#and even bath sheets could be bigger | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

squiddy-god · 3 months ago

Text

HSR men and manhandling

Manhandling HCS pt one?

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Ok so this is actually just because i have lust in my heart lmao- this came to me in a dream so buckle up, i am definitely willing to do more characters because i have thoughts- reminder that i often write smut from an afab perspective but that its gn! Because i am a trans man so ftm reader you guys are my faves <3 this is for everyone tho. These are lowkey long-

♥︎REQUEST ARE OPEN ♥︎

ARGENTI, BOOTHILL, DR RATIO, JING YUAN

Cw: smut, suggestive content to just straight smut, man handling,dom!/top characters. Established relationship, biting, no pronouns (afab anatomy), implied chubby/bigger reader, PDA, slight exhibitionism, mentions of bath sex,mentions of oral (m & f receiving) Description of touching hair (no texture described), aftercare is given even if not fully described i have so many thoughts

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Argenti

Ok hear me out-

He doesn't do it on purpose, argenti to his core is a gentle lover

But he's a knight of beauty and quite strong, throwing around a huge spear as if it was nothing, effortlessly defeating monsters in his pursuit of beauty

And until you, he traveled alone, you are truly a blessing from Idrila and who is he to refuse such a blessing.

Argenti naturally just waxes poetry to everyone and everything, it ramps up with you, it's more tender and loving. The other thing is that he's more physical, kissing a lock of your hair, the back of your hands, embracing you, dancing with you etc. this is where the problems is (its not a problem i NEED this man)

Argenti doesn't often show physical affection with anyone besides his beloved (you) so he sometimes forgets his strength, and while he could NEVER dream of handling you in any way except with tender care and the touch of a gentleman

He ends up manhandling you.

Argenti also loves you with everything, sex is special, its connection, it is devotion

And he is DEVOTED

Gently grasping your hand and waist to pull you into his embrace simply so he can admire you? The force is enough to (literally) almost sweep you off your feet

Drawing your body close to his, the music drowning out the noise you make as he moves you to dance with him.

It's like you weigh nothing to him, he can simply move you however he wants.

Often sweeps you off your feet because he forgets that most can't just sweep you into one arm while the other cradles your face.

What's hot about it is that he is literally manhandling you with such a tender expression you almost forget the way his hands grip your hips as if argenti is trying to commit the feeling of your plush body to his memory (he is)

Argenti is a giver in the bedroom, but the manhandling continues

Asks before he does literally anything- can he move your hips up? Can he kiss you? What do you need from him?

But once he has your consent on permission THIS MAN FOLD YOU IN HALF

If he's giving you head/eating you out? Consider your legs PINNED DOWN, once you tell him that he can finally have a taste he is dragging you across the soft sheets of his bed and DIVORCING your legs.

His favorite position for eating you out is him sitting on the bed with your legs slung over his shoulders and a bruising grip on your hips and thighs holding you up like its nothing, he likes it because it makes it so easy for you to look up at him while he maintains the most loving eye contact you have ever received.

Back to Argenti folding you in half- he will be balls deep in you panting and huffing while he's practically slamming into you, his hands grabbing at any part of you he can reach, tummy, thighs, love handles- anything. He let out a breathy moan asking to move you “just a bit” and when you nod your head with a whine he's dragging you closer and throwing one leg over shoulder before leaning down to ask for a kiss, practically pressing your knee to your shoulder.

Always is so shocked at how sore you are despite the fact he was bending and folding you like origami- he truly doesn't realize just how much he throws you around.

Boothill

It wasn't intentional…at first

Once he realizes just how much he man handles you (and how hot and bothered it gets you) it is 100% intentional

He is a menace and is unashamed of anything

His metal body is a lot stronger than a human body is so there is a lot more that he can do

Boothill is unashamed, he dosn’t give a fuge who sees, in fact- a more possessive side of him is very happy to see the the stares he garners with his hands around your waist practically dragging you along with his long strides

Boothill’s two favorite activities include pulling you towards him by the waist, and holding you there when you try to squirm away as he bites and nibbles your cheeks

Traveling with boothill is dangerous so shootouts with ipc and any other bounties he's hunting aren't uncommon, neither are hasty escapes where he hoists you up and slings you over his shoulder like a bag of potatoes

Honestly him throwing you over his shoulder isn't uncommon even if it's not for a hasty escape

Oh the cyborg sees you talking to someone he thinks is getting a little too friendly? He doesn't care how much you protest he is dragging you away

Back to the shootouts, if he sees your gonna get punched, shot or otherwise harmed he is pulling and pushing you all over the place like a ragdoll after all his reflexes are a lot quicker than yours so

Another one who likes to dance (did you see those moves) and he’s not even sorry as he pulls you against him to dance, laughing as he moves you.

The more boothill knows you like being manhandled the more he does it- sometimes it's really just to tease you

Pinning you down in your cair before letting you get up, all while hes laughing at how flustered you get

Boothill’s manhandling isn't so much about folding you in half but more so keeping you there-

He loves to throw you onto the bed- after he's hauled you off from a far to friendly chap, or a gunfight he will throw you onto the bed as you bounce slightly

This mostly happens once you are both safe from a bounty or gunfight- artificial adrenaline pumping through the tubes he calls veins and it has him itching to have you

Pinning your hands above your head and kissing you with a little too much teeth

Dirty lip biter

He bites his lips when he's pissed off (often) and when he kisses you (also often) so you should both invest in chapstick because your lips are bit to high hell by the time boothill pulls away

Big big fan of fucking you against a wall- might as well put this metal bod to work in his opinion, and what a better way to use it than to grab fistfulls of thigh and ass while your legs rest on his cold hips?

Its perfect because he only needs one arm to hold you up, the other free to roam and pinch where he wants

Chronic ass slapper

If he sees an opportunity to smack your ass he. Is. taking. It.

You alway know because you hear the clink of his boots and the accessories against him and the loud wolf whistle he lets out.

Dr.ratio

The good doctor is somewhat oblivious

He acknowledges that sometimes he dose move you in a way that would be considered manhandling but is mostly unaware of the effect it has on you

The difference with ratio is that so much of his manhandling is in a domestic way,

Oh he needs a mug for his tea and you are doing something in front of the counter where the cabinet is? Prepare for a stong hand on you waist and he moves you to the side like you are little to no obstacle

Oh you are getting swept up in the crowd? Fear not for veritas places a hand on the small of your back to guide you with him as he practically cuts through the crowds. Really its more of pushing you but really whos complaining?

Personally i am a fan of men who are closet/secret FREAKS and veritas ratio is a freak

I think hes rather possessive in the sense that while he is wholly confident and secure in himself and you- afterall why would you leave him for some idiot

It is a small irrational feeling that plays into the fact he is quick to annoyance and anger

The temper of the dr is well know tho very rarely directed at you

It is moment like this that hes more hands, his hand a death grip on your shoulder or the plush softness of your waist as his words cut harshly to the person getting to friendly

You are HIS idiot (affectionate)

One of the best (read: hottest) things to watch him do is sculpt. I hc that beyond stone and marble ratio also dables in clay and pottery (im bias)

Watching this man wedge clay is an ✨experience ✨, his thick toned arms that flex with earth movement, the way his back is pulled taught and his palms press the clay against the surface.

Hes practically leaning over it and grunting (wedging clay is an arm workout) . I mean how could you not watch that slack jawed wondering when it's your turn? (i'm gonna write suggestive ration on the wheel)

IN THe BATH?? Not enough ratio bath sex in my life tbh but this man is aughhhhhh

Ratio likes his baths, warm relaxing water and a good book? Perfect 100 points. Having you with your back pressed against his chest? Extra credit

Dr ratios love languages are info dumping and acts of service change my mind. He likes to be useful, a deep seeded need to help people, and especially you. He likes to wash you in the bath, from washing your hair to scrubbing you clean he wants to help so just relax into putty in his arms

He doesn't hesitate to turn and maneuver you however he needs to scrub and clean you and he manhandles you because you're a bit slippery. His grip is more firm (when is it not?)

One thing he does slightly unintentionally is turning your face/head to face him/look him in the eyes. His hands grab your jaw or squish your cheeks as he turns you to look at him making sure you are paying 100% attention

Same with kisses, a firm hand at the nape of the neck pressing you further into him.

Guess what? Its your turn because this touch starved man is grabby it isnt a want he needs to be grabign at anything he can rach his hands practically kneading your soft flesh while you get flipped and folded.

This man is a dr…he knows all the angles that make you writhe and he intends to exploit them even if he has to pull out and fold you in half before pushing himself back in

Big fan of pressing down while kneading your stomach right where he knows his cock is so deep inside you

Jing yuan

The lazy general 100% dose it on purpose, hiding behind that warm grin despite his actions

Most of the time he is very gentle, but there are times when his work becomes rather taxing and he needs a small break

The small break being waiting for you to walk close enough only for his strong arms to wrap around you and pull you down into his lap where you will NOT be leaving

This is his main form of man handling, pulling you into his lap and holding you in his iron grip

Big fan of naps and he will often pull you into the optimal sleeping/cuddle position whenever he gets the chance to

Oh your arm is falling asleep? Don't worry he just picks you up and maneuvers you to basically lay on top of him

He lights the weight of your body, his very own weighted and heated blanket

He plays the fool but there is a distinct twinkle in his golden eyes when he sees the way you grow flustered whining about how your in his office and-

But it doesn't matter to him because he needs this- so just stay in his lap a little longer

He's even worse in bed- his work keeps him busy so he feel that he needs to compensate by absolutely rocking your world

Really it depends on the time of day- ironically you get manhandled more in the mornings when he wakes up hard and absolutely aching for you

In the mornings when you are both still sleepy he drags you closer to him, kissing up your shoulder and neck until he has you begging for him in that morning voice he finds so irresistible,

Wastes no time spooning you, letting out a groan as he slides inside you and rocks you against him- his hands have a firm bruising grip on your hips as he rocks you against him with force

One hand remains on your hip to keep up the punishing pace while the other holds your jaw so you twist to kiss him- and he cant get enough, he slams you back against him rougher and rougher until you are both satisfied and he is all but forced out of your shared bed.

The second is at night when he has you on top of him, riding him while his hands grab your ass and thighs, throwing your weight around while he looks up at you with the same lazy grin he always has

As if he isn't bouncing you along his length just waiting for you to stutter from the burn in your legs- all an excuse to pick you up and pin you back against the bed under him-

All an excuse to be able to leave open mouth kisses against your skin while he has his fill of your pillowy softness

In summary he knows exactly what he's doing and he knows exactly how riled up you get when he uses just a little of his strength on you.

Don't let the drowsy grin on his face fool you. Menace through and though

2K notes · View notes

norrizzandpia · 5 months ago

Note

if we're adding more to the Oscar verse can we please get a peek into the time when they weren't together but everyone could feel it coming 🥺🫣🥹 ALSO BESTIE OUR BOYS POSTING ICE BATH PHOTOS HAD ME KICKING MY FEET AND GIGGLING

BRO I KNOW EXACTLY WHICH ICE BATH PICS YOURE TALKING ABT AND WHEN I TELL YOU THOSE CAME OUT AND I DIED, I. DIED.

I love McLaren so much for that post

ANYWAYSSSSS this is from my older Oscar social media au titled best friends to benefits to lovers.

It’s basically a prequel because it takes place before they got together and were just bsfs with benefits

Just Benefits Right Now (OP81)

Summary: It’s common knowledge they love each other. Just not to them - even when they’re sleeping together.

Warnings: fluff, pining, YEARNING, sexual conversations and innuendos, Oscar and yn being dumbasses, language

Note: this is very much casual by Chappell roan and risk by Gracie Abram’s coded

“Can I be honest?” Oscar asks from the other side of the table at breakfast. Y/n sits staring at him, a certain feeling in her stomach that gnaws uncomfortably at her insides.

She nods, “Always.”

He takes a deep breath and it almost feels as though her body is anticipating something she’s always been waiting to hear. What she’s meant to be anticipating, she has no idea.

“How would this be a good idea?” His eyes avert from hers and her stomach finally settles. Oh. Her discomfort was linked to the massive, life-changing scenario she presented Oscar the night before. Friends with benefits. What could go wrong? They loved each other and hadn’t slept with anyone in months, it was getting to the both of them. They wanted the best for each other and each could lend a helping hand to the other’s problem. No strings attached. That’s what she had said.

She shrugs, “We’re both antsy from not getting laid. This could take the edge off. It might even help your racing.”

He laughs and Y/n smiles, “Can I think about it?”

“You asked that last night and I agreed. That hasn’t changed.” She reaches over the table and lays her hand over his. Her soft thumb rubs over his skin and his whole body warms.

The warmth makes him give in, “You know what? I’m down. We’ve been friends for years, nothing could change that.”

She nods and smiles, but there’s an unsettling hesitation to her agreement. Pushing it aside, Y/n giggles as she asks him when they should fully go through with the new plan. There’s a slight blush to their faces as they discuss and they deduce it’s from the unusual topic.

The stirring stomachs and slight relief filling their bodies is not something their minds decide to address.

—

Lando hears the giggling from down the hall. His light chuckling as he stands completely alone makes him look insane as engineers pass by him, but the man has never been one to shy from social anxiety.

His knuckles rap against the door softly, trying not to disturb the friends in their fun. The volume decreases after a few seconds as Oscar’s heavy footsteps meet the threshold. It opens and Lando shoves his way through, Y/n rolling her eyes at him.

“Come on in, Lan.” Her tone is dry and sarcastic, but Lando sees the sparkle in her eye. Sure, the sparkle was usually bigger when directed at Oscar, but he knew that was a sign of her adoration nonetheless.

He plops down next to her, his arm around her shoulders, as Oscar closes the door. Amidst their greetings, Lando misses the way Oscar’s face contorts into something akin to jealousy at how cuddly his friend and his best friend seem to be. He shakes it off. Y/n is single despite their plans to find each other in white sheets. If she wants to flirt with Lando, so be it.

It still irks him though.

“We have an interview to get to, Osc. PR is making me come to summon you. They seem to think I’ll be able to lure you away from Y/n quick enough.” Lando explains, his eyes drifting between the two. Something about the way Oscar’s hands twitch at his sides and Y/n’s fingers pick at the skin around her nails tips him off to the tension. Tension between Oscar and Y/n is not surprising considering their confusing relationship, but this is more sexual. It’s not even as if that’s surprising, Lando’s just never seen it play out in front of him before. Drunk Oscar is quite open about how attractive he thinks Y/n is, there’s no doubt he’s had suggestive thoughts about her. Same goes for Y/n. Drunk words are sober thoughts, no?

He’s almost contemplating the possibility of them having found each other on an alcohol-loving night, leading to clothes on the floor, but the strained nature of the two makes him second guess it. If they would have had sex together, Oscar would’ve never let her go. Lando knows that.

What’s this then? What’s with the new wandering eyes and brighter smiles? Or the recently discovered confidence to make their feelings so obvious?

Lando practically wipes the drool off of Oscar’s chin as he stands from the couch in the corner of the room, untangling himself from Y/n, and grabbing Oscar’s arm to lead him out of the room.

“Have fun! Be quick!” Y/n shouts as they leave. Oscar nods and smiles at her before the door closes fully, yelling back about how fast he would be.

The exchange is too flirty compared to the usual Oscar and Y/n. The cheeky grins and reassurance on how short of a time they would have to be apart makes Lando question Oscar immediately.

“Did you two fuck or something?” His hands are up in the air, completely lost at the two. Lando has always wanted the friends to wake the fuck up and confess how much they’ve always loved each other, but this doesn’t feel like that. This feels lustful and not at all like how he would expect the two to act after having found out about love shared.

The dreaded words leave Oscar and Lando almost claws his eyes out, “No, we didn’t. But, we’re talking about, like a friends with benefits type thing.”

Lando halts, “No, Oscar. You guys can’t be friends with benefits.”

Oscar’s eyebrows scrunch together and he puts his hands on his hips, “Why not? Who are you to tell us what we can and can’t do?”

Lando groans, “Because! I’ve been where you are, in love with someone and taking anything I could get to be closer with them. It never ends well. Especially friends with benefits.”

“Who said anything about being in love?!” Oscar’s eyes practically bulge out his head, his arms flinging out by his sides.

Lando goes quiet and his head cocks to the side. No words are spoken, none can be said. Lando refuses to tell Oscar how he feels, but he also refuses to lie. It’s a look of plea, please be serious right now, but that’s as far as they get. Oscar turns around, clearly frustrated, and walks down the stairs to where they’re needed. Lando lets him go, putting space between them, and stares at the picture of them hanging on the wall beside him. Taken in Suzuka with their trophies, their smiles are so big. Lando wants Oscar to be that happy and stress-free again, but, then again, when was Oscar ever?

Y/n and Oscar have known each other for years, this cycle having always existed. No matter how many times Lando could try to say it, try to make Oscar wake up, he wouldn’t get it. Or, if he did, he wouldn’t come to terms with it.

Because of that, this friends with benefits plan was destined to fail miserably.

—

The door slams shut behind them and quiet fills the room. Y/n and Oscar stand side by side in his apartment, a translucent look to their skin.

They shuffle to his room, careful not to wake his roommates. The next slamming is Oscar’s personal door, solidifying the start of their attempt at sleeping together. His hand gently finds hers, but neither dare to look at the other. They stare at his bed and link fingers.

“What do we do now?” She whispers. It’s a stupid question, she knows that and so does he, but he doesn’t say it. He simply squeezes her palm and finally turns so his body stands in front of hers.

His long fingers play with the sleeve of her shirt, “Can I take this off?”

HIs deep brown eyes bear into hers, helping her get more comfortable with the situation, and she nods.

“I’m gonna need words, Y/n.” His lips kiss her ear, his voice soft.

Her breath is hot against the skin of his neck, “Yes, Oscar.”

And with that, the first item of clothing falls to the floor. Neither of them is prepared for whatever transpires between them. From the way Oscar holds her to the gentleness of their eyes, things stray away from what they had prepared.

No strings attached. Casual. Friends with benefits. This is what this was. That’s all. But, they were beginning to find out it was hard being casual when the other was someone they had cherished for so long, someone who had taken residence in the other’s heart. Oscar admired her and her strength. She admired his sympathy. Now they admired the way the other touched, the way the other sounded. At their most vulnerable, the friends found a gray area. A gray area that had always been there, but was only now so obvious with how naked they were.

Nonetheless, they were still friends, and still claimed the title as friends with benefits. Casual, no strings attached was some sort of chant in their minds when they both agreed it was best if Y/n didn’t sleep over, that she leave the minute they were done. And when he closed the door on her, hearing her walk down the hallway and out of the building, Oscar closed his eyes and breathed.

The weight on his heart made it hard to continue the mantra.

—

This was the weirdest Lando had seen Oscar and Y/n. Their touches were fleeting as if once their skin met, they realized what they were doing and pulled away. Usually, they drank in the softness of the other like it was something that would be gone tomorrow. Now, it’s like they’re nervous to cross some sort of line.

It clicks in Lando’s mind.

The line’s already been crossed, forcing them into unknown territory. His warnings and pleas for logical thinking went ignored by Oscar. Friends with benefits it was.

He looms over the two, “Oscar, I need to talk to you.”

Y/n and Oscar exchange a look, something harsh in Lando’s tone, but he goes with the man anyway.

Lando drags him by the arm to a small room out of the way, closing the door and turning around to stare at Oscar.

“What?” He asks, but he already knows. He’s sweating under Lando’s glare.

Lando folds his arms across his chest, “You’re not dumb, Oscar. You know this isn’t going to go well.”

Oscar scoffs, “You don’t know that! It could go anyway! We’ll stay friends. It’ll be fine. Once one of us finds someone else, we’ll stop.”

“And what happens then? When you have to see her with another guy, knowing what it’s like to have her that way? Or vice versa?” Lando counters. He takes a step toward Oscar.

Oscar takes a step back, “It wouldn’t be that way.”

“So, you’re telling me that you’d stop having sex with her and then you’d just completely go back to being platonic with her? You’d know what it’d be like to have her that way and all of a sudden, you think you’d be able to turn it off? On top of everything that started before this?”

This time, Oscar doesn’t argue or act stupid when Lando mentions the supposed feelings he believes Oscar to have. At this point, Oscar can’t bring himself to admit to anything. He can’t say he doesn’t love her nor can he say he does. He can’t say they’re just casual nor can he say that they are. It’s been a few weeks of having her naked under him and it’s all he can think about. He loves knowing that side of her, having her trust him enough to give him that side. Though, he doesn’t know how serious it all is to her because of her lack of interest in staying after. He wants her to, doesn’t want her to feel as though he’s using her, but she’s so adamant.

It’s fine, he tells himself. They’re just friends, she can leave whenever she wants.

Still, Lando’s words cut into his skin, sharp and painful. He’s right, Oscar won’t ever be able to unsee her unraveling with him, but he wants to believe he can. He wants to believe that he still wants them to be just friends as they get into all of this, that he’s fine with continuing to be friends with benefits.

The idea of her being with another man, not just in bed, makes his skin crawl. To experience and be forced to be cordial with a man that has what’s hi- what he knows now isn’t something he thinks he could do.

In all his stubbornness, Oscar can’t let Lando be right. “Yes. It wouldn’t be that hard.”

It’s already hard to say goodbye to her now. Saying goodbye to her completely in that sense sounds impossible.

Lando looks at him as if he knows it too. He sighs, “Alright, fine. I believe you. But, if you ever need someone to talk to, if you’re ever confused…”

The two share a glance and Oscar nods, “I know. You’re there.”

When he emerges from the room, Y/n is staring intensely at the door. He sits down next to her and she leans forward. Her perfume replaces the rationality in his head.

“What was that all about?” She whispers, looking up at him with her kind eyes.

He smiles, dimples deep and permanent around her, “Just racing stuff. Strategies we need to keep quiet and all that.”

She nods and it seems as though the perfume hasn’t completely left him mentally helpless.

—

“Fuck, Y/n.” Oscar pants as he rolls off her. Their fingers lace together under the blankets and Y/n’s face turns to the side to smile at him.

She doesn’t move from her spot, giving Oscar hope she won’t leave, but when her body slugs over the side of the bed and begins getting dressed, his actions forget to check in with his head.

His hand grasps hers tightly, holding her from getting too far away. She looks down, her eyes to their hands before moving to his eyes. They’re dilated and big, puppy-like.

She runs her other hand through his hair and he sighs, “Please, stay.”

The two words are soft and hang in the air around her. They’re daunting, suggesting a break in the meticulous rules they set to protect themselves. She’s so close to saying no, to completely running from the situation and Oscar himself, but he holds her so tight, like he knows she’s slipping away, it’s hard to reject him.

Her gaze moves to the door and Oscar holds her tighter, “Y/n, it doesn’t mean anything, remember? I just don’t want to be alone after the race.”

Ah, the race. For fucks sake. Of course, he only wants her to stay because of the bad race he had. How could she be so stupid? It doesn’t mean anything. This isn’t supposed to mean anything. It doesn’t to him. He only seeks comfort in his best friend, the one person he’s always looked to when things didn’t go right. Y/n falls back into his bed, defeated. Some part of her, even though it had been scary, wanted him to want something more. She wanted him to break the rules with her. Yet, she lives in a world where the only way she can get close to Oscar in the way she craves is through this. This horrifying, painful excuse of a relationship, a friendship. Whatever you wanted to call it. When all is said and done, he’ll go back to dating women he loves and she’ll live with the memories of him above her, pleading with her to stay for reasons she hates.

To know she had been the one to suggest this, to get herself into this complicated situation, hurts the most. There is a world where she doesn’t know this. A world where Oscar doesn’t hold her in the way he is or touch her in the way he does. That world seems less cruel.

Though, she finds herself here. Oscar’s chin on top of her head as his breathing evens out, sleep finding him. His arms are wrapped around her body and his chest meets hers every time it expands with air.

What she wants is to not be here, not experience him in this way, but it’s too good to give up. To stop all of this too soon would be denying her heart something she’s wanted ever since she met him years ago. She couldn’t ever bring herself to do that.

So, she keeps her eyes open, fighting off the sleep she wants so bad, so when he ends this, she’ll remember what it was like to sleep next to him.

—

Small snippets of music from TikTok play from the phones of Oscar and Y/n as they lay against each other in his room. A video of a couple laughing together as they kiss and cook in a kitchen loops itself on her screen. She stares at them, wondering if that’s what people see when they see her and Oscar. Knowing what her friends and family have said in regard to the way Oscar and her act toward one another, she pictures him looking at her with this much love.

Surely, she always tells them, if he looked at her with such care, she would notice. What she can’t tell them is that the way he looks at her is pure lust, something that’s self-explanatory as they find each other every night to feed certain urges.

“You’ve been watching that for a while.” Oscar says, his hand trailing from her arm to her hair and pushing it out of the way. She sits up, his touch being so hard to stomach with the thoughts rushing in her mind.

The noise from his phone stops as he turns it off and throws it to the side, suddenly concerned for how stoic Y/n is. He sits up next to her, shoulder-to-shoulder.

Again, his touch is too much to take, so she moves from the bed and stands at its foot.

Now, Oscar’s really worried.

“What’s wrong?” He clambers over to her, sitting in front of her and staring up at her nervous face.

It all comes out like word-vomit, “What if I’m never loved?”

She doesn’t even know where that notion comes from, but it’s a genuine worry. It always has been for her, just one that’s gone unsaid.

Oscar reels back, “Don’t say that.”

She huffs, “Why?”

He’s very clearly speechless, his mouth hanging open as he scoffs. “Because.”

“Why because?” She tries again. For some reason, knowing Oscar still doesn’t want her in the way she does him even when he has her sexually makes her panic that no man could want her if one has her body and still doesn’t choose to love her. It’s drowning and stressful, but, at this moment, all Y/n sees is her best friend, not the man she sleeps with, and she seeks his reassurance.

Oscar takes a breath, “Because, of course, you’ll be loved, Y/n. It’s easy to love you. You’ll find the one and it won’t be hard for them to love you.”

What if I don’t want the one, she thinks.

“How do you know that?” She counters, tears pricking her eyes.

Oscar visibly softens, his words coming out faster than he likes, “Because I love you.”

The three words are something she’s heard from him multiple times, but now, with the frequent benefits, she finds herself searching for more meaning. Three words she has wanted so badly to shift away from platonic and to romantic begin to with the way he looks at her. It’s as if the world falls away and what is left is only her. She watches the brown eyes dilate completely, only black color being left to be seen. She watches him stare at her with the utmost respect and sincerity.

This can’t be friends, can it?

“You love me in a friend way, Oscar.” She clarifies, hoping for him to give her something that suggests what’s unfolding in front of her eyes.

He hardens immediately, “Yeah, but I still love you. If I love you as platonically as I do, it won’t be hard for someone to love you romantically.”

She stares at him. He mistakes pain for confusion.

“Think about it like this,” He begins, “You love me platonically. But, it’s easy for you to see someone loving me romantically because of how much you love me just as I am. Platonic love can easily find itself to be romantic love.”

She misses his last sentence and the underlying meaning of it because she’s too hung up on the one component he misses in his analogy.

That she loves him. Not platonically, but romantically.

—

The next week, Y/n can’t bring herself to see Oscar. Multiple excuses of being busy or having some sort of appointment to go to, she dodges his every try to see her. Her realization that she’s fully in love with him hit her hard and it must’ve been clear to Oscar with the way he pestered her after she fled his apartment that day. In a heap of tears and anxiety, Y/n mumbled some random excuse about needing to leave and practically ran from Oscar when he tried to question her. He was confused, but tried to leave it at the fact that she probably got upset over her emotional confession and just wanted to be alone. He tried, but he still found himself wandering to the possibility she got upset over the fact that he was focusing so heavily on his (made up) platonic love for her.

Remembering the one person that had warned him about the mess he would find himself in, Oscar calls Lando.

After two rings, the British accent fills the speaker.

“Is everything okay?” Lando asks, as if he already knows.

Oscar is quiet for a moment before calmly speaking, “I haven’t seen Y/n in a week.”

There’s a small sigh on the other end of the phone, “Why do I need to know that, Oscar?”

“Because you told me you’d always be there for me if I ever got confused.”

“So, you’re confused?”

“Yes.”

“About her?”

“I love her, Lando.”

What once seemed to be the whispered gossip of the paddock is now a firm fact as Oscar finally admits to something everyone had always suspected.

Lando tries to hide the smile in his voice, but Oscar hears it anyway. “And what do you want to do with that information?”

Oscar rubs a hand over his face, “I don’t know.”

Lando grunts, “You’re kidding.”

“No, I’m not. The last time we spoke she ran out of my apartment after I had spoken about how much I loved her platonically. That could either mean she got upset that I seemed to only love her platonically or she noticed the way I was adamant in that I loved her just as a friend that she realized I did love her romantically and panicked. She either loves me or she doesn’t and I can’t tell.” Oscar rambles. His palms are sweating and it almost feels as though his entire life is falling apart in front of him. Admitting what he just did either means losing the one person he values most in his life or finally getting to experience love the way it should be.

Lando smiles, thinking how cute this all is as he witnesses a massive love story for himself, “I think you should just tell her, Osc.”

Oscar laughs, “That’s it? That’s all you have to say? That’s the advice you promised you’d always be there to give me when I was fucking completely lost in my life?”

Lando nods, “Yep. Now follow it. Thanks.” He ends the call before Oscar can grill him on why he’s so confident in Y/n loving him back that Oscar’s only action to do is tell her how he feels.

The man is left to stare at his phone, his Lock Screen to be more specific. A picture of Y/n and him after his sprint win. The sparkles in her eyes, the ones he always loved from afar, are the most prominent here compared to every other time he’s gotten them photographed. It’s the reason he set it as his background.

His inner monologue, reminding him of why this photo sat proudly on his phone, is what pushes him to pick up his coat, rush from his home, and delete his train ticket.

The ticket that was meant to get him to the city where the hotel he would be staying at for the SIlverstone Grand Prix was. The ticket that ensured he raced, did his job, gone from his phone.

In the back of his mind were the texts Y/n sent him, telling him they shouldn’t meet because he needed to prepare for the race. Knowing she used that as a way to distance herself from him, whether that was because she loved him or didn’t, he needed to know why. If she didn’t love him, at least he tried but, if she did, what a world he would get to be acquainted with.

After all, he’s always had to fight for the things he loves.

—

The pounding on her door makes Y/n grab a knife. It’s so late at night, the only person who would reasonably be at her door is Oscar but, after all her deflections, she knows it’s not him.

Or so she thought.

Oscar stands with his head held high, but it plummets when he sees her grasp on the weapon.

“Jesus Christ, Y/n! What the fuck?!” He yelps, jumping away from the door with his hands up.

She scoffs, “What do you mean?! What’re you doing here? Your train leaves in like five hours! You should be asleep or packing!”

She’s panicked. He can’t be here. The majority of her is so susceptible to just giving in and telling him how much she loves everything about him. Being around him means jeopardizing what little she has.

Oscar shakes his head, “I deleted my ticket. I’m not going.”

The knife clatters to her feet and Oscar screams out. She shushes him before ushering him inside whilst looking outside, making sure he didn’t disturb any of her neighbors. When they’re comfortable inside with the door closed, she whips around and jabs a finger in his chest, “Why did you delete your ticket?!”

He grabs her wrists, stopping her hitting, “Because I needed to see you. You’ve been blowing me off all week.”

She rolls her eyes, “Because I didn’t want to blow you off all week.”

He gapes at her, loosening his grip on her. She moves away from him, picking up the knife and putting it back in the drawer.

“Y/n, I don’t understand. Everything was fine until that day in my room when you started talking about not being loved.” He says, a hand over his face in despair.

She shakes her head, “It’s always been not fine, Oscar. You just never noticed.”

He meets her eyes and he snaps, “What do you mean?!”

She turns around, another sign of her rejection of him, “I’m not prepared to have this conversation with you.”

“Not prepared or just scared?” He counters, hands on his hips as he stares at her back.

She doesn’t respond, giving him the moment to explain why he’s even here in the first place.

“Well, I’ll let you know that I’ve always been scared. Scared of the way you make me feel, of what it means to be around you and love you as much as I do.” He breathes for a few seconds, letting the previous tension dissipate as she turns around to look him in the eye, “I love you, Y/n. Sleeping with you, being friends with benefits, was always just going to be a way for me to get a taste of you that way until you decided to end things. And, now, it feels like you’re trying to end things and all it’s done is make me realize just how gone I am for you. I kept telling myself that once you decided to be done with our casualness, I would be able to turn it off, but that time has seemingly come and I can’t do it. I love you too much.”

They stare at each other for a minute before Y/n smiles softly, “You love me too much?”

He nods, taking a step toward her, “Not platonically. Very much romantically. I think I always have.”

She meets him in the middle and his arms find her waist, hers around his neck, “Oscar Jack Piastri.”

He smiles down at her, “Y/n Y/m/n Y/l/n.”

Her fingers tangle at the bottom of his hair, forcing his head down to meet her lips. They move together softly, the first kiss that’s openly filled with love. When they pull back, Y/n whispers against his lips, “I love you so much.”

His eyes closed, relishing in the moment, he whispers back, “It’s never been hard loving you.”

“I wasn’t blowing you off this week because I didn’t want to blow you off.” She giggles, he does with her, “I just thought I would never have you the way I truly wanted and I couldn’t deal with it.”

He moves his head away from her slightly, catching her eyes quickly. They dilate as they look at her and Y/n is finally able to know it’s with love.

Oscar cradles her face, “You’ve always had me the way you wanted. You just never saw it. But, now you do, and you’ll never not have me the way you want. I’ll always be yours.”

And she would always be his.

484 notes · View notes

kafkaesque22girlfriend · 8 months ago

Text

The Damned P.1

Toji Zenin x fem! reader

Synopsis: forced to get in with the Zenin clan by your parents as a servant, Toji Zenin seemed to damn you more than himself….

Being a servant in the Zenin household was not for the weak-willed or the weak-minded, it took strong foundations of a strong mind to survive within these endless, lavishly adorned walls of the Zenin Compound. One of the three big clans in Jujutsu Society, blossoming the pure, clean bloodline of the strongest sorcerers in the modern and past Jujutsu eras.

Your parents pushed you into being here, young but not ditsy, focused yet polite. The Zenin really didn't care, they just wanted the free labour, but you did get a roof over your head when the Zenin took you in as a servant. Little did you know that your parents literally sent you off to serve strangers and live with them for God knows how long. Your cursed technique was strong and your parents wanted the Zenin to know that and get in with the family, even if you started as a lowly servant. To infiltrate? To gather information? To be married off? To destroy from the inside…? You didn’t know, nor did you care at this point.

The clan leader, Naobito Zenin, sent you off on your way as if he didn't give a single thought, as if he was washing away the dirt on his hands. You were young and inexperienced and you didn't deserve the reward of the bigger duties so you were sent Toji Zenin's way, the black sheep, the damned one in the Zenin clan. You would be the personal servant of Toji Zenin.

Which leads you here now, standing by the foot of his bed, ready to wake him up like you usually do. Late. It was nearing 11 am and the clan needed to be in the training quarters in about half an hour. You glanced at Toji, seeing the drool escape from his mouth, his hair roughed up, and the sheets that barely covered his naked chest. These were the only times you felt Toji not be intimidating. You opened up the curtains and the windows, letting the fresh air ventilate the room. He grunted when the light hit his eyes at the most perfectly uncomfortable angle.

“Get the hell out.” He groaned angrily as he covered his eyes with his bulky forearm.

“Rise and shine, Master Toji.” You say with a faint warmness, anything to keep this civilised and polite knowing he could lash out quickly. The light seeps through the room and bathes it in the sunlight. He looked peaceful lying there, it's shame you had to wake him. He never looked so peaceful while he was awake, and, sadly, we all know the reason why. Toii grumbled and groaned, lifting his arm from his eyes.

“Can't even fuckin' sleep in this damn house.” He opened his eyes and was met by the sight of the sun hitting against your silhouette. He then looked at your face and rolled his eyes, a sour expression filled his face once more. “And do me a favour, and don't call me 'master' if you don't want your teeth punched in.” Toji fucking hated that, fucking hated it all.

You immediately frown. “It's not like I want to call you that, you are my superior. I work for you, I have to refer to you as that.” You explain to Toji as if he didn't already know it clear as day. “Would you like me to bring in a gong and wake you up like that?” You say, a small smile tugging at your lips at the insane hypothetical.

“I don't give a damn if you have to call me that, just drop it.” He growled against his pillow, glaring at you in the process. Toji then sat up from the bed, resting his head on his right hand as he looked at you blankly. He couldn't help but believe that there was some charm to you in how you were so polite. Your expression had an innocence to it that he had never come across in the cesspit that was the Zenin compound. “If you dare bring a gong in here, I'll break it and then your ribs.”

You knew that he was very much capable of doing that, so you didn't push further. But your mouth ran faster than your brain.

“Well then Toji, if you break my ribs...who will be making you breakfast every morning? Speaking of which, if you want food, I'm making some. So get up.” You say a little more firmly this time, you've never been this challenging towards your superiors, part of you wants to take it back, what if the clan deject you for being disrespectful? You frown slightly and leave the room to head back to the kitchen and finish preparing his breakfast.

The first thing he did when you left the room was let out a groan of frustration. It was always like this, you were being too much of a pushover to him. Always too kind. That was what irritated him the most. Maybe he was projecting. He needed to stop thinking that. Toji got dressed into his montsuki and went into the bathroom to brush his teeth and freshen himself up, he hated how every day started the same.

Soon, you heard his footsteps walking towards the kitchen, a few seconds later his hulking figure appeared at the doorway, leaning against the frame as he crossed his arms.

“I can make my own breakfast.” He declared in a low and husky voice.

“No, you can't.” You say politely but your words carry some weight to them that resounded throughout the whole room.

Each clan member had a specific section of the compound to themselves, so you had an entire kitchen to yourself to prepare food for Toji. He couldn't make his breakfast even if he tried, servants were solely assigned that duty.

You glance up at him leaning against the doorway, you finish plating up his Teishoku and serve them, you place it on the kitchen island in front of you. “Coffee sir-? I mean Toji..” You say softly, fumbling over your words but correcting yourself.

Your words irked him like nothing else, you were so nice to him. He loathed it. What made you so kind in the face of someone like him? “Quit this 'sir' bullshit.” He was trying to play it cool, his eyebrows slightly raised as he spoke. Internally he was confused by your ongoing kindness, you were like this from day one. He didn't like the fact that he had to work around your kindness.

“I apologize. Bad habit.” You let out a nervous chuckle, trying to ignore the burning green gaze zeroing in on you. Your expression was trying to hide the fact that you were uncomfortable with his presence. Toji was a little more than impressed by how you were handling him like this still. After all, most people would be scared shitless already.

As you hand him his coffee, Toji notices the band-aids on your fingers. The skin looked red and brittle and it made him raise an eyebrow. “What happened to them? And don't say 'nothing' or 'it's nothing.” Toii muttered under his breath, trying to distance himself but still be curious at the same time.

“Oh, I burned myself by accident, the stove was too hot.” You respond a little curtly, turning your back and starting cleaning up and clearing away. It was clear you didn't want to talk about it, the real reason was rather daunting as Naoya Zenin threatened to break your fingers because you didn't do a task correctly.

Toji watched with intent simmering eyes as you turned your back to him. The first thing was that your reasoning behind it was obvious bullshit. You were lying through your teeth but quite frankly he didn't car enough to pry even further. "You're really clumsy, aren't you?”

Your shoulders relax as you sigh out, thankful he wasn't reading into it. “I am...I am. ..quite clumsy.” You breathe out.

You both know damn well you were the opposite but for now, it'll do. You turn around and take his empty tray once he finishes eating, giving him an agreeable smile. “Your training starts soon.”

Toji raised his eyebrow as an unamused look was engrained on his face. Why was his rudeness not affecting you in any way? Maybe you weren't listening to a thing he said, which made him even more annoyed. So he decided to try another approach. He just...didn't like how you...talked to him. “Can you stop being so polite to me? I never understand why servants are like this to their masters. Just do your job and stop acting like this.” He grunted.

You turn around and glared at him, annoyed that he didn't realize that you’re just doing your job. Anything less than perfection and obedience would be punished. But then again...who the hell were you to argue with a Zenin? “If that's...what you prefer.” You shrug your shoulders. You thought maybe he would appreciate some form of kindness considering the way his family actively despised him.

“Good...because there's no reason to be nice to me when I'm anything but.” He warned me you lowly. Toji was expecting you to break and lash out at him. Yet your reaction and expression left him feeling a little off-put. Why? Why weren't you saying anything? Why aren't you letting him walk all over you? He didn't like those thoughts.

Reluctantly, you nod your head, lips thinning into a straight line, and you try to stay as neutral as possible. If this is what he wanted, who the hell were you to argue? After finishing cleaning the kitchen, you make a move to leave the room. As you made your way to leave, Toji couldn't help but notice that your back was as straight as an arrow. Your body looked so proper and elegant, unlike others. Just your simple back in that tight-fitting kimono was enough to make him stare a few moments longer than necessary. That's when he called out to you and spoke with a neutral expression: “Do you always have to be so proper and respectful?”

Yet his voice was...softer.

You stop in your tracks. “I'm just doing my job.” You reply quietly, trying to get him to grasp that you're just doing what you're supposed to do. You walk away and leave him wordless from the kitchen, letting your words linger in his brain a lot longer than he should have.

pt 2 coming soon, get ready for angst and sexy times in the near future.

#toji fushiguro #jjk toji #toji zenin #toji x reader #toji fushigro x reader #toji angst #toji smut #jujutsu kaisen toji #toji x y/n #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujutsu toji #toji fluff

516 notes · View notes

upsidedownwithsteve · 10 months ago

Note

for blurb day i was thinking maybe just some soft fluff of the morning after steve and r say I love you for the first time? i love your writing<3

Steve’s room was bathed in a rosy glow, an early morning peach light that turned his bare, white walls into the colour of the rising sun.

He’d moved into his new apartment only two days before, boxes half unpacked and stacked against a still empty dresser that held a red wine bottle and Ruby tinted glasses beside it. You hadn’t gotten round to making the bed frame, not yet, not when Steve had made use of all the floor space to spin you around, an old cassette playing Fleetwood Mac as you laughed into his chest.

You’d both led the empty Chinese food cartons on the living room floor boards, cushions scattered instead of a couch, a lamp by the mantle and the small fern Robin had brought sitting by the window.

You’d let the boy pull you into bed, just a mattress on the bedroom floor, sheets fresh and piled on top, crushed under your weight as he kissed you stupid, wine on his tongue, his tongue on yours. You couldn’t remember what date this was, what number, not when days bled into weeks and months and suddenly it had been so easy to let Steve slip off your clothes at night and start calling you his girlfriend, cheeks pink and eyes unsure.

You’d kissed away any uncertainty, pulled his clothes off too with just as much conviction. It had been months of firsts, of new things, exciting things, pretty things that made your stomach tumble and your heart grow a little bigger.

It swelled even more when you woke up that morning, Steve’s arms around your middle, big hands on your bare stomach, fingers climbing across your ribs and you wondered if he could feel your heartbeat even whilst he slept. His breath picked up as he woke, warm huffs across the back of your neck, all that bare skin pressed against yours as he shifted between you and the sheets.

“Mornin’, baby,” he husked, voice sleepy and rough. You felt him smile, felt in paint itself against your neck. “Sleep alright?”

You hummed in return, a happy sound that made Steve’s toes curl, made warmth bloom across his chest and hold you to him a little tighter. He couldn’t stop it, couldn’t help himself, not when the words had been stuck in his throat for weeks now, cloying and thick with affection and he was too sleepy to stop it—

“God, I love you.”

It made your heart stop, a sudden pause in the moment, even though you were so sure you could hear it in the air. A thundering, a wonderful kind of noise. You tried to turn in Steve’s arms, more awake than you’d ever been but Steve groaned, hands gripping at your hips so you couldn’t budge.

“You— you, sorry, I— you don’t have to say it back.” You heard the boy swallow, heard the crack in his voice. “I’m sorry. I mean, I’m not sorry, I meant it— shit, I did. But… you don’t have to say it back if you don’t want to.”

You grinned, cheek pressed into the pillow where Steve couldn’t see and your hands found his under the sheets, prying his fingers from your hips until he eased off. He let you gather his hands in your own, a small feat considering the difference in size, but you felt his chest move in relief when you brought them to your lips.

A kiss, one for each knuckle, soft and gentle until Steve softened behind you, the tension leaving his body.

“Can I turn round now?” You asked him. “So I can look at you when I say it back?”

You couldn’t see him yet, but Steve beamed.

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #Steve Harrington fanfiction #Steve Harrington oneshot #Steve Harrington blurb #Steve baby blurb

540 notes · View notes

riality-check · 2 years ago

Text

cw: discussions of body image

After everything, Steve gets softer.

Eddie spends so much time around him that he doesn't even realize it's happening, not until he's looking through his version of the photo album Jonathan put together toward the end of summer '86 so he could give it to Nancy and Robin and everyone else before the graduating class headed their separate ways.

He looks at it on an August day in 1987, about a year or so after Jonathan shyly handed them out. It's hot as balls outside, and while the AC in the trailer makes a lot of noise, it doesn't make a lot of cold, so it's hot as balls inside, too. Eddie ties his hair up with a purple scrunchie he stole from Nancy last week, and as he's looking at a page in the photo album, he stops.

It's a picture of Steve lounging by the pool, sunglasses on, blissfully unaware of Max and Erica in matching blue bathing suits standing behind him, poised to dump a bucket of water on him. Eddie remembers how Steve chased them down after, soaking wet, and threw them both into the pool without a single shred of hesitation.

He remembers Nancy's knowing look as he flushed from his face all the way down to his chest, thinking very not-PG thoughts about Steve being so strong, and he remembers shaking his soaking wet hair at her to make her shriek.

But, obviously, he didn't remember how Steve looked then. He's been superimposing the version of Steve he knows now onto the one that existed then. Casualty of spending nearly every day with him after the Spring Break from Hell.

Steve, in the summer of 1986, was so skinny.

Not rail thin like Eddie was. Not even close. He's always been broad, always muscular, but in that picture of him lounging on the chair with his arms above his head, shirtless and wearing a pair of swim trunks with the periodic table on them - a gag gift from Dustin that he actually ended up using - Eddie can see the definition of his stomach, his arms, his chest.

He looks good in the photo, but, then again, Steve could wear a potato sack and roll around in a pig sty, and Eddie would still think he looks good.

"What are you looking at?" a voice says from the doorway.

Eddie looks up to see Steve, 1987 Steve, the Steve he knows now.

He's got his arms crossed around his chest, looking at Eddie with a fond sort of smile. His glasses - which he refused to get until Robin dragged him to the optometrist - are perched on his nose, and he's barefoot and shirtless, having just thrown on a pair of shorts after getting out of the shower.

And Eddie realizes that Steve now, in the year since, has gotten softer.

He remembers reading, once, that really strong people don't have super defined muscles. Whatever book he found that in acknowledged that it was counterintuitive, but that fat supports muscle. The two have to exist, side by side, and a muscular body without fat is a body under stress.

Steve in 1986 was under stress. Eddie realizes, and a sort of warm relief floods his chest when he does, that Steve in 1987 isn't under stress anymore.

He's still strong and broad. Always has been, probably always will be. But where there was definition in his stomach last year, there's a little bit of squish now. His biceps have gotten bigger, too, as have his thighs.

Eddie is torn between wanting to bite him and wanting to squeeze him and never let him go.

"Jon's photo album," he says instead, and Steve traverses the general clutter of clothes, music sheets, and cables on the floor of Eddie's room to get to his bed.

He sits down next to Eddie, and Eddie can't resist wrapping an arm around his waist and squeezing, pulling him into his side.

Steve, as always, complies.

Eddie doesn't flip the page in the book. He lets Steve look at the page of pictures from Max's birthday, then watches as his eyes land on the picture of him.

Eddie watches him frown and decides that, nope, they're not doing that today.

Steve has told him, vaguely, about some of the stuff he was pressured into doing for sports. About cutting calories and vigorous exercise, about how soreness and hunger were viewed as prizes instead of pain.

He mentioned, once, how he was glad he never did wrestling because he was pretty sure it would have made it all a hell of a lot worse.

And to think Eddie used to hate jocks before dating Steve.

"You're hotter now," he says without any preamble, and while he probably should have started this conversation differently, it's worth the surprised laugh Steve lets out.

"You're just saying that," he says, and Eddie can't let that stand.

He puts the photo album on the bed and climbs into Steve's lap, holding his face in his hands.

"I'm not," he says seriously. "You're hot all the time. Probably always have been, definitely always will be."

It's true. Eddie's miserable crush on Steve during his first senior year, when Steve had that awful haircut was the subject of much good-natured bullying from Gareth, Jeff, and Archie, as well as bonafide proof that, unfortunately, he could not choose who to have a crush on.

"But I love whatever version of you I have in front of me the most," Eddie continues. "So, you're hotter now."

Steve smiles. it's a timid smile, one that Eddie thinks doesn't suit his face. Steve is a confident guy at his core. Timid smiles look like he's trying on a too-small Halloween costume.

"You mean it?" he asks.

"Of course I do," Eddie says, kissing him once on the forehead. "You're always warm, you're strong as hell, you give amazing hugs, and you make me feel safe."

"Safe?"

"Yeah. You feel safe. Like home."

Steve's face breaks out into a grin, one that's more confident, one that suits his face better, and he kisses Eddie once, slow and sweet.

And if Eddie loves holding and being held by Steve, well, that's no one's business but theirs.

And if Eddie's favorite place to be is laying with his head in Steve's lap, cheek pressed to his stomach as he falls asleep, well, they don't need to say anything about it.

#ria writes #steddie #steddie ficlet #stranger things #stranger things ficlet #st #st ficlet #steve harrington #eddie munson #fluff #cw body image #dredged up from discord yet again #i hope y'all like it!

2K notes · View notes

narcissistshandler · 1 year ago

Note

More of Jake Kim x top!male reader please! Like the reader help Jake to unwind after a long day (and also can you please add 69 position too, like somewhere in the story?) Thank you in advance!

𝗠𝗔𝗗𝗘 𝗙𝗢𝗥 𝗬𝗢𝗨𝗥 𝗖*𝗖𝗞

✧ 𝖯𝖠𝖨𝖱𝖨𝖭𝖦 male reader x jake kim/kim gimyung

✧ 𝖶𝖠𝖱𝖭𝖨𝖭𝖦𝖲 top!amab! reader, bottom!jake, 69, blowjob (jake giving reader), rimming and fingering (reader giving jake), anal sex, very light sub/dom dynamic alternating between sub/dom jake and sub/dom reader

✧ 𝖠/𝖭 This one is another that was in my drafts for weeks because I got lost in the narrative, sorry for the delay

Not even if Jake wanted to he would be able to hide from you how tired he was, so even in front of your slightly worried look he just smiled as he let the bag slide from his shoulder to the floor, giving you that usual bright smile and fell into your open arms on the sofa in the living room. There were deep circles under his dark eyes, and even the daily phone calls weren't enough to make up for it when Jake spent the last few days away from home, training and looking to learn more about his dad.

"You need a shower," you said, arms tightening around his waist so you could hold him closer.

"Wow, thanks, I missed you too, [name]," he replied, feigning annoyance that broke within seconds as a chuckle escaped his lips. You weren't wrong though, Jake spent the last few hours on on a long journey in a stuffy bus because it was the last option if he wanted to get home today and Jake couldn't stand being one day longer away from you, from what was left of the Big Deal and from home.

"I missed you," you stated, lifting his chin with your index finger so you could take his lips in a kiss. "So much."

Jake melted against your chest, the weight in his shoulders seeming to melt away as your lips molded against each other. His mouth dropped open for you in a show of submission that didn't sit well with him. But Jake was damn tired and he couldn't think of anything better than to lay back and let you have your way with him.

You pulled back, breaking the kiss, your hands trailing down Jake's rigid back over the sweat-soaked t-shirt - from shoulder blades to coccyx.

"You're tense," you commented. "Dinner, shower and sleep?"

And as tempting as that offer was, Jake countered:

"Bath and you fuck me until I pass out?"

One of your hands came up to run through his hair and Jake could almost see the thoughts running through your head, but more than that, he could feel you slowly getting hard against his stomach and he almost instinctively moved to touch you, hand open falling over the tent that formed in your pants.

"You-" you started, but cut yourself off with a soft moan, eyes darkening. "Okay, whatever you want, yeobo."

The freezing water under that Jake did his best to take a quick shower under and make sure his body was clean for you was unable to lessen the heat building in his body like flames slowly getting bigger. The odor of sweat was replaced by the smell of soap and water and when Jake pressed two fingers inside himself to make sure he was ready and clean for you, his dick reacted in an interested twitch even under the cold spray. That's when he decided he couldn't wait another minute.

You were sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, naked — as Jake had ordered you before entering the bathroom —, cock hard against the stomach with the head red and oozing, begging to be touched, you didn't however, never would dare touch yourself without Jake's express and clear permission and you hadn't received it in weeks.

It was hard to know which of you two was more looking forward to having the other after so long apart.

Jake dripped all the way from the bathroom to the bed, wet footprints and water droplets left behind on the floor and then onto the sheet as he climbed onto the bed. In erotic familiarity, placing each leg on either side of your hips and sitting on top of you, like a king on a throne. The feel of your bare skins touching sent an instant thrill through his veins.

Your hands landed on his hips, cocks mere inches apart. Jake melted under the attention, an almost basic need to be near you, under you or over you igniting all of his senses, more than he needed to breathe or eat or sleep or drink, he needed you and it was getting harder and harder keep thinking straight.

"How do you want this, jagiya?" The title of 'sir' or 'boss' or 'master' for when you felt more submerged and obedient than usual wasn't there today, although the lightness in your tone was the same as usual, a silent plea for 'please tell me what to do'.

"First," Jake began, gently rocking his hips. Your cocks rubbed together briefly, the sensitive tips bumping into each other and mixing the leaking pre-cum before Jake's hips drew back again. Your fingers tightened on his waist as you watched the lustful display. "Kiss me."

You did. You kissed him hard and longingly, wistful after all the days you spent apart, fingers sinking into his skin and pulling him against you as your tongue slipped into his mouth.

Jake's mouth opened easily for you, hand finding your hard cock that pressed against his. You were already wet for him, already oozing even though he barely touched you.

Jake's fingers barely closed around your cock and each pull drew familiar, erotic sounds from you that were lost in the kiss. He knew you made even more delicious sounds when his mouth was on you, when your cock worked its way down his throat at whatever pace Jake decided he wanted. His mouth watered at the faint memory of your smell and taste; hole tightening.

He pulled back, breaking the kiss and lowered his attention to watch the bulbous head of your cock disappearing between his thin, callused fingers, semi-transparent beads of pre-cum wetting them.

"I want you inside," he said, the honey-sweet words rolling off his tongue. "Get me ready for your cock."

You snarled like a wild animal and he felt your cock twitch in the grip of his hand. Jake can't help but laugh, proud of himself for having such an effect on you.

"Go get the lube and stop teasing me or I might come before I even get inside you."

"Dare and I'll put a chastity belt on you."

Jake gave you two last tugs, finding it difficult to stop touching you before getting off of you and crawling to the end of the bed where he could reach the lube on the nightstand among other toys stored there.

You fixed your pillow and moved to lay on the bed, patting your chest. "Come here."

He went with a wide, perverted smile on his thin lips, handing the lube into your hands before positioning himself as you wanted.

Your free hands soon returned to help him position himself, pulling him back until his ass was close to your face. Jake's legs sank bent into the mattress, wet cock dragging against your chest and your own cock ending up at a tempting distance from his face. Despite the excitement bubbling in his stomach, the new position brings a flush to his cheeks. Jake couldn't stop thinking about how he must look in your eyes, all open and exposed and within easy reach of you; tight balls visible between the legs and hole twitching where you could now see with your hands holding his ass cheeks apart. Embarrassment aside, he really liked it.

Your breath hit against the wrinkled muscles, a mere forewarning of what was to come before your tongue made the first contact. Jake melted with a loud groan, falling completely flat on top of you, all strength seeming to leave his body.

Your fingers dig into his skinny ass, spreading it further apart as your face sinks against him, your tongue, wet and soft and so good, rubbing against the tightly contracted muscles, licking and kissing and making his hole a mess of saliva and spit. Completely dirty.

His entire body shudders under the stimulation and your tongue is fucking him, pressing its way inside and the muscles in his legs immediately tense, rocking back powerless against the heat of your mouth as he struggles to get more of your tongue, needy. And it's not enough and at the same time it's so much, so much and he wants more, deeper, more-

Jake knew he was being loud, he knew he was being damn loud and damn needy as he rocked back against your mouth, one of his hands reaching behind to help keep himself open as he felt one of your fingers easily slide inside his relaxed hole, and then another one. He had missed it. Missed you, the sex with you.

With his other hand, Jake took your cock and brought it to his mouth, eyes falling closed as the familiar weight slid into his mouth and onto his tongue, the bitter taste of your pre-cum making him moan as soon as it hit his senses.

Your tongue pressed inside him, right between the two fingers you held scissors apart inside him and a muscle in his leg jumped. He could feel his hole opening and closing, tightening around the intrusion, the combined sensations of your fingers and tongue eliciting a insane pleasure from him.

Mind overheated, Jake didn't even notice that his mouth had stopped working. He just kept your cock in the heat of his mouth, making no move to suck or lick. Like your personal cock warmer, saliva pooling on his tongue and eyes drooping shut in an attempt to deal with the intensity of your touch, he gave in to the sensations. It was a strange thought that didn't scare him, if Jake could pick his paradise then this would be it: rationality turned off with sweetness by your hands and mouth, body being used by you.

Jake's cock dripped nonstop, occasionally twitching where it was pressed between your and his bodies. His feet sank into the sheets, legs trying constantly to close, body continuing trying to curl and tighten in involuntary reactions.

Your fingers slid along the sensitive walls, just a little deeper, seeming to play with him; in, out, rubbing and pressing, until your fingers curled inside him, hitting his prostate and a moan died in Jake's throat.

His entire body was so hot Jake didn't even notice his cock spilling out. The orgasm came easy and smooth, coursing through him in gentle shock waves that had his hole clenching around your fingers so hard it felt like it wanted to suck on them. Moans echoed around your cock in his mouth, spittle running down his parted lips and then chin.

You gently rocked your fingers in and out of him, helping him ride out the orgasm, wet tongue sloppily licking the rim that clung to your digits. Jake clamped his lips around your cock, sucking weakly as small shock waves ran down his spine. His dick twitched again, spilling every last drop onto your chest, his balls squeezing tightly.

Then your fingers were gone, leaving him devastatingly empty. A whimper rose all the way up his throat.

“Shhh,” you shushed him. "Hush now, love."

Your firm hands moved up to his hips, moving him off of you with an ease that never failed to make Jake's mind short circuit. He loved it when you moved him. He went easily, mouth now empty, letting you lay him down on the bed, chest against the sheets, muscles relaxed and malleable under your power.

"I'm going to fuck you now, yes?"

Jake groaned, gripping the sheet between his fingers, eagerly spreading his legs for you.

He couldn't force himself to form coherent words and he didn't even need to, all that existed was the fat head of your cock wet with Jake's saliva pressed against the open, relaxed rim.

Then you sank inside him, with one thrust. Jake felt his muscles being stretched with a burning sensation that sizzled through his spine, your cock pushing its way in until it sits completely deep inside, your hips resting against his ass. The preparation hadn't been enough to rid him of the pain, you both knew that the burn of stretching always left Jake trembling, yearning for more.

“So tight for me, Jake,” you murmur, lips against the heated skin of his shoulder. "So good, so sweet, such a pretty whore."

Jake sobs at the praise, eyes falling closed as he surrenders to the overwhelm of being filled, the sensation almost too much, leaving him trembling beneath you, sweet hole quivering and twitching, sweat running down the back of his neck.

And you just stay there, weight steady against his lean back, rolling your hips against him without rushing, feeling Jake's hole opening and relaxing gently against the pressure, like he was made for this, like he was made for your cock and nothing else.

#x male reader #x top reader #x male top reader #x top male reader #lookism x y/n #lookism x male reader #lookism x reader #lookism smut #jake kim x male reader #jake kim x reader #kim gimyung x reader #kim gimyung x male reader #kim gimyeong #lookism fic

600 notes · View notes

mikwaa · 1 year ago

Text

After a fight

Diluc x Fem Reader

Wordcount: 2,486

Warnings: : Smut, mention of injuries

It had been a few weeks since you and Diluc had last spoken to each other, which had not been very pleasant. There had been a fight between you two, this time a silly argument turned into something bigger.

In the meantime you were avoiding any and all places where Diluc might be, be it the tavern or the outskirts of town, you just wouldn't go there. And Diluc did the same, and neither of you dared to say a word, it was all too recent, it was all too strange still.

Every word or gesture imprinted in your memory, it was impossible to try to soften the things that were said at that moment, at least now. But even though you were away from him, you couldn't help but hear one thing or another about him, mainly because you were very close to his brother Kaeya, who talked about Diluc from time to time.

You couldn't help but miss him, but for some reason your pride was a big hindrance. Besides you didn't know what you could say to him, "I'm sorry?" Would that be enough?

You feared that none of the words you could think of would be enough to appease the situation, and unfortunately, that was also the same question Diluc had in his mind.

The only way you could not think too much about this subject was your job. As a Knight of Favonius you had a lot to do, especially you were responsible for protecting a large part of the Mondstadt territory. And today, much to your misfortune, Jean had asked you to control a stream of monsters near the Dawn Winery, and it was a kind of mission you couldn't refuse.

Even if you had an excuse here or there, you had to do your duty. Without much ado you went to the place, and luckily Diluc was apparently not at home, which you thought would be a relief. The mission wasn't very difficult, just killing a few slimes that were in the vicinity seemed easy enough. But what you didn't expect was to run into a large group of Hilichurls, and to your dismay, it had started to rain heavily.

After a good fight, you finished off all the monsters, but you ended up with a deep cut on your arm, which you needed to take care of urgently. But you decided to ignore it for a while and go home, since standing in the rain wouldn't solve much. But in the pouring rain, all you heard was someone calling your name, turning around to see that it was Adelinde waving to you.

"Come here, get out of this rain." She shouted from the mansion, and in response you waved her away saying you wouldn't go, and that it was okay. Some time later Adelinde appears with an umbrella coming up behind you.

"I don't know what you're doing in this rain, come with me." She simply came out pulling you to the residence, you were so perplexed that you didn't know how to act.

As soon as you entered the parlor a shiver ran down your spine, you felt like you might bump into him at any moment.

"Heaven, you're soaking wet!" One of the maids says.

"I just need some new clothes, that's all." You assure her, but the blood stain on your clothes said otherwise.

"Adelinde." A voice calls out to her, it took a few seconds for you to see that it was Diluc, who had just come out of his room.

His eyes widened as soon as he saw you in that state, your clothes dripping wet and one arm severely bruised.

"I will prepare a hot bath for you." The same maid as before says, quickly going about her business.

Adelinde then appears with some medicine and bandages for you, "I'll take care of it, don't worry." She says while looking at Diluc, who just looks at you worriedly.

"No need, I can go back to my house and take care of it." Diluc wouldn't accept this, not even if you asked him to.

So, he took you in his arms and carried you to his room, gently putting you on the bed. He didn't care if you wet his sheets or not, all he wanted was to take care of you as quickly as possible.

And damn it, he was very concerned, he was very protective of you. Any scratch was cause for concern, now imagine a deep cut on your arm, it was enough to make him very upset.

"You should be more careful, this kind of injury is serious." He was the first to speak after the silence that had formed, at this point he wasn't giving a crap about any kind of pride he might feel.

"It was nonsense, in a few days this will be fine." The way you spoke so nonchalantly would make him nervous. He couldn't understand why you were so careless when it came to yourself.

"That's a deep cut, no nonsense." This time he made direct eye contact with you. Whenever he used that tone, you could be sure it was something serious.

You sighed, maybe it really had been an oversight on your part. But now there was no point in blaming yourself.

Then he started to pull up the sleeve of your shirt, leaving your wound completely exposed. Which made you grunt in pain the moment Diluc passed a piece of cloth to wipe off the excess blood.

"Does it hurt much?" His eyes wouldn't leave your face for a second, he was terribly afraid of hurting you even more.

"No, it just stings a little." And you, seeing that he was worried, even tried to tell him it was no big deal. But your face had a pained expression, which made it quite obvious that it was a big bother.

And this was an affirmation for him to continue dressing, he sat down beside you and gently began to clean the wound. Even with the skill he had in his hands, you could see that he was trembling a little, he knew that any little mistake he made would hurt you.

And he hated the idea of hurting you, even if he didn't mean to. His eyes widened a little bit every time you grunted or groaned in pain, so he paused for a moment and then continued right after that.

"I need to tie the bandage, it's going to hurt a little." He whispered to you, somehow trying to comfort you.

You nodded, squeezing yourself into your clothes. And so he did, carefully tying the bandage tightly around your arm, making sure it wouldn't come off. And sure enough, it hurt, you closed your eyes so tightly that you felt dizzy when you opened them. Diluc made you rest your head on his chest, gently pampering you, while he stroked your hand with his thumb.

You wanted to say no, but as soon as you felt his smell, his touch, you couldn't resist, you missed him too much to deny it.

"I think Adelinde has already prepared your bath, it's not good for you to get your clothes wet." Another concern of his, that you might catch a cold.

"Yes, after that I'll go home." You still insisted on this idea, but he firmly disapproved.

"No, you won't, it's late and raining. Tomorrow morning I'll walk you home myself." He wasn't proposing, he was stating that this was how it would be.

You snorted in defeat, he wouldn't let you set foot out of the house, especially in this state.

So you took a hot shower, got clean and a little more comfortable. After all, wet clothes were far from comfortable, and since you hadn't left any clothes at his place, Diluc lent you one of his shirts. He knew you liked to wear them, so he was kind enough to give you one to wear. And after a nice shower you felt more relaxed, the pain had even eased a little.

And as soon as you returned to his room, you found him still sitting on the bed waiting for you. His eyes shimmered as soon as he saw you in one of your shirts, his heart fluttered at the sight of you.

"I will sleep in the guest room, but please, if you need anything, call me." He brushes off all the dubious thoughts he was having at that moment, and returns to a more serious posture. Even though you could see how much he just wanted to hug you and hold you in his arms.

"You don't need that, you can sleep here. I have no problem with that." You mumble, there was no point in him going to sleep in the guest room just for your sake.

"Are you sure?" He asks reluctantly, him sleeping next to you, just having your presence was enough.

You just whispered a 'yes' and went towards the bed, but as soon as you sat on the bed Diluc said, "I have something to tell you." And he looked so uncertain, for the first time in ages he sounded so insecure.

And you already knew that it was something about the fight you had, and at that moment you felt that you also had to say something to him.

"I'm sorry." You both said in a choir, at the same time, as if it had somehow been planned.

You looked at each other, and he quickly came to you and pulled you into an embrace, nestling you tightly in his arms.

"I shouldn't have been so hard on you, I'm sorry." And you can hear a tearful, even guilty tone.

You pull away, and put one hand on his cheek, stroking it lightly, "It's okay, it's all right."

And he seals your lips with a kiss, which starts sweet and loving, then turns into a thirsty kiss full of desire.

And when you least saw it, you were both on the bed, undressed, your clothes had already gone somewhere in the room. It was all so fast that before you knew it he was already on top of you.

"I missed you so much." He kissed you hungrily, hardly letting you breathe.

You could already feel his cock lightly slapping against your entrance. At this point neither of you gave a damn about any fighting, nothing else mattered, all you wanted was for him to fuck you like crazy, and he would.

And after leaving your lips, he sucked on your neck and made his way to your breasts. Where he licked and sucked like it was the last time, the way he played with your nipples made you roll your eyes with every touch.

Meanwhile, his deft fingers opened your sides, his thumb circled your clit, he just wanted to make sure you were ready for him. And fuck, you were, with the slightest interaction like this you were already dripping.

You thrust your hips towards his fingers, and seeing how desperate you were to get him to finger you, he began to slide his fingers in and out, hitting all the spots you loved.

"Ah, fuck Diluc." You gasped as you grabbed a lock of his hair, pressing it even harder against your breast.

He grunted, and you could feel the vibration in his voice. The way you whimpered and moaned his name, heavens, it was such a perfect sin. And you were so close, so close, just a little bit more and you would reach the limit. But with a hoarse groan Diluc stopped, not only to get the perfect view of you, lying completely naked and exposed to him. This was proof that you were so much his, and it was breathtaking in his eyes.

"I've been dreaming about this, fuck, you have no idea." He says breathlessly, his blush evident. He missed your cunt, he missed everything about you.

He rubbed his cock against your entrance, making you groan to get it in all at once. But he liked so much to see you like this, begging him to fill you with his cock.

And slowly, in a tortuous way, he put himself all the way into you. He was completely buried in you, his tip was so deep inside you. You wrapped your legs around him, pulling him closer, and without wasting much time he pulled his lips against yours in a deep kiss, this while his tongue explored you endlessly.

He didn't care if anyone heard what you two were doing, so he didn't even think about slowing down, skin on skin slapping that could be heard by anyone passing in the hallway. His pace was fast and deep, just showing how much he wanted you, to the point where he couldn't control himself.

He didn't even need to ask if you were close to cumming, the way your walls clenched him, and how well you accommodated him was already the precise answer for him. Your pussy was devouring him, the wet noises already more than evident.

"I'm close." You whimpered between his lips, letting out the most impure of moans.

"I want to cum with you, together." He was just as needy as you were, he wanted to paint your walls white so badly, until you were leaking from all he did.

Your hips moved with each thrust, as did his cock twitching inside you. With a few more thrusts you reached your limit, making a mess on his cock, white cream running down the length of it. Just as he made sure to fill you with his cum, it was dripping all the way down to the sheets.

He relaxed, put some weight on you, and gently pressed his forehead against yours.

"Don't leave me again." He purred, and it was genuine, from the bottom of his soul.

He would give anything not to have to leave you again, he would go crazy if that happened.

"I will never leave you." With a brief smile you say, his face burning with so much embarrassment.

Then gently rubbing his lips against yours, he says, "I love you."

You can't help yourself, and pull him in for another kiss, this time slower and more gentle as you murmur, "I love you too."

But don't be fooled, this moment was only going to be a short respite. There was still the whole night ahead of you two.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #genshin smut #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n #diluc smut #genshin impact x reader

624 notes · View notes

myfriendofmiseryyy · 2 months ago

Text

Random 90s Jason newsted HCS!!!

He’s not exactly opposed to settling down,he divorced Judy not to long before you met,but when you do meet OH HE IS DOWN BADDD! He constantly flirts with you and always wants to be around you,if you are a roadie he will always “accidentally do something to his bass” so he can spend time with you,you guys end up talking for hours on end about your music influences and how the other guys kinda get on your nerves.

He won’t ask you out straight away,he will probably wait a few months to figure out the feelings he is feeling for you,weither its lust or he actually likes you,once he does figure it out though…he’s a gentleman,he will take you out to your favourite restaurant and you guys will go on a typical first date followed by either walking around the city for a bit or him taking you up to the edge of the city so you can see the sunset on the skyline,he would actually be so nervous,he’s constantly stuttering over his words and doing that shy smile which you think is adorable! By the end of the night you end up in his arms,he really wants to kiss you there and then but he waits until at least the second date,he manages to sneak in a peak on the lips when saying good night though.

He’s not to much of a big spender,more of a small thoughtful gift kinda guy,he will take mental notes of your favourite food orders and drinks even before you were together,and always brung them to you on a hard day,he also almost every week buys you flowers “because you deserve it” he will make mixtapes of the songs you listened to together,he has about 50 of them in total,all kept safe in a box.

When the time comes where you two get intimate,he can be either quite rough or very very loving and soft…it honestly depends on the situation you guys are in,if he has just come home from a long tour,with the guys constantly bullying and being mean to him,he can sometimes be a bit rough,saying stuff like “your mine,you belong to me and only me” as he sets a rough pace,or he can be the opposite and just want validation of how much you love him,and you spend the whole day under the sheets making sure he knows how much he means to you and how much you love him. On special occasions,he always pulls out the big guns,roses on the bed,candles,bubble baths,you name it he’s probably done it for you at some point.

He always will let you borrow his hoodies (even if they are too small for you) if you are insecure about the fact you are bigger than him he will always find a way to make you not feel insecure about yourself,he loves you and he will constantly tell and show you that.

He will always let you run your fingers through his hair when he had the long hair,he knows how much it grounds and calms you down after a long day

He’s always so goofy,you guys could be having a serious conversation and he will turn it into something funny,and you love that about him,he’s never failed to make you laugh after a hard day,or make you laugh until you are crying over something stupid you both somehow found funny. There has even been times where you had to stop mid sex because he was making it so hard not to laugh…

That’s all I can think of right now 😭 I love him sm

#jason newsted x reader #jason newsted #metallica #metallica x reader #my babbyyyyy

64 notes · View notes

vellichor-of-the-solivagant · 14 days ago

Text

To the Fallen, Who Found Himself a Paradise

CONTENT: FLUFF, Period Drama AU, Implied Sexual Content

Masterlist / Archive of Our Own

Simon Riley, a well-known knight of the kingdom, who gained many achievements during the war, now living in a secluded town on his own, found himself getting married to a duke’s daughter as a “reward” from the king for his good deeds

You, who were supposed to marry the crown prince, found yourself getting married to a lowly soldier, who couldn’t even wear proper attire on his wedding and instead wore his old military clothes and a mask and now sent away to live in a secluded town with your new husband

Unused to the ways of commoners, you found it troublesome how they lived without any help from servants, irritating your husband Simon with your constant whines and complaints

Simon having enough of your unnecessary cries of how poor he was every single minute, left you all alone in the house to go to the town to buy you some more decent food to feed you and somehow shut you up

You having enough of his nags, ran away the night he decided to go to the town, only to get lost in the woods near your husband’s house, where he had told you were full of dangerous animals

Simon who got back from shopping downtown, only to find his wife missing and rushed to the forest with an unknown feeling in his stomach. Worry? Fear? No, he called it pity and a shame if you were eaten by a wolf or a bear

Simon who found you by the river bank, crying over your dirty clothes after you had slipped down the hill and surrounded by a pack of wolves, and immediately came in rescue, telling you not to look as he drew out his sword like a knight-in-shining-armor you had seen in books.

You, who couldn’t look away as he slashed open the wolves’ throat, despite getting sick of all the gore, somehow had this flipping feeling in your stomach. Fear? Anxiety? Yeah, that was it.

Your husband, Simon, kneeling before you from a couple of meters away, not wanting to scare you after what you had seen him do and not wanting you to get blood from his clothes, then being surprised when you jumped into his arms crying

Your husband, Simon scooped you up in his arms like you weighed nothing, and carried you all the way back to his house with one arm as he held his sword with his other hand

Your husband, Simon, who aided your bruises and cuts which you got from the twigs during your pathetic escape and from fending off the wolves, helping you get clean and dressed as well, trying his best not to blush under his mask, only to fail as he saw your naked flesh in the tub

You, who never had any help from a man during baths, now burning red as he scrubbed all the dirt from your skin, helping you get dry and dressed your in his clothes right after

You, who never had worn any commoner’s clothes, now finding it the most comfortable garments you’ve had your entire life.

You, who had thanked you husband, Simon with a kiss on his cheek before hiding yourself under the sheets of the bed

Simon, who stood frozen in place, when his wife suddenly kissed him as a thanks, now thinking he could kill all the bears and wolves in the forest

You who had begun to learn more about him and the way of his living, realizing that this kind of life was more wonderful than the way nobles live

You who had begun to help him start a garden and a small farm, getting all dirty, yet still had the brightest smile on your face when you showed him how you got a bigger carrot than him and challenged him who would get the most by the end of the day

Simon, who found himself smiling under the mask as he heaved up the basket of cabbages you and he harvested, watching your hum as you picked out flowers on the side of the road to put on the vase back home

You, who had begun to worry as you stood before a mirror, realizing you were getting fat over time, because of how much you ate every day, and thinking back on how little you ate back in the dukedom

Your husband, Simon, telling you that you have always been beautiful even if you were thin or fat, then telling you that he had always found you lovely ever since he met you

You who immediately pulled the best husband in the world into a tight hug and planted a kiss on him, only this time, it was on his lips

Simon, who had forgotten to cook dinner when he brought you to your room, removed his mask and pulled you into a kiss so gentle and warm you melted into his embrace, all the thoughts of going back to your old life thrown into the drain

You, who had peppered his scars kisses as he slowly unfastened the ribbons of your dress under the soft glow of the moon and got heaved up to the bed, letting him crawl over you

Simon, who found himself shedding tears as he took his wife, your beautiful voice ringing like music in his ears, watching you under him make an expression that burned him like the sun

You, who kissed his tears away and wrapped your arms around his neck, whispering sweet things to his ears as a poet would to the subject of their story

Simon, who painted a smile on his face, murmuring words to your lips like an oath a knight would make to a queen, like a believer would pray to their goddess, as gentle as the radiance of the moon that broke through the leaves of the trees

You, who had told him that you weren’t a queen nor a goddess, but his one and only wife meant for him, till the end of time

55 notes · View notes

mango-bango-bby · 1 year ago

Note

OMG MIGUEL ❤️💙❤️💙 PLEASE NSFW HEADCANONS YOU WOULD WRITE THEM SO WELL

♡ NSFW Miguel Headcanons ♡

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, NSFW, fingering, cunilingus, mentions of toys, size kink, switch!Miguel, OOC Miguel because he’s soft with you, biting

Summary: Just smutty Miguel headcanons (Yandere!Miguel O’Hara x Fem!Reader)

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

♡ Foreplay! It doesn’t matter to Miguel if you two have fucked a million times, he still feels the need to prep you. He’s more of a giver than a receiver so he likes to give, usually fingering you, eating you out, even using toys like vibrators before he actually enters you. He takes his time too, he wants you to enjoy it and he doesn’t want to rush it.

♡ He gets a little insecure. He wants you to enjoy yourself, he definitely planned out everything for your first time with him. He wants to prove every time that he loves you more than anyone you’ve been with before, that he’s better than them.

♡ Miguel hates quickies, he’d rather not rush things with you. He likes taking his time, as if he’s savoring you. He thinks you’re the most precious thing in the multiverse! He wants to savor every single moment with you! So he never tries to rush things, even if he can get really frustrated when he’s not inside you. But he knows that he can deal with waiting if it means getting to play with you more. This also means his thrusts are slow but hard, he thinks it feels more intimidate.

♡ Miguel is aware that he’s big, he’s big and strong. He knows that he could probably crush you in a second. So he preps you a lot but he will never take out his stress on you. He’s very stressed but he would never get too rough with you. He’s scared that he’d break you, so he doesn’t get too rough with you. He will if you ask but never enough to hurt you. The most he’ll do is leave bite marks on you and light bruises from holding you waist, and he kisses over every single one of them.

♡ If you do want to help with his stress though, dominate him. He’s mostly dominant but he can be submissive. Don’t let his defensive attitude fool you though, he likes when you take charge sometimes even if he doesn’t act like it. It really relaxes him, to let you just use him as you please. You can practically feel him become less tense afterwards.

♡ Miguel bites you, not leaving hickeys, bites. They hurt slightly but if you even told him to stop he would. He tends to bite you more when he’s close to cumming. Usually biting down on your neck to conceal his whimpers and moans when he’s close. He usually grunts and groans while giving praises but he whimpers and moans in Spanish just before finishing.

♡ He has to replace the sheets a lot. Mostly because his talons come out when he’s close so he sadly doesn’t hold you in his arms as he cums. He’s scared of hurting you. But he does rip up the sheets a lot, he always buys more though, and apologizes for everything he rips up. Including your clothes and some pillows.

♡ Miguel is the king of aftercare! He likes holding you, especially because he’s so much bigger than you, he practically engulfs you in his muscles. Despite being so built, he’s actually very comfortable. He’s usually at your beck and call afterwards, getting you anything you want. You’re thirsty? Miguel’s got a glass of water and a small snack just in case. You want a bath? He’s already got the water running with bubbles and everything. As much as he keeps up a front and everything but you really mean everything to him. You’re his world.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

(A/N: I can’t stop writing Miguel 😵‍💫😵‍💫 I haven’t even had a chance to write any other spider verse characters because you guys only want Miguel and I keep writing for him 😭😭 I don’t mind though, I loved coming up with these headcanons 🫶)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

#soft yandere #yandere atsv #yandere spiderverse x reader #yandere spiderverse #yandere spiderman #yandere miguel o'hara #yandere!miguel o’hara #yandere miguel x reader #yandere miguel o’hara x reader

489 notes · View notes

justporo · 9 months ago

Text

Moonbathing

Even though he's nicely settled down with Staeve now there are these moments... Sitting under the bright moon, bathing in the pale silver light, pondering while the cold sinks in - until Staeve comes a long with a big blanket and an even bigger heart.

MASTERLIST | AO3

Author's Note: Ehm, surprise!? I wrote this for @velnna as a present. That request today made me think of it again so I figured I'd share it with you. Partially inspired by the epilogue where Astarion tells the player how the last six months made up for so much. Hope you enjoy! @velnna thanks for letting me steal Staeve again! Writing him and Staeve is super fun! <3 Pairing: Astarion/Staeve (You) Warnings: light mention of past trauma Wordcount: 3,5k ~~~

Your night had been spent almost entirely wrapped in each other’s arms. Just like almost every single one of them since most of your messes had been dealt with. No foes were waiting to hold a knife to your throat as soon as the sun climbed up on the horizon anymore (at least for a while you hoped).

The two of you had time now - and your time you would take.

You had enjoyed the moments and times spent with nothing but each other before too, before you’ve had what you considered your happy ending. And there was certainly something to be said about laying down in the arms of your lover when you didn’t know if the next sunrise might bring both of your demise, if not the end of the world altogether. Because - if the world was ending, who wouldn’t want to be held in its final moments?

You could definitely attest that always dancing on the edge of a blade certainly brought its own thrill and held its own intricate beauty.

But the same could be said about this right now: the less loud and less daunting moments. Falling into your soulmate’s embrace freely and of your own volition - nothing pushing you there but the deep desire to be with him and no one else and just revel in each other’s presence.

And the passion and love between Astarion and you was still burning as dangerously hot as it had in the beginning. Apparently, the spark that had been ignited had been incredibly powerful, surprising you both. High flames had sprung from it, all encasing. And you knew that even when the initial flames would settle, the embers would only burn that much hotter.

Never before in your life had you experienced something even remotely close to this. You were certain you would never again. You had found your place, picked the one to gift your heart to. You only had the one anyway.

But there was no need to dwell on such things now.

Blissful exhaustion had softly tugged you towards sleep and you had drifted off to dreamless, restful slumber while the sweat on your skin was still pearling down your neck and your breath and heart were still trying to find a sustainable rhythm again.

When you woke again the first thing you noticed was that the spot next to you was deserted. The second thing you noticed as you looked around while still in sleep drunk stupor was that it was still night. The light sneaking below the thick curtains was still brightly silver - it couldn’t have been that long.

You rolled out of bed lazily, tugged on nothing but pants and made to shuffle out of your joint bedroom in search of your missing vampire.

With your hand on the doorknob you hesitated and threw a look back to the bed. Your eyes wandered over the messed up sheets and bunched up blankets lying there all bunched up. And with a shrug you went back to take one of the blankets to snugly wrap it around your shoulders - the comfort and warmth of a shirt without having to make the effort to put one on. Then you dragged yourself out of the room to go looking for your partner while yawning repeatedly.

It didn’t take you long to find Astarion - you didn’t even have to think about where he might be. He was in the usual spot: the roof that was easily accessible through the attic.

There was a small shuttered window you could easily drag yourself out of and climb onto the shingles before you could enjoy an exquisite view of the city below. It had become a favoured spot for the two of you. Many a bottle of wine had been shared on the edge of this rooftop already.

You needed to be careful to step lightly and distribute your weight evenly to not slip but it was an easy feat for you or Astarion - you both were skilled and practised rogues after all. Effortlessly, you also made it this time even though you had to hold onto the blanket wrapped around you so it wouldn’t slip off your shoulders.

Once outside you were bathed in glistening silver light. The cold, pale hues illuminated everything relentlessly and allowed nearly no darkness during this full moon despite it being in the deep middle of the night.

You immediately spotted the vampire sitting there near the edge of the roof. Not having to worry about the cold at least from a survival standpoint, Astarion had also only put on pants to go and sit on the roof. His legs were dangling off the edge of it while he was leaning back on his arms, staring up at the big full moon in the night sky.

The scene almost reminded you of the times he’d been basking in the sunlight during your adventures. Every possible moment used to soak up the sun - strikingly similar to a cat.

The comparison also sprung to mind now: a lone hunter of the night enjoying a moment of calm at his favourite vantage point in solitude.

But these times were over now, at least as long as you had a say in it. At least for now, Astarion was very much just supposed to be a spoiled house cat, allowed to indulge in all the pleasures that presented themselves.

A smile crept onto your lips as the image crossed your mind. Especially since you knew that the vampire could also be as feisty and irrational as a feline.

Observing the form of your partner outlining against the bright moonlight, you slowly moved over to where he had settled down. You could make out the scars on his back although with no direct light source they almost seemed to blend in with the rest of Astarion’s smooth skin. But you had seen them, observed them so often that the image of the cruel lines on your lover’s back had been permanently burned into your head.

At first they had always startled you badly whenever you saw them despite your efforts to brush over them and not show that you had noticed. If not for your own sake then for Astarion’s. But you had seen them - felt them - frequently now and even though what they meant would always hurt, they were a part like any other of Astarion.

With a few more smooth steps you made your way over and stood next to your partner. You knew he heard you coming despite your roguish stealthiness by the way his head perked up even more. He didn’t even open his eyes though as you stepped up to him. The vampire knew it could only be you - and he trusted you fully. His reaction a testament of how far he’d come since you’d first met.

“Out here catching a cold all by yourself, handsome?”, you asked smugly.

Astarion snorted but you could see a smirk steal onto his face.

“Neither nor apparently, Staeve, my love”, he answered with an amused chuckle and opened his eyes to slowly look at you.

You remained silent, just cocked your head askingly with a raised eyebrow.

“Just - moonbathing”, Astarion continued with a little pause and let his gaze wander from you to the shining full moon again. The cold light was making even the vampire look more pale than usual. His skin and luscious curls almost seemed like they were made out of alabaster like this - a statue crafted out of smooth stone to forever showcase a perfect body and face.

Only his glinting crimson eyes were proof that he was in fact very much a living being - bringing all comparisons to lifeless and soulless figurines to shame. No stonemason could have ever captured his beauty fully anyways.

Astarion's tone had been playful but you knew him so well by now. You realised immediately something was weighing on the mind of your silly little vampire.

But you also knew that trying to coax it out of him would do you no good: he'd only hiss at you in his sassy manner and snap shut like a clam. You had to tread carefully - even more so than on the shingles of this old roof.

“So - maintaining the tan I see”, you took up his banter with a shit-eating grin and carefully sat down beside him now.

The vampire looked at you again and just rolled his eyes, clicking his tongue in disapproval: “You're such an idiot, Staeve.”

You chuckled while you tried to find a comfortable position on the edge of the roof while in the meantime fumbling with your blanket to also throw it around your partner's shoulders so you could comfortably snuggle up together.

“Well, I'd say it's clear you have a thing for idiots, Astarion babe. And now come here.”

That earned you another offended snort as Astarion crossed his arms over his naked chest - almost looking like a child throwing a temper tantrum. But he still willingly let himself be wrapped in one end of the blanket.

Softly you put your arm around him, dragged the pale elf closer until he was able to lean his head on your shoulder. Again he let it happen, this time with a silent sigh.

You could physically feel how the vampire relaxed into your touch and your warmth and how he even snuggled a bit deeper into your joint blanket once you were done fumbling around with it.

His smooth skin felt terribly cold from the frosty winter night. And even though you knew the cold couldn't hurt him you immediately asked yourself why he'd subject himself to this. Freezing temperatures were still very much unpleasant to the vampire as he'd once admitted himself.

Your brows furrowed thinking about why he kept insisting on making it hard on himself. Meanwhile silence stretched out between you as you leaned onto each other, each of you lost deep in thought.

A kind of sadness welled up inside of you while you looked down at Astarion’s head on your shoulder. His eyes were closed once more as he enjoyed the steadiness and peace of your body holding him up and warmth seeping into him.

It was that kind of sadness that was tenacious, that stuck to you, the one you could never fully shake.

You’d fought the necessary battles to both break free. But just as you had your own battles to fight still, so did Astarion. And moments like this one were when you realised it would be a long way still.

Ridding oneself of two centuries of torture and enslavement and all that had come with it was certainly no easy feat. Maybe some shreds would remain forever, stuck to him - just like the scars on his back always would.

Providing comfort, support and love while giving your soulmate all the time and space he needed to shake off the shackles still remaining from the chains that had bound him for so long, was the purpose you wanted to fulfil. As long as you were able to, you would do everything to overcome these other demons that still stayed behind - even if they might prove much more difficult to take down than the literal ones.

The two of you just sat there in silence while you felt how Astarion became warmer under your touch, the blanket providing a comfortable cocoon for the both of you.

You didn’t speak, just enjoyed the cosiness and let your partner dwell in the warmth until he was ready to speak his mind.

Leaning your head on Astarion’s, you enjoyed how his soft white curls tickled your face and neck. Then you closed your eyes as well and simply basked under the giant, radiant moon, the light easily shining even through your lids.

The silver moon beams were beautiful if not even magical. And sitting there, it was almost possible to mistake them for daylight.

But they would never be able to substitute for the golden warmth of sun rays because there was one determining thing missing: warmth.

Giving yourself to the illusion was nice though - even if it lasted only for a few moments.

And as you sat there, an arm around Astarion who was still relaxing more into your touch, you wanted nothing more but to be this source of comfort - to possibly provide but a fraction of what he’d been forced to give up.

The sadness from before was right there again - slowly closing up your throat as you silently opened your eyes and let them linger on the pale elf once more. The moon was still casting him in his unforgiving light, making him look almost translucent - something that might crack and break if you weren’t careful enough with it.

“You miss the sun”, you said. Not even a question. And what a stupid thing to even say you immediately realised after the words had left your lips.

You expected a snarky joke, a click of the tongue, maybe even a hurtful comment. But it didn’t come.

Instead, Astarion next to you straightened his back and took a deep breath in. His eyes were open now and a million miles away as he gazed off into the distance towards the city and somewhere far down the Chionthar glinting under the night sky.

“I do miss the sun”, he replied to what hadn’t been a question in the first place. His voice was surprisingly firm and somehow you felt slightly unsettled by that.

“But I lost that once before - how hard can the second time around be?”, Astarion continued and his red eyes snapped to yours.

You didn’t know what to answer so you just lightly squeezed his shoulder. The vampire’s eyes didn’t leave yours. His gaze was firm, maybe even proud. Your brows furrowed lightly - you had absolutely no idea where all this was going.

“Staeve”, Astarion began while looking you firmly in the eyes “the last six months with you have been the happiest of my life.”

Your eyes widened in surprise. Of all the things that you could have expected you surely hadn’t expected something like this. The negative feelings that had been squeezing your heart in your ribcage immediately subsided and gave way to waves of gentle happiness flooding through you. And you couldn’t stop the small but growing smile that was spreading from left to right over your face.

But the vampire wasn’t even done.

“What was before - it’s already beginning to fade. It already feels like aeons ago - and that’s because of you”, Astarion continued and the way he looked at you with eyes so open and wide, genuine smile on his lips - it made your chest clench in a completely different way. Your eyes started burning dangerously at the edges and you had to press your lips into a line to keep them from quivering. But you forced yourself to keep gazing at your soulmate’s face.

But it was he who turned away after a few long moments. A sudden rush of guilt and sorrow glazing over the open admiration and vulnerability from before. His crimson eyes sought out the moon again.

“But I fear-”, Astarion’s voice almost broke as he spoke again. He lowered his gaze. Your heart took a leap - not eager on wanting to hear what he might have to add but also not wanting to stay unknowing.

The vampire sighed, then he cleared his throat, still not looking at you: “I’m not used to caring for the wellbeing of others. I mean, for centuries I didn’t even have my own.”

He stopped again, took in another breath - sharp this time. Then faced you again.

“I fear my own selfish happiness has taken away from yours”, Astarion spoke firmly again now. But you noticed the way he was straining his chin to hold it proudly. This was taking more out of him than he wanted you to notice.

You opened your mouth to protest but the pale elf shushed you with a sharp motion of his hand. He had to get it all out now or it might never be said.

“And I feel like - one of us having to give up the sun is more than enough. I don’t” - the words were hurting to get out, you realised, but they were also hurting while being uttered - “I don’t want to put another through that. Or - no! I don’t want to put you through it, Staeve.”

And with that Astarion’s hand sunk back down again and he looked up at the night sky again, closing his eyes once more with a small strained yelp. You could see his Adam's apple work hard in his throat as you took in his side profile while the words needed to register with you.

You paid close attention to his exquisite features while your brain tried desperately to make sense of what you had just heard: his straight, aristocratic nose, sharp cheekbones highlighted even more by sharp light, full, soft lips over which a tongue nervously flitted. You knew this face so well by now, probably better than your own. When you closed your eyes you could easily conjure up his image, down to the last little detail.

And while you let your gaze wander over his lashes and the vampire’s face was still lifted to the heavens with furrowed brows, his meaning clicked into place for you. And with horrifying clarity you realised what had been said: the bastard was trying to give you an out.

The mere idea was wild to you. No wonder it had taken you several heartbeats to even catch on. This hadn’t even been in your realm of possibilities. And you were sad that obviously it was for him.

There was pressure in your chest again - this night really took a toll on your emotions. But you wouldn’t let it end on a note like this.

“Astarion”, you said quickly after. The vampire didn’t move, his brows only furrowed deeper.

“Astarion, love, look at me”, you begged and stretched out your hand to hook your thumb on his chin and turn his head to you.

He only let it happen reluctantly but he looked at you, pain filling his eyes - and fear.

But there was absolutely no reason for that. You’d prove it to him. There wasn’t even a slither of doubt in your heart.

“I am here, Astarion, because I chose so. I am here, because I love you. Giving up the sun is nothing compared to what it would be like to give up you”, you said eagerly, your tongue almost stumbling over itself while trying to get this out as fast as possible, to bridge this gap and never look back on it again.

You tugged on the vampire’s face to press your forehead to his as you said the following words: “I love you, Astarion. Don’t ever dare to think you can get rid of me. You’re stuck with me now, idiot!”

And then you kissed him, forcefully, and hopefully drowning out all forms of question or protest. Positively smothering him with your love until there was no more doubt - at least for this night.

Only after what felt like forever did Astarion withdraw from your kiss. There was no more pain in his eyes although you still saw slithers of insecurity remain. You swore to yourself you’d get them another time. But at least you felt that things were firmly settled for the night.

A small sniffle from you broke the tender silence between you as you kept gazing at each other. It seemed like the burning in your eyes from before had been a little much to contain. Your nose felt overly stuffy all of a sudden.

But at least the delicate mood had turned again to something that felt more mundane - and less heartbreaking.

“Gods, you’re not crying are you?” Astarion commented teasingly, nose slightly scrunched up. But the smile that curled one side of his mouth quickly afterwards was still rather gentle.

You snorted while you quickly and grossly wiped at your eyes and your nose with a corner of the blanket. “No, the moon is just very bright”, you muttered with another sniffle then shook yourself - almost like an animal trying to get something off itself. Then you felt more like yourself again.

“Well, you better get used to it then, darling, if you’re so keen to be stuck with me”, was the last thing the vampire said before he snuggled himself up against you again, leaning his head onto your shoulder once more.

You had nothing to add. You were just happy that two of you were here in this moment. So you just tightened your hold on Astarion.

And together you watched the night sky, cuddled up in the blanket, until the edges of darkness started blushing in the lightest shades of pink and it was time for you to crawl into bed together again.

Taglist (DM if you want to be added please): @spacebarbarianweird @sunfire-ancunin @tragedybunny @dependsonthedream @tallymonster @magazzne @micropoe10 @aoirohi @my-bunny-prince @lumienyx @fayeriess @darlingxdragon @hereliesblackdragon @ayselluna @ajokeformur-ray @i-cant-get-into-my-other-account @rikuyrk06 @marina-and-the-memes

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldurs gate #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #astarion x reader #astarion x mc #baldurs gate astarion #astarion x oc #astarion x you #fanfic #fanfiction #astarion ancunin #bg3 spoilers #bg3 #bg3 companions #staeve #astarion x staeve

191 notes · View notes

themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 10 months ago

Text

Datura Pt 3

Summary: Trapped Under the Mountain you have to decide if it's worth keeping your enemies close.

Content Warnings: Under the Mountain is like a walking trigger warning, but mentions of torture, unnamed character death via the torture; Rhys is an ass but he's a protective ass so we'll allow it.

Author's Note: This part is loooong, needed to set up Part 4 and it made sense in my head to have these bits in one piece before we get to the *cough cough* personal training. Hope you guys enjoy! :)

(Part 1, Part 2)

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

There’s no way out.

You bash the only heavy item you can find--a paperweight, tucked into the back of a dust filled drawer--against the air duct, over and over, large chunks of stone flying in every direction, even as the reality of the situation sets in. There are no back doors, no windows, just this slim chance that maybe, maybe you can bash your way out of the rock on sheer force of will.

The paperweights thuds against the stone make your ears ache. Every blow has your shoulder feeling like it might wrench from it’s socket any second, the pain a sharp thrum with every blow, but you can’t stop, if you stop you will think about it and if you start thinking about it, you won’t make it.

The blows land over and over, sometimes you switch arms to try and give yourself a break. You haven’t slept, exhaustion making this tedious, even more so when this escape attempt requires you to balance atop a bedside table that’s seen better days. Chunks of rock fly away from the wall, dust a heavy coat over your skin, your tongue. It’s like swallowing sand.

“Come on!” You beg the wall. The paperweight shutters, bits of metal cracking, denting. You’ve broken your fingernails, torn apart your knuckles trying to get the hunk of engraved metal to push through the rock. This is your only shot, the door’s bolted from the outside, a guard posted beyond. Rhysand, that bastard, had tossed you into this empty, dust ridden room hours ago. You aren’t entirely sure where you are, the journey over here a blur, glimpsed only in flashes as you’d hung over the male’s shoulder, but that’s irrelevant. The only thing that matters now is getting out, getting free. The air duct is more of a slit, carved into the rock wall that makes up your room, barely enough room for to slide your arm into, but you have to hope it gets wider somewhere. You can’t allow yourself to think about what happens if you can’t climb your way out of the room.

The paperweight lands again and again and again, the rhythm steady, the beat not unlike the drums that had gotten you into this mess in the first place. If you lived through this, you’d never go to another Calanmai celebration again. You take all that anger you feel, the helplessness and confusion of the last twenty four hours and channel it into your arm. The wall shudders, but your elusive powers do not flare behind a few wisps of darkness over your bloody knuckles.

“Break!” You snarl like it can hear you, bend to your desperation.

A few more blows and the only thing that breaks is the paperweight, the hunk of metal cracking into three, small pieces. You stare at it as it slips from your hand, scatters across the rock floor.

You know it can’t see you, but you flash your middle fingers at it. “Useless fucking thing,” you hiss as you climb off the bedside table. The room is larger than you anticipated, a bed in the center, the table next to it with a little lamp; there’s a small bathing room with a copper tub, sink and toilet. It’s not really a cell, it’s technically bigger than your room in the farmhouse, but the locked door reminds you it’s not better by any means. The whole place is dark, carved out of rock in the heart of a mountain, as far as you could tell when they brought you in. It might have made more sense if you were upright, but there’s no use dwelling on that now. Dust covers everything, the sheets, the walls, the floor, disturbed by your footprints, and also the bed that you managed to wiggle behind and push in front of the door. The wood was heavy, it had taken all your strength to push it away from the back wall and across the room. It might not do much, but it will be enough to give anyone pause, at least you hope. It’s better than sitting around waiting for them to come back, at the very least.

You go back to the bathroom, pausing briefly to wash the blood from your hands, then slowly study the place, looking for something you missed the first time around. One door, not even a door to the bathing room to lock yourself in if necessary. No more vents. No windows. No cupboards. Very little places to hide unless you feel like hiding under the bed. You go over the space inch by inch, looking for anything else to use to help dig yourself out, but there’s nothing. Not unless a cheap bar or soap of the moth bitten sheets can be used somehow. The base of the lamp looks heavy, but then you’d be working in the dark and that’s not an option.

You’re about to break down and cry when the door opens. Unhindered, because it doesn’t swing in, it swings out, your idea to block the door absolutely useless. From the darkness of the hallway, Rhys stares at you, then the bed, the wooden frame barely up to his chest.

You flash your middle fingers at him too, teeth pulled back in a snarl. If he tries to come in here you really will rip out his throat. He’d deserve it. Bastard. How could he do this to you?

With a smirk, and the flick of Rhys’s wrist, the bed re-centers itself against the far wall. Not even an inconvenience, he’d moved it like it was no effort at all.

Shit.

“Was that supposed to be a barricade?” The door swings shut behind him, the lock clicking ominously into place in the cavernous space. He’s found a new shirt, the one he’d given you earlier stuffed in the corner where you can’t smell the scent of him any longer.

He seats himself on the edge of your bed, making himself comfortable, eyes darting briefly to the new hole in the wall. “Dare I ask?”

You cross your arms over your chest, still barring your teeth. Perhaps Calanmai had turned you into more animal than girl. “It was like that when I got here.”

“Of course,” he says with a shrug, like he knows it’s useless, that you’ll simply tire yourself out, become easier prey.

“What do you want?” You hiss. He doesn’t seem to notice the venom in your tone, the way you make sure there’s distance between the two of you.

“Can’t I be here to make sure you’re comfortable?” He counters.

“What an excellent host you make,” you snarl. “Will you bathe and tuck me in next?”

His violet gaze rakes slowly over you, assessing the bare expanse of your legs, the tattered, mud stained hem of your shift, barely covering you, the barely there straps clinging for dear life to your dirt stained shoulders. It’s intense, you know many fae would melt under it; you might have too, if things had been different, if the sight of him didn’t make you want to hurl something at his head.

“Darling, I’d lick you clean if you asked,” he says lowly.

“Does that shit usually work for you?” You snap back. He’s infuriating. How could you have kissed him?

He grins as he pushes away from the bed, eyes locked on your lips like he’s thinking about that kiss too. “I don’t usually have to resort to it, my good looks and natural charm do most of the work for me.”

“You have the charm of a viper.”

He huffs a laugh, “Cruel, wicked thing.”

His advances have you backing up, until you stumble right into the wall. The rock bites into your shoulder blades as he halts inches from you, close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your face; smell that citrus and jasmine scent of him. You should push him away, give yourself breathing room, but when he’s this close rational thought eddies from your head.

“What do you want?” You repeat, voice shakier than you intend, trying to remind yourself that you’re angry at him, that you don’t want him anywhere near you. It’s his fault you’re in here.

“Her highness wants you trained,” he says like that’s supposed to mean something to you.

All you can do is stare at him.

“She sent word to your father,” he amends. “He’ll be here in three months time.”

You’re suddenly aware of how loud your own heartbeat is.

“Is that supposed to mean something to me? He never bothered to contact me before.” You’re loosing your edge, mind spinning with all the things you could do to try and put some distance between the two of you.

“It seems your Uncle stole you away in the middle of the night,” Rhys explains. “Hybern has been looking for you since.”

“He’s done a shitty job.”

Rhys shrugs as he reaches out a hand to play with a tendril of your hair, curling it around his slender fingers. A cat playing with it’s food; he has no intention of letting you move away from the wall, trapped between the rock and his chest. “He’s eager to see you again, and Her Highness is eager to prove that you’re useful.”

“Why?” Why does Hybern suddenly care about you? Why does the red head care what you do with your powers? Why is this male touching you still and why are you letting him?

“Hybern’s an opportunist,” he says as he brushes the strand behind your ear. “His plans for Prythian might be closer to reality with the right power behind it.”

None of it makes any sense to you.

Rhys must see that on your face because he says, “Hybern made Amarantha. That might not make sense to you yet, but she is what she is because of him. She knows the best way to solidify her position within the world Hybern intends to create is to hand him a weapon already sharp enough to use.”

“So I’m to be a pawn then?”

He shrugs, the hand still against your temple drifting to brush over your cheek, like he can’t help but touch you. “Or you could also be an opportunist.”

You quirk a brow.

“Hybern might just be your only way out of here, Darling.”

“First off, don’t call me that. Second, what if I don’t?”

“You will.”

You shiver.

“Training isn’t the choice here. The choice is whether you want to see anyone get hurt to make sure it happens.”

“What are you gonna do, torture me?” You hiss.

He brushes a thumb over your lip, violet eyes trained there like he’s thinking about how they felt against his own earlier. “You have people you care about.”

Your heart drops into your stomach.

“She’s already given me the order to find your uncle.” His fingers drift lower, until he’s holding your chin between his forefinger and chin. “Where is he?”

“I’ve been with you,” you growl; his words snap you back to reality. He’s the enemy. You do not want to be this close to the enemy. “How would I know?”

“My spies tell me he packed a bag and left after finding you gone? Did you have a meeting place for emergencies?”

“Eat shit,” you snarl.

Something brushes against you, like a shadow, but it’s not against your skin, it’s against your mind. The sensation cold, foreign. You blink, pull your head out of his grip to shake your head, shake the feeling off, but it lingers, holding on.

“You don’t even have any fucking shields,” he snarls.

The brush against your mind makes you see things, the farmhouse, your own hands kneading bread, it takes longer than it should for you to realize you’re seeing your own memories play out before you.

“What-” a tavern spins into view, the worn sign clear enough in your eyes that you say the name out loud. It’s a little place, not too far from Spring’s borders, close enough to Autumn that you can get there by foot in half a day. Your uncle had shown you the place as a kid, said that if you’d ever gotten separated from him than you were to go there and wait. If he’d returned home and found the house empty, the first place he’d go was there.

The memory fizzles; the shadow recedes.

Reality slams into you, tears falling from your eyes. What did you just do?

Like he can’t help himself, Rhys brushes a tear off your cheek with his knuckle. “We’ll work on shields first.”

He moves to leave, but you grab him by the front of the shirt. “Wait, please… please don’t do this! I’ll do whatever you want, ok? Just, just leave my uncle out of this.”

It is not cruelty on his face, or judgment, it’s a flash of pain before he straightens, face a mask of perfect indifference as he slides his hand over yours. “As I said, Darling, I would consider your options here carefully.” He pulls your hand away, the lock sliding out of the door on a phantom wind, and then he’s gone.

Only when the lock clicks into place again do you allow yourself to crumple to the floor and cry.

There’s a flower on the bedside table when you finally manage to get up off the floor. It’s the same glowing, violet bud that you had seen in your dreams, the one that had led you right into Rhys’s waiting arms. You pick it up gently, starring at the soft petals, so thin you can almost see through it. It’s beautiful and strange all at once.

Then you take it to the bathroom and flush it down the toilet.

No more stupid flowers, or those damn visions, no more chasing flowers through the woods and trusting stupidly handsome males to protect you. Fuck him and these stupid flowers! They’re to blame for all this mess. A mess you were now dragging your uncle into.

You might have started to spiral again if there wasn't another flower in the first’s place by the time you step back into the main room. As if the one you’d moved had never been there. You stare at it for a long while, then back at the bathroom, the water still running as the toilet flushes, just to make sure you hadn’t imagined removing the first one.

Groaning, you snatch the second one and toss it down the toilet with the first.

There’s a third as quickly and as soundlessly as the other two had arrived.

“You’ve got to be shitting me!” You snatch it off the bedside table and crush it into your hand, the scent of it overwhelming, too strong for any flower not sprouting from the ground to be.

You wipe the remains on the dirty sheets as you sit on the bed, watching the table now, daring a fourth to appear. No one has used the door, the vents aren’t an option, it’s got to be some sort of magic. Unless tables can sprout gardens in this strange mountain dungeon.

As if it knows it’s being watched, no fourth flower appears.

You cross your arms, waiting, challenging it. Minutes tick by. Nothing. Only then do you breath a sigh of relief.

But in the stillness of the room, the lack of entertainment soon becomes suffocating. You try to distract yourself by stripping the sheets off the bed and shaking the dust off of them. You’re obviously going to be sleeping here, might as well make yourself comfortable. But that doesn’t take long.

You push the bed back in front of the door again, it’s failure be damned. At least, if anyone tries to enter while you sleep you'll have a second to get up and move before they get inside.

The bedside table looks lonely without the bed next to it, with a shrug, you decide to move that as well. You’re half way across the room when one of the legs hits a pit in the floor and tips, the lamp bouncing off the floor with a clang that echoes like a death toll in the cavernous space. The movement knocks the slim drawer on the table wide open, a worn book tumbling out across the floor. It definitely hadn't been there earlier when you'd opened it and found the paperweight. The fading title reads Death Gods and Goddesses Through the Ages, in a scrolling font, the author’s name long since legible in the battered leather. There’s less dust on the pages than the rest of the room, like it hasn’t been here quite as long. After collecting the fallen lamp, blissfully not broken, as if is spelled to avoid such things from clumsy creatures like you, and pushing the table against it’s new home on the wall, you sit yourself atop the bed and prop the book open.

The pages are worn, stained, most of the margins filled with hand written notes. A couple of the pages are even book marked.

Long before the first ages of the world, when light was first introduced, the Gods walked the land, unburdened with the weight or mortality. They were before Time. Until the Darkness came and merged with them. Next to the opening paragraph, someone had added the annotation: These are not the same as the Princes from Hel that opened the Portals in the Dark Ages, these are other. Their powers are other.

You shiver and close the book. Who would keep this here?

You draw your fingers over the edges as you process, lip worried between your teeth. It feels like a bad omen, a warning… from the flowers? Your head hurts from all the questions. Are these supposed to be connected? The flowers had led you to the cave, were they leading you to this strange book now too?

You climb under the covers, cold, and then crack the book open again.

The Darkness took hold, hid Its children in the shadows of the world, rearing its beloved offspring in secret. We did not know to fear them until it was too late. Monsters, they are such terrible monsters. The next note in the margins was a page number that you flipped to, marked with an old slip of paper with swirling marks doodled across it. The High Lords of old consulted with witches and necromancers, priestesses and seers, biding their time, accumulating their knowledge until they were finally able to form a weapon against the Death Gods. At least, that was what they told them. There were those among them who didn’t want the gods removed, they wanted their power to wield, to rule. There’s lists of names, linked in genealogical order of ancient High Lords and bloodlines that had merged with the Death Gods and Goddesses of old. All carefully mapped out. Whoever had owned this book before had done their research, some of the trees branched over onto other pages, the names growing smaller and smaller the longer they went. You don’t have time to read through all of them before the lock on the door groans as it’s moved out of place.

You scramble to hide the book under the mattress before the door opens, though maybe it would have served you just as well as a weapon, because it’s not Rhysand at the door this time.

The soulless black eyes that leer down at you can only belong to the Attor.

It takes seconds for the hulking creature to kick the bed out of the way, the wooden legs screeching as they slash through the rock floor. You don’t even have time to scream, run, as the monster bursts into the room and grabs you by the back of your shift.

“The Queen demands an audience,” it sneers in a voice that sounds like shifting sand.

You flail as it lifts you off the floor like you weigh nothing, begging whatever gods can hear you for help. In a rare flare of power, your claws tear through your fingertips, dark, misty power budding in your palms. You claw at the leather hands holding you, slashing over and over again, splattering blood over the walls.

The Attor snarls, tosses you hard into the wall just outside your door. The impact is jarring, black spots swimming across your eyes, all the air leaving your lungs in a rush. You scramble to get onto your feet, legs unsteady, the room spinning. The cavern like tunnel ahead of you flips and doubles.

“Stupid girl!” It snarls as it reaches for the back of your shift again.

You scramble out of reach, legs wobbly, talons scraping across the walls. You make it all of three steps before the Attor grabs you again. If it’s arms aren’t it’s weak spot you need to hit it somewhere else, but it holds you up out of reach, lesson learned. You reach for the walls instead, punching your talons through the rocks, trying to wrench yourself out of it’s grip by finding something to hold on to.

The terrible shrieking sound your claws make against the rock makes the Attor give you a shake that has your brain rattling around in your skull. “Stop that you little pest!”

More spots swim across your vision, hands slipping off the walls. These last twenty-four hours have made you feel more powerless than you have ever felt in your life. What good are these supposed powers beneath your skin if they don’t even work?

The Attor, on lumbering legs, carries you through dark, twisting tunnels. It’s like walking through a maze, the dark stone walls only lit with torches in sparse intervals. There’s no decorations. Little light. And cold, so damn cold.

The Attors claws scrape against the ground as it walks; you recognize the scrapping sound from the cave in Spring. It had been out hunting you too.

“Where are you taking me?” You dare to ask.

It takes a couple more sharp turns, it’s breathing a heavy hiss behind you as it finally brings you to a set of double, stone doors. They’re taller than even the High Lord’s manor, something you imagined you’d see a cave troll bursting out of in one of your books at home. There is something ancient, sacred about the space as the doors swing open on their own. The chamber ahead of you is cavernous, held up by too many carved pillars to count, all depicting different battles across Prythian’s extensive history. It’s the art work you’ve seen replicated in temples and paintings across the Courts, all supposed to be symbolic, holy, but this…

The floors are made of red marble, like a blood stain; fitting because pinned to the walls are bodies, some human, some fae, some other, all disfigured and mutilated. The contents of your stomach rises into your throat.

The cavern is full of fae, some dancing to the low rumble of music coming from the corner, like no one notices the horrors around them.

At the far end of the space sits a dais, the red headed Queen seated atop it. A glittering dress the shade of her hair hugs her form, a single shard of bone dangling from a string around her neck the centerpiece of the plunging neckline. She sips from a golden chalice, a smudge of red lipstick along the glass, her eyes bored as she surveys the party happening around her. There’s a half dressed male sitting at her feet, head in her lap, her clawed nails drifting absently through his pale hair. A cloud of mirthroot smoke circles him, golden eyes glassy like he has no idea where he is. Rhysand leans against the back of the throne, the only one watching the Attor approach at all. Maybe it is normal to see the gangly creature drag people into the throne room, the party goers certainly don’t notice you.

Amarantha, Rhys had called her, only notices you when the Attor all but hurls you at the base of the dais, your body crumbling against the stairs.

“Her Highness,” the Attor sneers.

The Queen’s grin is cruel as she passes her cup to Rhys, who all but tosses it over his shoulder when she’s not looking. “Quiet!” She barks at the musicians, half hidden in an alcove between pillars. Her voice carries through the room like she had screamed it, the echo in the chamber making the floor shake.

All eyes are suddenly on you as you manage to get back on your feet.

“Rhysand tells me you’re willing to cooperate,” Amarantha says.

You’re very aware of the leering eyes of the crowd as they take you in, still wearing nothing but a shift. The crowd doesn’t get too close, but they’re near enough that you hear the whispers, the laughter. It’s an effort just to swallow. “Yes, I did,” you choke out, intentionally not looking at the male.

Amarantha frowns, “What was that, mouse? I can’t hear you.”

Your cheeks heat; your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “Yes, I will cooperate,” you bite out.

“Hybern will be glad to hear it,” she strokes a hand over the male’s temple, leaving faint pink scratches across his pale skin. He’s too high to notice. “It will be a great victory for the Court to have you back and ready to take your rightful place.”

Rightful place your ass. None of this feels real, right. Your rightful place is with your uncle, trying dozens of new jobs every time his trading business slows, learning new things to make the money stretch. The farmhouse was a new project, a new chance at settling down and not having to live on the road like you had for most of your life. That life was the only thing you had ever known. To be here now, hearing all this talk about war and conquest, with this queen and her court, it was like you’d stepped into a strange dream you couldn’t escape. You’d been trying not to think about it, but faced with it now you didn’t know what to do, say. She was starring at you like she was waiting for you to thank her for ripping the ground out from under you.

Amarantha frowns when you don’t say anything, her hand across the male’s forehead stilling, the eye in the ring on her finger swiveling to look right at you as if it’s a living thing.

“Rhysand,” she snaps, “you had a gift for our guest, didn’t you?”

Rhys looks up from his very important business picking lint off his shoulder. “Right, of course, the gift.”

The crowd quiets as he descends from the dais and snaps his fingers. At your feet a male appears, bound and gagged with the dark tendrils of Rhys’ magic. The male looks at you pleadingly and though your heart goes out to his plight, you glance up at the other male in confusion. Are you supposed to know who this is?

“Your uncle’s farm hand,” he says with a grand sweep of his hand, all courtly business.

“Since you couldn’t find the kidnapper,” Amarantha hisses.

Rhys slides his hands in his pockets casually, the picture of bored indifference. But his violet eyes are only on you as he says, “This was the only male waiting for her at the Temple she told me about.”

Temple? Your head spins. You hadn’t shown him a temple.

Amarantha pushes the male in her lap away from her as she climbs down the stairs in heels sharp enough to cut. “A little demonstration is in order, don’t you think?”

Rhys steps a little closer to the bound male, but you can’t help but note that he has now positioned himself between you and where Amarantha is poised at the base of the dais.

The male makes a gasping sound before his eyes glaze over, sweat quickly dotting his forehead. Rhys remains with his hands in his pockets, Amarantha giddy at the sight unfurling before her, and even though neither of them move, it’s clear the male is fighting the invisible grip they have on him. You can’t help but think about what the two of them have already done to you.

“Wait,” you protest. Even if you don’t know this male, you don’t want him to suffer. “I already said I would cooperate, this isn’t necessary!”

The male begins to scream, thrash, and the bands of darkness around his wrists and legs dip into the marble floor, pinning him.

The crowd presses in closer to watch; you hear someone start making bets about how long he’ll last.

“This is a little reminder,” Amarantha coos at you, soft enough that the crowd won’t be able to hear it over the screaming. “Of what will happen if you decide you suddenly don’t want to cooperate with my training regime.”

Blood starts to pool in the corner of the male’s eyes.

You can’t stop yourself from stepping forward and grabbing Rhys’s arm. “Please, stop, I get it ok! Let him go. I will do what you ask.”

But louder than your pleading, Amarantha orders, “If he has nothing to give us, kill him.”

The gag slips from the male’s mouth as he turns to look at you with what looks like his last little bit of strength. “Forgive me, Your Highness.”

The sound of bones snapping fills the chamber; the male gurgles on his own blood, and then he slumps lifelessly to the floor.

Tears stream down your cheeks and you yank your hand away from Rhys’s arm, disgusted.

Amarantha waves the Attor over to clean up the mess, even as she says, “You may resume your dancing now.”

As if it never happened, the music starts back up. People start laughing and drinking, the dances not unlike the writhing shapes you had seen in your vision of Calanmai.

She waits until the noise is too loud to be overheard by the crowd to ask, “Did he tell you where her uncle is?”

There’s no chance this stranger knows anything about your uncle. Rhys had lied, but you still find yourself holding your breath, waiting for this to be a trap too. The male certainly acted like he’d known you.

But Rhys says, “I saw a tavern in Winter, I’ll head there-”

“My men will take it from here,” Amarantha interrupts, “I want you here, working on her.”

Rhys bows. “As you wish, My Queen.”

“Escort her back to her room,” Amarantha orders, “I don’t want her back here until we’re sure she can be controlled.”

“Of course,” Rhys moves to take your arm and you duck out of reach.

“I can walk,” you hiss.

He lets his hand fall, slides it back into his pockets.

Amarantha is half way up the dais when she calls back, “I expect quick results.”

He nods in understanding.

“And don’t forget, Rhysand, about the deal you made for this opportunity.”

His eyes darken. “I haven’t.”

As far away from him as you want to be, it’s a relief when he motions for you to move towards the door. The crowd parts for you, some of them outright ignoring you, others leering.

A redheaded male watches the two of you closely, catching Rhys’s eye as you pass.

Rhys snarls something you can’t make out at him.

“Whore,” the other male spits back.

Rhys laughs mirthlessly in response as the doors shut in the other male’s face.

You have questions of course, but the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours weighs so heavily on you, you almost wish it was the Attor carrying you out. Every footstep is heavy.

Rhys doesn’t speak as he leads you through the maze of tunnels. You should be attempting to learn the path, so if you ever do get out you know where you’re going, but it feels like so much effort. What does it matter in the end? You’re stuck here, at the whim of an evil queen and whatever the hell Rhys is, at least until your supposed father gets here and decides to do Mother knows what with you. Any attempts at escaping, at fighting are useless, not when Rhys knows where to look for him. It’s the reminder that he lied that finally makes you look up from where you’ve been following the cracks in the floor.

“Why’d you do it?” You ask softly.

“Do what?” He counters. He sounds as exhausted as you feel.

You watch the way the shadows of the torchlight bath him in half darkness, the glow of his eyes dimmed here. Everything about him feels dim in these halls, like the mountain has stolen something from him.

“That male-”

He halts at a door that must now belong to you and a bit of magic pulls the door open. “She wants you to know what she will do if she even suspects you’re trying to outsmart her.”

“No,” you shudder thinking about what he had done. How could anybody wield powers like that? “No that’s not what I mean.”

Rhys leans against the doorframe and motions you inside. “I’m afraid you’ve lost me then, Darling.”

You stare at him. He seems to be playing a game unto himself. Whatever his motives are, whatever it has to do with you, he’d not about to admit it here in the hall.

You step into the room, head pounding from all the unanswered questions you have.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” he says as the door begins to close.

You don’t want to see him in the morning. He’s a monster who can rip people’s minds apart with a thought, a monster who somehow lured you out of your home and brought you here to his evil queen, but he’s also the monster keeping your secrets, and in places like this, you might need a monster like that on your side. You won’t trust him, not after what he’d done in the cave, but maybe it’s not trust you need in a place like this. Amarantha demands you learn to use your powers, she never said anything about you using them on her.

“I’m counting down the seconds,” you say dryly.

“Dream of me,” he says sweetly.

The door closes before you can snarl that you’ve dreamed of him enough.

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

Tag List: @mariahoedt, @llovelydove, @twsssmlmaa

If anyone else wants to be added to the taglist feel free to let me know :)

#rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand acotar #acotar fic #acotar smut #fanfic #my writing #datura series #rhysand fanfic #utm!rhys #utm!rhys x reader

253 notes · View notes

sserpente · 10 months ago

Text

My little assassin

You share the bed with Gortash after you rejected Bhaal, and the Chosen of Bane makes the mistake of making it known to you that he is rather disappointed in your decision. Perhaps he needs to be reminded of his place...

A/N: I’ve done it. It’s too late now. Gortash wrapped me around his finger. Oh well. Enjoy this little piece. It’s literally based on a dream I had and when I woke up, I was like… 😲 I have to write this!

Words: 710 Warnings: implied smut, mentions of death, blood, murder, decapitation and necrophilia, evil Durge!Tav/Reader (duh)

It was strange, the concept of freedom. Considering all your sins, it was a feeling soaked in both relief and uncertainty to know that the next time your weapon struck, it would be because you willed it so—not because the God of Murder urged you to carry out his bloodthirsty message to the world. But for the first time in too long… you felt at peace, bathing in the silence this new-found freedom brought.

With an audible sigh, you stretched your naked body in the soft satin sheets. Dusk was near, you could see the last sunrays retreating and slowly drowning Gortash’s chambers in comfortable and soothing darkness.

For just a moment, everything felt right. Like you’d never been gone, never been backstabbed by Orin, never been abducted… never ended up with a damn tadpole in your head… never suffered from amnesia.

Your memories were taking their sweet time to come back to you still. But you were getting there. Bits and pieces, crumbs of information your own brain was withholding from you began to form a bigger picture.

If there was one puzzle piece, however, that had already fallen back in place, it was that Enver Gortash and you shared a history that went well beyond an amenable alliance. You were rather unfamiliar with the concept of love and so was he. What you had was a filthy connection made of lust, greed, and lechery. But you liked him—more than you wished to admit. There was no doubt you would viciously slaughter anyone who dared to touch him. Only one person was allowed to kill or fuck him—and that person was you.

“Tell me, what are you thinking about, my little assassin?” His raspy voice was accompanied by the faint rustling of the bed sheets as he turned to face you.

“You. Me. My past. The life that lies ahead of me now that I’m free to do what I wish.”

“Is that so…” he responded with slight dismay, “In all honesty, my dear, it’s a shame you rejected the God of Murder. To be Bhaal’s Chosen… an honour and a responsibility that would have kept you invincible… and more powerful than ever, fit to rule by my side.”

The sudden anger surging within you felt like daggers made of ice boring into your chest. Enver was many things but he was no fighter. He was a cunning politician with a hand for charming people into what he wanted. Before he even had a chance to react, you had already pinned him down on the mattress, straddling him. Your hand closed around his throat, squeezing just hard enough to cut off his air supply but not hard enough to keep him from speaking.

“Do you think I turned good? That I want to become a hero now? That I rejected Bhaal because I could no longer bear the thought of my sins? Oh no,” you spat, “From now on forth, my sins are my own, not Bhaal’s. You’d do well to remember that and respect my decision, Chosen of Bane because as much as I enjoy the idea of your warm corpse drenching the sheets in blood, I’m not much for necrophilia.”

Enver swallowed, and you could feel his Adam’s apple dance beneath your palm. There was a sliver of panic in his dark eyes—it was one thing you liked about him. He’d never underestimate you or what you were capable of. “Of course. You can… let go now, my little assassin.”

You obeyed—for it would indeed be a pity if your renewed companion withered away so quickly. You had no intention whatsoever to kill him just yet, if ever. Still, when you voiced your threat to give your hazardous anger a vent, you knew deep down that you were not lying. “Do not question me again or I will start questioning whether your head should remain attached to your body.”

Gortash laughed, a sound you enjoyed for it usually expressed his admiration for your ruthlessness; and just like that, another snippet of information dripped into your mind. You remembered. You used to enjoy him praising your cruel savagery. You made a good team, you and him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

#gortash imagine #gortash x you #gortash x durge #enver gortash #gortash x reader #lord gortash #lord gortash imagine #lord gortash x you #lord gortash x durge #lord gortash x reader #enver gortash imagine #enver gortash x you #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash x durge #baldurs gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 imagine #jason isaacs #lord enver gortash

226 notes · View notes

hypnoneghoul · 7 months ago

Text

Cosmic Love

WC: 1,3k

Relationship: Swiss & Mountain

Tags: Domestic Fluff, Song Fic, Really Deep Love, Poetic Fic (I hope at least because that was the plan)

“You’re everything, sweetheart,” Swiss says and even though Mountain is asleep, the corners of his lips curl upwards slightly. “You’re everything, darling,” Mountain says and even though Swiss is already grinning, his smile seems to grow and brighten.

Notes: This is kinda special, I took this and made it bigger and better and deeper. Also this is dedicated to @arkeusruin because you don't even know how important your words on friday were. Thank you, you're awesome <3

Read under the cut or on AO3.

To Swiss, Mountain is the prettiest creature that has ever been called up from the Pit. A deity, truly.

“You are so beautiful it's hard to believe you’re real sometimes, my love,” Swiss whispers to him, laying on his side and watching, adoring, loving. “Especially in moments like these.”

He is sprawled out in their nest, wrapped in soft sage sheets and bathed in sunlight coming in from the window. His hair is down, the loose amber strands spilling down his shoulder and chest in a way that looks as if Lucifer himself had gently laid each individual silky wave in this perfect composition.

His face is fully relaxed, a thing so rare Swiss' heart hurts whenever he is rewarded with getting to see Mountain like this. His eyelashes kiss his pink-tinged and freckle-adorned cheeks and his plush lips are slightly parted. The multi ghoul could swear it is an invitation to slot his own against them.

His whole lean body lies limply, but not disorderly—long limbs arranged in a careful, yet unconscious, way. It is just asking to be painted, to be preserved. Such beauty can not be wasted.

Swiss would, if he only had the skill. He would never dare to try, would not risk the desecration of portraying Mountain as less than he really is.

“You’re everything, sweetheart,” the multi ghoul says and even though Mountain is asleep, the corners of his lips curl upwards slightly. Knowing, understanding.

Mountain is to be worshiped and that is something Swiss can do. That is something he does, and will never stop. In any way he would desire, Swiss will worship him. Will pray to him for the gift of it.

He smiles softly and sighs. Words come to his mind and while there is not enough in any language known to man or demon to describe the love he has for Mountain, there is one thing that feels close.

And so Swiss starts to sing quietly.

I'd rather take my whiskey neat

My coffee black and my bed at three

You're too sweet for me

He will sing more and he will wish he had more to give, but for now, Mountain sleeps.

And Swiss watches.

Swiss could cry with love when Mountain wakes. He stretches, as if showing off his perfect body first thing in the morning, and there is a deep rumble coming from within him. Content to be waking, ready to face another day with his mate by his side.

The multi ghoul ends the feast for his eyes and moves closer, truly gluing himself to Mountain’s side. He breathes in his scent—the smell of the first days of summer—and a pleased trill leaves his lips, “Good morning, my love.”

The earth ghoul does not reply, only his purring increases in volume. Swiss understands.

He wraps his hands around Mountain and squeezes him as if he could pull him into his own body and keep him there, safe and sound.

“Wanna stay in here for a bit longer?” Swiss asks and his mate nods gently, rubbing his face against the multi ghoul’s chest. He smiles and settles, letting his eyes slip shut again.

It is soft and warm and just perfect and it is one of those moments that the both of them wish could last forever. Mountain stays awake. It is most likely Swiss who dozes off again, but his mate does not mind.

The silence is comfortable around them and the earth ghoul does not feel the need to fill it. When he starts to sing, it is an expression.

I will leave you notes

Under your door

Under the singing moon

Near the place where your feet pass

Hidden in the holes of wintertime

And when you're alone for a moment...

Kiss me

Whenever you want

Mountain could cry with love as he watches Swiss cook. It is nearly like a dance, the way he moves along the counter, grabbing this and that to make a delicious meal for his mate and the rest of their pack. He is purring—most likely unconsciously—content to pour his feelings out into something physical, something to share.

The earth ghoul sits on the edge of the counter as he sips his tea, feasting his eyes on his mate over the rim of his mug. He chirps when Swiss moves closer to him and steps between his legs to press a kiss to his freckled nose. “What’s that for, my heart?”

The multi ghoul does not reply, only his purring increases in volume. Mountain understands.

He sets his tea down before wrapping his hands around Swiss. He squeezes him as if he could pull him into his own body and keep him there, safe and sound.

“Want to take a break from all the cooking?” Mountain asks, but his mate shakes his head gently, rubbing his nose against the earth ghoul’s shoulder. He smiles and nods, letting him go so he can continue.

It is soft and warm and just perfect and it is one of those moments that the both of them wish could last forever. Mountain stays seated on the counter, watching.

The silence is comfortable around them and neither of them feels the need to fill it. Swiss turns on his music quietly, anyway, but Mountain does not mind. When he starts to sing, it is an expression.

You keep me all together

You take me out whenever I'm lettin' down

You got the motions baby

I got a notion maybe I'll stick around

Because, oh

I can never doubt you for too long

I can't see no reason

You're my kinda lover

To Mountain, Swiss is the prettiest creature that has ever been called up from the Pit. A deity, truly.

“You are so beautiful it's hard to believe you’re real sometimes, my heart,” Mountain whispers to him and his chest squeezes painfully as Swiss smiles. “Especially in moments like these.”

His arms are wrapped all around the one he calls his love. He is smiling as they dance. His hair is down and the night-colored locks jump with his movements, as fluid as the rest of him.

His face is glowing, tawny brown skin shimmering in artificial light not holding a candle to his own shine. His smile is so bright that it could resurrect a dead star and it is framed by plush lips simply begging to be kissed swollen. The whole picture is adorned by two molten drops of gold that Mountain would gladly drown and melt himself in.

Swiss’ whole body—muscled, yet soft around the edges—moves smoothly like water, his hips swaying. It is just asking to be painted in his movement, to be preserved. Such beauty can not be wasted.

Mountain would, if he only had the skill. He would never dare to try, would not risk the desecration of portraying Swiss as less than he really is.

“You’re everything, darling,” the earth ghoul says and even though Swiss is already grinning—oh, so widely—his smile seems to grow and brighten even more. Grateful, appreciating.

Swiss is to be begged for his blessings and that is something Mountain can do. That is something he does, and will never stop. For anything he would offer, Mountain will beg and pray. Will worship him.

He smiles softly and sighs. He regrets not being as good with his words as he would wish to be, but those already resonating through the room feel appropriate.

And so Mountain starts to sing quietly.

When my time comes around

Lay me gently in the cold, dark earth

No grave can hold my body down

I'll crawl home to her

He will sing more and he will wish he had more to give, but for now, they dance.

And Mountain watches.

#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #hypnone writes #swiss ghoul #mountain ghoul #swissalps

110 notes · View notes