#adding this to the pile of one shots I need to write | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

undressrehearsal · 11 months ago

Text

dare to be stupid

summary: a drunken game of truth or dare overtakes your study session

tags: NSFW, tlou au, college!ellie/reader, mentions of drugs, alcohol, drunk sex, oral (r receiving)

a/n: listen idk how this turned into 7.5k. idk what happened. also this is my first time writing smut. idk if the sex is good but it was already so long. if y'all like this one i'll write a sequel or something idk

part 2

“Truth or dare?”

It had become a tradition for the two of you shortly after moving in together. It was common for the air in your tiny apartment to grow heavy, the stress and anxiety tangible in the air - often around midterms or finals, or if your roommate had a particularly infuriating project. During these times when the bags under your eyes grew too heavy to carry or the lines around your roommate's mouth deepened into canyons, one of you would barge into the other's bedroom - frequently in disarray with notes and textbooks strewn across every surface - slam a bottle of vodka down on the desk, and utter those stupid, little three words, and the game would begin.

And so you didn't even jump when you heard your bedroom door slam against the wall, heavy boots against the carpet. You had been bent over your desk for so long that your neck ached, your eyes swimming with letters that didn't quite make sense and didn't fit into any of the medical terms laid out on your flashcards. When Ellie slammed the bottle of vodka on your desk, you blinked your eyes clear and looked up to meet her eyes.

She smirked when she said, “Truth or dare?”

You didn't waste time in clearing off your desk, shoving your books and cards aside into a toppling pile. Ellie, without waiting for permission, set a shot glass down in front of you, kicked off her boots, and plopped back onto your bed.

Scooting your chair closer, you propped your feet up against the mattress, pursed your lips, and said, “Truth.”

Ellie groaned, flopping over onto her side and propping her chin in her hand. She had stripped off her jacket, leaving her in a dark t-shirt that almost made her skin look pale in the low light from your desk lamp. “You're such a fucking pussy.”

You rolled your eyes even as a grin pulled at your lips. “I've known you for too long, Els, and I know that I need a few shots before I'm willing to shove anything anywhere for your amusement. So, respectfully, eat my ass.”

“You'll have to dare me to,” she quipped back immediately. She wrinkled her nose as you choked back a laugh, tapping a finger against her lips. You tried to ignore how endlessly cute it was as she said, “Where's the weirdest place you've pissed?”

Another sound burst from your lips, some mixture of a laugh and a shout. You gaped at her, watching as a laugh crept up, a smile tugging at her lips.

Shaking your head, you said, “Weird, but that's a pretty tame one. Not gonna ask me about my favorite sex position or if I ever snuck drugs into our dorm room last year?”

Ellie only shrugged. “Gotta warm you up a bit first, babe.” You ignored the way your heart jumped at such an innocent word. After a moment's pause, she added, “But have you?”

“You'll just have to ask me. One truth per round, bitch.” You pretended to think about it for a moment, though you already had your answer. “Okay, so you remember when we first signed the lease here and we were a bit short on rent?”

Ellie nodded, her brows furrowed in confusion.

“Like, a week before it was due, some girl on Tinder hit me up. She was passing through town and only staying for the night, and she was bored. So, she paid me.”

Ellie's frown deepened. “To, what, have sex with her?”

Laughter bubbled up your chest as you said, “No, she paid me to piss in her mouth.”

There was silence for several long moments. Ellie’s jaw hung loose, her eyes wide as she simply stared at you. Several emotions flashed across her face like a movie reel - confusion, shock, disbelief - before finally landing on pure, unfiltered amusement. The corners of her lips quirked up, her open mouth turning up at the corners until a loud, sharp laugh burst from her throat. When Ellie laughed - really, truly laughed - she did it with her chest, a sound so fathomless and full it filled up whatever room she was in.

In your small bedroom, her laughter bounced off the walls, echoing in the alley outside of your open window. You couldn’t contain your own giggles, muffling your laughter with a hand over your mouth, snorting as Ellie buried her face in your mattress.

When she finally looked up, her eyes filled with tears, she only said, around her subdued giggles, “How much?”

You grinned. “$200.”

Ellie’s mouth fell open again - you’d have to pick it up from the floor at this rate. “Dude, you’re fucking with me.”

“I swear,” you said, holding up your hand like a scout. “I’ll show you the Venmo if you don’t believe me.”

Ellie fell back against the bed, throwing her head back. “You have to go find this chick on Missed Connections, she can help with the rent.”

You threw one of your pens at her. Catching it in midair, she stuck the end in her mouth to chew on it. You wrinkled your nose at her, but she only grinned, the pen hanging from the corner of her lips.

“You're so gross,” you said, though you were still giggling.

“Bold words from you, Piss Girl. That's, like, the worst superhero name in existence.”

You threw your hands up, trying your hardest to glare at her and failing miserably. “Hey, $200 is $200. I'm not one to kinkshame.” Ellie threw the pen back at you. You grimaced when it hit your arm, leaving a small spot of spit on your sleeve before clattering to the floor. “God, it's your turn. Truth or dare, bitch?”

Propping herself up on her elbows, Ellie said, “Dare.” A grin pulled at her lips, her voice low as she added, “Because I'm not a fucking pussy.” You stuck your tongue out at her, ignoring her when she mockingly said, “Mature.”

Your desk was pressed up next to the only window in the room, cracked open to let the cool autumn air in. Your curtains fluttered in the breeze, the dying sunlight creeping in, casting light like liquid gold over Ellie’s skin. As you thought, scrambling to think of a suitable dare, you could not control how your eyes grazed over her exposed skin, the sunlight dipping in her collarbones like pools of ichor.

Blinking, you met her eyes once more, your throat tight. Your words came out almost choked when you said, “Okay, I dare you to make a spicy two-sentence story about something in this room.”

Ellie scoffed, sitting up and kicking her legs over the side of your bed. “I’m gonna take a wild guess that your drawer of sex toys is off limits?”

You sputtered, stammering over your own tongue as you felt heat rush to your ears. “Yes, that’s off limits. You don’t even know what’s in there!”

Ellie hummed, standing up from the bed and taking a few steps around the room. She didn’t look at you, but you could hear that fucking smirk when she said, “That’s what you think, babe.”

You watched her, tracking her movements as she slowly stepped around your room, scanning for inspiration. Your bedroom was about what you’d expect from a broke, overworked college student - aside from the furniture that came with the place, it was pretty barren. Ellie scanned the little touches you did have - her finger traced over the Funko Pop of Zuko on your bedside table, her eyes lingering on the pile of fantasy books you kept atop your dresser. She smiled at the posters hung crookedly on your walls, depictions of your favorite video games. She hummed again, looking back at you over her shoulder.

“So many options to choose from,” she murmured, running her finger along your jewelry box. She had her face turned away, so you could only see the corner of her smirk as she lifted the lid, pulling one of your necklaces from its home. You watched her warily as she approached you, the chain dangling from her slim fingers. She stepped behind you, out of your line of sight, and slipped the necklace over your head, the cold metal resting against your collarbone.

“She looped the chain around her lover’s neck like a collar,” Ellie said. You felt her cool fingers against the back of your neck, hooking around the chain and pulling it gently against your throat. You coughed against the awkward silence; your roommate had always been a little handsy, but this was something else entirely. What the fuck is she doing? you thought. “She pulled it taut against her throat and leaned in to whisper,” you felt Ellie’s lips against your ear, her rough voice sending a chill up your spine when she murmured, “good girl.”

Reaching back, you shoved Ellie’s head away; her laughter echoed through the room as she rounded in front of you, sitting back against your bed and grinning.

“Oh, you’re so fucking proud of yourself aren’t you?” you teased, trying - and failing - to keep your cheeks from turning red. Your skin felt aflame, a tingle lingering right where Ellie’s lips had pressed to your ear. You rubbed at the spot under the pretense of scratching your head, willing the feeling to go away.

Your heart was pounding so hard you could hardly hear her when she said, “Hell yeah, I am. I should’ve been an English major. I could write a whole fucking slutty novel and get famous. I'm an expert - I've done enough research.”

You rolled your eyes at her cocky smile, but Ellie only winked at you.

This is how your truth or dare games went - with Ellie being far too cocky, prancing around doing whatever dares you could think of and asking any outrageous questions that popped into her pretty little head; and you, simply trying your damnedest to keep up with her. You flailed, flustered, when she asked you about your toy collection, and begrudgingly relented when she dared you to bring out your favorite. Ellie took a shot before you had even finished daring her to text her last hookup (“I’m not reopening that bag of crazy,” she said, scrunching her nose at the taste.) You took a shot when she dared you to go mix all of the liquids in the fridge (which included pickle juice, old broths, and orange juice) into one amalgamation and chug it (“I’d rather chug the rest of the vodka, Els.”)

“Truth,” you said before Ellie could even ask the question. You were three shots in and could feel that lightness pressing against your temples, just at the threshold of tipsy. You had moved to join Ellie on your bed, where you sat with your back against the headboard and Ellie’s head on your thigh. The vodka bottle was balanced precariously between you.

Ellie rolled her eyes, but looked up at you and asked, “Out of our friend group, who have you fantasized about the most?”

She had not even finished her sentence before you served yourself a shot, a few drops splattering on your shirt. Wincing at the taste, you looked back down at Ellie; her eyes were lit up like a Christmas tree, her jaw slack.

“Don’t-”

“You have to,” she interrupted you, pinching your thigh and grinning when you squirmed away. “You have to tell me. You can’t leave me hanging here - you didn’t even let me finish the question!”

“Why did you even assume I’ve fantasized about any of our friends-”

“Because I know you.” She was scrambling up now, unsteady in her movements as she came to her knees in front of you, leaning back against her heels. She planted a firm hand on your thigh - your skin was still warm where her head had been - leaning into it, her eyes drawing so close you could almost see every speck within the hazel. “And I know that bitches like us always have somebody in the group they fantasize about. So, who is it?”

“Bitches like us?” you repeated, raising your brow. You were sure each line of her palm was going to be branded into your thigh. “So, there’s somebody you think about too?”

Ellie’s smile was on the very edge of teasing, a small quirk at the corner of her lips that screamed at you just how wrapped around her finger you were - and, somehow, she didn’t even know it. Her voice was low, nothing more than a murmur that you could practically feel in your own chest when she said, “You really wanna know?” You didn’t answer - couldn’t, really, not when her fingers dug into your thigh and you could count each freckle across her nose. You couldn’t answer when she leaned in closer, her warm breath brushing against your cheeks, smelling of the weed you knew she had smoked that afternoon. You could hardly hear her over the rush of your own heart when she whispered, “You’ll just have to ask me.”

Maybe it was the vodka warming your chest, tingling in your fingers - or maybe it was the way the light from your lamp cast sharp shadows across Ellie’s face, turning her skin into liquid gold - but you did not push her away. Your grip tightened around the neck of the bottle, but you held her gaze when you said, “Truth or dare, Els?”

Her voice was soft, her half-lidded eyes holding yours as she said, “Truth.”

“Who have you fantasized about?” The words rushed out of you before you could hesitate.

And for a moment, you believed she would answer. You let yourself believe that she would give you the answer you craved. It prickled at your skin, raising goosebumps along your arm, spreading warmth through your stomach. But your roommate had never been so straight-foward - had never given you an easy answer. She wet her lips, drawing your eyes to her mouth involuntarily, but she only pried the vodka bottle from your fingers. She held your gaze as she raised it to her lips, drinking straight from the bottle without even wincing.

“I can play that game too, baby.” She backed away, finally giving you a moment to breathe. She settled back against the wall, laying her arms over her knees, the bottle dangling from her fingers. The skin of your thigh still burned, branded with her fingerprints.

You looked away, huffing out a laugh that you prayed sounded sincere. You could feel her eyes on you when you leaned your head back against the wall, counting the cracks in your ceiling like they were the most interesting thing in the whole world. “It’s getting late, Els,” you said, even as your phone flashed that it wasn’t even nine yet and here you were, too many shots in, your roommate’s presence like a fire blazing in your room. “I should get back to studying.”

“Do you want to, though?” There was an edge to Ellie’s voice, as though that question was a dare itself. You lifted your head to look at her and found that she was already watching you, her eyes soft in the dim light.

You took a deep breath - and the vodka must have reached your brain, because before she could ask, you said, “Dare.”

You could see the vodka in the lazy tilt of her smile, in the way her head lolled against the wall. Her eyes were half-lidded, and yet there was something hidden behind her slow, sleepy gaze, something you were too afraid to name - something you were sure was only the imagination of your tipsy fantasies.

“Close your eyes,” Ellie said, words lazily falling from her lips, as deep and rich as the strings of a guitar.

It took you several moments longer than usual to process what she had said. Everything felt like it was moving in slow motion, as if the two of you were underwater. You shouldn't have felt like this after a few shots - you'd usually only be tipsy at this point. But something about the way the shadows dipped into Ellie's collarbones and the way her shirt rode up, exposing her boxers and the sharp cut of her hips, was intoxicating on its own.

So it took you several long, heavy moments to say, “What?”

She chuckled, but there was no malice behind it. There was something soft in the tilt of her head, the way she tilted her chin down to look at you through her lashes. Her hair fell in her face, brushing against her nose; you fought the urge to brush it away, knowing that if you did you wouldn't be able to stop yourself from running your fingers through her hair. You wouldn't be able to stop yourself from grabbing a fistful of the auburn strands-

“Close your eyes,” she repeated in that same honey-thick voice, breaking you from your thoughts. “For thirty seconds. And don't open them no matter what.” When you only stared at her for several silent moments, she added, “How long have we been friends? Don't you trust me?”

And the thing was, you did. You trusted her with your entire heart, and so you closed your eyes, and you waited.

You felt the bed shift next to you but you did not open your eyes. You did not open them when you felt her long fingers grip your shoulder as she struggled to steady herself. You felt her hair first, fine strands brushing against your cheek, smelling of sweat and her shampoo. You did not open your eyes, even when you felt the gentle press of a warm mouth against the side of your neck. You hardly dared to even breathe, your hands tangling in your sheets, afraid that you would not be able to control yourself otherwise. You counted the long, torturous seconds, biting down on your lip when you felt Ellie’s mouth part, the warmth of her tongue pressing against your pulse.

You had counted to twenty-six when she pulled away, a chill settling over your skin where that warmth had been only seconds ago. When you got to thirty, you opened your eyes to find that Ellie had settled back into her spot, leaning back against the wall. The only sign that she had even moved was the thin sheen over her lips, wet with her own saliva, and a small, pleased smirk.

You did not allow yourself to think about it, ignoring the way your skin burned where she had touched you as though she were a wildfire. You sounded breathless even to your own ears when you said, in barely more than a whisper, “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.”

“What are we doing here, Ellie?” The words were out before you could stop them, slipping from between your teeth and hanging in the air like helium. The words felt almost tangible, and yet you couldn't grasp them, couldn't draw them back into your throat.

For a moment, you thought Ellie would grace you with an answer. She opened her mouth, and you thought maybe she would finally stop playing this game and let you breathe. Instead, just like before, she brought the bottle to her lips and held your gaze. You tried not to watch the way her throat moved as she swallowed.

She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand and recapped the bottle, settling it between you. “Truth or dare?”

“Truth.” You felt you could no longer trust yourself with any dare she gave you. Your hands were already shaking from clenching the sheets.

“How would you rate your last kiss?”

You squinted at her, confused by the innocence of the question after everything that had happened in the past hour (had it only been an hour?). “My last kiss was with that one girl I met at the bar a few weeks ago. She was drunk and way too sloppy, but she was hot. I guess I'd give it,” you paused, trying to remember the moment past the haze; you couldn't even remember the girl's name, “a six.”

Ellie raised her eyebrows, her eyes widening. “A six?” She shook her head, clicking her tongue in disapproval. “You’ve got to be fucking with me. A girl like you deserves more than a six.”

“A girl like me?” Your voice sounded deafening in the quiet. You thought it had started to rain; you could hear the pitter patter on your window, could see the way it broke up the streetlamps outside like a mosaic.

Ellie was nodding almost absently, watching the rain. Her lips parted, and you didn’t expect her to hesitate before she said, “Yeah. A girl like you… deserves to be kissed like it’s the last gasp of air to someone drowning.” You watched her mouth as she spoke, even as your mind screamed at you to look away. You scolded yourself, screaming to end this now, but your body refused; it ached to draw her near, a tangible pain in your chest. “A girl like you should get one of those movie kisses - you know, like when the hero saves the day and shit and he kisses his girl and it’s like the world didn’t matter as long as he saved her. The kind that has the whole fucking theater holding their breath. A girl like you…. Fuck….” She trailed off her rambling. Ellie ran a rough hand through her hair, making the strands stick up at odd angles, and finally looked at you. There was a fire in her eyes, blazing in the dim light. “You deserve to be kissed like they’ll die if they can’t have you.”

Something had stopped in your chest - maybe it was your breath, maybe it was your heart. Your blood rushed in your ears, and you feared the thrum of your heartbeat was so loud it filled your entire bedroom. Your traitorous heart pressed at your bedroom walls, filling up the space and leaving room for little else.

Your voice was only a whisper, and you wanted to kick yourself when you said, “We should really go to bed. I have an exam tomorrow.”

Your roommate pressed her lips together, and she did not break eye contact as she said, “Dare.”

You shook your head, looking away from her to try, desperately, to break whatever spell had taken hold of you; but your eyes were drawn back to her as if she were the only fucking light in the dark. You had to get a hold of yourself before you did something you’d regret, but you felt intoxicated with something far stronger than the cheap vodka you had bought from Walmart.

“You’re drunk, Els,” you said, and you sounded so breathless you may as well have given up then and there.

Ellie leaned closer, holding your gaze, and you could see the exact shade of desire in her eyes. She was so fucking warm - your head spun from it, heat radiating from her skin when she planted a hand on the bed right next to your hip. Her wrist brushed against the bare skin under your shorts, and you felt her voice vibrating in your chest when she said, “Dare.”

And it was like she had finally pulled the last fucking thread that made you unravel, because you couldn’t stop yourself - didn’t even think to - before you said, “Kiss me.”

You only had a second to register the smile pulling at the edges of Ellie’s lips before she grabbed your face and pulled you in to smother it. You had never imagined what kissing Ellie would be like - had never allowed your imagination to wander so far over the edge - but she did not kiss like she was drowning. She kissed with the same slow gentleness as when she played the guitar, her long fingers plucking at the strings with the careful deliberation of a lover.

And she felt so fucking warm. You were high with it; high with the heat radiating from her fingers pressed to your cheeks; high from the way her breath snaked past your parted lips, gentle huffs of warmth against your skin. Your head swam as you pressed into her, your hands tangling into the fabric of her shirt, fingers unsure even as you ached to pull her closer.

Ellie pulled back for a moment - for only a moment, but each second her lips weren't on yours caused an ache in your chest. Her eyes hovered inches from yours, so fucking green it was dizzying - though you couldn't see much of the color passed the eclipse of her pupils. Her cheeks were flushed - from the vodka, from something else entirely - her freckles popping against the color. You could only imagine how you looked, could feel the desire written across every inch of your face.

Your fists tightened in her shirt, and you used the leverage to pull her back into you; and suddenly, it felt like you were the one drowning. You couldn’t breathe as Ellie devoured you, the gentleness replaced with a hunger you hadn’t known lived inside her. She pressed her tongue against the seam of your mouth until you relented, opening up to her, a soft sound escaping your throat when her tongue ran along the roof of your mouth.

That sound - nothing more than a breathy sigh - ignited something in Ellie. Suddenly, she was all teeth and tongue and hot, hot breath in your mouth, sucking your bottom lip between her teeth. She bit down when a shaky sigh forced its way from your throat, soothing it with her tongue and swallowing the moan it elicited. Her hands were in your hair, the strands twisted between her fingers, and when you bit down on her lip, she pulled - you gasped at the sharp pain on your scalp.

“Fuck,” she cursed against your lips, and you could feel that single syllable, hot breath in your mouth that you wanted to swallow. She didn’t continue for a long time, couldn’t form any other words past the way her lips made you unravel. Her hands trailed down your shoulders, fingers grazing lightly over the bare skin of your arms, before finding your hips, gripping them in a vice and tugging you closer. “Fuck, come here,” she said, her voice nothing more than a low growl that you felt in your chest.

And you were drunk - from the cheap vodka and sleep deprivation and Ellie. You were drunk on the way her eyes were eclipsed, her lips red and bitten and swollen, parted so you could feel each exhale against your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, hooded. Her fingers dug into your hips, and you were drunk, but shit, how the hell could you say no to her? How could you possibly say no when she was looking at you like she was starving?

Her hands guided you closer so you swung a leg over her hips and settled in her lap, your hands braced on her shoulders. She leaned her head back against the wall and just looked at you for several long moments, biting down on her lip. You couldn’t stop watching her mouth, mesmerized as she said, “Fuck, look at you.”

And then she was kissing you again, her hands gripping your hips like it was a lifeline. Your hands found their way to her hair, curling your fingers in the short locks, using it as leverage to pull her closer. You could feel how each point of your body fit into hers; your thighs against her legs, her hands curling perfectly over the swell of your hips. You could feel the swell of her breasts against your chest, and you so badly wanted to feel her skin against yours. You felt like you’d go crazy from the raw want radiating from your body.

Ellie’s lips traced a map across your cheek, down your jawline. You tilted your head so she could kiss the hinge of your jaw, the spot right below your ear. She paused there, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your neck, before her teeth bit down on that sensitive spot, pulling the skin into her mouth, and you practically melted into her. You couldn’t control the sounds falling from your lips like honey, gripping at her hair as she soothed the bruise with her tongue.

“Ellie….” Your voice was nothing more than a whimper; you swallowed hard and tried again, pressing a hand firmly at her shoulder. “Ellie.”

She only hummed against your skin, and you could feel the vibration against your pulse. The sound went straight to your stomach and dipped even lower when she bit at your collarbone.

The next time you said her name, it came out as a moan; you cleared your throat. “We can’t do this - you’re drunk, Els.”

Your roommate hummed again, but she relented, leaning her head back against the wall to look up at you. And - fuck. Her lips were red and swollen, still wet from the kiss. Her cheeks were flushed, and - God, her eyes. You had never understood the term bedroom eyes, but Ellie looked at you as though she wanted to devour you. Like any second her hands weren’t on you was torture. Like she wanted to bite and kiss and taste every inch of your skin.

“Truth or dare,” she said, her voice so hoarse you had to clench your thighs around her hips.

“What?”

“Truth or dare,” she repeated, her eyes never leaving yours. And this wasn’t part of the game, but you played along anyway, unable and unwilling to tell her no.

“Truth,” you sighed.

One of Ellie’s hands traced up your side. She ran her fingers across your collarbone, up your throat, before stopping to cup your jaw, her skin rough against yours. “Do you want this?”

You nodded, the vodka making it impossible to feel shy.

“How long have you wanted this?” Ellie’s thumb pressed at the seam of your lips, and you let your mouth fall open. She watched, hypnotized, dipping just the tip of her thumb between your lips before withdrawing.

It was against the rules - two questions for one truth - but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. “A long fucking time.” Your voice was weak and breathy, and you couldn’t bother to be embarrassed about that either. Your attention had narrowed in on Ellie, and the way her fingers skirted across your chest, the way her other hand gripped your hip - how you could feel the warmth of her thighs between your legs.

Taking your chin in her hand, she drew you closer, and you could feel her lips moving against yours: “So what the hell is stopping us?”

This time, when she kissed you, you did melt into her. You gripped her hair in your fists and swallowed the moan it drew from her, shivering when her teeth caught on your lip. She had both hands on your hips again, and she gripped them so hard you were sure you’d find bruises there in the morning in the shape of her fingers. She pulled you closer, pulling your hips down into her; the friction through your pajama shorts made you moan against her lips.

And you decided to play her game.

“Truth or dare?” you said, drawing away just enough to see the eclipse of her eyes.

Ellie, always stubborn, murmured, “Dare.”

You tugged at the hem of her shirt, your fingers brushing the warm skin beneath; you marveled at the shiver that ran through her body. You ducked your head to kiss along her jaw, pressing the words into her skin. “Take this off.”

She didn’t waste any time tugging the shirt over her head, tossing it to the floor before skidding her fingers over the bare skin above your shorts. You lifted your arms and let her pull your shirt over your head before realizing you weren’t wearing anything beneath. Who wears a bra to study in their own apartment?

But you didn’t have a moment to cover your body in embarrassment before Ellie’s lips were on you again, as if it pained her to not taste you for even a moment. Her hands spread across your back, pulling you into her as she peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses across your collar; you hissed when her teeth bit down over your collarbone, soothing the pain with her tongue.

“Tell me to stop and I'll stop,” Ellie said, her voice muffled as she kissed down over your chest; you shivered when her teeth sank into the skin of your boob, sucking another bruise there. She certainly loved leaving her signature on any inch of your skin that her mouth could reach.

You groaned low in your chest, your fingers tugging at her hair, pulling a gasp from her lips. You almost didn’t recognize your own voice - breathy and thick with desire - when you said, “Please don’t stop.”

The next thing you knew, Ellie was shoving you off of her lap; your back hit the mattress, your head just barely missing the headboard, but you couldn’t even think about that. Your roommate was crawling over you, and you were hypnotized by the way her muscles tensed, her arms caging you against the bed. Her skin was fucking obscene, smooth plains stretching for miles, cast in liquid gold in the lamplight.

“God, look at you,” she said again, pressing a kiss to your clavicle. Her hand was like worn clay when it traced a teasing line over your hip. Her voice was muffled against your skin, but you caught the end of her sentence: “- so fucking pretty.”

Your only response was a choked gasp when Ellie pressed the flat of her tongue to your nipple. You gripped her shoulder, feeling her lips close around you as she sucked your skin into her mouth; you winced when she released it, feeling her teeth graze maddeningly over your nipple.

“Truth or dare?” she said into your skin, her voice vibrating in your bones.

You groaned, gripping her shoulder when she licked a line over your other nipple. If you had thought about this (which, if anybody asked, you didn’t), you never would have imagined your roommate being such a fucking tease.

She hummed, and you could feel the vibration in every nerve. For a moment, you couldn’t find your tongue, your voice caught in your chest until she released your skin with a pop of her lips. She looked up at you, batting her eyes, and dammit if your body didn’t arch, searching for her mouth again.

Propping herself up on her elbows, she watched you through her lashes, an intoxicating smirk across her lips; they were still shining wetly. She broke you from your thoughts when she murmured, “Use your words, angel.”

Your thighs clenched around her words, automatically and unconsciously. You were sure you could get drunk on the way her voice filled the room, rough and rich as the chords she played. It was through clenched teeth that you said, setting your pride aside, “Dare.” Your cheeks burned when it came out as a moan.

You could feel her smile against your skin as she kissed down your stomach, silent for several long, torturous moments. You felt her teeth sink into your hip bone briefly, your hips jerking at the sensation. It earned you a chuckle before you felt Ellie’s hands pressing your hips into the mattress, holding you still. You groaned low in your throat when you felt her tongue against the skin over the band of your shorts, licking a stripe right above the fabric before taking the elastic between her teeth and tugging. You jumped when she released it, the band snapping back against your skin. You didn’t have to look at her to see the sparkle in her eye.

You swore your heart stopped completely when she murmured, “I wanna go down on you.”

Despite this game she was insistent on playing, it wasn’t said like a dare; it was said like a question, or a request. There was no expectation behind it. Ellie was asking, you realized with dizzying satisfation, for permission.

“Fuck.” It came out as only a breath, a whisper against your tongue. Your fingers ached from gripping the sheets and she hadn’t even touched you yet. “Fuck,” you tried again, and it was a groan this time but at least it was louder. “Yeah. Yeah, please, fuck.” Words were just falling from your lips because when you looked down, Ellie - your roommate, your friend - was watching you, propped between your legs with that fucking smirk, and how could you possibly string together a complete sentence?

And Ellie… didn’t. She didn’t follow up on her dare. Not immediately, at least. No, she took her sweet fucking time - always so damn precise, taking her time in hooking her fingers over the band of your shorts. She pulled them down so slowly you could feel every inch down your legs. And then you were lying beneath your roommate in nothing but your underwear - and dammit, if you had known this would be happening, you would have opted for something a little sexier than a cotton pair with constellations on them.

Ellie smiled. “Cute,” she said, before sinking her teeth into the flesh of your thigh. You were thankful it was cold out - you’d have to wear layers to hide all the places her mouth had been.

Your roommate ducked her head, and you gasped when you felt her press a featherlight kiss against the fabric of your underwear, right where warmth pooled between your legs.

You huffed, twisting the sheets between your fingers. “God, you’re such an asshole - fuck-” You were cut off when Ellie licked a stripe up your panties, warm tongue pressing against your throbbing clit. You moaned at the relief, feeling the wetness of her mouth through the fabric. It wasn’t enough - you needed to feel her against you, needed her tongue to unravel you piece by piece. You pressed your hips down against her lips but her hands held you in place.

You huffed out a breath, her name slipping from your lips when you moaned. “Ellie….”

And then she was yanking your underwear down your hips; you gasped, lifting your ass to help her shove them down. She had only gotten them just below your knees before she was pressing back in, too impatient to finish the job.

And - fuck, her mouth. Ellie’s mouth was fucking magic. You moaned into the quiet room when she pressed the flat of her tongue against your pussy, licking a stripe between your lips. You couldn’t control the curses slipping between your teeth when her tongue made teasing circles around your clit until you were whimpering, aching for her. She had released your hips to dig her fingers into your thighs, nails digging in, and you’d surely have crescent-shaped bruises there tomorrow - even more to cover up. You pressed your hips down against her, groaning, her name only a whisper: “Fuck, Els-”

And then she finally, finally, gave you what you wanted.

Ellie ate pussy like it was her fucking job, like she was clocking into a shift and working her ass off for those tips. She lapped at your clit like she was starving, pressing her lips against you until you were dizzy, your entire body tuned in to the warmth of her tongue and the gentle graze of her teeth. You shuddered when you felt that tongue press into your core, a brief pressure that pulled curses from your lips, words tripping over each other: “Ah - fuck - fuck, Ellie - oh my God, fuck-”

It didn’t take long for tension to build in your stomach. You were intoxicated; you were tipsy, yes, but something about the way Ellie moved her tongue - long, slow circles around your clit, using the flat of her tongue to draw you closer to the edge - was like a damn drug. You got what you wanted: She unraveled you with her tongue, tugging curses from your lips. You could hear your own moans echoing against your quiet bedroom and you couldn’t even feel embarrassed about it.

Ellie took your clit between her lips and sucked, pulling you into her mouth and-

A long, low moan pulled at your throat when you came. Your hand came up to grip at her hair, fingers twisting in the soft strands. She moaned when you pulled, and the vibration against every nerve pushed you further; you could feel your orgasm in your chest, could feel it trembling in your thighs.

Ellie worked you through it, her tongue dancing against you as you rode out your high. She didn’t stop, pressing her lips against you, dipping her tongue into your core again, until you were shoving against her head, your hips bucking at the sensitivity.

When she raised her head, she was grinning, that wicked, infuriating grin she always had when she was pleased with herself. She rested her head against your thigh for a moment, watching you as you blinked the stars from your eyes. You relaxed your fingers in her hair, smoothing your thumb across her temple.

The only thing you could say, breathless and dizzy, was, “Fuck, Els. What the fuck?”

Ellie laughed, the sound unarming the silence around you, the anxiety of what this meant. She pressed a kiss to your thigh, right over the little indentations where her nails had dug into the flesh, and just said, “Yeah?”

You giggled, tugging at her hair gently. You looked down at your roommate - and you didn’t know what this meant for the two of you, but that could be a problem for tomorrow, when you weren’t drunk and sleep-deprived and naked beneath your friend. For now, you only said, “Truth or dare?”

Ellie blinked, raising an eyebrow, and said, “Truth.”

You considered not asking for a moment, unsure if you wanted to know, but curiosity pressed at you until you asked, “What do I taste like?”

The grin spread wider, Ellie’s eyes sparkling as she pushed herself up. She crawled up your body, taking a moment to press a kiss to your stomach, to the bruises she had left littered across your chest - you moaned when she took a nipple briefly into her mouth. She kissed her way up your neck, across your jaw, sucking at the skin beneath your ear - another fucking bruise to worry about. God, it was like she wanted her signature on you, branded in every inch of your skin.

Her face hovered an inch above yours, propping herself up on her elbows, smirking. She leaned in close, leaving room for you to turn away if you wanted. Instead, you tilted your chin up and kissed her again.

You wrinkled your nose at the metallic taste of yourself against her lips. You didn’t like it, the way your own scent wafted over you. But fuck if you didn’t open your mouth when you felt Ellie’s tongue pressing at the seam of your lips. She moaned when your tongue ran along the roof of her mouth, pressing into the taste of you.

When she pulled back, her eyes were soft, her cheeks flushed. “Like that.”

You rolled your eyes, turning your face away; you had to admit, even if you hated how you tasted - tasting yourself against her tongue sent a wave of heat between your legs all over again. You only said, “Gross.”

Ellie leaned in again, and you felt her lips ghosting against your jaw. You felt her breath against your skin when she whispered, “Truth or dare?”

You lifted your chin to give her access to your neck, sighing when she pressed a kiss against your pulse. “Truth.”

Her breath huffed against you when she chuckled before raising her head to meet your eyes again, that same cocky smile spread across her lips. “Was that better than a six?”

“Oh, fuck off.” You shoved against her until she rolled off of you.

She flopped back against the mattress, still laughing, but she was holding her arm out for you. You only hesitated for a moment - but even if she was your roommate, she just made you see stars, so it’s not like cuddling would push against the boundary you had already broken. You curled into her, laying your head on her chest, the sports bra she was still wearing soft against your cheek.

You sighed, skimming your fingertips against the warm skin of her stomach. “Yeah,” you whispered before you could stop yourself. “Definitely better than a six.”

You were starting to fall asleep, your eyes growing heavy, your study notes effectively forgotten. You burrowed into her further, wrapping your arm around her and pressing your fingers against her hip. You briefly wondered where the vodka bottle had ended up in the mess, but Ellie didn’t seem in any particular hurry to untangle herself from you, so you figured it could wait - surely it would be okay if she slept in your room for one night.

Just before you dozed off, you heard Ellie murmur, “You left the window open.”

#listen i'm writing a novel rn so i forgot how to write short things #ellie tlou #ellie williams #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x reader #ellie x reader #ellie x fem reader #lesbian smut #ellie x you #ellie the last of us #ellie williams tlou #tlou smut #idk man #tlou 2 x reader #i might change the title idk i couldn't think of anything #i haven't written fanfiction in. like 8 or 9 years i think lol

4K notes · View notes

motthe · 30 days ago

Note

hiii !! just read like ,, a BUNCH of ur lumen au stuff ,,,, truly i am brainrotted now because i'm just thinking of so many different scenarios involving the lumens and i am just . EXCITED !!! its SUCHHHH a good concept im a big big sucker for soulmate stuff ,,,,

i was just wondering how you feel about jayvik x reader ,,,, TWO lumens ,,,,,,,, idk if you write for anything poly or not, but id love to hear your thoughts on it !!! either through headcanons or a ficlet, whichever you feel like :]

my first viktor x reader x jayce piece i’ve ever written… wait is this my first poly drabble?? it might be actually! i hope it’s fun to read ♥️

warnings: fem!reader, slight negative feelings of not being good enough, but overall fluff!!!

The scientific jargon that came with having not one but both of your fated being inventors was overwhelming. The words they tossed around became an entire other language since you’d all gotten closer. It left you feeling unbearably empty-headed, wondering why the universe would bond you to such intelligent men.

They were already changing an entire city with their ideas, and you would bet the world would soon bear their mark as well. In comparison, you were a meager artist making ends meet at festivals and street corners. Sure, maybe your work could be seen on a few shop signs or covering a wall or two in a cafe, but that was as famous as you’d ever be—a stranger to the passing eye.

“We need to widen the cylindrical chamber, maybe add an exhaust pipe to help with the cooldown.”

Jayce’s voice slipped through your head, smooth and confident and making no sense. You’d gotten rather good and tuning out the meat of the conversations, only recognizing the tones and emotions.

The heavy, warm accent of Viktor’s replied, swirling in the back of your mind as your pencil swiped over the heavy parchment against your thighs.

Recently, they’d begun inviting you to their lab to spend your free time in their company. There were two desks to choose from, though they were usually piled high with blueprints or notes. Jayce had moved a couch into the space for your comfort, placed in the corner and under a window, well away from any dangerous work they had their hands on, though they usually took anything too precarious into another portion of the building.

Their assistant, Sky, was in and out, always double-checking if you needed anything. She was a kind young woman, curly hair and glasses and a smile that made anyone feel at home. She brought you your own coffee and snacks, promising it was no trouble since she was already bringing them to Viktor and Jayce, anyway.

“You actually eat them,” she chuckled. “Jayce will if he notices they’re there, but it’s a long shot most days.”

You understood what she meant, seeing how focused the men became on their gadgets and studies. You’re sure if you got up and left they wouldn’t notice for a good, long while.

Today was one of those days, though there was peace in your private little corner as you sketched away. You squinted over the top of your sketchbook, skimming the outline of Viktor’s goggles pressed into his thick, winding hair and quickly adding the little licks of tresses to the paper before he was moving again.

You switched targets, taking in Jayce’s side profile and adding a bit more depth to his eyebrow and under eye.

Taking a moment to look between both drawings, you were hit with their beauty once more.

Jayce was deemed the academy’s “pretty boy,” with his strong jaw and perfect smile. He was a clean cut handsome, peak health and built with broad shoulders. He knew how to use those looks to his advantage.

On the other end was Viktor. He was a haunting beauty, sleek and angular. If he had the same charisma with speaking to the masses as Jayce did, that accent would gain him more than a fair share of admirers, but his confidence and skills lied elsewhere. He had a sharp eye and wore his emotions rather loudly on his face.

Where Jayce had faint lines from how much he smiled, Viktor had a feather soft crease between his brows from how often he furrowed them. Where the golden boy’s hands were always warm, his partner’s was cold. They made such gorgeous opposites, yet they held so many comparisons in mannerisms when it came to their shared hobbies and passions.

It was safe to say you adored them and their intricacies.

Taking a slow, deep breath you checked both shoulders before moving the tuft of black in your periphery into your hand. Gold shimmered between the dark mass that made up Jayce’s lumen, settling deeper into your palm as you raised your arms and stretched.

When you moved your drawing pad to the side, you spotted Viktor’s wedged between the apex of your thighs. Swallowing your gasp, you scooped it up, praying it hadn’t been smushed the entire time.

“When did you get there?” you whispered, rubbing your pointer finger into the tawny fuzz of his light. His lumen had always had a bit more give to it, leaving it to wedge itself under your leg or your shirt collar. Viktor’s preferred to be as close as possible to you, even if it left his lumen squished.

Jayce’s lumen was firmer, still soft but in a velveteen sort of sensation. It was bigger, taking up a good portion of your palm. Now your second month with it, you’d learned if it wasn’t on one of your shoulders, it was likely circling your head. His never went far either.

You wondered if you’d received Jayce’s lumen first, if it would have more of an attachment to you. As it stood, you’d had Viktor’s since you were young while he’d held Jayce’s and Jayce yours. The three of you being tied together had become quite the story as there went many outward poly fateds in Piltover, but luckily the gawking had passed after the first handful of weeks.

It was only a few days ago that Viktor confessed he’d been rather confused when he’d met Jayce and the lumens had flashed against one another.

“There were no similarities,” he’d explained, holding up one long, thin finger for your lumen to rest on as it hovered in front of him. The three of you were cozied up in your lackluster apartment—a studio more than a bedroom but it had a nice pullout couch and plenty of blankets to rest on in front of your heater. “Jayce was ecstatic, of course, but I was ruminating over your lumen when we first met.”

“I thought he hated me,” Jayce had murmured, breath warm against your ear as you laughed.

“I did not hate you,” huffed Viktor on your other side, rolling his eyes as he dropped his hand, your lumen resting within. “I wasn’t aware we had a third, yet—it was puzzling.”

“I had to explain it to him,” Jayce chuckled. “One of my old friends was in a poly.”

“And, then, he was even more ecstatic,” Viktor sighed but there was affection in it. “I thought you’d follow him home some nights.”

“And leave you all by yourself?” You laid your head on his shoulder, grinning as his eyes fled. It was still so early into the relationship, and he grew flustered with physical affection whereas Jayce sought it every chance. “I’d never.”

“It’s better now, we’re all together,” Jayce hummed, lowering to lay his head in your lap. You brushed your hand through his hair, smiling as his lumen lit up in Viktor’s lap.

“Yes,” Viktor had agreed, careful as he laid his head against yours. “It all feels…complete.”

Your chest warmed at the memory as you held both of their lumens in your hands, giving a fleeting kiss to each. Viktor’s snuggled happily into your palm while Jayce’s pulsed a happy gold before flying off, likely to check in with Viktor.

As your eyes lifted to follow its journey, you jumped when you found Jayce smiling from a few feet away by his desk. He seemed to be shuffling through some papers. Your lumen floated just nice his head, twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows behind you.

“Didn’t see you there,” you said, stretching your legs out before standing. Viktor’s lumen left your hand, keeping close to your neck.

“I hope you’re not bored.” He opened an arm up and you approached. You still grew giddy with any chance to be wrapped in his embrace, quick to accept the invitation.

“I like spending time here with you both,” you assured, giggling as he bent down to kiss your forehead. “Gives me plenty of practice.”

His eyes lit up, one of those dark eyebrows lifting. “Oh?”

“I know what you’re about to ask—”

“Please?” His arm wrapped tighter around your waist. “I wanna see.”

“They’re just rough sketches!” you laughed, pushing against his chest.

“C’mon, I bet they’re great! I’m sure Viktor wants to see them, too.”

You shook your head, a mess of giggles as he wrapped both arms around you and slowly edged his way towards the couch.

“Did someone call my name?” asked Viktor, turning from the machine he was working on. A torch was in his hand but luckily still off for the time being. Jayce’s lumen was sitting on his knee.

“Viktor tell her you want to see her art!” Jayce goaded.

“Tell him he needs to wait for a real piece,” you threw back, wrinkling your nose at him as he stuck his tongue out.

“You’ve been drawing us?” Viktor’s voice seeped with awe and innocent curiosity. “May we see?”

Jayce bounced his eyebrows at you, all too smug. “Told you.”

“Fine—fine!” you sighed, throwing your hands up and wiggling out of his hold as you went to grab your canvas notebook. “Don’t gripe when you see your half-finished faces.”

The tap of Viktor’s crutch intermingled with Jayce’s footsteps as they met you by the couch. As you handed over your work, Viktor was the one to accept it as Jace stood over him. Both their eyes went wide at the current page and your hand went straight to your arm as you shuffled in place.

“Those are just warmups, so…”

“Warmups?” Jayce breathed, looking up from the notebook. “These are amazing!”

“I have to agree, the detail is astounding,” Viktor hummed, looking to turn back a page. He caught your eyes before he did. “Is this all right? Tell us if we’re overstepping.”

“No, it’s okay! I’m used to people watching me draw on the street, it’s just… I don’t know.” You shrugged, bringing a hand up as Viktor’s lumen rubbed against your neck. Jayce’s was just settling on your shoulder again. “I care about what you guys think. It’s not anything big like you do, but…”

“Big?” Jayce echoed, both of their sights set on you.

“Well, it’s not as important as what you both do is what I mean.”

“Of course it’s important,” Viktor argued, expression stern.

“But it’s art!” you laughed, waving off the sudden seriousness growing from them. “It’s helping a bunch of people like your creations do. That’s much more important.”

“Art is just as, if not more, important,” he continued, passing the notebook to Jayce. “We are helping people in different ways, but do not do yourself the disservice and think what you create is anything less than what we do.”

“He’s right,” Jayce agreed, holding up your work. “This? This speaks to people. Your work can bring life to a room and lets people save a special moment in time.”

“Okay, don’t butter me up so much or I’ll melt!” you squeaked, too embarrassed to look at them as they chuckled and continued flipping through your sketches. It wasn’t long before the three of you were on the couch, both of them pointing out their favorites.

“Is my hair truly that messy?” Viktor grumbled, raising a hand to it. “Perhaps I should cut it.”

“No, I like it,” you said, grabbing his wrist. “You twirl it when you’re thinking! It’s so sweet.”

He blinked at you. “I do?”

Jayce whistled and you turned and gasped, completely forgetting the drawing you’d done of him in the forge. It was more from memory so your imagination had left it a bit more detailed than the rest.

“Okay, that’s enough!”

You swiped for the book, shutting it as Jayce laughed. Viktor rolled his eyes, smirking as he nudged your shoulder.

“Should I be worried of any scandalous pieces of me in there?”

You pouted, holding the notebook tighter to your chest.

“Oh?” Jayce breathed. “She didn’t say no!”

“You two are the worst!” you groaned, unable to help yourself from smiling as they both laughed in tandem.

468 notes · View notes

urfavoritewriter · 2 months ago

Text

Sleepeating

A commission for a user who prefers to remain anonymous, I had an absolute blast writing this commission that I overshoot well past the word count. Thank you so much for commissioning me! Content: Endosoma, safe vore, belly bulge, belly noises, squirming prey, struggling prey, internal view, accidental vore, sleepwalking vore, swollen belly, round belly, casual vore, male pred, human pred, M/M, large belly, stomach noises, tight stomach, prey struggling inside, long-term vore, unwilling prey, teasing, male prey.

The room was a patchwork of sleeping arrangements—an air mattress in the corner, a pile of mismatched blankets on the floor, and a couple of sleeping bags sprawled haphazardly around the twin beds. The glow of the TV bathed the room in flickering light, an old movie playing at low volume as the group lounged in various states of relaxation. Empty snack wrappers littered the nightstand, the faint smell of buttery popcorn hanging in the air.

“Alright, rookie, rule number one,” said Greg, a wiry guy with messy brown hair and a mischievous grin. He pointed a finger at the newcomer, his tone half-joking but carrying a thread of seriousness. “Don’t. Leave. The bed. At night.”

The newcomer, Andrew, raised an eyebrow, shifting awkwardly on the makeshift bed he’d been given. His dark hair was slightly tousled, and he fidgeted with the hem of his hoodie. “Uh… why?”

Zach, the host and arguably the most relaxed of the group, leaned back on his bed, his legs sprawled out like he didn’t have a care in the world. His blonde curls fell into his eyes as he glanced at Andrew with a lazy smile. “Because Matt sleepwalks,” he said, nodding toward the tallest guy in the room, who was currently shoving the last handful of chips from a bag into his mouth.

Matt swallowed, brushing crumbs off his shirt. “I do not sleepwalk that much,” he protested, though his friends groaned in unison.

“You tried to eat Greg’s shoe last time,” said Sarah, who sat cross-legged near the TV, her black hair tied in a loose ponytail. “Like, full-on chomped it.”

“I thought it was a burrito,” Matt shot back, raising his hands defensively. His broad shoulders and tall frame made him look intimidating, but the sheepish expression on his face softened the effect.

“Dude, you licked it,” Greg added with a laugh, tossing a pillow in Matt’s direction. “That’s where all the foot fetish allegations come from.”

Andrew chuckled nervously, glancing between the group. “So… what, do I need to sleep with one eye open?”

“Nah,” Zach said, waving a hand dismissively. “Just stay in bed. You’ll be fine. Matt’s like a human vacuum when he’s out of it, but as long as you’re not walking around, he’ll leave you alone.”

Andrew didn’t look entirely convinced. “A vacuum?”

“Yeah, a hungry vacuum,” Sarah teased. “Last time he cleaned out half the fridge. And Greg’s shoe, obviously.”

Matt groaned again. “Can we not make me sound like some kind of sleepwalking menace? I’m perfectly normal most of the time.”

“Yeah, sure,” Zach said with a smirk. He grabbed the remote and flicked through the TV channels before settling on a cheesy horror movie. “Just remember, Andrew, don’t wander around if you hear anything. It’s probably just Matt.”

Andrew nodded slowly, pulling a blanket over himself. “Got it. Stay put. Avoid the hungry vacuum.”

Greg snorted. “Smart guy. You’ll survive the night.”

The group laughed, the easy banter filling the room as the movie played in the background. Matt stretched, his frame nearly brushing the ceiling, before collapsing onto his pile of blankets with a loud yawn.

“Alright, lights out soon,” Zach announced, reaching for the lamp by his bed. “Let’s try not to add any more sleepwalking incidents to the list, huh?”

Matt grumbled something incoherent, already halfway to sleep. Andrew, still a little unsure of what he’d signed up for, settled into his makeshift bed, his mind buzzing with the warnings and teasing.

The room gradually grew quieter as everyone drifted off, leaving the TV to cast faint shadows across the walls. The night stretched ahead, calm and uneventful—for now.

Andrew stirred awake to the faint creak of a door hinge. His eyes fluttered open, the dim glow of the muted TV casting flickering shadows across the room. The others were still sprawled out in their makeshift beds, their steady breathing filling the quiet with a rhythmic hum. For a moment, Andrew thought he’d dreamed the noise—until he heard another faint sound.

Crunch.

His brow furrowed. It wasn’t loud, but it was distinct, like someone biting into a cracker. Groggily, he sat up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he scanned the room. Everyone else seemed undisturbed, bundled in blankets or sprawled carelessly. Except—he counted quickly—Matt wasn’t there. The mound of blankets that had been his bed was empty, the pillow pushed to the side.

Andrew sighed, shaking his head as the warnings from earlier echoed in his mind. Matt sleepwalks. For a moment, he considered lying back down. It wasn’t like it was his problem, right? But the faint clink of something metallic, like a fork hitting a plate, piqued his curiosity. What’s he even doing?

Carefully, Andrew swung his legs over the edge of his mattress, the cool floor sending a faint shiver through him. He tiptoed toward the door, avoiding the stray wrappers and pillows strewn about, and gently turned the knob. The hallway was dark, the faint orange glow of a nightlight at the far end barely illuminating the space. He stepped out, his socked feet making no sound against the wooden floor.

Another crunch. Then the faint sound of chewing. Andrew followed it, squinting into the darkness as he made his way toward the kitchen. The air was cooler out here, the silence broken only by the occasional creak of a floorboard beneath his weight.

As he neared the source of the sounds, the faint hum of the refrigerator reached his ears. Then another noise—a soft, wet slurp, followed by what sounded like the rustling of a bag. Andrew hesitated for a moment, his heart beating a little faster. Is he seriously eating in his sleep?

He rounded the corner into the kitchen, the faint glow from the refrigerator spilling across the tile floor. Matt was there, hunched over slightly, one hand gripping the fridge door while the other clutched a half-empty bag of chips. His tall frame loomed in the dim light, his broad shoulders casting long shadows against the wall. His head moved slowly, rhythmically, as he chewed on something, completely unaware of Andrew’s presence.

Andrew stifled a laugh. They weren’t kidding. He really is a vacuum. He stepped closer, the floor cool beneath his feet. “Matt?” he whispered, his voice low to avoid startling him.

No response.

Andrew frowned, tilting his head. Matt’s movements were slow and deliberate, like he was in a trance. He dipped his hand into the bag again, pulling out another handful of chips and shoving them into his mouth without so much as glancing around. His other hand lazily swung the fridge door shut, casting the room into near darkness except for the faint glow of the microwave clock.

“Matt,” Andrew said a little louder, stepping closer.

Still no response. Matt’s chewing continued, unhurried and oddly methodical. Andrew couldn’t tell if his eyes were open or closed in the dim light, but there was something unsettling about the way he stood there, his tall frame casting looming shadows that swayed ever so slightly with each movement.

Andrew rolled his eyes. “Alright, buddy, back to bed,” he muttered, reaching out to nudge Matt’s shoulder. “You’re gonna—”

Before he could finish the thought, Matt’s head turned sharply, and Andrew froze. His mouth still moved rhythmically, chewing, but his gaze—or lack thereof—seemed distant, unfocused. His expression was blank, almost eerie, as if he wasn’t entirely present. Andrew took a step back instinctively, his pulse quickening.

“Uh… Matt?” he said hesitantly.

Matt didn’t respond. Instead, he turned back toward the counter, setting the empty chip bag down with a slow, deliberate motion. Andrew watched, unsure of what to do, as Matt’s hand hovered over a loaf of bread, his fingers brushing it as if deciding whether to grab it next.

“Okay, this is getting weird,” Andrew muttered to himself, taking another cautious step forward. He reached out again, this time aiming to grab Matt’s arm and steer him back toward the hallway. “Come on, man, let’s—”

Matt moved suddenly, his hand shooting out with surprising speed to grip Andrew’s wrist. Andrew’s breath hitched, his body tensing as Matt’s grip tightened. For a moment, Andrew thought he’d snapped out of it—that he was awake—but then Matt’s blank expression remained unchanged, his gaze fixed somewhere beyond Andrew, as though looking through him.

“Hey, uh, Matt? You good?” Andrew stammered, his voice wavering slightly.

Matt’s grip pulled him closer, the motion slow but unrelenting. Andrew’s heart raced, the air suddenly feeling heavier as he tried to tug his arm free. But Matt’s strength was impossible to resist, his movements steady and unnervingly purposeful.

“Okay, this is not funny anymore,” Andrew muttered, trying to keep his voice calm as he stumbled forward. The faintest hint of warm breath against his neck made him freeze, and in the dim light, he caught a glimpse of Matt’s mouth opening, his jaw stretching slightly in a way that made Andrew’s stomach twist.

What the hell is he doing?

Andrew tugged harder, but Matt’s grip was like iron, and his slow, trance-like movements didn’t falter. The air was thick with tension, the quiet hum of the fridge the only sound as Andrew realized, too late, that Matt wasn’t just sleepwalking.

He was hungry.

Andrew’s heart slammed in his chest as Matt’s grip tightened around his wrist. His breath hitched as he watched Matt’s jaw part further, the glisten of his tongue catching what little light remained in the kitchen.

“Matt?” Andrew’s voice cracked, his throat dry. “Matt, what the fuck are you doing?”

Matt didn’t respond, his head dipping slightly as his tongue slid over Andrew’s arm, leaving a wet, hot trail along his skin. The sensation made Andrew recoil, a sickening mix of fear and confusion twisting in his gut. The warm, slick press of Matt’s mouth closed around his hand, the wetness enveloping him inch by inch.

“Dude. DUDE!” Andrew yelped, his voice rising in pitch as he yanked at his arm. But Matt’s grip was unyielding, pulling him further in as his lips sealed around Andrew’s forearm.

Andrew’s panic flared. “Okay, okay, stop. You’re—you’re fucking sleepeating, man.” His voice wavered, fear lacing every word. “I’m not the food you’re looking for.”

Matt didn’t flinch. His throat emitted a low, almost guttural moan as he sucked harder, the heat of his mouth traveling up Andrew’s arm. Andrew froze, the realization slamming into him. Matt wasn’t biting. He wasn’t tearing at him like some animal. No, Matt was tasting him, savoring every inch as he worked his way upward.

“You’re not serious,” Andrew whispered, his voice trembling as he felt the first tug of Matt’s throat muscles against his fingers. The slick, rhythmic pressure sent a shiver through him. “Oh my God, you are serious.”

His fear spiked as Matt tilted his head back slightly, his lips creeping past Andrew’s elbow. The tight pull of Matt’s throat was unmistakable now, the wet, swallowing sounds filling the silence. Andrew thrashed, his free hand shoving at Matt’s shoulder, his legs scrambling against the tile.

The realization hit Andrew like a brick: He’s not going to chew. He’s—he’s actually swallowing me whole.

“Let go! Fuck, Matt, stop!” Andrew yelled, his voice cracking as he pushed against Matt’s solid frame. But Matt didn’t even flinch. His other hand reached out, grabbing Andrew’s free arm and pinning it firmly at his side.

“Matt, wake up! Wake the fuck up!” Andrew’s voice was frantic now, his breathing shallow as he realized he wasn’t winning this fight. The heat of Matt’s mouth climbed higher, engulfing his bicep as his throat worked in steady, deliberate gulps.

The sound of swallowing filled Andrew’s ears, wet and unrelenting. Each gulp sent a wave of pressure rolling over his arm, pulling him deeper. The slick walls of Matt’s throat pressed tightly against his skin, the heat unbearable, as though the demon vacuum of a friend was actually pulling this off.

“No—no way,” Andrew gasped, his voice shaking as he felt his shoulder press against Matt’s lips. “You can’t—you can’t actually—” He cut off with a yelp as Matt’s jaws stretched wider, the grip around his other arm tightening as it was shoved forward to join the first.

Matt’s body shuddered, his throat rippling as he moaned softly, the sound sending a sick chill down Andrew’s spine. Andrew squirmed harder, kicking out in blind panic, but Matt’s sheer size and strength made resistance feel hopeless.

Matt’s mouth stretched further, the slick wetness of his tongue sliding up Andrew’s arms and across his collarbone. A hot, humid wave of air rushed over Andrew’s face as his head was pulled inside, the suffocating heat making his skin prickle. His heart hammered wildly as his cheek grazed one of Matt’s teeth, smooth and solid, before his tongue pressed firmly against his jawline, dragging upward.

The texture was overwhelming—slick, wet, and unnervingly soft as Matt’s tongue worked under his chin, tasting him with deliberate, almost indulgent motions. Andrew’s nose was filled with the overpowering scent of saliva mixed with the faint, salty tang of whatever Matt had been eating earlier. The smell was thick, clinging to him, and the wet sounds of Matt’s swallowing filled his ears, drowning out his frantic thoughts.

Andrew’s head tipped back as Matt’s tongue curled up around it, smearing saliva through his hair, the wetness soaking into every strand. The pressure from Matt’s teeth framed him on either side, the curve of them brushing harmlessly against his skin, a terrifying reminder of the power being exercised with such unnatural care. The rhythmic movements of Matt’s throat muscles began to pull at him, the slick walls of his gullet brushing against the top of Andrew’s head.

Matt’s throat opened wide to welcome Andrew’s head, the slick, rippling walls pulling him deeper with a relentless rhythm. The heat was overwhelming, wrapping around his face as his chin slid past the soft, yielding base of Matt’s tongue. Andrew’s breath came in shallow gasps, the humid air thick with saliva as his ears were engulfed, the world outside muffled into nothing but the wet, squelching sounds of Matt’s swallowing.

“Matt! Please!” Andrew’s voice cracked, the reality of his situation slamming into him. He wasn’t just being tasted. Matt was swallowing him whole, his slick, warm throat stretching to accommodate him inch by inch.

With a soft, satisfied moan, Matt’s lips closed over the base of Andrew’s neck, his tongue pressing firmly against his nape as he paused to savor the flavor. The tight grip of Matt’s throat muscles around Andrew’s head was unrelenting, the pressure squeezing his features as the walls flexed in slow, deliberate waves, coaxing him further down into the slick, undulating depths of Matt’s body.

Andrew’s chest heaved as his shoulders disappeared past Matt’s lips, the overwhelming heat and wetness pressing against him from all sides. The rhythmic contractions of Matt’s throat dragged him deeper, his body sliding slowly but steadily downward.

“Let me go! You can’t—stop!” Andrew cried, his voice muffled now as Matt’s throat worked around his upper body, pulling him further inside. His head tilted back instinctively, his face brushing against the slick walls as he tried to find space to breathe.

Matt’s hands moved down, gripping Andrew’s waist as he adjusted his angle, tilting his head back even further. The motion sent Andrew sliding another few inches downward, the wet pressure of Matt’s throat wrapping tighter around him.

Andrew’s voice was hoarse now, his struggles growing weaker as Matt’s stomach loomed closer. He kicked out again, his legs finding no purchase as the strength of Matt’s throat muscles overpowered him.

Matt’s moan was louder this time, his hands gripping Andrew’s hips firmly as he tilted his head back once more, his jaws working over the final stretch of Andrew’s torso. The wet gulping sounds grew louder, more insistent, as Matt’s body adjusted to the bulk now sliding into his belly.

Andrew’s heart pounded wildly as the realization hit him in full force: Matt wasn’t stopping. He wasn’t waking up. And soon, he would be completely inside.

Matt’s lips stretched wide as Andrew’s chest passed through, the tight heat of his throat squeezing Andrew’s arms together and forcing them deeper into the belly below. The slick walls of Matt’s esophagus massaged him downward, inch by inch, the steady, relentless contractions making Andrew’s struggles futile. His muffled voice rose in panicked protests, but the pressure around him drowned out all but faint, garbled sounds.

Andrew’s wrists were the first to breach the stomach, the shift in temperature unmistakable as his hands entered a tight, churning space. The walls were slick and undulating, pressing in on him with rhythmic movements that kept him immobilized. His fingers twitched, brushing against half-digested food, the texture both slimy and unrecognizable. Crumbs of chips, something soft that might have been bread—it all surrounded him in the claustrophobic chamber.

“Matt!” Andrew’s muffled voice wavered, his wrists flicking helplessly as he tried to push back against the walls, but the unyielding stomach held him tight. The low gurgling noises grew louder, echoing in his ears as Matt’s body welcomed more of him inside.

From the outside, Matt’s stomach began to expand visibly, the taut skin rounding out with each inch of Andrew’s upper body. The bulge of his shoulders slid into Matt’s chest, making his throat stretch impossibly wide for a moment before the mass moved downward. Matt’s belly swelled larger, the distinct outline of Andrew’s arms faintly visible beneath the skin before they were engulfed by the folds of Matt’s stomach.

With another deep swallow, Matt worked past Andrew’s waist, his powerful throat muscles dragging him down steadily. Andrew’s head and shoulders entered the belly, the space impossibly tight as the walls pressed against him from all sides. He could feel the heat intensify, the air thick and humid, the noises of digestion surrounding him in a way that made it impossible to think.

“Matt! Let me—ugh—out!” Andrew’s voice was barely audible now, his movements weak and restricted as Matt’s stomach continued to stretch. The taut curve of Matt’s belly shifted with Andrew’s struggles, faint ripples moving across the surface as Matt leaned back slightly, savoring the sensation of fullness.

The bulge of Andrew’s hips reached Matt’s lips, and with one final, deliberate gulp, Matt began to take in his legs. The weight in his stomach grew heavier with each inch, the mass pressing firmly outward and rounding his belly into a large, pronounced dome. The elastic waistband of his shorts struggled to stay in place, the fabric digging into the curve of his swollen abdomen.

Andrew’s feet kicked faintly as they slid closer to Matt’s maw, but the demon vacuum of a friend was unrelenting. Another deep swallow brought Andrew’s thighs past his lips, and with a final, wet gulp, Matt’s jaws closed over Andrew’s feet. He tilted his head back one last time, his throat bulging as the remaining length of Andrew disappeared inside him.

The last of Andrew slid down, his curled legs folding into the cramped confines of Matt’s belly. The stomach expanded further, the tight skin visibly rippling as Andrew shifted and pushed against the walls. From the outside, Matt’s gut was enormous, the round shape jutting forward and shaking slightly with Andrew’s struggles. The once-faint sounds of digestion were now louder, a chorus of gurgles and sloshes as Matt’s stomach worked to accommodate its living occupant.

Matt let out a low, satisfied groan, his hands resting on the massive swell of his belly. The weight pressed down on his thighs as he adjusted his position, leaning back slightly against the counter. His fingers traced the outline of the bulge, faintly visible movements beneath the surface making him chuckle softly in his sleep.

Inside, Andrew squirmed, his body contorted in the tight, sweltering chamber. The heat and pressure were overwhelming, the rhythmic contractions of Matt’s stomach keeping him firmly in place. His muffled protests barely registered as Matt shifted, patting his belly with one hand, causing the entire dome to jiggle slightly.

From the outside, Matt’s gut was impossibly round, shaking faintly as Andrew’s movements stirred the contents within. The sight was surreal—a massive, bloated belly rising and falling with Matt’s steady breaths, the occasional ripple betraying the fact that someone was still awake and aware inside. With a faint snore, Matt leaned back further, completely oblivious to the chaos within his oversized stomach as the night stretched on.

The sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting golden streaks across the living room as the soft murmur of the TV played in the background. Most of the group had already gathered, sprawled across the couches and chairs in various states of morning grogginess. The smell of coffee lingered faintly in the air, mingling with the scent of leftover snacks from the night before.

“Dude, you have to see this,” Greg said, barely stifling his laughter as he pointed toward the couch. “Matt’s… uh, looking a little heavier this morning.”

Zach, sipping from a steaming mug, leaned over the back of his chair and raised an eyebrow. “Holy shit, Matt. You pack the fridge in there or what?”

All eyes turned toward the corner of the room, where Matt sat reclined on the couch, one arm draped lazily over the massive swell of his gut, the other scrolling casually through his phone. His belly was enormous, rounded and taut, rising and falling slightly with his breaths. It shook faintly every few moments, ripples traveling across the surface as muffled movements from inside caused the entire dome to wobble.

“Morning,” Matt said, barely looking up from his phone. His voice was casual, almost bored, as though this were just another day. He gave his belly a light pat, the sound echoing faintly in the room.

“Morning? That’s all you’ve got?” Sarah snorted, her eyes wide as she gestured toward his gut. “Are we not gonna talk about that?”

Matt finally glanced up, his expression unfazed. “Oh, this?” He gave his belly another pat, his hand sinking into the firm curve before it wobbled under his touch. “Yeah. I think I, uh… picked something up last night.”

From within, a faint, muffled voice was just barely audible. “Matt! What the hell’s going on? Let me out!” The bulge shook again, Andrew’s movements sending another ripple through the bloated surface.

“Oh my God, is that Andrew?” Greg burst out laughing, nearly spilling his coffee as he doubled over. “You ate him?”

“I didn’t eat him,” Matt said, his tone defensive but still nonchalant. “I was sleepwalking. He probably shouldn’t have been wandering around anyway.”

“Classic Matt,” Zach said, shaking his head with a grin. He grabbed a bag of chips from the counter and tossed it onto Matt’s belly. The bag bounced slightly before settling. “Can’t keep track of what goes in, huh?”

“Apparently not,” Matt muttered, giving his stomach a gentle rub as it gurgled faintly. Another ripple moved across the surface as Andrew shifted inside, his muffled protests drowned out by the low, groaning sounds of the packed belly.

“You’ll get out eventually, Andrew!” Sarah called out, her voice teasing as she leaned back against the armrest. “It’s just, uh… not as easy getting things out of Matt as it is getting them in.”

The group erupted into laughter, and even Matt couldn’t suppress a small chuckle, his hand absently stroking the round swell of his gut. “Yeah, you might be in there for a bit,” he admitted, his voice casual. “But hey, you seem comfy enough.”

“Comfy?” Andrew’s muffled voice rose again, frustration clear even through the thick walls of Matt’s stomach. “It’s cramped, it’s hot, and I’m—ugh! Stop laughing!”

“Sorry, man,” Zach said, his tone anything but apologetic as he tossed a pillow onto Matt’s stomach. “It’s just… you’re part of the crew now. Matt’s version of a warm welcome.”

Sarah shook her head, grinning. “Andrew, if it makes you feel better, you’re not the first thing Matt’s eaten in his sleep. Just, uh, definitely the biggest.”

Greg chimed in, smirking. “And the loudest. Dude, that belly’s been shaking all morning.”

The group’s laughter filled the room again, and even Andrew seemed to give up on protesting, his movements slowing inside the tight confines of Matt’s stomach. Matt, unbothered, leaned back further into the couch, his phone still in hand as he stretched his legs out lazily.

“Well,” Matt said, his voice calm as ever, “I guess we’re all set for breakfast… and entertainment.”

Another round of laughter erupted, and the room settled into a comfortable rhythm, the group teasing and chatting as Matt lounged with his oversized, animated belly. Andrew shifted slightly inside, grumbling muffled protests, but the group’s lighthearted energy made it clear—this was all just another part of the fun.

412 notes · View notes

signedkoko · 1 year ago

Note

can you do

asmo x fem! reader x fizz reader feels like a third party

In fact, I love your writing, keep doing what you are doing <3

Asmodeus X Reader X Fizzarolli [Comfort]

In which you are in a lovely relationship with the two, but can't help feeling left out from time to time.

They were both so caring and lovely

Of course, you were as well, you were mainly the one who took care of your house and made it more of a home, kept everything cozy

Because both of them worked so much, it meant you were able to spend time on your hobbies- as a job or not

Combined, you were all more than wealthy, so why make you work if you didn't have much you were excited for?

As much as you enjoyed being home, there were some perks you always envied

The two of them were superstars- or, well, Fizz was, Asmodeus had the title of a sin so that kept him in fame as well

But you never really did much to put you in a spotlight

That in itself was fine, the fame they shared came with enough creeps

Except more than once media ignored your existance in the relationship

Piles upon piles of articles about Fizz and Asmodeus being together, the public announcement at Mammon's pageant, even billboards and trending tags on social media

It was like everyone knew they were together, and left you out of the picture because, as one article put it, you were 'more or less a nobody'

Eventually, any dinners or events you went out to become a flurry of attention from others towards them both

To the point where others yelled at you for being in the way of a shot or assuming you were just another paparazzi

It was eating at you, and they knew it, but they weren't sure how to change that

Eventually, Asmodeus and Fizz agree that until everyone slaps your name along theirs, they would just have to show you off

Suddenly Fizz is asking you to help him in his acts to get some eyes on you, and giving you a nice kiss right in front of the crowd to thank you for your assistance

Asmodeus is having you plus one him to events he usually goes to alone, especially red carpets, and keeps his arm around your waist at all times

Honestly, it's a lot for you, but they only do it until it works

Eventually titles change to something along the lines of...

" Clown pageant star Fizzarolli shows off partner to live audience: Everything you need to know! "

" Lust ring leader Asmodeus appears on the red carpet with sinners: who are they?!? "

Much better

Author's Note - I may or may have not added LORE so I hope you still enjoy!!

#koko writez #hazbin hotel #helluva boss #hazbin hotel x reader #helluva boss x reader #reader insert #x reader #asmodeus #asmodeus x reader #fizzarolli #fizzarolli x reader

958 notes · View notes

moralesmilesanhour · 1 year ago

Note

Could you maybe write something with Miles G. where the reader is kind of shy? Like they go to her house and room for the first time and the reader is nervous about it?

Your house was across the street from the basketball court where Miles first saw you.

When the court was empty, you liked to sit on a bench and doodle in an old composition notebook. No one could look over your shoulder here.

Miles had had a game coming up and felt that his shooting accuracy had been off lately, so he stopped here after school to get in some extra practice. You tensed when you heard his sneakers approaching the entrance, keeping your eyes down and praying that he wouldn't make you leave.

He walked right past you and said nothing.

Only the sound of his footsteps and the basketball he was carrying bouncing across the asphalt could be heard for the entire time he was there until he left.

At some point, Miles came to the same conclusion you did previously and started practicing around the same time every day. You drew, he hooped, the two of you left without a word. A careful routine.

Occasionally, you held your breath and dared to look up to watch him play. Miles' long cornrows brushed his shoulders and flew behind him with every shot, you noticed with amusement. It wasn't long before he made a few appearances in your notebook.

You looked up from your doodling one day and noticed him glancing in your direction. He made another shot, then did it again. And again. After a particularly smooth lay-up, Miles looked back with a grin playing on his face. Once it dawned on you that he was making direct eye-contact, you didn't know what else to do other than smile back.

"You don't talk much, do you?" He would ask you while leaving the court together just before curfew.

"I guess not," you responded in a near whisper.

Miles looked up in thought, then nodded.

"That's alright. Means you think a lot."

Smiles soon turned into winks which turned into short conversations and banter, and now you were both standing in front of the door to your room.

"You gonna go inside?" Miles asked when you hesitantly placed a hand on the doorknob.

"Y-yeah, we could go in."

"I think you need to open the door for that."

"...Right."

With a deep breath, you turned the knob.

The door opened up to a small bedroom with lopsided blinds only up halfway. You winced at the small pile of clothes you had left sitting on a swivel chair as you passed it. What a relief that you hadn't forgotten to make your bed this morning like you usually do.

Miles kicked his sneakers off at the entrance before following behind you. The way he scanned the room made you shift uncomfortably. Suddenly you noticed all of the tiny cracks in the ceiling and blemishes on the walls.

"Cool lights," he remarked, referring to the repurposed Christmas lights strung across your walls.

You relaxed a bit, and grabbed a tiny remote that had been sitting on your desk with an awkward smile. "I can turn them on if you want. They've got a buncha different patterns."

"Knock yourself out. Can I sit?"

"Sure."

You joined him on your bed as you pressed a button on the remote that caused the string lights to twinkle softly. They added a cozy contrast to the harsh neon lights from the towering skyscrapers outside that were visible from your window. It almost felt like a separate world.

The two of you sat in a comfortable silence, entranced by the different patterns blinking above you. It might've been the closest you would ever get to seeing fireworks up close.

"Sorry I don't have any games or anything," you spoke up suddenly. "You must be bored."

Miles turned to face you, closer than he had ever been before today. Close enough for you to realize that his right eye wasn't the same hazel brown as the left, but rather a warm green. He tilted his head quizzically.

"If I was bored, I'd be at home right now."

"But we haven't said anything in like, twenty minutes," you started to laugh.

"You think I like you for bein' a chatterbox?" he parried back.

You shrugged, then leaned your head on his shoulder. "Fair enough."

#earth 42 miles morales #earth 42 miles morales x reader #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #earth 42 miles morales x black!reader #requests #moralesanhour #miles morales x gn reader

1K notes · View notes

miridiums-writing · 4 months ago

Note

Hey could you write like a Thranduil x y/n thing? I kinda need it right now.

No Escape

Thranduil x reader fan fic

Imagine : If only you didn’t look so similar to his passed wife, maybe you could have made it out of the elven kingdom with the others.

Authors note : im sorry ive been gone so long, im back now though I promise. Ill set up a new masterlist and we can all forget my old works don’t exist because I hate them all.

The forest was so dark, you and the rest of the company trying to navigate through the winding trails. It was all going fine and well until you all realized you were gong in continuous circles. Seeing the same trees, the same oddly shaped rocks over and over that you all realized something was wrong. “lets just set up camp for now and try again tomorrow.” You insisted, noticing the frustration of the others. “Fine,” Thorin conceded. “We get out of here tomorrow though, we have to keep pushing forwards.”

With that you all settled down for the night, you went off to gather some wood for a fire with Bilbo, unsurprisingly your favourite of the company given how down to earth he was, plus the pure entertainment factor he brought to the group at times due to his cushioned upbringing. “Do you think we actually will get out tomorrow?” Bilbo asked, clearly more worried if that could be the case than he let on. “’course we will, we’ve gotten this far haven’t we?” You reassured, patting the top of Bilbo’s head in hopes of calming his anxiety. “I suppose so.” He mused, adding another stick to the bundle you had already gathered. “Exactly,” You said with a warm smile. “Nothing left to bring us down now except the dragon.” Bilbo seemed to grimace at this. “Don’t remind me” He grumbled. You just laughed lightly. “You’re far too negative, always hope for the best, and prepare for the worst. That’s why you’re here, you little burglar.” “I’m not a burglar.” He reminded. “Well, you’re the best we’ve got, maybe when we’re out of this forest I can help train you how to be stealthy.”

The light banter between the two is quickly cut off by a very loud thump against the forest floor, almost shaking the ground between the pair of you. You immediately dropped the pile of branches to the moss ground, breaking into a sprint back to the others, you could here them in the distance fighting when you’re path was blocked by the biggest spider you’ve ever seen in your life. It was a large black, hairy thing, immediately trying to shoot webs in your direction to catch you. Adrenalin jumped you into first gear, dodging by a hair at the first shot, and bringing your bow and arrow from your back to aim at the spider, aiming right between the eyes and firing the shot. The shot lands. The spider falls, only for three more to appear in its place. This was not going to be easy.

You reach back grabbing another arrow and letting it fly, hitting each spider as they came with pristine accuracy. Even with such accuracy though from years training, it didn’t seem to be enough. The arrows quickly started to dwindle, before running out. Not having enough time between spiders to scavenge for your arrows, leaving you eventually cornered, and empty handed. Though just as one of the spiders went to launch itself at you it got violently thrown backwards by...an elf?

~~~~~

You couldn’t decide whether you preferred the spiders, or this. Getting dragged, cuffed, towards a rathe impressive looking castle. Not that you’d ever say that allowed, in fear of further angering Thorin who already looked like he was plotting the elves deaths in detail, shouting, swearing and struggling as he went. You kept your head down, not sure what was about to happen, but not wanting to anger the elves, especially after they went out of their way to save their lives. Even if it meant they’d ended up getting dragged to the dungeons. You had graciously been given a cell alone. Given you were the only woman in the group it seemed only fair. You got yourself comfy against the wall, listening to the others chat amongst themselves on what to do, waiting for a quiet moment to bring up what felt like the most important thing to worry about. “Where is Bilbo?” You said, cutting through the whispers. The others immediately went silent at that. He wasn’t among them, you hadn’t seen him since before the spiders. “Maybe he’s doing what he does best, burgling the keys.” Baldin grunted. You just hoped he was right.

All talk of escape was cut off by guards coming down, leading Thorin from his cell to meet the king. When the dungeon door closed behind them all of you sighed. If Thorin was angry, which he was, all hope of doing this civilly was going to be immediately snuffed out by his rage. The wait for Thorin to come back was long, and silent. Talk of escape had died completely as you all waited tensely for him to return. And return he did. His eyebrows furrowed in rage, cursing under his breath as he was pushed back into his cell resulting in a loud bang as his body collided with the floor. No words needed to be spoken for them to know it hadn’t gone well. The already depressing reality hit like a train. Unless a miracle happened. This was it.

~~~~~~~

You woke up the next morning to banging against the bars of your cell. You were crumpled against the wall, your back strained from the position you’d slept in. “Get up.” The guard said gruffly, starting to poke you with the sheathed sword to fully wake you up. “Get up!” The demanded again, much more aggressively than previously. You slowly started more your cramped body up off of the floor. The cell door opened and two guards immediately grabbed your arms ad started dragging you out of the dungeon to who knows where. The walk was long and winding, it felt like they were taking you on a confusing route on purpose to make sure you didn’t know the way out. Or maybe the halls really were this confusing, who knows. Either way you eventually arrived at a rather impressive looking door. Large green wooden panels made up the door with large tree roots encasing the doors, twirling around the doors handles.

Someone from the other side opened the doors leading to what seemed to be a throne room, with a tall blonde haired man sat on top, a rather dramatic crown upon his head, adorned with gems and jewels to mimic a berry branch. He watched closely as you were dragged in, forced to kneel down in front of him on the ground. His expression seemed to change from mild annoyance to surprise as you got closer. Now kneeled before him, the man stood, towering over you as he stared down at your face, almost like he didn’t believe it. “Oh, it’s you” He said, relief and sadness laced his voice. His legs seemed to give out under him and kneeled down staring at your face with tears in his eyes. “Oh my dear, how I’ve missed you. I though- I thought you died.” He said, his voice cracking slightly as his hand reached for your cheek, fingertips gently grazing your cheek. You stared at him blankly. Not a flicker of recognition behind your eyes as he acted as if you were supposed to know him. Confusion took over his features at your lack of response. “Calatheil? My blossom, why are you acting like you don’t know me?” Now it was your turn to be confused, “That’s not my name, I’m (Y/N).” You said in response. The man went quiet after that, staring holes into the floor. “But you look like her.” He said, his voice firm, like it was a fact. “That doesn’t mean I am her”

The man went silent again for a moment, anger passing over his face before disappearing. “Of course it does,” He said. “You’ve just forgotten is all.” His words were firm and absolute. “Ill just need to remind you, my poor wife” You looked at him as if he was insane. “But I’m not. I am not your wife, I’m sorry. But I’m not... I wanna go back to my cell now.” The man laughed without humour. “Absolutely not, my wife shouldn’t be around such vermin.” “Do you mean the dwarves?” you asked, going on the defensive, they were your friends, were they odd absolutely, but that didn’t mean you loved them any less. “Of course I do! You’ll be going no where near them ever again. Guards, take her to my room, and do not under any circumstances let her get free!” He ordered, standing up from his crouched position and heading back to his thrown. “And bring me Thorin! I may be inclined to allow his freedom under a condition.” You were once again grabbed by guards and dragged out. “No! I’d rather cells, don’t you dare, I’m not your wife! Let me go!” Your shouts died down as you were dragged further away, thrashing in an attempt of any escape, managing to get one arm free only for more guards to hold you, overpowered once more by the numbers. The struggling silenced to Thranduil as the door shut behind you.

#thranduil x yn #thranduil x wife #thranduil x reader #thranduil x you #the hobbit x yn #the hobbit x reader #the hobbit imagine #the hobbit fan fiction

176 notes · View notes

therealcocoshady · 10 months ago

Note

Are you accepting requests if not by past this .

: Marshall/ em x fem reader

Y/N and Marshall have a baby girl together (Lilly around 4 or 5 ) and when there around the dinner table she happens to mention that she wants a new sibling so her parents (Y/N and Marshall) talk her into an animal in substitution of a child . But that brings on the topic of having another baby between Marshall and Y/N

Sorry this is really bad . Never done this before

If you don’t do it it’s fine lol

I still love u

One last baby ? - One Shot

Eminem x FemReader

Author’s not : thanks for the request ❤️. I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you enjoy it. I added a little twist of my own, I hope you don’t’ mind. 👀

Words : 4027

Tags : Fluff

You sighed as you rummaged through the pile of clothes that you needed to donate to Goodwill. Your daughter had grown up so much in the past few months that she almost needed a new wardrobe. It wasn’t an issue in and of itself, but you had a hard time parting ways with the clothes that no longer fit her. Your baby girl was growing up and even though it was amazing to see her blossom, it broke your heart. It seemed like yesterday, you were bringing her home from the hospital, starting your journey as a mom. And now, she was about to turn five. She was no longer your little baby : she was becoming more and more independent, she didn’t need you to do everything for her anymore. Soon, she would no longer need you to hold your hand or cut her food. If you’d known how fast time would go by, you would have cherished these moments even more than you had.

Your little Lily was a dream come true : you had spent so many nights wishing for a baby, praying that you would be a mom someday, waiting for the right man to come along. But after you had turned thirty-five, you had grown tired of waiting for Prince Charming and you had taken matters into your own hands. Thanks to science, you didn’t need to be in a relationship to have a baby, and you’d rather have one on your own and be a single mom than settle for anyone, just for the sake of starting a family. You had been told countless times that your standards were too high and that you were selfish for wanting to have a baby on your own, but it didn’t matter. You knew it was the right time to be a mom so you decided to become one. It wasn’t easy, but with the help of a fertility clinic and after two rounds of IVF and nine months of sickness, you had welcomed your beautiful baby girl. She was your biggest blessing and you were incredibly happy that you hadn’t decided to wait for Mister Right.

Ironically, you had ended up meeting him merely four months after you had Lily. You had moved from New York to Michigan after being hired by Paul Rosenberg. You were already involved in the music industry, working in A&R, but you were looking for a higher position and a better salary, and you had been told there was an opportunity at Shady Records. You had always thought you wanted to work for a bigger, more prestigious label, but as soon as you had been told about the job, you knew you had to apply : everything in the job description was right up your alley, the money was good and it offered you enough flexibility to be able to raise your daughter as a single mother. Applying turned out to be one of your best decisions, right after deciding to have your daughter : you loved your job and, through it, you met Marshall. At first, your relationship was strictly professional, but you quickly became friends. Technically speaking, he was your boss, but even though the job could be demanding, he was extremely understanding and supportive of your role as a single mom. Whenever Lily was sick or there was a problem at daycare, you were allowed to leave early, work from home or even have your baby with you. It probably helped that your daughter was adorable and that the whole team had fallen in love with her. She had also fallen in love with them, especially Marshall, who had a way with children. She had quickly become obsessed with him, which was not really surprising, since he was always making faces at her, tickling her and playing with her. She loved sitting on his lap and playing with him. Especially when he let her push the buttons on the mixing desk. She loved being at the studio, and every time you took her, she was having a blast. At first, you didn’t want to take her too often, as you were here to work and that little kids could be a nuisance, but Marshall assured you it was fine. At some point, you ended up taking Lily to work a bit more. He was working on a new album and you had to put in more hours, which you didn’t mind, the only issue being that daycare closed too early. However, Marshall had come through and set up a small space for Lily with a crib, some toys and a playpen, so that you could have her with you and still work. Small gestures like this were what led you to fall for him in the first place. He was the kindest man you had ever met. Still, at first, you were a bit reluctant to accept when he asked you on a date. He was your boss and your daughter was your absolute priority. Nonetheless, he managed to win you over after months of flirting. In the beginning, you didn’t think it was going to be too serious and you weren’t too sure about letting a man into your and your daughter’s life, but your relationship ended up moving pretty quickly. From the start, he let you know that he was serious about your relationship and that he wanted to include Lily in your plans. Being a father himself, he understood that she was your priority. So he became a staple in your life and Lily’s and they formed a bond of their own. He became one of her favorite people and she even graced him with her first steps, one late night in the studio. She wanted to go and hug him and you expected her to crawl as usual, but she walked from the couch to his chair. You were jealous, but also really happy that she loved him so much. The feeling was mutual. In fact, the day he proposed to you, he also proposed to her ! You had been dating for over a year at this point and were practically living together.

I don’t remember you telling me about Lily’s full name, he said one night at dinner. Does she have a middle name ?

No, you said. I wanted to keep it simple.

And she was born in New York, right ? He asked.

Yes, you confirmed with a smile. Why ?

Nothing, he said. My lawyer just wanted the information.

Your lawyer ? You asked confused.

Yeah, I was considering updating my will, he said casually. To include Lily, you know ?

You stared at him in shock.

Wait… Why would you do that ? You asked.

Just in case something happens to me, he explained. I want her to be taken care of. I would also like to set up a small trust for her. That way, she can pay for college, that kind of thing.

You don’t have to do that, you said. I’ll pay for her studies myself. She’s my daughter, my responsibility, not yours.

What if we changed that ? He asked with a smile. What if she was our daughter ?

You want to… adopt her ? You asked in shock. You don’t have to -

I know I don’t have to, he chuckled. But I want to. I love her as much as I love my daughters. I change her diapers, I read to her, I tuck her in… I do all of that Dad stuff already, and I love it. I want to care for her as much as I can.

You were moved, seeing how much he cared about her. They had a great bond and he was right, he was already a father figure to her. He was there everyday and took care of her as if she was his. Still, you were nervous. It was a big step and you didn’t want him to regret his decision.

What if we break up ? You asked nervously. Have you thought about it ?

I have, he smiled. And it wouldn’t change anything to how I feel about Lily.

Ok, you said emotionally. I guess we could do that.

He got up and took you in his arms before kissing both of your hands. Then, he took Lily from her high chair and gave her a kiss, making her giggle. She leaned and rested her head against his.

What do you say, princess ? Do you want me to be your Daddy? He asked softly.

She cooed and brought her little hand to his face. She wasn’t too talkative yet. She was very active, but when it came to talking, she didn’t seem too keen. It didn’t matter much, because she was very good at making sure everyone understood her. He kissed her again before putting her back so she could keep on eating her finger food. He kissed you tenderly and stroked your cheek.

Before we make it official, I do have something to tell you, though, he said.

Yes ? You asked nervously.

I didn’t actually take Lily to the park today, he confessed with a smile.

Where were you then? You asked confused. You were gone all afternoon.

Running errands, he said with a smile. I needed Lily’s help to pick up something.

You stared at him and waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t say more. Instead, he reached in his pocket and took out a small box. Understanding where this was going, you covered your hand with your mouth, tears starting to well in your eyes as he got down on one knee.

You had been married for almost three years now and you couldn’t ask for more. You were about to turn forty and you felt incredibly lucky : you had an amazing husband, with whom you had a beautiful blended, tight-knit family. Even if Lily was not his biological child, she took a lot after Marshall. They had the same way of pursing their lips when they were frustrated and you could swear she was his when she gave a side-eye whenever she found something annoying. The looks were all yours, but the sassiness was all his. You loved that she took a bit after him. In hindsight, it wasn’t too surprising : he had been in her life for so long, she didn’t have any memory of life without him. She knew he wasn’t her biological dad, but it didn’t matter. She was definitely a Daddy’s girl. You had a special bond of your own with Lily, but she had him wrapped around her finger. It was the sweetest thing ever, although you sometimes worried that if he kept on indulging her in everything, she would turn into a brat. Although, whenever you touched on the subject, he shrugged it off. Still, you were afraid that if she asked for a pony, you would end up with one in the living room. Or worse, with Marshall actually purchasing stables and turning into a farmer. When it came to his princess, your husband seemed virtually unable to say no. He often used the excuse that his other kids were grown up and that Lily wouldn’t be his baby for too long.

You heard the front door as Marshall brought Lily home from preschool. You left your pile of clothing and went to greet the loves of your life. She was on his shoulders as you walked down the stairs.

Look Mommy, I’m tall, she giggled.

I see that, baby, you chuckled. Didn’t we say that you had to walk on your own and that Daddy had to stop carrying you on his shoulders all the time, though ?

It’s fine, he said. I only carried her for half of the way.

See ? Your daughter asked. Daddy says it’s ok.

You rolled your eyes and stared at your husband who was beaming. He gently let her down and she went to play in the living room.

You’re turning her into a lazy person, you chuckled.

Come on, let me enjoy this, he said with a smile. She’s starting elementary school next year and I’m not ready yet. I can’t believe my baby is turning five…

We still have to see what we’re getting her, you reminded him.

How about a puppy ?

You stared at him in disbelief. She had been talking about getting a puppy for ages but you weren’t so sure. A puppy was a lot of work and she was still too young to help around with it. Plus, Marshall would soon go on tour and you would be busy enough.

We’re not getting her a puppy, you said. No way.

She’s been talking about it for a while, he pointed out. And you see how crazy she is about the neighbor's corgi.

Well she can keep on playing with him, you chuckled. But my hands will already be full while you’re on tour, with Lily, the house, work… I don’t need a puppy on top of that.

We’ll see, he said.

He seemed pretty sure that you would change your mind, but there was no way. At dinner, you decided to quiz your daughter about what she would like for her birthday. Hopefully, she had her eye set on a Barbie.

Tell me, baby, what do you want for your birthday ? You asked.

A sister ! She said giddily.

You already have three sisters, you reminded her. You have Lainey, Hailie and Stevie.

I want a little sister ! She corrected.

You and Marshall stared at each other for a second. That was new. Lily was surrounded by adults and had never shown too much interest in other children.

A little sister ? Marshall asked. Where does that come from ?

My friend Emma is going to have a little sister, she said. I want one too. And I can play with her all the time.

You were about to turn forty and you had never really thought about having another baby after Lily. With Marshall having three daughters of his own, your family felt complete. Plus, you didn’t keep a fond memory of your pregnancy. The successive rounds of IVF had been testing, so had been the next nine months.

You know what would be great to play with ? You asked nervously.

What ? She asked with a huge smile.

A puppy, you said.

Marshall looked at you with a shit-eating grin. Your daughter shrieked in excitement.

Can we get one like Elton ? She asked, referring to the neighbor’s dog.

Of course, baby, Marshall said with a huge smile.

And then, the baby can play with it too !

You looked sheepishly at Marshall who shrugged. You figured that it was best not to say anything and focus on the puppy. After all, it was probably her age. All kids wanted younger siblings, right ? When Lily was finally in bed, you went to your bedroom with your husband.

So… You agreed to the dog, he grinned.

I deflected, you admitted. It was either that or a baby, so…

It’ll be great, he reassured you. Plus, when I’m on tour, she won’t miss me as much if she has a dog to come home to.

You’re right, you said. I must say I’m a bit anxious though. She’ll miss you a lot.

I will miss her too, he said. I will miss both of you, actually. The offer for you to come still stands, you know ?

I have work and she has school, you reminded him.

Preschool, he chuckled.

That’s important, you said.

Nothing we can’t teach her on our own, he said. I would love to have you with me. And Lily could see the world a little bit. That’s just as important as school.

How about work ? You mused.

Let me check with your boss… Oh wait, that's me, he chuckled. He says it’s fine. Plus, you can get work done from anywhere.

What about the dog ?

One of the girls can take care of it, he shrugged. I mean, Stevie has three big dogs, so I doubt a small one would be a problem.

We’ll see, you said.

You started getting ready for bed. The pile of Lily’s clothes you were sorting earlier was still on the bed.

What’s that ? Marshall asked as he rummaged through them.

Some of Lily’s old clothes, for Goodwill, you said. I’d keep them, but there’s no room in her closet.

You’re getting rid of all of that ? he asked sheepishly.

You knew him well enough to know he would get sentimental. Getting rid of your daughter’s baby clothes was emotional for you too, but on a practical level, it didn’t make much sense to hoard them.

Come on, Y/N, he said. You can’t get rid of this dress. Or those PJs. She was so cute in them.

She outgrew them long ago, you pointed out. It would be better if someone had a use for them, don’t you think ?

We could have a use for them, he said before kissing you seductively.

Oh really ? You asked as you raised an eyebrow.

He nodded with a grin and kissed you passionately. You kissed him back as he pushed you on the bed, attempting to undress you.

Wait, seriously ? You asked confused. You’d like another child ?

I mean… I’m not against the idea, he said with a smile.

At our age ? I mean, you just turned fifty and I’m turning forty soon. Isn’t that a little late ?

You know, I didn’t expect to have another child in my forties, he said referring to Lily, but it’s the best thing that ever happened to me. And when I see Lily, I’m thinking I wouldn’t mind having another one just like her. It helps that you seem to make beautiful babies, too. I’d enjoy having one last baby with you. Maybe have a boy ?

He was smiling, staring lovingly at you. You had never talked about having another child together. As he had told you in the past, after his divorce, he had been pretty adamant about being done with the whole marriage and baby-making thing. Obviously, he hadn’t planned on you and Lily walking into his life but still, knowing how views, you never tried to push anything on him. To be fair, you had never even considered the possibility of having a child together. He definitely took you by surprise, but you weren’t fully against the idea either. He was an amazing father to all four kids and you knew a fifth one wouldn’t be an exception.

What do you think, beautiful ? He asked as he stroked your cheek.

I don’t know, you admitted. That’s a little tempting, I must admit. But I never saw us trying for a baby. Like, do we want to be that couple, planning intercourse, counting cycles and everything ? Also, what if it doesn’t work ? I don’t want to do IVF again. That shit is trying. And pregnancy is no picnic either. For Lily, I struggled a lot, I was sick all the time.

First of all, if we decide to do this, I’ll be here every step of the way, he reassured you. You were on your own when you had her, but this time, it would be different. And if it doesn’t work… Well, it doesn’t. We already have four amazing kids, I’ll survive without a fifth one. I don’t want to put pressure on it. Let’s put it this way : if we had an unplanned pregnancy, I’d welcome it with open arms. It doesn’t have to be more complicated than that. If you don’t want to, that’s cool. But if you’re up for it, so am I.

Ok, you said softly. One last baby.

He beamed at you and kissed you. He seemed truly overjoyed by the possibility of welcoming another baby. One last one.

I’ve never tried for a baby, he chuckled. This is going to be fun.

Cut the BS, Mathers, you giggled. You’re the most experienced man I know, when it comes to babymaking.

No I’m serious, he explained. I’ve never had one on purpose. They all came my way. Hailie was definitely a surprise, obviously we didn’t plan on taking Alaina in, I definitely wasn’t expecting Kim to be pregnant with Steve when I got back with her, same with Lily… I’ve never actively tried for a baby.

Still, by the looks of it, I’d say it was fate, you said. You ended up with four daughters.

And maybe fate has another one in store for me, he chuckled. Regardless, I think I will have a lot of fun trying for baby number five.

I still have to get off birth control, you giggled.

Good thing you’re taking the pill and you can just skip it, he grinned as he playfully grabbed your ass.

So we’re really doing this ? You beamed.

We are, he said as he kissed you. And now you have no choice but to come on tour with me. For the sake of trying. You know I don’t half-ass it.

What if I get pregnant before then ? You asked playfully, although you knew it was unlikely.

All the more reason, he said. That way I can take care of you. That would be awesome, actually. How great would it be if you were pregnant by Lily’s birthday ? She’d be overjoyed.

You chuckled and stared at him. Lily’s birthday was just around the corner and there was no way you’d be pregnant by then, or at least not far along enough for you to announce it.

Are you trying to convince me to have a child just because she wants a sibling ? You joked with a falsely offended face.

I’m not, he chuckled. But what Lily wants, she gets, I guess ?

What’s next then ? You wondered as you rolled your eyes. A pony ?

I’m saving the idea for Christmas, actually, he said in a serious voice although you seriously hope he was joking.

Shut up and put a baby in me, you ordered him.

He pushed you on the bed again and wasted no time before undressing you. That night, the lovemaking was even better than usual. He was right : trying for that baby would be a lot of fun indeed, whether or not it ended up working.

Epilogue

The two of you tried for a few months, without bothering to plan intercourse or doing impossible math to try and figure out when you were ovulating and, eventually, you became pregnant for the second time. Marshall was over the moon when you told him and, as promised, he was here every step of the way. He was ecstatic when the two of you went for your first ultrasound appointment.

I get to see my son, he said with a smile.

It’s too early to know the gender, Marshall, you giggled.

I know it’s a boy, he said. Fate, remember ? It’s all part of the plan, I’m telling you.

Right. Because that’s usually how it works out for you and children, you joked.

You were pretty sure you were having a girl. You didn’t really care about the gender, but it was just a gut feeling that you had. As long as the baby was healthy, it didn’t matter anyway.

Here it is, the doctor said as she pointed at the screen. Your baby.

Oh my God, Marshall said as he held your hand, visibly overcome with emotion.

Is everything alright ? You asked.

From the looks of it, yes, she said with a smile as she moved the probe on your belly. Wait…

You felt your heart strain and Marshall held your hand a little tighter as both of you tensed up. You were silently praying, hoping that your baby was healthy. After a minute, the doctor turned to you.

Congratulations, she said. You’re expecting twins. And they’re perfectly healthy.

Marshall almost fell off his chair. If the pregnancy was no surprise, that turn of event was unexpected. As far as you knew, neither of you had twins in the family. You were a little shocked but really happy.

So even when it’s planned, it’s really not, your husband chuckled as he kissed your hand.

I think you're doomed for surprises, my love.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #eminem imagine #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #marshall mathers headcanons

331 notes · View notes

sweetcherrybmb · 5 months ago

Note

Toto Wolff with wife grumpy!reader because she had too much work to do and everyone was pressuring her. (she's an accountant) With both her boys (Toto and their son, Jack) everything is better. Fluff and maybe a little suggestive. Thanks!! :))

a/n: ooooh, i like the concept, but it took me a little while to figure out how to write it tho... she did end up being more on the overwhelmed and frustrated side, rather than grumpy, but i hope you'll enjoy!! :)

also i pulled out my german knowledge for this one and confirmed it with my translator (mom), so i hope no germans or austrians get mad at me ~~~///(^v^)\\\~~~

(FEEDBACK IS GREATLY APPRECIATED!!)

NUMBERS AND COMFORT // TW \\ one-shot

pairing: toto wolff x grumpy!wife!reader

description: based on the request above!

word count: 1320 words

warnings: none, a little suggestive (pls tell me if i need to add something)

Papers on paper on papers... You could barely see over the copious amounts of documents littering your desk. Monthly spending records, receipts, bank statements... as well as all the other things. That usually meant you would be busy and occupied, something that you greatly welcomed at your job, but today seemed unusually overwhelming.

It seemed that today, all things that could go wrong... went wrong. One of your colleagues lost two crucial documents from the beginning of the month, setting your monthly report back at least two days. The bank also seemed to have lost those same documents as they couldn't find any record of there ever being transactions that time of month.

Your boss decided that today of all days, he will come in to bother you about the same report you didn't have all the documents for, as well as dumping some more work on your back, because... why not.

Oh! And let's not forget that the paperwork that needed to be done by your colleague for all of the salaries to arrive on time was stalled because she forgot to do it before going on vacation, setting payday a week back and adding even more paperwork to the ever-growing pile on your desk.

Your head fell into your hands, a heavy sigh leaving your lips. Your third cup of coffee sat empty next to your notebook. With shaky hands, you lifted your phone from the small side table that it usually sat at, having not checked in on it in hours.

' 15 missed calls from ˝SCHATZI˝ '

You sighed again, looking at the screen. The notification stung your eyes, not only by its brightness but its contents. He was probably worried, excessively so.

I looked around the office, seeing that the pile dwindled slightly, having finished calculating the pay first. The report was missing the data from the first two weeks. But, you stood up, put on your coat, and grabbed your bag. Without a word, you left the company building and made your way towards your car.

Sitting down and starting the car felt weird, as if you weren't doing it by your own will. The ride home was silent, having turned off the radio the moment it started playing. Tears welled up in your eyes, the exhaustion from the day finally catching up to you.

Parking the car in your driveway, you quickly got out and went to the door. You searched for your keys, but to no avail. A pair of footsteps quickly approached the door and your husband's face soon appeared in the doorway.

You pushed past him and quickly pulled off your heels and coat, dropping them on the floor. You could feel his eyes following you as you moved to the kitchen.

He was worried. It was evident in the way he looked at you and immediately followed after you. He saw you at the kitchen counter, head in hands, sighing and rubbing your temples.

You both heard the quick patter of feet on the tiles of your home, knowing fully well who it was.

˝Is mutti back?˝ Jack's small voice asked from the door into the kitchen. When he saw you, his face immediately lit up. ˝MAMA!˝ he ran to you, hugging you and you groaned. You loved your son, but the force of him slamming into you and the already existing headache made you nauseous. He started rambling and you saw from the corner of your eye, Toto shaking his head.

˝Jackie, please... be a little quieter...˝ you said, but he didn't seem to hear, continuing his rant. ˝Jack...˝ you said again, but once again he continued. Your were getting more and more frustrated by the second, something Toto picked up on rather quickly. He moved closer to the two of you, pulling Jack away slightly and lifting him up to sit on the counter.

˝Ok, Jack, das reicht, mutti hat Kopfschmerzen und hatte einen sehr harten Arbeitstag. Wie wäre es, wenn du ihr einen kleinen Kuss gibst und sie ruhen lässt, hm? Du kannst ihr später von deinem Tag erzählen. (Ok, Jack, that's enough, mom has a headache and has had a very hard day at work. How about you give her a little kiss and let her rest, hm? You can tell her about your day later.)˝ Toto told him and he nodded, stretching his arms towards you. You moved closer and Jack took your face in his small hands, giving you a kiss on the forehead. You giggled and kissed his cheek back and the moment you put him down on the ground, he scurried off to play.

You turned to Toto and wrapped your arms around his neck, placing your face on his chest. He wrapped his arms around your waist and kissed the top of your head.

˝Thank you...˝ you mumbled, tired and in pain. He smiled down at you, pulling away slightly.

˝There is nothing to thank me for. How about you go shower and change, I'll make something to eat. Hm?˝he asked and you smiled, tears welling up in your eyes. ˝What are the tears for, hm, shatzi (honey)? What's wrong?˝ he moved away some hair from your face, gently wiping the tears away.

˝It's just... too much. The work and the incompetent people I work with... UGH! They are all so insufferable!˝ you groan and bury your face in his chest.

˝It'll pass, meine liebe (my love), now go and get ready for dinner.˝ he said with a final kiss to your forehead and a light smack to your butt as you left, making you giggle. As he prepared dinner, you showered and changed, already feeling better.

You dropped by Jack's room, seeing him playing on the floor.

˝Jackie, coming down for dinner?˝ he lifted his head and nodded, starting to pick up his toys. ˝Leave the cleaning up for later, come now.˝ you open your arms and he runs into them, giggling. You lift him up and go downstairs.

In the kitchen, you're welcomed by a sight. Toto with your small, strawberry print apron cooking something that smelled divine, your handwritten cookbook opened in front of him. He heard you and Jack giggle and turned around.

˝What's so funny, eh?˝ he asks, putting his hands on his hips, which only makes you and jack giggle even more. You set your son down and turn him towards you.

˝Go and turn on the tv and find something to watch, I'm gonna stay and help dad with dinner.˝ with a small 'ok' he ran of to the living room. ˝You look cute in that apron, where did you find it?˝ you giggle, smoothing it down on his chest, resting your hands there.

˝In better spirits, I see?˝ he asks and you nod, hugging him. ˝Go and set the table, I'll be done here soon.˝ he pushes you back and you smile.

Now that everyone was gathered at the table and eating, you finally felt at peace. No annoying coworkers, no piles of paperwork. Just you, your son and husband, and a relatively good dinner save the few burnt pieces of onion.

After dinner, you all lay on the sofa, watching something on the tv. Jack lay on Toto's left, almost asleep, and you on his right. Toto's hand was on your hip, tracing small circles in your exposed skin. Neither of you paid any attention to the tv, stealing kisses from each other. His hand slowly moved higher, his kisses getting more passionate.

˝Toto...˝ you whined as his hand moved lower to your ass, giving it a gentle squeeze.

˝What, schatzi?˝he whispered into the kiss.

˝Not here...˝ you whispered back.

˝Hmm... I'll put Jack to bed...˝ he rose to his feet, picking up your son along with him, and you followed suit. ˝And you get ready in the bedroom...˝ he said as he pulled you in for another passionate kiss, squeezing your ass harder. As you kissed, all that was heard was a low 'eeewww' from Jack.

You quietly laughed and made your way to the bedroom, sending one last wink in Toto's direction.

TAGS

@yllomhej @walldemons @shelbyteller @reidsworld @pear-1206

@cheyxfu @lightdragonrayne @noooway555

if anyone else wants to be added, DM me or enter your username in the google form pinned on my blog!

#f1 fanfic #formula 1 #formula one #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x reader #toto wolff #wife!reader #oneshot #f1

180 notes · View notes

tadc-harlequin-au · 1 month ago

Note

Any of these lovely edgelords have dorky hobbies? Please? I hope they do? At least Kinger

LMFAO "LOVELY EDGELORDS" STOPPPPPPP

Pomni - When her brain stops being "RAAAAAAAAAA FIGHT SOMETHING RAAAAAAAAAAAAA" all the damn time, she eventually gets into puzzle-solving that gets her noggin a thinking. Sometimes, when she's outside, she'll try to balance some rocks. Chances are, if you see a randomly stacked pile somewhere in the city, that's her doing.

Caine - revisits old projects when he's in the mood, not reading, not shitfaced drunk or dealing with everyone. As the story progresses on and his relationship with Pomni develops, he gifts her some small handmade Mechanical Wonders. He doesn't know if she keeps them, but you know.

Ragatha - I've mentioned she likes to listen to vinyls and it's why she regularly goes to Caine for new ones to listen to, yeah? Well, she also likes to sew if she's not drinking tea, sensing charms or trying to clean artifacts. She's trying to master all sewing techniques.

Jax - Tries doing trick shots with whatever object he comes across with that don't even land 90% of the time. When he does do it successfully, he celebrates like he won a gold medal and praises himself so much. He also does that "highest leap" thing on every fucking doorway, chandeliers and stairways, though no one really understands it. Kaufmo joins in on this once he's added to the team and both of them start to compete who's got the highest jumps. They'll also compete with who can reach Gangle.

Gangle - Writes about everyone in fictitious, often time exaggerated settings and scenarios. She also has the tendency to "parrot" sentences (unintentionally), trying to mimic the voices (but immediately apologize when pointed out). She'll pop in front of anyone randomly, give them a sketch study, and then leave without uttering a single word, too shy to conversate even the slightest bit. Caine is the often victim of this because he's the one who gives her drawings praise the most.

Kingr - If not challenging every puppet on the block to a strategic board game match? Classic bug watching. He'll follow the insect as much as possible before moving on and pondering about the lives of the bugs. He likes to watch ants the most. When Quinnie officially arrives, he feels the need to share his discoveries with her. He also likes to tackle a little bit with calligraphy.

Z - I've already mentioned sculpting before, but it's not just big ones they make. Z would actually try to make miniature sculptures to give themselves a challenge. They also like to meditate, but the others can't sit still for very long and would sometimes get into arguments, leaving Z to abandon the session and try to reach a middle ground with them on what exactly they want to do (if they're willing to negotiate that is)

They're still on the process of discovering what exactly they like as a hobby, but food art seems to be on top of the list.

70 notes · View notes

saintescuderia · 8 months ago

Text

STOMACHING YOU // MV33

(a pancakes oneshot!)

AKA - max comes to you after winning abu dhabi 2021 and becoming a world champion

series masterlist here :) // the pancakes recipe here :)

A/N: hello! welcome to another oneshot part of the pancakes!universe. and of course i would choose such a controversial moment to write about. please remember creative liberties in fiction. we love max and lewis equally (oscar's chandler bing level sarcasm is the real goat here c'mon)

TW: emetophobia

(unedited.)

You were mopping up vomit.

For some reason, it was this pile of vomit that occupied your thoughts. Who had done it? When had they had done it? It was in between the Mercedes and Red Bull motorhome so it could’ve been either. Team members throwing up from the sheer nerves wasn’t something new to you. But today, tonight, after everything... it really could’ve been from anything. Both teams had gone through it tonight. Everyone had gone through it tonight. The vomit before you could’ve very well had been come out of you from everything you had witnessed.

The nausea you had felt hadn't let up since last night. Last night when Domenicali had specifically requested you to work the bar and you had served all the rich, white men drinks who laughed jovially as Free Practice spun past and you anxiously snuck glances on the Red Bull with the Black T-Cam. Number 33. Verstappen. Max. Your old driver.

He was so close to getting what the two of you had dreamed about for so long.

You really had wanted Max to win. Of course you did. He had been your driver since entering F1. He was your driver and, honestly, there was a part of you that was always going to be reserved for him.

It wasn't the same thing with that you had for Charles - that was something entirely different. But Max was the first and only driver that you had officially trained, that you had gone through all the F1 bullshit with.

Whereas Charles was perfectly media trained, Max always blamed (or credited) his shit-talking to, well, you.

Lewis was a brilliant driver, and with one of the kindest souls to match. Despite everything with F1, the man had survived the brutal ruthlessness of the sport and hadn't let the money or fame corrupt him. You had a lot of respect for him.

But it was undeniable that you wanted one for Max. Lewis had seven already. Can’t we just let Max have one?

Apparently, some big oil rich guy with ties to the FIA shared a similar thought.

Well, for different reasons.

“Ta.” Said big oil rich guy said, barely glancing at you as set his espresso martini down at the table. Domenicali gave you an appreciative smile before returning his attention to the man who kept going on. You gathered the empty glasses and turned around to walk back the bar as the man kept talking.

“No, look Stefano. Don’t call me racist. Don’t. But Lewis is… we need a knew face for F1. Do you know what it looks like when I go back home and there’s one of… you know, like Max is…”

You almost vomited.

It wasn't like this was new to you. It wasn't. However, the man being so open about it had you counting how many drinks However, considering the two glasses in your hand, the man was well buzzed enough for his drunk words to reflect the sober thoughts.

From behind the bar, you kept your head down, staring at the Jordan Fours the donned your feet. The Black Cats had been a gift from Max way back when and you had wearing them all weekend for him.

“Everyone is getting bored of Hamilton winning. Put Max’s face. The white hope for Formula !”

Your hand froze. You couldn't help it. Your head shot up to look at the fucking scum that had just said that.

Formula 1 had been a lot of things. Sexist - downright fucking misogynist. Your time as a trainer had a lot of men down playing your skills and work. The added part of your appearance being 'exotic' and 'foreign' only compounded this.

Suffice to say, you also respected Lewis a lot for him being the sole black man on the grid.

So to hear this. Now. In 2021. To hear such blatant fucking racism made your fist curl so much that the stem of the martini glass snapped.

Domenicali noticed. He met your eyes - his petrol friend distracted by the sounds outside - and he gave you a troubled look.

It wasn’t the first time you had heard something troubling. It wasn’t like Domenicali hadn’t ever quietly sidled up to you before with a special NDA in hand and the following month’s payslip to have some special bonus.

But this… this was… this was too much.

Your barely registered the blood dripping down from your palm as you threw the towel on the bar and stalked to the door. You passed another worker on your way who called out your name. You barely paid them any attention. Sure, VIP sector of the Experiences lounge held certain expectations - you couldn't exactly just leave.

But you also knew Stefano wouldn't say anything. Not after that. And if anyone else would have a problem with you leaving, you would just tell them to go talk to Domenicali themselves. There would be no way he would penalise you for that. Not when he was likely thinking right now about what 'bonus' he could give you to compensate for what you'd just heard.

You didn't realise you had gone into the bathroom until you were met the stalls. Apparently your body was working on its own accord since the neural pathways weren't registering the nausea that was going through you. Your legs moved to the stalls. You found yourself kneeling. You found bile rising. You found the protein pancakes from this morning exiting into the toilet bowl in front of you.

Now, a few hours later, Michael Masi had made a call, your right hand was wrapped in bandages, Max had won his World Championship and you were mopping up vomit.

Normally, you would've changed your shoes. Now, you couldn't find yourself to care. The Black Cats had suffered a few scuffs here and there and looking down at them, you couldn't find yourself to even care. Looking down at them, you thought about Max and started to cry.

He had won. The internet had broken. Toto Wolff’s calls to Masi still resounded in your ears. Christian Horner’s tears of joy still flashed in your mind. The TV had caught Lewis crying and his father comforting him. The TV had caught Jos congratulating Max.

You knew all too well that had the outcome been reversed, Anthony would be celebrating like it was Lewis’ first Championship - but Jos would have no sense to even speak to his disappointment of a son!

If anything, you were just glad Max had won so that there would be no worrying tonight about what hidden scars his father would cause him. More than anything, you hated the fact that you were no longer able to protect Max like before. Drama aside, it broke your heart.

But your heart broke today for a different reason. Because even though Max would be okay... you were so fucking disappointed.

You saw - everyone fucking saw - Lewis still make an effort to celebrate on the podium. You saw how Anthony Hamilton still went to shake the hands of Jos, of Christian, of Max.

And Max almost didn’t fucking shake Anthony's hand.

And that, you took on yourself. You honestly thought you had taught him better than that.

Someone called out your name. You blinked. A quick wipe of your eyes and you schooled your face to greet the wide grin set on the face of one very elated Max Verstappen who was still dressed in his race suit standing before you.

“There you are! I've been looking for you everywhere!"

"Why?"

"Why? What do you mean why? Because I'm a fucking World Champion!" He said like it was the most obvious thing. You looked around and frowned. You checked your watch. Enough time had passed that he would be done in the cool down room. That meant you probably should go there and finish mopping.

So you sighed and made a move on to finish with mopping this up so you could get to the driver's room. Your lack of reaction and going back to mopping clearly stumped the driver - no, World Champion, in front of you.

"You -- what are you doing?” Max said, completely taken aback.

“Mopping up vomit.”

"Get someone else to do this shit."

"This is my job now, Max." You said and looked up at him with a stern look that made Max's smile falter a little bit.

"Can't you get someone else to do it?" He asked, taking the cap off to run a hand through his blond hair. "I'm-- We won."

"You won." You corrected. "I'm no longer affiliated with Red Bull."

"But I..." He stopped and closed his eyes. He huffed and you could tell that he was trying to sort through his frustrations. You had coached him one too many times about using his big boy words and actually talk about his feelings. Since, of course, Jos did fuck all to help Max learn to talk about emotional needs.

"I want to celebrate with you. It's important that I celebrate with you." Max said, eyes still closed.

"You and I both know that's not going to happen. Your mother has a restraining order against me and your father's mood is going to be dampened seeing me." You said. Max's eyes opened and you hated how the joy dimmed.

"But... I'm a World Champion." He said, sounding like a kid again. A defeated kid.

“You’re still Max Verstappen.” You said, the emphasis. The emphasis served to remind him that, World Champion or not, he was still Verstappen. As in the son of the very man who loathed your guts.

The emphasis also, you hoped was to remind him he was still a person, still Max Verstappen.

You wouldn’t let him lose himself like, arguably, Daniel had in the tempting champagne glory that comes with winning in Formula 1.

And it was that thought that reminded you of the sad fury of disappointment you had been sorting through before he'd surprised you.

"Are you at least going to congratulate me?” Max asked. "I just became a World Champion finally. Everything we always said and you're mopping up fucking vomit!"

You stopped and looked up at him. You thought carefully of your next words. Taking a breath, you spoke.

"Did you shake Lewis' hand?"

"What?"

"Did you shake Lewis' hand?" You repeated.

"Why the fuck would that—"

"Sportsmanship, Max." You interrupted him and then went back to mopping. "That’s why. Sportsmanship."

This set him off. "Are you serious right now?" He called your name out and when you continued mopping, he came round and pulled the mop away from you. You stepped back and he stepped forward and suddenly both of you had your shoes - his racing shoes and your Jordan 4s - were now in it. "I did it. i finally did it. I proved them all wrong. Everyone said it wasn't going to happen. The commentators. The journalists. Even Christian had his doubts. But I fucking won. I did it. Jos -- Jos said he was proud of me!"

You fought to keep your voice calm and level. "So why are you here? Do you want me to say that I'm proud of you as well?"

Max didn't speak, but continued to breathe heavily. His pride and his anger wouldn't let him say yes.

"I thought you would be happy! We worked so hard for this. And I'm not so fucking arrogant to admit that I did it because of you. And here you are talking about Lewis hand?"

"Yes. Because I'm not taking credit for tonight. Not one single fucking bit of it." Max blinked, your voice starting to raise as you finally got to it. "You say you're not arrogant enough to want to celebrate with me. A nice shout out to the Hospitality worker who gave you the fucking seat and trained you to where you are now. But you know what? I would rather mop up this shit that pretend that I am happy about what happened."

"You're not happy for me?"

"I'm not happy at myself Max." You said, losing anger and heavy a tired sigh, finally looking up at the sky. It was dark but you couldn't see any stars. The light pollution from a night race was always so ridiculous. Suffocating almost.

"Why?"

"Because I thought I had taught you better than that." You said, finally bringing your eyes down to look at him. "You watched the cooldown, Max. You saw what happened."

"Yeah? And?"

"And?" You mimicked him. "I — if I had been up there with you guys tonight, what do you think the first thing I would do?" He remained silent. His shoulders gave a minuscule shrug. "I would shake Lewis' hand. Max. And I would slap you on the back of your neck and make sure you did the same fucking thing. Just like Anthony."

"Are you serious not going to congratulate me not shaking Lewis’ hand?"

"I'm sorry, and you're saying you're not arrogant?" Your eyes narrowed. "Clearly you're not getting it Max so let me be blunt. I would rather be mopping up this fucking vomit right now than stand beside whatever the fuck that was. I don’t mean to rain on your parade here, believe me, this goes beyond you. But the least you could’ve done was shake Lewis hand and prove them wrong!"

"Them?" Max frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Max." You pinched the bridge of your nose "I work in Hospitality. I serve the rich white man. I hear a lot of shit."

It took Max a second. You looked at him and watched his face continue to look at you confusedly until the understanding set in his widening eyes.

"Are you saying..."

"I'm not saying anything." You said with a grim smile. He immediately understood. NDAs were dished out on the daily around here.

You set the broom down and turned to fully face him. You put your hands on his shoulders and stared him dead in the eye. Given his height advantage, you leaned on your tip toes to be able to reach up and press a kiss to his forehead. Coming down, you saw his eyes shine and you gave him a soft smile.

"Maximilian, my brother, I love you. And I am happy for you. But when you're up, don't forget what it was like when you were down. Hold onto that, actually. It'll mean you won't lose yourself and be there for those that will always be down."

And with that, you turned around and went back to mopping.

Max stood there, unable to say or do anything. He was too overwhelmed with emotion. This... more than winning a Championship... this he felt more. He couldn't put this in words. This hurt. But in a good way. It... He felt... He just felt.

Max vaguely heard his name being called and hands pulling at him. Red Bull engineers talking about partying. You kept mopping. Head down, arms moving forward and back and you went about your manual labour task while expensive Champagne was flowing over him once more.

"Where do you want to go? Winner's choice!"

He knew exactly where he wanted to go. What he wanted - what he needed to.

Despite winning a Championship, Max Verstappen was still getting an earful from Jos.

"Why the fuck did you go and shake his hand? And with all those cameras around? Do you know how that looks? He lost. You won. You don’t need to surround yourself with losers. No - fucking - pity. No mercy! Max! Why do you insist on being weak? I raised you better than this!"

Maybe that had been the problem. HIs methods of raising him.

His father’s tirade went to background music as he felt his phone buzz. He still had your contact details saved as before.

tessio’s wings 💪💪💪

i’m proud of you

Max smiled to himself. It was funny how his father had finally said those words - had finally said he was proud of him - and they were hollow to him. How long had Max longed for Jos to finally say them and when he finally did... Max realised he didn't need them. He didn't want them. What he wanted was you again. To see you smile at him and tell him good job. To show him the love that he hadn't felt for most of his life. He had missed that.

taglist:

@eugene-emt-roe @spookystitchery @vicurious28 @taytaylala12 @c-losur3 @hiireadstuff @samantha-chicago @fionaschicken @casperlikej @bookstore-of-dreams @itsjustkhaos @sam-is-lost @laneyspaulding19 @formula1mount @bokutos-babyowl @stampiej @alilcloudy @bingussthirdtoe @sisinever @lilymurphy03 @inlovewmarlenemckinnon @charllleclerc

148 notes · View notes

toodelusionalforreality · 4 months ago

Text

Azriel x OC | Chapter 5

Relic

Both his brothers are mated. Both his brothers are happily in love. But after five centuries of rejection, Azriel doesn’t hope for such luxury in his life. When he meets the bar owner who is too mysterious even for the spymaster to decipher, his intrigue turns into more. Lines between mystery and secret blur. The closer he gets to her, the more his instincts warn him to stay away.

Previous Chapter: Shadow

Word count: ~4.6k Warning: None [not enough editing/formatting]

A/N: This is an experimental piece of work. I'm testing a writing style, so feedback is welcome. Going to pretend to be some big shot writer and dedicate this chapter to the ones who encouraged me to keep writing. And my favourite reader (you know who you are, hopefully).

The doorknob twisted under his fingers and Azriel gritted his teeth at the soft click. Mercifully, the door made no more sound. Darkness and quiet awaited him on the other side, while a haunting aura loomed behind him in the hallway under the fading sunlight. The hag was nowhere to be found.

Everyone except Ayla had known who he was, yet something changed after that day.

The last time he walked into the bar, Raya glared from across the room stopping him in his steps. She and Uri exchanged hissed whispers before the server led him out to the streets. He croaked out a “We’re closing soon anyway” with an apologetic smile and shut the rusty door in his face.

And, the hag—gone were the expectant eyes and the grateful smile when Azriel returned the next night. Instead, he faced a creature twice as large as him with knitting needles in one hand and jagged talons out in the other.

Nonetheless, it warmed his heart and calmed his mind that Ayla was cared for.

Grumbled curses seeped through the wall on his side. His shadows wound tight around him. Clapping his wings close, Azriel wedged through the gap and shut the door carefully, praying it didn’t alert the hag.

A second passed and another. Then, sweet silence embraced him.

‘We’re closed.’

Azriel whirled around.

The room seemed to stretch far and long in the darkness with thick curtains shielding the windows. Stacks of wooden trays, empty glasses, and filled crystal decanters piled on the counter. Behind it, Ayla reached on her toes and placed a bottle on the shelf. A lone lantern burned a muted golden above the bar illuminating her.

‘I really need a drink,’ he uttered the first words that came to his mind, cursing himself for the senseless fool he was.

Her hand went rigid. Ayla stilled, and time and space froze with her. If not for the wisps of hair fluttering with her every breath, Azriel would have believed so.

None of their previous encounters ended on a good note. After the last time, he needed to clarify himself. If his mate deemed him vile, Azriel preferred she hated him from close. But in her silence, it struck him. She could be the one behind her friends’ defence, commanding them to keep him away.

‘Lock the door.’ She said a moment later, adding another bottle to the display. ‘I don’t want anyone else to believe we’re open yet.’

Resisting a smile, Azriel tested the knob again. He and her, alone in the empty bar—dreams truly did come true.

Once he settled across from her, Ayla faced him. She looked at him, unblinking.

Azriel waited. So did she. He fumbled into his pockets and his fingers caught in the leather. His heart sank. He remembered stuffing a pouch with gold marks explicitly to bribe the hag if needed.

Ayla laughed, the sound echoing through the air, chasing away every thought from his mind. She had blessed him with her smiles before. But this, it was beautiful—more so than her melodies, like the chime of a willow.

‘I was expecting your order.’ Her shoulders shook as she picked a glass from the pile. ‘Spare your money. The bar is still closed, remember?’

Heat crept up his neck. Though Azriel smiled, he ducked his head low. His shadows swayed on his shoulders as if laughing along with her. Traitors.

Ayla pulled a decanter from under the counter, simpler than the ones above, and poured a mouthful for him.

Azriel took the first sip and her eyes never left his face.

A thick sweetness coated his mouth, the aftertaste lingering on his tongue. A drink was surely an excuse for his cause, but he expected a real one in a bar. He almost said so when his throat tightened. His vision clouded. Bitterness exploded along the back of his tongue before morphing into a burn that settled in his throat, and an undignified cough escaped his lips.

Amusement sparked in Ayla’s eyes. ‘I can find you something light if you’d like.’

‘It’s fine.’ Azriel cleared his throat. His voice was hoarse when he got the words out. ‘I didn’t expect. . .that. What is it?’

‘Poison. Didn’t your instincts warn you?’

His shadows danced along his back and wings, but they were quiet and calm. Azriel studied her blank face as he took a subtle sniff. It smelled quite like her—a jumble of spices and sweetness.

Ayla laughed again. ‘I’m not daft to kill you in my own bar. It’s something Raya and Uri have been experimenting with.’

‘So it could be poison.’ Azriel smiled and tested another sip. It tasted easy this time. When she paused to fill his glass, he gave her a nod.

Her eyes fixated on his shoulders. ‘And for your companions?’

The wavering darkness stilled.

One ever wondered what they did for him or could do for them. In five centuries, no one asked what they wanted. His shadows that sensed the insensible and expected the unexpected, skidded down his back as though her question had rendered them awed. Their whispers quieted, and in that eerie void, Azriel seemed to hear a word echo back to him. Far, far away. Ayla.

‘Nothing.’ He dropped his gaze to the drink, smiling. It only served right that his companions suffered his agony too.

Leaving the liquor beside him, Ayla tended to her shelf.

It was a cold, cruel world outside. A woman who hurt her and promised worse lurked beyond that room. A court wanted to whisk her away for a reason he knew nothing of. But Ayla had no worry. She drifted back and forth, shuffling the bottles in an innate pattern only she saw until the colours bled and blended into a seamless artwork, a mosaic of reds and browns and amber in the faelight.

How could she be so carefree with her life in danger?

She preferred the lonely, Uri had said. Even with Azriel mere feet away, she was alone, in her own world—getting her bar ready for the evening, and he was content watching her.

Cradling a bottle against her chest, Ayla leaned back against the counter.

If he set his glass down and reached a little, Azriel could trail a finger down the arch of her spine, feel the smooth curve of her waist under his palm. A little lower, her shirt crinkled, right above the swell of her— He tore his eyes away and cleared his throat.

‘You don’t have to act tough,’ she said. ‘No one shall know the big bad shadowsinger can’t drink. It will be our secret.’

Azriel looked up. Ayla moved down the bar, away from him, towards the unattended pile. A teasing smile tugged at her lips. And her face lacked the hatred he believed she felt for him.

Had he been wrong? The times he met with her, she was polite—ignoring her threat—and she talked without hesitance.

‘You were gone for a long time. Where were you?’

‘Shouldn’t you know that already?’ Ayla wiped the glasses, the rings on her bracelet clinking with her every move, and stacked them on the tray one by one.

‘I’m a spy,’ mumbled Azriel, ‘not a stalker.’

She chuckled, so light it was almost a breath. ‘Don’t the lines blur for you?’

Always a quick question thrown his way to draw the attention from her. Azriel was used to rudeness, anger, and even snark. But Ayla, she was something else. Her words were a weapon, sharp and precise, and always found their mark.

Shadows gathered over his shoulder, coiling and threading into dark ribbons, inching towards her. Ayla glanced at them and a smile curled her lips. With that, she shattered his resolve.

‘Drink with me,’ said Azriel.

Her hands froze and the smile faded. She peered at him.

‘Drink with me, Ayla.’ He said again, only gentler.

For a breath, she didn’t move, only assessing him. Then she abandoned the trays, glasses and bottles, and walked back to where he sat.

Snagging the drink from between his fingers, she took a sip. Her brows pulled together as she pressed the back of her fingers to her lips and gasped. Azriel grinned.

‘Gods, that’s horrible.’ The veins along her neck strained as she swallowed again. ‘They should not be making that.’

‘A bar owner who can’t handle a drink. It’ll be our secret.’ Azriel poured another glass.

‘Ah, so it begins. Is this how you interrogate your suspects? Get them drunk?’ Ayla crossed her arms on the bar. It brought her closer to him.

Azriel nodded. ‘Right after a meal of their choosing.’

‘Sure, sure. We don’t want to lose them to exhaustion. And when does the screaming begin?’

There were two kinds of women—ones who idolised him and ones who feared him. Neither cared who he was underneath his mask of Night Court’s Torturer. And they definitely did not joke about it.

Azriel chuckled under his breath.

Ayla drank again. ‘It’s still not my secret to share if that’s why you’re here.’

‘Not the part where you’re involved. That’s yours to tell.’

Her eyes didn’t waver. She observed him as though she could stir through his thoughts and pull them apart until she took what she wanted.

After a long minute, she muttered, ‘I’m starting to see why you’re a spymaster.’ She tucked a fist under her chin. ‘I’ll tell you what. You find out where Hamra is and I’ll give you—’

‘She just passed the borders of Winter. If she moves west in the next two days, she’s heading to Autumn.’

Ayla blinked twice. Her lips parted and closed. She shook her head and slowly, a smile made its way onto her face. ‘Not a stalker,’ she mumbled, brushing the loose strands away from her eyes. ‘I met her five years ago.’

Azriel brought the glass to his lips and hid his smirk behind it.

‘I had to stop at an inn on my way back from a trip. I never do because they are always loud and crowded. That place was no exception.’ Her brows furrowed, yet her smile remained. She stared at the wood between them, ‘I almost left until I saw her. She was cursing at three men who were trying to hold her down and she was soaked in blood. I couldn’t tell whose it was. But she was fighting back. And those who wished to help were afraid of her.’

‘You helped her.’

Ayla nodded once. ‘Not right away. I wasn’t sure if she was innocent. But, she was cornered and outmanned. One of them even had a rope to tie her down like a beast. It didn’t matter though. The next minute, she was waggling a knife at them. Almost took an eye out of one.’ She laughed, shaking her head. More hair spilt from her knot. ‘I still don’t know where she got it from. After I had her cleaned and fed, she offered me gold for my horse and promised to let me ride him if I offered her protection.’

Azriel grinned. He expected nothing less from the spitfire of a child. ‘Who was she running from?’

‘Her sire.’ Ayla hesitated for a beat, then sighed. ‘Hamra is a half-nymph. When she came of age, many coveted her for her beauty and suitors poured in from every court. Her sire is a lowly lord. After he married a high fae to keep his bloodline pure, her mother hid her birth from him. But news of her existence spread when she bore more resemblance to him than her mother. Since Hamra carries his blood and passes as a fae, like any arrogant male, he claims to the right to decide who she weds and beds to further his lordly dreams.’

Different courts, different times, but the same tale.

Anger coiled in Azriel’s gut. Hamra was a mere child. Almost as old as when Mor endured the same or Gwyn.

‘Who’s her father?’

‘I’ve spoken more than I promised.’

‘And the woman, is she here on his orders?’

Ayla stole the drink from him and took a long sip.

‘Tell me the child is safe to travel alone.’

She lifted her chin, her eyes scrutinising him. The glass hung from her fingers by the rim. ‘And why do you care?’

Azriel didn’t know what trick she was playing. How could one not care? The sight of Mor’s naked body, bloody and bruised, on the ground still haunted him. He couldn’t condemn another to the same fate. ‘Shouldn’t we when her life is in danger?’

Ayla sipped again. Another minute of silence passed before she smiled. ‘You’re kind.’

The words felt wrong even from her lips. If she knew his true intentions, that the fae had been a pawn to get closer to her, she wouldn’t feel the same.

Azriel looked away, ‘It’s not what people say about me.’

‘Maybe you’re listening to the wrong people.’

Her gaze was heavy on him. The urge to hide gnawed at his chest. But they were alone and his shadows had their own will around her. They peeled away leaving him exposed, bare and whole.

Aware of the little time he had before they were interrupted, Azriel took the drink from her. ‘Is that why you refuse to work for lords? For her safety?’

‘I don’t find them reliable.’ She shrugged, ‘Most are entitled and self-aggrandising.’

‘Rhys isn’t like them.’ At the least, not after one knew him.

Ayla clicked her tongue. ‘Your High Lord must pay you well if you endorse him while drunk.’

Azriel chuckled. He itched to defend his brother and convince her that he wasn’t as evil as she believed him to be. But he wanted to stay with her more.

‘Why the bar?’ He asked instead. Her brows furrowed. ‘You make weapons and yet, own a bar.’

‘I liked the house.’ Azriel must have failed to mask his confusion because she added, ‘It’s in the middle of the city. I have a view of Sidra and the mountains from my balcony. And on solstices, I can see every celebration. The lights, the decorations, the music. For months, I tried to negotiate with the owner. But he wouldn’t sell it without the bar.’ She sighed, waving a hand between them. ‘You would know if you saw my house.’

His heart lurched at those words she uttered so nonchalantly.

‘Tell me this,’ she leaned forward on her arms. ‘Doesn’t it contradict your purpose if you declare yourself a spymaster?’

Azriel grinned. Of course, his mate would be bold enough to ridicule him. ‘I have others working for me. And everyone expects a shadowsinger to spy. There’s no point hiding it.’

Ayla rolled her eyes. ‘Excuses. Admit that you’re terrible at your job.’

’You don’t even know what I can do.’

‘You couldn’t find out where I was.’

‘But I found Hamra.’

‘She probably spotted you. Your shadows aren’t as subtle as they should be.’ She took the drink from him. The warmth of her skin grazed his fingers.

Darkness swarmed and writhed over his shoulders at the insult. A low chuckle escaped his lips. ‘Why the singing?’

Ayla frowned at the sudden shift. ‘You seem to be very curious about my life. Are you sure this isn’t an interrogation?’

‘You’re not screaming yet,’ teased Azriel.

She drew a breath and the corner of her lips twitched. ‘Among my people, women are supposed to be pretty things who do pretty things.’

Azriel waited for more. But she answered with silence.

Sire. Her people. Your High Lord. Her choice of words was strange for a commoner in the north, or even a lady. But she carried no markers of the southern courts. Even when she spoke of Hamra, she refrained from naming a place.

From the way she talked of her people, only two places came to his mind.

Azriel knew the chances were slim but, for someone whose every word was calculated, she was bound to correct him rather than reveal the truth herself. ‘Autumn?’

Ayla grinned, ‘Do I look like I’m from Autumn?’

Hewn City then. Azriel hid his smirk by taking a sip. ‘I didn’t know making swords was a craft fit for a lady.’

‘Spoken like a true man.’ She exacted her vengeance by snatching the glass from him. Her gaze lingered on his hands as she drank and his fingers twitched on their own.

He clenched his fists and turned away. He couldn’t bear that look from her—like he was that weak, helpless boy who cried for help, someone reduced to his past and ghosts.

‘We all have scars, shadowsinger.’ Her voice carried a note of tenderness. ‘You bear yours on your skin.’

When Azriel turned back, she was peering at his fists unfazed. She didn’t flinch away with disgust or cower when he caught her inspecting them.

Ayla opened her palms to him. ‘May I?’

The last time she touched his skin, Azriel was too lost in her to notice. This, he wasn’t prepared for, nor could he forget.

‘You can refuse me,’ she said. Her hands rested on the counter between them as a sign of reassurance that the choice was truly his.

Many had desired what Ayla asked of him. Even Mor at one time after she learnt the truth from Rhys. But it was Azriel who always chose who and when he touched, never the other way around. The only person he ever let feel his hands was his mother once the bandages were removed.

Slowly, he offered his hand to her. At the graze of her fingertips on his knuckles, he sucked in a sharp breath.

Ayla held his gaze, waiting, allowing him the chance to kill her curiosity. When Azriel didn’t resist, she comforted him with a smile before lowering her eyes.

For a long time, she only observed, taking in every ugly ridge and wrinkle on his skin. She held his hand in both of hers, her fingers barely touching him. Her thumbs weaved through his digits and stroked his palm, eliciting a jolt through his spine with each traversed path.

We all have scars.

What scars did she possess? Were they a reminder on her skin like his? That thought alone birthed a hunger in him to inflict pain onto the world.

How could anyone wish to hurt her? A woman whose eyes beheld compassion instead of pity for a cursed soul like him? The one who cradled his marred hand as a sacred relic deserving of her utmost care? The one whose face softened with a kind smile as she marked every inch of his scars with her smooth touch?

‘I wish,’ Ayla breathed, ‘they had treated you better.’

Azriel realised it then. Why Mother burdened him with a loveless life for five centuries. Why Mor didn’t accept him. Why Elain was never meant to be his.

So he could belong to Ayla. And he would endure the heartache again for eternity if Mother promised him one lifetime with her.

Her fingers stilled, hovering over his palm. ‘Did they pay for this?’

Ayla’s face was that of an ardent believer of forgiveness—warmth radiating from her every time a smile adorned her lips. She cared for Raya and Uri. She protected a child endangering herself. She sheltered a homeless hag.

But Azriel had also witnessed her choke a male defending a fae.

Which one was he—one worthy of her generosity or her wrath?

Was he the same innocent boy deserving of justice after the blood he spilt with his own hands? Or was he a sinner for how he punished his half-brothers? What would appease the woman in front of him cradling his hand with a gentleness that rivalled a mother’s touch—that they were forgiven and shown the path of kindness, or they were ripped to shreds by his own tortured hands like they deserved?

No, the word inched closer to the tip of his tongue, ready to satiate his mate with a simple lie. One to keep her from running away from him. ‘Yes.’

The corner of her lips curled up, ever so delicately, and she murmured. ‘Good.’

When a frown etched between her brows, he knew her next question well. He grappled at everything he learned of her to lead her elsewhere.

‘Can I see your dagger?’ She asked softly.

Azriel almost laughed. One minute, his heart ached with the weight of his past, and the next, with joy and need.

Her back arched over the counter and she leaned low. She narrowed her eyes, prodding at his palm and pinching his fingertips. ‘Do you need special hilts? For your hands, the grip on them should be interesting.’

Oh, Azriel would prove his grip all right.

His shadows buzzed by his ears sensing his insidious thoughts.

‘Maybe next time,’ he said, easing his hand out of her grip. What an idiot he was denying her the very thing he craved—her skin against his.

Her brow raised but she smiled. ‘Planning ahead, are we?’

It was neither a threat nor a refusal.

Refilling the glass, Azriel nodded at her wrist. ‘Did you make that?’

Ayla glanced at her bracelet before emptying their drink. ‘Orvin did. Leather and innovation are his specialities. I’m better with traditional weaponry.’ She poured another glass and Azriel grabbed it before she could. ‘I don’t carry weapons, so he made it for my travels.’

So close, the rings appeared more silver than gold but lacked the lustre of either. ‘What is it made of?’

‘It’s something I’m working on.’ Ayla threaded her third and fourth fingers through the rings and pulled, slowly revealing the cords. A trilling echoed in the air as they strummed from the strain. ‘See,’ she looked up at him, her eyes bright and eager. ‘It’s malleable under tension. It may not look like it, but it’s tougher than steel.’

She flexed her fingers and the rings whizzed back to the bracelet in a blink. Her smile widened.

Azriel set the glass down and reached for her wrist. Then, he stopped. When he turned to her, she nodded twice, extending her arm towards him.

His fingers were thicker than hers. The rings barely slipped past his nails. The heat from her skin still warmed the metal.

Ayla leaned close and Azriel held his breath. She curled his fingers, trapping the rings between his knuckles.

‘They are meant to be a little loose to manoeuvre them.’ She pointed at his half-closed fist, ‘You can’t get proper control if they’re snug. There’s also the danger of breaking your fingers during a fight.’

Azriel nodded and tested a little tug. His fingers trembled at the tension as though the cords fought back against him. Both times Ayla used it, she did so with an impressive ease that almost shamed his Illyrian strength.

She traced her fingers along the width of the bracelet. ‘Here’s where the tethers go. It remembers its form and reverts to it once you let go.’ Then she frowned, ‘But it’s not perfect yet. Leather gets worn out soon. We’re trying to replace it with metal but the slide and friction are hard to get around.’

Words tumbled out of her lips about metals and temperatures and mechanics. The more she talked, the further she edged towards him.

Azriel narrowed his eyes.

A smoky tendril teetered over her shoulder, one to the other. It coiled and wove itself with the loose ends of her hair, curving along her jaw carefully to not touch her skin. And as the rogue shadow nudged against her collar, swaying too close to her ear, he gritted his teeth.

Ayla looked up at his silence.

Azriel nodded, bringing his gaze back to her face. Or did she ask him something?

He stared at his hand, the rings still in his grasp. He coiled the cord around his fist like she did on that first night. She was right—he could tolerate the strain better. He tugged and her hand slipped on the table, almost knocking the glass off. She caught it before the liquor spilt on him.

‘Hey,’ she laughed—sweet and soothing. His shadows sighed at the sound. ‘Careful!’

Azriel released the rings, letting go of the tether, letting go of her.

But Ayla didn’t move back. She drank, smiling.

Lights hit the crystals on the shelf right and their glow echoed around her like a gentle halo—turning her into the ethereal being she was. Her eyes sparkled with mirth and her cheeks flushed warm. She licked the remnants of the liquor from her bottom lip as she emptied the bottle and nudged the drink towards him.

Azriel willed himself to breathe. Placing his finger on the rim, he turned the glass around. When he brought it to his lips, his tongue darted out to gather the wetness still stuck to it, where her lips had been not a moment ago. He took a long sip, savouring every drop of the burning nectar she offered.

Ayla stared at him—his parted lips, the column of his throat as he swallowed. Her inhaled breath stuck in her throat. As Azriel set the glass down, her eyes followed it before they flashed to his.

Far, his mind screamed, too fucking far.

But Azriel noticed the slight twitch of her lips before her gaze flicked to his side. A thread of shadow curled around his ear.

A lock clicked beyond the wall. Ayla looked over her shoulder at the closed office door, sinking her teeth into her lip.

Raya, his shadows announced.

‘That’s my bartender,’ her voice took on a lower note, more melodious than ever. She swallowed a breath and turned to him. ‘We’ll be opening soon.’

Azriel waited.

Ayla didn’t move.

He grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her to him, pressing his lips to hers.

Metal clanked and scratched against the wood as her fingers splayed on the counter. When her lips moved with his, Azriel buried his other hand into her hair—her beautiful, silkened hair.

He swept his tongue against her lips, wide and hungry. Honeyed sweetness from their drink lingered on them, and beneath it, he tasted her. A shiver raked through him, every nerve in his body awakening at her kiss. When she gasped, he stole the little breath from between her lips. She didn’t resist.

Gods, not once did she resist.

Azriel kissed her.

He kissed her with every piece of his heart. He kissed her for the centuries he waited for her. He kissed her for the moments wasted between them, and the moments he would miss until next time.

Here.

Feet stomped close on the other side of the door.

Azriel pulled away, dropping his hands.

The door opened.

‘People generally rest in their bed,’ groaned Raya entering the room. Her mouth fell open when she spotted him, her wide eyes darting between him and Ayla.

Azriel only watched his mate. Her hair, ruined by his hands. Her cheeks aglow golden with a flush. Her lips pursed—wet, swollen, and all the more inviting.

But the light in her eyes, the playfulness, faded.

He stumbled back from the stool.

‘Thanks for the drink.’

And he left without looking back.

Next Chapter: History

#god's game #azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel x oc #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar x oc #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #acotar series #a court of thorns and roses

67 notes · View notes

fanficapologist · 5 months ago

Text

Of Dragons and Maelstroms

Themes and Warnings: slow burn, enemies to lovers, blood, violence, explicit language, sexual violence, period-typical misogyny, sexual themes, smut, tension, marriage, jealousy, pregnancy, childbirth, miscarriage, attempted sexual assault, breastfeeding, major character death, divergent timelines

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood/Game of Thrones characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

Chapter Ninety-Six

Let’s see. How does one start a letter to your half sister-in-law, who has murdered your nephew, ordered an attempt on your own life and is currently sitting the throne that belongs to your husband?

The Queen sat at her desk that evening, her mind a tangle of thoughts as she stared at the blank parchment before her. The dim light of many candles flickered throughout the room, casting long shadows on the walls. Outside, the waves crashed rhythmically against the rocks of Dragonstone, their constant roar muffled but ever-present, a reminder of the ancient fortress’s isolation. The crackling of the hearth added a comforting warmth, but the room felt colder to Maera tonight. Aemara had been sent to the nursery with her dragon, Sȳndor, so that Maera could work without distraction. But the absence of her daughter’s soft snores left an emptiness that gnawed at her concentration.

She tapped the page with her quill, her brow furrowed in concentration. Several crumpled pieces of parchment littered the desk, each one discarded in frustration after she had deemed the words inadequate or inappropriate. The ink on her quill blotted against the parchment as she tapped it absentmindedly, leaving a dark splotch that marred the page. With a groan of irritation, she crumpled up yet another piece of paper and tossed it aside, adding it to the growing pile of failed attempts.

How would you even address her? Queen? No, that would mean you acknowledge her claim to the throne. Princess? She may find that too patronising. Sister? You haven’t seen her since you were a child and she would probably not even remember you. She doesn’t even know you now, and you don’t know her!

“Gods,” she muttered under her breath, pressing her fingertips to her temples as if that might somehow help clear her thoughts.

Across the room, a voice taunted her, laced with amusement. “Having trouble, are we?” Aemond’s voice was low, almost teasing. He was seated at his own desk, clad in nothing but his nightshirt and trousers, working on his own correspondence. The flickering candlelight cast shadows on his sharp features, making his expression difficult to read.

Maera shot him a glare, her frustration spilling over. “Shut up,” she snapped, her tone sharper than she intended. “I need to focus.”

Aemond hummed and she could see the sly smile on his lips as he returned to his own work, the soft scratch of his quill against parchment mingling with the other sounds of the night.

She sighed deeply, pushing her hair back from her face. She knew he was only trying to lighten her mood, but this task weighed heavily on her. The stakes were too high, and she couldn’t afford to get this wrong. The fate of the realm could hinge on the words she chose, and that knowledge made it even harder to begin. But she couldn’t put it off any longer. Taking a steadying breath, Maera dipped her quill in the ink once more and set the tip to the parchment.

Rhaenyra

Yes, that seems like a good place to start. No titles, no formalities. It was a subtle choice, but one that stripped away any pretense of superiority or hostility. It was as if they were just two women, writing to each other as friends rather than enemies. Once she dipped the quill into the ink and began writing, the words flowed easily.

Too much blood has already been spilled, mostly that of the innocent and children. I write to you not as an adversary, but as a fellow mother. We have both brought life into this world, and I believe we both wish to leave it better than how we found it, for the sake of our children. Our blood ties us together, as does the responsibility we bear for the future of our House and this Realm.

I know that the smallfolk are abandoning the city, fleeing from the chaos and fear that has taken root. I know of the whispers that you have heard. Of treachery and deceit, that snakes lurk within your council, plotting to turn this conflict to their advantage, caring little for the cost in blood.

It need not be this way. The realm is weary of war. I have prayed to the Mother, seeking guidance in this time of strife, and she has shown me a path of mercy. A path I wish to share with you, as my sister in blood. My husband, your brother, Aemond, and I wish to speak of peace.

The tension that had knotted her shoulders loosened as she crafted each sentence with care, balancing sincerity with diplomacy. A faint smile tugged at Maera’s lips as she saw her thoughts take shape on the page. She was proud of what she had written so far, confident that her words carried the weight of her intent without sounding weak or overly sentimental. She could feel the letter’s persuasive power growing with each paragraph, the quill moving almost of its own accord as her thoughts flowed onto the parchment.

I implore you, for the sake of our family, for the sake of the Realm, surrender the Iron Throne and renounce your claim, a claim that is scarcely recognised anymore. Do what you set out to do; protect the Realm, maintain peace and bring forth prosperity, without the burden of a crown on your head.

In return, I swear to you that your family shall be allowed to hold Dragonstone and live out your days in peace, far from the machinations and dangers of court. Let the fires of war be quenched in the waters of mutual accord, rather than the blood of our kin.

Behind her, she heard the scraping of Aemond’s chair as he pushed it back, likely rising to approach her. She dared not look up, afraid that even a brief interruption might break the fragile spell of her concentration.

To ensure the lasting peace between our divided kin, we propose marriage pacts between the children of our houses—the Blacks and the Greens—so that House Targaryen might once again stand united, as it was meant to be.

I wish you no ill will, Rhaenyra, nor do I bear any hatred for your family. What is done is done. and now we must look to the future. The only thing that can destroy the House of the Dragon is itself, and I fear that we are on that path. The gods frown upon a war between kin, and I beg you to choose the path of peace, for the sake of our children, and for the sake of our house.

Yours in hope,

Maera

Fucking finally. The Queen leaned back in her chair, her muscles relaxing as she exhaled deeply. Relief washed over her, and she closed her eyes for a moment, allowing herself to savor the satisfaction of having completed the task. The weight that had pressed down on her shoulders all evening seemed to lift slightly, replaced by a quiet sense of accomplishment.

Suddenly, a hand darted over her shoulder and snatched the letter away. Startled, she whipped around to see Aemond, already striding away with the parchment in his grasp, his keen eye rapidly scanning each line. She watched him, nervously pinching at the dark fabric of her nightgown, her heart beating faster as she wondered what he might think of the words she had so carefully chosen.

After what felt like an eternity, Aemond glanced up from the letter, a teasing smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “More marriage pacts, wife?” he remarked, his tone light but his eye sharp with amusement. “Your preferred method of persuasion, it seems.”

Maera huffed, crossing her arms. “Only if you agree to them, husband.”

He hummed in response, his attention returning to the letter as he continued reading. “Rhaenyra has only sons, and our own daughter is already promised.” His voice was thoughtful, but there was an undercurrent of something else—perhaps a bit of resignation or even a challenge.

Maera quirked an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Then I’ll give you more daughters someday.”

Aemond paused, lowering the letter slightly as he looked at her with curiosity. “And what if we only have sons after Aemara?” he asked, his tone half serious, half playful.

Maera shot back without missing a beat, “And what if we only have daughters?”

Aemond hummed again, considering her words as he placed the letter down on the table. For a moment, his expression was unreadable, a mix of uncertainty and contemplation. Maera could see the gears turning in his mind, weighing the possibilities, the responsibilities, the future that was uncertain for them all.

With a soft sigh, Maera rose from her seat and approached him, taking his hands gently in her own. “If we have a son,” she said softly, meeting his gaze, “he will be King, just as you are now.” There was a tenderness in her voice, a quiet assurance that she hoped would soothe the doubts she sensed within him.

Aemond’s gaze softened at her words, though a shadow of uncertainty lingered in his eye. But as he looked down at her, his fingers tightening around hers, the resolve in her expression seemed to reach him, and he nodded slowly, acknowledging her words.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the letter forgotten on the table as the candlelight flickered around them, casting long shadows on the walls. An inner anxiety gnawed at Maera, a subtle but persistent unease that refused to leave her.

She knew deep down that giving Rhaenyra a chance to surrender was the most diplomatic and merciful path, but doubts began to creep in, whispering fears that this tactic might only delay the inevitable and possibly weaken their position. Worse still, she worried that her husband might be unhappy with her suggestion, that he might see her mercy as a form of weakness.

With a small, hesitant voice, Maera broke the silence. "Have I angered you?" she asked, the words almost faltering as she spoke.

Aemond sighed, a sound that was neither harsh nor impatient, but rather thoughtful. He hummed softly, and then, with a tenderness that surprised her, he cupped her cheek in his hand. The warmth of his touch eased some of her anxiety, but only just.

"You have the right temperament for a Queen," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. "Kind, just, and merciful." He studied her face as he spoke, his eye lingering on her delicate features—the big green eyes that looked up at him with worry, her rounded cheeks tinged with a soft blush, and her lips, pursed as she listened intently to every word he uttered. For a moment, Maera felt a flicker of relief at his words, but it was short-lived.

"You need to prepare yourself, though," Aemond continued, his tone becoming more serious. "Rhaenyra will most likely reject our offer, or not reply at all."

Maera nodded slowly, absorbing his words, though she couldn’t help the frown that creased her brow. She knew he was right—Rhaenyra was not one to bend easily, especially not now, with so much at stake. Still, hearing it spoken aloud made the reality of the situation press down on her even harder.

"And when that happens," Aemond added, his voice firm but not unkind, "we will attack the Capital. You will need to come to terms with that."

Maera’s stomach twisted at his words, the anxiety that had been gnawing at her now coiling tightly within her. She knew in her heart that he was right, that the road ahead would likely be paved with blood and fire, not peace and diplomacy. And yet, despite the unease, she also knew that this was the reality of the war they were entrenched in—a war that would not end without sacrifice.

With a heavy sigh, Maera rested her forehead against Aemond’s chest, her eyes closing as she tried to reconcile her hopes for mercy with the brutal truth of their situation. In that moment, she felt the weight of the crown more than ever before.

She breathed in his familiar scent, a mix of leather, smoke, and something uniquely him, grounding her in the moment. She mumbled against his chest, her voice almost lost in the fabric of his nightshirt, “I don’t think I was made for war.”

Aemond’s hand moved up to stroke her brown and silver curls, his touch soothing as his fingers threaded gently through her hair. He was silent for a moment, and then he surprised her by saying, “I agree.”

Maera’s head whipped up in surprise, her brow furrowing in mock offense as she looked at him. She had expected him to say something to comfort her, perhaps even to tease her out of her doubts. But instead, he had agreed with her, and she couldn’t help but frown playfully at him, searching his face for some sign that he was joking.

His expression softened, the hard lines of his face easing as he looked down at her with something akin to affection. “I think,” he said quietly, his voice a low murmur, “you were made for me.”

A sigh escaped Maera as she pressed her forehead to his, her eyes fluttering shut as she brushed her nose gently against his. Their lips hovered close, barely touching, as the world outside seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the quiet intimacy of their shared space.

Aemond’s voice broke the silence, warm and reassuring. “I’ll have the letter sent on the morrow,” he promised, his hands sliding down her sides, the touch light and deliberate, until they came to rest on her hips. There was something possessive yet tender in the way his fingers curved around her, as though he was anchoring himself to her presence. He leaned in slightly, his breath mingling with hers as he suggested, “But for now, we should cease working.”

She looked up at him, a small, almost tentative smile playing on her lips. "Are you tired?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, his expression was unreadable, but then a dark, unmistakable glint entered his single blue eye. He leaned in closer, his breath warm against her skin as he whispered against her lips, "No."

Before she could even process his words, the hand in her hair tightened into a firm grip, pulling her forward with an urgency that made her heart skip. His lips crashed against hers, forceful and demanding, their kiss a fierce clash of tongues and teeth. It was not gentle, but passionate, a meeting of fire and need that sent a shock of heat down her spine.

She felt his tongue sweep across her mouth, probing and teasing, and she opened her mouth to him, surrendering to the intensity of his kiss. His teeth nipped at her bottom lip, tugging just enough to make her gasp against his mouth, and she could feel the smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips in response.

Maera could feel the heat radiating off Aemond's body, the hardness of his chest pressing against her as she leaned into him. His hands were everywhere, rough and insistent as they moved over her body, gripping her waist, her hips, sliding up her back to hold her closer still.

The warmth of his skin beneath her fingers was intoxicating as she let her own hands wander, tracing the defined muscles of his back, the curve of his shoulders, the powerful lines of his arms. There was nothing delicate about the way they touched each other-everything was rough, impatient, driven by a desire that had been simmering under the surface all day.

Layers of clothing were shed in hurried, frantic movements, Maera barely registering the fabric slipping away as she focused entirely on the feel of his body against hers. Her nightgown was the last to fall, pooling around her feet as she let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. Aemond's hands found her hips again, guiding her down onto the bed with a possessive grip that left no room for hesitation.

Before she knew it, she was on top of him, straddling his lap, her bare skin pressed against his as he lay beneath her on the bed, completely exposed. The feel of his body beneath hers was overwhelming, the heat of his skin, the tautness of his muscles, the sheer power that seemed to radiate from him even in this vulnerable state. His hands roamed her body, gripping, kneading, pulling her closer until there was no space left between them.

Their kisses became deeper, more frantic, as if they were both desperate to consume each other, to erase the world around them until nothing remained but this moment. She could feel herself grinding against his hardened length, her slick coating his long, thick cock as his fingers pressed so hard into her hips that more bruises would litter her pale skin.

Lost in the heated passion of their embrace, she barely registered when his hands slid down her waist, gripping her soft, plush thighs with a firm yet gentle touch. It wasn't until she felt him begin to move her forward that she looked down, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to understand his intention.

"What are you doing?" she asked, her voice a breathless whisper, her eyes searching his face for an answer.

Aemond looked up at her with a devilish smile, the sapphire in his socket catching the light as his single eye gleamed with mischief. "I find myself hungry, wife" he murmured, his voice low and filled with a dark promise. "And there's only one thing that will satisfy me."

Maera's eyes widened in surprise as she realized his intent. She tried to protest, opening her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. “Aemond, I cannot, I-I,” she began, her concern genuine as she worried about crushing him, about doing something wrong. But her words were silenced the moment he pulled her closer, his hands guiding her forward with a determination that left no room for argument.

All thoughts of protest evaporated as his rough hands brought down to his eager awaiting tongue, which quickly found its target, exploring, tasting, teasing her folds. The sensation so overwhelming that she instinctively gripped the headboard above her, her fingers curling tightly around the wood as she gasped in surprise.

His hands began to rock her hips against his face in tandem with his mouth, and every nerve in her body seemed to come alive at once, her worries melting away in the face of the pleasure that surged through her. His tongue, lapping at her essence deep within her core from this position, was like nothing she’d ever felt before. The one-eyed King’s perfectly angular nose nudged deliciously against her clit, causing one of her hands to fly to the top of his head, her fingers curling around the roots, attempting to find some form purchase.

Yet as began to grind against his face, she could not help but worry that she was hurting him, or that he was somehow suffocating. She attempted to lift herself up ever so slightly, to give him a chance to breathe. However, that thought was shortlived as she let out a surprised yelp, feeling her husband dig in his nails to her thighs, pressing her firmly back into place on his face.

“Do not fucking deny me this,” he growled. “You taste so fucking good.”

No words came from her mouth, just a whimper as he continued his ministrations. That beautiful, familiar feeling began building deep with her stomach. It only intensified when he replaced his tongue with his fingers, plunging two of them deep within her as he licked and sucked at her clit with a renewed vigour.

“Fuck. Just like that, my King,” she panted, rutting against his face like some sort of animal in heat. He groaned at her words, sending vibrations through her as she dug her nails into his scalp, feeling that coil wind tighter and tighter within her.

Feeling the bed moving slightly, she turned her head to seek Aemond’s cock weeping against his toned stomach, glistening with precum in the moonlight shining through the windows. She watched as his own hips bucked upwards as he devoured her, moving in sync with his tongue, as if was finding his own pleasure from having her sat on his face.

The sight of him pushed her over the edge, her orgasm crashing over her with such intensity she screamed his name. She felt herself clench on his fingers, her essence dripping down onto her husband’s face, who growled as he lapped it all up greedily. The King held her tightly, his grip firm and unyielding as he guided her through the final throes of ecstasy, not letting her go until she had completely finished.

As her climax ebbed away, her body finally relaxed, and Aemond released her. She collapsed onto the bed, her chest heaving against the sheets as she struggled to catch her breath. Her body was covered in a sheen of sweat, each rapid breath a reminder of the intensity she had just experienced.

The cool breeze from the window swept across her exposed back, raising goosebumps on her flushed skin. The temporary chill only lasted a moment before it was replaced by the warmth of Aemond's body as he moved over her, his solid frame covering hers. His chest pressed firmly against her back, his presence overwhelming. She felt the nudge of his knee against her thigh, gently coaxing her to widen her legs beneath him. She complied without hesitation, her body already responding to him instinctively.

He pushed himself through her soaking wet folds, hissing at the feeling of her around his cock before sheathing himself inside of her fully. Aemond immediately began to thrust in and out of her harshly, his hips slapping against the round and soft meat of her ass. His breath was hot against her ear, each exhale sending shivers down her spine. His soft groans, deep and primal, echoed through the chamber, mingling with the crackling of the hearth.

She pushed herself back to meet him, raising her hips and arching her back slightly as his cock hit that sweet spot within her over and over again, shutting her eyes and grabbing desperately at the sheets beneath her. His lips found the sensitive shell of her ear, planting kisses that made her toes curl. He licked a slow, teasing path down her neck, his tongue leaving a wet trail that only heightened her sensitivity. When he reached the juncture between her neck and shoulder, he bit down harshly, the sharp sting drawing a gasp from her lips, her cunt clenching around him.

Aemond grabbed a fistful of her hair, her head jolting upwards as he continued to fuck into her with reckless abandon. “You’re going to give me one more,” he purred into her ear, his other hand sliding down her body to push against one of her ass cheeks, spreading her open and allowing him to thrust deeper.

“I can’t!” She cried, tears beginning to fill her waterline as his cock bullied the spongey spot within her, treading the delicate line between pain and pleasure. She thought she would not peak again, but by the way she was squeezing him so tightly, he knows she’s not far off.

“You will,” he growled, pulling her hips upwards and increasing his speed, causing her to bury her face into the pillow to muffle her screams. A long, loud moan leaves her lips as her second orgasm was ripped from her, her entire body trembling beneath him as tears soaked her face.

Her mind was utterly blank, consumed entirely by the overwhelming pleasure her husband, her King, was giving her. There was no room for thought, no space for anything other than the way he made her feel in that moment.

Aemond was lost in the same storm of sensation, his breaths coming in ragged gasps as he grunted in her ear, his voice a low, guttural sound that sent shivers down her spine. His movements grew more urgent, his thrusts becoming erratic as he chased his own release. With a few final, deep thrusts, he groaned loudly and released himself deep within her, his body stilling as he found his own peak.

He remained inside of her for a while afterwards, the royal couple breathless and spent, the aftershocks of their shared pleasure slowly fading away. Aemond rested his forehead against Maera’s back, his breath warm on her skin as his long silver hair fell around his face in soft strands.

He peppered gentle kisses along her spine, each touch filled with a tenderness that contrasted sharply with the intensity of their previous passion. Maera sighed, the sound one of contentment, a deep satisfaction settling over her as the last remnants of their lovemaking lingered in the air.

She turned her head, giving him a tired yet utterly contented smile. Aemond leaned forward, his sharp nose brushing lightly against hers, the gleam of his sapphire eye catching the flickering candlelight and casting a soft, otherworldly glow across his features. Maera’s captured his lips in a soft yet consuming kiss, their mouths moving together slowly, savoring the connection. She could taste the remnants of herself as his lips pressed against hers, gentle yet insistent, as if he wanted to draw out every last bit of closeness between them.

A soft whine escaped Maera’s lips as he withdrew from her, the sudden emptiness making her body ache for him all over again. She felt their mixed essence pool beneath her, warm and sticky on the sheets, a physical reminder of their passion.

Her eyes followed him as he rolled onto his back beside her, his chest rising and falling steadily as he tried to catch his breath. He raised an arm behind his head, the motion casual yet commanding as he stared at her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken once more. Maera stared back at him, her gaze tracing the contours of his face, the strong line of his jaw, the sharp angles of his cheekbones, and the soft curve of his lips.

After a few moments of silence, Maera suddenly giggled to herself, a soft, bubbly sound that broke through the quiet of the chamber. She quickly covered her face with her hands, trying to stifle the laughter, but it only made her giggle more. Aemond turned his head toward her, a curious smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“And what, pray tell, do you find so amusing?” he asked, his tone light, though his single violet eye gleamed with interest.

Maera peeked out from behind her hands, her cheeks flushed with warmth. “It’s just… I was thinking, it’s a wonder anyone in the castle gets any rest when I scream like that.”

She heard Aemond breathe out a laugh, the sound low and deep. He leaned in closer, a smirk tugging at his lips as he whispered, “The servants should see it as an honor to hear their Queen’s screams of pleasure.” His voice was playful, but there was a glint of possessiveness in his eye that made Maera’s heart skip a beat. “But I’d hang those who dared to speak of it.”

Maera scoffed, rolling her eyes at his comment, though her lips curved into a fond smile. “Of course you would,” she muttered, though there was no malice in her tone, only affection.

Her gaze drifted down to her arm, where she noticed Aemond tracing delicate patterns on her upper left arm, the one marred with deep scars. His touch was light and reverent, and she found herself smiling at the gentle care he took with her, as if those scars were a testament to her strength rather than something to be hidden.

After a moment, she spoke again, her voice softer now. “Honor or not, I wouldn’t appreciate someone screaming all night when I’m trying to sleep.”

Aemond cocked a brow, his lips quirking into a teasing smile. “So you wish to scream all night, then?”

Maera felt her cheeks heat up, a blush spreading across her face as she giggled at his words. Before she could reply with a snarky comment, a sudden throbbing pain in her breasts made her wince. She looked down and noticed a small, wet patch spreading on the sheets where milk was leaking. A soft sigh escaped her, but then she heard the echoing cries of Aemara from down the corridor, growing louder as the seconds passed.

With a tired yet affectionate smile, Maera sighed, pushing herself up from the bed. She reached for her discarded nightgown, picking it up from the floor, and began slipping it over her head. "Our daughter needs feeding," she murmured, mostly to herself but loud enough for Aemond to hear.

As she tied the front of the gown, pulling the soft fabric into place, she heard Aemond's voice behind her, rich with a mix of teasing and desire. "Don't be too long," he said, the words laced with a promise.

Maera paused, looking back at him. He was lounging against the pillows, his silver hair cascading over his bare chest, that ever-present smirk curling his lips. "We're not finished yet," he added, his tone low and suggestive.

A matching smirk played on Maera's lips as she caught his gaze, her eyes twinkling with a mix of amusement and desire. She didn't need to say a word; the look they shared was enough. With a knowing smile, she turned on her heel and headed toward the nursery, the sound of her daughter's cries guiding her down the corridor.

As she walked away, the thought of returning to Aemond lingered in her mind, making her steps a little lighter despite the exhaustion beginning to tug at her. The night, it seemed, was far from over.

Notes: we’re back to plot next chapter, I promise 🤣 (but I don’t think some of you are complaining) 🖤

Tags: @0eessirk8 @magicseahorse @blue-serendipity @abecerra611 @saltedcaramelpretzel @marvelescvpe @watercolorskyy @shesjustanothergeek @thelastemzy @kckt88 @darylandbethfanforever9

Thank you so much for reading! Comments, feedback, likes, and reblogs are greatly appreciated 🖤

74 notes · View notes

poisonheiress · 1 year ago

Text

I feel like more people need to talk about the fatphobia in Helluva Boss. Besides the"fat jokes aren't funny and are actually just assholish" conversations, making Mammon be fatphobic towards Fizz just doesn't have the same impact as Vivzie intended it to have or really an impact at all when you look back at all the fat jokes towards Moxie that Luna and Blitzo have made.

Some may argue that Luna and Blitzo were joking, but while Blitz's one line may fall under that argument, Luna's doesn't. From tone, to when/where the joke was said, to Moxie's reaction, Luna makes those comments or "jokes" to be mean to Moxie, and does not feel sorry for what she did. While this does solidify Luna's character and the idea that no joke is off limits for Vivzie so to speak, it also unintentionally lays the ground work that fatphobia is fine both in the show and in hell. While this agrees with the "its hell" argument that Vivzie always pulls out to defend her questionable character decisions, it doesn't work with the audience taking Mammon's comment towards Fizz as something we should actually care about.

You can't make fat jokes towards other characters and at the same time, tell the audience that fatphobia is bad simply because its a villain that's doing it especially in Hell where most moralities fall under morally grey. It's like having those at I.M.P critique someone for being a mercenary and killing humans; it doesn't work.

It's horrible writing and its makes the creators and the characters themselves hypocrites . Blitzo being a hypocrite could work cause he is piles of messed up, but the show nor its creator show it as that. Instead, they show it as a moment that helps solidify to Blitzo how bad Mammon is both for Fiz and the general public. In the end, Vivzie shot herself in the foot again and its now becoming more clear due to just how many times shes done it.

Of course, there is also the added issues of one of the few fat characters (if the only one) Vivzie shows being the one to be fatphobic while also being depicted with so many fatphobic media stereotypes, but that's for another post.

#helluva boss critical #helluva boss mammon #vivziepop critical #helluva boss criticism #tw fatphobia #vivziepop criticism #ph speaks #helluva boss #helluva boss blitzo #helluva boss season 2

236 notes · View notes

meaningofaeons · 2 years ago

Text

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ unbearable

⊹ character(s) - sampo koski ⊹ word count - 1.7k ⊹ notes - gn!reader, angsty, hurt/comfort?? possibly slightly ooc sampo sorry </3, unedited

ugh I rlly couldn't help myself making my first work on this account sampo (tho I really did consider svarog LMAO he's grown on me a lot) but I hope you all like!! this is like. my redebut onto tumblr writing hehe ^w^

Surely, there couldn't be a more unbearable man on this planet — no, maybe in the entire universe — than Sampo Koski.

Perhaps he had his good sides, though, you would find yourself musing every once in a while.

Sure, he was a filthy conman, always tunnel-visioned on his next profit. Not much consideration for strangers aside from their pockets, not to mention that terrible habit of his to spam anyone whose contact he could get his hands on with scam ads and malware links he was paid a pretty sum to spread. Even his own 'friends' wouldn't be spared from his constant phishing attempts.

Maybe he did get a bit too reckless if the job was especially large, especially profitable, and maybe he did sometimes ditch just before the bill at a restaurant would arrive, and maybe he did piss off a group of automatons, causing them to chase you two to the edge of town until —

You sighed irritably, pinching your temple as you tried to refocus your thoughts.

In spite of all that, Sampo did have his benefits, you surmised.

He had ended up dropping in at just the right time during that automaton chase, even though you'd assumed mere moments earlier that his disappearance from your side meant he had run for the hills and left you behind. You avoided a lot worse injuries thanks to him that day.

And yeah, he did stop that miner from scamming you out of a good chunk of your paycheck that one time — albeit at the cost of another group of naïve victims who he led the man directly to. 'The only one who can swindle you out of all your pocket money is me!' he had claimed, and promptly received a beating over the head.

But once you opened your eyes again, beholding the sight of Sampo Koski sat on his knees before you in shame, twiddling his thumbs as he glanced to the side with a guilty smile...

You weren't quite sure his positive aspects could completely abate your wrath.

On this very day, the man before you had asked you to come with him to Rivet Town to assist with a 'very important business discussion'. You, foolishly, decided to trust him again.

'Give him the benefit of the doubt,' you'd thought. 'Maybe this time it's actually something honest. Maybe this'll really help him.'

Rather than a discussion, though, the foxlike man had instead led you right to a large group of automatons.

'It'll be fine,' he'd said, shrugging. 'Just need some scrap metal for a client! It's technically still a business discussion, we're just discussing with our weapons rather than our mouths!'

So he'd left you to dismantle the automaton pile, until another group of very much active robots had spotted you two and barreled towards you for vengeance.

The man hadn't even noticed in your collective fleeing that one of the bots had managed a sizable gash on your leg, hindering your escape until the two of you finally stumbled back into town.

Of course, the filthy scammer escaped unscathed himself.

Just recalling the incident sent you into further distress as the pain ached in your leg — you hadn't bothered to get it treated by Natasha yet, too focused on giving your 'business partner' a piece of your mind as soon as possible.

Sampo didn't dare speak a word himself. Your stormy expression was enough for him to keep his trap shut tight, too afraid of your mood to risk worsening it.

He had really done it with his latest stunt — a little 'prank gone wrong', as he put it, until he saw just how upset you were — and he knew it, too.

"I just..." Green eyes immediately shot over towards you as you began to speak, but your words only cut off into a heavy sigh, leading you to slump into a chair in the corner of your dingy apartment. Seeing you kneading your forehead with a look of exhaustion more so than anything else, the sly man took his chances with a conversation.

"L-Like I said, Y/N, it was all in good fun!" he laughed anxiously, feeling his palms begin to sweat. "I wasn't actually going to leave you to get all the parts by yourself, or ditch you when the bots came running, or anything —"

"Quiet."

Your voice shut him up once again.

Sampo was exceedingly nervous today. Usually, you'd just get angry with him, expression twisting into that cute, flushed pout that he'd gotten so fond of.

You'd hit him over the head, scold him loudly, drag him by the ear... but you were never silently angry. Not like this.

"Does it really make you happy?" your voice echoed through the room at last, your face still hidden beneath your exasperated hands. "Is it really that fun? Are you getting a good laugh at my expense?"

Sampo's smile, though nervous, fell.

"You know, Sampo Koski," His spine straightened at his full name being used, rare shame filling his cheeks. He felt like he was being scolded like a toddler. "You always pull something or other over me. Usually, it's bearable. But it's gotten to be too much."

"Y-Y/N —"

"I choose to offer you my trust in so many ways, and you just...!" Your hands clutched onto your hair in complete vexation. "You always take advantage of it! Always! Even when I try to help you, or give you the benefit of the doubt, try to convince myself you're being honest for once!"

You peered through your fingers at him with one eye.

"I can count on two hands the amount of times you've shockingly come through for me, and yet, I don't even have enough hairs on my head to equal the amount of times you've swindled or betrayed me! This is the last straw, Sampo Koski!"

"Y/N, l-listen —"

"I'm going to Nat's."

His mouth fell agape as you just got up and began walking towards the door as you'd said.

"Wait!"

"What?" you sneered as the man half-rose to his feet, frozen by your glare. "Worried that I'll tattle to her and you'll get another earful to ignore? Don't worry. She knows that every injury I get is your doing, so she's going to find out one way or another."

"...Injury?" Sampo asked, dumbfounded. You raised a brow, thoroughly ticked as you turned and walked away again.

It was then that he noticed the blood soaking your pants, the torn material of your clothes sticking uncomfortably to the gnashed skin. Your limp was more pronounced than he'd like to admit, considering he clearly hadn't noticed it prior to now.

The door slamming brought the man back to his senses, and he immediately pursued you, grabbing onto your wrist before you could make it ten steps away from your home.

"Let go, Sampo! While I'm still being nice!"

"I'm sorry!"

"I don't want to hear it! I —" Upon processing his words, you turned, a look of mild horror washing over your features as you raised a brow again. "...Eh?"

Sure enough, the Sampo Koski had just said the words 'I'm sorry' in a tone that sounded more genuine than anything he'd ever pushed past his lips — that is, if his souring expression was anything to go by.

He'd never said that to you before, not in the several incidents before this, so you certainly hadn't expected it now.

He looked gutted.

"I should've — I shouldn't've — Urgh..." Sampo scratched the back of his neck. You narrowed your eyes.

"Don't tell me this is just you being too afraid of Nat to let me get treated by her."

"No, no, listen," he waved his hands around wildly. "I'm... sure, I'm afraid of Miss Natasha, plenty afraid, in fact! But... being real honest, I'm way more afraid of you walking out on me for good."

His head bowed, and he looked completely downtrodden at this point.

"Y-You've been better to me than most, and I guess... I don't know. I just thought you'd always be there, sorta... Which was wrong of me to assume!" Sampo's speech was jumping all over the place as he hastily attempted to keep your attention, worried a single wrong word would send you walking away again. "Very wrong! I took advantage of ya a lot, and... Well, I'm sorry."

You stood there in silence for a good, long while.

It was plenty of time to make even Sampo nervous. You couldn't deny reveling in the way his fingers twitched anxiously, his eyes darting to you and back to the floor as he awaited your response — or lack of one — to his apology.

Finally, you sighed again. A very long, drawn-out, wrongdoing-emphasizing sigh.

"Well, I assume you can't promise that this will never happen again."

"Heheh... Well, if we're being really, really honest..." he simpered, not meeting your eye. "I can at least promise that I'll never let you get hurt on my watch again, though! Not ever! Koski's honor!"

The comical way he put a fist to his chest, as though mimicking a Silvermane Guard, put a reluctant smile on your face. Finally, you snorted out a laugh, bringing his infamous smile back again as well. This time, however, it was more relieved than mischievous.

"I really hate you sometimes," you murmured, pulling him into a hug as you buried your face in his shoulder. "But I'll let it slide. Last time, Sampo Koski. Don't you mess up again."

"I won't!" he shouted, perhaps a bit too eager. Still-shaky hands found your figure as he gently returned your embrace, something a bit more tender in his eyes when you pulled away. "I won't."

"Fine."

"Now, then, why don't we mosey back on into your house and get that leg patched up, eh?"

"Sorry, Mr. Koski," you teased, folding your hands behind your back as you continued your trek towards Natasha's clinic. "As much as we just shared a heartfelt moment of emotional growth, I don't trust your shoddy patchwork first-aid, not for something that hurts this bad. You'll just have to deal."

Sampo trailed after you like a puppy, rubbing his hands together like the shady businessman he was, familiar swindling smirk back already — though it grew more anxious by the minute as you neared Natasha's.

"Ah, come on! Can't we work out a deal? A bargain?! I said I won't let you get hurt again! We're both reasonable people, right...?"

"Y/N...? Y/N, come on!"

#hsr #honkai star rail #sampo #sampo koski #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #sampo x reader #sampo koski x reader #hsr fanfic

537 notes · View notes

redandbrown · 2 months ago

Text

Seducing Hermione Granger

Chapter 3 (Final Chapter)

Author’s Note: Okay I tried to have this finished by last week, but that’s not what happened. The more I wrote this, the more I realized I could have easily stretched this out for several more chapters, so it got kind of hard to condense it. Maybe one day I’ll do a longer one…

Rating: Definitely mature.

“All I am saying is, it’s her job, isn’t it? To maintain order in the library?”

“Job? What job?? ‘Mione the students have all gone home. The school’s in shambles. It’s just teachers and adult witches and wizards here. Give me those,” he added.

Ron grabbed the heavy pile of books off the table as Hermione reached for them, and tucked them under his arm.

“What’s she gonna do? Send us to detention?” He asked walking beside her.

“Well, no, I suppose not. We should check out those books, though,” Hermione said veering right.

“She’s not here anymore. I think we chased her away. Serves her right for being a codgy old cock block.”

“Ron!”

“Well she is! We hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet…”

Hermione hid a grin as she reach over the librarian’s desk to grab a quill and a piece of parchment.

“What are you doing?”

“Writing a list of the books I’m borrowing. She used to let me do this all the time when I came in after hours.”

“After hours? All the time?! Honestly, Hermione, Harry and I failed you. C’mon.”

He held the door open for her and Hermione blushed.

“What?” He asked seeing her red cheeks.

“Nothing,” she said walking through the door. “I’ve always liked that you do that for me is all. Hold the door open I mean.”

Ron smirked at her.

“Well uh, I have a confession. I don’t really do it for you,” Ron stopped, dropped the books on the floor with a loud thud, and pulled out his wand.

“What?” Hermione asked confused.

“I mean how could any one witch need this many books,” he muttered under his breath as he conjured a book bag and magically packed all of her reference books. Then he picked it up and flung it over his shoulder.

“There that’s better,” he said grabbing her hand with his free one. “Yeah, it’s uh- it’s more for me than it is you.”

“I don’t understand.”

Ron looked at her as they walked down the hallway. She suspected he was trying to figure out how much he wanted to tell her.

“Well, I like the view, you see,” he grinned at her.

“The view? What view?” She asked still lost.

Ron let go of her hand and gave her bum a squeeze. Hermione yelped in surprise.

“Yeah, the view,” he said waggling his eyebrows at her.

Hermione giggled and slapped his arm. “Ron!”

“What? It’s a nice view.”

“What about our robes? It’s not like you could see anything in those.”

Ron gave a heavy sigh. “Yeah. Stupid robes. But on the weekends when you wore your jeans- well, those were the best.”

Hermione laughed. “Ron Weasley, you’re terrible!”

Ron just grinned as he held her hand again and kissed it.

“Frog’s breath,” he added to the giant portrait of the fat lady.

“You have frog’s breath,” she shot back before admitting them entry.

They stepped into their deserted common room, and Ron deposited her books at her favorite table.

“Well, I have to go check on Neville and Luna. They’re probably done with the Hufflepuff dungeon by now. If so I’ll head to the north wall. Are you coming?”

“No. I need to stay here and figure out this memory spell, but when I’m done, I’ll join you.”

“I’ll see you in the Great Hall around five?”

Hermione smiled at him. “Okay.”

Ron kissed her hand again and just held it between them as he stood there for a moment to stare at her.

Finally he told her, “Figure it out soon, so we can pick up where we left off. I wasn’t done with you this morning, you know.”

Hermione felt her whole face burning. “I- well, yes. I mean- yes on figuring it out. It- it shouldn’t take long. I- I wouldn’t imagine.”

Ron tried not to smile and instead pulled her to him. He gave her a searing kiss and squeezed her bottom one more time.

“Only I get to hold the door open for you,” he told her.

Hermione, still blushing madly, bit back a grin.

“See you at dinner.” And with that he climbed through the portrait hole.

***

Dinner was a slow affair. At least in Hermione’s opinion. She had so much to tell Ron, but she didn’t want to do it in front of the others. After all if she explained to Harry and Ginny about her memory loss, the inevitable question would be what memories were lost. And Hermione was definitely not willing to share those.

“Hey! Ron and I need to take care of something,” she told Harry and Ginny as they were all getting up to leave.

If she expected them to take the mickey, she was mistaken. In fact Ginny seemed to perk up at the idea of having some alone time with Harry.

“Sure! Take your time!” Ginny said grabbing Harry’s hand.

“Yeah, we’ll see you then,” Harry said smiling.

Ron narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

“But we might be back early. At any moment!” He said a little louder than was necessary.

Ginny rolled her eyes and Harry did have the decency to look a little nervous.

“Ron, this way,” Hermione said grabbing his arm.

Ron forgot all about Harry and Ginny as Hermione led him out of the Great Hall.

“Where are we going?”

“I just want some privacy.”

Hermione led them to an empty classroom. She locked and silenced it for good measure. Ron leaned against the teacher’s desk, waiting patiently.

“I figured out the memory spell. What it is I mean,” she told him.

“Go on,” he encouraged her.

“Memory spells are quite interesting really. There are five memory altering spells altogether you see. And the spells are divided into two groups. Two of them are considered very strong, and the other three are much weaker and easily broken. But most of them work by erasing or hiding past memories, whereas only one of them will erase future memories for a set amount of time. That’s the one I was exposed to. It’s called innovatus memoria.”

Ron crossed his arms over his chest, and leaned forward, looking concerned.

“So someone threw this innovatus memoria at you right after the battle was over? And then you forgot the next eight hours?”

“Well, probably not. Innovatus Memoria is the only memory spell that can be attached to objects. Most likely I touched an ordinary teacup or something that had been enchanted with it. Though, I think Madam Pomfrey was right. I don’t think it was meant for me, specifically. I think I was just the unlucky one to find it. And given that she told me several students had reported memory loss to her this morning, I’m guessing there are multiple enchanted objects around the castle.”

Ron looked lost in thought. “But who would do such a thing, and why?”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. “I honestly don’t know. It could have been a cruel prank inflicted by someone, or a misguided attempt at attacking enemies. We were in a battle after all. It could’ve been a death eater or a student or someone else entirely. I don’t know if we’ll ever know the answer. But…”

“But what?” He asked reaching for her hand.

“The incantation to break it is extremely complicated. It will easily take me a week of practice to get the hang of it. And even then, it’s hard to do it on myself. It would be better if someone else performed it on me. I guess I’m just going to have to wait a few days to let Madam Pomfrey do it.”

Ron pulled her to him for a hug, and kissed the top of her head.

“C’mon,” he told her leading her to the door. “I have an idea.”

***

“The Room of Requirement?” Hermione asked breathlessly as they stopped in front of the empty wall where they knew the room to appear.

After performing the pacing ritual, they entered into a room that was the exact replica of the boy’s seventh year dormitory.

“What’s this?” She asked him.

“Thought we’d have a bit more privacy here, than the real dorm.”

“Honestly I’m surprised it worked after that fire Crabbe set in here.”

“Yeah part of me wasn’t so sure about that either,” he said. “I um… I thought we could try something. To get your memories back I mean.”

Hermione moved to sit on the four poster that looked exactly like Ron’s. It even had his name on the trunk at the end of the bed.

“What’s that?”

“I owled my dad today, after I left you in the common room. Explained what happened to you. Well… I didn’t tell him everything,” he winked at her and she blushed. “Dad’s got a mate in the Department of Curse Breaking. Name’s Dave. Nice guy, really smart. His department also handles memory charms because they’re so weaponized. Dad told me that there’s a non magical way to break some of the spells. I’m assuming he meant the weaker ones that you were talking about.”

“Like what? I didn’t see anything in my reading,” Hermione asked curiously.

“Well, you wouldn’t. Not yet anyways. It’s something they’ve been experimenting with for only a couple of years. Dad says it’s not always successful, but many times it is. He said Dave told him you don’t actually lose your memories under the charm. They’re just locked away you see.”

“Really? Well what does that mean?”

“It means they can be unlocked. If you know what you’re doing.”

“Great! So what do we do?”

Ron hesitated for a moment, biting his lower lip, and studying her. “It only works if you have a witness or some sort of record of your lost memories.”

“Why?”

“Well, you have to try to recreate some of the lost memories.”

Hermione blushed fiercely.

“You’re telling me that you want to recreate what we did last night?”

Ron looked her up and down and his whole expression changed.

“Well… yes, but more than that. I- um. I need to walk you through it. To tell you what I did to you, and how I did it. I need you to recreate the scene with me.”

Hermione was certain she resembled a tomato at this point.

“What do you say?”

Hermione could only nod.

Ron bit his lower lip as he considered her for a moment and took a step back before removing his shirt. Hermione stared at his pale, broad shoulders. She didn’t know he had that many freckles on them. His wand came out next, and he transfigured his jeans into sweatpants. Hermione was watching him silently when looked up at her and offered his hand. He pulled her off the bed and Ron started walking backwards pulling her along with him.

“So you’re going to describe our night together?” She asked staring into his eyes.

His hand went to her waist and he spun her around so that he was now walking her backwards. When the stone wall stopped her in her tracks, she felt her head hit something soft. Ron had moved his hand behind her to cushion the blow.

“Yes,” he told her.

“Right, then,” he continued sounding business like now. “Well it started after we both took our showers. You walked into my room, while I was getting dressed. I only had sweatpants on.”

Hermione gulped “Ok.”

“I pinned you against this wall, like this,”he said leaning his body weight on her. “And you held my face in your hands.”

Hermione gently grabbed his face and she saw his eyes darken as they traveled down her body.

“And I kissed you, like this.” Ron leaned in and kissed her, gently, slowly, but it quickly became more heated. He grabbed her face and deepened the kiss, and Hermione let out a small moan.

He pulled back to talk to her.

“I took care of this problem,” he said as his hand snaked under her top and Hermione felt her bra loosen. “And what did you say to me? Do you remember?”

“N-no,” Hermione felt him kneading her breasts in the most delicious way and her head fell back onto his hand again.

“You told me you wanted more.” She felt his mouth come to rest next to her ear. “Tell me, Hermione. Tell me what you want.”

“I- I want more. Ron, please!”

Ron’s hand left her breast and traveled to the button on her jeans. He snatched it open and slid his hand in, and she whimpered at his touch.

“Mmm fuck! This is better than last night,” he groaned in her ear. “Because I know what happens next.”Ron ran his callused finger slowly, softly, back and forth and she called out in surprise.

“You okay?” He whispered, and she nodded quickly. His teeth grazed her ear, and she felt a shudder run down her spine.

As his mouth left to trail across her neck, he asked her, “Do you remember what you said then?”

He pulled back to watch her answer his question, his finger keeping a slow steady pace inside her pants.

“I said I wanted you?” she guessed. She was panting hard now.

“That’s right. Good girl,” Ron nodded his approval and his lips returned to her neck, his hot tongue tasting the sweat on her skin. This was too much. How long could she put up with this sweet torture?

“C’mon, Hermione. Keep going. What happened next,” he urged her.

Hermione whimpered. “Ron, I don’t know-

“Yes, you do,” he cut her off. “Try.”

“You- you slid your hands under my shirt,” she said with more certainty than she felt.

And Ron’s hands left her pants to slide her shirt up until he pulled it over her head. His eyes were roaming all over her.

“There you go. Tell me, Hermione. Then what?”

Hermione grabbed the waistband of her jeans, and started to slide them off her body, but Ron grabbed her hands and pinned them above her head.

“Wrong,” he told her, his blue eyes dark and lustful.

“But I-I don’t know!”

“Yes you do,” he told her, keeping her pinned in place. “You’re the same Hermione you were yesterday. Your wants, dreams…fantasies... None of that has changed since then . So tell me. What do you want right now? What do you want me to do to you?”

Hermione took a big gulp and in a shaky, nervous voice, “Undress me,” she told him.

Ron gave her a sexy grin and released her hands.

“That’s right,” he said before he dropped to his knees in front of her and slid her pants and knickers off her body.

He was staring unabashedly at her, his hands sliding reverently up her thighs.

Hermione looked down at Ron sitting on his knees, shirtless, staring at her body, and waiting for her next command. And her lust for him took over. She knew exactly what she wanted.

“Ron stand up.”

And he did, towering over her again. She ran her hands over the hardened muscles of his chest and followed it with her lips. How could he feel so soft and warm and solid all at the same time?

Ron’s hands went to her hair, rubbing her scalp as she tasted every inch of his skin. She could tell he was losing control too when his breathing became more ragged and his other hand was rubbing her back firmly.

“Ron, take me to bed,” she told him and he lifted her off the ground, kissing her soundly as he walked.

When her head hit the pillow, he started kissing down to her chest.

“No, Ron, I want you.”

Ron froze. His eyes were reading her expression.

“But that’s not what happened next.”

“I don’t care about that right now. Take your pants off. I’ve wanted you for so long. Please, Ron.”

He shook his head in disbelief but did as she asked.

He hovered over her careful not to crush her with his full body weight.

“Tell, me what I want to hear,” he demanded.

“Ron, I don’t know what you want me to say-

“Yes, you do,” he insisted.

“Ron, please! I want you,” she begged, but Ron shook his head no.

“Not until you say it.”

She could feel him between her legs, his hardness pressing on her but refusing to enter. He was watching her intently, willing her to understand.

“Ron, I love you,” she said with conviction, and he thrust into her making her cry out in surprise.

Hermione grabbed his face and brought it down for a kiss as he set a rhythm.

Without warning she pushed him hard on his shoulders and he rolled onto his back.

“Oh fuck, Hermione!”

Hermione quickly picked up the pace Ron had set until he was unable to form a coherent sentence and a steady stream of curse words left his mouth. She felt herself falling over the edge.

Then suddenly a flood of familiar images rushed into her head and the dam broke. Waves of pleasure washed over her and she convulsed hard around Ron. He followed her letting out a loud groan, his whole body tensing. She collapsed spent on top of him listening to his heart beat wildly in his chest.

“Wow,” she managed when her breathing slowed down.

“Yeah.”

Ron was lazily drawing circles on her back. “That was more intense than last night.”

“I know. I remember now,” she mumbled sleepily.

“It worked?”

Hermione sat up to nod at him. “And we didn’t even have to do it exactly the same.”

“Yeah you went rogue on me there at the end,” he grinned at her.

“What can I say? I’ve been waiting a long time for that.”

Ron quickly flipped her over. “Wanna make some more memories?”

Hermione laughed. “Sure do.”

#ron weasley #hermione granger #harry potter #romione #ronald weasley #romione fanfic #romione fanfiction #ron x hermione

27 notes · View notes