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yanderenightmare · 3 days ago

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Gojo Satoru & Geto Suguru

♡ TW: fear, prank, prank gone too far, dubcon-ish

♡ GN reader

“Haha, ‘Toru—nice try,” is all you say to the tall figure, having stood patiently in wait and perfectly positioned to do a jump scare with his silly store-bought Ghostface mask on.

You sigh and go back to your dealings, and he remains as if the gist isn’t up—ever-committed to the task as if you’re suddenly going to forget that it’s him. Like—of course, it’s him! Despite what the movies will have you believe, not a lot of guys have bodies like that.

If he was really committed to tricking you, he should have worn something baggier to hide his perfectly shredded chest. But no—he’s set on wearing his black muscle shirt—probably opting to make you both scared and horny at the same time.

You carry on with what you’d been doing—cleaning up the kitchen. “Oi, quit standing there already and come help me.”

He doesn’t. But that’s not unlike him—he’ll take any excuse not to do the dishes. And right now, the excuse is this dumb prank. But it’s your fault in any case—you’re the one that put him up to it by saying he’d never be able to get a rise out of you.

You sigh and scold yourself for being so short-sighted—should’ve kept my dumb mouth shut. Knowing him, he’s probably going to be this way all through October, the insufferable prick.

He still stands there. Silent. And still. Eerily unlike him. And almost, just almost, utterly unlike him.

But no—don’t be stupid! He’s the same height and the same build, for fuck’s sake! What are the odds of someone with the exact same measurements as your boyfriend breaking in right at the time he isn’t around in something so cliche and dumb as a Ghostface replica? No, it stinks of Satoru—it’s got his goofy antics written all over it.

You scoff again—a little winded this time, a little strained. You have to hand it to him—he is a little scary when he shuts up for this long.

“You can knock it off, Satoru. I know it’s you.” You face him again, hand on your hip, with a frown.

You sigh again when he still doesn’t answer, insisting on his stupid tactic of psyching you out. And you’re getting pissed that it’s actually almost working.

“Ugh, you’re so stupid.” You start stomping over—aiming to rip that dumb thing off his head and point your death glare directly in his insufferable blue eyes—those insufferable blue eyes you’re actually starting to hope are under there more than knowing without a doubt are there for sure.

“Tch—it’s insulting if you think some half-assed performance like this is gonna be enough to scare me. At least have the creativity to come up with something somewhat decent–”

You stop in your tracks halfway over. Hair is peaking out from under the mask. You hadn’t seen it from afar, matted against the black shirt he was wearing—but how could you? How could you when it’s not white hair?

You flinch backward. Stumbling. Assessing the dark, silken locks a second time before looking up at the mask again—that soulless white warped skull with pitch-black bottomless eyesockets.

You take another step back. Breath hitching in your throat when the figure takes a step as well—toward you.

Your heart flares. It’s not Satoru.

Eyes peeled, you feel the panic overthrow you in an instant—like a cold rush, reaching all the way into your bonemarrow, making it hard to move, hard to do much of anything without feeling vulnerable to what it might trigger.

But once the figure pulls his hand out from behind his back, brandishing a butcher’s knife that catches the light and glints in the air—you have no other choice but to run.

What a perfect fucking day to wear fuzzy fucking socks! Fucking October cold is going to be the reason you die—stabbed to death in your own house by some cringey Scream fanboy. No—this can’t be the end—not this way! Why isn’t Satoru home yet? Why can’t he ever be where you need him to be?

You make your way through the house—hoping to reach the door, but turning the corner has you slip and fall, and the intruder’s on you—knife raised, poised prettily in the air above your helpless body, clad in your tiny heart-print pj’s—like the perfect hot airhead in any slasher spoof.

You scream and squeeze your eyes shut, “No! No—please! Please! Satoru, help!”

And right as the knife is supposed to come down and puncture your chest, making it spurt out red until you finally bleed out, dead and gone, there’s a bang instead as two palms land flat on the floor on either side of your head.

Joined by a muffled voice, “Are yah scared yet?”

With your eyes wide open again, you look up at not one mask blocking out the ceiling light but two. And with all the pure alarm savaging your chest, you manage to let out a real horror-movie squeal—unlike a sound you’ve ever made before.

And then, of all things, there’s laughter—no, not laughter—straight cackling.

And—fortunately or unfortunately—you’re quite sure you recognize that sound.

The last one pulls off his mask, and you really can’t believe it—pretty porcelain face squished in amusement with tears of joy in the corner of his insufferable blue eyes.

That fucking bitch.

“You should have seen your face!” he chortles—downright heaves. But for all his handsome features, he truly must be the ugliest laugher there is. Or maybe it’s just that the bastard always laughs at your expense, and after one too many times, it’s left a bad taste in your mouth.

Still, you sigh, eyes closed in relief, “I hate you, ‘Toru. You took it way too far, you ass.”

“No, no, Satoru, help~” he ignores you and mocks in a high-pitched moan, showing not a sign of remorse—holding his hand over his stomach as he falls to the floor, struggling to leave room for breath between hooting and howling.

Your eyes go to the original perpetrator. “And you? You proud or what?”

The wearer pulls off its mask and is revealed to be none other than Satoru’s best friend—Geto.

Honestly, you should have fucking known...

“Sorry, hehe…”

You’re upset—you make that clear with your pout, giving him your best guilt-tripping look from where you rest beneath him.

But still, within, your heart eases at the sight of his kind face and that apologetic smile across it—ever thankful to see him and not the cold-blooded murderer you were convinced was going to kill you only a moment ago—even when pinned beneath him in a position that should be making Satoru jealous.

But your boyfriend couldn’t care less, it seems—too busy rolling on the floor and laughing out loud quite literally, even banging his fist against the wood. Prick.

“I’m gonna throw up–” you say as the nerves finally settle. “And when I’m done, I’m gonna kill you. Both of you.”

Geto seems to think that’s fair, still with that sheepish smile on his face, but Satoru is quick to interject—laughing fit over as he shakes his head, “Nuh-uh. You said if I manage to scare you once this Halloween, I’d get whatever I want.”

You swear he can be such a child sometimes.

Oh, who are you kidding? He’s always a child. It’s only surprising he’s managed to rope Geto into all this—a guy who’s usually so mature.

“I don’t remember saying that…” you sigh, laying the back of your hand atop your forehead, still calming your breaths and the pounding in your head—your body not yet caught up to the fact that it’s trepidation over impending death was all just some silly joke played on you by two idiots.

You can’t believe him—you can’t believe either of them.

“Fucking shit, Geto—I thought I was gonna die.”

He still hasn’t gotten off you—the look of worry on his face tells you he’s probably just wanting to stay close to make you feel safe. You appreciate it, though it’s a little awkward lying beneath him like this—it’s not exactly a position you share with just anyone…

“Honestly, I didn’t think it would work,” he says—eyes slim like always, in that charming way. “I always thought you were smarter than to fall for something this stupid.”

You pull a frown at that—taking it all back. He’s as childish and dumb as Satoru is. He’s just better at hiding it.

“Oh, shut up—as if you wouldn’t scream if someone chased you down with a knife,” you grumble. “Now get off, you prick.”

You begin to lift yourself onto your elbows, yet despite the clear intention of getting up, Geto doesn’t budge to make it happen.

No, instead, he leans further in—fine-kempt raven hair slipping off his shoulders, falling with the same grace as a veil.

“I was told there’d be a prize for the one that got you to crack, and seeing as I’m the one that made that happen—I want it.”

You have to blink—blanched at the sudden demand.

Satoru, as well, a little stunned—looking wide-eyed at the two of you, upside down where he lies flat on his back, long limbs stretched out like a starfish.

“You what now?” both of you ask in unison.

Geto chuckles before repeating, “My prize. I want it. It’s only fair,” as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Satoru rolls over on his stomach to view you both the right way, pursing his lips in thought. “Hmm…” Hand on his chin as if it’s really something to deliberate when the dumbass very well knows what the two of you had bet on and how it very much isn’t a reward you can give to just anyone.

Yet, despite that. “Okay,” he agrees—as if it’s even up to him.

“Hold on now, wait a minute.” You intervene in the almost business-esque dealing they’d somehow held without you. "Not happening.”

“Why not?” they both ask, looking at you.

And you can’t keep from gaping. The nerve.

Spluttering as you explain, “Because it’s—well, because it was a bet between me and my dumbass boyfriend, and it was very clear what the prize was gonna be, come winner or loser—so, sorry to break it to you, but there is no prize.”

But that doesn’t seem to deter Geto. “Oh, I think there is…” he all but purrs as he leans down further.

“Satoru already agreed. And you’re already on your back beneath me.”

His smile isn’t all so friendly anymore, and still… you can’t help but blush being caught beneath it, holding your breath with fear a little different from the one before but no different in how it makes your heart pound.

“So, if neither of you mind…" he grins slyly. "I think I’ll just take it.”

♡ GOJO SATORU masterlist ♡ GETO SUGURU masterlist ♡ JUJUTSU KAISEN masterlist

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weepingwillowwonder · 22 days ago

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Imagines Alastor x AFAB!Reader [MDNI 18+ ONLY]

CW: Period sex, Oral Sex, Overstimulation, Needy!Alastor,

Imagine on a rare occasion that Alastor fully takes you and both of you are completely lost in pleasure. Under normal circumstances, convincing Alastor to bed you was…difficult to say the least. It was not often that the mood struck him enough to act on his wandering thoughts, and if he did, it was more so your reactions that he looked forward to, not exactly his own pleasure.

As his partner, you knew this fact very well and respected his boundaries towards the matter, following his lead despite your own yearnings. And of course he knew you wanted him, with how your eyes would roam his body when you didn’t think he was looking, how you’d shift with your thighs pressed together when he spoke sweetly to you, or even how you’d fuck yourself silly when he wasn’t around, his name like a mantra falling from your lips. Ah yes, he knew, you wanted him. Besides, he could smell you, though you didn’t need to know that.

Despite his lack of a libido, he understood you had needs and like any decent partner, he tried his best to make sure those needs were met. Sometimes this involved his own pleasure as well, more often it did not, with his focus purely on satisfying your cravings. So when you approach Alastor one day, shamelessly begging him to bed you, something about the situation compels him to indulge you in ways he normally wouldn't.

He guides you to your shared bed and makes quick work of your clothes, lips crashing into each other in a heated embrace all the while. His fingers quickly find themselves between your legs, impatiently working you open for him to take you. It’s almost as if he can’t get enough of you right now, drinking in your needy sounds as he fingers you deeply. Your body arches up to press against his and he adds another finger, marveling at how impossibly wet you are for him right now.

You can't put a finger on it, but something has Alastor particularly worked up and you can feel it in the rough way his fingers piston inside of you, curling just right to pull out your sweetest sounds. His lips don’t leave yours the entire time, even as he pulls his dripping fingers from you and immediately guides himself to your entrance. He fumbles to sheath himself inside of you when the tip of his cock catches the rim of your hole and a low moan leaves him when he finally sinks inside.

The feeling is almost akin to primal as he takes you, hips knocking into yours fast and hard, exactly the way you asked for and how you both knew you needed him. Tears continually fall down your face as you beg for more in incoherent babbles.

Something about the situation lights his body up in an unexpectedly rare way, one that only certain circumstances tend to bring about. His sense of self control grows muddy as he continues to lose himself in your unbearably wet heat. He knew you needed him, could feel you leaking along his cock as your cunt milked him for all he was worth. And in a strangely familiar way, he felt as if he needed you, needed this. Your cries, your touch, your scent, everything about this moment of you intimacy had him feeling high, almost feral, and he only continued his brutal pace.

When he finally detaches from you, you both catch the trail of saliva that connects you and the heated gaze from the other. Your eyes glaze over as you’re pushed past overstimulation, and reach up to set a hand on his arm gripping your hips for dear life. His eyes follow your hand and hone in on the dark colored fluids smeared along his lower body. Alastor’s hips slow to a still as he processes what’s happening.

“O-oh..oh my gosh…I think I…I think I just started my period.” You mumble out, halfway sitting up to look between your legs with wide eyes. “I’m so-, oh my gosh…” Alastor eyes trail down between your legs to find a darker liquid coming from you, instead of the normal color of your arousal. For a moment, he can only hear the rapid sound of his heart beating. He’d been so distracted by his sudden excitement that he didn’t bother to consider why he was riled up more than usual. It wasn't a newly sudden interest in sex that caused this. He could smell you.

He hadn’t been paying close enough attention to see that you had been spotting when he stripped you down, nor when he felt like he couldn’t get enough of you. He could smell you bleeding the whole time and in that moment he felt like he was harder than he’d ever been.

“Fuck.” The growl that comes from his lips makes you gasp in misplaced fear of him being angry. As you begin to apologize yet again, he yanks himself from you and immediately drags your bottom half to his mouth. A yelp comes from you initially as you’re practically folded in half, then a high pitch moan as Alastor messily begins eating you out. His head is filled with nothing but the need to have you as his eyes fall closed and his tongue searches further inside of you. Your hand comes to bury itself in his hair as he frantically laps along your core, giving you no time to catch your breath.

“Alastor! Alastor please! I can’t, I can’t…! No, no, no, no!” You cry out as an orgasm crashes through you, roughly tugging on his locks in an attempt to pull him away. A threatening growl vibrates against your cunt and you hear the distant sound of static as Alastor’s fingers seem to sink deeper into the skin of your hips. You’re unable to do anything but lay there as he brings you close to the edge again, cries completely ignored as he focuses only on tasting more of you.

When he finally gets his fill and pulls away with a groan, he lowers your body back on the bed and comes up to nuzzle your neck. You weakly call out his name, and cling to him as the weight of his body comes to rest upon yours. As your body starts to relax, you let out a sudden gasp as you feel Alastor’s hardened member dragging along your thigh.

“Oh darling, you’ll indulge me won’t you?” His breath comes out in pants as his fingers dig into the already bruised areas of your hips. His lips hover just above your ear as his antlers begin to grow from on top of his head. “Just one more little taste…”

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor #alastor the radio demon #hazbin alastor #alastor x reader #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor x reader #hazbin alastor x reader

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pintrestgrl · 1 month ago

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Okay can you do dealer!theo(who’s kinda mean) with sweetheart!reader-😜 also I loveeee your work

yessss ofc !! also thank you so much, i love writing for all and any of u 🥹

anyways pls keep the theo nott asks coming, i love him. he’s the loml. anyways …

this is also kinda lengthy tbh so be prepared !!

enjoyyyy !!

mean!dealer!theodore nott with sweetheart!reader.

you never really seemed like the type of girl to smoke.

you went to all your classes, got decent grades, and were kind to any and everyone.

you wouldn’t hurt a fly; no one would ever think you would smoke weed.

that’s exactly why, you were very nervous about buying from the very well known dealer of hogwarts, theodore nott.

you knew him. a lot of people did. he was a bit quieter then the rest of his friends, and didn’t seem to have as many girls on his arm either.

you’d been waiting for the opportunity to ask him if he’d consider selling to you.

today seemed like a good day. mostly because you needed weed. desperately.

you got to potions, where slughorn had assigned new seats. coincidentally, you were sat directly next to theodore.

you were nervous, to say the least.

however, halfway into the class, you managed to gain the courage to write him a note.

———————————————————————

theo.

yeah?

u sell, right?

yeah.

can i buy, after school?

you smoke?

yeah.

then yeah. ig.

where can i buy?

my dorm. the one across the boys dormitory bathrooms

okay. thanks.

yw.

———————————————————————

you were silently freaking out inside. but, you managed to stay silent the rest of the class period.

the rest of the day went by very, very slowly. every lesson dragged on for what felt like hours.

however, as you sat and thought, a part of you felt like you were excited for more then just the weed.

maybe, just maybe, you were excited to talk to theo. get a glimpse into the mind that he kept so closed off.

finally, the day ended. you wasted absolutely no time, going straight to theos dorm.

you followed his instructions, before stopping outside the door. you took a deep breath, before knocking.

it took a few seconds, but he answered soon after.

he looked like he had just woken up, likely skipping the class periods after your shared one.

his hair was a bit disheveled, and his eyes looked tired. he had on a black t-shirt, and some grey sweats.

he spoke.

“you here for the weed?”

you nodded, a bit too nervous to speak directly to him.

he waved you in with his head, and you slowly walked into the room as he shut the door behind you.

you stood quietly in the room, the scent of cigarettes and booze filling your nose.

he dug into a drawer, pulling out about a quarter ounce of weed in a plastic baggy.

he turned back to you, before handing you the weed-filled bag.

you took it, about to dig in to your bag to give him his money, before you heard his voice.

“don’t worry about the money. it’s fine.”

you furrowed your brows, speaking.

“are you sure?”

he nodded, looking at your eyes as he spoke.

“yeah. just— stay here, and smoke with me. to pay it back.”

you slowly nodded, a million thoughts going through your mind.

why would he want you to stay?

he barely knew you.

a part of you felt a bit prideful, that he had invited you in though.

you spoke.

“yeah, okay. thank you, theo.”

he nodded, giving you a small half smile before beckoning you to sit down on his bed.

you listened to him, sitting down as you watched him roll 2 blunts on his desk.

he sat down next to you not too long after, suddenly shoving the pre-roll between your lips.

he brought a lighter up to the blunt, letting it burn the tip and watching you inhale. he put his in his mouth, lighting his as well.

he leaned back, letting the white smoke release from his mouth. you didn’t miss the way he watched how your lips wrapped around the pre-roll.

he spoke.

“i didn’t know you smoked.”

you awkwardly nodded at his sudden words, a polite, fake soft smile coming to your face.

“oh. um— yeah. i do.”

“you don’t look like you do.”

you felt embarrassed at his realization, knowing his words were facts.

“i know.”

it went silent after that, as you both smoked.

the weed finally cleared all your thoughts, giving you what you had been desperately craving the last few weeks.

you glanced over at theo, realizing how good he looked in your fuzzy state of mind. the way his arms looked in that shirt, the way his eyes glistened, god.

you were fucked.

you were staring at him, without realizing. his words snapped you out of your dream-like trance.

“quit starin’ at me.”

you quickly nodded, averting your gaze elsewhere.

“right. yeah. sorry.”

it went silent. yet again. for like, 10 more minutes. it felt awkward in the room, but you were too high to notice much.

he spoke.

“can i kiss you?”

you froze. did he just say that? like, in real life. it felt like a dream.

you spoke.

“what?”

he rolled his eyes, before repeating himself.

“can i kiss you?”

you furrowed your brows, so very confused. why the hell did he want to kiss you? of all girls.

you spoke.

“um— can i ask why you want to do that?”

“i want to kiss you because i want to kiss you. if you don’t want too, that’s fine. but if you do, tell me.”

you nodded, taking in his words. of course you wanted to kiss him. he was cute. and even if he wasn’t, you didn’t know if your fuzzy mind would let you not kiss him.

you spoke.

“yeah. um— you can.”

he didn’t waste any time, before leaning forward and taking your jaw in hand, turning your head and pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his lips.

he tasted like weed, and cigarettes. but his mouth felt addicting. almost as addicting as the cigarettes he was constantly smoking.

the kiss continued, only getting more heated. he took your hips, guiding you onto his lap to straddle his waist.

you whimpered into his mouth at the feeling of him under you, feeling his clothed bulge press against your panties, under your skirt.

he broke the kiss, but still kept his mouth right next to yours, breathing into your mouth as he spoke.

“you’re— really pretty. okay? i like— genuinely like you. i’m not just fucking you because i’m horny. i like you, okay? i’m not that much of an asshole.”

you ran his words through your mind multiple times, unable to find any untruthfulness in them. did he really, genuinely like you?

you mumbled, against his lips.

“i know you aren’t. just— god, can we please just— please.”

you rolled your hips against his a bit, trying to hint at what you wanted from him without saying it out loud.

he heard your pleas and began to reach towards the buttons of your shirt, before stopping and speaking.

“can i? please?”

you nodded, giving him full consent. all you wanted was for him to do whatever he pleased with you.

it didn’t help that all your senses were basically heightened, due to the weed in your system.

he unbuttoned your blouse, enough to pull it off you and swiftly unclasp your bra with the action.

he cupped your pretty tits, leaning you back with his hands to attach his lips to the soft skin of your nipple.

he pressed multiple kisses against your boobs, breaking heavily against the wet skin.

he moved his hand to pull your lace panties to the side, running a finger through your sopping folds.

he groaned against the skin of your tits, feeling the wetness coat his fingertips.

he quickly lowered his pants, freeing his hard cock out. he looked up to meet your eyes, silently asking for permission.

you nodded, breathless as he finally pushed inside of you, filling you up as you sank down on to his length.

it was shocking how much chivalry he had compared to his friends.

you felt his hands go to your hips, guiding your movements, you felt the mushroom head of his cock kissing your cervix.

you felt everything. way too much.

he helped you bounce on his dick, as he leaned down and planted kisses down your neck.

it wasn’t long before you felt the knot in your tummy get a bit too tight.

and you spoke. rather whiny, as well.

“theo, theo— god, ‘m gonna— please.”

“c’mon. let go for me, bellissima.”

you quickly nodded, a string of moans left your mouth as he moved his hand to your puffy clit.

you came. harder then you ever had before, a white ring forming around the base of his cock.

he followed right behind you, cumming a few moments later.

he came right against your cervix, filling you up to the absolute brim.

he held you close to him, his breathing hot against the skin of your neck.

he stayed inside you for a few minutes, before reluctantly pulling out of your welcoming hole.

you gained your breath back, before speaking to him.

“um— do you, want me to leave? it’s okay if you do—“

he interrupted you, shutting that idea down very quickly.

“no. stay— just, yeah. stay. please.”

you nodded, reluctant to agree with his words. he took his shirt off, throwing it on the ground somewhere before lifting you off his lap, and setting you down next to his body.

you hesitantly laid down against his bare chest, as his hand snaked up against your back, slightly rubbing the skin.

you both fell asleep almost immediately after, the weed relaxing both your bodies.

the last thought that kept playing in your mind, was if he was serious about his ramble of words from before.

did he really like you, or did he say that just to get in your pants?

you couldn’t tell,

and you weren’t sure if you wanted to ask, and find out the answer.

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osarina · 6 months ago

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ᡣ𐭩 YOU'VE BEGUN TO FEEL LIKE HOME

FEATURING: pm!dazai osamu

SUMMARY: dazai is not as slick as he thinks he is, and you let him get away with way too much. OR, dazai realizes the only place he feels comfortable enough to sleep is at your side, but god forbid he vocalizes that.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: i'm on another pm!reader & dazai kick LOL, prepare for an influx of fics about them. i'm starting with this one because it's softer, the classic sharing a bed fic & u guys deserve some lightness after uu6 (warnings: fem!reader, nothing else really, this is light-hearted as promised)

Dazai doesn’t think you notice when he sneaks into your room at night.

To be fair, you don’t think you noticed the first few times. He’s very careful to make sure you’re still sleeping when he lets the door crack open so he can slip in. He shifts the blinds around just enough so that when he lays down and the sun starts to rise, it’ll hit him right in the eye, waking him up before you, so he can slip out unnoticed.

But he messed up two weeks ago. Or, well, it wasn’t really his fault. The hinges of your door creaked just a bit too loudly when he pushed it open, stirring you from your sleep, but he was evidently too tired to even notice. Your first reaction was obviously to tell him to get the fuck out, irate that he’d woken you up, but you found yourself hesitating as he began his swift and efficient process of setting up your room so he can lay there with you to get some rest and disappear before you wake up.

He slept above the covers on the edge of the bed, careful to keep space between the two of you—whether it was because he didn’t want to risk waking you up, or if he just didn’t want to touch you, you didn’t know, but you think it’s the former from the way you’ve noticed his body unconsciously trying to seek you out at night, only for him to startle awake and immediately move away.

You told yourself that you would address it the next morning—ask him what the fuck he was thinking sneaking into your bedroom—but you faltered when you saw how refreshed he was in the morning, bouncing around your apartment, the perpetual bags beneath his eyes mostly faded. You put together then how long he’s been doing this: three weeks, at least. You’d been wondering why he was suddenly so energetic some days, but it was easy to figure out that those days are the ones that he slips into your room to sleep.

You’d known for a while that Dazai doesn’t sleep well. Spends most nights wandering around your apartment looking for things to do if he doesn’t have missions; he only ever does sleep when he’s so drunk that he ends up passing out on your kitchen floor or he’s so tired that he physically can’t keep his eyes open any longer. You’d always wondered if it was because he can’t sleep or if it was because he doesn’t want to sleep, plagued with nightmares, memories whenever he closes his eyes.

So you let it continue—it doesn’t really bother you, he’s always careful to not disturb you and you figure that it’s better he gets at least some decent sleep so he doesn’t get himself killed on a mission because he’s depriving himself of it.

It’s not until a few weeks later that he realizes that you know. You’re half asleep when he tries to sneak into your room, barely conscious; you don’t remember to pretend to be asleep.

The door creaks open and shuts and you instinctively roll over, shifting up onto your elbows and squinting, eyes focusing on Dazai’s figure shrouded by the darkness, halfway across your room to your window. He freezes as soon as he realizes you’re awake.

“Dazai?” you ask quietly, voice a bit rough with sleep, mind moving a bit slow as you try to piece together what’s going on..

“I-” he starts to say—for a second, he’s caught off guard, fumbling for some sort of excuse. But Dazai is Dazai, so he recovers quickly. “Oh good, you’re awake. You see, I was trying to-”

“Shut up,” you murmur, laying back down and pulling the covers back, realizing what he’s here for. “Lay down.”

Dazai doesn’t budge. “What?” he breathes out, caught off-guard and clearly exhausted. You can see the dark bags beneath his eyes—he’s been on a mission for four or five days now, dealing with Mishima out in Tokyo. You figure that he hasn’t gotten any sleep since he left. “What are you talking about?”

His voice takes a cooler tone after the initial ‘what’, a defense mechanism, and you know Dazai is about to bolt to try to avoid this conversation, but it’s been weeks and you think it's about time. You crack an eye open to scowl at him, noticing the closed off expression on his face and the anxiety thinly veiled behind his dark eye. Before he can make a run for it, you push yourself up. You’re quick and Dazai is exhausted, so it’s easy for you to scramble forward and grab his wrist, wrangling him onto the bed with you.

Dazai kicks and flails, you scowl at him when he messes up your duvet and he bares his teeth at you like a wild animal. You tumble on the mattress with him for a few seconds, he bucks you off of him and nearly onto the ground, you spit a few curses at him—wide awake now—and grab his wrists, pinning them above his head and pressing your knee into his lower back. If Dazai wasn’t half asleep, he’d probably have been able to come out on top but you can feel how tired he is with how sluggish his limbs move and how heavy they are whenever one of them lay on you, as if he can barely hold himself up.

“What’s your issue?” you demand, biting back a yawn as you glare down at him.

Dazai twists his head to the side, looking at you from the corner of his eye with an indignant expression. “My issue?” he spits out. “You just manhandled me onto your bed. Let go of me.”

“You’ve been sneaking into my bed for a month, Dazai.”

Dazai stills and you watch as his cheeks instantly flame up. His eye is wide as he stares at you from the corner of it. You’d almost think he’s cute if he wasn’t Dazai.

“I have not.”

He lies. He lies. He lies as if you haven’t literally caught him in the act. You stare at him aghast, you thought maybe he’d try to wiggle his way out of it with a ‘no, you’ve misunderstood,’ not a straight up lie.

“You liar,” you accuse, voice pitched in disbelief. “You just lied right to my face.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Dazai lies again; his face is even more red now, and you think that’s to show just how exhausted he is because Dazai usually wears countless masks to hide himself from everyone. You think you strip him of one, and there are two more there protecting him—like a goddamn hydra, cut off one head and two more grow back.

But it seems like catching him in the act tonight, while he’s already tired and half-dead on his feet, was the equivalent of burning the heads of the hydra. His masks are gone and he’s left embarrassed and fumbling. You almost want to laugh, but you’re so incensed by the sheer audacity he has to blatantly lie to your face that you can’t even bring yourself to.

“You just did it again.”

“I did not.”

“Dazai,” you say exasperated, shifting a bit and he lets out an irritated grunt, tossing you an outraged look as you accidently dig your knee even more into his back. “Stop fucking around. You’ve been coming into my room at night every three days for at least a month.”

Dazai looks mortified.

“You’ve known for a month,” he demands. He wiggles like a worm trying to free himself from your grasp but you double down, pressing your weight down on his back. “You’ve known for a month, and you never said anything. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I’ve known for two and a half weeks,” you correct, “but I figured it was a month or more based on when I started noticing your…mood improvements.”

A gentle way of putting that he doesn’t look like he wants to murder anyone that looks in his direction at any given moment, but Dazai obviously understands what you’re getting at and looks even more humiliated.

You almost feel bad.

Almost.

“It’s not-” Dazai starts to say. He stutters. He stutters. A part of you wishes that you could record this, knowing you’ll never get the chance to see Dazai so caught off guard like this probably ever again. “I don’t-”

“I don’t care, Dazai,” you sigh tiredly. “I don’t mind. It doesn’t bother me. Just stop fucking being a creep about it, Christ.”

“No,” Dazai says, voice raised in pitch and petulant as he turns his face to press it down into your pillow. His words are muffled as he continues, “No. No. It’s ruined now. You’ve ruined it.”

Your eyes slide shut, you sigh. You’re suddenly tired again, you decidedly don’t want to deal with Dazai Osamu’s fickle and capricious nature. Because of that, you let go of him. You shake your head as you move off of him, sitting back down in bed and giving him a chance to flee, like he wanted to begin with.

Dazai does not budge.

At all.

You stare at him in disbelief.

Did he fall asleep?

You poke the side of his head and Dazai doesn’t let out a noise of complaint or shift even a centimeter, his shoulders rise and fall slowly and you turn your gaze up to the ceiling, praying for patience.

“You can’t sleep like that,” you say more to yourself than him. “You’re gonna suffocate yourself, you loser.”

You try to push him onto his side, but he startles awake as if he’d only just barely started dozing off. You watch as he jolts, sluggish limbs trying to push himself up, blinking blearily. You think he looks even more mortified when he realizes that as soon as he rested his head down, he immediately started drifting off.

“Dazai, you’re exhausted. Sleep,” you say, amusement dwindling as your brows furrow in concern. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him so off-kilter before.

Has he really not slept since he left?

“No,” Dazai says, and even though the exhaustion is clear in his voice, he’s stubborn and trying to push himself up. “I can’t sleep because you had to go ahead and ruin it.”

“I didn’t ruin anything, Dazai,” you say, becoming increasingly more irritated as you lose out on more sleep. You have a meeting with Mori in the morning and you don’t want to head into it half-asleep. “You’ve been sneaking into my bed for a-”

“Stop saying that,” Dazai complains, covering his face with his hands as he sits at the edge of your bed, back turned to you. “It’s not-you’re just selfish.”

You gape. “Excuse me?” you say, even more appalled at this outlandish insult than you were over him lying to your face.

“You’re selfish. You keep the soft blankets and the nice mattress all to yourself. You’re selfish, you leave me with the scraps and then call me a creep for wanting a decent night of sleep,” Dazai says, voice a sulky hiss.

You stare at him—you don’t respond, just stare at the back of his head, willing yourself not to get violent, because there is no way that the boy who has moved himself into your apartment, leeches off your food, shampoos, soaps, and conditioners, has made a home on your couch and in your guest bedroom, who sneaks into your bed without even a small complaint from you, has the nerve to call you selfish.

As if Dazai can feel the rapidly approaching violence coming from you, he turns to look at you over his shoulder, visible eye wide and deceptively sad, head tilted to the side at a demure angle that you know he uses to get what he wants from whatever fool falls for the shitty act. You think he has some nerve trying to use it on you as if you won’t see right through it.

“It’s not fair,” he says. His voice is soft and sweet now, honeyed but you can all but taste the venom of the manipulation in the sweetness. “I just want to sleep too. It’s not fair you get all of the comfortable stuff. You’re making me seem like a creep, but I just want to sleep, and now everything is ruined.”

Therein lies the issue: the mattresses in your bedroom and the guest bedroom are in fact the same, and the sheets are the same brand and style but in different colors. The comfort of the bedroom is not the issue here. So, you choose to play his game.

“Fine,” you agree lightly. “You can take my bedroom. I’ll move into the guest bedroom. Nothing will be ruined anymore. Problem solved.”

“No.”

The sweet expression on his face drops, his gaze sharpens as he stares at you from the corner of his eye. You can barely refrain from rolling your eyes.

“No?”

“No.”

“And why not, exactly?” you ask tightly, the thin smile on your lips strained.

“You’re not allowed in my room,” Dazai says matter-of-factly.

Oh my god, you think to yourself, feeling a headache coming on, the fucking audacity of this boy.

“That is my guest room,” you say slowly. “If I want to go in there-”

“It’s been mine for over a year. It’s mine, and you’re not allowed in, so you have to stay here,” Dazai corrects firmly. “Therefore, everything is still ruined.”

“I’ll sleep on the couch.”

“No.”

“Why, Dazai?” you ask, becoming frustrated quickly. “What is your fucking issue? Jesus, I’m tired, I-”

“I can’t sleep! I can’t sleep unless you’re yhere and now it’s ruined because you weren’t supposed to know,” Dazai says so suddenly and so loudly that it startles you, and then he looks distressed as if he didn’t mean to say that. “I can’t-I don’t know why-it just happened-I don’t-”

Dazai cuts himself off with a sharp breath when he realizes he can't even talk his way out of the situation, only fumbling over an explanation and making things worse for himself. If he looked embarrassed before, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now. His visible eye looks glassy, expression twisted and uneasy. His exhaustion has loosened his tongue too much and now he looks like he wants to rid himself of it entirely. His fingers are curled into fists so tightly that you think his uneven nails must be drawing blood from his palms.

At once, all of the fight left in you disappears.

“I’m going,” Dazai says more to himself than you. “I’m going. I’m just going to go. It doesn’t matter. Forget it.”

You don’t know if by go he means go to ‘his’ room or if he means leave your apartment and hide away in his shipping container for days like he usually does when he’s upset about something. Either way, Dazai is close to dead on his feet—you can see it in the way he sways as he tries to push himself up and you can see it in the way his visible eye droops down, hardly able to hold it open. You don’t think he’d make it to the hall without his legs giving out on him, much less to his shipping container halfway across the city—he’d be easy pickings for the numerous enemies he’s made waiting for a chance like this to finally take him out.

You sigh and before he can get half a step away, you snatch his wrist and tug him right back down into the bed. He shoots you an affronted look.

“Stop manhandling me,” he complains again. “You’re turning into a brute like Chuuya.”

“Shut up,” you say halfheartedly, “and lay down. How is going somewhere else going to solve your sleeping problems? I don’t know how you’re somehow both the dumbest and smartest person I’ve ever met.”

Dazai curls in on himself a bit, and you frown because he’d usually preen and tease you about the compliment, but he only looks unsure now. “It’s ruined-”

“Lay down,” you say, firmer this time, watching as Dazai’s gaze lingers on you for a moment before he averts his attention to the ceiling. He lays down awkwardly, head resting on your pillow; he turns on his side so that his back is to you. He makes no move to pull the covers over him.

You let yourself roll your eyes now that he’s not looking at you, reaching down to pull the covers over both of you. You hesitate for a second, but then you choose to shift closer to him, resting your head down on the pillow as you wrap your arm loosely around his waist. He stiffens instantly, and you give it a second to see if he relaxes. When he doesn’t, you start to push yourself back away from him but before you can, he grabs your wrist to hold you in place, the tension in his shoulders dissipating as he relaxes back against you.

“Nothing is ruined,” you murmur, eyes sliding shut now that you can finally rest. “I told you, I don’t care. Just sleep, Dazai. You need it.”

“... Only for tonight, one last time,” he yawns, unconsciously shifting back closer to you. It’s another blatant lie, but this one only makes you smile fondly.

“Sure,” you agree. “Only for tonight.”

When you wake up in the morning, Dazai is tucked right into your side. You’d shifted at some point during the night to lay onto your back and he’d curled right into you, resting his head on your shoulder and slinging an arm around your waist. Your gaze flickers to the clock on your nightstand and you let out a soft breath when you see that you have thirty minutes before you have to be at the main headquarters for your meeting with Mori but…

Your mouth dries when you glance down at Dazai. His bandaged eye is pressed into your body, but you can see the way his visible one is slid shut, lashes brushing his cheek as he sleeps. His face is so smooth and relaxed, breaths deep and even, peaceful in a way that you never really see of Dazai Osamu. You hadn’t fully closed your blinds before falling asleep last night, and you find yourself entranced by the way Dazai looks underneath the early morning sun, breath hitching as he lets out a soft noise in the back of his throat before shifting closer to you.

Fuck.

You let out a puff of air, eyes sliding shut. There’s no way you’ll be able to slip out of bed without waking him up, and you find that you don’t want to wake him up. Dazai is an irritating little shit, and he makes your life as difficult as he possibly can, but you think you’d be cruel purposely disrupting the little bit of peace in his life that he can have.

(You also think that you never give a shit about cruelty unless Dazai Osamu is somehow involved and the recipient of it, but you instantly dispose of that thought.)

Decision made, you reach for your phone and quickly shoot a text to Mori:

Something came up. Meet later.

And you promptly shut your phone off before settling back in bed with Dazai, arm curling around his waist and head falling to the side so that you can bury your face in his soft brown hair. You notice, as you doze back off, that it smells suspiciously like the expensive vanilla shampoo that you specifically told him not to use, but you’re already too sleepy to make a fuss out of it.

You’ll bitch about it later, you decide.

(If you can feel him smile against your shoulder as you fall back asleep with him, you ignore it.)

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #dazai fluff #bsd fluff #bungo stray dogs fluff

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sleepy-steve · 4 months ago

Text

@steddieangstyaugust 04/08 // angst with a happy ending

wc: 2.3k // rating: G // cw: language // tags: post-s4, eddie lives, eddie in WITSEC, mutual pining, phone calls

divider credits @steddiecameraroll-graphics

“So, where are you now?”

Steve knew he wasn’t going to get a real answer to this question—given that Eddie wasn’t allowed to say—but it was basically tradition at this point to ask.

Eddie chuckled through the receiver. “Hmm… it’s windy. And cold as balls. Will probably start snowing soon.”

Steve raised his brows. “Snow? This early?”

Dustin, from Steve’s kitchen island, mirrored his look of interested surprise, and immediately started looking over the map laid out on the countertop. It was dotted with little red and yellow stickers and various scribblings.

“Yep,” Eddie responded, popping the P. “Pretty shit going out for a smoke, but lots of trees around, so the view is decent at least.”

“Lots of trees,” Steve repeats, with a pointed glance at Dustin, who hurriedly starts marking different spots on the map.

“How’s Henderson’s map going?” Eddie asked, knowing by the tone what they were doing.

“It’s… going?” Steve responded with a shrug. “He thinks he’s worked out the movement system.”

“I have worked out the movement system, thank you very much,” Dustin snarked, not looking up at Steve. “We can track their movement from the West Coast back up North, hence the snow.”

Eddie laughs again. “Kid’s too smart for his own good.”

“You’re telling me,” Steve grumbles, moving away from the kitchen, as far as the cord allowed him to. He drops his voice low. “How you holding up?”

“I dunno,” Eddie sighs. “Same shit, different place… Same shitty government officials with the same shitty requirements.”

Steve wants to say so much, to reassure and comfort him, but holds back. Keeps it in. “How’s Wayne doing?”

“He’s alright, doesn’t love the cold…” Steve can picture Eddie looking over at where Wayne is probably sitting nearby. “Hopefully they’ll move us somewhere warmer next.”

“D’you know when that’ll be?” A small pit of anxiety swirls in Steve’s gut. As it did any time they spoke of Eddie needing to move.

“Nah, last time was six months, but time before was only three. Hopefully this is just another quick one.” Steve can hear Eddie chewing on his lip, can picture him playing with his hair.

“Steve!” Dustin calls from behind the wall. “Ask Eddie what kind of trees are around him!”

Steve snorts. “Did you get that one?”

“Tell him I have no idea,” Eddie deadpans.

Lowering the receiver, Steve calls over his shoulder. “He doesn’t know, buddy.”

“What kind of trees…” Eddie grumbles, only slightly mocking. “I guess I can’t blame him for trying.”

“It’s how he deals.” Steve keeps his voice low. “He misses you. I miss you.” His brain scolds him—too much—and he quickly adds, “We all do.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, and Steve’s almost sure he hears him hit his head on the wall. “I miss you too. All of you.”

It was a thing that happened often, for how infrequently Eddie was able to call. A kind of vulnerability that Steve supposed came from the fact that they couldn’t see each other, and wouldn’t for a long time yet. They’d skirt around it, but it was there, pulled taut between them, ready to break with one wrong move.

“How much longer?” Steve asks, like he doesn’t already know, like he hasn’t been counting down the days since Eddie got taken away.

Eddie exhales heavily, the sound muffling through the receiver. “Bit under three years.” Steve can hear the sad smile in his voice.

“Right.” Steve leans back against the wall, head tilted back as longing shoots through his gut. They were almost at the halfway point. There was so much he wanted to say, but he just… couldn’t. Steve would wait.

Steve’s kicking snow off his boots at his front door when he hears the phone ring from inside. He bolts in, slipping on the floor slightly in his haste.

“Hello?” he answers breathlessly.

“Hey.”

A wave of relief washes over him. “Eddie,” he breathes.

“You okay? Did I wake you up?” His tone immediately switches to one of concern.

“No, no, I just got back from the Henderson’s,” Steve says, running a hand through his hair, willing his heart to calm down now that he’s answered the call. “We wanted to call you, but… y’know.”

“Yeah…” Eddie sighs. “I wish you could.”

The silence settles, and they just listen to each other breathe for several long moments. Steve knows that Eddie is holding back, the same way he is. Saying things that are only close to what they mean. Their quiet filled with unanswered questions and things they wish they could say. Finally, Eddie breaks it.

“Are you by yourself?”

“Yeah, just me tonight,” Steve says, shrugging his jacket off. “Sorry to disappoint.”

Eddie doesn’t laugh at the joke. Steve didn’t really think it was that funny. Their constant need to skirt around the thing developing between them led to him saying some dumb stuff. He rolls his eyes at himself.

“I don’t think I could handle talking to anyone else tonight,” Eddie says, voice growing soft. “It’d be, I dunno, too much. With you, I can just… be, y’know?”

Steve is surprised—as he often is—at the honesty. He tries to make his next words sound casual, but he’s sure he fails miserably. “I’m glad I caught you then.”

“Yeah… me too.” Eddie doesn’t let the silence linger for too long this time. “So, any new Henderson theories to update me on?”

Steve snorts. “Of course.”

Letting him talk about his day at the Henderson’s, Eddie hums in the right moments, asks a few follow up questions, makes little jokes, but is otherwise quiet, seemingly content to just let Steve ramble. Happy to hear his voice. He lets Steve talk until he’s yawning too much to complete a full sentence.

“Sorry, I should let you go to sleep, it’s late.” Eddie’s tone is gentle, but like he’d rather be saying anything else.

“Nah, it’s cool, man,” Steve argues sleepily. “Don’t wanna waste your call.”

“It’s never wasted with you.”

“Eddie…” Steve doesn’t know what to say. Or rather, he knows exactly what he wants to say, but doesn’t know if he should. If he even could. He yawns again.

“Come on, bed time,” Eddie’s voice teases.

Steve feels the pull of his eyelids, begging for sleep. “Yeah, alright… Talk to you soon?” He tries to ask it casually, but again, can’t seem to manage it. Something like pleading coming through in his words.

“As soon as I can,” Eddie promises, voice tight with sincerity. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Eddie.” Steve pauses. “Merry Christmas.”

He can hear the sad smile in Eddie’s voice. “Merry Christmas, Steve.”

“How much longer now?” Steve asks, already knowing the answer.

“Two and a bit years,” Eddie sighs. “Past halfway, at least.”

Even Steve can tell he’s trying to convince himself it’s a good thing, but neither of them feel any happiness about it.

It’s been almost six months since Steve heard from Eddie, much longer than any gap between calls before. Anxiety gnaws away at him, a constant presence whispering in the back of his mind and sitting like a stone in his stomach. The kids—barely even kids now, having graduated high school—were starting to show their worry. He begged and pleaded with invisible entities that they’d hear something soon.

The phone finally rings.

“Hello?” Steve answers with urgency, as he did every time it rang these days.

“Steve?” the voice croaks.

“Eddie!” Bringing a hand to his face, Steve’s eyes welled with tears. “Eddie, are you okay? What happened?”

“I’m fine, it’s okay,” Eddie reassures him, sounding anything but. “They just had us somewhere remote. We didn't have a phone.”

“What the fuck? Can they do that?” Quiet rage slips through Steve’s chest.

“Evidently, they can do whatever they want,” Eddie seethes. “Didn’t stop me from bringing hell at every check up until they moved us again.”

Steve winces at the pain in Eddie’s voice. “I’m so sorry, Eddie. It’s fucking awful, what they’re doing to you.”

“It’s bullshit!” Eddie snaps. “I’m so fucking sick of it. I can’t believe this was their solution. Like, I’m the one demonised and hunted down in Hawkins and somehow I’m the one that ends up punished for it! It’s not even a solution. All it’s doing is fucking me around.” He takes a breath. “It’s hurting me. It’s hurting us.”

To anyone else, it would sound like Eddie meant him-and-Wayne-us, or even him-and-the-entire-party-us. But Steve knew. Heard it in the way he almost whispered it. Steve wanted to match his anger, throw something, hit something. Instead, he willed it down.

“It fucking sucks,” Steve says, keeping his tone soft. “But we’re so close to the end now. It’ll be over soon.”

“I just…” Eddie’s voice lowers. Steve can picture the way the air deflates out of him. “I wish it didn’t have to be this way. I wish… you could’ve come with me.”

“Me too.” Steve lets the back of his head hit the wall, eyes squeezed shut. “I miss you. So much.”

“I miss you, too.” Eddie says it like it’s painful. Like it gets caught in his throat halfway up. Like he was saying something else entirely.

“I’m sorry… I don’t know why I called when I don’t really have anything to say.” It’d been close to silent for more than five minutes before Eddie says it, voice soft. Almost timid.

The corner of Steve’s mouth lifts in a half-smile. “It’s okay. I’m just glad to hear your voice at all. To know you’re alive.”

The silence settles between them again. Comfortable, somehow. Eddie’s voice is smaller when he speaks again. “Only six months left.”

“Only six months,” Steve repeats, slightly more optimistic.

“We can… we can do it, right?” Eddie sounds so unsure. Steve can picture him playing with his hair. “It’ll be okay? When you visit?”

Steve knows what he means. He’s felt the same way for a long time. Scared that once they’re reunited, whatever this thing was—this delicate bubble of vulnerability—between them would burst. Each phone call found it wound tighter and tighter, pulled like a rubber band that would eventually reach its limit and snap, hurting both of them in the process.

“It’ll be more than okay,” Steve says, sounding more sure than he feels. He wants more than anything to be able to hold him. To reach through the phone and wrap his arms tightly around him, feel the rise and fall of his breath and listen to his heartbeat.

“Promise?” Eddie asks, and Steve can picture him chewing on his nails.

“Promise.”

“One month left,” Steve whispers in the dead of night. No one else is there, but something about the late hour makes him quiet. Or maybe it’s what he’s saying. Like a wish that needs to be kept secret, or it won’t come true.

“One month,” Eddie repeats, just as soft. “You’ll be here?”

“Wherever you are, I’ll be there,” Steve assures him.

He’s sure Eddie can feel it too. The thing between them growing more palpable, more solid, more real. The less time they have left, the stronger it becomes. It terrifies both of them.

The car stops in an urban area of Chicago. Steve glances around as he gets out of the backseat, giving a quick thanks to the government official who drove him. His heart races. This is it. Double checking the address on the small piece of paper, he looks up to the block of apartment buildings, scanning the numbers.

Steve doesn’t need to look for long. At the next building, standing in the entryway, with his curly hair pulled into a messy bun, shadow of facial hair around his jaw, face more angular than Steve remembers, is—

“Eddie…” The name comes out in a soft breath, like a prayer. His eyes well up and he quickly blinks, as though the man might disappear if Steve couldn’t see him.

Whatever was holding Eddie to the stoop of his building breaks. He jumps down, skipping the stairs completely and landing with a thud of his boots. He runs, as quick as his legs allow him, until he crashes into Steve, almost knocking them both to the ground. With his arms around Steve’s neck, Eddie whispers his name over and over. Steve pulls him tight, arms wrapped around his waist. Steve can feel Eddie’s heartbeat matching his—racing, pounding, about to jump out of his chest. They hold each other like they’ll never let go, afraid that all of it could be taken away again.

Finally, Eddie pulls back, one hand softly entangled in Steve’s hair, and looks at him, huge eyes filled with tears. “You look different,” Eddie says with a wet laugh.

Steve can’t help but smile. “In a good way?”

Eddie nods with enthusiasm, grinning despite the tears. “In a really good way.”

Their eyes are locked on each other, and Steve can’t hold back anymore. He leans in, cautiously at first, before Eddie gives him a tiny nod, leaning in to meet him halfway. Their lips finally meet, crashing together, and Steve gasps at the feeling. It’s messy and desperate and shy. It’s everything they wished they could say, given to each other in their kiss. Steve brings his hands up to hold Eddie’s face, feeling the tears spill over and wiping them away with his thumbs.

They pull back, laughing and crying. Steve kisses him again and again and again, on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, before finally just looking, taking in every detail of Eddie’s face. The deep brown of his eyes, the thick lashes, the faint dusting of freckles across his nose. “I’m never letting you go. Never again.”

Eddie laughs again. It sounds like a sob. “Never again. You promise?”

“I promise,” Steve says reverently. “I love you, Eddie.”

Eddie’s smile grows wider, a fresh lot of tears spilling from his eyes. “I love you, too.”

#BETTER LATE THAN NEVER LMAO #i wrote most of this while sleep deprived and hungover so like. if you see a typo. no you didn't <3 #saying everything except the things they want to say my beloved #cira writes #cira writes steddieangstyaugust #steddieangstyaugust #sobbing sunday #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things fic

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a-hazbin-reader · 9 months ago

Note

Can you do an Alastor x fem!reader where Alastor confesses his love to her, but she doesn't believe him, thinking it's some kind of sick joke? She just laughs nervously, saying something like “yeah, yeah, I got it, very good joke, Al, your humor is getting better,” expecting that it will actually turn out to be some kind of prank

However, Alastor doesn't stop and tries to convey to her that he really loves her, but she still doesn't believe him because she doesn't trust him completely. Like, he's the radio demon, one of the most dangerous and powerful overlords who seemingly despised the idea of getting close to someone, what if he just wants to trick her so he can maybe make a deal with her or something?? That's why at first she tries to avoid him in order to get rid of this awkwardness due to his confessions, but gradually in the end she begins to meet him halfway and considers the idea of starting to date him after all. Not official yet, but the chances are great

WELP-

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: None?? I think??

Description: ☝️⬆️

You're used to expecting the worst-case scenario and protecting your heart first and foremost, it's just how you learned to survive

You've learned not to trust anyone, especially anybody down here in hell with you, everyone has an ulterior motive

Yet...by some weird twist of fate you found yourself a home at the hotel, Charlie somehow having convinced you to stay

Whether or not you believed in redemption, you couldn't deny that you didn't feel a sense of closeness with everyone there

Even Alastor was nice to hang around sometimes, though you didn't trust him in the slightest

How could you? The Radio Demon?? He's got plans for his plans and only sees people for their use, he doesn't care about anyone, especially not you

You're just amusing to him, which is fine, you can tolerate being amusing just not being used

You had a comfortable relationship with the overlord which was something that not many people could say

You two got along well enough, spent a good amount of time together and actually had decent conversations

He'a charming and handsome, a dangerous combination but you were far too addicted to his presence now to worry about it, you can still protect your heart

Or at least you did, until Alastor decided to toy with your feelings, how he found out about your budding crush was beyond you

You two were walking alone together at night, laughing at some couple you two had witnessed earlier, teasing them

"I just don't understand how any man could be that whipped for a woman! I can't wrap my head around it..!"

Instead of joining in your laughter, he hummed and looked over at you strangely before looking ahead

"Oh, I don't know... I find myself understanding men like that a little more these days."

It's like a bucket of ice water just fell on you, your laughter cutting off as you look at him in confusion

"What do you mean? Are you...seeing someone or something?"

He looks as uncomfortable as a man with a permanent smile can be, tapping his claws against his staff

"Heavens no, but that doesn't mean there isn't someone special in my life... someone I wouldn't mind courting."

He gives you a meaningful glance then looks away again, stopping suddenly and facing you

"Alastor-"

"I wouldn't mind being whipped for you."

Your stomach sours and you frown, pushing at his shoulder a little harder than you meant to

"Yeah, that's real funny, Alastor. Why don't you go try that joke on someone else next time?"

You walk off as quickly as you can, leaving a baffled looking Alastor in your dust

Do you have any idea how hard it was for him to confess!? He grits his teeth and rubs his hand over his face as he watches you run away from him

You don't talk to him the next day, or the day after that, in fact... Alastor is pretty sure you're avoiding him because any time he tries to talk to you-

You find an excuse to run off, your relationship with him awkward and nervously hanging on by a thread

He ruined it and all your walls came right back up

You should've known he would exploit your weakness like that, should've seen that he was only being so good to you because he wanted to use everything he learned against you

You don't know what he gets out of it or what his goal is, but you're sure he's got an angle

Even now, he's trying to mess with your feelings, bringing you flowers, pushing little notes under your door, one time he even tried to serenade you

He keeps trying to tell you that he cares about you, that he feels for you, that he wants you, and you just don't want to hear it

It hurts to be toyed with

Everyone else at the hotel can see what's happening between you two which makes everything that much more embarrassing

"Come on, Husk! I know you know something! Why is he targeting me!? What do I have that he wants?"

Husk looks visibly uncomfortable, looking over your body before looking away, suddenly interested in a smudge on a glass

"I don't know anything so quit asking me! Why don't you just sit down and talk with him, huh?"

Oh, he knows something

Angel smirks and nudges your leg with his own, invading your personal space to further tease you

"You're tellin' me that you ain't flattered by all this attention he's givin' you? I've seen the way he's been mooning over you lately, and let me tell you~ That shit ain't fake~"

You huff and shake your head, mostly to hide the blush on your face from them

"He has an angle, everyone always does."

"Look if you wanna be a blind bitch then be my guest but at least promise me you'll hit that and tell me the details~?"

"ANGEL!"

You can't avoid Alastor forever no matter how hard you try, eventually running into him late one night when everyone else is in bed

You should've known better than to get that late night snack, but you had skipped dinner earlier, and you were hungry

You're washing your plate off when you hear Alastor walk in, stiffening once you realize you have no real excuse to run away anymore

"Alastor-"

He sucks in a breath and stays still as if scared he'll chase you away, which he might actually be worried about due to your actions lately

"I know you think I confessed to you in order to get something from you but that's far from the truth. I do genuinely find myself attached to you."

You feel your lip wobble a little, hugging yourself as you look away from him

"Don't. Don't you dare mess with me like this or I'll never forgive you, Alastor."

He takes another step closer to you, cautious as if trying not to scare you away

"I'm being entirely honest with you, I've fallen for you in ways I can't even begin to understand or convey to you. These last few weeks have been torture for me."

He's gripping your arms gently to stop you from turning away, the simple touch spreading warmth throughout your body

You have missed him a lot...

"I'm not asking that you confess your love to me, I only want a chance to show you I'm being genuine with you..."

You glance up at him before taking a step back, blushing furiously at the pathetic puppy eyes he's giving you

You can't believe you're going to agree to this, he better not make you regret it later or you'll make him suffer for it

You sigh and point at him, doing your best to remain calm and not let your emotions show

"I'll think about it, okay? Just...give me time to think."

He visibly relaxes and sighs in relief, giving you a warm smile as if you had just said yes

"That's more than I could ask for, I'll wait hundreds of years for you if that's what you want."

You blush more and have to cover your mouth to stop an excited squeal from escaping your lips

"Q-quit flirting with me! I already said I'd think about it..!"

He chuckles softly and reaches out to rub your cheek before pulling away and turning to leave

"Okay okay~ I'll wait for you...~"

He leaves you there in the dark, blushing and fuming to yourself

Having a handsome overlord on your arm wouldn't be the worst thing that could happen to you

I HOPE YOU LIKE IT!!

#hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin hotel x reader #alastor hazbin x reader #alastor x reader #hazbin x reader

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egophiliac · 1 year ago

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I want your opinion on something. Do you think it's better to try and the the cards of the character you like or skipping some to brench out? Like, say you're a fan of Leona. Should you try to get all of his bday card and stuff or stick to one and get other characters ssr?

personally, as much as I would like every single card...I gotta ration my keys, so I focus on my favorites!

which isn't to say that I only pull for certain characters no matter what! more that I take a good long look at every card that comes out and go "do I really want this one? like...really really want it?" (the answer is usually yes, but -- look, the art in this game is very pretty, okay)

honestly, from a gameplay standpoint, I think it doesn't matter too much whether you focus on pulling for specific characters or not. there are very, very few points where actually having a good mix of characters is important (Those Two Stages in episode 6, where I think you can use retry tickets for the easy mode? and also guest room battles if you care about those) and you'll probably end up with at least one halfway decent card per character just from doing 10-pulls and events. so even if you're only pulling for Leona cards, you'll still end up getting a bajillion other characters as well. follow your heart! chase that grumpy lion bliss! ✨🦁✨

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #twisted wonderland episode 7 spoilers #twisted wonderland book 7 spoilers #tamashina mina #lost in the book with stitch #i. THINK that's everything that's not out in eng yet?#i am proud of my sons. my beautiful grampa sons.#you do also sometimes get random ssrs even without pickup odds! most of my ssrs are from trying to pull for other characters and failing :'#i've also gotten dorm trey like four or five times and. look. trey i like you and i appreciate the limit breaks.#but you keep showing up when i'm trying to get other boys and we need to talk about this #trey: hi! i heard you were in the market for a friend! :)#me: (desperately peering over his shoulder to where dorm lilia is slowly floating away) uh-huh. yep. sure. great.#dangit trey

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twilightkitkat · 1 month ago

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Thinking about the reaction another universe's Logan would have to meeting Wade. To Wade and Logan's relationship.

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

---

Imagine a Logan who didn't lose the X-men, who still has his "family," but who still has his walls sky high. Who is still an alcoholic (albeit less chronically than our Logan) and still keeps everyone at a distance despite craving company like a moth to a flame. Who purposely isolates himself, denying it under the guise of indifference, out of fear of rejection. Who tries to protect himself by building a fortress around himself only to result in nobody being able to scale those impenetrable walls.

Who has people around him (Jean, Scott, Charles) but still feels alone in the world. Who is physically present (showing up at dinnertime, attending meetings, occasionally completing missions alongside them) but emotionally absent. Who tries so hard to try to be there, to be emotionally open, to give back what he's received, but fails spectacularly.

And everyone else notices. But they don't say anything, afraid of breaking the careful balance that keeps Logan just close enough to touch but just far enough that their fingers only manage to graze him. And so they keep up this balancing act, getting used to the tenseness and slightly uncomfortable silences.

They resign themselves to it eventually. To only being able to climb halfway and receive messages through a window.

And Logan resigns himself to this loneliness too. In 200 years, nobody has managed to break through. Why would they be able to now?

Imagine this Logan meeting the current Wade.

Wade was sent on some kind of mission by the TVA to investigate a disturbance in the timeline of this universe. His Logan offered to join him, but he turned him down. He felt uneasy bringing Logan to a universe where his team was still alive, where everything was eerily similar to his original universe except for their fate. He didn't want Logan to have to go through the pain of seeing the life he "could've" had if he hadn't been the "Worst Wolverine." (And, on a deeper level, he felt scared that Logan would realize that he was never enough to fill that void.)

And so he left a very reluctant Logan behind to delve into this alternate universe.

He stumbled out of the portal into some inconspicuous alleyway, brushing the grime off his suit. Lo and behold, he's in a big bustling city that looks almost identical to his own.

It doesn't take him long to begin investigating, searching for what could've caused the disruption in the timeline. He'd planned for this to be a quick mission, a one-and-done, clean-cut resolution so that he could get home in time to eat whatever scraps Logan had somehow managed to assemble into a decent-looking meal.

He was looking forward to eating dinner with Logan and Blind Al. To pressing his leg against Logan's a bit too closely to be platonic—but not yet explicitly romantic—and feeding Mary Puppins under the table to Logan's protest.

And yet, after hours of searching for clues and interrogating mercenaries and shady guys who knew about underground operations, he was stumped.

And so, naturally, when the bad guys didn't have the information he wanted, he turned to the good guys.

Unfortunately, the Avengers weren't particularly active (at least publicly) at the moment, and so he turned to the very group he'd been hoping to avoid: the X-men.

Maybe breaking into their mansion through a window on a random Tuesday wasn't the best way to make an impression, but it got the job done.

However, the X-men seemed to disagree on that front, considering how the few that had been inside (barely any he recognized) were all tensing up and drawing their weapons.

"Woah woah woah," Wade put his hands up in the air placatingly, "Slow your roll. I'm not here to cause trouble for you guys. I know it looks bad but I promise I'm here for very important, very legit, very legal, reasons."

"...Reasons that require you to break and enter?" some random X-man Wade didn't care about asked.

"Yes, exactly!" Wade chirped. "I'm sure we're all very busy and I want to go home just as much as you all want to redecorate whatever the fuck this mansion aesthetic is."

"What's wrong with the aesthetic?" Colossus (finally, someone he recognized!) asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

"Don't worry about it, pal," Wade quickly deflected, "Anyway, straight to the point: do any of you guys know what the hell could be fucking up your timeline? Because, unfortunately, none of the assholes on the streets seem to know. And, even more unfortunately, I have to fix that."

"...What do you mean fucking up the timeline?" Jean asked, slowly.

"Well, it's a long story—"

—one that ended up with Wade sitting in the big bad office across from Charles Xavier, who took an obnoxiously sophisticated sip of his tea.

"So you're from another dimension," he starts with.

"Yup, born and raised, baby."

"...And you're here because you believe there's something wrong with this timeline?"

"You know it. Although I don't see why we're going through the whole questioning shebang when you can just read my mind and get it over with," Wade leans back in the chair, his tone flippant.

"Well—"

Before Charles can finish speaking, the doors loudly slam open to reveal a very real and very angry Wolverine.

"Where is the fucker who broke in?" he growls, claws unsheathed.

"Right here, buddy," Wade grins and waves.

"Why is he still here and not locked up?" Other-Logan's fiery eyes flick toward Charles.

"Because—"

"—Because I'm here to save your ass, Wolvie. I wasn't the one who messed up your universe and I sure as hell wasn't the one who pissed in your cereal this morning, considering I, y'know, wasn't here."

Wolverine looks slightly taken aback at the audacity of Wade taunting him after breaking and entering.

"Now, not that I don't enjoy some eye candy—I really do, trust me—but can we finish this shit up so I can get back to my universe?" Wade eyed the tense, battle-braced posture Other-Logan was sporting, "And holy shit, peanut, we can try out pain play later but let's save the kinks for the bedroom, yeah? Put those claws away for now."

Wolverine looks like he's about to choke him or choke himself with the way he's clenching his fists in... anger? incredulity? Something to that effect.

And so began their very real, very legit, very spectacular journey to save the timeline! Unfortunately, the other X-men apparently had better shit to do (lazy fuckers), and so while they were out on their own pre-determined missions, Wolverine and Deadpool had to work together. Again. (Well, "again" for one of them.)

And it was going... okay. Surprisingly. They'd managed to locate a few places with suspicious activity using the X-men's network and while Wade would probably have to wait on that homemade dinner, the mission wasn't a total disaster so far (which was better than he could say for last time).

Except, there were a few... slip-ups.

It started when The Wolverine (because he wasn't His Logan, not to Wade) and Deadpool (because he wasn't His Wade either) were out raiding some base that had suspicious activity around when the timeline started having issues. They hadn't uncovered anything substantial so far, but there was definitely something shady going on. Call it a Spidey Sense.

Wolverine was slaughtering some enemies after threatening them within an inch of their life to spill their secrets, as usual, when one henchman (a mutant of some type, judging by the inhuman speed at which he moved) attacked him from behind. Wade didn't even have time to think, all he saw was Logan getting attacked and in an instant, he'd crossed the distance and embedded a katana in the fucker's head.

He knew Logan would heal. He did. But it didn't make it easier to look at him, bloodied and bruised, and not want to murder the person who caused it. It reminded him too much of the way Wade found Logan—reckless and suicidal, resigned to drinking himself to death and not caring how hurt he was.

(And, more than that, he just hated to see him in pain. He liked to think it was reciprocal, by the way Logan would slice someone into fucked up organ confetti the second they managed to land a good hit on Wade. He was always a bit more wound up on those nights, a barely tampered rage in his eyes and snarl to his lips that didn't subside until they were back in the apartment, out of their suits, where wounds stitched themselves up. Logan still had a shakiness to him, sometimes, until the injuries were fully gone. He'd thumb at a slash on his arm until the skin was back to the typical scar tissue instead of a distinct cut.)

Wolverine looked back to see Deadpool on top of the mangled corpse.

"Just doing my job," Deadpool said cheerily, trying not to let his voice waver.

"...Sure, bub," Wolverine muttered, eyeing him a second longer before going back to whoever he was torturing.

Fuck.

And then it happened again.

They were taking a breather in the facility they'd just raided, sitting down to catch their breaths and compile their findings before setting off to the next one.

Wolverine was digging through some medkits nearby, despite being healed.

"Woah buddy," Deadpool started, "Don't you think it's a bit early to be getting drunk? I mean, I'm all for freedom of choice, but I don't think the Founding Fathers thought that choice would mean drinking straight rubbing alcohol."

Wolverine stopped, his muscles stiffening.

"...What makes you think I'm looking for rubbing alcohol?" he asked slowly, a tenseness to his voice that was separate from the normal level of annoyance.

Wade quickly realized his mistake. "Oh, y'know, a hunch. I have a sixth sense. Like Spiderman. But cooler! Like instead of a Spidey Sense I have a... uhhh... Deadpool Danger Detonator?"

Wolverine looked at him suspiciously as he continued to ramble, but eventually let it go. Thank god.

And again.

They were fighting some higher-level henchmen, for once. Seems that their trail was finally leading somewhere. These guys were fewer in numbers, but actually packed some bang for their buck and all seemed to have decently strong mutations and some weapons training.

Now, Logan and Wade frequently went on missions together. In fact, at this point, they almost exclusively did jobs together. (It was part of the reason it'd been so difficult to convince Logan to let this job go. It had become routine at this point to go together, to be a Package Deal, Two Parts of a Set, Partners.)

(He'd noticed how Logan would pace anxiously when he went on more dangerous missions by himself. How he'd try and fail to distract himself and inevitably end up on the couch, tense and waiting for Wade to come home before finally, finally, letting out a deep breath and letting his muscles unwind as Wade flopped down next to him. He knew and yet he just... couldn't... this time.)

Suffice to say, Wade knew Logan's attack patterns. He knew where he'd strike and the openings he'd leave and how to cover them. He'd fought him enough himself to tell when he'd use a feint and when he'd actually go for the kill.

And so, when they were pushed back to back, surrounded on all sides, Wade let himself fall into the natural rhythm of it all. Weaving in and out between Wolverine's attacks, throwing knives where he'd miss with his claws, covering his back, and doing a masterful job at eliminating the enemies.

And Wolverine noticed. Because of course he did. He'd glanced at Wade with something akin to surprise (or even recognition) a few times when he'd managed to match him precisely.

But it felt oddly... good to be matched. Wolverine was used to working alone, to having backup but never really working alongside someone else. He fought on the same team as the X-men, yes, and they did sometimes go on joint missions together, but he never felt equal to them. Like he could throw a punch and they'd match him exactly.

He was used to leading the group, to being on the front lines of the attack, to splitting off and doing his own thing. He'd never felt this type of ease when working with someone. Like he didn't have to glance over his shoulder to check their work or see if they'd been hurt.

And so, as they fell into a comfortable rhythm, Logan found himself smiling. A feral, gleeful thing.

At the joy of finally having a match. The animalistic thrill of getting to play with his prey together without the other person shying away or shutting him down.

Logan always had to toe the line between human and animal. Giving in just enough to his animal instincts to make him a useful tool, a sharp weapon, while still retaining his humanity enough to be palatable. He could never just let go and be both. Let the line disappear in the sand as he dipped his toes in and out of the tides without feeling like someone was yanking him back or further in.

For the first time in his 200 years of existence, Logan felt free.

(When he finally came down from the adrenaline high, he looked at Wade with an indescribable expression. If Wade didn't know better, he'd almost say it looked like awe.)

And again.

They were bickering over something stupid. It doesn't matter how it started, only that now they both were bristling with annoyance and had their pride on the line.

"Can you shut the fuck up?" Wolverine growled, clenching his hands tightly.

"Or what? Is the kitty gonna unsheathe his claws?" Deadpool goaded, "Are you going to shish-kebab me? Stab me?"

"And if I do?" A challenging spark entered Logan's eyes.

"Been there, done that, honey badger. You'll have to get realllllll creative to top the Honda Odyssey," Wade smirked.

"What the hell does a car have to do with me murdering you?"

Deadpool blinked. Once. Twice. "Oh yeah, you wouldn't know that reference. Bummer. The point is, you aren't going to get anything out of impaling me. Except for the rise of a different type of weapon. If you get what I mean."

Wolverine gruffly retorted with some petty insult, but the searching look in his eyes didn't fade.

And again.

"C'mon Wolvie, you know I like it when you penetrate me, but let's try something new for a change, yeah? How about you hold me tenderly instead—" (Wolverine had never impaled him once.)

And again.

"Or what? What are you gonna say? 'Hey bub, I'm Wolverine, I'm The X-man and I'm masculine and I like woodworking and being a lumberjack in the forests of Canada.'" (Wolverine had never revealed that. To anyone, actually.)

And again.

"You know, maybe instead of drinking anything available, you can wait and I'll buy you some of the good stuff. I'll get you some beer and whisky on the house as long as you brave the very hard journey of staying sober for more than ten fucking minutes." (Wolverine had never told him his taste in alcohol.)

Until, finally—

"You know me."

"What?"

"You know me." It was a statement, not a question. Wolverine was looking at him with that same look in his eyes. The one he'd had since their first fight together where Deadpool had freaked the fuck out over someone nearly stabbing him.

"I sure hope I do, considering we've been working together for two days now," Deadpool chuckled, averting his eyes.

"No. You know me. You know me." Logan had a type of vulnerability in his eyes, one that he hadn't seen since he'd left his Logan behind.

"...What do you mean?" Wade asked, reluctantly.

"You know things about me that you shouldn't. But you couldn't have gotten it from anyone because nobody else knows them either. You know how I fight. What my habits are. What I like. What I hate. Therefore, you know me," he said, and that might be the most words Wade has ever heard this Logan speak at one time.

And Wade wants to deny it, if just to hurry along this mission and avoid the emotional turmoil of confronting his feelings with a Logan that isn't even his. But he sees the earnest look in Logan's eyes and he can't just ignore it. Can't deflect like he would for anyone else.

"...You're right, I do know you."

"How?" Logan's eyes are piercing, searching for answers. Desperately, almost. Like a man stranded in the desert, insatiably thirsty, who just learned that there's an oasis.

So Wade tells him. A short version, anyway. Tells him about snatching his Logan from another universe, getting thrown into the void, and then working together to save his world. Tells him about asking Logan to stay, and how they've been living together since. How they go on missions together and make dinner together and watch shitty reality TV together with Blind Al and their dog.

(Doesn't tell him how he refused to let his Logan come along, that he wanted to, that he'd do anything to keep his Logan with him even if it hurts to be away.)

Finally, the inevitable question comes up: "Why did Logan abandon his universe?"

And Wade tells him that too.

And Logan... doesn't know how to feel.

A part of him feels horrified. That there's a universe out there where he failed the X-men so horrendously. Where he drank himself into a stupor and stumbled back in to find them dead. Where he lived his entire life denying that he cares and building up his walls only for him to crumble anyway when they're gone (only for him to have nothing to reminisce on because of it).

But a larger part of him (a shameful, bitter part of him) feels envy curling around his chest, squeezing his heart and constricting his throat until he's barely able to breathe.

Because of course, it'd take losing everything that mattered to him right now to be able to find what he's been missing this whole time. He couldn't just be happy with the X-men, he had to be selfish and want more despite all they've done for him.

A greedy, wretched part of him thinks it'd be worth it. To throw it all away just so that he could have someone like Wade who talks about him not as a colleague, not as a teammate, but with a fondness so evident he could choke on it. Someone who knows Logan, not The Wolverine. Who cares about the little details like how he furrows his brow and what his favorite drink is and the exact pitch his voice takes when he genuinely laughs instead of just how quick he can kill enemies.

Someone who knows him as Logan—a selfish, possessive, scared, pathetic, insecure, asshole—and still wants him. Still loves him.

He's always had to hide parts of himself. Always had to don a mask of stoicism, careful indifference, and harsh words. Because then, people would hate him for that. They would push him away because he was rude, he was callous, he was brutal, but they wouldn't look deeper.

Because if Logan bared himself to someone as he is, vulnerable and terrified of losing those he loves, and they rejected him?

It'd be a worse fate than death.

But here Wade was, talking about him—as a person, not a hero—and smiling so visibly Logan can tell behind the mask, speaking of him warmly even when remembering how they used to fight.

Logan feels something unfamiliar in his gut. A concoction of jealousy, hatred, and... relief. Happiness. Possessiveness, even.

That he could be seen and loved despite it.

Logan knows what love feels like. Knows how it feels to care about people, despite how he acts. He knows how to feel protective and worried.

He's felt attraction before. To Jean, who had soft skin and a pretty smile and who always showed courage in the face of danger. To Scott, even, who commanded with a strength in his voice that sometimes had heat running through Logan's veins.

This is different.

This isn't just love. Isn't just attraction. It's yearning—awful, honest, raw yearning for something he desperately wanted but knew he couldn't have. Knew he shouldn't have.

But he wanted it. He'd felt empty for so long, even surrounded by people, even with people he cares about and who he knows reciprocate. He's been trapped in limbo for so long: never alone but always lonely, given enough scraps to stay in one place and fear loss while still feeling an itch under his skin for something more.

To be understood. To be seen. To be loved. To belong to someone instead of being a stray, wandering from door to door and taking whatever handouts he can while sleeping in their shitty garage.

Logan is an animal at heart, really. The Wolverine had always been inside him, influencing his feelings and emotions in a way normal humans couldn't quite relate to or understand.

And like all animals, the thing he wants the most is a home. A place to belong.

He stares at Wade as he continues rambling about the Logan from his world, talking with an energy he'd never had before.

A home, huh?

#poolverine #poolverine angst #deadclaws #deadpool and wolverine #deadpool 3 #deadpool movie #wade wilson #wade x logan #wade/logan #logan howlett #this is my first post #let me know if you want a part 2 #with actual logan pulling up #im going to try to post every day #lmk if you liked it and if i should continue :))#kitkat

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estrellami-1 · 5 months ago

Text

Steddie Week 2024

July 1st Prompt: Secret Relationship

Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 6 | Day 7

@steddie-week

Part of what drew Steve to Eddie was his dramatics. His charisma, his hands flying everywhere, his bright, happy smiles and dark, narrowed eyes. His penchant for pulling a strand of hair in front of his face when he was embarrassed.

Eventually Steve learned he also pulled out that little trick when he’s turned on at an inopportune time.

They’re halfway through a movie in his trailer when he pulls a strand across his face, practically chewing on it as his gaze stays on the screen.

Steve snickers, breaking his concentration. “Really, babe?”

Eddie sends him a startled look, blinking a few times. “What?”

“What about this has you turned on?”

Eddie turns the color of a fire truck. Steve can’t look away. “It’s not- I didn’t- it’s not really that,” he mutters, looking down and shifting in his seat. “My brain ran off again.”

Steve puts a couple fingertips on Eddie’s jaw, gently guides his head up and over to look at Steve. He kisses him, hums when Eddie falls into it like he knew he would. “Tell me,” he murmurs, voice low.

Eddie swallows. “Um,” he says. “Okay, so it is kinda that? I was just thinkin’, like, how- how protective you are? And how you’d willingly do that? And how you kinda already do. For me. Because you think…” his throat clicks. “Because you think I’m worthy of it.” He shifts again, blush coming back full force. “And, uh, I was kinda remembering last time someone said something to me, and how you handled it, and fuck, Stevie, I was scared at the time so I didn’t really, like, process? But that was hot as hell, sweetheart-”

Steve pulls him into a kiss, laughing into it a little. “So if I were to say you’re not subtle in the least, and I already knew you like when I get like that, and if I maybe play it up a little for you-”

“Get your pants off,” Eddie says seriously, grabbing at the hem of Steve’s shirt. “Stevie, baby, I’m so serious, help me out here-”

They’re halfway through shedding clothes when the trailer door opens to reveal Wayne. He blinks, surprised, then turns around to shut and lock the door. “If I could see neither of you naked, that’d be ideal.” He sighs again as they scramble to put their clothes back on. “How long has this been happening?”

Eddie’s voice is small when he answers. “Um. Seven months?”

Wayne does the math. “Since you woke up.”

“Y-yeah.”

“Y’all decent?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, sir.”

He turns to face them, raising a brow at the way Steve seated in front of Eddie, protectively. He watches the way Eddie tugs his hand, the way Steve turns to pay attention to him while keeping his eyes on what he deems the threat—Wayne. “He’s not gonna do anything,” Eddie murmurs.

“Like hell I’m not,” Wayne grumbles. “Imma get a beer. I’ve been waitin’ for the two o’ ya to get your heads outta your asses an’ you’re tellin’ me it’s been done for months already?” He shakes a teasing finger at Eddie. “You gotta tell me these things, boy, I ain’t no mind reader.” He grabs the beer, collapses onto his chair with a sigh. “Long as you don’t have sex anywhere I got reason to be, I don’t much care what you do,” he says, popping the can open. “‘M happy for you,” he says finally, softly. “I know why you didn’t tell me, folks can be stupid and blind when it comes t’this. Long as y’know y’got me on your side.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers, looking close to tears. Steve reaches for his hand, watching Wayne with an indescribable look on his face.

Wayne nods at him. “Y’love my boy?”

He watches as Steve takes a breath, centers himself. “Yessir.”

“Wayne. Sir was my fucko of a father.” He tilts his head at Steve. “I reckon y’know what that’s like.”

Steve nods. “I do… Wayne.”

Wayne nods back. “Good. So y’love him. I can tell from your eyes I ain’t gotta tell you what’s gonna happen if he breaks your heart.”

Steve shakes his head. “Whatever I end up doing to myself will be much worse than anything you can throw at me.”

Wayne nods. “Welcome to the family. In this house, sex happens in Eddie’s room or not at all.”

“Or the shower,” Eddie mutters, and Wayne rolls his eyes.

“Theodore Wayne-”

“Sorry,” Eddie says, but his grin says he’s not very sorry. Damn boy’s gonna be the end of him one day, he’s sure of it.

“An’ y’all know how t’be careful,” he surmises, “seein’ as how you been seein’ each other for the better part of a year an’ I’m jus’ now findin’ out about it.” He nods, thinks through the points he want to bring up. “I reckon if you can keep it down, it can happen while I’m home, but seein’ as the walls are made of damn cardboard, we’ll have to see ‘bout that one. Might hafta get earplugs or somethin’.”

That’s it, he thinks, so he turns to Steve. “Y’catch the game on Sunday?”

Steve’s eyes light up even as Eddie groans and tries to get his boyfriend up from the couch. “Okay, Wayne, thanks for not hating us, but we were kinda in the middle of something-”

“You can wait,” Steve says dismissively, pulling him back down on the couch. Wayne would say something, but he can see the way Eddie’s pupils dilate, even from way over here, and he takes a drink of beer instead. Some things don’t need to be voiced.

He thinks through everything they’ve said, everything their body language has said even when their mouths haven’t. “You haven’t told any of your friends yet.”

Steve and Eddie exchange a look. “Robin knows,” Steve admits. “Pretty much the moment it started. But no one else does.”

Wayne hums, takes another sip. “And what’s that Mayfield girl think about your car bein’ here at all hours of the day an’ night?”

Steve and Eddie exchange a look. “We… don’t know, actually.”

“Well, I suggest you tell her somethin’ soon.”

Steve nods, biting his lip. Eddie’s still lost in thought. “We will,” he says, shifting. “Um. Thank you for being so… understanding.”

“Well, considerin’ I don’t gotta get my hands dirty tryin’a get you two together, I’d say it worked out rather well, all things considered.”

Steve snickers. “I agree.”

Wayne nods to the TV. “What’re you watchin’?”

Steve blinks, like he’d just realized the TV was even on, and chuckles. “I have no idea,” he says honestly.

Wayne nods. “Grab a beer,” he suggests. “I’ll turn on baseball.”

Eddie groans. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Bring your campaign binder out here.”

“Fuck off!” Eddie calls from his room.

Steve snickers. “He was already planning on doing that.” He cracks open his beer. “Who’s on?”

#steddieweek2024 #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #wayne munson #secret relationship #starambles

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lostintransist · 21 days ago

Text

Seamstress | Part 4

Part 1 here.

John lets the men simmer for two days. Mostly he lets their trip to his seamstress ride to see if they brought it up to him. They didn’t. Guess he would be playing this the sly way.

“Found an old quilt from my grandmother when cleaning out my mum’s house last leave.”

Johnny’s brain sparked on the word association just as John hoped it would.

“Found out I can get my family kilts fixed up and preserved. Met a pretty lass who runs a shop that said it was a possibility.”

“Oh?” John folded his arms across his chest, encouraging Johnny to go on by tilting his head in interest.

“Yeah, pretty bird, kicked us out when we started asking about-”

He cut himself off pretty quick but John gave him a small scary smile.

“Asking about who, Johnny?”

Johnny started to back up, hands raised as he babbled his excuses.

“Finish your excuses and go get the guys.”

Johnny turned tail and fled from the room. His muppets filed in the room, Johnny getting forced by the neck by Simon who glared down at him. Must have wanted to keep this a secret. Should have known better than to tell Johnny. The man couldn’t keep a non-life-threatening secret to save anyone’s life. Kyle and Gary slid in after the duo.

“Muppets. You will leave my seamstress well enough alone or I will make it a problem for you.”

“So she is yours?” Gary piped up from the side.

Shooting him a glare John continued.

“I am grown enough to not explain myself to the lot of you, but if I get a call again about any of you bothering her I will make it everyone’s problem.”

Kyle smirked and spoke out one side of his mouth.

“Seems like Price can’t get a date.”

“Kyle I swear to my god and yours I will make you disappear if you keep it up. If your clothes go missing, just know they will be back. Now get out of here the lot of you.”

His men shared smiles and eye contact.

They hustled from the room when he picked up his blackened coffee mug to throw at one of them.

“Fucking muppets going to send me to an early grave. I don’t even have her phone number yet,” he mumbled to himself as the back of them disappeared.

🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡🪡

You think about John far more often than you should. He is a customer. Yes, he sleeps in your chairs and smiles at you in a way that pulls his cheeks to the moon, and yes he makes your heart flutter the tiniest bit but, but he is a customer who has never shown interest and you refuse to make someone feel uncomfortable in your shop. Your shop was a safe space, for everyone. Your flags are on clear display, so many, many flags, made sure of it.

He stepped through your thoughts carelessly. When you were wandering a superstore you somehow ended up in the camping section. A clearance foldable cot caught your eye and left the store with you. You maneuvered it into your tiny car and into the shop without allowing yourself to question why you had bought it.

John appeared two mornings following your purchase. You smile, wider than you should, at him.

“Hi John, welcome back! Got anything new and interesting for me today?”

Did you sound too chipper?

“Nothing crazy, one of my men needs a mask fixed.”

“Do you always bring in their items? I hope they are paying you at least,” you joke as you take the offered mask.

Spreading it on the counter you look it over, a tear over one ear and one from the eye portion. Both are decently easy fixes but would require your ring light and some time with a hand needle.

Looking up you offer John another smile. Fuck, can you keep the smiles to a minimum? He is going to think you are weird and then stop coming by.

“This shouldn’t take terribly long, I would say maybe an hour?”

John knocked one knuckle against the counter as he nodded. With both hands on the armrests, you remembered the cot in the back.

“Oh, John!”

He paused, ass halfway lowered into the seat.

“I..uh..” you stammer to a stop, unsure of how your words might be received.

“Yes?” He lifts a single brow at you, body not shaking as he waits.

Tucking one arm to your chest and the other to your mouth you speak from behind it.

“I found a cot. I brought it to the shop for you to use if you wanted?”

The words rush out of you, mumbled by your hand, and the speed by which you hurl them.

John stands, moving to stand next to the counter where the floor changes, noting the difference in customer space vs working space.

“What was that dove?”

Tightening your lips before biting the inside of your cheek you force yourself to say your words again. Slower, clearer you speak.

“I have a cot for you. In the back, so that you can sleep.”

His face goes blank as he blinks at you.

He looked a bit like a 404 code in the flesh.

A small smile breaks across his face as color spreads up his cheeks.

“For me?”

“Well,” you tighten both arms around your middle as you reply. “No one else seems to pay me for the privilege of sleeping in my shop, so yes?”

John rubs the back of his neck with one hand.

You awkwardly stare at him. What do you even say now? Do you invite him to lie down? No that sounded weird.

“Do you-”

“Why don-”

You both started and stopped at hearing the other’s voice.

Spinning on your heel you turned towards the storage room, confident John would follow. Popping the door open you can do nothing more than point to the cot, still covered in tape from the store.

John slides by you, chest brushing your arm and shoulder as he does. If you have to fight back the urge to take a bite? Well, he would never need to know.

“I can set it up for you if you don’t mind?” John looks back over his shoulder at you.

Knowing you are beet red you can only nod.

“I bought it for you but didn’t get a chance to,” you gesture at it as if your vague motion will explain all your thoughts.

John’s smile, eyes crinkling and shoulders softening, melted your heart.

“I’ll take care of it and then take a good nap. My men have started to comment that I am nicer to them after I get a nap here.” He knelt, pulling out a pocket knife and slicing open the package.

“Your men?” You lean against the door frame, unabashedly watching. “What is it you do for work John?”

“Special forces, I’m a captain. I lead a group of myself and four other men.”

“Well, that would explain a lot of the smells.”

He looks up at you, brow cocked.

“Smells?”

“Like fire, gunpowder, sweat, sometimes fear.”

“You get a lot of smell knowledge here?”

“I get a lot of everything here,” you shrug, unable to articulate how no matter how clean a piece of cloth some lingering smells clung.

John turns back to his task. You spend far, far too long watching him. The way his shoulders dip and arms change shape as he uses them. When the cot is built and John stands he turns and catches sight of you, you give a panicked smile and flee for the counter where you had left the mask.

Slamming your body into your chair you turned on your ring light, pulled your black thread, and focused diligently on fixing the holes you had been asked to address. John did not reappear for nearly an hour. You had finished the mask sooner than that but had not yet found the fortitude to go and wake him.

The creases on his face matched the lines on the shoulder of his shirt, and the slight drool stain.

“Right on time?”

You smile and nod.

“Well let’s settle up and I will find a reason to be back in a few days.” John returns to the customer side of the counter, sure of himself and you.

“You don’t have to pay me to come nap if that is all you need,” you start.

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand.

“My men are hard on clothes. If I can get you some business I feel less bad about using you for some shut-eye.”

Supposing you had to accept that answer you unlock your tablet and complete the transaction.

Once his card clears you pass over the mask.

“You’re jewelry box should be done by Christmas.”

He drops the statement as if he forgot to bring it up until now.

“Christmas should be fine, I don’t have many plans though I will be out of town the week of Christmas proper. I will be visiting my grandmother.” Paternal grandmother since your mother was not allowed to visit, but no need to mention that.

“We will have to find some time to ensure I can get you the gift then,” he smiled as he said it.

“I told you I would pay for it John,” you chide.

With a shrug, he tucked the mask into his pocket and stepped back from the counter.

“Can’t pay me for a Christmas present dove.”

With that, he waved and pushed through the front door.

“The hell I can’t,” you spoke to the empty shop.

Part 5

Masterlist

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #price x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #john price x reader #captain john price #simon ghost riley #gary roach sanderson #kyle gaz garrick #fluff

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heliads · 7 months ago

Note

Newt x reader Bridgerton AU. Reader, the diamond of the season, is the Duchess of Hastings. She wants to marry someone who likes her as a person and isn’t after her money. Newt, son of a widowed viscountess, needs to marry to save his family’s reputation because his sister Sonya was seen alone with her fiancé Lord Aris before they were engaged. The anonymous writer Lady Whistledown is Ava, a widowed modiste who has her nose in everyone’s business, and Aris is the only one who knows.

'foxes and hounds' - newt

masterlist

The start of a new social season, although intended, supposedly, to be a cause for joy, feels rather more like a fierce uprising of dread, not celebration. Across the ton, young maidens find themselves new entrees– or, entrants– to the marriage mart. This game of rings and dances, men with ambition and women with more, will end in blissful happiness or deepest discontent. And all will be witnessed by every worthy family from one corner of the country to the next.

If all goes according to plan, an eligible would-be bride will find herself engaged to a man she loves, a man in possession of a handsome fortune and a sterling reputation. If luck slips past her, she’ll settle for someone decent, or someone without any income at all. If nothing goes in her favor, her first year in society will not be her last as a single woman. She will have to repeat her attempt the next year, this time without the glimmering aura of a new arrival, and hope that something within her has changed enough to attract a proposal. Otherwise, she will sink to the bottom of the pile of dance cards, ignored, abandoned, and grown up into a spinster. All that hard work gone to waste.

You’ve heard many young women discuss the marriage mart with nothing short of absolute terror in their voices. A good opening season can seal a girl’s fate forever. Attracting the eye of a worthy man is an impossible task for all but the best of the rosebuds, or so it seems. Most of us will settle for something halfway decent– a tidy sum per annum but nothing extravagant, a man with casual disinterest but nothing harsh. Something that can be shaped into something good, or at least ignored in favor of not being alone. Such is the romance of a married life.

You, however, hope to extract a little more out of the whole affair. As the Duchess of Hastings, you have no need for money. A marriage would be nice, the final touch on the portrait of a successful lady, but you do not require the financial stability of a husband. You have plenty of money and plenty of friends. You will inherit your estate. If you look for a husband, you will look only for love.

One would think, then, that entering your first season among the eligible women of the ton would be bereft of the panic permeating through most of your friends in search of husbands. However, when you line up with the rest of the young women to be presented to the Queen at the start of the season, you find that it couldn’t be less true.

Your stomach is in knots, even as you sweep confidently through the corridor to wait outside the door. The white feather in your hair stands tall and proud. Your dress is crisp and finely stitched, the highest of fashion yet never gaudy. You attract stares wherever you go– from the other girls, envious and jealous and heartsick, from the men, longing and cutthroat and mercenary– but pretend they don’t phase you in the slightest. As duchess, you’ve had plenty of time to grow accustomed to onlookers. You won’t allow them to interfere with you on this all important day.

At last, your name is called, and you enter the throne room, your mother behind you. You keep your steps small but light, and seem to float towards your queen. When the time is right, you sink into an elegant curtsy. The moment seems to last forever, your knees bent, your hands shaking slightly, but when the queen calls you to stand, you look up to find her smiling benevolently at you.

“I believe I have found my diamond of the season,” she announces.

The room erupts in polite applause, and you do your best to smother a smile that’s entirely too giddy to be proper. As you retreat from the room, you gaze at the faces surrounding you, trying to remember which ones look genuinely happy for you and which seem to be identifying a prize pig for the slaughter. When the town gossips all gather later to share their thoughts on today’s proceedings, you’re certain that some of them will attempt to discredit you, saying that of course the queen would choose the duchess as her diamond, but you know just as well as all of them that you deserve the honor today. You were the best of everyone here, and it’s plain to see.

Among all of them, your gaze catches on a singular man, almost lost in the crowd from all the bodies packed together but no less entrancing. What strikes you the most is that his face seems kind, and his eyes sparkle with pride as they watch you go. Pride for you, for your accomplishments. As if he couldn’t be more delighted that you of all people were named the season’s diamond.

Then you’re gone from the room, and the kind man is no longer before you. Still, you puzzle over the encounter long after your carriage takes you home. You don’t believe you recognize him, but that doesn’t mean anything to sway you towards any decision. An image of the young man swims in your mind– short, dirty blond hair, an upturned mouth, dark eyes, his face almost spritely. Clever, for sure.

You know better than to mess with clever men. Clever men are the type to try and twist your mind, convince you that they only love you then attempt to make off with your money. You know full well what marriage to you will offer any would-be suitor. This season, you may be looking for affection, but every man in the room will be after your fortune. The task of finding someone who truly cares for you will be a difficult one indeed.

So, clever men or not, you’ll have to keep your heart under close guard. When the first ball of the season comes to be, you don one of your finest dresses, and firmly admonish yourself to be careful. The game of hearts is not one that you lose. Either you win, or you destroy yourself.

You time your arrival carefully, so as to make the best entrance, and your efforts are rewarded. From the moment you’re announced, all eyes turn to you. Were it not for your extensive experience with being scrutinized in the grand magnifying lens that is the ton, you’d be nervous to have that many people looking at you. Even still, you can’t pretend you don’t feel a small flutter in your stomach.

It gets easier once you sweep further into the room, once people start smiling at you again, when the conversation picks up and you’re asked for your first dance of the evening, which you accept. Your partner is a charming man named Minho– dark hair, witty eyes, an excellent sense of humor. He’s athletic and a decent dancer, and by the time the music stops, you’re back to your usual self again. You can’t stop yourself from mentally sizing up your dance partner. He seems nice, and you wouldn’t be bored around him, at least. His family owns land. Although he’s not of your precise social standing, few are, and he’s close enough to you that it would be a respectable match.

Still– still, you think to yourself, as you move away from the center of the floor once more to consider your dance card, it’s not quite enough. You want love, you want a spark, and you didn’t quite get that with Minho. There are plenty of eligible suitors here, though, and many more balls to come. You’ll have other opportunities to select a match.

A few dances later, though, your feet are beginning to feel heavy and you’re still no closer to finding someone of interest than you were at the start. A good lady of extensive training such as yourself should have no problem dancing the entire night through with a pleasant smile on her face, but you’re still human, still tired, and your charming demeanor is beginning to pinch at the seams before long.

The music for the latest dance ends, and you curtsy to your partner, praying silently that no one else will be looking to fill your dance card for the next rotation. However, when you turn around, you’re greeted with the sight of many anxious faces. Something inside you wilts, perhaps your endurance.

Before the mobs can descend upon you, however, a figure appears in front of you. You sigh in relief to see one of your closest friends, Miss Teresa Agnes. “Teresa! And here I thought I wouldn’t have a single good friend all evening.”

Teresa laughs, her dark hair shining. “I would never abandon you. Certainly not when our diamond is sparkling so spectacularly tonight.”

You smile at her. “I’m not the only one who’s sparkling, Teresa. You look lovely.”

“Thank you,” Teresa says sincerely. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like to introduce someone to you. This is Viscount Newt, a good friend of mine. I met him through Thomas.”

You smile to yourself as Teresa turns to beckon someone towards you. Teresa has been harboring a not-so-secret admiration for Thomas since you were all small. This is her first season in the social circles, too, and if she doesn’t come out of it with a proposal from Thomas, you’ll think the sky has fallen. Even now, he’s watching her fondly from across the room, trying to pretend as if he isn’t pining madly while Minho teases him for it.

“Here he is at last,” Teresa says, and all of a sudden you can’t think about Thomas’ case of lovesickness for a second longer, because Teresa has brought her friend before you, and you know him. It’s the stranger from your presentation to the queen. The nice one, the clever one. The one that caught your eye, and then your imagination.

You curtsy automatically, and Newt bows. Once the two of you straighten up, you’re able to observe him more closely. You’d only gotten a fleeting glimpse earlier, but now you can drink in the sight of him, and you do. His eyes are dark, but catch the lights like stars. His mouth has a habit of twitching up at the sides, as if he’s always thinking of a joke but just barely managing to keep it at bay. When he looks at you, he really looks at you. You’ve been stared at all night by would-be suitors, but their gazes never went farther than surface level. Right now, it’s as if Newt can see through to your very soul, and most intimately of all, appreciates it.

Teresa gives you a confused look, and you realize you’ve been standing in silence for longer than is probably courteous. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” you say.

“I must return the sentiment,” Newt returns. “Teresa has talked about you many times. I’ve been quite eager to meet you.”

“I hope I’m worthy of what she’s told you,” you say.

Newt smiles again. “I believe you’re even better than that,” he tells you.

Teresa is looking at you with an odd smile. “I believe I’d better let the two of you get to know each other, then,” she says, and sweeps away before you can stop her.

Newt laughs. “She’s been wanting to set us up for ages. For a friendship, I mean,” he breaks in hastily. “Apparently, she thinks we have a similar sense of humor.”

“I look forward to finding that out myself,” you smile.

Newt’s eyes flash with mirth again, delighting you. Behind you, the music picks up again. Newt extends a hand towards you. “Would you mind if I shared a dance with you? Unless, of course, you’d rather sit for a while.”

“I’d love to dance,” you say quickly, and it’s true. All of a sudden, the pain in your feet is gone, as if it had never existed at all.

Newt smiles and takes your hand to lead you to the dance floor. The orchestra begins its melody, and you start your dance. You make a mental note to ask Teresa a little more about Newt later; he dances like an aristocrat, but he speaks so freely to you. It’s nothing like you’ve ever experienced in a suitor before.

Newt arches a brow as he steps through the dance. “Sizing me up, are you? It may be improper of me to ask, but I do hope I’m meeting your requirements.”

Your cheeks heat up. “I’m simply appreciating your mastery of this dance. Nothing more.”

Newt laughs easily. “Of course not. It’s not as if everyone else here is doing the same thing right now. Every dance partner is a strategy meeting. In just a matter of minutes, you’ll walk away knowing if I am a worthy wager, and I will do the same. This ball is full of hounds and foxes, my lady. We all know our parts.”

You glance at him, feeling a curious grin tugging at your lips. “And which am I? Fox or hound?”

Newt returns your proud gaze. “I suppose we’ll find out at the end of the season, won’t we?”

You laugh, feeling oddly triumphant. Newt has this way about him that you find enchanting. It’s almost breaching impropriety with how candid he is around you, but it only makes you trust him more. The dance ends far sooner than you’d like. Newt relinquishes you to the storm of suitors outside, hopefully with just as much reluctance as you.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Newt is truly the only one that stands out to you. You don’t have a chance to dance with him again, but you keep making eye contact as you dance with other partners. You can practically hear his clever words in your head, catching you in the act of evaluating the suitors in front of you. Fox or hound?

When the ball ends and you return to your carriage for the ride home, you’re blissful, practically dreamy. You’ve had enough time with Newt to dream about it until the next ball, where you’ll likely repeat the same cycle over and over again until the season ends.

However, your golden mood is shattered when your chaperone sits down across from you. Her face, by contrast, is twisted with disappointment. “Do you have any idea what sort of trouble you’re getting yourself into?” She asks once the carriage pulls away.

Still caught up in the heady dream of a merry boy who smiled the brightest when he danced with you, you don’t realize the trap descending around you until it’s too late. “What trouble?”

Your chaperone’s lips purse. “You’re meant to be dancing only with eligible gentlemen, my lady. I should hope that you’d be able to recognize the suitable candidates from the unseemly by now.”

The veil is pierced, and you’re beginning to be brought back to earth. “What are you talking about? I thought I made perfectly reasonable choices with my dance partners.”

Your chaperone shakes her head, a quick, sharp gesture. “All but one. Goodness, haven’t you heard about the trouble with that one family? I can’t believe Miss Agnes had the nerve to introduce him to you, but perhaps the fact that she’s so besotted with Lord Thomas is upsetting her mind.”

Your heart freezes in your chest. “You can’t mean to say that the Viscount is not a suitable bachelor? What else could he be?”

The other woman sighs. “You don’t know, do you? My lady, I would not interfere if I did not feel the need, but I can assure you, his motives with you are purely mercenary. That man is desperate for something to cover up the follies of his family, and you, my dear, are the perfect gilded shield.”

You feel cold. “What follies?”

“His sister, Miss Sonya, was seen alone with her fiance,” your chaperone murmurs at last. “Lord Aris. I would think you would have heard his name, although perhaps not connected it with Viscount Newt. Miss Sonya and Lord Aris were happily engaged, and by all accounts it was a fine union, but they were seen together without a chaperone past dark. Quite the scandal. The Viscount knows it and is eager to get the ton talking about anything but his sister’s misdeeds. Entering into a courtship with you would do just the trick.”

She’s right, and you know it, and you hate it. “He seemed so genuine,” you whisper, and instantly know how foolish it sounds.

Your chaperone, to her credit, is kind enough to take pity on you. “He did,” she tells you, “and you looked happy together. You would be less happy, however, when you found out the truth. I would rather you know now and stay away. Men like that are nothing but trouble.”

You nod solemnly, turning your head to watch the dark landscapes rumbling past. The sun is already beginning to rise, a hallmark of a late night out. It had been a beautiful night up until this, and now the entire evening is ruined in your mind.

“I feel for Miss Sonya,” you whisper. “She was already engaged. They were just talking.”

“She knows the rules of society, and so do you,” your chaperone reminds you. “We all have our roles to play.”

And the consequence of setting a foot outside your role is instant public mortification. Yes. What a forgiving world. You immediately plant your exhausted body in your bed when you return, hardly sparing the time to wash and dress, but the only things to bloom from your rest are troubled dreams of the boy that could have been yours. Now that you know the truth– that Newt was only trying to use you for a better reputation– every interaction with him is tainted.

You’d meant what you said in the carriage, though. You did think Newt was genuine. Hadn’t he laughed more than usual when he was with you? Hadn’t he regarded you with that fierce pride of his, as if he’d finally found a mind that was an equal to his? Hadn’t he watched you with something akin to jealousy when you danced with the other men that weren’t him?

Hadn’t you wished he would only dance with you? And don’t you wish that you could truly do what you promised yourself and marry only for love, never mind the rest? It is a simple dream to think that love is easy. Marriage is not simple, not in the ton, not in your lifetime. Every one of your days will be shaped by the whims of society, even when they take Newt away from you.

When it comes time for the next ball, you do your best to strengthen your spirits before you go. You intentionally avoid him, making sure to always have your dance card full whenever the music ends. It’s easy enough to find a crowd large enough to hide you from him, and yet you still catch glimpses of Newt from across the hall, several partners down, in a carriage many behind yours. You successfully go two balls, then three, without seeing him, but it aches like a knife in your ribs when you think about what could have been.

As it turns out, you’re not the only one wishing you were with him. At the fifth ball of the season, your attempts to distance yourself from the viscount are foiled at last. Newt tracks you down, signing his name on your dance card before you can stop him before leading you out to the dance floor.

“That’s a rather abrupt way of asking a lady to dance, don’t you think?” You ask as you curtsy.

Newt bows. “I felt it was the only way of guaranteeing that you would dance with me.”

“A lady never declines a gentleman in need of a dance,” you remind him.

The music picks up, and the two of you begin your paces. “A lady also never avoids a gentleman as thoroughly as you have at the last few balls,” Newt says. “Were it not for the fact that I know you to be as perfectly agreeable a duchess as there could ever be, I would say that it was personal.”

You can’t look him in the eyes, even with his hands on you, guiding you through the steps. “It’s not meant to work out, my lord. Us, I mean. We cannot forget the rules.”

When Newt speaks again, his voice sounds hurt. “Why not? Forgive me, my lady, but I remember what it was like that first night. You were happy. We were happy, and happy together. What changed?”

At last, you risk a glance towards him, and instantly regret it. Newt’s eyes are filled with genuine hurt. Are you wrong? Did he actually want you as more than a cover-up? “I heard about your sister,” you say as delicately as you can.

Still, Newt flinches as if you’ve hit him. “You don’t know the full story,” Newt says raggedly.

“Then tell me,” you beg him. “I would choose you if I could, but everyone seems to think that you are only interested in me to advance your station. Give me a reason to believe in you, not them.”

“I can’t say it here,” Newt whispers.

“I can’t go somewhere with you alone,” you tell him quietly. “Especially not after what happened to your sister. You must tell me now, or we will never have another chance.”

“Alright,” he says at last. “But you mustn’t breathe a word of it to anyone.”

Once you agree, Newt begins to speak in a hushed whisper hardly audible to you, let alone the other couples around you. “Sonya is deeply in love with Lord Aris, and he is in love with her. So much so to the point that he has been battling a deep rage ever since that awful gossip rag, Lady Whistledown, slightly disparaged her last season. He took it upon himself to find out Lady Whistledown’s identity, and somehow, he did. The only problem is, Lady Whistledown is not someone Sonya would consider a friend. He wanted to warn her about the dangers of being anything less than perfect around that insidious writer, and he didn’t want to waste a moment. He called on her to meet with him as soon as possible. He didn’t think they would be seen, but they were, and of course Lady Whistledown ran with it to discredit them in case they would reveal her.”

You suck in a harsh breath. “It was never anything wrong, then. He merely wanted to protect her.”

Newt nods. “Lord Aris is a good man. He never would have done something like this if he realized how it would backfire. He regrets it daily, even though all he wanted to do was keep my sister safe. The ton knows their characters, too. Neither of them would do anything unseemly. The rumors diminish by the day, and soon, it will all be over. They will be happily married.”

He sighs and looks at you again. “I tell you this to explain myself, and to clear my name. I have nothing to hide from the situation with my sister and her future husband. In fact, it is only because they directly asked me not to spread this information that I haven’t gone public with the identity of Lady Whistledown herself to spare their reputations. I have nothing to fear, my lady. Certainly nothing that would make me risk the happiness of my marriage on a good rumor. I would court you because I have never met anyone like you before, nor do I think I ever will. You are utterly entrancing in every possible way. If you do not wish to be with me in that fashion, I would understand.”

You shake your head quickly. “I do want that, my lord. I want you.”

A careful smile slips across Newt’s face. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” you tell him. “I have wanted you since the moment I saw you at my presentation. I would have found you no matter what lies they spread.”

Newt grins. “I believe I have decided something important, my lady. About your inner nature.”

You arch a brow as he spins you. “And what is that?”

“You’re a hound,” he informs you matter-of-factly. “Sharp and bright. Brave, too. But, then again, I am a hound as well. We make quite the pair, I think.”

“I think so too,” you tell him. In the days to come, rumors will abound about the viscount and the duchess. At first, there will be surprise across the ton, but then, even the most tenacious of gossips will realize that this makes perfect sense. The most clever of men and the most ambitious of women, bound together in holy matrimony. Even the best of poets couldn’t concoct a story that beautiful.

requested by @thornyrose463, i hope you enjoy!

the maze runner tag list: @blondsauduun, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @mayfieldss, @hiya-itsamber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @imwaysthelastchoice, @fadedver, @il0vebeingdelulu

all tags list: @wordsarelife

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cornenhapovs · 3 months ago

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𝐆𝐮𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞 ( 𝒔𝒊𝒎 𝒋𝒂𝒆𝒚𝒖𝒏 ) ── 𖥔 엔하이픈

꒰ ♡ ꒱ ; detective jake × detective yn ; slightly cussing ; enemies ; banters ; mild sexual tension ; set in early 90s

꒰ sʏɴᴏᴘsɪs ꒱ A story about 2 detectives who were always on eachother throat . This is set during early 90s era where woman detective were not taken lightly and it's dominated by men only . So me and Jake were enemies despite being in the same team . But one thing was evident an underlying sexual tension and the urge to make one another break our facade.

Detective Jake Sim slammed the door to their shared office, causing pictures on the wall to rattle. He was seething with anger, and as usual, it was all thanks to his partner, Detective yn..aka YOU .

"You just love to cause trouble, don't you?" Jake accused, glaring at you . You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed by his angry demeanor. "Me? You're the one who's always so tightly wound up. Maybe you should learn to chill out for once."

"Chill out? You're the reason our cases always end in a mess," Jake shot back.

"Oh, so now it's my fault our cases are complicated?" You said sarcastically. "If anything, your inability to think outside the box is the real problem here."

"My inability to think outside the box? You're the one who always has a crazy plan that never works out," Jake retorted.

You rolled your eyes. "My plans might be unconventional, but at least I'm willing to take risks. You're just too much of a coward to try something different."

"Coward? Me?" Jake looked taken aback. "I'm just not reckless like you."

"Oh, please," you scoffed. "You're just afraid of making a mistake."

"And you're just a hot-headed know-it-all," Jake retorted.

You smirked. "Jealous that I'm smarter than you?"

"Jealous? Of you? Don't make me laugh," Jake said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

Why ? You still think I'm incompetent ? You retorted .

Jake let out a bitter laugh. "Oh, I don't think you're incompetent, detective. I know you are."

Your jaw clenched, her irritation with Jake growing with every word out of his mouth. "And what makes you so sure I'm incompetent?"

Jake shrugged nonchalantly. "It's simple really. You're impulsive, hot-headed, and you constantly disregard authority. Not exactly the traits of a competent detective."

"Impulsive? Hot-headed? And you're so perfect, aren't you?" You shot back.

Jake sneered. "Compared to you, I might as well be."

You took a step closer to him, your eyes narrowing. "You know, if you weren't so damn uptight, maybe you'd actually be halfway decent at your job and Best believe I will take the senior detective spot. Watch me. "

Jake laughed coldly. "You? Beat me for the senior detective spot? That's a good one."

You gritted her teeth. "Don't count me out just yet. I might just surprise you."

Jake looked you up and down, a small smirk playing on his lips. "Surprise me? I'd like to see you try."

You crossed your arms, returning his gaze with an equally smug smile. "Oh, you will. I'm determined to prove you wrong."

Jake's smirk faded slightly as he studied you . He couldn't shake off the feeling that there was something about you he didn't know, something that nagged at the back of his mind. But he quickly dismissed it, convinced that you are nothing more than a reckless and annoying partner. Jake leaned against his desk, feigning nonchalance. "You can try all you want, detective. But I know you're all talk. So, go ahead and surprise me."

Your smirk grew wider. "Trust me, I will. And I won't stop there. I'll make a fool out of you."

As you replied, a thought crossed Jake's mind. Something about you felt eerily familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

Jake couldn't help but notice the way your eyes blazed with determination. Despite your small stature, you exuded an undeniable confidence that was both annoying and intriguing. He brushed these thoughts aside, reminding himself that you are his rival, not someone he should be thinking about in that way.

As you both continued arguing, a strange tension began to fill the room. It was almost like a dance of cat and mouse - each one trying to outdo the other, yet the line between competition and attraction was becoming increasingly thin.

As the tension between you grew, Jake found himself losing focus on your argument. His gaze lingered on the way your hair cascaded down your shoulders, framing your face perfectly. He mentally scolded himself for even noticing such a small detail.

Y/N, on the other hand, was equally affected. Despite your annoyance with him, she couldn't help but notice the ripple of muscles beneath his shirt whenever he crossed his arms. You silently reprimanded herself for admiring such a cocky and infuriating man.

★ a/n should I do pt.2 ???

🏷️ @okwonyo @021894s @strawberrynull @boyfhee @lovelypham @teddyseong @chaconnenha

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velarisdusk · 27 days ago

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Lament of Control

Day 30: Dehumanization | Rhysand x Reader word count: 1k author's note: defaenization? depersonization? whatever. i present to you all (y'all, if y'all'll allow it)! the only male who could pull this off! please give a cold dark welcome to CoN Rhysand >:) ✦ . Kinktober Masterlist . ✦

The Court of Nightmares buzzes with tension. You kneel on the cold stone floor, your heart pounding as you feel the weight of all eyes upon you. Rhysand reclines on his throne, a picture of dark elegance, his presence commanding the room. The air is thick with the whispers of the court, a mix of intrigue and amusement as they watch you.

“You’ve got quite the mouth on you,” Rhysand begins, his voice smooth and low, carrying a tone that sends a shiver down your spine. He locks his gaze onto you, his expression both amused and predatory. “What should we do about that?”

Your stomach twists, and you swallow hard. You can feel the intensity of the court’s gaze, their anticipation wrapping around you like a noose. You mutter something under your breath—a thoughtless insult, a flicker of rebellion.

“Maybe you should learn to take it,” you snap, the defiance spilling out before you can think to stop it.

“What was that?” he asks, feigning innocence. His lips curve into a sly smile, but there’s an edge to his voice that warns you of the storm brewing beneath.

You meet his gaze, realizing your mistake too late. The amusement in his eyes hardens, and suddenly the atmosphere shifts, the excitement turning to something darker.

“You dare speak to me like that?” he says, standing from his throne with a fluid grace. “In my court?”

You realize the weight of your words, the ripple they’ve caused among the onlookers. But instead of fear, a defiant spark ignites within you. You don’t cower before him. You’re not afraid of the consequences, at least not yet.

But Rhysand’s smile vanishes, replaced by a cold, predatory glare that sends a shiver through the onlookers, each standing as if a steel rod had been driven through their spines. “You’ll regret that,” he growls, his voice laced with a power that makes the shadows in the room quiver in anticipation.

In an instant, his magic wraps around you, an invisible force that tightens like a vice. You open your mouth to speak, but you don’t make a sound. Panic flashes in your chest, but you can’t give him the satisfaction.

He steps closer, his presence looming over you, a dark shadow against the flickering candlelight. “Not a word from you unless I permit it, pet,” he murmurs, the low rumble of his voice vibrating through your very core. The court watched, their eyes gleaming with intrigue and hunger.

“You’ll learn to be obedient,” he continues, circling you like a predator sizing up its prey. As he moves, you feel the air shift around you, thickening with his authority. He pauses behind you, and you can sense the predatory smile curling on his lips. “Let’s start with…”

With a swift motion, he tears the fabric of your floor-length gown down the sides, the sound echoing through the hushed court like a bell tolling. The cool air hits your exposed skin, sending shivers racing down your spine. You feel the fabric part, exposing your hips and thighs, and your breath catches at the sudden vulnerability.

“There we go,” he says, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You look halfway decent now.” He circles you again, his fingers grazing your exposed skin, igniting heat and shame in equal measure.

“Now, let’s see how well you can serve your High Lord,” he commands, his gaze piercing into you. He brings his lips to your ear, speaking so softly only you can hear it. “Stand off to the side and hold drink platters for my court. You will not speak. You will not move unless instructed. Understood?”

You remain still, defiance coursing through you. You refuse to move, grounding yourself against the weight of his command.

His expression shifts, a mix of annoyance and amusement flickering across his features. In one swift motion, he turns you, his grip on your arm firm and unyielding. Before you can react, he shoves you off the dais, and you tumble down, landing in a heap on the cold stone floor.

The air rushes from your lungs, the shock of impact making your heart race. You attempt to push yourself up, but as if your body is no longer your own, you find yourself standing, the force of his powers compelling you to rise. You feel your feet moving beneath you, not of your own accord, as though an invisible string is pulling you toward the drink table.

“Good,” Rhysand murmurs, satisfaction lacing his voice as he watches you walk. “Obedience looks good on you, pet,” he calls out.

You grit your teeth, feeling the humiliation wash over you, but your body betrays you, moving toward the table as if it were an extension of his will. You balance the platters on your palms, your fingers trembling slightly as you feel the eyes of the court upon you, the weight of their gaze heavy with intrigue and amusement.

The court buzzes with excitement, their whispers a symphony of mockery and intrigue. Rhysand watches you with keen interest. “Look at it, everyone,” he calls out, his voice echoing through the chamber. “My little plaything has a new role tonight. Isn’t it delightful?”

Laughter ripples through the court, and you feel your cheeks flush with humiliation. He revels in your shame, and you can see the glint of pleasure in his eyes as he surveys the scene before him.

“It’s been such a long time since I’ve had a toy that knows its place,” he taunts, his gaze locking onto yours with a possessive intensity. He stands, crossing the distance between you with graceful strides, invading your space until you can feel the heat radiating from his body. “But I think it needs a little more training.”

His fingers grip your chin, tilting your face upward. You’re entirely vulnerable, your body a mere vessel for his whims. The shadows cling to him, their darkness enhancing his allure, making you feel even smaller beneath his gaze.

“Do you feel it? The weight of your insignificance?” he whispers, the low timbre of his voice both intoxicating and terrifying. “You exist only for my pleasure now.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Taglist <3 (i forgot to include this in the original post my bad yall)

@starlightazriel @nvdax @halo-hanging @paleidiot @kismet27

@mellowmusings @gracielacie @d3ad-ins1de @loviseamms @inkedinshadows

@natasha153 @deathdoordoctor @spacebananabud @secretsicanthideanymore @edance2000

@lorosette @alykatv @honethatty12 @hellabizzy @serena-capella

@acoazlove @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @scorpioriesling @hannzoaks @confusedsezure

@elenapri0502 @anneas11 @mrsjna @lilah-asteria @anarchiii

@randomgurl2326 @scarsandallaz @julesvanslutta @90angiex @fourthwing4ever

#kinktober #acotar #acotar smut #rhysand acotar #rhysand x reader #rhysand x reader smut

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hyunjilicious · 1 year ago

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First time with shy and insecure Felix??? Only if it's ok! Thank you!

🥺🥺 this was very adorable to think about!! I'm not sure about how it turned out tho, I hope it's decent!

Warnings: none really, it's very soft!! just unprotected sex, and also a brief description of oral (f receiving) (SMUT) 1k

Puffy and swollen, his lips parted softly to allow a low his to rush past them. His eye brows gathered together, here and there covered by the little strands of hair that fell prey to the layers of sweat that coated his forehead - his cheeks were red, burning hot to the touch, and his breathing matched his distressed expression.

“Easy, it’s ok” you cooed, cupping his face into your hands.

His innocent eyes snapped up and met yours, looking absolutely helpless and completely at your mercy. “Mhm,” Felix licked his lips and nodded, “Ok”

“Here” you said and guided on his hands to your hip, “Guide me, show me how fast you want it”

Now, he may have known exactly what he wanted, but overwhelmed as he was, even such a simple task as this one made his breath hitch in his throat. “Ok…”

Seeing the terrified look in his eyes, you softly pressed your lips against his, “It’s ok, baby, I promise”

But was it really? God knows he dreamed of this moment for so long, that he imagined every little thing over and over again, every single little detail every time he got the chance, but now it was different, unimaginably better. And there you were, sweet and patient, fully composed and calm unlike him, and the fact that he already felt like he was about to burst the second you straddled his hips, wasn’t of any help. Right now, you weren’t moving and he dreaded the fact that any second now you’d start rolling your hips and he knew he'd be done in the blink of an eye.

“I didn’t-” he cringed, “I didn’t think you’d be this tight”

You grinned, “You like it?”

“I’ll cum if you move” he said shortly and it made you giggle.

“I can stay like this for a while if you want” you pecked his lips, “Or I can make you cum… over and over again, you tell me”

Felix opened his mouth to speak but then stopped abruptly to wipe his forehead, “Fuck, I just- I didn’t want to cum this fast”

“Why not? I can’t wait to feel your cum dripping out of me” your words got to him more than you thought they would, translated into a sharp buck of his hips up into you and a soft, little moan against your lips.

“I don’t- I don’t want to be one of those guys that just- just like… I want it to feel good for you too”

“First of all, just because one of us cums, it doesn’t mean that the fun has to end. And second of all-” you grabbed his hand and guided it between your bodies. The very subtle movement of your hips made him cry out in pleasure, his cock slipping halfway out of you. His eyes widened - another thing he didn’t know would rock him so hard - the sight of his glistering cock, drenched with your juices, disappearing between your folds. “Should’ve probably let it show more, but I thought that if I pretended to be calm and unbothered it would help you relax. I didn’t think I needed to tell you, but it feels very good for me too, Lixie. Filling me up so good”

With his chest shiny and rapidly traveling up and down, Felix looked up, “Promise?”

“I promise, baby” you smiled.

He then fervently nodded and swallowed the lump in his throat, “Ok, then”

Again, you grabbed his hands and placed them on his hips, “Guide me”

His touch was feather light, he wasn’t doing much - not at first at least. But you did your best to follow his lead and slowly started rolling your hips against his, the friction making your eyes flutter shut just as you cupped his cheeks and kissed his lips.

The deeper the kiss got, the more confidence he had - his fingers sinking into your skin, his cock rock hard and ready to coat your walls at any second. But despite running out of air at a dangerously fast pace, he didn’t want to pull away from your lips, his tongue just becoming greedier and greedier until, despite his best efforts, he just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Fuck, fuck, ok-” he panted, his forehead against yours, “I’m gonna-”

“Come on” you cut him off, picking up your pace, and fucking yourself down on his cock, “Cum inside me, baby, come on”

You rode him throughout the entirety of his high, feeding on the way your name rolled off his lips along with little moans and guttural grunts of pure pleasure, his head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut. You kept going until he met your eyes, and then progressively slowed down until you reached a stop.

With an orgasm building in the pit of your stomach but still not close enough to be chased right away, you savored the feeling of his cock pulsating against your sensitive walls, his cum dripping down your cunt, and his heaving chest against yours.

"How are you feeling, Lixie?" you asked, rubbing his lower lip with your thumb.

"So fucking good" he chuckled, as if in disbelief, and then kissed your finger. "I love you so much"

"I love you too, baby" you said, kissing his jaw, and you remained like that for a couple of more moments, before finally pulling away. "I, ugh, I'll go clean up a bit"

Swiftly, his eyes traveled down your body, to your parted legs and to the way his cum coated your pussy and slowly dripped out. "Fuck, you look so hot like that" he sighed.

Without saying a word, you brushed two of your fingers along your cunt to gather as much of his cum as you could. Felix watched you wordlessly and couldn't help but blush when he saw you stick your fingers in your mouth and suck, "You taste so good, Lixie!"

"Can I?" he blurted before he could stop himself and the second you nodded yes, he went for it.

Arms wrapped around your thighs as they rested on his shoulders, he got lost between your legs, his lips instantly pressing to your cunt and his tongue diving right in.

It may have been sloppy, and he may not have known what he was doing, but after stopping a couple of times to ask for instructions - which he followed to a T, he drove you to one of the most liberating orgasms of your life, leaving you absolutely nothing else other than a moaning, panting mess under him.

#lee felix x reader #felix x reader #felix smut #lee felix smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids x reader #lee felix imagines #felix imagines

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