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weltraum-vaquero · 2 days ago

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i was scrolling through pinterest and i came across a prompt: “i can’t focus with your damn hand on my— ooh..” i IMMEDIATELY thought of jayce 🫢 can i request sumn like that? i love your work so much 😭😭

Hi anon, this prompt drove me insane. Thank you so much!

Play (dirty)

Jayce Talis x GN Reader

Summary: A fancy play at the Piltover Opera is a good excuse as any to deck out. And an even better excuse to have some fun with your partner.

Word count: 2.5k

MDNI. Mature content under the cut.

Tags: Sub Jayce, slight exhibitionism, dry handjobs, heavy petting, alcohol consumption

Jayce could never stand still. There’s something in him that’s constant, restless, relentless. Always the type to fiddle, to twirl his pen between his fingers, to scratch at his own scruff in thought, to chew the inside of his cheek, to bounce his leg. His mind is a hyperactive, brilliant thing; equal parts blessing and curse.

He does it now, too — bouncing his leg, that is, under the fine silk of his prettiest burgundy slacks (his ass, though nothing to write home about, never failed to look tremendous in those. Something about the thin, generously revealing material seaming to the humble curve of his ass in a salacious display). Jayce taps his fingers on the sturdy oakwood of the theatre chair as he stares at the still lowered curtain, crosses his legs, sighs, uncrosses them, bounces his leg again.

It’s the final stretch of the second intermission, though the play isn’t particularly doing it for you, mainly because you’ve seen this exact rendition before, with Jayce at your side. Just… not from up here: an opulently designed balcony, all to yourselves, just shy of the stage. Generous courtesy of Salo for a favor taken rather than given from Jayce, a situation that’s been stressing him out something fierce these past few weeks. You digress. That’s not what matters anymore — he’s earned a break. He’s earned something good.

It’s a lovely opportunity to spend some time with him outside of the confines of his lab or your shared home, which is growing increasingly rare. It’s a lovely opportunity to put on your shiniest clothes and make a pretty sight for one another.

Undeniably, that’s been the best aspect of it. Jayce has been sneaking looks at you the whole time — perhaps bored with the play, perhaps too enticed with you. And you can’t exactly blame him, because you’re not doing much better either.

How are you meant to do anything when you have a much more captivating sight to take in, sitting tensely in the chair next to yours?

A dark shirt that hugs the proud swell of his chest just right (certainly something to write home about), a pretty burgundy jacket just the same warm colour as the fruity merlot he’s finished sipping on, lingering on his plump lips. Silk curling at the seams, stretching under the heft of his now thicker thighs as they rest on the seat, tie loosened just so, and he’s good enough to eat.

You lay a warm hand on the inside of his leg, and Jayce, as he always does, yields. Less on thought, more on instinct, always so eager, before he turns to look at you with a question in amber eyes gone chocolatey dark in the low light of the room.

“Hm?”

His cologne hits you in a peppery-sweet, floral wave as he leans in, leans closer, and gives you the attention you’re so clearly demanding.

“Should I get us more wine?” You make feeble conversation, more eager to hear his voice than his thoughts. He’s been sharing most of them in whispers throughout the play so far as is.

Jayce shakes his head, flashes a conspiratorial, boyish little smirk. “If I have any more, I might um,” he breaks out in a short, clearly tipsy giggle, “do something I really shouldn’t be doing up here.”

His hand finds yours, pinkies twining together in a near juvenile but vulnerable display of his affection, a plea for affection. And, oh, his eyes, though his pupils are blown wide, glitter mischievously like a cat’s about to pounce. Two can play that game…

“Mm. That would be a terrible look on you,” you emptily agree. “Think of the headlines… Man of Progress caught moaning during Winter Solstice play, Man of Progress bent over the railing on the opera’s most lavish balcony…”

Jayce nods, a little drunkenly. Leans in for a kiss before he breathes: “Terrible.”

You let him have it — how could you not? Let him sloppily lick at your mouth like an overeager puppy for a long, dizzying, smooth-merlot attempt at a kiss. He smiles into it, as if in thanks.

Before you give a gentle little push at the plush swell of his chest with your other hand, pacing him, pulling away to leave him in a dazed little stupor. His breath hits your now slick lips in a warm, wet brush.

“Intermission’s about to end.” You pat his thigh less sensually, more like you’d pat an obedient dog for a trick well done. “Better keep quiet and focus on the third act.”

It looks like it pains him to settle back into his velvet seat, so you leave your hand on the top of his now still thigh — a reminder, a promise. It keeps Jayce on his toes more than the narrative unfolding before you does. Well worked sinew draws so tight you can feel it vibrate even under the soft layer of plush fat on his thighs, and as the action in the play begins to find its inevitable build, you find your hand wandering.

Just to the inside of his thigh, first, where he’s softer, which he gladly offers up to you. Fingers draw patterns more intricate than the paisley on his vest, until poor, tormented Jayce begins to shift in his velvet seat. Tilts his hips this way, then that, then readjusts his whole frame in the seat with an awkward clear of his throat when it creaks.

The rich tones of a singular violin crescendos in sync with the dip of your hand further, up, up, until you reach that tense tendon on the inside of his leg, where his thigh seams to his hip.

And further inwards, his straining cock nudges the back of your knuckles through the silk of his pants. Jayce jumps with the contact… Poor, poor thing.

“Aw, Jayce...” It’s both pity and reprimand, a whisper so low he can barely hear it. The flesh of his thigh spills from between squeezing fingers; it has him lowering his head in shame and trying to breathe through it. If not for the sacred quiet of the imposing room, for the performers playing their instruments as deftly as you’re about to play him, he would have at the very least whined for it. A low, pleading, dog-like sound.

Instead, he shoots you a look. Desperate and dazed and wide-eyed all at once in the dark of the room, before it turns into a kind of anger that does not and will not bite. Nibbles on you like an angry puppy, more like.

“How d-do you expect me to focus when your damn hand is—“ and you give him what he wants, “o-oh.”

Grabbing a handful of the straining outline of his dick through his pants, rubbing just once, from the wet patch on the tip to as far down as the silk allows.

“Better?” You ask.

Jayce breathes a terrified, shivering sigh.

“I don’t know,” he whispers.

“I can stop,” you remind. He knows it to be the truth intimately; though he aches to please to a fault, Jayce has learned a thing or two about respecting his own boundaries by now. You trust that if he needs you to, he will give you the word.

“Don’t.” Armrests gripped so tight they could splinter, eager hips raise off the theatre seat to chase your hand until your palm cradles his leaky tip once more. Wide eyes flutter closed and cherry slick lips part in a muted expression of bliss.

“Then don’t make a mess,” you breathe into his ear. “And keep quiet. Can you do that, baby?”

Jayce nods desperately, and does a surprisingly great job at swallowing another moan as you twirl your fingertips around what should be the crown of his cock, silk gliding under your hand akin to well oiled skin. He lets it happen gladly, spreads his legs in welcoming especially when you reach further down, until the dainty weight of his balls sits cupped in the groove of your palm. There, you linger, simply holding him where he’s most sensitive, unmoving.

Jayce exhales shakily, baby doe eyes flicking between you and the hand between his legs in questioning, in hope. The soft, still cradle of your palm turns greedy as you feel him up, fingertips curling around the heft of his bulge, his cock pressing into your hand. All of him trembles with how he stifles a gasp into the back of his fist.

You simply knead at him idly, the way a satisfied cat would as it purrs, and make a show of diverting your attention back to the play you couldn’t care less about. It gets him off, in some capacity, to be touched but not paid attention to. It had made him soil his pants so quick, once, simply letting him have his pleasure against your thigh while you were busy with a book, and it’s a technique you employ on occasion since. Coupled with the fact that Jayce, touchy and needy as he is, hasn’t gotten much chance at release lately, you know for certain he will find it now, and fast.

The glossy silk has gone sticky wet at the very tip of his dick, so much so it even leaves your hand damp after an indulgent squeeze at it. Below, horns blare with the oncoming climax of the play, music daunting in its grandeur even from up so high. In spute of such an enticing distraction at hand, you can’t help but marvel at them as you palm Jayce’s cock. And you recognize the melody the very next moment, the thrill of hearing it for the very first time; just as you know the end Jayce is approaching with intimate familiarity, so do you remember the next part of the play.

It will go quiet for a long, breathtaking moment to draw the audience to the edge of their seats, the calm before the storm — and Jayce, judging by the sweat on his brow, the way he almost tears into the back of his fist with his canines, Jayce will not, cannot be quiet.

The realization must hit him at the same time as it hits you, because his free hand grabs yours in a death grip, a decidedly desperate attempt at halting the inevitable.

“S-stop,” he whispers, his lips meeting on the p just moments before the entire orchestra quiets.

You can hear every bated inhale in the grandiose room — but none of them as sweet as Jayce’s. The whole room buzzes, alight with the anticipation of the audience.

Jayce squeezes your hand vehemently, like the weight of his barely contained orgasm threatens to crush him. His thighs clench around your hand, his body curls, he exhales in a silent cry, before he presses his hand to his lips so hard it makes you wince. You lean in close enough to be able to hear his thoughts, let him hide his face in the fabric on your shoulder.

“Breathe,” you coo at him like he’s in pain, stroking your thumb up, then down the aching outline of his cock. It makes his hips jump. “Once the music starts again, I’ll take care of you.”

You can feel him nod his head against your shoulder, can feel his grip slacken, can hear the tension in the room crackling like lightning when a violin starts a short-lived solo that is soon joined by the rest of the orchestra in a tsunami.

Jayce lets go of your hand, spreads his legs as if to offer himself up on a silver platter to you — full, complete trust. You slip the buttons of his pants out of their eyelets fast, aided by the near oily slipperiness of the fabric, the press of his cock, which have the front flap popping open the rest of the way.

Your hand slides down the bump of his soft, fuzzy tummy, into his pants, his underwear, easily, because it’s warm, familiar territory. Cradling all he’s worth in your hand, you scoop both his cock and his balls from the confines of the silk, laying them out vulnerable and exposed to the cold air.

It forces a gasp from Jayce, fortunately lost to the music, instinctually going to cover himself with both hands at the sensation and the prospect of being at the mercy of such a grand, full room.

“I’ve got you,” you remind him. Deft hands reach for his breast pocket, stealing away his handkerchief from him. Even dazed like this, Jayce understands your intention easily, and wins another battle against his instincts as he lets his hands fall away from where they’re cupped over himself protectively. One hand fists the silk of his pants, and the other wraps around your forearm not in guidance, but in seeking, of your presence, of you, grounding himself.

Jayce goes perfectly still as you stroke his dry cock, from root to swollen tip. It can’t be satisfying, you know so by just the feel of your hand around him, the way his foreskin drags with the grip you have on him, up, over his leaky cockhead, then down, exposing him where he’s most sensitive. It can’t be good, but it’s enough, because Jayce whines, quiet and half-terrified as he hides his face against your shoulder, before he goes rigid with your next upward stroke.

And you do that thing he likes so much — his tip’s smeared in enough of his precum to facilitate an overstimulating twist of your palm around just the ruddiness of his crown. His mouth falls open in a silent wail.

Jayce is so easy. Shoots his load into the handkerchief you bring up to his cock just in time, lets you milk all his overwhelming orgasm’s worth into the fabric until he can’t help but clench his thighs around your still moving hand. Trembles in time with his twitching cock as you wipe the strings of cum off his sticky, swollen cockhead and stuff the handkerchief back into his breast pocket.

The orchestra quiets once more, for good this time, and the audience’s applause roars. There won’t be much time until the lights come on, so you make quick work of tucking him back into his pants, and once Jayce regains some of his mental footing, he helps you button them back up.

Just in time — the lights blind you, but not as much as he does. Sitting low in his seat, slick with sweat, disheveled in his best clothes, and smiling at you so wide and dopey he shines, Jayce is brighter than any light, any sun. His chest rises and falls at a fierce, breakneck pace as he catches his breath.

You lean in to grant him a well deserved kiss to the cheek, one he chases with his mouth instead, and smiles into when you lick what remains of the by now long dried merlot from the ridges of his lips.

It makes him smile wider, a blush that matches his suit perfectly blooms on his cheeks. He takes the hand you’d stroked him with, intertwines your fingers like the lovesick fool that he is. You squeeze back, like the lovesick fool that you are, and can’t help but gaze into his eyes even as the eager applause slowly fizzles out.

“They clapped for the wrong performance,” you whisper to him. “You were far more glorious than any play.”

#jayce talis #jayce x reader #jayce talis x reader #arcane jayce x reader #jayce arcane #jayce arcane x reader #arcane jayce #arcane x reader #reader insert #my writing

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covenofagatha · 2 days ago

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your stories are so good! Can’t wait for the next part of sugar spice and everything nice! If you’re still taking requests could you do one where reader is Agatha’s wife who’s found out she’s pregnant and accidentally tells her when they’re in the middle fucking and it makes Agatha even hornier? Thank you again!!

I had fun with this one so hopefully you all enjoy it too!

Knocked up and turned on

You find out you're pregnant and you aren't sure how to tell your wife, Agatha

Word count: 1600+

Warnings: pregnancy, pregnancy sex, girl penis Agatha, cum, creampie, slight breeding kink, sex, mommy kink

Looking back now, it all makes sense.

Your breasts were tender. You were craving cheese and pickles a lot. You had thrown up twice this week.

And your period was over a week late.

Okay, yes, you probably should’ve figured it out sooner.

But looking at the two bold lines on the pregnancy test, you figured there was no time like the present.

While you weren’t exactly sure how it had happened as you were on birth control, you are overjoyed at first. A little you running around, a baby to spoil that would grow into an adorable toddler and then soon enough you’re driving them to their first sports match or dance recital or whatever they wanted.

You even found yourself drifting to baby names.

Then your thoughts turned to your wife. You knew Agatha had a rough childhood sponsored by her mother and she had always shied away from the topic of children. How are you going to tell her?

You could bake her something nice? Maybe buy little baby booties and box them up for her to open? You could always sit her down by the fireplace and pour a glass of wine – only for her, of course – and tell her the news.

Nothing seemed right though, and you were worried as to how Agatha would react.

Who says you have to tell her though?

Deep down you know it’s wrong, but you want to keep holding onto the secret for a little bit longer and just let it be you and your baby. You know it’s selfish and you know Agatha deserves to know, but you’ll tell her eventually. Once you figure out the timing.

Or…you bring her along to a doctor’s routine check up so the two of you can “find out” together.

You like that plan.

You’re on the website trying to make an appointment when Agatha gets home.

“Hey, hon,” she says, dropping her keys and coming to kiss your forehead. “Everything okay?” You glance up at her to find her looking at the computer screen.

“Oh, yeah, just thought I’d go do one of the routine things, you know. You should probably do one too, when’s the last time you went to the doctor?” You ramble when you’re nervous. The words are on the tip of your tongue and you have to keep talking so you don’t accidentally blurt it out. “Maybe we can go together!”

She snorts, not choosing to indulge in whatever you’re being weird about, and walks away. You turn to call after her to ask what she wants for dinner because you’re already starving but your breath catches in your throat.

There’s something about the way her hips are swaying that has you getting wet. You suddenly feel more aware of everything.

“Agatha,” you croak. She stops in the doorway of your bedroom and turns to face you, putting a hand up on the wall. A very veiny hand. Your mouth goes dry and all you can think about is those fingers around your throat.

And then you take in the rest of her outfit. A purple sweater rolled up to her forearms and the black pants that hug her ass so nicely. Her messy bun with strands of hair framing her beautiful face.

She must see the look on your face because she smirks and starts slowly walking toward you.

“Again, baby? You’ve been so horny lately,” she remarks and your face flushes more than it should. That should’ve been another clue. Your wife isn’t wrong; four out of the five last days you practically begged her to fuck you. You couldn’t get enough of her fingers, mouth, and cock and you had so much more stamina.

“Is that a bad thing?” You counter and she chuckles, getting close enough so she can pull you in for a kiss. Her tongue slides into your mouth and you think you might be dripping already.

Her fingers dip to your waistband but you stop her hand.

“Just want your cock please, baby,” you beg. You suddenly feel so empty and you just need her to fill you up.

“I need to make sure you’re ready then,” she says, hand moving into your sweatpants and cupping you over your underwear. You can tell the moment she realizes just how wet you are because you watch her jaw slacken and lust cloud in her eyes. “Fuck, doll, what have you been thinking about all day?”

“You, mommy,” you breathe and kiss her again. Not technically a lie but you’re not sure if it’s such a good idea to tell her that the reason you’re so horny at the drop of a hat is because you’re pregnant. You don’t stop kissing her as you walk her backwards until she hits the couch.

You push her down and immediately straddle her, grinding on her rapidly hardening length through her pants.

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot,” Agatha moans, hands finding their spot on your waist and helping you. “You’re so desperate.”

“Desperate for you,” you agree breathlessly, reaching down to undo her pants and pull her length out. You have to get out of her lap for a second to wriggle out of your pants but you don’t even bother with your underwear before getting back on top of her.

Agatha reaches down to move your underwear to the side and line her tip at your entrance, and you do the rest.

Your mouth drops open in a silent moan and Agatha’s eyes roll back in her head as you begin to move down on her. She feels so fucking good inside you, filling you just how you need. You don’t move for a bit once you completely bottom out, just feeling her throb in you.

“God, you’re so perfect, mommy,” you groan, slowly starting to roll your hips, just grinding on her. Agatha’s breathing has increased and grown heavier, not able to hide the effect you’re having on her either.

You begin to lift up and then back down, her tip hitting your spot with every thrust. It’s embarrassing how close you are already.

Your wife’s thumb comes down to circle your clit and it slides easily with your wetness. You moan and start riding her faster.

“God, baby, you feel so good around me,” Agatha pants, watching your pussy stretched out around her. “Taking mommy so well, wanna fill you up.” Her fingernails dig into your hips and use it to pound up into you.

And for some reason, the words just spill out of your mouth.

“I’m pregnant.”

Agatha freezes mid-thrust and you can’t help but clench around her, needing the lost stimulation.

“What?” She says. “Did you just say that you’re pregnant?”

You take a deep breath and nod. Obviously not the ideal way to have this conversation with her cock still buried to the hilt inside of you, but this is how it’s happening. “I found out today.”

Agatha’s breath stutters and you’re worried about what she’s going to say until you feel her pulse inside you.

“Fuck,” Agatha says, a flush spreading across her neck and up to her cheeks. She grabs your hair and yanks you in for a filthy kiss. Before you can ask if everything’s okay, she flips you on your back on the couch and starts fucking you with renowned vigor.

“Agatha,” you cry, hips raising to meet every thrust. Small sounds are falling out of both of your mouths and you see her smiling above you.

“I got you pregnant,” she says like she can’t believe it. “That’s so fucking hot, doll, I filled you up so well that we’re going to have a baby.”

“Mommy, gonna cum,” you choke out, rubbing your clit and feeling her rhythm stutter as you clench deliciously around her.

“Me too, baby, I’m going to cum inside you,” she groans, sloppily kissing you.

“Maybe you can knock me up again,” you say and it’s mostly a joke but you don’t miss the way her hips jerk in a particularly rough thrust. It feels so good. “You like that, mommy? Want to breed me some more?” There’s no denying the effect those words have on your wife and you make a mental note to file that away for later.

“Fuck, yes, baby, I’m cumming,” Agatha moans and the feeling of her cock pulsing and then the thick warmth spreading inside you triggers your own orgasm.

You both ride it out together and once you come down from your highs, Agatha sags down on top of you, just holding you close. You stroke her sweaty hair and she presses light kisses to your cheek.

You can feel her cock slowly softening in you and when it finally slips out, so does a gush of her cum. Your hips shift at the feeling and Agatha gets off you to shove your legs open to observe the mess.

With a wicked grin, she runs her fingers up your slit, collecting the cum, and fucks it back into you with two fingers. Your head lolls back against the couch and she quickly gets you to another orgasm with her hand and the knowledge that she’s pushing her seed back in.

After, she gets a warm towel and cleans you up and then pulls you into a hug.

“I can’t believe we’re going to have a baby,” she whispers into your ear. “I can’t wait.”

“Me neither, Aggie. God, I love you so much.” You kiss her softly.

“I love you too, baby. You’re going to be such a great mom.”

You smile and run a hand through her hair. “You are too.” And then a thought crosses your mind and you can’t help but giggle. “Soon I won’t be the only one around here calling you mommy.”

Agatha rolls her eyes fondly and kisses you again to shut you up.

#agatha harkness x fem!reader #agatha harkness x reader #agatha x reader #agatha x you #agatha harkness x you #kathryn hahn x reader #agatha harkness smut #agatha smut #agatha all along

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zephswritingthings · 22 hours ago

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“Well sure,” I nodded at the vampire. I’d dealt with enough of them to know that this one was new. Not fresh, those still smelled too much of grave and blood to do things like calmly walk into a stranger’s home. New though, new enough he didn’t know who I was. As such he didn’t notice when the slow grin I gave him had a few too many teeth. “I thought about getting one that said ‘be welcome’ but that seemed a little on the nose.”

“Dangerous thing, to live in a place like this and have a truly welcoming mat on your doorstep.” He gestured with my remote at the rest of my house. It was a little place, secluded by my half wild garden despite its place near the center of town. Perfect for my needs, perfect in theory for his as well. When he stood it was with the slow fluidity of a predator.

“Dangerous for whom?” I walked past him into my kitchen, laying down my basket on the counter and watching him stalk closer out of the corner of my eyes. I picked the green onions out of the pile, along with my wooden cutting board and knife. When I turned to face him he jumped slightly, sliding onto the bar stool at my kitchen island as if that had been his destination all along.

“Your door came unlatched when I shook it.”

“Sure did.” My smile hadn’t dimmed as I stepped up to the island with my board and got to work cutting the onions. “I’m making stew, will you be staying for dinner?”

“I don’t think we have the same definition of the word.” He was trying to match my grin now but his eyes kept flicking nervously towards my knife and the calm decisiveness with which it moved. Though perhaps it was my thin leather gloves that had caught his eye, or the way I hadn’t yet taken them off.

“Would you like to count the lentils before I put them in the stew?” I met his eyes and watched him flinch. Ah, one of the more classic of the lot then. I felt a thrill fill me. It had been much too long since I went toe to toe with one who wouldn’t immediately burn upon contact with the sun. “It may keep you entertained while you try to find vermin who will bow to your will.”

“Ah,” guilt flashed across his face. I’d caught him in the act. An act which I was well used to, too well used to perhaps. I had a deal with the vermin who lived in and around my cottage. A deal with me transcended any minor control a vampire may be able to wield over them. “I seem to have underestimated you.”

“Your ilk always do.” My smile changed, shifting to something closer to pity. I allowed my glamour to wash away as I added the onions to the pot that had been simmering all day. My ears lengthened and sharpened to knife points, the whites bled from my eyes, my pupils consuming all colour. Some things only changed slightly. My hair stayed in its long braid down my back, though it took on a metallic sheen. The overalls and loose linen shirt I wore stayed the same the dirt simply vanished. The extra joint in both my arms, legs, and fingers wasn’t immediately noticeable but they would be. “Since we’re being honest you should know a few things.”

He gulped visibly as I turned to face him. Neither breathing nor swallowing was actually necessary to vampires but old habits and all. If he’d had any blood in him it would have drained from his face. Instead I had to settle for the ways the whites over took his eyes and the skin tightened around his face. There are very few things in the world for vampires to fear. I count myself among them.

“My home is easy to enter, it will always be easy to enter, but only those with my explicit permission may leave. ” I spoke softly, the surety of my words needing no added volume. I ticked each point off on my long fingers. “You have trespassed with no intent of obeying the rules of hospitality. I am the shadow in the night, the thing humans whisper to their children to ensure good behaviour, and the thing that keeps the night hospitable.”

He tried to run. My sigh followed him down the short hall to the entryway. His shriek as he tried to open the door without checking it first sent a fire thrumming through my veins. It was truly a work of art, it had taken me decades to craft the perfect closure to my trap. Only a human would be able to open that door without effort and pain. A human or me, who knew its every secret. Despite that he was still scrabbling at the door with bloody hands when I reached him. He whipped around, pressing his back against the door in an attempt to get away from me and then hissing, whimpering like a wounded animal as his feet slipped out from under him.

“Another thing you should know.” I crouched in front of him, feet flat on the ground, every joint bent as I loomed into his space. He whimpered again. “You are a pathetic example of your ilk, but it’s not really me you should fear. I am not the reason so many fear the dark.”

“That’s us?” He whispered, voice cracking as though it didn’t want to do the thing he was asking of it.

“No.” A voice spoke from the shadows of my hall. The woman who stepped out of the shadow was dark in every place I was light. Midnight dark hair flowed loose down her back, skin the colour of shadows, but the shimmering moonlight of her eyes is what always caught my attention. Had for a millennia and I doubted it would ever stop. “That would be me.”

“My love.” I breathed the words even as I stayed perfectly still. Her hand ghosted over the back of my head, sending shivers down my spine, even as her eyes stayed locked on the trembling creature in front of me. “You’ve caught another treat for me in your beautiful web.”

“He’s still fresh.”

“I’m still alive!” His voice shattered on the word.

“You misunderstand the meaning of the word.” Her hand moved to his cheek, nails racking back into his hair. She pulled him to his feet as a litany of pleas fell from his mouth. I wondered if he knew what half the words even meant, I wondered when the last time he’d met someone stronger than him was. “I have feasted on children, on elders, on the healthy and hale, on those brought low by power or disease, I have tasted the original of the vampiir. You are fresh, they were ancient and full of power, you are full of potential. Sweetness?”

She turned to me as I straightened. I raised an eyebrow at her. It was unusual for her to stop mid rant.

“I will be back for supper.” She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to my cheek. As she did her feet started to fade. I smiled and stepped away, I’d followed her into the shadows only once, it was an experience I did not wish to repeat. He started squirming in earnest as she stepped back into the shadows with him. In the shadows there were few and far between who would be able to hear his cries, and fewer still who would listen to them.

I went to stir my soup. She’d be more solid after her meal, and hungry for real food. I would have it ready for her. This was the nature of our deal. As long as I kept her and fed her she would never leave. The night would stay hospitable and I would be happy.

After a long day you come home and flick on the lights. Someone who looks to be a stereotypical vampire is fiddling with your remotes. Before you can speak, they simply say: “Did you know you have a piece of rug that says ‘Come right on in’ in front of your door?”

#Zeph writes #vampires #original #the vampire hunter #stories #writing #writing prompt s

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bengals-barnesbabe · 3 hours ago

Text

Not Future... Now

MDNI 18+ | Imagine Joe seeing you holding someone’s baby and losing all sense of mind at the thought that maybe, just maybe, that baby could be his one day.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: releasing some old drafts, enjoy babe. also not proofread :)

Main Masterlist

⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅ .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅. ୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧

Joe’s been having a certain recurring thought lately. It shows up in his dreams or when he’s in the gym or on the field. He’s tried to brush it off; it’s too vulgar to say out loud, but it won’t go away. He felt ashamed for it always being on his mind, especially at work- if any of the guys knew what he was thinking about at practice, he would probably quit and never show his face again. But at the same time, it feels so natural for him to think about it. Especially right now.

Nothing else was on his mind while you were cuddled up against him, watching some random action movie on Netflix. He stopped focusing on the screen the second you pushed your ass onto his crotch to ‘get comfy,’ if anything, you knew exactly what was on his mind and were torturing him for fun.

But you were as oblivious as you could be, eyes glued to the TV screen.

Oblivious to how easy it would be for him to just push your silk shorts off the swell of your fat cheek, move the elastic barrier of your cute panties to the side and slide his cock through your plump folds.

Oh, what he’d do to hear that first shocked gasp turn into a sweet, inevitable moan as you take him in deeper. You would try to question the abrupt action only to sink further into his chest and succumb to the pleasure he’s giving you until ropes of his cum fill your womb.

Instead, he settles the thoughts in his mind and tries to refocus his mind on the car chase in front of him instead of the sweet scent of your vanilla perfume. The sultry scent he can’t live without, something so you that bakeries and cafes remind him of the woman he gets to come home to every day. But there’s something so satisfying about that scent on your soft brown skin that has him clutching every part of your body he can get his hands on. Your thick thighs that look beautiful around him, that delectable neck his head fits perfectly in, and his current favorite: the soft layer of fat on your lower belly. Ever since he started having those dreams, he hasn’t taken his hands off your small pooch. Unconsciously, he’ll caress your tummy for as long as you let him.

He could tell you didn’t like it at first. He understood you were feeling self-conscious about it, so he reassured you that he adored every part of your body the same during a long, hot love-making session. Now, you don’t give him a second look when his hands start roaming from your waist down.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

After spending all day caring for other people’s kids as a nanny, you eagerly joined your boyfriend of 2 years on the couch for a mandatory cuddle session. You put on the movie Baby Driver and relaxed into Joey’s chest as his arms pulled you closer.

About halfway through the movie, his hands started moving down into the waistband of your shorts and settled on your tummy. You couldn’t help but smile, knowing he was as relaxed as you were. Recently, this has been his favorite resting position, with you against his chest and him caressing your belly. It took you a while to fully embrace your figure, but if it weren’t for Joey, you wouldn’t realize just how much there was to love about it. He loved every dimple and roll and made sure you did, too.

However, there was something different about the way his hands touched you. Most of the time, he liked to lightly squeeze and massage the fat, which was very nice when it was that time of the month. But right now, he was just slowly rubbing on it. No light tugs and squishes, no drawing random shapes or doodles on the skin, just rubbing his hand over it.

“Joey…” You whisper, trying to look back at him but failing thanks to his face lying cozy in your neck.

“Mhm?” He mumbles softly.

“What are you doing?”

You feel a grin grow on his lips. “What are you doing?”

Rolling your eyes, you place a hand on his, seizing the motions on your stomach. “I asked you first.”

He hums and pecks up your neck to your ear. “I’m thinking.” His voice makes you shiver then he begins to kiss and suck on the sweet spot behind your lobe.

“Wha-what are you thinking about?”

A light chuckle vibrates through his lips as he resumes the light touches on your stomach. “You.”

“What about me? I’m right here.” You giggle as he shoves his face back in the crook of your neck.

“You really wanna know?” His voice’s so muffled you can barely understand him.

You shuffle your body so you’re underneath him and can finally see his sweet blue eyes. “Yes, I wanna know.”

He smirked and used one hand to stabilize himself above you, then leaned down to your lips. “You asked for it.” He whispers with a peck on your lips. Then he shifts down and plants open-mouth kisses on your collarbone.

“I’ve been thinking about our future-

He lifts on his knees and unbuttons your silk top.

“About what’s next for you and me-

Bring his lips back down and suck minor bruises from your sternum to your belly button, all while keeping his eyes on your face. “Mmmm, Joey.”

“And I’m reminded of it every day when you send me pictures of you at work.” He growls, coming up to press a deep kiss on your lips. He barely gives you time to react before pulling away to suck on your sweet spot again. “I wanna get you pregnant.”

“What?” You moan, half in surprise and half in pleasure.

“Can’t stop thinking about you full of me, walking around showing everyone who you belong to. Can’t you see it, baby?” He pulls your leg around his waist and lays his full weight down on you.

“Joe.” Your eyes widen as your groins rub against each other, his bulge now very apparent. “Holy fuck- have you been...

“Hard this entire time? No.” He pauses to suck more bruises onto your chest. “Just can’t help it, baby. I have this stunning woman with a beautiful body just waiting for me to knock her up.”

“Oh.” You moan as he pulls the cups of your bra down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth. “Joey, you can’t just say that.”

His flat tongue licking up your sensitive peaks makes your hips jolt up, and hands pull at his hair.

“Fuck baby, you can’t do that.” He groans, grinding his hips against yours. He switches over to your other nipple with his tongue and tugs and twists with his hand to give both stimulation. Your breaths quicken as your moans get louder, your panties being soaked with your arousal. He gives your sensitive nipple one last harsh suck, then kisses back up to your lips.

“You don’t know what you do to me, baby. Y’know how much you mean to me? Y’know how much I can depend on you?” He mumbles between kisses. Your hips and lips continue to mingle until you abruptly push him up, making his arms hold his weight hovering over you.

“What did you say?”

Making him horny and sappy is one thing, but the last one has nothing to do with you.

“Joe, what do you mean you can depend on me?” Sure, it's a far-fetched theory, but suddenly, he connects his desire to have a child with how his team is currently doing. But it’s a theory nonetheless.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He sighs, dropping his head to kiss yours. Dismissal and Ignorance.

“Are you trying to get me pregnant so you have someone always to support you and never disappoint you, unlike your team?” You question, dodging the way he dips down to your neck.

He groans. “Y/n, are fucking serious right now?” There’s practically no space between your wide eyes and his scrunched face.

“I’m not having a baby with you just because your defense sucks.”

His face morphs into a smirk while he licks his lips. Then he leans into your ear. “No, you’re gonna have my baby because you like to walk around here in tiny ass shorts while talking about other peoples’ kids. I want you to have my baby because I can’t go one minute without thinking about how goddamn gorgeous you’d look knocked up, waddling around my house.” He pronounces each word as husky and breathily as the last, sending shivers down your spine.

“I’m going to get you pregnant because you’re mine, and nothing makes me hornier than the thought of my girl having my kid. Anything else you wanna say, princess?” He says, sliding your shorts off and throwing your fallen leg over his waist.

“N-no!” You choke out as his finger traces your sopping folds.

“No, what?” He teases your entrance while his lustful, blown-out pupils watch your silent whimpers.

“No daddy, I need you.” Joe wastes no time removing his sweats and hooking your legs around him.

“Yea? Good, I need to feel you around my cock right now.” He groans, sucking in a breath as his dick glides against your sopping folds.

"Joey?" You take his face in your hands, pulling him down.

"Yeah, gorgeous." He pecks your forehead, gazing into your pretty lustfilled eyes.

Leaning up to peck his swollen lips, you whispered softly. "Please breed me."

His eyes widened, "Jesus Christ, woman," then he sunk into you.

#joe burrow x black reader #joe burrow smut #joe burrow blurb #bengals barnesbabe #black reader #joe burrow x reader #nfl imagine #joe burrow #cincinnati bengals #joe burrow bengals #to be or not to be a blurb #blurb or fic... who knows #smut #joe burrow imagine

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redfoxwritesstuff · 3 days ago

Text

A Misdemeanor Of The Heart: Chapter 25 (Human!Alastor x Married!Reader)

CW: Angst, blood, manipulation, Alastor being a murder baby AN: I hope my fellow Americans survived their Thanksgiving with minimal family fighting and all those who didn't celebrate around the world had a great Thursday. Prev Masterlist AO3 KoFi

Alastor parked his car at the edge of the park, under the shade of a large tree. It was late and the odds of being seen were minimal. Even so, it was better safe than sorry. The heavy canopy blocked much of the light from the streetlights, few though there were.

He waited for a few moments, head resting against the back of the seat, eyes looking up and out the windshield. In the distance, the roof of your house peeked up from the treeline, whispering dark promises. For a few moments longer, he sat in the holy silence where late night and early morning danced together.

The slam of the car door was loud, shattering the fragile silence of the night as he stepped away from the still car. He walked slowly to the small pond as he ran a hand through his hair. Curls spiraled out of the locks, tangled around his fingers as he pulled hairs free with the nervous action. Sweat and time were winning the battle against the effort he had put into pulling the strands straight that morning.

It was alright. You seemed to like the curls.

Kneeling at the edge of the pond, he splashed water on his face, scrubbing at the dried blood on his hands and neck blindly. He knew he would miss spots. There wasn’t much he could do about his shirt, but that was alright, too. It would all be alright, soon.

He just wanted to see you. That was the thought that ran through his mind as he walked casually through the park. That’s all he needed, he told himself as he pushed branches and bushes out of his way. From a distance was fine, he just needed to see that you were alright.

He could put you down, leave you alone as long as he knew you were alright. He just needed to know you were alright.

Bark bit into his hands as he lifted his weight from the ground. Climbing the apple tree in the dark while drunk wasn’t as easy as he expected. At times, he nearly fell to the ground. Perhaps he deserved to fall, land on a root wrong, and break his back.

He would be caught then. You would know what he was, what he really was. The world would know. Perhaps that would only be right, a fitting punishment for the pain you had suffered because of him.

Eventually, he made it up to that thick horizontal branch he thought of as his. Each breath came out in a huff, labored from the exertion on top of the alcohol. Resting his head against the tree trunk, Alastor ignored the way his hair snagged and was pulled by the rough surface as he took long, slow breaths.

The house was dark, quiet. Its occupants were asleep, as he should be. He had work tomorrow. Today? Yes, today at this point. There was time still. He could make it home and take a nap. He’d be rough, but he could make it through the night.

Alastor closed his eyes as he listened to the sounds of the night, resting his eyes as he lounged perched above the rabbit hole stashed with letters he knew you were reading but not responding to.

His eyes closed with a flutter as he thought of you. Such a sweet soul you were, pulling away from him to protect him. Didn’t you know? It was his job to protect you. That’s what a man does for the woman he loves.

Love. That was the thought that floated through his rye soaked mind as a light sleep overtook him.

You poured a mug of coffee for Laurence, setting it on the table where he read the newspaper. It was a rare morning when he didn’t leave early. He was grumpy and the quality of the coffee didn’t help his mood, but you did your best to focus on the way the sun peeked between the clouds and the chirping of the birds.

“How can you fuck up something as easy as coffee,” he grumbled, and you wished he would have just went to the cafe on his way to the office.

For a moment, Alastor fluttered across your mind and you wondered if he would think you fucked up the coffee. It was a thought you shot down with a pang of pain. It didn’t matter what Alastor would have thought, Alastor was not your husband.

“I’m sorry,” you said quickly, turning from the sink and starting to walk back to the table. “I’ll make you another one.”

You made it halfway across the small kitchen before Laurence picked up the mug and, after a moment of thought, launched the steaming contents at you. Most of the coffee splashed across your front, the apron and dress under helping protect you from the scalding liquid, but pain still cut through nerves where it splashed up onto your neck.

“Laurence!?” you cried out, darting backward and crashing into the sink.

Your husband spit venomous words at you, lost to the pounding in your ears. He disregarded all the renewed effort you had put into being a good wife for him.

It wasn’t fair. Tears fell from your eyes as you watched him stand, waiting to see if he would leave or come after you with something far worse than his verbal assault.

You didn’t know tired eyes watched from the distance. His first real sight of you while he blinked sleep from his mind was that of coffee splashing onto you. While Laurence walked out of the room and you crumpled to the ground in a puddle of coffee, you didn’t know how close Alastor came to climbing from the tree and ending a life in broad daylight.

Instead, as you stood, he watched you grab towels to mop up the liquid. As the car in front of your house roared to life, he slipped down from the tree. His body was stiff, and he was rather thirsty, but that was alright. He was glad to have sobered up, at least mostly sobered up.

He had gotten to see you. That was supposed to be enough. He wanted it to be enough. He needed it to be enough. He had gotten to see you.

Alastor watched as you disappeared out of the kitchen while he stalked through the back garden. He saw the light in your bedroom illuminate the room still cast in morning shadows. Would you look out the window, Alastor wondered as Laurence’s car drove away? Would you see him?

You didn’t. He was fairly sure of that as he stepped onto the back porch. The knob failed to turn under his hand, though he hadn’t even been aware of reaching for it. Locked, that was alright.

He was wrong, he had thought he needed to see you but that was alright. He could be wrong, sometimes. He was a humble man. What he actually needed was to hear your voice.

Alastor smiled as he pulled the pins from his sock. The door was old and the lock simple. He made quick work of opening the door, hardly having to give the task much thought at all.

It was a good thing you locked the door. There was a serial killer on the run.

Closing the door behind him, he locked it before making his way through the kitchen and into the living room. Laurence had left the front door unlocked, Alastor was dismayed to find. With a flick of his fingers, he locked that door as well.

Laurence was going to get you hurt if he didn’t take better care of you. It was bad enough that he was hurting you himself but to be careless with your safety on top of it? Disgusting. Sloppy.

The stairs creaked as you walked down them. Alastor moved to the wall, hoping to be out of sight as you turned into the kitchen. You wore a burgundy house dress, and he liked how it looked on you. Much better than the bright sunny yellow you had been wearing before the coffee incident.

His eyes cut down to the dark bruise above your elbow, on display thanks to the short sleeves of the dress. Surely you’d throw a shawl over your arms if someone knocked on the door to hide it. In the safety of your home, though, you had no need.

As you stepped into the kitchen, he could see the angry red splotches on your neck, left by the hot coffee. Oh, how he longed to soothe the inflamed skin with soft kisses.

He followed you, leaning in the doorway as he watched you grab the towels from the ground, sniffling. Were you crying because of the pig’s actions? Didn’t you know it wouldn’t make a difference, shedding tears for him?

“He’s not worth crying over.” Alastor said, transatlantic accent coloring his words, brightening them with the day.

You screamed, whipping around with wide eyes to face him.

“Alastor!” You clutched your hands to your chest, “Mr. Moreau?!”

Your eyes ran over him, taking in the feral sight. His hair, something wild between curly and straight, was a mess atop his head. Red stained his shirt, smeared his skin and dotted his face.

“Never that name for you,” he said as he closed the small distance between you.

“What happened to you?” Before you thought it through, you rushed up to him, acting on instinct and impulse, actions doing nothing to reinforce the distance you had insisted on in your last letter.

Fingers ran over his face, rough stubble scratching the pads before your fingers ghosted down his neck. Your eyes run over bloody sleeves and splotches on his shirt.

“I went hunting.” He answered honestly, “I’m alright.”

“Hunting?” you stepped back, coming back to yourself. “It’s early morning yet? And why are you in my house?”

“I came in the door.” His head cocked to the side. “I couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t stop thinking about you. Went to Mimzy’s and had some drinks. Then went hunting.”

“At night?!” You stepped back, and he took a step forward as he laughed, that easy free sound you had dreamed about too often since you wrote your last letter. “While drunk?”

“Probably not my best judgement call,” Alastor admitted. “But it turned out alright.”

“Did it, now?” You scolded, heart beating in your chest as Alastor continued to advance on you. “You’re covered in blood.”

“I wanted to see you,” Alastor said.

“You need to leave.” Your back hit the wall. “My husband will be back for lunch.”

“I needed to see you.” Alastor’s accent wavered, in and out as he looked at you with those warm brown eyes, pleading with you. “Needed to know what I did wrong.”

“You didn’t- Alastor.” You closed your eyes and let out a breath. “Mr. Moreau,” He groaned at the sound of his surname on your lips. He never wanted to hear you say it until it was yours, as it should be. You continued talking just the same. “Our relationship was improper. I am a married woman. If we continued, it would have ruined us both.”

“Not Mr. Moreau.” Alastor pressed, his hands coming to rest on the wall on either side of your shoulders. “Please, don’t. Don’t call me that. Don’t you love me?”

“I do,” you said before you thought twice, pressing your hand against your lips as if you could somehow stuff the words back in. “Don’t you see? If we’re caught, everything you worked for is gone. I- It would be selfish for me to do that to you.”

“Then we don’t get caught. We hide,” Alastor said, elbows buckling as he fell closer to the wall, cutting the distance between you in half. “Ma cherie, I don’t need you to protect me. We are in love, are we not? The risk is worth anything, everything, for but even a moment in your presence.”

“Alastor, I-” you noticed Laurence’s briefcase sitting by the table, heart thundering somehow louder in your ears. “Laurence is going to be back anytime now. He forgot his bag. You need to go.”

Reaching up, you braced your hands on Alastor’s chest and attempted to shove him away. He moved less than an inch. When you couldn’t push him away, you stopped trying to, though you knew it was vital that you kept trying. Your hands lingered on his chest, feeling his heart pounding rapidly against his ribs. The rye he had been drinking still tinged his breath as it washed over you.

“Don’t you love me?” Alastor’s voice was broken, naked.

“That’s why we can’t keep doing this.” Tears spilled down your cheeks. “I love you too much.”

Outside the house, a car’s engine sounded in the distance.

“It’s why we must.” Alastor challenged, noting the sound as your body tensed. “I will keep us safe.”

“You can’t,” you pleaded, heart shattering in your chest.

“I have so far.” Alastor pressed as the car drew closer. “If not for him. If not for your marriage vows, would you have picked me?”

“I can’t go back in time.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Alastor whispered. “If tomorrow you woke up and Laurence was nothing but a memory? Would you pick me? Want me?”

The car pulled in front of your house, engine idling. “Alastor, he’s back. You need to go.”

“Not until you answer me,” Alastor whispered. “Would you pick me? Would you want me then? If the Shadow Butcher took Laurence tonight?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “Yes, Alastor. Damnit, you need to go-” The car door opened and then slammed shut.

“Then kiss me,” Alastor demanded, face hovering just over yours. No part of him touched you, yet you felt suffocated, wrapped up in him.

“He’s coming.” You could hear Laurence’s footfalls outside on the walkway. It shouldn’t have been possible, but you swore you could.

“I’m not leaving until you kiss me.” Alastor whispered, blood splattered face so close to yours. “You want me. You pick me. Then kiss me. Prove it. Show me. Please?” Alastor’s words came in a whispered rush, each statement coming faster and faster, naked words tripping and tumbling over one another.

The doorknob rattled on the front door. Your eyes were wild as they darted away, trying to turn enough to see through walls. It felt like your executioner was getting ready to catch you.

“Fuckin hell.” You swore you could hear Laurence outside as he tried the knob again.

“Kiss me.” Alastor pleaded again. “Kiss me and I’ll go. Pick me. Don’t leave me. Please?”

The keys rattled in Laurence’s hand, scraping against the lock as he tried the wrong key. You launched yourself forward, closing the small distance harshly. Lips against lips as an arm slid up his chest, wrapping around his neck.

The coppery taste of blood and the stale taste of old rye flooded your senses as his lips parted in a gasp. His hands found your waist as he held you to him, gripping as they wrapped around you. He lifted you off your feet and walked backward as the lock clicked.

His tongue lapped at your lips before working into your mouth. He moaned into the kiss as his eyes fluttered, wanting to close and be in the moment, but needing to be aware of his surroundings. Large steps backward and to the side took them both almost to the back door as the hinges squeaked at the front of the house.

“Don’t ignore me again?” Alastor whispered as he set you down, reaching behind him to unlock the back door. “Please?”

“Sugar,” Laurence called from the front door. “Where’s my bag?”

“Alright,” you sighed, fear flooding you as Alastor opened the door. Laurence was in the living room now, coming closer still to the kitchen and back door.

Alastor leaned down and placed one last kiss against your lips before stepping out the back door, pulling it shut behind him. As the door latched and you turned, Laurence stepped into the kitchen, calling your name.

“I’m here,” you answered, putting your back to the door quickly. You didn’t dare look outside as you stepped into the kitchen for fear that you’d see Alastor making his great escape.

“Where were you?” Laurence asked, as he picked up the forgotten bag. “Why didn’t you answer?”

“I was just checking the weather,” you lied, “I hope to get sheets washed and hung to dry early.”

Laurence looked at you for moments that stretched on as you tried to will yourself to relax. “Why are you flushed?”

“The coffee was hot,” you said. “My skin’s still heated from the spill.”

Outside the house, back resting against the wall, Alastor sat. His head was just under the window. Through the glass, he could hear everything. Carefully, he twisted and peeked up, watching as Laurence turned his back on the window. That was his chance, and he dared not waste it.

Long legs swiftly carried him in a direct line from the house to the apple tree. He ran, glancing over his shoulder frequently, fearing he would lock eyes with Laurence. The back of the blond head and then an empty kitchen was all he saw as he rounded behind the tree.

He waited there, chest heaving in gasping breaths. Exhaustion weighed heavily on his shoulders, but he waited to move until he heard the car roar to life again. Sliding down the tree, he turned and dug for the notebook and pen.

He needed to get home, run a bath and sleep, but first, he wanted to add one more note to the stack. He hoped you’d read it, that you were not just telling him what he needed to hear to save yourself.

Thinking back to the way you kissed him, he didn’t think that was the case. You kissed him as if you needed this as much as he did. Everything would get back on track, Alastor was sure of it as he walked through the narrow forest, humming.

Yes, things were going to go back to how they had been. He would keep spending time with you and growing this little flame between you. When Alastor got the chance, he would take Laurence back to his home and they would have a nice long talk before Alastor ended his filthy life.

Oh, how the thought filled him with almost as much joy as your kiss had.

Join us at VoxTek for a Vox themed Hazbin Discord where we talk Vox, Alastor, Hazbin, writing, reading, art and who knows what else. You may even catch some exclusive sneak peeks at upcoming fics from some of your favorite writers including the first page of the next chapter of MisD a day early!!

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gejo333 · 1 day ago

Note

Can you make a fic based off of wife!reader & husband!miguel?

Miguel was with his friends downstairs and they were pretty drunk after all those beers & Miguel had said something hurtful to reader? Just pure angst 🙂‍↕️🫶🏻

Your Spiderbite Hurts Me the Most

Miguel O’Hara x Wife Reader Oneshot

Sorry I haven’t answered this in so long!

Hope you enjoy it! 💕

Wc: 1.7k

————————————————————————

Your tired gaze stared half-heartedly at the paper in your hands. Another negative pregnancy test. As soon as you saw the result your crumbled up the paper and threw it into the bin underneath the sink. Taking a deep breath as you lean your hands against the marble counter top.

"Y/n! Where did you go?! We're out of beers down here!" Your husband's voice roared from downstairs followed by his boastful laugh.

You claw your nails against the palm of your hands daring for blood to spill. Not like your husband would care if you hurt yourself. Probably wouldn't blink an eye if you slit your wrists here and dropped dead on the bathroom floor. Your gaze went to the large sparkling rock on your left hand as you felt another piece of your heart break. With every fiber of your being did you miss the man who gave you this ring five years ago. How you would do anything in the universe to get that version of your husband back.

"Y/n!"

"Coming!"

You make sure you look presentable before rushing downstairs to the main living space. You put up a loving and happy smile as you head towards your husband who was sitting down on the sofa chair talking with his friends from work.

"Finally you come down. Can you get us more beer?"

"Is that seriously why you called me downstairs?" You chuckled trying to hide your annoyance.

"We're out of beer. I thought you could be a doll and go get us some more." Miguel slapped your ass making your face redden in embarrassment as you slap his hand away, glaring down at him. He and his friends only laughed in return as he grabbed you by the waist and placed you on his lap. You pulled back as you could smell the beer on his breath.

"Don't you think you've had enough?"

"I've heard enough of your complaining. Am I right?" He laughed followed by his other friends.

"Hey Miguel maybe you should go teach her a lesson in the bedroom." One of his guy friends chimed in. You felt your gut raise to your throat as you saw the creepy look on his face as he said that. God when did Miguel start hanging around such sleeze bags? You missed his old colleagues like Jess and Peter. But after your last miscarriage about a year ago you haven't seen them since. You honestly haven't seen your real husband either.

"How about you guys enjoy the football match and I'll pick up more beer and snacks for you." You get out of Miguel's lap before he can decide if he wants to take up his friend's suggestion.

Without evening a glance from your husband who went back to talking to his friends as you grab your coat, gloves, scarf, and purse and head out to the store.

The ice chill of a December night wrap around your body as you walk outside. Maybe you take the long way. Let him and his asshole friends wait longer.

As you walk on the street you notice all the Christmas decorations throughout the city. If anyone was in their apartment they wouldn't even know it was the festive holiday.

A couple not much older than you and Miguel walk past you, arm in arm enjoying each other company and whispering sweet comments. You felt extra cold on your right side, the side Miguel was always on when walking outside together arm in arm as you rest you head against his bicep. Now you rarely go anywhere together and when you do your always a foot a part from each other.

You quickly wipe a tear falling down your cheek as the couple walking past you briefly smiles at you in pity.

As you walk into the store you notice a woman look up at something in the sky in awe as you hear her say to someone, "Look! It's Spiderman."

You lazily walk down each isle trying your best to waste more time and annoy your husband. After getting the beer and chips your husband likes as well as a couple of bottles of Chardonnay for yourself you lazily push the cart passed the electronic section where quite a few people were stopped in front of the TVs watching the news.

"Wow that spiderman sure is amazing." Said one man.

"I saw him in person once. He is so big!" Said a woman.

"He has the perfect physique. I wonder if his face is just as attractive." Said another woman talking to her friend.

"I heard he has a deep voice." She replied.

"Whatever girl is with him is so lucky. I'm jealous."

You rolled your eyes from the conversation you eavesdropped as you decided you spent enough time in the store. Ever since this superhuman appeared from nowhere three years ago everyone in Nueva York has been adoring him. Sure, your grateful that the crime rate has gone down significantly, but you didn't understand the hype around him.

After checking out you head back to the penthouse apartment you supposedly called home. Despite such a horrible year between you and Miguel with the constant fights you still loved him with your whole being. You hope maybe one day the man you fell in love with would one day come back to you with a loving smile and open arms to hold you close.

You take a deep breath before sighing as you turn the key in the lock before entering. As you enter the living space all eyes were on you.

"Finally she's back. What took you so long? The store is only two blocks away."Miguel impatiently asked as he walked up to you and snatched the case of beer in your hands.

"Your welcome?" You lightly glare at him which he returns before heading back to the living space.

You stomp after him as he sits back in the same spot. He looks up to you in question for standing in front of him.

"Seriously Miguel?"

"Ooo someone is in trouble with the missus." Said one of his friends who became quiet when Miguel shot him a glare.

Miguel grabbed your waist and forced you to sit on his lap. With the death grip he has on your waist you dared not move.

"Your mind is in circles today. It must have been when you banged it earlier today when cleaning under the table. She such a clutz, no wonder she keeps having miscarriages. Even if we could have a full time pregnancy she probably wouldn't be a good mother either." Miguel chuckles.

A smack echoed in the room as his head was turned to the side with a large red mark and small scratch on his cheek from the large diamond on your wedding band. You immediately got out of his arms and stormed upstairs to your bedroom.

You laid on the bed facing the alarm clock on your side of the bed watching as the hours went by. It wasn't until the clock struck 3am that you heard Miguel stagger into the bedroom. You felt arms pull you against a warm body as lips met your neck.

You wiggled your body out of his grip.

"Por favor mi amor." (Please my love)

You turn your head to face him as you shoot him a light glare. "I'm not in the mood Miguel. Your words really hurt me. I can't barely stand to look at you right now."

You heard him sigh as a chill was felt against your back from the lack of his warmth. You felt the dagger in your heart press deeper, making it hard for air to come into your lungs.

The deafening silence was too much to bear as you immediately get up from the bed and head to the closet to get dressed. When your dressed you leave the bedroom to head downstairs, immediately your followed by your curious husband.

"Where are you going at this hour?"

"Out." You head to the front door to grab your purse. Before you could leave you were stopped by his hand around your wrist. You glared up at him.

"It's not safe for you to be out by yourself. If you need to go for a walk so badly let me come with you." You see concern in his brown eyes, making yourself almost consider his offer. His soft eyes briefly remind you of time before all this heartache. But his words from earlier appeared back in your mind and your bleeding heart once a again turned cold.

"I'm going on this walk to get space away from you." You opened the door a few inches before it was slammed closed again by an hand above you. Your back was against the door with Miguel right in front of you inches away. His fingers lift your chin as his eyes move from your lips to your eyes.

"Please don't go. At least wait till morning. Then we can go out and talk." His lips brushed against yours but before they fully met you pushed him back.

"No. I don't have anything to say to you. I'll only talk to the Miguel who loves me and treats me they way he use to and wouldn't dare speak the words you did today or have you been treating me this past year. If you keep this up...I don't...I don't think I can stay in this marriage any longer." You look to him, eyes wide in shock from your words before you opened the door and left.

As you made it outside you were relieved that he didn't follow you. You continue to walk until you find your self in Central Park where you find a bench.

As soon as you sit the tears fall down your face as you contemplate everything that's happen this year wondering what went wrong. Your weary body and mind succumb to the cold of the night as you pass out from exhaustion on the bench.

Miguel stood before your sleeping state. Reddish-brown eyes gaze down at the clear exhaustion shown in your face in worry as he picks you up bridal style, whispering, "I promise you'll shed no more tears after tonight."

————————————————————————

This definitely will have a sequel. I should have the next chapter of “An Unexpected Match,” out soon! Hope you enjoyed this one shot!

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talon-dragonbeast · 1 day ago

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Anglocentrism in alterhuman communities: ramblings of a Spanish-speaking dragon and a cat

[original in spanish here, though i have no doubt that this version will be disseminated more widely] • [original en español aquí, aunque tengo la certeza de que esta versión se difundirá más ampliamente]

this post was originally written as part of The Sol System's Alterhuman Writing Challenge. written by @talon-dragonbeast, with the help of my sibling @watcherwingedcat. we hope you like it!

word count: 2422

This writing, which is more of a rant with myself than a proper essay, is one I've been meaning to write for a long time; ever since I first joined an online community, to be more precise. Anglocentrism, according to Wikipedia (and yes, the irony of the article not being available in Spanish is not lost to me), is "the practice of viewing the world primarily through the lens of English or Anglo-American culture, language, and values, often marginalizing or disparaging non-English-speaking or non-Anglo perspectives."

If you are monolingual and your native language is English, chances are you have never stopped to think about the advantage this gives you over those of us who are not so fortunate as to be born with the lingua franca on our lips. Yes, you may have had to study some Spanish in school, but let's be honest, very few people remember what they learn in elementary school. As an English speaker, the whole world is built for you, and it's the rest of us who have to fit your mold. Culture, scientific articles, movies, books, video games, the internet, online communities, technical language, educational videos: even in the most international spaces, everything revolves around English. Which brings me to the subject of this writing: The Alterhuman community.

My name (as I am known on the internet, at least) is Talon. I've been a member of the alterhuman community, and more specifically, the otherkin community, for a little over a year now. Otherkin (a word that comes from other, in Spanish otros; and kin, shortened form of kind, in Spanish tipo) are people who identify as nonhuman in some way. For example, I identify as a dragon (among other things), and that's what I am, even if I look human on the outside and am perceived as such. There are many reasons why someone might believe they are not human, but I'm not here to discuss that, so let's get back to the topic at hand.

Since I've been in this community, I haven't written a single post in Spanish. And not for lack of desire, nor because I am intimidated to share something as personal as my mother tongue. No, the reason is simple: The community does not exist in any language other than English. By this I don't mean that there are no non-humans outside of England or the United States, because of course there are (even if they are on other platforms like TikTok or Instagram), and I'll talk about those later. But simply put, the reason you don't see many alterhuman communities in other languages is because all the resources, the introductions, the chronologies of the (English) alterhuman community, the definitions of the terms, the terms themselves, everything is in English.

I have always been bilingual. Well, trilingual actually, although my third language is not too relevant in my day to day life and I only use it in classes or when someone starts a conversation in the language. It's hard to explain how your brain works when you speak multiple languages fluently, but basically it's like running two parallel systems at the same time, but with thoughts. I don't usually think with words, but when I do it usually happens that some of my thoughts are in Spanish, and others in English, roughly in a 50/50 ratio. Or it can also happen that I start the thought in one language, but finish it in another. Or I may try to use a specific word in English that does not have an exact translation into Spanish, so that when translated literally the sentence does not make sense. Basically, everything I write or say out loud I have to run it through several filters first, one to remove the words from the other language, one to find the words to replace them with, and one to make the sentence make sense. Sounds exhausting, doesn't it? It is. Now imagine if in order to express yourself as you really are, in order to participate in a community with beings who understand and accept you like no other, you had to basically suppress half of who you are, all the time.

The problem is not only not being able to use my native language to express myself. As I have demonstrated in the last year and a half that I have been in this community, I am fluent enough in English not only to be understood when I speak, but also to express such complicated concepts as the self, human nature, the psychology of being, and all that comes with existing as nonhuman. The real problem comes when I try to express relatively common alterhuman concepts in my native language. I'm not just talking about labels like otherkin or therianthrope, which can be adapted to Spanish with relative ease. It's the little things, the simplest things.

For example, the term shift. The word itself is already difficult to translate; during my searches, I found a glossary of terms on the Otherkin Hispano website in which they call them "desplazamientos", which... is an accurate translation, I guess, but impossible to use comfortably in everyday life. There are also terms whose definitions use expressions that simply cannot be translated into other languages. For example, otherkin and otherhearted. In English, the difference between these two terms is that otherkin means "[to] identify as" while otherhearted is "[to] identify with". But this is a purely English expression. In other languages, the distinction does not exist, or it makes no sense to use it; therefore, these terms are totally inaccessible to any international user. Or compound words like "catkin", which are difficult to express in other languages. According to Otherkin Hispano, in Spanish it would be said as is without translation, Soy catkin. But that... is not grammatically correct, since it would be mixing two languages in the same sentence. The most appropriate would be to say Soy gatokin, which sounds wrong and doesn't make sense anyway, because kin is still an English word. Or "hearttype", which in Spanish could be roughly translated as "tipo del corazón" (kind of [the] heart). When saying that you have a specific hearttype, for example "corvidhearted", one way of expressing it could be a simple Soy corvidhearted, which carries the same problems as catkin. Or you could, as Wikipedia advises, say Soy corazón de córvido ("I am heart of corvid"). I don't dislike it, to be honest, but some might find it too metaphorical or poetic.

Finally, and before reaching the conclusion, I want to dedicate a few paragraphs to talk about the alterhuman community that exists in other languages. I mentioned before these communities; that although they do exist, they are very scattered through platforms such as TikTok or Instagram, with which I am not so familiar. But since I can't talk about Anglocentrism without at least talking about the Spanish-speaking alterhuman community, I asked my sibling Watcher @watcherwingedcat what it thought about the topic. This is what they wrote:

Hi guys, I'm Watcher, and I'm here to talk a bit about the Spanish-speaking therian community, which I think is the pristine example of the hate we receive both from people outside the community and from those inside, both Spanish and South American. While this post focused more on the language barriers, I want to focus on the real consequences of this barrier, how it divides us in the way we interact with each other: The social part of this whole thing (as I already said some other time or another and some of my followers know, I am studying Social Education, so from my point of view the social part is very relevant for everything we do). As my sister already said (hi Talon!), the English community is the majority in alterhuman spaces, but, what is the Spanish-speaking community really like?

Not very large, is the answer. The term itself is not very widespread, and the community is quite small. However, after a while of searching, I found it in a little corner of the internet. When I found a community in my own language, I was excited, but my curiosity and joy were soon extinguished... When I saw the reactions to their videos and posts on tiktok mainly. They were packed with hate messages. Packed. If you think hate in the English community is bad, you are not prepared for the hate received in other communities, especially the Spanish one. This is more a matter of culture, a little bit also due to the closed mindedness in countries like Spain, Argentina, or Colombia.

In general, the non-humans of the Spanish-speaking community mostly post about quadrobics and masks. At least, I haven't seen much beyond that, and the community is mostly in tiktok. And the reception of their expression of way of being? Disgusting. To give an example of how bad the hate is, in one of the videos I found (I think it was a therian making a mask or something), humans and non-humans were insulting the therian posting the video, discussions about how we are crazy and sick in the head and should be in mental institutions... It was horrible. The worst were the death threats, even, wishing the therian to die, or hang themselves, or worse (I've even seen rape threats). Comments that said things like, "If my sister told me she was a dog I would take her clothes off and force her to sleep outside and eat animal food, if she wants to be a dog I will treat her like one." Threats of abuse, both physical and sexual... Absolutely disgusting. And the worst thing is that the tiktok platform did not remove these hate accounts, the copy and paste messages of insults, the threats....

I am proud of the Hispanic community for being so open about their identity, don't get me wrong, but there are times when it is safer to just not share that part of who we are with others, especially if you are a minor and vulnerable. That's another issue that concerns me, as I've seen people coming out to parents, siblings, friends, and them just belittling them. That, coupled with misinformation, is a recipe for disaster.

I couldn't help but notice the deep root of misinformation in the non-human community itself. They confuse definitions, the different terms, which leads them to spread even more misinformation. This I don't think is entirely their fault, or that they are so young for the most part, as I have not seen Hispanic therians over the age of 18. I think this is largely due (as Talon already mentioned) to the language difference, and the lack of translation of certain terms. In general, when talking to friends with whom I am open about my non-humanity, I use English terms. It is a little weird to use those words in English while speaking in Spanish, but I am bilingual and for now there is no solution to that. I think the Spanish community would benefit from spreading correct information, and having a platform to express themselves with their own, like tumblr is for the English community. Something my sister expands on in dreir post. As for me here I finish my little comment, I'll leave you with Talon now. Watcher out.

As a conclusion, I would like to talk about the consequences that Anglocentrism might have on non-English speaking alterhumans, and then propose some ideas on how we might begin to address (or at least mitigate) it as a community.

First of all it is the obvious; the vast majority of non-English speaking alterhumans simply never realize that they are alterhumans in the first place, on account of the language barrier. All of the resources for beings who are questioning their humanity or lack thereof are in English, so they are not accessible to people who don't understand the language; therefore, a non-English speaker would have a much harder time accessing them. Another consequence is not being able to express your alterhumanity fully, both internally and externally. Remember when I mentioned that my thoughts are evenly distributed between English and Spanish, always keeping a 50/50 ratio? Well, recently, I have noticed that when reflecting on my identity as a dragon, all my thoughts are automatically generated in English. I find this deeply shocking, as I feel that a fundamental part of my identity is being eroded. It is devastating to feel that you can only express half of who you are, suppressing what could otherwise be a complex and multifaceted identity. Not being able to express myself in my other language limits my ability to explore that part of myself.

Anglocentrism is a cycle that never ends; since all the resources are in English, no members in other languages can join, and since there are no members in other languages, all the resources that are created are in English. And while I wish I could say that I have a solution to end this Anglocentrism once and for all, unfortunately, I do not. I am only one person (dragon), and this is a problem that I alone cannot solve. True, there have been some commendable attempts by the international community (translations of writings, alterhuman blogs in languages other than English, the Eurokin server on Discord are some examples); however, these initiatives often don't often get very far because of the very nature of the community. As I have already said, most of the alterhumans are North American or English, therefore any attempt to globalize the community would be restricted by the fact that there are not many members who would be interested in this in the first place. So what can we do to change this? The answer lies in you, reader. If you have a second language, encourage yourself to create writings in it from time to time. If you come from a culture other than the mainstream, talk about how that affects your identity. If you have traditions specific to your country that you believe are alterhuman in nature, share them. And if you are part of the English-speaking majority, I invite you to contribute in a positive way through simple actions, such as listening to us when we express ourselves in other languages, recognizing that we do not all share the same culture, and keeping an open mind when discussing topics that may be unfamiliar to you. Our strength as a community lies in the diversity of our members; let's embrace it.

#whispers of the dragon #otherkin #nonhuman #therian #alterhuman #alterhuman community #community writings #anglocentrism #ahpi writing challenge #Sol System's Alterhuman Writing Challenge 2024 #my writings

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insidekatmind · 2 days ago

Text

Only yours~Jobe Bellingham

Wearning: +18, smut, jealousy, english is not my first language

It was a quiet evening, one of those perfect to go out to dinner without too much hurry. The restaurant you had chosen with Jobe was elegant, but cozy, with soft lights and a relaxing atmosphere. Sitting at your table near a large window overlooking the illuminated street, you talked about everything and nothing, as you always did.

Jobe seemed relaxed, dressed in a simple yet flawless manner, with a smile that illuminated his face every time he looked at you.

"So," he said, putting his elbow on the table and looking at you with those curious eyes, "was it your idea to choose such a fine place? Or is there a purpose?"

You looked at him pretending to be offended, but with a funny smile. "A second purpose? Sure, I just wanted you to try their famous chocolate cake. They say it’s the best in town."

"Ah, and I thought I was the main attraction of this evening," he replied, laughing under his moustache.

Just then the waiter arrived, a young and cute boy with a smile a little too warm for your taste. He looked at you insistently, almost completely ignoring Jobe.

"Good evening," said the waiter, laying down the menu in front of you. "Can I recommend something special? With your eyes, I’d say something delicate, like smoked salmon, would be perfect."

You felt uncomfortable and glanced at Jobe, whose smile had just shrunk a little.

"I’d rather have a look at the menu first, thank you," you replied politely, trying to tone down the tone.

The waiter seemed determined to continue, but Jobe interrupted him, in a calm but steady voice. "I would like to know what is special about it. Perhaps you’d recommend something for both of us?"

Jobe’s tone was clear, and the waiter, sensing the atmosphere, merely smiled a quick smile before leaving. But all evening, you could feel Jobe’s eyes getting darker every time the waiter approached the table.

When you finally finished eating, you left the restaurant. Silence immediately fell between you. Jobe walked a few steps away, his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on him.

"Jobe?" you called, but he didn’t answer. His face was tense, his lips closed.

You stopped, letting him go a few steps. Then, without thinking too much, you went to meet him, taking him by the arm. "Hey, what’s going on?"

He stopped, but did not look at you immediately. "Nothing," he answered sharply, but the tone betrayed him.

You shook your head and, without saying anything, you came closer, gently placing a hand on his chest. "Do not lie. You’re mad about that waiter, aren’t you?"

He finally looked up at you. "I’m not angry," he said, but his look revealed otherwise. " It’s just... I don’t like the way he looked at you. And you didn’t say anything."

"I didn’t mean to make a scene," you replied, getting even closer. "But do you really think I would be interested in someone who isn’t you?"

You didn’t give him time to answer. You leaned out and kissed his neck, slowly, letting yourself be carried away by the feeling of his warm skin against your lips. You felt him sighing softly, and when you turned away, a sweet smile had already formed on his face.

"You know," he said in a softer voice, gently squeezing your hips and drawing closer to himself, "when you do that it is impossible to stay angry with yourself."

You smiled, looking into his eyes. "Then stop sulking and let me enjoy the rest of the evening with you."

Jobe laughed, a warm and sincere sound, and pulled you even closer. " All right, but next time we pick a place where no one will try to steal my girlfriend’s attention."

"Deal done," you replied with laughter as you walked away, hand in hand.

You smiled against her skin, feeling the warmth of her body that enveloped you. Your lips came back to touch his neck, leaving slow and gentle kisses, almost wanting to erase all traces of his bad mood. He did not move immediately but you felt his hands clench your hips with greater determination, as if he wanted to anchor you to himself, as if only the contact with you could calm him completely.

"You never stop, eh?" he whispered with a smile that split halfway between the amused and the gently surrendered. His voice was warmer now, relaxed.

"I can’t," you replied without stopping, stroking the corner of his jaw with another kiss. "I love too much to see you smile."

He laughed softly, the sound deep and contagious, while slightly tilting his head to give you more space, as if inviting you to continue "I didn’t think that making me jealous would lead to... this."

"Make you jealous?" You looked him in the eye, but didn’t go far away. "I don’t think I did anything. And besides, it’s nice to see you so protective."

His eyes softened as he watched you, as if I were his whole world at that moment. " It’s not that I’m protective,' he said with a touch of shyness, "it’s just... I don’t want to share you with anyone, not even a stupid waiter. '"

You smiled again, letting a hand slide from his shoulder to his chest, fingers moving gently against the fabric of his shirt. " You must never share me, Jobe," whispers, looking at him softly.

"I’m yours, you know?"

He didn’t answer immediately, but the smile that curled his lips was enough Then, with a slow and determined gesture, he drew you even more towards himself, holding you in a safe embrace "Sometimes I wonder how it is possible that you always manage to make me feel like this," He admitted, bowing his head to touch yours with his forehead

"How what?" you asked, raising an eyebrow

"As if I were the luckiest guy in the world."

You melted into a bright smile, then you kissed his neck, this time with a more playful touch. "Because you are, Jobe. But if you forget it again, you know I’ll have to kiss you again until you remember."

He burst out laughing, the sound full of joy, and lifted you slightly to make you turn on yourself, as if you were dancing there in the middle of the street.

"I hope I’ll forget it often, then," he said with a radiant smile. 'Because I like too much the way you make me remember."

He burst into laughter, the sound full of joy, and lifted you slightly to make you turn on yourself, as if dancing there, in the middle of the street "I hope I’ll forget it often, then,' he said with a radiant smile "Because I like this way you make me remember."

You stood there, wrapped in each other, forgetting the world around. For that night, you were alone, lost in a hug that seemed to be able to stop time.

You smiled maliciously by getting him into cars and he looked at you with a funny smile.

You untied his jeans and lowered his boxer shorts to take his cock in your hand and start stroking him.

He groans as you join his mouth with his own while you kiss him softly and continue to give him the Saw.

"Shit y/n" mumbles while you have detached your lips from his to take his cock in the mouth and start licking his dick and sucking him while playing with his balls.

Jobe moans as he gently closes his eyes, breathing slowly while putting a hand in your hair while you were sucking his cock and he groans loudly because it is like sucking his soul.

"Shit, this mouth is made to suck my dick" he moaned while raising his hips and making you gag and you groaned.

He started to fuck you in the mouth and he got drunk in your mouth and you swallowed every single drop.

You took his cock out of his mouth and kissed him and he smiled pussies in his lap while he was still stunned by the orgasm you gave him.

"What was it?" Jobe murmured satisfied and she smiled.

"I wanted to reassure you that I’m only yours" you said and then gave him another kiss on the mouth.

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petitprincess1 · 20 hours ago

Note

so what are your thoughts/headcanons about the Seven Sins interacting with each other? I'm dying to know.

Yes! I've broken in!

Lucifer has made special eye masks for each one of Bel's eyes, just to make sure she's getting as much rest as she can. It can't be easy running a hospital.

To add on to that, he also introduced fidget toys to Mammon when he realized that he had a hard time concentrating. He could easily relate.

The Sins all are secretly into each other, but also know that they are kinda but not really related. Ofc, there are some that have no shame like Mam and Bee.

All the Sins immediately become softies around Charlie. They're just so happy to be around their niece, even if they don't entirely agree with her plans.

They all have met Vaggie and accepted her, considering LuLu is a fallen angel himself. Mammon possibly also tried to get her to work for him, which he was met with a knee-jerk punch to the face by Charlie.

They have all met Alastor. .....They wished they hadn't.

Levi hosts karaoke nights, Bee supplies the food and drinks, Mammon pays for the venue, Asmodeus has the music, Satan and Lu are forced, and Bel has hangover cures for everyone afterward.

Everyone in the group is a firecracker of emotions, but when Bel gets angry...they all experience F E A R.

Lucifer has arm-wrestled each Sin and won, except for Bel. He lets her win and she gets excited each time.

Someone has done the whole "touching, not touching" thing to annoy someone. Those people might be Mammon and Ozzie.

Leviathan has had many problems with her self-image and each Sin, except for Mamm, has helped her out.

Mammon secretly wants to get along with his family, but he also has an image to protect. He's super conflicted 😐

Satan enjoyed playing dolls with Charlie. She had...quite an imagination that he wasn't expecting. (Anyone who has played with dolls knows what I'm talking about x3c)

And that's all I'll put down. For now :3 Maybe a part two? :3c

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zepskies · 2 days ago

Text

Lost in Translation

Pairing: Soldier Boy (Ben) x Female POC!Reader

Summary: Living with this man isn’t easy, and you’ve absolutely had it with him. Supe or not, you’re one step shy of kicking him out. Will he try to make it up to you?

AN: So after getting requests for a Soldier Boy x POC!Reader, I’ve had a short series in development called Unravel Me. I’m a bit stalled on the outline right now, so I thought this could be a fun way to introduce their relationship and see if you guys think I should continue with the prequel, kind of like how I did with Checkerboard and the Break Me Down-verse.

This story would take place after Unravel Me, after a fair bit of character development lol. It also fulfills a bingo square for @jacklesversebingo!

Prompt: “Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!”

Song Inspo: “Damage” by H.E.R.

Word Count: 3.4K

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, bit of dirty talk, fingering, edging, some angst, fluff and feels. The reader is a mixed race POC (Afro Latina), with textured hair.

The apartment was quiet, but not peaceful.

You were in the kitchen washing the Mt. Everest of dishes piled in the sink, partly because someone hadn’t rinsed off his own plate of carne guisada.

Ben had asked for beef for dinner yesterday, and you’d graciously delivered with your grandmother’s recipe for the stew. It was filled with chunks of tender, fall-off-your-fork beef, garlic, onions, carrots, and more—all marinated to perfection, if you said so yourself. You even added in some little yellow potatoes, both for taste and texture.

Apparently, he couldn’t be bothered to put those meaty man muscles to good use, aside from shoveling three helpings into his mouth.

A bottomless pit and a freakin’ man-child, I swear to God, you inwardly groused as you scrubbed the ceramic a bit too hard with the rough side of the sponge. No matter how many times you asked, nicely, it seemed your boyfriend couldn’t manage to pull his weight around here.

Okay, you knew his job could be demanding, but so was yours.

What the hell is this, Maid in Manhattan? Newsflash: I’ve got shit to do too!

“And I cooked!” you muttered in indignation. That reminder propelled you to scrub a bit harder. The least he could do was clean the kitchen. Or take out the trash. Or toss the laundry into the washing machine once in a while. Like you really wanted to handle his dirty boxers all the damn time.

Did he have no shame? Couldn’t he do anything for you without you having to ask him three million times?

Es que él es bruto, mija, as your Dominican grandma would say about your grandpa, often while swiping a tired hand over her long braids. Es como un animal con ropa.

Just then, you heard his heavy steps creaking on the wood floors in your bedroom. Today was his day off, so he was probably taking his sweet time rolling his ass out of bed.

Meanwhile, you were hustling to get the place at least decently clean before you got yourself together for work. The thought made you simmer as you continued to place dishes on the counter rack. Each one clacking to rest was satisfying, but it also ticked up your internal dial to a fine boil.

You heard him bang the bathroom door open and cringed internally, your teeth grinding. You’d reminded him three times already about the neighbors and the noise.

Sabes que, supe or not, I’m about to—

“Morning, sweetheart.”

Ben’s voice washed over you, deep and still a little rough with sleep as he stepped into the kitchen. His old man loafers slid against the floor with every step when he approached you from behind, and his heavy hands found a familiar resting place on the curve of your waist.

He swiped your slightly wild curls to the side and pressed a tantalizing kiss into your neck. His voice, his touch, the brief scrape of his beard; it all caused a small shiver of delight up your spine.

“Hmm, you smell good. Good enough to eat.” And he teased you with the graze of his teeth, biting gently enough where your neck met your shoulder. You flinched with half a huff, trying not to smile.

Just like that, it took the edge off your irritation…a little. You opened your mouth to reply, but before you could…

“Hey,” he said, “since you’re already up and about in here, how about some breakf—”

Your spine tightened once again.

“Whatever you’re going to ask, the answer is No!” you snapped. You moved out of his arms to grab a hand towel to dry your hands with. They were all pruny from washing dishes.

“I’m already running late. Why? Because this place is a fucking mess, and the only one who seems to care is me!” you exclaimed. First, you gestured to the dishes now drying on the rack. “Hmm?”

You then opened up the lid to the full-to-bursting trashcan. “What do you call that, huh? You said you’d take this out last night. After I asked you twice. What, was I not speaking English? Did something get lost in translation, or are you already losing your hearing? Just let me know, ‘cause I can sure as hell crank up the volume for you!”

Ben raised a brow. You read his thoughts in his surly frown. You have some fucking audacity, talking to him like that, but it’s still early. He hasn’t even had his coffee, for Christ’s sake.

If he was more awake, no doubt he’d be barking back at you. Instead, he heaved a sigh, drew closer to you and shut the trashcan lid. At least there was one lid he knew how to close.

“All right, it’s just a little mess. No need to get fucking hysterical,” he said, trying to grasp your arm to placate you. You shrugged out of his hold and crossed your arms in anger.

“Ben, it’s not just a little mess. And what is this, 1945? I’m not hysterical!”

His lips twitched at a smirk, making you even angrier. But he’d caught enough smoke from you in the past to know he didn’t want it at 8:00 in the morning. He grasped your arms and rubbed them up and down, trying to sooth you.

“Okay, okay. It’s a little early for all this Latina temper, don’tcha think?” he said, pressing a kiss to your forehead. Your gaze snapped up at him with a glare.

Oooh, this man. He knew how to get you mad fucking tight.

Not in a good way.

Instead of exploding like Mount Fuji, you kept it all under your skin. You turned away from him and aimed to continue getting ready for work, but first, you took out a Greek yogurt from the fridge and wholly ignored him taking up space in the kitchen. You wouldn’t answer him when he called your name. In fact, you were going to give him the most frigid of cold shoulders—so cold he’d get hyperthermia through that invulnerable skin.

He waylaid your plans when he grabbed your hand, swinging you back into his arms. You gasped at the suddenness of it, looking up into his cocky, charming smile. You couldn’t stare too long at his green eyes, or the rest of his handsome, bearded face. Not when he knew exactly how to use it against you.

“Don’t think that’s gonna get you out of this,” you warned him. You set your yogurt on the kitchen counter and pushed at his chest, but it was no more effective than pushing at a mountain and expecting it to move.

His hands spanned your waist, his fingers beginning to press into your soft sides. He bowed his head, brushing his lips against your neck and the shell of your ear when he said, “Out of what, baby doll? Looks to me like we can still have a good morning.”

His voice once against trilled heat and tingles through your body, but you managed to lean back, holding the pads of your fingers to his lips.

“Hey, I’m not playing around here. If we’re gonna do this,” you pointed between him and yourself, “then let me make one thing really clear. I’m not la sirvienta around here, okay? I’m not your fucking maid. I’m your girl. Your partner. And since you live here now, I’m gonna need you to do your part.”

Ben almost rolled his eyes, but you grasped his chin. He frowned at you with furrowed brows. There was a time where he would've been inclined to grab your wrist and try to intimidate you with his temper. You saw it lying in wait behind his pursed lips and irritated stare, but you weren't afraid of him. Not anymore.

“Listen to me. I get that you haven’t lived like us commoners for most of your life, but this stuff is important,” you said. You took a deep breath, and you counted to three. You met him with a calmer gaze. “Ben, I love you.”

You let go of his chin and lowered your hand, letting it splay over his chest. He softened, ever so slightly, even though his frown remained.

“I love you,” you repeated, “but I don’t need a man-child.”

"Excuse me?" he did snap this time, his hold loosening from around your waist. "The fuck did you just say?"

You narrowed your eyes right back at him.

"You heard me," you said. "I want a man. A man who's going to be my rock when I need him. Can you do that for me, like I do for you? Are you gonna be my man, or do I need to claim you as a dependent on my taxes?"

His expression sharpened again at your thinly veiled accusation…but the longer he looked into your eyes, no longer angry, but earnest and imploring, the more he actually listened to what you were saying. His jaw worked for a moment in annoyance. You subtly softened him with your hands soothing up and down his arms, a slow back and forth over solid, warm muscle.

Eventually, he was able to curb his instinct to bark a callous reply. He nodded, expelling a breath through his nose.

“Fine,” he said.

Your brows rose. “Fine?”

“Yeah,” he said flatly.

You knew it was the closest you were going to get to an agreement, as well as an apology. You were still working on that last one, but dating this man was a work in progress, for both of you. With a sigh, you patted his arms that were slowly wrapping back around you.

“Okay, I’m really running late now,” you said.

“You should probably get a move on then,” Ben said.

Still, he didn’t release you. He stared down at you with an amused smile while you struggled against his hold. You uttered a laugh.

“Babe, I need to get to work.” You leaned over and spied the oven clock. “Oh, shit! it’s almost 8:30! If I’m not there by 9:00—”

“You sure you want to go now? Tense, body all tight,” he said, his voice deep with sensuous suggestion.

His lips neared yours, but he didn’t kiss you. Not yet. His lips veered away to brush against your cheek. He inhaled deeply as he moved, taking in the floral scent of your soap, mixed with the army of products you styled your hair with, and the faint imprint of your perfume from the night before. He skimmed down your neck and along the shell of your ear.

“Wouldn’t you rather I fuck all that tension right out of you?” he offered. “Leave you nice and warm and satisfied, have that pretty pussy coming hard on my cock.”

You let out a shaky breath, closing your eyes as his filthy mouth and the timbre of his voice struck a chord through your body, tinging warm arousal between your legs. Your fingers tightened on his strong arms, digging into the fabric of his loose robe. Ben took that as a wordless confirmation. He bent at the knees and grabbed you up by your plush thighs. You wrapped your arms around his neck on instinct, with a small gasp.

But you recovered quickly. Taking his face into your hands, you met his lips roughly with yours in a devouring kiss. He set you down on the kitchen counter hard enough to make the clean dishes rattle. His hands were just as claiming as his mouth, squeezing your hips and thighs as he spread them open to make more room for himself.

While your tongue dueled with his, you shoved the robe off his shoulders, followed by his sleep shirt pooling to the floor. His hand slid under your top as well, and almost ripped it at the hem in his haste to get it up and over your head.

“Ow, ah-ow!” You giggled when the collar got caught on your hair. Ben’s breathy chuckle reached your ears. He was gentler in how he helped get the shirt off the rest of the way. Your mane of hair fell into your face, and you huffed.

Ben did you the favor of brushing the thick curls away from your eyes, tugging several strands behind your ears, even though most of them didn’t obey him. He framed your face with his big hands, and his thumbs swept along your skin, the rich complexion shining in the morning light filtering through the kitchen window.

There was more care in his touch now, his strength tempered just for you. Fond amusement colored his features. For as much shit as you gave him, you still gave him more of yourself; more of your trust, your patience...and all the rest of it. You gave him more than anyone that had come before you, and deep inside, he doubted anyone that might come after you.

You smiled up at him, a little wryly. You leaned up and met him for a gentler kiss. Your eyes fell closed at the feeling of him, and the spicy hint of his aftershave. It was a scent that often clung to his pillows. When he was gone on a mission for days on end, you wouldn’t admit to clinging to one of them to help you sleep, and make you feel safe.

“Mmm, you smell good,” you whispered. And it was true. He smelled like mint and spicy aftershave. You plied his lips with deeper kisses, licking into his mouth with a sensuous tongue, before you stole his words. “Good enough to eat.”

He uttered a groan deep in his throat. It satisfied you, enhancing the warm flood between your legs.

Fuck it. You were calling in sick today.

You drew him back into the pull of you, winding your arms around his neck and your fingers in his hair. It was getting long again, but you liked it. You liked something to hold onto, just as much as he did. Your nails brushed against his scalp, down the back of his neck, earning a hum of pleasure from him. You wound your legs tightly around his hips and invited the press of his hard cock against your throbbing core, even through your panties and pajama pants. A faltering groan caught in his chest.

“Needier that I thought this morning,” he remarked. His warm hands drifted down to cup your breasts, his thumbs brushing over dark, pebbled nipples. You sighed into his mouth in response.

You heard the cocky grin in his voice, but for once, you didn’t care. You did need him. You wanted him to fuck the stress and chaos out of you.

…Well, he’d caused most of it, but still. He was gonna damn well fix it.

And he aimed to do just that, with his hands sliding farther down your body with purpose, grabbing the waistband of your pajama pants and roughly sliding them down, along with your panties. Your bare ass felt cold against the tile counter, but you didn’t have too much time to think about it with Ben’s thick fingers probing between the wet, glistening folds of your pussy. He soon found what he was searching for, circling firmly over your clit.

Your hips raised off the counter as you whimpered against his lips and ground yourself against his hand. You broke from his kiss to bury your face in his neck. Ben’s free hand grasped your hip and pulled you right to the edge of the counter.

There he held you down, his brows furrowing in concentration. His fingers sought your entrance and slipped inside you with ease. By now, he knew what angles would have you squirming, writhing, your body arching into him, while your inner walls clenched around his hand.

“Fuck. That’s right, baby doll. I’ve gotcha,” he said roughly, continuing to fuck your pussy with his fingers. His thumb rubbed against your clit between strokes.

The coil in your lower belly began to tighten, the delicious throbbing deep inside beginning to make your thighs shake. But just as you felt yourself tipping over the edge, Ben withdrew his fingers from your sopping channel.

You struggled to catch your breath in shock. Your head raised from Ben’s shoulder to glare at him. When your mouth opened to deliver an indignant protest, he silenced you with his mouth claiming yours. Your nails bit into his shoulder in retaliation, even though you knew it wouldn’t hurt him in the slightest. In fact, it only curved his lips into a smirk against yours.

You slapped him on the shoulder, immensely frustrated, but also laughing. “You’re such an assh—”

Before you could even finish cursing him, he gathered you up again and lifted you off the counter. He walked you over to the couch in the living room. He would’ve loved nothing better than to lay you out across the two-seater table in the kitchen, but he thought the shitty old wood might just give out under the strain of him fucking you. So the living room was a close second, and in this tiny-ass apartment, it was barely a few feet more to walk.

He laid you out underneath him on couch, and it groaned and squeaked under both of your weight. You squeaked too, if for a different reason. It had Ben smirking down at you. He freed himself from the confines of his pajama pants and coated his rock-hard arousal with the leftover wetness coating his hand.

“I approve of the scene change,” you said breathlessly, once again stroking his arms. Your fingers slipped over every dip and plain of muscle.

“Didn’t think you wanted to be fucked on some cold tile,” he said, even if the sentiment behind his words warmed you. You were pretty sure he didn’t used to care about that. At least, before he met you.

He grabbed your hips, lined himself up to your entrance, and his cock breached you smoothly, pushing into you until his hips fit snugly against yours.

“Oh, fuck,” you choked out, your thighs squeezing around his frame.

“Feel good, sweetheart? All fuckin' filled up,” Ben teased, a bit breathless himself. You were a tight fucking fit. He slid out of you experimentally, drawing a moan from your lips. You nodded.

“Yeah, baby. So good,” you freely admitted, panting all the while.

Ben’s hot gaze drew over you as he continued moving hard and fast inside you. He took in your every bare curve, the way hot breaths and sexy moans fell from your lips with every thrust, the way your hair fanned out underneath you and hung off the side of the sofa cushion, the way your hands still explored him and touched him, demanding, but still loving.

For that, it was all the more tantalizing against his skin, warming even the darkest places he tried not to show you.

And every drag of his cock inside you stretched your inner walls in the most delicious of ways. It wasn’t just that he was able to fill you to the fucking brim. He also just knew his way around a woman’s body. He knew you, and he knew exactly how to make you come undone. Even quick and dirty on your couch, he made you feel brand new.

He was right, damn him.

The coil deep inside you snapped. Pleasure crested through you and made your inner walls squeeze him tight, fluttering and pulsing with warmth. You came hard on his cock, hard enough to milk his release shortly after for all he was worth.

His forearms fell to the cushion on either side of your head. You were basically being smothered, but for the moment you didn’t mind. You just held his sweat-slick body against yours while you both caught your breath, each of your heartbeats falling back into a steady rhythm.

He was always so damn warm. It was nice, considering how cold it was this winter, but the thought always made you a bit sad. It reminded you of the power housed in his chest, and every memory he caged there as well.

You laid a gentle kiss on his shoulder. In return, his lips found the side of your head and hesitated there.

“You’re not going to work,” he said. It was more an observation than anything else.

You laughed breathlessly and shook your head. “Nope.”

He nodded. “Let’s go out for breakfast.”

You could get behind that. Your kitchen was finally clean, which meant your kitchen was closed until further notice.

“Shower first,” you stipulated.

You felt Ben’s smile grow against your dewy skin. “All right.”

You sighed, and he guided you to your feet along with him. You had a feeling “breakfast” was going to be lunch by the time you and Ben finally escaped this apartment.

AN: Lol hope you had fun with this one! Let me know if you'd like to see more of these two! 💚💚

Spanish Translations:

Es que él es bruto, mija. Es como un animal con ropa.

It’s that he’s stupid, my daughter. He's like an animal with clothes.

However, “bruto” can also mean brutish, crude, and/or like a beast, so it fits in more than one way. 😂

Sabes que, …

You know what, …

La sirvienta

The servant (or maid) (female)

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ruruumin · 1 day ago

Text

young

₊˚ ᗢ canon! alhaitham x gn! reader.

⤷ inspired by this guitar cover of young girl a. 2.4k words.

as the official recordkeeper of the akademiya, the burden of notetaking and historical artifacts rests upon your hands. students and scholars come to you with their discoveries, hoping to be kept alive through history books and beyond. much of their research is rubbish, half-haphazardly put together in an attempt to seem great.

days stretched out longer than they needed to. work becomes overbearing. it seeps into the corners of your mind. going out with tighnari didn’t help, drinking tea with collei did nothing to soothe the ache in your jaw and hand. a close friend of yours from the same darshan expressed the worries of drinking too much coffee. but nothing was helping. your mind was burning up. your fingers felt like they were on fire. and it couldn’t have been just your pyro vision.

your brain felt like a string being pulled too hard you can hear the vibration wringing the air. you keep your head low in your office, praying to lesser lord kusanali that there won’t be another person coming through those now worn-out doors. you have your hand pressed against your forehead, your eyes peeking through the cracks of your fingers, furiously writing a report upon someone's recent expedition.

don’t forget to write about how they entered the desert runes. add the part where they stumbled next to the entrance. make sure you indent here. transcribe every part of their dialogue as perfectly as you can. do it as if you were there. these racing thoughts were doing nothing but pulling you back and forth, pushing you toward the edge you could see the bottom of. your breaths felt hot. your skin was sweating. everything was damp and sticky.

you grip your vision tightly, trying to hold out as much as possible before exhaustion could hit you like a train. in the confines of your office, you think about unspeakable things. what would alhaitham do? that snarky, know-it-all scribe, what would he do in this situation? would he stress out like you are? does he even feel stressed? are you just competing against some robot with no emotions? what if he couldn’t even feel pain at all? why were you thinking of him at all?

perhaps it was all the time you spent in your younger years at the akademiya, having been in the same darshan as him once before graduating and going back to school for a second diploma. maybe it was the way he constantly one-upped you in everything you did. one point off of a test score. one second behind his mile time. hell, he even got the job of acting grand sage so easily, while you had to work your ass off sucking up to the previous recordkeeper. why was it so easy for him to become a scribe and grand sage?

he never had to say it out loud, but the look in his eyes, the turquoise gaze that he leaves you when the doors close, made you all the more furious.

you wanted his job so badly. being a recordkeeper was the closest thing you could have that was remotely similar to sumeru’s scribe. you might not be able to get the same amount of pay or recognition, but it was something. you could still put your love for writing and history into books. all of it would be great. you could be satisfied. if only you didn’t want more.

the ticking clock is like a metronome. click. click. click. one sentence down. the next one. click click click. halfway there, if you push a little harder, click, click, click and run through your thoughts one more time, click, click, click, you can finish this in less than an hour. click. click.

what happened to the third click? you look up and see a familiar face staring down at you. his lips were squeezed tightly together into the same thin line you always saw in the classroom.

“when was the last time you slept?” he asks, raising his hand to your forehead as you lean back in your chair, barely escaping his grasp.

you raise a few fingers, eyes glancing down at your paper. “one… three.. one and a half hours.” he lets out a huff, sounding rather disappointed in your answer.

“the well-esteemed recordkeeper, unable to keep record of their sleep. how ironic is that.”

“if you came here to taunt me, you know the door is that way.”

he doesn’t say anything in this instance. no response. no backtalk. he’s so eager to jump on any flaws you exhibited, and suddenly, when you gesture towards the door, trying to be unfazed by his comments, he is quiet. it grosses you out.

“tighnari told me you weren’t doing so well. looks like you've been working on this paper for a while now." he brushes back a few strands of his hair, "you know, you could always ask me for help. as a scribe, i have some knowledge of recordkeeping.”

there it is.

really? tighnari had to tell him? had you known he was going to tell the scribe, you would have never said anything. you want to be frustrated at him but knowing how kind he is, he was surely doing it out of the kindness of his heart. your reply to alhaitham has a sharp, sarcastic tone.

“what don’t you know? don’t you know everything already?

“stop making it sound like i’m so much better than you.” his response was instant this time.

you grip your pen tightly, fingers trembling at the pressure. that’s what he gets out of all of this? you thought after being academic rivals for so long, he’d know how you feel about him. and the reasons why you’d even villainize him in the first place. was he always this blind? questions were racing through your thoughts again and for once in your life, you wished that the entire world could just disappear so you could have a moment of peace.

“you don’t understand, alhaitham,” you start, teeth trembling, “i don’t think you do.”

“yes, i don’t understand why you’re pushing so hard. you’re only a recordkeeper, the job doesn’t require much other than documentation. but regardless, i won’t know unless you tell me.”

slamming the pen down, you raise yourself from the chair, slapping him across the face as he looks back at you in utter surprise. the skin on his cheek was beginning to grow red. your entire body felt cold the moment those seven words came out, and yet the anger you felt was warming you up from the inside.

i won’t know unless you tell me.

so ignorant. so blind. that’s what he was. and you despise him for it.

“only documentation? that’s what you got? i’m just working so hard over nothing, right? this is just some stupid job, it’s not even as special as your lavish one. i’m no grand sage. no scribe. i’m not even a matra. i’m just some lowly recordkeeper that has to write about everyone else’s accomplishments, while i have absolutely none to my name."

you can't control your words. "do you know how many times i have to write your name down? for everything you did for sumeru? for lesser lord kusanali?”

the air is growing hot, and so is your skin. did anyone leave the doors open? where was the breeze? who turned on the heater? your head was beginning to feel light. “sorry, maybe i’m too stupid for you. not everyone has the mind of grand sage.”

“grand acting–”

“my apologies, grand acting sage. not everyone is like you.”

“like what?” he says, a lower tone following his words, “rational? logical? cool-headed? have you forgotten everything you learned in haravatat? or has switching to a new darshan made your brain forget the lessons our professor taught about burnout?”

you? burned out? those words hover over you like a looming darkness. “you seriously–can’t understand.”

“understand what?”

don’t say words you can’t take back.

“that i hate you!” a scream ripped through your throat, ah, there it is.

“i despise you. i hate everything about you. you’re so nonchalant about everything, when we graduated, all you could say was ‘oh, thanks.’ even when you’re declared grand acting sage, you didn’t show an ounce of gratefulness or humility. you saw it as some kind of chore when that job–your job! was all i ever wanted!”

everything was spilling out of your mouth like bile. with your vision heating up to burn the surface of your skin, you fail to see the hurt in his eyes. the flinch his fingers carried, and the way he stepped back at the raise of your voice.

“so i don’t understand why they gave it to you when you–fuck– you don’t even care! you don’t care about anything! so now i don't even know why i do!” squeezing your eyes shut, you block out all the unnecessary noise that isn’t your voice. “i tried so hard, i switched darshans so i could do more, but the best i could do is be some shitty recordkeeper that can’t even handle a few paperwork.”

"of course the grand acting sage of sumeru can't understand the feeling of being mediocre. after all, you're the perfect alhaitham. grand acting sage alhaitham. sumeru's feeble scribe alhaitham. the know-it-all jackass alhaitham!" you run your fingers through your hair, pulling on it, "fuck, can't you just show me that you're at least grateful that you got the job, the one that i've been working so fucking hard for in the past few years."

“this is a joke.”

you let out a gasp when his hand reaches out to grab you by the face, squeezing your cheeks tightly. “the only person being ungrateful here is you. are you even hearing yourself right now? being a recordkeeper is a huge accomplishment. you’re doing what many sumerians can only dream of doing. graduating from two darshans? how many people can you name off of one hand that can do that? lisa only graduated from one. most of us did. and here you are, having done two.”

"if it was me in your shoes, having done two darshans back to back, would you say the same thing?"

"hah? of course not–"

"so why are you wasting your breath complaining about yourself?" those words hurt a lot more than you thought they would. but what did you expect? some sympathy after all of this?

a laugh is choked out of you, “yeah, i guess you’re right. i should be more happy that i got this job. after all, i’m just some spoiled brat to you.” his hold tightens up, veins bulging from his wrist. despite the change of tone in his voice, the expression on his face conveys a different feeling. one that is mixed. you don't know how to describe it.

“did you even listen to me?”

“i don’t know. what did you say anyway?” your body trembles. fingers wrapping around his hand, trying to loosen his grip as tears swell. you wish you had the strength to clamp your jaw shut.

“i don’t even know what i’m doing anymore.”

his turquoise eyes begin to soften. his grip losing its strength. this gives you the moment you need to breathe.

he doesn’t know what to say. for someone so adamant on accomplishing what is seen as extraordinary, you didn't see it at all. to him, you were a ball of sun, a brightly shining star that could never lose its color or flame. seeing you like this is twisting his hearts in ways he cannot fathom.

he thought it would be nice seeing you vulnerable, to see you at your most raw. he always liked how enthusiastic you were about beating him. but he doesn’t know if he feels this way anymore. you, at your wit’s end, despite graduating in haravatat and having experience in a multitude of languages, being unable to come up with a proper response was more than heartbreaking. it makes him feel sick.

and before you can push him away, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing you tightly to his chest. this unexplained action is incomprehensible to you. and you fear that he's doing this out of pity.

the air grows quiet as he’s pensively thinking.

“i’m sorry,” his voice is as soft as a mouse. its timid, something you never thought to hear from the grand acting sage himself.

“i don’t know if this is what you wanted to hear. but i don’t think of you any less. i’m sorry my actions made you feel that way. being a recordkeeper is a lot harder than i made it out to be. you have to balance everyone's story and make sure they're all written accurately and true.” he is unsure if this is the right thing to say at the moment, but it's the only thing he feels is true.

“i was too harsh on you because i thought it might push you forward. i thought things were the same as they were in the akademiya. but now that we're older, i see that the way i treated you was... more than wrong."

he wants to bite his tongue, humiliation burning through his cheeks like a bullet wound. "there is a lot that you should be proud of. so..." he is beginning to mumble, "don't cry." that last part comes out like a question.

you hesitantly hold onto him, keeping him close to you as if he’s the last person on teyvat. alhaitham, the great one himself, was giving you an apology. a rather heartfelt one too, even if he seemed inexperienced in it. you should be a little grateful he had the guts to tell you rather than pass around notes as he did when you were younger.

you shiver when his hand runs down your spine, moving up and down to comfort you. you could feel your vision pulsate in reaction. your heartrate spiking. if the past you saw where you were now, they’d be mortified. to think you’d be this close to the one person you considered your worst enemy. and despite that, sharing this moment of vulnerability with him was oddly comforting.

it made everything feel okay.

a breath is drawn out of you, one that was flimsy and weak, “i’m scared.”

“what are you scared of?”

“i don’t know what to do,” your words come out shaky, “i don’t know what i’m doing anymore. this job, my feelings…all this work that’s piling up, students who are counting on me, everyone– what am i supposed to do?”

“is there supposed to be a manual?”

your jaw locks up in an attempt to hold back a laugh. you instead roll your eyes, trying to force him off of you but he remains glued to you, intent on keeping you as close as possible. almost as if you’d fly away if he loosened up a little. maybe you’d burn up like a star, suck the entire universe with you, including him.

“point is, even if you don’t know what to do, there is still plenty of time. if you need to take a break, then do so. travel the world if you have to. leave sumeru and find your purpose.” the last part was more for exaggeration and dramatics. he'd rather die than admit he doesn't want to see you leave sumeru.

he presses his forehead against yours, forcing you to stare into his eyes. “those scholars can wait. it's not the end of the world if they don’t get their measly report written.”

“but–”

“relax. you and i know they’re all pretty whiny. would it kill you to just take a break so you don’t have to listen to them?” his comment finally breaks a snort out of you.

“you’re as good as you are. without you, a lot of what we’ve learned and experienced might get lost. being a recordkeeper is still a very esteemed title. it won’t be hard to ask for a raise.”

“you joke too much.”

“kaveh says i don’t do it enough.”

you inhale another deep breath, noting the smell of sage and pinewood on his shirt. it's rather earthy (and you were surprised to know he bothers spraying anything at all.) the gem between his collarbone is flickering underneath the chandelier light in your office. and you could feel the slight tense of his muscles as he adjusted his hold on you.

the words that come out of your mouth feel like needles. “do you hate me?”

“i don’t.”

“even when i said all of those horrible things to you?”

“even so.” his resolution was clear in his answer.

the burning sensation you felt was beginning to fade away. the flame inside of you finally quelling. you would have never thought in a million years that the man you’ve competed against could make you feel so strange. so conflicted. so unsure. yet at the same time, so secure.

perhaps, with him in mind, you might be able to take things a lot slower. maybe consider a vacation. you can stop comparing yourself to someone who's on a different path and appreciate what you have already. or at the very least, appreciate yourself, before anyone else.

you don’t know how to put it into words, so you press your face in the crook of his neck, releasing a content hum. his adam apple bobs with hesitation, his body tensing up as if he’s nervous to breathe in your embrace.

“thank you.”

…

“that slap really hurt. i think you might need to fetch an icepack for me.”

“i can give you another.”

“please don’t.”

#₊˚ ᗢ ruruumin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader

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satangcrush · 1 day ago

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reimagined first meeting with solomon

solomon x g!n reader, sfw, not beta-read

a/n▸ i fear i got a little too silly with this

“You’re kidding me.”

The man in front of you hadn’t changed a thing about his look since the last time you saw him, as if time had stood still. His mouth was stretched into a grin too wide, perfect white teeth on full display, a hint of mirth playing at the edge of his lips.

It pisses you off, makes your blood boil.

“You’re the exchange student?” He says pleasantly, hands raised to give you a greeting. He smells the same, a hint of musk with that light and clean scent wrapping around him. It horrifies you when the realisation dawns that you still like it.

You scoffed.

Without much thought, you immediately spun on your heel moving to get as far away as you could. The sorcerer manages to skirt his way in front of you, blocking your escape route as he holds onto your arm.

“Hey–”

“Don’t talk to me.” You hissed, snatching back your arm as if you had been electrocuted. Your breath leaks into the air, full of anger.

A silence rang between both of you for a second.

He stands there, hand still raised up. He looked genuinely confused at your animosity and watched as you dusted off your hands as if he were a speck of dirt.

“What’s wrong?”

“Are you acting dumb?” You fight the urge to gag, fury settling into your veins as your nostrils flare up.

“No.” He says but he looks unsure this time. “Did I do something?” He cautiously adds on, grimacing as your expression sours even further at his response.

“Forget it.” You end up saying, tone painfully bland that makes Solomon blanch. “If you don’t know, then I guess it never mattered in the first place.”

He wasn’t feigning his reaction this time. At least, you could tell this much. The air suddenly feels too hot in your lungs, hurt burning even more.

You contort your face. He recognises it as the expression when you don't want to argue with him any further. He stares for a moment longer, mouth gaping open and close as he processes what you say. The minute trickled by as you continued to stand there.

You don’t know why you were still here.

“Tell me.” He coughs. He doesn’t know exactly what to say. He never knows what to do with you when you get like this. He digs his nails into his palm, panic coursing through him.

Your eyes flutter shut for a second, a cool relief from the sight in front of you. You hate that you’re visibly affected by his words. Sucking in a breath, you grapple for words to throw out before settling for the first thought in your brain.

“You’re pathetic, you know?” You start, watching as his eyebrows lift up into a furrow. Forcing yourself to bark out a laugh, the sound sharp even to your own ears. “I guess I meant nothing to you.”

Your thumb slid under the rest of your fingers as you pushed down on it. The pain was a bright, flashing sensation that caused you to swallow hard. A reminder for you to inflict as much pain as you could.

It was a truth that still hurts after all these times.

Solomon recoils back as if he had been struck by lightning. It puts a pause in your thoughts when you catch sight of his face.

Good, you hope it hurts.

(Just like when he had walked out on you then all those years back.)

“Wait–”

Before he could utter a word again, you–

You were already long gone.

#i was in a silly mood #dont ask me what happened #i dont know what happened between them either #obey me #obey me solomon #satang can do it!#obey me x reader #i seriously dont know guys like i wrote this as a draft at 4am ytd and then I just finished it just now #solomon x reader #obey me swd #im tired of tagging already nvm

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norrisleclercf1 · 5 hours ago

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Day 1 of 25 Days of Christmas: Decorating the House

Pairing: Mick Schumacher x Reader

Rating: PG

Words: 800

Warnings: None, just fluff

Mick didn't know how many boxes he could lug up the stairs. This was his sixth trip already, and there were still about 10 more boxes full of Christmas gifts. "Angel, are you sure we need all this?" Mick asked, his breath coming in short gasps. He was sweating, and it was the end of November in Switzerland. The sight of Mick struggling with the boxes was comical, and you couldn't help but chuckle. "Mick, it's Christmas, of course. We need all the boxes; what kind of question was that?" You ask, wrapped in garland.

"Angel," He sighs and returns to the basement to grab the rest of the boxes. You hum as the first snowfall starts to fall. You climb up the ladder to lay the garland on the fireplace mantel. It was a rather tall fireplace, one of those old-school brick ones, something you can rarely find, but this house in Switzerland was gorgeous, and the fireplace was the main selling point. Mick comes back up with a couple more boxes, and you can't help but giggle.

"I thought you WEC slash, F1 drivers were in perfect shape to drive?" You joke, and Mikc rolls his eyes and pulls you back, making you shriek as he catches you, kissing all over your face. "Please, you learned how in shape I was last night," He teases and slaps your ass gently before going back, making you blush.

"Touche," You yell and hear him giggle down the steps. Rolling your eyes, you climb the ladder and hum as Christmas music fills the house. Mick finishes bringing up more boxes, and you sigh, putting gold, red, and green ornaments throughout the garland. "Looks pretty, Y/n. Are we going traditional this year?" He asks, and you nod as you got a red and pink vibe last year.

"Yeah, figured we could give the old 90s Christmas vibe. What do you think?" You ask, and Mick smiles. "I think it'd be fun, come here," He says, holding his hand up and helping you down the ladder safely. "Want to do separate Christmas trees or one big one?" You ask, staring at your tree boxes. How about we do the outside porch ones and then the main one in the living room" He asks, and you think it over.

"Perfect," you smile, lean up, and kiss him gently, which has him pulling you close by the waist. Mick smiles into the kiss before pulling away. "Alright, we better start before we're doing this all day," Mick says as you nod and move in different directions. The Christmas music turns up as you two start decorating. You both move through the house, boxes and Christmas decorations thrown around.

"It looks like Santa threw up in here," Mick mumbles as he moves around stuff and fixes you two lunch. You sit on the counter watching your pretty husband. "I know, but think about how pretty our house is going to look, Micky," Mick chuckles and turns to steal a kiss as you smile; Mick turns back to making you two chicken salad ceaser wraps, and you swear you could marry him all over again. "I was thinking we hang lights in the house, just not in the Christmas tree," Mick says, licking his fingers before washing them and handing off your wrap.

You bite into it and moan slightly, "Micky, if I could marry you again, I would," you mumble, making him smile. Leaning forward, he steals a kiss, smiling. I'd marry you again as well," he hums and kisses you again as you two eat, watching the fresh snowfall. "What do you want for Christmas?" You ask gently, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I don't really know, kinda have everything already," He hums as Angie comes running in, lying at his feet.

"Come on, you must want something," you whine. What could you get someone who could get anything he wanted? "Actually, there is something I want," He mumbles, unsure how to bring up this conversation, but now was the perfect time. "Yeah, what's that?" You ask gently, taking the last bite of your wrap. "How about we start having kids?" He asks softly, and you smile gently. "Yeah, I'd like that," You smile softly as you turn and stare at all the boxes behind you.

"But before we try for kids, maybe we should finish decorating," you hum, causing Mick to groan softly and want to bang his head on the counter. "We have too many Christmas decorations," He whines, and you can't help but laugh a little. "Please, there is never enough," Mick shoots up, "Y/n, please, don't go shopping and buy more, please, baby," He begs, and you laugh, moving quickly through the house. You were never going to promise that.

#f1 #formula 1 #f1 fandom #formula one #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 scenario #f1 fluff #f1 blurb #f1 oneshot #mick schumacher #mick schumacher x reader #mick schumacher fic #mick schumacher x you #mick schumacher imagine #mick schumacher blurb #mick schumacher oneshot #25 days of christmas

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lostintransist · 9 hours ago

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Listen all I gotta say is price and Johnny are the type to bear hug you during sex. I mean like fully encompassing your whole body, holding you as close as possible with their strong ass grip while they’re balls deep in you. That’s all, thank you and have a great day :)

Oooh anon I like the way you think. Let me posit a few ideas for you. Because brevity is NOT a skill I possess all my thoughts are below the fold.

MDNI 18+, Female reader (because it fits the narrative I want to write today)

CW: Pap smears and doctors appointments mentioned, sex (obviously), mentions of lubrication and anatomy lessons (because if I have to read one more 'it's so tight' I am going to start fight club in your comments. If the vagina is 'tight' it isn't aroused! Vaginas are small when not being used for pleasure or producing a human.)

Johnny "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny bear hugs you, but not frequently. The first time it happened he had been hounding you all day for some action. You put him off with a smile and wore your prettiest day dress out for errands. "I can't miss my appointment today Johnny, and if I leave now I can get some shopping done."

He goes with you obviously because he hasn't seen you in weeks because of his job and spending time with you even at an appointment is better than missing you from home.

You didn't mention and he failed to ask what kind of appointment you had. Imgagine his delight shock to see you strip off your dress with absolutely nothing underneath because you have a yearly physical.

Let's not even argue the point that Johnny is horrified to see how a pap smear goes and apologizes the rest of the day that you have to do that as a part of having him as a newer partner. [I hate pap smears so much...Like I want to fist fight god for making them a thing that needs to happen.]

It takes him a couple hours to get over the sick feeling in his stomach. You had been mid conversation when the provider reached up and flipped down the sheet covering your breasts. They pressed and prodded all without either of you acknowleding what was happening. Was that normal? (It absolutely is.)

When you do finally let him convince (Lets not lie you also wanted this all day) you to bed end up riding him as he orgasms. His arms snake out and pull you to his chest, the powerful bands of his muscles holding you tight to his chest as he shudders below you. He is overwhelmed and in awe of the things you have to do to keep your body healthy and how part of those things are his fault.

It does prevent you from coming like you wanted but Johnny, once he can see again, takes care of you before settling you both in a bath.

Captain John Price

This man is so used to being in charge that the first time he sinks home into you he is snaking his arms around you to bear hug you to his chest.

"If you move even a bit I am going to explode inside you like a fourteen year old boy and his first time touching a lover," he growls into your shoulder.

He didn't need to use lube on the regular but after you explained he quickly agreed.

"John you could do hours of foreplay and I would still not produce enough fluid to make this an enjoyable experiance for either of us." You smile uncomfortably as his eyebrows tuck downward in confusion. With a shrug you continue, "My body does all the other normal things."

"Normal things like what?" Ah man, he did it now. Education on bodies that had vaginas would always get you on a rant. "So you know how in media the common thing to say about a vagina when inserting a penis is 'oh it's so tight' because it is supposed to feel good for a man?"

John leans back in his chair, contemplation exchanged for his look of confusion. "Yes, go on."

"Okay. When a penis gets erect it grows in size and shape typically, so does a vagina. An unaroused vagina is only about 2 inches in length but when aroused it grows to on average about 4. The rush of blood down there allows it to become more elastic and accomodate many shapes and sizes."

At John's nod you continue, because you know that this can be an uncomfortable topic but you refused to go to bed with a man who didn't care enough to understand how your body works.

"Typically with arousal the vagina creates a lot of fluid to help with insertion." "Isn't that what precum is about too?" Biting your lip you decide if you are going to ruin his day. "No. What we call precum is a cleaning fluid because pee and baby batter use the same tubing in a penis."

"Oh." He looks mildy uncomfortable with this information. Well in for a penny in for a pound. "All that to say, I would love to have sex with you but we will need to use lube because my body doesn't produce enough fluid and the fluid you make isn't really what I will need."

John thought about that conversation as he sank home, the plushness of your thighs bracketing his hips. Shoving one arm behind your neck and the other under your back as you lay under him he focuses on breathing.

Lord only knows that an anatomy lesson from you would be what nearly sends him over the edge. When you start twitching under him he holds you tighter, a slight wheeze escaping your chest.

"Dove I am getting older and don't recover like I used to, give me another ten seconds and then I will fuck you like I'm trying to touch your brain."

That delightful little sentence had you clenching around him, but your hips stopped shifting. Damn, he might need to ask his doctor for some little blue pills because one round a night with you might not be enough.

I'm so totally normal about these fictional characters...yep.. totally normal.

#cod #fanfiction #cod x reader #john soap mactavish #soap cod #price x reader #soap mactavish #john price x reader #female reader #lostintransit #lostintransit writing

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danysdragon · 23 hours ago

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Haunted

Aemond Targaryen x ghost!niece!reader

Summary: Aemond Targaryen is haunted by the ghost of the girl whose life was stolen at the hands of himself. He is fighting a mental battle, seeing her face in the shadows and walking about the Red Keep is truly a torturous and haunting sight…

Warnings: 18+ mdni! Brief mentions of smut. Dark context! Manipulation, taunting, blood, haunting, Aemond being in denial, large mentions of death!! Reader teasing Aemond and making him feel bad, Aemond crying, Aemond’s ego being beaten, mostly just regret and denial. Drunk Aegon, Aegon teasing Aemond, Aegon being a dick.

A/N: soooo… I was super excited to write this because it was on my mind for a while! I love the Aemond getting haunted ideas! I hope you love reading this story just as much as I loved writing it💋💋💋💋💋 the photos do not describe the reader in any way!

Aemond Targaryen is haunted. Haunted by the girl who stole his eye all those years ago. Haunted by the girl whose life he stole. He doesn’t know if he regrets what he did or not. But he does know that he is going to lose his sanity if she continues this. This little game of hers. She taunts him, and teases him. She enjoys it more than she enjoyed taking his eye, he thinks. When he sees her, he sees the blood seeping out of the soft skin of her stomach, her dress being stained by the red liquid. When her dragon was hit by dragonfire, it began going down. And she went down with it. She hit the rocks in the sea, dying immediately. She washed up on shore days later. He killed both her and her dragon. He did not mean for that to happen, though. You see, he was angry. He wanted revenge for what she did to him, but he never meant to take it that far. Now she’s dead, and it’s is his fault. It is also his fault this war has started. Rhaenyra was crushed after the death of her daughter, declaring war and demanding Aemond’s head. Alicent was also livid. Livid at how careless Aemond was with his actions resulting in the brutal killing of the girl. The girl he has reluctantly grown to love, but he shouldn’t. She’s dead because of him. And it doesn’t help that he sees her face every fucking day.

It was a busy day in the Red Keep. Helaena and Alicent attended Jahaerys’ funeral, Aegon killed one of the men that took the life of his boy, and Aemond visited a brothel. Aemond has been visiting the brothel a lot lately. He’s only doing this because of his conflicting emotions regarding the recent death of his niece. He needed comfort that his mother could not give him. He has come back and began thinking. He sits by the fire, waiting for her to show up. She always shows up around this time. He has taught himself not to be frightened of her visits, it will only make this battle worse.

He gazes at the flames dancing atop the burning wood in the fireplace. He pouts his lips in thought. The chair he sits on tonight is uncomfortable, more than usual. He can feel her presence, though, she hasn’t spoken yet. He will not look up from the fire until he hears her silky voice. “It is your fault he is dead.” She speaks, finally. Her voice is quiet now, compared to her voice when she was falling. Down and down, into the water. He sighs, his hand clenching into a fist against the arm rest of the chair. “Whose death are you speaking of?” He asks, knowing who she is speaking of, but wanting her to say it herself. “The boy. It was an action made in my mother’s words “blood for blood.” She spoke those words because of you. What you did to me.” He stands up, facing her. She is standing next to his chair, looking into his eye.

“Must you taunt me so?” The Kinslayer asks, not being able to look into her cold eyes. She doesn’t answer. She puts a finger on his chin, making him look up at her. “You did this to me, uncle. You put me here.” He is forced to look into her eyes, now not being able to look away. “Stop it, you’re not truly here.” He forces out. He sees the coldness, the anger, but also the teasing in her eyes. “Oh, but I am. I am in your skin, in your mind… In your heart. I am a part of you now, Aemond.” She takes a step closer, her cold lips nearly touching his. “You are nothing but a ghost, haunting me, torturing me.” Her eyes darken. “Is that all I am to you? Just another soul you snatched away because of your greed and selfishness?” She whispers to him, her voice like a soft breeze in a green forest. He sucks in a sharp breath, wanting to reach out and touch her. To pull her close to him and claim her body as he claimed her life. But he also wants to push her away at the same time. “Stop it.”

He is just about to push her back when he hears a loud knock on his door. Too aggressive to be a simple servant. He looks to the door then back at her, gently pushing her to leave. She sighs and takes a step back into the shadows, disappearing from his sight. He lets out a breath and sits back down in his large arm chair. “Enter.” He grumbles. The large, wooden door creaks open and he soon hears the irritating sounds of Aegon’s drunken laughter. He fights the urge to yell at him to get out, wanting to see his beautiful, darling niece again. The door shuts and Aegon plops down onto Aemond’s bed, still giggling like a child. “Evening brother, I hope I’m not interrupting your… conversations with your little ghosts and such.” He says with a chuckle, looking at his brother. Aemond wonders why Aegon is drunk now. “What do you want brother?” Aemond hisses, not in the mood for Aegon’s antics. “I just wanted to speak to you about… this war, and all these deaths. Father, my son… our niece.” Aemond winces at the mention of his niece. Aegon knows he struck a nerve. That’s what he does, he loves taunting Aemond until he snaps. “What about them?” Aemond isn’t in the mood for Aegon’s games. He doesn’t look at the king, thinking that if he looked, he would become even more irritated.

“Oh, you know… I was thinking. Thinking about you. And our sweet niece. I always thought that there was something between you both. Until you killed her. I wouldn’t be surprised if you two fucked while the Blacks were here to see our dying father. Perhaps it was in your bed, or in a closet… Or on the dining table-“ Aemond snaps. “Get out.” Aegon stops laughing and looks at Aemond, a bit offended and confused. “Sorry? I don’t think I heard you correctly, brother.” Aemond stands up and faces Aegon, peering into his soul like a predator eyeing its prey. “Get out, brother. Now.” Aegon’s eyes darken and his smile completely fades. “Alright then. I’ll leave.” He gets up and begins walking to the doors. He stops and looks at the prince. “It’s a shame she’s dead. I know how badly you yearn for her.” He finally leaves, shutting the door with a small slam. The young prince lets out an irritated sigh, sitting back down. The fire is slowly dying.

He can feel her presence back again. She gently puts her hands on his shoulders behind him, her hands cold. He feels this pain in his heart. He knows she is not truly here, and it’s his fault. He did that to her. And now he’s haunted because of what he did, forever haunted by the ghost of his sweet niece. The girl that was simply trying to protect her brothers all those years ago, causing him to lose an eye. She leans down and gently presses her frigid lips to his jaw. He lets out a small hum, not stopping her from commencing her actions. Her lips slowly trail down to his upper neck, just under his jaw. Her tongue darts out of her mouth to taste his smooth skin. He lets out a small whimper of pleasure and need as he feels her tongue dance on his skin. He feels her hand snake around his throat, squeezing a bit, not hard enough to choke him, but hard enough to make him feel it. She sucks and nips at his sweet spot, enjoying the sounds he’s making. Until she suddenly stops. And he no longer feels her lips on his neck and her hand on his throat. He doesn’t feel her at all. She’s disappeared once again. He sighs at the loss of contact, closing his eyes and leaning back in his chair.

Until next time, ghostly girl.

Hello loves! I hope you enjoyed reading! This was a short one but I truly enjoyed writing it. Hope you liked it!💋

-Liv💋

#aemond targaryen #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen x reader #ghosts #fanfic #ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader

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