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#those eyes could melt a stone!
caramiasinner · 1 year
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You can't have messy hair and be sexy..
Mr Ghost: Hold my kids temp coffee.
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hairmetal666 · 2 months
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They start kissing on stage as a joke.
The night before the first time, they're at an afterparty, pounding shots, and Eddie is reading aloud a piece that just came out in Rolling Stone. "'One of the most noteworthy parts of Munson and Harrington's unlikely pairing is their chemistry on stage. It's like these two men--one on his way to being the latest metal god, the other an indie rock wunderkind--are two parts of one musical whole. Their singing, their playing, even their bodies twine and flow with assuredness; where one goes, the other follows without question. They share a single brain-cell and that cell is music'."
Steve giggles, pours some more Grey Goose into the glass. "If they say that now, could you imagine what would happen if we, like, kissed on stage or something."
"What the fuck, Harrington?" Eddie splutters, having just thrown a drink back.
"I don't know, other bands do it!"
Eddie snorts. "I'm cutting you off." He reaches for the bottle and the suggestion is forgotten for wrestling over the liquor.
Steve barely remembers it in the morning. Doesn't think about it at all as he gets ready to go out on stage.
They're playing one of the instrumental breakdowns when it happens. They're leaning into each other, Eddie smiling over his shoulder at him, their eyes locked, bodies moving together. "You wanna?" Eddie mouths at him.
Steve nods before the question actually registers and by then Eddie's warm, soft mouth is against his and he just-- completely forgets what he's doing. His hands still on the guitar strings, and he melts a little, going completely boneless when Eddie grips the back of his head, pulls him deeper into the kiss. t's over almost as quickly as it started, Eddie pulling away and swirling to the mic to start the next verse.
The kiss sinks into Steve's bones, and that's before it becomes a regular feature of their performances. After that night, they're never at the same time during the show, all initiated by Eddie, all over before he can catch his breath; each one chaste and surrounded by people but somehow more intimate than any make out.
He and Eddie, they're friends, bandmates, collaborators. They've known each other since they first started out, forging an immediate connection with they stumbled upon each other hiding out in the garden at some industry bigwig's party. And as much as he loved his friend, never once in that time had Steve considered wanting Eddie.
But now, now he falls asleep with the ghost of Eddie on his lips, goes into each show with a thrum of anticipation, catches himself thinking how beautiful his friend is when he's all rumpled and disheveled from a night in the tour bus bunks.
They've always been easy with physical affection, but once the kissing starts they're constantly in each other's space, idly playing with hair, laying across laps, heads on shoulders, twisting together on the tour bus couch. Steve is ruined with every touch, every moment; he can't get enough.
The first time Eddie uses tongue destroys every last piece of Steve's composure. They've added a new song to the setlist, a remixed version of Eddie's hit "Prince Charming". It's hard, heavy, sexy, one of Steve's favorites. And in the middle of it, right in the middle, Eddie shoves him against a low platform, kisses him like he's trying to own him, tongues twining eager and wet and full of sinful promise. It's like that every show after, Eddie kissing him deep and thorough, like he's trying to lick up every drop of Steve.
He is, unquestionably, fucked. Unquestionably falling. Can't properly fathom how he'd gotten himself here, desperate for Eddie's kiss, as performative as it may be.
They're packing up equipment after a show. Eddie's hair is piled in a messy bun and Steve is trying not to blatantly stare at the curve of his neck, the stray curls against his pale skin. Eddie's gesturing at something, says, "Can you grab those cords, swee--Steve?" He hands them over without thought, notices that Eddie's face is shining red. He's called away to deal with packing the guitars, forgets all about it, but at their next show, Eddie doesn't kiss him.
They don't talk about it.
Eddie doesn't try to kiss him again.
A week after Eddie stops the kiss, they have a night off between shows. He needs to get out of his head, goes out with Robin. He gets back fairly early, but all the lights are off in the bus. It makes him panic in a way it shouldn't; they've always done their own things. Still, he rushes on board, flips on the lights, his absurd heart beating too hard.
Eddie is curled up on the couch, face pressed to the pillows and covered with his hands. The panic kicks up a notch.
"Eddie?" He steps closer, slowly reaching out to grip Eddie's shoulder.
He jerks upright, earbuds slipping free, phone sliding down his hip. "Steve?"
His face is wet, tears actively slipping free from his eyes as Steve watches.
"What happened? Are you hurt?" His hands flutter around Eddie's arms and face, searching for bruises or wounds.
"I'm fine, Harrington," he chokes out. "Though you were out with Robin?"
"Yeah, I was, but Chrissy called. You know how useless she gets. But that doesn't--you--you're crying. What's wrong?"
Eddie's smile is a wobbly little thing, refusing to stick on his face. "Oh, you know, the usual. Fell for the wrong guy."
Steve forces down the gut churning hurt at hearing that Eddie's in love with someone, intent on comforting his friend. He tries to slip his arm around Eddie's shoulders, but Eddie shrugs him off. It jostles Eddie's phone again, slipping it toward Steve and activating the screen. He has a split second where he's looking at the cover of his own first album, before Eddie's snatching it out of reach, scrambling up from the couch.
"I'm fine." He swipes his sleeve over his face. "It's nothing."
And Steve is putting it all together, the being in love and listening to Steve's music, the kissing and how it ended.--
"Eddie." He sounds all wrong, choked and garbled.
Eddie doesn't turn around, is stuffing his feet into his boots. "I'm--I gotta go clear my head."
He walks towards the door and Steve just--"I've been obsessed with you since the first kiss," he says. Eddie stops, hand curled against the door. "We've been friends all this time and I didn't--I never realized. And then we kissed and--it's all I've been able to think about."
Eddie turns then, facing him, expression unreadable."Steve, what are you--"
"I love you. I'm in love with you." It comes out fast, all jumbled, but he can't stand Eddie leaving, not now.
"You--?" Eddie blinks, bites his lip. "That's not possible."
Steve smiles, can't help it. "It is, though. Turns out, I can't get enough."
Their eyes lock; neither speaks. Steve's heart pounds so hard it might spring free of his chest. Eddie moves first, crosses the small distance between them to pull Steve into his arms.
It's not a kiss, but Steve buries his face against Eddie's neck, breathing him in, feeling the echo to the pound of his own heart. "How long?" Steve asks.
Eddie's soft laugh vibrates through him. "Since I saw you walking in that garden and thought, 'jesus christ, Prince Charming is real'."
Steve pulls away to stare at Eddie in disbelief. "But that's--your--the song?"
"They're kinda all about you, Stevie. But that one most of all." Eddie whispers. His eyes glisten.
"Fuck, Eddie." He doesn't mean to whine, but he's not in control of his voice anymore. "I'm sorry I didn't--" He shakes his head. "I'm all yours, Ed. Whatever you want."
Eddie's thumb catches against Steve's bottom lips, eyes transfixed on his mouth. "Everything, sweetheart. I want it all."
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deadsetobsessions · 2 months
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It takes a lot to break a ghost. After all, even death didn’t keep them down for long, not in any way that mattered.
There is, however, a sure fire way to utterly crush a ghost’s core without even touching it.
Find their grave, and defile it.
It is the height of cruelty. It is the ultimate act of disrespect. It is violation, of the deepest kind, an act that can never, ever be allowed to go unpunished.
As Danny stared at the remains of the toppled over rock tower that Tucker and Sam had made for him all those years ago, to honor his death, he wasn’t sure if he could survive this.
——
Please.
Zatanna looked around. The magician knew better than to write off the sound as a trick of her mind.
You have to help him. Please. He’s just a child.
“Who? What’s wrong?” Zatanna asked, heart aching for the grieving whispers of the young voice.
My brother. His grave. It’s been destroyed. Please.
Zatanna’s hair stood on ends. “What’s his name? Where is it?”
Amity Park. His name is Phantom. Please. Hurry.
Her heart skipped a beat. Phantom. The name of the Infinite Realm’s Champion, the future king.
“Shit. I’m on my way. Can you lead me there?”
I can’t. I won’t be here for much longer. Tell him Jazz sent you. Please. Help him. Help him.
“I will.”
When Zatanna portals out of her dressing room, she catches a flash of red hair.
——
“CONSTANTINE!”
“Gah! Zatanna?” John Constantine fell out of his chair, legs slipping from their place propped onto the table.
“Emergency! Infinite Realms level. Someone destroyed Phantom’s grave.”
Constantine scrambled upwards, pulling on his coat as his mind all but bleated like a highland goat at the sound of “Infinite Realms” and “Phantom’s grave.” Destroying a ghost’s grave might destroy the ghost, but if they survive the initial splintering, right before their final death, they’ll explode in a ball of fury. Normally, it would be slightly less of a problem. Normally, it wouldn’t be the most powerful ghost in the Infinite Realms. Normally, this wouldn’t happen. Normally, even if it did, it wouldn’t risk a war none of the universes would win. The Infinite Realms loves prince Phantom. Their grief over this… even if he survives, the consequences would be unimaginable.
“You contact the League. I have to go fix this, right now.”
John doesn’t bother going for his hottle, because he unfortunately needed to do this sober.
“Go, go!”
——
Danny doesn’t turn even as he hears the crunch of grass blades. He sits, staring blankly at what used to be his grave marker.
“Hi, there,” it’s a woman. She sounds sad. Danny understands, because all he feels is a whistling hole where his heart used to be. “Are you Phantom?”
Danny sighs, ice crackling at his lungs. He knows, when this is over, he’ll find it in himself to rage. If he doesn’t shatter from this, he knows he’ll take Amity out. Perhaps he’d spare this one. It’s been a long time since anyone bothered visiting or even knew about his grave.
“Your highness…your sister sent me. Jazz?”
That got Danny’s attention. Glowing green eyes peeked from the curled ball of ghost to stare Zatanna down.
She swallowed.
“She… had red hair?”
“Why are you here?” Why did she send you? He doesn’t say. Zatanna seems to understand anyways.
“To help. Please, will you let me help?”
Danny looks down at the ice freezing her feet to the ground and thinks of the kind set of her eyes, the steel backing her spine, the carefully nonthreatening posture. Yes, Jazz would send this kind of person to help him.
The ice melts.
“Thank you.”
Danny watches as she approaches his destroyed grave. She glances back for his permission. He shrugs. It’s destroyed. Nothing would ever bring it back.
And then, he was proven wrong.
Zatanna’s eyes glow, and the stones began melding itself back together- no, it was reversing the damage and zooming back to its proper place.
“Oh.”
The damage to his core was still there. But… he won’t kill this one at all.
Or her friends, who stand at the edge of the clearing with the soul-torn one standing at the helm.
“Is this… alright, your highness?”
Danny stares at Zatanna. His voice is hoarse but… but it’s not on the verge of insanity anymore.
“Do you always come to graves without an offering?”
He knows he’s being rude. He’s past the point of caring. Zatanna’s response is to pull a bouquet of lilies from behind her back.
——
Phantom’s face is so young, and it’s even younger when he smiles.
“Not always,” Zatanna replies, rolling her eyes. But when she settles the flowers down, they’re gently placed.
“Can you magic clovers around it?” Phantom asks, that note of painful hope cracking her own heart. She wonders how old he was when he died.
“Of course.”
A field of clovers surrounds the rock tower, and Zatanna adds four layers of heavy wards around the area when she grows them. Phantom notices, and looks up at her with… trust.
“I am Zatanna. Your sister, Jazz, sent me.”
“Okay. You can call me Phantom.”
——
“I want their heads.” Danny says.
“We don’t kill.”
“Then hand them over to us, for they have hurt the Great One. They will answer for their crimes.” Frostbite settles a hand on Danny’s shoulder.
“Alright.”
“Constantine.”
Constantine somehow manages to drag Batman away to hiss in his ears.
“Shit in a hole, Batsy, I’m not fucking with the Infinite Realms. My demons won’t fuck with the Infinite Realms. Destroying a ghost’s grave is an act of war, and an act of complete violation, and we’re lucky Phantom liked Zee enough not to completely bring ruin to our universe. So shut up, and get the bastards that did this.”
“Hm.”
——
Zatanna sits in the visitors chair, Batman’s and Constantine’s disgruntled selves standing behind her.
“How old are you, Phantom?”
“Hm?” The future King looks exhausted, understandably. “Oh, sixteen.”
“You’re… sixteen? That’s how old you look, right?”
She’s hoping that he’s older, that he’s a millennia and a half years old. Because if he wasn’t, whoever broke Phantom’s grave, broke the grave of a child.
“No, I’m sixteen. My body looks fourteen. I died when I was fourteen.”
Constantine swears.
Batman straightens and walks out, fists clenched.
Zatanna eases the hum of hunting magic at her finger tips and smiles at Phantom until he sleeps.
Then, she gets up, and hunts.
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inklore · 9 months
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just a taste
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premise: meeting luca after work doesn't usually end up with the two of you in an intense lip lock, both of you knowing once you start it's hard to stop. but that's what offices are for, right?
pairing: luca x (f)reader
word count: 3.1k
contents: literally barely any plot here, oral (f rec), unprotected p in v, coming inside, established relationship, doing it at the workplace, teasing, dirty talk, pet names.
note: i know the bare minimum about this man because i’ve never seen the bear but those tattoos, the accent, the hair?? fill me like an eclair is all i have to say ok!
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The cool breeze of the night air almost makes you regret not just heading straight home and slipping under the steam of a nice long shower and grabbing the first blanket you see on the sofa and planting yourself there for the rest of the night. Await your boyfriend's arrival under the comfort of cotton and cushion that he’ll surely plop down next to you on after he’s kicked off his shoes. His cold fingers finding you under the blanket to pull you close to his side, a string of kisses pressed along the side of your neck before finding your lips. The smell of yeast and sugar—embedded in his skin at this point—making you bury your nose into his collarbone. 
But this was a ritual for the both of you. 
You finishing your studies and then meeting him after work. 
The two of you walking home together, barely making it through the threshold of your place before lips and clothes were being pressed together and thrown to the floor. Luca’s soft laugh at needing to shower. Thus always leading to your face pressed into the wall of the shower and Luca’s fingers digging into your hips as he thrust inside of you. 
So that nibble of regret doesn’t last long when you come to a stop in front of his work. The makings of anticipation pull at the corner of your mouth as you grab your phone from your bag and start to text him to let him know you’re out front. 
A text that’s barely on the last word when the breeze of the door is hitting you and making you look up, “you can go in. He's in the back.” a co-worker you’ve met a dozen times, but his name slips your mind as you give him an appreciative smile and thank him as you slip through the doors as he walks out. 
You could enter the kitchen a dozen times—a million, a billion—your nose filling with that sweet aroma, Luca bent over a table, a dish, fingers deep in a ball of dough, the monochromatic uniform making his tattoos stand out on his skin like the most beautiful canvas, and you’d never get over the view. 
Over how your insides react when you see him in his element.
See him doing what he loves. 
It’s like the first time every time. 
Just like the first time he dragged you into the kitchen after your tenth date. Showing you his own version of paradise. His love. His joy. The way his face lit up when your eyes brightened when you bit into the scone he had made—saved—for you. The euphoric sweetness a good dessert can do to one's brainstem is still a scientific mystery to you, but you’d gladly leave the research to the experts if you could experience it forever. 
Taste Luca’s creations forever. 
That memory seems like ages ago. Now well into two years of your relationship. 
Nothing seems to fade with Luca. 
Your first times feeling just as tortuous to your fluttering insides as the tenth or twentieth time around. 
It knocks you off kilter in the best way. 
And when you look over at Luca after dropping off your bag and sweater in an open chair, you can not help but laugh when he finally looks up from cleaning off the surfaces of the metal tables and that stone look of him being in chef mode falls from the creases of his face and his features melt into something soft. 
He doesn’t say anything until his arm is around your midsection, drawing you in. “Hi, beautiful.” He smiles as your lips meet in a long kiss. Kissing you as if he hasn’t seen you in days, as if he has spent the entire day waiting for this moment and this moment alone. “How was your day?” 
“Not as good as it is now,” you tease. Hand in the back of his hair, pulling his mouth back to yours. 
The hum that makes your lips buzz and that lands on your tongue as he backs you up so your back is pressed into the doorframe makes anything you could tell him about what happened in your day lackluster. Incomparable. How could you possibly think of anything worthwhile—how could anything be as worthwhile—as his tongue moving along your bottom lip, his hand at the side of your neck, his thumb rubbing a small circle into your skin? 
It couldn’t.
"Let me finish cleaning up," he smirks. Thumb and pointer reaching for your chin, squeezing it, luring you in for one last kiss before returning to cleaning and leaving you dazed in the doorway.  
And if you didn’t know how seriously Luca takes this, from the ritual of making pastries to maintaining a stern, clean kitchen, you would tell him to hurry. Complaining that it is not fair for him to kiss you like that and then make you wait for him to finish, but the payoff was always worth the wait. And you love Luca’s love for his craft. Love him in this element—watching him and seeing him go into that little part of his brain that makes him go into boss mode. 
The stern gentleness of it all. 
It’s breathtaking to watch.
It’s art.
He’s art. 
So that’s what you do. 
You push off the doorframe and enter further into the kitchen just to watch him. 
“How was your day?” You ask while watching him write on the white board in the corner. 
“Good. We got a new guy who came in.” 
“Is he any good?” 
“Better than he thinks he is.” 
“I bet you brought out his best. You always do.” You smile at him when you watch him shrug off the compliment, not missing the twitch of the corner of his mouth. Ever so modest. 
Wordlessly, he puts the cap back on the marker and sets it against the metal of the board, walking over to one of the refrigerators and pulling out a small bowl of something green and white. 
Something that looks too beautifully crafted to eat, let alone eaten by someone who might not fully understand what went into making something so decadent—something that looks like it would be served to someone with a gold card, not someone who eats boxed mac and cheese for dinner twice a week (which Luca always tries to make fancier than Kraft ever could). 
Luca hands you a spoon, “told him the only critic that mattered was sharing a bed with me.” You make a face, the both of you knowing how outlandish that sounds when the food genius himself is standing in front of you. The critic who mattered to a lot of people more than the girl who was sharing his bed. 
But it still brings a smile to your face. 
“Did he think you were utterly insane for such a statement? I think eating greasy takeout two nights in a row is five star dining.”
He chuckles, “you’re the only critic that matters to me.” His palms come down on the edge of the metal table between you as he leans against it. “The only important one at least. Try it.”
The swoop that runs through you from his words, from his eagerness to hear your thoughts on a dessert you do not even know the name of, but know you will appreciate more than anyone else because it came from someone he admires, makes your cheeks heat up. 
And when it touches your tongue, when that euphoric sweetness overcomes your tastebuds, you don’t think the English dictionary could come in handy with describing the taste. The goodness of it. Compliments, which you know Luca and his fellow chefs have heard many times before and then some. But still bring that artist's joy to their chests when your eyes widen and you look at them in something akin to shock. 
The moan you let out makes him grin.
“Good?”
“Is he single?” 
“Oh, that’s how it is, huh?” His arms cross over his chest, a playful brow raised.
You take another bite of the dessert, “I think you might want to start looking for another job.”
“And a girlfriend?”
You nod, “with something that tastes this good, I would give him my social security number easily. Oh my god.” You dramatically moan around the spoon, the action doing little to hide the simpering look on your face.
“Here I thought I was the only one who could make you spill such confidential secrets.” Luca strides across the table, coming to stand at your back. His lips pressing against the back of your neck and the top of your shoulder. 
Finding its home where your collarbone meets the junction of your throat, where he lets his warm breath blow against the known sensitivity there, then presses his lips to it. Making your back push into his front, your body melting against him. 
A soft noise lays dormant at the tail end  of your throat, making a ghost of a smirk etch against your skin from his mouth as he murmurs, “and the only one who can make those noises come out of you.”
Your voice is breathy when you say, “so much for being humble.”
"When it’s the truth, I do not need to be humble." His lips trailing to your ear, fingers running up the back of your exposed thighs, pulling up your skirt until they are at the apex of your hip, skating forward and close to your clothed mound. “Am I wrong? Should we see?” 
The spoon in your hand lucky you don’t have superhuman strength because it would be crushed in your grip right now. 
Luca’s fingers splay themselves across your pelvis, toying with the top of your underwear. “Hmm, awfully quiet now. Where’d my mouthy girl go?” An airy chuckle tickles your ear as he lets it out, “humbled are you?” 
There’s a teasing sneer forming on your mouth before it does a 180 and morphs into an ‘o’ as Luca’s fingers push into your underwear, the pad running through the clear as day arousal that’s been making your thighs clench uncomfortably since your kiss in the doorway. 
When the finger moves against your clit there's no covering up the gasps that fall from your lips. Or the way your ass grinds against the erection that’s pressing up against it. 
“Who’s humble now?” He teases. A cheeky grin on his face when he pulls his hand out from your underwear, bringing his finger to his lips and sucking it into his mouth. Making your cheeks heat even more when you turn to look at him. Your teasing turns needy as you give him that look, the one that always makes him drop whatever he is doing and have his body on yours within seconds. 
You both know that making it home now will feel ten times longer. Ten times more agonizing in the cool air with your warming bodies.
With you soaking your underwear and him hard against his zipper. 
So when he says “office”, all you can do is chew on your bottom lip in eagerness as you make a beeline towards it. Luca closer behind you than you expect when you hear the door shut seconds after you’ve entered and his mouth immediately on yours, your ass hoisted onto the nearest surface. 
Luca’s fingers making quick work to pull down your underwear, your skirt bunched at your hips. You fully expect him to pull himself up from his knees after slipping the lace from your ankle and tossing it to the floor. You expect him to come back up and slide inside of you quick and easy, but instead he’s trailing kisses and bites into your thighs. 
Blue eyes look up into yours, and he must see the need in them—that glint that tells him all you want is for him to be inside of you right now. The heady woes of foreplay just torture at this point. 
His teeth sink harder into your flesh, making you gasp. “I’ve worked hard all day; don’t I deserve a treat? A taste of the best dessert out there.” 
And how could you argue with that?
You can’t.
Not when his tongue runs from the bite mark in your skin to your wetness. Spreading you around him as he licks a stripe up your pussy. Your grip on the metal your ass is under hard and tight enough to leave marks against your palm. 
And as crude as it makes you sound, as obscene and cocky as it comes off your lips, you will never hold back from telling Luca that his talent as a chef will never outweigh how good he is with his mouth and cock. 
He’s multi-talented and it’s a blessing and a curse to your insides. 
“Oh, fuck. Luca,” your head hangs between your shoulders. Your fingers in his hair, the heel of your shoe pressed against his back—his apron long gone, leaving him in that navy blue—his fingers digging into the side of your thighs as he keeps you against his mouth. 
The mouth that’s switching between sucking your clit between his lips and rolling his tongue against it. Eating you like you’re the best dessert his tongue has ever had the pleasure of tasting. 
It never takes him long to get you there. To make your chest heave and your nerve endings light up, as if they are about to make you panic from the overwhelming feeling of pleasure that is completely taking over your body. 
His fingers have created beautiful, mouth watering food, just as they’ve made you completely lose your mind. Your legs shaking around his head. Your back involuntarily bows until it hits the metal surface of the desk you’re perched on. 
It’s when he slips two fingers inside of you that you completely lose it. The sob that pulls itself from your lungs feels red-hot in your throat as your fingers grip the strands of his blonde hair as you come against his mouth. Your hips riding out your high. Rolling against his tongue in a languid way, drawing out the aftershocks of your orgasm. 
Your body still reeling and alight with that desire-train that still has it wanting more. That heavy ache between your legs that wants to be filled. To be fucked by something bigger and thicker than a finger.
Your mouth comes down on the tabasco tattoo below Luca’s wrist in a gentle kiss, one of your favorites of his, when his hand comes to cup the back of your head to pull you up to him. 
His thumb runs from your cheek to your chin, where he pushes it up, so you’re looking up at him and he’s looking down at you as he stands between your legs. Your nails run along the tattoos along his arms, up his bicep, and to the nape of his neck. A fire burning in his eyes when your fingers run between the strands back there. 
“Tell me,” he says close to your lips. He’s checking in. Seeing if you’re too spent for his cock, seeing if there's more you want. If you want to wait until you get home. If you’re ready for him now. 
“It’d be cruel to not fuck me now.” You say it in a half-tease-half-serious tone. 
“Ooh,” he murmurs against your mouth, his tongue clicking against his teeth. “I don’t want to be cruel.” You can feel his other hand move between the two of you, undoing the button of his pants and messing with the zipper until he’s pulling himself out of them, hard and leaking. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t give my girl what she so desperately needs?” 
Luca smirks when you laugh into his mouth, “the worst kind.”
With one last kiss, lick, and nip at your lower lip, he’s rubbing the tip of his cock against your clit, making your thighs shake. Nails dig into his skull as he soaks up your oversensitivity to coat himself before going lower and slipping inside of you in one slow, fluid motion. 
Your mouth hung open at the stretch, and your breath caught in your lungs. Your foreheads resting against each other as you let your walls accommodate his girth, both of your breaths heavy. The pounding you can feel between your legs—that you’re not sure is coming from him or you or something more poetic and overwhelming like your conjoined bodies aching as one, like a heartbeat aches for a chest cavity when it’s torn from a body. 
The two of you need this. 
Need each other. 
When Luca starts moving, you know the two of you are both completely fucked. Spent and so full of desire that you know your time in this office is just the start of a long night of tangled limbs and wet mouths. 
The sounds you are making against each other's mouth are breathy and intoxicating. His tongue in your mouth swallows every mewl and moan he coaxes from your body with each stroke of his cock. 
His fingers find the back of your head again, not allowing you to even think about leaving his mouth. 
You think you see stars when his palm finds the back of your thigh and pulls your leg higher on his hips. Think you could let this man completely consume you, and you’d still never be satisfied. Never get over how good it feels to feel his hips drive deeper into you, to feel the head of his cock hit that spot inside of you that makes his name roll off your tongue like a prayer. 
“Who’s pussy is it, baby?” 
"Mm'fuck," you are not sure if he is still playing the game of you leaving him for the new chef or if his filthy mouth is attempting to completely destroy you—which is nothing new when he has you coating and tightening around his cock like this. 
When you say his name, when you whine it into his mouth like a pathetic desperation, the erotic noise that it’s met with makes you cling to him tighter. Makes you press yourself closer to him. The movement makes the outside of his pants grind against your clit. 
“So beautiful,” Luca murmurs. The octave of his voice grows lower and choppy with heavy breaths the closer he gets. Neither of you lasts much longer when his pace picks up. The grip the two of you have on each other is hard and rough, enough to tear and leave marks that you’ll later kiss with gentle lips, unlike the passion that’s coming through with the hard kisses your mouths are giving as you both come. 
“How’d I get so lucky?” He breathes into your mouth, twisting your insides even more. 
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empresskylo · 4 months
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you wanna kiss me so bad, it makes you look stupid. pt. 1
⊹ simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader
[ warnings ] slightly nsfw. reader referred to as 'she' once. wc 979
part 2
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Everyone shows their love differently, you just so happened to show you cared about someone by relentlessly teasing them. And it was so easy with Soap and Gaz. They would give you shit right back and you’d all burst out laughing. But when it came to Ghost—your lieutenant—you couldn’t justify throwing jabs at your superior. You imagined yourself making a joke about him being ugly under his mask and you shuddered. Even the thought of poking fun at him made you uncomfortable.
But as Ghost and Soap grew closer, you overheard their—crude—conversations on comms. And often, it was Johnny saying something stupid and Ghost’s monotone voice mocking him.
“It's dark in here,” Soap had said. 
“Good observation. S’water still wet?” Ghost’s deadpan voice had made you giggle to yourself, careful to make sure you weren’t doing it over comms.
It surprised you when someone like Lt.—a stone-cold killer—could have a sense of humor. And it made you a little more influenced to act snarky, your tongue loosening around him on its own accord.
But for a while, it still managed to make your eyes widen whenever Ghost would say something silly, like when Price was basically on the verge of coming back from the dead, and Soap said, “Was worried your face was gonna melt off like those other poor bastards.” 
You could still hear Ghost’s low voice in your ears. “If you ask me, it’d be an improvement.”
However, after time, you slowly fell into slipping in snides to Ghost alongside Johnny. You hadn’t even realized how often you teased him…
When you came back to the safehouse with Ghost during a mission, you were both soaked. Your clothes dripped water all over the floors, leaving a wet trail behind you. Soap and Gaz were on their way, but you and Ghost had beaten them there. 
You began to shiver, the damp clothing sticking to your skin making it insufferably cold in the room. You dumped your stuff on the half-broken couch, slipping your tactical vest off. You pried your shirt off with several, strained grunts, getting it stuck over your head at one point, and then tossed it to the floor with a plopping sound. You immediately felt warmer having shed the wet material. 
Your eyes flickered up and spotted Ghost. He, too, had stripped his vest off, holding it in his hand. But his eyes were locked on you, unabashedly watching as you had torn your shirt from your chest. You still had a thin tank top on, but you felt far more exposed with his eyes on you than you expected. 
You smirked, not really thinking there was any intention behind his gaze. You walked towards him, wanting to go around and search the rooms for dry clothes, his eyes following you. When you brushed past him, you spoke. “You wanna kiss me so bad, Lt. It makes you look stupid.” You had meant it as a joke. To tease him for watching you—he was probably just spacing off, deep in thought, his eyes inconveniently resting on you.
His arm stretched out, connecting with the wall, making you halt. Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned to look up at him. 
“So, what if I do?”
Your lips parted in a bit of shock and embarrassment. That wasn’t the response you had expected. You weren’t even sure what you should say to that. You heard Ghost chuckle, watching as your usual cocky attitude faltered. 
“Not so smart, now, hm?” he teased. 
You tried to shake it off, but the sticky feeling of his pupil-blown eyes staring down at you after taking your joke and throwing it back in your face shrouded your insouciant demeanor.
Did he mean what he said? Or was he just trying to catch you off guard?
Before you were forced to either acknowledge what he said, assuming his words were honest or teasing, Soap and Gaz burst through the door.
Ghost gave you one last wistful look before dropping his arm and moving into the living room. You were left a little dumbfounded, shocked that you were so overwhelmed by his one, little sentence. 
When you turned to meet the boys, Ghost was watching you from behind the couch, stripping his clothes off, his eyes unwavering as they suppressed you with their weight. When he finally tore his shirt off, exposing his bare chest, you had to look away. Your cheeks felt hot as you tried to listen to what Soap was saying to you. 
Soap said your names several times before you blinked and refocused. 
“Sorry, what?” You muttered. Soap raised his brows at you in concern. 
“She’s a bit distracted today,” Ghost chimed in from the corner of the room. 
He had a fresh shirt in hand but had yet to put it to use. You scowled at him. 
When everyone was getting situated several minutes later, Ghost strolled past you before lowering his head to whisper in your ear. You got goosebumps all down your neck and arms. “Not s’fun bein’ on the receiving end, huh?”
You swallowed. “Didn’t know my words bothered you so much, Lt.”
He smirked under his mask, his eyes squinting as he did. “I wouldn't say ‘bothered’. More like…” he pondered for a brief moment, “aroused.”
You choked on your spit, trying to play it off as a cough, then spun on your heels to face him. But you were left with his back, he was already walking away. You knew this should have discouraged you—that you needed to just accept defeat from your lieutenant and not mess with him any further. But, unfortunately, this brief fault in your step didn’t deter you. 
If that’s the game he wanted to play, so be it. And a terrible part of you hoped he wasn’t just trying to make you uncomfortable, but was being truthful.
part 2
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mrsriddlenott · 4 months
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The Third Day Of Smutmas
[smutmas masterlist] [main masterlist]
~ Family Christmas ~
dom!Mattheo x sub!Reader x dom!Theo
Summary: Theo brings you and Mattheo to his family’s Christmas dinner for the first time making you a nervous wreck, desperate to make a good impression. The boys notices your anxiety and decide to help you with your nerves in Theo’s bathroom before you eat with his family.
- voldy is dead, no 2nd wizarding war, no angsty death eater stuff for Christmas😤, Theo’s parents are mean, Mattheo calls Theo’s parents mom & dad for obvious reasons -
Warnings: 18+ Content!! d/s dynamics, praisekink, f!receiving oral, m!receiving handjob, body worship(?), kinda public, cumplay(barely)
When you were all at Hogwarts you never would have guessed where time would take you, you knew both the boys adored you back then but they rarely acted on it due to their shared respect for not only their friendship with each other but with you as well. They didn’t want your choice between them to break up your trio, so they chose for you, neither. When you stumbled back into their lives not even a full 5 years later however, they saw it to be fate. They were much more mature than before, and realized it wasn’t up to them to make such a decision for you.
Long before you were clouding their thoughts every day, they vowed to each other that they would never let anyone get between them, so instead you became a part of them. You loved them both equally and there was absolutely no way for you to choose. You knew your relationship wasn’t conventional by any means but you all loved each other more than you thought humanly possible. There was no separating you. It took a while for you all to become publicly official, only your closest of friends knew of your relationship for the longest time. Your first Christmas together was like a fairytale, Mattheo went above and beyond for all of you in your shared flat, excited to finally have something he could call his own.
This year however, Theo’s parents knew of your relationship, that you had taken their sons heart as well as the heart of the boy they viewed as a second son, and now expected you all for dinner on Christmas eve, so you were reasonably scared beyond explanation. Theo’s mother was never fond of you, even when you were basically just a kid invited over with the group during time away from school. You sensed she knew of her boys shared feelings for you long before they did, when they saw you as nothing more than their best friend. She noticed the shift it took when they started acting on those feelings and again when the two decided your future together laid in friendship only, she was overjoyed when Theo and Mattheo brought home girls that weren’t you and when they all inevitably stopped coming around, she always seemed to blame you. You could imagine her sheer disappointment when she learned of the seriousness of your relationship, and it sent a kick to your stomach every time.
The snow crunched beneath your heeled boots as you walked down the stone pathway approaching four steps leading to the door of the ominously large manor in front of you. The warmth of Theo’s comforting hand on your lower back held you down to earth as Mattheo stepped in front to get the door for you. Warmth and the smell of cooking food hit you immediately, what would feel like a welcoming embrace to anyone who wasn’t you.
“Mom we’re here,” Theo called, his voice echoing in the foyer as he removed your coat and showed you where you could put your shoes that were growing damp with melting snow that fell heavily outside. Taking Mattheo’s hand you let him lead you through the large, decorated hallway to an even larger, even more decorated dining room, “They go this overboard every year,” Theo chuckled in your ear, seeing your wide eyes reflect the scene in front of you. His lips grazed your neck and your body began to relax, he left featherlight kisses up and down the back of your neck while Mattheo stepped in front of you to drag a lock of your hair behind your ear before speaking, “It’s not half as beautiful as our girl though is it Teddy?”
“Not even a quarter,” He laughed behind you, you breathed in their scents, soothing yourself with their close proximity before it all came crashing down with an abrupt halt to the clicks of expensive heels on hardwood floors accompanied with a gasp that sent your heart plummeting.
“Have some decency would you Theodore,” Mrs.Nott hissed, sending you a look of disgust as your boyfriends separated from you to greet her, “Oh it’s nothing new Mom no need to freak out,” Mattheo stated as he hugged the thin woman with pursed lips that could rival Professor Mcgonagall, “You remember y/n don’t you?”
“Of course Dear, lets wait for dinner in the living room shall we?” Her shifty eyes avoided you as you began forming a hello, immediately turning away and toward another heavily decorated hallway. Theo’s jaw clenched as he and Mattheo made eye contact over your head before he was speaking in a curt voice, “Mom, y/n was trying to speak to you.” The woman’s steps faltered for a second before continuing to click down the hall, your hand shot up to Theo’s wrist as he began after her with scrunched brows, “Just leave it okay? We’ll have plenty of time to talk.”
Despite your attempts to hide it both boys could see your discomfort with the woman’s clear disdain for you, but decided against making a scene. They escorted you through to the lavish living room with both of your hands in their extended elbows. Mr.Nott was much nicer, patting the back of your hand in his while welcoming you back for the first time in years, and if you hadn’t caught is sideways glance to his wife when his son kissed you on the cheek, you may have actually believed it.
The room was tense and quiet, sitting across from Theo’s parents between him and Mattheo, each with an arm slung behind you that seemed to catch Mrs.Nott’s eyes more than any of her hundreds of decorations. “So…do you three have any funny stories from your Hogwarts days?,” Mr.Nott asked in an attempt to cut the tension knotting throughout the room. “I’m sure there’s something to share based on all those owls we got about your little group you had back in the day.” He laughed to himself, bringing his small glass of bourbon to his lips awkwardly.
“We’d give Mom a heart attack if we listed off our great adventures,” Mattheo joked, laughing as you and Theo joined in before it died down almost as soon as it started, “Well at least remind me of their names again, erm there was Lucius’ boy and that one nice boy that always helped your mother out around the house over summer,” The man snapped his fingers as he tried to put a name to the face he was imagining, ignoring the laughing of his boys.
“Enzo was not nice Dad, you just think he was because he wanted you to. He was just as much as a trouble maker as the rest of us, just smart enough not to get caught is all,” The two laughing beside you had a much needed smile growing on your lips, thinking of the old days with your large group of friends that grew simply because of circumstance helped to ease the tension of the night and you were finally able to think this wasnt such a bad idea.
“Remember that Pansy girl you were always bringing around during that time Matt, she was lovely wasn’t she….but she stopped coming with the rest of you lot….” Her eyes darted to you as she spoke, “Whatever happened to her?” Your chest hurt, your stomach seeming to meld with it as the room suddenly went silent. You knew Mrs.Nott was never fan of you but you never would have expected her to bring up your boyfriend’s ex at a dinner meant for getting to know you better.
“She cheated on me Mom,” Mattheo responded with an unmistakable bite to his voice, “y’know what they say, can’t judge a book by it’s cover,” He huffed, looking to you with a clenched jaw and apologetic eyes as Mrs.Nott cringed while her eyes darted between you and her boys, seemingly looking for anything else to comment on as a distraction to her rudeness.
“Well you know we fully support whatever experimenting you need to do before settling down,” Mr.Nott cut in, knocking the wind from your lungs as though you were just smacked into. Your eyes darted from person to person, all eyes were on someone else as the tension began to bubble over, you felt invisible, hurt, discredited. Too many thoughts and feelings swirled through you as the room remained eerily silent.
“We have settled down Dad….for fucks sake we’ve lived together for over a year,” Theo snapped, teeth gritted, creaking together while his fingers flexed and un-flexed in anger beside your head as he forced himself to remain seated despite his fathers words. Your chest pounded as your ears began to ring, your breathing was shallow and your palms were growing damp with sweat. Were they experimenting?
“I’m just saying that this isn’t natural,” His fathers voice that was eerily similar to Theo’s rang in your head louder than your own voice, “A female mind only wants one mate. It’s science, eventually she’ll want children and one of you will be chosen to father them, one of you will get hurt and that will be that unless you get out of it,” Mr.Nott leaned back against his leather couch with a smug face, taking another sip of his drink as though he had it all solved.
“Loving them is the most natural thing I have ever done, and maybe don’t talk about her like she’s not literally right here,” Theo shouted at his father, pushing forward toward him and using his hand to gesture towards you beside him, “I know you’re not that stupid Dad a “female mind” can choose what she wants for herself and she’s chosen both of us okay?” Theo sighed, he seemed hurt by his parents inability to accept you, “and when the day comes that she wants us to we will both father her children,” Theo’s eyes were rolling before his father could even start speaking again, “You act like we haven’t thought this out, we’ve had all the hard conversations already and when more come up we’ll have those too.”
Mr. Nott was stunned at his sons outburst, taking a second to ground himself before speaking again in a lower voice as though you were a child he was hiding the truth about Santa Clause from, “Son….can’t you see what this is….you’re two very attractive and well off men she-“
“I don’t think you should finish that sentence if you want us to stay for dinner….” Theo’s jaw was clenched as his stern, demanding eyes dug into his fathers identical irises.
“I think I’m just gonna go clean myself up before we eat.” You willed yourself to keep your tears hidden, pushing up from your spot and quickly making your way to the bathroom right down the hall you entered through, shutting the door as quickly and quietly as possible before letting your tears fall. It was ridiculous to question and deep down you knew it, but your mind raced with questions of if they really wanted you or if you were some fantasy or experiment.
The thick door behind you clicked open before shutting with a thud seconds later, the sound of your crying flooded the room as the two boys behind you remained silent, “May-maybe they’re right….I mean what if you guys realize too late you would be happier with two separate girlfriends.” Mattheo scoffed with a roll of his eyes, grabbing your shoulders firmly and spinning you to look at them both.
“You, y/f/n, are the only girl we want and you have been since we were 15 years old. They’re just gonna have to come around, okay?” You nodded your head weakly, tears still slowly falling down your cheeks before Theo’s rough hand was grabbing your chin and tilting your head up to meet his eyes.
“Looks like someone needs a reminder of who she belongs to, don’t you agree Matty?” Theo’s dead eyes bore into you as you whimpered, “You think we’d toss you aside for someone else huh?” Theo scoffed out a laugh before continuing, “You’re stuck with us Baby….Muffliato.”
Theo’s lips meet yours for only a second before he moves back to grip your hips in his large hands, yanking you up to sit on the oversized counter in a flash. His lips met the left side of your neck as Mattheo’s comforting hand ran through your hair, his eyes meeting yours before he was leaning forward to leave kisses up and down the right side of your neck. Your hands trailed up their biceps and around their shoulders, tugging them impossibly closer to you as Mattheo’s hand began to sneak across your right thigh, squeezing and molding the flesh with his hand while slowly moving your dress up, bunching it higher until it sat above the hem of your panties.
“We’re the only ones that will ever get to have these thighs,” Theo whispered against your neck, his aggressive hand now occupying your left thigh with a possessive grip as Mattheo’s lips separated from your neck, taking a second to watch your eyes before aggressively tugging your dress up your torso and over your head, revealing your naked chest and hardened nipples to them both. Waisting no time in diving into your chest, he begab sucking and biting at every section of flesh he could, marking you as theirs for anyone who would happen to glance at your body.
“We’re the only ones that will ever get to have these tits,” Mattheo sighed, taking your nipple between his teeth with a tug, making you whimper and whine before he was nursing the red bud with a swirl of his tongue. Theo’s possessive hand snaked it’s way all the way up your thigh, sending shivers down your spine as he started tugging at the edge of your underwear expectantly. You finally let moans slip past your lips when Theo’s tongue trailed up your neck at the same time Mattheo nibbled at your chest before dropping to his knees to trail kisses, nibbles and licks down your stomach.
“There’s our girl, now tell me what you fucking want before I tell Matty to stop what he’s doing.” Theo growled beside your ear, waiting for your response as Mattheo left open mouth kisses over your belly button, falling farther down every once in a while just to return to their original spot teasingly. Theo’s lips found your neck again, as if solely to distract you from forming your sentence, trailing their way up and down slowly as Mattheo’s teased your underwear, pulling at the elastic with his teeth and letting it snap back on you, forcing out whimper of a please.
“Please what Baby?” Theo’s warm breath on your neck mixed with Mattheo’s on your lower stomach and thighs had you on cloud nine, begging for them to do something, anything to you, “Show me that I’m yours and you’re mine,” Your voice was barley above a whisper as you pleaded to your boyfriends who almost immediately worked together to shred you lace underwear.
“Fuck I wanna kiss every inch of your body,” Mattheo whispers, standing as Theo takes his place kneeling before you and smashing his lips into yours passionately. His hands held your face against his while your lips melded together as his tongue danced against yours, swallowing your moans and gasps when Theo’s tongue glides through your folds. The tip of the strong muscle worked expertly against the bundle of nerves, sending jolts of pleasure through your whole body as you subconsciously began to grind against his face and tongue while losing the focus needed to kiss Mattheo.
You could feel the outline of Mattheo’s hard dick against your side as he leaned in to nip and kiss down your neck, urging you to let your fumbling hand trail it’s way to his belt buckle slowly, giving him plenty of time to deny you before quickly tugging it apart and tossing it aside with a clank of metal. Mattheo groans as your warm hand slips under the waistline of his jeans, palming him lightly before shoving both his boxers and jeans down his thighs impatiently. Tugging him in your hand as he moaned loudly in your ear, “Fuck Princess, I love your hands,”
You giggle at his confession before being interrupted by a particularly loud moan as Theo pushed his tongue inside of you, groaning against you and sending vibrations up your body. He smacked at your thigh to gain your focus, earning a yelp of a moan as your shining eyes looked down to him, seeing those deep, dead, jealous eyes staring up at you as he worked his tongue inside you was almost enough to send you over the edge alone. His bruising grip on your thighs as he held them apart to make room for his head had you spiraling as your brain fogged. You slowly pumped Mattheo, lathering your hand in his precum as you started matching your pace with the thrusts of Theo’s tongue inside of you.
“You’re doing so good for us Princess,” Mattheo’s deep voice echoed off the walls accompanied by his pants and whines that egged on your own, the slurping sounds coming from between your thighs was driving you insane as the tension in you lower stomach began to grow. You grind yourself against Theo’s nose, wishing more than anything to have friction against your clit. It’s not long before he brings the pad of his thumb to rub fast, small circles against the bundle of nerves, making you jolt forward on the counter with a scream of a moan. Your hand speeds up on Mattheo’s dick, feeling each groove and vein of him as his hips drove him further into you, moaning messily with his eyes screwed shut, his hand firmly grabbing the counter beside you for support as you followed beads of sweat that dripped down his bicep with your eyes.
Mattheo’s hips began to falter and stutter as your hand tightened around him, your head falling back against the mirror with a thud, moaning carelessly as Theo’s fingers and tongue worked together faster to push you up and over the edge, sending you into a euphoric state of pure bliss as your legs shook and the thrusts of your hand became erratic. Mattheo’s high was fast approaching behind yours, feeling your fingers tighten around him uncontrollably as your tried to ground yourself had his head falling back with his mouth opened in a silent moan as large spurts of his cum painted your stomach and chest, dripping down in enticing trails.
“Fuck that’s insanely hot,” Mattheo’s voice was jumbled in your ears, your chest pounded blocking out most sounds as Theo stood from your dripping, aching core with a smile before wiping his mouth clean. You felt Mattheo’s fingers on you as he began spreading his cum around your stomach, mesmerized by the look of it on your skin, “You did so fucking good Baby,” He whispered, eyes still trained on the mess on your body, “Looks so pretty covered in my cum doesn’t she Teddy?”
“Fuck yes she does,” The taller boy responded, laughing with Mattheo at your weak state as he grabbed a rag to wipe it from you as your muscles slowly regained the ability to function. Theo helped steady you on your feet as Mattheo straightened out your dress, guiding you to put your hands up so he could tug it down your body. Theo worked to fix your hair as Mattheo left kiss down your neck before Theo spun you around to capture your lips in his, pressing his rock hard dick against you in the process and making you pull away quickly with a squeak.
“What about you Teddy?” You asked, genuinely concerned as you pouted up to him with concerned while Mattheo tugged his pants up, panting and running a hand through his sweaty curls, “Don’t you want something in return?” Theo chuckled down to you, grabbing your chin and smashing his lips into yours in a heated kiss that left a trail of spit connecting you as he backed away.
“I’m okay for now Gorgeous, this was about you, we would have done absolutely anything to help ease your nerves,” Theo chuckled, staring into your eyes as though you were a piece of art meant to be in a museum, “Besides, Matty can always drive home and give us some time in that spacious back seat yeah?” He laughed, looking to Mattheo who shrugged as he slid his belt through it’s loops stating a simple, “I don’t mind,” before you all made sure you looked presentable before slipping out the door and back to the hell that was this dinner.
~~~~
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jarofstyles · 5 months
Text
Illicit
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Hello my loves! Welcome to the first part of our next mini series we've been working on behind the scenes. The next 2 parts are available immediately on Patreon now, but will be updated here in the next few weeks!
Patreon
Warnings- cheating ( WITH y/n), Asshole Harry, I hate everyone but her, old money/wealth, toxic relationship dynamic, harry is mean and will be mean but not to Y/N lmao, smut
WC- 2.4k
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Harry had just finished cleaning himself of cum as his phone rang. 
It was his girlfriend. ‘Girlfriend’, really, because this wasn’t a real relationship. Not in his mind, anyways. 
“What?” His voice was a sharp whip, already annoyed that the post orgasm bliss had been interrupted by Katherine. Y/N was sitting next to him, her leg thrown over his thigh as fingers traced over his chest, absentminded circles pausing when she heard his attitude already. Her brow raised as he lifted the phone to show the name on the screen, making her nod, lips turning down. That irritated him further. 
“When are you coming to get me?” A voice that pierced his ears made him close his eyes, a dull throb beginning to coast down his head. “Daddy said you’re coming to the event and you were going to pick me up!” 
She was huffing like a child, not wanting to wait. Realistically, he would leave in 30 minutes. Y/N would stay curled up in his bed and wait for him to come home before he took her away to one of his family cabin’s with the rest of their friend group- the ones who knew of him and Y/N. He would spend the entire night trying to think of an excuse to get back to her early, and hoping Katherine wouldn’t throw a fit about not being able to come on this ‘business trip’.  
“You live with your father. Could you have not shared a ride?” His tone was icy, something Y/N had never been the recipient of. Thank god, really. As sexy as it was to hear him talk like that to other people, it would definitely make her cry. The man was intense, even he knew that, but not everyone seemed to catch on. 
“Hazza! Come on.” She whined. “He already left and stopped by the office. I’m getting ready now but we have to be early for the photos!” As if that was going to help her cause. It was like the girl had a handbook on how to say the wrong things. 
Harry didn’t do those stupid step and repeats. While Katherine loved being the center of attention, it wasn’t something Harry desired. In actuality, he detested it. He hated paparazzi and had broken 2 cameras from having them in his face without a second glance. No aggression, the picture of calm with pure ice on his face as he did so. If they valued their possessions, they shouldn’t be shoving them in people’s way. That’s what he thought, at least. 
“I’ll be there in an hour. I’m not doing those photos. I don’t care what you do. Now stop calling me when I'm in the middle of things. You know if I don’t answer once, wait for further instruction.” He paused. “And stop calling me that childish nickname. I don’t find it cute or endearing, it’s embarrassing. Goodbye.”
There was a sharp squeak as he hung up the phone and threw it to the ground, rolling Y/N around onto her back and sliding his still sticky cock back inside of her yet again. His annoyance was clear on his face, but it quickly melted away as her arms wrapped around him and her lips covered his face with soft coos, legs pulling him in deeper. Maybe she was a bit sore, maybe his last load was still dripping out of her messy hole, but she knew exactly how the man needed to express himself. 
“I know.” Her silky voice wrapped around his tension and broke it down, slow thrusts inside of her quelling the bubbling irritation in his stomach and turning it into arousal. Y/N could read his stone cold features, knew what his eye twitch meant, the simple movement of a brow or the tiniest down or upturn of lip. This magnificent woman seemed to have him all figured out, and he felt like shit for having to leave and be seen with another woman. “I know, baby. Only a few more months.” Fingers stroked his hair back, guiding his lips to her own.
 He kissed her back, eyes squeezing shut as he allowed himself to lose the anger that had developed by focusing on her. The heat of her cunt wrapped up tight around him, snug. Fitting him perfectly, just as it always had. Y/N was the one he had wanted to take to these things, but he had to wait. For once, his patience wasn’t being practiced. 
The best thing in his life had to be hidden from most people, all because he had taken a stupid deal. He had to go out with the girl who thought she was going to be the next Mrs.Styles, while all he wanted to do was stay nestled in his luxury sheets with Y/N’s soft, supple body to worship. 
It was all his fault, though. 
He had always been ambitious. Ruthless, some may say, but he knew that to a degree he could be cruel to get what he wanted. That was how had been raised. His father had put that right into his head, doing anything for success, power, money… that’s how he ended up in this situation. 
In order to secure the deal of a lifetime, he had agreed to date the man’s daughter. Maybe that sounded cruel, but he knew the intentions from the get go. The man was using his conventionally pretty, high society daughter to try and sweeten the deal- but he knew the true motivation. An attempt to get him into the family and continue having control of the company through his daughter’s supposed relationship with him. If only he had been smarter, if he had done more research. He would know he was sending a sacrificial lamb right into Harry’s awaiting lion jaws. 
See, she had been no stranger to him. Katherine had been after him for quite a while. They were acquainted to a certain degree, running in similar circles and society dinners. The crush, more so the obsession she had with Harry had been no secret to anyone. She claimed to have been in love with him, but Harry knew what it truly was. A lust for money. An infatuation with the power he could secure her. She loved what Harry could represent for her, not only to secure place in the society she had been thrown into as she grew up- but to elevate it. She knew the score, knew what Harry’s ring could mean. 
Katherine knew nothing of his true personality, his likes, his dislikes, his jokes. All of those things were reserved for the tiniest selection of people that she only knew of in passing. His real friends barely touched that superficial, vapid, bitter world. Katherine’s family was new money, looking to secure their place in society. Harry’s wealth went in decades, and it would most likely stay that way. Her vying for his attention didn’t shock him in the slightest. 
The condition of dating Katherine for at least a year had been one he had wanted to scoff at, one he had wanted to tell Mr. Eugene Brant that it would be obvious what it was, but he was smart enough to bite his tongue and agree. Playing stupid was a superpower, letting him think he got one over on Harry and vastly overestimating his daughter’s appeal. One year of being toted around with her overly big smile and his signature scowl on his face hadn’t been an issue. It was something he would merely go through the motions of until the exact year was up and she would be out of his life. 
At least, it hadn’t been until he met Y/N. 
The first woman who had ever captured his heart and soul. Softened the edges of his razor sharp glare.
She hadn’t wanted to give him the time of day once she realized he had been flirting whilst not single. She hadn’t known the deceptive relationship and it hadn’t been her fault, but that didn’t mean Harry was going to leave well enough alone. Even after she had dumped her  Shirley temple on his brand new pure cotton button up. 
If anything, it made him want her more. 
One thing about Harry? He was going to get what he wanted. He would bet anything on it. He was patient, stubborn, and fixated. Checking guest lists to see if she’d be in attendance to parties, see if she was going to hang out with his friend group, he was on the prowl to get her to talk again. 
She had blocked his number already- he didn’t really have a chance to explain. He understood why, but that didn’t mean he was going to give up. 
When he finally did have the shot to tell her the relationship was a hoax, she was still doubtful. Dubious looks sent his way as he had pulled them into a private room of the club they were at- one his father owned, funnily enough- his hand holding hers as he sat beside her to plead his case. He was strong and defiant, insisting that it was a means to an end and there was no clause saying he couldn’t date other people- but he would like to get to know her on a real level. 
Against her better judgment, Y/N had fallen for the soft green eyes, the soft looking lips with the sharp cupid's bow and his even sharper tongue. Giving him one date was all he needed to get her on board. 
Fidelity wasn’t a term in the contract he had signed. Stupid, stupid mistake on Brant’s part. A new money, no lawyer to look over, a hasty mistake that would most definitely come to bite him in the ass. Harry hadn’t honored fidelity in the slightest even before he met Y/N. Sex was an outlet for him, as was the gym, things that were pleasurable and stress relieving. He’d only slept with Katherine a handful of times, tapering that off when he saw it made her get more and more attached. She had obviously known Harry had a reputation and while the sex had been alright, there hadn’t been much to his benefit besides the fact that she swallowed his load. 
Surprisingly, it wasn’t that hard to find willing participants. 
Sex with Y/N had completely rocked his world. He thinks, in part, it was because they had a real connection. She made him wait, she made him work his way up to that if he wanted- and made him stop sex with anyone else. As if he had any interest in anyone else. Y/N had taken up the majority of his brain that wasn’t filled with revenue and contracts and contacts and emails. She was his escape. 
The first time they had sex, Harry had fallen for her. There was no question in his mind. Despite being positive that he wouldn’t ever marry for love, Y/N had him questioning that. She had flipped his entire world view upside down, made him weak in the knees. 
Y/N wasn’t in the public eye. Her family had some elite ties, but she was friends with a lot of the quietly wealthy people who didn’t feel the need to showcase it to everyone who looked with tacky labels and monograms. She’d gotten into one of the best schools, gotten her degree and continued her friendship with her roommates and best friends- who just happened to be the girlfriends of some of his best mates. The real ones. There were only a few single members of the groups, and Y/N had been the new blood that had people wondering. Harry had been interested immediately. 
It was about 4 months into their relationship and everything still felt fantastic. Y/N knew more about Harry than anyone else ever could. She was the one with the key to the future, even if she didn’t know the exact depths his feelings went to. 
“I don’t want to go.” His lips parted from hers. “I want to stay here… want to stay buried inside of you, want to feed you your chocolate and lick it from your tongue.” Inhaling his words, she moaned as his hips rolled and he found his home back at her most sensitive spot. He had spent hours finding it, claiming it, and he knew it was his. “Spent all week working… I just want my sweet Angel.”
Noses brushed against one another, Y/N’s bleary eyes opening up to look at his own. Hazy, dark green, hooded. She gently dragged her nails over his shoulder blades, arching up into him and pressed a bit harder on the skin to make him moan in surprise. “You have me, Harry.” She whispered. “You have me now. Leave with my traces on your cock… then come back and take more. We leave tomorrow… and you can hold me how you like. Kiss me. Our friends don’t care. They’ll keep our secret.” Even if it was forbidden, their tight knit group knew exactly what the relationship between Harry and Katherine really was- and none really liked her. They knew Y/N made him happy, softened him up, they’d all been rooting for this. Their safe space. The only ones who knew. 
“She won’t ever have me.” He reassured. “I’m yours. I want your marks on me.” Breathing harder, his thrusts getting a bit more deep. “Make me bleed. C’mon, my sweet girl. Paid for those nails… give me what I want.” Her cunt quivered around his prick, making him smile. She pretended not to like that sort of thing, but she got them done specifically for this. To quench his thirst for pain, for marks. They loved it. “She’ll never have me like this. I’m yours.” He whimpered, the freak of the bed and their noises filling the room. “M’yours, baby. My sweet Angel… stay in my bed and wait for me. I’ll give you everything. Just wait for me.” 
She would. She would wait for him, to be his fully, as long as it took.
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talesofesther · 6 months
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what once was mine | ch 1
Loki x Reader
Summary: When watching what once was supposed to be the rest of his life, in an empty room in the TVA, Loki sees someone he can't recognize; a girl who's all tenderness and loose smiles, and most importantly, she was smiling at him.
A/N: A long overdue mini-series for one of my favorite characters of all time. I had this idea when season one of Loki first came out, but never got to writing it, and now with season two coming, I decided to finally do it. There are two important things that need to be said before we head into it though; firstly and most importantly, I will not be following the show's plot at all, this story will only be focusing on the relationship between Loki and the reader, after all that's what it is about and I don't want it to be unnecessarily huge; secondly, this story will be mostly told in moments, which means that not every single scene happening between the characters will be written down in length. Lastly, I do hope you can all enjoy it. <3
Masterlist
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Things felt worthless. Everything suddenly seemed unimportant. His whole life, everything he knew, felt small and frail. Because here, infinity stones were mere paperweights.
Loki scoffed as he pushed himself up from the floor, one hand coming up to tug at the collar still wrapped around his neck. This place made him feel as if his brain was melting, it was all too much, too sudden—sacred timeline, variants. A sense of utter helplessness started to weigh heavily in the pit of his stomach.
Yet he couldn't hold himself back from sitting at the single table in the middle of the dim-lit room. The checkered image of the Avengers right in front of him seemed to be taunting him.
This was still the same day, right?
Or maybe not, Loki wasn't certain anymore; it sure didn't feel like the same day.
For a split second, as he looked down at the red, round device resting on top of the table, he thought about how everything here looked so old-fashioned. It was almost ironic, for a place out of time.
Loki couldn't help himself. His curiosity got the best of him eventually. But if anyone had their whole life just a click away, they'd probably do the same.
So he watched, through glimpses passing on a screen, a life that was supposed to be his. He watched his mother die, and then his father; he watched as Thor called him a brother with a smile on his face again, and as they made earth a new home for Asgard. Loki's eyes were already a pool of tears as soon as his mother's lifeless body had appeared in front of him, they cascaded down his cheeks freely, leaving behind a damp path of a lifetime worth of mourning, now seen in less than a minute. The loss somehow felt greater, because now he wouldn't even have those moments to begin with.
But suddenly, amidst the moments of suffering and mistakes, an unfamiliar face appeared. She had a smile on her face most of the time, and even through the static of the image in front of him, Loki could clearly see the glint in her pupils, the crinkle beside her eyes. She was quite captivating, maybe that's why it took him a second to realize she was smiling at him.
A frown etched itself in Loki's eyebrows, he leaned forward on his chair as he pressed play again. Curiosity and... apprehension twirled wildly inside his stomach.
The moments with her were endless. Walks on the beach, shared ice creams, quiet nights watching a movie, dancing together in a dark kitchen, the golden rays of a sunset shining against her hair in a memory tucked away like a treasure; and even a moment of her talking with Tony Stark and the others, while her hand held tightly onto Loki's, the other Loki, that is. All of them looked futile, a simple existence Loki would never have considered fit for him; so why did these moments feel important?
Inside TVA's lonely room, Loki held his breath until his lungs ached. His heart was threatening to jump out of his chest and his eyes were stinging for a whole new reason. He could feel the shaking of his own hands. That look in her eyes, it was one of love, anyone who saw would know it. But the cause of the sudden lump in Loki's throat was the fact that this look was always directed at him. That love in her eyes, that smile on her lips; was for him.
Several minutes went by with him silently looking at the paused image of her on the checkered screen. A few stray tears rolled down his cheeks, and he wasn't sure why yet. If it was for the shock of learning that someone could love him this much; or because of the envy, the longing for something that wasn't even his, not really, he never got there after all.
There was a hole in his chest, a missing piece of something he never had. Loki didn't even know her name, yet a part of him was screaming it anyway.
He eventually moved on, and almost threw up when he watched Thanos take his life from him. Loki watched his brother cry over his lifeless body, yet he wasn't seeing her.
And despite the boatload of information thrown at him, the questions clouding his mind were only; who is she? Where is she?
Lost. Loki felt more lost than he probably ever did in his entire life. He had just watched what was supposed to be the rest of his life, yet... it wouldn't be. So what now?
He sat down on the small stairs of the room, burying his head in his hands.
And then there was this girl; smiling and laughing and holding his hand as if he had been the best thing to ever happen to her. This feeling, warm and heavy, squeezing Loki's heart, was a foreign one—he couldn't quite place why that look of pure adoration in her eyes was directed at him.
He needed to know who she was. He needed to find her and ask her why. He needed to know what she was, or- would be to him.
The sudden sound of the door opening startled Loki, he watched as Mobius walked into the room, his steps overly cautious. "Loki? Nowhere left to run."
Gulping back a sob clawing its way through his throat, Loki took a deep breath. He slowly glanced up, voice calm and defeated as he asked a question he already knew the answer to; "I can't go back, can I?"
Mobius simply looked at him, his eyes holding some kind of sympathy as he spared Loki from hearing the truth out loud.
Loki pursed his lips, his gaze slowly trailed back to the screen on his left that again adorned a paused image of the mysterious girl. Her lips were turned up just slightly, dark sunglasses covered her eyes, and she held a slowly melting ice cream in one of her hands. "Who is she?" he asked quietly.
Placing his weapon on the table, Mobius let out a long sigh, "I was hoping you wouldn't ask about her."
The words made Loki snap his head towards him, a frown coming to his eyebrows immediately.
"She..." Mobius hesitated, "she is someone almost as annoying as you."
"That doesn't answer my question." Loki nearly sounded offended. He got up then, taking slow steps towards Mobius. "She seemed... important, yet I don't know who she is."
"I'm afraid you haven't met her yet."
"Then tell me who she is."
Mobius grimaced; "I don't think it's my place to say it."
"That's absurd," Loki scoffed, "it's my life we're talking about here."
"How about we help each other then, hm?" Mobius offered, and when Loki only frowned at him, he continued; "a fugitive Variant has been killing our Minutemen."
Loki narrowed his eyes. "And you need the God of Mischief to help you stop him?"
A small smirk came to Mobius' lips; "That's right. You help us stop him. I get you an opportunity to meet her and you can ask her whatever questions you want to know."
A meeting with someone didn't feel like much for his end of the bargain, but that same voice inside Loki was still screaming a name he didn't know how to spell. He had to know.
"Deal."
⋆* ☾ ⋆*・゚:⋆*・゚
Read ch 2 here
Thank you for reading this little story. Feedback and reblogs are literally what keeps me motivated to continue posting here, so I’d appreciate it if you could take some time to reblog and comment. <3
You do not have permission to repost, copy, or translate my works on any platforms (even with credit), please respect.
Loki’s taglist:@milkiane @v1ci0us
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fanpageknight · 10 months
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I was rereading the “what happens if you get bored of me fic” with Tom holland Spider-Man and was wondering if you could write it with Miguel O’Hara please
Boredom
Posted: 06/12/23
Title: Boredom
Yandere Miguel O'Hara x GN reader
Summary: Yandere Miguel O'Hara reacts to "What happens when you get bored of me?"
Author's note:
Word Count: 1184
Spider-verse Story List/ Master List
Warnings: yandere, kidnapping, language
🔞18+ page due to dark and adult themes. Minors will be blocked 🔞
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Miguel bit his tongue as you beat on his chest while he carried you to his room. "Let me go!!" You screamed. He said nothing in return.
Miguel expected this reaction. He knew stealing you away from your dimension to live with him would terrify you.
No other spider person knew what Miguel was doing. They didn't need to know.
You slapped him across the face. "Let go!" Once he makes it to his room, he tries to gently place you on the bed, but your panic made him clumsy. You were quick to get off the bed and run towards the door. Unfortunately, Miguel was faster.
He shot his neon webs at the door, trapping you inside with him. Miguel quietly watched as you banged and screamed at the door. "Help me!! Please, I've been kidnapped!" No one was around to hear you. "Y/n..." He spoke your name softly. "Help!" You continued to bang. "Y/n." He tried again to get your attention.
Your energy was wearing thin. He could see you slow down. Your screams and pleas dissipated into low cries and heavy breathing. With your forearms on the door, you sink to your knees, letting your head rest against the door as your entrapment sets in.
Miguel's stoic face melts into one of a considered partner. He cautiously approaches you. "Y/n-" He began while kneeling to you, only for him to be cut off by you swinging around to press your back against the door.
You looked into his eyes with pure fear. "I'm here to hurt you..." You couldn't respond. His voice was blurred by your fear-filled heartbeat and out-of-control breathing. "Breathe, honey. I'm here to help." Desperate for breath and a clear mind you followed his instructions. He stares into your eyes, letting his large chest fill with air. You did the same and let out a long, shaking breath when deflating your lungs. "Good, again." You repeat the act two more times with his guidance.
As you let out your last breath, Miguel brushes your hair out of your face with the tips of his fingers, then wipes away a tear with his thumb. "You're safe, I promise." You scoffed quietly. "I don't feel safe..." You mumbled. His brows knit. "I know..."
You sniffled and wiped your eyes with your sleeve. "W-who are you?" There was a pause. "I'm Miguel O'Hara, a Spider-Man from this universe." He could see the confusion on your face. "I rescued you from your universe. Which was collapsing. You were the only person I could save." Miguel stated seriously while lying through his teeth. "That would explain the weird orange portal thingy.
He tried to go on about how your universe was doomed, but you stopped him, catching a hole in his story. "How long does it take for a universe to collapse?" He answered without much hesitation. "Every quickly -" You interrupted him before he could elaborate. "So how come you stood out my window for so long?" Miguel trips over himself a little. "What do you mean?" You sit up a little straighter. "I saw a figure standing on a building outside my window staring at me..." Miguel's face slowly starts to become stone again. "I saw them shoot something neon from their wrist to get away... it looks like those." You point up at the pretty neon webbing on the door. "If my universe was collapsing so quickly... how did you have time to one watch me and to break into my home? Wouldn't there be a bunch of other people on the street that would have been easier to save?" He stared at you blankly, wishing you bought the story. It would have made all of this so much easier for both of you.
He sighed and then pinched the bridge of his nose. "Y/n...curiously killed the cat, you know." You look at him as he lifted his gaze. "Good thing they have nine lives." You snapped. He lifted himself to his full height, looking down at you. His cold eyes seemed shadowed over. "We were in love..." He started. "So unequivocally in love... In this universe, I lost you as every spider-man is destined to lose the people they love most." You felt a tear fall from his face to your cheek. His jaw clenched in memory of what happened. "I thought you'd be lost to me forever... but here you are." You were quick to your feet. His sad face was clear to you now. "Look, Miguel." His heart skipped as you spoke his name. "I'm sorry. I really am sorry about you lost your partner -" He corrects you with a single word. "Spouse." You sighed. "I'm sorry you lost your spouse... but I'm not them. I've lived a different life and different experiences." He begins to shake his head, putting his hands on his hips. "And even if I was, what makes you think this is at all okay?" You tried to reason, but none of it was sticking. "You are the same person. Trust me, I know you. You've loved me once you'll love me again." Miguel argues. "And if I don't?" He bit his tongue hard enough for it to bleed. "You will. I know everything you love and enjoy. I know what makes your heart skip. What turns you on. I know, y/n." He steps close to you, placing his hands on your arms. "Because I love you, and I will take as long as it needs to bring you back to my side." He kisses your forehead tenderly as tears fall from your eyes. There was no convincing him of anything else. "And when you get bored?" You asked, making him pull away confused. "What?" He asked sadly. You took a deep breath. "And what happens when you get bored of me?" He looked genuinely hurt but tried to hide it. Miguel put his brave face on. "This isn't some game, honey. You were my everything before you died. Every day was a chance for me to show you my devotion." He says, stepping closer, causing you to step backward. Angry tears run fast down his pink face. Against your best interests, you step on his wounded heart. "Maybe I just died before boredom overtook your love -" "ENOUGH!" He screamed. You fall backward onto the bed in fear.
Miguel pins you down by the shoulders. His tears fell to your face as if his bleeding heart was desperately trying to cling to your life. "My love for you will never know an end." He will not take your rejection. Miguel lends down to your ear. "You. Are. Mine~" He hissed behind his fangs. Without warning, he bites your neck. "Aghh!" You tried to push him off of you, but he was too strong. His paralyzing venom seeps into you, causing a numbing feeling to begin to spread. "You don't get a choice in this, honey. You'll learn to love me." He licks up your few drops of blood before whispering. "Even if I have to fuck it into you~"
The End
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sukunas-wife · 2 months
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I'm in desperate need of sukuna just catering to his pregnant wife. Like he's being too careful, caring and overall really really cautious around her. I just need some sweet stuff between the two. Idk how it'll happen but it must, and I think you'll be the perfect person for it♡♡♡ i love your work sm istg i could just smoosh u into a big hug, reading your posts just makes me all giddy and melt. thank you in advance!!!
Stop Ilysm 🥺🤍 imma do my best 🥹
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In no way was Ryomen Sukuna a domestic man, much less a man who would show mercy or an ounce of emotion. Yet here he stood, both sets of arms crossed over his chest hard stare following your waddle around the garden, his face was void of emotions but internal something was ignited. Subconsciously, his body led him to find you almost always when he would wander about aimlessly in thought. Here he was, standing on the engawa. His eyes ran over your body, the small swell in your tummy was a pain in his ass but there wasn’t a thing he wouldn’t do to ensure your safety and his child’s. He was lucky you hadn’t noticed him or you’d probably demand something from him and there he would have to go to please you.
The cold rush of air on his skin didn't bother him, but he saw how you shivered, tucking your hands into the sleeves of your robes resting them on your swollen belly. You were persistent and stubborn it didn't surprise when the second rush of wind came and you side eyed the empty air as if threatening a being. You sighed continuing your walk in the garden, fingers grazing the flowers of the garden. The garden you had begged him to make because it had been your dream to have a lavish royal garden of your own. He remembers the first time he allowed you out of his sight, he found you sitting on a stone bench under the shade of a blooming sakura tree, you must’ve felt like one of those silly little princesses with how you slowly lifted your hand to catch falling blooms.
You felt the shift in the air but weren’t bothered to turn around and greet him, you were busy on your little adventure. You were looking for the perfect place, you kept walking until you came to a decent open space, in the centre was a ring of bushes. Staring at the space you started to space out thinking only pulled back to reality by your husband when he draped his Haori over your shoulders. He stood behind you, a pair of arms around you carefully tying it closed. His scent and warmth lingered over your skin when he stepped away, you looked back over your shoulder and up at him. He was looking past you at the bushes you were staring at, one of his left hands rested on your left shoulder. He brought a right hand up to his face, squeezing his cheek bones and running his hand down his face like he was thinking, “what have you decided?” You hummed, “A plum tree right there, as our child grows so will the tree, when he’s old enough to eat fruit it’ll start to bloom.” Sukuna didn’t understand the sentiment behind having your child grow up with his or her own tree. In the end one of them would die and they would have to part ways. “Uraume” “Yes Lord Sukuna.” It was an unspoken command. It was one of many he’d be giving for the next few months.
——————-
“…su?” Your voice was lost in the dark before you tried to sit up whispering, “..sukuna.. kuna… suuuu.” You laid a hand on your husband's chest rubbing circles, he took a slow deep breath opening his eyes to look at you. “Yes y/n?” Your hand trailed to his lower shoulder trailing down his arm and taking his hand holding it in your lap between both of your smaller hands in comparison. “I..I’m hungry..” he was looking at you with soft lidded eyes. His lower set of eyes opened when he sat up the arm he had wrapped around you in his sleep and moved to rub your side, he did his best to whisper “What do you need?” He never asked what do you want like it was a bothersome request, but rather what do you need like it was something necessary for you to keep living. “I want the melon from that fruit stand in the village. The one they had at the top in a small crate…” his mouth opened slightly like he was going to say something. Because here’s the thing, he bought that melon when he saw your eyes linger on it a little too long. But at the moment Uraume wasn’t there and he didn’t wanna carry around a small crate while he had things to do so he told the Vendor he would be back for it, and if he tried to sell it or let anything happen to it, it would be his life for that melon. He closed his mouth, “I…” he moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, “I’ll be right back.” You sat there rubbing your belly when he left, it didn’t feel like long considering the King of Curses was inhumanely fast. What took him longer was rummaging through the fruit vendor's stand looking for that cursed crate and melon. Finally he found it tucked away with a note in beg red characters, “LORD SUKUNA DO NOT DAMAGE DO NOT SELL AT ANY EXPENSE THE EMPEROR'S PREGNANT WIFE CAN STARVE IF IT SPARES MY LIFE.” He laughed to himself, a smug smile on his face, “These fools do have brains, how refreshing.”
He made it home and had your ladies in waiting bring you to the table, there he cracked open the crate showing you the perfect honeydew melon that had a thin layer of condensation making it look like the night dew had blessed it. Your tummy growled and your eyes shined bright for everyone to see. It was funny to see the melon on a red cushion in the crate before Sukuna carefully pulled it out and placed it on a wooden slab asking how you wanted it. You told him to cut it into slices, you watched him turn down the knife a lady in waiting offered him only to use to dismantle. It was faster, cleaner and efficient, he chose the best piece shaking off the seeds and handing it to you. You bought into it and it was the best thing in the world, until you finished your third piece and decided you didn’t want it anymore you were full and it started to taste funny. Your ladies in waiting giggled and Sukuna sighed when they started to clean it up, they decided to save the rest for you if you started craving it for at least the next two days.
——————
It wasn't long after that night, you found yourself awake at another ungodly hour of the night. You felt queasy and quickly jumped out of bed, rushing to the large washroom Sukuna loved to bathe in. You grabbed one of the brand new chamber pots the ladies in waiting had bought at Sukuna’s command for when you'd get sick in the morning. You thought you were alone but there was your husband, one arm rubbing your back, the other stilling your chalky hands, the second pair braiding your hair back and out of the way. Following you immediately he snapped at one of the servants to bring water and something to settle your stomach if it was needed. For now he provided the best comfort he could. His warm hands on your cold back and shaky hands might not have stopped your nausea but it was comforting to know he was there with you even if he could’ve just rolled over and slept. You would’ve kissed him or at least his cheek if you didn’t feel so dirty and your tummy didn’t ache and feel empty in a weird way.
——————
Here stood the King of Curses, it was past midday. He was lucky your cravings were during daylight this time but what he didn't understand was why you wanted to top your dango with crumbled salted egg yolk and mochi with dried squid topping. It made him sick and he was more than willing to eat raw human flesh. He sat there making sure the waiter never let your cup empty or your plates void of food but he stopped when you tried to top fried squid with a chocolate and red bean paste.
“Enough y/n, you will make yourself nauseous before the morning nausea starts tomorrow.” His voice and look were stern and authoritative which caused you to pout, “…fine.”
Of course that didn’t stop you from packing your left over into a little wooden bento box to take home.
So when you were hungry after being carried over half of the trip home you decided to eat that sinful concoction you called a meal. Just to find your bento had been tampered with and only had red bean paste buns and chocolate mochi. Your puffed out cheeks match your belly perfectly when you went around looking for Sukuna. Only to barge in on him having a conversation with Kenjaku. “Where’s my squid!” Kenjaku was surprised someone had the gall to raise their voice and be so demanding with the king of curses, “Not now Y/n” Sukuna tried to give you a look to tell you now isn’t an appropriate time, that didn’t stop you from getting closer seeing Kanjaku’s look of surprise when he saw your stomach swollen and prominent. The King of Curses’s wife was indeed pregnant meaning it was entirely possible for a curse to impregnate a human… but could a human.. “I told YOU I wanted that squid!” Your teary eyes had Sukuna’s eye twitching his mind was Screaming ‘dammit woman out of all the times you could cry and make a scene and walk out like THAT it had to be in front of this deranged man-?” He cleared his throat “URAUME- Yes Lord Sukuna.”
Uraume was quick to fry up squid for you, fresh, hot and crispy. It was perfect. His jaw dropped when he saw how you squeezed a drop of red bean paste and chocolate mochi filling on the squid just to take a bite. He also didn’t hesitate in running at you with one of the brand new chamber pots when all of your lunch came back up with that cursed squid. Your husband walked in and sighed, he looked at you as you wiped your mouth, “What did I tell you.” You avoided eye contact, “To not..” he placed a hand on your back rubbing up and down your spine, Uraume was quick to bring water.
————-
Finally, here was Sukuna kneeling in front of you between your legs. You were close to birthing so this had become a very common position for you. Your robes were open and he was listening to your stomach. He could hear very clearly and distinct your heart beat from your child’s. That little heart beat was strong and present no doubt his child. You always ran your hand over his hair, your nails scratching his scalp and he’d humm before finally pulling back. Spreading oil over his hands. All those Japanese Camellia seeds he forced servants to gather and extract oil from because you’d become self conscious of your body and the marks in your skin where your skin was stretching. He’d kneel there between your legs, warm hands rubbing your belly, sides, breasts and thighs down with the oil that everyone had sworn would help you prevent and recover from stretch marks. As much as he’d like to have advanced on you in these situations, he would've been doing this for your last trimester daily. There was no doubt in his mind he would’ve induced early labour, so there he sat pent up but tending to your silly little self conscious needs. Honestly, how could you think yourself ugly when he thought you looked perfectly swollen with his child. If he chose you, why would you belittle yourself? He doesn’t choose and take things that don’t meet his ridiculously high standards. So he doesn’t understand why all of a sudden the change in your mindset. But he’s here with you muttering comforting words against your stomach and thighs if it help you truly understand how he feels about you.
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Squishy: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks
@cyder-puff @bofadeezs
Perm: @sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira
Broken🥺: @cyder-puff @simpforyoubitch @domainofmarie @ilovemybabies378
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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 6 months
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What is Broken I (Aemond Targaryen x Pregnant Wife!Reader)
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The war, the "Dance of the Dragons," as they have come to call it, is over. And yet, you are not celebrating. You have just learned that your husband, Prince Aemond, spent the last months of the war with another woman in his bed. Not only that, but his mistress is pregnant. Just like you...
Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader (third person, no use of Y/N), side Aemond Targaryen x Alys Rivers
Warnings: Angst, pregnancy and related symptoms, infidelity, some pushing and hitting
Author's Note: It's finally here! Sorry y'all, this month a) I found out my dog has terminal cancer, b) I got covid, and c) my laptop randomly went kaput in the middle of an episode of the West Wing. But it's finally here! As it says on the taglist, this will be a three-part series.
Taglist is done via reblogs
What is Broken
It was a lovely night in King’s Landing.
There was not a cloud to be seen for miles, and the stars were bright and twinkling. The waters of Blackwater Bay were calm and reflected the full moon as clearly as a freshly polished mirror. Even the wind seemed in a pleasant mood, carrying the sweet scent of spring on its back as it drifted lazily through the windows of the Red Keep.
Every bit of it grated on her heart like a whetstone across dull steel.
The worst night of one’s life should not be so lovely, she thought. It should be terrible. With storms and an angry sea, and perhaps even a raging fire somewhere in the distance.
If the night had been so, she would not have seen it when, only a few moments ago, a massive winged form landed in the fields just outside the city with a lowing wail, the last person she wanted to see strapped to its back. Thankfully, Aemond was far enough away that she could not make him out against the mass of his mount.
The people would cheer him in the streets as he rode toward the castle. The victorious Prince, returning after long months at war, having not only ended the war itself but avenged the deaths of his eldest sister, brother, and his little nieces and nephews.
Daemon Targaryen and his dragon had perished above the God’s Eye, the waters below boiling when their bodies fell into its depths.
With the Rogue Prince gone, the war was swiftly over. Rhaenyra was killed, her last remaining son taken as King Aegon’s ward, and the royal host returned to King’s Landing victorious. Even Cregan Stark had agreed to halt his advance South, redirecting to Harrenhal for peace talks.
Harrenhal. A cursed place, now to be the site of great diplomacy.
Even thinking about the horrible castle was enough to turn her stomach.
A letter detailing exactly what had occurred within those melted stone halls during the war, written by the late Prince Daemon himself, sat on her vanity. A final act of retribution against his soon-to-be killer.
She knew that her husband was only returning home because of the letter.
My dear Princess, Despite the conflict between our sides of the family, I have always thought you a rather sweet girl. Therefore, it is with the deepest regret that I must now shoulder the burden of informing you of your beloved husband’s improper conduct during this awful conflict…
A pang of nausea shot through her stomach as she remembered the words.
A mistress… some Strong bastard… called Alys, my spies tell me… every night, without fail… from the very first week… another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb…
There was a pounding from within her, soft thumps and kicks as the life inside her own womb became unsettled by its mother’s roiling emotions. She laid a hand over her belly, whispering soothing words she did not believe to try and calm it – and herself.
Once, she would never have believed Daemon’s stories. But then word came that, after the final battle, Aemond returned to Harrenhal for less than an hour before he again mounted Vhagar and flew for King’s Landing. It was not like Aemond to make such swift decisions. Nor did it strike her as the action of an innocent man.
When she called for Ser Willis Fell, her heart had been filled with hope that the new Lord Commander of the Kingsguard would dispel her worries. That she had only allowed herself to consider the possibility of Aemond’s infidelity because her mind was addled by her delicate condition.
“My princess, I cannot, in good conscience, tell you a lie…”
She had screamed then. And cried. And possibly thrown things at the Kingsguard, but she couldn’t entirely remember.
All she could remember was how Aemond kissed her on the day he left for Harrenhal. Deeply and passionately. Until she could feel his love for her as clearly as her own heartbeat. Then he knelt before her and placed a single, tender kiss to her belly, to where they had only just learned that their babe grew.
Less than a moon’s turn later, he had taken another woman to his bed, and seeded her, too.
Now he was returning home – in haste.
He knew, then. That Daemon had let slip his secret. Perhaps it had even been the Rogue Prince’s last words. Spat in Aemond’s face in the seconds before his body tumbled into the lake below. Had she not been caught in the crossfire, she might have admired it for the masterful manipulation it was.
But in seeking to destroy Aemond, Daemon had destroyed her as well.
She was broken from her thoughts by the distant sound of people cheering. Aemond was making his way through the city more quickly than she thought. The streets weren’t as crowded as she hoped they would be this late at night.
It was late. Far later than she had become accustomed to. These days, she was often in bed and asleep not long after the sun had set, hoping that she would somehow find a full night’s sleep. Never to any avail.
For a moment, she thought of slipping beneath the blankets and pretending to be asleep so she would not have to speak to Aemond until the morning. But he would only crawl into bed with her, and then he would see when she inevitably woke…
That was not a conversation she wanted to have today. Really, there was no conversation she wanted to have with Aemond, only that which must be had.
She was resolved that Aemond would not find her weeping or stewing in heartbreak. No, she would not let him think he held such power over her, even if he did. He always had, even when they were young children.
So, she resumed her nightly routine as though nothing was wrong, as if she was entirely unaffected by his betrayal. Sitting at her vanity, she began to unbraid her hair. Her maids usually did it for her, but she had dismissed them the moment she read Daemon’s letter, not wanting to see their pitying faces for longer than she had to.
Since learning she was with child, everyone – including her maids – fussed over her constantly. It was not without reason, she knew. There was indeed very good reason why everyone was so concerned about her. But after six months, she was tired of it.
Just the simple act of taking her braids out and brushing through her loose hair by herself brought a welcome feeling of independence that she had not felt in some time. Perhaps ever.
That feeling slowly faded away as the cheering and celebration from the city came closer and closer, until she could hear gauntleted hands clapping in the castle courtyard below.
Aemond was here.
Her hand fell to cradle her stomach and was immediately met by three quick thumps against her palm. She knew the child did not understand what was happening and was only responding to the touch itself, much in the same way a cat arches its back when petted.
Still, it comforted her. It made her feel like she was not alone.
“Kirimvossi, rūhossas,” she whispered with a smile before resuming brushing her hair.
Her smile did not last.
Sooner than she had hoped, she heard the clanking of armor as the guards outside her door straightened, bowed, then retreated.
A shiver went through her, stealing the air from her chest while cold gathered in her heart and began sinking to her stomach. Dragging her brush through her hair suddenly took great effort, as did every breath.
Yet it was surprisingly easy to banish the tears forming in her eyes and school her face into tired neutrality. To glance only once at the figure now lingering in the doorway before turning away without acknowledging him.
She did not know if it was strength or cowardice.
He called her name, his voice rasping and low – desperate. “We must speak.”
She did not respond. She didn’t even look at him.
Aemond sighed, calling her name again. “Please, my love. Look at me.”
Still, she did not move.
“Ābrazȳrītsos,” he said, a hint of command slipping into his plea. Little wife.
He had always loved calling her little. According to their mother, the first thing Aemond did when he saw her as a babe was exclaim, “She’s so little!”
Ever since, he’d been calling her little.
First, she was simply hāedus. Little sister.
Whenever she tried to follow Aemond when he went somewhere she wasn’t allowed or did something she wasn’t allowed to do, he would gently scold her, “Haedus, you’re too little.” Inevitably, she would cry. About half the time, her crying was enough to sway him.
Then, she became zaldrīzītsos. Little dragon.
“You’re my zaldrīzītsos,” he would say when she hugged him tightly after Aegon or one of the Strong boys mocked him for not having a dragon. She didn’t have one either, but she never felt she needed one, for she had Aemond.
For a time, she was maegītsos. Little witch.
Aemond had dubbed her so when she came to visit him in the Maester’s tower while he recovered from the loss of his eye. The Maester would give her some “special leaves” so she could brew a “magic potion” to help Aemond get better. In truth, the potion was simply tea. But Aemond always pretended that the potion had indeed worked miracles, just to make her happy.
Once he was healed, she was again zaldrīzītsos.
Since he finally had a true dragon, she worried that he would not want her anymore. When she came to him in tears one day as he was leaving the Keep to see Vhagar, he hugged her tightly and told her, “You will always be my zaldrīzītsos.” Then he brought her with him to ride Vhagar. It was the best day of her life.
Or it was, until the day they were officially betrothed, and she became raqiarzītsos. Little darling.
It was what he would call her every morning when he greeted her with a chaste kiss on the cheek. How he would summon her to his side at court events. What he moaned when they kissed unchastely each evening before saying goodnight.  
She had been so excited when she became his ‘ābrazȳrītsos.’ The first time he had whispered it in her ear at the wedding feast, she’d blushed so brightly that their grandsire inquired about her health. The next time he said it, Aemond made sure they were alone.
Little sister. Little dragon. Little witch. Little darling. Little wife.
Always little.
Once, the names had made her heart flutter with delight. Now, they only prompted another wave of nausea.
Aemond was everything to her – he always had been. She thought he felt the same way, but it seemed she was wrong. To him, she was just “little.”
She flinched at the sound of his voice, of that word. How he spoke to her like she was some frightened animal poised to lash out.
Yet at the same time, her heart melted to hear the voice she loved so dearly after so long an absence. Merely the sight of him in the mirror sent a feeling of warmth and belonging flooding through her.
She hated him.
She loved him.
She was angrier at him than she had ever been in her life.
She wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.
She could do nothing but continue to brush her hair and stare into her reflection.
Aemond sighed, finally stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. “You won’t even look at me, ābrazȳrītsos?”
She gave no answer.
He whispered her name again, “Abrazȳrītsos, please,” Aemond’s voice turned quiet as he reached her and set a hand on her shoulder as if to turn her around by force, but she wrenched herself out of his grip, staring down at the floor. Though she did not look at him, she could almost feel the misery on his face. “Please look at me.”
“If I look at you, I fear I will be sick,” she explained weakly. “I don’t want to harm the babe.”
His irritation began to surge, she knew it even without seeing him. His breathing quickened slightly, and she could hear the creaking of leather as he rolled his shoulders and balled his hands into fists – he had been so hurried he had not yet taken off his riding gloves.
“You are my wife,” he huffed. She could hear him attempt to contain the sharp edge of barely contained anger in his soft voice. At least he was considerate enough to hide it. “You are my sister – my blood. You love me as I love you, and you carry my child within you. Yet you cannot even look at me?”
Fury roared to life like a surging flame within her. How dare he be angry with her when he is the one who ruined everything?
“Why did you come back?” she spat back, quietly yet viciously.
His stare continued to weigh on her through the mirror. “I promised you the day I left that I would return to you when the war was done,” he said, half-smiling at the memory. “The war is over, so here I am.”
She shook her head. “The war is not over.”
“Of course, it is. Daemon and Rhaenyra are dead, and – ”
“The fighting is over,” she corrected. “But the war is not finished. Peace must still be brokered. As Prince Regent, that is your responsibility. Yet you are here rather than with the rest of the soldiers and politicians at Harrenhal. Why?”
She wanted him to be the one to say it.
Aemond sighed, raising a hand to touch her, then pulling away. “Is it so hard to believe that I missed you and simply couldn’t stand to stay away a moment longer?”
She was moving before she could process what she was doing, standing from the vanity and turning to face Aemond, her hand raised and ready to strike.
But he caught her arm by the wrist, stopping her moments before her palm could impact his cheek – his scarred cheek. His eye was wide, filled with sadness and shock in equal measure. He turned to look at her hand as if it was some kind of curiosity he had never seen before, like he couldn’t understand how it could ever be raised against him.
Tears were spilling down her cheeks when he turned back to her, and his expression gave over entirely to despair. Aemond opened his mouth, but words failed him.
He lowered her hand gently, bowing his head slightly to the right to give her an easier target.
It broke something within her.
She dove toward him, wrapping her arms around him as she cried into his chest, clinging to him as if he were her the only thing keeping her anchored to the ground.
But the moment Aemond moved to return the embrace, she shoved him away. It only moved him a step back, still within her reach. He did not move closer, and when she began to pound her fists furiously against his chest, he didn’t try to stop her.
“Why did you come back?” she demanded as she pushed him once more. “Why did you not just stay in Harrenhal with your whore and leave us alone?”
Aemond did not respond. His mouth hung open, but he said nothing. He could do nothing but stare at her, his eye flitting between her belly, where his child had grown –so much he could hardly believe it – in his absence, to her eyes.
Those eyes. A warm, rich brown that shone with gold in the firelight. It was Aemond’s favorite color. For whenever he saw it, in her eyes or their mother’s, he knew he was home.
But now those eyes he loved so dearly were filled with tears of his own making. He wanted nothing more than to see them dry and sparkling with love once more.
“Abrazȳrītsos, you must know I will always return to you,” he begged, stepping forward and cautiously placing a hand on her belly. Almost immediately, he felt a stirring within her, and a weak pushing against him.
His child.
Was it reaching for him, or pushing him away?
Before he could truly ponder either answer, his wife pulled away from him, her arms curling protectively around her abdomen.
He had to say something. Something to take her pain away, to make everything well again so he would have the chance to hold her and the babe. Even if it was a lie, he would say it if it made her forgive him.
“Raqiarzītsos,” he started, only for her to take another step away and scowl at him. He sighed as the realization of how deeply had hurt her truly sunk in. He softly called her name, “My love, it was one mistake. One moment of weakness, I swear –”
“Liar!” Her voice had grown rough with her fury, and Aemond flinched at the sound. He had never heard her shout like that, not even when she was a babe herself.
She saw his discomfort and reveled in it. Seeing him suffer a fraction of what she felt gave her a sinful spark of joy, one that she felt no need to beg forgiveness from the Seven for. She turned away from him and retrieved the letter from Daemon, panting as she looked over the words once more.
“A mistress now lies in your husband’s bed. She was a wetnurse at Harrenhal, some Strong bastard. She must be something truly special, for she is the only Strong – trueborn or bastard – to have survived Aemond’s rather thorough purging of the bloodline. I suppose it is now clear why. I have not been able to learn much about her. She is called Alys, my spies tell me.”
With smoldering eyes, she turned to Aemond and began to read aloud. “She reports to your husband’s chambers every night without fail, as she has done from the very first week he arrived at that cursed place. One of my spies even reported that he calls her to him after each battle or razing of some poor Riverlanders, as well as anytime he feels frustrated. It is no surprise, then, that there is another bastard babe in the whore’s witchly womb. Your brothers do have a fondness for seeding unsuitable women, don’t they?”
When she looked up from the letter, she found Aemond’s face set in anger, his fingers curled as though they were aching to grip his sword and run someone through. His eye flew from the letter to her face, the rage burning there only softening for a moment.
The left corner of Aemond’s mouth twitched upward involuntarily, and he jerked his head to the side to try and hide it. “You would believe Daemon’s word over mine, abrazȳrītsos? After all he has done?”
She let the letter drift back to the table. “If all I had was his word, I would not have believed it,” she explained. “But it is not only his word.”
Aemond exhaled slowly, looking away from her. Incensed as he was, he would not make her the target of his ire. Never her.  “Will you tell me who else?”
“No,” she answered, shaking her head slightly. There was a dark glint in his eye that promised violent retribution upon whoever she would name. No one deserved torture, or perhaps even death, for telling the truth.
With a nod, Aemond closed his eyes and bowed his head. He would not press her further, though she knew he would likely still try to find out who it was by other means. But in that moment, she could not bring herself to care.
She was so tired.
She had anticipated a long fight, and thought she was ready for it. In the hours she waited for Aemond’s return, she had carefully tended the spark of her anger so it would burn only when she commanded. But the moment she saw him, it escaped her grasp and became a wildfire in a dry grassland. It was fierce, quick, and lethal. In an instant, it had consumed every bit of her strength, leaving only the barest smoldering remains in its wake.
After a few more silent moments, Aemond again opened his eyes and looked down at his wife.
“I will not insult your intelligence by trying to deny it any further,” he said, clenching his fist to stop himself from reaching for her, “and I know there is nothing I can say to excuse what I have done. But my love, I truly am sorry. For what I did, and for the hurt I have caused you.”
She stared at him, trying to detect and hint of insincerity. She found none.
“I love you. I know I have given you ample reason to doubt that but…” he swallowed thickly. “I do love you, abrazȳrītsos. I always have and I always will. I know in my heart that the gods made us for each other. And if they had fated us to others, I swear I would have defied their will and ripped them from the heavens so that I could love you.”
He licked his lips and removed his gloves before offering her his shaking hand.
Perhaps it was the result of the weariness pervading her entire being. Perhaps it was the tug of an unborn babe reaching out, somehow knowing its father was near. Perhaps it was the sliver of her soul that had always belonged to Aemond beckoning her to rejoin him and become whole again.
Whatever the reason, despite the protestations of her aching heart and her rational mind, she put her hand in his.
It did not fit as well as it used to.
If Aemond noticed, he did not acknowledge it. He raised their joined hands to his lips to kiss before resuming his plea. “I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness, and I will understand if you do not give it, but for the sake of my heart and the love we share, I must ask it. Abrazȳrītsos, can you ever forgive me?”
The world fell silent, and so did she.
If she focused, she could hear her heartbeat, along with two others, thumping out three different rhythms. It was discordant, yet somehow comforting. She listened to it for a moment, trying to hear a melody within it. But there was nothing.
She turned her attention to her hand in Aemond’s grasp. There was a welcome heat where his skin touched hers, but also a tingling numbness. A slight discomfort, akin to wearing new gloves before they had softened and molded to her hands.  
Then, she looked at Aemond. At the face that was more familiar to her than her own. It had changed in the last six months – more so than she would have expected. The color of his skin had deepened from so many days spent in the sun, and there were new blemishes that had not been there before. The shadows under his eyes, the roughness where it once was smooth, and the new smudge of a scar above the corner of his right brow.
All of it was strange. Known, yet unknown. Question, but no answer.
“I don’t know,” she whispered.
“What…” Aemond’s lip quirked again as he cupped her cheek with his free hand. “I don’t understand, what don’t you know, my love?”
She winced slightly at the foreign sensation of his hand against her skin. He had callouses now he didn’t have before. “I don’t know how to forgive you, or if I even want to. I just feel… tired.”
Aemond nodded, bowing his head once more to hide the disappointment he could not keep from his face, and looked at her belly. “Of course, you are tired,” he said, “I am sorry, I did not consider how late it was.”
She caught his eye flicking towards the bed – their bed, or at least, it used to be. A cold coil of panic began to wrap itself around her heart. He could not sleep here. He could not see…
“I would prefer if you slept elsewhere,” she said hastily before he could ask otherwise. “For tonight, I would like to be alone.”
Tears shone in Aemond’s eye for a moment, but he did not let them fall. He gave her a tight smile and again kissed her hand. “If that is what you wish, I will obey, but may I ask one thing?”
It would be foolish to say yes. Foolish to give him the opportunity to persuade her at all when she knew how easily he had always been able to sway her with his sweet words. Foolish to do anything but send him away immediately.
And yet…
“What would you ask?” she whispered, betrayed by the foolish little part of her heart and soul that was still and would always be his ‘hāedus.’
“I ask only for a few moments, and then I will leave, as you wish. But it has been half a year, abrazȳrītsos, since I have seen you, or heard your voice, or held you in my arms.” He squeezed her hand, drawing her attention to his face, open and earnest and pleading. “So for only a few moments, please, allow me to hold you again.”
His softly spoken words were like a siren’s song, and she began to feel faint as she struggled to resist falling under its spell. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, begging her mind to calm and think clearly.
“I promise, I will do nothing more than hold you,” he said, running his hand delicately over her cheek. “I just want to hold my wife.”
He did not deserve it, she knew. Nor did he deserve to be touching her as he did now, though she did not push him away. He did not even deserve her consideration of his request.
But it had been half a year for her, too.
Half a year with no one to kiss her good morning or good night. No one to carry her to bed when her legs and back ached. No one to hold her hair and whisper soothing words when she was sick.
She’d had her mother, her sister, and her maids. Even a Maester, at one very low point. But that was not the same. It was not the touch of a beloved husband.
Despite her anger, she was aching to be held by him.
“Just for a few moments,” she whispered through trembling lips. “Then you must leave.”
She did not have time to regret her decision before Aemond pulled her forward and wrapped his arms around her, kissing her forehead as he thanked her. And before she could pull away, he was turning her slowly, so her back was pressed flush against his chest.
“It’s alright,” he assured her when she made a soft noise of confusion. “Trust me, abrazȳrītsos.”
His hands skated down her arms, his touch featherlight and yet searing. She gasped as he began to cradle her belly, her head lolling back into his shoulder. If given one more breath, she would have pushed him away, but then…
He laced his fingers together and took the weight of her belly into his own arms.
It was a rapturous feeling, to have the burden of it lifted from her and her eternally aching spine, even for a moment. She sighed in relief and leaned back further into her husband. Gratitude flooded through her, and her hands flew to rest over his.
“Oh, Aemond,” she breathed into his neck.
Gods, she had missed him so much. Everything would have been so much easier if he’d been here to hold her like this. He had always known been able to help her, she should have known that even with their first child, he would somehow know what to do…
Her eyes snapped open, and her blood ran cold.
This was their first child, but it was not Aemond’s only child.
He had another, far away, within a different mother. A mother whom he had been there for as she grew, Who, thanks to her role as a wetnurse, would be able to teach him exactly how to help.
“Did you hold Alys like this?”
Aemond stiffened behind her, and his grip tightened. “Abrazȳrītsos…”
“Don’t lie to me, Aemond. Not anymore.”
Silence, then…
“Yes, I did.”
She seized his hands and ripped them apart, tearing herself out of his grasp as quickly as she could, heedless of him reaching for her. Stumbling, she crossed the room before turning back to him, eyes blazing through new tears.
“Do not ever touch me like you touched her,” she spat. Her rage had reignited, the barren grassland now an endless field of flame.
Aemond’s mouth hung open as he looked to her in despair, his arms held helplessly in front of him. His voice broke as he said her name – a plea. “I just wanted to hold you. To help you.”
“And you did. For a few moments, just as you asked. Now leave, as you promised.”
He was looking at her like she was a wild beast, primed to lash out should he make one wrong move. But she didn’t mind, for that was exactly what she felt like. He had made her feel that way, and she hated him for it.
Aemond just stood there, and she could see his mind working desperately to figure out what to say to placate her. She would not give him the chance.
“Leave!” she screamed, her voice ripping its way out of her throat, burning as it went. She could not help but wonder if that was what dragons felt when they breathed fire.
Lowering his arms, Aemond nodded. “I will leave, abrazȳrītsos. Just as I promised. I am sorry.”
“I don’t care.” She meant it. His apology meant absolutely nothing to her raging, broken heart.
She watched him carefully as he turned and walked through the door, ready to rage at him again if she needed to. Perhaps she would actually breathe fire the next time.
Aemond did not try anything to soothe her or convince her to change her mind. The warrior prince knew when a battle was lost. But she knew he had not yet ceded the war.
That much was clear when he paused in the doorway, looking back at her in determination. “I love you, abrazȳrītsos, and nothing will ever change that.”
Then he closed the door, and was gone.
But she could not stop crying, for she knew he would return.
Worse, she knew that as angry as she was, she loved him, too. And nothing would ever change that, either.
-
846 notes · View notes
2kmps · 6 months
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A Simple Nocturne
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alucard|adrian tepès x reader | 3.3k
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synopsis; following the defeat of his father by his hand, you notice alucard becomes withdrawn amid an uncertain future. you take his hand, unable to bear the suffering he endures in silence.
story warnings; mentions of patricide, alucard in mourning, erotic content that isn't really explicit, written in 2018, sotn-coded alucard mostly, mdni!
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At his insistence, he was often in your company for a few sparse moments while the moon was at its highest beyond the spires of the castle and coverture by clouds. You couldn’t say you were a fool to the layout of the castle any longer, and even once telling him so, he still offered to walk with you through the dismal corridors, guided by the dull flicker of candlelight from the candelabra in his grasp.
These were the moments with him that you cherished the most, the only ones he seemed willful to indulge you in. Following the defeat of Dracula by his own hand, you thought his eyes had grown colder than any hellish winter, reflecting the nebulous traces of his thoughts. He stood within your grasp these times almost always, and yet he was so far away from you.
Even as he walked alongside you, the halls comfortless and abysmal aside from the synchronic tap of your footfalls across cold stone that reverberated endlessly off the walls and carried on as though a voice growing more distant, you felt alone.
You could feel his presence beside you, his languid strides easy enough to keep in pace with, the tail of his coat nearly dragged the floor and wound his legs, and if you were to sidle just slightly nearer, you would be touching him.
He seemed a ghost; residual and purposeless, a man with nothing else he could possibly lose and yet for some reason even unknown to him, he continued living on.
The sweet glow emanating from candlelight cast across his face and showed to you a haunted man, an otherworldly beauty that captured the pallor and translucency in his skin, the glimmer of hair like tinsel, and a gaze with faint shine that swayed towards you.
You quickly looked away towards the worn tapestries adorning the walls and the many doors mirroring one another as you passed. However, after a moment, the discomforting echoes in the hall tapered into nothing as you both stopped before one door in particular.
“I feel like it looks different every night.” You said, fingertips curling away from the brass handle wrapped in the night chill. “I sort of feel like switching up rooms again. That alright with you?”
“You’re free to do as you wish, that has not changed.” Alucard gave his brisk reply. Perhaps if this had been your first encounter with him, you would had thought him rude, but there was no ill-intent behind his words.
And by the dimming glow from the flames, you could feel his gaze waver at the slightest, lips twitching at the corners as though trying to search for something more to say. You wondered if he thought he presented an unperturbed, impenetrable, always stoic demeanor that you couldn’t see through. It was likely of little comfort to him when your eyes pierced straight through him; those feelings, those things he perceived as his own weaknesses wore on his sleeve and made your heart tremble as well.
“Tomorrow, then.” He spoke at last, taking one step away for you as he turned. There was a reluctance in his movements, a lethargy as though realizing once he left, he would be alone again.
You couldn’t bear his suffering any longer.
“Adrian, enough of this.” You caught his wrist, jarring him to a halt while his eyes shone in surprise. “Enough. Please just talk to me about how you’re feeling. Whatever you’re going through. You’re not well, you haven’t been in sometime.”
The walls were crashing down around him, the facade was quick to melt away as his face began to twist as though anguished. “I’ve nothing left to say that’s worth taking your time.”
“That doesn’t matter to me, you damn fool.” You searched for his fingers, twining them together as the large door gave a suffering wail. Your first steps backwards into the room were met with resistance, the full length of his arm outstretched, lingering at your doorway with the candelabra leveled at his waist. “You can come inside. Please, just talk to me. If not for yourself, then just don’t let me be alone.”
And so, led by the warmth of your hand, he ventured in the darkness of your room. The brass handle gave a rattle as he closed the door behind him, freeing his fingers from your own to set the candelabra aside on the first table that caught his eye. Despite the black air that encompassed you, you navigated the room easily enough, feeling for the candles and dainty lanterns you kept at your bedside for convenience.
You turned your head towards the sound of scuffing fabric, managing just then to coax a lantern alight, basking the spacious room warm, dancing hues that didn’t quite reach your doorway. It pleased you, however, when Alucard emerged from that nothingness without his coat, shadows seemingly dissolving from his shoulders as he fiddled with the cuffs of his shirt.
The bed barely emitted a creak as you flopped atop of it, legs crossed under you, giving the spot before you a eager pat. “Sit right here and tell me what’s on your mind. I’m all ears.”
His fingers froze at the buttons on his sleeves, eyes swimming across the room as though cautious there might be others listening, observing you both. That feeling stayed with him even once he joined you on the bed, his presence little more than a slight dip in the mattress.
You scooted closer to him. “There’s something I’ve been curious about, Adrian. With, you know, everything that has happened. Are we—Are you going to stay here indefinitely?”
“Even I cannot foretell the future.” He hunched forward, arms draped across his thighs. “What it is I should do against what I feel I should, I think of them often. My bloodline is cursed, what good to the world has come about it?”
He said this one other instance, though your memories of that day were vague, dreamlike even. You only recalled roaming Dracula’s castle with him, and then the next awakening in his arms to a brilliant sunrise and a sprawling, glittering sea. That beauty was marred by his overwhelming grief, though his tears only glistened at the corners of his eyes, never falling.
“I don’t think you’re cursed, Adrian.” You said, reaching forward to give light strokes his arm. Through the thin fabric, you felt his muscles tense against your touch, his eyes fixated on yours. “You’re a good man who wants peace, who sacrificed so much, who loves his family more than anything else… even after everything.”
Those words seemed to soften him as his shoulders lowered, tresses of gold falling across his chest.  The shadows deepened in the creases of his brow, and even though it pained him for you to see his composure chip away, he could not will his gaze away from you. Not now, and not when the tears seared his eyes, clouding his vision until the your face was no longer discernible to him.
“Oh, Adrian.” You found your voice cracking, his despair so palpable that it made your bones ache. It wasn’t any thought in your mind to wrap your arms around him, nestling your face against his chest to smother your own tears. “None of this was your fault. Not what happened to your mother, nor your father. This isn’t something you have to deal with on your own.”
You had never felt so much rigidity in his body more than you did in that moment. Clearly, your response was unexpected, your touch even less so. Despite this, he let his vulnerability show, body trembling as you smoothed your hands across his back.
His fragility was heartbreaking, and thought it was not so, he felt so much smaller than yourself.
“I... I am tormented by it every night. By my mother’s death, seeing it again.” He whispered shakily, taking a moment to ease his breaths. “And by taking my father’s life by my own hand. I remember so vividly still, at the end before his death, he had a moment of clarity. He wanted forgiveness that I could not be the one to grant.”
“Adrian—”
When you felt his arms surround you, holding you flush to him as his chin rested atop your shoulder, you thought the air had been knocked from your lungs. How long had it been since he held you like this?
“Is this the fate I’m meant to endure? The knowledge that I was useless to save my mother, and my father was slain by my hand? Isn’t a fate where I seal myself away from the world something to rejoice?”
You couldn’t listen to this anymore.
“Adrian, my love, that’s not the answer!” you snapped, that outburst startling him long enough for you to slip your arms between your bodies to take the sides of his face in your hands. “Please, don’t talk about yourself like that. You’re still grieving, and there’s nothing wrong with that. But, you need to accept that you’ve always done everything you could.”
His arms loosened from your waist, yet he still would not let you go. A smile tilted the corners of your lips as you traced your thumbs under his eyes, swiping away his tears. You were doubtless that you could offer him little comfort in alleviating all of his agony. 
The only one who could bring that war in his heart to a standstill was himself, you could only do this and hold his hand when he needed it.
Aside from the drum of your heartbeat in ears, the room was void of noise. You indulged in that silence, mesmerized by the softness of his skin that still held traces of warmth, and glisten in his eye that you wanted to believe stemmed from something other than tears.
He was entranced just as much by you, leaning his face more to one side against your palm, though you noticed the way his eyes drifted down your face.
It was an invitation that you eagerly took.
The feeling of his lips against yours was something you had craved for a time, foreign for you both, though his reaction was much more genuine. He was unsure, startled even that you had decided to kiss him. His face remained still in your hands as you moved your lips to the corner of his mouth, feathering upwards towards his cheeks, to the tip of his nose, and then once again to the origin.
This time he held no reservations to your affection, one of his hands carefully caressed your nape while your arms rose to hook around his neck. His lips were as soft as you had imagined they were while fervor grew from the caress, rousing something in you that you had been forced to the furthest parts of your mind for a while.
You felt his hand sweep lower to your back, gliding between your shoulder blades until he held you at your waist and eased you down on the mattress. His loose curls were much like spun gold, tempting you to twist them like tight ringlets around your fingers as his hair spilled over his shoulders like silk.
It wasn’t until you felt the tickle of the crisp night air against your flesh that you realized his easy work on your blouse, unfastening the last of the buttons before reaching past the fabric to feel your skin. You were growing unfathomably hot just by this, keenly aware your chest burned where he touched you, and it crept higher and higher as his hands did.
“Mmmn, this isn’t how I want it to go, Adrian.” You managed between kisses, tilting your face away where he then found fascination in your neck. His warm breath fanning across your flesh, trailing the length of your neck and behind your ear was rewarded with a quivering, longing sigh. “Adrian—”
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Yeah, I do.” You murmured, luring his face over yours again where you yanked him by the shirt into yet another ardent kiss. Without releasing his shirt, you ventured lower to fumble through undoing the buttons and peeled the thin fabric from his body.
Even though he was a lean man, there was still definition in his fame, muscle in his arms and chest. You memorized the divots and curves in his skin with your fingertips, unlikely to forget how he twitched when you touched him and his trembling breaths.
His pants and undergarments came off much faster, a reflection of your ardor and perhaps even his own as he swayed against you to slide them off his hips, cock hard against your thigh. The last of your garments was shucked from your body to join the heap on the floor, prompting you push yourself on your elbows as you kissed beneath his jaw.
“Lie on your back, Adrian.” You smiled against him, running your hands across his chest as persuasion. “Tonight is for you. I want you to know how much I love you.”
“As you wish.”
There was a flicker in his eye, a liveliness and searing want. His hands seized your own, pulling you up to straddle his waist when he laid back on the bed. There he explored more of you, stroking circles on your thighs and hips, eyes traveling across your body in a way you expected someone would look at exquisite art. “You are divine. This moment is ours, though I still do not understand what I have done to earn your love.”
“I don’t think any of us really do. We just love authentically and truly.” You answered, casting your eyes low to his erection and rubbed yourself against him. “I love you because you’re a good, kind man, even if you don’t want to see it.”
His breath snagged in his throat as you wrapped your hand around him, stroking his length and circling your palm around the head. You felt his hips lift under your, yet continued with fluid, rhythmic pumps. “I love you because you always try your best, you always do what you can with whatever circumstances are given to you.”
Even when in the clutches of pleasure, he was absolutely beautiful. His teeth caught the dim light when his mouth fell ajar, and his hair was a luscious bed of curls around him. You found it a bit humorous that you could elicit such a reaction from him, being what he was. But, you always believed him to more human than vampire.
It was after giving his cock a few harder strokes that he gripped your wrists, halting you. “Enough of this. I want to feel you, give yourself to me.”
You held no qualms to what he wanted.
Convinced by your nod, he released your wrists to grip at your thighs instead, massaging the back of them and then your ass when you rose to your knees to guide him inside you. His expression twisted deliciously the lower you went on his shaft, his fingers pushed deep divots into your skin when you acclimated to his girth and began rocking on him.
He didn’t let you go, not once.
Hot air hissed through your nostrils, lips taut and brow furrowing in your concentration to angle him just right as you rolled forward and then back. More than your own pleasure, you were careful to watch for his; the subtle twitch of his lips, the tension between his eyes, and the unyielding stare he fixed you with.
This moment was solely for him, yet you could say you were surprised when he began stroking your sides, raising his hips in unison with your thrusts, sending quakes of pleasure racing through your limbs and core.
There was a new glimmer in his eyes now, a coddled flicker that had grown in such enormity that even you felt embarrassed to be on the receiving end of it. He helped you in your motions, lifting you high enough for the tip of his cock to just nestle in you, bucking his hips to plow deep inside, luring a rather harsh gush of air from your lips.
At that point, you loomed over him, fingers splayed across his chest to keep yourself from completely collapsing on him. Your breaths quivered as you touched your lips against him, setting is flesh ablaze as your pants left hot, moist trails on him that then caressed his ear.
“There’s so much more I want to experience with you, Adrian. This—" you stifled a moan, body jarring as you rammed back down onto him, striking a spot in your that made your toes curl inward and abdomen clench tighter and tighter. “This—this is nothing.”
A sting of cold air touched your sides as you threaded your fingers with his, pinning the back of his hands on the bed next to his head. His knuckles bled of color as he clenched your hand tighter, pants seeming nothing more than dainty puffs of air, but your body knew otherwise.
Your sides were going to bruise, fully expecting the same of your hands. His thrusts were hard, belonging to a man creeping closer to his end. And yet, even midst all of this, you had never seen his eyes so dazzling, smoldering, encompassing you in such warmth and passion.
“A lifetime with you,” he fussed with your fingers, the back of his head digging deeper into the sheets as he writhed below you. “I—I could ask for nothing else. There is none other that I would rather have.”
As tender and genuine as his words were, you could only focus on the tension burying deeper in your gut, but spreading like a growing ember, a heat pulsing through your veins. Your walls tightened around him, the friction roused something of a harsher noise from the back of his throat, whereas you met your end.
You shook as you came, the strength in your thighs weakening and warmth in your body flourished, climbing to from your toes to your fingertips, and filled your vision with a glare of white. While the tension flowed from your body, your motions atop of him lethargic and fingers loosening from his, he thrust up into you a number of times; each reaching deeper than the last, fierce and quick.
The feeling was almost indescribable. He held your hands tightly, body halting and rigid beneath yours, cock throbbing against your walls and growing slick with cum that sent a shudder rattling down your spine. It was then that you noticed his chest relax when he released his breath, hips flattening against the mattress.
“Your love…” he rasped, tipping your balance as he lifted the back of your hand to his lips, fingers still tangled with his. “I will never understand what I have done to be worthy of it. And yet, I cannot find it in myself to refuse it.”
You couldn’t call the sensation pleasant as you removed him from your body, joining his side on the bed, and inviting the night air to dance across your skin. All but one lantern had dimmed in the room, his expression difficult to determine, though you didn’t think you would be wrong in your assumption.
“Truly, who knows why anyone falls in love. But, I’m sure of my feelings.” You burrowed your face against his neck, relishing his touch as it ghosted across your shoulder. “We’ll face tomorrow, the following day, and every day thereafter together.”
“I have no doubt of that.” There was a faint rumble of laughter in his throat. He coaxed your face higher with his fingers so as to easily reach your ear. “To begin this lifetime together, allow me to repay you the words that you’ve spoken to me so much already."
"I love you.”
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divider;@/anlian-aishang
reposted from my deleted blog, cardeneiv
please interact and reblog if you enjoyed reading! 💜
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muddyorbsblr · 3 months
Text
onyx pt1
See my full list of works here!
Summary: You're stuck in the Avengers Compound because of an injury from your last mission, and you come across an adorable and affectionate little kitten.
Pairing: Loki x Reader
Word Count: 2.3k
Warnings: language (no i'm not sorry, Rogers); talks of explosions and injuries sustained from explosion [let me know if i missed anything!]
Things to be aware of: one-sided crushing (but is it really…?)
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An eerie silence served as your only company in the Avengers Compound the last few days, some of your teammates off to finish the HYDRA mission that left you injured while the others took time off to visit their families over the holidays. With the promise to keep their comms on in case they would be needed until the New Year.
Now all that remained in the Compound with you were a few junior agents that drew the ends of the short stick, Val, and Loki.
Sadly your teammate, friend, and occasional drinking buddy Val was out blissfully spreading holiday cheer throughout New York with her girlfriend.
And Loki? Well, the God of Mischief wasn't exactly on chummy terms with you. Didn't even so much as give you a passing glance when you were at mission briefings.
Which was a damn shame because what you would give just to get lost in those stormy ocean eyes.
You made your way to the pantry in the common room to replenish your stash of snacks, towing along a little wagon to help you on the way back. Every step had you feeling every square inch of bruising on the left side of your body that you got from being unlucky enough to be caught in the blast radius of an explosion at the HYDRA base you were trying to infiltrate with Shaun just a few days ago.
Your phone buzzed with a new message. "Speak of the devil," you muttered to yourself, seeing Xu's name on your screen as soon as you pulled up next to the elaborate barista setup, putting a few Lindor truffles in a small bag for your wagon. "Hey FRIDAY?"
"Yes, Agent Y/L/N?" the AI answered immediately.
"Could you make me a white chocolate mocha with peppermint while I raid the latest Costco delivery for uhh…supplies. Yeah, I'll go with that."
"Right away, Agent Y/L/N." The sound of the barista setup whirring to life filled the kitchen area as you checked on Shaun's message.
Thor just mentioned that he'll ask his brother to take a look at your injuries. Maybe get him to kiss it all better. He finished his text with a smirking emoji, along with some hand gestures that painted a less than family friendly picture, making you roll your eyes at the screen.
You recorded a voice memo for him. "You know that he'd need to actually be willing to look at me so that he could see the damage from the blast, right? And last I checked I'm pretty sure he thinks I'm Medusa reincarnated and I'll turn his Asgardian ass to stone."
You went on to the ridiculously stocked pantry to rummage the delivery that came just a few hours ago, trying to find a bag of Jalapeño Cheetos somewhere in the mix, when you heard a tiny meow from somewhere behind you. You looked to the ground to find a black and white munchkin cat looking up at you with wide blue eyes.
"Hi there, baby…" you cooed, surprised the adorable little creature hadn't hissed or scratched at you yet. Cats normally didn't take to you, which was a shame because you often found yourself fighting the urge to pick one up or stroke its head whenever you crossed paths with one during your errand runs. "How'd you get in here?"
The tiny kitten caught you by surprise with what it did next, walking up to your feet and proceeding to rub its cheek against your ankle, a little purr emanating from its small fluffy body. You decided to risk the hissing and scratching and bent down to pick it up, your heart melting once he placed his paws on your cheek and proceeded to nuzzle your face with his nose.
"Aren't you a complete darling." He settled into your arm as you carried him out of the pantry, a little whine escaping him when you placed him down on the counter. He stood on his hind legs and made grabby hands towards you, blue eyes wide and pleading for you to pick him back up. "Just a second, sweet baby, I'm just getting you something to drink."
You took out a tiny sauce dish and poured some cream into it, pushing it toward the kitten that responded with a slow blink and a meow before licking away at the rich liquid.
"I'm sure your owner's gonna crucify me for giving you that but I can't help spoiling little fur babies especially when they're as adorable as you are." You took a sip of the coffee FRIDAY had finished making before shouting out a question for her. "Hey FRIDAY, you have any clue who this little bub belongs to?"
It took a second for her to answer. "Negative, Agent Y/L/N. There is currently no other agent on the premises looking for their pet. I also see no collar on them and from a preliminary scan they do not seem to have a microchip on them."
Those words stopped the kitten from drinking to look up toward the ceiling and hiss at the source of the voice. He only relaxed once you started stroking his fur again, going back to drinking and letting out a few purrs along the way. "No owner, huh? Does that mean I can invoke Finders Keepers then?"
"It appears so, Agent Y/L/N. What would be your new companion's name?"
The kitten looked up at you, as if expecting your answer. You wondered briefly if he could actually understand what it was that you and FRIDAY were talking about. "How about Onyx? I know I know it's absolute garbage for originality to name a black cat after a black gemstone but--"
His eyes widened before he climbed up your arm, only stopping once he'd reached your shoulder to nuzzle at your neck again. "It seems he likes the name, Agent Y/L/N."
"Then it's settled." You placed a soft kiss on top of his head. "Hello there, Onyx."
You brought your new kitten back to your apartment, setting him down on your bed while you tried to take off your sweatshirt as gently as you could manage.
"Ah, fuck it," you hissed as you felt the bruising around your ribs, letting out a pained sound when you opted to whip the garment over your head as fast as you could instead. Your reflection revealed that the bruising on the left side of your torso was quickly becoming a frightening deep purple.
Onyx meowed from your bed, again standing on his back legs and making grabby hands at you, eyes wide with evident pain.
"What's wrong, little baby?" He placed his paws gently on your side when you made your way to him, pressing his nose to the skin near where your bruising began. "Oh don't you worry your pretty little head about those, sweetie. They'll heal…eventually."
He kept on pressing his face to the area, your heart melting for the tiny kitten even more realizing that he was pressing kisses to your wounds.
"You really are such a precious little bub, aren't you?" You picked your new kitten up, placing him on the armchair in your reading nook before setting an alarm for dinner in a few hours and settling into your bed. "Get some sleep, sweet baby Onyx. I'll see you in a few hours."
Your eyes had only closed for a few seconds before you heard another tiny meow followed by a soft thud, immediately making you sit up on the bed looking for the kitten. He'd already made his way to your bedside, standing on his back legs and reaching up trying to climb up the sheets.
"Alrighty then," you mumbled, picking him up and placing him on the pillow beside yours. You rolled over to lay on your right side to remove any pressure to your injuries the best you could, hovering your finger near Onyx's nose once you'd settled in. He leaned up and pressed his nose to your finger, paws kneading on his pillow. "Boop," you giggled. "Sweet dreams, baby."
Just as you'd closed your eyes to try catching an hour or two of rest before you had to eat again and take those pain meds that Banner prescribed you, your phone began to blare Immigrant Song way too loudly by your nightstand. There were only two contacts you gave that ringtone to and one of them was currently out with her girlfriend.
"Talk to me, Thunder," you muttered, groaning when your stretch to reach for your phone made your bruising smart a bit. "You all good over there?"
"Absolutely grand, Lady Y/N," the blond god's voice boomed from the other end. "I was just wondering if you could check on my brother, he refuses to answer his phone yet again."
"That's gonna be a hard pass from me, buddy. I've already been cut and bruised, I'm not too keen to add stabbed to that list. He's probably just practicing spells. Or out on a date." You winced at that last part, an irrational part of you flaring up with unwarranted jealousy at the thought of Loki out with just about anyone. "Just--I don't know, check up on him yourself when you get back. You can take a stab better than me anyways."
Thor sighed loudly, the low rumbling making Onyx step back from his pillow and start hissing at the phone. You stroked the top of his head to calm him down. "Very well then, Lady Y/N. Rest well. We're scheduled to return after nightfall."
"I'll have pizza here waiting for you guys. Bring your own mead." You clicked off and tried to get some sleep, having FRIDAY place an order for pizzas and wings for when the team gets back. Your new kitten padded his way over to you, resting his head on your outstretched arm and letting out a soft purr.
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The sound of the Quinjet coming back roused you from your nap, along with the feel of little paws on your arm and Onyx nuzzling your cheek.
"Looks like everyone's home," you mumbled, pressing a few kisses to the kitten's head before making your way out of bed. "Come on, little baby. Time to meet the team."
With a whole lot of discomfort and groaning, you slipped your sweatshirt back on before presenting your hand to Onyx and patting your shoulder, prompting the kitten to climb up your arm and perch himself on the spot, nuzzling his face behind your ear.
The team had already arrived and filled the common area when you made your way there, some of them helping themselves to the pizza. Barnes and Wilson walked in with coolers, probably filled with chilled bottles of beer inside.
"Hey, there she is!" Shaun exclaimed, pulling out a bottle of Pepsi before making his way over to you and pulling you into an embrace. "How's the healing go--Whoa there." He took a step back as Onyx hissed in his direction. "Where'd you come from, little guy?"
You shh'd the kitten, pressing kisses to his little cheek to calm him down. "It's okay, baby, Shaun is a friend. One of the good guys." You turned back to your mission partner. "Shaun, this is Onyx."
"Always thought you were a dog person, Babes," Natasha spoke up before taking your arm and walking you to the food. "We leave for one day and you become a cat lady. Where'd you even find the time to go to a shelter and get baby blue eyes over here?"
"I didn't, actually," you answered the master assassin. "I just went to the pantry and poof there he was, meowing at my feet. Like the cat distribution system mailed him to me by magic or something." He nuzzled your cheek again before starting to knead at your face.
"And he doesn't belong to anyone? You're sure?" Shaun spoke up, backing up immediately when he tried to pet your new kitten and getting hissed at. "Easy, kitty. I'm a friend, I'm not gonna hurt you." The martial artist turned back to you. "He wasn't collared? Or chipped?"
"Nope. FRIDAY scanned him and everything."
"You wanna think about getting him chipped?"
Onyx hissed again at the question before swishing his tail around to curtain your hair around him, his little body shaking on your shoulder. As if he was silently pleading for you to not take him out to have him chipped.
"Don't you worry, baby. I won't get you chipped, I wouldn't hurt you like that," you cooed, letting out a little giggle as he placed his paws on your cheeks and nuzzled your nose, giving the tip tiny licks. You were so focused on your cat's affections that the bellowing of Thor looking for his brother was a distant muffled noise in the background.
Until he got to where you were standing and his booming voice was impossible to ignore. "What an adorable little beast you have, with you, Lady Y/N." Onyx buried himself in the crook of your neck, shaking at the sound of Thor's voice.
"It's alright, Onyx. It's just Thunder, he may be all big and menacing on the outside but he's just a fluff ball on the inside. Come on, go say hi."
The blond Asgardian approached you, examining your new pet carefully before a knowing grin graced his bearded face. "Hello, Brother."
A chill went down your spine at his words. "What the fuck d'you just say, Blondie?"
He motioned toward the kitten on your shoulder. "This is the explanation for his lack of replies on his phone. His absence from his quarters. Lady Y/N, the little beast hiding himself in your hair…is my brother. That is Loki."
In your stupor, the only words you could manage to say were, "Bitch what?!"
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A/N: Merry Christmas/Happy Holidays to the members of SAS, beloved besties, and fellow whores! I've had this idea doing a slow lurky crawl in the microwave that is my writing noggin for the last few months, and I'm so excited that I finally get to share it with y'all! Part 2 is coming in a few days, and then it's a coin toss on whether I'll be trying to end the year with crossing off some things on my writing todo list, or crossing off some titles from my Tumblr TBR 😳👀
everything taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @kats72 @kikster606 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th  @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @smolvenger @gigglingtiggerv2 @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee @kmc1989 @november-rayne @goddessofwonderland @buttercupcookies-blog @peaky-marvel @lokiified @tom-hlover
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moyazaika · 1 year
Note
Hi! I found your blog a day or two ago and I love it! You’re writing is amazing!!
I was wondering if I could request a Yandere vampire x reader? Maybe the reader is already captured? Or not- what ever you feel like writing!
- if it’s no trouble of course! Feel free to ignore this! ✨ Bye❣️
my bloody valentine ˚୨୧₊♱
first: thank u anon <33 hope u like this one !! second: say hello to darius because i NEED a yan! vamp oc
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“dearest,” darius watches you from across the table. it’s amusing to him that which each day the two of you spend together in his cathedral, he only admired you more, finding a new favourite part to you every evening. he’s never known this before, won’t let you know it either, unless it’s for him. “why won’t you eat, hm?”
“because i’m not a cannibal.” you narrow your eyes at the man — sorry — the vampire, seated across from you. “and i'm also not hungry.” you add, hating the way he regards you with such a blatant and endearing expression of curiosity and adoration on his face.
“suit yourself.” darius makes a low sound from the back of his throat, and jabs a fork into what you assume is some small animal, but wouldn’t be surprised to find out was a human — “but the meat honestly melts on your tongue, dear.” you notice that he doesn't deny your words, and it almost makes you want to laugh.
instead, you close your eyes, try to convince yourself that this is only a dream: vampires don’t exist, and they definitely don’t go around falling for their prey. but when you open them, you’re still seated across darius, all your favourite food placed on glittering plates across the table between you.
with his dark skin and silver hair, he almost looks human.
but if you looked past his otherworldly beauty, past the neat, clipped accent and beyond those easy smiles - you’d notice his teeth were too sharp, almost like fangs - and his fingers had long, black nails sharper than the bloodied steak knife he held.
but it was his eyes, you thought, that were so gorgeous it was alarming. a deep red colour, shallow pools you could drown in. nothing about his charm was consolatory, rather the opposite: his beauty was dangerous.
“now," darius sets his cutlery down with a small clink, seemingly done with his dinner. he licks the blood off his lips and runs his tongue over his fangs, "come here. you're too far away, dear."
it was one thing to throw an insult at him or roll your eyes - but denying darius? you didn't want to reap the consequences of a decision so stupid, so you pushed your chair back and rose to your feet. whatever he wanted, he got.
as you made your way over to his side of the long, narrow dinner table, you were aware of the way his eyes lingered on your body with something more akin to possession than approval, at the expensive silk he had draped over your body and the pretty string of pearls around your neck.
but it was the garnet adorning your ring finger that had him pulling you onto his thighs, curling a hand so carefully around your wrist and bringing the precious stone to his lips.
"you know," he breathes, lashes fluttering against your knuckles. "even after a thousand years, i have known nothing so ferociously and entirely as the love i know for you."
you don't confirm his words, but you won't deny them either. instead, you scrunch your nose, "darius, you reek of blood." but you make no effort to move away from him, instead swinging both of your legs over his own.
"you'll have to forgive me, dearest." an arm around your waist, the other over your thighs, "i'm a vampire, after all."
a vampire. blood sucking creatures of the night that resided in gothic cathedrals, slept in a coffin, and were deceptively beautiful. only one of those was a lie.
but there was something else on your mind. vampires needed human blood to sustain themselves — it was the essential pillar for their continued existence. you’d seen darius prey on the people unfortunate enough to get lost in these parts of the forest, noticed the wine in his chalice was of a thicker consistency and smelt sweeter than the one in yours.
“you know,” you gingerly meet those deep red eyes of his, feel your heart hammering in your chest. “you’ve never tried to bite me, before. don’t you — don’t you drink human blood?”
“of course i drink human blood, dear. i just don’t drink yours.” darius had made no secret of his affections for you. if it wasn’t obvious in the hundreds of portraits of you that lined the halls, or in the way he would slip into your room and watch you sleep for hours on end — it was in the way he’d made sure you’d known through his words.
but still. you were curious. you hated it, you did.
curiosity killed the cat — but, you mused, it was satisfaction that brought it back.
darius cocks his head to the side in a taunting manner, a sly grin spreading on his lips so slowly. “why?” he challenges, the grip on your thighs noticeably harder than before, his sharp, black nails digging into your bare legs. “would you like me to?”
part two <3
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eddiethehunted · 3 months
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i want you to touch it softly (ao3)
believe it or not, this one isn't a wip, it's COMPLETE! rated: m (to be safe, tbh could probably be rated t) | cw: drug use, horny discussion, eddie has a thing for his hair getting pulled (implied) | wc: 1.6k | robin/vickie mentioned, platonic stobin, mutual pining, steve being into hair care and skincare, idiot4idiot, the usual <3 title from ariana grande 'my hair'
—————
Steve’s curled into a corner of the couch, watching the movie with glazed eyes, his knees drawn up to his chest. Robin’s feeling a little buzzed herself, laying on her side on the other end of the couch, with Eddie sat cross legged on the floor in front of her, scribbling away in a notebook.
Without really thinking much about it, she reaches forward and starts playing with Eddie’s hair. He startles at first, glancing over his shoulder, but she just smiles at him and twirls a curl around her finger and he relaxes, so she doesn’t stop.
“Okay, I have to know,” she says, because really, Eddie’s curls are beautiful, just really dry and frizzy and she’s stoned and nosy and curious. “Is this a perm? Or is it natural?”
Eddie looks offended, shooting her a reproachful look over his shoulder and saying, “It’s natural.”
She nods, twirling a piece around her finger again. She can see Steve on the other end of the couch looking over sulkily. Jealous. She thinks it’s adorable, the way Steve quickly looks away when she glances over at him.
“It’s so crunchy,” Robin says, “how much hairspray do you have in here?”
Another affronted look. “None! I just washed my hair before I came here.”
It’s still a bit damp around the roots, so she knows he’s not lying. She gets her fingers really in it, pulls his head back a little bit, and he makes this weird sound in the back of his throat. It’s something between pleased and irritated, like when you pet a cat that can’t decide if it wants to purr or claw at your hand.
Steve huffs and pretends he’s still watching the movie, but Robin bets he’s jealous as hell right now. He has expressed to Robin several times how badly he wants to be allowed to play with Eddie’s hair but he can’t because that’s weird and guy friends don’t do that and he doesn’t want to make Eddie uncomfortable.
As if Eddie doesn’t melt into a puddle of horny lovesick goo the second Steve so much as brushes against him.
It’s not really her place to tell him how many times Eddie has complained to her about his own pathetic crush, though, so she never does. Just lets them both lament and pine and complain to her about how badly they want each other, and how sad and tragic and woeful their lives are that it’ll never be requited love. Pats Eddie’s shoulder when he covers his face and whisper screams into his hands when Steve walks by wearing those stupid jock shorts and lets Steve lay his head in her lap and whine about Eddie’s arms and his hands and his mouth and—kinda just everything.
(It’s only fair, though. They’ve both heard enough of her salivating over the short skirts Vickie always wears on their dates. And that one low cut shirt she wears that shows off her cute tits. The least she can do is listen, even if it kinda makes her want to bash her head into the wall sometimes.)
Steve likes hair, she knows. Skincare too. He likes products and he understands skin types and hair textures pretty well, considering she’s sure he’s never learnt anything cosmetic-related, at least not formally. He put her on some new shampoo a few months ago and her hair’s never been so soft and healthy and wavy before.
Eddie’s hair is dry. It’s kinda fried, even. It’s brittle and tangled and not really rough to the touch, but definitely not as soft as it could be, and she knows it drives Steve insane. Like, Steve likes Eddie’s hair like it is—she’s sat through way too many sexually frustrated rants about how badly he wants to mess it up—but he knows how to help it, and he wants to, because it’s like, his love language or something.
“Damn. Your hair is dry.” Robin glances sidelong at Steve again, trying to project her thoughts into his mind. “You should use a hair mask or something.”
“Some of us are poor,” Eddie says indignantly, jerking his head away. He scoots closer to Steve’s side of the couch, out of her reach, and glowers at her as he pulls his notes to the other side of the coffee table. “My hair’s fine, thank you very fucking much.”
“I’m poor too, dumbass,” Robin points out. “I just steal Steve’s stuff.”
Steve snorts, letting his head loll back against the back of the couch, his eyelids heavy. He’s been quiet all night—he gets that way sometime when he’s high, just stops talking and sits there, quietly listening to whatever’s going on around him—but he speaks up for the first time in over an hour to mumble, “Not stealing if I’m givin’ it to you.”
“Whatever,” Robin says, waving a hand. “Touch Eddie‘s hair, dude. It’s crispy.”
Eddie shoots a desperate, betrayed look at her, then says to Steve, “I will bite your hand off, Steve.”
“Mhm, bet you will,” Steve says, ignoring the warning, because Eddie is all cozy in his plaid PJ pants and Steve’s old hoodie and therefore about as threatening as a small gerbil, “lemme see.”
He reaches out to touch with only the faintest flush on his cheeks. It could easily be blamed on his high, but Robin knows him as well as she knows the back of her own hand. Steve is absolutely losing his shit right now. He’s just really good at hiding it.
“Dry,” he confirms. His hand lingers in Eddie’s hair and Robin notices that Eddie doesn’t bristle nearly as much when Steve’s the one with his hand all wrapped up in it.
Rude. But understandable.
“What the hell,” Eddie complains, but he sounds decidedly less irritated and a whole lot more flustered now. He’s nowhere near as good at hiding it as Steve.
Robin hides a smile when she notices how he’s not doodling in the margins of his paper anymore, but instead twisting a ring around his finger and staring hard at the wall.
Okay, she's more than aware of the fact that she started this, but she’s starting to think that maybe she should, like, go. Give them some privacy or whatever. Save herself of having to experience this.
“Th’s’not a bad thing,” Steve murmurs in his soupy, slow, stoned voice. Robin might not be into guys at all—especially not Steve, he’s like, Steve—but she’s not an idiot, she can tell in a purely observational way how the gravely sound of it could be sexy. She’s not completely oblivious.
Neither is Eddie, apparently, because there’s a strange glazed look in his eyes that Robin is sure has nothing to do with the weed in his system. His adam’s apple bobs as Steve runs his fingers through his hair, tugging a bit near the roots to pull Eddie’s head closer.
Eddie goes willingly. Quietly. Steve looks delighted, a big stupid smile on his face.
She is seriously such a genius. Steve owes her, seriously.
“Not a bad thing,” Eddie echoes.
“No, s’nice like this anyway.” Steve gathers it all into one hand, like a ponytail, before letting it fall slowly, playing with it like that over and over as goosebumps break out over Eddie’s neck.
“How do I—” Eddie sounds like he’s choking, the back of his ears and neck bright red. “Uh—make it better?”
“A hair mask might help,” Steve says, rolling onto his side so he can get both hands in Eddie’s hair. He’s too out of it to notice the violent shudder that tears through Eddie’s body. “You should do a porosity test.”
“Uh huh,” Eddie says blankly. Robin nearly cackles. Eddie has no fucking clue what’s going on. He checked out the second Steve got his hands in his hair.
“That’s the one where you see if your hair floats?” she prompts, when it’s clear Eddie isn’t going to say anything else, too dumbfounded to process anything that Steve’s saying to him.
“Mmmhm.” Steve gives a little smile, pleased that she remembers, and of course she does.
Eddie’s eyes shut and he presses his lips into a firm line at the sound of Steve’s agreement, like he’s fighting some kind of demons inside. Steve’s still got his hands buried in Eddie’s hair, eyes glassy as he watches the frizzy strands run through his fingers.
“Maybe high porosity. Feels rough.” He tugs a little, maybe on accident, or maybe he’s too stoned to think better of it. “Wanna try a hair mask?”
“Uh,” Eddie says.
Robin kicks him, not at all subtly, and he coughs, straightening up a little bit.
“Uh, yeah,” he chokes out. “Um… if you think it’ll help, I guess. Why not.”
God, Eddie owes her too. She’s such a good friend.
Steve’s hands fall from Eddie’s hair as he pushes himself up to a sitting position, somewhat clumsily. He catches Robin’s eye, biting his lip in an excited smile, and she grins back, giving him a thumbs up.
“If the pizza shows up there’s cash in my wallet,” Steve tells her, getting to his feet and offering his hand to an absolutely flustered-looking Eddie. “C’mon, gonna show you how to take care of those pretty curls.”
Eddie’s mouth falls open, gaping like a fish out of water. Robin can’t help but snicker, grinning wider when he shoots her a bewildered, panicked look over his shoulder as Steve tugs him towards the stairs.
She curls into her corner of the couch, pulling the blanket closer to her chin and putting her focus back onto the movie as she waits for the doorbell to ring. Grease is always a classic, and, well, whatever happens between her two favourite idiots next is really none of her business.
She does turns up the volume, though. Just in case.
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deadsetobsessions · 3 months
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Between the whole “clone trying to kill her original version” thing and the whole “trying to find herself after being freed from the millionaire fruit loop halfa” thing, Danielle “Ellie” Phantom figured that she’d fit right in with Gotham.
They’ve got shades, a concerning amount of undead, and the people there seem to have traumatic backstories galore. Perfect.
Danny might die again if she told him where she’s staying, though. So she won’t tell him!
Ellie touched down in an alley near the first bus stop into Gotham, returning to the visible spectrum and returning her intangibility. She wanted to explore everything, and where better to start than the entrance of Gotham?
She slips out of the alley, walking past the terrified looking tourists. Ellie ignores the smell of soot they gave off, attributing correctly that it came from the explosion she heard before she approached Gotham. The city, like any other major city, was littered with trash and odd bits of metal. There’s graffiti too, but less so than the sunnier cities. The clouds- and smog, because Ellie could smell it miles away from the city- that obscured the sky left the city in a chilling atmosphere. Hazy. Like, a graveyard at dawn. Perfect for someone like Ellie.
It’s so different from Amity, stone where she dreaded plaster, gloom and doom where she dreaded seeing sunshine she couldn’t reach. 
Ellie wandered, under bridges, and in between paths. She danced through shootouts, glides past brawls, laughs when pick pockets find their hands empty after bumping into her.
She gets a coffee and one of those delicious lemon bars, with Vlad’s money. Hers, now that Tucker’s gotten his hands on Vlad’s inner systems. The barista gives her a suspicious look, but she brings out her strongest midwestern accent and the look melts into exasperation. And pity, but Ellie doesn’t really care about that. She “ooh’s and ahh’s” at the grimy stone, the gothic inspired architecture that Sam would kill to experience, goggles at the boarded up buildings. There’s a cathedral or two or five, she doesn’t remember, but the pretty glass seems to be broken at most of them. She wonders what happened. Then she remembers that there are vigilantes here, and concludes that she has to remember to look up more often. A giant clock-tower. A district with less people and fancier homes. A university! She might apply after she’s done traveling around and have gotten her GED.
Her shoes pound the pavement, something about the effort it takes to take a step burns in her soul. Yes, this is what it means to be free. She kicks the knees of two would be robbers in as she passes them on her way to purchasing three bars of the best chocolates she’s had in her short existence.
The cashier looks at her like she’s odd. Oh, well.
And then night falls. Ancients, does the city truly come alive. There are screams and sirens and surges in ectoplasm that balances her essence of being out. Ellie, with a new pep in her step, follows the trail of ectoplasm right into an area called “Crime Alley.”
“It feels almost like… a haunt…?”
Ellie hums and keeps walking. Maybe this is the territory of one of the undead Gothamites…?
She’s got a bit of Danny’s saving people thing after all, because the three bars of candy on her is gone in minutes to children with hollow cheek and dead eyes. 
Ellie startles backwards as a body slams onto the pavement in front of her, barely missing the risen steps of the building they were in front of.
“Oh.” She says. Because this is one of the Undead. And he’s Red Hood. Danny is going to flip.
“Run- run, kid.”
Ellie tilts her head. “And why would I do that?”
“You’re gonna get hurt, brat!” The man barks, and winces as his ribs shuttered. The red helmet’s tinny voice doesn’t intimidate her nor does it hide the concern and fear bleeding into the guy’s body language.
“Not really?”
And with that, Ellie slams her elbow into Goon 1, knocking him straight into another building. Goon 2 tries to grab her and she phases out of his reach, floating upwards and slamming her fist into his face. He joins Goon 1 in decorating that building’s new mural, called the two dumbasses that picked a fight with a wandering Ellie.
Hood watches her, cradling his ribs.
“You a meta?” He grumbled at her, wheezing as she crouched down and poked his sides. He smacks her hand away.
Ellie, who has clearly spent too much time near Danny, replies, “Being dead is a medical condition.” without missing a single beat.
Hood, on the other hand, misses several beats.
“What?”
Ellie barrels on, amused at his fumble. “Did you know you died?”
Hood looks at her and Ellie swears she can see the dumbfounded expression.
Ellie laughs, free and sharp. Yes, Gotham is nothing like Amity.
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