#salty chin music

[salad-juice-enjoyer]

JFC, how can someone hate Riho in the first place.

[salad-juice-enjoyer]

I don't know how many people in the notes are actualy wrestling fans, but JFC there are bajilion other sexy wrestlers; you don't have to put actual pest Joey Ryan on the dash in TYOOL 2023

[planetsage]

FHUCK MEEEE i need like semi-public sex with dom!choso he’s like on my mind 24/7 uhm

NEW PIN ! ꒰ 🪴 PUT THAT PUSSY ON ME𖧧˚⋆ʚɞ ── choso kamo 𝜗𝜚

<- SAVE ?

ADD A COMMENT

contains. 2k words + nsfw so, minors do not interact. f!reader, dom!cho, boxer!cho, established relationship, blood, sweat, semi public sex, locker room sex, f rec oral, a little ass eating (if you squint), spit, hair pulling, dirty talk, breeding, overstim, creampie, biting, cum eating.

all big-time boxers practice abstinence for at least a week before their fights; an age-old tradition that’s been torched down from talent to talent said to preserve testosterone, aggression, and most importantly, the drive to win.

it makes sense. not only on the physical side of things, but mentally. discipline — “if a player can’t handle a month or 20 days without having relations, then he’s not really ready to be a professional.”

although choso knew of this prior to becoming a fighter, his coach never actually brought it up to him until you were sat with big child-like eyes, pupils dilated as if trying to drink in every little detail, watching your amateur boyfriend practice for the first time.

it felt like a world of its own with choso sitting atop it on a blood-stained throne. the smell of leather and sweat suffused through the large dome-shaped gym, dull thuds and thumps of fists hitting bags, feet screeching sounding over music.

shirtless, choso’s muscles pumped and flexed as glossy sweat trickled down his temples, merging into rivulets that traced the contours of his face before dripping off his chin and down, down, down his battered body; each quick movement sent salty droplets flying, making dark, little circular marks on the mat.

his arms and core clenched, causing his thick biceps to swell, veins prominent beneath flushed skin like flowing riverbeds; his abs rippling with every rapid punch. the rigid meat of his heavy thighs bulged through black nylon shorts as he hopped around fluidly. dancing. it was truly hypnotic.

about halfway into his practice, you found yourself slightly tilting your head to the side in confusion as his coach moved to point at you.

me?

choso seemed annoyed, running a taped hand through his sweat-ridden hair. then he nodded before they both dispersed to start another round of sparring.

“he said i can’t fuck you anymore”

choso’s wet body clung tightly to your previously dry one, making a sticky connection as he squirted a stream of electrolyte-mixed water from a bottle he clutched with thick hands into his scarred mouth. his usually pink lips were a little red. swollen and plumped, making them jut out, begging to be kissed by your softer ones.

and he was exhausted, visibly. his body sagging when he practically mounted you as soon as he finished practicing, the musky, almost primal scent emitting from him filling your senses in a heady wave as he whined and pouted over his coach’s orders when you asked what had been said earlier, handing him a fresh towel.

“he went full authoritarian on me,” he roughly scrubbed his flushed face with the cloth before dragging it over and around his arms, then abs letting the cotton soak up his sweat, “said we can’t do anything … its so stupid, i’ve done research on it, y’know. it’s a myth”

he rambled on and on, his voice soaked in frustration, bringing up the hundreds of articles he scoured. the way he animatedly swung his arms around, bloodied lip, and still damp with sweat, made you giggle.

you leaned in to gently press a kiss to the corner of his lips. “hey, it’s okay,” you hummed soothingly, contrasting his outburst, “it’s only just before a fight. it can’t be that bad, right?”

and it wouldn’t be.

if choso’s feelings for you didn’t border obsession. he physically can’t go over a day without stuffing your pussy full of his gooey cum and he’d be dammed if some dumb ‘tradition’ that lacked the backing of science stopped him from fucking his pretty girl.

so here you are. embarrassingly parting your sticky folds with meek fingers, revealing your glossy pussy to eager, purpled eyes in the dim back corner of a stuffy locker room.

approximately … thirty seven minutes until choso’s fight.

after a verbal beating from his coach, he was, unwillingly, forced to abstain; forced to spend weeks on edge around you, to not so much as brush a finger against your soft skin because he’d get hard and shoot out hot cum untouched. and he was so close to being successful, too, but he swore he’d lose with how full and heavy his fat balls felt, nudging you into the locker room with empty promises of being “so quick”.

“just need ta taste my baby first,” his voice came out in a heavy whisper as he licked up the fat of your inner thighs, the cooled air of the cramped room circulating and brushing against your achy clit making you flinch, “poor thing .. you missed me too, hm? missed my mouth, pretty?”

“choso hur—”

“shh. ‘m not talkin’ ta you ‘m talkin’ ta her,” he was undividedly staring at your pussy as if trying to commit the filthy imagine of it leaking, clenching around nothing to memory before he rubbed the tip of his flushed nose against your pretty clit, nuzzling into that addictive scent he had been yearning for for what felt like decades.

that said, he was still taking his sweet time.

pressing almost petty pecks to your sensitive thighs, humming out a singsongy ‘aaahh’ before biting into them, leaving fresh pretty marks now that all the old ones have faded. fidgeting on his knees, probably bruising them as he drug his pudgy bulge against the tiled floor until he’s finally, finally moving to lick a long, slow stripe up your pussy, making your hips sputter and buck up against his face.

he’s so loud and messy.

eating you like he’s been starved because, well, technically, he has, “mmmmmm tas’ so fuckin’ good baby. missed— mmhhm havin’ you on my tongue”

cradling your clit with his puffy lips to firmly suck up and drool back out. viscous spit slips out from your pussy, leaving the bench all wet and sticky, so he pauses. because it’s rude to leave messes, shifting his attention from your sloppy hole to drag his tongue on the cold metal bench and clean it all up. the wet muscle brushing, slipping past your ass, making you yelp.

“choso please— hur— hurry. you’re gonna be late” with balled fists you push against his head, musing his inky black hair and if it had been under any other circumstances, he would’ve punished you for interrupting his meal. but he was going to be late, twenty three more minutes and god knows how many rounds it’s gonna take to empty his balls, so he lets you glide all over the thin ice.

just this once.

“fuck, baby, let me fuck that pussy from the front” choso stands up to shove his now tight shorts down to his ankles, his cock springing out, eagerly slapping against his stomach as precum dribbles onto his chest. “always cum so fast when m’ lookin’ at that pretty face”

he wraps his hand around his shaft to move and press his chubby tip against your little hole, scribbling all over it with a hum before leaning to spit a fat bubbly glob onto your needy pussy.

a pretty whine escapes you as you softly lift up your hips begging him to just slip it in, “quit actin so needy, ‘m riiighht here” dragging out his words, he sloowwwly lets his cockhead sink past your folds, whining at how fucking tight you are.

he missed his pretty pussy so much. so, so much.

“fuck, ‘s so big” it’s been a while since you’ve felt the stretch of his cock molding your walls to fit him making tears swell and clump up in your curled lashes as you fling your arms around the slope of his shoulders before you’re shoving your face into the side of his warmed neck.

but he said he needs to see that pretty face, so he’s quickly moving to grab a fist full of your hair, roughly pulling you back by your scalp as you squeal, your mouth falling open to let in and out deep shaky breaths, “look at me”

and he holds you there, forcing you to stare into his darkened eyes as he fully bottoms out to bully his plump, heavy cock up into you. giving you the messiest, most feral strokes. losing his mind in your pretty pussy, already twitching inside you, spilling out pearls of precum that kiss your spongy g spot.

you can’t even moan. just weakly whimpering out broken cries of his name, ”so— ch— cho ssso” as he drags his cock against your gooey walls, his left hand thumbing at your sensitive clit sparking big tears to slip down your cheeks, your eyes hazing over, starting to slip up .. and go back just a little revealing porcelain white, then a little mor-

“i said fuckin’ look at me”

he jerks your head around like some doll; again, forcing you to stare up at him as he knocks the wind out of you with every snap of his waist. and he looks dazed. his hair is messy, mussed, and tossed to his shoulders as sweat catches a few strands to curl up and stick to his temples. he’s almost pink, flushed with so much fever, fucking into your sloppy pussy as he growls, “theeeree you go. ‘m so close, baby— shit. want me to fill that pretty pussy, huh? want me to— fuuuckk pump you full of my cum? hm?”

but his feral growls start to turn into pretty little saccharine whimpers as he gets closer and closer, sputtering his rose-skinned hips, “yeah cho. give it to me— haaa mmm, wan’ it all. fill me up”

“you wan’ it all?” his grip on your hair grows tighter, vice-like, as he mocks your needy little tone with a breathy chuckle, “want me to fuck a baby into you, yeah? knock you up then go knock that fucker out?”

bobbing up and down dumbly, you nod, his words stringing in one ear and quickly out the other because it’s just so fuckin’ good.

he’s pulling you closer, closer, and closer to that edge he loves to dangle you over. “choso ‘m gonna—”

“i know, mama. can feel it. keep lookin’ at me. give it to me”

with a whimper of his name, your knees crash into each other, your toes curling as white-hot pleasure strikes like thick bolts of lightning behind your eyes.

choso’s pulling them back apart and you almost fall off the bench until he’s wrapping his thicker arms around your body to keep fucking into you, “thereee you goo, mhm. look so pretty like that baby” talking you through it so sweetly as if he’s not overstimulating you. rewiring your brain.

“shi— shit, baby fuckin’ milkin’ me .. gonna— ‘m gonna—”

groaning too loud, his hips stilled as he dumped the heavy buildup of cum into your more than welcoming pussy, his head slumping forward to bite into your shoulder and muffle himself.

he’s filling you up so well, shooting thick ropes into your pretty, satiny walls as he pulses and twitches inside you.

but he’s still so hard.

pulling out to wrap a hand around his cock, jerking himself off, roughly, it looks like it hurts, “stick your, haah fuck, stick your fuckin’ tongue out” griping as his chest caves in and heaves until he’s spilling more hot cum onto your pretty fucked out face.

his head falls back, his body swaying slightly as he catches his breath, his muscles relaxing with a heavy sigh until he leans back down to lick up his sticky mess, making you buzz with warmth, twitching at the feeling of his warm tongue. “hhnngg— choso you have to goo”

oh yeah.

he hums, a smile tugging at his lips against your skin before he reluctantly pulls back, moving to draw up his shorts, “almost forgot about that,” he grabs a handful of his messed hair to pull back up into his trademark buns, “i’ll be quick, baby. still got the taste of my good luck charm on my tongue”

not even an hour later, before you can completely clean yourself off and find your bearings, a deafening lion-like roar surges from the full crowd piercing through the thick walls of the locker room. your head quirks up, and then you hurriedly push through the door, almost jogging into the arena.

there he is.

in the center of it all looming over his opponent. the referee pulls up choso’s arm and again; the crowd erupts as the other poor soul winces, crimson-faced, red gloves covering their bloodied expression.

amidst it all, choso’s eyes find yours. he’s licking at the corner of his lips with a knowing smirk.

all big-time boxers practice abstinence for at least a week before their fights; all expect the biggest rising rookie choso kamo.

© planetsage 2024 all rights reserved. no part of this may be reproduced in any form.

[goxjo]

𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐞 ⋮ 𝐦𝐢𝐲𝐚 𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐮

↪︎ bridesmaid series ∘ haikyuu mlist ∘ general mlist

In which you, a bridesmaid, come across a groomsman who cannot wait to get away from all the drunk and lovesick fools at the wedding reception, much like yourself ⋮ Alternatively, in which you get to know each other while he’s balls deep into you

pairing. groomsman! miya atsumu x bridesmaid! reader

warnings. no reader pronouns, f anatomy! reader, hookups, just a bunch of horny strangers, semi-public touching and grinding a.k.a. inappropriate pda, pet names (darling, sweets, he also keeps calling you cute & pretty), wedgie, masturbation, cockwarming, overstimulation, creampie, pillow talk, pregnancy joke, breast/nipple play

word count. 3.5k

an. this was the first smut I ever wrote (like 4 years back). this is also rewritten & reposted <3

꒰ 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐝𝐧𝐢 — 𝟏𝟖+ 𝐨𝐧𝐥𝐲 ꒱

Your bridesmaid flower crown is long-forgone, swept along the late afternoon tide. The midnight blue scarf wrapped loosely around your neck is about the only thing keeping you warm and. Your borderline-sheer bridesmaid dress would’ve definitely suited the beachy occasion if it weren’t for the fact that temperatures this time of the year are starting to drop.

Still, you pay no mind to the cold when the salty breeze beckons you to dip your toes in the sea, leaving your woes behind in a quick attempt to remove yourself from the reception. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. And to think you’re the only one in your friend group who didn’t come with a +1. No wonder you came to the sea for some company when everyone else has just about taken the dancefloor, dancing not alone to some mood music.

You run your fingers through your hair, pulling it back in a lazy attempt at keeping it in place while you indulge in the ocean breeze. The cold wind kisses your now exposed back, hairs on your nape prickling as you close your eyes and tilt your chin up, baring your neck to the chilly sensation on your skin.

Snapping you out of your daze is the wind snagging the scarf off your neck — the garment didn’t go far but tides have started to be unforgiving at this hour.

It takes you a few good seconds to decide if it’s worth the risk of getting your dress wet, let alone accidentally drowning with no one aware of your whereabouts. Only, anyone who could save you is either drunk or lovesick.

Screw it. You reach for the hems of your dress, holding them up to your knees, about ready to brave the 2-feet-high seawater.

And as if the sea gods had just answered your plea, you freeze in place when you hear a snicker coming from behind you, the apparent source of it walking past you, beating you to your scarf.

It’s one of the groomsmen from your now friend-in-law’s side of the family. Dirty blonde with a clean black undercut, white dress shirt that’s four, five buttons undone, exposing his toned chest.

You wonder how long he was able to make a spectacle of you before rushing to your aid when you realize he’s already barefoot and had more than enough time to take off his shoes and socks. Funny, he didn’t even bother to fold his beige pants before charging on. He shoots you a smirk before picking up your scarf, gently wringing the saltwater out. His shins splash against the tides as he makes his way over to you, looking far too amused for someone whose getup had been needlessly soiled by the ocean.

“You didn’t have to, but thank you, uhm—”

“Atsumu?” He says it like it’s a sarcastic reminder, as if his name is something you’re already supposed to know. “Seemed like an important scarf, and uh — you can thank me tomorrow over dinner.”

You thank the sea gods for answering your prayers even though it almost took a human sacrifice (you) in order for them to grant you company — and someone so easy on the eyes too.

“I feel like I’ve seen this already,” half-impressed, half-suspicious, you say as you take your scarf back.

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah, in Hercules or the ones you see in clichés. You know… the whole damsel in distress trope? Then the hero conveniently hears her distress call, comes to her rescue, and they both get wet for it.”

“Darling, you barely even dipped in the water. I didn’t get you wet, did I?”

Your lips purse in amusement, causing you to bite the inside of your cheek as you chuckle. “Just a little. But don’t worry, you don’t have to commit.”

“But what if I want to?”

“Then I guess we could look into it after dinner tomorrow. I’m ___. Nice to meet you, Atsumu.”

“Scarf and a date. Must be your lucky day. Pick you up at 8?”

“Sure, but promise me you’ll change into something dry.”

That earns you yet another snicker from him. “I will if you will.”

Your planning is interrupted by the sound of roaring cheers and clinking bottles apparently for someone who had just passed out. It’s ridiculous since it’s only been barely a few hours into the afterparty.

“Whad’ya know. And it’s only 6 o’clock,” you huff out knowing you have to sit through more of these tonight, already mentally exhausted at the thought.

“To think there’s going to be 5 more hours of this or so.”

As if the gods hadn’t blessed you enough today, you find your would-be date as engrossed at the scenery as you. It turns out, he’s as impressed with you as you are with him. His face instantly switches from a scowl to an inquisitive one with a cocked brow. You swear you hear his thoughts as clear as day asking you ‘you thinking what I’m thinking?’.

In case the message didn’t come across, he holds a hand out, asking you again, “Wanna get outta here?”

“Thought you’d never ask.”

…

Like some horny teenagers who had just gotten off prom, you find yourselves hand-in-hand running through endless corridors, leaving trails of giggles and sand past concerned staff and other guests on your way to your hotel room.

You try your hardest to brush off your pseudo-savior's eagerness while still in public. But with the way he keeps kissing the back of your hand and persists on planting kisses atop your shoulder every time anything blocks your way, you can’t help the lewd sounds that escape your lips.

The knowing looks that come your way don’t help either, not when Atsumu is just keen on trying you in every torturous way possible as some form of pre-foreplay.

Atsumu is ruthless even as you enter the elevator that had a family and a few other guests on board. He leads you to the back in his half-hearted attempt to be discreet.

Still a couple floors away, he passes the time by snaking both hands around your waist, pressing you up against his chest. As if timed right at the ding of the elevator, you feel two fingers pinch your ass, making your breath hitch a tiny squeak, forcing you to cover your mouth, and it takes everything in you not to take him on then and there.

“Atsumu, stop,” quietly, you plead, chuckling between syllables.

Ding, the elevator goes again, and for revenge, you grind your ass against his crotch.

“Mm,” he hums, chuckling low and breathy at the sudden wave of pleasure forcing him to dig his fingers into your waist.

“There are children in here,” one snarky lady comments as she tries to cover her children’s ears.

“Don’t worry. When they grow up, they’ll understand—”

“Atsumu!” You cover your mouth instantly in a futile attempt to stifle your laughter, earning daggers of stares from everyone else on the elevator.

The elevator dings one more time as the screen flashes your floor number, signalling your stop.

“Sorry!” You yell out when the doors are about to close with Atsumu dragging you to your feet, looking back to the unforgiving looks from the people left at the elevator.

…

“What’s taking so long, ___?” Atsumu whines.

“Shut up, I’m looking okay?”

You scramble through your tiny purse, cursing and wondering why your keys are never where you need them to be.

“Take any longer and I wouldn’t think twice to have you right here.”

“You’re not helping— found it!”

Atsumu stands right behind you as you fiddle with your keys. You can feel his impatience growing and pressing against you as he parts your hair to one side, leaving a trail of sloppy kisses on your jaw, down to the crook of your neck.

You suppose it’s the excitement in the air, where love and love-making are to be expected — the culprit behind why Atsumu just couldn’t wait to kiss you until you’re at least inside your room, where you’re hidden from the security cameras. It’s that or the party really must’ve sucked. In the heat of the moment, you kiss him back, hands roaming every which way, from his silky locks down to his biceps that feel so taut underneath your palms. You wonder if you’re probably putting on a good show for the people behind the cameras.

You enter your room after what felt like hours. Atsumu grabs your hand, interlocking with your fingers as he leads you to your bed. Mouths still latched onto each other’s, the need to be rid of clothes becomes urgent to say the least.

Shoes kicked off, and scarf discarded, he sits on the edge and you straddle him as you unbutton his shirt. The second you pull out, calloused fingers snake around the back of your head, and without an ounce of care, Atsumu pulls you back in, crashing his mouth onto yours.

“Sweets, you taste like heaven,” he says, moving on to trail your neck with kisses.

He runs his hands over your thighs, giving them a tight squeeze before he attempts to undress you. He attempts to tug at the zipper of your dress but it doesn’t budge.

”You’re hopeless,” you tease, playfully punching his chest. “Let me help you”

“I’d offer to rip it off but really, I just wanted to watch you strip.” He props his hands behind him, smirking as he chews on the inside of his bottom lip, eyes glistening with anticipation as he watches you get out of your dress. You take off both straps, letting your dress fall to the ground.

“Hh-ooly fuck,” he whistles, chest emptying out the chunk of breath he held back, pupils blown out as he takes the sight of your exposed top. His eyes are dead glued to your figure. With labored breaths, he slowly cups his aching bulge a few times before swiftly unbuckling his belt with one hand, head of his cock creating a dent on his boxers when he unbuttons his pants.

“My turn,” he coos, throwing his pants and shirt aside, revealing a rock hard build that could only belong to a sculpture of a Greek god. His breaths grow heavier the second he takes his cock out of his boxers, you gulp at the size of his girth alone, never mind the length you’re sure you’re not going to be able to take. His chuckles are low and carnal, ones that can’t wait to devour you.

He knows that look on your face. It’s one he’s so used to seeing upon showing his former lovers and fuck buddies his full and hard cock for the first time. The hollow of his palm gathers the slick from the tip. “Fuck, ____. The things I can’t wait to do to you.” He grunts while his fingers play with his foreskin, afterwards smearing pre-cum across his hard length.

With one hand slowly pumping his cock, he reaches for you with his free hand, drawing you back to him with your knees on either side of him, his free hand caressing your sides.

“You’re so fucking sexy,” he utters and you feel his soft hair brush over your collarbone as he plants a kiss on your breast. He moves his mouth south of your nipple, tongue flicking the bud before capturing it in his mouth. He releases with a pop, alternating between licking and sucking on your supple flesh.

”Atsumu,” you mutter his name, fingers brushing through his silky locks while he’s in your embrace, clothed cunt lightly rubbing on the tip of his cock, “please,” you murmur.

”Hm? Can’t hear you,” he hums, teeth sinking into your tit as his tongue plays with your nipple, not having had his fill with them yet. He knows full well what you need with his fingers tracing along the hems of your underwear.

“F-fuck!” you cry from the sudden burning sensation on your ass down to your cunt, holding onto him for dear life as you try to grind against the much-needed friction, and you realize he’d pulled a fistful of your underwear from behind you.

“God, you’re so pretty. Even the sounds you make are so pretty.” He tightens his grip on your panties, running his free fingers between your spilled labias.

“You weren’t lyin’ about getting wet after all, were you, sweets?”

“S-stop teasing, Atsumu—fuck!” He parts your underwear and runs a finger through your slippery folds. “Mmf,” you mewl when he pinches your clit, teasing your sensitive bud, your body practically melting into his touch, nails digging into his shoulders.

“I’m just stating the obvious, ___. You’re so wet, it’s so cute. So eager. So fucking ready for me.”

“You fucking idi—ahh!” Atsumu relentlessly pumps his middle and ring finger into your wet hole, his thumb drawing fast slimy circles onto your clit, making you collapse onto him as he fucks you with his fingers.

“You want my cock? Say it. Say you want my cock. Beg for it sweets. I want to hear you say it. C’mon, say it.”

“P-please… your cock… Atsummff— hha!!” You whimper, head bowed, forehead leaning on his shoulder. You’re losing rhyme and reason as you mount his hand, hips bucking onto his touch riding your first orgasm, all while Atsumu peppers your shoulder blade with kisses.

“You’re so fucking cute, wanna hear you cummin’ all night long.”

Before you could shoot back a response, his mouth is on yours again, kissing you fervently with his tongue battling against yours. You moan into his mouth as he rubs now-menacingly slow circles on your sensitive bud, letting out a whimper when he slides two digits again inside you, exploring your velvet walls.

“Please, please, please, ‘Tsumu,” pressing your forehead against his, you purr, making Atsumu curl his fingers inside you.

He lets out a soft breathy chuckle. You could tell he’s pleased with himself, toying at you who has already come undone with just his fingers.

He hooks his hands under your thighs, fingers digging in your skin as he lifts you, gently laying you down on your bed.

His brown eyes are fixed on yours while he removes your underwear, making your breath hitch at your full exposure. His head tilts, looking at your puffy cunt with such hunger in his gaze. He lines himself at your entrance, the tip of his cock accidentally rubbing against your clit, and he doesn’t miss the way your mouth instantly formed an ‘o’.

And for the last time, “Atsumu, please. I need you,” you beg.

“So fucking pretty.” He shoots you a smirk before wrapping your legs around his waist, fully thrusting all of his length inside you, not giving you time to adjust at all. Luckily, your own juices help with the stretch as he pounds into you on all fours.

”Ah—god, Atsumu!” your eyebrows furrow as you cry out in pleasure. To stifle your moans, you bite onto your thumb, but that seems to do something to Atsumu, his gaze and pace both turning into something more animalistic.

”Fuck, keep doin’ that and I’ll be done in a matter of seconds,” his clicks his tongue and you feel him twitch inside you.

Wanting this to last as long as possible, you obey him, clutching onto the sheets instead. But at the rate he’s going, you can’t help but arch into him as you feel yourself nearing your climax once more.

“So glad we left the party,” you mumble to which Atsumu laughs. “Fuck yeah.”

Your breaths are getting shorter and you start to feel tears pricking your eyes. ”I’m almost- almost there- a-almost-“ Your eyes close shut, head craning back subconsciously as you await your orgasm.

”No, no. Fuck. Look at me, I wanna see your pretty face,” he demands as he continues to pound into you. You follow his command despite your self-consciousness over your unravelling expression, but a bolt of heat shoots down your stomach so hot, it stifles any complaint that could come from your mouth.

”Perfect,” he says as he clasps his calloused hands on yours, forcing you to let go of the sheets.

His strides have gone uneven at this point and you wrap your legs tighter around him, waiting to hit your peak for the nth time. Open mouthed and breath hitching, you force yourself to look at him while your insides clenches around his throbbing cock. You’re trembling in your high as he slams one more time into you — grunting in his own release before plopping on top of you.

“Damn,” you breathe out.

Clearing your throat, you lightly urge him to shuffle from his position.

“Damn,” he says back, leaving you a chaste kiss on your cheek, and for some reason, that makes your heart skip a beat in a different way compared to the intimate exchange you just had.

It doesn't miss you that he’s still in you, hard. He lays on his side after he exits you, and you bring your leg around so that he’s spooning you. You jolt back when you feel him sliding his cock back in from behind you, but the stretch is one you welcome, too tired to even complain about all the cum he’s squeezing out of you.

”You’re not gonna look me up three months later asking for support aren't ya?” he pants.

”You seriously only thought to ask that only now?”

He laughs sheepishly and you add, ”Don’t worry, we’re good.”

“How’d you end up going to the ceremony anyway? Big occasions don't seem like your type.”

“You — you’re not just trying to make small talk, are you?” you tease as Atsumu fiddles with your breast. Even during pillowtalk, he’s quite on brand as the tits kind of guy.

“Darling, it’s called ‘getting to know you’,” he retorts, squeezing your tit.

“I just like the beach,” you say plainly, slightly taken aback by the sudden interrogation. “And how are you related to the groom?”

“We’re cousins. But he’s closer to my twin than me.”

Looking over your shoulder, “you’re a twin?!”

Your insides suddenly twitch at your discovery, making him jolt forward “Careful there!” he grunts, warning you as he wraps an arm around your waist.

“Same undercut, dark hair. That’s right, I saw him too. How did I not see you were twins?!”

You feel the grumble of his chest while he chuckles, feeling hints of exhaustion in his laughter while he’s pressed up against your back. He kisses your shoulder, feeling his weight on you as he leans into you even more. “You musta’ just been looking at the right sort,” he replies cheekily, hand latched onto your breast again.

“By ‘right’, you mean you?”

“Yeah? You seemed to think so when you were screaming my name two minutes ago.”

”I’m just saying. I wouldn't know if you're the better twin. Just ‘cause—”

“What’s that?” He brings a hand over to your clit, viciously rubbing your sensitive bud, making your hips shake. He’s banking on your overstimulation from your multiple orgasms, obviously unwilling to let you finish whatever it is you were gonna say.

“What is it?”

“Nothingfff— I—”

“I what?”

“Feel so good, d-don’t stop—fuck!”

He lifts you by your waist so that you’re on all fours, fingers still stroking your clit. It doesn't take much until he’s thrusting into you again. This time, you grab hold of the headboard as he moves one hand to cup your breast and another on your back, keeping you just where he wants you.

The ram of his hips against your as is a mix of sticky and slippery, sticky where his cum began to dry out seconds ago. He pounds into you harder this time, apparently unhappy with your supposed comparison.

“‘Tsumuuuu,” you purr. If a while ago you were merely oriented with the stretch of his cock, now it’s something so familiar you’re sure no other cock can quite fit like a glove compared to his. And you suddenly remember that you had practically just met this person and yet he’s already balls deep into you for the second time today.

The sound of his rock hard thighs ramming onto your ass sends your insides coiling. Still slightly sticky from the cum that hasn’t fully dried out, your clit sticks onto the base of his cock before he fully exits and pounds into you again. Cunt gummy, slimy, and stuffed all at once, a bolt of heat from your stomach shoots down to your center making you scream in pleasure.

He squeezes your tit one last time before bringing his hand to rub circles on your clit. Once more, you arch your back, whimpering as you get off from your high. Pretty soon, he’s coming off from his own high, stuffing you full of his hot and thick seed.

“Just so ya know, I forgive you. Clearly, you weren't thinkin’ straight a while ago,” he says and you could almost hear the smirk in his face by how he said it. He plops back down on the bed, pulling you close to his sweaty, panting body.

“You are so full of it,” you sneer.

He pulls you in tighter before asking, “so, 8 PM tomorrow?”

“Deal.”

[ohdeerfully]

hiii! this is my first request on tumblr but i jus love alastor sm and there is NOT enough fics for me out there. so im asking u❤️

what abt alastor being jealous of someone else in the hotel? for example: angel dust, he puts on music and you two are dancing with eachother happily not noticing the red eyed demon with a tight grin. 🥰

Hii! Honestly after writing this I realized I didn't follow the prompt exactly, less jealousy and more Alastor being overprotective. Oh well! Hope you like it anyway :D!

Be Back Soon (i)

alastor x reader (fluff? alastor is just overprotective) part i TW: Cursing/Angel existing if you want tagged in the next part, lmk! join my discord! ═══ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ══════════ ◈ ═══

Your fingers dragged down the skin around your eyes as you let out a long sight, sitting at Husk’s bar with shoulders propped on the cold counter. What a day it had been, running around in the typical chaos of the hotel as Charlie tried to get some group bonding activities finished. It was getting late, and you just finally had a moment of peace.

“‘Ey, toots!” The chipper voice broke your peace and you couldn’t help it when another audible sigh escaped you. The culprit of the broken science paid no mind.

Turning your head, you narrowed your eyes and made eye contact with the lanky pink spider. You were a little salty at him in particular, being one of the main catalysts to the everyday insanity. He had an easy grin played upon his lips as he stared back down at you with his multicolored eyes, one pair of arms on his hips that jutted out a little too unnaturally in a mischievous pose. His golden tooth glinted under his light grin with a similar air of “hey I’m up to no good right now.”

“You look fuckin’ tired!” He barked a laugh, dramatically squeezing his eyes shut in a theatrical show of laughing in your face. It really wasn’t that funny, and you couldn’t stop the frown that touched your lips as you watched him. He took pride in being the way he was. Annoying.

“No thanks to you, Angel,” You clipped back. You turned your head to watch Husk, who was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed. He had become an expert in ignoring the spider demon’s presence, which was how he managed to stay sane with said demon’s constant flirting and sexual nature.

“Anyway,” He waves away your targeted words with a wave of his hands as his eyes roll up. “I was thinkin’ we get outta here for the night? Me and Cherri were gonna have a “girl’s night.”” You briefly thought about the humor in Angel admitting to being ‘one of the girls,’ but pushed the thought away to consider his invitation. “It wouldn’t hurt ta get some fresh air. This place is real stuffy sometimes, and a huge snooze fest,” he persuaded. He rested his face on one pair of hands, fingers laced under his chin, as he leaned against the bartop in anticipation for your answer.

You purse your lips in thought. It wouldn’t hurt, right? You didn’t go out clubbing a lot, and with Angel and Cherri with you surely nothing wrong would happen. They looked out for their friends, and you would (maybe regretfully) consider yourself Angel’s friend. You glanced at Husk for a moment, as if looking for advice, but his eyes remained close and his lips had an annoyed curl. Maybe you should get out of his hair.

“Okay, okay,” You grinned, a little sheepishly. While you couldn’t really consider ‘fresh air’ to be a feature of Hell, you agreed that you needed to just Get Out of this place. Running errands for Charlie got mundane, even with all the strange characters that cycled through the place. One tends to get used to the chaos.

Angel stretched his arms up in a cheer, which earned a one-eyed, aggravated look from Husk. He uttered something under his breath before grabbing a bottle and walking to the other corner.

“Alright, sweet lips,” Angel cooed at you. “Let's get you dressed! You got anything decent up in your closet?”

Your hand found its way to the back of your neck as you answered sheepishly, “Eh, not really… At least, not for a night out. I don’t really do much outside of the Hotel.” Angel frowned at the response, tapping his chin in thought.

“Lemme take a look,” With a swipe of his arm, your hand was suddenly being held as he dragged you up the steps toward the floor of your room.

Walking down at the same time, you briskly passed by Alastor, who had his eyes closed and a hum in his mouth. His blazing red eyes peered open as you and Angel rushed past him, a quizzical furrow in his brow seeing the connection between your hands. You shot him a shy grin and craned your head back to shout a quick ‘I’ll explain in a minute,’ before you disappeared around the bend of the stairs.

You didn’t miss the dark gleam in his eyes.

Angel, in an attempt to dramatically burst through your door, slammed full body into the entrance. “Ah- the hell?” He cried, roughly jiggling the handle.

“I keep it locked,” you snickered at him and the disheveled look in his usually preened hair. You saw him take his hands to brush it out as you fiddled with the lock, an annoyed mutter of words escaping his lips. The second the door clicked, Angel shoved past you and reattempted his dramatic burst through the entrance with a bit more luck this time around.

He went straight for your closer, rummaging through this and that. What a breach of privacy, this guy is, you thought with a strained smile as you stepped up next to him to try to guide him through your very Ordinary and Plain clothes.

You felt a prickling sensation on your skin, and you swear you heard a frequency of low static, but when you whipped your head around nothing stood there. Did that shadow just move?

Shaking your head, you looked at the piece Angel held proudly in his hands, one pair of arms gripping the top and the second pair pulling the bottom out to really get a full inspection.

It was incredibly simple, but still a bit more revealing than anything you were used to wearing. A deep red top, so cropped it may as well be a sporty bra, with a couple eye-catching accents of rhinestones. Connected with thin straps was a similarly tight pair of booty shorts. Your face flushed at the thought of wearing this. It was practically lingerie.

“Isn’t it a bit, uh, tacky?” You tried in an attempt to dissuade him from this getup. He acted offended, one hand going and pressing against his fluffed chest. You didn’t miss the way he took this as an opportunity and pressed up against himself to perk up his mass of chest fur.

“Babe, I wear shit like this all the time! You tellin’ me,” He started a rant, shaking the clothes in a fit of mock rage. “You tellin’ me I’m tacky? Hah! Me! Angel Dust!” He wiped away a fake tear in his laughter.

Your face flushed again looking at the getup. With a defeated mutter you swiped it from his hands and trekked painfully slowly to the restroom. You ignored Angel’s urgency for you to ‘hurry the hell up’ because it was almost time to get going.

You slowly stripped yourself of your day clothes, gingerly stepping through the tight shorts and tucking your arms through the straps of the top. You didn’t even remember buying this thing, it had been stuffed far in the back of your closet. You couldn’t help the feeling of dread thinking about the other embarrassing things Angel might have seen in there. Though, you doubt anything could phase that guy.

You had to admit, looking at your reflection, that it did accentuate your curves, even if you didn’t have much to begin with. The rhinestone accents glittered in the bathroom light, obviously designed in a way to bring attention to the chest. The straps that connect the two pieces fit snugly against your exposed torso. You were suddenly glad Hell never got that cold.

“Almost ready!” You snapped at Angel calling from the other side of the door. You quickly threw on some touches of makeup, trying your best to compliment the shades of your outfit and adding some glittery makeup around your eyes. You quickly dragged your fingers through your hair to style it comfortably.

You ripped open your door just as fists started banging on it. Angel stood there with two arms raised, stopped midair to keep himself from decking you in the head. You glared up at him, trying to maintain your earlier sourness to hide the fact that the outfit had grown on you.

“Hey, sexy lady!” Angel teasingly leaned himself against the doorframe with a smirk. “Let’s fuckin’ go! You took too damn long! Cherri hates waitin’.”

Grabbing your hand again, he ushered you out of the room. As you raced down the stairs, you tried to continuously preen your hair to keep it from flying out of shape as Angel practically drug you down each step.

He slowed at the bottom, releasing your hand, and stepping towards Husk’s bar to aggravate and flirt with the cat one last time before heading out. You tuned out his sexual innuendoes as you tried to glance over yourself one last time.

“My, what a dame you are!” Alastor’s recognizably radio-afflicted voice ripped your attention away from picking at a loose rhinestone. He stood over you, a slight bend in his waist and an unnatural crane in his neck. His smile was there, but tight and uneasily wide as he examined you through squinted eyes. He leaned his weight against his cane.

Swallowing your unease, you examined his expression. You knew Alastor didn’t care for such… promiscuous outfits. Especially on what he considered his. You knew his compliment was satirical, and you didn’t miss that glint of anger flash through his expression.

“Heyy, Al,” You drew out your words, unintentionally accentuating the awkward tone between the two of you. He paid no mind, keeping up that seemingly cheerful grin of his as he just… stared at you. His fingers tapped impatiently on the radio of his cane, each tap bringing a warp to the frequency that always surrounded him. “I’m going out with Angel tonight. Y’know… to get some air…”

“My dear,” His eyes closed in a laugh and he straightened himself out. “Why would you ever go out there for fresh air? Now, you know those demons would just eat you right up.” A dark sneer infected his smile, lips curling and exposing the line of his black gums.

“‘Ey c’mon, Smiles,” Angel stepped up next to you and lazily threw an arm over your shoulder. You saw that sneer only deepen as Alastor watched the spider get way too close to you. “Give ‘er a break! She’s always runnin’ around doin’ shit for this bum-ass hotel! It makes her… boring!” 

You didn’t know whether or not to appreciate Angel both defending and insulting you. You decided to just ignore his comments as you watched Alastor’s expression get darker and more sinister. You felt a cold sweat prickle at your neck as that static-y frequency of his became more prominent and aggressive as his eyes swept over the two of you, lingering on your exposed abdomen with a frustrated twitch in his brow.

“Why, of course!” He suddenly cheered, brandishing his hands to his side in a slight bow. “But…” He stepped towards you, looming over you. You felt that nervous tickle again. His right hand raised and, with a quick motion, a fairly modest jacket materialized around your shoulders. “All better! Wouldn’t want greedy eyes seeing what’s mine!”

How bold, you thought. He was from the ‘30s, though, and very old fashioned. It made sense that immodest wear bothered him. Plus, you looked down at the jacket. It had a similar color scheme, and was light enough to not be too warm. At least it goes with my outfit. How sweet.

You felt a bit giddy at the permission Alastor had given you–not that you needed it. (You did). You’re a grown ass adult. (It doesn’t matter). You shot him a smile of thanks before dashing out the door, meeting Cherri who had been frequently laying on the car horn for you to Hurry the Fuck Up.

Before Angel Dust could follow, a tight grip on one of his wrists stopped him in his tracks. He hissed, yanking his arm but to no avail. Alastor’s grab was like iron, and his nails began to dig into Angel’s skin.

“Hey you fuck, let me go! I gotta get out there before Cherri starts blowin’ this shit up!”

Alastor pulled Angel in closer, a sneer-like grin crossing his expression. There was a maddening look in his glowing red eyes.

“If she comes home with even the smallest scrape,” He said in a low tone, the garble of his radio slightly distorting his voice. “I’m going to make you wish you never came to this Hazbin Hotel.”

Alastor’s grip didn’t yield as Angel tried again in a futile attempt to release himself. He had a nervous laugh in his voice as he tried to act unintimidated by the Radio Demon’s threat.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, you creepy red fuck,” He gruffed back, “Me an’ Cherri will stick right by her. You don’t gotta worry about nothin’.” Alastor’s expression shifted in an instant, his cheerful grin reappearing. He stood up straight and smiled down at Angel. “Good man! Now, don’t be too long,” He shooed Angel out of the lobby, who was more than glad to get the fuck out of there. He heard a faint ‘I’ll be watching’ from behind as he slammed the car door shut, muttering curses under his breath.

He knew Alastor would send that damn shadow of his to keep a close eye, so why the fuck did Angel have to babysit you in the first place? Plus, you weren’t some weak, naive fool. Whatever. He knew Alastor would take any excuse to cause some entertaining mayhem.

He sighed as he looked at you, who had a nervous but excited grin as Cherri rambled and cursed about something.

Maybe he shouldn’t have invited you out. He knew he was in for a long, stressful night. Good thing there would be a bar.

[f14fun]

big mouth, big brain (!youtuber x op81) ~ part 3

synopsis: in which case y/n, a video essayist pops up on oscar's youtube feed, and he falls in love with the way she speaks and tells stories

smau + prose (2.7K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist | prev ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

I was going to be on a bloody yacht.

He led me down a winding path that skirted the beach, the sound of the waves growing louder in the stillness of the night. As we walked, the anticipation built between us. I could feel the warmth of his hand, the steadiness of his grip, and it was incredibly reassuring.

"Are you serious?" I asked, a mix of disbelief and excitement in my voice. "You have a yacht?"

"Well, it's not exactly mine," he admitted with a grin. "But a friend of mine owns it, and he owes me a favor."

I laughed, shaking my head in amazement. "This night keeps getting better and better."

He chuckled softly, the sound blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves. The moonlight danced on the water's surface, casting a surreal glow around us. As we continued along the path, a soft breeze played with my hair, carrying the salty scent of the sea. Each step seemed to deepen the connection between us, making the night feel like a secret we shared.

The path curved gently, revealing a secluded cove where a sleek yacht bobbed gently in the water. Its polished hull gleamed under the moonlight, and the sight took my breath away. "Wow," I breathed, unable to tear my eyes away from the elegant vessel. It was like something out of a dream, a luxurious escape from the ordinary world.

He grinned at my reaction, clearly pleased with the effect. "Impressive, isn't it?" he said, his voice tinged with satisfaction. "Just wait until you see the view from onboard."

Together, we descended the wooden steps leading to the dock. The yacht swayed slightly as we stepped aboard, the deck cool beneath my bare feet. Soft music played from hidden speakers, creating a soundtrack to the night's unfolding magic.

He led me to the bow, where a plush seating area awaited us. It felt like stepping into another realm, far removed from the worries of everyday life.

We stood together at the dock, looking away from the marina and towards the water that was calming rippling underneath the gaze of the shining moonlight.

My white dress swayed in the wind, my lips glossy under the moonlight, and his hand tightly wrapped around mine. Every once in a while we would sneak glances at each other, while we thought the other one wasn't looking.

Biting my lip slightly when he would look at me, I felt nervous and hot underneath his gaze. Squirming, he grabbed my chin.

"Y/N, don't do that do your lips," he trailed off, speaking softly to me as his thumb gently rubbed my chin. Looking up at him through my lashes, everything around us suddenly seemed to fade away.

"Okay-," I dwindled off, as his gaze sudden detracted from my eyes, and trailed down to my plump lips.

In that moment, he seemed to get closer. Putting my hand on his chest, I could hear his faint heartbeat get louder and pump faster. He was nervous. I, made him nervous.

He was softly exhaling, as was I. I could only hear our breaths, slowly getting faster in that moment. Oscar's head titled, and in that moment, I knew what was about to come.

Grabbing my jaw, he made direct eye contact with me. "May I kiss you, Y/N?" My heartbeat fluttered, and I swear I could feel something else beating as well.

"Of course," I softly replied. The moment I gave consent, he dove right in. Lips connecting, time seemed to stop.

One of his arms tightly gripped my waist, the other gripping my jaw as he was softly kissing me. He was so gentle, yet so passionate and loving. Groaning into my mouth as I wrapped my arms around his neck, I felt his neck muscles flex. Playing with his soft brown hair, my freshly manicured champagne-colored chrome nails gently scratched his scalp.

We kissed passionately for what seemed like hours. Though it must have been a few minutes of bliss in reality. I was the first to part, and noticed that my lip gloss and lipstick was smothered all around his lip area.

Chuckling I wiped it off and showed him the red Dior lipstick stain on my thumb that had resided on his cheek.

"Looks like I've been marked," he said, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned closer. "Should I be worried about leaving a trail of evidence?"

I laughed softly, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. "Depends on whether you want to be found," I teased, unable to resist the flirtatious banter that seemed to come so effortlessly between us.

He grinned, his gaze lingering on mine. "Maybe I don't mind being caught," he replied, his voice low and filled with suggestion.

I chuckled, enjoying the playful dance of words between us. "Oh, so you're admitting to being a wanted man?" I shot back, raising an eyebrow in mock suspicion.

His grin widened, and he leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Only if you're the one doing the chasing," he whispered, his voice sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

I leaned back slightly, feigning contemplation. "Hmm, I do have a knack for tracking down elusive characters," I mused, my tone teasing yet tinged with genuine interest.

He chuckled softly, the sound like music in the stillness of the early morning. "Then I suppose I'm in trouble," he replied, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

I pretended to study him with exaggerated seriousness. "Well, you did lead me down this path," I pointed out, gesturing around us at the yacht and the tranquil sea beyond. "Seems like you've left quite a trail."

He nodded, his expression turning more earnest. "It's a path I'm glad you decided to follow," he said softly, his fingers lightly tracing circles on the back of my hand.

I smiled, feeling a warmth spread through me at his words. "Me too," I admitted, my gaze meeting his and holding steady. "I guess we'll just have to see where it leads."

He leaned even closer, his lips brushing against my earlobe as he whispered, "I'm hoping it leads to more moments like this."

My heart skipped a beat at his confession, the intimacy of the moment both exhilarating and comforting. "I think we're off to a pretty good start," I replied, my voice filled with a mix of playfulness and sincerity.

Feeling even more bold, I chuckled softly, feeling a rush of playful energy between us. "I must admit, you wear it well," I said, holding up my thumb to show him the faint smudge of lipstick. "But you might want to be more careful next time."

He grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners with amusement. "Noted," he replied, his tone light yet tinged with a hint of flirtation. "Though I have to say, it's a small price to pay for such delightful company."

I felt a blush creep into my cheeks at his compliment, the warmth spreading through me like the first rays of morning sunlight. "Flattery will get you everywhere," I teased, unable to suppress the smile that tugged at my lips.

His gaze softened, the playful glint giving way to a more sincere expression. "I mean it," he said softly, his thumb brushing lightly against mine. "I haven't had this much fun in a long time."

The sincerity in his voice touched me, making my heart flutter in a way I hadn't expected. "I'm glad," I replied honestly, meeting his gaze with an openness that surprised even myself. "Tonight has been... unexpected, in the best possible way."

He nodded, his fingers intertwining with mine. "Sometimes the best moments are the ones we don't plan," he mused, his tone thoughtful. "Like finding a lipstick stain on your cheek."

I laughed softly, the sound mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves against the yacht's hull. "Who would have thought a little makeup mishap could lead to such a moment?" I said, shaking my head in amused disbelief.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against my cheek. "Maybe it's a sign," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "That we're meant to leave a mark on each other's lives."

His words sent a thrill through me, the romantic notion echoing in the quiet space between us. "I like the sound of that," I admitted, feeling a sense of anticipation building between us like a rising tide.

He smiled, a softness in his eyes that made my pulse quicken. "Me too," he replied, his thumb tracing gentle circles on the back of my hand. "So, what do you say we continue this adventure? See where it takes us next."

I nodded, a surge of excitement and curiosity coursing through me. "I'd like that," I said earnestly, feeling a surge of gratitude for the serendipitous turn of events that brought us together on this yacht, under this moonlit sky.

As the moon held its vigil in the night sky, casting a silvery sheen over the yacht's deck, we settled into a cozy corner under a blanket. The soft glow of candles created an intimate atmosphere, illuminating the desserts before us—a plate of tiramisu and crème brûlée, their decadent aromas mingling with the salty sea air.

He poured us each a glass of champagne, the effervescent bubbles adding a touch of celebratory cheer to the serene scene. "To unexpected adventures," he toasted, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he handed me a flute.

I smiled, clinking my glass against his. "To seizing the moment," I replied, savoring the crisp taste of the champagne as it tickled my palate.

We shared the desserts, trading playful banter and lingering glances that spoke volumes in the quietude of the night. Each bite of tiramisu melted on my tongue, rich and creamy, while the crème brûlée offered a delightful contrast of smooth custard beneath a perfectly caramelized crust.

Between bites, we talked about our dreams and aspirations, our favorite travel destinations, and even our shared love for late-night escapades. The conversation flowed effortlessly, punctuated by moments of laughter and the occasional shared sigh of contentment.

"I guess we've hit the apex of the evening," he quipped, his tone teasing yet filled with affection, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

I chuckled softly, enjoying the playful reference. "Well, if this is the apex, I can't wait to see what the straightaway looks like," I replied, matching his playful banter with a hint of flirtation.

He grinned, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the back of my hand. "Trust me, the view from the podium is even better with you by my side," he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

The warmth of his words sent a shiver down my spine, mingling with the gentle breeze that caressed our faces. The night around us seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the two of us in our private world aboard the yacht.

Leaning closer, our gazes locked in a silent agreement of shared desire, we savored each bite of dessert as if it were a testament to the sweetness of this moment. The occasional brush of fingertips, the soft exchange of smiles—it all spoke of a connection that went beyond mere words.

As the yacht rocked gently on the tranquil waters, I found myself drawn to him more than ever, my heart racing with a mix of excitement and anticipation. This night, filled with laughter and stolen glances, had woven a tapestry of intimacy that I never wanted to unravel.

"I'm glad you invited me," I confessed softly, breaking the silence that had settled between us like a comforting embrace.

His gaze softened, a tender smile playing on his lips. "I couldn't imagine sharing this with anyone else," he admitted, his fingers entwining with mine in a gesture that spoke volumes.

"And hey, if things go really well, I hear they offer Australian citizenship with every marriage," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he leaned closer.

I couldn't help but laugh at his playful suggestion, feeling a surge of affection for his sense of humor. "Are you trying to bribe me with dual citizenship now?" I quipped back, a playful twinkle in my eye.

He chuckled, his fingers gently squeezing mine. "Hey, it's just a perk," he replied with mock seriousness, his smile widening into a grin that lit up his face.

I leaned closer, teasingly narrowing my eyes at him. "Well, I'll have you know, my love can't be bought with citizenship perks," I teased, my tone light but tinged with warmth.

His grin softened into a look of genuine fondness. "Good to know," he murmured, his gaze lingering on mine as if trying to capture every detail of this moment.

The night air around us seemed to hum with possibility, as if the universe itself was conspiring to weave our destinies together. I found myself drawn to him in ways I couldn't fully articulate, my heart singing with a melody that resonated with his presence.

"But if you keep feeding me dessert like this," I added with a playful wink, "you might just convince me otherwise."

He laughed softly, the sound like music to my ears. "Consider it a delicious bribe, then," he replied, his eyes sparkling with affection.

We watched as the moonlight danced on the surface of the sea, casting a spell of tranquility over us. Time slowed to a leisurely pace, allowing us to savor each moment, each stolen glance, and each shared smile.

As the clock struck midnight, marking the transition into a new day, we remained on the deck, wrapped in each other's warmth and the promise of what lay ahead.

And as we eventually bid farewell to the night, reluctant to let go of the magic we had found, I knew that this evening had woven our hearts together in a tapestry of hope and possibility.

Hand in hand, we returned to the shore, our laughter echoing against the quiet backdrop of the ocean. The night had been a gift—a testament to the beauty of chance encounters and the transformative power of shared experiences.

And as we looked towards the future, I couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement, knowing that our journey together had only just begun.

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 233,152 others

yourusername: ignore the elephant in the room (twitter)

view comments

user1: alrrr, aesthetic queen

user2: not them using their own drunk paparazzi pics in their post, it's giving iconic shit

user3: I AM NEVER FORGETTING THOSE TWEETS THEY WERE FUCKING HILARIOUS GIRLLL

user4: nahhh nawt the "pls pls pls gimme ur babies"

user4: IN TEARS. 😭😭

user5: she must've been HELLA DRUNK to post those

user6: oscar too LMFAOO

user7: i know she just woke up feeling like shit, checked her phone, then wanted to kys

landonorris: those tweets...

landonorris: pr wants to talk to both of you...😭

yourusername: oh god oh god i'm in trouble

yourusername: little old me, a content creator online did the single handedly worse possible thing not to do: drunk post

oscarpiastri: LMFAO GET WRECKED🫵🏻🫵🏻

landonorris: what are you laughing about ur probably in trouble too 🫵🏼

user8: LMAOOO lando got their ass

user9: he said "check urself" before u check her

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, landonorris and 212,655 others

oscarpiastri: she's too cute, so i asked to be her boyfriend

view comments

yourusername: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend" 🧡🧡🤤🙌🏼😇😍🥰🥰🥰😘

user1: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user2: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user3: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user4: "can I be your boyfriend" >> "can you be my girlfriend"

user5: wow mate, you really think you're winning in life

oscarpiastri: i really am. she was doing donuts on my dick last night

yourusername: OSCAR DELETE THAT BEFORE ADMIN SEES SKSKKSKS

oscarpiastri: well... you didn't deny it

landonorris: oscar jack piastri. you are going to give admin another fucking heart attack.

mclaren: 👁️👁️🕵🏼

user6: LMAOOOO GN

this comment thread has been deleted

user7: DID YOU SEE THE DELETED COMMENT THREAD LMAO

user8: i hope someone screenshotted ts and put it on twitter lol

user9: ughhh i love them so much

landonorris: congrats guys!! mawmaw yi pawpaw 🧡🫵🏼

liked by oscarpiastri and yourusername

yourusername: can i be your girlfriend, oscar? 🧡

oscarpiastri: can i be your boyfriend, y/n? 🧡

─────────────────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───────────────────

author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

[solxamber]

Hello! I saw that you said it was fine to request still, so if it's alright I'll give you my thoughts/promt if it's fine by you.

Also wanted to say i love you're fanfics! Super entertaining and well written so i was wondering if you could write one that's Vil x mermaid! Reader (romantic) the prompt is-

Vil has been slowly falling in love with the reader; not just by her beauty but her personality the two have these little meet ups where she sings/the two talk endlessly and just enjoy eachothers company, but what I'm getting with this,is that Vil would take time to process his feelings but eventually he gets there and confesses. Maybe it could be a friends x lovers?

whatever you want to do with this idea is cool beans, I just really want to see what you come up with!! Alright,that's all much love ♡♡

Vil Schoenheit x Mermaid! Reader

the idea is so big brained!!! I hope you like it <3

Vil has always appreciated beauty. He lives and breathes it—the art of refinement, the craft of elegance. But lately, beauty has taken on a new form for him, and it looks suspiciously like you. He can’t pinpoint exactly when it started, but he knows it’s tied to those secret meetups you two share by the shoreline.

You’re a mermaid, and you make a point to remind him of that every time he mentions something about the "unbearable" human world. You always roll your eyes dramatically, your tail shimmering in the moonlight as you laugh at his over-the-top complaints about fashion disasters, inferior skincare routines, or the latest scandal in the entertainment industry.

"You humans are so fragile," you often tease, resting your chin on your hand as you float lazily in the water. "Honestly, Vil, it’s a wonder you haven’t all crumbled under the weight of your own drama."

He gives you a sharp look every time, but there’s always a trace of a smile pulling at the corner of his lips. "And yet, here you are, meeting up with one of these fragile humans every week."

"I didn’t say you weren’t entertaining," you retort with a sly grin. "It’s like watching a soap opera, except with more skincare tips."

Vil chuckles, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair, which somehow manages to stay flawless even in the salty sea breeze. "You’d be lost without my advice. I’ve seen your seaweed face masks."

You pretend to gasp, putting a hand to your chest. "Seaweed is a perfectly valid skincare ingredient! In fact, it’s far superior to that toxic concoction you call moisturizer."

"Seaweed smells like the bottom of the ocean."

"And you don’t?"

That’s how it always goes—banter, teasing, comfortable silences filled with the soft crashing of waves, and eventually, music. You sing sometimes, when the mood strikes you. It’s never anything planned; it just happens. Vil always listens, captivated, because your voice is something he can't quite describe. It's raw, but pure, untouched by the expectations of the stage or the pressures of fame.

Sometimes he sings back, though he pretends he’s only doing it because you insist. "Come on, Vil. Just a few bars. You know you want to."

"I am a professional," he says, crossing his arms. "I don’t perform on a whim."

But you know how to coax him, and soon enough, he’s harmonizing with your lilting melody, his smooth, controlled voice intertwining with yours in a way that makes the night feel magical.

It’s been months of these little meetings, and Vil has never been quite sure what to make of you. You’re beautiful, of course—stunning, really—but that’s not what has him coming back to the shore every week.

It’s the way you make him feel completely at ease, the way you challenge him without being mean-spirited, the way you listen to him vent about things you couldn’t care less about yet still offer thoughtful responses.

And then there’s that laugh of yours—sharp, like the crack of a wave against the rocks, but warm enough to make him feel lighter every time he hears it.

He’s always valued control—over his image, his career, his emotions—but with you, he’s found himself slipping. He realizes, with some discomfort, that he’s been looking forward to these meetings a little too much. It’s not just the singing or the banter anymore. It’s... you.

That thought bothers him, because Vil Schoenheit does not get "distracted." He doesn’t fall for anyone. At least, not like this.

But here he is, walking down to the beach again, heart beating faster than usual as he anticipates seeing you. Tonight, though, something feels different. Maybe it’s the way the moon is hanging lower than usual, casting everything in a silvery glow, or maybe it’s the fact that Vil can’t deny his feelings anymore.

You’re already waiting for him when he arrives, sitting on a rock with your tail swishing lazily in the water. "Late again, Mr. Superstar?" you call out teasingly.

"I’m fashionably late, thank you," Vil replies, though there’s a softness in his voice. He takes a seat on the sand, smoothing out his coat with practiced precision before looking at you.

"You’re slipping," you say, eyeing him critically. "Usually, you’d have a comeback ready. What’s the matter? One of your beauty products finally backfired?"

Vil snorts softly, shaking his head. "No, though if it did, you’d be the first to hear about it." He looks out at the horizon, his expression thoughtful. "I’ve just been... thinking."

"Uh-oh," you say, folding your arms over your chest. "That sounds dangerous. What about?"

He hesitates for a moment, unsure of how to approach this. Vil has always been calculated, measured in everything he does. Confessing his feelings, though? That’s not something he’s prepared for. He glances at you, and suddenly, the words start spilling out before he can stop them.

"You know, for someone who claims not to care about humans, you certainly seem to enjoy spending time with me."

You raise an eyebrow, clearly intrigued by the shift in tone. "Are you fishing for compliments, Vil? Because I don’t need to stroke your ego any more than it already is."

He chuckles, shaking his head. "No, it’s just... You’re always teasing me about humans, about my world, but you keep coming back. Why?"

You tilt your head, considering his question for a moment before replying. "Because you’re interesting, Vil. You’re not like the others I’ve met. Most humans get caught up in themselves, but you... you’ve got a spark. You’re genuine, even when you’re being all high-and-mighty. And, well, it’s not like I’ve got a lot of options for good conversation under the sea."

Vil’s heart skips a beat at your words, and he finds himself smiling despite the nerves building up inside him. "I see. So I’m just your entertainment, then?"

"Oh, definitely," you say, grinning. "But you’re also... more than that."

Vil blinks, his breath catching slightly. "More?"

You nod, your expression softening. "You’re someone I look forward to seeing. I like being around you, Vil. You make me feel... seen. And I’m not just talking about my looks. It’s like you actually care about me as a person, not just a pretty face."

He swallows, his chest tightening as he listens to your words. This is it. He can’t hold it in any longer. "I do care," he says quietly, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "More than you know."

You look at him, your teasing expression fading as you sense the weight behind his words. "Vil...?"

He takes a deep breath, steeling himself. "I think... I think I’m falling for you."

There. He said it. And now his heart is racing, his palms are sweating, and for the first time in what feels like forever, Vil Schoenheit is unsure of himself. He braces for your reaction, half expecting you to laugh it off or tease him like you always do.

But you don’t. Instead, you blink at him, your mouth opening and closing as you process his confession. "You... what?"

Vil clears his throat, forcing himself to meet your gaze. "I’m in love with you," he repeats, more confidently this time. "I’ve been falling for you for a while now, and I didn’t want to admit it, but... I can’t keep it to myself anymore."

There’s a moment of stunned silence before you break into a wide smile. "Vil, you absolute idiot."

He recoils slightly. "I beg your pardon?"

You laugh, shaking your head in disbelief. "I’ve been waiting for you to say something for months now! I thought I was going to have to spell it out for you."

Vil blinks, taken aback. "You... you knew?"

"I didn’t know know," you admit, "but I had a feeling. You’re not exactly subtle, Vil."

He stares at you, a mixture of relief and embarrassment flooding his system. "Why didn’t you say anything, then?"

"Because I wanted to see how long it would take for you to figure it out yourself," you say with a smirk, leaning forward slightly. "I didn’t think it’d take this long, though."

Vil narrows his eyes, though there’s no malice in his expression. "You’re insufferable."

"And yet, you love me," you tease, reaching out to cup his cheek gently. "What does that say about you?"

He huffs, though his heart is fluttering in his chest at your touch. "That I have terrible taste."

You laugh again, the sound bright and infectious, and before Vil can say anything else, you pull him in for a kiss. It’s soft, gentle, and Vil feels like his entire world is melting away in that moment. The taste of saltwater lingers on your lips, and for the first time in a long time, Vil isn’t worried about appearances or perfection. He’s just... happy.

When you finally pull away, both of you are smiling like fools. "So," you say, your voice teasing, "does this mean we’re a thing now?"

Vil rolls his eyes, though he can’t stop the grin spreading across his face. "I suppose it does."

"Good," you say, leaning in to kiss him again. "Because I’m not letting you back out of this one, Mr. Superstar."

Vil chuckles against your lips, his hand sliding to the back of your neck to pull you even closer. "Oh, trust me," he murmurs, his voice low and smooth, "I have no intention of backing out. But I do expect you to stop wearing those dreadful seaweed masks."

You gasp dramatically, pulling back just far enough to look him in the eye. "Excuse you! Seaweed is nature’s skincare miracle, Vil. Just because it’s not wrapped in fancy packaging doesn’t mean it’s ineffective."

He raises a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, his lips curling into a playful smirk. "Perhaps, but you’ll have to let me introduce you to something a little more refined. If we’re going to be a couple, I simply can’t allow my significant other to use subpar beauty products."

"Oh, is that so?" you ask, amusement twinkling in your eyes. "I didn’t realize I was dating a beauty tyrant."

"It’s for your own good," he says with mock seriousness, though there’s a warmth behind his gaze that betrays his affection. "Think of it as part of your glow-up. You’ll thank me later."

You can’t help but laugh, your heart swelling with affection for the man in front of you. It’s strange, really—how quickly this has all come together, yet how natural it feels. You never would’ve guessed that your casual banter and late-night talks would lead to this, but now that it’s happening, you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Vil reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch gentle but purposeful. "You know," he says softly, his usual sharp tone melting into something softer, "I’ve never met anyone quite like you."

You smile at him, feeling the warmth of his words settle into your chest. "I could say the same about you, Vil. You’re not as scary as people think, you know."

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. "That’s a well-maintained persona, I’ll have you know. Can’t let people think I’m soft."

"Oh, but you are," you tease, poking him lightly in the chest. "At least with me."

He scoffs lightly, though there’s no real bite behind it. "I’ll deny it if you tell anyone."

You laugh, resting your forehead against his as you savor the closeness between you. For the first time in what feels like forever, you feel completely at peace, as if everything has fallen into place. Vil, with all his elegance, wit, and sharpness, has somehow become the person you’ve come to care about more than you ever thought possible. And now, as he holds you close, you know that you wouldn’t trade this for the world.

"I’m glad it’s you," you whisper, pressing a light kiss to his cheek. "I never thought I’d fall for a perfectionist with an ego the size of the sun, but here we are."

He lets out a soft, genuine laugh, his arms wrapping around you more securely. "I never thought I’d fall for someone who argues with me over skincare, but I suppose life has a sense of humor."

"Looks like we’re both in for a wild ride, then," you say with a grin.

Vil hums in agreement, his hand gently stroking your hair. "As long as it’s with you, I think I can handle it."

You smile, feeling your heart soar at his words. There’s a certain magic to this moment—a kind of fairy tale that feels like it’s been written just for the two of you. And as you sit there, wrapped up in each other’s warmth, you can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this is the start of something truly beautiful.

"Well then," you say, pulling back slightly to look him in the eye, "looks like you’re stuck with me, Schoenheit."

"Forever, I hope," he says softly, before pulling you in for another kiss—this one longer, deeper, filled with the promise of something lasting.

And in that moment, with the moon shining overhead and the waves lapping gently against the shore, you know that whatever comes next, you’ll face it together..

Masterlist

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 6.1k

Summary: What do you call a deaf pirate? Not 'Siren Food' apparently, which is really sort of hilarious when you've been kidnapped by a hungry Siren. Not for the Siren though—he's definitely not having a good time.

A/N: *rushes in at the 11th hour* Happy Mer-May!! I've been back and forth with clinical rotations and also working on some commission things and Leona's Part 4, but like, it's a fanfiction holiday. I couldn't miss out. And for one of my favorite tropes nonetheless. So here we are.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

There was a legend that floated throughout the Sage Island Seas of the Pirate With No Ears. Which was ridiculous—half because such a tall tale managing to survive so long and so wildly really showed just how pathetic the rest of the gossip around here was, and half because you still had ears. They just didn’t work very well was all.

Some said you’d been deafened by a prowling sea sorcerer who had tricked you into trading away your once keen sense for some mortal foible or other. Others whispered about how you’d been trapped in an ice cavern, surrounded by electric eels and sharks, and that the only way you’d been able to weasel your way out was by cutting off your own ears so that you’d have enough wiggle room to escape from your bindings. Which made absolutely zero sense at all.

In reality, all you’d done was stand far too close to a canon for far too long when you were far, far too little, and ever since all you could hear was the dull ringing of post-battle silence. Sometimes it was a bit sad. When the waves crashed against the shore, or when the gulls flew overhead—you were sure all those things sounded very lovely. You remembered music and laughter and sometimes they echoed in your head at a distance—a memory not quite forgotten but certainly fading at the edges. But other times, like now, where your fellow crewmates were bawling into their ales and wailing about lord knew what… well, it was always nice to find a silver lining in these sorts of things.

One of the tipsy lads tottering around the deck of The Rose Queen tripped and landed against the wood with something that looked like it’d be a very loud smack. Your brain helpfully filled the silence with some nonsense noises and park-play-style laughter instead. You watched Cater stumble by out of the corner of your eye. He patted your head and said something that twisted his mouth into a gaping ‘uuuuu-eeeee-oooo’ before he puttered away to leech off First Mate Clover instead. Ace threw a drunken arm around your shoulder and burbled something against your cheek that popped with the scent of stale booze, and you decided to pretend that you were as alone at sea as your muted senses would like to think.

The party raged on long into the evening and you stared down at the rabble contentedly from your perch in the crow’s nest. They were a good bunch—dullards though they may be. You’d heard (hardee har har) that they were planning to raid the Port o'Bliss, and something must have gone terribly right. You only really hung around to scrub barnacles off the paneling and keep an eye on the tides well enough that Deuce wouldn’t run the lot of you ashore, so you weren’t really sure how the whole ‘pirating’ business actually went about. But clearly they were doing a pretty good job of it.

You rested your chin on your crossed arms and sighed into the salty breeze. The night was warm and pleasant, and before you knew it, you were nodding off against the rough fabric of your sleeves. You weren’t quite sure how long you spent dozing there tangled in the ropes of mast, but it was long enough that by the time you snorted back awake the festive lights had dimmed to embers and most of the crew had sidled away below deck to either keep drinking themselves blind or collapse in a pool of their own colorful vomit.

There was a lone figure swerving towards the bow—precariously close to the railing for someone so clearly unsteady on their own legs, if you did say so yourself. You squinted suspiciously at his mused lavender hair, not entirely sure you recognized the head bobbing around below you. But perhaps The Rose Queen had picked up some fresh recruits at the Port, or maybe the crew had gotten a bit too booze happy with some dye. Purple Hair leaned up against the rails and tipped forward on his toes like he was thinking about diving in, or maybe barfing. Either or, you sighed and shimmied your way down to stop him from tumbling into a watery grave.

“Oi!” you called, the shout vibrating up and out of your throat, and the kid jumped half a foot in the air. “What do you think you’re doing? Get away from there. Riddle’ll have your head if we have to send out the rescue rafts this late at—”

The kid turned to face you with wide, wide, glowing eyes. Your own went round as dinner plates as you watched his too-dark pupils pulse like drumbeat. They were so bright, practically illuminating the whole of his delicate face, but there was no light to them. Matte and sleek like a shark’s eyes.

He shouted something at you so whip fast that you couldn’t even begin to make sense of, and then he was glancing nervously back and forth between the roiling waves at his back and the encroaching deckhand at his front—making all sorts of nonsense gestures that had you sighing behind gritted teeth.

“Look,” you said, interrupting whatever indiscernible gibberish he was spouting, “I don’t know who you think you are. But you’ve picked the wrong ship to try and—I don’t know—seize? Pirate? You can’t pirate a pirate ship! But either way, you—”

Then the kid opened his mouth like he was screaming, and you frowned again. There was strange prickle along your arms that had goosebumps crawling up your skin and the hair raising at the back of your neck, but you shook it off and moved forward with another weary sigh. You pulled a length of rope from the belt slung around your hips and held the limp bundle of salt-soaked mesh up like a threat.

“I will throw you overboard. And hogtie you first,” you promised cheerily. “So you actually sink.”

Purple Hair just looked like he was trying to scream louder, and you were sourly tempted to stick your fucking tongue out at him and make petulant ‘nyeh nyeh nice try’ noises at him, but then there was a heaviness behind you. A creak in the wood that you could feel if not hear. You rolled out of habit—tumbling across the deck just in time to avoid a nasty swipe along your back. And oh no. The thing crawling up over the railing was worse than any lavender would-be ship thief. The black tipped claws and flared fins were telling enough, but the sharp-toothed grin was somehow more so. It tilted its unnaturally lovely head at you and spoke politely—clearly and very, painfully, slowly.

“What’s—this—perhaps—” you were able to vaguely make out. Maybe. The dark and your panic were both a terrible hindrance to putting shapes to sound. His lips curled into something wicked before parting far more smoothly than the younger man’s had. Singing. It was singing, not screaming. Hauntingly green eyes glowed bright and you felt the tunk tunk tunk beneath your feet of the rest of the crew starting to move around beneath you. Around you.

Then there were more of them—crawling up over the railings, trilling into the night air. All far too lovely and far too sharp to be anything but predators. The moonlight illuminated their fangs and scales in a ghostly white glow. There were shivers running along your spine, but otherwise nothing but silence echoed through your head. Small mercies. You watched several of your fellow crewmates rush out of the cabins only to double over with their hands clasped over their ears. Others stuttered and tumbled forward towards the railings as if they were being dragged along like puppets on a string. You cursed and ducked between them—looping your rope around their legs as you went and tugging them to their knees like a line of falling dominoes.

You let your hapless comrades collapse to the deck and curled the last throws of rope around your fists. You were decent enough with a knife when it came to dueling an unmoving, completely unaware foe—like a barnacle or some rusted over door hinges. But real people? Sirens?Fucking literal blade-tipped-merfolk straight out of every sailor’s nightmare? No thank you. So the teeny blade stayed sheathed at your hip and you dove into the fray to find something rope-wrangle-able.

At the other end of the bow, you watched Purple Boy straighten from a crouch. There were new, silvery blue scales crawling up his neck and forearms. He was still tottering around on legs that he clearly wasn’t all too used to, and you watched as the little guppy started to make a furious beeline for Captain Rosehearts. Which—no. Absolutely not. You were never one of those pirates who was like ‘oh, Captain, my Captain~’ but Riddle was good. He was tough, and taciturn, and could throw a tantrum that could bring down an entire harbor. But he’d written out all of his ridiculous six hundred rules by hand so that you could have them. And the teeny furrow in his brow as he staunchly taught himself hand sign after hand sign so that he could yell at you in earnest was so endearing that you’d protect that little firecracker for as long as you breathed.

So you went after Lavender Head, and then of course Lavender Head turned and tried to shout at you all over again. When that continued to not work at all, the Siren began to backpedal in earnest. He turned his head and squawked at whoever was around to listen, but in the chaos of the attack there didn’t seem to be many of his pod free to lend him a hand.

You descended on the little snake, rope at the ready and perfectly happy to make sushi out of the fucker, when something big overshadowed the both of you. Another Siren crested over the side of the ship, larger and clearly more impressive than the rest of its kin. Which matched your stupidly terrible luck just fine. Ah, yes, Mister Big Bad. Please. Go for the deckhand rather than the literal trained mercenaries less than ten feet away. Brilliant. The Siren bared its fangs like some great, terrible, beast and tore into the paneling with its curved claws as it attempted to drag you down to your watery grave. You cursed, and kicked, and yelped in a panic when the thing managed to get one of those cold, pale hands around your ankle.

Despite the fact that all of it surely happened in less than a few seconds, your descent seemed to progress in steps. First, the Siren tugged you over the side. Second, you smartly flipped the loops of your rope up to try and lasso yourself a handhold. Thirdly, you outright missed the ship and instead tangled the spools of thin rope all around your Murderer To Be. Said Murderer’s eyes widened in shock as your unintentional trap wrapped the both of you up like a mess of bugs in a spider web. And finally, the pair of you crashed towards the churning ocean in a knotted-up heap and slowly sank beneath the waves.

.

.

You rubbed the grit and salt from your eyes and sat up with a groan. Where were you? Not too far out at sea, hopefully. Washing up ashore had been nothing short of a miracle, and you weren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth if it meant you got to avoid becoming chum for another day. The sand beneath your fingers was soft and white, and it slipped beneath your palm like water. You moved to push yourself to your feet and froze—a blur of amethyst swiping out and knocking you back onto your ass with a splash.

You spluttered and spat, and had just barely managed to flip yourself over like a turtle who’d been upended on its back when you caught sight of the absolute last creature in the world that you’d ever wanted to see again.

The big Siren had washed up nearby.

Because of course it had.

The creature narrowed his eyes at you and immediately set about lashing his rope-twisted tail against the sand like a rattlesnake. He bared his pointed teeth in a hiss and you were dowsed in a barrage of saltwater ammunition.

“Stop! Stop!” you begged, spitting out wayward chunks of seaweed, and shells, and gods knew what else. “I get it! I won’t come near you, jeesh! I wasn’t planning on it to begin with!”

The Siren curled his lips unpleasantly, putting that wonderful row of dagger-like pearly whites on display. He spat something completely indiscernible—the line of his mouth so harsh and flat that you couldn’t have even begun to pick up the shape of things if you tried—and you scooted as far back as you could without toppling yourself over again.

He dug his clawed hands into the sand and said something else, just as clipped and tight. You assumed it was an accusation. You were very used to recognizing the glare that accompanied those. When you didn’t respond, his brow tugged down low and he snapped something else—this time jabbing those pointed, black, nails in your direction. Ah, so definitely a complaint then.

You cocked your head at him out of habit and that griping turned into a snarl so ferocious that you could feel it racing up your skin like static. Which was definitely pretty trippy.

“I don’t know what you’re saying,” you told him honestly. Which just made the spiked fins flatten all along the side of his head and another wave of those zippy sneers dance up your arms. “Literally,” you tried. “I—”

The Siren opened his mouth and that sparky static from earlier amplified into something near painful. It was strong, and prickly, and left the imprints of invisible shackles all along your already aching joints. You could feel his voice carrying on the breeze—brushing against your cheeks and playing with hair. Thin, icy, fingers digging their way into your brain and yanking. But there was something missing from all that ethereal hypnotism. Something pleasant and sweet to complete the circle of temptation. A voice, you’d guess. There had to be a call after all, or else it hardly mattered how deep and all encompassing the need was to answer.  

When you didn’t immediately, like, fall to your knees in subjugation or drown yourself in the inch and a half of tepid water pooling at your hips, the Siren’s eyes dimmed with something that almost looked like hesitance. His brow pinched tight and he parted his red lips wider. A seagull dropped from the sky. Three different crabs crawled out of the sand to bow down.

“I can’t hear you!” you tried again, loud enough to have your teeth aching. His mouth went wider, and an entire ass tuna beached itself to flop pathetically near your ankles. “It’s not a challenge!” you wailed. “My ears literally, actually, do not work, you fucking overgrown anchovy!”

The static disappeared all at once, and the Siren’s lips slipped into a small, surprised sort of ‘o.’ He blinked his too-long lashes at you and stared you down like you were some sort of escaped alchemical experiment.

“There,” you huffed. “Finally.” And then went quiet and a bit concerned. Because apparent Song Immunity or otherwise, the thing was still hugely impressive and scary looking. His claws definitely wouldn’t have any problem picking the leftover bits of you out of his teeth, and you knew well enough that if he dragged you into the depths with that powerful tail of his, there would be no resurfacing.

The Siren too was using this time to glare at you like you were somehow a threat to be taken seriously. Which was half flattering, half pretty funny.

“Well…” you said after a long moment. “I should get going, I suppose.”

You made your way to your feet in the mucky sandbar and started heading off to see where you’d been stranded. You could feel the Siren’s heavy gaze on you the whole while, and decided he was probably trying to figure out if you’d taste better paired with seaweed or a nice jellyfish spread.

.

.

The pair of you had been stranded on a small, crescent, islet that couldn’t even rightly call itself an island. You were able to walk from its curling east to west coasts in just under fifteen minutes, and that was at a meandering pace where you stopped to peer into all kinds of little grottos and rocky formations. There was some vegetation at the heart of it—short palm trees and tufts of grassy knolls—and thankfully a few deep divots that had collected some still rainwater, but otherwise it was entirely boring and stupid. Not even any weird tortoises or anything meandering about to make friends with.

By the time you circled back around to your original stranding point, you had fully expected the Siren to have flipped you the metaphorical bird and fucked off back into the ocean, never to be seen again. Instead, he was still stretched out in the shallows of the bay, carefully fanning his long tail out in the seafoam and picking through the mess of it with his pointy claws.

He reminded you of a beta fish—with wide, flowing, fins that looked far more like silk than skin or scales. The tips were a deep, plum purple that gently faded from near black to violet and finally a vivid sort of lilac at their junction. The bulk of his tail looked like it could be made from literal gemstones with the way it shimmered in the morning light (gems that had perhaps been a bit dinged and/or literally torn out in chunks from where he may or may not have been smashed into the rocky shore curtesy of your terrible hogtie, but who’s to say).

There were jagged cuts lining the right half of his pale torso. They oozed a strange sort of silver ichor that was probably some kind of mystical merman blood, but you absolutely refused to get close enough to try and find out. The fins framing his pelvis were tangled and thin looking, and the sweeping ones that trailed all the way down to the tip of his tail were battered and torn. Clearly pulled to bits by your handy, dandy lasso skills. Which… was still tied up at the base of them. Huh. You’d assumed he’d be able to slice through all that knotwork without issue. But maybe…

You approached the Siren cautiously. You caught the exact moment he must have realized you’d returned because the fins along the sides of his head flattened like the ears on a pissy cat and he turned on you with a very dramatic snarl that probably sounded all sorts of menacing.

“Hello,” you greeted, and the merman spat something that you assumed was probably a very polite ‘fuck right off.’

You nodded because, well, fair enough. And then pointed to his injured fins and the waterlogged ropes still twisted up around the heart of them.

“I can get that off if you promise not to eat me.”

He shouted something no doubt very indignant and then was back to hissing at you. Which definitely didn’t sound like an agreement not to immediately murder you on the spot.

“Alright,” you shrugged. “Your loss, I suppose.”

Well, your loss, really. Keeping a wounded Siren around was just asking for trouble. Their pods were viciously protective for one thing, and that wasn’t even taking into account the poachers and rivals who’d be more than keen to come sniffing after the fresh trail of blood in the water. Maybe you could find a big stick or something and just, I don’t know, push him back into the ocean and be done with it.

The thought must have shown on your face, because suddenly he was smacking his tail against the sandbar and spitting something that you very much assumed was a demand along the lines of ‘you are going to take accountability for this.’

Which absolutely no way in Hell. He’d kidnapped you sort of, so that made you his problem, thank you very much.

You felt your stomach gurgle, and it must have been pretty loud going off the stink eye he sent your way. You turned your nose up at him and went about collecting the various critters that had been washed ashore in his tenor’s tantrum.

“Thanks for the food!” you chirped petulantly as you worked on scaling the tuna with the knife from your belt—making long, pointed, eye contact as you did so.

The Siren sneered at you and went back to grooming the shredded ends of his fins.

The rest of the afternoon became a sort of pissing contest between the two of you to see who could earn the title of Bitchiest Beach Bitch. You thought you were definitely winning with the whole ‘eating something that could have been his long-lost cousin’ thing, but then he went and swamped the entirety of the small fire you built (and all of said ‘cousin’ being cooked over it) with one sweep of his tail, so now you were at the very least tied. You set up a nice little shaded hutch out of driftwood and ferns to escape the sun, he called down seagulls to shit all over it and pick it to pieces. He tried to roll around to reach some of the tighter fibers tangled in his pectoral fins, and you chucked rocks at him until he reared on you with a scream that had all the hairs on your arms standing on end. Y’know. Perfectly mature things like that.

That night you curled up beside a tall, jagged rock just at the outskirt of the bay—determined to get some shut eye but to also keep within range of your newest pest in case he decided to try and pull something sneaky. But every time you’d just about settled in to sleep, the shallow tide would lap against your toes in harsh shush shush shushes that had you furrowing you brow until you finally had enough and sat up to see what all the hubbub was about.

The Siren was tossing around in the shallows like a fish in a net—throwing his long body against the bindings and flailing like his life depended on it. And as much as he’d definitely deserved to get caught up in your unintentional hogtie, watching something as large and no doubt powerful as he was wriggling around like a worm on a hook was… Well. Something soured a bit in your gut as you watched him give one, final, great buck against his bindings before collapsing back into the shallows in a circle of seafoam. He panted against the surface of the water, the tips of his pale hair dripping down in a curtain around his haggard face, and you could see a fine tremor running along his shoulder blades.

You turned back to your rock and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes, fighting the absolute batshit insane urge to feel bad for a monster who had literally tried to drag you to your death less than twenty-four hours ago.

The water was calm and still for the rest of the night.

.

.

The next morning, you picked up a few of the crabs who had crawled up to shore and went about getting them clean and fit for eating. You glanced at the Siren, who was busy preening over his janky fins and fussing over his hair. It was entirely unfair that you probably looked like a half-drowned rat, and yet this creature that wasn’t even meant to exist on the surface was somehow managing to put himself together well enough to rival the courtesans you’d seen meandering around some of the wealthier coastal towns.

You stared at the crabs. There were three of them. It wasn’t really sharing if it was meant to be a bribe to keep him from eating you whole. Or at least, that’s what you reassured yourself as you cautiously tiptoed back to the water’s edge.

The Siren swiveled on you with a snap of something that looked sort of like a ‘What?!’ and you held up one of the gutted crabs in offering.

“I don’t know if you all eat fish or whatever, but…” You waved the limp crab awkwardly.

The Siren rolled its purple eyes and said something fast and sharp that you couldn’t really parse. Something, something, not, something, something, are crust—Something, something, are you that stupid? (you recognized the impressions of those words well enough to mouth them even in your sleep).

“Look, do you want it or not?” you interrupted, and he bristled—all those delicate, violet, fins flaring up like a porcupine’s spikes.

The Siren crossed his arms stiffly and pointedly turned in the other direction with a mutter of something you had no hopes of catching.

“Whatever,” you snapped and went to bite into your meal. Only to immediately forget that these pointy little fuckers still had their shells on them. You reeled back with a yelp as you stabbed a million, tiny, carapace-shaped holes in your tongue.

The fucking Siren had the gall to turn back around so that you could see him laughing at you.

.

.

That night he was back to flipping around in the shallows like a miniature hurricane.

You counted out the waves sloshing against your heels, telling yourself you’d intervene in his self-destructive tsunami once it hit one hundred. And then it became two, then three. You shifted hesitantly to peek over the rock’s edge and watched him curl into himself like some terribly wounded creature before shaking himself out of the fog of pain that had clearly settling over his nerves, and then continued with his nonsense.

You hurled a big, pink seashell at his head and he whipped on you like a rabid dog, practically foaming at the mouth and raring for a fight. When he lunged forward with the waves—seething with hatred, and blame, and nearly crashing onto his already shredded front in the process, something angry in your snapped.

“Look, fish face! You were the one who attacked me! You!” you demanded, stomping perhaps a bit closer than would be rational. “So stop acting like I’m some scheming shithead who was planning to trap you like this from the start!”

The Siren roared something back and slapped his tail in the surf. Static zipped along your cheeks and you grit your teeth. He glared at you bitterly and then began to repeat one word over and over—slow and angry.

‘Eeeeehhh-Pppe-llllll’ said his lips. Strong and harsh with the shape of it.

And then he was back to spewing all kinds of rapid-fire vitriol that you wouldn’t have bothered to keep track of even if you could. Something in his expression shifted almost quicker than you could notice and he lifted his massive tail out of the water. He smacked the fins in your direction and pointedly jabbed a clawed finger at the creases of them—where delicate, silky, tendrils met strong, gem toned, muscle. Where the purple was light and clean. A pale, shiny, lavender. Almost just like���

“That kid?” you frowned. “You attacked me because of Purple Head?!”

He sneered again and pointedly sent a splash of seawater into your face.

“You—” you grit your teeth. “He was still attacking us first! He was going after my friend!” you snapped, kicking your own wave back. For all the good it would do. “You don’t get to act all noble and protective, and like any of that makes any difference when you all were going to eat us!”

The Siren’s face twisted up like you’d force fed him soured milk, and he looped back around with a dramatic fwoosh of water to dive into the shallows. It was maybe two or three feet deep at best, and he was barely submerged. Not to mention how utterly ridiculous it looked to see a creature that was no doubt usually the peak of grace and athleticism reduced to flopping belly first into the waves with his proverbial legs tied up behind him. But you recognized a door slamming in your face when you saw it, no matter the species. Fine. Let him be a petty bastard. He could rot away in the sandbar for all you cared.

.

.

The next day you woke up with goosebumps crawling up and down your limbs.

There were all sorts of gulls crash-landed in the sand around you and more sad, little, sea creatures gasping on the beach than you dared to count. You shoved a particularly chubby octopus back into a tidepool as you passed and wondered just what sort of nonsense your co-strandee was getting up to now.

The Siren was circling the bay with his head held high above the low waves—lips parted and clearly caterwauling like a dying porpoise. The surface of the water trembled with whatever was making its way out of his mouth, and he looped and looped around the shores. It reminded you of the time you’d seen a whale calf separated from its pod. It had gotten trapped in a shallow inlet when the tides had changed, and your ship had been anchored just off the same coast. You’d watched it circle and circle, lifting its heavy snout to snort sharp jets of water into the air. Deuce had passed you a scribbled note when you’d asked him what it sounded like.

‘It’s the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.’

There was a moment where the Siren paused in his paces and tilted his head. The fins there flared out to the side, like he was listening for something. But after a long moment the spines drooped back against his damp hair and he went back to his singing an aria to no one.

‘It’s looking for its family,‘ Riddle had signed to you when you’d asked him why the calf didn’t simply leave once the tides had turned in its favor. ‘This is where they last saw it, so this is where it will stay.’

“Maybe they forgot about him already,” you mused petulantly, turning back towards the center of the islet to try and scavenge up something to eat from all the poor creatures who had collapsed beneath your nemesis’s wailing.  

The bitter thought wasn’t nearly as satisfying as it ought to be.

.

.

That night, the waters were still.

You squinted suspiciously at the merman curled in the shallows of the bay. He’d pulled himself half-out of the water, resting his more human looking bulk in the soft sand as gentle waves lapped at his tail. He slept on his front with his arms crossed beneath his pointed chin—his unbound fins sticking up behind him in a way that deliriously reminded you of bedhead. You watched him carefully for nearly an hour, searching for any tightness in his muscles or change in his breathing that might indicate he was faking it. But as the evening stretched on and he never lurched awake to try and gauge your eyes out, you assumed he might actually be properly resting.

He'd been swimming in circles all day—the aborted, stuttering, beats of his bound tail looking painful even by your non-tail-having standards. Eventually the tremors along the ocean had grown stuttered and strange, like perhaps his voice was giving out on him. And once that had happened, he’d curled up exactly where he was now. And hadn’t moved since.

You stared at the Siren hesitantly. He was certainly in enough of a state that you could probably pull off that whole ‘shoving him into the depths with a stick’ thing. He’d probably just let you do it—sink to the bottom in a mess of shredded fins and tangled twine and never rise again.

You gnawed at your lip, feeling something unpleasantly hot and sticky twist up your stomach.

The knife glinted between your fingers and you thought of crying whales and of the crew that you already missed so much that it felt like a gnawing chasm had opened in your chest.

You huffed out a miserable sigh and lamented for not the first time in your life that you really were just so fucking stupid sometimes. And then you were cautiously making your way down towards the waterline and the sleeping Siren sprawled out in the sand. Slowly—so very, very slowly—you tiptoed towards the mer and tried to get a quick glance at what amounted to the worst of the damage.

The rope had been thin and long, and the more he’d struggled, the more he’d dug the twine into his fins. You reached forward at half speed and slipped the blade into one of the too-tight creases beneath the bindings. You winced a bit in sympathy at the raw, pink skin beneath. No wonder he hadn’t been able to just rip the fibers away. He’d probably just ended up tugging them over and over against the oozing wounds beneath.

The first strand broke beneath your fingers with something that almost felt like a pop. Like seams ripping on a shirt. You glanced quickly at the sleeping Siren to confirm he was still lost to the world and not gearing up to bite your fingers off at the knuckle, and then continued making your way through the worst of it. It reminded you a bit of the time Ace had accidentally snared a sea turtle in one of his fishing nets and the lot of you had spent the better part of an hour slowly working the thing free of the seemingly endless tangles. You delicately worked the tightest edges away from the harsh indentations they’d left against his scales and peeled back the muckier bits with enough gentleness to avoid mangling anymore of his already battered fins.

The last of the rope finally came away with a satisfying, wet weight and you let it fall to the sand beside you with a pleased nod. Now you could let Mister Merman swim away in the morning with no unpleasantly gross sense of moral obligation weighing down your consciousness. Maybe he’d even be thankful enough to look at you with something other than a venomous glare for once. Certainly nothing like the one leveled at you right now. And—

Oh.

You didn’t even have time to properly gasp before you were being flipped and pinned into the wet sand. The Siren loomed over you, digging his black claws into your shoulder until you could feel the first pricks of blood breaking the surface. He snarled in your face, the curtain of his pale blonde hair shadowing his eyes in something so dark it was nearly black. The brilliant purple cast off his glowing irises were like little spots of stars in an otherwise empty night sky.

He leaned forward, teeth bared, and then some sort of tight expression flickered over his face. He paused, brow tugging together steep and angry. He hunched down once more, fangs at the ready, and then ducked back out. He shook his head, like he was trying to clear fog from his brain, and then he was snapping his canines at you all over again.

The Siren reared back with a booming snarl that sent ripples through the soft tide lapping at your ankles. He turned with one, final, icy glower and dove back into the shallows, disappearing beneath the surface in a flash of amethyst scales. He flicked his tail sharply as he went, and one of the tattered fins snapped against your nose with enough of a crack to make you yelp.

You sat up in disbelief, rubbing at your aching skin and watching in outright consternation as the great predator of the oceans swam tight laps beneath the warm waters of your little lagoon—fins occasionally cresting over the surface to smack pointed fistfuls of water into your gaping face.

Deliriously, one of The Rose Queen’s hundreds of nonsensical rules bounced about your head. Happy to fill the otherwise entirely empty space behind your eyes.

‘Never save a Sea Serpent on a Sunday,’ Riddle had demanded, hands at his hips. ‘No Serpents, or Sea Horses, or Sirens to speak of.’

‘Man,’ you thought wildly, brain high on adrenaline and static as you watched one of the aforementioned Sirens swan about like he hadn’t probably just been a half second away from gnawing on your literal bones. ‘If I get out of this alive, Captain’s definitely gonna collar me this time.’

.

.

.

[TAG LIST]

@marvelous-maxi, @ilikefanfics4, @jackalope08, @crocwork-clockodile, @cosmicobubisi, @buttplugs-stuff, @pomefleur, @decemebercircus, @ailynyan, @genzombie, @meliade-ot, @sunlightocean, @theofficialantitherapist, @hermiona18, @sailorenthusiast, @fantasy-dating-sim-trash, @thefiasco-onyourblock, @insideous-beez, @its-clockwork-princess

@novaloptr, @imlost-sendhelp, @matcha-berry @preciosayorgullosa @whoretaglia, @kookygirlwholikescookiesandcoke, @nanauedorian, @trixeraptops, @voxnipop, @starkling25, @thedum1, @horcrux-alchemist, @sleepykitty21, @apathicace, @instantregret101, @nekanecorvus, @looney-mori, @re-ducing, @my2phetaliaheadcanons, @naughtybodypillow, @rendy-a, @carmen-404, @candy284, @thealiennamedterry, @their-name-is-fake, @huetolog, @glacticrose, @seraphinariddle, @rabioa, @sn00zl4x, @dreasimping, @jeidoreech, @ai-dev, @galaxyshine24-7, @fatally-incorrect, @juulranch, @camrastuff, @nocteetdie, @stargaryengirl,

[herstoryheaven]

Descendants Harry Hook x Reader: Hooked On Pan

Request: Hear me out... Harry Hook with the daughter of Peter Pan and Wendy Darling? Maybe she's helping out with everything in the third movie and they meet there. He finds out who her parents are and enemies to lovers shenanigans ensue. Also reader is an absolute menace to society because there's no way she got raised by Peter Pan and isn't.

Reader: Female

Word count: 3349

Average reading time: 12 min 10 sec

Category: Hurt/Comfort

Warnings: None

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer: All events portrayed in my stories are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events is purely coincidental. Any actions or behaviours portrayed by the characters may differ from reality and cannot be connected to any actual person. This work is purely fictional and intended for entertainment purposes only.

Ben and Mal had both agreed to bring more kids from the Isle of the Lost to Auradon, hoping to bridge the gap between the two worlds. They believed that by giving more kids from the Isle a chance to experience the opportunities in Auradon, they could create understanding and unity. Y/n Pan, always up for an adventure, was right in the middle of it. Her role was simple, distracting Uma’s crew or more specifically Harry Hook.

Y/n found Harry by the docks, where the salty sea breeze rustled through the sails of Uma’s ship. Harry was leaning against a post, his hook glinting in the light as he lazily flipped it between his fingers. His ocean blue eyes were distant, lost in thoughts that were quickly interrupted by Y/n's arrival.

"Hey there, Hook." she called out, her voice laced with playful mischief. She sauntered towards him, each step measured, as if she were a cat stalking its prey.

Harry's eyes narrowed as she approached, his guard instantly up. "What do ye want, lass?" he asked, his tone playful but laced with suspicion.

Y/n grinned, her eyes sparkling with a mix of challenge and amusement. "Just thought I'd see what the infamous Harry Hook was up to. You know, keep you company," she said, her voice dripping with flirtation.

Harry's suspicion deepened, his grip tightening around the handle of his hook. "Company, huh? More like a distraction," he shot back, leaning closer, his voice dropping to a low, seductive whisper, Holding his hook to her chin. "What is Mal up to now?"

Y/n shrugged nonchalantly, her posture relaxed despite the tension radiating from Harry. She tilted her head, her expression one of feigned innocence. "Wouldn't you like to know?" she teased, a sly smile playing on her lips.

Harry's jaw clenched, and he took a step closer to her, his eyes boring into hers. "Aye, I would," he said, his voice a dangerous growl. "And ye'd best start talking, or else—"

"Or else what?" Y/n interrupted, her tone light and mocking. "You'll wave that hook of yours around? Come on, Harry, you're not scaring anyone."

Harry's eyes flashed with anger, but he took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain calm. He knew better than to let someone provoke him. "You think you're clever, don't you?" he muttered.

Y/n laughed, a musical sound that seemed to echo around the docks. "I know I am." she replied confidently, her eyes locking onto his. "But seriously, Harry, why the hostility? Can't a girl just want to chat without underlying motives?"

"Not when that girl is from Auradon and her friends are here too." Harry retorted, his curiosity piqued despite himself.

Y/n sighed, rolling her eyes dramatically. "You really are paranoid, aren't you? Maybe I just wanted to see if the stories about you were true."

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. "And what stories might those be?" he asked, leaning in closer, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/n leaned in closer, her lips almost brushing his ear as she whispered, "That you're the most dangerous pirate on the Isle." her eyes danced with mischief. She pulled back slightly, letting her gaze travel slowly over him before meeting his eyes again. "But all I see is a boy who's all bark and no bite."

Harry's eyes flared with anger, but before he could respond, a commotion from further up the Isle caught his attention. He glanced over Y/n's shoulder, his expression darkening. Y/n took the opportunity to slip out of his grasp and follow his gaze, seeing Mal, Evie, Jay, and Carlos helping four new Isle kids into the limousine.

"Looks like your distraction worked," Harry muttered, his voice laced with frustration.

Y/n turned back to him, her smile playful and triumphant. "Looks like it did," she grinned, her eyes sparkling with teasing challenge. "Better luck next time, Hook." She threw him a wink before sauntering away, leaving him staring after her. As she rejoined the others, she couldn't help but feel a thrill of victory. The mission was a success, and they had managed to bring more kids from the Isle to Auradon.

-----

Over the next few days as Y/n sneaked often on the Isle, their encounters became more frequent. It seemed like every time Harry turned around, Y/n was there, always with a witty remark ready and a mischievous glint in her eyes. Harry found himself increasingly intrigued by Y/n. She was different from anyone he had ever met, fearless, spirited, and maddeningly hard to pin down. He would catch glimpses of her around the Isle, always just out of reach, slipping away before he could get too close.

One afternoon, Harry was on the docks again, lost in thought, when he heard the now familiar sound of Y/n’s laughter. He turned to see her balancing on the edge of a barrel, arms outstretched, grinning as if she didn’t have a care in the world. He couldn’t help but be drawn to her carelessness and the effortless way she seemed to navigate the chaotic world of the Isle.

Their eyes met, and she hopped down, walking over with that same teasing smile. "Missed me, Hook?" she asked, her tone light and flirtatious.

"Not in the slightest," he retorted, though the smirk on his face betrayed his words.

"Sure," she said with a wink, then jumped away before he could reply.

Each encounter left Harry more captivated, his curiosity about her growing. She was a mystery he wanted to solve, a challenge he was determined to meet. But everything changed when he discovered her true identity.

It happened one evening when he overheard a conversation between Y/n and a few little kids from the Isle. Harry was lurking in the shadows, trying to get a sense of what Mal and her friends might be planning next. He froze when he heard Y/n mention her father.

"My father always told me—"

"Wait," one of the kids interrupted. "Your father is Peter Pan?"

Harry's blood ran cold. Peter Pan. The name that haunted his nightmares, the source of his family's suffering. He stepped out of the shadows, his face contorted with rage. "You!" he spat, eyes blazing with anger. "You're Pan's brat!"

Y/n turned to face him, crossing her arms, unfazed by his outburst. "That's right, Hook. Got a problem with that?"

He sneered, the name 'Pan' dripping with venom. "Of course I do. Your father is the reason my family suffered."

Y/n's playful demeanor faltered for a moment, her eyes softening. "I'm not my father, Harry." she said quietly, a hint of vulnerability in her voice.

Harry took a step closer, his anger warring with the confusing feelings he had developed over the past few days. "Doesn't matter." he growled. "You're still a Pan."

Y/n held his gaze, her expression resolute. "And you're still a Hook. But that doesn’t mean we have to be enemies."

Harry's sneer faded slightly as he considered her words. There was something about the way she looked at him, something that made him want to believe her. But the wounds of the past were deep, and the name 'Pan' was a constant reminder of everything he had lost.

"Why should I trust you?" he asked, his voice a mix of anger and uncertainty.

"Because I'm not here to hurt you, Harry. I'm here to make things better." Y/n said, stepping closer, her eyes searching his. "I want to help bridge the gap between our worlds. But I can't do it alone."

Harry hesitated, his heart and mind at war. He had spent so long hating everything connected to Peter Pan, but Y/n was different. She was offering him a chance to move past the hatred, to find a new path.

"Maybe," he said finally, his voice softer, almost hesitant. "Maybe we can try."

Y/n smiled, a genuine, warm smile that made Harry's heart skip a beat. "That's all I'm asking for, Harry. A chance."

But as she walked away, the words "Peter Pan" echoed in Harry's mind, reigniting the anger and bitterness he had held onto for so long. He watched her go, the conflict within him far from over. Trusting a Pan, even one as intriguing as Y/n, was no small feat for Harry Hook.

Harry clenched his fist around his hook, his eyes narrowing. "All Pans are the same." he muttered under his breath. No matter how charming or different Y/n seemed, she was still a Pan, and Harry knew better than to trust anyone with that name. His mind was made up, he would never let go of his hatred, and he would never trust Y/n Pan.

-----

Despite their initial dislike, Y/n and Harry were forced to work together when Audrey took Maleficent's wand, and chaos threatened to engulf Auradon. Mal had been spelled by Audrey, and they needed all hands on deck to help her and get Hades ember back on the isle.

The air was thick with tension as Y/n and Harry found themselves side by side in the bridge of the Isle to Auradon, their previous friction simmering just beneath the surface. Uma stood confidently, her gaze flickering between the two unlikely allies and Mal, who was pleading for the ember that could save Auradon.

"Well, and who is this?" Uma said with a mocking smile, her gaze landing on Harry and Y/n. "Seems like you’re in quite a tight spot."

"Cut the games, Uma," Mal snapped. "We need that ember to break a spell Audrey cast. People’s lives are at stake."

Uma’s eyes gleamed with mischief as she held up the ember, her grip protective. "And why should I just hand it over? What’s in it for me?"

Mal’s frustration was palpable. "We can negotiate, but not right now. The urgency of the situation—"

Uma interrupted with a smirk. "Oh, I’m sure it’s very urgent. But I need a guarantee. Every single villain kid who wants out gets a chance to leave the Isle."

"I can’t promise that," Mal said, shaking her head.

Uma’s face hardened, her eyes narrowing. "Then we’ve got a problem. How about a deal? If you can assure me of that, I’ll consider returning the ember."

Mal’s shoulders sagged in resignation. "Deal," she agreed through gritted teeth.

Uma’s grin widened. "Good but don’t think I’m going to just hand this over easily. If you think I’m going to trust you to fix everything on your own, think again. This is a job for pirates!"

Harry’s eyes were fixed on Uma with immense respect. He glanced at Y/n, a scowl still present on his face. "Looks like we’re working together." he muttered, his tone heavy with irritation.

Y/n shot him a sharp look, her patience wearing thin. "Let’s just get this done. We don’t have time for your grudges."

Harry snorted, not bothering to mask his contempt. "Yeah, sure. Just remember, this doesn’t mean I’m suddenly going to like you. I’m only here to follow my captain."

"Fine by me," Y/n retorted, her voice cold. "Just stay out of my way."

-----

As they arrived at the castle and night deepened, the castle’s hallways seemed to press in on them, their shadows flickering like restless spirits. Harry and Y/n, though still struggling with their complex feelings, moved together with a newfound sense of cooperation. Their earlier tension had softened, if only slightly, as they navigated the castle hallways in search of Ben.

The silence between them was accentuated by the occasional murmur from Uma and Mal, who were engaged in their own banter. Uma’s taunt broke the quiet. “I bet you lost some sleep thinking about me on the loose, huh?”

Mal raised an eyebrow, her response dripping with disinterest. “No. Dragons don’t really lose sleep. I was more curious about what fried octopus tastes like.”

Evie, ever the mediator, interjected with a hopeful tone. “Okay, why do we always have to focus on the negatives? Why not appreciate the adventure we’re on?”

Mal and Uma shared a look that seemed to say they’d heard this speech before. “We’re celebrating our differences,” Uma quipped, her smirk widening.

Harry, who had been lost in thought, suddenly became more alert as the doors closed behind them. “I believe we’re being challenged.”

Before anyone could question him, the echo of clanking metal interrupted their conversation. The sound grew louder, more insistent, until enchanted armor guards emerged from the shadows, their eyes glowing with dark magic. The armor moved with a jerky, unnatural precision, and the creak of metal against metal filled the air.

“Girls! We have a situation here!” Harry’s voice cut through the chaos.

Without hesitation, the group sprang into action. Y/n, ever light footed, darted towards one of the armored guards, her sword clashing against the enchanted steel. Harry, though visibly annoyed, couldn’t help but notice Y/n’s grace and determination. He found himself instinctively moving to her side, fending off a guard that had swung its sword towards her.

“Watch your back!” Harry shouted, his voice tinged with frustration, though beneath the irritation, there was an unmistakable edge of concern. “Do you ever stop getting into trouble?”

Y/n shot him a quick, appreciative glance, her movements fluid as she took down another guard. “Got it, Harry. I’ll try not to make you worry too much,” she said with a playful smirk, the gratitude in her eyes softening the edges of her teasing tone.

Despite his best efforts to remain distant, Harry’s protective instincts were clear. He parried blows with precision, making sure Y/n had a clear path to strike. The two fought side by side, their coordination improving with each passing second. Harry’s earlier reluctance was replaced with a focused intensity, his actions betraying his true feelings.

In the midst of the battle, Y/n turned to Harry with a teasing grin. “So, Harry, I’ve been meaning to ask, do you always scowl like that, or is it just when you’re around me?”

Harry’s stern demeanor faltered momentarily as he deflected a guard’s attack. A rare, genuine chuckle escaped him. “I suppose you bring out the best in me.”

Y/n’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well, I wouldn’t want you to be anything less than your charming self.”

Harry’s smirk was short lived, quickly replaced by his familiar scowl. “Don’t get used to it. I’m still not going to be nice to you.”

Y/n’s grin widened as she ducked under a swinging sword, her playful energy undiminished. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

With the enchanted guards finally defeated, the room fell into a brief, uneasy silence. The group came together, catching their breath and assessing the situation.

“Let’s move,” Mal said, her voice firm and urgent. “We still have to find Audrey and end this.”

-----

As the final battle raged outside Auradon prep, the chaos intensified with every passing moment. Mal and Audrey's confrontation crackled with magic, while Uma helped to turn the tide in their favor. Amidst the commotion, Harry and Y/n found themselves close together, their earlier hostility replaced with an unexpected closeness.

During the battle, an explosive burst of energy from Audrey’s attack sent shockwaves through the ground. Harry’s protective instincts kicked in, and he abruptly pulled Y/n behind him, shielding her from any possible danger.

“Stay behind me!” Harry said, his voice filled with authority and urgency as he faced where Mal and Audrey were still in a heated battle. His usual scowl was replaced with a fierce determination to keep Y/n safe.

Y/n, caught off guard, blinked up at him in surprise. “Harry, what—”

Before she could finish her question, Harry's hand tightened around hers, his grip firm and reassuring. “Just stay close, alright?” His tone was less harsh and more protective, revealing an underlying care he hadn’t shown before.

Y/n’s confusion turned into a playful smirk as she tilted her head. “You know, I thought you hated me. Now you’re acting like my personal bodyguard?”

Harry’s eyes met hers, and for a moment, the intensity of the battle seemed to fade. “I might have had my issues with you,” he admitted, his voice softer, “but I’ve got to admit, I’m not letting you get hurt.”

Y/n’s playful expression softened into one of genuine warmth. “I never knew you cared, Hook,” she teased lightly, her heart fluttering at his unexpected protectiveness.

Harry’s face twitched with a hesitant smile. “Don’t get used to it,” he said, though his eyes betrayed his true feelings. “But for now, just stay behind me.”

As the last echoes of battle faded and the castle grounds began to calm, Harry and Y/n stood close, their earlier friction now replaced with an undeniable connection. The night sky above them sparkled with stars, casting a calming glow over the school grounds.

Harry, with his usual confidence restored, looked at Y/n with a playful yet intense gaze. “You know, Pan, I’ve had quite a few realizations tonight,” he said, his voice smooth and flirtatious.

Y/n, her heart fluttering at his tone, tilted her head with a teasing smile. “Oh really? And what exactly did you realize?”

Harry stepped closer, his gaze locked on hers. “I realized that despite your troublemaker ways and that pesky Pan name, there’s something about you that’s irresistible. And I’m not one to back down from what I want.”

Y/n’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with both affection and challenge. “Is that so?”

Harry’s smirk grew. “Absolutely. Though, if it really bothers me, I could always change that name of yours to Hook instead of Pan. Seems fitting, don’t you think?”

Without missing a beat, Harry closed the distance between them, his confidence radiating. He cupped her face gently with one hand, his thumb brushing her cheek. “But for now, let’s focus on what really matters.”

Before Y/n could respond, Harry pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss. The world around them seemed to blur as his lips moved against hers with a fervor that spoke of all the feelings he’d kept hidden. The kiss was filled with intensity and emotion, leaving no room for doubt about his feelings.

When they finally pulled apart, their breaths mingling in the cool night air, Harry’s eyes were filled with a mix of satisfaction and tenderness. Y/n’s cheeks were flushed, and her smile was both shy and radiant.

As Y/n whispered, “I promise I’ll try to be less of a troublemaker.” Harry leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke in a low, teasing whisper.

“I don’t think so, darling. That’s exactly what I like about you.” he murmured, his breath warm against her skin. “You’re never boring, and that makes you even more irresistible.”

Y/n’s laughter was soft and delighted, her hand still clasped in his. “I guess I’ll have to keep you on your toes then.”

Harry’s grin widened, his eyes dancing with mischief and affection. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Just as they were lost in their moment, Uma’s voice cut through the night air, filled with annoyance. “Seriously, you two? Major battle just finished and you’re over here making out? Can we have one minute without you two being all lovey-dovey?”

Harry and Y/n broke apart, their faces flushed with a mix of embarrassment and amusement. Harry chuckled, giving Y/n a playful wink before turning to Uma. “Well, Uma, can’t blame us for wanting to celebrate, can you?”

Uma rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide a small, amused smile. “Whatever. It’s great that you two don’t hate each other anymore, but we’ve got a lot to sort out. So let’s keep the PDA to a minimum, okay?”

Y/n laughed, her hand still in Harry’s as they joined the others. “Don’t worry, Uma. We’ll keep our celebration within reason.”

As they rejoined their friends, the air around them was filled with a sense of newfound joy and promise. The battles of the day were behind them, and the future ahead seemed full of potential, excitement, and undeniable chemistry. Harry and Y/n, now more connected than ever, faced the world with a renewed sense of purpose and affection.

----------------------------------------------------------

----------------------------------------------------------

Copyright: All stories contained herein are the intellectual property of the author. Unauthorized copying, reproduction, or distribution of these stories, in whole or in part, without explicit written permission from the author, is strictly prohibited and may result in legal action. Respect the creator's rights and creativity. For permissions or inquiries, please contact: herstoryheaven@gmail.com.

Request Guidelines: When submitting a request, please ensure that your request does not contain any explicit sexual content or graphic depictions, and avoid any form of extreme violence or graphic descriptions of violent acts. I appreciate your understanding and cooperation in maintaining a respectful and inclusive environment for all readers. If you're unsure about your request or want to request about someone I haven't written about yet, feel free to ask me anytime.

Requested by: Anonymous

[salad-juice-enjoyer]

🔥1, 3, 13, 15, 18 and 25!

Soooooo, sorry for the late respsone. Better late than never I guess?

1) the character everyone gets wrong (RWBY)

Jaune Arc.

This is the all-encompassing "This character turned into the writer's self insert far too often and I hate it", but this particular case it's really painful since I actually enjoyed the canon Jaune, and finding anything good about him is a ~✨chore✨~.

3) screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr (Pro wrestling)

It's specifically the last paragraph that has the nuclear stench, but I just don't think that blacklisting an alleged rape victim and publicly smearing them because you happen to be friends with the alleged rapist isn't just the sort of thing you can sweep under the rug with "oH hE's GrOwN uP nOw".

13) worst blorboficiation (Transformers)

RID15!Steeljaw.

I'm being petty here: because yes, I do understand why people like him: the only major series antagonist that isn't Megatron or related to him (Japanese G1 notwithstanding), a striking design and personality, and Matt Mercer's voice? What's not to like!

Except for the fact his popularity over his G1 counterpart helps with the erasure of Blaster, my own blorbo.

15) that one thing you see in fanart all the time (Warhammer 40K)

Guilliman/Yvraine art that portrays the latter as Submissive Elf Tradwaifu like she isn't a former aspect warrior, warlock, corsair, and Commorrite gladiator at the very fucking least.

18) it's absolutely criminal that the fandom has been sleeping on... (Transformers)

The Unicron trilogy. Granted, I'm guilty of that myself since I haven't watched it yet, but it would neat to see more stuff based on it.

25) common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing (MCU)

Stucky shippers complaining about being queerbaited: 1. ROFLMAO imagine admitting to being queerbaited by the white live-action Disney men 🤣🤣🤣 2. I already kvetched about my actual gripe with Stucky shippers here.

[hyunluvbug]

show me how to love I one - party time

pairing: hyunjin x afab reader

premise: all hyunjin is known for is hookups. he does not commit and would rather feed on lust. he has never been in love but his best friend, y/n, is in love with him. maybe he will someday want to be loved.

content: 🔞this series is NSFW so MDNI at all!!! some making out mentioned and grinding (in a party setting), drinking, brief mention of weed

a/n: i know its been a while but this has been in my drafts forever and is now seeing the light of day. i already have 4 parts full written, i anticipate 5 or 6 in the series so i hope u enjoy!

The floor vibrates from the loud music that fills the thick air. Smells of sweat, weed and beer litter the room. Among the smells is the loud conversations that filter throughout. Each conversation is barely comprehensible. 

She takes a sip from her solo cup and feels the familiar liquor hit her throat. Was it worth it in the end to get drunk? Who knows but she couldn't wait to find out. This is her first drink, a drink her friend Han had given her. She wasn’t quite sure what it was. 

She watches Han as he plays beer pong with a few of his other friends, Lee Know, Chan and Changbin. They were also her friends, friends she made all thanks to him. 

She felt her stomach begin to rumble a little, starting to crave food. Her eyes scan the crowd around her. A few people are dancing amongst themselves, boys chugging down their drinks, couples making out but one couple in particular caught her eye. One of them was none other than her best friend, Hyunjin, which was no surprise. She feels her face warm up at the sight. He was sloppily kissing the girl who was grinding into his lap. His hands roam down her back and settle on her waist. He moves her hips in circular motions on top of him. She could practically hear her loud moans from here. A feeling in her chest made her look away. Her eyes instead land on the snack table filled with finger food. She puts her cup down and reminds herself to not pick it up again. 

She makes her way to the snack table and stuffs her face with pretzels. The saltiness fills her tongue creating an explosion of flavor. She heard it was good to eat while drinking and right now she sure was hungry. 

“Hey.” 

She looks up and sees Seungmin, another boy who is a part of Han’s friend group. His eyes were glossed over and he was beginning to slur his words. 

“Are you doing okay?” 

The thing about Seungmin and to be fair all of Han’s friends is that they all looked after her. No matter the situation, at least one of them would be by her side. 

“I’m alright. I think I’m a tad tipsy.” She replied, she was still putting pretzels between her lips. Her face was clearly flushed and her eyes were beginning to lose focus. 

He pats her head lovingly, “Just be careful. Don’t forget to also drink some water, yeah?” 

She nods back at him with a salute which makes him chuckle. Yep she is getting drunk. 

“I’ll be over here.” he said pointing over to the couch filled with people. They were playing some video games on the big tv mounted on the wall. 

Even when Seungmin is drunk he is still a sweetheart. 

Han screams loudly in victory, her eyes look over to him. Him and Chan dance happily while Leeknow and Changbin accept defeat. She chuckles to herself at the sight. Han’s eyes make contact with hers and he gestures for her to come over. 

She begins to walk and feels her legs wobble. Is this what being tipsy feels like? Very strange.

“We just beat their asses.” Han yells over the loud music that was now making people sing along. Chan picks up his beer and takes a big swig, wiping the dribble of beer off his chin. 

Jeongin then walks over, his hand filled with a few more beers. “Who wants more?” He smiles widely. Lee Know and Changbin take one each from him, Jeongin passes the beer opener. 

Jeongin then turned to her, “Want one?” Jeongin asked, still having one left over. 

“Fuck it, why not?”

He opened the beer bottle for her and she put it to her lips. Was it disgusting? Absolutely. But, she needed some sort of stimulation tonight. The boys talked amongst themselves and she found herself searching the room. The corner where Hyunjin previously sat was now empty. She didn’t even have to guess where he was. Probably upstairs in some locked room. The mere thought made her feel less happy. 

She sighed loudly and Lee Know looked at her. He knew what was up. They all did. It was pretty clear to all of them how she felt for him. 

“Y/n.” Changbin said, catching her attention and knocking her from her head. 

“This is your time to enjoy yourself. Don’t worry about him.” He places a hand on her shoulder, his fingertips were cold from the beer bottle in his hands. 

She nods shyly, “Come on Y/n! We’re supposed to be having fun. Fuck college and studying, we’re finally done!” Han cheers loudly causing the rest of the party to cheer as well. 

It was the end of their third year in college, only one more year and they would be finished. Time surely does fly past really quickly. She swore she was just starting college and next thing she knew, she was going to graduate in less than a year. It’s crazy. 

“You’re right! Let’s do some shots or something!” She replied, a big smile coating her face. 

“Did I hear shots?”

She turned around and both Seungmin and Felix stood behind her. Felix had a tray of shots on a plate. 

“Damn how did you do that so fast?” Chan chuckles and grabs one of the shot cups. 

“Well I was bringing them anyway, I guess it was perfect timing?” Felix says, a smile spreading across his lips. Everyone grabs a shot cup and clinks their cups together before shooting them down. 

The burning liquor resonates in Y/n’s throat. Giving her a very nice buzz. She could tell her alcohol tolerance was not very high as she already felt the effects. 

She began to walk unsteady through the room. Everything soon felt like a blur. All she could see was mirages of bodies moving past. She sat down on the couch in the corner, her friends danced in the middle of the room in front of her. The music filled her ears but it felt slow. 

Something wet began to trickle down into her hands. It was water. She was crying. She felt her chest rise and fall quickly. Someone was mumbling. More tears came down into her hands creating a tiny pool. 

“Hey.” No response. 

“Y/n.” 

She finally looks up and is met with his eyes. 

“Baby, what’s wrong?” His hands move up to her cheeks wiping away the tears. 

“Hyunjin.”

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Vesuvia Weekly: What it's like to hold the M6

~ my submission for this week's prompt - have some sappy headcanon drabble ^.^ ~

Julian

The sounds of leather folding and bending and creaking, of a pent up sigh, of a noble, anxious, too-big-for-its-own-good heartbeat fluttering against those thin, bird-like ribs

The smell of - yes, more leather - with a slight hint of sweat and the faded scent of the crushed herbs used to stuff doctor's masks

The feel of a well-worn, weather tested, oversized coat falling around both your frames, a cold set of bony fingers tangling into your hair through protective gloves

The sight of folded black cloth and slightly dulled metal buttons, a pale neck cradling your forehead, auburn stubble shivering over a bobbing adam's apple

The bitter taste of sea-salty lips, self-sacrifice, and coffee

Asra

The sound of an airy chuckle, a curious whisper, a deep, relaxed sigh, a heartbeat that touches your own with every gentle thump

The smell of smoking incense, sparkling spices, and syrupy vanilla, lurking beneath the petrichor of sunny spring rains on the dust of a far-off highway

The feel of a soft shawl on your cheek, sturdy linen body-warmed and slightly rough under your arms, heavy, heated hands running soothing pathways along your spine, cloud soft curls on your ears, a deceptively slight frame

The sight of golden metal and silvery blue stone on smooth skin, the barely-there rise and fall of a body slowly relaxing into yours

The taste of smoky tea, home, and desperate dedication

Nadia

The sound of rustling silks, the quiet clink of bracelets and rings, the hush of long, thick hair falling over chiffon-clad shoulders, a contented, throaty hum, a lofty heartbeat

The smell of jasmine, rose, pepper, and amber, of warm silk and chilled white wine, of flower gardens and powdery cosmetics

The feel of a heavy curtain of hair against your face, body warmth passing quickly through thin, gauzy sleeves wrinkling under your movements, of strong fingers tilting your chin into her collarbone

The sight of glinting gemstones and finely crafted metal, intricate embroidery stitches swirling across lustrous fabric, scalloped hemlines along sculpted shoulders

The taste of spiced fish, wine, and plush, commanding adoration

Muriel

The sound of heavy, rough cloth slowly dragging across itself, breaths hitching deep and slow, a grumble quiet and low enough to shake the earth, a nervous, powerful heartbeat

The smell of myrrh hanging around you like a cloud, of warm fur and chilly forest air, of falling leaves and running water and smoke

The feel of muscle and scruff, of radiating body heat, of massive, calloused palms alternating between gently splaying over your shoulders like blanketing weights and hovering cautiously around your waist in fluttering, feather like touches

The sight of thick, dark hair falling in choppy lengths over stubble and scar tissue, of thick green cloth over sinew

The taste of grilled forage and mead, of healing and steadfastness

Portia

The sound of an excited giggle, springing footsteps and jingling keys, a happy gasp and unstoppable heartbeat, a mischievous secret getting laughed into your ear

The smell of air-drying laundry and soap, hair oil and cocoa butter, fresh bread and sizzling butter and caramelizing berries

The feel of strong forearms, small, calloused hands, the push of energetic bouncing against your shoulder, of hair flying around your face, the plush squish of a no-holds-barred bear hug

The sight of fiery curls spilling over clean, pressed cotton, freckles speckling creamy skin, the occasional grey and white cat hair clinging to black ribbon, the dusk of a happy blush

The taste of yeasty bread, and the comforts of adventure

Lucio

The sounds of nearby dogs panting, a cutlass clanking in its sheath, the mechanical whir and musical hum of an alchemical arm, a confident, snorting chuckle and a devoted heartbeat

The smell of fresh sweat, warm metal, cinnamon alcohol in a journeyman's flask, hair gel and worn cologne

The feel of a padded, quilted vest, the quick rise and fall of an active chest, the slight tilt of a shoulder forever sloped in favor of a heavy arm, the sinewed grip of a warrior's touchstarved fingers and the cool, metallic touch of a careful clawed hand

The sight of sharp collarbones and glinting curved gold, fine flaxen hair at the nape of a snowy neck, crimson cloth and leather straps

The taste of grilled meat, traveler's wine, and new beginnings

[boundbyeclipse]

oral sex with jeremy headcanons

tags : switch!jeremy, switch!female!reader, drinking, oral sex (both receiving and giving), public!sex, slight cursing

• it was masquerade party in town tonight

• you and jeremy decided to go

• it was very crowded, loud music blasting through the building

• jeremy wore his black tuxedo while you matched him with your black dress

• you had your arm hooked around his forearm

• both of you found a bit more spacious spot and grabbed some champagne

• “what?” you ask because he cannot seem to stop staring

• he shows you a shy smile

• “you look absolutely beautiful”

• the two of you continue flirting back and forth

• champagne soon makes you both a little bit tipsy, but not drunk

• when jeremy asks you to dance his hands rest on your hips, holding them firmly

• it’s almost unbearable how good he looks

• so you just bite your lip while gazing into his dark brown eyes

• jeremy instantly senses that you’re up for something

• “do you want to leave?”

• “no. let’s find a room upstairs because i’m not wasting a ten minute ride home”

• you drag him to the second floor

• luck is on your side as you stumble upon an empty room with lockable doors

• but there’s no bed, just a table

• “stand over here” you say as you point to the table

• jeremy obliges and stands tall in front of you

• he throws away his mask and helps you with yours

• your lips collide in a hot, passionate kiss

• you begin to unzip his pants as you kiss down his neck

• a lewd moan slips past his lips

• you massage his growing length before taking it out of the boxers

• you stroke it while still kissing jeremy’s neck, being gentle and slow

• jeremy bucks his hips into your palm

• “impatient?” you smirk against his skin

• “p-please”

• you waste no other second as you get on your knees in front of him

• you stick your tongue out to kitten lick his leaking tip

• jeremy presses his lips to hide a moan as he throws his head back

• you start to suck on the tip, then taking more of him as your hand holds the base

• drool drips down your chin as you bob your head, looking up at him through your eyelashes

• “baby, it feels so good” he whispers, tugging on your hair as his hand finds its way on the back of your head

• you place your free hand on his lower abdomen

• the salty taste in your mouth and his heavenly moans leave your underwear sticking to your pulsating folds

• it tastes a little salty but you love it anyway

• you pick the pace up and it encourages jeremy to whimper even louder

• “f-fuck, you’re gonna make me cum”

• you hum around his length in satisfaction, impatient to make him reach his high

• it drives him crazy how pretty you look from above

• the knot in his stomach grows bigger and bigger within seconds

• you take all of his member into your mouth until your eyes water

• jeremy shakes as he reaches his climax, shooting his hot liquid down your throat

• you release it with a pop and get up, wiping your mouth

• he gives you a soft kiss as he spins you around and picks you up

• you’re then seated on the table and jeremy pulls your thighs apart

• he kneels before you and smirks as he leans in

• his lips peck your core through the panties

• “you’re so soaked” he murmurs pushing the fabric out of the way

• his hot breath tickles your skin before his tongue flicks against your clit

• “shit, jeremy” you gasp

• you grip on the sides of the table

• his large hands hold your thighs as he begins to suck on your cunt, tasting the sweetness

• you cannot help but buck your hips against him

• his nose gets covered in your juices

• he also licks a strip up your folds which leaves the hair on your body standing up

• jeremy tightens his grip on you as he grows a bit aggressive

• you cannot help but call out his name in ecstasy

• it’s getting hard to keep still and to breathe evenly

• when his tongue lays flat against your core you jump a little at the sensation

• he smiles while looking up at you through half lidded eyes

• jeremy picks up the pace as he ravishes all of you with desire pumping through his veins

• you bite your lip as you cum around his tongue, thighs shaking violently

• he catches his breath as he stands up and kisses you

• “we need a bloody napkin, like, now” he chuckles out of breath

• you both get yourselves fixed and get your masks off of the floor before leaving

• “i think we need more booze now” you flash a smile at him and make your way to the pre-filled glasses of champagne

[mysticallystilinski]

let me love you

ariana grande

stiles x fem!reader

content - heavy making out, j!off [ (slight) (fem+male!recieving) ], kinky!stiles

i just broke up with my ex, now i’m out here single

the parties beat hit hard. your head was pounding and flushed by all the alcohol in your system. it was hard for you to get over your ex, but as the saying goes you need to get under someone else.

stiles was that someone else.

i don’t really know what’s next

when you first locked eyes with the brunette, his eyes scanned your body. you were taken aback at such a sudden move, but decided to pursue.

minutes later, his hands were all over your body. the corner was occupied by your two bodies, and space seemed to fill your lungs. the music in the background thumped through your the house.

his lips suctioned onto your neck, and your hand down his pants. slowly gripping his hard cock, and messing with it in your hand. your fingers slightly brushed his tip, and he groaned into the hickey.

the terror of getting caught rushed like adrenaline through both your veins. you couldn’t tell if it was the alcohol, but his lips felt like fire. they ever so slightly trembled as your hand continued pumping his long member.

and i don’t normally say this, but goddamn, you’re the best

his breath was warm against the crease of your neck as he pulled away from the love bites. you felt his body shake as some pre-cum landed onto his jeans. it dripped down onto your wrist and you pulled away your hand.

you held your wrist up to your lips, and sucked on the salty cum. his eyes widened in your bold attempt, and it worked. his hands slowly found their way down your tight pants. he brushed your lacy panties to the side, and led his fingers to your clit.

and if it feels right, promise i don’t mind

at first he was grazing your swollen clit, but then his fingers started to rub. your body felt on fire, and you had to push your back against the wall. he led with your body, and continued.

you felt your end come near, his fingers continued to work their role. his eyes stared into yours. he kept the eye-contact as you whimpered, and whined for release. you saw a slight smirk on his face at your expressions.

right before your burst, his fingers were taken aback. “i want you to taste yourself”, he groaned. his eyes were focused on his own fingers, but lightly traced up to your eyes. “open your mouth”, he said slyly.

and if it feels right, promise i’ll stay here all night

you obeyed his very words, and opened your mouth slightly. he grabbed your chin with his other hand, “more princess”. your eyes strayed away from his, until he moved his head to get in your eyesight.

your mouth opened even wider, and he slowly stuck his fingers in your mouth. you tasted a hint of sweetness, and sucked upon it yourself. your eyes gazed into his, he groaned as you continued to suck.

just let me lo-o-o-o-ve you, you

you felt his buldge against your tight dress. his fingers went deeper into your mouth, almost hitting the back of your throat. you took your hand, and traced them out. “lets go somewhere more, private”, you giggled.

oh lord, she grindin’ on this grande, oh lord

[blindmagdalena]

How It Feels to Chew 5 Gum

Summary: 18+ 3.6k homelander x reader, established relationship, gn reader w/pussy, eager brat reader, domlander, slurs, degradation, rough sex, zero refraction period, spit kink, come play, anal, unprotected sex, dirty talk, blowjob, cunnilingus, fingering, dp (fingers and cock), come/spit as lube, just a lot of spitting, ends soft in aftercare and praise.

While you hadn't meant to irritate Homelnder with the simple act of chewing gum in his proximity, you can't help but be a brat about it when he tells you to spit it out.

It all starts with a stick of gum.

You’re chewing quietly. Politely. Mouth closed, absent and slow. It helps you focus.

It does precisely the opposite for Homelander.

“Would you spit that out already? Disgusting habit,” he grouses from his seat, shooting you a withering sidelong look. The two of you are sharing an office at home today, something you didn’t expect to be an issue.

You quirk a brow at him, and then look back to your computer. You hadn’t intended to be annoying. Now you intend to be annoying. You begin smacking your lips as you chew the gum, pushing it from one side of your mouth to the other with your tongue, never taking your eyes off your screen.

This lasts for all of six seconds before Homelander pushes his chair out, the legs of it making a horrible screech of protest against the hardwood floor. He stands with a flourish of his cape, and  marches towards you like a man on a warpath. A crimson clad glove appears in your face, his palm upturned, fingers splayed. “Spit it out.”

You grin, still smacking that gum as loudly as you can manage. “Make me.”

Faster than you can process it, Homelander grabs hold of your chin with his other hand, squeezing your jaw tight enough to straddle the line of pain. “You’re going to regret saying that.”

“I sincerely doubt that,” you shoot back. It’s incredible, you can actually see his eye twitching with each smack of the gum.

“Suit yourself,” he responds. The next thing you know, the hand splayed in front of you moves in a blur of red, and he’s shoving two fingers into your mouth, abruptly halting your chewing. You make an indignant noise, but he’s wholly unbothered by it, pushing the taste of leather onto your tongue. He focuses on spreading his fingers in your mouth, blocking your teeth from closing, until he manages to pinch the piece of gum between his middle and index finger.

He snorts triumphantly as he pulls the gum out, tendrils of saliva stretching from your mouth to his finger before inevitably snapping. He rolls the chewed gum into a ball, and then flicks it. It hits the opposite wall with enough velocity that the thunk it makes startles you.

“Honestly. Disgusting.” Looking back down at you, Homelander maintains his iron grip on your jaw. “Are you really that desperate to keep your mouth occupied?”

You’re breathing shallowly now, your mouth abruptly much drier. “Maybe I am,” you answer breathlessly, shifting in your seat. Homelander’s gaze flickers down, catching the way you grind down against it when you do. You aren’t subtle about it. Recognition lights up in his eyes as they return to yours. “You got an alternative? Otherwise…” You lick your lips. “I’ve got a whole pack of gum in my bag.”

“No,” he says, relinquishing his hold on your jaw. “If I have to listen to your mouth work, it’s going to be working for me.”

The hiss of his zipper is music to your ears. You make a play at pushing your chair back, but he catches you by the back of your head. “Don’t fucking move,” he says, voice heavy with it. You know he can hear your heart hammering in your chest, the throb of your clit, and more than that, the smell of your arousal soaking your underwear. You know it by the hunger in his eyes. “Open your mouth.” “Make-”

You don’t get the chance. The second your lips part to say it, Homelander shoves the fat head of his cock between your lips, his precome smearing salty-sweet along your tongue. Your eyes flicker, rolling back briefly. Your moan is shameless, muffled by the way he shoves in too deep too fast, bumping the back of your throat hard enough that you gag.

“Mouth’s dry,” he grumbles, voice caught in that same petulant, grumpy tone that makes you love teasing him so much. “Wasted your spit on that goddamn gum.”

Sharply, he withdraws, leaving you panting. The hand at the back of your head turns into a fist full of your hair, and he tugs your neck back into an arch. While you’re still sucking in breaths, he sneers down at you. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous.”

Your whole world is rocked when he spits directly into your mouth, the wet of it landing directly on your tongue. Before you can think to do or say anything about it, he shoves your head back down and slips his cock right back in, wringing a depraved moan right from the back of your throat.

“Christ, listen to you,” he sighs, holding your head in both hands now, rocking back and forth, fucking your mouth in earnest. “Needed this so bad, you had to make a whole big show about it. Who knew you were such a cockslut.” 

Your moans turn pitchy, just as needy as he says you are. Ever since he learned you get off on this, the degradation and the game of it all, he’s been an absolute menace. In his eagerness to please you, he becomes a filthy fucking animal for you.

“C’mon, suck,” he hisses, tightening his grip on your hair. “Don’t get lazy now. If you want to be a little whore, you’re gonna need to put that mouth to work.”

Hollowing your cheeks, you do precisely as he tells you to. You suck him down with as much force as you can, knowing it will never be enough for him. Nothing ever will be. No matter how much he takes from you, you know that he will always want for more. You start to rock yourself, grinding your aching cunt down against the chair.

Moving his hand from your hair to your neck, he cups your throat in his palm and shoves you down lower, bringing you perpendicular to his pelvis. Your eyes water as his pace picks up, filling you out with every thrust. You wonder if he can feel himself, if that’s why he has his palm pressed flush to your throat like that, or if it’s just to cut off what little bit of air you were capable of pulling in. Either way, your head is spinning up, up, up into a state of bliss that makes you feel like you’re floating.

“That’s it, fuck. Fuck. See? Knew you were holding out on me. Don’t you fucking swallow, you hear me? I want your mouth as wet as your pussy. Think I don’t see you fucking yourself on that chair? Fucking shameless. Listen to you, bet I could make you come like this. Make you come just from sucking my cock.”

You keen, drool spilling from the corners of your lips, your tongue pressed up tight to the underside of his cock. You’d nod if you could, but he’s holding you so tight by your throat and your hair that all you can do is submit to the frenzied thrust of his hips. Your skin is prickling hot all over, and he’s right, you haven’t stopped grinding against the edge of your seat since he started fucking your mouth.

As if possessed, you mindlessly slip your hand into your pants and start rubbing your clit, wetting your fingers with your own slick, desperate for some relief.

“Greedy slut,” he breathes, voice fraying at the edges. “Not enough for you? Need a cock for every fucking hole, don’t you? Too bad. I’m not sharing. I’ll have to find something else to stuff you with,” he grits out, losing coherent thought, his voice becoming thinner with every word. His breath catches, he groans, and then with a handful more thrusts, he pulls back and comes all over your tongue, tipping your head back to keep it all from spilling out.

Pulling the rest of the way out, Homelander stares down at you, looking dazed. You’re just as out of it, delirious with your own arousal, but you manage to keep his words locked in your mind: don’t swallow. Your mouth is full of a mix of your own drool and his come, and the sight of it is enough to make him smile lopsidedly.

“Look at that. Good for something after all,” he says, touching the side of your face with a tenderness that sings loudly the depth of his affection beneath this wicked little game. “Close your mouth, don’t swallow that. You’re gonna hold that in your mouth while I fuck your pussy full, and then you’re gonna keep hold of that while I fuck your ass. Tonight, your only purpose is to hold my come. Understand?”

With every inch of your body throbbing, you nod, obediently closing your mouth with a soft moan. He hauls you up by your hair, and with a sweep of his arm, completely clears your desk. You make a genuinely startled noise at that, eyes wide as your computer hits the ground with an ominous crack. Homelander doesn’t care. He bends you over it, and roughly yanks your pants down before taking a seat in your chair. He takes two firm handfuls of your ass, and spreads you wide, wringing a low moan from you as he wastes no time lapping at your pussy, dragging his tongue all the way from your clit to your asshole. Your whole body jerks with the hot press of his tongue, but you keep your mouth diligently shut and full.

“Stay still,” he orders, following up with a sharp slap to your ass. Oh, he’s really not playing fair. You drop your head onto the desk and moan unreservedly, encouraging him with it, spreading your legs and trying to fuck yourself back on his tongue every time you feel it.

“Slut,” he says. You can hear the smile in his voice. You smile, too, giggling softly, only for the sound of it to fade off into a come-muffled moan with the return of his tongue. He makes a mess of you with his mouth, wetting your ass and your pussy so thoroughly, you start to feel it drip down your thighs. You have no idea how much of the mess is yours, and how much is his, but you don’t care. It feels fucking amazing.

Homelander sucks your clit, slurping on it so loudly, you can hardly believe this all kicked up over a little gum chewing. Another smart slap to your ass makes your pussy clench. The next thing you know, one of his hands leaves your ass, and you feel the dull probe of two gloved fingers pushing into your cunt. You can’t spread any further for him, but god knows you try, whining around your mouthful of his release.

“That’s it. Open up for me, sweetheart,” he sighs, scissoring his fingers when he plunges in deep, and curling them on each slow outward drag. You press your cheek to the cool hard surface of the desk, panting through your nose, desperately fighting the urge to swallow back the load in your mouth. The addition of a third finger has your knees shaking. The wet squelch of his fingers pumping in and out of you completely fills the room, making the sudden quiet of it when he stops almost deafening. Using his thumbs, you feel him spread the lips of your pussy, a heated flush crawling up your chest and face when you hear the appreciative sounds he makes, admiring you.

“Mm, there we go. Gonna fill you right up,” he purrs. Your whole body jerks when you feel him spit directly onto your pussy, the slick of it rolling slowly down to your clit. You grip your desk for dear life, shuddering when you hear the sound of your chair skidding backwards as he stands. Homelander puts his hands right back on your ass and holds you firmly in place for the first sweet, aching push of the fat head of his cock.

“Don’t fucking move,” he grits out. He still sounds sensitive from the first round, but it doesn’t stop him. “You don’t fucking move. You’ll take exactly what I… ffffucking give you,” he groans, sliding all the way into you in one smooth, firm push. He feels so good splitting you open, it almost hurts, your clit throbbing wildly. You want him to touch it, you want to touch it, but you don’t move. You keep your white knuckle grip on the desk and moan as prettily as you can for him. 

Blissfully, he starts to fuck you in earnest, hands moving to your hips so that he can yank you back onto every sharp thrust, ragdolling you like an inanimate toy, using you. His strength makes the feel of it unreal, makes your teeth clatter, the clap of skin against skin obscenely loud and so fucking good.

“There we go, happy now? So fucking needy,” he says, exhaling the words roughly. “Only cooperate when you’re full of cock. Goddamn brat,” he calls you, punctuating each word with a deep, hard thrust. You nearly lose yourself, almost moan aloud and spill the mess in your mouth down your chin, but stubbornly, you hold onto it.

He moves one hand from your hip, you hear a wet pop, and then feel a new pressure: his thumb to your rim, pressing in slow, spit-slick circles before it sinks in, wringing a startled, low moan from the back of your throat. He’s fucking you so good, working you open from every angle, you feel like you’re going to pass out, struggling to breathe from just your nose.

“Jesus fucking Christ, take me so easy, don’t you? Not a hole on you that won’t suck me in. Can’t talk, so your whole body begs for you,” he says, sinking his thumb in deep while he fucks your pussy. Another spit makes you jolt, more saliva being pushed in from your rim. You could sob with it, your clit throbbing so hard it hurts while he fucks you onto your tiptoes with each thrust, the desk rattling so much he has to move his hand from your hip just to hold it in place. “That’s it, that’s it, moan for me, sweetheart. Wanna hear you with my come on your tongue,” he says, thrusting deeper yet, groaning. “Come on my cock. Clamp down on me. Show me what a good little cockslut pussy you’ve got.”

His words wholly unravel you. You close your lips tight and very nearly scream behind the gag of your full mouth, gritting your teeth as your whole body seizes up with the calamitous wave of your orgasm. His cock feels bigger inside you with how intensely it hits you, walls spasming around him in wave after wave of euphoric release. You hear it steal his breath away, a choked off noise as he slams into you one last time. The rush of heat that floods you with his release is burning hot, and you can feel every last throb of his cock as your own quivering pussy milks him of each and every drop of his own orgasm.

You barely have time to process the aftershocks of your climax before Homelander’s withdrawing both his cock and his thumb, and flipping you over onto your back, hitching your legs over his hips. You can feel the mess of his come spilling out of you, dripping down to your ass before he abruptly pushes in three fingers, stifling the flow and wringing a surprised little chirp out of you.

“Clench,” he demands, voice ragged and low. “Don’t you waste a fucking drop,” he says, though it’s a little late for that. The wet mess of it has already made it to your ass, where you can now feel the probing push of his slick cock. You listen, clamping your cunt down around his fingers, giving a shivering moan as you slip and swallow a portion of what’s in your mouth, almost choking on it. You feel delirious with pleasure.

“I heard that,” he says. “You’re fucking lucky I gave you so much to work with.” You look at him, and see your own fervent desire mirrored back at you in his eyes. He looks wrecked with it, his own breaths shallow. You know he’s doing this for you, talking like this for you, and you know it’s your pleasure that drives him to such insanity. Your clit throbs with it, almost painful after the intensity of your orgasm.

With his fingers deep in your pussy, he pushes slowly into your ass, fucking once more into the soaked mess he’s made of your body. He moves slower here, gives you more time to adjust, but all you want is for him to really fuck you again. No matter how tightly you clench around his fingers, you can feel more of his come spilling out of you, dripping over his cock as it splits you open.

You reach between your legs and grab his wrist just to touch him, to brace yourself against the building pressure, fully overwhelmed by each and every sensation: his fingers in your cunt, the salty fill of his come in your mouth, and the agonizingly good ache of him plunging deeper and deeper inside you. Bending over you, Homelander takes hold of your jaw, and smiles wickedly. “Let’s see how you taste.” He kisses you, prying your stubbornly held lips apart with his tongue. You relent, opening up and giving a blissed out sigh as he ravages the taste of himself from your mouth, come and drool dribbling from the sides of your mouth. It’s more depraved than you knew sex could be, and yet all you want is more.

“Fucking delicious,” he growls, using his grip on your jaw to snap your mouth back shut. He covers your mouth with his palm, holds you down like that while he starts to fuck you with both his fingers and his cock. “Fuck, fuck, you don’t even know how good you are, do you? Too fucking desperate to be degraded, to be used. That’s fine, that’s fucking fine by me. I’ll use you. I’ll fucking ruin you,” he says, snapping his hips sharply. You cry out against his palm, eyes rolling back. “You’ll never get this from anyone else. Understand? Your mouth, your pussy, your ass, you fucking belong to me.”

Staking his claim, glorifying and sullying you in one fell swoop. You know that he’s right. Not only would he never let you go, but you would never let him. You want this more than anything, to be his inside and out, to be forever tainted by the ruination of his love. You would rather be destroyed by him than salvaged by any other.

You come again, eyes screwed shut. Your whole body arches into a curve, and you swear the desk cracks beneath you as Homelander gives one last thrust before spilling into you for a third time, filling the empty spaces inside you like liquid gold into cracked porcelain. Your breaths are harsh and tonal, sucking air in through your nose in desperate pulls.

Homelander lifts his hand from your lips, and replaces it with his own, kissing you softly, soothing your frenzied breaths. “Swallow,” he murmurs against your lips. You do so instantly, gasping as soon as you have the capacity to. He gives you the time to breathe, easing his fingers from your quivering cunt. He brings them to his mouth, which you smell before you see, and one at a time, he sucks each finger clean, smiling lazily around them, moaning at the flavor of you on them. You laugh breathlessly, barely finding the strength to take hold of his face and pull him back down into a kiss, savoring your shared flavors as they mingle on your tongues. You take the time to recover, to recalibrate your senses while you luxuriate in the full feeling of him inside you, warm and so wholly yours. 

Homelander nuzzles into the crook of your neck like an overgrown cat. You think he’d be purring if he could. “Too much?” He asks, playfully giving one of your limp wrists a little shake. You can tell there’s genuine concern behind the play: he’s always worried about pushing you too far.

“No,” you answer, that simple word alone slurred. You both laugh at that. “No, was… Good. Mmmm… You do good.”

“I do good?” He echoes slyly, clearly as amused as he is pleased by your lack of coherence. You can already see it going straight to his ego, though you don’t mind. Despite the facade he puts on for the world, you’re the only one who really knows how much he needs these little assurances.

“Mmmmhm,” you hum, smiling. “You do good.”

“Good,” he says softly, eyes soft, lips slanted in a deeply content smile. After a while, he helps you adjust, slipping out of you, and you both work slowly on putting yourselves back together, never going far from one another. You’re both a mess, as are your clothes, but that can wait. Intimacy can’t. He settles down into your chair, and you slide into his lap, wrapping your arms around him. He has a talent for making any and every spot and position comfortable, allowing you to drape yourself on him in whatever way you like. His strength makes it effortless.

Once you’re comfortable, you hear a rustling. You lift your head, and find him rummaging through your bag. Just as you’re about to ask what he’s looking for, he reveals it: a single stick of gum. You stare incredulously as he unpeels it, and pops it into his mouth, smacking his lips obnoxiously as he chews. He lets out a pleased sigh.

“Unbelievable,” you say with a smile, shaking your head with a laugh as you nestle in against his chest. “I love you.”

You can hear his grin in the way he chews the gum alone, but it’s even more prevalent in the earnest way he says, “And I love you.”

[miasmaghoul]

whos the best ghoul cook? do you think they have any weird eating quirks (like water ghouls eating raw fish, mountain chewin on his terra cotta plant pots, fire ghouls needing to eat more bc of higher body temp, anything like that)?

Did I ever tell you guys that I earned a scholarship to culinary school? I couldn't go, but cooking and baking remain passions of mine that I do NOT get to talk about enough.

But now you've given me an excuse >:)

So here, a BUNCH of my cooking (and favorite food) headcanons for the ghouls and Papas alike!

(There's some murder ghoul content here, mostly in Alpha's section - couldn't help myself 😌)

Aeon isn't one for cooking. Loves eating food, certainly, but not making it. He's more of a snacker, partly because it's more convenient but mostly because he doesn't have the attention span to do much more than microwave instant noodles. He's not picky though, will eat whatever is put in front of him as long as someone else has prepared it. Also doesn't have much of a sweet tooth, more of a salty/savory guy. Favorite foods include hot cheetos, thick cut beef jerky (good to gnaw), and whatever appears on his plate at meal times.

Aether is a ghoul of simple tastes. He'll cook when he has the time, but it's going to be one of his four go-to recipes every time. Always some format of protein + starch + veg, with a complementary sauce. He meal preps every weekend after his retirement so he can have easy meals to microwave and eat in the infirmary. Isn't the biggest fan of cooking with company, unless they're willing to stay out of the kitchen and not interrupt his routine. Has a weak spot for bananas. Favorite meal is one-pan roasted chicken, potatoes and asparagus with rosemary and garlic from Mountain’s garden.

Alpha does not cook, wouldn't dream of it. He doesn't even deign to eat human food most of the time, turns his nose up at it when offered. He likes his meat raw, and wants to hunt it himself so he can feel the blood run down his chin. Any prey is fair game - if he finds you in the woods, you'd better hope you can outrun him. (You cannot.) Favorite foods include the flesh and organs of anything with a pulse.

Aurora likes the idea of cooking, but in practice...well, she tries. She's impatient, is the problem - what do you mean simmer for 20 minutes? She's hungry now! She inevitably rushes everything she makes, no matter how much input she gets from the others, and has yet to learn her lesson. She also has a MASSIVE sweet tooth, they can't keep enough sugary snacks in the pantry as far as she's concerned. Favorite foods include spaghetti with butter and cheese (one of the only things she can always get right), boxed brownies and any kind of fruity candy she can get her paws on.

Cirrus can cook pretty well, if she says so herself, but it's rare that she does it for anyone but herself. She has very particular tastes, and doesn't want to have to adapt them for others. She loves organ meat and bitter vegetables, enjoys the intensity of those flavors while the smell alone keeps most of the others away. Oh well, more for her! She'll eat anything thats made for her though, especially if its served on a silver platter by someone on their knees. Favorite foods (aside from the aforementioned organs) mostly include healthy things like fresh fruit and veggies, steamed shellfish and lean meat.

Cumulus is more of a baker than a cook, but enjoys any time spent in the kitchen either way. She's the type to make a day of it, in her comfiest clothes with music playing while she dances in front of the stove. Her food is never the prettiest, but it's made with love and tastes so much better for it. Her favorite things to bake are cookies and pies, but she doesn't eat many sweets herself. Prefers seeing the others enjoy them. Favorite foods include homemade bread (she has a sourdough starter named Breadly) with lots of butter and flaky salt, anything citrus-forward and wants her proteins heavily spiced (not spicy, she has a low tolerance, but loves the fragrant flavors of herbs and spices).

Dewdrop doesn't advertise it, but he's one of the best ghouls to have in the kitchen. His precision and attention to detail are second to none, and while it doesn't make him particularly fun to share a kitchen with it does make him an outstanding cook. He likes very intricate, involved recipes because he can use them to showcase his skills (and earn a whole bunch of praise at the dining table as a bonus). Loves spicy food, which everyone assumes is due to him now being a fire ghoul, but he's actually always enjoyed a good burn. Favorite foods include any meat served on the bone, fermented foods (kimchi and sour pickles especially) and anything smoked.

Ifrit does not know how the stove works. He survives on protein bars and any leftovers he can pilfer from the abbey kitchens. Food is not a thing he's super interested in, just takes what he needs to fuel himself, and would rather follow in Alpha's footsteps anyway. He likes to hang out at the lake every now and then with Mist, though - she'll pop up from the water every now and then with a nice plump trout to toss his way, which he will roast with his bare hands. Doesn't really have a favorite food, but does like crunchy things.

Mist, if she isn't sharing her spoils with Ifrit, will keep her catch for herself. She's small enough that one good-sized lake fish will tide her over for the day. She does prefer them raw and whole, always a bit on the feral side, but she can be convinced to join the others for sushi if the offer arises. Favorite foods include anything alive and not poisonous in the lake, and cookie dough ice cream (don't tell anyone).

Mountain is overall considered to be the best cook amongst the ghouls, and definitely has the goofy apron to prove it. Naturally skilled and adaptable, he enjoys preparing meals for his pack and will do so with anyone that wishes to lend a hand. Usually it's Cumulus or Sunshine, but they all keep him company at one point or another. He grows much of the produce used in their kitchen himself, all of it fresh and delicious, but Mountain does not eat a bite of it. He's a total carnivore - the closest he gets to eating his homegrown goodies is including them in a stew but avoiding them in his own bowl. Favorite foods include rabbit, venison and this one Vietnamese style grilled beef and rice noodle dish that Dew makes.

Omega learned to cook by osmosis, if you ask him. Time spent under three Papas will do thay to a ghoul. He doesn't cook much, but he's excellent at crafting simple, filling pasta dishes that are good for the soul (so to speak). Also treats it as an excuse to drink plenty of the good wine stashed away in the abbey's cellars - blame Terzo for that habit. Favorite meal is fresh pappardelle served with roasted tomatoes, basil and spicy sausage.

Rain doesn't cook if it involves more than the microwave, not because he can't but because he prefers to be waited on. Breakfast in bed, charcuterie plates in the afternoon, specially prepared dinners to make sure he's kept happy - none of it is necessary, but Rain can't help how much he loves being served. Good thing no one minds giving him the royal treatment. He will also indulge in the odd raw fish during a swim, but only does it beneath the surface, away from prying eyes. Favorite good is soup, any kind, but he prefers brothy ones over thick or creamy styles. If he had to pick a single favorite varitey, it would be miso.

Swiss is only allowed in the kitchen because he's good with a knife. He can burn through prep work like nobody's business, but that's where his skill set ends. He's caused one too many greasefires to he trusted at the stove, and every time he's put something in the oven he's forgotten about it until smoke filled the room and the ghoulettes had to magickally air it out. But he can chop like a food processor, so he gets the knife pass. He's another one that'll eat anything put in front of him, with one exception: eggs. Can't stand them. Favorite foods include red meat served rare, really dark, bitter chocolate and anything with hideous amounts of garlic.

Sunshine is chaos personified in the kitchen. She loves to experiment with flavors and techniques, but has yet to have anything close to a success. Pasta with pesto and pineapple (alliteration is fun), chocolate covered avocado balls (with bacon, because why not), a tuna sandwich made with coconut yogurt instead of mayo (it's healthy!) - these are but a few of the food crimes that have lost her solo access to the kitchens. This girl could burn cereal, and no one wants to see that. She does love to eat though, and will frequently hang out when someone else is cooking so she can sneak bites whatever they're making. Favorite foods include cheese (all kinds), sour candy and all the orchard fresh peaches she can get her hands on.

And for the Papas:

Primo had to learn his way around the kitchen from an early age, thanks to the responsibility of raising his younger brothers falling onto his shoulders. He learned by watching the kitchen staff - a pair of elderly Sisters with so much skill in their gnarled hands that Primo couldn't look away. He never got very good at it, mostly sticking to a handful of reliable dishes that could be made cheap and easily for the three of them. His favorite of the bunch was also the one thing he was best at making - a simple mushroom risotto.

Secondo took to the kitchen like it was second nature, once Primo could trust him to not chop a finger off. Would spend hours poring over cookbooks and learning by doing, eating his own failures so his brothers wouldn't have to. He really enjoyed making simple but hearty comfort foods, lots of rib-sticking braises and stews filled with herbs and veggies from Primo's modest garden. He even cooked the last meal they ever shared together, on that fateful Uno night. It was his favorite, a lasagna constructed from fresh sheets of pasta, homemade ricotta, spinach and a simple tomato sauce, served with roasted garlic focaccia.

Terzo did not get the cooking gene, aside from being able to boil water for his tea. It wasn't a big deal since his brothers picked up the slack, and he decided there were other things that took priority - like music, history and how to retain a full head of hair after age 30. He preferred drinking over eating anyway, mostly saw food as something to put in his stomach to cushion the wine. He was a man of simple tastes, and his favorite thing was a humble sandwich of mortadella, provolone and spicy pickled peppers.

Copia never had to learn to cook, raised by the Clergy and doted on thanks to a not-so-subtle suggestion from Sister Imperator. More than a little spoiled in that sense, he would also go on to be the most worldly Papa in terms of his tastes. So much time spent traveling the world helped to expand his palate, and he got into the habit of sending pictures and descriptions of his favorites back to the abbey so the kitchen staff could figure out how to replicate them. It's impossible for him to pick a favorite, but thanks to so much time spent in LA he does have a real soft spot for Mexican food. Tacos al pastor in particular, but without the cilantro (he has the soap gene).