#the scenario had me absolutely sobbing.

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.1K]

Jealousy, reassurance and Steve. Prompts: “why didn’t you tell me where you were?” And “I’m not being overdramatic.” Was this supposed to be a 500 word prompt? Yes, we don’t talk about it.

You hated it, you hated it, you hated it.

It was a gross feeling, an awful sensation that felt thick like tar, clinging to your chest, enough of it to make you ache and feel heavy. It crawled up your throat, making you feel too hot and by the time you’d spotted your boyfriend in the food court, standing talking to a pretty blonde girl, the lunch you’d brought him had went cold in your hand.

Anxiety? Perhaps not. Jealousy? You hated that that emotion seemed to sit better on your tongue, bitterly so.

And when Steve waited for you in his car later, the engine running and the heating on full so it was warm enough for you, jealousy still clung to you in an ugly way.

“Hey, babe,” Steve greeted as you slumped into the passenger seat. He was reading the back of a new cassette tape, absent minded as he scratched off the price sticker and leaned over to give you a kiss. He didn’t seem to notice - or mind - that you turned and gave him your cheek. “How was work?”

You hummed, non committal and fussed with your bag, pushing it down into the footwell. “Was fine,” you mumbled. “Yours?”

You wondered if this was when Steve admitted to rendezvousing with a girl in secret, if he’d try to deny it. The logical part of your brain told you that there was absolutely nothing secret about meeting someone in the middle of the busy food court on a Saturday afternoon, but the jealous bubble that had grown inside of you was having none of it. It grew and grew, a blue-green ball that took up all the cracks and crevices between your ribs until it felt like you’d burst from the pressure.

Steve was backing out of the parking space, his arm thrown around your headrest and he nodded, eyes on the rear window. “Yeah, yeah, it was alright. Got busy after lunch so it wasn’t too slow, y’know?”

“Right.” You nodded, suddenly finding breathing a weary task. Your throat was tight, your eyes hot. Lunch. “I, uh— I came to visit you on mine. My lunch.”

Steve blinked, chancing a quick glance at you now he was on the straight road back to Hawkins. He blinked in surprise. “You did? I hate that I missed you, babe, m’sorry.” His hand found your knee and squeezed. “I must’ve been in the back or something.”

You didn’t say anything. Not for a few minutes. Because Steve was your first real relationship you didn’t know the rules and you didn’t know what to say and you’d never, ever experienced the kind of fizzing, hot dread that was clawing at your throat—

“Did you go out at lunch?”

Steve turned to look at you once more, a fleeting glance with knitted brows and a small, if not unsure, smile on his face. You were being weird. Your voice was quieter than normal, soft and formal all at once and you hadn’t put your hand over his as it sat on your knee still.

“Yeah,” he told you, wondering why you asked. “I forgot mine at home, ran to the food court and grabbed some fries.” His thumb rubbed over you. “Must’ve been when I missed you, huh?”

“Mmm,” you hummed again, head ducked, fingers tangled in your lap. Steve was frowning. “Did you go back to the store? After?”

“What?” It was becoming harder to concentrate on the road. The street lights flickered to life as the evening set in and the orange-white glow of them made the wet in your eyes shine. Steve was alarmed, wondering why on earth you looked like you were close to tears. “Baby— after I got my fries? I mean, yeah?”

Steve would’ve almost missed the way your bottom lip trembled if he hadn’t slowed for the stop sign. “Honey? What? What’s going on?”

You broke then, watery eyes and lip tucked between your teeth as you tried not to let out the audible sob that was stuck in your throat. It was a silly thing, to feel such intense emotions, especially over a scenario you knew little about, but that heavy feeling had clawed at your chest all day and you felt smaller than you ever had, too hot and itchy to be in your own skin and something - somehow - had to get out—

“Baby,” Steve was more than alarmed now, wide eyed as he pulled over to the side of the road, the wheel turning dramatically in his hands as he killed the engine and unbuckled his belt. “Baby, what is it, huh? C’mon, talk to me—“

He was leaning over the console to you, brown eyes shining with concern as one big hand chased your wet cheek, pushing at you softly until you lifted your chin for him. Steve made a soft noise at the sight of you, glassy eyed and huffing as you tried to tamper down your shaky breaths.

“What’s wrong?”

“Why didn’t you tell me where you were?” It wasn’t what you had planned to say, but it was the only thing that made it past your lips in the moment.

The boy’s face crumbled in confusion, brows creased. “At lunch? I did…what?”

You sniffed, immediately feeling silly but you were too far gone, too deep in. You swiped hastily as your cheeks, too meanly for Steve’s liking and he chased your fingers with much kinder ones.

“You said you went back to the store,” your breath hitched, a shuddering thing as you pulled in a gasp of air. God, this was so silly, this was so stupid. Your body burned. “After your lunch— you said you went back.”

Steve looked at you a little plainly, the little gears that most men had in their heads whirring into overdrive. He looked confused, grasping at your words and trying to decipher what they meant. “Yeah?” He tried weakly.

“But I saw you,” another hiccup, another fresh tear that you managed to catch before Steve did and the boy frowned deeper when you pulled your face away from his touch. “I saw you in the food court, you were talking to a girl.”

You were very aware of how childish the sentence was as it left your lips. But you were tired, defeated. You’d held onto the jealousy and fear and anxiety all day and now that it was out, you were exhausted, shoulders slumping and mouth twisted into a pout that Steve really wanted to be able to kiss away.

But recognition settled over him at your words and his lips fell into a small ‘o’ of understanding. He tried not to smile, he really did, knowing how much it would upset you further, so he pressed his lips together and nodded before speaking.

“You saw me with Tammy Thomson.” It wasn’t a question.

You sniffed and shrugged, suddenly playing indifference now you knew the blondes name.

“Baby,” Steve tried again, bringing his hand back up to sweep along your jaw, his thumb pushing gently against your cheek. It was a fond touch, dripping in affection and you so wanted to lean into it. “She was an old school friend.”

You scoffed. You might have not went to Hawkins High like Steve had, but you’d had enough conversations with Robin and Eddie to know the list of people that had crushed hard on Steve. Tammy Thomson’s name had come up on serval occasions.

“You weren’t going to tell me you ran into her?” You mumbled, staring at your skirt.

Steve floundered for a second, lips moving without sound as he tried to find the right words before settling on the honest to gods truth. “I actually kinda forgot.” He shrugged, apologetic. “I wasn’t thinking about it. It, uh, it wasn’t an important part of my day, y’know?”

Embarrassment washed over you in a hot, sticky curtain, leaving you just as teary as before. You hated what you were insinuating with your words, what you were accidentally accusing Steve of. He wasn’t trying to hide anything from you, despite what your brain had told you all day. He hadn’t done anything wrong.

“God— urgh,” your eyes watered again but you squeezed the heel of each palm to them before the tears could fall. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I, I’m sorry. Can you take me home? Please.”

The car drop sat at the side of the road, the inside cooler now the engine wasn’t running and you hated the idea of someone you knew driving by and seeing your tear stricken face - or worse, thinking that at this was the spot you’d chosen to make out with your boyfriend.

Although, you’d much prefer that right now.

“Hey, hey,” Steve’s voice was achingly soft and closer than before as he moved in. His hands found your wrists and gently pulled them away from your face, easing the pressure you’d put on your poor, swollen eyes. “C’mon now, talk to me? Please?”

You blinked as the world and the boy came back into view, lip still trembling and you felt too soft, too delicate, way too vulnerable. Steve’s gaze was just as gentle though, kinder than you thought you deserved.

“I shouldn’t have—“

Accused? Spied? You weren’t sure what you were going to say but Steve interrupted you regardless. “Wanna know what I was thinking about?” His thumbs stroked over the soft skin on the inside of your wrists as he held them between you both. He didn’t wait for an answer. “You.”

You could’ve cried again if Steve had let you, but he seemed to sense the stuttering of your chest and he smiled, a little teasing, a lot loving. “You, fries - of course, how much I hate my boss, where I wanted to take you out for dinner tomorrow, how I heard about this new movie I thought you’d like.”

Adoration filled the cavernous space your jealousy had once been.

“I think about you a lot,” Steve told you, grimacing playfully like it was something shameful and secretive. It made you smile, head falling forward to rest against your joined hands. “It’s sick, actually, right?”

You nodded, face still hidden and joining in on the joke because you didn’t know what else to do or say. Not in the car at least. Maybe, you thought, when you got back home you’d invite the boy in and cover him in kisses. Apologetic ones, loving ones, doting ones, from head to toe if you had to.

“You okay?” He asked, more serious now. “Can you look at me?”

How could say no?

You lifted your head and Steve tutted, lips pressed thin as he took in your puffy eyes and tear streaked cheeks. He used your hands in his to wipe away the damp tracks, so much softer than you’d done before, making you treat yourself with so much more care and kindness.

He raised his brows, waiting on an answer.

“I’m okay,” your voice was raspy from emotion and you coughed, embarrassed. “Steve, I’m sorry.”

Steve shook his head shrugging. “It’s okay. Just— just talk to me next time, yeah? Don’f tiptoe around what’s making you sad, babe. I wanna be able to fix it for you.”

You nodded, still aching with all the emotion, both good and bad. The self conscious side of you couldn’t help but ask, “do you think I was being overdramatic?”

Steve’s lip quirked up, something he managed to tame quickly. He frowned, leaning in to press a kiss at your hot cheek. “You?” He murmured into your skin, nose pressed to the soft skin by your mouth. “Overdramatic? My crybaby? Since when?”

There was laughter laced in his words, a light teasing you’d taken months to get used to but you recognised it for what it was. Fondness, familiarity, a way to break the heavy tension and make you smile.

So you did, lips lifting and brows crinkling all at the same time. “I’m not being overdramatic!” You watched Steve grin as he started the car again, looking both ways before pulling back into the lane. “I thought— I thought you were—”

“What?” Steve glanced at you, grinning. He caught your hand and lifted it to his lips, stamping a kiss on the back of it and held it on your lap, not letting go. “You thought I was gonna get my fries and runaway with Tammy Thomson? Never to return?”

You didn’t say anything, you just say back in the chair and tried not to pout, because, yeah, that’s exactly what you thought. You just hated how stupid it sounded coming from someone’s mouth and not your own head.

“And leave you?” Steve tutted, head shaking as he kept up the playful tone. There was a lot of love on his eyes when he looked over at you. “Baby, c’mon now.”

[randomshyperson]

Best (Girl)Friends - Wanda Maximoff x Rogers!Reader

Summary: Wanda sympathizes with your willpower. 70 years on ice is a long time to wait for an intimate touch. And being the good friend that she is, Wanda offers you some help.

Warnings: (+18), some vague plot, smut with virginity loss, Rogers!Reader following all Wanda’s wishes, power bottom!Wanda, kissing, friends to lovers, mutual pining, explicit consent but Wanda being a tease and a bit possessive. | Words: 4.893k

A/-N-> I’m pretty sure this was a request, but I couldn’t find it anywhere. 

General Masterlist | AO3 | Wattpad |

-&-

Shield acted as if they won the lottery.

In a way, it felt like that. Two Rogers siblings found on the same day would probably yield some promotions within the teams responsible, and a nice image bonus with the US government. 

But while Captain America was found in a negative temperature on the other side of the planet, his sister destroyed an entire building with her sudden appearance inside a blue explosion a few hours later.

In your defense, you had no idea what was about to happen. 

One minute, you were inside a Howard Stark-designed marine suit at the bottom of the ocean. But in Shield's defense, you were disobeying the orders of your director, that is, Margaret Carter on the phone, who five minutes earlier insisted that she would not risk losing another Rogers and that reaching the cube was not worth the risk to your safety, but you still put on the prototype underwater suit and dived in search of the item, which, to you, was the key to finding your brother.

You were right, in a way. Touching the cube with the determined idea that you would like to see Steve again really worked. The problem was how it happened. 

The explosion was all around you, and you saw nothing but the beam of blue light that forced you to close your eyes. One moment you were deep in the sea, and the next you were in the middle of one of the Shield Secret Bases, a thousand of bricks flying around with the force of the explosion.

Your presence in the secret room of Project PEGASUS caused Shield to be on high alert, and a dozen rifles to be pointed in your face.

But it was all cleared up in no time and ended with your figure handcuffed on the seat of a government Jet on its way to New York.

Unlike Steve, you were awake. And not the least bit in the mood to follow Nick Fury's theatrical demands.

"That's to avoid shock, Miss Rogers-"

"Absolutely not, Nicholas." You cut him off impatiently, your hands-free since Shield had clarified exactly who you were. "The first thing I'm saying to my brother won't be a lie."

Nick sighed. "I understand it's a delicate situation, Miss, but Captain Rogers has been frozen for too long. An innocent fantasy is meant to lessen the shock of the truth."

You skirted Nick without caring about the speech. "There's no way to lighten news like this one. We're both in the future, for Chris’s sake! That it's absurd enough. No more lies, and let me see my brother for once. You have no idea how long I've been waiting for that." 

Fury didn't have the heart to insist, not only because he had another supersoldier getting him out of the way, but because of the emotion in your voice. He waved in dismissal to any soldier more curious about your determined walk, and no one interfered as you made your way to the room where they placed your brother.

Shield had begun to create a scenario around him that made you chuckle in irony. You dismissed the agent posing as a nurse with a look, and Nick allowed you to be alone in the room, and without wasting any time, you made your way to the bed.

Steve looked the same as he did the day he disappeared, and you felt a sob break in your throat. Maybe the sound woke him up.

He opened confused eyes at you, and unlike him, you had aged a lot since the last time he had seen you when you were still a child. 

"Hey, Stevie." Your greeting came hoarsely, laden with emotion. Steve took a moment to recognize you.

"Y/N?" He asked, tense and startled. You could almost see the gears of his brain working, the way he tried to recognize his surroundings as well. "God, how long have I...?"

"Longer than you can imagine, big brother. Much longer." You replied before hugging him tightly. 

This must have been the last entirely friendly interaction you had with your brother, a reunion bittersweet for its peculiarities that was unable to conciliate years of differences between the two of you. Nor did the ice erase your hurt over Steve sending you away from the war when your parents passed away, or make you forget the years of training and working for Shield in search of him once you were back in Brooklyn. Nor did it change Steve's view of how he wanted to protect and keep out of trouble - which included superhero work - his younger sister who he had vowed to take care of.

But it was indeed an undeniable amusement to the rest of the team that the personalities of the Rogers siblings were so blatantly different, and it caused some apprehension every time Steve had to witness you leaving the tower in some sports car borrowed from Tony Stark while dressed in leather jackets borrowed from Natasha Romanoff.

The apex that you were entirely corrupted for all that he expected from a proper 1950s girl came in the addition of a certain angry witch to the team a while later.

Of course, the close age - if one ignores the years between the time jump and your arrival - you and Wanda had made your friendship an inevitability. But this doesn't mean that witnessing your clear crush on the new Avenger wasn't giving your older brother a headache.

Natasha thinks he deserved some credit. Considering he was a white man from the 1950s who was frozen before appearing in a new century, Steve was pretty open-minded. She was pretty sure this was due to the closet years of keeping a secret crush on his best friend, but she wouldn't be mean enough to torment Steve with that. 

And besides this, you were also getting used to the new century. And with the possibility of being able to have feelings for Wanda in an open and free way, so different from the world you lived in before.

The witch, on the other hand, had the greatest of fun tormenting you as much as she could while she waited for you to be ready.

And these teases came at every opportunity Wanda could take, from summer days at the tower pool where she had an excuse to wear bikinis around you and make a complete mess of you with the "friendly cuddling" which is how she came to justify the fact that your room was hers now and that there was nothing more platonical than sleeping cuddled up to your best friend.

With each passing moment, you grew comfortable and certain in your own feelings, parallel to which you became more confident in your powers and Wanda began to feel that the tables were turning on her every time a tickle war ended with you using your super-strength to pin her to the bed or you could effortlessly carry her away from a training session or conflict.

It didn't take long for the situation to become unbearable - Wanda was sure she would combust in the next cuddling session if she felt your body against hers again without that leading to what she really wanted, so now she had to take drastic action.

Communication was always the key to everything.

"Have you ever had sex?"

Your cell phone fell hard on your face. Wanda giggled at the mirror reflection: she was on her back brushing her hair and stealing glances at your figure lying on the bed, still learning to use the current technology but definitely loving the whole thing.

Snorting in embarrassment, you pushed the electronic device down onto the mattress and massaged your sore face. "I'm beginning to think you enjoy seeing me like this."

"What do you mean?" She asks innocently, turning her attention to the ring drawer. 

"Disconcerted."

Wanda chuckles mischievously, running her fingers through the options and trying to decide between the items as you stare at the ceiling. "I know you're like 100 years old, but won’t you tell me that it never happened? Not even when you became a hottie super soldier?"

You grunted in shame, covering your face with your arm. Wanda giggled again, this time putting on one of the silver rings. You were too far away to notice how her fingers were slightly trembling, giving away how she was equally affected by the conversation. But unlike you, Wanda knew how to keep it cool very well.

"Wandaaa." You grumbled, and she almost dropped the subject when you added. "No."

"No, what?"

With a sigh, you removed your arm from in front of your face but didn't risk looking at her. "Back then...I just, I didn't have the courage I guess. You know, girls were supposed to be virgins to marry, in theory. And well, I wasn't going to marry anyone because I was too busy working. And when I got into the army, the vast majority of the guys I knew started looking at me with contempt and indignation, and then came the serum I just...didn't know how to handle the attention."

Wanda spun the stool she was sitting on toward you, listening closely to your words. 

You sighed shyly. "I mean I had opportunities, but I just didn't feel comfortable following them. I wanted... to be with someone who liked me. Not the super serum, you know? Most people were only talking to me because of it. They hoped to gain some kind of benefit from meeting the American Soldier. I don't know, maybe it's just me trying not to sound so... cowardly."

Wanda stood up with a sigh, and you swallowed dryly, keeping your gaze on the ceiling until her face appear in your field of vision.

"Detka, you are literally the bravest person I know." Reminded the witch, bringing a small smile to you. "And there's nothing wrong with not being ready, or waiting for the right person. Sex is intimate, it makes sense that you want it to happen with someone you like and who likes you back."

"Thank you for being understanding." You muttered, swallowing dryly when instead of returning to her previous activities, Wanda sat down on the bed next to you. With a sigh and shifting your gaze to the ceiling again, you ventured, "Have you?"

Wanda's teasing giggle brought a deep color to your face. "Have I what?"

Snorting, you retorted, "Come on, you're the one who brought this up."

Wanda pinched you gently on the belly, smiling at your complaint. “A few times, actually.'"

It made no sense at all to feel jealous of a time you didn't even know her, and that you were somehow in the past, but still, a bitter burn filled your stomach. Wanda, the telepath that she was, seemed to know exactly what you were thinking, and without caring whether it would make your heart stop or not, approached you to use your torso as her personal pillow. With two legs on which side of your hips, she stared down at you.

"But it was nothing outstanding." She began, using her fingertips to wander all the exposed skin of your neck and shoulders through your pajamas and having the best time in the world in watching every single hair of you shiver. "I kept making the same mistake in settling down for mediocre sex. No real feelings, no passion, much less love. Always end up frustrated and having to finish the job alone."

You frowned in confusion. "Alone...?" But it only took one look from Wanda for you to understand what she meant and choke, your face pink again. The younger girl giggled, leaning her elbow on you to rest her chin on her own hand and take a closer look. 

"Eyes on me, baby." She asked, hoping you would overcome your own shyness to do so. When you follow her request, Wanda was ready to risk everything. "You know I love you, don't you?"

You sighed, nodding. "I love you too, Wanda." Your confession was huskier than hers, and she had to ignore the sincerity of what that really meant in order to stay focused on that afternoon's goal. "Kind of the essential thing on the best friend package, isn't it?"

Wanda chuckled, rolling her eyes. 

Of course, you would make a joke to lessen the intensity of the moment, if she was nervous in all her confident glory, she could have sympathy for you, who was literally having to deal with your long-time crush practicing lying over you.

"Friends help each other, don't they? Especially best friends." She retorted, and you frowned in confusion.

"Yeah, I guess… why, did something happen?" Before your confusion could turn to worry entirely and you could finish the movement of getting up, Wanda pressed her hands on your shoulders and pushed you back on the mattress.  "Hey." You chuckled puzzledly, but the laughter died into an affected sigh when Wanda simply shifted in your lap completely, in a very non-platonic way.  "Right, whatever makes you comfortable." You mutter, very aware of the heat radiating from the girl's body on top of you, who just chuckled mischievously at your shyness.

"Relax, dorogoya." Wanda reasserted in a low, dangerously seductive voice. Her hands were on your shoulders still, rubbing your loose pajamas and somehow pushing them down to the limits, exposing as much skin as Wanda could manage. "We don't have to do anything you don't want to...but I also need you to tell me exactly what you wanna do and how ready for me you are."

Your throat went dry, and Wanda's dilated pupils were not helping the words to form. She bit her lip, seeming to have the best time with your clumsiness.

"I-I... god, Wanda..." You gasped and she leaned in completely until her breath was hitting your cheek.

"How about a kiss? Don't tell me you never got one?" She mocked and you had to chuckle dryly.

"You can be quite an ass, Maximoff." You murmured with your eyes closed, risking moving your hands to her thighs around your hips, the action making you both hold your breaths for a second. "I've kissed before."

"Hmm, I see." She hits back, deviating from the original path and letting her mouth tease your jaw, feeling your hands squeeze her thighs gently with every kiss across your skin. What Wanda wouldn't do to see you lose control...

"I like kissing." You confess hoarsely, mostly because she’s making you so nervous that the words are simply spilling. You kept your eyes closed and your neck stretched to give her more room to don’t stop. Aware of your words, Wanda hums again as she keeps depositing chaste kisses on your collarbone. "I like...kissing girls."

It should be a heartfelt confession, one that Wanda theoretically knew about but that you've never put into words before. But suddenly, Wanda bit down on you, hard enough for you to grunt in pain, opening your eyes. She grabs your cheeks with one hand, a hot fury in her eyes that makes you shudder.

"Rule number one, don't talk about other girls when you have one on top of you."

You open your mouth like a fish, babbling nonsense for enough time for Wanda to make a motion of leaving. But that makes you react. "I didn't mean to upset you!" You try quickly, hands moving on an instinct to hold her by the waist on top of you. Wanda has to bite her lips hard to keep from letting out a much more submissive sound than she would like when you just squeeze her firmly to keep her there. "Wanda, please forgive me! I-you caught me off guard, alright? I’m nervous… We’re friends and suddenly… you’re so close and I’m talking nonsense! Please, just… tell me what you want to hear.”

She huffs impatiently, crossing her arms and turning her face away as you sigh in defeat. Wanda wants to be annoyed, but you're so lovely when you lean your face into her, trying to ease her anger with chaste kisses on her cheeks and neck until you manage to get from her a stubborn smile. She has no choice but to uncross her arms to slide her hands up your shoulders, wrapping herself around your body again. 

She feels you smile and relax completely, the kisses getting firmer on her neck until they tickle and elicit a husky giggle from her. Still, Wanda settles a hand in your hair, and the slight tug to bring your faces close together again draws a deep sigh from you.

"I don't want to hear about other girls, detka. This is your last warning." She says seriously with eyes glowing red for a moment. Wanda had hoped to have a direct effect, but to her surprise, a teasing smirk began to form on your lips.

"Wow, you're totally jealous." You accused and she grimaced, trying to pull away once more. But that only made you burst out into a teasing giggle, while your strong arms wrapped around her torso, bringing her back to you effortlessly while keeping her locked into you. Wanda was clearly aware of how shaky her legs were with the motion, and trying to walk away again would only result in her falling to the ground. "Wanda, darling, the girls I kissed must be a hundred years old by now."

Reluctantly and with a rosy tinge in her cheeks, she mutters, "Honestly, I was hoping to be your first."  Her confession makes you rise your eyebrows in surprise, only to smile fondly next. Your hands moved again, caressing her back in an attempt to relax her as well. 

"Hey, look at me." You call out gently, waiting for the girl's stubbornness to subside with the help of your caresses. Wanda has a stronger color on her face when she finally raises her eyes to you again. "I didn't imagine this was anything of relevance to you. But I haven't lied before, I've never been with someone intimately. If you still want to, you can be my first... everything else."

She twitches her nose softly. "You’re making it sound like it’s a favor for me. I only want to... if you do too." She retorts with a certain determination in her gaze, and though you feel your cheeks burn with the ultimatum, you nod foolishly before breaking the distance.

It catches Wanda by surprise, the sudden kiss, and you're despairing when she doesn't respond immediately, pulling away at the same speed you approached. "Sorry." You say mortified and breathless, your lips tingling. "I like you, Wan. I really do. I just thought you should know before..."

She places a finger over yours, shushing your nervous anticipation. Her free hand goes to your cheek and Wanda pulls you close again, her eyes darkening in a way that makes you shiver entirely.

"Like I said before, just relax, baby. Stop overthinking." She whispers before she firms her mouth over yours. It's a sensual, intense kiss unlike any you've ever received. Wanda seems determined to drive you to complete insanity. She kisses you unhurried, waiting for permission to slide her tongue into yours, and giving you no room to breathe properly, head spinning with those new yet so familiar needy feelings. She kisses and kisses you until you're restless beneath her, your body burning and your hands curious testing limits that she doesn’t impose, only encourages you to break. Her taste and smell intoxicate your every sense, the feel of her body molded to yours, teasing your reactions and almost making you lose control of your strength. The tight squeeze you give her when she sucks your tongue earns a whimper from her that sticks and echoes in your mind, making you dizzy with lust. When she finally breaks the kiss to breathe, her lips are swollen like yours, and her pupils are so dilated that there is no green left in them. Your face burns for the matching fire you find in her gaze.

You are unable to find any words to describe this moment, so you only stare at her, blushing over the smirk that starts to form on her lips once she catches the adoring look you’re giving her.

Licking your lips to try to gain some focus, you dare to ask: “Was it…good?” You would have added “Did you like” or “Was I enough” if Wanda didn't break into a giggle that shut you entirely, your cheeks burning. Before the shame could surface, she grabbed your cheeks again. “You’re too cute, darling.” She says, kissing you again more quickly than before. Her hands move to yours then, intertwining your fingers together to drag them on her thighs, down, and then back up, this time under her skirt. Your heart stopped, and Wanda turned her dark eyes back to yours, her voice so low you wouldn't have heard it if you weren't so close. “Don’t be shy, see for yourself how much I like kissing you.” She whispers darkly.

When she kisses you again, her hands guide you under her skirt until you're in her front. The mere contact of your fingers with the wet spot on her panties makes you groan and break the kiss, needing a moment to just take a breath and calm your nerves. Wanda doesn't wait long, releasing your hands to move hers to your shoulders, needing firm support now that you're so close to where she needs it so badly. She gasps in surprise when your hand gives a quick tug that rips her panties off at once, a wave of new wetness running down her thighs in the same second.

You don't say anything about it, just turns your face to kiss her again, the same way she did before, and somehow even dirtier and more sexual, drawing gasps with every flick of your tongue against hers.

Because Wanda's your best friend, she wants to taunt you - tease you about being better at this than you let on, but all the words fall away at once when your fingers fill her in one go. All Wanda can do is moan, choking on the kiss as she feels you slide into her with such ease. 

"Fuck, detka." She moans with her eyes tightly closed, just as she pulls away to breathe. Your response is to just continue your movements, in and out of her without haste, feeling every mention of her warm walls squeezing your fingers. Wanda is burning on top of you and the sound of her drenched pleasure echoes low. You hum contentedly, nipping at her neck as she can no longer match the kiss, so close to her own climax. Your hand adjusts, increasing its reach, and when your thumb gives her clit the attention it needs, Wanda lets out an affected squeal. "W-wanna cum, baby. Please!"

You bite back a smile, surprised and impressed by the question hidden in the statement. You adjust to face her and wait for Wanda to feel the change to look at you too. The dark, lust-filled pupils leave you breathless.

"You can cum, sweetheart, you don't even have to ask." You assure her softly, never stopping your movements inside her. "I'm here to please you." You whisper, and it's enough for Wanda to break into an affected moan, hips thrusting helplessly against your hand until she arches her back and lets out the longest, dirtiest moan you've ever heard. 

Her eyes flutter shut as she rides her high on your soaked hand, until she finally opens scarlet pupils for you, a long groan leaving her lips as the last sensations of the best orgasm she ever had fade away.

Wanda turns her full attention to you in the next second, stealing quick but intense kisses until a husky giggle leaves her lips and tickles yours.

"You're too good at this for your own good." She prompts, and the compliment takes a heartfelt giggle from you. You try to relax under her gaze but Wanda's dilated eyes have a different twinkle as she holds your cheeks more firmly. "I think I want to keep you all to myself. Without sharing with anybody else. What do you say, baby?"

You swallow dry, suddenly quite vulnerable "H-hm, like... dating?" You retort in a weak tone of voice because you need to confirm and well the idea that someone as unbelievably awesome as Wanda Maximoff is actually asking for exclusivity with you seems too freaking surreal not to confirm. As many times as necessary.

Wanda giggles mischievously, settling herself on top of your fingers that never left her and sighing as she feels you even deeper than before. "Yeah, just like that." She moans, and you're not sure if she's answering your question or guiding you through the motions, but you get the impression that the answer goes both ways. 

It's not like you will contradict your new girlfriend any further.

Before Wanda could indulge in the sensation again, however, she stopped you with a gentle grip on your wrist. Raising curious eyes to the breathless flushed girl on top of you, your first reaction was to check if you had done something wrong, and by god, hurt her. But Wanda bit back a smile, her other hand going down to your belt.

"We're overdressed, honey." She whispered against your lips, red sparkles playing with the edge of your shirts, teasing them upward. " Strip."

Moaning low against her mouth, Wanda almost didn't let you pull away. In record time, your clothes were off and so were hers, between stolen panting kisses you fell to the mattress again, curious hands urging together.

Wanda pinned you beneath her with no effort despite your super strength, and feeling her naked against your skin drove you to the brink of insanity. She swallowed each moan with her mouth, appreciating the increasingly needy sounds as she fit against your hips, and began to move hers.

Soon, the friction became unbearably arousing and you had to clutch at the sheet, and the headboard. A hot, tight knot at the tip of your stomach left you breathless, every movement of Wanda's hips into yours, the perfect fit between your cunts was enough to make you choke. 

You practically meowed when she got the rhythm right. "O-oh god Wanda! T-there's something... fuck, I can't-"

"I know baby, just let go for me." She panted, her hands clenching the sheet on either side of your head, her hips frantic against yours. "Fuck, you feel amazing" She moans a confession, smiling satisfied at your expression of pure bliss beneath her.

Suddenly the knot bursts, and you're blinded by the pleasure of your first orgasm for a full moment. The headboard snaps in your left hand and Wanda cums in a loud, animalistic moan, spilling herself down on you before collapsing heavily onto your torso, your panting breaths mingling like your juices.

You try to recover together from the intensity of the climax, your hand finding her back on instinct to stroke her as Wanda nestles closer against you, an exhausted, satisfied smile on her lips.

She barely had a chance to lift her face to kiss you when the bedroom door suddenly opened.

"Kid, is everything all right in here I heard something breaking-'" 

You nearly knocked Wanda off the bed in an attempt to cover the two of you with the comforter - and the mattress lost a few springs in the process.

The two Avengers who'd entered the room covered their faces with their hands, but unlike your brother, Natasha was holding back her laughter.

"I'm sorry. We... I... you-"

"Come on Captain, we're leaving." Natasha cut Steve off with a pat on the shoulder, leading the way backward. "Sorry girls, lock the door next time. And well, use protection!" She burst out laughing, ignoring the embarrassed grumbles from you and Wanda, and closing the door.

With the safety of a locked door, you hid your face in your pillow.

"Great, the best day of my life might be ruined because my brother is going to have a stroke."  You grumbled, getting a hearty laugh from the other.

Wanda adjusted herself, stroking your hair until you looked at her again. "Best day of your life, huh? I'm flattered." She teases, smiling at the red that appears on your cheeks.

"As if you weren't cocky enough." You retort in the same tone, adjusting to hold her by the waist and pull her to you, getting on top now. Wanda sighs softly, even warmer with the addition of the blanket now, she finds it kind of hard to concentrate, much more talk. "Thank you, Wands."

Your line surprises her. "For what?"

"For being my first time." You clarify with a shrug, though your gaze was intense. "I've always wanted it to be with someone special, someone I like and trust. And there's no one I love more than you."

Wanda kisses you because she doesn't want to be the type to cry during sex, and she's pretty sure she would. You don't mind, she transmits the feeling through action and well, there are other things you're dying to do other than talk.

There will be time for confessions later.

[al1fers-haven]

Hear me out, Alastor x Vox's wife

Basically, the reader was married to Vox when alive and hated him but couldn't get a divorce. When she died, she went to heaven, but then fell and was found by Vox, who promptly forced her back into the wife role

But, one night, the reader runs away and meets Alastor, and she instantly bonds with him over a mutual hatred of Vox, which turns into them falling in love

Sorry if the idea is too harsh on Vox, just a scenario I've been thinking about for a while

NO! Don't be sorry love. Its absolutely perfect.

"Oh Deer,"

Alastor x Vox's Wife!Reader

Nothing could have prepared you for the pain you felt when falling. The harsh searing pain that enveloped you as you hit the ground and heard that snap. Tears stained your cheeks as you glared up at the heavens. Too focused on your anger and pain to take in your surroundings and where exactly you were. Demons stared as you stood up, a loud groan leaving your figure as the bright gold blood dripped down your back, the sticky substance sticking to your palms as you tried to wipe it off of you. Vox stopped in his tracks, eyes a bit wide as he saw you drag yourself down the street. Valentino looked back at the TV man before following his gaze with a confused look. "Y/n...?" You stopped in your tracks, looking over towards the TV man and scowling. "Y/n? Is that you? What are you doing down here-" You yelped, trying to move away from him. One of the wings on your back flares up and makes you yell. Breathing harshly as you stared at him.

"Stay the HELL away from me you- you vile demon!" You held your palms against the dragging wing. Sobs wracking your whole form.

"Y/n...It's me. It's your husband...Don't you recognize me?" Your eyes widened, pure hatred filling your brain as you stared at him. "You- You nasty man! You horrible human! You are awful!" Vox stared in shock, your true feelings about him now out in the open. "Y/n...you're hurt." He reached his hand out and Valentino walked up to the two of them. All eyes turned to the pitiful display. "Come home, love."

~!~

"Do you even understand what I'm telling you, woman? Get my coffee. And make it the right way." You flinched, eyes looking toward the ground as your eyebrows furrowed. A small scowl on your face.

"I should've divorced you before you died. You cunt." You let out a yelp as he grabbed the neck of the shirt you were wearing, trying to keep you to 'today's time he shoved you inside of a tight outfit you hated. "Oh? Well, why didn't you." You shoved the TV man off of you. Fixing your shirt. "Because I thought maybe, just maybe. You'd leave me for another woman so I could raise our child ALONE." Vox's TC screen glitched, walking up to you. "Don't you DARE bring her into this!" You poked his chest, puffing your own out to seem bigger. "You don't understand how happy I was to hear you had died in that shitty bar lounge you always sat in! How happy I was for her to get to live without your influence!" You stepped forward, making the man step back. "I raised her all on my own and until she died and I did a wonderful job! Thanks to you dying she didn't have to witness that boring excuse of a thing you called love!" He grabbed your hand and threw you to the ground. Huffing as he stared at you with wide eyes. You obviously hit a soft spot. His eyes softened for a moment. "It's such a shame she died so young." Your eyes burned, Vox's eyes looking down on you. Pitying you for the death of your daughter. "." You stood up, storming out of the room and running out of the building. Vox's head turned to hs associates. "When did you have a kid?" Valentino broke the silence.

You sat on one of the benches in the more secluded part of the city, Your wings tucked into your back as you sat next to the little antique shop. Sobs left your figure as you sat there. Unaware of what to do in a situation like this. It was like you were alive all over again, crying over the loss of normalcy when Vox had died. "Hm?" A red-haired man zipped through the radio behind you. Leaning against the staff in his hand as you stood up and wiped your eyes, "Do my eyes deceive me?" The static startled you, jumping a bit before turning around to see the man. "Oh." You blinked a couple times at the odd figure. Huffing as you ran a hand through your hair. "Alastor, right? Vox's horrible horrible enemy?" You crossed your arms, trying to make it seem like you still had some control in your life. "Yes! And you are his....Assistant?" He waved his hand a little bit, trying not to hit a sensitive spot and deal with more of your weeping.

"Ex-wife." He blinked a couple times, laughing and grabbing your Backpack so he could sit down and leave you a seat. "Oh? Do tell more." His smile was eerily comforting, a sigh left your figure as you sat down. Obviously still upset. "I left, like i should've when we were living." The words spat out like venom. Eyes narrowing in on the ground. "He was an ass sure but at first he at least tried to pretend he cared. Just like he did here. I fell, he pretended to care for me enough to get me to call him my husband again and then boom. It was back to the same abuse i got out of in our 30's." You leaned back. The radio demon's frequencies stopped for a moment so he could listen. Anything he could use against Vox was a wonderful addition, no matter the baggage it brought with it. "He beat you?" Alastor tilted his head, mildly amused with this information. "Sometimes, not hard but enough to hurt. Slapping, name-calling, kicking. Things that wouldn't leave too much of a mark." You turned towards him. His smile was a bit tense. "When I had our child, my baby girl he changed a bit. Tried pretending a bit more while I was pregnant with her. He seemed to care for her. but just not for me." Your eyebrows furrowed as you continued. "She died when she was 2. About a year after Vox died from alcohol poisoning in that stupid bar."

Alastor put a hand on your shoulder. Now listening intently. "I'm glad she didn't have to deal with his constant fucking whining." Alastor laughed at that, his eyes closing a bit as he nodded. "Why yes, I have noticed quite a bit that he has a knack for whining and crying." You laughed a bit, finally calming down. "My name is Y/n, by the way." Alastor nodded, sitting up straight before sighing. "I'm aware...Alastor." He shook your hand, watching you laugh a bit more. "Y'know he wanted to name our kid Murphy?" Alastor blinked a couple times before laughing more, shaking his head no. It must have been hours, the two of you laughing in the street at all of the stupid things Vox had done before and after he died. Alastor filled you in on all of the stuff he knew while you told him about simple things.

The two of you calmed down a little bit, a smile on both of your faces as you stared off. The radio demon stood up suddenly and reached for your hand. "Well! Why don't you come to the hotel with me! I'm sure Charlie would love a new girl there!" You looked up at him, chuckling nervously. "Well...I don't know about that Alastor." "Cmon! Just for a night hm? Then we can see if we can make a deal." You grabbed his hand and yelped, suddenly being inside a random hotel with a blonde girl staring.

"Alastor! You're back....who is this?" She pointed towards you, a nervous smile on your face as Alastor twirled you a bit. Your laughter filled the room as you stopped spinning and suddenly appeared inside of better clothing fitting your time, an older 1920s-1950s dress fitting you perfectly. "This darling is Y/n! She was in quite the pickle and after...awhile-" You jumped in, hands clasped in front of you in a polite way. "2 hours." Alastor shook his head. "And after some time of talking I convinced her to take a shot at redemption, dear charlie." Charlie squealed, grabbing your hands and hugging you tightly. (Nearly till you died again.) "Welcome to the hazbin hotel!! I'm so glad Alastor brought you here!" Angel stared confused, looking as Alastor let you readjust his tie . A couple blinked of surprise leaving his figure as you walked away and towards the group. Immediately recognizing angel. "Angel!" He blinked. Staring at you. "Mrs? What are you doing here?" He waved his hand as you hugged him, a small frown appearing on your lips. "I left, me and vox got into another argument and I blew up on him." Angel laughed, hugging you again and sighing. "I wish I was there to see that asshole's face! Did'ya give him hell?!" You nodded excitedly. Looking around and taking a deep breath. "Oh, it feels good to be free again! Oh, how can I thank you Alastor!" Husker stiffened in his place, everyone expecting him to ask for her soul. "Perhaps you can tell me more about your dear ex-husband, hm? Seems like we didn't finish our little chat earlier dear." "Oh! Of course! You're such an angel puddin'! Oh, this is going to be so fun!"

[the-saltiest-saltine]

Reservations and Repose

(Yan!Chrollo x Fem Reader)

@sukunasfavoritehole hopefully this is enough to tide you over until my ao3 finally gets an update hehe

Word count: ~7.3k

------

You’re naïve enough to believe Chrollo’s asleep. He loves that about you.

Warnings: NOT SFW, non -con thigh fucking, somnophilia, drugging, imagined not sfw scenarios etc

a/n: SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG IT WAS 3/4 FINISHED THEN I FORGOT ABOUT IT my sincerest apologies.

Also this is my first time writing smut so please go easy on me 😥

Chrollo is very disappointed in you.

You let him kiss your cheek this morning following a deep sleep. You didn’t reciprocate, though he continues to see your progress and knows that an ever-hopeful yet can be added to the end of that statement. To some extent, the allowance of such an act could be chalked up to his acceptance of you, flaws and all, willing to appreciate the neutrality of it as opposed to ardent rejection. In a matter of weeks, you’ll be returning the gesture. And in a matter of months, you’ll be doing it gladly. Warmth, or perhaps weariness, has slowly but surely seeped its way into your actions recently, your shaky hands finding a place in his, fingers interlaced.

Is that to say he was under the impression that you’d completely given yourself to him? Absolutely not. There’s fear in your smiles, as much as they may have metamorphosed from obviously and mockingly forced to meek and endearing. Chrollo has shown you all that you know he can do. This has been enough to keep you relatively restrained over the months. If he showed you all that he knows he can do, you’d most likely curl up into a ball and sob until you dried out. That’s not necessary, though. It’ll never be.

Like many things, it wasn’t linear. It was a path that went upwards and downwards and forwards and backwards and in cycles, cycles that would always leave you curled up, sobbing in his arms, grasping onto him for whatever comfort it would give. But progress is progress, right?

Ignorantly, he began to believe the crumbs of affection, of acceptance, of acquiescence. Stupidly, he thought you were making progress. It’s been a significant amount of time since he was last this naïve. If he wasn’t so disgruntled by your transgression, he’d most likely bask in the nostalgic feeling. But he can’t, for the time being, because you’re trying to do something very rash.

As unfortunate as it is, you’re trying to leave him.

It’s audacious, having thought that the monumental power difference between you two had been thoroughly demonstrated on multiple occasions, a well established and silently acknowledged fact of your travels with him.

It’s irritating, although regarded with the same irritation as one would have with a pet goldfish trying to jump out of its tank. You silly thing, why do you want to abandon the place in which you are safe?

It doesn’t particularly make sense, though. He’s checked his cards - nothing suspicious has been bought in his name. No travel tickets or prepaid car hire. He’s even checked the jewellery collection - maybe you’d snatched up a nice necklace or bracelet or pair of diamond earrings to pawn off. But again, nothing. No suspicious bags have been packed. No loose tiles or floorboards or ceiling panels to hide supplies in. Your clothes are all neatly folded and hung in your wardrobe. 

You’ve got something up your sleeve- something desperate and jittery and not fully thought out. Something that relies on luck and prayers far more than precision and blow-by-blow planning. He never particularly took you for a daredevil, but to see you get pushed to such a limit, to be forced against your own timid nature, is beyond satisfying. If he could pluck it out of you and analyse it under a microscope, he’d be elated. Or perhaps even, he supposes to himself, he’d be so fulfilled that he might abandon the current pathway of his life, aimless and bloody and cyclical, finally so consumed with his obsession over you that nothing else is valued in the slightest. 

He can’t say he didn’t expect an ulterior motive for your apparent benevolence, at least initially, but for it to be kept up for this long? The stares felt almost too natural. The gradual lessening of your flinches when he placed a hand on your shoulder, the way your gaze would be drawn to him rather than away, even if only to flick away immediately - the subtleties were downright impressive. To be able to track everything simultaneously, to be able to remember to exhibit so many behaviours at once…Perhaps he should be taking acting lessons from you.

Chrollo had watched you, humming a pop tune this morning, cheekily shaking your hips from side to side as you fried some eggs, over easy, the notes sometimes interrupted with a sharp inhale between your teeth when the oil spat just a bit too high and would burn you ever-so-slightly. A domestic sight.

You’d let him give you another kiss on the cheek before he shrugged his coat on, giving you one last lingering glance before he’d walked out the door and into the hallway of the apartment, locking it with warm Nen made of comfort rather than capture. He gave you another cheek kiss (despite his ever-growing urge to dip lower) when he got home to the smell of spices and vegetables and the bubbling sound of a low simmer. You don’t fight them anymore, and barely even recoil now, a result of steady but slight crossing of boundaries - his record was eleven times in one day (at least, his record for when you were conscious) when he was feeling particularly affectionate, although you’d definitely soured up by the end.

The…fantasies he’d had of domesticity…they were just that, weren’t they? Fantasies, mere ideas that were appealing enough to fully flesh out in his mind. Whatever actions you’ve taken, whether it be pecks to the cheek or folding his shirts, staining them with the scent of you, they’ve all been a means to an end. That certainly wasn’t part of the fantasy. 

You’ve been buttering him up like the thick slices of white bread next to his bowl. What a betrayal.

Tonight’s stew is spicy and chunky, served courteously by you. His palate is experienced from an adulthood of travel, wealth, and nights spent with gullible women who couldn’t tell the difference between a Prince Charming and a swindler. Truly, there is little he hasn’t at least tried. Including this.

So, if there’s no other signs of you wanting to leave the comfort of the apartment and the familiarity of his presence, then what could’ve possibly cued him into your motives?

It’s something tenuous, something that could’ve gone unnoticed to anyone else. It’s something subtle, buried under layers of rosemary and thyme and paprika. But diphenhydramine is such an acquired taste. And it’s one that’s made the past few weeks and months crumble to dust.

Oh, you sweet thing.

Acting as oblivious as ever, he spoons chunks of zucchini and carrot onto the bread, taking large bites, chewing and swallowing with purpose, the taste of the sedative lingering. He considers smacking his lips for good measure, to play around with you a bit, but eventually decides against it. That’ll come later.

You sit across from him, silence between you two. Normally, he’d fill it with tales from his busy day - but you’ve been so good lately, that he’s begun to refrain from doing that. Nowadays, he asks you what you’ve been up to, every painstaking detail from your dull days without him. But that’s only if you’ve been good, or at least if he’s under the impression that you’ve been good. As it turns out, you haven’t been good, you aren’t being compliant, and now he simply waits.

You stare into your bowl of stew, but he can tell you’re watching him in your periphery. It’s so very fascinating, the way you absorb each mouthful he takes, washed down with frequent sips of water (there’s no other substances in that, obviously). He takes another swill of the liquid, tilting his head slightly back, and in the corner of his eye, he can see the way you observe his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp. Does it appease you, the sight? Does it intrigue you? Does it make you, even for a moment, reconsider what you’re about to do?

Chrollo pauses for a moment, before placing the half-empty glass back onto its coaster. He knows the smirk that comes onto his face is nothing short of wicked, but he truly can’t help himself. 

“Are you not hungry, my love? You’ve barely touched your food.”

Barely is an understatement. You haven’t touched it at all, in fact. Stupid, really. He knows that you know that he’s observant - but that information is irrelevant in this situation, considering it doesn’t take an keen eye to figure out your pattern of stirring your spoon around, picking up some carrot - even blowing on it for good measure - and nodding along with what few words he spoke initially, before giving an mhm! of agreement and letting it drop back into the bowl. You spend extensive amounts of time apparently fishing for just the right piece of zucchini, sorting through copious amounts of lentils (and seemingly taking the time to individually count them all), dragging chunks up the side of your bowl only to push them back down into the fray of assorted vegetables.

There’s almost a sort of jump in response to the words, ringing clear and well projected. But it’s contained above the shoulders - your head snaps to look at him, your eyes widening momentarily, staring into his own, trapped.

He can feel the shaky breath you take to steady yourself from over here, air stagnant and mouth dry.

“No,” you reply, “not particularly.”

He cocks an eyebrow at that, mouthing an oh before returning to his meal. It doesn’t matter whether you take the bait or not, his suspicions have long since been confirmed. Confirmed, in the sternest sense of the word, syllables enunciated with force, the knowledge of your true intentions well recognised. Whether that displays on his face or within his interactions with you is inconsequential to the known ending of your silly stunt.

The sound of you chewing is enough to bring his attention back out of the bowl. That’s not fake.

So you’re eating it too? It’s certainly a bold move, but one he wouldn’t dare put past you anymore. You were always a clever one, one to be placed a mere few tiers below his own intellect.

He hasn’t caught you swapping the bowl out for a fresh one. Maybe you’ve mastered the art so quickly that even he can’t notice?

No, not likely. Not in just a few months. That’d be impossible.

Your bites of pumpkin are preceded with the slightest hesitation, a quick breath to presumably psych yourself up to the self-sabotage. He hates to see you so scared when you’re properly sharing a meal with him like this, deciding to return to normalcy as a reward for your cooperation.

“Tell me, darling, what did you get up to today?”

Your eyes flick to his, momentarily ensnared in the grey, before looking up at the ceiling to aid in the process of giving a verbal description of what you read, how you cleaned, how you entertained yourself with rearranging your meagre book collection (not his, that would be asking for trouble). The response is practically identical to every other time he’s asked the question, plain and unindulgent. It’s boring, he thinks, even with the unacknowledged omission of the hours you spend staring at the walls and pacing around the living area. He’s tempted to pry into how you decided on tonight’s dish, but decides against it. Not for lenience or mercy, but rather amusement. To give away what he knows now would simply be a waste of a situation you’ll never attempt to put yourself in again.

If you knew what Chrollo knew, would you still bother to indulge him?

You stare at him for a moment, allowing him to draw things out, before nodding at the I see he gives in response. He gives a forward nod to your bowl, giving you gracious permission to eat again after starving you for the length of your interrogation, merciful as ever. Your fear is better contained behind a split second’s confusion before you register the nonverbal instruction, picking up your spoon once more and eating with more confidence this time, taking exaggerated bites of zucchini that barely make it past your teeth, chewed excessively into grey paste before being swallowed. Maybe you reason that if you chew enough, you can break the drug down into something that won’t knock you out. A cute thought.

The spices stain your lips an enticing red, the chilli making them plump up so deliciously. If he kissed them, would they burn him? Would the capsaicin leave his lips tingling, a reminder of your soft touch?

He likes to think he’ll know the answer soon.

Chrollo feigns sleepiness, furrowing his brows in mock confusion as he tells you that he can’t quite keep his eyes open - perhaps he overdid it at work today. 

Yes, work, as he loves to call it, like there’s the possibility of him spending his time away from you at a desk, punching in numbers on a computer, monotonous and repetitive and damn, couldn’t things just switch up for a day? Work, as in a beer-bellied husband whose idea of experimental fashion is changing which tie he wears with the same white button-up and black dress pants each day. Work, as in an assembly line employee who wakes up at three o’clock to be at the factory by four, ready and willing to make whatever sacrifices necessary to support his loved ones. Work, as in something at least vaguely respectable.

Work, as in literally anything other than stealing and slaughtering and scourging.

Chrollo relishes in the way your shoulders relax a little. It’s almost too adorable. Chrollo also relishes in the way they tense up again when he adds how it’s suspicious really. I don’t believe I’ve ever felt a tiredness such as this.

There’s an underlying anxiety in your pretty, pluckable, ever-so-slightly bloodshot eyes. Where others would be concerned for your health, he finds endearment, you precious thing. After admiring them silently for a moment, he announces that he’ll be off to bed now, darling. Remember to be there for me when I wake.

He leaves you alone in the kitchen to stew in your unease.

____________

Now he’s lying in bed, on the side closest to the door, limp as anything. It doesn’t matter whether his facade convinces you or not, he’ll have you in his arms by morning. The blinds aren’t fully down, leaving a pleasant blue hue that gives him a good visual of most of the room. Your side of the bed is still firmly tucked in from when he made it this morning, after running his hands up and down your arms until you’d given a great shudder and shoved him away - a pitiful attempt that he’d impishly gone along with. 

Anticipation tickles his nose and prods at his heart. Childishly, he wants you to get over with it already, to sprint in, swinging a knife wildly, or cue him to start the chase with a slam of the front door so violent that the hinges threaten to crack. It’s unfortunate how your faux compliance conditioned him to be unable to accept a halt, or even slowing, of progress.

Ah, some solace - he can hear your footsteps come up to the door, attempting, albeit poorly, to be quiet. Or maybe they are quiet, to the average man, but someone well-versed in the art of stealth can practically see the way you tiptoe closer. The faint sounds paint a detailed visualisation of your movements - the balls of your feet lifting from the ground, the flexing of your toes, the dorsiflexion at your ankles, the soft thud of your heels hitting the ground.

The bedroom door creaks open, a thin streak of light hitting his eyelids, making him see an ever-so-slight orange behind them. He might be able to visualise your walk accurately, but the same cannot be said for your face. Are you fearful, lips downturned and eyes wide? Are you determined yet cautious, eyes narrowed and lips pressed into a thin line? Are you smug? Condescending? Grinning from ear-to-ear, excited to finally have what you believe to be freedom?

You’re not, he discerns.

Instead, you huff a sigh, a sweet note that makes his heart jump, a small flutter that could only be instigated by you. It’s a sigh of relief. The door is shut. He expects another door to be slammed, too - the front door, hinges quaking as you sprint to the stairs as far as you can, too scared to wait for the elevator (and for your sake, he hopes you’ve brought a pair of running shoes - you’re on the 35th floor, after all). But that doesn’t happen.

Instead, he can hear the clanking of bowls and dishes, the smooth schwip as you push breadcrumbs off the chopping board into the bin with the back of the serrated-edge knife, and how you place said knife into the block without taking another one out.

So you’ve decided against stabbing him tonight? How agreeable.

In fact there seems to be no malice in the way you’re stacking the bowls, no scraps of extra force in how you shut the fridge. Whilst the sounds of your cleanup are nothing short of a ruckus to his alert ears, there’s an intentional tenderness he can hear. A conscious effort to be as quiet as possible with somebody sleeping peacefully in the next room.

It’s a gesture he’ll interpret in the best way he can. Even if he knows he’s deluding himself that you want to be quiet for his own peace rather than so you can escape, he’ll be sure to bring up the former as reasoning for your actions over the next few days, regardless of how you’ll spit venom at him, hissing that he couldn’t be more wrong.

Next is a movement he didn’t expect in the slightest.

You come back to the bedroom, with a pile of fabric in your hands - clothes, maybe? He thought you’d be off and away as soon as possible, or you wouldn’t get close to him again at the very least, standing patiently by the door until whatever you’re waiting for had occurred. 

The quiet-ish footsteps make their way past him this time, and straight into the ensuite.

There’s the soft sound of clothes falling, and then the tap is turned on.

You’re…showering before you leave?

You really are a good teacher of the quirks of humanity. Logical as ever, he’d most certainly take no time for hygiene practices if it reduced his chances of being able to go on a small, liberating adventure. But perhaps that’s part of the plan? Do you not want to have a speck of dirt on you so you don’t smell bad? Will you hide out at a fancy gala, and have to be as fresh as possible? Are you trying to wash off Nen, perhaps? 

No, that would never work, and he’s certain you know this too. Still, the idea of a little hopeless fire in you, taking a precaution you know is futile, makes his lips twitch.

So many questions, few of them answerable at present. His mind is stimulated so wondrously, for once not finding boredom in the predictability of human behaviour. He’s truly chosen well. 

And then there’s something else, rising above the sound of the rushing water, above the drain gurgling it down, greedily gulping it away.

You’re humming.

It’s relatively random, most likely improvised, and slightly off-tune, but endearing all the same. He can taste the notes, sweet and soothing, running down his throat smoothly and pooling warmth in his belly. 

You heave a sigh, and the tune changes. And then he recognises it.

It’s something he heard as a boy, back in Meteor City. He’d hear it at night, walking back to whatever semblance of a refuge he had with Franklin and Shalnark, past the hamlets of the younger children. Letting himself get lost in it, he can feel himself crawling to shelter on scraped knees, walking on calloused heels, eating stale bread, all accompanied by the faint smell of garbage, a smell that years of exposure had waned to a neutral accompaniment of the setting, rather than an inconvenience or hazard.

Despite the unhygienic nature of it all, it’s sweet. It’s these memories - memories of grime and rot and infection - that are the most pure. The most uncorrupted. They’re full of innocence and hope - just like you.

These qualities make you think you’ll leave him.

Upon remembering this, he’s tempted to barge in and ruin your peace, eager to hear your inevitable yelp and nervous laugh as he quizzes you about tonight’s events. But he doesn’t. Your lullaby is too enjoyable, the tune far too agreeable to stomp out yet. Resisting sin by committing another, he decides he doesn’t want to kill this mockingbird, if only to selfishly continue to hear it sing.

Few moments have come like this since you came to be with him. They’re all short-lived in comparison to the cold life he’s had, a firecracker popping on his tongue, fleetingly filling his mouth with syrupy sweetness before quickly dying off, barely an aftertaste to be savoured. He’s scratched them all down in an old leather journal with a quill and ink, lest he forgets what it feels like, or how to get that feeling again, but thankfully they’re scratched even deeper into his psyche. 

You’d been agreeable enough for a reward of a dinner somewhere several stories up, city lights shining behind you, framing your hair beautifully. You were reluctant at first, turning your nose up at him and the priceless food in front of you, opting for the bottle of red wine instead. It wasn’t supposed to be gulped down with such vulgarity like that, but that was part of your charm and by your second glass you were giggling and halfway through your third you looked at him right in the eye, cheeks tinged pink, and you smiled a smile that you’d forget by morning but he wouldn’t…

He’d returned to the villa after a long day to find the fans blasting, and you slumped over on the couch as credits rolled on the screen in front of you. He’d flicked the TV off, not before noting the rom-com’s name, and regarded you, with your deep, even breaths and singlet strap falling down. He picked you up and carried you to bed, laying you down on the thin blankets, fixing your strap despite the small voice that called to him to take off the thing entirely. Your head rested on the pillow, your face not scowling for once, and you’d huffed the sweetest of sighs…

That’s the kind of moment this is.

There’s no thought of what he’ll be doing with the troupe tomorrow, or in a week, or what move to make next depending on what you decide to do. Every nook and cranny of his mind, every convolution of his brain is filled with the thought of you. Tonight, it’s warm and viscous, slowing time and cutting both of you off from the rest of the world; the rest of its filth.

In this moment, he can see himself in the shower with you. He’s across from you, lathering body wash onto his shoulders, letting the foam run down his back. All the while, he keeps his gaze on you, watching how your hands run over your body, soap running along your sternum, between your breasts, along the curve of your hips, your ass, all whilst you hum that tune… shit, he can’t let himself get hard now. He manages to drag himself out of the daydream, barely, just managing to claw himself to the surface of reality.

Caps are popped open and the lathering of soaps can be heard over the course of your performance, with a finale of the tap being turned off. There’s a fumbling of fabrics before you come out, followed by yet another move he doesn’t expect.

You walk up to the bed, peel the sheets back, and lie down beside him. You then roll onto your side, facing him. After a few moments, you prop yourself up onto your elbow.

A moment of nothing. You’re frozen, as is he. Calm before the storm, he prepares himself to catch your wrist and hear you shriek.

You lean over.

And then there’s a featherlight sensation on his forehead, right in the middle of his tattoo. 

Had it been a split second later, he would’ve opened his eyes and turned to face you with a smirk as you screamed. But it’s not a split second later, it’s now, and now you’re kissing him. There’s no real benefit for doing such a thing that he can identify right now - perhaps you know he’s awake, and would like to make amends? Surely you know that that wouldn’t be enough to satisfy him.

The contact sends an electric zap to every corner of his body, although he manages to not make himself jolt. Months of stifled desire bubble up from his insides, desire that’s spent so long smothered by rationale of better outcomes and forcing himself to think of his bloodied obstacles and late nights alone in the shower. As often as his lips find their way to your forehead, unfortunately the reverse doesn’t occur even half as much.

You pull away, like you’re hesitant about what you’ve done, like you’re waiting for him to snap his eyes open and sit up with inhuman speed, ready to pin you down or tie you up or even slap you for tonight’s inconveniences. But that doesn’t make sense, because hesitation is supposed to occur before such an intrepid act, not afterward.

After receiving apparent confirmation that you’re not about to be attacked, he can sense your head slowly but surely coming to rest on your pillow. You shouldn’t strain your neck like that, someone like you could get hurt over time.

The back of his shirt is peeled up, slowly, delicately, and he has to focus to keep his breathing even.

There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, his number a pale contrast to the black ink, practically jumping out at you.

0.

It’s your reminder, he supposes, of what he is. Theoretically and legally nonexistent, practically traceless. Zero evidence. Zero remorse. Zero morality.

Zero.

Then-

One, two, three.

Your lips mark a trail up his spine, at the bottom of the abdomen, right in the middle of the zero, on its head. Don’t shudder.

Once your deed is done, you pull back. There you lie, staring at the twelve-legged spider etched into his skin, so silent that you’re barely breathing.

The fabric of his nightshirt is guided back down. You roll over and proceed to go limp, succumbing to the drugs intended for him.

What was that?

You’re not touching him anymore. He can sense the gap between your bodies, one that he would close every night, pulling you close. 

Was it a relief? To go to sleep without him touching you?

You’d always stirred up such a fuss about his arms being around you as you slept. 

It had always been a cause for seething rage on your part, later argument, later whining, and more recently huffing. Even last night, the stiffness before you fell asleep was a cause of his own discomfort. But you didn’t have to deal with that tonight, and now you’ve fallen asleep in record time. He can’t say it was just from the pills.

Did you change your mind on leaving after you felt their effects? It doesn’t seem likely that you’d ditch all that to sleep. Rather, that you wanted to sleep on your own terms.

He’d spent so much time concerned with stopping a potential escape, that he didn’t stop to consider that maybe, just maybe, that was never the goal to begin with.

And now Chrollo rolls over to face you, gently tugging on your shoulder to pull you onto your back.

You’re serene as ever, a sight to behold. 

He brushes the back of his knuckles along your hair, feeling its texture, so light that his calloused hands - hands that have seen many a bruise and burn and slice and hangnail caught and ripped on the job - almost can’t feel it. Your exhales come out more as huffs and sighs now compared to gentle breathing, and he allows a chuckle (one that he finds incredibly endearing, as much as you’ve let your disagreement to that sentiment be known, preferring to describe it with wounding words such as “condescending” and “grating”) to slip past his lips. 

It reminds him of you when you’re awake, when you used to try so hard to be difficult for him, when you used to scream and scratch as he’d spoon you, grip ironclad, until all you could do was huff and puff and plead with him (and as much as he enjoyed your attempts to compromise, this was something he simply could not relinquish) and eventually, your cursing would die down, your muscles would go limp, and you’d fall asleep. 

Sometimes the sun would be up by the time you relented, and your breaths would be the heaviest then. It was amusing, how quickly you’d switch. One second, you were cussing him and his troupe out, the next, you were a paragon of tranquillity, the visage of an angel before him. He’d pray you love him.

He wants to grab your jaw, hold it firm, and kiss your lips as hard as he can. He wants to tilt his head and take and take and take. He wants to keep taking even if your breathing lightens. He wants to keep taking even if your eyelids flutter open, hazy doe-eyes looking at him with dozy confusion.

Well, he’d never deny his own indulgence.

Leaning in, he presses a kiss to your forehead, just as you did to him.

The touch is as gentle as he can make it, as gentle as he can permit himself to be. There’s a split second of what he could almost call fear, an image of accidentally squeezing you too hard and hearing your bones snap flashing in his mind.

He rubs his thumb over where his lips previously were, feeling an unanticipated wetness left behind.

It’s then that Chrollo realises his mouth is full of his own saliva - whether that was because he was so entranced by your actions that nothing else mattered, body as limp as he could allow, or because, like some sort of filthy animal, he couldn’t help but drool at the contact from you, starved for it like a hyena, he doesn’t know. He swallows. That’s better.

And now for the main event.

He dips down to your lips, and lightly presses his own against them. The feeling is so heavenly, he wonders if you really are an angel. If you were one, would you bless him? Would you destroy him?

If you were to know what he’s doing, would you hate him more?

He pulls away. 

The journey to get here was sizable. Memories of tonight flash by; your cooking, your conversation, your shower. Your humming.

Ah. The tune he heard as a boy. Innocent, naïve, hopeful.

Well, he’s a man now. And far less innocent.

He lets out a hum of his own, deep and rumbling.

Chrollo moves to straddle you, peeling the duvet and sheets back, layer by layer, unveiling the best present he’s ever gifted himself. Just moving into such an intimate position is enough to send pangs of heat downwards, the hardness he fought against earlier returning with an urgency.

For a moment, he tries to fight against it.

Is it to save himself from your hatred? Is it to save you from what he’s planning?

It’s neither, he discerns, as the attempt was doomed to fail before it even started. He knows it was never meant to succeed.

His groin only throbs harder, aching for friction. It’s a spur-of-the-moment thing, the way he presses it against your clothed crotch, rocking back and forth, the slight relief just momentary as his desire only grows.

He regards your unsuspecting face. Stunning. 

Restraint is draining faster now, but still is present just enough to stop him from grinding any harder despite the urge. But if he’s to stop his movements, he’ll need a different kind of stimulation.

He bunches your shirt up, pulling, sliding a hand under your back so he can slip it off your arms and neck.

Now your chest is bare. How ravishing.

His fingers hook under the band of your sleep pants, dragging them off in a clean motion.

And now your legs are bare. How alluring.

He doesn’t take your underwear off - that would simply be crude, and he doesn’t need to tempt himself anymore. If he got the privilege (or right, considering your standings) of seeing you fully nude, as opposed to having a single layer covering the most tantalising part of you, he’d be oh-so-inclined to do something regrettable. His logic fights to win space within his buzzing thoughts, fingers daring to twitch as his imagination fills in the gaps of what the thin black layer forces to be left to it.

Chrollo parts your thighs for good measure, the maximum he can allow himself at this moment. It’d be impossible to not let his hands and gaze trail up them, observing how as he roams upwards, your flesh gets softer, warmer; how the flimsy fabric can’t hide all of your darker flesh; how your lower lips are pressing against the cloth, visible despite the darkness…

God, you’re so fuckable.

There’s a pretentious voice in his head, albeit muffled, that cries protests at the use of such a word to describe you. You’re something far more than that - beautiful, exemplary, one-in-a-million, ethereal. Surely your mouth would be better put to use having a fulfilling conversation with him, a conversation he can dissect and steer and puppeteer, as opposed to just opening as wide as it can to accommodate his cock, taking it as deep as your gag reflex will allow, barely able to breathe, much less talk. Although, he thinks with a faint, deep groan, twitching in his pants, that’s certainly a hypothesis I’ll have to test.

With the sight of your breasts, nipples hard and skin goosebumped from the chill of the room, it’s decided. Just because making his cheeks warm and his cock rock hard isn’t your most prominent trait, doesn’t mean that you aren’t absolutely exceptional at it.

Temptation isn’t something he’s inclined to resist, brushing a thumb over your nipples before leaning down to take one into his mouth. He swears he can hear your breath hitch as his tongue swirls around, breathing getting slightly lighter. An eager hand reaches for the other one, kneading as gently as he thinks he can.

Soft is the first thing he thinks. Your flesh is so soft, so delicate, so tender. If you were awake, he’d vocalise his compliments - and do so loudly, unrestrained.

Your breathing changes as he points his tongue to lightly flick at your nipple repeatedly. Chances are you’re being taken out of REM sleep, but your consciousness doesn’t matter at this stage. And some part of him hopes for it, brief images flashing in his mind of barely-open teary eyes slowly rolling to the back of your head. They’re obscene, so utterly immoral to even fantasise about, yet even the split-second thought makes his stomach jump, shivering a bit as he feels himself be almost overcome by them.

He can’t help but slightly wet his lips in anticipation, relishing in the knowledge that his instincts are being held back with the slightest thread. If he moves even slightly faster than his rational, calculating, non-carnal mind intends, then it’ll snap. He’ll snap.

Almost trembling, he reaches across to his bedside table. The movements are imprecise, but he’s sure this practice will allow him to execute them with much more grace for the inevitable time you’ll be awake. Yes, you’ll be awake and whining and he’ll wet his lips in anticipation and be met with your lingering taste and you’ll want him as much as he wants you- 

He almost falls forward as his own lust threatens to overtake him. Focus on the necessary steps.

Taking a shuddering breath, he leans down to pull open the drawer, to find a bottle hidden at the back, purposefully concealed behind an upright copy of Tess of the D’Urbervilles. Quickly shifting his weight back, he pops the cap open, spreading some of the slick contents onto his fingertips. With his free hand, he pulls down the loose elastic of his pyjama pants, shucking them off, the cold air making him quiver slightly.

Time’s running out.

The movements are trembling, sloppy as he pours lube onto his length, and then onto your spread thighs. There’s a frantic inertia of sorts, a mad momentum - the more he does, the faster he has to go, the anticipation making his stomach swell and dip. He’s really going to do this. It’s really going to happen, and it’ll be amazing.

There. Done. Everything’s ready.

Chrollo takes a shaky breath, gripping just above your knees, and squeezes your thighs around his dick.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your thighs are warm from the duvet, perfectly cosy and wet from the lube for his cock.

Little time is wasted as he begins to thrust his hips, trying not to give himself too much too soon. The steady pace is slowly increased, little by little, a fragile incline so he can drag this out for as long as possible. 

Can you feel it? Can you feel the warmth radiating from him? Is there some part of your mind that’s awake, but can’t do anything to stop him? Or better yet, is eager to please him?

He strains out a hiss through gritted teeth, peppering kisses over your exposed neck, trying his best not to bite. The pace increases yet again. His eyes are fixated on the mound in your underwear, a more sinister form of curiosity burning within. 

What does your pussy look like?

He won’t use En, that’s just cheating. He wonders and ponders and conjures up the most filthy images his mind can muster. A warm, tight hole that clenches for him as he slips in and out, teasing you. A pretty clit for him to tease with his fingers as you whine, for him to suckle on as you choke on sobs of pleasure. Folds for him to run his tongue through as you rut your hips against his face; for him to run his tip along, collecting your slick.

He imagines how his cock would look disappearing inside of your cunt, how your grip would be so suffocating, how your tits would bounce as he fucks it (because shit, they’re already moving so vigorously now, as he holds his strength, and he can’t even begin to picture what they’d look like if he loses control buried deep inside you, repeatedly stuffing you to the hilt as you cry out). He imagines how you’d tighten around him, babbling something incoherent as you wrap your arms and legs around him, and oh fuck, he can’t pull out now. He imagines the tension snapping, giving a rumbling groan as he shoves himself into you as deeply as possible, eyes screwing shut and burying his face in the junction between your neck and shoulder, riding out his high with a few shallow thrusts.

And finally, he imagines how his cum would look leaking out of your pussy, twitching and swollen from a nice good fuck. The afterglow. The squeak you’d give if he fingered it back into you, growling at you to not waste a drop, keep it all inside for me.

The thought makes his hips stutter a little, threatening to slip out of the plushness between your thighs. Once he regains his rhythm, though, they’re speeding up, relentlessly fucking himself into your thighs over and over, kneading the flesh as he squeezes them tighter and closer.

Chrollo cups your face with a single hand, and leans in. 

It’s the second time he’s properly kissed you tonight, and it feels fucking amazing. Your soft lips, your soft thighs, they’re all working together to make his head swim in bliss. You’re working to make him feel good. Yes, him. Nobody else. You’re his.

The thoughts run wild. He has as little control over them as he does his hips.

How would it feel to fuck you in some other position? How would it feel to flip you onto your stomach, pulling your hips back to meet his, as he stuffs himself into your sopping cunt over and over, watching your ass bounce? How would you cry out at the way his balls slap against your swollen clit, building up the pressure inside you until you just can’t take any more?

How would you grind on top of him? How would you moan as you bounce, tilting your head back as you stretch yourself on his length, panting? How many times could you do it until your legs trembled uncontrollably, forcing yourself to impale yourself on his cock just one more time? When he’d plant his feet on the bed firmly and thrust his hips up, grabbing yours and bouncing you in time, would you wail, or simply slump over, completely unable to form a thought as you cum around him for the nth time?

You’re flexible enough to fold into a mating press, right? How deep could he go? How fast could he go? How would your beautiful skin look covered in love bites?

The coil of pressure within him grows even tighter even faster, balls slapping against your thighs, hips pistoning rhythmlessly.

If he asked, oh-so-nicely, for you to get on your knees and please him with your mouth, would you oh-so-sweetly do it? Would you suckle his swollen tip? Would you tease him with a glint of mischief in your eyes? Would you find his most sensitive spots and exploit them? Would you trace your tongue along the veins? Would you massage his balls? Would you let him control the pace, a hand intertwined in your hair? Would you look up at him as you tear up, doe-eyes wide and eager to please? Would you rub your pretty pussy while he shoots thick ropes of cum down your throat, pressing your nose against his pelvis?

Yes, he decides as the coil begins to snap, you would.

Chrollo comes to a sudden halt, choking out a rich groan in a low timbre. The noise becomes more strained as he rides out the high, the overwhelming euphoria becoming just a bit too intense as it begins to morph into overstimulation. Once he’s sure the moment’s over, he lets go of your legs, pulling back to catch his breath and admire his work.

Ropes of cum paint your chest, some making it as far as your neck, your chin. It’s beautiful, the unruly mess he’s made - no, the mess you’ve made of him.

You’re a real beauty, you know that?

The bathroom tiles are cold against his feet as he grabs a washcloth to clean you up. It’s sad to see it go, to a primal extent, but it’s probably for the best to ensure he doesn’t get any ideas for a second round tonight.

For future nights, though? The chest he’s covering up will soon be exposed soon enough.

He’ll have to get more sleeping pills. You simply must try this again soon. 

Next time, he’ll taste you. The time after that, you’ll taste him. He can hardly wait, nor can he stop the dull throbbing starting up in his groin again.

He sates himself for the time being with the knowledge that the time after that, you’ll be awake.

[grechsblog]

So like, ive been thinking and yknow what? The fact that Siffrin never got to cry even Once in the whole game is a crime.

And before anyone goes for my neck the Pretty Anime Girl Sniffs that can be dabbed off with a tissue paper and its basically good as new in act 6 Do Not Count for me. I need him to be the most wettest thing ive ever seen and i mean that LITERALLY.

I need that beast to have a complete meltdown, i need him to be Face Down on the ground absolutely SOBBING their eyes out, i need them rubbing tears and snot all over his entire self, i need them Incomprehensible and Illegible, i need them WRITHING on that fucking grass field like a WORM, i need him to almost loop back because of the DROWNING HAZARD

DO

YOU

UNDERSTAND .

And we had not gotten any of that! I had in fact not even found a FANFIC or a COMIC about that scenario. Im gonna be furious and fuming about it forever

[mother-honour]

Actions have consequences. Simon 'Ghost' Riley X GN Civilian! Spouse! Reader) Part 2

( A very quick authors note before the fic- HOLY GODAMN CHRIST. I did not expect part 1 to reach so many likes- Ya'll are absolutely amazing ^^) @v1x3n

Summary: You still haven't woken up after that fateful day, and it's tearing him apart.

CW: Simon being an absolute wreck, Price giving hugs, swearing, emotional hurt, heavy angst, hospital visits, in-accurate military stuff, character death (?)

These past three weeks have been nothing but pure torture for Simon.

You still haven't woken up after all this time, and it was tearing him apart. Whenever he couldn't be by your side, he sat at home, silently crying to himself as guilt crushed him on the inside. He didn't eat, he didn't sleep, and he couldn't pretend that everything was normal while you were fighting for your life.

Because of him, he kept reminding himself.

The longer it took, the worse Simon got. He started to make mistakes on the field. Ghost, a well-respected man in his field, was acting like a rookie who just got out of basic training. His head wasn't with the 141; it was always stuck on you. The team had begun to notice as well. Price was the first, of course, knowing Simon as well as he did.

The captain had noticed it the first day he had come back to base. There was something unknown lingering in the lieutenant's eyes, and it was coming to bite him in the ass. After Simon made a mistake that could've caused multiple casualties, Price had enough. "Ghost. My office, now." He spoke sternly after the four of them got back. The lieutenant obeyed automatically, following the price mindlessly. Once the office door clicked behind them, Price turned around to face him.

"Now, you are going to tell me what the hell has been going through that bloody brain of yours." The captain crossed his arms, his form burning with authority as he stared at his lieutenant with hard eyes. "Every since 3 weeks ago, you have been making mistakes left and right." The captain huffed as he ran a hand over his face. His eyes had somewhat softened as he placed a hand on Simon's shoulder.

"Simon, whatever is bothering you, I need you to tell me. As your captain, it is my responsibility that you can do your job properly and keep you safe, no matter if it is physical or mental." It was then that Simon finally broke. He dropped to his knees with an agonizing cry, hot tears streaming down his face as he pounded his fist into the floor. "ITS ALL MY FAULT!" He yelled between harsh sobs.

"ITS ALL MY FUCKING FAULT PRICE! IF I HADN'T SAID ANYTHING-" Strong arms wrapped around Simon as he reached his breaking point, pulling him close as the comforting voice of Price filled his ears. "I got you, son. I got you." Simon's breath hitched as he let himself cry into his captain's shoulder. He didn't care about being professional right now; he just needed comfort.

And right now, Price was the one to give him that.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After letting his heart out to Price, he allowed Simon to take the week off. 'You need it more than ever, Simon.' Price had said as he escorted him outside of the base. 'Just make sure to screw your head back on before you get back?' Simon couldn't help but let out a forced chuckle at his captain's last statement, leaving to go back to you shortly after. He had the steering wheel in an iron grip, his knuckles turning white as he drove down the road.

The same road leads to your shared house.

The same road you drove on before-

The booming horn of a truck came from Simon's left, snapping him out of his thoughts as he swung just in time to avoid the crash. His eyes were wide, and his palms were sweating as he looked back at the truck that was speeding off into the distance. Simon shook his head firmly as he focused back on the road, the agonizing voice in his head screaming at him that, in an alternate scenario, you would've been able to come back home safe.

Simon pressed the gas, surely going over the speed limit as he came closer and closer to his destination. He bolted out of the car and towards the front desk as soon as the tired came to a stop, scaring the shit out of the elder lady who was just enjoying a cup of tea. Her wide eyes softened once she recognized the man who had come here every day to visit you.

She didn't even need to say anything as she nodded toward the left, allowing him to proceed further without writing anything down. Gratitude flashed in Simon's eyes as he ran down the halls, up the stairs, to the 4th floor.

He almost stumbled over his own feet as he reached your room, swiftly opening the door as the beeping of a heart monitor met his ears. There you were, still lying in bed with an oxygen mask over your face. Most of your wounds have healed up; only parts of your body are being bandaged up now. Simon's feet guided him towards the bed, tears welling up in his eyes as he once again sat down on the chair next to your bedside.

"Hey, love." He spoke softly while taking your hand in his. "Sorry for taking so long this time." Simon swallowed thickly. "The captain has given me some time off, which means I get to spend more time with you." His body began to shake as his bottom lip trembled.

"I'd love to treat you to lunch. We could go to your favorite place. With the silly black cat, you love so much." Simon's voice began to crack, hot tears streaming down his face as he held onto your hand. "I miss you so much, baby. Please… come back to me." He pleaded between sobs. You, however, remained unresponsive, the soft sounds of your breathing being the only thing to answer him.

Simon stayed by your bedside for the next 5 hours, talking to you and even telling some of his awful jokes to keep the one-sided conversation going. A part of him hoped that somehow you'd be able to hear him. Around 7 p.m., the same elderly nurse who had greeted and helped Simon whenever he came to visit you came into the room.

"It's time to go home, Mr. Riley." She spoke softly. Simon swallowed as he nodded. He stood up from the chair as he bent down to press a kiss on your forehead. "I'll be here again tomorrow, love." Simon moved himself away from the bed, passing the elderly nurse as he made his way towards the door.

"…Simon?"

Simon froze.

His hand hovered over the doorknob as his eyes widened. He heard the elderly nurse gasp, accompanied by a pair of quick footsteps going towards the bed. Your bed. Simon turned around agonizingly slowly, his own eyes filled with shock, as he was met with the sight that he had longed for ever since you ended up here.

You were looking at him, those big eyes he came to love filling with tears as you reached out to him.

It was then that Simon's heart started to beat again.

[endlessthxxghts]

Lay Off The Flannels

DBF!joel miller x afab!reader || W/C: 1.3k

Summary: Joel gets handsy while your father temporarily steps away.

Warnings: Age gap (unspecified - obviously a legal one though, hello??). No physical description of reader (pic above is used for aesthetic only!). SMUT 18+ MDNI. Oral sex (F receiving). Using a flannel to clean up🫣... Awkward interactions with an oblivious father. Fluffy/light-hearted ending :). I think that's it! Let me know if otherwise!

Author's Note: Hey y'all! Soo my personal definition of a drabble is when something is written and posted on a whim, and that's exactly what I'm doing here.. This was only proof-read once by me, so if you see any typos and confusing wording... NO YA DIDN'T. Anyway, I have a bunch of WIPs needing to get done, but the stress was getting to me, so I took a break from those and wrote this fun little scenario to calm my mind and give me a good little laugh. I hope you guys enjoy!💚

MASTERLIST

“We shouldn’t be-”

“I know,” he says. 

“It’s too risky.”

“I know,” he says. 

You pull his lips back onto yours, breathing in each other’s breaths, consuming each other eagerly as if the world was going to end if you didn’t. 

His lips drag down to your jaw, to the sweet spots on your neck that make you mewl such addicting sounds he’ll never tire of, tasting the product of the hard work you did today with your father. His best friend.

His best friend, who- 

“He should be back any minute now,” you say breathily as Joel drops down to the ground, his knees cracking from the sudden change. 

Joel is desperate. Frantic, even. The speed he unbuttons and unzips your jeans and yanks them—underwear included—off of you has your hands flying to grasp at the edge of the workbench you’re sitting on. “Don’t care,” he says, inhaling in a breath, inhaling your arousal. “Need to fuckin’ taste you.” 

Your father’s car crapped out on him a few days ago, and being the untrustful man he was, he bought the parts that needed replacing to do it himself. He had you working on his car with him, teaching you what to do if you were ever stuck in a similar situation—”It ain’t worth the bill, takin’ it to them mechanics. It’ll cost ya an arm and a leg just for them to diagnose your car’s issue even if you tell ‘em ya know what’s wrong, never mind actually fixin’ it,” he said to you this morning. 

As soon as your father left, Joel was making his way to you, large strides cutting the time in half. His arms wrapped around your waist, picking you up from the seat you were situated on and lifted you to the bench against the wall behind you. His lips were on yours immediately, open-mouthed and needy. His hand slammed onto the black button beside your head, the garage door sliding down thereafter.

Joel grabbed onto your thighs, settling them onto his broad shoulders, stabling you and opening you up to him all in one. Wasting no time, his entire face dives into you, tongue immediately going to your sobbing entrance, hooked nose pushing directly onto your clit. 

“Fuck,” you gasp out loud, “Joel, oh my god,” your head hitting the wall, eyes rolling back. 

The moans you’re feeding Joel has him groaning into you, his hands tightening his grip on the bottom of your thighs, the dull ache of it an indicator that you’ll have bruises forming within the hour. 

His tongue—god, you love his tongue—always reaches places you never thought was possible, offering you a glimpse into Heaven each time he tastes you. The squelch of your pussy and his groans equivalent to that of an angel’s choir. You never want him to stop. Especially because his mouth is the closest to Heaven either of you will ever get. 

Your hole begins to flutter around his tongue, your slick pouring out of you at this point. You’re close. Joel knows it. His tongue leaves your hole and is quickly replaced by two of his fingers, sliding in with ease because of your level of arousal. His tongue meets your clit, licking and circling and absolutely worshiping it as if it’s the most unique of pearls to ever exist. 

The combination of his fingers and his tongue—plus his whimpers—are what do it for you. After a few more circles from his tongue, you’re cumming and you’re cumming hard, your liquids running down his wrist and soaking the rim of his sleeve. He gives one last suck to your clit before he lifts off of it, tilting his head up to watch you come undone, his fingers never pausing as he works you through your climax. 

“Baby,” you’re whining, reaching that point of oversensitivity with his fingers, but your hips betray you as they grind into his hand. 

“So fuckin’ perfect,” he mutters, gauging the contradictions of your body’s needs and wants. He slowly pulls his fingers out of you, greedily sucking them into his mouth, not letting a drop of your liquid gold go to waste. 

He stands at full height again, his hands on your thighs to scoot you back from the edge, giving you more stability, so he can let go of you and take his flannel off so he can wipe you down with it. 

He sets his flannel beside you, reaching for your bottoms on the ground. He puts them back on you, gentle as ever, and guides you off the bench—albeit, on some wobbly legs. Once you’re breathing returns to semi-normal, you’re grabbing him by his t-shirt and pulling him in for a heady kiss. Your tongue breaches his mouth, and he lets you in selfishly, sucking on your tongue for anything more you can give him. You taste yourself on him, tangy with a hint of something that lights your neurons on fire, turning you on more even though he just pulled one of the most draining of orgasms out of you. 

Joel pulls away from you, and like clock work, the garage door is whirring open. Your father. He’s walking up the driveway with a Harbor Freight bag. 

“Got what you needed?” you immediately ask, trying to control the topic of conversation. 

“Yeah. Why’d you close the garage?” 

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second before going back to normal. “The heat was getting a little much. Was gonna open it up when you got back,” you say. 

He nods his head, then looks to Joel. “Hey, bud,” he says as he sets his bag down, walking up to give his best friend a handshake. “What’re ya doin’ here?” he asks, “Not that ya need a reason, of course,” he adds quickly, a light chuckle leaves his mouth. 

“Just thought I’d swing by. Thought your girl here was workin’ on your car all by herself, was gonna make sure the damage was minimal,” he teases, looking at you with a wink. “But now you’re here,” Joel smiles. “I gotta take a leak anyhow, I’ll see y’all later, yeah?” Joel says as he makes his way to the end of your garage. 

Your father offers a quick yeah, his eyes zoning in on the flannel atop his workbench. Before you can stop him, your father grabs it. “Oh, Joel, don’t forget ya flannel,” he says waving it in the air as he lightly jogs to him before he gets too far. Joel’s face immediately flushes, as pale as if he’s seen a ghost, as he realizes what your father is holding. His eyes dart to you, your expression just as traumatized. 

“Oh, y-yeah,” Joel says as he quickly takes it in his grasp, “T-thanks.” 

“Yeah, no problem,” he says as he begins walking back to you, stopping midway to turn back to Joel. “And Joel?” your dad yells out.

Joel turns around, reluctant. 

“Maybe lay off on the flannels during the summer, yeah?? That shit was soaked in sweat!” Your father says as his laugh grows to an uncontrollable level. 

Joel’s jaw drops to the floor as your face turns to absolute terror. 

“Dad!” you exclaim, absolutely stunned at his comment. “I’m done helping you for the day,” you say as you shake your head, gathering your things and heading inside.

Your dad’s laugh turns into a howl at your reaction, not realizing (thankfully) what’s got you so uncomfortable. 

As soon as you make it to your room, the entirety of the situation finally hits you, and you’re gasping for air at how hard you’re laughing. 

As you lay on your bed to try to calm yourself down, your phone rings. It’s Joel. Your laughter immediately starts back up again, and you answer, skipping all forms of introduction.

“Better lay off the flannels, Miller,” you say, barely able to keep it together by the end of your comment. 

“Shut up,” he says, stoic as ever.

A giggle erupts out of you, causing the biggest of butterflies to flutter all throughout his belly. “Can I come over later?” 

“I was expectin’ you to, darlin’.” 

End note: I'm sure there are a few fics out there with a premise similar to this, of reader doin some ✨things✨ with dbf!joel in reader’s dad’s garage 🫣 — I think it's pretty common given that Joel is a pretty laborious kinda guy, so if you've read anything similar, please share them in the comments or message me them! I'd love to read them and also give credit where credit is due. This fic fandom we've created is about spreading creativity, and that's exactly what I would like to do here. :)

Tags: @javierpena-inatacvest @katiexpunk @teatree121 @farmerlarrry @mellymbee @jobee403 @soavenuepenguin @rainbowcosmicchaos @untamedheart81 @babygal-babygal @pedritoferg @akah565 @pedrostories

EDIT: As of the new year 2024, I no longer do taglists!! Follow @endlessthxxghtsnotifs and turn on the notifications to be updated when new stories come out!!

[hoshifighting]

hi! i absolutely love your work ❤️ i binged all of your reaction scenarios in a day- your writting is absolutely amazing.

anyway- i wanted to put in a request if that's ok 🥹

how do you think hoshi would be as a dom/hard dom hehe 🫠

how hoshi would be as a hard dom WARNINGS: smut, penetrative sex, kneeling, humiliation, chocking, biting, hard dom dynamics, sub/brat dynamics.

when hoshi’s in charge, i think there’s no softness in him. no hesitation. you see it in his eyes the second the switch flips—how they darken, how he looks at you like you’re a toy, something to play with, break, and put back together. it always starts with a challenge. a look, maybe a smirk you give him because you think it’ll be fun to rile him up. but hoshi isn’t someone you can push around, not when he’s like this, you know his rage problemsss. when you test him, all you do is set yourself up for what’s coming next.

“you think you can handle me?” he’ll say, amused. it’s a warning, one you always ignore, and before you know it, he’s got you pinned up against a wall, his hand around your throat. he doesn’t squeeze right away, just enough pressure to make you aware of how easily he could. his lips ghost over your ear as he whispers, “you wanted this. now you’re gonna take it.”

hoshi doesn’t waste time. there’s nothing slow or gentle about the way he pulls your clothes off, ripping them if you’re too slow, making you stand there naked in front of him while he stays fully dressed. the control he has is intoxicating, and it makes you feel small, weak, in the best way. he’ll make you kneel, his hand still gripping the back of your neck, pushing you down. “look at you,” he’ll say, “on your knees already. tsk!! pathetic.” and then, without warning, he’ll slap your ass, hard enough to make you yelp. “you like being treated like this, yea?” he growls, and the sting of his palm still lingers as he pulls you up by your hair, forcing you to look into his eyes. “answer me.”

“yes,” you whisper, and that’s all he needs to hear before he’s got you bent over whatever surface is closest—a table, the bed, the floor, the sink, the kitchen counter, the balcony, doesn’t matter to him. hoshi’s rough. there’s no easing into it, no slow teasing. he’ll push your legs apart, fingers digging into your thighs, and when he fucks you, it’s hard, fast, relentless.

he’ll keep a hand around your throat or pressed between your shoulder blades, keeping you down, making sure you can’t move. and he talks, too—filthy, degrading, words spilling from his mouth like he’s been holding them in alllll day. “fuck, you’re so tight. you gonna come already? after all that attitude?”he’ll slap your ass again, leaving red handprints, then spread you open wider, making sure you feel every inch of him. and when you start to moan, when you can’t hold back anymore, he laughs, low and dark. “so fucking loud,” he’ll say, “you want everyone to hear how much of a slut you are, huh?”

he doesn’t stop until you’re begging, tears in your eyes, body trembling. and even then, he’ll pull out just to make you beg harder, make you tell him how much you need it. “say it,” he commands, fingers digging into your skin. “tell me how bad you want me to fuck you.”

and when you do—when you give him exactly what he wants—he’ll pull you close, biting down on your shoulder, leaving marks that’ll last for days. he’ll take you harder than before, until you can’t even form words, only sobbing into the sheets, legs shaking, body spent.and when he’s finished, when he’s finally had his fill, he’ll collapse next to you, chest heaving, a satisfied smirk on his face. he won’t say anything at first, just watch you catch your breath, maybe brush the hair out of your face.

[that-fic-girl]

I'VE GOT A SCENARIO, ok so I saw the Monty doing Roxanne with reader being jealous and got a thought. Reader is dating Monty but cheats on reader with Roxanne. They cry to Bonnie for comfort cuz he's sweet bunny but little does the reader know his idea so comfort is something else 👀. Monty catches them and is fumming cuz he knows Bonnie's been pinning for reader the whole time. Bunny boi looking at Monty while pounding reader like whatcha done do? 👀🐇👀

your prayers have been answered my sweet in this, reader calls bonnie thumper as a nickname. I will STAND WITH THAT HEAD CANON UNTIL I DIE.

GLAMROCK BONNIE x READER

tw: NSFW THEMES, cheating, mentions of panties for the feminine ppl, not read over it just finished it off this morning, mentions of vaginal parts

every day was getting more and more exhausting for you. Your pay check is slipping, your sink was leaking and your relationship was fading.

you would find yourself getting upset and just breaking down, the first person at your side would always be bonnie.

he would always hear to what you had to say, he gave great advice and if you need to cry in his embrace, hes happy to be there for you.

"its gonna be okay superstar, I promise" he held you and stroked your hair as you quietly sobbed into his bowling shirt.

"I-its not... hes going to leave me.. I-.. I just don't know what to do"

you knew deep down it was for the better. all monty ever did was insult you and ignore you. NOTHING about him screamed "caring" in any way.

"but... it'll be for the best." you stuttered, wiping your tears from your face.

you patted Bonnies leg and gave him a little smile, indicating it was time for you to finish on your check-ups with the other glamrocks. god how he loves that smile.

before you pulled the door he grabbed your waist from behind and hugged you.

"just one more before you leave, im gonna miss ya'" he said whilst resting his head into the dip of your neck.

"Awww, thumper. c'mere"

the large thump of the elevator hitting the floor woke you up from your thoughts. remembering you have to finish off the last of the glamrock checkups and then your free to roam around for a bit until opening.

your first stop was freddy;

freddy noticed your tear stained face and questioned you about it but after you said it was nothing, he didn't want to push you into telling him. so he stayed quiet until you finished.

"alright! all done. you seem to be operating fine."

you gave the brown bear a smile, closing his stomach hatch.

"I best be on my way now".

and with that, you made your way to Roxy's greenroom but to your surprise, she wasn't there.

"that's strange... maybe she's in her raceway. ill check it later"

you grabbed your tools and headed to your gators greenroom.

you where absolutely terrified, why wouldn't you be? he has a short temper and isn't really fond of you DESPITE you being his significant other.

as you where about to place your fist onto his door, you heard something.

"fuckkk..roxyy"

you heard grunts and several slurs mumbling all coming from monty's room.

you felt dread bubbling in the pit of your stomach.

without hesitation, you slammed the door open to reveal a heartbreaking scene.

"what. the. fuck" you dropped your bags to the floor and stood in shock.

"ah- shit babe! its not what it looks like!"

monty tried to cover Roxy whilst trying to put his pants back on, knocking over a few objects thrown across his room.

"oh so you weren't just balls fucking deep in Roxy then huh?! do you think im a fucking idiot?!" you frantically waved your arms around, your head raging at the thought of your best friend FUCKING your boyfriend.

"no I-"

"so this is why you where so distant from me. you where screwing around with her!" you cut him off.

monty was silent. he knew you where right and you could see it on his face

Roxanne stood up and moved towards you

"im sorry y/n-"

"I don't want to hear anything from you."

and with that you slammed the door shut, walking back to the elevator you came from. you where too distracted to go check on Chica or the others. you had one destination you where gonna go to and that was it.

you felt your anger slowly melt into sadness and the aching in your chest started to become more apparent. tears started to run down your face.

"shit.."

bonnie was sat on foxy's stage, head in his hands and dying of boredom.

"why didn't I just tell her, kiss her.. or DO ANYTHING! god she's gonna get played by that dick-"

"b-bonnie.."

his head instantly turned.

"o-oh my sweet thing, what happened?"

he quickly ran to your side, putting your head in his hands.

"monty he...he.. I think he grew fonder to Roxanne.."

bonnie gave you a sad look, cupping your cheek in his hand.

"aw darlin'... im sorry you had to see that"

his hands ran down to your waist, pulling you into his chest.

"its going to be alright, love"

you wiped you tears and sat down, putting you head into your hands. Bonnie lifted your face up to meet him, giving you a soft smirk.

"I can treat you better than he ever could, y'know?"

your eyes never left his, getting lost in the sight that was in front of you. you felt your insides bubbling in excitement.

you knew there was always something there between you two but you always thought it was a misunderstanding. but now you realise that hes always been the one there for you, always been the one to keep you company on lonely night shifts, always been the one to understand and listen to you, hes always been the one.

"do you want me to treat you better?" his hands slowly slid up your thighs, rubbing the inside of your legs.

"y-yes..please" you stuttered, you heart was beating so fast. you couldn't actually believe this was happening.

"atta' girl" he said with a soft melodic tone.

NSFW UNDER THE LINEEE

bonnie's hands started to wonder all over you whilst he kissed your neck, touching all of your sensitive parts.

he was a bit hesitant a first but the noises you made encouraged him to feel more.

His hands tugged at the waist line of your pants, eagerly wanting to see the beauty between your legs.

"you sure you want this sweetheart?" he gave you a look of concern, making sure that this was the right moment for you.

"I am positive my little thumper, you're too sweet"

his foot pounded lightly in the floor from the little nickname you gave him. he felt as if he was under your spell, no matter what, all he could think about was you.

he pulled your pants off, revealing the laced panties you wore.

his hand glided over the heat between your legs, feeling your wetness and admiring the state that you where in. the state he caused you to be in.

"my, my baby. you look so adorable" he purred, his head going closer to your lower regions

"and you're all mine"

he pulled you panties off, staring down your dripping mess between your legs. his hands caressed your inner thighs, making your heat throb in anticipation.

even in such a desperate situation, he still made you feel special. it still made your stomach bubble butterflies.

"please just fuck me bon... I need you"

That lit something in him. Within seconds he’s picking you up and placing you on top of his lap, kissing your shoulders whilst his hands roamed the bottom half of your body.

You’re body was warm, soft, his hands gave you such a euphoric feeling. You knew in that moment that he’s what you want, your face grew redder and your heart beat increased.

You felt him slowly lift up your body as you felt something poking at your puffy core. A few whimpers left your mouth as you felt him enter inside of you.

“Fuckk, hon…”

His voice sounded so melodic, filling your stomach with butterflies, making you feel as if you’re a teenager again with a high school crush.

Your head naturally fell onto Bonnies shoulder as he started to bounce you up and down on his cock. He was slow and passionate. Not rough or mean like Monty was.

Your hands wrapped around him as your mouth opened, letting out the sweetest of noises, sending him over the edge, he was loving every second of it and you could tell.

“..’feels so good Bon..”

He smiled, he loved hearing you, especially like this.

“I know sweets, let Bonnie take care of ya’”

And with that, you’re riding up and down on him, filling your senses with a euphoric pleasure as he fucked you right to the edge.

By this point your legs had started to shake, you was clearly close and he wanted to get you to finish, all he wanted was for you to feel good.

His hands move as he moves one of them to your lower back and the other one straight to your puffy clit. As soon as his fingers made contact, your head flung back as the overwhelming feeling whipped straight to your core.

“O-oh my goddd… Bon..’mgonna cum..”

You mumbled as your body grew limp.

“That’s it clover, feel good on me, please”

And with that, you both felt your gummy walls tighten around him. Your body heaved as your clenched your fists and screamed for him, gifting him a small smirk on his face.

He pulled you off of him, not caring that he hadn’t finished, more of that he needed to take care of you. Pulling you into his chest, he moved a strand of hair from your face. You smiled at him. God. He loved that smile.

“God.. be mine hon, please”.

Sorry for the fact that it was rushed, its 3:56 and I’m tryna get all my drafts finished and I know y’all are back on the FNAF band waggon again so why not throw a few out there for you guys, love ya <3

Also please give me more requests, I’ve got no inspiration 😭

[kizzer55555]

Ultimate Escape Room

Sam, Danny, and Tucker are bored. Nothing seems to be a challenge anymore. Summer vacation is coming up but they can’t agree on anything . Themepark? What’s a better roller coaster than Jack driving? Scary movie? I’m sorry, nothing beats Fright Knight’s nightmare realm. Bungie jumping? Danny can fly. Then Tucker, who’s been typing on his computer, asks “what about an escape room?”. The others are about to shut the idea down because seriously? Easy. But Tucker just grins and shows them his computer screen.

“Ever heard of Arkham?”

Danny and Sam lean over to read the description and all three turn to each other and grin. 

Now, what’s the fastest way to get into Arkham?

…

So the chaos trio do ✨something✨ that gets them locked up in Arkham and then try to escape and they keep. You know, normal stuff for Arkham inmates. Except this trio? Keep. Getting. Out. Of. Their. Cells. So they are just passing by locked up rogues and waving at them as an army of prison guards chase after them. Sure they could get out the easy way (Aka powers) but no, this is a challenge so they have the normal rules of an escape room. Aka, you can’t break anything and an extra rule where if a guard catches you, then you can’t fight back (also, no one can get hurt). (They make fake identities and everything). So they need to go through the whole process. Figure out how to unlock cuffs. Could be learning to pick a lock with a spoon/stick/long nails. Then find the keys. Possibly having to crawl through vents to get in the warden’s office. Or making deals with prison inmates. Like, I’ll get this for you if you give me that (however they extract a promise that the rogue can’t kill anyone with whatever they help them with.) So they are in prison literally doing errands like find freeze’s weapons in exchange for him telling them the passcode to the gate or something. Or getting Waylon some meat from the cafeteria and he’ll break the lock on this movable vault that has materials to make smoke bombs they can use to distract the front guards. 

These kids are just going wild and it gets to the point where Arkham has to call the bats (like no Waylon, we won’t escape with you, we have to do it without breaking any walls!) So literally the only reason they are not escaping is because they want to do it ‘right’. But they are also aiding other rogues in their escape (at least certain ones. They aren’t helping joker no matter what he offers)

It’s driving the bats mad. They have vigilantes stationed in each hall, in multiple monitor rooms.

They aren’t even using anything clever to block the cameras. They’re using mirrors. Mirrors! Where did they even get so many handheld mirrors! 

They are running circles around the bats. The escaped rogues literally aren’t doing anything yet because they want to see how the three hellions will escape the entire bat clan. They have bets going. So there is a temporary truce.

Just imagine the conversations/interrogations the bats will have with trio, trying to figure out their master plan - because surely there's something more going on than three chaos young adults playing a game, right?

They trio each have a different story. And they are so passionate/convincing actors that no one knows which story is real. At least one of them told a sob story with legitimate tears.

Danny: (all mysterious) You shall never know our master plan….until it is too late. And just casually dropping hints that there is something greater or that the bats are playing right into their hands. Even using ridiculous scenarios like yesss the ketchup explosion in the cafeteria….We are one step further….Mwa ha ha! (Rubs his hands together)

Sam: (absolutely distraught with literal tears running down her face and ruining her mascara.) There is a terrible organization holding their parents hostage. They had been framed and forced to be in Arkham. If they don’t do exactly as they are told, their loved ones are in danger! Should we stay? Should we escape and help them!? No one will believe us and what if we make things worse? We don’t know what to do!

Tucker: (takes a long slurp of a smoothie. Where he got one? No one knows). Yeah we were bored and had nothing better to do than mess with you guys. (Sluuuuurp).

The bats are trying to figure it out. Is the black haired guy telling the truth and the other two are just manipulating them? Is it the girl and the others are only following the plot of the organization? IS THE BARET KID RIGHT AND THEY’RE JUST MESSING WITH US!? WHICH STORY IS IT!?

Under normal circumstances, Sam wouldn’t give a sob story because It’s not really her vibe. But Sam has the opportunity to pull one over on a bat. Do you honestly think she won’t take a chance to mess with them? Also, Dick is the one who is interrogating Sam.

He’s crying too by the end of the story.

Poor guy, Sam will play his heart like a fiddle. 

Also, their fake identities are Jordan for Danny. Mortica for Sam (or Macey for short) and Phineas for Tucker. The fact that they are using fake identities is the only thing they all agree on in the interview. But the bats find nothing on them and the identities are so realistic they wonder if they are even fake at all. If the three are faking fake IDs to throw them off their tail from looking deeper. Apparently their ‘parents’ having a missing persons report.

Damian is interrogating Danny. It’s just so easy to rile him up and get under his skin. It’s absolute drama in that interrogation room. 

Danny: ah yessss. Master plan.

Damian: you shall never succeed! Justice shall prevail evil scum!

And Duke is interrogating Tucker. He just…has no idea how to respond to this. He wasn’t trained for this response. Hostile, yes. Mysterious, yes. Scared, yes. Civilian, yes. Even Flirtatious! YES! But not…this. What does he do? should he take out his note cards?

Also, I’m adding a mix of home alone elements to this. They have to get past the bats somehow and it can’t be lethal. Poor Jason and Steph who are patrolling the halls fall victim to most of this.

At one point, both of them are tied up together and hanging from the ceiling. While the trio just casually walk by under them. 

It’s dental floss. Really strong dental floss.

Then the bats start taking sides. 

Jason? once he hears Sam's story, he's immediately willing to help her. He and Dick are searching for that missing person's report almost religiously.

Tim believes Danny's story. part of it is because it makes the most sense, and the other part is that he's slightly biased from becoming an evil megalomaniac in every timeline he's seen so he's subconsciously trying to stop that from happening here.

Cass believes Tucker because come on, it's Cass.

Steph is siding with Tim because her father was cluemaster so same reasons.

Bruce is trying to fact check all of them and is failing desperately.

Sam added some ‘clues’ in her interrogation and basically threw the GIW under the bus as the organization. So the bats do find a shady organization but so far no missing persons so the other bats still don’t know if what Sam is saying is true or not while Dick takes this as absolute proof and Jason feels like it doesn’t matter if she’s telling the truth at this point. It’s a corrupt organization. So he’ll still blow it up.

I think in this AU, the GIW isn’t a threat and more of an annoyance so Sam just plays them up as even worse. Like, she doesn’t say anything untrue just makes it sound worse out of context. Oh yeah, they opened fire on this random kid. (Gregory when they thought he was phantom) Oh yes, they have destroyed Danny’s house at one point. (The prank war with Vlad) Yes, the have an unhealthy obsession with dissecting people. (Even though they are too incompetent to actually catch anyone).

So again, they don’t know if Sam is telling the truth of the organization or they just used this random organization to draw their attention away from the three’s plans (as Danny implied). Possibly an enemy organization or a competitor.

I know everyone makes the GIW a big threat but I decided to change it up. They aren’t a threat but still get obliterated by a pissed off Red Hood and Nightwing.

And that’s  another reason why Sam gives the sob story. Danny and Tucker are great but they wouldn’t actually sick a crime lord on the GIW. Sam? Absolutely would. She does not care what happens to them. They tore up her garden one time with a stray shot. She wants revenge. And sure, she didn’t actually know what would happen to them after the bats find out but she still doesn’t care.

And through all of this, the rogues are sitting back and eating popcorn while Joker screams bloody murder from his cell. 

[cntloup]

house-husband!Nanami x fem!reader

fluff, mention of an injured animal, suggestive, mention of sex

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

sometimes when you return home from work, you catch him working out and you just stand there all giddy and giggly enjoying the view, his muscles flexing and sweat dripping down his skin. and soon you find yourself clenching your thighs together as your slick pools up, drenching your cute panties which will be ripped off soon.

he still maintains his work out routine to stay in shape just in case. he always considers every possible outcome in every situation, especially the worst case scenario. so he stays in shape in case shit hits the fan and he has to protect you.

although, he does let go to some extent after some persuasion on your part. you try to convince him that there's no danger and that he can finally relax now that he's quit.

and he finally gives in to your sweet words, letting himself grow a bit of pudge on his belly which you absolutely adore and find it sexy even though he doesn't believe you at first.

but after pouncing on him numerous times and giving his belly so much attention and love while riding him, he definitely believes you.

he picks up reading again after years of neglecting the mountain of books he had in the living room which you helped organize on the newly installed shelves.

he also finds an interest in writing, letting his deeper thoughts and feelings dribble down on the paper, sensing a lightness and serenity in letting go as the ink forms the words that have been sitting deep in his heart for years.

and soon after he finds his voice, he starts writing love letters to you which make you sob, laugh and giggle like a school girl even after years of living together. and you cherish all of them and keep them all safe in a cute vintage box.

he plays some classic music on the gramophone and you both dance around the living room without a care in the world, feeling safe and secure in each other's arms, away from all the hustle and bustle of the world.

on restless nights, you both curl up in each other's arms with a mug of tea in hand while he reads to you, his voice soft and soothing, the warmth of the tea and his embrace making you feel hazy as sleep takes over and he lays you down in bed with a soft kiss on your forehead and a whisper of "goodnight, my love."

one day on his morning walk around the neighborhood, he finds a wounded puppy, probably hit by a car and left alone to die. in an instant, his caretaker instincts kick in and he very gently and slowly picks up the puppy, barely the size of his palms.

"puppy!" you squeal out upon seeing the puppy when you walk in the living room and run towards the couch where the puppy is resting, catching Kento off guard. "you nearly gave me a heartattack, love." he says with a light chuckle. "sorry. it's just so cuteee!" you say in a squeaky voice as you pick it up and nuzzle your face against it. the scene before him makes his heart melt, thinking how lucky he is to have you as his wife.

he picks up playing the piano as well, taking lessons with the lovely old woman who lives two blocks away. but you have no idea. he wants it to be a surprise. so he makes the most of his time while you're away and practices the most beautiful sonatas to play for you, his beautiful wife.

date nights are frequent and you both have a strict schedule so that you wouldn't miss them at all. you receive a text from your dear husband which says 'pick you up from work. love you, sweetheart <3' which makes you giggle. even the smallest gestures from him make your heart melt.

and on that night, he serenades you with beautiful pieces like 'Clair de Lune' and 'Salut d'Amour', making you fall for him all over again. you cry and cling to him as you sit beside him while his fingers dance on the keys.

and he makes love to you, worshiping you as the goddess that you are. and you both shed tears as you feel overwhelmed by all the emotions coursing through you, the sheer amount of love you feel for each other taking over you, profound and overpowering.

and when you miss your period, you know for sure why that is. and after you mention it to him, he's over the moon, absolutely excited about starting a family with you, albeit still nervous about becoming a father, but soon his mind is at ease after you so sweetly tell him that he'd be an amazing father.

[godnectar]

Hey absolutely a huge fan of your work. If you can and want to, could you please do one of a yandere writing nsfw stories of himself and his darling hoping to recreate it one day with his darling?

・✶ ｡ﾟYAN! NSFW WRITER ;

cw: obsessive & possessive behaviour, kinda suggestive (ofc sylas 🙄), gn! reader (non-specified genitalia), etc.

yandere writer! who, since you two became a couple, has become more and more excited when he had to write his little erotic scenes in any of his books. he would spend long, extensive hours giving specified details of the 'event' when you are not with him–

yandere writer! who swears he has never felt this aroused as his trembling fingers type on his computer. what would you think of him, mmmh? what would you do if you ever discover the way his lovely cock reddens, probably also leaks, at the mere thought of recreating those writings with you, his precious muse?

yandere writer! who, when he thinks he's done for good, lets out a shaky breath, doing his best not to succumb and scroll up to reread something that could be considered as the dirtiest, most obscene scenario he's ever made.

yandere writer! who spends the rest of the midnight questioning himself about his lil' moments of sinfulness; would you approve of it? would you hate him for doing all of this while thinking about you, especially without you knowing? ...or would you consider helping him and fulfill his fantasies?

yandere writer! who truly wants to feel shy, even ashamed, but he just isn't able to. deep inside, he's aware of how much he wants you under him, listening attentively and trying out everything he dreams about. why should he suppress his desires when he's slightly sure he could eventually convince you of making them possible?

yandere writer! who, after some good minutes spent overthinking, ends up sobbing outraged tears, not just because of the overstimulation of his hand sliding up and down on his dick, but because he cannot muster up the courage to share his perversions with his darling. how long will he resist until he goes madder than he already is?

yandere writer! who, as he believes every writer does, has a million erotic drafts about him and his lover he hopes you will never know about. he cannot afford having his babe feeling weirded out; what if you decide to leave him? he doesn't want to actually lock you in the house, you know :(

yandere writer! who felt his soul leave his body the moment he entered the office a random day and saw you looking at his computer screen; his heart started beating wildly when he catched a glimpse of a smug smile spreading on your lips. what he didn't expect was to find himself some hours after breathing hard, his body glistening in sweat and skin marked up with your love <3

yandere writer! who, once he was able to experience how amazing you were while carrying out his fantasies, now he can't get enough of his babe and constantly wants to repeat ♡ his little obsession for u growing as the days pass.

"my muse, i hope you are aware i can't let you go after making me this happy; my masterpieces have been made because of you, it would be a shame to stop, don't u think?"

© godnectar 2023. please do not modify, translate, or repost my works on any platform without my permission.

[llamagoddessofficial]

Can you believe I've never done Farmtale Sans before? As a certified country girl? Shocking, I know. I'll rectify this issue with my latest brainrot scenario immediately

---

“whoever this is, it better be real fuckin’ important,” the voice at the other end said, gruff and tired, heavy with a mix of annoyance and sleepiness.

Immediately, shame washed over you. The very small amount of steam you’d managed to muster up completely dissipated from your body as you imagined Sans’ disappointed and disbelieving reaction to your pathetic request.

This was a mistake.

“... H-hey. Uhm... I’m fine, I didn’t mean to call. Butt dial, hahah.” Your voice nearly cracked. “Sorry for waking you up.”

“... wait.” His voice instantly changed. “hey, don’t hang up-”

You didn’t hear the rest of what he said. You hung up, and put the phone down. Now you were right back to square one, sitting at the kitchen table in a freezing empty house at 2 in the morning. It had taken you almost half an hour to muster up the courage to call him- thirty minutes of sitting by the phone, wrapped up in your coat, shaking and holding back tears. You started plotting places you were going to sleep. Maybe if you put more wood in the kitchen stove, you could just sleep at the table until morning. 

... You inherited this place from your grandmother. It was a ‘rustic’ house that hadn’t seen human company for over a decade, in the middle of the deep countryside, cut off from almost everything. Spooky, draughty, on nights like tonight sitting in the kitchen was like sitting in a fridge. You had moved out of necessity- your landlord in the city had evicted you from your beloved apartment to jack up his prices, and you couldn’t find anywhere else to live except this middle-of-nowhere house left in your name.

You had lived in the city your whole life. You weren’t used to being in the country, not at all. The month you’d spent here had only reinforced that fact to you, over and over.

Something made a noise outside. An animal, maybe. You curled your coat tighter around you.

The only upside so far had been meeting the monsters that made up the tight-knit community you had been unceremoniously dropped into. Papyrus and Sans, especially, had been so wonderful and helpful. Sans had told you to call if you needed anything.

... Which was exactly why you didn’t have the heart to tell him why you were really calling. You didn’t want him to think any worse of you than he probably already did. A stuck-up city girl who doesn’t know what she’s doing.

You were scared.

... 

The phone rang. The sound made you jump, it felt so loud in the silence. Despite your increasing shame, and the desire to just let it ring... you picked up.

“c’mon, don’t be like that.” He sounded much softer than when he had first answered. “what’s wrong? something happen?”

“N-no.” Hearing someone else’s voice was so comforting. You felt so alone, far away from everyone. “It’s nothing.”

You obviously weren’t very convincing. “doesn’t seem like nothing. you sound terrified.”

“I’m just cold.”

“didja kill someone? do i need to come over and help hide a body?”

You couldn’t help it, that made you giggle a little.

...

It just came. You didn’t entirely know why. Probably because it was two, and you hadn’t slept since six the previous morning. Unable to help yourself, you just... burst into tears.

“hey. s’ok, you’re gonna be ok. i’m on the way.”

“N-no, no, please,” You pressed your sleeve against your eyes The shame was absolutely overwhelming. “Please don’t come,”

“too late. already outta bed, it’s serious business. you gonna tell me what’s got you all shaken up?”

You pulled your knees up to your face. Well, no hiding it now, huh? He’d heard you sobbing over the phone. Your voice crumpled under a mixture of tears, fear, immense fatigue and shame. You felt like such a baby. 

“Th-there’s a huge spider on my bed,” you finally admitted, feebly. “I-I’m... I don’t know what to do.”

“aw jeez. why didn’t you just say?”

You could suddenly barely talk through the crying. Hours of stress, all coming out in one mess. He probably thought you were pathetic.

“hey. knock knock.”

As he said that, you heard two soft knocks on your side door. You jumped up, what the hell? Was that Sans? You dropped the phone and rushed to the door to let him in, almost tripping over yourself. 

You opened the door, the air was full of the sound of wind and crickets. Sans stood in the darkness outside of the house, dressed in a thick knitted sweater, blue and white striped pyjama bottoms, big heavy boots, and a coat over the top of it all. He had the phone in one hand, and his smile widened when he saw you.

Shocked, you scrubbed at your eyes and nose again, self consciously trying to wipe off the tears and snot. He lived half an hour's drive from you. “H-how... how did you get here so fast?”

“shortcut.” He winked, those lovely emerald green eyelights glimmering in the low light. “can i come in?”

You nodded, not trusting your voice, stepping to the side. Maybe he knew roads your map apps didn't. Sans eagerly came into the light, kicking off his shoes and closing the door behind him.

“this way?” he asked. 

... You showed him to the bedroom, but cowered in the doorway. 

“I-it’s under the sheet.”

Sans didn’t even hesitate. He approached the bed and flipped back the sheet. The spider hadn’t moved since you last saw it scurry under your bedclothes, still sitting right there, with its fat hairy body and sharp legs. It was probably the biggest spider you had ever seen in your entire life. You felt a horrible chill pass over you.

“dang. he is big. look at the size of that gangly fucker.”

Having said that, Sans just... grabbed it. He picked the spider up before it could run and held it in his enclosed fist like he was scooping up a penny he had dropped on the floor. Just like that, he moved across the room and pulled back the curtain, cracked the window open, stuck his arm out, and threw the spider out into the darkness.

He closed the window again. The air felt less heavy. He even tugged the handle to make sure the window was all properly sealed up, pulling the curtains closed again.

It took him all of fifteen seconds.

“all good.” He turned to you, grinning and showing you his open palms. No spider. “successfully evicted.”

...

You started crying again. 

Sans mumbled a soft ‘aw jeez’. He didn’t hesitate to cross the room, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into a warm hug, ignoring your babbled apologies. 

“he really spooked ya, huh?” A gentle hand smoothed over your hair. He smelled like sweet hay, hours of sunshine, and something slightly musky. “how long were you tryna drum up the courage?”

“T-two hours,” you sobbed, muffled in his sweater.

You’d expected him to laugh at you. But he didn’t. He just held you, letting you cry out all the stress that had been building up over the course of the night. You were pretty sure this was the first time you had been hugged since before you left the city.

Eventually, you calmed yourself down, reducing to just hiccups. Sans didn’t let go until you did, allowing you to pull away, but keeping a steadying hand on your arm. 

“easy, pet.” His voice was so warm and soothing. “you’re all good.”

“Fucking... I’m just such a baby.” Your sleeves were damp from all of the tear wiping you were doing. You made an unattractive sniffling sound. “You didn’t even hesitate.”

“cus i’m used to ‘em. also, i’m a skeleton, so i don’t gotta worry about being bitten. no shame in bein’ scared of the big ones.” 

Your voice was hoarse. “I’m sorry you came out all this way.”

“... did you think i’d be mad at you?” he asked, softly.

“M-mhm.”

“i really don’t mind bein’ yer bug removing hero." He patted his nonexistent bicep. "tell ya what, it makes me feel very big an’ tough.”

He had you giggling again. He always did. He seemed proud of himself- his presence was balm to your Soul right now. 

“I just... I get so scared at night.” Your cheeks were hot. “It’s so quiet, and dark. I feel like I’m the only person around for miles. I don’t know why I thought I could do this.”

"this?"

"Living out here."

“hey, i beg to differ. yer already doin’ so much better than most who move to these parts.”

You looked up at him. Why did that tiny bit of praise make your heart swell so much? You didn’t feel like you were doing ‘better’. You’d just called your nearest neighbour at 2 in the morning to come save you from a spider. “But I’m always asking for help.”

“exactly. you’re askin’. that’s the important part.” His eyelights were so warm. “that’s how we make it work, out here. we help each other.”

Goddamnit. You were gonna cry again. You just about managed to choke it down.

“... the animal noises also probably freak you out too, huh?”

“Y-yeah, hah.”

“if you don’t know what yer hearin’, it can be pretty scary.”

... You sniffled.

...

“... you’re shaking. d’ya want me to stay?”

How did he know? He always just seemed to know. You nodded, meekly. You didn’t want to be alone right now, and you knew the house would feel even colder and emptier once you’d known how it felt while you had company.

“Will Papyrus be worried?”

“he knew i was headin’ out to help ya. he’ll be fine.”

... You didn’t need to say out loud where you wanted Sans to sleep. Both of you knew.

The two of you finally took off your coats, and Sans turned off the lights. His forest-coloured eyelights were the only illumination in the room. As soon as he shuffled into bed beside you, you gratefully curled up against him, he was so calming and so warm. He reciprocated, wrapping his big arms around you, his comforting smell soothing your shot nerves. 

“... Thank you.” Your voice was almost a whisper.

“yer really warm.” he hummed. “just so you know, i’m a bit of a snorer.”

You probably should’ve been more concerned, sharing a bed in a very secluded location with a guy you barely knew. But you didn’t have the energy for it. For the first time in a long time, you were warm, didn’t feel lonely, and weren’t worried at all about bugs. 

“I don’t mind.”

... It was the best night’s sleep you’d ever had.

[diejager]

HIII I SUPER LOVE UR WORKS!! can u do a stepdad!konig that got her stepdaughter!reader pregnant hksisjsjs

Cw: DARKFIC, STEPCEST, DUB-CON/NON-CON, forced pregnancy, mention of abortion, breeding kink, age gap, age difference, tell me if I missed any.

You’d been… shockingly quiet these past days. Cooped up in your room with little to no interaction with both him and your mother, or with Horangi unless they imposed themselves on you, knocking until you broke in and forced you to listen to them. Mumbling incoherent and sobbing writes that left him confused at most hours despite having heard everything from your pleading cries and grumbling moans when he fucked you in your bed. Or the sudden cold shoulder you gave everyone : him, your stepfather; Horangi, his best friend; and your mother. 

Your rapid change had affected more than him, he supposed, having being forced to comfort your mother when you wouldn’t leave your room unless absolutely necessary. He had to whisper reassurances, mumble out promises that you were fine and kiss her worried tears away like a loving husband would, caring and tender and perfect, but he was getting sick of this act he had to play. She was a means to an end, someone König used to reach his goal. Cruel, some would say, but so was life, and he wasn’t averse to bend the world around him to fit the mould of his small paradise. 

He wasn’t mad —no, how could he when you were being so good? You stayed home, within an arm’s length from him and Horangi, and oh, so accessible to both their hunger and affection. So near that you were seconds away when he or Horangi needed some entertainment when sitting in the office and writing reports became too boring —repetitive and uninspiring. His access to you had grown exponentially, and so had his needs, seeing that you were always home.

He was - would be - proud, truly proud if not for the oddness of it all. The sudden isolation, the sudden silence, the sudden introverted behaviour. It was as if his once bright Schatzi turned into a lonely hermit. König had his worries, ones that he openly shared with Horangi when in your presence, catching the nausea you felt, the morning sickness and the quiet apprehension about their need to question you over and over. 

But it hadn’t clicked in their minds how weirdly coincidental it all was, they were seemingly oblivious to your plight —confused and worried, but all so, so confused about your behaviour. Most questions went unanswered, inquiries ignored and worried glances shrugged. It was a mystery when you wouldn’t tell him anything, keeping your lips sealed and silent while you did… whatever it was you kept hushed in your bedroom. 

Until he stumbled into a pregnancy test, used and accompanied by an old receipt that dated to a week or two prior. It all made sense then, the small clues he picked up left and right aligning to fit a certain scenario. One that both he and Horangi had been striving to reach for a while now. He now had an oversight over all your actions: the pregnancy test, the isolation, the many tabs about abortions and paper clips for different clinics and hospitals. 

Now that he knew, König could finally take action like he was taught. He would plan and strategise to further your pregnancy with or without your explicit consent. He will have this child.

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @daisychainsinknots @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @haven-1307 @shironasumi @lucienbarkbark @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @223princess @maylovesyousomuch @cod-z @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts @evolutionarry @kaoyamamegami

[hellodarling1357]

Tiny Toes: Part 6.1 - Cassian x Reader

I couldn't decide on the perfect scenario for this particular plot point so this is 1 of 6(ish) parts that I'll be putting together so that I can write out all of the amazing requests I received for this special moment 🥰

Summary: Nightmares + Family Time + Big Changes (1.0)

Word Count: 1.8k

You can read the previous part here

The sound of hushed, worried whispers pulled you from your sleep but it was the sudden onset of sobs that had you bolting upright in bed. Cassian glances over to you, an apologetic look on his face as he tries to calm Ottie down from where she was clinging to him and crying into his shoulder.

“What happened? Is she alright?” you quietly asked, reaching out a hand to brush some hair away from her face. Ottie, realising you were now awake, was quick to grab hold of your hand, squeezing it tightly against her as her sobs continued.

Cassian gave you a small smile, looking just as helpless as you felt. “She had a nightmare,” he explained, “sorry for waking you.” You brushed him off with a frown, your one concern in that moment was to make sure Ottie was okay - sleep was now so far from your mind. 

“Oh, sweetheart,” you soothed, resting one hand on Cassian’s back as Ottie continued to cling to your other one. “You’re safe, it’s alright. Daddy’s here and I’m here too, okay? We won’t let anything happen to you.”

“Of course we won’t,” Cassian continued, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and breathing a sigh of relief as her sobs started to turn into small sniffles. “Do you want to tell us about it?”

“N-no,” Ottie leaned back, wiping at her nose with the back of her hand as she looked between you and Cassian with wide, watery eyes. “It was really scary.”

“I know it was, princess. But you’re okay, you’re safe.”

“Can I have a cuddle?” She asks Cassian, you could see his heart melt at the innocence and comfort in her question, at the unwavering safety she felt with him. He was quick to pull her back into his arms as he rubbed soothing circles up and down her back, burying his face into her hair.

“I’ll go get her a glass of water,” you said in a quiet voice, pressing a kiss to Cassian’s cheek and then one to Ottie’s, Cassian looked up at you a grateful smile as he started whispering soothing words into Ottie’s ear.

*****

Glass of water in hand, you step into Ottie’s room on your way back to make sure nothing was amiss before heading for Cassian’s room - your room, as it had been for the past three weeks

The very next day after you had agreed to move in, Cassian was quick to clear out some extra space for your belongings; his family had been more than willing to help you clear out your apartment and move you in, each of them offering knowing smiles when you had broken the news. Wanting to make it feel as homely as possible for you, Cassian had insisted on you keeping any and all furniture you couldn’t bring yourself to part with and had dropped Ottie off with Elain one morning so that the two of you could go shopping for a few pieces together; you couldn’t remember a time when you had ever felt so content, like everything was exactly as it was supposed to be.

“How’re you feeling, sweetheart?” Ottie sat up against Cassian as you entered the room, reaching for the glass with both hands before taking a few deep sips from it as she leant heavily into Cassian, looking absolutely exhausted. You gave him a questioning look which he nodded back to, indicating that she was fine and had just been a bit worked up.

Placing the now empty glass on the bedside table, Cassian shifted, a now much calmer, Ottie in his lap, and quietly asked, “ready for me to take you back to bed, princess?”

This was clearly the wrong thing to say, eyes filling with tears and lip wobbling as she stared up at Cassian with a look of the upmost betrayal. “Ottie…” he tried to sooth her again before the tears could fall but she was having none of it. Faster than either of you could anticipate, she was scrambling out of Cassian’s arms and straight into yours.

Ottie’s arms wrapped tightly around your neck, and you felt her tears begin to dampen your top from where her face was nestled against you. “Ottie, you’re okay…” you soothed as your arms wrapped around her small shaking frame. Cassian watched on in silence as you comforted his daughter without a second thought, feeling torn between his heart feeling as though it were about to combust at the sight, and the tension that came from seeing his little girl so distraught. Your eyes lifted to meet his, you looked just as tired as he felt but it didn’t seem to deter you from putting sleep aside for Ottie.

“Come on, we can both take you back to bed. You might even be able to convince Y/N to read you another bedtime story if you ask–”

“No,” Ottie was desperately clinging to you know, tears running down her cheeks as she started up at Cassian with an indignant expression.

“I want to stay here,” then the tears turned into sobs again, as she clung to you with one hand and held Cassian’s in the other, needing you both close to her in that moment. “I want to stay here with you and with mummy. I don’t want to go back to bed. I don’t want to. I don’t want to.”

Between her sobs, you almost missed what she had said, what she had called you, but once it had finally processed you felt your heart stop as you looked over Ottie’s head and at Cassian with wide eyes.

He was already watching you, an almost guarded look of anticipation on his face, as if assessing to see what you reaction would be before offering up his own. But behind that, you could see the smallest tug of a smile, as if he couldn’t quite keep a hold on it. Raising an eyebrow, he tilted his head at you, as if asking, okay?  Taking in a deep breath, you were unable to bite down the smile that pulled at your lips, giving a small nod in response - okay. Your heart fluttered in your chest in absolute delight as Cassian’s mask slipped away, revealing the most heartwarming smile you had ever seen on him. He shifted across the mattress, pulling you firmly into his side with an arm around your waist, the other soothing back Ottie’s hair before pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Alright, princess. Just for tonight, you can stay in here with me and mummy,” Ottie immediately stopped sobbing, tears still slid down her cheeks, but she looked up at Cassian with a sparkle in her eye as she tentatively nodded. “Do you want to quickly run back to your room to get Teddy?” She nodded again, a smile playing at her lips as she scrambled out of your lap and jumped of the bed.

Once she had ran out of the room, you turned to face Cassian, but he was faster in softly gripping your chin and pulling you in for a searing kiss.

“I love you,” With silver lining his eyes, Cassian words whispered across your lips, repeating them again and again and again in between kisses. “I love you. I love you. So much, Y/N. Thank you.”

Now you had tears of your own welling in your eyes that Cassian was quick to kiss away as they fell down your cheeks. “I love you,” your voice was breathless as you pulled him towards you for another kiss. “And Ottie. Thank you for letting me be a part of her life, a part of your family.”

The pitter patter of footsteps running down the hall towards your bedroom had you both letting out a shaky laugh as you quickly wiped away the tears, still smiling with arms wrapped around each other as Ottie bounded into the room, teddy bear in hand.

Cassian helped lift her up onto the bed, settling her in between the two of you, looking as though his tears were threatening to spill all over again.

“Feeling better, Otts?” He asked, you could hear the slight quiver in his voice as he smiled at her, your heart racing and threating to burst as you thought about the past 15 minutes and all the months leading up to this moment.

“Yeah…” she let out a sleepy yawn, holding onto the two of you as she shuffled further into the mattress. “Goodnight, daddy. Goodnight, mummy.” Another stifled yawn escaped her mouth as she closed her eyes.

“Goodnight, princess.” Cassian whispered.

You leant forwards and pressed a soft kiss to her cheek then to the top of her head before settling back onto your pillow, resting on your side so that you were facing the two of them. Cassian shifted as well, letting the seconds tick by as you stared at each other with a smile that held so much while Ottie’s breathing evened out.

After a few minutes of silence, sleep slowly taking over, Cassian moved even closer, one hand still clasped in Ottie’s the other reaching out to rest above her head on the pillow before it found its place at the back of your head, fingers slowly tangling in your hair.

“You’re alright with all of this?” he whispered into the darkness.

“Yes. I never thought that…” You were at a loss for words when it came to articulating just how alright with the situation you were. “Yes, I am. As long as you are. I don’t want you to think I’m overstepping or that I’m trying to replace–”

“Y/N,” Cassian was quick to cut of your rambling, a softness in his voice that had your heart clenching. “I never thought that I would find someone who would make me this happy after, well, after everything. Let alone someone who also makes Ottie feel so happy, and safe, and loved. So, yes, as long as you’re comfortable with it, I love that Ottie has you in her life to fill that space and to be that person she’s been missing.”

Cassian let out a quiet chuckle, noting your slight sniffle as you tried to subtly wipe away the tears in your eyes. Your words were lost when Ottie suddently let out a little sigh in her sleep as she wiggled into a more comfortable position, drawing both yours and Cassian’s attention to her as she finally settled.

“We should get some sleep too,” Cassian whispered, resting his head on the pillow and looking at you with a soft smile.

“Probably, we have all of tomorrow to figure things out.” You yawned, sleep suddenly threating to pull you away.

Cassian hummed in agreement, seemingly seconds off from sleep as well. “We have the rest of our lives to figure things out.” Again, your heart fluttered at his words as you finally drifted into a peaceful sleep.

*****

Read Part 6.2 now!

*****

Tag List: @mis-lil-red @sarawritestories @beardburnsupersoldiers @eve175 @blushingfawnsposts @turtleshavesoulmates @slytherinindisguise @sleepylunarwolf @starryhiraeth @tele86 @azrielsmate3 @anuttellaa @purple-haired-faerie @lilac-witch @cassianstannn32 @littlelunatica @nighttimemoonlover

Let me know if you wanted to be added!

[head-empty-just-ace]

I'm currently reading a now-becoming personal favorite book of mine so— here's a scenario of Ace accidentally setting your favorite book (tabbed, annotated, and highlighted) on fire. And yes, this is self-indulgent, sue me.

Portgas D. Ace x GN!Reader

CW: angst if you squint enough

Word Count: 1.1k

You adore Ace. There's no denying in that. But the man isn't really well-versed when it comes to emotional or sensitive topics and situations. Sometimes, he doesn't fully understand why you get emotional over certain things. Ace wouldn't be an insensitive asshole over it— he'd comfort you best he can at the moment then learn more on the topic to understand you better.

Ace really meant well. He really did. You said you loved a certain book, even showing it off to him with all the tabs and messy scribblings of your annotations on the pages. And he could see the care you put into the book. Was he the reading type? No. But did he want to get to know you better so he'd understand why you were gushing over the said book? Yes. (Plus, he knows it'll be brownie points if he reads it)

So, he borrows your book. You made him promise to take absolute care of it. Not a single dent or scratch should come to the pages or cover. He grins at your firm tone but nods his head and responds with, "Yes, Ma'am." Now, he does take good care of it. Does that thing where he barely opens the pages to read because he's scared that he'll leave a mark on the spine if he opens the book too wide. Also, makes sure to use a bookmark— since you were stern about not making dog ears on the precious pages.

However, his narcoleptic episode strikes one day while reading. Ace gets jolted awake by a loud crash on the deck, which makes him instinctively ignite his devil fruit. He smells something is burning. A cold feeling pools at his gut as he swallows. His eyes fall onto your book caught on fire. In a panic, he does his best to put out the fire—but it was too late. The damage had been done. Pages and cover alike burned at the edges that they were black. It was unreadable and looked like it'd fall apart at the slightest touch.

For a moment, he considers throwing it into the ocean and buying you a new one. But that obviously wouldn't work because the said book was littered with annotations and tabs. You'd immediately figure it out anyway. So, being the honest man that he is, he starts to look for you with the book cradled in his chest. When he asks around the crew where you were— they already gave him sympathetic looks because of the burned book in his hands.

Ace is a prideful man. However, this man was on the verge of getting to his knees and begging for your forgiveness the moment he saw you. Panic visible in his eyes as he calls your name. You turn to meet his gaze, a warm smile on your face that makes his heart race a little while twisting his guts at the same time. The poor man was sure you'd never smile at him again like that if you knew what he was about to tell you.

"I'msosorryIdidn'tmeantoburnyourbook." He says in one breath that it makes you blink at him. You want to laugh at his flustered state and tease him, but your gaze falls to the burned book in his hands. Even in its state, you could clearly recognize it. The way your expression falls makes his gut churn even more. He looked like he'd rather fight an entire fleet of Marines than put you through this.

Without a word, you gently take the book from his hands. You craddle the fragile thing against your chest and crouch down. Tears immediately falling to the wooden floors while your body trembles from your sobs. Of course, you know he didn't mean it. He never would. But it doesn't really undo the damage.

Ace feels like his heart just got ripped out of his chest. He kneels down in front of you, hands in the air— unsure whether to hold you or not. Afraid that you might not want his touch. The more you keep crying, the more he feels the stinging sensation in his own eyes. Sure, he wasn't really the sensitive and overtly emotional kind. But he knew that book meant a lot to you. You trusted him with it. And he promised to take care of it.

Apologies leave his lips unabashedly. One after another as he practically begs for your forgiveness. He does his best to comfort you and make you feel better. Seeing you cry because of him? It felt like a knife gutting him from inside out. The two of you spend a fairly long time on the floor. You grieving over your book. Him doing his best to make up for it.

The days after that were horrid. The two of you interacted but he always felt like something was missing. He was fully convinced your smile didn't reach your eyes, your laugh wasn't as vibrant, your affections weren't the same somehow, and you just felt distant. Even the crew started feeling bad for him because it was clear he was wracked with guilt by the entire situation.

Ace tried making up for it. Getting Thatch to make your favorite meal. Trying just about anything to make you smile or laugh. Opening doors for you with a theatric bow and wiggling his brows to make you smile even by a bit. If you wanted something, he'd get you it. He knew he was slowly getting back to your good graces but it wasn't really enough.

Eventually, an idea strikes him. He goes out of his way to get you the exact copy of that book. Does he give it to you immediately? No. What he does is he starts reading the book. He'll tab pages, highlight and annotate lines that reminded him of you or something he thought you might like, and making sure he slowly opens the book instead of breaking the spine.

Once Ace is done reading it, he'll give it to you— paired with a sweet and sincere apology. Even going on to tell you about the things in the book that he enjoyed. He's genuinely sorry for what happened. Your eyes shine a bit while flipping through the pages. Reading through his cheesy notes and the lines he annotates just for you. It makes your heart melt (if it already didn't after the man's all-out effort for your forgiveness).

You smile at him brightly. Finally— finally, he believes that it's the same one before he burned your book. "I forgive you— really." You say, wrapping your arms around his waist for a hug. He immediately melts into your embrace and wraps his arms around you tightly. Burying his face into your neck, he presses soft kisses over the curve of it and down to your shoulder. When you giggle? Oh, gods, he squeezes you even more and showers you with kisses.

Lesson learned: If you're interested in reading a book, he will curl up against you while you read it to him. That way— he can listen to your voice, understand you a bit more, and cuddle with you (which is probably his favorite part).

~~~~~

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