness, no matter the topic of their conversation. He wanted to know about all of her memories from her childhood, her favourite flower, sweet, and even colour. The way his eyes shone and his mouth upturned in a self-complacent smile when she answered him that her favourite colour was green had her feeling momentarily embarrassed when she realised that he may have thought her answer calculated, given that green was the colour of his House. He quickly allayed this fear, seeming to sense from her biting her lip and looking away from him that this might be the case, as he touched her hand comfortingly, drawing her gaze back to his.

“Is that so? I am most glad to hear it. We shall be quite the dashing trio then, at the opening banquet, all dressed in green.”

As he retracted his hand from hers, Y/N realised that she missed the comfort that she derived from the feel of his hand placed lightly on hers, a feeling she had only ever experienced with her late mother and with Alicent before. She tentatively began to envision a future which included her new friend, where the three could live in the comfort of one another’s company, without the imposition of Court life.

In the afternoon, the ladies would come to show their support for Gwayne at the training yard and Y/N could not deny that she was impressed by his prowess with the sword. More than that, she was struck by his willingness to embarrass himself just to amuse his sister and herself. This, combined with his enduring politeness towards the other knights’ condescension at his youth and inexperience as a knight, displayed a strength of character she had yet to encounter in the other knights of her acquaintance. His confident manner and quick retorts to their insults frequently had both ladies struggling to repress their laughter at the confusion of the knights on the receiving end of his quips. Despite his jesting nature, he was quick to sense if Y/N herself was embarrassed and to either turn the conversation to a different end or redirect Alicent and her jests towards himself.

On one such occasion, Y/N and Alicent were standing with Gwayne in the training yard, after he had finished his training for that day, laughing at the shock of the other knights at his defeats of them that day. Continuing their jest that the ladies would have to carry Gwayne’s sword for him, Y/N playfully attempted to take his sword from his grasp. Not accounting for the weight of it, she immediately dropped it, only just missing her own foot in the process.

Gwayne’s eyes had widened in alarm when Y/N snatched his sword from him and nearly hurt herself in the process, leading him to quickly grasp her elbows gently in his hands, lowering his head to examine her face for any signs of distress or injury.

His voice coming out panicked, he frantically asked, “are you harmed, my Lady?”

Y/N felt her face begin to burn furiously with embarrassment at her behaviour, as she stepped back from Gwayne.

“I am well, I apologise.”

Hearing her stutter an apology in response to his urgent enquiry into her welfare, Gwayne was relieved that she was unharmed. However, seeing the blush blooming on her cheeks, as she directed her gaze anywhere but on him, Gwayne sought to reduce her embarrassment.

He chased her eyes with his, offering her what he hoped was a comforting smile. He wanted her to always feel comfortable around him and, whilst her jest had left him fearing for her safety, he appreciated that she had become so comfortable in his presence to attempt it.

He quickly sought to make a joke of the incident which would make Y/N laugh at him, instead of berating herself.

“If Lady Y/N’s quick reflexes are any indication of her skill in combat I will have to watch myself, I fear, lest she ambush me when I am unaware.”

He rejoiced to hear her and Alicent laugh at this, as she turned to meet his gaze. Encouraged by her response, he continued.

“I do not know how I shall manage if both of you lovely ladies determine to strike me down together, I shall be thoroughly overcome.”

As his two favourite ladies broke out into laughter, and Y/N’s eyes glittered as she looked affectionately up at him, he found himself hoping, not for the first time, that a time would come when they could always be together like this.

Y/N woke up to the familiar pain of her monthly cycle, clutching her stomach as she turned over in bed. Every month she struggled to manage the pain and nausea she experienced during her cycle, and was left with no choice but to remain in her room whilst she waited for both to pass. On such occasions she even absconded from Alicent’s company. Alicent was accustomed to these period of absence, and would allow Y/N her space whilst she recovered, sometimes sending her treats or books which she thought might please or interest her.

Y/N remained in bed well past her usual time for rising and had missed breakfast with her father, something she was not sorry for, given that they usually passed their meal in strained silence. Holding her bedsheet over her head, she did not initially hear her maid enter the room until a gentle hand pulled the sheet down.

“My Lady, I am sorry to disturb your rest but Ser Gwayne Hightower and the Lady Alicent Hightower have enquired if you will be joining them on their walk today. Would you like me to help you dress?”

A feeling of embarrassment rose in Y/N as she imagined her two friends waiting for her at the door of her apartments and she frantically rose to begin dressing, before a sharp pain in her abdomen had her falling back onto the bed. A moment passed before she was able to address her maid.

“Thank you, Lilah. Please could you inform Ser Gwayne and Lady Alicent that I am indisposed and will not be able to join them today. Please offer them my sincerest apologies and wish them a pleasant day. That will be all.”

Regretting that she would be unable to rejoin her friends, and wishing that she did not have to make such a feeble excuse, Y/N quickly sought the comfort of the covers, once again, as her maid left the room. Whilst she knew that Alicent would be aware of her condition from her excuse, she was unable to suppress the feeling of embarrassment at the potential of Gwayne knowing of it and thinking her weak. With this unpleasant thought turning in her mind, she struggled to find the repose which she so sorely needed.

Gwayne was unable to conceal the eagerness with which he looked up as a door within Lady Y/N’s apartment’s closed and he heard the tread of footsteps, looking up in anticipation of the lovely lady whose company had grown to be so essential to him so quickly over the course of the last two weeks. He was disappointed and concerned, however, when, instead of his lady, her maid reappeared to inform them that the lady in question was indisposed and would not be joining them.

Gwayne’s expression fell immediately, stricken with concern.

“Is the lady very unwell? Is there anything we could get her that might be of any help?”

Looking uneasily between Gwayne and Alicent, the maid seemed to struggle to give him an adequate response.

Seeing her flounder, and realising that she was probably trying to conceal the real reason for Y/N’s indisposition, Alicent thanked the maid, before pulling on Gwayne’s arm to lead him from Y/N’s apartments.

Turning to his sister in confusion, he was met with Alicent’s stern gaze.

“Don’t make a nuisance of yourself Gwayne, can’t you see that the poor maid was struggling to provide you with an answer.”

Reproaching himself with having made the maid uncomfortable in his concern for Y/N, he slightly lowered his head.

“I am sorry for it, but does it not concern you that Lady Y/N should be unwell. I only wondered if I might be able to procure something that might alleviate her symptoms.”

Patting her brother’s shoulder affectionately at his chivalrous nature, Alicent met his gaze.

“She will be quite well in a few days, you know that mother and I have often found ourselves similarly indisposed at certain times throughout the month.”

A look of realisation and concern passed over Gwayne’s face at this. Growing up in the company of his sister, Gwayne was no stranger to the symptoms she experienced during her monthly cycles, and would often read to her, her head on his lap, to help take her mind off them. He would bring her and their mother, when she still lived, their favourite sweets, almond cakes, and make up poultices of heated stones to ease their pain for them, after first checking that the stones were not too hot. Gwayne disliked seeing either his mother or his sister in pain and sought to alleviate their suffering in any way he could, or to at least provide a comforting shoulder to lean upon. He found his own father’s apathy towards the suffering of his wife and daughter to be a source of disgust and disbelief, and could not have anticipated Y/N being embarrassed at the thought of him being aware of the reason for her condition. His mind turned quickly now to whether he could send Y/N anything to ease her symptoms, finding that the thought of her experiencing any pain caused a pain of his own to tighten within his chest.

Turning to gaze down at his sister, Gwayne’s mouth upturned in a conspiratorial smile.

“I think that we should direct our walk towards the kitchens today, Sister. I wonder if they have any of those almond cakes you adore so much.”

Realising what he was planning, their thoughts always so in-tune with each other, Alicent tapped his cheek affectionately before entangling her arm with his, as they made their way through the lower levels of the Keep, towards the kitchens.

A knock at her chamber door at around noon, had Y/N raising her head slightly to call for the person on the other side to enter. Seeing her maid enter the room with a tray, a puzzled expression made its way onto Y/N’s face, given that her father would never normally send anything up to her on such occasions. As her maid brought the tray further towards her bed, she spotted a small bouquet of her favourite flowers, gardenias, tied together with a green ribbon, as well as a hot poultice, wrapped in a cloth, and a plate of almond cakes.

Y/N instantly recognised the ribbon to be Alicent’s, and realised that the tray must have been sent by her, especially since almond cakes happened to be both of their favourite desserts. A small, leatherbound volume on a period of history she had expressed an interest in learning more about to Gwayne, was also carefully placed underneath the bouquet on the tray, beside a note.

Thanking her maid for the tray, as she left the room, Y/N reached for the parchment first.

My Dear Lady,

Please accept these humble offerings of our concern for your welfare and swift recovery, in the hopes that they will be of interest or comfort to you. I happened across a bushel of these lovely flowers and thought of you, knowing them to be your favourite, and I thought that this volume might be what you were looking for in the library.

I do hope you enjoy the cakes. I have it on good authority, that authority being my dear sister’s, that they are a remedy to solve all ills. So insistent was she upon their effectiveness, that I am afraid I have made a poor impression of myself upon the cook, as she half chased me from her kitchens after she found me scavenging for them. I shall leave you with the image of your knight being felled by a saucepan, as I know only too well how much that would amuse you.

Please do rest well and let us know when you are better, or else I am sure to wither away in sorrow from your absence, and then I really shall not be able to lift my sword at the coming tourney. I will only have you to blame if such is the case.

With the fate of your knight at stake, please do take care.

Yours most faithfully,

Gwayne

Y/N found her heart swelling and her eyes watering the more she read of Gwayne’s letter, so grateful was she for the concern that both of her friends had for her, when she was so unaccustomed to receiving it in her own home. She could not supress a laugh at the thought of Gwayne, who was really very skilled with a sword, being felled by a saucepan, wielded by a belligerent cook.

@liafiction

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@darknessinside11

@beebeechaos

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@deltamoon666

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[ellecdc]

Her darling

I was wondering if I could request Sirius black with a short gf? Something cute and fluffy or generally anything you like to go with because your writing is just immaculate.

(I’m not even sure if 5’3 is counted as short but I’ve always been the shortest among my friends so yeah)

Love you and your wonderful blog 🩵🩵

Hahaha I’m 5’3 too - stopped growing first out of all my friends so that was devastating lol. Thanks for your request babes!! 🫶

Sirius Black x short fem!reader

CW: teasing about height, fluff

Sirius was beginning to regret agreeing with James, Remus, Peter, and Lily to go to the muggle amusement park. Sirius was already one of the shortest amongst his friends, save Pete and Lily who both clocked in at 5’8, meaning most of his day was spent trying to climb onto Remus’ back in order to spot you in the crowd.

“For the love of Merlin, Sirius, I am not that short.” You seethed as you snagged Sirius’ arm, pulling him down (rather roughly) from Remus’ hips.

You could tell Remus didn’t particularly appreciate Sirius using him as a human stepladder, but he couldn’t help but appreciate the teasing opportunity it lent to the group.

“Poor darling,” Lily murmured in faux sympathy, “we’re going to have to find you one of those child leashes that parents attach to their child’s wrists.”

“Sod off, the lot of you.” You groaned and crossed your arms petulantly over your chest.

“Uh oh, almost nap time?” James commented, which earned him a kick in the shin. “Ouch! Okay, okay. Merlin.” He muttered as he moved well out of your kicking range.

“Sorry dollface,” Sirius sung to you, not sounding sorry at all. “I just worry; don’t want to lose you in the crowd.”

You moaned again but didn’t bother gracing him with a response.

You’d been waiting in the summer heat for the newest rollercoaster that was all the rage of this little town when you were nearly at the front of the line.

“Okay, quick. Y/N, stand here – we need to make sure you’re tall enough.” Peter called. And now you were mad – even Peter was taking a go at you!

“Are you- I will not!” You sputtered.

“Ma’am, please step forward.” The bored teenage attendant said, causing everyone in line to turn and look at you.

You burned with shame and more than a little bit of rage as you stepped forward obediently, standing beside the cardboard height measurement tool in the shape of cartoon giraffe which had a speech bubble above him reading “riders must be this tall to ride!”

Sure enough, you were indeed tall enough to ride, and were told to return to your spot in line with the same bored tone as you were beckoned forth in.

You moved back to the group; Remus, Peter, and Lily all looking as if they were about to suffocate under the effort to restrain their laughter, Sirius and James having no such qualms were laughing boisterously.

You spent the rest of the time in line with your arms crossed, pointedly ignoring any of your friends attempts to converse with you.

“Oh my love.” Sirius cooed and stepped up behind you, hooking his head over your shoulder and wrapping his arms around your middle, using his hands to try and pry your own arms from your body. “I’m sorry, dolly. I didn’t think the attendant would join in.”

“You’re an arse.” You muttered back.

“I’m your arse.”

“That’s not a romantic thing to say.”

“What would be a romantic thing to say?”

“That you love me.” You admitted shyly; glad that he couldn’t necessarily see the state of your cheeks, though he could likely feel the heat emanating from them from his place on your shoulder anyways.

Sirius cooed again and turned you in his grasp, peppering kisses all over your face. “I thought that was a given?”

You moaned petulantly again. “No. You’ve been so mean to me.”

“I’m sorry, lovie.” He cooed, sounding slightly more sorry than he had before. “If I was nice to you, that would mean I didn’t love you. That’s why I never make fun of Remus.”

“Oi!”

“I love you.” He proclaimed, ignoring Remus’ outcry. He leaned in closer, whispering so only you could hear it. “I’ll even beat up the attendant for embarrassing you – how about that?”

You considered his offer, eyeing up the bored worker ushering riders through the gates.

“Probably best you don’t – looks like a student’s summer job. You could end up in muggle jail for assaulting a minor.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement, lips attached to your forehead. “Worth it to avenge my little lovie.”

“Out of all of us, do you really love me the least?” Remus commented, interrupting your conversation.

“Of course not, Moons. I obviously tease Evans the least.”

“Hey!”

[vagabond-umlaut]

tempest in a teapot

gojo finds nothing more delightful than seeing your annoyed frown in the middle of a storm— why should he need the sun to break through the gloomy clouds, when you're right there in front of him, huh?

teen!gojo x fem!reader; fluffy & not-very-lwk sappy [xDD]; lovesick gojo; realisation of feelings; gojo loves you— you're compelled to tolerate him; he is sort of... obsessed w you but not in the toxic way yet; implied bullying [gojo isn't involved!!]; he wants to be your knight in shining armour sooo baddd; 'one-sided enemies to lovers'; 2.5k wc

belongs to the series 'fictitious force' but can be read as a stand-alone if you wanna!

header frm pinterest // divider by @/isisjupiter // jjk isn't mine

gojo believes, there exist two kinds of people.

one, those who aren't but love to pretend being better than everyone else— and two, those who aren't but will do anything to be viewed as the worst in the world— the second category housing no one except you—

tingles dancing behind his ribs, down his arms and right to the tips of his fingers, the boy hums when asked why he wishes to meet you out of all the people he could. that too now, the sky darkening from a mix of night and storm— that too, to meet you.

candy crushed between molars, gojo grins.

"let's just say i'm a little curious about her, shall we?"

then pauses, grin mellowing when he finally feels your cursed energy— if his six eyes were working just fine and not fatigued after today's spree of killing curses, maybe he could have known your location too in an instant or so... and not have had to rely on others for that...

the blinding beacon that your cursed signature is, brushes soothingly against his exhausted self— he adds, "also maybe 'cause i'm a little in love with her— she's really sweet, y'know?"

whatever response he might have been expecting, a scoff is definitely not one of them.

utahime makes a face. almost as if she just bit into a lemon... almost as if she doesn't believe gojo can fall in love... almost as if she deems you to be not sweet... that last implication nearly makes him want to throw hands with the girl, opting to ignore the fact that she's shoko's girlfriend—

but he stops when she jabs a thumb to the corridor to the left.

your cursed energy caresses his six eyes gently. something burns at the back of his two eyes. he begs his mind to listen to the directions being given to him. the directions to you!!

"go down this hallway then turn right at the end. she will still be in the gardens—" the rest of the sentence doesn't reach gojo.

nor does anything else, for that matter.

nothing does. except for the steady thump!thump!thump! against his ribs and in his ears. and, of course— how did he even forget this— the lodestar your brilliance is to his too impatient self, too stumbling feet, this squally evening as he skids past empty hallways...

your smile is the first thing the boy notices.

so sweet. so sweet. it is the sweetest thing gojo reckons to have ever seen in his life. the pretty little smile carving your lips and illuminating your equally lovely face, as you lie on your stomach on the grass. legs swaying with the wind. gaze dancing over the fluttering pages—

everything changes in a beat— or perhaps even less than that— with your eyes no longer on the book.

they are on him. drowning him. suffocating him. squeezing whatever infinitesimal life left in him after the past three days' missions. taking every bit of who he is, all for themselves to glare at so sweetly.

your pretty little smile falls into an adorable frown. "why are you here, senpai?"

"why am i here?" he echoes your query. your frown deepens. he grins, brushing his bangs away out of his view. "to see you, of course!! mind if i take a seat beside you?"

you do mind. gojo knows, yet doesn't find a fault in you minding him so— shutting your book, you don't waste an extra second to move to sit upright. nor to scoot away when the boy takes your absence of an answer as an invitation to plop down onto the grass.

your scowl stays unfazed, gojo watches, heart lurching and tumbling. falling onto his back, he shifts to lie on his side, an elbow propped up to support his head. and hums.

"why do you look so mad, sweet—"

"please don't call me by such terms," you cut him off, sharp and terse, "and please don't pretend you don't know why i'm mad— acting like a fool doesn't suit you."

"acting like a fool doesn't suit you either, darling," the boy replies, not borrowing even a moment to mull over his words. it's honestly so like playing with fire... arguing with you, that is. but he is nothing if not an extremely devoted lover of danger, so he will keep doing whatever he is doing now— plus, don't the two of you seem so 'married couple'-y right now, huh?

he continues— not disturbed, rather delighted by how your features tighten and stiffen. eyes narrowing a touch. lips pursed a pinch— he wonders if you know how much you're endearing yourself to him the longer you keep looking at him that way—

he allows his grin to simmer down to a sly twist of lips.

"but i'm not going to question that... your love for your family is pretty cool—" not really. gojo finds it boring at best, and stupid at worst. but since it's you... he tries to deem it as neither. "— so whatever amazing plan you've concocted: pretending to be weak, so you aren't sent to a mission, so you have a 100% chance of staying alive anddd your dear family doesn't have to get sad—"

"why are you here, senpai?"

obviously, to see you, silly!!

— is what gojo should say. is what gojo wants to say. but he finds his tongue numb and unmoving. rendered useless by the sight you, your cursed energy, both have become...

if you were a fire before, you're nothing less than a solar flare now.

and the boy loves it. his six eyes love it. the boy loves you—

your brows gather close. his stomach does a flip. your voice assumes an adorably serious tone. "you didn't come here to ask me out, again, did you, senpai?"

did he?

oh, gojo doesn't really know.

maybe he did... he does want to take you to his favourite restaurants. but maybe he didn't... seeing you has been the only thing on his mind ever since he was informed of his mission being in otsu, shiga.

only fifteen kilometres away from the kyoto jujutsu tech— you don't allow him to utter a single syllable in reply, however. gojo wonders if this is how all your future arguments will be like— he decides it's not that bad.

not when you lean a little towards him. gaze narrowed. tone earnest.

"look— i know keeping another's secrets is a big deal, and some folks need some sort of... uh, reward for that— but how about this? instead of me going out on a date with you, why don't i buy you a box of them gourmet chocolates? or, a ticket to your favorite band's concert? or, a gift voucher of your favorite clothing store— this is better, isn't it?"

better... it would have been... if only he was dead set on making you reward him, as you oh so eloquently put it, for keeping your secrets.

but the thing is, he isn't. the boy doesn't want any sort of silly reward from you— he just wants to take you out on a date. always has, since his eyes met yours few weeks ago and he felt something strange and sweet unfurl within his chest—

making it seem like a payment for him shutting his mouth about you, was only a tactic. a very cheap tactic, the boy chides himself, looking at the worry etched into the dip of your lips.

slipping his shades off, he sits up. and offers a tiny smile. it feels... too weird... too soft on his lips.

"you do know who you're talking to, don't you?"

it takes you a while to reply. throwing back a question of your own. "is this you telling me i can't buy a rich guy's silence, senpai?"

he is. he very much is. but heaven knows why you make it sound this rude— the same as before, you don't stop speaking. not allowing him squeeze a single word in.

"but everyone likes free stuff, don't they? i mean, i'll be buying all that for you, and you won't have to spend even a single yen..." you heave a sigh. so minute, he almost misses it. but he doesn't 'cause he's pretty much focused his every sense on you—

exhaling yet another sigh, you ask, "don't you like freebies, senpai?"

he does. he very much does. even more when you say it that way with your cute little frown and exasperated little tone—

"you're too sweet, y'know?" he breathes out, hoping he sounds just as fond as he feels of you now. extremely likely, forever. "i don't really get why utahime doesn't see you to be so."

you make some sort of a noise then.

it isn't exactly a chuckle... nor is it a snort... it's very cute, nonetheless.

you hum, "iori-senpai is the kindest out of everyone here. if she thinks i'm not someone sweet... i don't know but doesn't it ring some sort of warning bell inside your head, hm?"

"hell no," gojo mutters in that same instant— a little miffed at how you refer to utahime, a quiet respect lacing every letter you say— not-too-little miffed at the implications behind you calling that sharp-tongued girl the kindest here—

for the first time in your company, the boy feels his lips collapse into a frown.

it's something, he realises you realise too, the way your lips part a tad. in something akin surprise... but not the very pleased kind.

he doesn't really think before adding, "the only bells i can hear when i look at you are—" you frown. he bites his tongue. perhaps... he should think a bit before speaking...

chuckling, he continues as if you did not just shoot his soul a look.

"never mind what i can hear... but the thing is you can never be one who rings warning bells in others' minds— like, hell no!" he repeats. letting some force seep into his syllables. into his unwavering stare, fixed on you. on every minute expression you're making—

he really decides to think, however. softening himself on noting your shaky exhale. your nails digging into the cover of your book— he lets himself borrow a beat before resuming.

forcing his face into a bright grin when he does so.

"feel free to text me the names of those dipshits who have ever made you feel bad, by the way— but don't worry," he adds, the memories of his previous error of ways hitting him in the face.

"i won't ask you out on a date in return for that— i'm just in need of an intensive punching practice, and you will do me a big favour by doing as i asked you to— you will text me, won't ya?"

yeah. no. thank you. fuck you—

you say nothing.

nothing, nothing, nothing at all.

for a very painfully long ten seconds.

during which you do nothing except look at him— just look, that too! neither glare nor gape nor gawk— just a quiet, scarily quiet looking— gojo swears his heart skips a beat when you finally open your mouth.

and inquire, words so slow and soft.

"this isn't some ploy of yours to get my number, right?"

"hey, no—" he rushes to explain. fuming at himself 'cause how the hell did he fuck up this bad again!?!?— but as is the norm, you don't allow him to speak any more than that. cutting him off with yet another one of your queries— except this time, it's not so slow.

and more of a statement than a question, now that he thinks about it— "you did not really tell anyone about my secret in these past weeks, did you?"

no, he didn't. obviously, he didn't.

gojo satoru might be several things, but an intentional villain isn't one of them... something skids across your face when the boy tells you as much— but he finds himself not too sure.

thanks to the lightning streaking across the sky.

and the torrential rains following not an instant late.

and the way your gaze jumps from him to the sky, to the book in your hold— only to come back to his face. wide, unblinking, all-consuming for a scanty moment there—

gojo tries his best not to collapse into the mud when you break into a sprint for cover from the downpour. he tries his best not to follow you as he feels your warmth go farther and farther away. his six eyes gaze at the trail of your addictively bright and hot— and his six eyes aren't talking about just the temperature— cursed energy—

the boy tries his damnedest best not to shout, overwhelmingly happy and relieved as he realises the rapidly reducing distance between him and your cursed signature.

the thud of your sneakers on the cement floor of the building sounds nothing less than the best music the boy's ever heard. or maybe, it is the best music in this whole wide world...

yet another lightning streaks across the sky. he twists himself around just in time to catch the awe-filled look you offer at the sight. features something out of this realm as your eyes trace its path, not even a bit bothered by the deafening thunder that sounds next—

gojo thinks he'll die happy if he dies now.

or maybe he can die later, he changes his stance quickly. on noticing you dash towards him through the mud, face fixed in a deep scowl as you struggle to open an umbrella, and balance a pretty heavy-looking bag off your forearm.

you huff when you reach him.

the boy wonders if it's your finally-open umbrella, or you, who shields him from the numbing cold of the torrential rains—

crouching down before him, you drop the bag into his lap.

and exhale a quiet sigh. his breath catches in his chest when he spies a hint of something... maybe fondness? curling up the corners of your frown, as you speak.

"next time you wanna flirt with someone, try not to do that after your missions— it is very difficult to be mad at a person if they look just a push away from passing out, y'know?"

[no... gojo doesn't really know.

but as he lets you press the handle of the umbrella into his palm— an odd look flittering over your features before you turn on your heel and hurry back into the school building— and his eyes fall on the contents of the bag you've left with him—

cans of green tea. chamomile tea. dark chocolate. biscuits. water—

the boy muses if this is your attempt to buy his silence. by giving him enough food and drinks to prevent him from blacking out from sheer exhaustion while on the train ride back to tokyo...

oh. it's enough for him to not worry 'bout tonight's dinner as well, he tells himself on finding two cups of instant noodles at the bottom of the bag—

gojo smiles.

deciding not only his silence to be yours, but also a part of his heart— albeit... weren't either of them yours to begin with, huh?]

hope this was an enjoyable read! pls don't plagiarise, translate or repost this ❤️❤️

masterlist

[froggywritesstuff]

rest | yandere!asmodeus

ship/pairing: Yandere!Asmodeus x g/n!reader

fandom: Helluva Boss

request: anon: yandere asmodeus

warnings: yandere, kidnapped reader, too many pet names (reader gets called darling, sweetie, honey, and baby), forced close proximity, unwanted touching (not sexual), unhealthy relationship, not proofread

word count: 710

A/N: i'm so very tired rn.  i do not in any way support yandere behaviour, please know that this writing is purely fictional, and should not ever be reenacted in real life

You glare at the door in front of you, debating running away and back to the comfort of your own bed. No, comfort wasn’t the right word. Your mattress felt unusually hard tonight, and the sheets felt like sandpaper grinding against your skin. Your blankets were too hot and you felt suffocated underneath them, but that wasn’t nearly as bad as the uncomfortable sensation you got from sleeping without any covers. After an eternity of contemplation, you will yourself to lift your hand to the door, your knuckle knocking against the wood. Regret immediately hits you as the sound rings through your ears, but you stay still. It’s been too long since you got a good night's sleep and you weren’t gonna let an overgrown chicken stop you from getting that. You’re not letting your guard down, and you’re not letting yourself forget about the monster he really is. The love he claims to shower you with is nothing but poison he decorates with food dye and glitter. And you won’t fall for it, no matter what.

”What’s the matter darling?” he opens the door and you reluctantly crane your neck upwards to meet his eyes.

”I can’t sleep.” you say simply, hands clinging onto your pyjama shirt.

You don’t miss the way his smile widens ever so slightly, before he asks, “Do you wanna sleep in my bed?” he pushes his door open further, allowing you to get a look at his bed. Your body has never felt as exhausted as it does when you see his bed. It’s just so big and fluffy, and the blankets are so soft, you feel like they’re calling to you, telling you to come sleep.

The thought of saying no and marching back to your own room crosses your mind more than once, but you genuinely don’t think you have the energy to do that right now. Nodding your head, you remind yourself of all the shit he’s put you through, you just really want a good sleep. You’re not falling in love with him like he’s so convinced you eventually will and you never will, you know that. 

“Is everything alright with your bed sweetie? Anything you need fixed?”

“I dunno I just couldn’t sleep.” you shrug, frustrated over how genuine his voice sounded.

He grabs your shoulders, leading you to the bed, "Well not to worry darling, you're always welcome to sleep in my bed."

You know that. Not a day went by when he wasn't reassuring you that there wasn't any pressure to sleep with him, and that he trusted you to grow comfortable with him in your own time. Though apparently not enough to not kidnap you. You keep reminding yourself of that whenever you catch yourself thinking about how nice he treats you. Or whenever you find yourself wanting to believe him when he tells you how much he loves you. 

The bed as you suspected is comfortable as fuck. The soft sheets and blankets gently hug your body, and you can feel yourself sinking into the mattress. It's almost enough to make you forget about your captor lying next to you. Almost.

"You comfortable honey?" his voice rings through your ear, making you aware of just how close he is.

Shuffling over to further the distance between you, you sigh, ”I hope you know I’m only doing this for your bed, this has nothing to do with you.”

”I know.” he answers nonchalantly, making your chest tighten with frustration.

You sit up, staring at him with the coldest glare you can muster, ”I just want it absolutely clear that I’m exhausted yet I took like, ten minutes standing in front of your door, contemplating sleeping in the same bed as you.”

”You’re adorable baby.” he says tiredly, laughing softly as if this were just some joke. His hand gently but firmly pushes you back down to the bed, done with the ease of moving a pillow. You go to make yourself more comfortable on the bed, but feel Ozzie's hand pull you against his much larger body.

Before you can even begin to struggle, you're trapped between him and his arm, as his mumbled voice softly speaks to you, "Get some rest darling. I love you."

[shotoh]

❝ SO... ASS, T!TS, OR THIGHS? ❞ feat. nagi seishiro

— what’s his preference?

cw + tw. smut, 18+, minors dni, fem!reader, aged-up!characters, extensive amounts of foreplay, titplay, nipple sucking, nagi is a spoiled boy but we love him 

notes. i think about this cutie patootie often and how he must be so nice to cuddle with... then i remember he’s huge and i just want him to ruin me <3

if you were to ask him this question straight up, he’d likely say something along the lines of, “eh… i like all of you.” which is pretty typical, but not inherently wrong.

in nagi’s case, he believes that if he can lay his head on it, then that’s more than enough for him.

your ass? a cushion for when he’s lazily slumped over your bed, phone in hand as you’re busy cramming your assignments and writing essays, propped up on your elbows in front of your laptop.

your thighs? his well-deserved reprieve after a long day at practice. he loves arriving home and finding you on the couch, patting your lap and inviting him to alleviate stress. as your fingers tousle through his white fluffy locks, a sleepy yawn escapes his lips, cheek pressed against your soft pillowy thighs as he waits for his dreams to take him.

your tits, however, make him rethink his entire outlook on life. i mean, how could he ever forget the sensation of being squished between your soft mounds as you’re going through your usual ministrations—absentmindedly massaging the nape of his neck and playing with tufts of his messy hair, making him hum in content. he doesn’t even think before using them as his personal stress balls, always subconsciously running a hand to cup a breast through your shirt no matter what he’s doing while laid against you.

whether intending to arouse you or not, this always leads to a breathy whimper escaping in the air, gray eyes looking up to see your lips slightly parted and gaze half-lidded. to nagi’s benefit, your tits are also extra sensitive, especially in his big ol’ hands which cover your chest perfectly no matter the size. they make you shiver as his thumbs press your nipples through the fabric, quickly pebbling at his touch. seeing them harden and poke through the sheer material of your top makes the striker’s mouth water.

“just a taste…” is what he tells you as he lifts your shirt above your chest, but nagi’s greedy. he never takes just what he needs, only caring about wanting more. he spends a good hour simply running his tongue around the stiff peaks, alternating breasts by laving at the valley between them before returning the same attention to the other one. his hands like to knead the tender flesh, even clamp them in his hold and push them together for easier access for his tongue to flick the aroused tips of your nipples.

“your tits are so perfect, angel, i wanna suffocate in them…”

it’s constantly a struggle to sit still when he’s adamantly fondling you. you shudder every time he flattens the wet muscle over your areola before wrapping his lips around the bud. your body clings to his, gripping his shoulders and occasionally pulling on the roots of his hair when he suckles on them like a baby. except unlike a baby, you feel the whole weight of him on top of you, heavy and desiring to sink you deeper in the sheets. the hard mast in his sweats ruts against your thigh.

with the drawn out foreplay, you’re nearly on the end of your rope. you need him to plunge his thick cock in your gooey insides already. you’re surely wet enough for him to slide right in—he’s made sure of that from his languid ministrations.

“sei, please, fuck me already…” you drawl prettily, hiking your knee to coax the hard throb in his pants. he bucks his hips on top of you, groaning low and hoarse, and teetering on the tightrope of self-control.

nagi, whether he realizes it or not, is cruel as he is greedy. he savors your reactions, enamored by the glassy look on your soft features that crinkle every time his mouth meets your beautiful skin. he’s practically on cloud nine, and you must be following him since you’re on the verge of falling apart, and he hasn’t even touched the aching, slick spot sticking to your panties yet.

“c’mon, beautiful, just a lil longer,” he coos, his words all wispy that you’re starting to grow lightheaded. he blows on the shiny trail of his spit along the sensitive expanse of your skin, feeling you squirm under him. lazily resting his cheek on your tits, innocent silver eyes find your teary ones.

“i still need to mark you all up for me, angel. stay still and i’ll make sure you feel so good later when you’re sitting on my cock, okay?” his lips tenderly press the swell of your breasts one last time before branding those dreamy promises into your skin.

copyright 2023 shotoh, all rights reserved. i do not allow my creations to be published or translated anywhere else so please do not repost this or share my content on tiktok.

[sawbiter]

kiss it better - izuku midoriya

- cws/tags : smut, oral (reader receiving), afab reader with no specific pronouns used (i believe), love bites, relatively vanilla, softy izuku bc i like my men loving, fluffy, being in love, established relationship, shy!reader, porn w/o plot, reassurance, minor insecurities (all bodies / genitals r beautiful!)

18+ content ahead; you are responsible for the media you consume online.

author's note: i had covid nd then writers block but im back for now! pls enjoy i love izuku.

-

you can feel yourself flushing slightly as izuku takes off your shirt, unclipping your bra after he does so.

hes still fully clothed (unfairly, in your opinion,) and it's honestly,, a little nerve-wracking.

“baby?” izuku snaps you back to reality, looking up at you from his spot on the floor and noticing your nerves, “we don't have to do this- I won't be mad or anything.”

his red eyes are so, so soft.

you swallow, “i want to. i'm just.. i don't want to like.. tatse bad to you,” you say, your arms crossing in front of your chest subconsciously.

he just smiles up at you, “you won't, baby. i promise.” izuku grips your hand and squeezes reassuringly, “how about,, i start off just kissing you down there? just warming you up a bit?”

you flush further, butterflies invading your stomach as you nod.

he nods back at you, before beginning to give your thighs teasing love bites, kissing them gently after he pulls off for each one.

it's teasingly slow, you feel so achy you almost wish you hadn't asked him to go slow.

when he finally, finally makes it to your cunt, you're almost gushing for him. he smiles up at you once more, squeezing your hand before beginning, giving your clit a kiss and pushing your thighs further apart for better access.

you whine lowly at his teases, your whimpers getting louder as he laps up your juices & sucks on your clit, “'zuku,,“ you whimper, your eyes teary.

“'s it good, baby?” he asks, pulling away for a moment. you nearly sob at the loss of stimulation.

“please, keep going. feels,, so good.” you sniffle, your hips twitching upwards as he goes back to it, sucking on your clit.

he inserts a finger, causing you to outright moan his name and buck your hips to meet his hesitantly thrusting fingers.

“so brave, huh?” izuku praises, his voice slightly muffled from how close he is to your cunt, “you just needed me to calm you, 'nd now you're all wet for me.”

you nod vigorously, “please, 'm gonna cum soon- don't stop.”

as soon as you announce it, it's like a switch flipped in his brain, and he's back to lapping at your cunt, speeding up his fingers as he licks up your juices like it's his last meal. your thighs lock up around his head, your fingers tugging at his hair- practically suffocating him in your cunt.

with another harsh suck to your aching clit, you cum with a loud moan, almost going limp as your thighs lock tense around his head only to go slack.

“was that too much?“ he asks, as soon as you come down from your high.

“it was great- i love you.” you respond.

he smiles, “i love you too.”

[ethereal27cereal]

Curls - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

part 2

summary: Eddie is getting ready to meet your parents for the first time after a year of dating. He is particularly nervous about impressing them, so you help him do his hair. And then help him relax a little 😉

warnings: smut 18+ MINORS DNI. established relationship, kissing, breast play, oral (f receiving), unprotected p in v sex (mention of birth control but still wrap it up and be safe 👍🏻), lots of sweet sappiness between Eddie and reader, reader has curly hair but it is not described in great detail, reader is implied as plus size but doesn’t have to be read that way, reader has relationship with both parents. I think that is it but let me know if I missed something.

genre: fluff, smut

word count: 4.9K

author’s note: I couldn’t get the idea out of my head about doing Eddie’s hair and so this just all kind of came rambling out. Any feedback is always appreciated 💕

may 1993

“You said I’m not supposed to brush it out when it’s dry, yeah?” Eddie asks, eyebrows scrunching together as he tries to remember your advice. He’d remembered the part about not washing his hair everyday, and has opted for just a quick shower, already dry and in his blue checkered boxers. But it is every other step that comes next that is making his palms sweat and doubt creep into his mind. 

Eddie is normally pretty particular about his appearance, he has his set look and he feels like he does it well - ripped jeans, white Reeboks, a wide variety of metal band t-shirts, an assortment of rings and chains, topped off by his signature fluffy, long mane. But today is different. 

He’s not just dressing to impress you, you always love the way he looks, but your parents…they might be a different story. Your parents are coming into town for the weekend and will finally get to meet Eddie after almost twelve months of dating. You can’t lie, you’re a bit nervous about introducing them to your long-haired, metal loving boyfriend, but Eddie looks like he could pass out every time you bring up the subject.

He has been fighting the urge to crawl out of his skin all week at the thought of meeting the people who are responsible for creating the woman he loves more than anything else in the world. And today is finally the day.

Eddie wants to look nice, maybe not suit and tie nice, but he definitely went out to buy a neat looking button down and a pair of unripped jeans at the last minute because nothing in his closet seemed appropriate enough to impress your parents. He wants you to be proud of him, proud to show him off, and he wants your parents not to curse his name and banish him from their existence when he tells them he’s planning on proposing to you. 

So he will do his hair, put on clothes that make him feel like he might suffocate, and put on his warmest smile to impress what he hopes are his future in-laws.

He hesitates before grabbing the hairbrush off the counter and turns toward you, freshly clean and dripping wet as you step out of the shower. Even after nearly a year together, Eddie still has to steady his racing thoughts and keep himself from gaping at your naked form. His eyes trace a path up and down your body, drinking in all the delicious curves he feels lucky to have become so intimately familiar with. 

Before answering, you bend down, abundant rounded breasts swaying slightly as you shift from side to side to begin forming the ringlets of your own curls, a cascade of water droplets darting out to hit his bare chest. Years of practice allow you to make quick work of the ringlets, looping them into place deftly before scrunching over them with a light layer of gel. 

“Yeah, only brush it when it’s wet. You’ll lose the curl definition and maybe damage your curls if you’re dry brushing a lot,” you remind him sweetly before continuing on with your routine. 

Eddie gapes, mesmerized at the process as you swing your hair from side to side, tummy and breasts jiggling temptingly as you move about. You twirl a few errant curls around your fingers and gaze at yourself in the mirror, smirking as you catch him staring in the reflection. Satisfied with your mane, you reach to grab your towel and roughly run it over your arms before bringing one foot up on the edge of the tub to dry your legs. 

Eddie watches intently as you rub the plush warm towel over your body, moving down your chest and over your tummy to your legs. The way the swell of your breasts rests against the gentle rolls of your belly has his cock stirring against the pilled cotton of his boxers. He tries to tamp down the feelings, but the nerves make him needy and he wants the comfort that can only come from your touch.

“Let me help you with that,” Eddie smirks with his quick suggestion, replacing your hands with his own as he brings the towel up from your legs and to your breasts. You roll your eyes playfully, but can never really deny him and his pretty persistent desires to touch you. 

His chocolatey brown eyes glow as he gently squeezes and massages both of your tits, clearly not with the intent of actually drying you off. With a skillful familiarity, he pinches and tweaks your nipples through the thick cotton, making your knees momentarily wobble and you find yourself biting your lip to keep yourself from moaning. He gives you a cocky smirk before pulling his hands and the towel away. 

“Gotta check and see if they’re dry,” he insists, his needy hands now palming around the full weight of your breasts and heaving them upwards and together, creating one of his favorite sights in the world. A pleased hum rumbles from the back of his throat and he dips his head down to place a tender kiss to the petal soft flesh on the top of your breasts. 

“Hmm, still a little wet I think,” Eddie proposes, quirking his eyebrows at you as he grabs for the towel again. Your breath hitches in anticipation as Eddie lifts one breast at a time and gently swipes the towel under each ample globe. 

He drops the towel to the floor between your feet, but his hand doesn’t leave your chest, still offering teasing squeezes to each breast. With a sudden molten look in his eyes, his head drops back down to your tits, tenderly tugging your peaked nipple in between his teeth. Mewling moans and sighs freely escape your lips as he lavishes you with attention, sucking and swirling his tongue around the aching bud. 

Your tummy flutters wildly and a growing heat begins to coil in your core when he releases your nipple from his mouth with a wet pop and moves further up your pillowy breast, leaving soft lilac bruises in his wake. He sets in on devouring you with a growl, strong arms snaking around your soft waist when your knees finally do fully buckle and you melt against his chest. 

“Eddie,” his name comes out as a breathy moan from your lips. 

“Mmm, you taste so good baby, I need you,” his words blow warm against the column of your throat and it takes everything in you not to give yourself fully to him, right then and there against the bathroom sink. 

“Eddie, we can’t. We gotta get ready, I don’t want to be late,” you sigh, tugging slightly at his curls to pull him away from your neck. He moves away, scowling at his sudden eviction, but his hands stay firmly gripped around your waist, holding you to him. 

“Fine. But help me do my hair, please. I don’t have it down quite as well as you do,” he relents with a sigh, placing a lingering kiss on your cheek. “Lemme just wet it first, I guess,” Eddie turns toward the sink and begins to run the water, dipping his head down to dunk it underneath the stream. 

“Hey, whoa, let’s maybe use the spray bottle. The bathroom is going to be a sopping wet mess that way,” you suggest with a laugh, pulling him away from the sink and ushering him toward the closed toilet to sit down. You pull out your spray bottle, special brush, and detangler spray, ready to make some magic with Eddie’s curly mane.

“The spray bottle always makes me feel like I’ve been bad and I’m getting scolded,” his expression turns into a grimace and he cringes away from the misting spray. 

“Some dark secrets coming out here, my love, did you get scolded with a spray bottle, Eddie?” you ask with an incredulous laugh, pausing your hand that is on the spray bottle. 

“I mean, if I was being super naughty…” he begins with a sheepish grin.

“Which you often are…” you conclude playfully, but nod for him to finish his story. 

“Uncle Wayne had one to use on the stray cats around the trailer park. We liked to feed them and watch them play around, but sometimes they would get a little feisty and try to fight each other. So he always had his handy dandy spray bottle in case he had to break up a fight,” he recounts thoughtfully, a boyish beaming smile plastered to his face.

“And if I was ever being too feisty and trying to get into fights, or just especially pissing him off, he had no qualms about spraying me right in the face with that spray bottle. He got me right in the eye one time,” Eddie chuckles and looks up at you, honest brown eyes searching your expression. 

“Honestly, seems like a pretty good method for keeping you in line, Munson,” you smirk, holding the spray bottle somewhat threateningly in front of him.

“Ahhh no, please,” he whines in protest and waves a dramatic hand in front of him, tilting back away from you.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. I have other ways of making you behave,” you tease, suggestively waving your tits in his face as you begin to lightly mist the back of his head. With a happy grumble, he buries his face in your breasts, using his hands to mush them together around his cheeks. He inhales deeply before pulling his face away from the soft pillowy flesh, the scent of your body wash and your naturally sweet smell lingering in his nostrils. 

“I think I like your way of making me behave better,” Eddie nods thoughtfully, settling into position as you begin to spray his curls again. You carefully cover his face with your palm as you mist his feathery bangs. He blindly reaches out to flick on the boombox and turns the track to your latest favorite, and even though it isn’t metal, it has become one of his favorites just because of how much you love it. 

Dolores O’Riordan’s lilting voice echoes through the small bathroom as you bop along to the ringing guitars in the intro of Dreams, and Eddie can’t help but smile. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would be sitting in a bathroom, listening to The Cranberries, and getting his hair finger curled by the naked woman he is madly in love with. Your sweet hesitant voice begins to sing along, just barely above a whisper, but Eddie trains his ear to listen to every word. 

And now I tell you openly

You have my heart so don't hurt me

You're what I couldn't find

A totally amazing mind

So understanding and so kind

You're everything to me

Eddie feels his chest clench and tighten at the lyrics, biting back the lump that was forming in his throat. He knows he’s being a bit silly and dramatic, but the words feel like they’re meant for him, for you, for your relationship together.

His life hasn’t been easy, he doesn’t complain often, but it has made him hard around the edges. But ever since you have come into his life, everything is softness. Your touch, your heart, your smile, your words, your body. Like being wrapped in a plush warm blanket after a long draining day, the feeling of coming home. You are soft, pillowy, and welcoming. And it makes all of the hardness and bitterness inside him weaken, leaving only softness and warmth behind. 

You have made quick work of his curls, lightly brushing out the knots as you sing along. You sway to the rhythm while finger coiling some face framing pieces, pausing suddenly when you notice the gentle wobbling of Eddie’s chin as he ducks his head and tries to swipe away a stray tear. 

“Hey, what’s up buttercup?” you sooth, setting down your brush and lifting his chin to look at you. His chocolate eyes are brimmed with tears waiting to fall, his pink cheeks flushing with embarrassment as he tries to hide. 

“Nothing, it’s dumb, I’m just being dumb,” Eddie swallows harshly and forces a thin smile. 

“Nuh uh, don’t talk about my handsome boyfriend like that. You’re not being dumb and whatever you are crying about is certainly not dumb,” you reassure sweetly, tenderly cupping his cheeks in your hands. 

“I..I…think I’m just really fucking stressed. With working so much lately and your parents coming into town, I think I just am really worried,” Eddie begins, his voice cracking with every other word.

“Worried about what?,” you ask innocently, trying not to think too hard about the ring box you  found in his jeans pocket when doing laundry last week. You try to fix your face into a look of oblivious concern, just in case your expressions betray you. 

“I want your parents to like me, and think I’m good enough for you. And don’t start saying ‘of course they will’. You have everything in your life all figured out, and I don’t feel like I have much going on to offer you, especially on just my lousy mechanics salary.  I know you don’t think of it that way, but I just want you to be proud of me and not feel ashamed of introducing me to your parents,” he finishes with a choked sound, and begins chewing on the inside of his cheek.

“Eddie, my love, I am immensely proud of you! I brag about you, your band, all of the  accomplishments you’ve made at the shop with your promotion, and pretty much everything about you to just about everyone I meet. And that includes my parents. They already know all about you, and already love you because I love you,” you insist, petting his bangs out of his eyes and whisking away a few more tears that threaten to fall from his lashes. He gazes up, nodding solemnly, but unable to form words that would even come close to an appropriate response to your endless kindness and support. 

“What can I do to help? We have about..30 more minutes before we have to leave, do you need cuddles?” you coo, a hint of condescension creeping into your voice as you see him perk up and begin to lick his lips in anticipation. He peeks up at you through his thick lashes, plump lips turned down in a frown for extra dramatic effect. 

“Not just cuddles, sweetheart, I need you. I need to be inside you,” he pouts, hands coming up to rest on the swell off your ass, squeezing and testing the fullness of both cheeks. You nod, biting your lip seductively as you pull him up to stand with you. With a strangled moan, Eddie’s lips are crashing against yours, biting and licking with an insatiable need that makes your heart stutter in your chest. 

He begins to guide you backwards toward your shared bedroom, using your butt to steer you away from walls and other sharp furniture. The backs of your knees bump against the bed, and in one swift motion, Eddie tosses you up onto the mattress with a pillowy plop. Despite his slight frame, sinewy muscles lurk beneath his pale skin and he doesn’t seem to expend any significant effort as he tugs you further up the bed so your head is resting against the soft downy pillows. 

Eddie settles back into the kiss, making a sloppy claim on your mouth before raining a million wet kisses down your body. His touch is needy and hungry, anything but patient as he leaves hasty bites against the swell of your breasts, grabbing hands spreading your legs wide as he dips his head down further. Out of habit, you go to tangle your fingers into his hair, guiding his kisses where you need him most, but stop suddenly when you see the fresh delicate ringlets in your fingertips. 

“Wait, baby, I’m going to fuck up your hair if you do that right now. Later. I need you to…” you try to finish your thoughts before he flicks his tongue teasingly against your clit, words dissolving into a breathy gasp as you impulsively arch up against his tongue. 

“Mmm, what do you need, princess? Tell me what you need,” Eddie growls against your heat, licking a teasing stripe up your slit before looking up into your eyes for an answer, smoldering pools of burnt caramel gazing at you intently. 

“Fuck, Eddie…I need…I need you to fill me up, please,” you pant breathlessly, fingers flexing and gripping the sheets so you don’t mess up his curls. 

“With my fingers…?” he wiggles a teasing digit inside, your walls immediately spasm and clench around his finger with frantic need, tossing your head back into the pillow without a care for your own wet curls. 

“Or does this tight little pussy need more?” he asks with a sly grin, suddenly pulling his finger from your wetness and dipping it in his mouth. “Fuck, sweetheart, you taste so good,” he hums as he pops his pointer finger out of his lips and crawls up from between your thighs.

“Eddie, please, I need you to fuck me, now,” you huff and whine, pulling him back up to eye level with you. 

“Jeez, lovey, somebody sure is needy. And you act like I’m the sex crazed one around h…” he begins teasingly, but is cut off with a choked groan as you reach down to wrap your hand around his cock. You guide his swollen tip through your silky folds, both of you shaking in anticipation before he plunges in. His lips immediately find yours again, gasps and moans overflowing between your lips when he buries himself deep inside your molten core. 

He steadies himself for a moment, letting you throb and flex around him while you adjust to the delicious sting of being so filled by him. Your hands grip wildly at his shoulders and you kiss a frantic path across the small portion of his chest, biting at the skull and spider inked against his collarbone. 

“Christ you feel so fucking amazing, so tight and wet for me,” his voice shakes as he begins to set a steady pace. Slowly pumping his thick length all the way in and drawing back out in a dizzying rhythm that has you almost immediately seeing stars. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on lasting more than a few moments despite the blooming heat beginning to rise in your tummy and take over. Yours and Eddie’s moans and sighs along with the filthy slapping sounds of sex fills the room, and your sounds only become more unabashedly loud when he snakes a hand in between your bodies to rub against your sensitive clit. 

Your ears ring and your legs begin to tremble, your release boiling and bubbling in your core, ready to explode. You babble incoherently, something about being close and not wanting it to be over yet, not sure any of that comes out as intelligible words until Eddie responds. 

“That’s alright, come for me my love, I want to feel you cum all over my cock,” he coos, calloused thumb pressing delicate circles against your clit and you feel yourself unwind. With a strangled scream, your body is shaking, inner walls fluttering wildly around his girth. “That’s it, that’s my pretty girl. Such a good girl coming so hard for me,” his voice is intoxicatingly deep, filled with heat and desire as he watches you unravel at his touch. 

Before your vision fully clouds over, your eyes flicker open, needing to look up at the love of your life. Eddie is gazing down at you, chocolate brown eyes blown into inky pools full of love, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration as he tries to keep a steady pace with you writhing underneath him. You reach up to cup his cheek, whispering a breathy ‘I love you’ as you begin to slowly come back to your senses.

“Christ, sweetheart, I love you too, but you’re driving me crazy. I can still taste you on my lips and I need to be down there so fucking bad right now,” Eddie groans and suddenly pulls out of you, leaving you with an empty throbbing feeling as you reach to bring him back to you. But he’s already down with his face in between your legs, strong hands pushing your thighs down to the mattress so you’re well out of his way. He gently tucks the stray curls framing his face behind his ears and gives you a sheepish grin. 

“You’re going to hold my hands so you’re not tempted to mess up my hair, but I’m going to make you come on my tongue. And if that makes us late, then so be it,” he affirms and reaches up to tangle his fingers in yours, holding them firmly against your still wobbly thighs. 

Without another word, he dives in, licking and sucking your sensitive folds. His movements are frenzied and hungry, determined to consume every bit of you like a man starved. He sucks and nips harshly at your clit, before slithering his tongue downward to delve inside your quivering hole. He sets a punishing rhythm, knowing just exactly where to lick and kiss to make you a whimpering mess. 

Within a skillfully short amount of time, he brings you back to the edge again. You buck your hips against his tongue and lips, trying to fight your way towards release as the crushing pressure is building in your belly once again. He steadies you with your intertwined fingers, keeping you from floating away and losing your mind.

“Just let go, my love, I know you’re right there. I can feel it. Just let go for me,” he purrs in between sloppy licks and kisses to your folds, tugging them in his lips before releasing the petal like flesh with a pop. With another high pitched moan, you’re tumbling into the precipice of your orgasm. Your body courses with electricity as he delivers a few more harsh kisses to your overly sensitive bud and you fight and writhe to release your hands from his to grab at him. But he doesn’t let you. He keeps your hands tangled with his in a gentle firmness that leaves you feeling even more weak and lightheaded. 

Before you’ve had a chance to catch your breath, he’s back up on his knees, pulling you by your hips to meet him and sliding a pillow under your butt for added support. Eddie thrusts his cock back inside you with a chesty groan, head lolling back against his shoulders as he hits against your spongy soft center. He pounds into you with the same intensity and hunger he had when he’d tasted you, relentless and needy to fill you up and feel you all around him. Eddie’s eyes never leave your face as he reaches up to play with your breasts, a whimpered sigh leaving his lips as he pinches your pebbled peak between his thumb and forefinger. 

You suddenly feel overwhelmed with it all, his intense gaze seeing you, all of you, the love that burns where your bodies meet, and another orgasm slowly winding a tight coil in your core. You clench your eyes tight again and throw an arm over your face, trying to hide from the gut wrenching intimacy that happens every time you’re with Eddie like this. 

“Look at me, sweetheart, please, I want to see you when I come,” he gently pulls your arm away from your face, lacing your fingers together and rubbing a comforting pattern on the back of your hand as he urges you to open your eyes. Despite your heavy lids and burning cheeks, you open your eyes, met with his sweet beaming smile. 

“There you are, my love. So beautiful, so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, his face pinching in pleasure as you clench involuntarily around him. 

“Fuck, I’m gonna come. I’m gonna come so hard,” he warns shakily, gasping and panting but still never looking away from you. You nod in response to his warning, pressing him on with a whimpered ‘please’ as you feel your own release finally creeping over you. A third flash of pleasure seeps into your veins and you throb weakly around his thrusting cock, sending him over to his own release. 

Eddie rattles off a string of babbled praises, your name and words of unending love leaving his lips as he pumps you full of his seed. He shutters and you feel a final warm surge of his climax spurt into you, coating your walls and marking you as his. The thought of anyone having that kind of claim over you would’ve made you sick in the past, too possessive and all encompassing. But with Eddie, that’s all you wanted. To be his and for him to be yours. 

“You are so gorgeous like this, well I mean, you are gorgeous all the time. But god, when I come inside you and I look down and there you are, the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, I feel like I’m losing my fucking mind,” he confesses with a babbling sincerity that you will never ever grow tired of. You blush and hide your eyes behind your fingers, peeking through them to see him grinning at you. 

“I love you so much,” he sighs, resting his hands on the slope of your hips as he grows soft inside you. 

“I love you so much, Eddie,” you smile, reaching down to squeeze his fingers gently.

With a hiss, he pulls out of you, propping himself up on his elbow to watch his cum slowly slide out of you. Eddie smirks and in tenderly possessive motion, he pools the release in his fingers and pushes it back inside you. 

“That belongs in there,” he tsks, booping your clit with his pointer finger before sitting up with a grin plastered on his face. 

“I mean, my handy dandy birth control is going to say otherwise but…” you reply with a chuckle, sitting up on shaky elbows to look at him. He shakes his head and shrugs, curls bouncing around his pretty face. 

“I just want you to remember who came inside you and made you come three fucking times while we’re sitting there with your parents and they’re grilling me about my intentions with their daughter,” he concludes, hopping up from the bed and pulling on his boxers. 

“So that was your little plan? Remind me how much you’re worth keeping around with how hard and fast you can get me off just in case tonight goes south?” you guffaw, knowing that wasn’t truly his plan, but ribbing him nonetheless. You stand up from the bed, and immediately buckle. He holds out a hand as your wobbly knees threaten you again, but you manage to steady yourself against him. 

“Well, I mean it’s true. I do make you come,” he pecks a cheeky kiss against your lips, “a lot. And I do want to remind you of that. All the time. But I just needed you. And hey look, we aren’t even going to be late,” he points out happily, gesturing towards the glowing red alarm clock on your bedside. 

You weren’t going to be late, but you both definitely need to hurry to dress and get out the door. With nimble fingers, you help Eddie button his shirt, smoothing over the soft wrinkles that he had neglected to press out. You toss on your dress, settling for something simple but classic paired with a dainty set of opal earrings Eddie had gifted you for your birthday. 

Eddie sighs, finally dry curls bobbing around his face as he gazes into the full length mirror, no ripped jeans, no band t-shirt, no rings or chains, dressed head to toe in an outfit that makes him look like a schoolboy. He frowns at his appearance, trying to hide his expression when he sees you peer over his shoulder. 

“You look great, but you don’t look like you,” you ponder, scurrying away to grab a few things off his dresser, the heavy objects clinking in your palm as you bounce back to him. 

You slip behind him, securing his signature chain with a guitar pick around his throat before slithering around to his front to undo a few shirt buttons, framing the glittering chain against his pale collarbones. You grab his left hand, slipping on the grinning skull, pig, and cross in a neat row on his pointer, middle, and ring fingers respectively. With a tender motion, you slip his bejeweled class ring on the ring finger of his right hand. 

You step back, admiring your handiwork before lightly fluffing your fingers through his curls. Eddie practically glows under your gaze, soft wavy ringlets haloed around his head, ochre eyes shining with fear, hope, and love. 

“There, much better. Still the Eddie I know and love but with a twist,” you beam up at him before grabbing his shaking hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. He nods and puffs out his cheeks with a great sigh.

“Ready?” you ask, leading him slowly toward the front door.

“Ready.” 

Little taglist of people who I thought might want to read: @boomhauer​ @wtf-lindsay​ @seidenbros​ @thisishellfire​ @wroteclassicaly​ @a-time-for-wolvess​ @kissmecaiti​ 

[eightmakesonebraincell]

dogboy!yuyu headcanons

genre: bf!yunho x gn!reader, fluffiest fluffy fluff, crack

length: 1.8k

a/n: this spontaneously wrote itself after reading bai’s (@hwaightme) catboy!hwa headcanons, dreaming about dogboy!yuyu, and then being triggered by the braincell i share with yumi (@sorryimananti-romantic) <3 also scroll through to the end for a surprise 🐹

taglist: @lavishloving

YUYU :’((((

the cutest fluffiest ball of energy to ever light up your world <33

your heart just goes :’) whenever you see him, no matter what he’s doing

PUPPY EYES

THE MOST. LETHAL. PUPPY. EYES. EVER.

at first he doesn’t know how dangerous his puppy eyes are

he’s scared of doing the wrong thing or disobeying your orders because he thinks you might not want him anymore or kick him out :(((

he’s so precious he deserves to be protected from every bad thing in the world :((

but then once he learns that you love him more than he can even fathom

and he can literally get away with anything??

especially if he just whips out his puppy eyes and cocks his head to one side??

PLEASE

yunho is 🥺 emoji personified

he stamps his little paws in excitement when you approach him

loves it when you caress the space between his eyes he gets all sleepy 

EAR SCRATCHES

he loves when you scratch behind his ear or under his chin or on his belly

aka scratches anywhere.

and he has the fluffiest and floppiest ears ever <333

they flop up and down whenever he runs it’s so cute omg

and he loves to chase his own tail

he MUST win the battle with himself grr

he doesn’t realise how big he is, both as a pupper AND a human

he runs at you from a distance and attacks you in a hug 🥺

but when he’s really excited and leaps up into your arms it feels like you’re getting slammed by a moving brick wall

you both definitely go down with an oof (mainly from you)

but who can be annoyed when you look up and he’s all :D :D :D and wagging tails on top of you

you two play a lot because he has so much energy

like you throw treats up in the air and he jumps to catch them and it’s like he’s challenging you at this point

you both have this thing where you put your hand on his paw, then he moves to place his paw on top of your hand, then you place your hand on top again and you just make an endless tower of hands

it never ends. it is A COMPETITION.

yall also have barking competitions where you’re just howling at each other lolll

because of that, your neighbour sometimes asks how your dogs (plural) are going and you have to make up a second dog because you’re not about to admit that it’s actually you howling back

yunho ALWAYS gets the zoomies at the most random times

in the morning when you’ve literally just pulled yourself out of bed and half asleep?

he does zoomies around the living room

nearly trips you over

at 3am when you’ve just finished your work and you’re stumbling your way to bed

he gets the zoomies in your bedroom and jumps all over your bed

SPEAKING OF BED

his favourite place is bed

but your bed specifically

you don’t need a heater in winter because he loves loves LOVES to snuggle with you and he’s super warm and fluffy

there’s lots and lots of cuddle sessions ofc, especially when you’re feeling down

he’s always there and he’ll like, give you space at first and then slowly inch towards you :((

sometimes you get nightmares that you’re suffocating and you wake up to yunho’s dog butt sitting on your face LOL

or you’ll wake up to his tail swishing in your face because he’s dreaming about steak

he likes playing in puddles and mud a little toooo much

when it rains you dress him up in a cute little yellow duckie raincoat

you’ve tried the matching puppy gumboots too but he just shakes them off

loves to go splish splash with his paws in all the puddles he comes across

and when he walks away he leaves a trail of his paw prints <3

omg when it comes to shower time after playing?

BRAT 

a cute brat though you could never ever get angry at him

he makes you chase him through the house and you’re shrieking about the little paw prints he’s leaving on the floor

(he helps you clean them up afterwards)

when you finally wrestle him into the bathtub he huffs until you fill it with bubbles and add his toys

you most definitely have to take your own shower after his because of how soapy your clothes get

yunho LOVES his toys so much

it takes so long to convince him to let you put them in the wash

because as soon as you take them away from him? the puppy eyes come out

and you have to be firm and tell him that the toys just need a bit of cleaning, they’ll come back to you smelling super nice, it’s just for a little while

he still sits in front of the washing machine watching the whole cycle because he doesn’t trust the machine

he protecc

whenever you’re working or busy doing something, he’ll come up and nudge you every other minute so you play with him

he’ll drop a toy at your feet so you throw it for him

or he’ll tug on your pants and whine a little for your attention

you’re definitely weak for him so you almost always end up giving in

do you walk him or does he walk you?

he gets excited and darts off whenever he sees other people or other dogs because he wants to go and say hello :’))

and even though he loves meeting the other dogs, if you find another cute dog and turn your attention towards it or compliment it he’s gonna be all 🥺🥺🥺

he’s built to protect you like whenever you go out he’ll valiantly be on the lookout for any dangers like lizards that get too close or plastic bags that are flying towards you

LOL sometimes you can’t bring yunho out with you, and when you get home after bumping into another dog on the way back, yunho will immediately be able to sniff out their smell on your clothes

and he’ll be like >:((

how dare you >:((

i demand head pats and ear scratches as compensation >:((

he melts as soon as you give him a kiss though

when he’s human, literally nothing changes

he has endless energy and he literally skips and bounds along as he walks with you

the man does not. stand. still.

he will JUMP down the last four or five stairs and give you a mini heart attack

you scold him like you’re going to get hurt !!!!! but he just grins at you before running ahead again

omg he gives the most crushing and loving hugs <333

your favourite ones are when you’re running towards him and he has his arms wide open and he catches you as you leap into his arms

and he holds your waist firmly as he spins you two around and you’re both just all wide smiles and hearty giggles (PLS IM SO SOFT RN)

yunho eats like there’s no tomorrow

you cook and plate up your food and turn around to get yourself a glass of water or something and when you turn back around half his plate is already gone and he’s like :D

and you’re like ???? where ?? did all the food go?? 

when you bake you’ve got to keep a close eye on him he’s like a CHILD

he’ll steal the chocolate chips off the counter and you have to take the packet from him and tell him that you need them for the cookies

but he gets a handful of them anyway as compromise

it’s the puppy eyes i’m telling you they stay with him even when he shifts

“no, yuyu, the cookies are still hot you need to wait”

:(

“stop looking at me like that they won’t cool any faster”

:( 

when it’s bedtime he dives under the covers with you

he drapes himself over you like he does when he’s a dog except he is much heavier when he isn’t a dog and you’re lowkey struggling to breathe under him

and he’s like oh no !! i forgot !!

and he’ll lie on his back and pull you so that you lie on top of him instead :’))

doesn’t matter if he’s dog or human, he LOVES CUDDLES

sometimes he decides that he wants head scratches too and he’ll bring your hand up to his head so that you play with his soft blonde locks

he also peppers your face with kisses like non-stop

he makes it his personal goal to make you giggle and laugh from all the kisses he’s giving you

because he is all about that physical affection and touch, perhaps even more when he’s a human

when you’re home he HAS to be touching you in one way or another like he’ll have a hand on your thigh or he’s draped over you in a back hug or you’re sitting in his lap

and it’s so cute when you see the same mannerisms and habits he has as a dog when he’s human

he’ll sit there and huff at all the right times when you tell him about your long day

(which was one of the first things you picked up on that yunho wasn’t your typical dog because when you ranted to him it was like he could understand you perfectly)

and like he still has his protective instincts, except when he’s a man he is The Man 

you tell him about some colleague at work who was nasty to you and he’ll be like WHO. LET ME GO BITE THEM

he definitely growls a little when he’s really protective like grrr >:(

lol but also when you two are playing games and he’s feeling competitive or he’s gaming on the computer he’ll unintentionally growl at you and sometimes you find it kinda hot ;)

with yunho there has never been a single dull moment

his laughter and cheeky antics just become a permanent part of your life <3

he only has eyes for you and they’re filled with love

he is THE GOODEST BOY PERIODT.

bonus: hamsterboy!joong

the D: hamster backed up into a corner meme

raises his little hands when he's scared

will freeze standing up for no apparent reason

literally faints or unalives at the slightest inconvenience

like if you sneeze too loud

or if he falls off the little platform in his cage

you’ll never catch him running in the hamster wheel - that is solely for napping in

he also likes to nap in the igloo homes you put there for him

if you lift one up while he’s under it he’ll run for his life towards another shelter LOL

shoves everything into his mouth when he eats

he complains when his food bowl is empty

but if you try to take the bowl to fill it up? he tries to bite you

no take >:( only fill >:(

tries to look aggressive but he’s the smollest lil bean to exist 🥺

what makes you think he’s any different as a human?

LOL

the end

[tachibubu]

Hello again!

Can you write one with Aegon? Where his wife, who has just discovered she is pregnant, ends up being attacked by an undercover guard and nearly kills her, but her bodyguard kills the intruder. However, even injured, when Aegon returns to the room without knowing what happened, because she didn't want to tell him, he sees her injured and takes care of her.

HOW THEY REACT WHEN YOU WERE INJURED

∆ PAIRING ; Aemond Targaryen | Jacaerys Velaryon | Aegon II Targaryen x Pregnant!Reader/OC/Self-Insert

∆ SUMMARY ; In which the boys were unable to protect you while pregnant when an assassination had happen when he is not within your reach. (Takes place during the war towards late war.)

∆ WARNINGS ; angst with fluffy ending, youre pregnant, minimal violence, ooc characters, some minor/major(?) spoilers from the book (wont indicate what it is).

NOTE ;   I changed the concept to them knowing you're pregnant instead so that their intentions would be far more heavy! It's quite hard to write it fully so I hope it is fine! (got the askers permission to write it with Jac and Ae too!)

Aegon was content with the few things he had in life and would not want them stripped away. The war took a toll on his whole life, which is still currently happening to his dismay. He was trying to hunt with a handful of his comrades to alleviate his nerves before the Blacks made their move while still struggling with a foot injury. However, the peaceful moment was quickly interrupted when a squire hurried to deliver some news. He turned his horse to ride back to the castle in such a hurry that not even the knights and lords who had been riding with him could halt when he learned about the incident that had recently occurred while he was gone.

He yelled as he slid off the horse without assistance, "Who dares touch the queen? I will rip their limbs off!" He winced in agony but dragged his injured feet towards the assembly of knights despite the advice of the maesters, who sought to assist him but were met with a swat of his palm.

His gaze penetrated the bloodied man next to your sworn protector, Ser Criston Cole, "So you're the fuckin' bastard," he snarled. He was littered with bruises and wounds; Criston clearly took a toll on him, but he managed to keep himself from doing more harm, though Aegon remained unsatisfied. Rather, he gave the man a punch to the face, then spat at him before sneering at Criston. He was clearly unhappy with him for not having been able to prevent the incident straight away, but he kept quiet. "Ser Criston, I command you to amputate each of his limbs one by one."

"Try not to cut his nerve. I want him to experience it slowly," were his last words before he left and dismissed the pleas of mercy from the assailant, asking the servants to escort him to your shared quarters immediately.

You were covered in bruises and had a fresh cut on your lip when he first met you. He fought back tears as he demanded the healers to leave your chamber immediately and cursed at them for mistreating you while he was absent even if they were trying their best to alleviate your pain. When the room was empty, he had knelt down next to you, trying to bandage you, though his limited knowledge of such things frustrated him before he whimpered on your lap. Suffocating himself within his own tears.

He sobbed uncontrollably while you whispered sweet words of comfort to him, "I'm sorry, I'm deeply sorry,... " He doesn't know anything; he doesn't even know how to protect his pregnant wife and their unborn child. He became frustrated with himself as he bit his lip, drawing blood, and vented his feelings to you: "My sweet girl, I can't even protect you."

"I'm frightened," he confessed as he pecked the back of your hand before peering at you while tears gushed down his ashen cheeks, his eyes begging for forgiveness. "I will never leave you again, my love. I promise."

________________________________________

Aemond had just returned from an expedition with Vhagar. He had received a notice from the Keep informing him that you had been the victim of an attempted assassination. No matter how he urged Vhagar to fly faster, she did not advance him far enough for him to be satisfied with the pace.

Vhagar landed outside the gates after entering the Red Keep's border. His dignity eluded him as he fled. Even though they paid no heed at Aemond, the knights were perplexed by the prince's unexpected action. Whenever a maester attempted to stop the prince's advances, he was silenced by the prince's gaze, too scared to face the wrath of the second prince as he lived up to his infamous reputation.

He gasped for air when he saw you laying on your shared bed and then walked cautiously over to you, as if not to scare you. "What happened to him?" he whispered, his voice cold yet soothing.

"Dead, Aemond," You immediately embraced the evidently shaken man, and he reciprocated the embrace, trying to ease his tremors. He felt disgusted with himself for not being able to even protect you through such a catastrophic event, yet he was also relieved that you were still alive and breathing and that your pregnancy was not affected. "I am afraid." You added before Aemond gave you a tender kiss.

He inspected your wounds delicately, asking, "Where does it hurt?" You pointed to the locations of all the injuries and recounted what had happened in extensive detail while he grunted in agreement. If it had been someone else, you may have assumed they were not paying attention, but Aemond had a different way of expressing it; after kissing you once again, he cleansed your wounds and covered them with fresh cloths.

His brows furrowed as he was plainly distressed and lost in thought. You smiled before placing your lips against his in an attempt to console him, and he moaned in surprise but returned the kiss deeply. He guided you with his hand behind your neck and did not rush the tender moment you two were sharing. He pressed his forehead against yours after several kisses and whispered lowly, "I'll kill them all, every last one of them."

"I'll win this war for you and for our child, my lady, my (Y/N)."

________________________________________

Jacaerys, who seeks to control his emotions as advised by his teacher, couldn't help but spout incoherent obscenities when the information was presented to him. He had just completed sealing the partnership of the North when he received unfortunate news as soon as he arrived in Dragonstone.

He projected his voice into the room: "When did it take place?" The black council stayed silent. Mysaria, the acknowledged Mistress of Whisperers, spoke up with clarity, concerned that she might have disrespected the prince. She had just entered Dragonstone to deliver information when she was met by the prince's wrath.

"Just half a moon ago, my prince," she answered honestly, as Jacaerys clasped both of his hands together and took a deep breath. His anger is only just rising.

He hissed faintly, "And you told me exactly that now?"

Before Mysaria could respond, a Lord intervened, saying, "It is my duty to see you tended first before —"

The thud of the chair collapsing on the floor echoed throughout the room before the prince went out. Although he stomped violently with each stride, they were nevertheless somewhat elegant. The council members lowered their heads as he passed by them, but he didn't take note of it as he glanced at his protector and beckoned for him to follow.

However, once he had left the room, he developed a scowl, and his previous comfortable gait had been replaced with a brisker one. His breath paused as he witnessed you being treated for your injuries by the healers, after presumably having only just nudged the door partially open.

When you spotted him at last, you had the strength to smile at him briefly. He sat next to you on your bed and thanked the healers, pleased with their work, but it pained his heart to see you smiling even in your condition. He showered you with multiple soft kisses on your forehead, nose, lips, and neck before resting his head on your shoulder.

His palm massaged your growing stomach as his voice was low, and he said, "My lovely girls." Despite the fact that he longed for a boy, he caved in and accepted that his unborn child would be a girl as a result of the way you would correct him frequently when he spoke of the male pronouns for your child.

"You were so strong; I am very proud of you." He uttered it before giving you a peck on the stomach; his head is now resting on it as he sings a lullaby while both of you rest. "Do not worry; I am here now, and no one will lay a hand on you ever again."

[youronlydarlin]

warning: crack! Local old man Price being drunk in love with you literally, Gaz being a bit sassy, Gaz being a cutie pie, fluffy

Never in your life did you think that you'd be getting a frantic call from Gaz in the late hours of the night. Telling you to come get the Captain's drunk ass from the pub.

It seemed almost out of character. But Price is struggling to keep himself upright while his arm is slinged over Kyle's shoulder, who looks like he's about ready to cry. You could compare yourself to an angel with the way Kyle looks at you as if you just took all his problems away. He slowly moves the Captain down to the floor, muttering something to him before helping him sit upright. And he doesn't even argue, looking like one of the passed out drunks in the dark alleyways.

Kyle rushes to your side and braces himself by holding on to both sides of your shoulder. He looks, and acts as if an angry mob carrying a bunch of pitchforks were just hot on his trail, quickly looking back to Price then to you, Price. Then, you again. You open your mouth to say something, before he beats you to it.

" You don't know know, but those folks in there were glaring at me like they wanted me DEAD."

He accentuates his words with quite a rough shake to your shoulders, making your vision swim for a moment.

"All because he."

Points an accusatory finger at Price.

"Wouldn't stop talkin' bout you."

The finger is now pointed at your chest. And he pants like that explanation just drained years from his life. You feel sorry, really. Though you weren't the one getting smashed in a pub, it still somehow felt like you had somewhat of a responsibility to keep your lover away from causing a disturbance.

So you tell Kyle a quick sorry, and a ‘I'll make it up to you, I swear. Which he teasingly answers with a 'you, better. Gesturing over to Price, Kyle gives you a nod before you two make your way over to the drunken man to help him on his feet. Even with both of your strengths combined it still proves as a tough job to make Price stand up. He's slightly slurring his words, something along the lines of "Piss off, m' taken..." You don't know. It's hard to make out anything when he's resting his whole weight on both of you. Nearly falling over when he almost trips on his own pair of wobbly legs.

It feels like you just had a boulder off your back when you finally managed to get him into the backseat of your parked car. Both you and Gaz taking a moment to straighten your backs, free from the suffocating weight of the man who's physique is comparable to a bear.

You feel even worse when Kyle immediately slumps to the passenger seat. You hope the night hasn't drained him out much, but by the looks of it, he's probably exhausted. Taking a moment to breath, you try and wrack your brain for a reason on why this happened in the first place. Or more rather, why Price decided to suddenly drink himself to oblivion. Climbing into the drivers seat you offer a small tired smile to Kyle which he offers back.

"M' really sorry for the trouble he's caused.."

He gives a breathy chuckle. Looking slightly guilty himself.

"Don't be. I should've taken it as a bad sign when the Captain's already downed three shots in a minute.."

You both laugh at that, before Kyle tips his head to the Price's direction. Oh yeah, better check up on him. You turn in your seat to get a better view of your lover. He has his head down, fisherman hat slightly obscuring his handsome face, and you really can't stay mad at him. Not like you were even mad in the first place. You're sure he has his reasons.

"Hey, hubby..."

You say, and it sounds so gentle, and soft that it's immediately grabbed at his attention. You try and place a hand on his thigh, when all of a sudden he smacks it away.

...

You're left dumbfounded, eyes blown wide. And Gaz looks as every bit as surprised as you are. Mouth agape, hand slightly hovering over it like he had just witnessed a scandal.

"My partner's gonna get mad if you touch me like that, and m' not interested."

He stubbornly says. Turning his face, and body away from you like a child throwing a tantrum.

You have half a mind to hit him on the head for not recognizing you. But you'd rather not start anything in the car, especially in front of Gaz who looks like he's just watched both of his parents fight.

You sigh, admitting defeat, and starting the car, opting to just let Price explain once he's sober. Minutes pass and you're on your way home, Kyle's tapping away on his phone. Occasionally chatting with you, and aside from the fact that Price is now squeezing himself on the farthest corner of the vehicle to get away from you, you can say that the atmosphere's a lot less tense now. More bearable, at least.

You try communicating with Price again. See if he'll give you a proper answer this time.

"You know, never did l think I'd see you absolutely shitfaced after a night out in the pub.."

You say to him. Surprisingly, he answers you. Albeit a bit gruffly, considering his alcohol induced state.

"Jus' didn't wanna get cold feet.."

"From what..?"

"My proposal..."

"What kind of proposal..?"

"The one with a ring..."

You almost crash the car.

a/n: UHHHHH. If you guys don't get the ending it's because reader thought that Price ment a business proposal or something but he was actually just nervous to ask them to marry him. Sorry if this was confusing 😭. Once again, practicing my fluff, n english skills. So this might be bad. But M' getting better, I think! Ne ways, hope you're having a better day/night, my loves!

Yours, truly,

–dolly