#no work cramping and rainy | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleuraimer · 10 months

Text

hi girlies :)). i've got another breeding blurby to share, thank ms. bubbles @harrysonlylover.

wc: 1.6k

cw: talk of menstrual and ovulation cycle, smut, minors dni, 17+, breeding kink, and more. not proofread.

Some people might say that the extent of his knowledge and control over Y/N’s life is not healthy. They might even suggest that his possessive behavior is a red flag, too. The constant messaging, always knowing her location, who she’s with, when she’s with them, why, how…

They didn’t tend to think of it that way. Love comes in all forms and theirs is… different.

Y/N likes being controlled. She wants him to know everything about her. She fucking craves the comfort of being taken care of for the price of absolutely nothing.

Well, maybe a few things.

Her obedience, for one, was expected (required). Her honesty, and loyalty. Her submission, too (although, sometimes, he liked to submit to her).

They’d found a simple way of living on some inherit, basic principles.

One, Y/N loved to be taken care of.

Two, he loved to take care of her.

So that was that. He was controlling, and she reveled in the power imbalance, and they didn’t care if others didn’t understand it, or like it, or even respect it. It was theirs, and it was enough.

It was fucking perfect.

One of the many ways he kept a tight leash on Y/N’s life was by tracking her menstrual cycle. He liked being ahead of the game—warm bath with waterlily scented suds ready for when she arrived home after her courses, her favorite sweet treats scattered across the kitchen island, Gilmore Girls queued up on his laptop, candles lit and heating pad at attention. Keeping track of her period meant knowing other things, intuitively, too. Like knowing that her cramps were worst on the first few days ( they were horrendous the last days too, though), that she’s more cuddly and soft than irritable or grumpy, that if she was too— no, severely stressed, overworking herself mentally, emotionally, and physically, she’d more likely than not work herself into a dreadful tizzy and end up intensifying (or even sometimes missing) her cycle.

Like now.

The poor thing, she was curled up in a frail little ball by end of the night every day this past week, deadlines looming over her head like a dark, rainy cloud as midterms approach. And, stubborn angel girl she is, she doesn’t bleat and moan about it to him. She doesn’t weep into his chest about how difficult this time is the way he encourages her to. She holds her chin high until the sun falls from the sky, her perseverance going with it, the stars and moon left to keep her and her misery company. And him, of course.

So, before the height of her period—when the red devil actually rears her ugly little head instead of inspiring trepidation of the inevitable with sore tits, an achy spine, and mental anguish—he thinks he’ll treat her a bit. And perhaps himself, as well (what? periods meant ovulating, and ovulating meant a lot of things).

———

Y/N’s head is quiet for the first time in days, and it’s all because of him.

As if anyone else could do what he does for her.

“Pretty girl,” he whispers in the place he’s nuzzled into her neck, littered with love bites and bruises. His cock is stuffed in her drippy pussy, stretching her deliciously over his thick, lengthy girth; his strong, beefy arms trapping her body to his like a vice.

Cowgirl usually makes Y/N’s thighs sore, but he’d taken the liberty of doing all the work tonight. He was in no mood for teasing, nor mocking or degrading. She wasn’t his whore tonight, just his girl. His soft, gorgeous, sensitive girl that deserved a sweet fucking after all the tears she’d choked down this week.

She needed a good cry.

“My little pillow princess, yeah?” He mumbles, peaking up at her sluggish form. She’s slumped into him, head lain on his shoulder uselessly, hands gripping the tight Henley he’d neglected to rid himself of in the rush of their lustrous dance. She manages a nod, however, lazy and slow, but, somehow, still urgent. Frantic. In the glow of her eye, he can see, she adores that idea. “Yeah,” He nods, gripping the soft curve of her jaw to move her head with him, “My girl.”

She whimpers, but doesn’t speak. Too exhausted, too sedated. His cum is addicting, and if it were a drug, she’d inject it right into her veins (up her cunt).

Her arms wind around his neck, fingers spreading through the curly, sweaty tendrils of hair at the nape. Her nails tickle him, in the best way, only adding to the allure of her being. Of her mere presence.

Her hips swivel, rocking against his to create a mind-numbing sensation that has them both mewling. His cock stretches her out and fills her up completely, felt in the deepness of her tummy. Her lashes flutter when she feels him twitch inside of her, a sign that he’s close (she’d realize that she’s much closer if she had the brain capacity to think of anything other than him).

The thought—of his cum filling her to the point of spilling around their joined parts, a filthy mess between their legs—makes her dizzy. Eager. She’d been good, so good, this week, hadn’t she?

Fed herself, cleaned herself, went to class on time, even though school made her unpleasantly weak in the knees. She studied every day for at least three hours at the library, before trudging home with bleary eyes and a foggy head, only to do more studying.

She deserved a treat, right? A reward for staying in line, for not being bratty or whiny when he was busy and all she wanted was for her brain to shut off.

Now, with the opportunity before her (to go totally brain-dead, that is), she refuses to not seize the moment.

“Come,” she says suddenly, catching him mildly off guard.

Oh? She wanted to order him around?

“Please.”

Oh. Guess not.

“Please, please, come, Sir, I want it, so fucking bad,” she whines, mouthing at the chain sitting delicately across his neck. It’s nearly out of place; something so frail and pretty looks almost comical gracing his large, stocky figure. Perhaps that’s how those judgy people saw them, out of place.

She didn’t care though, she thought it looked nice on him. He made it look nice. Made it better, just like he makes everything better.

“Wan’ me t’a stuff you up, Babydoll?” he grunts, thankful that she’d somehow picked up on his primitive, feral need. Or maybe she just wanted it just as bad. “Fill you with my come and make you m’messy girl?”

“Yes, please,” she cries faintly, her lips brushing the shell of his ear, hiding her face in his neck as the tears finally start to flow.

How precious.

“Okay,” he sighs, his hands trailing from her hips to the plush, full of her ass. “I’ll fill y’up, Sugar.” He lifts her up, letting his cock slip from her fluttering hole to the tip— less than the tip. He smears himself onto her clit, making her jolt, and spanks her in reprimand. “Stay still for Daddy,” he scolds softly. “Lemme do my job.”

She cries pitifully when her thrusts back inside, hard. And he doesn’t lighten up. Not in the slightest. He pounds his cock into her small pussy, chasing his orgasm, trying to claim hers, bullying his way through her tight snatch to find them.

“Play with your pouty clit, Doll,” he offers. “Wan’ y’to come with me; cream my fat cock, Baby.”

Y/N does not need to be told twice.

One hand drops from the back of his head to toy with her swollen button, and it takes three weak twirls of her delicate fingers to get her there. He’s not far behind, nuzzling into her neck once more, mirroring her own position on top of him, groaning out profanities as his orgasm washes over him, from his head to the tips of his toes. He continues to drill his cock into her until his legs give out, trembling beneath her own.

They pant heavily, in unison, into each others necks as they start to come down.

He feels good, accomplished. He can feel that satisfaction rolling off of his girl in waves—felt it throughout their soft session—and it was more than enough to keep him happy. His orgasm was just a much appreciated bonus.

And Y/N… she feels great. Cunt clenching over his half-hard cock, full of him, literally, in every way she could be. Thoughts silenced and replaced with rose hued daydreams, floaty, fuzzy sensations that tingle through her entire body and make her slightly sluggish, slow. She feels fucking amazing.

“Hope it takes…” she admits softly, absently. The phrase slips off of her tongue without thought (we’ve established that their are none left in that subby head of hers), and her tone suggests she’s not expecting a reaction.

He gives her one, anyway.

“Say that again,” he demands, grip on her ass tightening, his voice grumbly, deep, shooting a shiver up her spine.

“Huh?”

“Tell Daddy what the fuck you just said, Babydoll.”

Her eyes round out even more, if possible, lips parted, gazing owlishly. Stupidly.

“Said, ‘I hope it takes,’ Daddy,” She whimpers quietly, squeezing around his, once again, stiff prick.

“Shit,” he hisses, eyes fluttering.

It’s like she wanted to stay locked on his cock all night.

…Oh well.

So be it.

“It’ll take, Sugar,” he says after a few moments of tense silence, shifting her up gently, manhandling her with a softness that makes her heart drop to the pit of her stomach. He presses a chaste kiss to her mouth, sweet. Contradictory.

“Daddy’ll make it take.”

2K notes · View notes

edmunsonss · 3 months

Text

JUST LOVE

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem! Reader

Summary: You've had a stressful day at work and can't wait for Eddie to help you forget it all

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: SMUT (18+), oral (m receving), excessive use of nicknames, use of the word slut once, not proofread.

A/N: It's been a hot minute since I last wrote smut so uh, I hope it's decent and yeah.

═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══

When you waltz into the trailer on a rainy evening, you expect Eddie to be in his room, maybe practicing a new song or writing up some lyrics for the next show at the Hideout. However, your boyfriend is nowhere in sight. Part of you is relieved that he’s not around, but the other feels your heart plummet to your stomach in his absence. While you wish for nothing more than to fall into the comfort of his embrace, you don’t want him to worry upon seeing the tears that are falling down your cheeks.

As much as you have been trying to ignore it, all the frustration that has been building up in your chest has reached a point where you feel like it’s too much for you to take. Almost like a suffocating weight placed on top of you that won’t let you move anymore. You are worried about so much, and with an important job interview getting closer and closer, things don’t seem to be getting much easier.

You sigh and reach up to unzip your raincoat as you try to calmly breathe in and out to keep your tears in. You hang the coat on the rack that’s placed by the door and make your way into the cramped trailer bathroom, craving nothing more than a nice hot shower to ease the tension in your muscles.

Before you can get too far, you feel something brush up against your leg. You look down and your frown is quickly turned into a soft smile at the sight of your cat, Ziggy, lazily rubbing up against you in search of cuddles and attention. His soft purrs make you give in and scratch his head gently until he seems satisfied enough and runs back to the tiny pet bed placed by a plant, where he spends most of the day sprawled on his back.

Ziggy used to hang out by the trailer often, something you only took notice of after a few weeks of living with Eddie. You adopted him officially not long after—without having to try and convince Eddie because, let’s be honest, he wanted the cat just as much as you did… maybe more, though he’d never admit it—and he’s been yours ever since.

You resume your journey to the bathroom and start to take your clothes off once you get water running. It thankfully doesn’t take much to heat up and, before you know it, you’re enjoying the warm stream of water that’s running down your back.

You let every little piece of built up frustration out with sobs that have your whole body shaking. You sure feel ridiculous for crying over things that would seem so minuscule to anyone else, but you do it anyway because you’re hoping it’ll make you feel better about everything, it’s better than keeping it all in at least.

You spend longer than you should standing over the hot stream of water and no part of you wants to get out. Then you think of both Eddie and Wayne, and reluctantly get out of the shower because you don’t want them to have to shower with cold water—especially when you know just how much Eddie enjoys hot showers after a long day at work. You dress up in one of Eddie’s shirts and a pair of boxers. You certainly feel far better than when you’d walked in, but you know being wrapped up in Eddie’s arms will make you forget everything, at least for a little bit.

When you walk into your shared room, you’re surprised to see Eddie already in bed, his frame covered by the sheets as he reads a book. His hair is messily gathered at the nape of his neck in the shape of a messy bun, with only his fringe and a few stray pieces of hair freely falling on his face. Both his shirt and jeans have been discarded and are now lying down on the floor. You almost roll your eyes at the sight, only that morning Wayne had scolded Eddie for leaving clothes on the couch, but it doesn’t seem like it had much of an effect on your sweet boyfriend.

You stand against the doorframe, a smile painting itself on your face at the sight of him, nose buried inside his book. You’ve been dating for years, but that warm feeling in your stomach never seems to disappear despite seeing him everyday. You suspect he’ll make you swoon until the day you die, forever enamored by the nerdy rockstar that always treats you ever-so-gently.

Eddie must feel your eyes on him because it isn’t long before he looks up and smiles. He leaves his book on the nightstand and reaches to push back the covers for you to slide into bed, which you gleefully do.

He shifts around a little to press a kiss to your lips, “Hey sweetheart. ‘M sorry for being late. I forgot I had to drop Henderson off.”

You only hum and let your head rest on the crook of his neck, eager to have him close and be comforted by his warm embrace. Eddie chuckles but doesn’t complain as he wraps his arm tighter around you. He slips his warm calloused hand under your shirt and starts to mindlessly draw shapes on your lower back. You trace the lines of the tattoo on his chest and let any other thought vanish until only a feeling of utter peace remains.You can feel the bump of the scars that litter his chest from that time you almost lost him to demonic bats. They’re covered by ink now, fully healed, but you still feel yourself get the slightest bit emotional at the memory of what happened that night.

Eddie notices the way your body tenses up all of a sudden, he gently cups your cheek with his unoccupied hand and tilts your head so you’re looking up at him. Your eyes focus on his face and you stare at him curiously, noticing his slight shift in attitude. His head is slightly tilted to the side and there’s a serious expression on his face that wasn’t there before. He wants to say something, but you can tell he’s hesitating. You encourage him with a nod.

“Is everything alright? I could hear you crying in there.” You smile softly at the sweetness of his tone and move so you’re sat on his lap, driven by a desire to be even closer to him than you were before. One of your hands immediately goes to cup his face while the other remains on his chest. Eddie turns his head enough to kiss the palm of your hand and offers you a worried frown.

You jokingly pull the corner of his mouth up to try and make the pout on his lips go away, which you succeed in doing because a smile appears on his face as he swats your hand away.

“Stop distracting me,” He laughs.

“I’m not trying to, Eds,” You say at the same time as you poke him on the ribs, which makes him jump a little. Eddie laughs a little more, which makes you giggle in return.

“I just… you know I worry about everything and my brain’s always going on and on about all the shit that can go wrong. With all of my work stuff and the job interview and everything there is to worry about, I’m going a bit crazy.”

You see the way his face falls again as he hears you talk, knowing there isn’t much he can do to relieve you of all the stress that has you crumbling, “I’d prefer not to talk much about it though, not right now anyway.”

“We can talk about whatever you want sweetheart,” He reassures and smiles teasingly at you as he grabs the hem of your shirt, his shirt, actually, “Like about how you’ve stolen my shirt. I asked if you’d seen it just this morning!”

You laugh sheepishly at the accusation. It isn’t the first time, nor will it be the last, that you steal one of his shirts,“Did not!”

Eddie tickles your sides and shakes his head, “Did too, you fuckin’ liar.”

He leans in a little bit more, just enough so that your noses are about to touch, “You can keep it though, it looks hot on you.”

“Hmm, good, because it’s my favorite shirt of yours,” You admit, though you know it’s more than obvious with how often it disappears from his drawers.

He rolls his eyes at your words, “Yeah, couldn’t help but notice it.”

You press your forehead against his and close your eyes. Eddie wraps his arms around your waist and you feel him let out a long sigh. It’s more than obvious that you’ve both had a stressful day and being so close together brings an incomparable comfort that allows you to relax despite everything there is to worry about.

It has always been easy with Eddie, to just brush off any trouble. That is how you have both survived the years that have passed since everything with Vecna occurred. Looking back on everything, it almost feels ridiculous how you’re worrying over a job when a few years ago, when you were just eighteen, you were worrying over how your group of friends was going to save the world… and your dying boyfriend. Night and day difference, huh?

You pull away and open your eyes. Your fingers brush over the curls that sit prettily on his forehead, “I’m sorry to say this, but seeing your hair like this makes me wanna do things to you.”

Eddie laughs loudly at your comment and the way you whisper it as if it actually were a secret. He laughs even more at your embarrassed expression, when you’ve said worse things that would put his dirty mouth to shame. You press your forehead against his chest now and join his quiet laughter, “I hope it’s good things.”

“Only the best of things, Eds,” You mumble against his chest as he brushes his fingers through your hair. He watches as your eyes light up when you look at him again and you can’t help but grin at his confused expression.

“I think I know a great way to make me feel better, actually,” You say and curl your finger around a loose strand of hair.

“And what would that be, princess?” He wonders, despite having a slight suspicion of what you’re about to ask.

You toy with the waistband of his boxers and Eddie almost groans in anticipation of what’s to come. It isn’t a secret to either of you that there is nothing you love more in the world than sucking Eddie off after a stressful day at work. He, of course, always encourages you, who is he to complain after all?

Both of your hands now pinch the material. You wait for him to give you the okay before you slide the boxers down his legs and drop them somewhere on the floor, freeing his hardening cock. You slide off the bed and onto your knees beside it while Eddie watches you intently. His doe eyes never leave yours as you beckon for him to sit on the edge of the bed, which he scrambles to do instantly.

You spit on your hand before wrapping it around him and pumping slowly. He sighs at your touch, but it quickly turns into a moan when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock and gently suck on it, tasting his salty precum on your tongue. You begin to bob your head up and down his length, while you guide his hands to your hair.

You pull back for a brief second and look up at him through your eyelashes, “Can I please touch myself?”

Eddie nods and before he can say anything, he interrupts himself with a groan of pleasure as your lips wrap around his hard length once again. You let your hand travel past the waistband of your panties and you slowly rub your clit, basking in the pleasure of having your mouth full of him.

“You’re beautiful, sweetheart, so pretty on your knees for me.” Eddie murmurs through parted lips, his delicate words a sharp contrast in comparison to his actions. His grip on a handful of your hair tightens and he pushes your head further down his length, “But, fuck, you look even better with my cock in your mouth.”

You can’t help but moan at his words, which only motivate you into taking him deeper down your throat. Despite how messy the whole thing is, you can tell Eddie is enjoying it as much as you are by the sounds of pleasure he often lets out. You feel tears slide down your cheeks every time his cock touches the back of your throat, but any thought of discomfort is drowned out by the satisfaction that hearing his moans brings you.

“Fucking hell, princess. Who knew my good girl was such a slut? Love having your mouth full, huh?” Eddie wipes the tears off your cheeks as he watches you, kneeling before him, completely at his mercy. The sight of you fucking yourself on your fingers only brings him closer to the edge. He loves to know you enjoy this as much as he does.

You pull off him to catch your breath for a few seconds and he, with his feather-like touch, massages your jaw, knowing perfectly well how sore it can get. But it isn’t long until your mouth is back on him, determined to get him to come.

He does so not long after and you swallow it all, happy you’ve achieved your mission.

“Shit,” Eddie mutters, still breathless, “Feel better now, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, I’d say so.”

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x fem reader

487 notes · View notes

monarchberrysblog · 2 months

Text

DEARLY BELOVED

a short mini drabble that was HEAVILY inspired by a tik tok and it sparked the creative juices. (think of vampire! miguel while reading if you like) this might flop as this isn't a smut and this is a drabble that came to mind after seeing a silly tik tok

hope you all enjoy this — dia 🪻

A muse — Defined as a person or personified force that is the source of inspiration for a creative artist, it feels like a vexation for the man living in the dark corners of the castle where he called his home. The strong pull of this magnet, this attraction, weighed his cold heart down to the earth’s core. A weight on his chest. A feeling that should have vanished over the last century. But it abides and becomes middling.

Nonetheless, he didn't overlook it.

His warm palms rub your back in a slow, gentle action. The familiar sensation of his warm palms after holding his mug of tea was always your favorite feeling in the morning. The induced warmness against his fingertips provided a healing touch, similar to a heating pad against an aching cramp on the body.

“Desperta, querida.” The rasp in his morning voice vibrates your ear. You tossed and turned on the bed, staying in your blankets. You peer them open but shut them immediately and hide in the mount of soft Egyptian cotton. “No, no. Ya esta siendo tarde.” His fingers gathered a small chuck of your hair in between his fingers and moved your hair away from your face. (Wake up, love. It's getting late.)

His fingers brushed against the shell of your ear before he took note of a tiny mole in plain sight for his eyes to see. “You have a mole here.” You feel his finger tap on the alleged speck.

“No, I don't…” Your voice is muffled by the blankets, along with your barely parted lips. “I’m not lying, my dear.” His fingers work to move your hair away from your ear and tap on the speck once again. “Mmmh, your skin says otherwise.” His hand ruffles your hair in a playful gesture, leaving it to be a muss for you to brush out — officially giving you a task to do when you get out of the warm bedsheets.

“It's adorable.”

“I know what you're doing. And it's not going to work.” You continue to mumble on, making colorful words that make no sense to the human mind.

“Whatever you say, querida.”

A particular night always stuck out for Miguel.

A rainy, cold, stormy night. Thunder rumbled in the space around you two, following the flashing white light of lightning that lit up the room momentarily. The loud crash was enough to send Miguel back to a conscious state. He rubs his face with the palm of his hand and lets out a heavy sigh.

He glances over at you and sees a wet patch on the pillowcase next to your parted lips. If you wanted to, you could sleep through a tornado.

“Jesus…” His hand finds its way to your hair, gently massaging your scalp, his fingers lost in a sea of darkness known as your hair.

The pads of his fingers worked dainty patterns before gently cradling you close.

The clash of warmth made him melt like molten lava against the cold marble stone, crackling and oozing down the crevices with such grace.

“Miguel…” You squirm close to him and savor the warmth on his chest. His chest hair ticked your nose and cheeks, but the sensation of extra warmth never failed to send chills down your spine.

“Shhh, just go back to sleep.” The warmth of his hand runs down the length of your spine, stopping on your lower back and rubbing his thumb against the stretch marks. “Just go to sleep, querida.”

“Are you sure you're going to be okay?” He probes this question at you every time you leave the Victorian manor. “Yes, Miguel. I’m going into town to get more rosemary and herbs.” You pick up your tiny woven basket and look over to your concerned lover. You sigh and make your way over.

“Don’t worry, no one is going after us.” Your smile is enough to smooth the aching worry in his gut. “Are you sure?” He pokes the question again, earning him a small smile. You hum a yes, walking back towards him and holding his hands. “Yes, Miguel.” You giggle softly and massage his knuckles with your thumb.

“I’ll prepare your favorite dinner tonight.”

Miguel forces a soft chuckle before pulling you into a warm embrace. “Just make it home before sunset. Hunters have been around the forest.” His voice vibrates into your chest cavity, sending another ripple of warmth.

“I'll be careful.”

Hours slowly evolved into days, then weeks, and you never returned to the manor. At first, it was simple glances out the window, hoping to see that familiar silhouette Miguel adores whenever you come home. But nothing, as if you had ceased to exist.

A hunter who had mistaken you for a deer snatched you from the forest's shadows, leaving you alone on the forest floor, gasping for air.

Your hand loosens your grip on the small woven basket, spilling the contents out of the tiny basket and onto the forest floor. You always purchased nothing but herbs and two pomegranates for Miguel whenever you came into town.

The cobwebs and sorrows on the manor weighed down the environment over the next few decades, collecting a thick layer of dust bunnies and spiders crawling about. The tiny spiders crawl away at a door opening, letting candlelight pour in.

The room in question was a space you used to frequent. In the art room, he found you lounging around with a book or looking at his works of art, specifically his sketches of you.

There was an abundance of sketches on every flat surface in the room, varying from sketch to sketch. Sketches of you, lying in bed and tangled in your bedsheets. Some innocent sketches of you holding up a rabbit, showing its fluffy stomach to the world.

But the sketches were brushed off. Instead, Miguel made his way over to a particular pillar. A limestone blanketed with a worn-out bed sheet. He tugged off the fabric and saw the carved stone before him. The limestone before him showed a portrait of a young woman, specifically you. The curve of your mouth and the intricate detail of every strand of hair caught his attention. He remembered the tedious nights of his mallet and carving tools, having to alternate every other moment to capture the texture of your hair or the way your dimples appeared whenever you smiled.

His calloused fingers traced the sculpture's ridges and curves, feeling the cool marble against his warm touch.

"It's been a while, querida." He forced a small smile, his thumb stroking the cheek of the stone portrait. The smile was a pathetic attempt to hide the tears forming in his eyes, blinking them away as if it would contribute to burying those feelings.

"It's been a while."

322 notes · View notes

wqnwoos · 1 year

Text

masterlist . . .

key: f — fluff, a — angst, c — hurt/comfort, h — humour/crack

all works are sfw. all works are gender neutral unless specified otherwise.

ot13 / unit (reactions + headcanons)

seventeen & touch-starved oc — hhu | vu

dating seventeen — hyung line | maknae line

svt as your boyfriend — vocal unit

96 line & deliriously tired y/n (platonic)

seventeen as tropes — performance unit

seventeen as jane austen characters

seventeen as your older brother meeting your bf

choi seungcheol

cold (f)

birthday boy (f)

deceit, divorce & dishes (f)

cruel summer (f, a, situationship2lovers)

espresso shots (f, meetcute, cafe!au)

i love you (i know) (f, bffs2lovers)

cramps (f, c)

koala tendencies (f)

to be loved is to be changed (f)

the comforting ordeal of being known (c, f)

aftermath (f, vague a)

yoon jeonghan

exam stress (f, c)

crime and pen-ishment (f, college!au, meetcute)

questions of the flying fish variety (f)

to you (f)

restless (f, a?, bffs2lovers)

ur so pretty (f, c)

ikea complications (f)

snooze (f)

i know (f, bffs2lovers)

cookie crush (f, roommates!au)

hot potato (f, roommates2lovers)

lover duties (f)

viruses, hermits and unwelcome guests (f, kinda c?)

hong jisoo

heartbreak x3.5 [ a, f, childhood bffs 2 strangers 2 lovers]

joshua hong breaks your heart three and a half times before you can even reach nineteen, and yet you can’t stop loving him with the pieces that remain.

early mornings (f)

closure (a, f, exes!au)

pillow forts (f)

wen junhui

“i’ll hold you.” (f, c)

i wanna be a rock! (f)

forever is hiding in the laundry basket (f)

kwon soonyoung

the importance of brownies (versus the love of your life) (f, h)

persuasion (f, meetcute, college!au)

forever is a long time (and still not long enough) (f)

jeon wonwoo

gamer boy (pretty boy) (f)

daisy (f, cafe!au, meetcute)

grocery shopping (f)

whale conversations (f, h?)

fate (f)

the inevitable insufficiency of the word love (f)

head over heels (f)

dance, baby! (f)

a world of your own (blanketed in white) (f)

know it’s for the better (a, exes!au)

miscommunications and the ongoing motif of balconies (f, minor a, bffs2lovers)

lee jihoon

you are in love (so in love) (f)

home (f)

heartbeat (f)

lee seokmin

betelgeuse & dinner (f, c)

rainy days (a, f?, exes!au)

twenty five, twenty one (a)

make a wish! (f, bffs2lovers)

kim mingyu

i want to hold your hand (f)

street-racer!mingyu (headcanons)

call it what you want (f, college!au)

xu minghao

goodnight n stay (f)

easy love (f, bffs2lovers)

duvet-hogging (f)

inebriated conversations (f, meetcute)

boo seungkwan

untitled but seungkwan taking care of you when you’re sick (f, c)

pick-up lines and cheek kisses (f, h, bffs2lovers)

grocery shopping (f)

chwe hansol

on idiocy, bugs and the prospect of forever (f, bffs2lovers)

impulsive decisions of the feline variety (f, h)

vehicular flirtations (f, h, f2l, college!au)

i miss you, i’m sorry (a, f)

the space between (f, f2l/situationship)

golden (f)

coffee break (f, h, coworkers!au)

renaissance eyes (f)

to taste the same thing in the same moment (f)

00:02am (f, voicemail)

philosophical inquisitions of the lovering kind (f, bffs2l)

consequences of exorbitant third-wheeling (f, bffs2l)

lee chan

“me or aspirin?” (f, c)

dramaticisms (f, h)

to conquer a claw machine (in the name of love) (f)

#.masterlist #seventeen x reader

898 notes · View notes

mariasont · 6 months

Text

maria ♥︎ 21 ♥︎ she/her ♥︎ fanfic enthusiast/writer ♥︎ hotch & reid’s wifey

🕊️ requests are open (and so are my legs) for spencer reid & aaron hotchner

💌 masterlist

🧸 my side blog for fic recs = @mariasficrecs

🎀 graphics by @thecutestgrotto & @saradika-graphics

🌈 self proclaimed ceo of bimbo!assistant!reader & bimbo!receptionist!reader

✨ taglist form

🍯 recent works:

spencer reid

♡ thump, thump: in which you and spencer get stuck in a cramped closet together

♡ make a wish: shy!reader gets a little flustered anytime post!prison spencer comes around

♡ fangirl: you're the newest member and you have a slightest obsession with dr. reid and his works.

aaron hotchner

♡ rainy with a chance of hotch: bimbo!assistant!reader gets caught in the rain

♡ talk about a bad date: bimbo!assistant!reader went on a shitty ass date and calls hotch to her rescue

✩♡ too emotional: you and hotch are taken hostage, hotch makes some comments, but is it part of the plan or did he mean that?

126 notes · View notes

4ttack-ur-heart · 1 year

Text

Eren HC’s: Stealing his clothes

Pairing: Eren x fem!reader

Warnings: playful bickering, fluff.

Summary: Wearing Eren’s clothes has started to become a problem since it’s now all you wear.

“Hey, princess~” Eren greets you while walking past in the kitchen. He grabs a water bottle out of the fridge, his grey t shirt was slightly soaked with sweat and his hair was tied up from finishing up his workout in the garage. He stops suddenly and glanced at what you’re wearing. “Is that my sweater?”

You were wearing his long dark grey sweater with the hood on the back. After a pretty rainy week, you just grabbed it out of his closet to keep warm. It worked rather well with your tank top and rather short pair of sleep shorts.

Stirring the large pot filled with soup, you nod with a small smile. “Yeah, it got kinda cold in here earlier with all the rain.”

You held a spoon with some of the broth for him to taste and he graciously took it.

“Damn that’s good.” Eren commented as he took the spoon and went in for another taste. As he finished the second spoonful, he drops the spoon in the sink and stares at your figure, he admired the way your ass poked out under the material. “Your ass looks good.”

You smile at the compliment and gasped rather abruptly when he reaches up to give it a hard slap.

“Dinners gonna be good but desserts gonna be even better.”

———

“Eren, can I wear that longsleeve you have? I just started my period and everything’s too tight.” You frown and sift through your closet.

Eren shuffled around the bed, locking his phone and groaning as his muscles stretched. “Sure, why don’t you just wear my sweater though?”

See, you would- if it wasn’t dirty. Over the past few days of living in it, the sweater needed a good wash. “So that’s a yes?” You ask with a grin and fisted the beige longsleeve in your hand before pulling it off the hanger.

Eren watched, completely amused at your antics as you unclipped your bra and slipped it over your body. The article was soft and the extra fabric hid the uncomfortable bloat of your period perfectly.

You give out a small thank you and climbed into bed with him. It was around 9 pm- ish and usually you two don’t head to bed till much later, but after a long day, turning in early doesn’t sound so bad.

“Wanna watch a movie?” Eren asked and grabbed the remote. The tv made a sound as it powered on and you lay next to him on the bed.

“Nothing too gory, please.” You said quietly and scrunched your face up as a small wave of cramps hit you. Eren noticed the discomfort and pulled you into his arms. You curl up next to him with your back against his chest and his head rested against his hand as he was propped up on one side.

He gave a kiss to your temple and scrolled through the platforms before putting on Legally Blonde.

His hand rests on your abdomen and started to sink down to your lower stomach, just at your uterus. Eren’s large hand stroked at your skin below his shirt, trying to ease the pain you felt.

————

A few days later, you were doing some cleaning around the house to catch up on chores, a paisley bandanna was tied in your hair to keep it from falling in your face.

“(Y/n)!” Eren’s voice echoes through the house, making you jump. The cloth you were dragging against the window fell to the sill in a rush.

Eren marched in the room, eyebrow raised with an annoyed look.

“Are you okay?” You asked, grabbing the rag again and wiping the cleaner from the glass.

“Why are half my shirts missing?” He asked.

Your movement faltered ever so slightly with the rag, but Eren noticed it.

“Uhh, they’re probably in the wash.” You said, trying to ignore the daggers against the back of your skull.

Eren draws out a hum, “Really? That’s funny I don’t remember going through all my shirts in less than a week.”

“Yeah, that’s sure is strange.”

“(Y/n), turn around.” Eren asked suddenly.

The rag halted completely and you bite your lip. “Why?”

“Are you wearing my shirt right now?”

“No.”

“Then turn around.”

“No.”

“Eh, it’s alright, I can see your reflection in the window. Great day to clean, isn’t it?”

Sighing, you cursed yourself and looked at the window. Sure enough, your figure was prominent against the glass. You turned around and watch as Eren skims over the design of his 2Pac t-shirt.

“Mhm,” He nods and trailed back to your shared room.

“Eren, why are you getting so upset?” You called after him.

He steps in front of the closet and shuffled through his shirts, the bare hangers clanging together. “I’m not mad, Princess, but I don’t have anymore clothes.” He then gestured to your very full closet,“I guess you can’t say the same huh?”

“That’s not fair, a lot of the clothes I have are cropped and tight . They aren’t comfortable to wear around the house and your shirts cover me.”

“Oh come on, it’s not that bad.” Eren said and started filtering through your hangers.

“You try wearing a corset top while doing laundry. It’s not fun.” You laughed as he pulled out a white cropped tee with pink trim.

“Then don’t buy this shit.” He smirks and waves the shirt in front on you. “Buy some real clothes.”

A brief pause hung in the air.

“Eren, you’re literally with me 80 percent of the time I go shopping. You always insist I buy stuff like this cause you like it.”

Eren turns around and gawks at you, “Are you saying this is my fault?”

You remain silent, arms crossed and a playful glare on your face.

“Oh yeah, how would you like it if I just wore your clothes then?” He challenged and took the garment off the hanger.

“Eren it’s not gonna fit-” But he didn’t listen. He someone managed to pull the shirt over his body. The shirt was very snug over his shoulders and biceps as he couldn’t even put his arms down. His abs were on full display and the shirt covered just barely past his pecs.

The words ‘Princess’ were printed on the top, the letters stretched out and color fading from the stress.

You burst out laughing at his predicament, clutching your stomach. The white and pink shirt around his large frame was definitely a sight to see.

“Did you prove your point, ‘Princess’?” You tried to say through giggles.

Eren’s face remained in his scowl, “Grab your keys, we’re buying you some t-shirts.” And with that, he started to trek out of the room.

“Aren’t you forgetting something?” You call out after him, trying not to laugh again.

“Bring the scissors!”

—————

Hey!! This has been in my drafts for a bit, so I just wanted to post something. I’m taking summer classes and it’s literally killing me so I’m trying to at least draft out fics so I have something to post every now and then. There’s only like two more weeks of the courses, so I’ll definitely be way more active after I finish!! 🩶

Tag list: @cullenswife @sad-darksoul

#aot x reader #aot imagines #attack on titan #aot fluff #aot drabbles #aot headcanons #eren x reader #eren x you #eren jeager x y/n #eren jeager x reader #eren jaeger #eren yeager #eren headcanons #eren fluff #eren aot #eren x fem!reader

658 notes · View notes

evans23 · 1 month

Text

Falling

Pairing : Hans Gruber x Reader OC

Summary : In the remanence of winter, Hans makes an unexpected encounter, which will bring a bit of peace in his chaotic life. Unfortunately, there is no happy ending for a man like him.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Smut. Angst. No happy ending here.

A/N : Enjoy dear reader 😁

Also read on AO3

It was a chilly afternoon in the middle of Spring in Kensington Park. It was your favorite park, even though you didn't really know why. After all, according to your parents, all the parks in London looked the same, but you disagreed with this assumption.

Also, you were slightly biased as you worked as a saleswoman in the little shop adjacent to the palace. You didn't like your job, but you loved the castle and its history. In fact, your dream was just in front of the park, in the form of a school called Royal College of Art. Unfortunately, after having got your A-level, you didn't succeed in getting a scholarship and your parents were unable to finance your study. Therefore, you started to work for a local McDonald's, and then, you found yourself lucky to get a job in the souvenir shop of the castle, thanks to a relative who ceaselessly reminded you what you owed him as the job was well-paid and not as tedious as your previous one. More than often, the customers, tourists for most of them, were far more agreeable than the ones who frequented the fast food, and you didn't stink of the greasy fries each night when you came back to your cramped apartment.

Also, the uniform was more comfortable and flattering than the horrendous one you had to wear and you could let your curly hair hang down your back without being reprimanded by your boss who was afraid of seeing one of your unruly hairs in the middle of a bag of fries. On the other hand, what should have been temporary had become permanent and while all you're friends were breezing through their plan life, you struggled to keep your own life on track.

That day, you had finished your shift in the early afternoon and as you weren't ready to face the loneliness of your life, all alone in your small apartment with a too expensive rent for so few rooms, you had decided, despite the coldness, to sit on a bench in the Walk of Flower to read one of your favorite book: "Notre Dame de Paris" from Victor Hugo.

You didn't notice the stranger who sat on the bench next to yours. You were too engrossed in your book for that and anyway, the park was well frequented by many people, locals, residents, or tourists for you to really notice them.

However, there weren't too many tourists at this time of the year. It was still too cold and rainy. It will change in less than one month. The park, the street, and the castle would be crowded for six months or more until the winter settled anew, a welcomed calmness around the venue but also in the busyness of your work.

During the summer, you didn't have any time for your hobbies as it was busy as it get at each hour of each day. You often worked more than eight hours a day as you were always willing to help your overworked colleagues either in the shop, the little coffee, or at the reception, diligently searching the bags with your little flashlight, looking for anything suspicious or sharp.

“Love is like a tree: it grows by itself, roots itself deeply in our being, and continues to flourish over a heart in ruin,” said the stranger in a thunderous voice and with a perfect French if it hadn’t been for his slight accent.

Startled, you looked up at him. He was tall, his broad shoulders and his black hair adding something quite intimidating to his natural charisma. He also had a hooked nose which was nothing short of engrossing.

"I apologize," he said, now speaking in English, "it wasn't my intention to frighten you..."

"[Y/N]," you said, your voice shaking a little bit.

He chuckled at that. He knew what effect he had on women.

“Nice to meet you, [Y/N]. I am Hans.”

He didn't know why he had given you his real name. Not that he was hiding in London. Actually, he owned a humongous and beautiful property only 30 minutes by car from the park. It was a secure place where he came after a rough mission or when he needed to vanish into thin air for his own sake.

“You're not from here,” you said, having recognized a foreign accent.

“Indeed,” said Hans who got up.

You looked at him from your bench. He was more intimidating up in front of you than before.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing towards the bench where you were comfortably settled.

“Of course,” you answered, moving your bag to make room for him.

“So, you read in French,” he said as a matter of fact.

“I don’t understand everything,” you admitted.

"I believe so, Victor Hugo is a convoluted author, even for a native speaker."

“And where are you from?” you insisted, wanting to know where this delicious accent came from.

He chuckled at your persistence, yet he told you he was from Germany. Hans was able to imitate the British accent perfectly, but he hadn't felt the need to deceive you. You looked quite innocent, and you were. Anyway, how could you have guessed you were talking with a thief, a mobster, a criminal ?

He talked with you the whole afternoon. You understood very quickly that he was an educated man, with a lot of culture and a perspicacity you could envy him for.

As you parted, he kissed the back of your hand like a true gentleman, the one in your romantic books. You didn't know what had got into you to confide so many private things about yourself to a stranger, but talking to him was easy, and there was so much on your heart that you needed to confide. Maybe because you knew he was just a stranger that you would never see again had made things easier. You felt lighter but also disappointed to know that you would never see him again.

But Hans wasn't indifferent to you either. Hans was intrigued by you. He had already noticed you a few days before when you were walking in the streets to reach the metro station. You were wearing your work uniform, that's how he knew that to find you, he had to go for a walk around Kensington Park.

Hans didn't really know what had caught his attention about you. Your face was certainly pleasant to look at but it didn't stand out from the crowd, your stiff gait spoke volumes about the pressure you felt in your life and you had a disillusioned pout that probably didn't make many people want to get to know you.

However, there was something about you that had intrigued him. Enough to want to meet you at least once. He hadn't expected to see you sitting all alone in the Walk of Flowers. Walkers rarely sat for too long, the cold quickly numbing their hands and feet. And yet, there you were, reading your book, a book that Hans had read many times in its original version too.

He had been surprised at how easy it was to talk to you. You were intelligent, not as much as he was, but not everyone could come up with escape plans and high-flying heists, you had wit and a dry sense of humor that he appreciated. You also had that disillusioned look of those who had already seen too much to still be truly surprised by existence. Hans knew this expression well for having experienced it himself.

It was a long time ago when he was a teenager dragged from home to home, separated from his brother, missing a father who died when he was only eight years old, and a loving mother. Their mother to Simon and him was an alcoholic who beat them for yes or no. It was often his big brother who suffered their mother's anger because he was not afraid to defy her or to come between her and his little brother. He remembered a day when his mother who had drunk more than reason and had just been dumped by her umpteenth boyfriend had destroyed the model airplane he was building for no good reason other than to make her son suffer as much as she suffered. She had raised her hand to hit him, but Simon had stepped between him and her, taking the slap instead of Hans.

Hans shook his head as if to make all those bad memories go away. It was a long time ago. When he was just a weak little boy. It was before the army that he had met an important man who was a member of German high society. Thanks to him, after his military service, he had been able to join the university where he had received a solid education in history, foreign languages, economics, and politics. Hans was intelligent and able to absorb thousands of pieces of information in no time. His eidetic memory was a real gift that had allowed him to join the Volksfrei where he had definitely hardened himself. So hardened that his ruthless behavior had earned him being kicked out of the organization.

He had worked as a mercenary for a while after that, but tired of having to answer to other people's orders, Hans had decided to become his own boss by carrying out his own terrorist activities with a group of trusted men in his pay. It had been a long time since the weak little boy had disappeared in favor of the man he was today.

And yet, your presence this afternoon had awakened something vulnerable in him. He wanted to see you again. He was going to see you again. He was going to make you his, whether you wanted it or not.

He thought about it, developing a plan to make you fall into his nets. He wanted to be subtle to give you the impression that you had had a choice. Little did he know that you were already partially won over to his cause. Indeed, the man with the imposing stature, the broad shoulders, and the nose of a Greek god had not left you indifferent.

He returned to Kensington Park two days later, waiting for your service to end. He watched you from afar to see you following the same path as last time to join the Walk of Flowers where you sat on the same bench as last time, another book in your hands.

"Did Victor Hugo get the better of your determination?" he asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

You jumped, which made him chuckle.

"Hans," you said, a hand on your chest, "you scared me."

"Sorry, that wasn't my intention."

He sat down next to you without asking your permission, not that you minded.

"So, Victor Hugo?"

"Finished last night."

Hans arched an eyebrow, surprised. You had finished one of the most difficult books in French literature in two days and after admitting that you didn't always understand the formal language of the book.

"Test me if you don't believe me," you had challenged him when you saw the doubt etched on his features.

He didn't need to be asked twice and had to admit that you had read the book, which make you be more surprising and impressive than he thought you were at first glance.

This little game of cat and mouse had lasted several months. Hans could afford it, his last heist, the robbery of a Russian bank, had earned him enough to live on for the next ten years. Of course, he wouldn't sit idly by for the next ten years. He wanted more. Much more. Millions to be able to disappear forever and live the great life he had always dreamed of. Except that now, he wanted you to be part of his dream.

However, how could he involve you in his life without putting you in danger ? And how could you never find out who he really was ?

Some of his men had a woman in their life. One of them was even married and had a child, but was it really a life to have to hide who you really are from the person who shared your bed ?

Of course, Hans had had many women in his arms, but never a woman he wanted to spend more than one night with.

Six months after your first meeting, he had invited you to his secluded house. A large mansion that could have contained your apartment, your parent's house, and your big sister's house all in one. Hans had cooked for you and charmed you a little more with his words that flowed like honey in your ears and his German accent that made you shiver constantly.

A year later, you were an official couple, much to Hans's delight, who for once in his life hadn't had to fight too hard to get what he really wanted. And God may be his witness, he wanted you, loved you and he would never let you go. You lived at his place and while he didn't hide the fact that he was a rich man, you didn't really know where the money came from.

Officially, he had introduced himself as a businessman. But you knew that something wasn't right in what he had told you. The designer clothes he lavished you with and the one he wore every day, the jewelry he showered you with at every opportunity, the luxury cars and the incessant business trips, something didn't add up to what he was telling you.

Yet, he was a passionate lover and even if you had already seen his bad temper surface when something displeased him, with you he was nothing but tenderness and patience. A trait that no one would have granted to Hans. He himself was amazed at how much he could be another man with you. You brought a calm to his life that he had ignored he had needed until now. You were the calm in his tumultuous life as a gangster.

You had tried to question him several times, but each time, he had turned you down, sometimes harshly and you had ended up understanding that what he did for a living was a subject not to be discussed. You were not totally stupid and even if you didn't know exactly what he did to earn all this money with which he flooded you, you assumed that he must be part of the mafia. Or something like that. Something that should have made you run away, but you were already too much in love with Hans, too captivated by his mysterious aura and the danger that surrounded him to be afraid of sharing your life with a mafioso.

The fact that with you, Hans allowed himself to be softer, and more vulnerable, only made him more endearing. Your parents didn't approve of the relationship between you, your mother having immediately had doubts about Hans' intentions. But neither he nor you gave any importance to what others might think. You wanted him more than you had ever wanted anything else in your life, more than you had wanted to study at a prestigious art school or become the next greatest painter in the United Kingdom. You were hopelessly in love with the mysterious German man who had captured your heart and soul.

Although Hans was less demonstrative in his feelings, he felt the same way about you. You were the calm, the peace, in his hectic life. He found solace in your simple presence. Many times he had told himself that he had to end this union, that he had to push you away, but each time he had tried to do so by being cold and distant with you, your confusion and incomprehension at his sudden coldness towards you had made his heart melting and he had always come back more in love and tender than before, doing his best to be forgiven for his harsh behavior towards you during the day with a crazy and passionate night of love.

Hans wasn't naive, he knew that if he wanted to build something serious with you, he would have to put an end to his activities and disappear with you. At some point, he would have to confess the truth to you even if he was well aware of your suspicions and how close you were to the truth.

It was on September that he had a brilliant idea. An idea that would earn him millions. Enough to ensure a comfortable life for both of you in Fiji or anywhere that would please you. He was going to attack the CEO of Nakatomi Tower. A high-flying theft worth more than $600 million if he and his men played their game well.

But it was not going to be easy and his sharp mind had to prepare the best of plans. He had already worked out dangerous, complicated, risky cases, but this one was the most important of his entire gangster career. When a man steals $600, he can just disappear, but when a man steals $600 million, he knew that the police and secret agencies of the whole world will be after him. Unless they thought he was dead. However, he was no longer alone now and he had to think of you, which made the whole organization of his plan more difficult than usual, even for a gifted person like him.

His brother had warned him that getting emotionally involved with you was dangerous for him, but he had not listened to him, sure of himself as usual. Except that for once, Simon was right. The love he had for you was worse than all the enemies he had faced so far.

"Another departure Hans ? You've already disappeared all of October," you said wearily.

It was the first week of December and he had just told you that he would have to be away until the end of December on business trip.

"Work is work. You're happy to have nice clothes, to parade around in beautiful jewelry, to wear designer perfume, and to live a life of luxury. Without me, you would never have been able to quit this job that made you unhappy and to treat yourself to these art classes that you wanted so much," he pointed out more harshly than he had intended.

But he was tired of your reproaches. It had been the same for a few months every time he had to leave. It was stronger than you. You wanted to know the truth, a truth that he refused to tell you and it hurt you. Yet, you loved him too much to have the courage to leave him.

"If you think I'm with you for the money, then you don't know me very well Hans. Keep your clothes and your jewelry. I never asked you for anything! If you did it, it's because you wanted to!"

"Exactly! The best for you is everything I want and nothing else. We've been together for two years, you're an intelligent woman [Y/N], and you know that this life that I allow you to lead doesn't come without sacrifice."

You didn't answer because somewhere, somewhat, you knew he was right and even though you were frustrated by his unspoken words, you loved enjoying the life of luxury he was lavishing you with.

You sighed, closing your eyes and rubbing your forehead, feeling a headache coming on. Hans came closer and took your hands in one of his while the other gently massaged your lower back.

"Mein leibe, I promise you that after that everything will change."

"How?"

"You'll see. In the meantime, don't give me the cold shoulder. I don't want to go to the United States knowing that mein pearl is mad at me. I won't be able to concentrate if I know that you're angry with me," he coaxed you.

"I'm not angry Hans, I'm just... worried and... I'd like you to be completely honest with me."

"Mein leibe..." Hans sighed, "everything will change, I promise, but no more questions for tonight, okay?"

You nodded, still a little frustrated by his silences that separated you more than they brought you closer. Sensing the distance that your disappointment was putting between you, Hans placed a series of kisses along the back of your neck.

"Bitte, mein leibe, bitte, don't be angry with me."

"Hans..."

"Bitte," he whispered in your ear.

You turned your head and he took the opportunity to capture your lips. Very quickly, your kiss turned into a fiery passion. He hoisted you easily and you instinctively hooked your arms around his hips. He led you to the bedroom where he gently laid you down on the bed.

"You can't always get away with a quickie, even if sex with you is better than a pizza from Rudy's," you said jokingly.

"Mein leibe, I'm sure that my cock inside your tight pussy is the best way to have you under my control," Hans whispered with a predatory smile.

You gasped and your breath got caught in your throat. Hans's smile widened even more and with an expert gesture, he removed your t-shirt. You weren't wearing a bra to his great pleasure and he immediately went in search of your chest to suck on one of your nipples. You moaned in pleasure, your hands running under his t-shirt to caress his firm chest.

"Tell me you want me," Hans whispered.

"Hans..." you moaned under his caresses.

"Say it!" he ordered while walking two of his fingers near your entrance, delighting in your pussy swollen with arousal and your wetness that wet his fingers even though they weren't penetrating you.

"I want you, Hans. I need you, I need you inside me," you said breathlessly.

It didn't take much for Hans to help you getting rid of your skirt and stockings. You unbuttoned his pants and he helped you take them off, while with a quick gesture of his hand, he got out of his t-shirt which joined the rest of your clothes on the floor.

He didn't bother with the foreplay, entering you directly. You were already so wet that he had no trouble sinking all the way into your tight pussy, moaning as he felt your walls tighten around his cock.

"Your pussy has been made for me, just for me," he whispered in your ear.

"I only exist for you," you replied, biting his earlobe.

He pushed himself deeper into you, the sound of skin meeting skin with each thrust echoing through the room, mingling with your panting breaths and Hans' deep voice whispering words of love to you in both German and English.

"[Y/N], my lovely [Y/N], if you knew what you're doing to me, you and your tight little pussy... HAAA... [Y/N]," he groaned, making you hornier still.

As you reached your climax, Hans pulled out suddenly, making you hiss at the feeling of his cock being lost in your cunt. With a deft gesture, he turned you around and, your stomach pressed against the bed, he pushed in as hard as he had pulled out of your little cunt, tugging gently on your hair while his other hand was on your throat. He thrust faster, again and again until he felt the two of you approaching your climax. He then turned you to the side with one leg between yours and the other above yours, one hand still on your throat, the other cupping your breasts as he continued to thrust into you at a frantic pace.

"Hans, please, don't stop... I'm gonna... I'm gonna..."

"Come meine leibe... Come, come for me," he whispered in your ear.

It didn't take him more than two thrusts for your orgasm to shake your entire body with pleasure. Feeling your tight walls contract against his cock, Hans was quick to come in turn with an animalistic growl.

He pulled out carefully and you immediately snuggled up against him, finding solace between his arms, basking in the afterglow of your encounter. You quickly fell asleep, exhausted by the passion shared with Hans who stayed awake almost all night watching you while caressing your nipples with his fingertips, taking pleasure in seeing them harden under his caresses.

The next day, you woke up alone with a note on Hans' pillow.

Ich leibe dich. Hans.

Three weeks later

You were in front of the TV watching the Nakatomi Tower attack, tears flooding your eyes when you recognized Hans. In the end, he was not a mafia boss but a gang leader, a gangster, a thief, a criminal. And despite this revelation, your love for him didn't weaken.

You couldn't help but scream when the roof of the tower exploded, leaving the building on fire, and when the journalists announced that all the hostages had gone and the terrorists were out of control by a hothead working for the police. Later, the man named John McClane told reporters that Hans had fallen to his death from the top of Nakatomi Tower.

You fell to the ground screaming before curling up into a ball, sobbing and screaming Hans' name until you fell asleep. The next day, a man came to your house. He introduced himself as Simon and claimed to be Hans' brother. You knew your lover had a brother but he had never told you anything more about him. However, something about this man inspired confidence in you. The same confidence you had had in Hans. He returned the next day with a man with a gaunt and severe face, a lawyer who had papers for you to sign. Hans, afraid of not getting out of this, had prepared everything to ensure your future without him. Considerate, he had left you a fortune that could have benefited you for your next three lives. Except you didn't want a single one of these lives if Hans wasn't by your side.

A year later

Wrapped in a thick coat, a woolen scarf eating your face, you stood in front of a headstone, in the middle of a small, poorly maintained cemetery, in the town with the unpronounceable name of Schkeuditz.

It had taken you a while to make up your mind and come say a last goodbye to him, but the closer the anniversary of his death had got, the more you needed to be close to him, even if he had left you a gift that would allow you to keep him by your side forever and ever.

There was only a first and a last name on the grave. Hans Gruber. No words in his memory, no flowers. Just an unfortunate headstone in the middle of a thousand others. A name among many others, a name that no one would remember in a few years. No one except you, until your own death relieved you of the pain of losing your great love. You would never be able to get over Hans' death, you would never be able to love as you had loved him and you knew that no man would ever be able to offer you what Hans had offered you. You didn't think about the money and the luxurious life you continued to lead thanks to his thoughtfulness, but about his charismatic presence, the strength he gave you with just a look and the unyielding love you shared. The intimate moments that had made you closer than ever and how, even when you had tragically learned who he really was, you had loved him even more.

"[Y/N]," a baritone voice said.

You turned to acknowledge Simon's presence.

"You shouldn't come here."

"It's been a year today. A year since he... Nakatomi Tower... A year," you said, crying.

"I know. But coming here to mope won't bring him back."

"I know," you said through a sob.

"You're not supposed to be associated with him. Ever. Not now that a part of him is alive."

"No one knows he's his," you pointed out right away.

"And no one must ever know. Go home, [Y/N], grieve as much as you need, then start a new life, forget what you went through with Hans, pretend he never existed, and never come back here," Simon said coldly.

You knew Simon was saying that to protect you and the precious passenger waiting for you in the back seat of the car you'd rented to drive here.

"Go get to him before he wakes up and sees you're not here. I don't want my nephew crying. It's Christmas, and on Christmas, he should be the happiest little boy in the world."

You nodded and walked away, but not before kissing the tips of your fingers that you then placed on Hans' grave.

You got into the car and turned to the back seat, smiling fondly, though your smile didn't reach your eyes.

"I promise to be strong for both of us," you whispered so as not to wake the child who was fast asleep in his car seat.

Your heart was broken by the death of the man you had loved more than life itself, but as a testament to your love, he had left you with a good reason to live and fight. An eternal love that would live forever in the heart of your son. His son. Your son.

#alan rickman x reader #alan rickman #hans gruber x reader #hans gruber x oc #die hard #evans23

58 notes · View notes

bat-writer · 1 year

Note

MAAM

we need a part 2 to the pregnant reader please and thank you 😮‍💨😮‍💨😮‍💨

Love your work btw!!!

A/N: i didnt think the lash would do so sweep but HERE WE GO! I also turned this into a mixture of head cannons and a regular fic

Warnings: descriptions of birth and delivery

You were actually overdue by a couple of days. Your baby was supposed to come during last week, but they decide to take their sweet time.

However, this meant it was just more strain on your body. Unfortunately I meant your back eight more your feet started to swell and you were honestly very ready to be over with the pregnancy.

The doctor had told you to move around as much as he can’t to try and get labor to start the barista shoes and wanted you to rest and not push yourself more than you had to

Finally on a rainy night you started to have contractions! It was felt more like a cramp and lasted for about a minute or so, so it was still a bit early

Bruce was up right away and ready to go but you stopped him

“Labor can take hours hun, especially for a first baby. Let’s wait it out a little bit and we can get going alright?”

You were WAY TOO CALM in this situation. Bruce was baffled. But, he listened to you and instead had asked Alfred to have the bags and car on standby for when you were ready

Bruce was very supportive and attentive to your every need. He’d squeeze your hips, massage your back and anything else thay would sooth the contractions

“Just let me know and we’ll be at the hospital in no time” he would whisper to you as he rocked you side to side

Once it was time for you to get to the hospital, he made a phone call that you were on your way. Of course, he was never wanted to be seen as someone who abused his power or his name, but in your case, he only wanted you to have the highest of quality in things

So he made sure to book the hospital suite with only the best labor and delivery nurses of your choice.

Yes, he actually printed out the resumes of the nurses in the hospital and let you choose😭😭

This is Bruce Wayne. Batman. This man was the embodiment of fear some wood, even say that he did not know what fear was very different. In fact, he’s never felt more fear than he does now looking at you. He knew that this is a process. The millions of women go through but he still couldn’t help but feel like a child not know what to do.

You were squeezing his hand and your eyes were squeezed shut while you were trying to ride out this contraction. Sure he’s seeing you during your period, and how it was painful, but this was a whole other situation where the pain continue to escalate, and all he can do right now to see if you was to give you support

Once you arrived at the hospital Bruce help you out of the car by one of the nurses rolled out a wheelchair for you to sit in. He followed the nurse closely as he try to keep a close eye on you if his predictions were correct, you should be about 4 to 5 cm dilated

“ your doctor should come in a few minutes to check on your dilation. Please feel free to get comfortable and hit the call button if you need anything.” the young nurse informed you as she rolled get you into your room, and handing Bruce your hospital gown. As he helps you to get dress he also takes time to admire. Of course, it was always tractor for him, but he was also admiring all the hard work you have done in the past nine months.

“ do I really look that bad that you’re staring at me that much?” You asked him

“ no, not at all. In fact, far from it” he said, with a smile when you kiss your forehead. “I’m just admiring my work is all” he quips

“Ha ha mister slick- oh oh ahhh” you he’s in pain as you lean on your husband for support. It was basically like leaning on a brick wall.

“That’s in just breathe. You doing great.” he tries to comfort you to which you respond.

“ easy for you to say…..you don’t have a babies head prodding…..at your vagina” you breathe out between

“ fair enough, darling. You’re right, but I know that you really are strong and you’ll get through this. The contraction lasted for about two more minutes. After that you felt completely zapped from energy. Bruce helps you get into bed in a few minutes later your doctor walks in.

“ hello Mrs. Wayne how are we doing today? Are we ready to have a baby“ she asks trying to lift the mood give her a very pinned thumbs up, and she completely understood. “ All right I’m gonna give you a quick check just to see how far we are in dilation.” She says before checking and measuring “ looks like you’re about 6 cm just 4 more to go! Let me or the nurses know if you need anything else. She dismisses herself from the room.

“Only 6?” You groan “ and here I was thinking that I was around 8” you chuckle

“ well, you said it yourself, these things take time, especially if it’s a first“ he then comes and sits next to you on the bed and brings you into his arms. You can always sense whenever you needed “tell me what is on your mind“

“… because this entire time I was kind of in a trance about the pregnancy. I didn’t really take time to reflect on what’s really happening“ he knew you way too well for you to try and fake it and say you were fine. So you had just came out with it “when I felt the first contraction that’s when it honestly started hitting me that it was time….. and that it’s really happening” you admit

“Yeah it is…” he said still just listening

“I Just….feel overwhelmed” you sniff as your eyes well with tears “i don’t know what I’m doing or what’ll be good or bad for the baby”

“ well let’s look at it this way you do amazing boys. You force moves. Are you awesome like a mother would. That doesn’t excuse your feelings and fears about becoming because it’s something scary.” he comforts you “ but you’ll have me and the boys every step of the way”

For the rest of the night you were going through the motions of each contraction. Your doctor came in every hour or so to check on you. the boys even stopped by while they were in patrol for the night! They said once the baby was born they’d come back to visit again. You really appreciate them for coming by and seeing you, it made it just a bit more bearable. You had made it up until 3:26 am when it was time to finally push.

Bruce held your hand as you pushed with any energy you had left. You had always heard about women who explain the birth story and how it was the worst pain they had ever felt. It’s not that you didn’t believe them but now you can completely confirm what they were saying. This had to be the most intense pain that ever felt in your life. You didn’t know if you wanted to cling onto Bruce and have him comfort you or curse out for him doing this to you.

Either way, he would have taken it because he knows you are in a position he could never really experienced. But he tried his best to support and comfort you through the process.

“ That was a good one you’re doing great” he’d encourage you as he wiped your sweaty forehead. He may have looked very calm and collected, and so he was absolutely freaking out. You were in immense pain, and he can virtually do nothing about it. Here you were in front of him, sweaty screaming, and crying. All he was doing was feeding you ice, chips, and water, and letting you squeezes hands. Take me as you want.

“ you’re almost there. I know you feel tired, but you’re almost there. It’s almost over.” in fact, was speaking half truths because you truly do not know how much longer until your baby was in the world with you.

“ I know this is difficult, but I know you’re stronger than this. On the next count push with everything you have.” of course yes remember you were married to Batman meaning he was gonna push you until you were successful. Course in a loving way because he just wants. And in this case it’s for your health, and the babies health.

“Aaaahh!” You push again and fall back on your pillow panting

“Breath hon, breath. You’re doing good” he encouraged you.

It took you about an hour and a half from that first push to get her out. You don’t think you would experience anything like labor and delivery again. While it was something scary, painful, excruciating…… It also turned out to be something wonderful.

You were in Gotham’s best hospital with your newborn baby girl laying on your chest. She was only taken off to be cleaned and weighed. She passed all of the health tests with flying colors. And from what the nurses say, she is a perfect baby. Bruce, of course following in observing their every move. he loves you so deeply and his love for you only grew more and now it is shared with the person that was made with that love. He really could not ask for more.

Bruce was absolutely gobsmacked. He didn’t know what to say or how to react he just felt this immense, warm happiness and relief in his chest.

“Look honey…we have a girl” you smiled tiredly “she’s so beautiful”

“She really is…you are incredible. I’m so proud of you.” He complimented you laying a soft kiss to your lips.

“Here, why don’t you hold her?” You said lifting up the tiny human for him to take a hold of. His large hands supported her tiny body. The same hands that were used to fight crime no carry the life that he had made with you out of love.

Funny enough, she had the pout you claimed he did and that Damien got from him. You know that he looked at it he has to agree she does have his pout. But it looked better on her than it did him. She was perfect. Especially her eyes. She has your beautiful Y/E/C eyes, his favorite thing to look at

“did you make up your mind on a name?” He asked as he sat in the chair next to your bed.

“Well i was thinking of one but I could decide if you would like it or not” you answer

“Anything you pick will be perfect”

“Well. I thought Ila (eye-la) would be nice”

“I agree it’s a very pretty name,” he agrees

“But.” You add “I want her to have a middle name”

“Ans that would be?”

“..Martha” you smile “Ila Marth Wayne”

“Y/N…really? He asked with wide eyes. You wanted your daughter to carry his mothers name?

“Of course hon. It’s the least I can do”

Bruce looked down into his hands and saw how the entire world and multiverse slept peacefully in his hands. His beautiful Ila.

She was another reason he caught and became better for create a better Gotham

~🐈‍⬛

#bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #Bruce Wayne x pregnant reader #batman #batman fanfiction #dc comics #batman x fem!reader

342 notes · View notes

ruiniel · 10 months

Note

Please ignore the previous ask! Forgot to add the details, sorry about that!

Menstruation kink with Jealous! Possessive!Alucard and a female reader, with a healthy dose of blood drinking if you know what I mean 👀

Welcome and I mentioned on another day that I was feeling emotional, so this turned out a hurt/comfort piece rather... wanted to explore something here. And even with all the Alucard-centered smut written so far, sometimes I find that self-restraint is hotter. 🖤

Scent

Fandom: Castlevania series (2017-2021)

Pairing: Alucard x fem!reader

Rating: M

Count: 2k

Tags & Warnings: Alucard POV, Pining, Anxious possessive Alucard, blood kink, period kink, period pain, cramps, hurt/comfort, fluff, light smut, grinding/non-penetrative stimulation, implied period sex

A single drop splashes the window, followed by another, and another.

He raises his gaze from the manuscript in his lap, lip curling involuntarily as rain pelts the castle walls. Head falling back against the old cushioned armchair, he stares emptily ahead.

A gray, rainy, cold day rusty November brought. The fireplace has gone out. He has no need for warmth—usually tends it only for you, and you are not here.

Where you should be, the darker thought riles; he forces it down. The tendency to own, to curl around his own, is instinctual, but he refuses to give it power.

Still, this feels wrong. As much as Adrian tried, he failed to quench the desperation and fearful thoughts taking hold: thoughts of returning to before, when no other steps, no other heart thrummed within these walls. The connection between you still confuses him, yet frantic with the freshness of a new bond. And the delicate nature of its novelty often creates an impression of fragility, as if it needs to be handled with utmost care. He tries.

But, the fact is, you’d been avoiding him for the past few days. Adrian sensed a change, and could not pinpoint why, but you’d been more reclusive, skipped sharing the meals you usually cooked and ate together, and the night prior you had an actual argument. Now that hadn’t happened since the early days of your struggle to know one another. Such a trifle, over a meaningless, petty thing, and still he feels like a lowly cur, wishing he could undo it all.

You’d retreated, and he’s not seen a wisp of you since. He’d beg you on his knees to forgive him if only you would see and speak to him. The more base part of him misses you like a man does sweet water on an open ocean. So many questions, and they all lead to the same wretched fears: what if you realized you actually don’t care for him as you thought? What if you wanted to leave? What if you’d met someone else in the nearby town, someone whose spirit is less scarred, less of a struggle, less… work?

Adrian snaps the manuscript shut in his lap, leaning forward, sighing into his palms.

He’s better than this. Grinding his teeth here thinking of the worst probable outcome, when he should… If you truly want your solitude, he will respect that—but he needs to hear it from your own mouth.

Attempting to keep a clear mind when wading through the corridors is a chore, and dejection weighing on his steps the closer he is to the door of your chambers. As he reaches to knock, Adrian takes a deep breath. If only to know for certain. That is all.

One, two, three.

There’s no reaction from within, though he knows you’re there. He can hear the blood surging through your veins, ordained by your pumping heart. Not asleep, either, as far as he can tell.

Adrian presses his forehead against the wood, a palm gliding down the carved surface. Such sweet music, luxury to the senses. For moments, he merely listens, then gathers his courage. “It’s me. May we speak?” Time warps achingly slow with the silence. “... please?”

“I’m not well today.” Your voice, beyond the door, slow and drowsy.

The worry that grips him drowns the relief of an answer. Adrian swallows. “How so? Can I help?”

“No.”

“... can I see you?” He tries, waiting and hoping.

Silence again. He frowns, righting himself, preparing for a reluctant retreat.

“Come in.”

He need not be told twice, slowly pushing the heavy door open and closing it behind him.

He’s been here before, or rather you’ve been here together. Near a large window is a bed and on it you lie, your back turned to the door. He notices you’re huddled in heavy blankets, and looking to the opposite corner, sees the fireplace here is out as well, ashy and dark.

He calls your name, which yields no movement from your end. Adrian nears, and whatever words he had die in his throat when he perceives the familiar, sweet scent of blood. Yours. “Are you hurt?” In two leaps he’s rounded the bed, wanting to see your face.

“No.”

You’re staring blankly ahead, and Adrian cannot determine much, but you appear unwell, like someone exhausted after a sleepless night. “Please, tell me, I can… I can sense it,” he kneels by the bed, one hand reaching to feel your temperature—higher than usual, but not concerning. And the scent…

You finally look at him with reddened eyes before closing them and sighing. “Adrian… I’ll be fine. I merely need a few days.”

“A few?...” he finds your hand—cold as ice.

Unwell, apparently weak, the scent of blood and—

Ah.

“Oh, my poor dear,” he murmurs, understanding, remembering.

You groan softly. Adrian says nothing else but rises and heads over to the fireplace. He sets to light a flame, then feeds it, and repeats until heat and a healthy glow emit from that corner of the room, dancing along the green sheets of your bed. No matter he doesn’t feel the chill—with the way you were wrapped and curled, you most likely do. It also provides him with an engaging activity, diverting his attention from the intoxicating aroma of your moon days, a sensation he never anticipated, let alone found thrilling and… enticing?

Why now? You’d been living here for a while, and this never happened. Was it because you’ve shared yourself with him? He doesn’t know nearly enough about his own kind, apparently.

Adrian leaves the room, wracking his memory on the way. He returns holding a tray with hot peppermint tea, a jug of water, and a bowl of harvested forest nuts. When he looks over to your bed, he sees you’d discarded the heavy blankets and are now sprawled there in your dark nightgown, your feet bare. It seems the chamber’s warmed now.

He places the tray on the nightstand by your side as you follow his movements.

“Adrian, you didn’t have to…”

“Shush,” he smiles, “Now, come, this’ll help,” he kneels by the bed, reaches for the teapot and fills a cup even as you drag yourself into a seated position facing him.

You take the warm drink from his hand, sip of the tea, sigh in relief.

“Forgive me? For the other night,” he says, watching the face he loves, glad he’s doing something for you.

You reach and stroke his hair and Adrian watches you, eyes heavy lidded as your scent fills him again, emanating through your hand like a spell. His lips part in a soundless sigh.

“I’m sorry too, I was… not at my best.”

“I understand, I do.” His eyes close as your fingers drift along his temple, his cheek, his jaw. “Do you wish me to leave?”

“Of course not.” You look away. “I’m just... not very good company at the moment, as you can see.”

At that, he nuzzles into your hand, placing his own on your thighs as he rests with his head in your lap. He feels the caress of your fingers, and a deep yearning. He’s always been drawn to you, but now… “Believe me when I say I don’t care, as long as you’re here.” His heart is quickening, and he tries to control his breathing, palms rubbing your sides. Lust languorously weaves into emotions and devotion; thoughts of grasping those naked thighs while ramming into you intrude with vicious clarity, but he stays there, focusing on his breath, on you.

A whimper. “A-Adrian… your claws…”

His eyes snap open, and with conscious effort he retracts the talons he didn’t notice had grown. Adrian raises his head, slowly rises to his feet as you lie back down on the bed.

“Will you hold me?” you ask.

He could die here and now, gutted by the question and the look you’re giving him. He rounds the bed, removes his boots, and crawls over to your side, bringing you close enough that your back is pressed to his chest, his arm secured around your waist. “Are you in pain?”

“Ugh…” you nod, then take his larger hand and bring it to your lower abdomen.

Without thinking, he presses into the softness of your flesh, while curling around your body until you’re flush against him.

“That feels good, you’re warm…”

He runs slow, circular motions around your belly, trying to soothe the cramping ache of your body. “There, there,” a kiss to your ear, “It will pass,” a kiss to your neck.

His hand glides to your thigh, legs tangling with yours. If only he could melt into you—yes, that’s what it feels like. There’s nothing closer to describe it. And what a selfish fool he’d been, thinking of his own fear and misery, while here you were. More kisses, short, more like soft pecks on the skin of your neck, your shoulder.

Your hand glides over his own as he runs it over your abdomen again, your lower body arching into his.

A soft groan escapes him. His chest is heaving when you turn, offering your mouth—soft lips, tasting of peppermint. He kisses them. Eyes fluttering closed, Adrian sucks on your flesh with quiet abandon, wanting you and wanting you and wanting you.

“Mmh—” you sever the kiss, staring at him with half a smile on your face. Your hips are slotted against his, and you surely feel the hardness of him against your softness. “You… enjoy this?” you ask.

For a moment, he feels shamed: he’d failed to control his own body, let himself be swept by need, and you’re hurting, so this is the last you might want. “I… yes,” he admits. “It does things to me. You, like this… but what about you?”

You stare at him, smile, and kiss him again, to his surprise. “I need you close.”

The warmth of the fire blazes in the room, hot enough that he can bare your shoulder and more, not breaking your gaze as he cups a tender breast in his hand. You partly turn towards him when Adrian leans to take the hard nub between his lips, sucking with relish, hand moving down to tenderly massage warmth into your abdomen, hips grinding slowly against yours through the thin night shift. Your soft moans spur him on, and soon your skin glistens from the heat and the added attention he gives your body.

He imagines it’s your hot cunt he’s feeling when he thrusts against your clothed form, become harder and tenser by the moment, until something gradually coils in him and the steady movement, the sweetness of your taste as he licks into your mouth and the scent, god the scent…

It’s not enough, it’s too much, it’s—he moans hotly into your skin, lips pressed to your shoulder when the flare of pleasure bursts within, swaying his vision; holds on to your hip, hugs you closer as he deliriously cums in his trousers.

“... fuck.”

All he’s able to say. He would eat into you and hide into you and this is not the outcome he expected, but then he’s weak and needy, and doesn’t deserve you.

But you’re smiling, lips plush from his kisses. “That much, really?”

A nod, his face buried into your neck. “Everything about you is… divine.”

You fall into silence as Adrian kisses your cheek, then reluctantly disentangles himself from you to leave the chamber. He returns after a short while to feed the fireplace before he joins you again, taking you in his arms. The flames crack and layer a golden sheet over you both.

“You know…”

“Yes?” He’s still drunk on you, high on the primordial state of afterglow and the intimacy of your nearness, the visceral need to keep you safe and protected, especially now.

“I’ve heard of another way to help ease some of the discomfort,” you say and sit up in bed, gazing down at him.

“Oh?”

In your eyes dwells a spark, and suddenly Adrian feels your want, feels it beating in your womb. Slowly you straddle him as he lies prone on the bed, gathering the nightgown around your bare legs, his hands already on your hips.

“I have need of you also, Adrian… if you want to!” you add swiftly.

A long, heavy breath escapes him. “God… yes,” Adrian leads you down to him, kisses you deeply, licking at the softness of your tongue. He’s slow to turn until you’re the one on your back with your legs crossed around his hips. He grins, already hard again from the mere thought of it, resting his forehead against yours. “Let’s… help you… feel better.”

#alucard castlevania x reader #adrian tepes x reader #castlevania x reader #alucard x you #alucard smut #alucard x reader #adrian tepes smut #adrian tepes x you #castlevania smut #alucard castlevania x you #castlevania x you #x reader #castlevania imagine #cw periods #tw periods #period mention #ruiniel:fanfiction

164 notes · View notes

valentinajadehill · 1 year

Text

lewis hamilton blurbs two

goofy

braids

hair

alarm

cuddles

snuggle days

sofa

spooning

my universe

asleep

destress

massage

exhausted

tired

crying

hate

emotional

nightmare

clingy

dick

cramps

jet lag

toll

soothing

counters

drunk

affectionate

makeup

rumours

friends

caressing

gossip

details

facetime

flowers

hot lap

tommy hilfiger

red carpet

concentrate

pagani zonda

paps

stupid

midnight swim

age gap

work out

gym

tattoo

tracing

portrait

bat

compass

knighthood

kelly

in bed with

makeup

voice over

onion

heads up

pillow fight

baking

sick

bug

savage x fenty

fake relationship

harley quinn

villain

positions, two

home

i ain’t got you

feature

harry styles

gassed

sleeping

hamiltons

snowboarding

adore you

playground

family day

meeting

custody

roscoe

asleep

road trip

mornings

attention

post race

singing

beach

football

puppy

new dog

kisses

rainy

hair

ran off

break up

#lewis hamilton x reader #lewis hamilton imagines

192 notes · View notes

nicoline1998enilocin · 11 months

Text

Flufftober Day 29 | I'll always be by your side

Pairing | Boyfriend!Tony Stark x Avenger!Girlfriend!Female!Reader

Word count | 1.4K

Summary | What was supposed to be a comfortable, easy Sunday turned into one of the worst as you're caught off guard by your period and in horrible pain. Luckily, your boyfriend, Tony, is by your side the entire time to make you feel better and spoil you absolutely rotten.

Warning(s) | This is your official trigger warning. Do not proceed if any of these topics upset you. Light angst, lots of fluff, extreme menstrual cramps, mentions of a period, descriptions of period blood on sheets/clothing, and Tony is the best boyfriend ever.

Prompt(s) | 29. “Hey, wake up!” | @flufftober

A/n | Thank you to @ccbsrmsf1 for inspiring this sugary sweet Tony fic now that I am going through my monthly hell! I appreciate the thought you put into this fic along with me, and it wouldn't be this perfect without you 🖤

Likes, comments and reblogs will be very much appreciated 🧡

Divider is made by @firefly-graphics | GIF credit goes to @ccbsrmsf1

Main Masterlist | Tony Stark Masterlist | Flufftober Masterlist

Tony left early in the morning to work in his lab, seeing how it was a rainy Sunday at the beginning of October. You didn't have any plans for the day, so he let you sleep in, seeing how you'd returned from a month-long mission a few days ago.

As always, he'd leave you with some small kisses on your forehead, and even in your sleep, you always smiled when you got them, and it is one of the many things Tony finds endearing about you.

However, your peaceful state was rudely interrupted when you were pulled from your sleep with a horrific case of cramping from your uterus, notifying you that your period had begun.

"Are you okay, Ms Y/L/N? Should I call Mr Stark up here?" Jarvis asks, and all you can let out is a whimper of pain as you're doubled over, clutching your stomach in the hopes it'll go away soon, but if your past has taught you anything, this won't be the case.

Meanwhile, Tony gets a very concerning message from his AI in the lab. "Sir? It appears that Mrs Y/L/N is very distressed-" is all he hears before he practically flies out of the lab and up to where you are.

Taking the stairs instead of the elevator so he will reach you sooner, he almost breaks down the door when he hears your sobs tear through the entire bedroom.

"Gorgeous?! Are you okay? What's going on?!" Tony asks frantically, but you can't speak as you're already struggling to breathe from the sobbing, and the pain only worsens everything.

He gets onto the bed and pulls the comforter away, but he doesn't need to ask what's wrong because there's a lot of blood on the sheets and the mattress since you always have an extremely heavy flow.

"Oh, Gorgeous, I'm so sorry," Tony sighs worriedly, knowing just how bad your pain must be by now. You can't look at him as he comes over because you're embarrassed about the state you're in right now.

"Shall I run a bath for you? You can take some painkillers before, and I will climb in with you for extra cuddles; maybe I can massage your lower belly if you want to relieve some of your cramping and pain," he asks.

You can't answer as your entire body shakes and shocks through your tears and sobs as the pain worsens, and you're only curling in further.

Tony takes the hint and runs you a nice hot bath with a calming scent and extra bubbles before he comes to fetch you out of bed and ready for the bath he just ran.

"C'mere Gorgeous, you're going to be okay; I'm with you, okay? I'll always be here with you," he whispers in your ear as he carries you to the bathroom, where he sits you down on the counter, blood be damned.

Your eyes are tightly shut as you try to breathe deeply in and out between the sobs rocking through your body with more significant intervals, trying to pick yourself together.

You don't know that Tony has ordered Happy to buy you a couple of things as a care package for when you get out of the bath, with many things to help you feel better.

"C'mon, Gorgeous, let's get some medicine into you, and then we're getting into the warm, relaxing water," he says, and you nod before taking the medicine. Tony hands you together with some water.

When that's gone, you slowly open your eyes again and look up at Tony with a watery smile as if you're still on the verge of crying. You look into Tony's comforting dark brown eyes of your boyfriend.

"Hi, Gorgeous," he whispers as he places his big, warm hands on your cheeks, pulling you towards him as he meets you halfway with a kiss on your forehead, then the tip of your nose, and lastly, a small kiss on your lips, which you melt into.

"Shall we get you out of these clothes and into the bath? I promise it'll make you feel better," he reassures you, and you let him undress you, your shirt and bra gone first, before standing up and taking your pants and underwear off.

Both of them are completely ruined, and you look at them with disgust as you sigh, clutching your lower belly as you lean into Tony's touch, letting his big, strong arms envelop you into a warm hug.

"Let's get you into the warm water first, and I'll be right with you, okay?" he asks, and you nod before he guides you in and makes sure you get into the water safely.

"I'll be here in a few minutes; I'm just going to change the sheets so they will be nice and clean when we get in, okay?" he asks as he sits on his haunches, and you nod. Before he walks away, he puts on your favorite music, and you let yourself sink into the warmth of the water, hands splayed on your lower abdomen.

Tony takes the clothes you were with him before stripping the bed and putting new sheets on, right when Happy knocks on the door with the basket he bought.

Inside is a huge, thick blanket with hearts, a mint green fuzzy pajama with matching fuzzy socks, a new hot water bottle, your favorite tea flavor, some snacks including your favorite chocolate, and a book from your wishlist.

After a quick thanks, he puts it on the bed so it'll be front and center when you return. He quickly undresses and walks back into the bathroom, where he finds you lying contently in the bath, softly singing along to the music.

"How's everything feeling, Gorgeous?" he asks as you sit up, ready for him to slide in behind you. When he's seated, you let yourself melt into his touch, and his hands slide over your stomach and to your lower abdomen to massage softly.

You let out soft groans as he digs his fingers softly into your flesh to relax you, your head against his shoulder as you feel the pain slowly fade underneath his touch, combined with the painkillers he gave you.

"Just relax for me, Gorgeous; you're okay; I got you," he says between soft kisses on your cheek, leaving you utterly speechless from the sweetness he's putting into every little touch and word.

The warmth of the water and the relaxing scent of lavender is seeping into your skin, relaxing you entirely until you manage to sleep a little, and Tony can't help but smile at the soft snores leaving you.

He keeps his hands on your belly in a protective manner before the water gets too cold and he has to wake you up, much to your dismay.

"Hey, it's time to wake up, Gorgeous," Tony says as he softly nudges you, and with a groan, you open your eyes and sit forward, though you don't want to leave his warm and strong embrace.

"It'll be worth it, I promise," he says as he stands up and wraps a towel around his waist before helping you up too. When you're out, he wraps you in the fluffiest and biggest towel, and you're wrapped up like a burrito.

"How're you feeling after your nap? Ready to eat something?" Tony asks, and you nod, finally able to walk normally without cramping, though you're still uncomfortable.

When you're dry and wearing clean underwear with a pad, you're making your way to the bedroom with Tony plastered to your back as he's functioning as a human hot water bottle with his hands.

When you see the basket on the bed, you stop as you see the sight before you and want to turn around to thank him for arranging it.

"Thank you for caring for me, but can I wear the pajamas now? Because they look very comfortable," you say in almost a whisper, and he nods with a big smile before letting you go and rummage through the package.

"Shall we watch a movie on the couch today? You can pick the movie and bring as many snacks as you want," he offers, and you gladly accept before putting on the pajamas and fuzzy socks, getting ready for your movie to watch together.

When Tony comes back with a bowl of your favorite caramel popcorn and a big mug filled with tea, your heart skips a beat from pure love, and when he sits down, you can't keep it to yourself, and it will be the first time you tell him these special words.

"I love you, Tony."

153 notes · View notes

arcaneauthor · 2 years

Text

Tattoos Tell A Story

Part 2 now up (here), Part 3 (here)

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!reader

Summary: Coloring in Ghost’s tattoos has become somewhat of a habit. It’s this habit that’s leads you to discovering a tattoo he had gotten done without your knowledge.

Warnings: Fluff, like so much fluff

A/n: This is my first time posting on tumblr and I have no idea what I’m doing. Requests now open! Pls give me some ideas😭

You found it one day during one of your little “coloring sessions”,A little habit you’ve picked up ever since that one rainy day in July. Ghost had just come back from a mission and you both wanted to soak in as much of the other as possible, just bask in one another’s presence. Three months with nothing more then a letter exchange here and there, you were gonna enjoy as much time with your boyfriend as possible.

You remember lightly stroking his arm as you curiously asked him why all of his tattoos were so dull.

~*~

“Pardon?” He questions if he heard you right.

“Your tattoos, all of them are just black. There’s no color.” Your eyes still haven’t left where you are softly tracing one of his tattoos, a depiction of an assault rifle rapped in thorns.

He raises his other tattooed arm for inspection, as if he had forgotten what it looked like.

“I don’t need em’ all flashy. Besides,” he shrugs,”Think they look better this way.”

You make a noise of disagreement, shaking your head, until a thought seems to strike you, raising your head from where it was previously laying on his shoulder, eyes looking up at him with a mischievous glint.

“Wanna bet?” Is all he gets before you bolt out of his grip, standing up to dig through the bedside drawer, grabbing a case of markers out before diving back into bed, a little too excitedly seeing as how the whole thing rocked.

You hold the case up to him as a kid would show a crayon drawing to their parents.

He stares at the markers before flicking his eyes to you.

“What are ya doin’?

You completely ignore him as you smile, a little manically, and turn to grab his arm and get to work.

He may have complained, but he never stopped you.

And he would never admit it out loud, but it did look kinda cool

It also put him to sleep

~*~

And now your little “coloring sessions” have become a bit of a recurring thing.

Sick and stuck in bed? He gives you his arm.

That time of the month and you’re curled under the covers with cramps? He’s already grabbing the markers for you.

Just having a bit of a lazy cuddle session? You’re instinctually grabbing his arm.

Today, it’s the third option. He had once again just got home from a mission and, though not as long as some of his other send offs, it still seemed way too long to you. You were sitting against one another, your back to his chest, one arm hugging you to him, the other clutched in your grasp as you fill in his uncolored tattoos with your pack of markers. His masked face was pressed against the side of your head as he watched your hands delicately glide the marker across his skin, sometimes throwing in a cheeky comment or two about how a certain color didn’t go somewhere, which earned him a slap to the thigh.

You finished filling in the rose near his elbow, moving further down towards his hand, but something catches your eye.

You’d done this countless times now, you probably know his tattoos better than he does at this point. You know that the ink goes a little off line on his skull tattoo, you know that there’s a little stray mark beside the oak tree on his bicep. You know every detail and mistake.

That’s how you know this wasn’t here before.

It’s a small little heart on the inside of his wrist, not filled in because of course it isn’t.

You bring it up closer to your face for inspection, and that’s when you notice it

The writing inside.

Y/n

It…was your name?

You whip around to look back at him with questioning eyes.

The mask completely covered the lower part of his face,though his eyes gave away the soft smirk lurking beneath.

“The boys wanted to celebrate the win. Tattoos were Mactavish’s idea.” Bastards trying to be all nonchalant about it.

“But-but, why this?” You shove his own arm into his face, like he didn’t already know what was on it.

He shrugs,”Racked my brain for an idea, but, seems you’re the only thing on my mind these days. Couldn’t get ya out of my head-“

He huffs as you plow into him with a hug, immediately engulfing you in his muscled arms.

Simon never was one for excessive pda or poetic words, rather he showed love through his actions. Attempting to cook for you, making you bubble baths, bringing you heating pads and medicine for your cramps. And this was just another one added to the list, maybe the best of them all in your opinion, cause a tattoo-a tattoo’s pretty dang permanent. In his mind, you know, this is his promise of forever to you. His version of a promise ring.

There’s no tears shed, you never were much of a crier, but the emotions were definitely felt. The warmth, the happiness, the love, all of it was basically drowning you at this point.

“You know tattoo removals hurt right?” You lean away enough to look him in the eye,”Like-like what happens if this doesn’t work out, if you decide you’re tired of me,I don’t know, piggy backing you all the time or something and you have to go get this covered?” You motion to his arm.

It’s said as a joke, but he can still somehow detect the hint of serious worry in your voice.

He lightly grabs you under the chin,”Sweetheart, if I let a catch like you go then I deserve the pain.”

Alright you know you said you weren’t a crier, but that might have brought some moisture to your eye.

He doesn’t even try and stop you as your reach to roll the mask up to his nose, a testament of how much he trusts you. Overwhelmed with emotions, you tenderly cup his face to pull him into a kiss.

It’s slow and gentle, just a smooth glide of your lips against his. His hands gently rubbing up and down your sides. You lovingly gliding your thumb across his light stubble, breathing in his musky cologne. Although intense, the kiss contains absolutely no heat, no sexual insinuation. Instead, you feel only one thing.

Love

“I love you.” You relay breathlessly as you pull away, gently knocking your forehead against his.

You share a few breathes before he replies

“I….care, about you too,” you slap his arm with an unimpressed look,”Kidding! Of course I bloody love you, got your name tattooed on my arm for gosh sa-

You cut him off with another kiss.

~*~

Bonus:

You were once again laid on the bed, squished up against his side with a thick arm wrapped around your shoulder. Your eyes caught sight of your name engraved in his skin.

You smirk at the sight,”You know,” you break silence, catching his attention away from the tv,”It would have looked better if you had gotten the heart filled in with red.”

He’s a little confused for a second before catching your line of sight. He rolls his eyes, jostling you slightly as he sat up to reach beside the bed. Now you’re the one confused.

“Well, if that was the case,” he rolls back over to present you with a red marker,”You wouldn’t get to do it yourself, now would ya’?”

You grab the marker, sparing glances between it and the proud look on Simon’s face.

Your man, This man really got a tattoo with the intent for you to do your silly little coloring on it.

Yep, definitely love him.

#ghost x reader #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x y/n #ghost fanfiction #fanfic #call of duty #ghost cod #reader insert #ghost fluff #fluff #writers on tumblr #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #x y/n

523 notes · View notes

musamora · 1 year

Text

𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖈𝖆𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖎𝖈𝖐 𝖘/𝖔 「𝔣𝔶𝔬𝔡𝔬𝔯 𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔢𝔳𝔰𝔨𝔶」 ༉‧₊˚

from anonymous ⇢ "could you write some hc's about fyodor taking care of a sick s/o? love your work btw!"

content. gn!reader. illnesses (implied pneumonia and influenza), hurt/comfort, dizziness, badly translated russian, cute little headcanons. not proofread. 1.8k+ words.

author's note. thank you for the request! i've been in a bit of a writer's funk lately, so hopefully my little ramblings are good ٩(*•͈ ꇴ •͈*)و ̑̑❀

would you like to see more? join the taglist or comment under this post!

synopsis. it had been the perfect day for enjoying the sunshine, only for you to succumb to the symptoms of an unknown illness. unluckily for you, fyodor is gone on a mission, so it's time to fend for yourself.

You had been stuck home for weeks, only allowed to leave for groceries and emergencies. Fyodor was away on a dangerous mission inside the city and wanted to ensure that you were safe and sound at home. It was reassuring to receive letters from him since he was close by, but you had started to succumb to cabin fever.

But tomorrow was supposed to be the perfect day.

You took a cursory peek at the weather the night before, pleased to find local climate conditions suitable for finishing your chores while soaking up some sun. It had been either too hot or too rainy for you to leave the house, but tomorrow would provide the prime opportunity to embrace some fresh air.

But it was not meant to be.

"God," you hissed, stretching your disjointed limbs when the sun blinded you as it peeked between the shutters. Weather conditions were perfect, but it seemed your body raised another issue. Your muscles ached with each pop of your joints — strange, but you assumed you had slept wrong. And then your head began to throb. It was small at first but only increased in pressure and annoyance as the day continued. Your throat was the worst of it, an unfluctuating burning sensation aggravating your nerves every time you swallowed.

You originally wrote off these symptoms — the shift of weather probably had a negative effect on your body. It was nothing some good-ol’ fashioned pain medication couldn’t fight off. A minor cold or headache would be manageable as long as you didn’t strain yourself too much, and you refused to dampen such nice weather, so you trekked onward.

The beginning of your day started in the garden, your fingers fast at work toiling with weeds and watering plants. However, the elevated sensation of spasms crawled up the muscles of your arm, making your fingers twitch with every movement. You fussed, massaging your palm with your fingers, and decided that you had enough gardening for the day — there was no way you could continue in this condition.

So instead, you embraced the brush of air-conditioning against your sweat-slicked skin, sliding the door shut unceremoniously as you trudged your way over to the kitchen counter. A mound of paperwork loomed ahead, awaiting examination and signatures. It seemed like Fyodor reveled in giving you these menial tasks, either to add or to evade your boredom. You shuffled through the top of the stack, carrying a bundle to sit next to the conditioning unit — otherwise, you’d be tempted to stick ice cubes against your skin to relieve the heat-based dizziness that stirred the neurons of your brain.

Tick. Tick.

The clock clicked onward, and you found your hands more cramped and your eyes more and more strained. Even paperwork had become an arduous task, your muscles twinging with pins and needles in the frigid air. So after you signed your name for what seemed like the thousandth time, you placed the pen and papers on the floor and called it a day. You weren’t getting anything else done in this position, and you honestly did not want to be awake for this day any longer.

It seemed to be one of those days, days when the world mocked your misery with its delightful weather, watching in humor as you stumbled over your own feet to crawl away from its intense gaze. You burrowed into the sheets like a rabbit, the cotton comforter cocooning around your body, substituting the presence of your missing lover. The scent of pine permeated from the sheets — you had sprayed the bed each morning with cologne whenever Fyodor was away — as your muscles unwound, eyes fluttering shut as a tiny smile graced your features.

But the nap did not help.

Instead of arising from your bed with a sense of refreshment and relief, the pounding of your skull ran tremors through your body. Your vision had split into blurred shards of light, hands shaking as you guided yourself into the bathroom. You placed a thermometer against your forehead after a quick rummage through your drawers, leaning against the wall as you waited for the beep. Your legs wobbled as you fought back sleep, wincing when the thermometer rang.

102.2°F.

That was pretty damn high.

Body temperature was the most concerning aspect of your condition, and most of your other symptoms would leave if you had taken care of it, so you focused on that first. After waddling into the kitchen, you strained to reach for a cup inside the kitchen cabinet to fill with water. The entire process became more tedious than usual, and the water splashing against your hands only made your fingers cramp. You popped the medication cap open, downing the pills and chugging the water with conviction before slamming the cup onto the counter.

You stumbled your way into the living room., throwing yourself on the couch as your legs gave up underneath you. Your feet toyed with a blanket on the end, flicking it across your body as you struggled to find the proper ratio for the best cooling effect. It became an on-again, off-again struggle before you gave up, groaning into the scratchy decorative pillow under your head.

Each breath was a struggle, the pressure on your chest acting like a lead weight slowly sinking under the water. You braced yourself on your back, feeling the expansion and contraction of your chest with your hands, fearing that if you stopped tracking each breath, you would stop breathing entirely.

Shit.

The world went hazy, black dots crawling at the edges of your vision.

Creak!

You moaned, clutching onto the pillow as you covered your ears to shield them from the obtrusive sound. The footsteps that began to enter the room paused before someone rushed to your side. That same person seemed to be talking to you — yes, you knew they had to be — a hand guiding you to sit straight and a gentle voice coaxing your eyes open. It was difficult to see who it was, but that velvety Russian accent made it easier.

"F-Fyodor," you mumbled, squinting at him through clouded eyes. He leaned your body against the back of the couch, kissing your forehead to feel for your temperature. His brow furrowed, eyes examining your body as it tremoured with chills.

If he had known about this, he would’ve returned sooner.

"Я тут, Я тут. Ты не один, любимая . Я тут."

The moment he strides through the doorway and spots your doubled-over body on the couch, he’ll assess the situation and act with precision. He is an intelligent man, which makes his first instinct to address the issues he can and find the fastest way to cool you down. And knowing him, he would be able to identify your specific ailment with around 95% accuracy.

He may not be a medical professional, but he is well-read and has extensive knowledge of human biological makeup and anatomy. He would also have access to your medical records (whether you know it or not) — it makes it easier for him to look after you, but he’ll never tell you that.

So his first priority is both bringing your temperature down and stabilizing you. He will refresh the sheets inside your bedroom (smirking at the familiar scent of cologne), laying you down with a cool rag on your forehead. Any time you wake up, you are guaranteed to have water situated inches away from your face. Despite your sore throat, he will not allow you to gargle any salt water. He doesn’t want you to get any more dehydrated.

"You need to drink, мышка. You won’t get better if you're dehydrated."

Your entire bedroom will have turned into a cozy den, allowing you to rest without going completely stir-crazy. A heating pad would lie beneath your back, and a humidifier would be adjusted near your face to clear out your lungs — that’s one of the things that worried him the moment he walked through the door. He was concerned you were slowly suffocating, which he knows is one of the worst ways to go.

He would also massage your sore muscles. Enjoy this treatment while it lasts because he wouldn’t normally do this when you were fully cognizant. He is a bit softer to you in this state because it reminds him of the fragility of the human body. He often forgets (more like doesn’t take into consideration) that his own body is weakened due to his anemia, so this is an excellent wake-up call.

You are going to have a rare chance to eat his food! Fyodor is usually too busy to make any meals, so you have the prime opportunity to enjoy some classic Russian dishes — delicious sour rassolnik and hearty solyanka soups, perfect for soothing your throat and filling your stomach.

After all of this, he would force you to take a bath — but at a lukewarm temperature to ensure you wouldn’t worsen your fever. He would want to get rid of any germs as soon as possible, so he’d make sure that every inch of your body is scrubbed down.

And if you aren’t married, he will not get in the tub with you. He is a traditional man (i.e., no sex until after marriage, etc.), and he is already pushing it by helping you bathe in the first place — because as much as this man secretly loves your body, he has to "maintain the sanctity of your relationship." Though the entire experience would make him think twice about waiting to get married.

If you are married, he might get in the tub with you if you insist. He finds that he can’t say no to you as efficiently when you’re in this much pain, and you both enjoy the feeling of being so close to one another.

He would still sleep in the same bed as you, but he won’t do any sort of cuddling (not that he does it much in the first place). At most, he’ll hold your hand as you fall asleep, letting you know that he’s there. He’d also read to you if you were struggling with sleeping, ensuring that you get a proper night’s rest.

It is rare to see this man taking care of you in a non-discrete way, so revel in it while it lasts. He will maintain a calm composure throughout the duration of your sickness, but he is genuinely worried for your health. He hates seeing you in pain, and he will do anything to ease it.

For the following weeks, he would not allow you to exert yourself until you have fully recovered. If he sees you overworking yourself, you are immediately chastised and sent back to bed.

"Приле́чь, любимая моя. Ты нужда́ешься в о́тдыхе."

He makes sure to set up a system so that he’ll be notified whenever you’re sick, which could be from having a co-worker monitor you (though he doesn’t like the idea of anyone besides himself having eyes on you) or setting up a camera system in your home. He wants to be aware whenever you’re sick so that, at the very least, he can be prepared for when he arrives back home.

"Идти́ спать, мой Дорогая. Я буду здесь, когда ты проснешься."

мышка = mouse я тут, я тут. ты не один, любимая. я тут. = i’m here, i’m here. you’re not alone, my love. i’m here. приле́чь, любимая моя. ты нужда́ешься в о́тдыхе. = lie down, my love. you need rest. идти́ спать, мой дорогая. я буду здесь, когда ты проснешься. = go to bed, my dear. i'll be here when you wake up.

ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ: @imhandicapableofmath @seisitive

#muse's anthology ‧₊˚ ⋅#gn!reader #꒰ა ⎼ [fyodor]#✉︎ ⎼ [anonymous] ‧₊˚#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd x reader #fyodor bsd #fyodor dostoevsky #fyodor x reader #fyodor dostoevsky x reader

251 notes · View notes