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lavenderspence · 5 months ago

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Missing the happy hormone | S.R.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Content warning: emotional reader, period mention, fluff

Word Count: 1.8K

Summary: Apparently Spencer Reid could make anything better - even the emotional disaster of being on your period

A/N: First, huge thank you to the cutie that sent in this request, you literally caught me while on my period so this was born. Also, here’s to my inability to write short fics, this is your only warning that i can make and will make anything long, lol. Also, my titles suck omg. And shoutout to my crazy bestie for making me a Mamma Mia girly, she rocks.

But also, happy one month to this blog! When I carved out this little space for myself a month ago I wasn’t really sure how I’d feel being back here and writing again, but so far it’s been a treat. A huge thank you for all of your support and love and thank you to my mutuals and everyone that interacted with my blog. 💕 Here’s to many more months to come!

Request: spencer x fem!reader on her period/ovulating and shes in tears all the time?? Im ovulating and have been crying for hours and keep calling my mom lmaoo he’d been so lovely and sweet I know it I can feel it in my bones

masterlist

It was a slow day at the BAU. The most exciting thing in the 6 hours Spencer had spent at work was Rossi’s invitation to dinner the following weekend.

Paperwork had piled high after their last 2 cases, so every team member was hunched over their desk, writing and revising reports. It was a never-ending cycle - finish a report, close the file, open a new one, and start all over again.

His eyes had started getting tired after four and a half hours, his hand had started cramping and he was down two pens so far, yet there was still a prominent pile on his desk.

He suspected Morgan and Emily might have pushed a file or two from theirs onto his load, seeing as he was getting done the fastest. Regardless, every few hours JJ was bringing even more to pile on top of everything that wasn’t finished, so buried in paperwork they stayed - no matter how fast he wrote or read, or how used to the load he was.

He was just thinking about getting up to prepare a fresh pot of coffee so he could function properly for a few more hours when his phone started ringing. He felt around the pockets of his suit jacket, where it sat draped on his chair, and then pulled it free.

His display showed an incoming call, a picture of you as he hugged you, hands around your middle and face almost buried into your neck, a soft smile gracing both your faces. A scenery rich with reds, browns, and yellows stood behind you, the beauty of fall was nothing short of spectacular.

The picture you’d taken last year when the team spent a weekend at Rossi’s cabin in the woods, surrounded by the beauty of landscapes and leaves, nature for miles.

He accepted the call right away, a small smile on his face.

“Hey sweetheart.” His voice was gentle, if a little raspy from misuse. He hadn’t talked much in the last few hours - just a distracted short answer here or a hum there. He was happy you were calling, though, welcoming the reprieve from the most recent report.

It was silent for a few seconds, and he wondered absentmindedly if maybe you hadn’t called him on accident, and then there came a tiny little sniffle from your side.

“Sweetheart?” He prompted, “Are you there? What’s going on?” Worry was starting to creep into the base of his spine, but he still remained calm and kept his voice gentle.

“I’m here. Hi.” Another small sniffle, “All’s good. Just…I was just wondering how much longer you’d be gone.” Your voice was small,like you thought you might upset him by asking, and a little crackly, like you yourself were upset about something.

His eyebrows furrowed, and he checked the time quickly - 3:57 pm.

“Probably about two more hours, there’s a lot of paperwork we need to go through.” His eyes met Emily’s as she sent him a curious, questioning look.

“Oh, okay.” The resignation was clear in your voice, “I’ll see you later then.” The call ended abruptly, and it took him a second to catch up.

He couldn’t help but feel like not everything was as good as you claimed it was. For one, you rarely called to ask when he’d be home - you knew his work could span into the late hours, or even stretch for days. You let him update you on any changes in his work schedule.

In your interactions, your voice was usually upbeat and teasing - especially on the phone. Your kindness was always evident in your voice, as was your mood. You were a sunshine person, if he ever met one, that’s probably why you and Penelope formed such a close bond upon meeting.

There was something that nagged him - a change in your mood he could pick up on just by your voice - too low, too small, and the cracks that he could now identify as he replayed your conversation in his head. You were keeping yourself from crying out, and yet there was nothing more apparent than the tears in your voice. And that made him worry.

“Reid, are you okay?” Emily’s voice snapped him from the hard stare he’d been giving his phone in the last several minutes since the call ended.

“I…I don’t know.” His eye twitched, and he cleared his throat before he tried and failed to articulate exactly what was happening - he himself had a hard time understanding. One thing he knew was that he needed to get home. “I..um, I need to go. Can you, please?” He asked, gusting at the remaining three files on his desk before he pulled his suit jacket on and grabbed his satchel.

Morgan and Emily shared a mildly concerned look before they both nodded their heads, “Yeah, go. Text to let us know if everything is okay.” Morgan reminded him before he exited the bullpen with a fast step and tried to keep calm.

He was aware the situation wasn’t anything that he needed to be incredibly worried over - if something was really wrong, he knew you would have let him know. Yet, he couldn’t help the way his heart constricted by the sound of your voice, or the overwhelming desire to come home and gently hold you, see what could have caused this behavior.

You were curled up on the couch, watching as Donna helped Sophie get ready for her wedding, the gentle melody of “Slipping through my fingers” filling the empty apartment. Your eyes were watering, to the point that everything was starting to get blurry. A shaky exhale left your lips.

Today has simply been a rollercoaster. Kissing Spencer goodbye this morning was the highlight of the day. What followed was nothing short of an emotional disaster.

You’d teared up during breakfast, images of picking berries with Spencer flying through your mind. The desire to make it a reality was strong.

Following that had come the overwhelming urge to bawl your eyes out, for no apparent reason whatsoever. Just cry and cry until you had it all emptied out and you could take a deep breath and continue with your day. So, cry you did, and then you’d finished with your chores for the day.

Apparently letting it all out and emptying your tear supply hadn’t happened. Seeing as around 3:30 you’d started missing your boyfriend so much, the need to hear his voice had won out, so you’d called him. You felt the need to have him home to hold you because this month’s visit from mother flow was making you feel like a crybaby.

But then there was disappointment at the notion that you needed to wait close to 3 hours before that could happen. So you quickly ended the call before he could pick up on the tone of your voice, and then you shed a few tears.

Now here you were, rewatching Mamma Mia because you really needed a pick me up, and once again, eyes shining as the tears started falling. At this point, it was a losing battle, so you let them fall, humming to the song with a broken voice.

That’s exactly how Spencer found you, not a minute later. His keys were in his hand, the satchel on his shoulder, and he was just a little bit out of breath.

The moment his eyes met you, they softened as he dropped everything and sat down next to you. His hand reached up and he cradled the side of your face, wiping your tears away.

“Hey, sweetheart. What’s wrong?” He asked in a whisper.

“Look at Donna painting Sophie’s nails, it’s...” You hiccuped, another wave of tears washing over you. “And you’re home, why are you home?” Your question was met with a furrow in his brow, as his thumbs continued wiping underneath your eyes.

“You called.” He answered simply.

“But you said-” He stopped you before you could finish your sentence.

“I did, yes. But you sounded off and sad, so. Want to tell me what’s going on?” He prompted you gently as he pushed your hair back and pulled you into his lap after, feeling like you needed the physical contact.

You weren’t ashamed to admit it, per se, but you were ashamed that your hormones had caused him to leave work and race home to be with you.

“It’s my period,” you mumbled, hands wrapping around his neck as you hid your face in his chest, too tired to prevent your eyes from watering again. “It’s been going on all day. Randomly, I’d just get so emotional, and the tears would start. I was missing you so much too, and then hearing the song, bam, tears again. I’m so done with this Spence.” You sounded barely coherent, with your face pushed as close to him as possible.

It all made sense now, you’d been cranky a few days ago, and then you’d told him last night your cramps were unbearable, so he knew you were on your period, but right now he felt like an idiot for not figuring it out himself.

“It’s okay, everything is fine. The drop in estrogen and progesterone, following your ovulation triggered this. This in turn reduced the production of serotonin, your happy hormone. So, we just need to boost it a bit.” He whispered into your ear as you played with the hairs at the nape of his neck.

“How?” You sighed into his chest, almost being able to pick up on the sound of his heartbeat.

He got deep in thought for a few seconds as you breathed in his scent, and a sense of calmness slowly overtook you now that he was home and holding you. One of his hands was running soothing circles on your back as the other held your hand, fingers interlocked.

“How about we take a trip to the store and get you some snacks? We’ll pick up dinner on the way home and then I'll hold you some more and you'll pick a movie for us to watch.” He suggested, kissing the crown of your head once, twice, and many more times until you gave him an answer.

“Yeah, yeah, I think that would help, but just having you here has done wonders.” You finally laid your head against his chest, looking up to meet his eyes. He smiled, and so did you. Having him here really had helped immensely, and when had it not? He was your other half, your rock, and even when your emotions ran rampant or you were feeling down, just his presence, his touch, and his understanding were enough to make it all okay.

Later in the evening, Penelope sent you a photo of Sergio sleep-hugging a little plushy you’d gotten him, and the waterworks started all over again. Luckily, Spencer was there, wiping your tears and kissing your head, saying a thousand things without actually speaking a word.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Requests are open for both Spencer and Hotch if you want to send any!

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid one shot #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x you #criminal minds #criminal minds fluff #criminal minds fanfic

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notjustjavierpena · 6 months ago

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(Mid)summer Loving

Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Yes, based on that new picture. I’ll call this my first contribution to getting railed in a sundress season.

Summary: The last two years of being with Joel has transformed the both of you. Mostly him. For the better.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, joel’s kink is being loved and appreciated, long haired joel!!!, healthy joel, established relationship, piv sex, size kink (it's big), rough, loud and desperate sex, dirty talk, praise kink, creampie, railed in a sundress season contribution, they are so soft for each other, bit of aftercare.

Word count: 3.1k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55988128

(Mid)summer Loving

It happens when you hear him through the crowd of people in the community center. Your head whips in his direction, your eyes settling on the crinkles around his eyes as he laughs at something Tommy has said to him. He swirls the whiskey in his glass and downs it with slight difficulty because he is still smiling.

You are only a table away, sitting with some of the women from your patrol group who gossip about potential suitors in the room, especially amongst the newcomers. However, you don’t really pay attention to what is being said because the love of your life sits across from you. It makes you able to admire him, struck by his transformation since he first came to Jackson and barged into your life. Your heart is so soft for him.

The most obvious change is the hair. It’s gotten longer, the ends curling slightly in a way that softens his otherwise rugged appearance of big leather boots and tripled layered clothing. He used to have it shorter, and while you loved its fluffy bounce on top of his head whenever it was caught in the wind, it doesn’t compare to how it now frames his face by just brushing his collar in the back. It may be a subtle shift to others but to you, it means that Joel is more at ease with who and where he is, and that he has allowed change to find him.

His beard, too, has filled out. It is now thick and even, not at all the patchy scruff that you noticed the first time he talked to you by the rag pile in the trading center. He’d searched for fabric that could be used for shining the creations that he makes when seeking respite in wood carving. You had noticed the patch that resembled a heart first, your own heart skipping a beat as you forced yourself not to point it out to him immediately. That patch is gone but you’ll spend no time mourning it when the result is Joel looking healthier than ever, almost as if his body has responded to happiness with you by filling in all the gaps that heartbreak had left.

Then there’s his face. It glows, despite his age, with a newfound youth, the signs of weariness and stress of years lived too hard it once bore completely wiped away. When you first met him, your heart had ached for his tired eyes, bags underneath them revealing all the sleepless nights and the burdens that he carried. The way they shine when they look into yours has your heart at ease and you can only hope he feels the same.

Around you, the women keep chatting, talking animatedly and giggling while you sip your drink and stay silent until they are nothing but a low hum in the background.

You only snap out of it when your name is said out loud. You furrow your brow, “Sorry?”

“I said that you don’t have to worry about things like this,” one of them chirps happily, “You already got your man.”

“Guess not, guess you’re right,” you chuckle softly and start to feel shy. You have never been one to be glaringly obvious in your happiness to the point where you display it at every opportunity but then Joel came along. He may worry about the gap of years between the two of you, often feeling undeserving of your love and attention but you only wish that he could see himself from your point of view. To you, he is everything. He doesn’t see how his presence calms and grounds you, how he makes you feel safe even in a world beyond repair. In his embrace, you feel even the biggest of anxieties and the worst of your challenges shrink into nothing. All he has to do is put his gentle, calloused hands on you and talk to you in that familiar southern drawl, and then your mind quiets down instantaneously.

However, if not his hands or his voice, his loving gaze also seems to do the trick. He suddenly turns his head in your direction, catching your eyes, and the sound of the lively conversations from each table mutes to nothing. He smiles at you and mouths a ‘you okay?’ at you.

‘Save me’ you decide to mouth back at him, making a face to see him smile with amusement. He slaps his brother’s back before putting both hands on the table to push himself to stand. You didn’t think he would take it seriously but just the sight of seeing him approach you makes you want to go home with him.

“Ready to go, honey?” He asks when he reaches your table, placing a hand on your shoulder and gently squeezing.

“Hi Joel,” your friend group says in unison.

“Ladies,” he nods and they giggle like schoolgirls, “Gotta get this one home.”

You shake your head with a little smile at their reaction. Then you swing your legs over the side of the chair. Joel helps you up and a moment after having said your goodnights, you leave together like you’ve done for a few years now.

Outside, people are scattered across the town square where a huge bonfire has been erected in the spot where the Christmas tree usually stands. Today is the annual midsummer celebration. Jackson is decorated with bundles of flowers that have replaced the painted eggs that tell people it is Easter. You smile at the memory of Ellie having been forced to join in on getting people in the spirit of Easter which had resulted in you trying to guess which of the eggs hanging from the sky had been crafted by the angry teen. You had decided that it might’ve been the one painted completely black.

Now, bright colors from nature hover above your head instead as you make your way down the main road. Joel holds your hand all the way home. He strokes the back of it with his thumb, feeling no pressure to fill up the silence between you as it has reached a point where it is comfortable.

When you reach your shared house, Joel stops you by the front door instead of opening it for you in the gentlemanly way he always does. He stands in front of you, the porch light softening his features as he gazes at you.

“You seemed a bit distracted with your friends tonight,” he notes, “Is everythin’ alright?”

“Just thinking about how lucky I am,” you answer with a smile, your voice sincere, “To have you.”

“I’m the lucky one, baby,” Joel huffs out a little laugh of disbelief, trying to brush off how flattered he always feels each time you say things like this. He gathers your hand in both of his, lifting it to kiss the back of it a few times, “Best fuckin’ thing that ever happened after the world ended.”

“Don’t let Ellie hear that,” you tease gently. In your chest, your heart hammers against your ribs from being loved by him.

“I’d never dream of it,” he steps closer with his eyes burning to get closer to you. You see them darken slightly as desire fills them and your heart jumps into your throat at the realization of what he wants.

You.

He wants you.

That’s the one thing that has also changed since you met him; he has become much more untameable when he has you around. Who knew that his stamina was so impressive? Who knew that Joel Miller getting a confession of love - whether it consisted of the actual words or simply was said in your actions - would have him dragging you to somewhere private as soon as possible?

“I love you, Joel Miller,” you say dreamily, pulling the trigger, “To the day that I die.”

And then suddenly Joel rips the door open so roughly that you’re afraid it might come off its hinges, pulls you inside along with him and slams it shut behind the both of you afterward. He locks it without hesitation, not about to be interrupted by any of your neighbors even if it’s most likely that everyone is out and about the town to be social.

You are pressed up against the door next, his broad hands resting on your hips as he holds you against it. He bunches up the skirt of your sundress, groping your sides on top of the fabric, and you sling an arm around his back. Your other arm reaches up so you can cup the back of his head, your fingers sliding into the hair there. He has the perfect length for pulling these days - you should know - but you’ll wait for the right moment.

His lips nearly bruise yours with how hard he kisses you, beard scratching your skin as he practically eats at your mouth to the point where your head swims and your belly swirls with hours of suppressed desire. You need him now, already soaked through your underwear and ready for him to be inside of you.

“Fuck me,” you whine against his lips, heart beating rapidly in your chest. So much that your breathing is already uneven, “Please, Joel, please.”

“S’alright, baby, I know whatcha need,” he rasps as his lips messily start descending on your chin, all the way across your jaw until his mouth attaches to your throat. You let your head bump against the door with a breathy moan, giving him access to bruise your neck too. He creates a purple mark that you will try to hide tomorrow during patrol to avoid interrogation on how Joel Miller is in bed. Only you can know.

Your skirt falls down the slight amount it has been pulled up when Joel goes to unbuckle his leather belt. The noise of the metal sends a shiver through you, anticipation rising to your cheeks by heating them up underneath no touch. You look down to see the belt hanging open, him shoving the denim down around his thighs afterward and following up with his briefs too.

The sight of his cock makes your mouth water. He is fully hard already, standing into the air at full attention and threatening to smear your pretty dress with his precome by poking into your belly if he dares get closer. You moan pathetically and he shushes you gently.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he soothes you like he would a child that has scraped their knee. He curls his fingers in the fabric of your dress once more before hiking it up along your thighs until he can stuff the bottom of the skirt into the top of your dress, effectively holding it up so it doesn’t fall down over your soaked panties again.

You grab at the sides of your underwear to shimmy out of them but Joel doesn’t exercise enough patience to wait for you to step out of them, so he hooks his fingers into the front. He finds your eyes when he feels how wet the cotton fabric is, doesn’t directly say anything about it but just shows you how full-blown his pupils are at the realization. Without warning, he yanks your panties to the side.

Satisfied with his work, he makes you gasp as he bends his knees to reach down and splay his strong hands on the back of your thighs. He lifts you off the ground and wraps you around him, pressing his knee into the door to hold you up while guiding his throbbing cock into you. You moan desperately at the initial sting, brows furrowing with slight pain as he sheaths himself inside of you to the hilt.

“Oh my God,” you whimper, letting his name fall from your lips in a helpless chant as he pulses from how your walls choke him as you strain to take him like you always do in the beginning. He might just split you open right here in the hallway when he starts fucking you.

“Shh, you can take it,” he whispers with the most brutally gentle peck on your zipped lips, “It’s okay. She knows it’s big, baby, but she can take it. I always fuck ya real good, don’t I?”

You nod helplessly, and fuck you, he does. It’s fast and hard and dirty. The poor wooden door rattles alongside the jingle of his belt buckle with each slam of his hips, the doorknob painfully gnawing into your lower back, and you fear the fabric of your underwear will snap from the strain that is put on it as it sits to the side. Sometimes you think you might even cut a hole in some of your pairs with how often Joel, still two years later, rushes to get his cock into you. There’s something oddly satisfying and offensive about just being able to bend over and let him see that all he has to do is push in.

“That’s it, look at me, baby, such a good girl f’me,” he praises to get you back to him, not here to lose your attention to the way his cock feels inside of your tight heat. Your eyes settle on him again, your mouth hanging open to elicit pathetic gasps each time he knocks the wind out of you by driving his hips up into you and effectively pounding your g-spot. His face is so close to you; you can feel his breath and share it with him, can study every little imperfection in the form of tiny scars and dark lines that you hadn’t been able to see earlier from your seat a few tables over.

“Joel,” you pant, digging your heels into the small of his back, clinging on desperately and angling your hips as he has his way with you. The slight adjustment has him going deeper, touching something inside of you that ignites the first sparks of an orgasm. Your nails claw, dig and scratch at his back in ways that would have been enough to draw blood if he wasn’t wearing a shirt, “Fuck, baby! Don’t— ngh, don’t stop.”

“You feel so good,” he replies with a groan, most likely powering through the exhaustion and strain on his body to make you feel even better. He is everywhere on you, his hands on your thighs, gripping and squeezing. He is everywhere in you too, his cock twitching inside of you each time you cry his name.

“I’m—“ you sob.

“Let go, baby, I can feel ya,” he growls when you dance around the edge of your orgasm because your fingers on both hands tangle into his beautifully chocolate hair, yanking harshly as impending pleasure knocks the breath out of your lungs. Your skin burns, your whole system halts and goes into overdrive at the same time until all you can do is shout silently at the ceiling. Your walls clench in mind-altering ecstasy then and your quietness is over, replaced by a relieved whine as you come on his dick. It is intense from how fast you’ve gotten there since he entered you, your body writhing as it is held against the wall. He fucks you through it, has you wailing as he chases his own high.

You cradle his head during his last few thrusts, feeling his damp breath against your shoulder as he buries himself inside of your spent cunt and comes hard. It feels so good when he groans as he fills you up, the sound vibrating through his entire body. You whimper at the ceiling with the way he pulses deliciously with each breathy moan until he has no more to give you.

He leans all his weight into you as he comes down again, holding you in place with his chest against yours to make sure that you won’t fall down and drag him with you. He gives you a moment and places a string of lazy kisses on your lips until he slips out of you with a soft sound.

Carefully, he places you back down on the floor and eyes you as he does it to be certain you won’t collapse. He moves off of you when it feels safe to do so.

“I say it back?” He asks as he leans against the door with you. Automatically, you tilt your head towards him. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, turning his head a second later to fully look at your disheveled state. You have a hand on your chest to calm your breathing but it still matches your fluttering heartbeat. He still aches between your legs.

You look back at him, awaiting his words with short breaths, “Say what?”

He makes a gesture to the both of you, “Before what we just did happened. I tell ya that I love you too?”

“No?” Your reply is almost a question.

“Shame on me,” he smiles and turns his whole body so that he faces you completely, shoulder against the door. His eyes soften as he reaches out, his hand gently cupping your cheek. The warmth of his touch is nice when the sweat has started to cool you down, and you lean into his palm, feeling the roughness of his calloused skin against you.

“Shame on me, indeed,” he murmurs, eyes on your slightly open mouth, “Because I do love ya. More than I can understand sometimes.”

“You don’t have to say it back every time, Joel. I know,” you try to brush off how much your body and mind buzz at the same time.

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes never leaving your mouth, “No, I do needa say it. You deserve to hear it. I love you.”

You nod and reach to hold his wrist when he leans in to press a gentle kiss to your open mouth. Just a few minutes ago, the now-careful hands had been rough on your skin and his words had dripped with sin.

“Now, how ‘bout I take you to bed?” He asks and pulls your dress’ skirt out of the top, watching it tumble down and fall back into place around your knees.

While you wait for him to get dressed again, fatigue seems to finally have caught up with you because you feel like you might collapse in your hallway at that suggestion. When it’s safe to do so, you let yourself fall into his arms and he catches you without hesitation.

He scoops you up, goes upstairs with you in his arms, undresses you, washes you down with a warm flannel, and gets you into bed. You curl up on your side and after a while, after hearing his boots come off and the shuffling of clothes, the bed dips from his weight.

The warmth of his body against your back lulls you to sleep. Oh, how simply he loves you. Forever doesn’t seem like a lot to ask for.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

#pedro pascal characters #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us #my writing #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal smut #joel tlou #joel the last of us #joel miller imagine #joel miller fanfic #joel miller smut #joel miller the last of us

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ceilidho · 8 months ago

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take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (part 8)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7

Now a nocturnal animal emerges into the daylight hours.

A week becomes two and your shoulders untense. It’s not something you notice at first because you’re used to an ever present strain between your shoulder blades and an ache in your jaw from grinding your teeth at night. Then a fortnight goes by without so much as a missive with your name on it floating across John’s desk or a stranger appearing in town after tracking you down, and you wonder if maybe the world really is big enough to hide in.

It sure feels that way at times. The woods beyond the bounds of John’s property stretch out farther than the eye can see and even walking it feels like you could disappear into another realm. Old spruces shoot up high into the clouds, and deeper into the woods, huge rock formations grow more and more prominent as you near the mountains. John takes you through the woods on horseback, following the rough trails carved into the dirt by a century of wagons and carts using the same path. The footprints of a different time.

Up in the trees, birds warble and chirp, talking to one another in songs that you’ve never heard before. A woodpecker drills into the side of a tree. Pinecones snap out of the upper branches and drop to the forest floor.

There is only a single trail and it’s easy to lose. You grow a bit nervous when John takes you off the trail and deeper into the woods, but he does so with the confidence of a man that knows these woods like the back of his hand. You go quiet when he stops Buttercup to let a herd of deer wander by, the stragglers hurrying to catch up with the group, throwing the two of you nervous glances before they disappear into the thicket.

“Should we be out this far?” you ask in a whisper, reluctant to disturb the silence. Though the woods are full of animals that bleat, chirp, chatter, and hoot, the sound of your own voice feels preternaturally loud and shrill.

“We won’t get lost, darlin’. I know my way around,” John reassures you, curling an arm around your waist to hold you to him. These days, you hardly worry about tumbling off the horse. Not with him at your back anyway.

“That wasn’t really my worry,” you mumble, trailing off.

“Then what’re you getting all worked up about?”

“Aren’t there wolves out here? Or bears?”

He snorts, the sound making you jolt. You don’t topple over because he has such a firm hold around your waist. “They don’t usually come this close to town. They’re more scared of you than you are of them.”

“That sounds like something mothers tell their children to stop them crying,” you say flatly. You draw your legs up automatically when John directs Buttercup through a shallow basin, a shortcut back home. It makes you anxious for a moment, but the water barely goes up to her ankles, so you relax when you realize that you’re in no danger of being swept away by the current.

“That doesn’t mean a bear or wolf can’t wander by, but it’s rare.”

“And there it is.”

You can feel the heat of his glower on the back of your head. “We could spend the night out here if you want to see for yourself.”

At that, you shut your mouth. Even if he were to prove his point, you have no interest in camping out in the woods now that you’ve become accustomed to the luxury of a soft bed. Granted that you’re forced to share that same bed, still you’ve never slept half as well as you do these days. You wake up rested after nine hours of blissful shut eye, a sleep so deep that your dreams only come in half-remembered flashes. Often they involve the man you wake up wrapped around, and for that you’re grateful that they remain submerged.

A new desire has started to burrow its way into the back of your mind in recent days. It starts out as a thought so brief that you hardly notice it before it skitters away.

And then it lingers.

You wake up in the middle of the night hot, sweat dripping down the nape of your neck and a fire burning in your loins, a red-hot coil wound around itself, fit to burst. Pulsating. At some point throughout the night, you must have thrown a leg around John’s waist because it rests there now, your hand planted in the middle of his chest and your sex all but rubbing up against his thigh. Under your hand, you can feel his heart pump strong and steady.

You hold very, very still, waiting for him to wake. But John sleeps on, his palm loose where it rests along the curve of your hip, fingers curling into the flesh of your backside.

You can hardly look at him these days without shaking. You’ve come to fixate on the sway of his hips when he walks and the flecks of silver in his beard. The grooves in his weathered hands. The way your head fits in the palm of his hand when he cradles it to his chest. The fond glimmer in his eyes that shines the brightest when he puts his hat on your head and it slips past your eyes, too big for your head.

When you tip it up in order to see, the folds around his eyes become more pronounced with the force of his smile.

“There you are, bug,” he says, taking the hat off your head to set it back on his and reeling you in for a kiss.

Bug, love, honey, darling. The constant flux of endearments makes your head spin. John never calls you by the name on your marriage license. It’s like that name means nothing to him, cast away at the first opportunity and replaced by an endless stream of pet names.

He hasn’t touched your sex since making you come on the porch swing the week before. He pulls you into a chaste embrace at night, the only evidence of his own desire being the stiff shaft nestled against the small of your back in the early morning hours, which he takes care of on his own in the bathroom downstairs after pressing a kiss to your cheek. You feel robbed of something, though you don’t know quite what.

You’re tempted to offer your help, but you don’t know exactly what that would entail. Inexperience and fear of rejection hold you back, stay your tongue. In the two weeks you’ve been married, he hasn’t once tried to pin you down and rut between your thighs like you expected and dreaded that very first night.

Now that that time has passed, you don’t know how to initiate that moment again.

John promises to teach you how to ride a horse. You can’t see a reason to protest, much to your chagrin. Despite your apprehensions, even you can’t deny that it would be a helpful skill. A train only goes one way after all, confined to a single track. A horse has no such laws to obey.

The thought stays nestled at the back of your mind as the days continue on.

You flounder around in the kitchen on the day that John invites his deputies over for supper. You’ve met the big one—Simon—now a small handful of times, each encounter marked by a silence that sucks the air out of the room when he turns his gaze on you and holds it. Perhaps you’ve simply ascribed too much importance to his person, given that every time you’ve seen him, your life has changed irrevocably. His presence is always followed by revelation it seems. The archangel of vicissitude. A harbinger of uncertain times.

The other two are new. John introduces you to them when you bring out the cutlery and crockery to set the table, and you nearly go cross-eyed when they reach across the table at the same time to offer their hands. You go to meet them halfway, but flinch when John brings his hand down on the table with enough force to make the silverware jump.

“Sorry, darlin’,” he apologizes to you first before turning his glare on the other two. “That ain’t proper, boys. You wait for the lady to offer her hand first—you don’t treat a woman like she’s a mutt you’re teaching to shake.”

“Ah, sorry, hen,” the one on the left says, his voice a thick Scottish brogue like a purr. He’s possibly the handsomest man you’ve ever met, but there’s something dangerous and wild in his eyes. When he smiles, it curls up in a roguish sort of way that makes you falter, like he’s in on a joke that you aren’t. “Dinnae mean to offend. No’ often we get ta meet such a pretty lady.”

“Sorry—” the one on the right apologizes in a voice far more earnest than his counterpart’s. “And sorry for him. We think he was raised by wolves.”

“What’s yer excuse then?” the Scot sneers, knocking his knee into the other man’s under the table. “Dinnae see ye waitin’ for her fuckin’ hand like a gentleman—apologies, hen.”

“Christ,” John sighs, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

Simon stays silent at the other end of the table, but the whole table jumps when he aims a kick at the Scott’s leg. He hisses and blurts out a word in a language you’ve never heard before, the word unmistakably vitriolic. He clutches at his shin and shoots a nasty look at Simon, though he doesn’t make a move to retaliate.

“Name’s Kyle. Kyle Garrick,” the other introduces himself, and you finally reach across the table to offer your hand. His hand is warm against yours when he takes it, dark skin burnished in the candlelight. There’s something inviting about him; something about his eyes, so dark that you almost fall into them. Thick lips curl up into a smile. “And this here is Soap.”

You frown. “Soap?”

The man in question runs a hand down his front, emphasizing the cut of his shirt and the way it clings to the muscle of his chest. “‘Cause of how well I clean up.”

Simon barks out a laugh at that. The sound comes so sudden and sharp that it startles you. “You got it ‘cause your mum had to wash out your mouth with soap.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard out of him and you can only stare wide-eyed at the lot of them as they dissolve into bickering and squabbling after that. It’s almost a relief to head back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

Dinner is a similar messy affair, punctuated by the sound of Soap practically gnawing the meat off the bone. He only apologizes when John barks at him for making a mess, more food on the floor around him than on his plate, but his table manners don’t last very long. John doesn’t seem so much embarrassed on their behalf as annoyed, but it’s an annoyance that comes with an aftertaste of warmth. You can tell without asking that they’ve known each other for years.

There’s room enough in you for food and envy. Back home you had friends. Never close friends, but acquaintances at least. Maids you could recognize by face. Small talk while ascending single-file up the servants’ staircase. Perhaps little more than that. You’d never been particularly close to any of them, but how could you? You worked from morning ‘till night, up and down the stairs, moving in the shadows. Never making too much noise lest your employers take notice of you.

Like he did.

You shake it off. That’s no matter now. You’re hundreds of miles away and living under a new name. A married woman, to the county sheriff no less. It only sometimes hurts your heart to think of how lonely you’d been.

When they leave, you stand at the window and watch as they disappear into the black of the night, Simon at the front of the pack, his torchlight leading the way. The sound of horse hooves beating against the dirt recedes the farther they get.

His hands warm your shoulders. You don’t know how long he’s been there, standing behind you while you stared out the window after the boys. All you know is that his hands are warm, and the kiss he presses to the back of your head makes you arch back into him, unconsciously gravitating closer to him. Needing to be near.

In bed, you curl your fingers against his chest. On a rough exhale, you wake. You dream still of something terrible that happens somewhere else, in another city, in an old life. His heartbeat lulls you back to sleep.

John takes you to the local seamstress to have you fitted for a pair of pants and suddenly you’re out of excuses. They fit you comfortably, like a second skin, and you find yourself pulling at the legs at your final fitting as if to stretch out the material. The seamstress nearly jabs you with a pin and glares up at you until you stop fidgeting.

You come to terms with it when he brings you into the stables and makes you fetch the saddle from where it rests on its stand. It’s heavier than you expected. You stumble back over to where John now has Buttercup standing in the middle of the stable, holding her by the lead fixed to her bridle.

“I don’t know if—” you start, trepidation climbing up your chest until it grips you by the throat. For as many times as you’ve ridden her, you’ve never done it alone.

John fixes her lead to a post and walks over to you, taking the saddle from your hands and letting it drop to the ground. He cups your face in both hands to tilt your head up. “Hey, honey. We’re not doing much of anything today, alright? Just a walk around the paddock so you get used to sitting on Buttercup on your own. I’m not gonna smack her ass and send you down the trail at full tilt..”

That gets a laugh out of you. “You promise?”

He smiles. “Promise, darlin’.”

And he keeps it. The only thing you do that day is learn how to tack a horse and how to properly mount and dismount her. The latter part of the lesson is devoted to you trying to find your balance while John leads the two of you around the pen at a leisurely pace. He calms you down when he sees you grow too stiff, stopping to coo and rub your thigh until you gradually relax. It’s heartwarming until Buttercup begins to tense up too for a reason unbeknownst to you and you watch in righteous fury as John calms her down the same way.

John gets you a hat to keep the sun from beating down on you, but there’s little he can do about the soreness between your thighs and the stiffness in your legs the next day. All you can do is hiss and moan in pain, hobbling around the house until he forces you down into a chair and hikes up your dress in order to apply an arnica salve to your inner thighs.

It’s a relief and an affront at the same time. The duality of man. The salve soothes much of the ache, but you twitch nervously around John for the rest of the day, the memory of him pinning you to the chair and forcibly spreading your thighs haunting you. The lingering ache in your core is just the salt in the wound.

It rains another day. A light drizzle while the sun is still out.

Every day you sit and you think, will it be today? And then the wash basins are emptied out in the field, the horses are taken out to the paddock, you pin the laundry up on the line to dry, and John presses a farewell kiss to your forehead when he leaves you with Kate and nothing happens. Every inch of you waits for more, anticipates more. Throbs when he leaves you wanting, only a chaste kiss and a squeeze around your waist before he’s off.

You can feel it coming to a head. An itch you can’t shake.

That day comes with another ache you can’t shake.

“Please,” you beg, clasping your hands in front of you. “One day of rest. That’s all I’m asking. I can’t do this anymore, John.”

John snaps the lead in his hands. “Let’s get a move on. We’re burning daylight.”

You hang your head low on the march over to the stables, John taking up the rear like he expects you to bolt. An executioner’s walk. The thought of escape has never seemed further away—not even because of its feasibility, but because all you want to do is lie down and rest.

“You can quit your moping,” he says as you tack up Buttercup, a pout on your lips. “Got something special for you today.”

That makes you perk up, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t specify what that is. Anticipation mounts in you when he helps you up onto Buttercup and then climbs up behind you himself. He steers her away from the paddock and towards the trail leading into the woods, the sun at its zenith now, illuminating everything as far as the eye can see.

You’ve ridden this trail before. A week ago, with John at your back as he is now. Through the fields and over the hills until the trees start to number in the tens and then the hundreds, no clear delineation between plain and forest. Simply there and then everywhere.

By now, after hours of sun beating down on the path, the trail is mostly dry, yesterday’s rain long since having sunk into the earth. You think it’d still be a tough hike on foot, but on horseback you cover acres of land at a brisk pace, Buttercup hardly breaking a sweat. You cross paths with a small group traveling by horse and wagon, but John breaks off from the path not too long after that, steering Buttercup deeper into the wilderness, where the only gullies are the ones carved out by years and years of rainfall.

You only see it when the land begins to dip and you’re forced to hold onto the horn and tighten your thighs around the fenders to keep steady. At the bottom of a hill, a small stream opens up into a larger river, narrowing out at the other end where the land rises again and the water can only trickle over the pebbly riverbed. On the other side, a rocky outcropping cuts the stream off from view.

“Is this where you used to come to bathe?” you ask, recalling an earlier conversation.

John sighs. “Thought I’d take you for a swim as a treat, but if you’d rather just tease me—”

“Well now, let’s not be hasty,” you say, already trying to dismount on your own, eyes glued on the stream glimmering in the sunlight. John chuckles, keeping you pressed to him until he guides Buttercup under a tree for shade and dismounts first, helping you down after him.

All you want to do is wade in the stream up to your ankles, so that’s what you do. Boots kicked off, Buttercup relaxing in the shade of a tree, John standing by the water’s edge with his hands on his hips and watching you tiptoe over the smooth rocks below. You roll up your pant legs, but eventually you feel the ends grow damp as you venture farther out. At its deepest, you would probably sink up to your waist.

“Don’t you want to swim?” John asks from somewhere behind you.

You splash around a bit, kicking your feet through the water. “Hard to do that with clothes—”

When you turn back around to face him, your eyes dart down momentarily at the sight of skin before you squeak and whirl back around, sending up an arc of water. Twice now you’ve seen him naked.

“You’ve no clothes on,” you state, bluntly enough that it almost sounds stupid.

You hear the water splash and ripple when he takes his first step in. “Right—you better think about doing the same if you don’t want to ride home soaking wet.”

“I was perfectly fine just getting my feet wet,” you say indignantly.

“We came out here to swim, not get your feet wet,” John laughs. You stiffen when his hand comes down on your shoulder, conscious of the fact that your husband is standing right behind you, entirely divested of his clothes. “So best get to steppin’.”

“You can’t make me.”

“Oh, honey,” he says pityingly. “Yes, I can.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as you make your way back to shore, careful not to allow yourself a glimpse of him. Your boots are stacked beneath the shade of another tree, John’s clothes folded neatly beside them. You strip slowly, attentive to the world around you; though unlikely, it’s not impossible that someone might wander by. Your only consolation is that John is still within sight, though you keep your back to him because in recent days, you’ve developed a hunger for him that even now makes your stomach hurt.

Though the air is warm, you shiver. When you turn around with your arms crossed over your breasts to hide them from sight, you find John wading in the river up to his waist. You’ve seen him like this once before, the hearty body of a man in his prime. Sturdy and strong. The hair on his chest is darker than that on his head, wet too from the dip he must have taken when your back was turned. His hair is slicked back too, a wet hand combing it back.

“Come on, darlin’,” he calls, beckoning you forward with his hand.

The water is a cold shock when you step in past your ankles. Ice cold tendrils wrap up your legs, sucking the warmth from you.

You suck in a soft breath when he pulls you into his arms and heaves you up, big hands gripping under your thighs. Your breasts press against the wet skin of his chest, nipples already pebbled. The river is deeper than you assumed; John pulls you deeper in until it pools around your waist and then your chest. Cold enough that you shiver until John dips his head down and the kiss he presses to your lips melts you from the inside out.

You can’t escape the intimacy of water-slick skin. When John drags you up his chest, your nipples brush over his and the shudder that passes through you is violent, toe-curling. You know that he can feel the heat of your core even underwater. With your legs wound around his waist, every inch of you is plastered to his front. Even your fingers play with the ends of his hair, arms draped over his shoulders. You can’t look away.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, breath hot on your face. “Eyes on me.”

As if you could look anywhere else.

He reaches down under the water to readjust himself and you gasp when his shaft is suddenly right there, trapped between his belly and your heat. It’s the closest you’ve ever gotten to coitus, his glans nestled between your folds. You’d only have to shift slightly for him to slip right in. The thought makes your breath quicken.

He doesn’t make a move to take you though, even knowing that he could. How easy it would be. How it’s due to him. Your husband that’s waited a fortnight to take you as his own. John kisses you until each slick pass of his lips grows sloppier, clumsier—his lips barely parting from yours before they’re on you again, rendering you a creature of base needs.

But his hands don’t shift from your backside where he holds you in place. His fingers dig into the flesh hard enough to bruise, but they don’t move to part your folds to make room for his manhood. You expect him to—practically yearn for it and squeeze him around the neck all the harder when he subverts your expectations, doing no more than letting you grind your heat against the base of his shaft.

“John—John, please,” you beg, mindless for what. You don’t know what you’re asking for.

“What d’ya need, darlin’?” he asks into your mouth, stealing your answer with another kiss.

You fall under the swell of another wave. When the root of his cock glides over your clit, your core clenches on nothing, a sob half-bitten off in your mouth, ripped from your chest.

It doesn’t matter how close to him you get—he gives you nothing. The heat could very well burn you from the inside out. Cold water caresses your skin as it flows past, but the center of you runs so hot that you hardly notice it.

When he hikes you higher up against his chest, you clench your fingers in his hair, whining when he takes your nipple into his mouth. Your gasp comes out sharp and hurt when the coarse bristles of his beard rub rough against your breast. He sucks at your breast tender at first, gentle, eyes half-lidded like his mind has gone somewhere else, but there’s a glint in his eye that grows wild and dark, that turns him rough. You don’t know what to do except shake and let him use you how he wants.

Desperation nips at your heels, urging you up the length of him. If you had more nerve, you’d reach down and grasp him under the water, notch the head of his member against your sex and sink right down on him. You need him like you've never needed anything before. Every part of you aflame, searing hot under the sun at its highest point; right overhead, right on top of you.

His teeth sink delicately into your areola, tongue lapping over your nipple to soothe the hurt, and suddenly, you break.

“Please—” you gasp, wrenching his mouth away from your breast and whimpering when he resists at first, glaring up at you like he might bite. “Please, John—I can’t take it. I need you.”

His eyes darken, the pupil swallowing everything up. “Need me where, wife? Here?”

A hand dips between your thighs, pointer finger gliding over your sex, plump with blood. So tender that your mouth hangs open on a whine when he touches you.

“Y-yes,” you whimper, gaze swimming.

John’s breath comes out in a harsh, ragged pant. Completely undone in a way you’ve never seen before. “Get out, darlin’. I’m taking you home. Gonna give you what you need.”

#ceil writing #cod mw2 #cod x reader #price/reader #john price/reader #price x reader #price x you #john price x reader #john price

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specsthesecond · 11 days ago

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°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

This time, you're roused from sleep by the sound of deep snoring coming from the orc under you. You blink away sleep and adjust slightly on the orcs massive chest, resisting the soothing lull of his slow breaths tempting you back to sleep.

He has an arm around your back, unconsciously keeping you against his chest. You lean up a little on your elbows to gaze at the sleeping giant. You never thought the word pretty could possibly be used to describe an orc but when you see the way his eyelashes flutter in sleep you second guess that notion.

His stubble is scruffy and unkempt just like his hair but it doesn't look dirty. His pitch black mane looks so soft you want to run your fingers through it and that fleeting thought shocks you so much you almost fall off the orcs chest.

Luckily he seems to be a rather deep sleeper, he only mumbles something in Orcish and pulls your body closer to his in his sleep. You try desperately to ignore the fire his touch lights under your skin. You're not sure you've ever been this close to someone else before, that thought makes you unreasonably angry. You're not some puritan who shies away from bodily desires. You've just never been good at getting close enough to people to experience it. Nobody chooses to live alone in the woods if they're good with people.

You adjust your hands under you, moving your open palm to where his heart should be. You feel the steady movement of his chest going up and down and it dawns on you, you'd completely forgotten what it's like to have a warm, breathing body next to you.

And just like that the ugly inkling that's been haunting you all these years is confirmed, you do crave intimacy. No matter how much you ignore it, you're weak and lonely. Hell, you're so desperate, you'd seek out the touch of an Orc of all beings!

You feel one pathetic tear trickle down your cheek and you quickly wipe it away. Your fingers lightly brush his soft tunic, seeking heat from the warm skin just underneath. You place your palm flat, letting his heartbeat soothe you again. Your fingers trace the hem of his tunic, where the white cotton meets his hair-covered green chest.

The feeling in your fingers has returned just enough to really feel how soft his skin is. You slowly trail your fingertips up to where his stubble begins on his throat. This type of intimacy is so distant from what you know and it causes another pang in your heart.

You lightly brush the bristly hair, you'd always thought orcs would have abysmal hygiene but his stubble feels clean, if unkempt. There isn't much reason to shave or look presentable when you live alone in the woods, you know that much. Your eyes follow the trail up past his chin to his lips, way too soft-looking for an orc. You get a closer look at the carvings on his tusks but it doesn't help you discern what exactly the carvings depict or what they mean. Your eyes flick up back to his pretty lashes and meet his dark brown irises, they glow so nicely in the fireligh-

Shock electrocutes your body and you jolt away from him with a speed like lightning. You stare wide eyed at his very awake self and embarrassment runs through you like you've never felt before. He sits up, clearly startled at the speed you jumped away from him. You can't look at him, the concern in his eyes only mortifies you further. You desperately look around the room for anything else to focus on and you spot the rest of your clothes still on the rack next to the hearth.

You stumble to your feet, a numb pain still gnaws at your muscles but it feels just like the pain of a long hike, almost familiar. You reach for your two pairs of thick socks and starts pulling them on one by one. The orc, still sitting on the floor, only seems to realize what you're doing when you start slipping your snow boots on. He springs up and heads to the kitchen where you hear clattering and water boiling. You slip on the rest of your clothes, tucking everything in super tight for extra protection. You must have been here awhile because even your fur coat is completely dry, you drape over your shoulders followed lastly by your thick scarf. You walk a few laps in front of the hearth, stretching out your unused muscles for the trek back home and when you think you're ready you awkwardly stand in the middle of the living room, gaze flicking from the front door to the kitchen.

Why are you waiting? You shouldn't even be here. You take only one step towards the door when the orc comes back with a flask in his hands. He rather bluntly holds it out for you to take and you do. Looking from him to the flask, you open it to catch a scent of whats inside. As you guessed it was the spicy honey tea he had served you before, you close the lid tight before your mouth starts to water.

You look up at him, unsure of what to do or say. Neither of you have said a word to each other, You don't expect him to know human common and you guessed he doesn't expect you to know Orcish. You decide on nodding your head low, in what you hope comes across as an expression of appreciation. Apparently it does because he nods back to you with an expression you don't really understand, like he wants to smile but he's sad.

He steps outside with you, you can tell even through the clouds that it's daytime now and you once again wonder how long you spent cuddled up with this orc. He walks out into the snow and leads you to the edge of the little clearing around his home. He points in the direction you need to go, apparently trusting that you can find your way back. You definitely can and you appreciate his acknowledgment of this, nodding to him once more before walking off into the woods, eager to get back home.

You only look back once, when his stone cottage is almost out of sight, he stands on the veranda, watching you leave and for some reason you find it endearing. He's truly just letting you go, after saving your life, feeding you and giving you shelter he's really not going to ask for anything in return? You sigh to yourself, knowing it will way heavy on your conscience if you don't do something for this kind stranger in return.

°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❆⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°

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#(announcer voice) Will they find love in a hopeless place? Find out after this short break!#monster x human #monster lover #monster x reader #monster fucking #exophelia #monster boyfriend #orc x reader #orc boyfriend #orc x human #orc romance #monster fucker #❆Orc woodsman

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bunnywonyo · 5 months ago

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I THINK I READ THE WRONG PINOCCHIO

g!p puppet yujin x toy maker’s daughter! reader

synopsis: classic puppet becomes a human but instead of going out to get swallowed by a whale, this puppet fuck their toy maker’s daughter.

word count: 1.8k

tags: agalmatophilia, smut

growing up with your father, you grew to also love the toys he made. from the wooden dolls to the mini animal sculptures that he himself carved. but your favorite type of toys that your father has made were the puppets.

the puppets, there was something about them that has drawn you. it might be their realistic faces or their names or even the fact that they kept you company whenever your father goes out of town to buy toy making materials. this day is another one of those occasions when your father will be gone for a few days to buy materials.

“it won’t take long y/n, i’ll be back in no time. now you be careful here, ok? you know where our food is kept right? i also asked our neighbors to occasionally check up on you, if you run into any trouble just yell for them. also, don’t for to lock the— ”

“i know dad, we go through this every two months since i can remember, i’m already used to it by now.”

“i know, but your old man just can’t help himself. i don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“It’s ok dad besides like you said the neighbors are here plus the puppets keep me company!”

"alright, but promise me you'll be careful," he added, hugging you tightly before grabbing his travel bag.

"i promise, dad," you said with a smile, hoping to reassure him. You slammed the door behind him and turned to face the room full of his works.

you approached the shelf, where the puppets were carefully placed, each with its own unique personality. there was wonyoung, the elegant princess; kazuha, the graceful ballerina; and giselle, the trendy fashionista. however, one puppet struck you the most: yujin, a mysterious puppet with hauntingly gorgeous eyes and a face that was both feminine and masculine.

yujin was by far your favorite among the countless puppets that your father has created. the way her face was sculpted to perfection, those dark brown eyes that seem to be alive, and the way her skin looks so soft despite being made of wood. her unexpected appendage down there was also a bonus(your father explained that yujin was supposed to be a boy but later changed his decision).

you reached out and picked up yujin, feeling a sense of comfort rush over you while holding her in your hands.

as the day passed by, you always had yujin by your side. whether it was to feed the chickens or to bring in the clothes that were set to dry. there was something about her that drew you in, something that, unlike everyone else, gave you the impression that you in some way, were understood.

before long, darkness fell and you had to remain indoors with your puppet companion, even though you have kind neighbors all around you, you never know when danger is around.

after making sure that you’ve locked all possible entrances, you’ve decided to light a few candles and turned on the kitchen light, creating a cozy, warm atmosphere. you then decided to cook some warm vegetable soup. the comforting aroma soon spread out through the whole house making you hum in delight.

once in a while you would glance at yujin who you propped by the dining table. the gentle flicker of the candles danced across yujin's face, giving the puppet an almost lifelike appearance. time passed by and you were soon done cooking. you prepped up the table and got all the necessary utensils to finally eat.

“yujin!! dinner’s ready!” you yelled even though you knew she was a puppet.

‘damn i must be going crazy’

sitting down, you took a sip of the soup, moaning in delight at the taste.

“you know yujin,” you started. “with you here, it doesn’t really feel lonely at all”

the puppet, unresponsive, just sat there yet her wooden eyes somehow looked like they were focused and listening intently to you.

shaking your head, you continued “i wish you were alive yuj, oh the stories i could tell you and the things we could do together.”

“you could walk independently, you could taste my cooking, you could……you could feel love—my love” you lighty ranted

but what you didn’t know was this simple wish of yours could lead to you getting any sleep at all tonight wink wink

after finishing dinner, you cleaned up the dining room and kitchen and also put away the leftovers. you did your nightly routines before putting yujin beside you in your bed.

“goodnight yuj” you say before kissing her on the lips and turning off the lights. you glanced at her one more time before closing your eyes as your consciousness drifts off to dreamland

“y/n”

“psst y/n”

“y/n wake up”

rubbing your eyes, you groaned in annoyance as your sweet slumber was interrupted.

“who is it? what happened? is the kitchen burning?” you asked but you were only answered by the sound of someone giggling.

“who the—WHAT THE FUCK!” you began to talk, but your words were cut short when you lost your balance.

falling off the bed with a bang, you landed on the floor in a tangle of bedding and limb. the force of the fall jolted you completely awake, and you sat up, scratching your head and looking around in confusion. as you struggled to get your bearings, you noticed Yujin sitting up on the bed, her eyes wide with concern. except yujin was no longer a puppet; she was fully alive, with human-like features and a concerned look.

"are you okay?" yujin asked, her voice quiet but filled with concern.

you blinked, trying to fully take in what you were seeing. "yujin? how... how are you alive?" you gasped, looking at her with surprise.

yujin looked down at herself, then back at you, equally bewildered. "i don't know," she said, shaking her head slightly. "one moment i was a puppet, and the next... i'm like this."

you stood up still trying to take in the whole situation when she spoke up again

“y/n i think it might be the kiss” she said

“the kiss?” you repeat feeling your cheeks flush as you remembered what you did a while ago

“yeah the kiss, it might’ve been some kind of magic” she explained while standing up, her tall figure towering over you.

as everything sank in, you realized how close yujin was standing in front of you. you stared at her and you could see her staring back at you. slowly, like a dream, you both leaned in. your breaths mingled, your eyes locked, and suddenly, as if driven by an invisible force, your lips touched in a soft, long kiss. it was delicate at first, but soon turned rough.

yujin placed her hands on your shoulders and deepened the kiss, her lips soft and warm on yours. your heart raced in your chest, and you felt yourself melting into the moment. before you knew it, yujin has already pushed you back to your bed, her body hovering over you.

the two of you locking lips for a while before you broke the kiss “i can’t believe this is real,” you gasped “i’ve been dreaming of this moment for a long time now.”

yujin smirks, hands squeezing your ass before replying, “me too princess, ever since i became conscious.”

you blush at the nickname before feeling something hard press against your thigh.

“yujin is this?..........” you trailed off, pertaining to the ‘thing’ poking your thigh.

“it’s exactly what you think it is princess” her smirk still there, her hand now rubbing your crotch. “i know you want this too.”

“let me take care of you” she whispered, her voice dropping an octave.

you nod in response, heart beating rapidly in anticipation. yujin’s hand moved smoothly across your bodies, slowly undressing the two you. your body shivered at the cold air when she finally finished undressing you. yujin stared at your body with a predatory gaze causing you to cover yourself with your arms. she chuckles at your attempt to cover yourself before grabbing your arms, preventing you from further trying to.

“don’t cover your body princess, your beautiful” she says as she leans to your neck, gently nipping it making you blush

with the two of you now bare, you could finally properly her length. if you had to guess, it was around 8 inches and it was quite girthy. it was veiny and had a huge prominent vein stemming from the base to the underside of the tip.

yujin positioned herself between you, looking into your eyes searching for any signs of discomfort or hesitation. seeing none, she guided her length to your core.

she penetrated you with a slow, deliberate thrust, and you yelped in pleasure. yujin stopped, giving you a moment to adjust, her gaze never leaving yours. "are you okay?" she said softly, her voice full of worry and love.

"yes," you whispered, your body craving more. "please, yujin... don't stop."

with your consent, yujin starts thrusting. each thrust harder and faster than the last one, this lead to you being a moaning and panting mess.

“you like that?” she pants, sweat running down her cheeks. “you like it when i turn you into a moaning mess?”

“yes!” you gasped. “i…–ahhh love it yujin! harder please i–ahhh want more.”

hearing this, yujin smirks before gripping your hips as she increases her pace, her eyes locked straight into yours. her gaze making you feel small.

"you're mine," she whispered, her voice a low growl that sent shivers down your spine. "and i'm gonna make you feel so good."

her words drove you over the edge, sending waves of pleasure crashing through you. you screamed out her name, your nails clawing her back, pulling her closer as your climax came.

yujin continued to thrust into you, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she chased her release. when she finally reached it, her body tightened, a loud, guttural cry from her lips as she gushed inside you, filling you entirely.

for a few moments, you both lay there, tangled together, your breaths mingling as you came down from your high. yujin brushed a strand of hair away from your face, her gaze softening with affection that made your heart flutter.

“i know we might be going a bit too fast but i love you y/n.” she whispered, her voice filled with sincerity.

you blush at her words before replying “it’s okay yuj, we’re in this together” you cup her cheeks. “and i love you too.”

yujin smiles at your words, leaning in to kiss you. “i’m gonna cherish this chance of being alive to prove to you how much i love you.” she promises.

you held her close, experiencing an overwhelming feeling of completeness and happiness you had never had before. the two of leaned in for one last before getting settled in bed to sleep.

“............”

“hey y/n?”

“hmm?”

“i think i’m getting hard again”

oh boy……..

#ive #ahn yujin #g!p ahn yujin #ive smut #ive yujin #i feel like im cheating on wonyoung #im alive #kpop smut #x female reader #g!p

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thirteenducks · 11 months ago

Text

feverish

(wriothesley x wife!reader) [sfw]

༻❁༺ content: fem!reader (reader is referred to by ‘wife’ and "she/her"), established relationship, marriage, reader has hair long enough to reach neck

༻❁༺ word count: ~1.5k

༻❁༺ tags: sickfic, banter while sick, this is just wrio taking care of you and being a butt while doing it, feat. sigewinne who does not get paid enough for this, if you are sick and reading this rn im so sorry and i hope you get well soon, coldsink wrio x heatsource wife agenda

༻❁༺ author’s note: my friend @mmmairon is sick and i am in another country and cannot help so i'm sending wrio on my behalf. pls enjoy especially if you don't feel well right now :(

After a restless night, Wriothesley is thrilled to hear that you're awake now. He wastes no time in rushing to your side.

Wriothesley’s pen scratches unpleasantly against a disciplinary notice, its point threatening to carve into the wood of the desk beneath. The owner mutters darkly under his breath as he completes a signature on the offending paper and slides it to his left. Immediately, another takes its place from the stack on his right.

For two hours, nothing else has broken the quiet of the Duke’s office. Two hours too long, by Wriothesley’s measure. He glances at the clock, hand continuing to sign his name by sheer muscle memory.

Are you getting any rest? Did the chamomile from your tea an hour ago help at all, or are the throes of fever keeping you awake? Does he have the right ingredients to make you beef stew? Preoccupied, he writes “soup” on the signature line of a prisoner release form by mistake.

He sighs, pinching the crooked bridge of his nose between his fingers. They’re as cold as ever. He misses the warmth of yours unspeakably.

The next thirty minutes pass like an eternity. Surely, Sigewinne would be at his side in an instant if you were awake. His presence there now would only serve to wake you from much-needed rest and defer his backlog of paperwork even more. Neither of these points keeps him from staring the clock down like he’s in the ring again.

Suddenly, there’s a quiet knock on his door and Wriothesley snaps to attention, nearly knocking over an inkwell in his haste. Sigewinne enters without his bidding, an unreadable expression on her kind face. She doesn’t wait for his question before she answers it.

“Yes, the tea put her to sleep, and yes, she’s awake now.”

His features relax in a moment, the furrow in his brow smoothing.

“I’m afraid she’s not any better than she was this morning, however. I would have really liked to see her fever come down by now...” The Melusine trails off, her small hand on her chin and a pout on her face. “The chill probably isn’t doing her much good, either.”

Her boss, however, is already halfway downstairs, pulling his coat on as he takes the steps two at a time. Sigewinne sighs as she turns to follow him at a much slower pace. So predictable when his wife is involved.

In contrast to the speed at which he crosses the fortress to your shared living quarters, Wriothesley’s steps are soft as he nears your bedroom door.

“Sweetheart? Are you up?”

A weak cough answers him. He’s by the bedside in a moment, kneeling and pushing aside the curtain that hides you from him. Your eyes squint a bit as the sickly light of the fortress filters in, and his hand moves up to shield your face as he appears in your field of vision.

Despite the red ringing your eyes and nose and the congestion in your breathing, you smile up at him and his heart almost jumps out of his chest.

“Hi, darling.”

The side of his mouth quirks up. “Hi. Feeling any better?”

You shake your head slightly, your hair fanning out on the pillow beneath you. He silently gathers it in one hand and moves it away from your neck as he waits for you to continue. The brush of his cool hand against your flushed skin feels incredible and you bring your hand to rest on his, a silent entreaty to keep it there.

“Sigewinne says I’m in the worst of it now and that from here-” you stop to cough, Wriothesley’s eyes raking over your frame as it shakes with the effort. “-from here it should be uphill. As long as I can rest up today.”

He pushes the hair back from your forehead with his other hand, stroking it absentmindedly. “Well, we’ll have to stick it out until tomorrow then, huh?” The grin he shoots you, all teeth, does more for you than you think any of the medicine on your bedside table has.

That’s why you’re as surprised as he is when the tears start to roll down your cheeks. You hadn’t even known they were there until now, but suddenly it’s so much harder to breathe than it was and Wriothesley is a swimming blur in front of you. The shooting pain in your head, dulled to an ache until now, comes back in full force as your body curls in on itself and your temple meets your husband’s shoulder.

You don’t know if you’re crying from the headache, from exhaustion, or from something else, and your mind is too foggy to care. All you can do is be held as his arms come to rest firmly around you and he pulls you to him, murmuring words of comfort.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry... I wish I could do more.” Your hands grip his collar a little tighter as you sob into the juncture of his neck and shoulder. “I know, love. You’ll feel better soon, I promise. Sigewinne and I are gonna take care of everything, okay?”

There’s an edge of concern to his voice that you can hear even through the haze of sickness. You hate it. It’s likely just the seasonal flu; half the Fortress has had it at some point this winter. The thought of how much you were making him worry over something so small as this...

“I know what you’re thinking. Stop it,” Wriothesley gently reprimands, his cool fingers stroking your forehead again. You can feel the cold metal of his wedding ring against the heated skin. “You’re not being a baby about anything. You hear me?”

Your silence speaks volumes. He laughs a little, the sound loud in the silence of your bedroom. “I know you well, don’t I?”

It takes a while for your tears to completely subside. When you’re finished sniffling against his collar, he props you up against the headboard with pillows behind your back. You’re more congested than ever, something your husband has the nerve to laugh at as he hands you tissues, but there’s no unkindness in his tone.

He disappears into the kitchen for a few minutes as you doze, exhausted from the effort of crying for so long. When he eases the door open again, he’s carrying a tray with a teacup and pot (of course) and a bowl of something that smells warm and comforting.

“Hmm. Excellent room service this place has. The waiter is a little scruffy, though,” you say as Wriothesley places it on your lap, tucking in the covers around you.

He gives you a fake look of injury. “How dare you, ma’am. I’ll have you know I’m too worried about my wife to shave, who I’m afraid is deathly ill,” he sighs, stroking the stubble on his jaw. He spoons soup into your mouth before you can retort, stifling a smile.

Once you’ve drained half the soup, Wriothesley seems satisfied. He removes the tray from your lap and takes your hand, bringing it to his own forehead.

“Oh, no. How awful.” He shoots you a glance. “It appears the Duke of the Fortress has come down with something.”

You raise an eyebrow. His forehead is as cool as the rest of him is. “Really.”

“Oh, yes,” he says, flopping onto your lap. “It looks like he’ll be out of the office for the rest of the day.”

You laugh, wincing when it makes your head throb. “The Duke sounds like a slacker, if you ask me.”

“Well, everyone knows that,” Wriothesley murmurs, burying his face into your thigh. “They’ll have to tell my boss about it.” You feel him grin against your leg.

You sigh, feigning exasperation. “What a shame. I was just about to ask him to dinner, too.”

Wriothesley has migrated to his side of the bed by now and is nestling into your side with the stubbornness of a dog. “Don’t worry, I hear he’s a messy eater. Absolute carnivore.”

Your hands come to rest on his head, the soft grey strands tickling your palms. “You know you’re going to get sick, right? I’m highly contagious.”

No answer.

“You’re the head of the Fortress, Wrio. If you get laid up, Sigewinne might put a bounty out on you. She seems like the type.”

Your husband murmurs into your side, already half-asleep. “She’ll have to catch me first.”

Despite your many blankets and the body next to you, a sudden chill runs through you and you stiffen. He feels it, arms tightening around your waist.

“Fever pills are on the bedside in the white bottle. Water is next to it.”

You smile. “Thank you, darling.” He hums in response.

A few days later, you’re well enough to leave your room again. Sigewinne would be thrilled, if not for your husband, who looks more smug than any sick man has a right to be.

He sniffles, burrowing into your sheets again as the Melusine glares daggers at him. “I’ll be fine. My wife loves me and I have leftover soup in the fridge. What else does a man need?”

#wriothesley #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #wriothesley x reader #fem!reader #mairon if u see this please feel better #this is also lowkey for me the next time i get sick #just planning ahead ig #anyway. simp wrio agenda

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dresshistorynerd · 5 months ago

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Sewing mid-16th century Venetian dress in doll scale

My parents moved from my childhood home, so I needed to finally take all my old toys I want to keep to store myself, including my dolls. For a long while I've been thinking it might by fun to sew tiny historical clothing for dolls. I love watching doll customization videos, they are so satisfying, and I just really love it, when there's a normal sized thing and then you make it tiny. Especially if it's still functional and made from correct materials. I can't explain it better than tiny versions of bigger things just make me vibrate on higher level. Now that I have my dolls in my home and a box full of fabric scraps, I have everything I need to just start sewing. So I did. And it was extremely fun. I have already started working on a 1890s doll outfit.

This will show my age (not that it doesn't read in my bio), but my dolls are all mainly My Scenes. I was Team My Scene in the early 2000s Bratz vs. My Scene wars. I did not like the proportions of Bratzes. All my My Scenes are Madison, she was my girl.

Here's all the items I made. I tried to use as much historical methods as was possible on doll scale and hand-sewed everything. I made a shift, hose, dress, necklace, earrings, partlet and shoes. I did almost make detachable sleeves, but I wasn't happy with them and I will need to remake them. It took me so long to finish one sleeve and I was very frustrated when I wasn't happy with the result, so I will need some time to make a second attempt.

Underlayer

I have finer white cotton than linen so I used the cotton for the shift and partlet, even though cotton wasn't really used widely at the time, definitely not in underwear, but it worked better in this scale. I didn't have thin enough wool for the hose, so I used fabric from my old thin stockings. Knitted stockings were not quite yet a thing so that's not very accurate, but that's the best I got. I choose red since red hose seemed to have been pretty common based on Venetian paintings, where the hose are shown. I used tiny beads I had lying around as buttons for the sleeves.

I'm not super happy with the neckline. I couldn't come up with a good way to finish gathered neckline on this scale without making it bulky. In future I will try something else.

Overgarments

Dress

The dress itself is made from the remaining scraps of the lovely Latvian linen I bought many years ago from Riga and have already made several garments from. The skirt is cartridge pleated, though the pleats at places behave a little weirdly due to the scale. I used semi heavy linen as lining and finished the panels separately as was typical in 16th century. I didn't use any boning equivalent, but I use cording to reinforce the laced opening. I of course sewed tiny lacing holes, which was very fun. The cord for the lacing I plaited from heavy thread.

Here's couple of examples from 1550s and 1560s Venice I used as basis for the dress.

Partlet

A Venetian renaissance woman of course needs her boob window partlet. Unfortunately I didn't have any super sheer linen or silk to make the fashionable sheer look.

Shoes

The shoes are chopines, which were very fashionable in Venice at the time. They were platform slippers with wooden base, which were covered with leather or fancy fabrics, like brocade or velvet. I didn't make the heels super tall since I was going for more toned down merchant/artisan class sort of vibe, and the very tall were used by upper class women and courtesans. I carved the heels from soft wood and covered them with sateen.

For reference here's couple of 16th century Venetian chopines.

#historical fashion #fashion history #custom doll #doll customization #historical sewing #renaissance fashion #my art #historical costuming #my scene #doll #hand sewing #fashion doll #dolls

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beenbaanbuun · 7 months ago

Note

Haiii this might be a weird request but I wonder if you could write an angsty Addams!MATZ fic 😭 so sorry if this is weird I've just been feeling really angsty! You can choose whatever happens lol I just wanna cry 🫶🏽

sorry i didn’t write this sooner!!! i really wanted to but i’ve been super busy over the past few days :(( i never feel super confident writing angst but i did my best!!! i hope you enjoy :D

——————————————————————————

hongjoong yelled at you… hongjoong never yells. he doesn’t yell when yeosang is being difficult to train or just acting downright feral. he doesn’t yell when clients are being cheeky and asking for far too much. he doesn’t even yell when you’re being a brat and he slips into ‘dom mode’ to punish you. yet he yelled at you just a few minutes ago…

why?

it’s your fault, you tell yourself. if you’d just listened when he told you he was busy, none of this would’ve happened. he was already stressed so why did you think being a brat and pushing his buttons would be a good idea? of course he wouldn’t want to deal with you when he already so much else on his plate with work. it was dumb of you to even think he’d give you the time of day.

you try and keep your tears to a minimum as you stalk through the house. noisy crying would only be another distraction to hongjoong and you don’t want to upset him any more than you already have done. still, despite your best attempts, you can help the shuddered breathing and quiet sniffles as you make your way down the stairs and towards your favourite spot in the house.

the fire is already crackling, drawing you in like the pied piper. you can hear the hushed conversation behind the soft crepitation, but you ignore it, entirely too focussed on how nice it will be to flop onto your favourite rug and fall into a slumber. perhaps when you wake, everything will be fine. maybe hongjoong won’t be mad at you anymore. he’ll smile at you as he tells you you’re forgiven, placing a kiss to your forehead, and then your nose, and then your lips. he’ll take you up into his arms and apologise for yelling, speaking to you in the softest, most gentle voice he can muster. it’s a nice thought…

you reach the doorway to the living room, staring up at the large, oak arch that reaches high above your head. it’s carved with intricate details all hand finished by their artist friend, yunho. most of it represents their respective histories, each of their tales beginning from the bottom of the arch and climbing the wood like vines until they reach the apex at the top. prior to your arrival, their wedding had been the carving at apex of the arch, the image of two ravens, each holding a ring within their beaks, sat proudly above everything else.

now, though, the image at the top is entirely different. a lamb with dove wings and a dainty collar around its neck. the ravens still sit proudly on either side of the creature, watching over it as it sleeps. as you stare at it, you can’t help but wonder whether hongjoong will still be upset with you come bedtime. there’s a spare room down the hall that you used to sleep in when you were nothing more than their sugar baby and it was too late for them to send you home alone. perhaps you’ll have to reside in that room tonight, cold and alone and unable to sleep without the warmth of your lovers on either side of you. the thought has you biting your lip to silence a sob.

it doesn’t quite work. you still involuntarily whimper, catching the attention of both seonghwa and yeosang. their hushed conversation halts to a stop as they see you at the doorway, eyes wide and wet as you stare up at the very tippy-top of the arch. your fingers tangle themselves up as they helplessly fiddle with one another, tugging and twisting and picking until blood begins to pool along one of your nail beds. seonghwa can’t recall a time he’s ever seen you like this, and there werewolf had certainly never. they share a wary look.

“my darling lamb,” seonghwa calls to you in a hushed voice. he doesn’t want to startle you by being too loud, but he needs to pull you from this anxious haze you’d found yourself trapped in. he can’t lie that he’s a little relieved when your red ringed eyes flicker over to meet his. smiling is the last thing he wants to do upon seeing you in this state, but he knows his gentle disposition will calm you; it always does. his lips curl up softly. “what happened?”

the werewolf that has taken up residence on your favourite rug watches with concerned eyes. ever since his arrival, you’ve been an annoying little shit. an absolute thorn in his side when he wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful existence in his new home. you have no respect for personal space, you never know when to shut up, and you’re always way too cheerful all the time. they were facts that yeosang just had to accept when he realised you weren’t threatened by his harsh growling and gnashing teeth. all those times he had you pinned to the floor, spit spraying as he warned you to leave him the fuck alone only to have you giggle in his face and call him pretty; that person is nowhere to be seen right now.

“pup?” he hums, deep voice grumbling as his worries work themselves into his tone. even though he quite thoroughly despised you on his entry to the house, it seems you have this magical ability to work your way into the hearts of anyone you set your sights on. you set your sights on him before you even knew him; it took you no time at all to become one of his top priorities. “tell us what’s the matter. we can’t help unless we know?”

you take a few tentative steps into the room, bare feet tapping lightly against the parquet floor. they’re so used to your thundering footsteps as you traverse the house at your excitable pace. the silent footsteps you take towards them make their skin crawl.

you reach the rug, gently lowering yourself until your bare thighs hit the soft fur. your pastel blue skirt—the one that seonghwa had picked out to match the werewolf’s fuzzy blue jumper—bunches up around your waist, but neither of them have the time to admire how perfectly slutty it looked. it hardly seems right when you continue to wordlessly snivel and whimper, not even bothering to lay yourself down alongside your favourite werewolf-shaped pillow.

“hongjoong was mean to me,” you whimper, and seonghwa can’t lie, it confuses him.

hongjoong is mean to you a lot. it’s how he punishes you for being a brat, bullying you into submission until you decide to be a good girl. he calls you names, pushes you around a little—it’s nothing too severe but still enough for him to have earned the reputation as the crueler of the two of them. for a second, seonghwa thinks he’s landed on the answer, you must’ve been a little too bratty and couldn’t handle the consequences…

but that still doesn’t make sense.

if you couldn’t handle the consequences then that must’ve meant you weren’t in the right headspace to be punished. that in itself is nothing new, although normally, you tend to realise that before you decide to go and act out. it could’ve been the case that you didn’t realise you weren’t feeling up for a punishment but then you should’ve used your safeword. the fact that you’re sat downstairs with him and yeosang and not snuggled up in hongjoong’s arms is testament to the fact that you can’t have done that either. his husband would never do something so utterly stupid as to let you out of his sight when you’re clearly still upset over a scene you stopped.

so what happened?

did you just force yourself to take a punishment you didn’t want? no. seonghwa knows you’re too smart to do that just like he knows his husband is too observant not to notice. it’s something else entirely. something that seonghwa just can’t put his finger on.

“i need a little more information than that, darling,” seonghwa coos as he leans forwards to rest his elbows on his lap. his chin sits prettily in the palms of one hand, the other coming to rest atop your head. he pets you a few times, his touch like a cloud as tries to soothe you. your shoulders relax a touch, but your fingers still pick at one another in your lap. seeing you in such a state makes his heart sink. “lamb, what exactly did hongjoong do to make you so upset?”

you sniffle, separating your hands for just a second to wipe your tears away. they fall right back onto your lap, twisting and tugging and smearing the blood around. seonghwa can’t help but be thankful that nothing in the house is pale enough to be stained by your blood; otherwise he’d be marching you the bathroom to wash your hands, begging you to tell him what happened as the two of you walk.

“he yelled at me,” you say simply, as if that would answer all of seonghwa’s questions. it doesn’t. in fact it only fills his mind with more.

“he yelled? as in he raised his voice?” seonghwa asks softly. he hopes that the answer is no; that you just mean that hongjoong has scolded you for something. it’s a little bit of a strong reaction for just a small telling off, but you have been known to take these sorts of things to heart.

but you nod, and seonghwa’s heart sinks. hongjoong never yells at anyone, let alone you, his little dove. seonghwa and yeosang pass an odd look between them.

“master yelled at you?” the werewolf hums as he shuffles his body closer to yours. an arm wraps around your waist and effortlessly tugs you until you’re lay flat against the rug alongside the pretty creature. he lays the hand atop your own, stopping you from doing any more damage to your nail beds. the blood that spills onto his hands is nothing that bothers him. “why would master do that?”

the question is more aimed towards seonghwa than it is you. as close as you are with the couple, it’s only really seonghwa that knows the inner workings of his husbands brain. he always has an explanation to everything hongjoong does…

“i don’t know,” he says, a frown taking over his beautiful features. you hate it because you know it’s your fault. you upset hongjoong, you got yelled at, you told seonghwa, and now you have upset him. every sign points to you…

“it’s my fault,” you whisper. yeosang’s arm tightens around your waist in an instinctive display of protection. from what, he isn’t too sure. “i just wanted him to take a break but he’s too busy right now. i should’ve known.”

of course. seonghwa could’ve guessed it would be down to stress. it’s been a rough few weeks for hongjoong, the stress of yeosang arriving and finding his way into their weird, mismatched family, mixed with an increase in customers with the jewellery business, it’s safe to say hongjoong had barely had a moment free. of course, yeosang has calmed a little by now, but that doesn’t take the stress of the business away from his poor husband. he’s still being worked half to death by demanding clients who have more money than sense.

seonghwa imagines that any moment now, his husband will come to his senses and see that you were just trying to do something nice. that you weren’t just being difficult for the sake of it—which, granted, you often are—but were instead just trying to take care of him. you lacked the grace and finesse that the two of them did, but you still tried. demons, it fills his heart with love to know that you desire to care for them in the same way they care about you. you’re such a precious little lamb for them; they must’ve done something very special in their past life to deserve you.

“oh, my lamb,” seonghwa mumbles through a soft smile, “you have nothing to blame yourself for except being at the mercy of your own empathy. you prodded him because you were worried and that’s very thoughtful of you. your daddy should be worshipping you for such a kind act. i’ll go and see if i can’t talk some sense into him, hm?”

he stands up, long flowing trousers pooling gracefully over his feet. his red nails dance along them as he straightens the material out, trying to iron out the creases with only his bare hands.

“i’ll be back soon,” he hums, “let your puppy take care of you for now.”

#ateez x reader #ateez fanfic #ateez oneshot #ateez fluff #matz x reader #yeosang x reader #opposites attract universe #poly ateez #poly ateez x reader #seonghwa x reader #hongjoong x reader

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lalacliffthorne · 15 days ago

Text

pumpkins, movie nights and a halloween party - autumn and spooky season headcanons (remastered) 🦇🎃💀

bc not writing anything to honor one of my favourite seasons and holidays would be a crime.

spooky season is one of your favourites

anything witchy and slightly shudder-inducing causes massive increases in your general happiness

so in true witchy fashion

Mor, Feyre and you decide that it will only truly be beginning of spooky season once you have carved jack'o'lanterns

you argue you can use them for Rhys's big annual Halloween party -

but really, you just want to carve pumpkins and make a mess

and so, the first week of October you meet at the flat

Feyre brings the pumpkins in two big wooden crates the two of you lug up the stairs

you have ordered a bunch of sharp knives for the occasion

and Mor brings drinks

tho, as she says as she places them on the counter with a meaningful eyebrow-raise

those are better left untouched until any activities including sharp objects are finished

"Huh."

You raise your head, and Mor squints.

"Is it me... or does this guy look a little more like Vlad the Impaled?"She turns her pumpkin, and both Feyre and you cackle. Mor grins and wiggles her brows.

You're sitting in the kitchen, the big table covered with a picknick blanket to protect the wood from the big bowls with stinky gourd intestines. Candles are flickering in the window, the speakers are connected to Feyre's phone and playing some halloween playlist, and there are mugs with steaming hot chocolate standing in front of all of you.

Feyre and Mor are perched on the couch, your best friend squinting in focus while Mor's tongue sticks out the corner of her mouth in concentration. You're sitting on one of the chairs, one leg pulled up as you happily saw a grimace into the pumpkin in front of you. You're going for a traditional evil grin. Feyre is carving some intricate side profile of a witch with a crooked hat, and Mor is winging it.

The front door opens, and you hear three pairs of heavy footsteps and the shuffle of jackets being shed. But you only raise your head once you hear Cassian's deep, familiar voice.

"Hello la-", he breaks off mid sentence and sniffles, his charming grin melting into a grimace. "The fuck -"

Rhys pushes past him, nose crunched as he heads for the window. "God, it stinks in here."

"Eh,", all three of you echo, brows crunched in focus.

"Who thought it was a good idea to supply you three with sharp knives?" Cassian leans into the doorframe, smirking lazily as he crosses his arms, and Mor raises her head, slowly beginning to smile sweetly.

"Why...?" She switches her grip on her knife to prop the handle onto the table and smiles brighter and wider, and there's a soft, amused huff that makes you raise your head again.

Azriel pushes past Cassian, one corner of his lips twitching as he throws his best friend a look.

"Dug yourself right into that one."

Your breath catches at the sight of your boyfriend. His hair is tousled from the wind outside, his shoulders straining against his t-shirt as he moves past Rhys.

Mor waves her knife at Cassian playfully, and you grin up at Azriel when he slowly comes to stand behind you. His hands close around the backrest, muscles shifting under his shirt, and straightening in your seat a little, you crane your neck to look up at him.

Your eyes find amber ones, warm in the flickering light of the candles, the golden specks twinkling in amusement when he lightly arches a brow at you, and your heart leaps happily.

You feel the muscles in Azriel's arms shift when you lean the back of your head against them and beam up at him. "Hi."

"Hi." Azriel's low, deep voice vibrates through you, slow and amused, and you feel your smile widen.

"They gave me a knife."

Somewhere to your left, Cassian begins to laugh, his shoulders shaking as his head falls back.

Azriel stares back down at you, and slowly, very slowly, a smirk spreads over his face, and your heart leaps against your ribs as a flutter rises in your chest at the sight of the creases in his cheeks and the lazy twinkle in his eyes.

"Yeah?" His warm, deep voice trickles down your spine, and you widen your eyes and whisper loudly: "Actually, I just took it."

"Oh, dear God." Rhys turns his eyes towards the ceiling exasperatedly, and Mor cackles while Feyre starts rolling with laughter.

You beam up at Azriel, and your breath hitches when his lips curve and he sends you a light wink.

the finished pumpkins are placed all over the flat and the balcony, with candles flickering inside every evening

it's the cue for the start of several movie nights

for the ones where it's only you and the boys, you hole up in one of your rooms

it's usually yours

(Cass claims it's bc it smells the nicest

Rhys usually retorts that bc you don't leave smelly socks lying around)

but also 9/10 times, the ambience in your bed room is just cosiest

you light candles and fairy lights

drag several blankets into your room

and turn your bed into one big cozy pit

on the nights where it's the whole gang

you usually make a sleepover of it

you and Cass turn the living room into one big cozy landscape

you push the couch table to the side, drag mattresses from your rooms and push them into between the couches

then you fill everything with pillows and blankets

since the colder months have started, Rhys and you spend even more time in the kitchen

you use every opportunity you have, and the movie nights aren't any different

so usually, the flat smells like apples, cinnamon and butter when Feyre and Mor arrive

the latter and Cass have claimed spots as designated taste testers for new recipes

which means most times, Mor makes a beeline for the kitchen, grinning and pressing a smacking kiss onto your cheek in greeting before giggling happily at the food

Feyre usually brings non-baking related snacks, for which Cassian hugs the shit out of her

she still doesn't look like she's used to that yet

then, as it gets dark outside, you all change into pyjamas and huddle up in the living room

it's usually a bit of scooching and wiggling until everyone is comfortable

sometimes, you and the girls all curl up on the mattresses on the floor, propped up and surrounded by dozens of pillows

the boys all stretched out on the couches, Cassian and Azriel kicking at each other in a fight for the big blanket

other times, Rhys and Cass claim the mattresses while Feyre and Mor huddle up on one couch and you end up curled against Azriel's chest

his scarred hand slipped under your hoodie, his chest warm and solid against your back and his chin dropped against your head

you playing with his fingers and huddling into your blanket happily, your heart thrumming

there are candles lit everywhere, the window sills, the dining table, the shelves

Rhys keeps everyone supplied with big mugs full of steaming hot chocolate with marshmallows and whipped cream

bowls with snacks distributed and handed back and forth between you

the actual choice of movie depends of who gets to the remote the quickest

you watch some classics like hocus pocus or corpse bride on the nights one of you girls get your turn

when Cassian is quickest, you end up buried under a blanket between Mor and Feyre with only your noses peeking out while a full on horror movie plays in the back

it's got its funny moments

but most of the time, you're hiding your face against Mor's shoulder, flinching everytime she squeaks

for more spooky vibes, Mor drags you to a Halloween themed dinner she's been dying to go to for two years now in the second week of October

it's at a restaurant located in the old part of the city, with small crammed tables under big stone arches

the place went all in with the decorating, and the menu holds all kind of spooky takes

you're very impressed with the life-like spider cake

you can even choose from several witchy potions/drinks and "brew" them yourselves

safe to say, you have the time of your lives

Rhys takes you to a screening of some old black and white horror movie a couple of days later

you deck yourself with drinks and snacks and occupy two of the fancy velvet chairs in the last row

your legs thrown over Rhys's knees so his long legs have space and your giggles barely suppressed against his shoulder while Rhys grins and steals your popcorn

like every year, spooky season mounts in Rhys's big annual halloween party

this year, he has decided, after a quick vote, that the big annual halloween party will not actually be that big

read: you'll hold it at the flat

which means, it will still be one hell of a party

just a bit less fancy

and a few less people

...

which just means more exclusive and still with a shit ton of people

bc who are we kidding

Rhys will still go all in - he's just not in the mood of the hassle that comes with a pompous location

and a smaller party means that he gets to create a fancy buffet

you go shopping for decorations a week before Halloween

Rain is pattering against the window, the smell of coffee hanging in the air as you giggle under your breath and try to fight off Azriel's fork that keeps lazily swiping pieces of pancake from your plate. You've made them for breakfast, with caramelised apples that made Cass groan when he came in earlier to get his water bottle before leaving for the gym. Now you're sitting at the table, the sky outside dark and grey and Azriel opposite of you, steaming mugs in front of you and Azriel's plate empty.

"Hey, darling?"

You raise your head at the sound of Rhys's deep voice, and Azriel easily swipes a whole fork of pancake and apples from your plate. You curse softly, and Rhys sticks his head through the kitchen door.

"Are you busy today?"

You glare at your boyfriend who lounges in his chair, his lips curving as he chews slowly, a lazy crease forming in his cheek when he sends you a light wink.

You glower, and Azriel's eyes twinkle in the warm light like he's trying not to laugh.

There's the sound of fingers snapping, and when both you and Azriel tear your eyes away from each other and look towards the door, Rhys smirks and leans a shoulder against the door.

"You know, I was going to ask whether you wanted to come shop for decorations for the party, but looking at the two of you, how am I supposed to tear you apart?"

In unison, Az and you roll your eyes and flip him off.

Rhys grins until he looks like the Cheshire Cat. "Look at that, you even share the same brain cell..."

"Why is he so mean?", you grumble, digging into the last bit of your pancakes.

"Probably in heat,", Azriel mumbles under his breath, his lips twitching when Rhys snorts and you fall into a giggle fit.

"Okay, seriously, sweetheart; I could use your help." Rhys pushes off the doorframe.

"I mean,", you pick up your mug and shrug, "technically, you could use Az's help too, to carry stuff." Innocently, you blink over the rim of your cup.

Azriel's eyes narrow, and he starts to glower at you.

You feel your lips twitch. Then you look over towards the door, catching Rhys's gaze, and at the same time, you both start to grin.

"C'mon, Azzie boy." Rhys's smirk is positively wicked when he winks at his best friend. "Bet your girlfriend's gonna be very happy with you if you tag along..."

Azriel's grumpy glare would make most people cower.

With Rhys, it just makes his grin grow until it nearly splits his face as he raises his brows.

Azriel's scowl deepens, then his eyes flicker towards you. He looks like he's regretting it the same second, because you're beaming at him, wide and cheeky as you raise your brows.

"Please...?"

Rhys laughs, his head falling back and shoulders shaking, and Azriel glares at you.

Still, you're almost sure to see an amused flicker in his eyes when he rolls them.

safe to say, when you leave the flat half an hour later, Azriel is behind you, wearing a thick jacket over his hoodie and raising his brows at you when you beam up at him

you're definitely sure you see the corners of his lips twitching lightly tho

Mor comes too, bc she's a sucker for shopping

and bc you need her car

Rhys has located the best shops for decoration in town

you and Mor get excited over and over again, eyes widening and squeezing each other's hands whenever you spy something new

Azriel just trails after you, a faintly amused expression on his face while Rhys chuckles at your exciement

at the first store, you buy loads of fake spiderwebs and dozens of big black spiders

also an array of skulls and skeleton hands you can use for candle holders and the buffet

Mor scares the crap out of you when she uses one of the hands to gently scratch the back of your head when you're not looking

you nearly die, darting into Azriel's chest

and Mor cackles for five whole minutes

Azriel's is so obviously trying not to laugh that his eyes crinkle at the corners as you bury your face in his chest

Rhys doesn't even try

at the next store, you get a whole bunch of candles, a whole armada floating candles you can hang off the ceiling and a ridiculous amount of paper bats

you get a giggle fit when Mor holds one up next to Azriel's head and contemplates the uncanny resemblance

the glare Azriel levels her with would make the biggest man cower

Mor just grins widely

you also find mugs shaped like black cauldrons and wine glasses with stems like skeletal hands for the bar

after lunch, Rhys makes a pit stop to confirm the rental of a fog machine

the store he's going to rent it from is big and with a massive load of things to rent, like human sized skeletons and witches

Mor pretends to dramatically waltz through one of the wide aisles, pulling you with her until you fall into fits of giggles

Azriel watches, dimple digging into his cheeks and eyes twinkling

Rhys decides to rent some spotlights as well to really make the fog shine and half a dozen of the big skeletons

then you're on your way again

Mor's car is pretty stuffed already at this point, but you make two more stops

at the first, you get a massive assortment of funkily shaped bottles and some stuff for the buffet

at the second, you buy table cloth, witches hats and some fake ravens

a couple of days later, Rhys and you go shopping for the food

you visit several supermarkets to get everything for the dozens of snacks he has planned, all spookily on theme

your pinterest has been great help when it comes to inspiration

you also get a massive amount of booze for the bar, including loads of glittering ones, a huge load of crushed ice and stuff for spooky garnish

the day before the party, Rhys and you spend in the kitchen

you make a little pre-party of it, with music and hot cider as you prepare most of the snacks

little spider cakes inspired by your and Mor's dinner, mummy sausage in a blanket, pomegranate chocolate skulls, candied apples that look like they might poison you if you try them, chocolate ghosts, monster munch popcorn -

the amount of candy eyeballs and melted marshmallows for webs you use is concerning

Feyre drops by in the late afternoon

Rhys flirts so unabashedly that after only ten minutes she's glaring at him while her cheeks are gleaming with a blush

but he doesn't seem deterred in the slightest

on the contrary

his grin only widens whenever she huffs at him

but you haven't invited her to play cupid (at least not solely)

while you and Rhys start filling the bottles you bought and cleaned with the varieties of alcohol, pimping some with some edible glitter

Feyre starts writing the etiquettes

everything gets a new, spookier, more witchy name, the actual name of the booze scribbled in the corner in Feyre's ornate handwriting

there's witch's tears, fairie's breath, dragon's flame, vampire venom -

she even draws little sketches on the labels before charring the edges of the thick paper and glueing them to the bottles accordingly

then she writes some spooky recipe suggestions you have found on instagram on the same kind of paper, drawing little doodles of ghosts, witches and cats all around them

witches' brew, midnight margaritas, ecto martini, vampire's dinner -

the options are endless

if there's anything you've learned from last year

it's to not leave the costume until a week before the party

even though it will be a smaller affair than the last one, you know Rhys will still go all out

and so you put the utmost care into your costume

first, Mor, Feyre and you spend an afternoon on the couch, browing pinterest and an array of online shops in search for ideas or center pieces

neither of you girls really has a plan at first

but then...

There's a flash of lightning, and when you raise your head, thunder cracks in the distance, rumbling and making you shiver happily.

Rain is pounding against the windows of the living room, and the candles flicker as Feyre hums absentmindedly to the music playing in the background. The mugs with hot chocolate you've made have been empty for quite a while now, but the warm, sweet scent still lingers in the air.

"What are you looking for?" Mor scrunches her brows and chews on her pen as she leans forward, browsing on your laptop.

"Not really sure?" You squint, adjusting your spot on the cushion on the floor while you slowly scroll through your pinterest on Rhys's tablet. Then you raise your brows and hold the tablet over your head. "I like this."

In unison, Feyre and Mor who sit behind you on the couch, lean in.

"Oh, I like that!" Feyre's eyes starts twinkling. "That actually fits with what I got so far."

"Huh." Mor squints at the screen. Then, suddenly, she slowly start to grin widely. "Guys. I've got an idea."

You crane your neck to look up at her, and Mor raises her brows, her grin growing. "What have we got here?"

Feyre crunches her brows. "Huh?"

Mor rolls her eyes before widening them. "Between all of us? We're the most iconic thing in mythology and spooky fiction - three women! We're the Fates, holding human life in our hands, we're the three faces of Hecate, the goddess of Magic, we're the Sanderson sisters -"

Both Feyre and you stare at her blankly.

Mor whips out her arms. "Dude, we're a coven!"

Both Feyre's and your eyes widen.

"Wait -"

"That's genuis!" Feyre beams. "We can all go as witches!"

"But those vibes!" You frantically point at your tablet.

"Exactly!" Mor is grinning widely. "We're dark, spooky, but elegant, alluring." She widens her eyes. "Think about it; silk, lace, dramatic silhouettes -"

You groan happily and turn on the spot, wiggling in excitement. "Okay, what are you thinking, all of us dresses or -"

as soon as you got the vibe down

dark, spooky, but elegant, alluring

you slowly work out the looks you want to go for

you scour several online stores for inspiration and end up ordering the base piece for your look

a few days later, you go shopping

for the vibe you're all going for, you decide to scour the plenty of vintage shops you all love first

at the first, Feyre finds a black dress with puffy sleeves that slide off her shoulders

you already ordered one piece of your planned costume; a tiered black cotton skirt

but at the next shop, you stumble upon a tight lace shirt with billowing sleeves

Mor finds you a black corset with embroidery all over the front a few stores later

along with the flowy, tiered black dress she decides to use as base for her costume

you buy some more lace for a cape Feyre is going to design for herself and some structured tights that look like overlapping spiderwebs for your costume

oh, and

as Mor puts it

"a shit ton of accessoires"

the day of Halloween all of you spend decoration the flat

Mor and Feyre show up for the late breakfast (pancakes with googly eyes and whipped cream ghosts)

after Azriel had to pull you out of bed and carry you into the kitchen

Cassian made you watch another horror movie and let's just say you didn't sleep all that much

then, after lots of coffee, hot chocolate and food

you begin to set up

Mor and Fey both have their costumes with them in big bags so they don't have to go home again

they stash them in your room before joining the rest of you

Mor pulls up her spooky autumn playlist, then you split into groups

Rhys disappears into the kitchen to prep the rest of the foods that aren't stored in the fridge yet, the decorations for the drinks, and to set up the bar

Mor starts to spread spiderwebs all over the rooms, Feyre trailing after her to carefully attach big black spiders in the webs

meanwhile, you begin distributing fake candles all over the flat

the windowsills and shelves, the couch table and the fireplace, even the floor -

Cassian and Azriel are tasked with everything that needs hanging up

big spiders dangling from thin cords everywhere, floating candles attached to fishing lines at different heights, and swarms of paper bats that sway lightly in the breeze

once Mor and Feyre are done, they start helping you sprinkle the rest of the decorations around

skulls and skeleton hands that carry murky glasses with unidentified contents that Mor brought

more spiders and bats sitting on all the possible vantage points

witches hats that sit atop the chairs, some ravens up on the shelf

and confetti in shape of tiny bats, spiders and cauldrons

"the only thing we're missing at this point is a black cat,", Mor comments when the big skeletons along with the fog machine and the spot lights are delivered at noon

"why, we got Azriel,", you throw back absendtmindedly, and Mor starts laughing

you put the skeletons in different corners and the guys set up the smoke machine while Feyre finds good places for the spot lights

then you help Rhys set up the basis for the buffet on the dining room table

you bought a big black velvet table cloth you spread out carefully

then you put up a couple of tall candelabras

on the table in the kitchen, Rhys has put up a big cauldon that actually steams

the flat is mostly done by 5 pm

and all of you are starving

Rhys orders a bunch of pizzas

Feyre starts to do Cassian's make up

his hair is pulled up messily as she starts to line his facial structures with a thin brush and white paint

Cassian catches your eyes and winks

you just grin and wink back

when the pizza arrives, you and Mor take turns feeding Feyre pieces, bc now her hands are smeared with black and white paint

it takes time -

in which the rest of you polish off four massive pizzas and Cassian whines whenever Feyre chides him for messing up her work when he takes massive bites of pizza

but after a whole lot of precision work

his whole face is turned into a ghostly white skeleton on shiny black paint

Feyre even painted spine bones down his throat

when she's done, you switch so she can actually eat properly

and you use the black paint you ordered specifically for this to paint the space between Cassian's teeth black

when he grins at you, you nearly topple backwards off the couch

both Rhys and Azriel haven't shared what they're dressing up as

tho in Azriel's case

it is more of a case of whether he's gonna dress up at all

at a little after 6, Mor drags you to your feet to get ready

you hole up in your room, shutting the door and putting on some music

outside, it's already dark, and you can see families and groups of children roaming the streets in the warm glow of the street lights

you end up sitting on the floor as you start curling Feyre's hair, giggling at the stories Mor tells

you carefully pin half of Feyre's hair up while she puts Mor's hair in soft waves and Mor does her own make up

the candles you lit on the windowsill are flickering

and it smells like apples and biscuits

Mor's eyeliner is sharp enough that you just wordlessly hand her your make up bag

Mor grins and squeezes your cheeks before getting to work

all the while, Feyre does your hair

then Mor does Feyre's make up as well while you lean against the bed, shaking with laughter at the grimaces Mor pulls to try and get Feyre to crack

when she's done, Mor disappears into the bathroom to get dressed first

"Guys."

Feyre and you raise your heads, and Mor grins and opens her arms.

"What d'you think?"

Feyre whistles lowly, and you raise your brows with a cheeky grin. "Hot."

Mor winks before doing a dramatic spin. Her lightweight flowy gown spins with her, billowing around her. It's so long, it sways around the ankles of her knee-high chunky boots when she comes to a still and grins, doing a happy, giddy wiggle.

"I didn't even notice the details before." You clamber to your feet to inspect the ruffles and the way they cleverly add layers and dimension to the fabric.

"I know!" Mor widens her eyes and happily swings her sleeves in front of her face, raising her brows. "I'm just gonna start wearing this day to day."

Feyre giggles as she picks up her clothes. "Grocery shopping is gonna be a blast."

Mor wiggles her brows and winks, then she grins and turns around to float out of the room. Feyre grins at you and follows her to disappear into the bathroom, and you close the door to get dressed yourself.

The tights you found at a drugstore sit snug against your legs as you slip into the black boots with the chunky heels that already resided in your closet. You bought them a few years ago with Mor, who lent a similar pair to Feyre as well. Then you straighten and carefully pin one side of your soft black skirt up, until it's rouched and gathered at your waist, and the side of your thigh is showing.

There's a light knock, and you make a face as you fight your way into your corset, nearly getting caught on your lace sleeve.

"Mor?" You grumble. "Can you help me with the corset, cause I'm not sure I can lace it up at the front -" You raise your head, and your heart catches in your throat.

In the mirror, you see Azriel leaning in the doorway. His hands are slipped into the pockets of his black jeans, and his shoulders are straining against his black t-shirt. His dark hair is curling and tousled, a strand falling into his forehead as his gaze slowly drags over your body, and something shifts in his gaze, grows warm and deep and heated.

He looks like he always does.

Except for one major change that makes your lips part and heart leap into your throat.

His eyes, always a warm shade of caramel, are now a deep, twinkling gold.

Something suddenly starts fluttering against your ribs.

One corner of Azriel's lips curves upwards. Then he sends you a slow, lazy smirk, and your heart topples and nearly stops beating when you catch the flash of sharp fangs.

Holy shit.

The smooth planes of his face are illuminated by the warm light, throwing shadows under his cheekbones and jaw as he pushes off the doorframe, and you watch in the mirror, your breath hitching with every inhale as he slowly walks towards you. His soundless, smooth gait somehow seems even more prowling than usual, and you have to keep yourself from swallowing violently when he comes to a half right behind you. His body towers over you in the mirror, and you can feel his body brush against your back when he shifts his weight, his bright eyes piercing yours before he lowers his head.

His warm fingers brush against your back, and through the lace, you shiver, your heart leaping into your throat.

Azriel throws you a look, and one corner of his lips twitches. Then he drops his gaze again and starts lacing up the back of your corset.

Your breath catches, and suddenly you feel very, very hot.

You're sure Azriel has to hear your heart pounding as he gently pulls the black silky ribbons tight, working his way from the top to the bottom. You're tempted to ask with a cheeky grin how he knows how to do this.

But you're afraid your voice won't listen.

There's a concentrated furrow between Azriel's brows as he carefully ties the ends of the ribbons in a bow, then he raises his eyes to meet yours in the mirror, and one corner of his lips quirk as he reaches up to lightly straighten one of the broad straps sitting on your shoulders.

"Good?" His deep, low voice vibrates through you and makes your heart leap high, and you swallow despite yourself and nod softly.

The curve to Azriel's lips deepens, and the ghost of a crease forms in his cheek when he sends you a slow, lazy smirk. The deceptively real looking fangs flash in the light, and suddenly, your skin tingles.

"Thanks." Your voice is soft and a little weak and catches in your throat when Azriel carefully reaches up to tuck some hair behind your ear.

He sends you a slow, light smirk, and somehow, you pull yourself together and grin back cheekily.

"Any specific thing you're supposed to be?"

Azriel shrugs lazily, raising his head and raising a brow. "Demon."

You blink, and suddenly, your throat is dry again.

"Right." Your voice is breathless and a little high, and Azriel's lips curve. Then his hands slide down to your waist, and gently, he tugs you around until you face him. Even in the high boots, you have to tilt your head back to look up at him, and something starts rising under your ribs, warm and pulsing when your chest brushes against Azriel's.

The crease in Azriel's cheek deepens as one corner of his lips curves into a light grin. Then he drops his head, and your heart tethers when his breath brushes over your skin.

His nose brushes against yours tantalizingly slow, then Azriel dips his head and kisses you.

A soft sound breaks from your throat, and you stretch, your hand sliding up to bury in Azriel's dark hair, the other clinging to his shirt as you kiss back, firm and just a little desperate.

The fangs graze your lip, and your breath catches. Your lips part, and Azriel makes a low sound deep in his chest, his hand coming up to slide into your hair and tilt your head back, and he kisses you deeper, harder, his chest pressing into yours as his tongue lazily maps yours.

"Dude!"

Feyre's indignant voice makes you pull back with a soft gasp, your fingers digging into Azriel's t-shirt, and he rolls his eyes and looks over his shoulder to glower at Feyre, but she just glowers back.

"Get your hands out of her hair, I worked hard on that!"

you somehow manage to pry yourself out of Azriel's grasp

your willpower must be magnificent

bc the way he's gazing down at you, his golden eyes piercing and heated and twinkling

makes your stomach throw loop after loop

you're glad Mor isn't the one who caught you

or that she hasn't applied your lipstick yet

Feyre shoos Azriel out of the room, and he lets her, just looking grumpy yet faintly amused

then she calls for Mor, and you somehow shake yourself out of the fast thrum of your heart and the pull in your lower stomach

Feyre looks spectacular

the black dress she's wearing has billowy sleeves that fall off her shoulders and a long tired skirt

she wears the corset you ended up ordering for her

black and with intricate stitching

and her tights glitter in the light whenever she moves

together, you lay last hand on your costumes

you put on the dozens of thin necklaces you own anyway

together with an assortment of rings and dangly earrings

Feyre does the same, marvelling at the manicure Mor has given all of you a couple of days earlier

it's a shade of such deep red, it nearly looks black

Mor adds deep, nearly black lipstick to your look and poufs up her hair

and you help Feyre add her lace cape that sits on her hair and falls over her back

then Mor pulls you to stand in front of the mirror, grinning

"we look good."

you really do

"the holy trinity of female spookiness." you grin and Feyre laughs, her shoulders shaking under her cape

Mor takes a picture of all of you

then she shoos you out of the room

Feyre goes to check if Cassian has managed to put on his t-shirt without smudging his make up

Mor goes to check on the buffet Rhys has erected in the mean time

and you make your way to the kitchen to see if you can help him with the rest of the snacks

the bar is already set up under spooky purple lights

all of your bottles next to the cauldron mugs, spooky wine glasses and other glassware

on the table, the steaming cauldron is surrounded by bowls and bowls with the biggest array of snacks possible

and Rhys is standing with his back to you, digging in the fridge

"You know, I was gonna ask if you need help, but -", you raise your brows, "looks like you're good."

Rhys appears from the depth of the fridge and turns his head towards you, and your lips part.

So that's where Azriel has the contacts from.

"What the -"

Rhys smirks, then he closes the fridge and raises an eyebrow, and you stare at him wide-eyed.

Damn.

Rhys is wearing expensive looking slacks, a shirt half unbuttoned that shows off his tones abs and chest and the tattoos snaking over his skin. His face looks flawless, more flawless than usual, his hair sits even better than usual, which you didn't think was possible, and his eyes -

"Holy shit." You gape, and Rhys winks.

His eyes have been sort of purple-ish since birth, which has been confirmed by one evening of baby photo stalking (which made for lot of laughter and teasing all around). It has fascinated you ever since you met him, but now, they're not just the usual deep blue. Instead, they're a stark, twinkling violet.

You almost ask what he's supposed to be. But then you catch a glimpse at his ears, and your mouth falls open even wider.

"Holy. Shit."

Rhys snorts when you immediately scurry forward to reach up and carefully touch the pointy ears that look so real, you nearly pull one just to see if it's actually attached.

"Where did you get that?"

"I have my ways." Rhys smirks down at you, and you blink before grinning.

"So what, you're like a hot, modern day elf?"

Rhys snorts.

"Basically. I wanted to do a whole Lord of the Rings elf thing first, but then -" His lips curve into a wicked smile. "Well, I don't know. I guess I liked this look better."

You blink and slowly start to grin back widely. "Yeah..."

You see why.

It really looks more like him.

at around 11 pm, the flat is stuffed to the brim

there are people everywhere

on the couches, the armchairs and the chairs, the floor and windowsills

the hall is packed just like the kitchen, and there are even loads of people out on the balcony, even tho it is fucking freezing

the buffet is a massive hit

it looks amazing, with the skulls and the themed food

the bar is just as popular

the music is making the floor vibrate, some Hallooween party playlist on shuffle that Mor has created for the occasion

you can tell that this party is also more excluse by just how elaborately everyone is dressed up

more have lost count of the times you have stopped people to compliment their outfits

you have seen more witches, dozens of sirens and vampires, some very fancy zombies -

Mor drags you and Feyre to dance more times than you can count

you twirl in circles, your skirts billowing, and your heart nearly explodes from how much its thrumming with happiness

whenever you focus, you can feel eyes on you

and whenever you look over your shoulder, you meet golden eyes trained on you from an armchair by the couches

but you also catch violet ones that are watching your best friend

every time, you slowly start to beam at their owner

and every time, you get back a huff, an easy smirk and a wink

cheeky bastard

you find yourself on the couch next to Cassian for a good half an hour, your legs dragged over his lap to save space and a big plate balanced on your knees as you try yourself through the whole buffet

Rhys drags you outside to breathe a little later, and you grin at him long enough that he rolls his eyes

"I'll do something about it eventually"

the way he grumbles it makes you actually believe him

tho you swear to yourself that if he doesn't get a move on soon, you'll actually have to play cupid

this has been going on for long enough in your opinion

and Mor's, judging by the way she smirks at her cousin a little later when the two of you catch a glimpse at Feyre and Rhys in the corner of the living room

deep in conversation, Rhys staring down at her with a wide smile while Feyre is laughing

"idiots,", Mor just says with a mischievous grin

then she drags you with her for a break in the kitchen where it's a little less crowded and you find a spot on the couch

Mor mixing you a series of spooky and very tasty drinks

she's a lot better at that than Rhys and you

at 2 am, the party is still at full swing when you make yourself into the living room

your eyes meet golden ones, and your heart leaps high

your already heated cheeks grow warmer, and your breath catches when Azriel lightly shifts in his seat, spreading his long legs a little wider in a silent invite

your lips start to curve until you smile brightly

then you slip through the crowd, dodging elbows and arms until you can slide into between Azriel's knees and plop down into the armchair with him

sliding into the space between him and the armrest, you giggle when Az slides his hand under your knee and pulls your legs up until they're hanging over the opposite armrest

his arm slides down your back and around your waist, and Azriel lazily sinks back in his seat, pulling you into his body

his golden eyes flicker over your face, and you prop your arm onto his shoulder and blink at him with a cheeky smile

the corner of Azriel's lips twitches

"yes?"

his deep, low voice vibrated through you, causing your heart to skip, and your smile widens

then you lean forward and whisper into his ear: "I'm gonna need help to get out of the corset later."

Azriel's grip on your leg tightens

he huffs gently

and when you pull back, he stares at you

one corner of his lips slowly curves upwards

then he gently pushes your legs off the armrest and straightens, his warm breath brushing over your neck and causing your heart to leap into your throat when he mumbles into your back

"get up."

you do not need him to be ask twice

the flat is finally quiet again by 4 am

Feyre, Mor and you are standing in the bathroom, all in pyjamas and giggling under your breath as you take off your make up

you're caught in that strange space between adrenaline, giddiness and complete exhaustion when you turn off the light in the hall

a paper bat brushes your head when you wave at Feyre and Mor who disappear into your room

then you slide into Azriel's room

The light of the bedside lamp dunks everything into a warm glow as you close the door behind you and turn around, and your heart skips gently.

Your clothes are still strewn all over the floor from earlier, mixed together with Azriel's. The bed is messy, sheets all over the place.

But what really makes your breath catch gently is Azriel laying on his back in the middle of the bed, shadows snaking over his bare torso and hair tousled as he watches with a tired twinkle in his eyes as you make your way over to the bed.

The contact lenses are gone, but as you slide under the blanket - you decide you prefer the warm amber twinkle.

Azriel's arm slides around your waist when you turn off the light, then he tugs you back into his body with easy strength that makes you giggle deliriously.

You feel his lips curve against your shoulder, then his grip tightens, and Azriel curls around you, until there's no place you can't feel him.

Your heart starts to flutter against your ribs, gentle and warm, growing even as your eyes grow heavy and you start to drift away into sleep, until there's a warm thrum in your chest.

Azriel's fingers starts to brush over your ribs, and you fall asleep to the feel of his nose buried at the back of your neck and his warm body pressed against yours.

@azrielshadows1nger @waytoomanyteenagefeels @luvmoo @icey--stars @secretlyhers

@knmendiola @azriels-mate2 @bookishbroadwaybish @maybe-a-winchester @stayinglow-exploringworlds

@harrystylesfan2686 @ssmay123 @kalulakunundrum @brekkershadowsinger @acotar-lover

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jolalibrary · 8 months ago

Text

5. pepper red

frankie morales x f!reader | chapter five of do me yourself

summary: a meet-cute in a hardware store? impossible, out of the question. except, that's exactly what happens. a need for screws leads you to a broad-shouldered, brown-eyed man who you're sure is about to change your day, never mind your life.

wordcount: 2.5k chapter warnings: [see masterlist for series warnings] SMUT. p in v. dirty talk/mutual appreciation. minor competency. frankie is pretty, thick and sexy. frankie calls you 'rainy' (paint-related from chp.1) no other descriptions or name used. you wear a date outfit but not specified. no use of y/n. an: if this was a sitcom episode, it wouldn't be allowed to be aired and also, i passed my exam, wahoo.

prev chapter | series masterlist

For some reason, it doesn’t surprise you that his bedroom is forest green. Or, that it’s accented by strong whites and similar dark woods as the living room. All earthy tones, him.

In the same way, it doesn’t surprise you that his skin is soft, all smooth as your fingers brush over his skin when you lift his t-shirt from his frame.

Because he looks as good as he did in those videos you’d watched over and over. Getting the chance to see if the silver scars were tricks of the light or stories he hadn’t shared. Your fingers discovered it was the latter.

“God, you look good, Frankie.”

He snorts, before sliding a thumb under your jaw, forcing you to confront big, doe brown eyes. Ones that you’d fall into if you could, especially as they pause, stare from one eye to the next, likely to see if there’s a lie there—a slither of untruth to your confession.

There isn’t.

A thing you ensure sits at the forefront, a silent plea for him to believe you. You suppose he must do when his mouth slides back over yours. Tongue pressing at your lower lip, seeking entry that you happily allow.

You lose yourself in it, him. How good it feels to have his lips on yours again. To have the added feel of purposeful and intentional fingers taking their sweet time to slide your outfit from you.

Because his hands trail over as much as they can. Doing so as though he’s busy carving a memory of you in his mind, making you real. A thing you won’t admit you’re doing too, too busy committing the way he feels, as you run your hands across his shoulders. Feel the expanse of them, the width, wondering—as his tongue swirls a shape on your neck—if yoga will really help you fit his broadness between your thighs.

Frankie must notice you’re drifting, thinking, because his mouth finds yours. A thing which cements you to the moment. Kissing you slowly, deliberately—a hint of mint amongst the drink he’d provided and you smirk, smiling against him.

Because he’s eaten a TicTac.

It mixes, fighting to refresh as though you hadn’t eaten and consumed the same fast food. But the act, the way his lips slide against yours, makes that joke melt as quickly as it appeared, because he’s completing his mission: the one to leave you breathless.

Tangling your fingers in his hair, you choose to pull him closer, deepening the kiss. Tongue sliding back behind his teeth as a soft moan escapes him; swallowed by your own as his hands grip your hips, pulling you flush against him. The feel of him, hard and ready against you sends a thrill of anticipation darting through you.

It’s easy, simple, to allow the rhythm of your bodies to become a language all of its own. A two-way conversation being sketched out and written in sighs and moans, punctuated by the occasional gasp. A symphony of desire.

And then you make things shift. Change the tempo when your hand descends between the two of you. Feeling him, grasping his cock, taking note of the way he inhales at the feel of your fingers. For a moment, his mouth hovers over yours—both open, just breathing. His palms flat to your side—as you hold him, feel his cock twitch in your hand. Moving, slowly—almost torturously, but it’s actually with precision.

He’s so hard, thick. Your fingers tighten their hold, wrist moving more, palm sliding up and down as you taste the way he says fuck.

“Bed,” he groans, almost through gritted teeth.

Smirking, you bite his lower lip. Light. Not piercing or enough to leave an indent. “In a minute.”

And it leaves his tongue again. Fuck.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck, baby.

All you can think about is how good he sounds, looks—feels. His head tipped back, neck elongated—lips parting as each expletive lasts longer than the four letters that make it up. It’s cliché to say it’s never been like this, but a truth that personal isn’t always easy to confess.

“Not waited to do this right with you to come before you have, Rainy.”

His fingers, those calloused ones attached to those hard-working hands, wrap around your wrist. Light, but determined.

“Oh, Butterscotch,” you tease, mouth close to his. “You been thinking about this?”

He smirks, just as he clasps his other hand to your side—tugging, yanking you flush. Feeling him, all of him, as you’re guided, moved, backs of your legs meeting the well-made bed you’re about to mess up and ruin.

“Since the moment I heard you laugh.”

Your body falls back, the sheets cool, smooth, pressing against your bare spine, before his body comes up—caging you. Nudging your thighs apart with his knee.

“Just kept thinking, bet you make other pretty noises too.”

Lips parting, you knot your fingers in the curls at the base of his neck, letting his lips slide into his cheek. That dimple appearing. The one which tries to hide under wiry hair and shyness, but is deeper than ever now, nothing held back or hidden.

And you can’t help but watch, completely transfixed by the light from the lamp he'd flicked on. The one lighting up his face, making him appear golden, ethereal. Able to discern each of the shades that make up his eyes, the flecks within them, the different browns that make a colour you dream and think of constantly, but you’re not sure has any other name than Frankie.

“Can I touch you, baby?”

You find you can only nod.

Words failing, falling, simply replaced by a gasp as he slides them between your partly spread thighs—feeling it, how wet you are. How slick and desperate you are to have him. A mess, all for him, by him. It likely ruined the underwear you’d left on his floor and dampened the sheets under you.

“This all for me?”

The rasp of his voice only makes you ache more for him. Hips desperate to shift so his fingers do more than trace and tease, but plunge and curl.

“Yes,” you moan.

It's like he knows you. A thought that bubbles and bursts when your fingers grasp at his sheets, his two fingers feel so much different than your own; Than the toys you own that are shoved in protective bags inside your sock drawer. His seek, aiming to find that spot inside you, stretches you, making your toes curl and your knuckles ache from how tight they hold the sheets.

And he’s talking. A sea of things that you half-catch and miss the rest. That you look good, feel good, that he wants to watch you come apart before he even thinks about giving you his cock.

Words almost leave your mouth, but you’re barely present.

More electric than person; more liquid than solid. So fucking close already you can feel the tremors in your thighs from not rutting yourself against his hand when the base of his palm presses flat to your swollen nerves.

“Fuck, Frankie—”

“Do you like it when I talk, baby?” his voice becomes an anchor. Keeping you here, not allowing you to float too far as you nod, crinkled pillows sounding as you do. “I think you do. I think you like hearing how hard you make me, how much I think about you in this bedroom, in the shower—at work—“

You’re arching. Barely clinging to the present as your feet flatten to root you, to grip to reality as your ears ring and pleasure does more thrum, but builds and builds—all compressing, hot, closer to liquid fire.

“—look at me, baby.”

And you do.

Lids flipping open as you’re met with nothing but desire, lust and need. It pushes you, suddenly freefalling. Your throat aching, scratched with the syllables of his name as you dig fingers into his curls and curl your body as much against him as possible as he works you through it. Him coaxing, mouth on your collarbone as he licks and lathes as you moan, and pant.

It’s then you look at him again.

Bathed in a sandy glow, sweat peppered on his chest, glinting and glittering as you find his eyes on you, taking you in as you catch your breath.

He’s so handsome, beautiful. In a way that ruined you before, that made you think of nothing but him, which now devastates you—in a way you only want him to do over and over.

It’s easier to kiss him than say it.

To trace the words over his mouth as he hums, as the vibration tickles across your lips before you’re manoeuvring him. Only paused in doing so as he dragged his lips down your neck, the sound of a drawer opening, closing, hearing a wrapper crinkle.

It’s a blink and you’ll miss it moment when your hand snatches it from him, placing it between your teeth, trying as they do so easily in movies to lightly rip it over with your teeth. You struggle. Suddenly nervous about piercing it, mind in overdrive because what—

"Easy, baby. I've got it," he growls into your ear, taking it from you, opening it more with ease than you'd managed.

And it makes you crash your mouth back to his. Etching more things to his mouth, smudging them over his tongue. How much you want this, want him.

It’s why you’re grateful that Frankie moves with ease until he’s on his back and you’re on top of him. A hand finds a home on your back, once the empty wrapper is discarded, fingers spreading out, flowing warmth into your bones. Then the other begins aiding, lining himself up as the head presses against your opening.

When you take as much of him as you can, fingers soothing your hip at the stretch, the hiss drawn from your lips at the light sting, before your forehead meets his. It's a moment before you move again. His words are there, guiding, before the room is flooded with a moan that's unearthed from your soul. One that is almost smothered in his own, a groan that makes heat flood your ears and a smile grace your mouth.

“So good for me, feel so good—“

“Can take more,” you interrupt, breathless. Slowly moving again, lifting up before sliding back down his cock—walls welcoming him, stretching, taking him to the hilt. “Y’feel good, Frankie.”

“Yeah?”

Nodding, you roll your hips slowly, torturously if anything. Still sensitive. Little gasps escape as you begin to find a rhythm, one that makes his teeth bite down on his lip.

Taking his hand, pulling it to your breast, wrapping around it as he cups it—as his groan stains the air between the two of you—you draw an O with your hips, feel that heat in your stomach.

“I like your hands, Frankie.”

A line appears, deep between his two brows. A look of shock, surprise—awe—spreads over his face like a sunny day suddenly appearing in a storm. Before, it’s slipping away, hiding, wriggling away to some depth of him you wish to call back.

“I like your voice, your smile—fuck, oh my god—and-and I like your thighs, and your…”

You continue, babbling, rambling as his hands find your hips, steadying, moving you, thrusting up into you as little spots appear in your vision, as your own voice becomes distant and easily forgettable.

But the look on his face is anything but the latter.

He’s spellbound, utterly captivated—appearing as though if his mind was a camera, he’d have filled up several memory cards with what he was trying to capture.

And it feels good.

A wanting so bad that it almost makes you snap there and then, more so as the head of his cock kisses that part of you once again, a whine coated in both a gasp and a moan—

“Put your hands on the headboard, baby.”

And you do, assisted by him moving you with him sheathed inside of you before palm after palm is placed. The fabric underneath is soft, almost like velvet—leaving marks of your touch behind in its wake as you feel his mouth on the underside of your breast.

“You look good like this,” he continues, mouth pressing kisses to your skin, “But then, you always do.”

Your eyes snap to his, finding nothing but hunger paddling in brown. You don't fight the heat that flares out to the last few places pleasure hasn’t touched. Where only compliments and adoration can kiss and warm.

Then he says your name.

Not baby, not Rainy, but the one you’d handed him in that paint aisle and set yourself on a course for unravelling. A thing you don’t regret, but rather wish had happened sooner.

Your name rasped in that deep way that echoes through the room long after the last letter is spoken, digging deep into your soul as it unlocks something. It makes every sound amplified; the rustle of sheets, the creak of the bed, the sound of skin meeting skin.

“Let me hear you, baby,” cuts through, slicing,

And you do.

Your whine shifts into a sob, almost choking on it as it snaps—as pleasure rips through you and drowns you in waves. There’s nothing but white, a much louder ringer, and the distant knowledge that you’re spraying his name across the room as your hips stutter and he thrusts up into you, twitching, fucking breathless from it.

His hands, large and holding tight, keep you rooted—slowly hearing him groaning, grunting, low hisses of your name and how good you feel tight around his cock.

His fingers dig into your skin when he follows you. When his eyes clench, and his mouth parts around your name, lighting it up, making it seem as special as he makes you feel.

You collapse fully against him, thighs still shaking, little tremors in your muscles as your fingers brush back his damp curls from his forehead. A smile easy to find, to let slide over your mouth as you kiss him.

The light from the lamp drapes over you—still sticky, a mess between your thighs as you kiss him again, bodies flush. More gentle, a light lick across his bottom lip as you feel him grin, hands roaming over your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the slope of your back

He murmurs your name, palm sliding up your cheek, tip of his nose brushing against yours. “Should clean you up.”

“Hmm…”

His thumb swipes, hearing him swallow as your eyes open and find his already on you. “Don’t go.”

"To clean up?"

"Tonight."

Biting your lip, you try to fight it—less a smile and more a grin. “Okay. I won’t.”

And his lips capture yours once more. A thing you relax into—easily. Just like you keep finding so effortless to do with him.

next chapter ->

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