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felibrary · 6 months

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wish you were sober

synopsis: in which you drunkenly confess to aventurine and he doesn’t believe you, rather believing that he’s not worthy, less even deserving of your love. despite that, his insecurity, you're under the belief that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. love - something that you want to introduce to him and show him “what it means to love you.”

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 2.3k (i’ve gone insane) | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, alcohol; they're both drunk, insecure aventurine, unestablished relationship, they label themself as friends but reader barely knows anything abt him LMFAO, dual pov, DO YALL GET THE REFERENCE IN THE SYNOPSIS LMFAO??, rushed ending icl, half assed-ly proofread; oneshot

a/n: yesterday i listened to wish you were sober by conan gray and was like “damn.. this’d fit sunday” but then i asked azul what he thinks cause i couldn’t decide between su**day and <aventurine3. and they replied with that it’d be so much more angsty with aventurine (okay not quote on quote but you get the msg) and i dislike su**ay anyway!! so boom! (y’all are still getting another sunday fic..yay..ig.....)

tags: beloved @azullumi <3 and @cherieiu (stop punching me)

“i love you.”

your confession doesn't come over as surprising for aventurine, he anticipated it. just like how the ebb awaits the flood, yearning for it but disappearing as soon as it arrives. missing out on each other for just a split second, as the other party sweeps and slips away from the grasp of the other. nevertheless aventurine is glued to his seat on the rich sofa.

colorful poker chips are splattered around the rich mahogany floor tiles, bottles of vodka and wine, some already with their cork removed and empty, others who haven't even been opened yet. a chandelier adorning the ceiling of the big room, its lightbulbs glowing dimly in the caliginous room, illuminating it.

one of the lamps flickers while the others continue to shine brightly - too brightly aventurine thinks, if he were to watch them any longer he’d feel like melting. the closer he got to you the sun, the deeper he'd fall into the bottomless pit he managed to crawl out of.

the room reeks of alcohol. is the temperature rising? he feels like every time the last number on the digital clock changes the warmer it gets. his blond bangs stick to his forehead and beads of sweat are running down his flushed cheeks - that answers his question.

it’s hot - humid even. he's not sure if he's able to bear the heat in this narrow atmosphere any longer. he tries to blow the sweat away by waving at his face with his hand, trying to cool off his face - a futile attempt. god, what's this a/c even good for, if it can't do it's damn job.

he opens his mouth with the intent of wanting to say that you're lying, that you shouldn't say stuff like that when you're drunk and that you'll regret later. but he doesn't, he refrains from doing so. instead he gulps down the words immediately, letter for letter. they're a bitter pillow to swallow. flowing down his throat like the wavering water running down a stream - intoxicating, similar to the alcoholic liquid you've downed.

the blond looks at you through half lidded eyes. you lift yourself off the ground, he takes notice that you have a hard time doing so, legs slightly trembling as you remove them from the floor tiles. (you've always been a lightweight he thinks)

as you make your way over to him, standing up and wanting to sit yourself next to him on the large black leather sofa. you clumsily bump against one of the almost empty shot glasses that still lies on the floor. tripping over the small glass as your foot comes in contact with it. the glass that still contained some of the red wine you've poured in, not too long ago, tumbles as easily as a domino tile, falling upon the smallest touch. making the flimsy piece immediately meet the ground.

it breaks into a few sharp shards and the remaining alcohol starts seeping out of it, staining your once white socks with crimson colored alcohol. “ah m’sorry!” you mumble as you quickly bend down to gingerly pick up the fragments, placing them in the palm of your hand carefully, so that they won't cut you and leave slits.

aventurine takes another peek at you as you tidy up. your face is flushed, your cheeks tinted in a bright red and you let out incoherent sorrys, blabbering incomplete phrases. he wants to tell you that it's alright. that he feels the same and reciprocates yours feelings, that you don't have to apologize and he'll help you.

but he freezes.

the words that he wants to tell you, the ones he's been longing to say don't leave his mouth. neither does he move. instead he coughs, continuing to watch you while you clean up. a tissue has found its way into your right hand, helping you soak up the alcohol. (its his hand that should be intertwined with yours, not the tissue)

his throat hurts.

(he's not in the right mindspace to acknowledge if it's because of you - the unsaid words that he didn't reveal to you yet or because of the alcohol.)

it's dry and lacks any kind of refreshing liquid that'd quench the drought that occurs in his throat. he contemplates, thinking about the choices he has. swallowing down his own spit isn't worth it, it makes his throat burn even more.

he comes to the decision to pour himself another glass of alcohol. (debatably his worst decision until now.)

twirling the almost translucent liquid in his glass, before fully gulping it down in one go. a bit of the alcohol escapes the depths of his mouth, running down his chin and messily staining his porcelain-like skin.

he doesn't like the bitter taste, he can't seem to befriend himself with it. (neither can he befriend him with himself) although it's not the worst, he's just not able to find a reason to like it. after all, after a single sip it starts to sting as it enters his mouth.

the scent isn't great either, it smells strong, too strong for his liking, a scent that reeks of cleaning detergent and not to mention, it prickles on his tongue and burns as it slides down his throat when it makes its way into his blood. but there's one thing aventurine can't deny: it's efficiency.

it fulfills its purpose well making him lightheaded and dizzy, to the point of forgetting everything.

all sounds are drowned out. even the lame pop songs playlist you turned on because you insisted that “it'll set the right mood” is barely audible for him now. his ears hurt hellish, he wants to put his hands over his ears to escape the white noise. the sound that plays in his ears is similar to the one of when an airplane starts boarding - an unpleasant noise.

the only sound that remains for aventurine’s slightly drunk state is your voice. it echoes through his ears. your drunk confession playing over and over in his mind like a broken record, anticipating the day it'll be fixed, so the misery it is in ceases.

his sloppy and sluggish movements - the way his hands tremble as he pours himself another glass, the nervousness that forms inside his body and the blush that spreads as quickly as a wildfire on his cheeks - they're tormenting him, and he blames none other than the alcohol for it.

“a drunk mind speaks a sober heart, drunk words are sober thoughts, when you're drunk you reveal your true desires” his ass. the both of you are just friends. friends that are acquainted through work, nothing more, nothing less. aventurine couldn't bear to lose his only friend, after all he's already lost everything.

(anything he'd never want to lose will eventually be lost. it is as if fate had decided that everything that is worth wanting, everything that he wants to have and keep, will be lost the moment he gets his fingers on it. to aventurine there’s nothing worth pursuing at the cost of prolonging a life that is full of anguish.)

his father whom he never got to meet, his mother and sister whom he was forced to leave behind and kakavasha, his younger self. all will be lost - everything was lost. if he wasn't careful now, one slip up on the thin ice or feet accidentally trampling over the floor full of eggshells, he'd not only lose himself in the process, but you too. his one and only friend.

crossing this line he set for himself, as he drew it along the earthy ground with his calloused fingers, trembling as they traced over the mud.

walking past the border that was created to keep everything and everyone distant from him, as he stood on the other side turning his back from the world, walking away and waving, to bid his goodbye from them.

the wall he built around him to shield him from the world, protecting everyone from the ugly thing that was kept inside , protecting himself from the people that only want to torment him.

forgetting all of these things, leaving them behind for you would mean showing you who he really was. a frail human being that hides himself behind a mask. the theater curtains revealing the person who played the role of the man who had called himself aventurine for the past years. placing him in the spotlight and giving the audience a show they'll never forget, like the fool he is.

aventurine doesn't think that he is loveable, that he's undeserving of love - your love.

you think that aventurine deserves all the love in the world. providing him with said love, embracing him and showing him how pure love can be.

the blond caught your eye right away. he was charming, funny and handsome. aventurine turned into your little work crush, your motivation to convince yourself just to see him.

the road was rocky and full of obstacles, set up by none other than aventurine. it gave you a better perception of who he really was and it intrigued you even more. why does he hide himself away from the world? why does he convince himself to not get anyone close to him even though he longs for the touch of another person? who is aventurine, really?

you can't answer any of these questions and neither are you certain if aventurine really can but that doesn't stop you. you continue to climb up all the way to know who he is, who the person you fell in love with really is.

love, is weird isn't it? it comes in all different shapes and forms.

if someone were to ask you why you like him, you wouldn't know how to answer, because neither do you know.

but nevertheless you still like him. why? how come you like someone that you don't even know, someone that is foreign to you, almost like a stranger. even though the both of you label yourself as “friends.”

you're not sure what the color is that infuses his irises, he keeps them hidden beneath his glasses. despite that, you long to stare into his eyes and let all the plain and dull parts of your life get painted in the same colors of his hues. a color that brings you comfort and cures your sorrow. it's the hues that you want to stare at as you tuck a golden strand of hair behind his ear, in return he grants you a small but genuine smile.

a smile that you want to see more often, one that you want to keep for yourself.

as for his scent, every person has their own unique and special scent. you plead to the gods above that he’ll let you bury your head into the crook of his neck and absorb his smell so it becomes the only scent that lingers around your nose.

there are so many more things that you want to know about him but you're unaware of. one might say that you're odd for liking - no, loving someone that you barely know.

a stranger, a foreign person whom you know little about to almost nothing about, is the person that you love. absurd isn't it? but love is weird, love can be pure and ridiculous, but it can also be painful and heart wrenching. love is a feeling that not only brings joy to oneself but also causes pain. but it's a feeling that you never want to get rid of - not until you introduced aventurine to it. showing him what love has to offer and has in store.

in the iridescent light aventurine remains to look as ethereal as ever. a scent of vodka lingers around aventurines figure, the smell is strong, but you couldn't care less. his hair is disheveled but nevertheless continues to shine in the dazzling light. he lets out a tiring yawn and you couldn't imagine aventurine any more beautiful than in this moment.

vulnerable and for your eyes only. making it unable for you to tear your gaze away from the sight before you.

he's like a shooting star, if you don't continue to watch and follow it and blink, even if it's just for a single moment - it's all over and you'll never see it again.

“stop looking at me like that.” aventurine mumbles quietly, almost whispering. upon hearing that, you make your way over to him, glass shards long forgotten as you place them on the small coffee table in front of the sofa.

your arms reach out to aventurine, clutching your hands on his shoulders. your grip is sluggish but you don't falter and continue to hold him. “like what?” your lips are slightly parted and your gaze is drowsy as you counter aventurine's question with a question of your own.

“like that.” he placed the hand that just rested on his thigh, on your cheek, slightly caressing it. “you're just gonna hurt the both of us if you keep this up any longer.” he's not sure where the boldness came from, he blames it on the alcohol once again; it finally seemed to kick in.

“‘m not lying” you hiccup. tomorrow i’ll tell you how much i love you, no matter if it's once” a cough exits your throat “or a hundred times.” the words that leave your mouth are slurred, they're incoherent and muddled up. your grip on his shoulder weakens, hands slipping off and head falling against his chest.

..did you seriously just black out?

aventurine can only sigh at that. a small smile finds its way onto his face. he snakes his arms around you waist, snuggling his face into the crook of your neck and hugging you with the remaining power he had left before falling asleep. guess there'll be a lot to unpack tomorrow but for now he allows himself to indulge in this shared moment between the two of you.

e/n: hope yall enjoyed this as much as i hated writing this!! (i wanted to throw up) i acc hate how i wrote this. it's not as choppy as when i started writing it but it still feels so rushed and so idk.. anyway reblogs with comments are very much appreciated! >< ALSO that one paragraph written in brackets..guess whose speech it was inspired byyyyy (hint: bsd!!)

#toorurs #honkai star rail #hsr #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail fluff #hsr fluff #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr #aventurine x reader #aventurine fluff #aventurine angst #aventurine imgines #aventurine headcanons #hsr imagines #honkai star rail imagines #hsr headcanons

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cherrychilli · 3 months

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18+ Eddie Munson x f! reader, established relationship, reader has sensitive nipples, nipple play(f receiving), brief handjob mention, use of nipple clamps, allusions to PIV sex WC:4K

You were right where you wanted to be, alone together in Eddie's van, not exactly cramped but you liked that it required you to press up against each other a lot more than if you were somewhere more spacious.

After an hour and a half of nervously pulling at the hem of your new pleated skirt, not used to showing your legs off like this, you allowed it to inch up around your thighs when he pulled you closer to straddle his lap, no longer concerned about how much skin you're revealing when he's touching you so eagerly, whispering honeyed praises against your heated skin.

The buttons on your blouse were undone while Eddie had his lips at your neck, sucking and nipping hard enough to make you draw sharp, shuddery breaths. One of his hands snuck underneath the unbuttoned fabric and smoothed over your ribs, thumb tracing the curve of your breast, finding no cotton or lace there this time.

The discovery prompts a smile to emerge on his face which you can feel as he presses sweet kisses along your jaw, one of your own starting to form on your lips as you pluck up the courage to take the lead.

Flattening your palms against his broad chest, you're able to gently guide him back against the leather seat, interrupting the path he was kissing up towards your lips. Eddie lets out a little groan in protest, lips pushing into a pout, not wanting to spend even a moment without his lips on your skin but he's quick to perk up when he sees you start to pull at your blouse.

Easing it down your shoulders, you let him see you like this for the first time, chest completely bare, nipples pert and pulled tight. You’re all warm and soft, perfumed skin turned dewy with a light sheen of sweat; your figure cloaked in moonlight that shines through the windscreen on this lonely dirt road he’s chosen to park at.

In the past, you've only ever let him touch your breasts over your clothes in the short time that you've been together, never receiving any kind of complaint about it from Eddie like you had with some of the boys you’ve dated previously. While those boys had bitched and moaned about it, claiming blue balls and other bullshit excuses in the hopes of getting you to take your clothes off, Eddie had only ever been respectful and considerate, treating you with the decency most others had lacked.

"Shit, baby they're so pretty", he breathed, saying it with so much adoration and sincerity it makes you swoon.

"Can I? please?", he begged softly next, hands drawing closer towards your breasts, waiting for you to give him permission to touch you there.

You draw in a deep breath to prepare yourself.

He was going to find out eventually.

You wanted him to find out. You'd been waiting for him to discover your little secret all on his own because you couldn't bring yourself to look him in the eyes and explain without burning up.

"Yes Eddie, I want you to touch me", you answer with a smile, soft and yearning. Those long, thick fingers you've daydreamed about while watching him pinch the end of a cigarette or pluck aptly at guitar strings were finally reaching for you, climbing higher, thumb and index fingers closing around a perky nipple.

It was easy to anticipate his touch but not the effect of it, calloused fingertips making sparks light up on your skin unlike what you could produce on your own, hot and instantaneous like striking a match.

The way you suddenly gasp and twitch in his lap has him pulling his hand away from surprise, eyes widening, lips parting.

"Sweetheart..."

This was it. This was the part that made your whole face feel like it might go up in smoke, watching the realization spread across his face.

You knew you were pretty sensitive, probably more than most people, some light grazing and gentle squeezing enough to set you alight whenever you played with yourself. For the longest time you wanted to hide it, that feeling only worsening when none of the other boys you went out with showed you the patience or kindness you deserved but with Eddie? Well, you were starting to feel differently about the whole thing now.

"Have they always been like this?", he asks with so much awe pooling in his eyes, all round and practically glittering with excitement that you feel no room for your usual self-consciousness to creep in and make you want to curl away from his sight.

Instead, you lean in a little closer and offer him a chaste nod, breath caught in your throat as he reaches for the same nipple again.

He's a little more gentle this time, index finger pointed to circle the outline of your areola, feeling you twitch and your chest rise and fall with a pleased sigh beneath his fingertip before flicking his eyes up to yours.

"Ever cum from this? just this?"

Oh.

He’s getting right down to it. None of that beating around the bush kind of bullshit and honestly, you liked that.

"Yeah. Yeah, sometimes", you tell him truthfully, growing more excited when he grins up at you, teeth bared like a panther ready to pounce.

Without warning, he begins swiping his thumb back and forth over one tender bud, his bulge growing more prominent under his jeans when you jerk in his lap, thighs squeezing around his hips, letting out a little mewl from the sudden stimulation.

You could have argued that it was mean of him to catch you off guard like that but you didn't. Not when you liked it so much. And he could tell that you did.

Seeing the corner of your lips pick up through your shaky exhale, he progresses to pinching both nipples gently, your spine curving when he tugged on them next and rolls them both between his fingers, squirming in his lap, nails digging into his leather jacket.

"Fuck, baby they're so sensitive", he covers your tits with his large palms, squeezing the soft swell, kneading them.

"Gonna put my mouth on them. That okay?"

"Fuck, yes Eddie please", you choked out, hands leaving his shoulders to wind your fingers into his soft curls, pulling him closer.

He tongues and laps at your nipples with fervor, flicking and swirling, lips sucking the sensitive peaks until you buck and grind down into his lap, clothed clit catching on his bulge perfectly.

The magma he'd breathed into your veins flows through your chest and spills down into your stomach, licking over your bones as it descends, surging, roiling, everything growing hot and contracting tight inside you. "Eddie, oh fuck– wai–", you'd meant to warn him but it all happens much faster and harder than you're used to. You came with your nails scraping along his scalp though he shows no sign of discomfort as you clutched at him, whining so high and loud, the wetness pooling in your panties transferring to his clothes.

Registering the dampness saturating the front of his jeans he reluctantly lets your swollen nipple go, able to pull back when your hold on him slackens, eyes searching for yours.

"Fuck– are you okay? could you do that again? is it too much? do you need a break?", he rambles, caught between not wanting to overwhelm you and wanting to watch you come undone in his lap again and again.

Large warm hands rub soothingly at your waist while you catch your breath, pulse just a little under racing when you give him your answer. One that leads to him making you cum twice more before it's your turn to help sate Eddie's throbbing ache, taking him into your hand and stroking him until he spilled messily all over your fingers.

Sharing your little secret with him sparked an obsession that you happily welcomed. Eddie couldn't get enough of how reactive you were to his touch, the way you writhed and moaned, no penetration required. You reveled in his attention and the pleasure it brought you. So much so that weeks later you find yourself wanting to take things further.

Wanting to surprise him, you had him drive you close to the mall under the pretense of needing to buy something important but it wasn't until you arrived outside the store you'd directed him to that you admitted what the item was.

The adult boutique was one you’d surveyed curiously out of the corner of your eye and only when you were certain no one else could see you do so every time you passed it on your way to the mall, intrigued by the cherry red neon sign advertising its collection of intimate apparel and adult toys, never thinking that one day you'd actually end up going inside.

From the moment you revealed the truth to Eddie, you knew what you were in for. The boy practically lit up like a Christmas tree, unable to contain his excitement. You had to tug him along through the store. Like blinkers on a horse, you kept him on path for what you had come in for, no detours. It was so clear he'd be in there for hours had he come in alone judging by the way his eyes kept darting to every corner, not wanting to miss seeing every item of paraphernalia displayed.

He's like a hummingbird, focus whizzing everywhere, pointing at every item that catches his attention, forgetting the last one as soon as he set his eyes on something new.

"Baby, what about that? you wanna go check it out?"

"Oh my god, look at those"

"What the hell are these even for?"

"Fuck, d'you see the size of that thing?"

And even though you roll your eyes you do find his enthusiasm endearing, even feeling grateful for it because it helps to put you at ease now that you've reached the part of the store you've been looking for.

"Oh honey...", he trails off, taking in the wall length display of literally every kind of nipple clamp one could imagine. While Eddie was awed by it you were a little overwhelmed by the collection and the options available – all kinds of styles, colors and attachments displayed and waiting to be picked.

"I don't know which ones I should choose", you admit, looking to Eddie for some guidance.

"Shit, I'll buy you the whole rack if that's what you want", he reached for a pair fitted with silver bells, poking it with his forefinger to make them chime. Not the most helpful suggestion but the gesture makes you fill with fondness for him nonetheless.

"I just need one pair, Eddie", you remind him with a giggle.

Aside from the store clerk who’d hardly paid either of you any attention, you were the only ones in the store and for that you were thankful. She was stony faced woman who regarded the two of you just once over her magazine when you entered, disinterest clear behind her reading glasses.

She left you and Eddie to browse as you pleased, seemingly having sized the pair of you up as the flustered first-time patrons that you were and looked to be past caring. Honestly, you preferred her distance over the types of sales assistants who tended to hover and with this being an intimate purchase, you'd rather not have a third-party looming over you as you surveyed the options.

You picked up different pairs of clamps off the display, trying to decide what might be best for you, getting Eddie's input too. Some looked cute and appealing and some bore too close a resemblance to something that might be used to commit torture. You ignored those in favor of the less intimidating ones.

"See these ones? they're pretty soft", Eddie picked up what you'd learned from your internet research was a tweezer style clamp, smoothing his thumb along the rubber tip. "Bet they'd fit great", he tells you, nearly holding them up to your breasts before remembering that you're still in public and within the clerk’s line of sight were she to look up from her magazine.

Drawing his hands back just as you let out a sunny laugh, the corner of your eyes crinkling in that way that made him want to kiss you there. He smiled then too; his happiness far vaster than what showed on his face as he saw you beginning to relax. "Anyway, they're not too tight. Adjustable. Could get you nice and worked up with just the right pressure".

It makes your cheeks feel warm hearing him talk about using them on you so unabashedly with that sort of confidence which came more easily to him than it did to you.

"Or these", he picked up a pair of alligator nipple clamps next, similar rubber padded tips adorning it but you know they're a little more advance than the previous pair. "I could get these nice and tight on you...if you want", he added, tapping on the screw mechanism that protruded from its side. "Keep those pretty nipples nice and pinched". He takes a step closer towards you and you can feel the heat radiating off him, just as you're sure he can feel the same coming off you.

You nearly whimper when he tips your chin up, thumb swiping along your bottom lip, tension building. "That what you want? want it to hurt?", he asked, eyes dark.

"Yeah, I want that", you answer, lips pressing against his thumb in a soft kiss, going from demure to brazen in an instant when your tongue slips out to lick the digit, doe eyes turning sultry.

"Jesus, baby..." he felt as if the world was somersaulting.

The choice was obvious then.

The clerk sighed when you approached the counter and set the alligator clamps down, eyes moving from her magazine straight to the register without connecting with either of you as she rang you up.

"Try not to hurt yourself", she said suddenly, all monotonous as your purchase beeped under the scanner and she tapped away on the keyboard.

The comment nearly makes you jump, launching into a sputtering ramble, cheeks very very warm as you assured her that you knew how to use them safely, your mind racing with all you'd learned from your research.

"I meant him", she cuts you off, tipping her head towards Eddie without looking away from the receipt as it spewed out of the thermal printer, tone impossibly bored like she'd been in this situation far more times than could be counted.

Confused, you looked to your boyfriend and quickly understood, finding his cheeks colored a deep shade of mauve, looking like the anticipation of what was to come had gotten the better of him. Your little playful swipe of your tongue must have affected him more than he'd let on.

"Remember to breathe or you'll get lightheaded, son", she advised, the epitome of world-weary. She tore off the receipt and held out your bagged up clamps in one hand and took her magazine back into the other, eyes lowering back to her article.

Eddie cleared his throat, the color draining from his face. Yours felt paper dry when you swallowed, mutely collecting your purchase before joining him in slinking away to the exit.

Eddie made the ride home in less time than you thought possible, even with you reminding him to slow down every time he pushed down too much on the accelerator. The mood wasn’t dampened for very long after you’d left the store.

"Sorry babe– I just can't wait", he’d said to you, smile bright, one hand leaving the steering wheel to squeeze your thigh. You felt the same way.

Back at yours, the bag rustled noisily in Eddie’s hold as he nearly tears the thing apart trying to get the clamps out while kicking off his shoes at the same time. You do your part in the meanwhile, shedding your layers of clothing until you’re left in just your panties.

“Alright” he huffed, cheeks pink, wielding the freed clamps, bag crumpled by his feet, tossing his shirt off and undoing his belt. “Got em. So how do you want to do this?”

“I was hoping we could try something I saw a few days ago?”, you posit hopefully.

Eyebrows raising, he listened intently as you told him about the videos you’d watched as part of your research. You had to click through quite a few, multiple viewings of women bound in leather and chains in dingy, scarlet rooms, their nipples slapped and pulled and clamped so tight it made you grimace. None of it was how you wanted to spend your first time using your own clamps with Eddie but then you found a different kind of video. Soft lighting, gentle caresses, airy moans. Sensual, lingering touches that made your own arousal climb, picturing your boyfriend handling you like that - readying you with both delicate care and fervent hands.

“That’s how I want you to touch me at the start. 'Want it like that before you put them on me”, you tell him.

With his pulse pounding and just as the clerk had advised, Eddie remembers to take a deep breath because listening to you talk about how you want him to touch you has him so terribly excited already. “Yeah, I can do that”, he replied, Adams apple bobbing as he swallowed.

So, you positioned yourselves in the same way as in the video you’d watched. Eddie laid back in bed in his boxers, his back against the headboard and legs spread enough for you to lie between them with your head resting against his chest.

The clamps are set aside on your bedside table for the time being. He’s sweet with you as he gets you ready, lips dropping kisses on your cheek, neck and shoulder, hands warming your waist, climbing higher to cup your breasts gently.

“You’re amazing you know that? Surprising me today with all of this”, he squeezed gently and you sighed like you've been deprived of his touch for too long.

“Wanted to do it sooner”, you breathed, fingers furling over your thighs.

“Yeah?”, he prompts, swiping a thumb mildly over your right nipple, coaxing it to perk up.

“Yeah…you make me feel so good…so safe…never would have done it if it wasn’t for you, Eddie”, you confide, earnestly.

His heart swells hearing you say all that about him. “Sweetheart”, he crooned, feeling you shiver in his arms when he said it, rolling your left nipple between his fingers as you moan.

You let him touch you like this for a few minutes, fingers circling, sweeping gently over each peak, surprising you with an occasional pinch and groaning proudly when it made you arch into him further.

“Eddie, I think I’m ready now”, you let him know with a soft whimper.

He picks up one of the clamps and brings it up to your chest, pressing down on the lever, both of your eyes trained on the rubber tips parting to make room for your nipple.

“Gonna start with one. Okay?”, he circled your right nipple and you sucked in a short breath in preparation.

“Okay”

It’s impossible to feel nervous when he’s holding you so lovingly, letting the rubber tips close around your nipple gently. "How's that feel?", he makes sure to check. Your right breast pulsed from the scintillating twinge; the peak of your nipple squeezed just the perfect amount between the clamps.

"Good, really good– hurts but not too much. I like it", you explain softly

He clamps the second one on as well, the same sensation washing over your left breast too, the weight of the clamps hanging on your chest heightening the intensity with a gentle pull adding to the pinch.

"Fuck, these look amazing on you", he praised with a low drawl.

You could feel Eddie's cock pushing against the base of your spine now, trapped behind his boxers for the time being. "Think you could play with your clit for me? Until it’s time to take them off?", he requests sweetly.

You nod, working a hand between your thighs, finding the bump of your clit over your panties and rubbing gently to stave the pressure inside you.

"That's my good girl", he encourages you. It makes him feel greedy listening to you pleasure yourself while he squeezes your tits, committing every little mewl and moan to memory, lightly nudging and tugging at the clamps.

“Can still hardly believe this if I’m being honest, honey”, he mumbles against your cheek, his chin balanced on your shoulder.

“Because I don’t seem the type?”, you guessed with a whimper.

“You hid it pretty well, you have to admit”, he shrugged “Unlike me. It’s no secret that I’m into this stuff. Just look at me”

You giggle softly. “Yeah, the handcuff belt’s not the most subtle thing, is it?” you teased and it makes Eddie laugh too.

“It wasn’t easy. Hiding it from you I mean. I didn’t want to. I’m glad I don’t have to anymore”, you tell him gasping as your clit throbs beneath your fingers, panties growing damp with slick.

“Me too– Jesus you look so fucking sexy with these on, angel. Pretty naughty”, he winds a hand up to wrap around your throat in a light grasp, tugging on one of the clamps with the other.

“Eddie… how much longer?”, you whined, feeling impatient.

“Just a little longer, baby”, he chuckled.

The pinch begins to develop into a sting, not unpleasant but definitely more intense now. Your fingers slow down on your clit, still working you up but not enough to tip you over the edge.

The longer the clamps remain on your body the more you begin to squirm and twist like you’re trying to get away from the pinch, nearing your limit and Eddie senses it easily.

“Alright, let’s get them off.”

Gently, he takes off the right one first, marveling at how swollen and puffy your nipple looks now. It tingles as the blood flow resumes, a subtle throbbing coursing through in time with your heartbeat as well. when Eddie removes the second one next it feels the same, both of your nipples tingling and throbbing, so tender and in desperate need of having his fingers on them.

“Eddie please touch me”, you mewl, raking your nails over his thigh with your free hand.

It’s fiery bliss when he plays with your nipples now, making you cry out when he drags the blunt edge of a nail across your areola.

“That’s it baby, keep playing with that pretty clit for me– god, they’re so fucking perfect and sensitive”

You work yourself over with messy circles, taking on a sloppy but firm rhythm as you continue to stimulate your twitching clit.

“I meant what I said back at the store. I’ll buy you whatever you want, shit– we’ll have to because I’m going to wear these the fuck out, I can already tell”, he groans into the juncture of your neck, lightly humping his cock against your lower back for some much needed relief.

“Eddie” you moan, your orgasm in sight as he rolls your sore nipples between his fingers, tugging them and releasing them to watch your breasts bounce against your chest.

“You’d look so pretty with them on while you bounce on my cock. You want that don’t you? Want me to fill you up while you show off these pretty tits?”

Your fingers have turned tacky with your slick, the beginnings of a cramp starting to form in your knuckles but you're too fucking close to even think of stopping now. “Yes, Eddie – wanna feel you inside while I wear them”, you keen, your thighs squeezing so tight, the same as your belly when finally, the floodgates containing your pleasure swing open.

The impact feels like a thunderclap, a choked cry of Eddie's name spilling out of you as you writhe in his arms, spine curving into a beautiful arch, nails sinking into your bedsheets, your cunt drenching your panties with your tangy essence.

When you come to, you feel like you've been drifting in and out of weightlessness, realizing Eddie's been soothing you through the comedown, gently stroking your body when you turn around to blink up at him, smiling thankfully.

"How'd that feel?" he asks as if the answer wasn't obvious.

"Amazing", you tell him anyway. "Fuck Eds, I wanna do it again".

His smile widens into a toothy grin. He turns to snatch up the clamps once more from the bedside table before he wrestles you onto your back, peeling your wet panties from your body as you squeal delightedly, face flaring hot when he takes a moment to lick at the slick soaked cotton and lets out a rumbling groan.

"Good because–", he moves on to gently reattaching the clamps onto your swollen nipples again as you mewl, tugging his boxers off and letting them join your panties on the floor. "Gonna make you cum all over my cock while you wear them this time."

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson #stranger things smut #stranger things #eddie munson x reader

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thewulf · 4 months

Text

Teaching Trails || Azriel

Summary: Request - can i request a teacher reader x azriel where she's Nyx's teacher/tutor and feyre or rhysand asks az to pick him up since they're busy and he swears he falls in love on sight seeing reader be so sweet on Nyxie and how comfortable Nyx is around reader? just something sweet and fluffy and maybe a super nervous az when reader notices him at the doorway?? You can decide the rest. love your work!

A/N: Ahhhh I loved writing this. Idk I just picture Nyx as a sweet bubbly 5/6 year old in this. Adored writing this!

Pairing: Azriel x Female Reader (Night Court Reader)

Word Count: 5.0k +

TW: Use of Magic (fluffy!!)

As you stand at the edge of one of the many expansive terraces of the House of Wind, the air around you is crisp, the sky a clear, deep blue above the sprawling city of Velaris below. This majestic residence is perched like an eagle's nest atop a solitary mountain and commands a breathtaking view of the Night Court. Its beauty a sure giveaway to ancient power and elegance. Yet despite its grandeur there’s a poignant isolation to it. Especially for young Nyx, whose days are spent within these walls that soar closer to the stars than to the streets where other children play.

Inside the palace is a labyrinth of ornate halls and vast chambers. Each room a masterpiece of art and architecture designed for gods rather than a playful child. The echo of Nyx’s laughter often bounces off the high ceilings. A reminder of the solitude that accompanies his royal upbringing. He is a small but vibrant figure roaming the endless corridors exploring shadowed corners and hidden nooks. His solitude veiled by the splendor surrounding him.

It's during one such quiet evening as the horizon painted a watercolor of twilight hues that Feyre brings up her growing concern to Rhysand. They are in their private chambers. A place where the masks of High Lord and Lady can be set aside. Where vulnerabilities can be voiced without the weight of a crown.

"Nyx needs more than just us. He needs more than this palace," Feyre starts with her voice steady yet filled with an urgency that draws Rhysand’s full attention. "He’s missing out on normal interactions. The kind that happen away from royal duties and ceremonial greetings. He’s a child. He should be learning through play, through friendships formed in mud and laughter. Not just in state rooms and formal gardens."

Rhysand’s expression is torn. As a father he yearns for Nyx to have every happiness the world can offer. But as a ruler the thought of his son, so precious and so exposed, wandering beyond the enchanted safety of their home is daunting. "It's dangerous, Feyre," he counters. His voice laced with a protective edge. "The world isn’t always kind, especially not to those of royal blood."

"But isn’t it more dangerous to raise him in a bubble? How will he learn to lead? To understand his people, if he only ever sees them from a balcony or at formal events?" Feyre’s hands gesture emphatically. Her eyes alight with passion. "We need to let him explore, Rhys. We need to let him be a child. Not just a prince." Their conversation stretches into the night. Debates entwined with silent contemplations until a resolution begins to dawn much like the first light over the Sidra. Rhysand’s fears don’t dissipate entirely but his love for Nyx and his trust in Feyre’s instincts lead him to a concession.

"Alright," he says finally. A reluctant smile breaking through his concerns. "We’ll find him a teacher. Someone who can guide him, teach him, yes, but also someone who can take him beyond these walls. Let him learn about life. About our people through his own experiences. Not just through stories and reports."

Feyre’s relief is palpable and together they set out to find the perfect candidate. The search is exhaustive with candidates from across Prythian and beyond interviewed. They seek not just an educator but a guardian of sorts. Someone who understands the delicate balance of nurturing a child like Nyx. Someone who can foster his curiosity and protect his spirit.

The search for a tutor for young Nyx was not a decision taken lightly. Within the ornate conference room of the House of Wind, Feyre, Rhysand, and other key members of the Inner Circle—save for Azriel, who was away on duty—gathered to commence the rigorous interview process. The room was filled with an air of solemnity as each candidate presented themselves. Their credentials scrutinized not just for academic excellence but for a deeper understanding and alignment with the values of the Night Court.

Mor, with her keen sense of people, led the questioning. Her bright eyes missing nothing. Cassian injected moments of levity lightening the mood with his humor. While Amren's piercing gaze seemed to delve into the very souls of the candidates searching for sincerity and resilience. Each member of the Inner Circle brought their own perspective ensuring that the chosen teacher would not only educate Nyx academically but would also nurture his emotional and cultural development.

Then you entered the room. With a demeanor both warm and composed you introduced yourself. As you spoke about your educational philosophy making sure to emphasize experiential learning and emotional intelligence the panel was visibly impressed. Your background in educational psychology coupled with your years of experience teaching in diverse environments highlighted your capability to adapt and thrive in any teaching scenario. More importantly your genuine passion for fostering young minds resonated deeply with Feyre who nodded appreciatively at your thoughtful answers.

Throughout the interview, your approach to education which focused on developing both the intellect and the heart of a student was clearly aligned with the Night Court's ideals. You spoke of the importance of understanding each student's unique needs and adapting lessons to fit those needs. Even suggesting outdoor classes and cultural excursions that would allow Nyx to learn about his heritage in a tangible, engaging way.

As the interviews concluded and the candidates departed the room buzzed with discussions. It was clear to everyone that you stood out not just for your qualifications but for the gentle strength you exhibited. A trait they all deemed perfect for handling the sensitive nature of their prince's education.

When the decision was made Feyre personally reached out to offer you the position. The joy and excitement in your voice as you accepted was palpable. Aware of the immense responsibility of teaching the heir of the Night Court you were nonetheless thrilled by the opportunity to make a significant impact in a young child's life.

As you prepared to step into this new role your heart was buoyant with anticipation. Not just for the challenges ahead but for the chance to contribute to shaping a future leader of the Night Court. The trust placed in you by such revered figures was not just an honor but a truth to your life's work and passion igniting a fervent desire to start this new chapter.

In the heart of Velaris away from the towering isolation of the House of Wind you spend a delightful morning with Nyx at one of the city's lush public gardens. The day is warm. The gentle buzz of the city a distant backdrop to the laughter and learning that fills the air around the two of you.

You laid out a picnic blanket under the shade of a towering silverleaf tree. The spread covered with books, sketchpads, and an assortment of colorful pencils. Today's lesson is about the flora and fauna of Prythian. A topic that has Nyx bubbling with excitement and curiosity. As he sketches a butterfly that landed briefly on the edge of your blanket you explain the role of pollinators in the ecosystem, delighted by his insightful questions and the meticulous care he takes with his drawing.

"Nyx, do you see how the colors of its wings can tell us about its environment?" you ask as you were pointing to the delicate patterns that mirror the blooms around you.

"Yes!" he exclaims. His eyes lighting up with understanding. "It’s like camouflage, right? They blend in to stay safe from predators!"

"Exactly," you reply. Your heart swelling with pride at his quick grasp of the concepts.

The lesson shifts seamlessly from science to history as you guide Nyx through the stories of the Night Court. Each tale woven into the landmarks visible from your spot in the garden. Nyx listens, rapt, as you tell him about the ancient fae who once walked these paths. The battles they fought and the peace that now thrives in their stead.

As the morning progresses Nyx's natural curiosity leads him to a question that makes you pause. His small voice tinged with genuine wonder. "Why don't you have wings like my mom, dad, Uncle Cassian and Uncle Az? Like that pretty butterfly?" he asks. His head tilting as he regards you thoughtfully.

You smile softly, touched by his innocent inquiry. "Well, not all fae have wings, Nyx. Just like not all flowers have thorns," you explain using an analogy you know he'll understand. "Each of us is unique with different abilities and gifts. It’s what makes us all special in our own way."

Nyx nods considering this. "I think it’s cool you don’t need wings to fly. You have books and stories that can take you anywhere," he decides with a wise look crossing his features that makes you chuckle.

"That’s a wonderful way to put it, Nyx. And remember, we all have our own ways of soaring," you say ruffling his hair affectionately.

As you begin to pack up the day's learning materials you lean closer to Nyx with a conspiratorial whisper. "Tomorrow, we’re going to do something special. We'll join a class with other children your age. You’ll get to play and learn together with them," you tell him watching his face light up with sheer delight.

"Really? I'll have friends to play with?" His voice is filled with excitement. His earlier thoughts about wings forgotten in the anticipation of meeting new friends.

"Absolutely," you assure him sharing in his excitement. "It’ll be a lot of fun and you’ll make lots of new friends."

Nyx's eyes sparkle with anticipation as he begins to imagine the possibilities. "I'm going to tell mom and dad all about it tonight!" he exclaims already planning out his evening conversation. "And I’ll tell Uncle Az too. He likes hearing about my adventures."

The mention of Azriel, whom you've only heard about through Nyx’s enthusiastic stories, adds an interesting layer to your perception of the mysterious figure. "That sounds like a great idea," you respond, amused, and intrigued by Nyx’s affectionate mention of his uncle. "It seems Uncle Az is quite the hero in your stories."

"Yeah! He’s really cool! He can disappear like a shadow and is always on secret missions," Nyx says. His admiration for Azriel evident in his wide eyes and animated gestures.

The day ends with Nyx bouncing along the path back to you classroom chatting animatedly about all the things he hopes to do with the other children. His excitement about sharing his upcoming school day with his family, especially with his beloved Uncle Az, whom you've yet to meet but feel like you already know through Nyx's tales, fills the air with joy.

Your heart warms at his enthusiasm knowing that these new experiences are exactly what he needs. As Nyx sketches another flower with his small hand moving confidently you know these moments of joy and anticipation are as precious to him as they are to you, nurturing not just a young prince’s mind but also his spirit. The connections he's building with his family, with you, and soon with his peers are shaping him into a thoughtful, well-rounded individual, ready to explore the world with confidence and curiosity.

As the sun begins to dip below the horizon casting a warm, golden light through the windows of your classroom the day's adventures wind down to a quieter, more reflective pace. You sit in a cozy corner of the room on a soft, plush cushioned area you've set up specifically for reading. Nyx nestles beside you as his energy from earlier now softened into the gentle tiredness of a day well spent. In your hands a beautifully illustrated book about the legends of Prythian opens to a page where the heroic deeds of ancient warriors are painted in vivid colors.

As you read aloud, your voice smooth and soothing, Nyx's eyelids begin to flutter gently. You notice his weary smile as he listens. The adventures of the day transforming into the adventures in the pages. Gently, almost instinctively, you begin to caress his hair. Smoothing it back from his forehead in a tender, rhythmic motion. It's a peaceful scene, the kind of simple, heartfelt moment that often goes unnoticed in the bustling life of the Night Court.

Unknown to you his Uncle Azriel stands at the doorway having arrived to pick up Nyx. He pauses there, a silent observer, taken aback by the tranquility and warmth of the tableau before him. His task had been simple. He was to retrieve Nyx and bring him home but the scene he encounters tugs at something deep within him. A longing for such unguarded peace.

Azriel watches as Nyx's breathing deepens, the sweet child drifting closer to sleep with each gentle brush of your hand. Your care for Nyx, so natural and affectionate, strikes a chord in Azriel. He's seen many facets of life. So many forms of relationships and bonds but the simplicity and purity of this moment resonate with him profoundly.

He remains there at the threshold hesitant to interrupt the moment. He was captivated by the gentleness of your interactions with Nyx. The world he usually inhabits—one of shadows and secrets—feels miles away from the soft warmth of this sunlit room. In this pause Azriel realizes that his task isn't just about escorting Nyx. It's about respecting and appreciating the sacred, everyday magic that people like you bring into Nyx's life.

Eventually though the story comes to an unfortunate end, and you close the book before looking down at Nyx to see him fully asleep. A contented expression on his young face. As you carefully consider how to wake him Azriel finally clears his throat softly announcing his presence.

You look up, startled slightly, your eyes meeting his for the first time. There's a moment of mutual acknowledgment. A silent appreciation for the scene he's just witnessed. An understanding that while your worlds may be different the care you show to Nyx bridges them beautifully. Azriel steps into the room. His movements gentle as he did not want to disturb the serene atmosphere you've created.

"Thank you for taking such good care of him," Azriel says quietly. His voice carrying a warmth that surprises even him. "He obviously treasures these moments with you."

"You're welcome. It's truly a pleasure teaching him," you reply with a warm smile. Your eyes reflecting genuine affection for Nyx.

As you gently wake Nyx his eyes flutter open gradually clearing as they adjust to the presence of another in the room. When he spots Azriel standing quietly by the door a bright, sleepy smile spreads across his face. He quickly scrambles to his feet, excitement replacing any remnants of sleepiness.

"Uncle Az!" Nyx exclaims. His voice filled with delight as he runs into Azriel's open arms. Azriel catches him effortlessly before lifting him into a warm hug. They share a moment, uncle and nephew reunited, their easy laughter filling the room. You grin recognizing him as the infamous Azriel in Nyx’s life.

Then as if struck by a sudden realization Nyx turns back towards you with a look of proud excitement lighting up his features. With a firm grip on Azriel's hand he pulls him closer to you and announces, "This is Miss Y/N, my favorite teacher ever!" His voice carries through the room filled with genuine admiration and joy.

Azriel's gaze shifts to you. A slight tension beneath his calm demeanor as he processes Nyx's enthusiastic introduction. "It's a pleasure to meet you," he says, his voice steady but softer than usual, a subtle undercurrent of nervousness mingling with his words.

You smile warmly, extending your hand in greeting. "I've heard a lot about you, Azriel. Nyx tells me you're quite the hero," you say. Your tone light and inviting.

Azriel takes your hand and for a moment his usual composure falters under your gaze. He's momentarily taken aback not just by the warmth of your smile but by the unexpected impact of your presence. She's beautiful, he thinks, and kind... The realization that he's slightly awestruck surprises him. He finds himself momentarily lost for words.

"And I've heard you've been learning about heroes in your lessons with Nyx," he manages to say his voice carrying a hint of warmth that rarely surfaces. Nyx obviously pleased with the exchange claps his hands excitedly.

"Can we all walk back home together?" Nyx asks looking up at both of you with hopeful, bright eyes, “Please!” He adds in for good measure as if you weren’t going to immediately say yes to him.

"Of course, Nyx," Azriel responds after looking to you for confirmation.

You nod, gathering your belongings, and the three of you step out into the cool evening of Velaris. As you walk Nyx fills the air with chatter about his day seamlessly weaving together his two worlds with tales of butterflies and ancient warriors. Azriel listens with a soft smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His initial nervousness easing as he's drawn into the simple joy of the moment. His thoughts linger on you, intrigued, and unexpectedly moved by the genuine connection forming between you, Nyx, and himself. A beautiful end to an enriching day.

As the three of you begin your walk back through the twilight streets of Velaris the usual calm that Azriel embodies seems to waver slightly. He is typically a figure of stoic composure, his presence both commanding and elusive shadowed by the mysteries of his duties as the Spymaster. However, today, as he walks beside you, something is distinctly different.

Azriel's steps are measured. His usual fluid grace tempered by a hint of uncertainty. His glances towards you are quick, almost cautious, as if he's trying to decipher an unfamiliar script. The conversation flows easily around Nyx's enthusiastic chatter about his day but each time you turn your attention directly to Azriel a subtle tension flickers across his features.

"You really have a wonderful way with Nyx," you say hoping to bridge the gap with kindness. "He's always so excited to share what he's learned with you."

Azriel nods. A slight flush visible beneath the dusky hue of his skin. "Thank you," he murmurs as his voice is softer than usual. "It's... it's good to see him so happy. You do a lot for him."

The simplicity of your interactions, the easy smiles and gentle teasing you offer to Nyx, resonate with Azriel in a way that is both heartening and unnerving. He's unaccustomed to feeling this way—unsettled yet drawn in, eager yet shy. His hands though normally steady and sure whether wielding a weapon or a shadow clench slightly at his sides betraying his internal struggle.

As Nyx runs ahead a little, bursting with energy as he recounts another part of his day, Azriel takes a moment to compose himself. He glances at you again. This time holding your gaze a moment longer than before. The vulnerability rarely seen by others is palpable now as it was a quiet admission of his nervousness.

"I'm... not usually this unsure," Azriel confesses quietly almost to himself. "But there's something about these moments…. seeing Nyx so at ease with you. It's more comforting than I anticipated."

Your response is a gentle smile, one that acknowledges his admission without pressing further. It's a smile that seems to say you understand that the quiet spaces between words can be filled with kindness, not just silence.

The rest of the walk continues with a softer ease. A budding respect forming amidst the shared glances and the fading light of day. Azriel's initial nervousness slowly ebbs away instead replaced by a quiet appreciation for the unexpected warmth this evening has brought into his usually guarded world.

As the three of you approach the grandeur of the House of Wind, the towering structure casts long shadows over the cobblestone paths. It’s presence as awe-inspiring as it is imposing. Nyx who was still bubbling with energy despite the day's adventures, rushes ahead. Clearly he was eager to recount his tales to Feyre and Rhysand. You pause at the entrance. The vast doors open as if welcoming back its prince.

"It's been a wonderful day, Nyx," you say, giving him a soft hug. "Don't forget to draw that butterfly we talked about!"

"I won't, Miss Y/N!" Nyx promises. His voice echoing slightly in the vast entryway. He turns and dashes inside as his laughter lingered in the air.

You turn to Azriel with a smile gracing your lips. "Thank you for letting me share part of your evening. I should head back home now."

Azriel’s expression shifts. Concern etching his features. "It’s getting late," he observes while glancing at the skies, now painted with the deep blues and purples of dusk. "Please, allow me to walk you back to your home. The streets can be less than forgiving at this hour."

You pause appreciating his concern but ready to reassure him of your safety. "That’s very kind of you, Azriel, but it’s no worry. I know these streets well," you say as you turned to make your way down the path.

Before you can take more than a few steps a subtle but firm presence stops you. Looking down you see one of Azriel’s shadows has stretched out across the path in front of you almost playfully barring your way. It's a gentle unspoken plea that catches you by surprise echoing Azriel’s silent wish for you not to go alone.

Azriel takes a step forward. His gaze earnest. "I would truly feel better if I could ensure your safe return. Please," he adds. A rare hint of vulnerability in his voice that you hadn't expected.

Seeing the genuine concern in his eyes and touched by his quiet insistence you nod to him with a smile spreading across your face. "Alright, Azriel, if it means that much to you then I’d welcome the company," you agree. The warmth in your tone matching the softness in his eyes.

"Thank you," he replies visibly relieved. He quickly steps inside to ensure Nyx is settled and returns to you with a more relaxed demeanor ready to accompany you.

As you and Azriel begin the walk back to your home the streets of Velaris are bathed in the gentle glow of the stars and softly lit lanterns casting an enchanting light over the cobblestones. The atmosphere lends a serene backdrop to the conversation that begins to unfold between you.

"You know, Nyx speaks so highly of you," you start by breaking the initial silence with a warm tone. "He's always so excited after spending time with you. You must have some exciting tales from your duties."

Azriel chuckles softly. A sound so serene that it seems to dance in the night air. "Nyx has a way of making everything sound more thrilling than it might actually be. But yes, there are times when my duties hold some... intrigue." He pause, as if weighing what to share. "Mostly, I'm just ensuring that the court and our lands are safe. It's not always as adventurous as Nyx might depict."

"And what about when you're not cloaked in shadows and mystery?" you ask genuinely curious about the man beside you beyond his role as the Spymaster.

A hint of surprise flickers across Azriel's face. Surprised yet pleased by the interest you’re showing in him. "I enjoy solitude, usually. Reading, training... Though I have a fondness for sword making. It’s a craft that requires precision and patience much like my usual work but with a more tangible, creative result."

"Sword making? That’s fascinating," you remark smiling at the thought. "It must be rewarding to create something so intricate and vital."

"It is," he agrees. His voice softening ever so slightly. "And what about you? What do you enjoy doing in your free time?"

You nod before reflecting on your simple pleasures. "I love hiking and just watching nature. There’s something peaceful about observing the natural world. Just seeing how it exists so beautifully without any need for interference."

The conversation flows naturally from there. The earlier apprehension melting into a mutual appreciation for each other’s hobbies and life outside of official duties. As you talk Azriel’s steps seem to synchronize with yours. His presence an incredibly comforting shadow by your side.

When you finally reach your doorstep the city around you has quieted even further. The only sounds being the distant murmur of the Night Court's nightlife and the gentle rustling of leaves. Azriel pauses, standing just a bit closer than before. His usually guarded demeanor dimmed under the starlight.

"Thank you for allowing me to walk you home," he says. His voice sincere and gentle as if reflecting the calmness of the evening.

"It was my pleasure," you respond, finding yourself reluctant to end the conversation. "I enjoyed our talk, Azriel. It’s nice to see the person behind the shadows."

He smiles. A true smile that reaches his eyes making them sparkle with a rare lightness. "I did as well. More than I expected. Perhaps we could do this again, maybe take a hike together?"

"I’d like that," you agree. Your heart light with the promise of future conversations, of shared paths both literal and metaphorical.

"Good night, Miss Y/N. Take care," Azriel says as he steps back ready to meld back into the shadows from which he came.

"Good night, Azriel. And thank you… for everything tonight," you call after him. A smile still playing on your lips as you watch him disappear into the night. The connection between you both stronger and sweeter for the shared walk under Velaris’ starlit sky.

In the days that follow Azriel finds himself inventing reasons to visit your classroom or accompany Nyx to his lessons more often than strictly necessary. Each visit, purportedly to check on Nyx’s educational progress or to discuss scheduling with you becomes a cherished opportunity for him to engage in brief, yet meaningful conversations with you.

Each encounter, ostensibly casual, subtly deepens his affection and admiration for you. He begins to notice the small details: the way your eyes light up when discussing a new teaching method, the gentle patience with which you guide Nyx through difficult lessons, and the enthusiasm that bubbles up when you talk about your nature hikes. Azriel who was typically reserved and composed finds himself drawn into your world of vibrant enthusiasm and heartfelt dedication.

One afternoon as Azriel stands somewhat hidden by the doorway of your classroom just like he did that first day he met you observes a particularly touching scene. Nyx, having mastered a particularly tricky spell, turns to you with a triumphant grin. You laugh, your joy as vivid as the sparkle in Nyx's eyes. He swears your laughter seems to light up the room.

Watching this Azriel feels a warmth spread through him. A warmth that has little to do with the sun filtering in through the windows. It’s in this simple, unguarded moment that he realizes his feelings for you have deepened beyond mere admiration. He's not just falling for your kindness towards Nyx but also for the genuine spirit and infectious joy you bring into every interaction.

As he steps away from the doorway with a thoughtful smile playing on his lips Azriel knows that what he feels is something profound and undeniable. Your spirit which was so vibrant and full of life calls to him in a way that no one else ever has. And as he walks away with his shadows trailing behind him he’s certain of one thing. He wants to explore where this connection might lead not just for Nyx's sake but for his own heart’s as well.

After ensuring that Nyx was safely back at the House of Wind you begin to make your way back towards your home. The day's light is waning casting long shadows that stretch across the cobblestone streets of Velaris, adding a mystical allure to the city’s evening charm.

As you step forward, the sound of your footsteps is a soft echo in the quieting city. You're lost in thought pondering the pleasant interaction with Nyx and looking forward to the solitude of your evening walk home. However, before you can get far you hear Azriel’s voice calling out from behind you.

“Wait, please!” His tone carries a blend of urgency and hesitation that halt’s you in your tracks.

You turn around surprised to see him approaching quickly. His usually composed demeanor replaced by a slight breathlessness. The shadows that always linger around him seem to pulse in sync with the heightened beat of his heart.

Azriel catches up to you. His expression earnest. “I just wanted to ask properly,” he starts, his voice steadying as he meets your gaze. “Would you join me for a hike this evening? There’s a trail not far from here that’s especially beautiful in the evening light. I think you’d really enjoy the views, and...” He pauses before taking a breath reassuring himself, “I would really enjoy the company.”

Your smile deepens, touched by his sincerity and the vulnerable way he presents his request. The softening of his features and the hopeful look in his eyes paint a picture of a man stepping beyond the shadows that define him.

“I would love to, Azriel,” you reply warmly. Your voice filled with genuine excitement. “It sounds like a perfect way to end the day.”

Relief washes over Azriel’s face. His usual stoic mask giving way to a rare, genuine smile. “Thank you,” he says as if a weight was lifting from his shoulders. “Shall we meet at the edge of the city in half an hour?”

“That sounds wonderful,” you agree already anticipating the quiet beauty of the trail and the shared moments ahead.

As you both part ways to prepare for the evening hike the anticipation of the upcoming adventure brings a new spring to your step. Azriel turns back once more watching you walk away, his heart lighter. He realizes just how much he’s looking forward to exploring not only the natural wonders of Velaris but also the potential of a new and blossoming relationship with you. The thought brings that rare and hopeful smile to his lips. One that he carries with him as he disappears into the shadows to ready himself for the evening.

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teenytinyecho · 2 months

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Yandere! Cheerleader and Football Player

Pairing: OC x GN! Reader x OC

Warnings: none

A/N: first post! There will be more in depth post describing both of these two so stay tune!

‌You, however, you don't really know where you are on the food chain. You're not the lowest nor the highest, so you're kinda confused. It didn't really bother you since people seemed to not notice you that much. You don't really have anyone close to you in school, maybe a few acquaintances but no one close you can call as a friend.

Jake and Lana, king and queen of Silver Oak Highschool. Most popular, most loved (debatable) and the most well known students in your school. Everyone knows them, everyone wants to be with them or be them. Whatever it is, they're on the top of the food chain

‌You joined the schools news club because you really didn't know what else to do, plus the students there are friendly and chill. Because of this you sometimes meet Jake and Lana to do interviews for the schools newspaper. They're the "It Couple" but you have to admit they did always lead the schools football and cheerleading team to victory.

‌Lana was a typical mean girl, like Regina George oddly enough, but she is...nice to you? There's always a sharp smile on her face, hugging you tightly when you meet up for an interview like you're her best friend. She's always close when you're asking questions, her thigh touching yours or bumping her shoulder to yours. It was weird but you brushed it off quickly. She never bothered you enough so why get mad anyway?

‌Jake is a nice guy too, he's quiet and reserved but still smiles at you when you meet in passing. You don't really mind him honestly, but your other peers in the news club did say he's more stoic when members besides you do interviews with him.

‌After a few interviews, you noticed they're more trying to get closer to you. Offering to eat lunch together (you denied, not big on crowded tables), offering you a ride home (also denied because you have your own car), and the list goes on and on. Lana seems pouty before trying to persuade you again with more force. Jake accepts defeat after one try, but you did notice his smile was more tense as he drags Lana away.

‌Nonetheless, you're life was mundane to say the least. Not aware that the couple was infatuated with you for a long time and is trying to pursue you "normally" as they would say.

‌Lana was already attracted to you since middle school. Although you both never really talked so much, you did get grouped in for a project that made Lana loved you since the moment she saw you. You were so...boring, so mundane that in her life full of excitement she would say that you're more of a grounding territory for her.

‌Every time you interviewed her, she mindlessly listens as she observes your clothes, hair, and to the smallest details on your face. Both of you are so different yet she yearns to be with you, to hold you freely and be together.

‌She dated Jake because she did love him and she wants to share her love for you with Jake. So in the end, he got roped in too. Jake's obsession with you is more slow, he's more attentive and watching you day to day. He appreciates how you never really looked annoyed or put off by Lana (he knew she had a reputation) and just overall likes you in general.

‌Their tendencies differ from each other but they agree that they want to pursue you together. They want you to be with them. Both are filthy rich and they like to use it to their advantage (buying lunch, giving away small trinkets that you like).

‌Lana doesn't have as much patience as Jake does though. So the more you decline their attempts to woo you, the more annoyed and tense Lana becomes. She wants you to be with them before you all finished high school, but a small voice in her head is always reminding her to not scare you away. She doesn't want you to be scared of her or run away! And that's where Jake comes in.

‌He likes to hold Lana back if she tries anything that might ruin their chances. He likes to be with you as soon as possible but he knows they have to be more mindful of their surroundings. They have an image and reputation to uphold, and although he knows no one will believe if you tattle on them, he just wants to be blindly faithful of their image. The perfect pair, the king and queen of Silver Oak Highschool.

‌The more you try to deny them, the more aggressive their acts are. But so far, you had been a darling for them. Granted you're a bit awkward to their approach but you're not denying them outright. So they might have a chance in the future!

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere headcanons #lana my oc #jake my oc #echo writes!

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fanaticsnail · 4 months

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my heart?! anon?! snail?! why must you hurt me so?!?!?! i demand (gently, in an easily refuse-able way) a fluffy bandaid!!!!

in the same style as kiss, marry, kill- have! 'realising you're in love', 'requited pining (they're idiots your honor)', and 'confession'! Either with the original three or... hmm -narrows eyes- kid, luffy, and torao.

the choice is yours (in multiple aspects) just ;w; owwww asldjkgljdfgklfd - @remisloves

How about some longing from Eustass Kid, Remi? I don't think I have it in me for the other two, but I could do some longing from Kid before I dive right back into writing his pollen.

Longing

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 880+

Synopsis: Eustass Kid doesn't know how to behave around you, especially now that he's developed feelings for you.

Themes: Kid x reader, pining, longing, yearning, wanting, desiring, dancing, drinking, Kid is gonna do something about it soon enough, platonic!heat x reader, confessions of love.

Notes: I broke my own heart by writing "Kiss, Marry, Kill" with a few of my favorites. I wanted to see what some fluffy longing would look like on Kid to make up for my sadess.

Sitting at the head of the lengthy dining table in the center of the tavern, the captain of the crew of the Victoria Punk sang and drank in full merriment. Another successful victory had come at the swift hand of his gaggle of misfits, and he was none other than the proudest of leaders.

As the music began to swell, several members of the crew got up to dance with one another. Bubblegum took Quincy by the hand and twirled her into himself with lazy joy in his chuckle. Quincy began to sway her hips to the beat and tap her toes with a simple ease, all with a wide smile on her lips.

The melody turned deeper, grungier, and with heavier beaten drums to match. Swinging hips and swirling arms, the crew began to dance a little closer. This normally would never bother him. As a captain, he enjoyed watching his crew build rapport with one another.

What he didn't anticipate was the way his heart jumped up to his throat when he met his caramel-colored gaze with your body. Sultry grinding motions, and tugging his fire-breather by the belt at his hips towards the dance floor, your smile mirrored Heat’s as he laced his arms around your neck and gazed playfully in your eyes.

It was no secret that Kid was fond of you as his counselor. You were his second closest confidant after Killer, and he adored you. He loved the way you kept him in line and level headed. He loved when you smiled, it lit up the whole room. He loved how caring and thoughtful you were with each of his crewmen, catering to their individual personalities and complex needs with ease and compassion.

He loved you.

As you released Heat’s belt and turned in his arms to lean your back into him, Kid almost jumped out of his chair and growled at Heat for raking his hands down your hips. Heat tugged you firmly back into his pelvis, you both rocked your hips from side to side and laughed at how easy it was to dance to the beat with one another.

Kid watched on in anguish, his face betraying his emotions and a forlorn expression plastered on his painted lips. As he turned back to his ale, he felt a firm hand clap on his shoulder. Turning to his first-mate, Killer tilted his mask to the side and angled his chin down.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kid said, shrugging off his scythe-wielding best friend’s hand, “I know you're smirkin’ under there, big guy. Shut up.”

“I didn't say anything-,” Killer began, halting when his captain cut him off with a growling warning.

“-It was a preemptive ‘shut up,’ Kil,” Kid barked, raising his tankard and taking a hefty gulp of his ale, “A ‘shut up,’ just in case you were gonna say somethin’ stupid.” He mumbled, turning his gaze back to where you and Heat were now facing one another.

“And what stupid thing was I gonna say, Cap?” Killer’s smirk was felt in every word, much to Kid’s chagrin. The Red-Haired captain turned his shoulders and shifted his stance to flare directly in the beady holes in Killer’s blue and white mask.

“I dunno, man. Somethin’ like: ‘You’re in love with the ship's counselor and you're too much of a coward to do anythin’ about it’,” Kid mocked in a voice not unlike the first-mate, which prompted Killer to give him a playful punch in the shoulder.

“And what then?” Killer added, raising his ale beneath the edge of his mask and taking a quick, sneaky sip, “What would you say to this ‘something stupid’, hm?” Killer teased his captain, nudging him with his shoulder.

Kid took a final gaze at you as you turned to meet your eyes with him. As soon as your orbs met with his, Eustass Kid felt a tug on his heartstrings in a way he could not describe. Something between wanting, craving, and longing.

“I would say you’re right, Kil,” Kid spoke in a voice so low that Killer had to strain his ears to hear that weighty confession. “I’m in love with my counselor.” You shot him a soft wink before turning back to your dance partner, inviting Wire into your twirling and shimmying.

“And what are you gonna do about it, Cap?” Killer urged him on, kicking his shin with his boot-heel and breaking Kid out of his momentary hypnosis. Kid pondered for a moment, shamelessly raking his eyes over your body as you urged Heat and Wire towards the bar and attempt to get the barkeeper’s attention.

“I think I’m gonna get another drink at the bar,” he hummed, a slow grin tugging up at his cheeks as he noticed your casual gaze at him over your shoulder, “And then I’m gonna dance with my counselor some. Show 'em how it's really done.”

Captain Kid downed the last of his tankard before sliding the chair out from beneath him, kicking it back and uncaring as to where it landed. Stomping over towards the bar, he hooked his right arm around your waist and tugged you to press your left hip against his right before ordering another round for his crew with a grinning bark.

“Go get ‘em, Cap,” Killer whispered under his breath before bobbing his head to the new beat.

#one piece #x reader #one piece x reader #op kid #eustass kid #eustass captain kid #kid x reader #op kid x reader #eustass kid x reader #one piece fluff #eustass kid fluff #ask snail #snail answers

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rosemaze-reveries · 27 days

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clinging to the only manor guest who makes you feel safe various idv charas + you (platonic)

for @ninacottoncandy

🦈✈️🧲🔗❤️‍🩹

Here are the reader's traits described in the original ask: You have grown really attached to them and won't let them go, following them like a lost duckling. They're the only one you act energetic around, while you're shy and scared around others. It's later revealed that you were neglected back home resulting in abandonment issues.

🦈 Leo

Leo sees something in you that he can't exactly pinpoint. Maybe you fill a loss that he's tucked into the crevasses of his memory. Maybe you represent a second chance at one of his lingering regrets. Whatever it is, he swears that no harm will come to you as long as he's around.

He sneaks you the universal passcode to the arms factory's exit gates, with instructions written in his messy scrawl: "Play the game. Do what they ask. Use for emergensy only." It's not the first time he's been punished for breaking the rules, but that's a trivial thing if it means protecting you.

Before your first game, he brings you a gift, a crude little thing that's obviously handmade. It's a miniature red-and-purple striped rocket chair made for dolls. You find it a little childish, but Leo attaches a story to it: "If bad guy catches you. 1, 2, 3, blast off. Trapped again."

That's a bit grim, but cute, you suppose. You're not sure why he gave it to you, though.

✈️ Charles

As a man of few words and a perpetual poker face, his fondness for you might not be that obvious. But he finds you terribly endearing. He doesn't mind having you in his shadow at all. It won't be long before he starts feeling very protective of you.

In an attempt to get closer to him, one day you ask to try out his jetpack. He's always tinkering with the thing, so he must have a lot to say about it, right? The moment you reach for it, something in Charles snaps, and with a panicked shout he knocks you off it before cradling his device tightly in his arms. With that look of abject terror in his eyes, one would think you were trying to murder his baby. You never thought it was even possible for him to raise his voice like that.

The truth is, he couldn't have cared less about the jetpack. He was worried about losing someone else to his faulty machine. The guilt for frightening you plagues him for weeks after. He dedicates the next few months to working on a device that stabilizes his hand tremors. Not for his own sake, but because he can't bear to disappoint you—he wants to build something safer for you to try, and needs a reliable hand to do it.

🧲 Norton

Finds it bothersome. He has an unspoken agreement with the rest of the manor to steer clear of each other, what’s not clicking for you? He doesn’t exactly radiate sunshine and rainbows. Why you got attached to him of all people is something he can’t wrap his head around.

He won’t go out of his way to talk to you, which you can consider a small mercy from him. If forced he’ll bluntly shut down the idea of being your “protector” or whatever role you’ve arbitrarily assigned to him. He’s not here to babysit anyone, especially not for free. Doesn’t matter what your story is.

It seems like the best way to win his favor is by giving him space. And start hoping he’ll warm up with time. With the manor's stretches of eternity in store for you, you can certainly spare the wait.

🔗 Ada & ❤️‍🩹 Emil

The first time you begin yearning for them remains clear in your memory. They're huddled together over the kitchen stove, morning sun filtering through the open window. Ada explains how to flip an omelette while Emil is paying more attention to her gentle hands than her technique. Once in a while their soft giggles rise above the sound of sizzling oil.

Watching them, suddenly you aren't at the manor anymore. You're in one of those big, bright two-story houses from the stories you read as a child, the ones with the perfect families and happy endings to every trouble that comes their way. Ada and Emil probably don't even realize how picture-perfect they look in this moment, how similar they are to the families you thought only existed once upon a time. Their love makes you jealous, but you crave it just as much.

Sharp as always, Ada is quick to notice you observing them. You fear a round of questioning but instead she says, "Good morning. Do you want something? How do you like your eggs?" and Emil pipes in a second later with "Onions okay?"

It's such a casual sentiment, but it takes you aback. Most manor guests aren't glowing examples of neighborly people, you've learned that the hard way. But your wishful thinking gets the better of you, so you play along. They bring out a plate of your breakfast and sit with you at the table. You remember thinking, even if they are tricking you and these eggs are poisoned and you never wake up again, it would be nice to go with this fairy tale family as your last memory. But you get to enjoy a delicious breakfast and the remaining hours of the day without issue.

The same thing happens the next morning, and the one after that.

Emil's prowess with the frying pan drastically improves as the days go by, and soon he starts waking up ahead of Ada to surprise her. Some days include you, with him gently nudging you out of bed, eager smile on his face as he teaches you all the cooking tricks Ada taught him. He also shows you a notepad he keeps, with lists titled: Ada favorites. Good food for a bad day. Restront menus (make at home). And a new addition: What (Y/N) likes.

#idv x reader #idv imagines #ada mesmer #charles holt #leo beck #idv emil #identity v #identity v x reader #ada mesmer x reader #charles holt x reader #leo beck x reader #emil x reader #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader

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devilart2199-aibi · 2 months

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I know I already said this prior to you, but I adore your Stunticon designs so much and feel an absolute rush of joy when I see you post art of any of them. I yearn for more information on your AU versions of them, and what happens to them all when they get to earth.

Where does Dead End go when he helps Breakdown, where do Motormaster, Drag Strip and Wildrider go after the split up in the team and how do they all handle it? They're all connected through the gestalt bond, which makes a gestalt closer than any other cybertronians, and how do they handle Motormaster hurting Breakdown, and then losing two of their own?

Does Motormaster ever regret what he did to Breakdown?

Thank you again! Hearing your interest in my AU really does make me so happy!! 🥺💕 So feel free to ask away! I've been pretty busy recently so I haven't had any time to work on the au sadly. But let's answer some questions now! With some drawings!! >:3

Also long post warning! !

"Where does Dead End go when he helps Breakdown?"

In short, undecided atm! But this is what happened if he was planning to leave with Breakdown:

Dead End and Breakdown agreed on a meeting spot a bit outside the Stunticons base. But when Breakdown doesn't show up for a long while, Dead End figured he got cold feet and began heading back to base only to get a coms transmission from MotorMaster telling him to meet up with Dragstrip and Wild Rider who are currently in pursuit of Breakdown!

Dead End would be wayyyy behind the others and only end up catching a glimpse of Breakdown and Knockout being apprehended by the Autobots, the other Stunticons long gone.

Dead End wasn't really sure what he would do now. It seemed like the others didn't know he wanted out like Breakdown. But what if they did? Does he risk it and go back? What was he going to do if the plan had gone smoothly even?

Well... he hadn't really got that far. He just knew he was tired, and Breakdown suggested an out. But joining another group of hot-headed 'Cons? Really?? He needed something different... maybe just... roaming around earth would be fun? It definitely has to be calmer than anything he's experienced the past few Megacycles.

For Dead End, since I wasn't sure if I would have him leave with Breakdown or not, I hadn't chose a story for him yet, though i did have a few ideas in mind.

"Where do MotorMaster, Dragstrip and Wild Rider go after the split up in the team and how do they handle it?"

They probably wouldn't go far, maybe just relocate their base. The remaining team would stick together for the most part. They're still the Stunticons, just... less.

MotorMaster would become hell-bent on getting the two back one way or another... or maybe even making them pay for such treachery to their team.

"How do they handle MotorMaster hurting Breakdown, and then losing two of their own?"

They were used to MM's intimidation techniques to get them back in line, but nothing like this. Sure he'd give 'em a good toss, smack or yelling at, but this, this was something else.

For Dragstrip he'd think to himself "What did Breakdown think would happen if he told MM him off and ditched the team? What a fool" as a kind of way to make sense of the situation. He'd definitely stand a bit further from MM than before.

As for Wild Rider, he loved a good fight. Heck he didn't mind killing a few bots! But never each other. He got an uneasy feeling from the whole thing.

For Dead End, they always remember him voicing his annoyance and tiredness with everything, but they never actually thought he'd do anything about it.

"Does MotorMaster ever regret what he did to Breakdown?"

Sadly not. He probably only regrets not being able to see Breakdown's desire to leave sooner. Not that he'd know what he'd do then.

And I think that was it? Thanks again for the questions and curiosity towards my au!! :3

#transformers reforged #transformers au #Stunticons #motor master #dragstrip #breakdown #dead end #wild rider #transformers fanart #sorry if its not the happiest story! i still have much more tf content to consume so maybe I'll get some inspo for a happy story with them #eventually! back on Cybertron before the war they were pretty chill with each other :>

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twstjam · 1 year

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Book 7 Spoilers ahead!!!

hmmmmm Lilia x Reader where you're a member of the Silver Owls but you have no loyalty to them so you betray them by secretly playing spy for the fae in exchange for peace, quiet, and safety if you help them win. The fae don't really trust you, especially Lilia, but he knows opportunity when he sees one. They just have to be careful about how much they trust you.

Because of the nature of your agreement you end up meeting up and exchanging letters with the Phantom General of the Briar fae a lot to relay information. At first it's just that and your meetings are all really just pure business, but then Lilia complains about Princess Malenoa and everyone pushing jobs onto him. This spurs you on to complain about Henrik and how all he does is order people around and lounge around all day. The two of you end up bonding over your demanding and tiring jobs and gradually grow closer each letter.

Aside from exchanging information, the two of you begin to exchange stories and tales and knowledge. You begin to know each other on different facets that no one else knows and confide in each other your deepest thoughts, fears, and insecurities. The two of you have a lot in common and understand each other so well that it just makes it so easy and natural and comfortable to be open like this. No one else have ever made either of you feel safe enough to share your most deepest secrets (not even Malenoa and Revan in Lilia's case. They're his best friends but they're also his superiors. There's just some things he can't talk about with them.) so it's so nice to finally find someone that does.

The two of you fall slowly, but you fall hard.

Neither of you admit this to each other of course. A war is no time for something as silly and trivial as love and romance and you both know that neither of you have time for a relationship. So you both pine and yearn in silence, either from your fortresses miles away from each other, or several feet apart on the rare occasions you meet up in person—so close yet still so far.

In one of your letters you relay to Lilia your worry that someone might be catching on. Lilia's heart twists in fear and his mind races with paranoid thoughts and possibilities. He doesn't show any concern in his response aside from acknowledging your worry, but he does tell you to be careful. He reasons that it would be unfortunate for the fae if their most valuable informant were to be discovered. (he activated tsundere mode to cope)

He sends the letter and goes about his duties. Days pass. Weeks. He realises during some off-time that he hasn't heard from you in a while. More time passes. No sign of a response from you.

Lilia says to himself that it's fine. It's nothing. It's no big deal. You're probably just occupied, or finally realised how dangerous it was to keep associating with the enemy. It's fine. The fae forces have managed before without your assistance. It's fine it's fine it's fine

he's not fine

(Part 2)

#twisted wonderland #lilia vanrouge #book 7 spoilers #twst book 7 spoilers #lilia vanrouge x you #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland imagines #there're so many possibilities for what happens next #you're either straight up dead (either by your own doing or execution)#lilia either never finds out about this or finds your body later on (depending on what kind of angst you prefer)#or you're still alive but in hiding because you got discovered and lilia finds you later on #OR lilia somehow hears about you being discovered and comes to your rescue in the nick of time #and we get some hurt/comfort as he takes you into the safety of fae territory and treats your injuries

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urfriendlywriter · 1 year

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"i wanna be closer to you" (ldr) prompts that i absolutely adore:

>°< the 6th, 8th, 9th, 11th and the 22nd??? CRYING

@urfriendlywriter | req by @seungspolaroid

hugs that feels like clench in your heart because you don't know when u might see them again

"don't let go yet" "i won't, sweetheart"

running into their arms after a long time ♡ and fitting right in :(

hoping it's them whenever the bell rings

just looking into each other's eyes while cuddling

always touching each other because they miss the feel of your skin against theirs :(((

holding hands until their fingertips reach out of grasp

yearning kisses when they press their palm against your cheek, slightly lifting you up. never getting enough and parting lips always wanting more (IM IN TEARS IM SO LONELY)

feeling heart wrench when you see their face while they leave

when they're excited to show you something they're proud of through face time.

when they break into tears as soon as they see you. and the hug after :(((

them having your picture as their wallpaper

"i--i have a day off tomorrow, do you want go somewhere?" "i just want to be in your arms, no matter where."

"go ahead, byee??" they cutely pout and mumble, "I'd rather not go and spend my time with you tho.."

remembering every detail about you.

eyes always on yours whenever you are together as if they're memorizing everything about you ㅜㅜ

"atleast we share the same moon. it's so pretty that it reminds me of you"

feeling empty without the other

"i missed you-doesn't feel good enough to express how much longing i feel for you."

many things will be left unsaid, because of the time difference, not being able to talk with them all the time

"is everything okay?" "yeah- *shuffles behind the camera* yeah i guess." "does it take. what? 3 hours on a flight? I'm coming tomorrow. i don't like this."

"sweetie, I'd run to you in a heartbeat if you'd ever need me."

"i do live 14 hours away from you, but my heart is always where you are."

a broken "come to please" with tears in the eyes, and the helpless other being able to do nothing about it

"you've grown a bit.." "it's only been a week, hun???"

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poetryvampire · 4 months

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Hark! The yearning is upon me.

Headcanons for your first time with Zevlor

Because I literally can't stop thinking about it.

Zevlor x Afab! non-tiefling reader

✨Nsfw✨ with angst

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

● You've been traveling with Zevlor and the tiefling camp for some time now and yet neither of you have been able to break the undeniable tension between you. More and more often you find yourself alone with the paladin, wishing he would make a move or give some sort of confirmation to his feelings.

● Zevlor is such a gentleman it's almost painful. He's going half mad with his yearning for you. If he was to act on his feelings he would need to court you properly. Prove that he was true with his intensions and you weren't some passing fling. But how to do that in such a stressful time and place? Zevlor's a hopeless romantic. He may have yet to act on his feelings but that doesn't mean he hasn't found himself penning poems of your beauty in his journal.

●You're both walking back to camp one afternoon. Your eyes catch and linger far too long. Unable to stand it a moment longer you give him a soft kiss. Before you can pull away, shocked at your own actions Zevlor deepens it, pulling you into his arms. Next thing you know you're being pushed gently against a tree, your hands moving all over each other.

●It's only the sound of your approaching companions that break you apart. You're closer to camp than you thought. Soon everyone will be gathering back for supper. There isn't time yet you're determined not to let this slip away. You tell Zevlor to come to your tent that night. Those flaming eyes study you carefully and he nods.

● When night falls you wait in a tiny slip of a dressing gown trying to keep calm. Perhaps it was a foolish mistake and he would change his mind. But the low cadence of his voice breaks the silence. Ever the gentlemen he's brought you a bouquet of wildflowers.

●The tiefling's almost speechless at the sight of you; He cant quite put words to what you inspire in him. Drawing him into a kiss you feel passion coursing through him in seconds. You're exploring each others mouths and bodies with an impatience clumsiness. Over come, you pull him down to the bedroll and rip away your night dress, instantly in love with being so exposed underneath him.

● Under his infernal gaze you can feel your wetness pooling. You're so ready to be ravished and by the look in those eyes as they rake over you he's sure to pounce any moment. Yet, he doesn't, he even pulls a bit away. By the Gods Zevlor is aching to touch you and take you and make you his. But seeing you like this, you're almost too beautiful. It's confirming that he doesn't deserve you.

●Zevlor's already cursing himself. Already he's fucking up, as always. There's hurt in your eyes, as if he could ever be unpleased with your form. He comes closer, lightly strokes your leg, plants a chaste kiss to your knee but keeps looking away.

● "Zevlor" you plead "Touch me, please. Look at what you do to me" You spread your legs open pulling a hungry moan from him. He's never been so enchanted or afraid. Slowly you kiss the palms of his hands and press them to your flesh. Soon they're moving on their own spreading reverent caresses over every inch of you.

●You're back in your own little heaven feeling Zevlor pressed flush against you. The full bulge in his pants making you desperate for him. His mouth is praising you now, kissing your breasts, your stomach, your thighs. Automatically you open your legs wider, hoping he continues.

●Oh he does; he can't help himself. Zevlor grips your thighs tight trying to keep you still as he worships you with his mouth. Overwhelmed by how delicious you are and how beautifully you moan his name, he can't help but rut into the bedroll as he pleasures you.

●Before long the heated flicks of his tongue push you over the edge, making your whole body tremble and writhe. Your cries go straight to his cock and before he can stop himself he cums hard in his pants.

● His embarrassment turns to horror as he pulls away from you to see the cuts his claws have left on your thighs. The fears that had driven him away from you for so long were becoming a reality. Somehow he had failed you as a lover by cumming so easily and he had hurt you from lack of care without even having been inside you.

● A cloud of anguish seizes his heart. Zevlor practically bows before you apologizing and affirming his coming here as a mistake he will not let happen against. You beg him stay, telling him you're fine and that he's done nothing wrong. But he's already out the door.

●The emotional whiplash of the night leaves you sobbing into your pillow until sleep takes you. Zevlor needs to let off some steam and goes on a long midnight run. He's furious with himself. The thought of having failed you is almost unbearable. Even worse Zevlor's mind won't stop drifting back to the taste of your lips and the warmth of your breasts. He feels like some kind of untamed brute. How could he ever face you again?

thank you, thank you for reading. This is another one on the list to turn into a proper fic. Haven't decided just how angsty I want to get with it. Any thoughts let me know 🧡

#the yearning #it moves me so #zevlor #bg3 #zevlor x reader #zevlor x tav #smut #angst #get yalls food #zevlor nation #im sorry im like this #headcanons

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aragaki · 4 months

Text

Darlin' x Milo.

I know I'm all alone in my little boat here but Darlin x Milo has me in a chokehold and I need to get it out!!

For one, Milo would absolutely call Darlin' Tank instead.

Thinking about Milo and Tank, they've been around each other since they were teenagers. Maybe there was some feelings, some fights. Two stubborn, strong-willed wolves with Asher always going on and on about their will-they-won't-they dynamic, much to Milo's chagrin.

Then they vanish off with some fancy-talking vamp and Milo's left with a yearning he refuses to admit to. He's got other things on his mind. He pretends that Tank's absence from pack meetings doesn't bother him but knowing they're gone, and in a worse place, weighs on him.

Then he finds them, battered and bloody, crumpled outside on his way home. They're hurt. They're half-delirious from blood loss and couldn't help themselves from going somewhere familiar - to someone familiar.

Milo patching them up as best he can, trying to get information out of them but they fight him tooth and nail at every turn. Just like the old days. All he knows is there's someone they're out for, someone they want to kill, and Milo can't tell anyone they're back in Dahlia. And just like Milo says to Sweetheart, as long as it doesn't affect the pack, he can do what he wants.

But it does and he doesn't know it.

Milo's place becoming Tank's safehouse, Milo trying to help Tank as much as he can but they're so tight-lipped about who they're hunting. But the two of them are getting closer. And Milo learns just how out of place Tank felt in the pack, with them, never feeling like they were really accepted.

David confronting Milo, absolutely pissed that two members of his pack are going behind his back. Milo and David, who are at this point more distant after the death of Gabe, and Milo having something to prove to David but has disappointed him.

Milo telling David that Tank doesn't think of themselves as a member of the Shaw pack, and hasn't in a long time, even before they left. Milo having to tell David that he didn't ask who it was Tank was hunting, scared that if he pushed or if he told David and they found out, they'd probably run and they'd never get them back and he doesn't want to lose them again.

Tank confronting Milo at the pack meeting, convinced he was the one who told, furious, hurt, and betrayed again, so tried of being betrayed, but Milo defending himself. Making it clear that he didn't tell David and Tank didn't tell him about Quinn either.

Tank's body being covered in scars from fights and Quinn. Being ashamed and disgusted as Milo, who spills compliments like a fountain, kisses each one of them. Milo's body-worshipping habits coming out at every unhappy frown Tank makes when they see themselves.

Milo buying Tank good looking clothes, fully at his wit's end with their unironed white tank top and jeans. Tank liking the clothes but never wearing them cause they seem so expensive, they should be for a special occasion. Milo's insistence that mulberry silk or not a shirt is a shirt so please fucking wEAR IT.

Asher's vindication when Milo and Tank finally make the leap into being mates. He's been on this train since they were teens, he's been suffering from an IRL slow-burn romance for half of his life!! Will not shut up about the fact that the "pack scrappers" finally got together.

"Bite me, Milo. 😒" "Not in public, sweets."

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redacted milo #milo greer #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redactedverse #these are all just plot bunnies I have in my brain #that I know I'll never write #if anyone else wants to take a crack at any of these feel free #I'm just happy to finally get these out of my brain it's been days and I haven't known peace #darlin just continues to be the hottest redacted character they're so shippable I could make a bunch of these

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thus-spoke-lo · 4 months

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Runs in the Family // Rosinante "Corazon" Donquixote x sister!reader NSFW/18+

cw: dead dove, do not eat - please heed the tags; reader is rosinante + doflamingo's younger, adult sister; afab reader, referred to as 'sister' throughout but no pronouns used, wears dresses; sibling incest [rosinante x reader, heavily referenced doflamingo x reader, vague implications of rosinante x doflamingo if you squint]; highly dubious consent; voyeurism + masturbation; unprotected sex; vaginal fingering; angst. idk what else to tell you, they're all a little a lot fucked up. wc: 4.3k // read on ao3

Sorry.

Rosinante scrawls the word over your damp skin again and again, starting at one shoulder and using his fingertip to make long, swooping motions across to the other, beads of water and sweat rolling down your back with each iteration.

Sorry.

He winces when you giggle softly at his touch. It was so long ago that you used to trace letters across his back sometimes, on those nights when you said you had bad dreams, when you’d sniffle and whimper your way into his bed, your blanket still clutched in your hand. And he would never say no—how could he say no to his darling little sister?—and you’d lay behind him and drag your finger across his pajamas, writing your name or making him guess words over and over until your hand slowed and eventually dropped to the mattress as you drifted off.

Rosinante tries not to remember much about those days in Mariejois, but that—that he could recall instantly, still feel ghosts of letters on his body, your name an indelible mark upon his skin.

Sorry.

So sorry.

You shift and the bathwater rises and falls, nearly lapping over the edge of the tub. He inhales sharply when you grab his wrist, turning your head to kiss his damp palm before pressing it to your cheek.

“You don’t need to apologize.” Your voice is low and sweet, your words gentle, more gentle than he thinks he deserves right now. You move again to settle yourself, pressing your back to his chest, feeling the erratic rise and fall as he struggles to steady his breathing. “Rosi, really. It’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Rosinante closes his eyes, breathes deep and lets out a long exhale through his nose. The way you feel so good against him—the way your body slots perfectly between his legs and your hips press against his thighs, like your body is molding itself to him, like it’s meant to fit together with his, maybe always has been—is enough to make his skin crawl.

He will not be convinced of his innocence.

**********

It was soon after his arrival that Rosinante, to his revulsion, discovered all that had developed between you and Doflamingo—just how close you'd grown over the many years that had separated you, adhering to the less savory traditions of your homeland. You’d always been so fond of your eldest brother, following him around like a wayward duckling, clinging to him at the slightest provocation, sobbing at every little thing until he made it right; in return, he’d declared that you belonged to him, that you were his and his alone to protect and possess, in the way that children sometimes do before they understand the weight of their words.

But Doflamingo, it would appear, never outgrew the sentiment.

At first, it seemed peculiar the way your eldest brother kept you close, always had a hand on you—a firm grip on the back of your neck as you walked together, fingers grazing your bare shoulders when you sat in the sun, a large hand settling on your thigh at dinner when you’d bounce your leg too much. Rosinante thought it odd, how very intimate you were with Doflamingo, but there was nothing he could pinpoint as amiss—you never recoiled, never flinched, often leaning into Doflamingo’s touch, nuzzling against him like a house pet yearning for affection. Clearly the years spent with him pushed you closer together, left you clinging to him as your protector in a world that was too cruel for the likes of you.

But once he’d settled in, started to gain favor and trust again with his eldest brother, and with you, the veneer began to crack and Rosinante saw through to the other side.

He sat in silence, day after day, averting his gaze at every touch that lingered far too long, every kiss that was too deep and too lustful, pretending not to hear every innuendo, every filthy word growled into your ear. He hid behind sunglasses, closing his eyes and trying to ignore the way Doflamingo would pull you into his lap at the end of the day and slide his long fingers up your thighs, pushing up the hem of your skirt to idly stroke your skin; after all, no one else seemed to bat an eye at his obscene behavior, clearly he should mimic the feigned ignorance of the sycophants that had latched onto his older brother. Rosinante surrounded himself in a bubble of silence most nights, teeth clenched and hands balled into fists, as he shut out the sounds of Doflamingo defiling you in the room next door, the sounds of your voice moaning your eldest brother’s name ringing in his ears until he had to choke back the urge to vomit.

If only he hadn’t left—if only he hadn’t abandoned you, even if it wasn’t truly his choice—then maybe things would be different. Maybe you would be free of Doflamingo’s wicked embrace.

All Rosinante could do every morning as he glanced at you across the breakfast table, watching as Doflamingo fed you from his plate and kissed the crumbs from the side of your mouth, was convince himself you were a stranger. You certainly felt like one—you’d grown so much since he’d seen you last, an adult where a child once stood in his mind, and though your smile was still as bright, and though your eyes looked at him with the same reverence they used to, even if the joy in them had been dulled by time and circumstance, they were fitted onto someone he barely recognized. When you’d flung yourself at him the first day he’d returned, he’d been so startled he’d nearly yelped and blown his cover—why was this pretty little stranger sobbing into his shirt, gripping the fabric with shaking hands, hiccupping about how much he had been missed? Why was this sweet, tear-stained face looking at him as though he was a ghost, a specter raised from the dead?

Yet, in spite of his forced detachment, he found himself growing fond of you again—growing fond of your gentle touch, and your honest laughter, and the way you draped yourself over him at every opportunity, breathing him in, holding him tightly as if he’d slip away again if you so much as loosened your grasp. It made his heart swell when you’d bury your face in his shoulder and murmur how good it was to have him home again, how good it felt to be a family again. It was all you wanted after all—to be a family, a real family, once more.

He should have known better.

**********

The building you all called home was eerily quiet, most of the crew sent away on some mission that Rosinante wasn’t privy to, despite his best efforts to acquire the details. He laid in his bed, cigarette hanging precariously from his lips, fingers interlaced behind his head, wondering what his next move would need to be.

“Rosi?”

He shot up, fumbling to keep his cigarette from lighting the bed ablaze again. You stood at the edge of his room, a half-smile quirking up a corner of your mouth, hands idly smoothing out the bottom of your dress, the soft blue one that you’d picked out when you’d dragged him shopping just the other day. He’d sat quietly in the back of the store, chain-smoking even after the shopkeeper begged him not to, watching you twirl and spin for him, asking “What about this one?” again and again. And he’d nodded approvingly with each outfit, but that dress—that dress made you look as carefree and joyful as he wished you could be, made him want to free you from whatever shackles bound you to your eldest brother, to ruin everything and take you away with him.

“So…can I come in?” You seemed almost hesitant in your request, like you were unclear if entering was even what you wanted.

He nodded, and as you shuffled towards the bed, Doflamingo appeared quietly in the doorway, leaning against the frame with his hands tucked in his pants pockets, a Cheshire grin stretched across his face.

You had paid Rosinante many a visit since he’d returned, crawling into bed with him in the warm afternoons, just as you did so long ago, seeking comfort and quiet and reassurance that he was really real, that he wouldn’t disappear into the ether if you left him out of sight for too long. But this was different, the air tense and your behavior just left of normal. Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

Rosinante eyed you carefully as you approached the bed and perched stiffly on the edge, turning your body to face him. His concern quickly melted into revulsion as you placed your hand on his thigh and began sliding it up, further and further, stopping just short of his groin, your fingertips nearly grazing his clothed cock. Doflamingo advanced slowly, the heels of his loafers clacking on the wood floor, a low chuckle rattling in his chest.

“I—I really did miss you, Rosi,” you murmured, your voice a quiet rasp as you glanced over your shoulder at Doflamingo, then back at him. Your eyes glistened, the corners of your mouth twitching as you managed a smile. “I thought I’d never, ever see you again.”

He shook his head, set his hand on yours and held it firmly, keeping you from doing something you’d regret—you’d both regret. You don’t need to do this, please don’t do this.

“Well, go on then,” Doflamingo cooed into your ear, his fingers trailing down your shoulder, toying with the thin strap of your dress (how dare he touch it, how dare he touch what Rosinante chose for you, how dare he tug at it as though it was meant for him). “Show our dear brother how much you missed him—just like we talked about.”

You nodded solemnly and climbed onto the bed, placed your trembling hands on Rosinante’s chest to brace yourself, and swung your leg over his lap. You swallowed hard, paused to try to collect yourself, it seemed, to shove down whatever emotions were swelling within you, threatening to burst. “I missed you so much, just—just let me show you. Please. I have to show you.”

The way your voice cracked as you pleaded with him nearly shattered Rosinante’s heart. If circumstances were different, he’d almost believe you were sincere—that you were trying to give yourself to him, wholly and fully, out of some sort of perverted craving for connection and belonging, a need for closeness that you thought only sex would bring. And perhaps, to some extent, you were; your wires had been so irrevocably crossed by now that you could easily equate love and affection with sexual desire, even if the object of your distorted yearning was your brother.

But it couldn’t all be your warped longing that brought you to his room, that had you pressing yourself against him feverishly, tears welling in the corners of your eyes as you pawed at him, shaking fingers trying to pry open the buttons of his shirt. He glanced up to see that Doflamingo had seated himself in the chair across from the bed, his gaze burning into the two of you, lighting you ablaze, even from behind crimson lenses.

“Don’t let me distract you, dear brother,” he grinned, one hand resting on his groin, a bulge already visible beneath the stiff fabric of his trousers.

There would be no denying Doflamingo—and no denying you as his proxy. Not if Rosinante wanted to maintain his cover, to fulfill the duty he was sworn to fulfill. This was as much a test as anything, it had to be—to explore the limits of his devotion, of his loyalty. It was a test he could not fail, even if it meant doing the unspeakable.

Rosinante inhaled deeply, tried to still his racing pulse. He placed one hand on your hip, the other on the side of your face, looking you over, analyzing every blink, every breath, every twitch of your lips. If only he could tell you—if only he could tell you how beautiful you’d become, how you’d grown into your looks, how if you were only a stranger, he could find himself bewitched by you, wrapped around your finger with only a grin.

He closed his eyes and leaned down, pressed his mouth to yours in a chaste kiss. But you were insistent, your tongue pushing past his lips as you moaned softly into his mouth. He could feel your heat through your panties as you started to grind against him, your hand reaching up to tangle in the shaggy blonde hair at the nape of his neck. He was, at least, grateful that his body responded despite the muddling of his mind; he still longed for touch, for connection, just as you seemed to, and his cock was willing to do the unthinkable, even if his heart was aching to disagree.

Everything began to blur, limbs tingling, skin electrified, heart thudding inside him so hard he thought it may kill him yet. Your dress was over your head and tossed to the end of the bed, underwear quickly pulled down your hips and discarded. He stifled every word that started to crawl up his throat as he watched Doflamingo reach for your panties, bringing them to his face and huffing them like a drug before wrapping them around his exposed cock, stroking himself with them.

Rosinante returned his focus to you, now bare before him and rocking against his clothed erection, leaving darkened wet spots on the tan fabric—he had to, he had to ignore the sight at the end of the bed, had to ignore the lewd groans that now filled the void in the room. The sight of you debasing yourself for him, frantically groping him, chest rising and falling with every little moan, was becoming more and more preferable by the moment.

He closed his eyes, tilted his head back against the wall, wishing he could surround you both in silence, even if only for a moment. He would tell he was sorry, and that he loved you. He would tell you that he missed you as much as you missed him. He would tell you it was all okay, that he would do whatever you needed him to do if it meant you could both live as peacefully as possible in this space, that you could both earn your eldest brother’s trust. He would tell you that he’d give anything to protect you, to make you feel safe, to keep you from a life you shouldn’t have to live.

Instead, he let his hands wander and trace the map of your body, learning all your peaks and valleys. You’re a stranger, just a stranger, he repeated in his mind, trying and failing to pretend that he wasn’t fondling his sister’s soft breasts, feeling your nipples harden under the rough pads of his thumbs. The way you moaned was disturbingly intoxicating, the way you softly mumbled his name as you tugged his hand downwards, down to the apex of your thighs, enough to make him start to gently thrust against you. You were warm—so warm, and so wet, wet for him and it made his blood burn in his veins.

Enough—he had had enough.

This needed to end, no matter how badly he suddenly wanted to indulge you, to show you just how much he loved you by touching every inch of your skin, kissing you deeply, letting you grind yourself against him until you shuddered and convulsed with pleasure. Rosinante hastily maneuvered himself out of his trousers, spitting into his hand and slathering it on his pulsing cock, trying to shut out the soft grunts coming from the corner of the room, trying to avoid his gaze being drawn to the way Doflamingo’s hips rocked as he fucked his hand, seeming to match his movements to yours.

Rosinante pressed his lips together, desperate to remain quiet as you hovered over him, your hand wrapping around his hardened length to hold it steady. He bit the side of his tongue as he pushed into your eager cunt, tasted traces of iron in his mouth as he delved into the heated core of you. He placed his hands on your hips and guided you, sliding you down until you enveloped him, a gasp leaving your lips as he filled you completely. He held you there for a moment, your bodies joined, your perverse wanting becoming reality. You looked almost blissful, satisfied, filled to the hilt with your brother’s leaking cock.

God, what had happened to you? What was happening to him that he swelled inside you at that look, that he felt almost proud that was him that made you feel this way?

He took your arms and wrapped them around his torso, placing his hands on your back and pulling you into his chest, holding you there against him; if he had to do this, he couldn’t look you in the eye, couldn’t bring himself to see the way your face contorted in pleasure any longer. He wanted to tell you he’d take care of you—that he’d be gentle, make this quick and painless, end this twisted performance that you were compelled to act out. But he could only show you.

Rosinante began to rock up into you, lightly grinding his body into yours; you gripped him tighter, snuggled closer against him, your breath dancing across his bare chest. It felt so good, so fucking good, the hot glide of flesh to flesh, and it turned his stomach, and it made him ache, and forced a sob up his throat that he held inside him like a bomb, tick-tick-ticking away.

You pressed down to meet his every upward thrust, rocking against each other in unconscious time, the world slowing to a halt and the room growing quiet except for the sounds of sweat-slicked skin and harsh rushes of breath, of your little pants and moans muffled by his body. It felt so perfect the way you seemed to mold yourself to him, the way your cunt—his sister’s warm, wet cunt—gripped him as he entered you over and over. He could almost convince himself this was okay, his brain fogged with overwhelming sensations of guilt and desire, of needs and wants that he dared not confront; it was okay because you needed it, because you were so broken from whatever he hadn’t been there to stop, that it was okay to show you love however you needed it most.

You were both broken now.

“Love you, Rosi,” you whispered shallowly, your dripping warmth fluttering around him as the words passed your lips.

Rosinante held you so tightly he thought he might break you, his hips beginning to stutter, thighs quaking. You loved him, you loved him despite this, and you loved him because of this. It was more than he could handle—love and a sick desire to hear you say it again—and he convulsed in spasm, gritting his teeth to hold back a guttural groan as he spilled himself inside you again and again as you cried out his name.

He loved you. He loved you so much, and he hoped you could feel it.

Rosinante glanced up to see Doflamingo cleaning himself off with your panties, tossing them to the floor when he was done, tucking his softening cock back into his pants with a certain deliberateness, as if he wanted an audience. He wiped his hands on your dress that laid discarded at the end of the bed before walking over to the head of the bed; that dress, that special dress, was his now, just as you were, just as everything else was.

“Now—now we can truly be one big, happy family again.” He placed his thumb and forefinger under Rosinante’s chin, tilting his head up, examining every facial twitch and tremor. It was if he was looking for cracks in Rosinante’s resolve—and he found none. “Isn’t that right…dear brother?”

Rosinante nodded, pulling your limp, heaving body against his chest, cradling the back of your head with his wide hand. Doflamingo couldn’t have you now—not here, not like this.

“Good. Now why don’t you take a bath while I go fetch us dinner, hm?” Doflamingo chuckled as he strutted towards the door. “You’ve made such a mess of our darling little sister, the least you can do is clean up.”

**********

Rosinante tilts his head back and stares at the ceiling, the scene playing over and over again in his mind as the bathwater begins to cool. He runs through possibilities—ways he could have declined and still maintained his cover, ways he could have let you down easily and soothed Doflamingo’s inevitable temper. But it didn’t matter now—the damage had been done. He couldn’t take it back, couldn’t erase how soft your skin felt, how disgustingly good it felt be inside you. He couldn’t forget how soft you were, how fucking perfect it felt when you pulsed around him, and how it plucked at something deep and dark in his brain to feel like you needed him as much as you had always needed your eldest brother.

He slides his hand down, down to your stomach and rests it there, fingertips idly playing with your pubic hair. He already has the image of it burned into his brain—the color of it just like his, how it darkened with sweat and your wetness and his cum as it leaked out of you, how it seemed to glisten in the low light of his room when you finally moved off him. It’s almost automatic now, how his hand moves lower, palm resting on your mound, fingers easily sliding between your lips, the pad of his middle finger coming to a stop on your clit.

You groan softly, and he feels you quiver under his touch. He can’t stop it, he can’t stop himself—it’s a kindness, he thinks as his heart beats faster, his breath still, waiting for you to react again as he starts to make slow, firm circles over your tender bundle of nerves. It’s a kindness that he touches you this way; surely your eldest brother isn’t this loving with you. Doflamingo has always been selfish, now more than ever—does he take the time to touch you with such reverence? Does he care if you reach your high as long he gets his?

Rosinante has the time to wonder now, now that he’s not buried inside you and trying to suppress groans of vile pleasure, when it started, how it started. Was it always this way and he never knew? Did you want it to happen—did you hate your eldest brother for it, or did you welcome his love because it was all you had? Would things have been different if he’d stayed—or would he have been coerced into defiling you even sooner?

“Rosi!”

Your shrill cry shatters his thoughts, echoing in the tiled room, and it’s then that he realizes your hand is gripping his wrist under the water and his fingers are deep inside you and his cock is throbbing against your back.

“Rosi, please, you can’t,” you whisper shakily. It’s the first time you’ve sounded afraid like this—like something heavy weighs on you, a consequence hanging over your head, waiting patiently for you to disobey. “He didn’t give permission. He’ll—he’ll know.”

Permission. His permission. As though you’re a possession, a toy, an object with no will of your own—a coat that he needs to ask to borrow. He would never treat you that way—he would never set limitations on your pleasure that way if it were up to him. He would never confine you, threaten you, make you fear him. Never.

“I don’t need his permission,” Rosinante growls under his breath without thinking, the words coming out faster than he could stop them. “Only yours.”

His mouth hangs open as he realizes what he’s done. Shit. Shit, shit, shit. The room grows quiet, a soft plink of water into the tub cutting through strained silence. You both fall still, your weakened body frozen there between his legs.

“Rosi,” you murmur after a long moment, turning your body towards him slightly. “You—you can--”

He quickly slides his hand over your mouth, tilts your head upward so he can look you in the eye. “Please, don’t tell him. Don’t tell anyone.”

The panic sets in. This is it. It’s all been for nothing. This is what leads to his downfall.

“No one can know.” His fingers dig into your cheeks for a moment, his hand shaking, before he lets you go. He’ll do anything, can’t you see? He’ll do anything to keep his secret. “Do you understand? Please. Please tell me you understand.”

You tuck your tongue between your lips for a moment in thought, before craning your neck to kiss him softly. You guide his hand back under the water, parting your thighs and placing his hand on your cunt, gently rocking your hips against it until your eyes flutter.

“I love you, Rosi,” you sigh as you lean back against him, and he slips two fingers inside you. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

#lo writes #cw incest #corazon x reader #rosinante x reader #cw dead dove #cw dark content #cw dubcon

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lees-chaotic-brain · 11 months

Note

Hey :) this is the same anon who announced they'd send two requests.

Idea Nr. 2:

Character: Green (Fushiguro Megumi)

Theme: sky (hurt/comfort) idk maybe it's more ocean tho... Not sure.

Prompt: #5 the name of your soulmate appears on your body only after that person falls in love with you. As in: Megumi knows his name is written on reader's body (he's seen it) but he doesn't have reader's name so he thinks either they're not his soulmate or not in love with him and he feels awful, but reader just takes longer to fall in love and in the end reader's name appears on Megumi too? Again: just an idea ;)

hi anon! thanks for sending in this lovely request! your other one will be out soon!

note: in this fic your soulmates name only appears on you after they have said that they are in love with you out loud

Selfish (Megumi x Reader)

Word Count: 1.9K

CW: Insecurity, implied childhood trauma (bullying, abuse, toxic relationships, it's up to the reader), angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, swearing, anxiety

Event Masterlist | Event Guide | JJK Masterlist | Blog Navigation

All your life you had considered yourself unlovable. With the way you were raised, how could you?

No, you believed that you were unlovable, unworthy of good things, and incapable of good.

Because of that, when you started at Jujutsu Tech and met your classmates, you were closed off, opting to sit on the sidelines and be alone. You told yourself that if you joined them, you would ruin their fun. It was impossible for people to enjoy spending time with you. You were annoying, a nuisance, why would they-

“Hey.”

You ignored the voice. They were probably talking to someone else.

“You. Sitting on the bench.”

Startled, you looked up.

You were surprised to see none other than Fushiguro Megumi, one of your peers standing before you.

“Mind if I sit there?”

He nodded his head towards the empty spot next to you on the bench.

“Um, sure.”

“Thanks.”

He sat down, folding an ankle of his knee and propping his chin on his fist.

“Those damn idiots.”

He said, watching Kugisaki and Itadori chase each other around squawking.

“Giving me a headache.”

He turned towards you.

“Say, wanna ditch them and go do something else?”

And so began your friendship with Fushiguro Megumi.

Over time, you began to get closer with Kugisaki and Itadori as well, but Megumi always had a special place in your heart. After all, he was your first friend.

But even as you became more and more comfortable with yourself, a small part of you couldn’t help but to believe that he’s only spent time with you because he pitied you.

So when your soulmates name appeared on your wrist, you couldn’t believe that your fellow first year and friend Megumi had not only fallen for you, but you were his soulmate.

After all, you were unlovable. You were incapable of loving him back the way he deserved.

And he was sweet and kind and caring and awkward and smart and so, so much more.

He deserved so much better than you.

So, logically, the next course of action you took was ignoring him at all costs. You wouldn’t let him be in love with you. If he never saw you, surely he would move on, his name would disappear, and the two of you could go back to being friends.

A small part of you was pained at the idea, but you didn’t dare take a closer look at it. If you did, that meant acknowledging that a small part of you yearned for love and-

No. You mustn’t think about it.

For Megumi’s sake.

Even though it was extremely unlikely that he was your soulmate (you weren't even close to good enough for him) if by a slim chance he was your soulmate, the last thing he needed was your name inked around his wrist, shackling him to you.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Megumi had been elated when he noticed his name on your wrist.

After all, when he had realized that he was hopelessly in love with you and quietly confessed his feeling to his empty room, he hadn't dared to hope that he would be lucky enough to have you as his soulmate.

But he hadn't had a chance to talk to you about it, because you were avoiding him like the plague.

It had been months.

Did you really dislike him to the point that the idea of being his soulmate sent you running?

Did you really hate the idea of him loving you that much?

Was he really that unworthy of you?

Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

Maybe he wasn't your soulmate. Maybe your heart belonged to someone else.

Something primal in him writhed merely at the idea of you being with someone else.

He wouldn't, no, couldn't, accept this. He had never asked for much in life. He had never asked people to stay, or for any lofty dreams.

However if you truly loved someone else, or didn't want to be with him, he would have to be okay with it. He had to be. At the end of the day, all he really desired was your happiness.

But for the first time he deeply desired something, and that something was to be with you. And he'd be damned if he let you walk away without even an explanation.

Didn't he deserve at least that much?

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

For months you had successfully avoided Megumi, but it appeared that ended now.

When you heard the knock on your door, you assumed it was Nobara coming to ask you to go shopping with her.

Unsuspecting, you had called out that you were coming, and opened the door.

Only to be faced with the one person you were trying to avoid.

Fushiguro Megumi.

"We need to talk."

You panicked and slammed the door in his face.

Shit. Why did you do that? You just want him to fall out of love with you, not think you hate him!

Your internal word vomit was cut off by him speaking.

"I'm not leaving until we talk. And don't even think about leaving through your window. My demon dog is waiting out there for you."

Fuck. Shit. He had you cornered.

"Why do we need to talk?"

"Just let me in."

His voice was slightly muffled by your door, but you could hear the determination in it.

Accepting that you had no other choice, you sighed and took a deep breath to calm your nerves.

Opening the door you gave him a weak smile.

"Want to come in?"

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Minutes had passed, but neither of you had spoken.

You were perched awkwardly on the edge of your bed, and he was sitting in you desk chair that he had pulled in front of you.

Externally, his face was blank, but inside he was in turmoil.

Every time he attempted to open his mouth and speak, his stomach churned and he felt nauseous. What if after he said everything, you still avoided him? What if you decided he wasn't good enough for you?

Still, he had to try. He walked into this ready to accept it if you didn't feel the same way and continued to avoid him.

"I really, really, like you."

You jumped, startled by the sound of his voice breaking the silence.

He cleared his throat awkwardly.

"I mean like, more than a friend."

"Uh-"

"Although, I know you are already aware of that."

His eyes darted to his name inked around your wrist, and you slapped a hand over it.

Megumi's heart panged at your reaction, but he continued speaking.

"And I understand if you don't return my feelings. I just wanted to say it to you officially, I guess."

"Okay..."

You said hesitantly, unsure of what to do. On one hand you wanted to accept his feelings and vocalize your own, but on the other hand you wanted to cry, because you couldn't do that to him. You couldn't trap him in a life spent with you. You would just hold him back.

You heard him inhale, and tensed, nervous about what he was going to say next.

"But...I have to know- why have you been avoiding me for the last couple of months. Did I do something?"

"You fell in love with me!"

You snapped, unable to keep it in anymore.

The hurt was evident on his face.

"Is it really that bad...that I love you? Am I really that repulsive to you?"

"No. No no no no."

You waved your hands, tears blurring your vision.

"You don't understand."

You broke down in sobs, your body curling in on itself as you heaved.

"Hey, hey. Are you you okay."

Megumi's heart ached watching you sob. Reaching out, he stopped himself right before he touched your shoulder.

"Would-Would it be okay if I held you?"

You didn't respond.

Unable to continue doing nothing, he grabbed your sleeve and tugged you into his chest.

"I've got you."

He murmured, rubbing your back reassuringly.

"I'm here. I'm here. I want to understand."

You sobbed harder, gripping the front of his hoodie.

"I-It's not you -hic- it's just you can't love me."

"Why not?"

"Because-Because I don't deserve your love! You deserve so much more than me, and I won't allow you to resign yourself to a life shacked to me!"

"Why won't you allow me to!? It's my life, isn't it?!"

"Because I love you!"

The words formed wings, forcing themselves up your throat before bursting out of your mouth.

Stunned silence filled the room, then slowly, both of you dared to look down at his wrist.

And in a single second, your worst fears and his greatest desire were fulfilled. For there, inked upon his wrist, was your name.

Several moments passed as the two of you stared at the letters inked on his pale skin.

"Oh my god."

You breathed, covering your mouth with your hands.

"I'm so, so sorry."

His head snapped up.

"For what?!"

"I'm so sorry you're my soulmate- god you deserve so much more, this is why I was avoiding you. I thought if you didn't see me long enough your feelings would disappear. And even if they didn't, at least I wouldn't be holding you back. I'm so sor-"

"Apologize one more time."

His voice was low, and angry.

"Apologize one more time for loving me back, for being my soulmate, for having me as a soulmate. I dare you. Apologize to me one more time for making me the happiest I've ever been in my life."

"What-"

You didn't understand what he was saying.

"It's up to me to decide what I do, and don't deserve. In my book, I don't deserve you."

You let out a little scoff.

"It's true."

He looked you square in the eyes, his jade green eyes fierce and brimming with intense emotion.

"You make me a better version of myself. When I'm around you, I'm softer, happier, kinder. You make me greedy. You made me truly desire something for the first time in my life. You make my world brighter, and more beautiful."

He clasped you hands in his.

"I don't know why you think you don't deserve me, and we'll talk about that later, but for now, can it be okay if the two of us just agree to be undeserving of each other together, and be selfish?"

You stared at him with your mouth slightly open and tear tracks on your cheeks.

"Can we just selfishly be together, just selfishly seek our own happiness? Who cares if we don't deserve each other. If we're both happy, nothing else matters in this world. When I'm with you, everything else fades away. So please, will you be selfish with me?"

Putting aside all of your insecurities and fears, you leaned forwards and captured his lips with your own in response to his question.

"I love you."

You breathed, pulling back.

"I love you more."

He responded before leaning in again.

I love you. The three most selfish words you had ever said. But you would say them again and again, if it meant that you got to stay by his side.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Omg I had so much fun writing this! I just love him so much.

#lee's 1 year anniversary event #jjk x reader #fushiguro megumi x reader #hurt/comfort #angst to fluff #soulmate au #megumi x reader #jjk fics #jjk x reader hurt/comfort

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sillydestiny · 11 months

Text

losing you Cale Henituse X Reader

-Angst

Cale's thoughts raced as he moved through the chaos of the battlefield, searching for any sign of you. The vivid memories of your laughter, the touch of your hand, and the way you made even the darkest days feel brighter were etched in his mind. He couldn't bear the thought of losing you.

War had a cruel way of taking lives without mercy, and Cale knew it all too well. He had seen amny people and comrades fall, their lives snuffed out in an instant. But the idea of losing you was unbearable. The selfishness of war, the way it tore loved ones apart, weighed heavily on him.

Amidst the noise and the chaos, Cale pushed forward, determined to find you. The shouts of victory and the celebration of others faded into the background as he focused on his search. He knew he had promised to take care of you, to keep you safe, and he intended to keep that promise.

As he walked, his eyes scanned the surroundings, desperately seeking a familiar face. The worry in his heart gnawed at him, and he couldn't help but fear the worst. The war had already taken so much, and the fear of it taking you was a heavy burden he carried.

With every step, Cale's mind became more and more focused on finding you, making sure you were unharmed. The unspoken words and the unbreakable bond between you both made this search all the more urgent and heartfelt. He would do anything to ensure your safety.

He remembered your confident promise to take care of yourself and your unyielding determination to win the war. Cale's stoic facade softened whenever he thought about those moments. Your strength and your unwavering spirit had captivated him in a way he hadn't expected. But he hadn't realized just how deeply he had fallen in love with you until recently.

Cale found himself addicted to your presence, craving your every word and touch. It was a secret longing he had kept hidden, an unspoken truth between you both, born out of the challenges of the war. He was unable to resist the magnetic pull you had on him.

In the midst of busy days filled with endless meetings and responsibilities, Cale yearned for your presence. He couldn't help but wonder if you were okay, if you had eaten, and how you were faring amidst the turmoil. The moment he caught a glimpse of you, a sense of relief washed over him, and he quickened his pace to reach you.

"Name," he called out, a gentle, reassuring smile hidden behind his stoic expression.

You stopped in your tracks, holding a stack of papers related to your duties. The weight of the world seemed to vanish as Cale leaned into you, his arms enveloping your waist. The scent of your perfume filled his senses, a fragrance he associated with comfort and familiarity.

"Long day?" you inquired, your voice soft and understanding.

Cale's grip tightened as he held you closer, seeking solace in your presence. "Hm...yeah," he replied, his voice laced with fatigue.

In that moment, the two of you shared an unspoken connection, an unbreakable bond forged in the crucible of war. It was a cherished moment amid the chaos, a reminder of the deep affection you held for each other.

As Cale continued his journey, his mind felt adrift, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. Every step he took felt like a plunge into the depths of his own heart, a journey filled with uncertainty and fear.

He eventually stopped, his eyes locked onto a gruesome sight. The world around him dissolved into a sea of red, a stark reminder of the brutality of war. Blood, everywhere, and it was something Cale loathed. But his primary concern was finding you.

Cale thought optimistically, trying to quell the dread rising within him. "They're fine... they're probably just resting. She's strong," he mumbled to himself, though an unsettling feeling gnawed at his gut.

Despite the victory celebrations happening outside, Cale's focus remained unwavering as he searched for any sign of your presence, the one constant in his tumultuous world. The gut feeling grew stronger, telling him that something was terribly wrong.

He followed the trail of blood, his thoughts filled with apprehension. Those words, "we will be fine," echoed in his mind as he ventured further. But he didn't stop, driven by the need to find you, to ensure your safety.

Cale's breath hitched as he entered a half-destroyed building, the gruesome reality of war hitting him like a tidal wave. The scene inside left him speechless and paralyzed by horror.

No...

His voice was barely a whisper as he realized the unthinkable had happened. Cale was confronted with a sight he couldn't comprehend, a sight that had shattered the world he knew. The name that had been on his lips now hung heavily in the air, unspoken and filled with anguish.

Name-

Cale's world shattered as he knelt beside you, his heart heavy with a despair he had never known before. Blood was splattered on your body, and yet your face bore a serene smile, as if you had already come to terms with your fate. He couldn't comprehend it; he didn't want to believe what was unfolding before his eyes.

Something inside Cale snapped, a thread of hope and happiness that had been holding him together. The fear of losing something so precious once more clawed at him. He had never imagined he would face such a devastating moment again.

As if on autopilot, Cale dropped to the ground, his gaze locked on you, the woman he had dreamed of having a future with, the missing piece to his life. The plan he had held onto, to propose to you after the war, now lay in tatters before him.

His trembling hands reached for you, his fingers gently tucking your hair behind your ear, just as he had done countless times before. It was a tender gesture that had always earned him your smile, your giggles, and your affection.

Cale inched closer, his hand tracing your features, from your forehead to your soft lips, your small nose, and your half-closed eyelids. He needed to convince himself that this was not an illusion, that the woman he cherished was still there, somewhere beneath the surface.

He remembered the way your eyes used to look at him with gentleness, the way your cheeks would turn rosy on cold days, and your laughter like a melody that filled his heart. Most of all, he could hear your voice saying his name with that sweet, melodious tone.

"Cale," he could almost hear you call his name, a whisper in the depths of his mind.

His arms gently cradled your lifeless form, just as you had done for him so many times before. Cale felt an icy chill as he touched your body, the reality of your absence sinking in.

He hated it.

He despised how you smiled so peacefully, as if you had no care in the world. He hated that you wouldn't open your eyes. He wanted you to come back, to tell him it was all a joke, that you were still there with him.

But deep down, he knew. He knew that you were gone, and the pain of that realization clawed at his soul. Cale couldn't accept it, couldn't fathom a world without you in it. It was a nightmare he wished he could wake up from, but the truth was relentless and cruel.

Cale's heart ached with regret as he knelt beside Name, his trembling hands gently stroking her lifeless hair, memories flooding his mind. He remembered those moments when they promised to stand by each other, to chase their dreams together. The war had brought them closer, but it had also torn them apart.

Tears flowed down Cale's face, unnoticed by him as he leaned in, planting a tender kiss on her forehead. The warmth of his lips against her cold skin was a painful reminder of what he had lost.

"I... love you," he whispered, the words escaping him with a flat, forced tone, like a last-ditch effort to convey his feelings to the one he cherished. He wished he had said those words earlier, with the passion and sincerity he felt at that moment.

Now, the reality of her lifeless form hit him hard. He held her tightly, his grip tightening as if trying to will life back into her, though he knew it was impossible. Cale's mournful gaze turned to the sky, his eyes filled with anguish. The world seemed to blur around him as he mourned the loss of the person who meant everything to him.

The passage of time had become a blur for Cale, a haze of grief that seemed to stretch endlessly. Minutes bled into hours, and he had lost all sense of how long he had been sitting there, clutching your lifeless form.

He felt a grip on his shoulder, but Cale paid it little attention. His focus remained solely on you. Then, a trembling, whispered voice broke through his trance, calling him by his name. It was Choi Han, but Cale's response was sluggish, as if his thoughts had been dipped in molasses.

He eventually glanced around and realized that there were only a few people left, a stark contrast to the bustling army that had fought the war. Cale felt a sense at having been lost in his own grief for so long. He had been sitting there like a fool, drowning in his sorrow.

Choi Han's grip on Cale's shoulder tightened slightly, as if to pull him back from the abyss. Cale recognized the guilt in his friend's voice as he whispered an apology, but Cale couldn't find the strength to respond. His mind was exhausted, his thoughts a jumbled mess. as he surveyed the surroundings, he saw others in a similar state of grief. Children cried, seeking solace in the arms of Eruhaben. Cale couldn't help but repeat to himself, "I'm not the only one suffering here."

The victory in the war seemed hollow now. It had come at a cost too high to bear, and Cale's heart ached at the emptiness that had replaced his hopes for a future with you. The promise of a life together had been torn away, just like that.

Cale's gaze fell to the blood that stained your body and his black uniform. It was a cruel irony that this time, it was not his blood on his hands. He couldn't help but notice the peaceful expression on your face, the smile that played at the corners of your lips, even with blood still present. He gently wiped away the blood from your mouth and touched your cheek, as if to reassure himself that you were at peace.

Choi Han's words rang in the heavy silence. "I'm sure Name-nim doesn't want to see us like this, Cale-nim. They probably want to rest in a nice bed."

The realization was like a dagger to Cale's heart. You deserved peace and comfort, not the anguish that weighed on everyone. With a heavy heart, he nodded, acknowledging the truth in those words.

Cale began to stand, cradling your fragile form as if you were the most delicate of treasures. Your head rested on his chest, and you felt terribly light, too light for his liking. Your pallor and coldness were stark reminders of what had been lost.

He hated it.

Choi Han remained by Cale's side, offering his silent support. "Let's go," he whispered, the sorrow in his tone mirroring the heaviness in Cale's heart.

As Cale moved, his body felt heavy with exhaustion, both physical and mental. His surroundings blurred, his thoughts scattered, and he couldn't fully process what was happening around him. He held you closer, afraid that if he let go, you would disappear from his sight, slipping away into the void.

In that moment, the world had dimmed, leaving only the weight of your absence and the burden of his grief to carry forward.

#tcf x reader #totcf x reader #trash of the count’s family #cale henituse x reader #cale x reader #gn reader #manhua #manhwa #manhwa x reader #trash of the count’s family x reader #angst #reader insert

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