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blindmagdalena · 4 months ago

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All of a Sudden, There You Are

3k. homelander x gn!reader. pining. pure fluff! an older fic that desperately needed cleaning up. rewritten for a consistent perspective and added 600-some words. gif credit. AO3 link.

As Homelander's stylist, it's your job to ensure he looks his best, whether he's saving the world or saving face in front of the cameras. After nearly a year servicing him, things between you change abruptly.

Familiarity and consistency feed a base need in all of us. So much of what is best in us is bound up in the permanence of those around us that it becomes the measure of our stability. For Homelander, there are precious few things in his life that offer him any such quality of solidarity. People come and go. It's the nature of the business that has always been his life.

He's stopped paying attention to the PA's, interns and other worker ants that rotate in and out. Their faces blend together in a bland sea of normality and mediocrity. They're little more than cogs in the machine of his contrastingly extraordinary life.

Funny, then, that you should catch his attention amidst the insectoid buzz of it all.

It happens quite abruptly. He's just sat down before a brightly lit vanity where it's your job to style his hair and makeup, as it has been for the last several months. You greet him good morning, as you do every time, but for whatever reason... He notices you today.

"Remind me, what's your name again?" Homelander asks, watching you draw a comb from your kit.

That visibly catches you off guard. You offer only a dumbfounded stare for a moment before snapping to attention, smiling sheepishly as you introduce yourself. The name doesn't sound familiar to him. Had he never actually asked? Probably not. There’s rarely a point in bothering.

He hums contemplatively. "You've been styling me for a while.”

"Yes, sir. About eight months now," you say, using the comb to begin working product through his hair. He’s fairly certain this is the most he's ever spoken to you in all that time.

That sounds like both a long while and yet no time at all. It's nothing in the grand scheme of his life, but in terms of the people he sees consistently, that puts you in a shockingly small pool of individuals. Inevitably they move on, whether by choice or because they’ve found a way to irritate him enough that he has them dismissed.

He can recall his last stylist not by their name or face, but by the way they’d always manage to spray product in his eyes. They hadn’t lasted two days. The one before that he can’t bring to mind a single detail of.

Typically humans only become exceptional to him for how they grate on his patience. You’ve somehow managed to avoid making yourself noteworthy in that regard. Before today you had served as little more than a properly functioning gear in the well-oiled machine of his life.

Now it's as though you suddenly exist to him. Blood, flesh, laughter and all.

"Gooood morning," he greets you the next day, once again triggering another flare of surprise in you. He’s aware of the strangeness of his initiation, but behaves as though he isn’t. He flashes you one of his trademark Hollywood grins.

"Good morning to you, sir," you say with an answering smile that catches his eye. You sound pleased, which tickles something pleasant in the back of his own mind. He likes how well you’re mirroring his shift in mannerism.

He waves his hand dismissively. "Please, Homelander is fine. You keep it awfully formal."

You're actually quite pretty, he notices. Not exceptionally so, not like the celebrities and figures of social influence that someone like him brushes shoulders with on a daily basis, but... pretty nonetheless. He doesn't remember you being this pretty before, and speculates while you work whether you've changed something about yourself. He cannot put his finger on what exactly that may be, though.

He’s perceptive when it comes to the things that matter. Until yesterday, you hadn’t.

You laugh sweetly, pushing your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut as you do. You’re good with your hands, much better than the last stylist. He’s sure he made note of that at some point, but in the same way someone notices when a door stops squeaking. You take it for granted after the first time.

"I'm a creature of habit. Might take me a couple tries to adjust," you warn, covering his forehead with your palm as you spritz product into his hair. You never let any of that sticky crap get on his face, much less in his eyes. You take measures to ensure his comfort, even though he’s never scolded you. You seem to do it entirely out of reflex simply because you care enough to.

"Well, you've made it this far. You've got time to adjust," he says. Now that he's seen you, he finds that he doesn't care for the thought of you being gone. More than that, he starts actively looking forward to the time he spends in the chair with you. What used to be a monotonous aspect of the celebrity side of his life becomes a comforting ritual.

The two of you chat with surprising ease, like old friends made new. He tells you about himself, vents to you about work and personal business alike. In turn he learns about you and the life you live beyond the time you share with him. It’s nothing extraordinary–not like his–but it's yours, and for some reason, that’s enough to make it interesting.

The more he grasps that you are an entire person outside of the service you provide him, the more he wants to know. He doesn’t give a fuck about your elderly cat, but he does like the way your voice changes when you talk about it. His mind drifts when you tell him these little anecdotes, and he wonders what you tell the people in your life about him. He wonders if your tone similarly changes when you do. Do you speak fondly of him? Days turn to weeks. Little by little, Homelander discerns small changes in himself. There’s a slight pep in his step these days. The sun feels a little warmer, the thrum of crowded events less irritating. His attitude towards interviews flips; even the ones he used to dread he begins to anticipate. He knows you’ll have him looking and feeling his finest. He knows that regardless of what awaits him, you’ll have something to say about it that will make it easier to smile for the cameras.

Thinking of you is sometimes all it takes.

When he has nothing on his schedule to be styled for, he sulks. On those days, he misses your laugh the most.

He makes sure the products he keeps at home are the same as the ones you use. The smell of them reminds him of the smell of you, of your knock-off Dior perfume that fades too quickly after you apply it, which makes it just perfect for his keen sense of smell. The humble subtlety of you, your sincerity and gentleness, have become a boon against the unfeeling corporate reality of his life. On the days he does see you, he begins to miss you before he’s even left you. Now, as he walks to his next scheduled appointment with you, he’s painfully aware of the beat of his own heart. His stomach is twisting in on itself, though he isn’t hungry. If anything, he feels a little nauseous. The closer he gets to the door, the louder the cacophony inside of him becomes. Is he sick? That shouldn’t be possible, but he can’t understand what’s happening to him. Pausing just outside the door, he takes in a steadying breath.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Taking a moment to collect himself, he gives his face two quick pats on either side, shaking his head. Get it together, he tells himself, stepping into the dressing room.

“Gooood morn–” Homelander cuts himself short, looking around the empty room. His brows pinch. He isn’t early. Pursing his lips, he takes a brief stroll about the room, clutching his hands behind his back. He peers down the hallway, cutting through the layers of wall with his vision. No sign of you on the grounds yet. He clicks his tongue.

You’ve never been late. Unable to settle, he paces for a while. He has the thought to call you, but he realizes he doesn’t have your number. Why doesn’t he have your number? It seems such an obvious thing to have despite the fact he’s never needed it.

He’s just pulled out his cellphone to track it down from Ashley when the door suddenly opens and his head snaps up. The initial relief he feels is cut short, turning cold in his chest when the person who steps through the door is most definitely not you. “Good morning!” the woman greets him, her voice chirpy and grating in his ears. She’s not really happy to see him. She doesn’t know the first fucking thing about him. At most, she’s another sycophantic drone who’s only pleased to breathe his air. In his upset, she looks freakishly distorted, her smile overly wide and fake. His leather gloves creak as he curls his hands into fists. “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, voice as measured as he can manage it. His anger hits in an unreasonable surge, hot like lava from a volcano. This woman’s only crime is the fact she’s not you, and yet it’s enough to make him want to rip her head off her shoulders, spine and all. The woman hesitates in the doorway, her chipper demeanor flipping to a fearful one. “Uhm, my name is Lisa, I’m supposed to style you to–” “Where is my stylist?” he interrupts her, prowling towards her like a hungry predator. He says again, louder this time, voice full of anger and anxiety in equal measure, “Where the fuck is my stylist?!” “I– I don’t know!” Lisa yelps, stepping backwards from him. “I was called in as a last minute replacement! They said– they said there was an accident, or–” Homelander pushes her roughly out of the doorway, blowing past her with a frustrated growl. She hits the wall hard before crumpling to the floor like a lifeless sack of potatoes, but he doesn’t even register it. He calls Ashley, stalking down the hallway, his footfalls loud with fury. Why the fuck didn’t anyone think to tell him? “Ashley!” He snarls into his phone the second she answers. “Tell me where the fuck my goddamn stylist is.”

Homelander is at the hospital within minutes. The staff puts up a meager effort to enforce protocols, but he’s The Homelander, and after a lie or two, they eventually let him through. He hates the smell of hospitals. The sickly mix of bleach and illness, the buzzing of the fluorescent lights. They never should have brought you here. You should be in Vought’s med ward.

You should be with him. When he finds you, you’re sitting with the hospital bed halfway reclined, wearing nothing but a hospital gown. The vibrant reds and blues of his suit paint a sharp contrast to the stark white walls of the hospital room when he steps inside. You have a pudding cup in your hand, though you nearly drop it when you see him in the doorway. His hair is woefully unstyled, splayed loose in every direction from his flight. “H-Homelander,” you sputter, choking on your bite of pudding. You swallow, clearing your throat. He’s walking towards you. The closer he gets, the faster your heart beats in his ears. “What are you doing here?” “Are you okay?” He asks, blowing off your question entirely. He blinks and his vision flickers through your clothes and skin alike. He scans your body for internal damage, for broken or fractured bones. You’re not wearing a cast or anything, but he needs to be sure. You nod, clutching at the blanket, wearing your confusion plainly on your face. “Yeah, I’m okay, it’s probably just mild whiplash, but I’m getting an x-ray to be–” “You’re fine,” he breathes more to himself than to you, his relief palpable. He can hear the flustered patter of your heart clearly. With the adrenaline wearing off, he’s beginning to feel that sickly familiar feeling that he had experienced in the hallway; butterflies rampant in his stomach, battering their wings frantically inside him. His jaw feels tight, his tongue too big for his mouth. Staring at you now, frail and precious as you are in this ugly hospital bed, he realizes what’s the matter–what has always been the matter–he is deeply and incurably in love with you. “Are you okay?” You ask, taking in his tortured expression, his wildly wind-swept hair. The obvious concern in your voice and in your eyes churns his already twisting gut. “No,” he says, the response knee-jerk. Even though the room is still, he feels as though the world is spinning around him. “No, I think I’m in love with you,” he says, expression twisted up, like he’s figuring out each word as he says them. Your heart skips a beat, your breath catches in your lungs. It’s as if the words have paralyzed you. Homelander laughs. It sounds a little hysterical.

“I’m telling you all of a sudden, but it isn’t new with me,” he says, reaching out to cup either side of your face in his gloved hands. “I love you,” he says, voice firmer now, the realization setting in fully. He looks slightly delirious with it. He’s discovered a secret that he should have known all along, that seems so obvious in hindsight. Of course he loves you, because you love him. The gentleness in your hands as you touched his face, the care in your fingers stroking through his hair far longer than both of you knew you needed to. You dedicated yourself like no other to showing him reverence in service of him, and is that not love in its purest form? And yet, you don’t look to share his elation. You look like you’ve been struck by lightning, expression wide and bewildered. You still haven’t taken a breath. Homelander’s smile falters. “What’s the matter?” He asks, tone dropping a touch. “This is good news! Great, even.” For every second that you do not speak, the beat of his heart feels heavier in his chest. Why don’t you look happy? Finally, you suck in a shaky breath. He watches you with all the intensity of a viper poised to strike.

“I…” You hesitate. You lift your hands and grip his wrists, squeezing them through the thick fabric of his gloves as if to convince yourself that he’s really there. Maybe the accident was worse than he thought. Did you hit your head?

Panic swells in his chest. It hadn’t occurred to him you might not reciprocate. The thought makes him ill.

“I never…” your eyes turn glassy, welling with tears. “Say it!” he wants to shout, his own heart hammering loudly enough to nearly drown out your words. “I never would have thought–or even dreamed–in a million years that you might love me back.”

love me back.

Like a dying ember roaring back to life, Homelander’s demeanor reignites, his faded smile broadening once more.

“I realized it when I was worried fucking sick because you didn't show up,” he says, leaning closer to you. He’s brought the scent of ozone from the sky he tore through on his way to you, but all he cares about is the faint smell of pudding lingering on your lips.

He huffs a laugh. “They sent in some idiot to fill in for you. Like they could replace you. I almost tore her head off,” he says, giddy with euphoria. Your expression shifts, brows furrowing. “Wait, what? You almost-” “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he interrupts, his voice a low rumble. He can already taste you in the breaths you’re close enough to share with him, and he’s never been hungrier for anything–or anyone–in his life. You fall silent with a shiver, nodding minutely, eyes falling shut. “Please do.” His lips meet yours in a gentle press. He deserves a medal for not crushing you with the sheer magnitude of his desire. You all but melt against him, settling into his grip as smoothly as you settled into his life, his mind, his heart. When the two of you break apart, you make a breathless noise that shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He feels hyper aware of your every sound and move.

God, how he wants to feel every part of you.

You move your hands to touch his face and he leans into the softness of your caress. You’ve been close enough to kiss more times than he can count. The fact it’s only now occurred to him to do so seems like lunacy. Your eyes dip to his lips, your thumb brushes the bottom one. He catches it with a quick kiss and you laugh your sweet bell-chime laughter.

Pushing your hand into his hair, the wondrous joy in your expression becomes tinged with amusement. “And people wonder why I use so much gel,” you murmur, smooth the wild splay of his hair down with both hands, cupping the back of his head. Homelander smiles wide and boyishly, which prompts you to kiss him again.

“I’m not having some kind of brain bleed hallucination right now, right?” You ask quietly, the tip of your nose lightly pressed to his. He brushes his lips against yours between words. “You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack,” he purrs, stroking your cheek with his thumb. Despite the ugly fluorescent lights and the dreadful hospital stench all around, you look resplendent in your joy.

He had been right. It was love that you touched him with. It had been subtle, imbued in your every movement, and for months he had soaked it up until, unbeknownst to him, he fell into it as well.

“Trust me when I say you’ll be seeing a lot more of me from now on,” he says, brushing your nose with his.

Maybe instead of tearing them limb from limb, he’ll send flowers to whoever the sorry son of a bitch that rear-ended you this morning was. Who knows how much more time he would have wasted before he realized he was utterly smitten with you.

#i've been meaning to get this fic fixed up for ages bc the original was a MESS and randomly switched to the reader's pov halfway in lol #but i have major fondness and nostalgia for this fic #it's from like my first month in the fandom #homelander x reader #homelander x you #homelander fanfiction #x reader #my writing #fluff

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star-sim · 10 months ago

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his "oh" moment ☆ enha hyungs

☆ non-idol! enhypen hyungs x fem! reader ☆ summary: the exact moment that your enha boy realized he loved you. ☆ genre: fluff, down bad boys, very domestic and intimate, can be interpreted as either pre-relationship or established relationship, wtv u want :) ☆ warning(s)? no, theyre all just so atrociously down bad ☆ word count: 1.3k total

heeseung just came back from a little run to the convenience store for snacks. when he asked you if you wanted to come with him, you only smiled and said that you'd stay in his apartment to watch the boiling pot of ramyeon that you were preparing.

it was 3am when he ventured out into the cold, night air, pulling his hood over his ears. as the bag filled with all of your favorite drinks crinkled under his fingertips, heeseung slipped his housekey into the keyhole, sniffling softly from the cold.

as he cracked the door open, he was met with warm, orange light, warm air, and the smell of his favorite ramyeon.

"i'm back!" he shouted from the door, slipping his shoes off. you didn't hear him, so he just made his way into the kitchen.

the sight he saw before him was enough to make heeseung's heart skip a beat.

there you were, humming quietly to yourself as you graced his kitchen. lost in your own world, almost like the only thing that matter to you in that moment was the small pot of hot ramyeon, the same one that you always made when you were with him because you knew that he loved it. the way his kitchen lights shone down on you made you glow, almost like you were a saint to be venerated.

the sound of heeseung's breath getting caught in his throat caught your attention.

you turned over your shoulder, and the moment that you eyes met his, you expression melted into a smile— the one where your lips lifted so that he could see your teeth, your eyes forming thin crescents as your nose crinkled— the smile that heeseung swore he saw in his dreams.

"welcome back, hee," your voice greeted him.

as those words tumbled from your lips, heeseung's eyes widened into saucers as his heart dropped to his stomach.

he wouldn't mind hearing you say that to him everyday for the rest of his life. the thought of him coming home to you everyday, seeing your pretty, smiley face as you said his name, made heeseung light-headed, his face becoming the same color as the red broth of your ramyeon.

shit.

jay didn't think what he just said was really that funny.

it was a small, off-hand comment that he made, a mere remark that was miniscule in the grand scheme of things.

but the way that you keeled over yourself, your eyes squeezed shut yet tears spilled out of them, gripping onto the table as you laughed, told him otherwise. you struggled to form words, constantly cutting yourself off with laughter, wheezing so hard jay was worried that you'd stop breathing.

the sound of your laugh was like music to his ears. jay couldn't help the small, dumb grin that began to bleed onto his face; it started with his chest filling with warmth, rising up his neck, to his ears, and finally his lips. one corner of his lip raised slowly, before the other one did. his lips wobbled, watching you as you wiped a tear from your eye, until he couldn't hold it back anymore, and the smile that he tried so hard to swallow back unraveled across his features.

"st-stop!" you cried as laughter erupted from your chest, throwing your head back. you cheeks were beginning to hurt, but jay's words kept reverberating in your head. "i-i'm gonna pee myself!"

that's when jay laughed.

"shut up," he said, but no matter what he did to push the sound of your laughter to the back of his head, there was nothing he could do.

his cheeks were already too red, his heart already pounding in his chest like a drum, this memory already cemented into his head.

and plus, he already made up his mind: he could get used to hearing your laugh everyday.

or even better, he wouldn't mind being the reason for your laughter.

jake had no idea how his brother did it, how his brother managed to have a kid and not snap into a million pieces.

but as you held his infant nephew, cooing at his small hands and chubby cheeks, jake felt his entire world pummel to his feet.

"hi baby!" you cooed to the child, your knees folded below you as you helped jake babysit his nephew. when the baby babbled back, soft and sweet giggles fell from your lips, you laid on your back, holding the baby over you.

you gently rocked the baby in the air, relishing in the way that it let out small and high-pitched giggles.

jake watched. the way your touch was so gentle, pulling the child to your chest as you cuddled with him. your tenderness was so... soft. so soft that it made jake's brows furrow together, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip, in order to hide the look of pure stupid that was threatening to seep through his expression.

you were so warm, so kind, so affectionate, that it made jake feel all mushy inside, like he was going to evaporate.

he sucked in a sharp breath, trying to keep the palpitations in his chest at bay, trying to keep the ache in his heart from consuming him whole.

"i didn't know you were so good with kids," he said to you, kneeling beside your figure that embraced his baby nephew. his tone was half-teasing, but jake knew better. there was a war raging on in him, and frankly, he wasn't going to win.

the more he watched you, the more everything became clear to him.

maybe he wouldn't mind having kids, if it's with you.

sunghoon had a strict sleep schedule, one that he would do anything to protect.

as his phone illuminated his bedroom, the blue light gleaming so bright that someone could go blind, and as that godforsaken ringtone shook sunghoon awake, he thought that he was going to punch someone.

but the moment his half-asleep eyes traced the letters of your name, his finger darted to answer your call, no questions asked.

"hello?" he rubbed his tired eyes, yawning, yet with no intention of going back to sleep. after all, it was you.

"hooooon," your voice slurred on the other line. he could hear loud music in the background.

"are you drunk?" he asked, worried. his brows crashed together, concern bubbling in his chest. "where are you?"

you laughed, the sweet sound almost making sunghoon feel at ease. "at the cluuubbb."

"shit," sunghoon muttered under his breath.

"don't worry about me!" you reassured him. "not drunk.... hehe!"

sunghoon was already grabbing his coat and keys, slamming his front door.

it was only when you snuggled up against him in the backseat of his car, pushing your cheeks into the crook of his neck and clutching his arm, that everything came crashing down on sunghoon's shoulders.

it was a quiet realization, like the small light that had always been glimmering inside him suddenly flickered on. it was no surprise to him: a silent and hushed wave of fulfillment crashing onto the seashore that was his heart, before fizzling out into white seafoam.

his eyes traced your features under the dim light, taking in the faint scent of your perfume.

you muttered his name, reaching out for him, and all he could do was feel his heart throb for a few pulses, before sucking in a sharp breath and letting a curve form on his lips.

"i'm here," he said quietly into your ear. "i'm always here."

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no-144444 · 4 months ago

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mistakes and miscalculations- c.leclerc

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pairing: charles leclerc x fem! reader

summary: a fight and a mistake leads to something worse.

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You hadn’t had a worse day in months, no- years. Fuck this. Work was a mess, everyone was blaming you for something you didn’t do, and you and Charles weren’t exactly communicating. He’d said something a few days earlier, something about you not having as hard a job as him. Which, granted, was true. He was a racecar driver, you worked in marketing, but it didn’t mean that your work was any less important. Hell, work was where you two had met. You were his publicist when you’d started dating. So yes, it rubbed you the wrong way and you’d decided to sleep on the couch instead of being with him. He didn’t take kindly to that, and hadn’t spoken a word to you in 4 days. Yay. He texted you, small messages consisting of “I got here safe” or “sleep tight xxx” and things like that. But Friday nights were your date night, even when it was a race weekend. But 8pm came and went and there was no call on your phone.

Oh.

It was fine. You didn’t need to talk to him. Did you miss him greatly? Yes. Were you over the entire argument? Yes. Was he? Evidently not.

You lay in bed awake for a few hours as you thought over everything. Maybe you had been too harsh, he was stressed, especially since he was unsure about the strategy the team had given him for the weekend ahead. But… he didn’t need to be so mean about things. Your work was important, and to have him just brush it off like that, in the way he did, when all you were trying to do was express how overworked you were, it all made you feel… unheard. It wasn’t a nice feeling.

Your phone started ringing at 4am in Monaco, meaning it was 9pm in Austin. You picked it up without looking, just hoping it wasn’t something important.

“Y/n?” It was Charles. “I know it’s early, my love.”

“Charles?” You yawned. “I thought you were still and at me.”

He sighed. “I thought I was, but then I realised I just felt guilty for saying what I did, and not talking to you was more a punishment for myself. I’m sorry about what I said, and what I didn’t say.”

You sighed, lying. “It’s fine Charles.”

You were still not over the fight, it had cut you deep, what he had said. “Your job doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things, why is your boss getting so worked up about you not coming to Austin?”

It broke your heart. Charles had always been so supportive, but the moment he got stressed, you were suddenly not important. Right.

“I’m sorry I missed date night,” he added sheepishly. You hadn’t missed that in 8 months. He broke the streak.

“I waited for an hour and a half,” you chuckled sadly. “Even then I couldn’t sleep.”

He let out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Good luck tomorrow,” you sighed. “I’ll be rooting for you from Monaco.”

“My love?-“

“Oh and tell Arthur ‘good luck’ too, and sorry that I couldn’t be there in person for his debut. I’m just swamped with my unimportant work over here.”

And with that you hung up the phone, breaking your 1 year streak of always saying ‘sleep tight’ at the end of a phone call. You were irritated, irritated due to the nerve he had to call you like that. Sometimes you wondered if all the praise he got went too far to his head and gave him a superiority complex, but another part of you just knew that was your irritation getting the better of you.

You went back to sleep, far too tired to think about what you’d just done.

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“She hung up,” he sighed. “She hung up without saying goodbye.”

“Are you two breaking up?” Arthur questioned, sitting on his older brother's bed as he slowly fell apart. He’d never not spoken to you for this long, it was becoming embarrassing how upset he was. How could he let this happen? You were one of the best things in his life, if not the best thing. “If you are, I do not think I would recover.”

Charles scoffed. “We are not breaking up,” he took a deep breath. “We are just… arguing. Like adults.”

“You called her job unimportant! That’s a childish thing to say,” Ollie shrugged. Kimi nodded his head, agreeing.

“And a pretty mean thing to say,” Kimi added. “Especially when her job is so important to you.”

Charles groaned. “I know I messed up!” He groaned again. “I just need to figure out a way to get her to forgive me.”

“Grand gesture! Like in the movies!” Kimi cheered, Arthur and Ollie agreeing. “Bring her to the race and give her a holiday from work!”

Charles thought about it for a moment. You did need a break, there was no doubt about it. “That’s not a terrible idea.”

“Exactly!” Arthur smiled. “Do that, and she’ll love you again!”

Charles smiled. “I’ll call her now-“

“No! You have to make it like… an emergency! And then she’ll rush here and you’ll have a date set up,” Ollie thought as the other boys nodded their heads.

“I feel like she’d get stressed-“ Charles said but Ollie was already busy thinking about ways to get you to Austin.

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“What Ollie?” You answered your phone as you drew up yet another plan for the marketing strategy your boss had already made you redo twice,

“Thank god you answered!” Ollie sighed a sigh of relief. “Charles is broken up about your break up, we’ve tried everything-“

“What?” You gasped. You and Charles hadn’t broken up, had you? No. Neither of you wanted to break up, right? You didn’t. Did he? “We didn’t break up.”

“We tried to tell him that, but he doesn’t believe us. He thinks you blocked him. Can you… come to Austin? He doesn’t think he’ll drive in this state, he’s devastated.”

You sighed. “I’ll book a flight for tonight. See you soon.”

“Thanks Y/n.”

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As far as a hellish week goes, that must’ve been the worst in your life. Shitty work week, Charles and you fighting, then the flight to Austin Texas that you barely got on because of course your boarding pass wouldn’t print.

You weren’t over the fight, at all, but you and Charles definitely weren’t breaking up. You’d never want that, no matter how annoyed you were. If it took a flight from Monaco to Austin in the middle of an argument, at the end of a shitty week to prove your love, well that’s what you had to do.

You sat, staring at your battery as it slowly dwindled away and your music played on, but it sadly was not enough to drown out the noise of the sobbing baby beside you. Maybe you should’ve let Charles buy you the noise-cancelling headphones he was going to get you as a ‘just-because’ present, instead of the wired headphones you’ve had since you were in college, that had finally decided to die on you, mid-flight. You weren’t going to admit he was right when he said “those things will break on you at the worst time!”, you were just going to thank him when he eventually came home with them after a race, probably being gifted them by some random company. Your apartment had started to look more and more like a shop, rather than a house, it was another major pressure point of your relationship. It drove you crazy, the disorganisation and the constant influx of things that you two could never keep up with, and Charles didn’t seem to be too bothered by it. That had made its way into the fight too. God, what hadn’t?

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Touching down in Austin was as glamorous as one would imagine. You were tired, hungry (you couldn’t stomach aeroplane food), and you were pissed off. Why did this have to happen this week? The one week you were just looking forward to being alone all weekend.

You adored Charles, but sometimes we all need some alone time, and this weekend was going to be that. You needed a break from being yourself, for being a chief marketing officer, and from being Charles Leclerc’s girlfriend. You just needed a moment of silence, was that too much to ask for?

You met Arthur outside the airport, and he wrapped you up in a hug as he smiled, happy you’d made it.

“Hey Arth,” you sighed, exhausted.

“Hey Y/n,” he smiled. “Thank you for coming, he really needs you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nodded. “Let’s go, I’m exhausted.”

You fell asleep in the car on the way to the track, beyond tired from your travels. You woke up about a minute before Arthur pulled into the Ferrari hospitality, and you were practically a zombie when you grabbed your bags and followed Arthur up to Charles’s room.

“Baby?” You asked, eyes closed from exhaustion. You were barely standing up, shocked you were even still awake.

“Is that you?” Charles’s voice rang through your ears.

“Yeah baby, open the door,” you smiled lazily. You missed him. It was hard not to.

The door swung open to reveal… a candle-lit dinner and Charles?

What the fuck?

“Baby!” He cheered, pulling you into him, pressing kisses to your cheek and neck. “Surprise!”

You didn’t answer. No way he made you fly all the way to Austin, faked thinking you two were breaking up, and all for a fucking dinner? No way. This was a joke. This was some sick and twisted joke.

“Baby?” His smile slightly faded. “Are you ok?”

You couldn’t stop it. Exhaustion, stress, anxiety, anger, everything. It all tipped over and you started crying. In his arms. You buried your face in his shoulder and his arms wrapped around you in an instant, closing the door to give you two some privacy.

“Baby,” he cooed. “What’s wrong?”

And that was the last straw. What was wrong?

You pushed him off, wiping your eyes as any and all exhaustion was replaced with adrenaline.

“What’s wrong?” You cried, a twisted smile on your face. “What’s wrong so that my boyfriend is psychotic and decided it would be a great idea to make me think that we were breaking up and making me fly to fucking Austin for a dinner. Charles. That’s my fucking problem. The same boyfriend that called my job unimportant when I was trying to tell him that I was beyond stressed about it, my headphones broke on the flight, a baby was crying beside me, and I’m exhausted!” You sobbed.

He looked down, disappointed with his own actions. He knew how this would go, and yet he let 3 teenagers talk him into it. How stupid was he?

“And the worst part is,” you continued. “Is that I’m not even fucking mad at you! Because I’m just happy that I’m not being broken up with! Because I fucking love you!”

Oh. Oh. Oh.

You loved him. And he’d pulled this. And you said it for the first time. And he’d stressed you out more.

“Baby please-“ he tried to take your hand, but you just slumped against him.

“I’m sorry I slept on the couch, I’ll never do it again. Just please don’t do this to get my attention. You always have my attention.” you sniffled. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” he smiled, far too chipper for this specific moment. “You’re tired, let’s talk about this in the morning, yeah?”

You nodded and let him lead you to his bed.

You fell asleep almost instantly and he smiled. At least you two were talking. At least you two were in the same bed. At least you two were in love.

“My love,” he whispered, laying beside you. “I love you.”

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

When you woke up the next morning and despite the obvious tension, you were happy to be Charles’s arms.

“Morning,” he pressed a kiss to your neck.

“Morning,” you rolled over, out of his grasp to look at the clock.

He sighed, crawling towards you. “Can we talk about it?”

“About what?” you turned to him. “The fight? The stunt you pulled yesterday? Our fake break up?”

He scoffed. “I am not the only one at fault here,” he argued. “Our fight is not only my fault.”

You sighed, placing your head in your hands. “I know that. And I’m exhausted, so let's just go our separate ways for the weekend and talk about it after, ok?”

He nodded. “But you’ll still be here, right? You’re not going back home?”

“Not until you are,” you sighed, getting up.

Charles watched as you made your way to the bathroom, stretching as you went. Sometimes, it hit him hard how gorgeous you are, this was one of those times, and he was hit very, very hard.

“Baby?” he called out.

You poked your head out. “Yeah?”

“Come here,” he gestured for you to come closer, and was a little surprised when you obliged. He sat you on his lap and held you close, resting his head in your neck. “I’m sorry. I was stupid and I’m sorry.”

You nodded, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “Ok.”

“And I know what I said was wrong, your job is super important, because we met here, and also because you put your heart into your work. I’m sorry.”

You ran your hands through his hair, a conflicted look on your face. “I’m sorry I brought other things into the fight and slept on the couch.”

You felt him smile as he pressed a kiss to your neck. “And I love you, and I don't want to fight anymore.”

You chuckled. “Me neither.”

He was silent for a minute, just pressing soft, comforting kisses to your neck as he enjoyed having you near him. “So are we ok?”

“We aren’t 100% ok, but we’re getting there,” you explained, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “There’s probably more things we should talk about, but maybe when you don’t have a Gran Prix in a matter of hours? And I love you too.”

His grin widened, and he couldn’t resist pulling you down to properly kiss you for the first time in days.

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navigation for my blog :)

#f1 fluff #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #formula 1 x you #formula one imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc imagine #f1 smau #f1 social media au #formula one #formula one x reader #formula 1 #formula racing #ferrari #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x female oc

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navybrat817 · 3 months ago

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Sunrises and Sunsets

Pairing: Ranch Hand!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Bucky wants to watch a sunrise with you.

Word Count: Over 2k

Warnings: Fluff, reflecting, tooth rotting sweetness, a bit of sass, slight feels (it's me), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: More Beach Fun Nonsense! Hope you lovelies enjoy. @bigtreefest requested for Ranch Hand!Bucky to either Go for a Swim (smut) or dig his Toes in the Sand (fluff - this won with my muse) with prompt #1 in bold. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You woke up before the alarm went off thanks to Bucky. He normally did his best not to disturb your slumber if you didn't have to get up right away, unless he wanted you and you would gladly forgo sleep for that. But the soft kisses he placed along your shoulder and neck weren't rushed or needy. In the darkness you reached for his hand and felt him smile against your skin when you took it. It made you smile, too, and your heart beat faster in your chest. Waking up beside him was a gift.

“Morning,” you whispered, brushing some of the hair from his eyes when you turned to face him.

“Morning,” he whispered back, kissing the center of your forehead. “Time to get up.”

“No,” you groaned. You didn't glance at the time, but your inner alarm clock knew you had a few more minutes.

He chuckled and nipped your other shoulder hard enough to make you gasp. “Yes, Sunbeam,” he said, his tongue tracing the spot he bit. “Gonna watch the sun come up together before breakfast.”

“Why?” You asked. Today wasn't a special occasion or anniversary that you were aware of. He would have reminded you at some point or vice versa.

“Because I wanna watch the sunrise with you,” he replied, sliding a finger under your chin before you could hide your face in his chest. The room was dark, but you felt his gaze plead with you to get up. “Please?” He added for good measure.

With another groan, you gave in. “Fine,” you sighed, trying to hide your smile as you stretched under the sheets. You lucked out with Bucky when it came to small romantic moments. What other man would wake you just to watch the sunrise together? “Sun, breakfast, caffeine.”

“Turning on the light,” he warned, giving you time to cover your eyes when he leaned over to flip the lamp switch. He was thoughtful like that. “I didn't hear 'sex with my amazing boyfriend' on that list. Kinda hurts my feelings.”

You giggled and removed your hand, blinking more of the sleep from your eyes. “Sex is for after I have my caffeine.”

It was his turn to groan. “Fine,” he mocked in his best imitation of you, making you giggle again. You didn't always laugh this early in the morning and not every day began this bright, but every day was a bit lighter thanks to him. “C’mon. You can sleep later.”

“Whatever you say, Buckaroo,” you said as you sat up. You slid your feet into your slippers, your stomach fluttering because you know you didn't put them back in that spot yesterday. “Thank you,” you said, wiggling your toes.

“Can't let your feet touch the cold floor now, can I?” He winked, stretching as he stood up.

Your throat tightened. It was such a tiny gesture in the grand scheme of things, but it was the little things that mattered. They showed that he paid attention and cared. You tried to do the same for him, like cooking his favorite meals or drawing him a bath after a hard day. You hoped it was enough.

“You’re so good to me,” you said, holding your hands out so he could help you stand.

“We’re good to each other,” he said, pulling you up with ease.

The rough pads of his fingertips rubbed along your skin, a physical reminder of the work he put in day in and day out. His hands made a difference in the world and your life, his calloused touch telling hundreds of stories. Being part of his journey and creating a new story together was something out of a dream. The beauty of it was that your story wasn't over yet.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked.

“I’ll tell you when we go outside,” you replied, not wanting him to miss any of the view. “Do you need to put a shirt on?”

He pulled a hand away to pat his pocket before he smirked and pointed to his washboard abs. “These give me plenty of heat.”

Your gaze went to his torso, heat of your own spreading from your core. Working day in and day out kept him in great shape. He belonged on one of those cowboy romance novel covers. Or a calendar.

I could make a killing with a ranch hand calendar featuring all the guys.

“And for breakfast, I'll make you some humble pie. A big ol’ slice,” you teased.

“Mmm. Pie for breakfast. You do love me,” he joked.

“More than anything,” you smiled.

He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your mouth, tilting your world on its axis like always. “Love you, too.”

“You have to if you don't care about my morning breath,” you smiled.

He grabbed a couple of blankets as he led you out to the front porch, just in case there was a chill in the air. Another thoughtful gesture. Instead of taking you to the porch swing like you expected, he took you down the steps and laid out one of the blankets in the grass where you sometimes had picnics together.

“Why aren't we sitting in the swing?” You asked.

“I mean, we could sit in the swing and I can put my arm around you.” He sat down and spread his legs out in front of him, patting the spot between them. “But it’s easier to hold you like this and I wanna hold you when the sun comes up.”

“You’re such a sap,” you smiled, happily taking the spot between his legs. “But I like that.”

“You do know I’m only a sap for you, right?”

“I do,” you said, spreading the other blanket across your legs. “Don't worry. I won't tell anyone.”

“Too late. Everyone knows,” he smiled.

“True,” you said, tilting your head and taking the opportunity to kiss underneath his chin before you looked back at the horizon.

Exhaling, you pressed your back against Bucky’s chest and revelled in the warmth of his body as he wrapped his arms around you. He occasionally reminded you of the sun. He had fire within him and brightened your world just by being there. But to him, you were the sun.

We're each other's sun and moon.

“So, you just felt like watching a sunrise with me?” You asked.

“Just felt like it,” he agreed, holding you a bit tighter. “I’ve watched sunrises and sunsets more times than I can count, but it’s just different with you.”

“Why is that?” You asked.

“It may not make sense, but the sunrise just looks more beautiful and hopeful because I have someone to share it with. And people say sunsets are a way to reset, but I’m just thankful because it was another day I got to spend with you.” He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple as your heart swelled. “Each day is a blessing because you're in my life.”

You were on the verge of spilling tears, but managed to keep them at bay. “I feel blessed, too,” you whispered.

His chest shook as he chuckled. “I really am a sap.”

“Yeah, but you’re my sap,” you said, tracing the palm of his hand. It was a special thing to bring out that side of him. “You know how you asked me what I was thinking about earlier? I was thinking how your hands can tell so many stories. I think your wrinkles will tell stories, too.”

“My wrinkles?” He asked.

“Yeah. Each is a chapter in your story. Just like every scar,” you answered. Bucky thought every mark on your body was a thing of beauty. You wanted him to feel the same way about his. “They’ll say how you survived hard times. How you lived your life. How you loved.”

“You’re a sap, too,” he teased, catching your elbow before you could ram it into him. “Easy, I’m kidding. I think that’s a beautiful way to look at it.”

There was beauty all around you with Bucky.

“Well, the thought of getting older used to scare me, but it doesn't seem so bad because I have you. We won't have to do it alone. We’ll grow together,” you smiled, gazing at the sky that seemed to stretch on forever. “So when we're older and you have wrinkles and gray hairs, I want you to keep doing this: Wake me up for a sunrise just because you felt like it. Just because you wanted to share one more beautiful moment with me.”

“You wanna grow old with me?” He asked, his voice thicker than you expected. “And on those days, you’ll still love me? Wrinkles and all?”

“Of course, I do. And of course, I will,” you promised. You would love him no matter what. “And you’ll still love me when I grow old?”

“Forever and always,” he whispered, resting his chin on your shoulder when the sun began to rise.

Your heart raced as the hues touched the land you two shared, painting a canvas in glowing rays. He was right that the sunrise was more beautiful and hopeful because you had someone to share it with. And while you were certain there were others watching the sky, this felt like a new dawn just for the two of you.

“It really is breathtaking, isn’t it?” You smiled.

“You’re breathtaking,” he said, making your smile widen as your cheeks warmed.

“You flatter me, Buckaroo,” you said affectionately.

Bucky took a deep breath by your ear as you continued to look at the view. “Marry me, Sunbeam,” he whispered.

With wide eyes, you spun around in his arms. You didn't know it, but to him you looked like an angel with the rays growing brighter around you. “What?” You asked.

“Shit. I was supposed to ask you, not tell you. And I was supposed to have something special planned, but I keep carrying this around in case the time’s right and this just seemed right.” He swallowed before he reached into his pajama pocket and pulled out a small box. “It isn't much. Sure as hell isn't what you deserve and I'm sorry for that,” he said. You covered your mouth with a gasp when he opened it. Simple, beautiful, and a diamond that sparkled like the sun. To you, it was the most beautiful ring to ever exist. “But I love you and I want you to be my wife. I wanna grow old with you and I don't wanna tell the story of my life without you in it. I-”

“Yes!” You shouted into the morning air, knocking him on his back. You were lucky you didn’t knock the ring box out of his hand. “Yes, yes, yes! I’ll marry you!”

“I wasn't done with my proposal,” he chuckled.

“I don't care. I said ‘yes’. Now’s the part where you put the ring on my finger,” you smiled with tears in your eyes. He managed to slip the ring onto your finger with you stretched out on top of him. A perfect fit. “It’s beautiful. Don't ever apologize for giving me something so beautiful.”

The proposal was beautiful, too. It came from the heart at a time he knew was right. You couldn't ask for anything better.

I have the whole world because of you.

You swore you saw the sunrise in his eyes as he framed your face and smiled up at you. “Love you, Sunbeam.”

“Love you, too, Buckaroo,” you whispered, giggling. “And guess what?”

“What’s that?”

“I can change sex with my amazing boyfriend to fiancé,” you smiled.

“Why don’t we skip to that part? I’ll make sure you get some caffeine after,” he smirked. "Deal," you giggled again, leaning down to kiss him.

The sun continued to climb in the sky behind you as he deepened the kiss, bathing you in light as you celebrated the next chapter in your life together.

And with his ring on your finger, you knew you’d forever appreciate every sunrise and sunset even more.

Anyone else get a cavity from this sweetness? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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sunnie-angel · 3 months ago

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Come Home Soon

jason todd x gn!reader

rating: general | wc: 780

inspired by this ask

Jason Todd’s never really gotten over the shock of having you in his life. He pinches himself sometimes, just to check, uncertain sometimes that this is all real. That the neat way you’ve inserted yourself into his life isn’t just an errant daydream too perfect to be true. 8 months it’s been and the butterflies in his stomach are still alive as ever.

Gotham’s been more…chaotic than usual these past few weeks. Arkham’s latest breakout has been a shit show he’d never like to repeat, thank you very much. Jason’s been half dead on his feet from all the extra patrols he’s been doing at the Bats’ requests, damage control spilling into the small hours of the morning. It’s almost a relief then, when you get invited on a road trip out of town. For a little while the constant fear that he won’t be there, that danger will come scratching at your door while he is caught unawares in a different part of the city, will be put to rest.

He is happy, then, to see you off. Presses kisses to your cheeks and reminds you to call when you arrive with a smile on his face. The relief lasts the length of time it takes for your car to disappear into traffic. It dawns on him then, that this will be the longest time you’ve spent apart since he had worked up the trembling courage to ask you out. The apartment feels hollow, without you as its living, breathing heart. There’s no music playing in the kitchen and the side table by the couch isn’t littered with your forgotten cups of tea. Half of your products are gone from the bathroom, empty holes littering the countertop. Jason doesn’t realize how much space you occupy in his life by simply existing until all of that emptiness is staring back at him.

He wonders just how far you’ve driven by now. If you’d had to stop for extra gas and if you’d chosen a sweet or savoury snack for the last half of the journey. He wonders if you have a road trip playlist or if you’d mind making one together. The two of you don’t go driving in a car often, no, Jason prefers the wind of his bike and the warmth of you at his back too much. But he thinks that he might like making exceptions for you.

It’s bittersweet, then, thinking of your life without him. You wouldn’t be half so good with using a taser as you are now. Wouldn’t know the combinations and routes for a dozen contingency plans. As he sits in that apartment so changed by your influence and pictures you winding down some country road, he thinks about the ways he’s shaped your life. Gotham’s just one city in the grand scheme of the world but every moment you’re in it, your life is at risk. Not just because of your love for him, but any stray bullet or dose of fear toxin would take you away just the same. There’s whole countries out in the world that he knows you’d love that aren’t all trying to kill you in gruesome and horrible ways. More, if you go without him.

The vibrations of his phone in his pocket shake him from his reverie. It’s your contact photo, the one you’d stolen his phone to take, that smiles up at him.

“Hiya, baby!” your voice is more cheerful than he’d expected. “We just got in for the night, you wouldn’t believe how bad traffic was getting out of the city. Actually wait, you remember that…”

He doesn’t remember the anecdote, but he appreciates the sounds of your voice washing over him. For the first time all day, he feels settled in his skin. The apartment doesn’t feel so empty with your voice filling it.

“Oh and Jason, if Mrs. Dudek down at the market is selling packzi this weekend could you pick some up?” It’s the offhanded nature of your request that cements in his mind that you’re coming back. That you’ve always been planning to come back. It soothes that little part of him that still wonders if all of this will dissolve like spun sugar on the tongue. That for all the troubles he’s brought to your door, you still choose to come home to him.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat and tries again. “Yeah, I’ll swing by and grab some if she’s there. No guarantee they’ll all still be in the box by the time you get back.”

“Get two boxes then, you pastry fiend.” you laugh, affection colouring your voice. “I miss you and I’ll be home soon.”

“I’ll be waiting,” he says simply.

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x gn!reader #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x male reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #red hood x reader #red hood x you #jason todd fic #jason todd fanfiction #sunnie writes 🌻

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novaursa · 3 months ago

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Where Dragons Dare (2/3)

- Summary: After your declaration to marry Alicent in the small council meeting, the day of the wedding finally comes. And so does your first wedding night.

- Paring: male!targ reader/Alicent Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is twin brother of Rhaenyra and is bonded with a dragon. For more of my works visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 5 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @literaturedog

- A/N: This was requested by @witch-of-letters. Enjoy! ❤️ Battle of the Stepstones is add as a bonus, because I love writing dragon battles. The last part will be posted later tomorrow once it is done.

- Previous part: 1

- Next part: 3

The grand hall of the Red Keep is awash with the glow of thousands of candles. The flames dance across golden tapestries depicting the histories of Old Valyria, but today the storied past pales in comparison to the momentous occasion unfolding before all in attendance. The wedding is one spoken of in whispers and rumors, but now it blooms before the gathered lords and ladies with all the splendor and gravitas worthy of House Targaryen.

You stand at the altar draped in black and red, the rich silk of your doublet catching the light in subtle ways. The fine Valyrian embroidery at the hems speaks of dragons in flight, each thread imbued with dark crimson that shimmers like fresh blood. A black cloak, edged in deep scarlet, flows from your shoulders, fastened at your throat with a clasp shaped like a coiled dragon. Your hair, the silvery-white of pure Valyrian descent, is tied back, letting your angular features and sharp violet eyes take in every gaze, every emotion displayed openly or hidden away. At your side hangs Blackfyre—your birthright as Prince of Dragonstone—its pommel set with a ruby that gleams like a beating heart.

Before you, Alicent Hightower stands radiant in a gown of deep emerald green. The dress, fitted perfectly to her frame, billows out in layers of silk and fine lace, each shimmering with golden accents as she moves. A delicate crown of silver leaves and pearls rests atop her auburn hair, carefully arranged in elegant curls. Her eyes, a brilliant shade of brown, reflect a mixture of pride, joy, and the quiet steel she’s honed under the pressures of courtly life. There is a softness in her gaze, however, reserved only for you as her eyes meet yours—a silent understanding, a shared relief, and a promise of what is to come.

The Septon's voice rings out, leading the words of the traditional vows. Beside you, Rhaenyra is practically glowing with excitement. Her smile is unrestrained, her eyes darting between you and Alicent with genuine happiness, a sister’s joy at seeing her twin brother embrace his own fate. She wears a gown of pale red, adorned with the colors of House Targaryen and a crown of silver atop her flowing locks, her presence radiating confidence as the heir’s sister and a firm ally to your cause.

King Viserys is seated in a place of honor, his face full of warmth and pride. His smile is wide as he watches his only son wed the woman who has become a daughter to him over the years. He has the contented look of a father who finally sees his children happy, a rare expression in a court filled with ambition and schemes. He lifts his cup in a subtle toast to you and Alicent, his eyes misting over slightly with emotion.

Daemon Targaryen, your uncle, stands near the rear of the gathered nobles, his silver hair catching the light as he observes the ceremony. His expression is inscrutable, but those who know him well enough can see the slight curve at the edge of his lips, the way his gaze sharpens whenever it falls upon you. For all his unpredictability, there is a flicker of pride there—a satisfaction, perhaps, that you finally asserted yourself against the forces that sought to control you. Daemon has always favored those who carve their own path, and today you have done just that.

As the ceremony draws to a close, you step forward to place a cloak upon Alicent’s shoulders, the symbol of House Targaryen enveloping her as you claim her as your own. The green of House Hightower blends now with the red and black of the dragon, a union that cements alliances but more importantly binds two hearts that have long yearned for this day. When you lean in to kiss her, there is a softness, a tenderness in the way her lips meet yours, and the hall erupts in applause, though the world shrinks to just the two of you in that fleeting moment.

As the applause dies down, Otto Hightower, the Hand of the King, watches with a carefully controlled expression. His eyes flicker between you and Alicent, a mixture of satisfaction and unease buried beneath his calm demeanor. Though this is a victory for him in securing his daughter’s position, there’s a tension in his jaw—he had hoped to control this outcome more closely, but you’ve slipped from his grasp, a dragon untamed. He studies you with the gaze of a man who sees both a rival and a dangerous ally.

At the feast, Rhaenyra approaches you first, practically throwing herself into your arms. "You did it, Y/N! I knew you would," she beams, her joy infectious. "Alicent looks so beautiful, and you—you were magnificent. I’ve never seen the council so speechless!" Her eyes sparkle with mischief. "And Uncle Daemon, I think he’s actually proud of you for once."

You chuckle, wrapping an arm around your sister. “He probably is. But I didn’t do this for him or the council. This was always for her.” Your gaze drifts back to Alicent, who’s engaged in conversation with a group of highborn ladies, her laughter soft and genuine.

Viserys claps a hand on your shoulder. "You’ve brought honor to our house, Y/N. I couldn’t be prouder of the man you’ve become. Your mother would be so proud, too." His voice carries a slight tremor as he mentions Queen Aemma, but it is quickly overshadowed by his joy.

You offer him a warm smile. "Thank you, father. I’ll do everything I can to ensure that this union strengthens our house."

Daemon is the next to approach, a goblet in hand and that familiar smirk playing on his lips. "I didn’t think you had it in you, nephew," he says, voice laced with amusement. "I was beginning to think you’d let others chart your course forever. But you’ve surprised us all, haven’t you?"

You meet his gaze squarely, your own smile more restrained but no less confident. "Some paths are worth fighting for, uncle. Even if they’re not what others expect."

Daemon raises his cup in a mock salute. “Spoken like a true Targaryen. Perhaps there’s more fire in you than I thought.”

The feast carries on with music, laughter, and the clinking of cups. You and Alicent share dances with the lords and ladies of the realm, but every now and then, your eyes find each other’s, and the world falls away again, leaving just the two of you in this sea of people.

When you finally manage to steal a private moment with her in a quiet corner of the hall, she takes your hand, squeezing it gently. “I was so afraid,” she admits in a hushed voice, her eyes reflecting the firelight. “Afraid that we’d never be able to reach this moment. But here we are.”

You brush a strand of hair from her face, letting your hand linger against her cheek. “You’re mine now, Alicent. I’ll fight for you, for us, against anyone who tries to tear us apart.”

A flicker of relief passes through her expression, followed by a warmth that softens her usually reserved emotions. “And I’ll stand by you, no matter the storm we face.”

The words hang between you like an unspoken vow—one more binding than anything recited before the Septon.

The night deepens as the feast continues, a blur of music and the warm glow of candlelight reflecting off the ornate dishes piled with food. Laughter and the sound of clinking goblets fill the Great Hall. You and Alicent sit side by side at the high table, your hands occasionally brushing against each other beneath the table. The touch is small, but each time it happens, there’s a comforting warmth, a silent reassurance between the two of you. Alicent’s soft smile, reserved just for you, never quite fades from her lips.

As you’re enjoying a brief moment of quiet conversation, the sound of footsteps approaches. Gwayne Hightower, Alicent’s brother, strides up, his eyes bright with joy. "Sister! Y/N!" he greets, his voice tinged with the exuberance of youth. His resemblance to Alicent is striking, though his features are more angular, his posture that of a man eager to prove himself. "I couldn’t let the night end without offering my congratulations." He gives you a hearty clap on the shoulder, his grin broad. "It’s about time someone put a spark in this old court! You’ve done well, my friend. I’ve known you since we were boys, and I’ve always believed you’d find your way."

You return his grin, reaching out to clasp his forearm in the familiar gesture of comrades. "Gwayne, your support has never gone unnoticed. I’ve always valued your friendship, even when we got ourselves into trouble as children. But I think this time, we’ve both stepped into something greater than mischief.”

Gwayne chuckles. “You certainly have, Y/N. And Alicent—” He turns to his sister, his tone softening with genuine affection. “I’ve never seen you look happier. I’m glad you’ve found this happiness, even if I’ll be the one who has to keep a closer eye on courtly matters with you from now on.”

Alicent smiles warmly at her brother, her hand gently resting over yours atop the table. “Thank you, Gwayne. Your words mean more to me than you know. And don’t worry, we’ll both make sure to keep you busy in your duties, though perhaps with fewer pranks than when we were children.”

The three of you share a laugh, the ease of old friendships and sibling bonds lightening the mood.

Soon after, the familiar figures of Lord Corlys Velaryon and Princess Rhaenys approach. The Sea Snake is every bit the powerful figure one expects, his deep blue doublet adorned with intricate silver embroidery resembling the waves of the sea. Rhaenys is resplendent in crimson and gold, her presence commanding yet warm. There’s a certain wisdom in her gaze as she looks between you and Alicent, as if she sees beyond what most do.

“Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent,” Corlys begins, his voice deep and steady. “Congratulations are in order. The union of Targaryen and Hightower is a strategic move, and one I hope will bring stability to the realm. But more than that, it’s clear to see the bond you share.” His eyes linger on you, a hint of approval in his expression. “And perhaps this is the start of a new chapter where the young find their own path amidst the expectations of the old.”

Princess Rhaenys nods, her lips curling into a knowing smile. “It is good to see love and strength walk hand in hand. The history of our houses has often been marked by conflict, but this—” she gestures subtly between you and Alicent, “—this has the potential to change much. You both carry the future on your shoulders now.”

You bow your head slightly in respect. “Thank you, Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys. Your wisdom is always welcome. I hope to earn that respect in time and prove that this union is more than just a political move.”

Rhaenys’ eyes glint with something sharp and approving. “Oh, I believe you will, Y/N. The blood of Old Valyria runs deep, and you’ve shown you’re willing to chart your own course. I, for one, look forward to seeing what comes next.”

As they step away, Lord Tyland Lannister, clad in rich reds and golds, approaches next. His sharp features and keen eyes give away his nature as a man ever mindful of the shifting tides of power. “Prince Y/N, Lady Alicent, it is a joyous day indeed.” His voice is smooth, practiced, yet there’s an undercurrent of genuine intent behind his words. “House Lannister is ever eager to lend its support to the Targaryen line. May your union be fruitful and prosperous. It seems the dragons have found a way to blend strength with the grace of the Reach.”

You nod, ever cautious with Tyland’s honeyed words. “Thank you, Lord Tyland. Your support will be remembered, and I hope our alliance will benefit all corners of the realm.”

He offers a slight bow before moving off, ever mindful of where the winds blow.

The feast begins to wind down, and as tradition demands, there is the looming expectation of the bedding ceremony. The air in the hall thickens with the anticipation of it. Some lords and ladies begin to gather, murmuring and glancing toward you and Alicent with barely hidden excitement. The tension, the ribald jokes, the whispers—it all threatens to reduce the sanctity of this moment to a spectacle.

Before anyone can make a move to initiate it, you rise to your feet, the air of command in your posture silencing the crowd before the teasing can begin. “There will be no bedding ceremony tonight,” you declare, your voice clear and firm, leaving no room for argument. The hall quiets instantly, the murmur of protests caught in the throats of those who thought to see the night end in such a manner.

Daemon, standing with arms crossed at the edge of the hall, lets out a low chuckle, his approval evident in the sharp nod he gives you. “Let the young prince make his own choices,” he says, his voice carrying across the room. “There’s enough spectacle in these halls without turning the most sacred of nights into another charade.”

The crowd hesitates, unsure whether to push the matter. But when you meet your father’s gaze, Viserys nods slowly, an expression of both surprise and respect on his face. Otto Hightower, who had been watching with tension in his eyes, finally relaxes, a subtle sigh escaping him. His face settles into an expression that resembles something close to approval, a rare look from a man who values tradition and order above all.

Alicent looks at you with deep gratitude and admiration, her fingers squeezing yours as she stands. You turn to her, your expression softening as you offer her your arm. “Shall we retire, my lady?” you ask, your voice laced with tenderness.

She dips her head slightly, eyes shimmering with emotion. “Let’s,” she replies, her voice barely more than a whisper as she takes your arm.

Together, you walk down the long aisle toward the doors leading out of the Great Hall, every eye on you both as you leave. There is a certain weight lifted from your shoulders as the doors close behind you, the noise of the hall fading as you enter the quieter, more intimate corridors of the Keep.

As you walk side by side toward your chambers, the echoes of your footsteps and the distant flicker of torchlight create an almost dreamlike atmosphere. Neither of you speaks, the silence between you comfortable, filled with the knowledge that this is just the beginning. When you reach the doors to your shared chambers, you pause, turning to face her fully. You lift her hand to your lips and press a soft kiss to her knuckles, your eyes never leaving hers.

“No more performances,” you murmur. “This is just us now.”

Alicent’s eyes shine as she steps closer, her other hand rising to rest against your cheek. “I’ve never wanted anything more than to be with you, like this, away from prying eyes.”

With that, you open the door and guide her inside, the world outside forgotten as the heavy oak doors close behind you both, sealing away the courtly intrigue and the expectations of the realm. In this moment, it’s just you and her, bound together by choice, love, and a shared determination to forge your own destiny.

The chamber is bathed in the soft light of the fire, shadows flickering across the stone walls as the door closes behind you both. The silence stretches, not uncomfortable but full with the awareness of what comes next. For all the warmth you share, the affection that’s blossomed over years of quiet moments and unspoken glances, this is new for both of you. The air is tinged with the sweet fragrance of candles, the soft rustle of fabric as you both stand there, suddenly unsure how to proceed.

You turn to face her, meeting Alicent’s gaze. There’s a nervousness in her eyes, a slight quiver in her breath, but beneath it lies trust, and something more—desire, hesitant but real. You step closer, reaching out to take her hands in yours, your thumb brushing over her knuckles in a gentle, soothing motion. “Alicent,” you murmur, your voice softer than usual, tinged with both affection and concern. “Are you sure? If you’re not ready—”

“I am,” she interrupts softly, her voice a tender whisper in the quiet of the room. Her cheeks flush pink, but her eyes never leave yours. “I’ve never been more certain of anything.”

You nod, letting out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Slowly, you lean down, capturing her lips in a kiss, tender and delicate. Her lips are warm against yours, the kiss a gentle exploration rather than a fervent rush. You both linger in the simplicity of it, letting it ease the tension from your bodies. When you pull back, you see her chest rise and fall as she steadies her breath, her eyes searching yours for reassurance.

Your hand moves to the clasp of her dress, fingers hesitating for a moment before you look at her once more. “May I?” you ask softly.

She nods, her voice catching slightly. “Yes… I want you to.”

With careful fingers, you undo the clasp and let the fabric slip from her shoulders, revealing the pale skin beneath. The dress pools at her feet, and she stands before you in just her shift, delicate and vulnerable. Her eyes flicker down, shyly avoiding your gaze as you take her in. In turn, she reaches out, her hands trembling slightly as she begins to unlace your doublet. There’s an unspoken agreement between you—a mutual understanding that this moment is as much about trust as it is about desire. You help her with the laces, guiding her hands until your clothing is cast aside, leaving you both bare in the warm glow of the fire.

For a long moment, you simply stand there, your breaths mingling, your eyes tracing the curves and lines of each other’s bodies. There’s a sense of curiosity mixed with reverence, your gazes shyly meeting before drifting again, both of you learning and memorizing the sight of each other.

“Beautiful,” you whisper, your voice filled with sincerity. Alicent’s breath hitches at the word, her eyes shining as she looks up at you, her lips parting as if to say something, but words fail her. Instead, she just reaches out, fingers brushing over your chest, her touch sending a shiver through you.

You gently take her hand and guide her toward the bed, the furs soft beneath your feet as you lead her down onto the mattress. You lay her down with the utmost care, your eyes never leaving hers, searching for any sign of discomfort. Her lips part as she draws in a shaky breath, her chest rising and falling rapidly, but her gaze is steady, trusting.

You lower yourself beside her, your hand caressing her cheek as you lean in to kiss her again. This time, the kiss is deeper, a gradual melding of lips as you both begin to relax into each other. Your hand trails down, brushing against her collarbone, then lower, until it rests just above her breast. You pause, your eyes flicking to hers for permission, and when she nods slightly, you continue, cupping her breast gently, your thumb brushing over the soft skin. A soft gasp escapes her lips, her back arching slightly as you explore her.

“You’re so beautiful, Alicent,” you murmur against her lips, and she responds with a soft sigh, her hand sliding up your back, pulling you closer.

Your kisses begin to wander, trailing down her jawline, to the tender skin of her neck. You feel her pulse quicken under your lips, her breath growing more uneven as you move lower. When your mouth finds her breast, she gasps, her fingers threading through your hair. You take your time, savoring each reaction, each soft sound she makes as your lips and tongue explore her.

As you move lower, her breath catches, her fingers tightening in your hair when you kiss the curve of her hip. You glance up at her, seeing the mixture of nerves and anticipation in her eyes. She’s never experienced anything like this, and neither have you—not truly. But you remember the lessons Daemon half-teased, half-instructed you on during that one visit to the brothel, showing you the ways of pleasure in a more practical, if unconventional, manner. While you hadn’t partaken that night, you watched, curious, and the knowledge lingers now, guiding your movements.

You press a kiss to the inside of her thigh, and she lets out a soft whimper, her fingers clutching at the furs beneath her. You murmur a line from an old Valyrian poem, the words ancient and filled with meaning, letting the sounds roll off your tongue as your kisses grow more intimate. “Gevives isse tolvie jelevre—beauty in every breath,” you whisper, your breath warm against her skin.

When your mouth finally finds her core, she gasps, her body tensing for a moment before she melts into the sensation, her hips shifting instinctively toward you. Her breath comes in shallow bursts, her hand gripping your shoulder as you apply what you’ve learned, taking your time, listening to the way her body responds. When she lets out a soft moan, her voice trembling with pleasure, you smile against her, murmuring another line from the poem—words of love and devotion that have been passed down through generations.

Slowly, you trail your kisses back up her body, feeling her trembling beneath you. Her hands reach for you, pulling you close, and when your lips find hers again, the kiss is hungry, filled with the taste of her desire and the passion that’s been building between you both.

You position yourself above her, your eyes locked on hers as you ask one last time, “Are you sure, Alicent?”

Her response is a breathless nod, her hand cupping your cheek as she whispers, “I want this. I want you.”

You enter her gently, inch by inch, mindful of her innocence, watching her every expression for any sign of pain. She winces slightly at first, her brow furrowing, but her fingers dig into your back, holding you close as she adjusts. When she finally opens her eyes again, there’s no hesitation, only trust. “Move,” she breathes, her voice barely audible, but full of need.

You start slowly, each movement careful, deliberate, letting her body adjust, her warmth enveloping you. Her breaths come out in soft, quick bursts, her nails dragging lightly across your skin as she holds on to you. The tension in her body gradually gives way to something else, her hips meeting yours in a rhythm that’s both instinctive and hesitant.

As the moments pass, the awkwardness gives way to a deeper connection. The tenderness remains, but passion begins to take root. Alicent’s breath hitches when she wraps her legs around your waist, her hands pulling you closer. You respond to her need, moving with more urgency as she finds her own rhythm, her body moving against yours in a dance that’s both new and timeless.

When she pushes herself up, shifting into your lap, there’s a sudden surge of boldness in her gaze, something wild and free. You guide her movements, your hands steadying her as she takes control, her breathless gasps mingling with your own. The intimacy between you grows not just in the physical connection but in the way you respond to each other’s needs, desires, and unspoken fears. It’s a union forged in trust, love, and the desire to explore the depths of what you share.

Eventually, when the night reaches its quiet peak, you collapse together into the furs, breathless and spent, your limbs entangled as you hold her close. Here, in this moment, there’s only the warmth of her skin against yours, the sound of her steadying breaths, and the knowledge that this is only the beginning of your shared life together.

As sleep slowly claims you both, you press a final kiss to her forehead, murmuring words of love in Valyrian, promising her with every breath that this night is just the start of what you’ll build together.

The sky is a bruised shade of twilight, thick with smoke and ash. The stench of blood, sweat, and salt fills the air as the waves crash against the jagged rocks of the Stepstones. This place is a wasteland—a battlefield stained with the bodies of the dead and dying. For over two years, the Crabfeeder’s men have held these islands, turning them into a butcher’s yard. But today, you intend to end it. Today, the dragons return in fire and fury.

You sit atop Dallax, your black-scaled beast, perched on a ridge overlooking the main encampment of the Triarchy’s forces. His green eyes gleam in the dim light, and his body shifts restlessly beneath you, eager to unleash his wrath. His teeth, hidden within the dark flesh of his jaws, retract only when his rage is stoked—a menace lying in wait. You run a gloved hand along his neck, feeling the raw power coiled within him. “Soon,” you whisper, your voice firm yet laced with anticipation. “We will end this.”

Below, Daemon Targaryen plays his part to perfection. Clad in soot-streaked armor, a white banner clutched in one hand, he approaches the enemy lines. The Crabfeeder’s forces, a mix of hardened sellswords and conscripts, watch from behind their sharpened stakes and crude fortifications, unsure whether this is truly surrender or another of Daemon’s ruses. The Prince of the City moves with a calculated slowness, his steps deliberate, his head lowered just enough to give the impression of defeat. But you know him better. There’s a fire in his eyes—a fury barely contained behind that facade of submission. The plan hinges on this moment, on the Crabfeeder’s arrogance and greed.

From your vantage point, you spot Lord Corlys Velaryon’s forces hidden in the shallows, ready to pounce the moment the trap is sprung. The Sea Snake commands his men with a veteran’s precision, their silence a stark contrast to the braying jeers coming from the Crabfeeder’s ranks.

Daemon finally stops, mere feet from the Crabfeeder’s line, where a grotesque figure emerges from the shadows. Drahar, the Crabfeeder, is a ghastly sight, his face hidden behind a cracked and twisted mask, his skin mottled from disease. He raises a hand, halting the jeers, and for a moment, silence reigns.

Then, chaos erupts.

Daemon’s false surrender is cast aside as he draws Dark Sister in a blur of Valyrian steel, cutting through the nearest soldier in one swift, practiced motion. Blood sprays into the air, catching the dim light as the battlefield roars back to life. The Triarchy’s soldiers charge forward, desperate to claim the prize they believe within reach, but they are rushing headlong into a trap.

It’s your moment.

With a word in Valyrian, you urge Dallax into a dive. His wings unfurl, dark as midnight, blotting out the dying light. The air screams past you as you plummet toward the battlefield, the ground rushing up to meet you. “Dracarys!” you roar, the command slicing through the din of battle.

Dallax responds with a torrent of flame that incinerates everything in its path. The first line of the Crabfeeder’s men is engulfed in a roaring inferno, their screams swallowed by the relentless fire. Armor melts, flesh sizzles, and bone turns to ash in mere moments. You bank sharply, pulling Dallax into another dive, this time focusing on the siege engines positioned along the ridge. The ballistae, meant to keep the dragons at bay, are shattered under the crushing weight of dragonfire and claws. Timber explodes, splinters raining down on the screaming soldiers below as you rip through their defenses with ruthless efficiency.

You catch a glimpse of Daemon, now fully engaged in the melee, his sword a blur of lethal grace as he carves a bloody path through the Triarchy’s forces. He fights with a savage joy, laughing as he dodges and counters, the battlefield his stage. Corlys and his men surge from the shallows, catching the enemy in a brutal pincer. The once-confident soldiers of the Crabfeeder are thrown into disarray, their lines crumbling under the combined might of dragon and steel.

You circle back, eyes locked on Drahar, who attempts to retreat deeper into the labyrinth of stakes and pits his men have constructed. But there’s no escape. You guide Dallax lower, skimming the ground, his claws gouging the earth as you close in on your prey. The Crabfeeder looks up in desperation, his eyes wide behind his mask as he realizes his end is near.

“End him!” Daemon’s voice echoes in your mind like a phantom’s dare, though the words are drowned out by the roar of battle.

Dallax’s jaws snap open, his teeth glinting as they slide out from their hidden sheaths. With a snarl, he lunges, clamping down on Drahar with a sickening crunch. The Crabfeeder’s mask falls away, revealing a twisted visage frozen in terror before his body is torn apart in a spray of blood and gore. Dallax shakes his head, flinging what remains of Drahar’s corpse into the dirt before incinerating it with a final jet of flame.

Around you, the battlefield is a scene of utter carnage. The ground is slick with blood, littered with the hacked remains of soldiers. Men scream, their limbs severed, or burn as they try to flee, only to be cut down by Corlys’s disciplined troops. The cries of the dying are a symphony of suffering, underscored by the relentless roar of flames. Dallax moves among the survivors like a shadow, crushing and burning any who dare to resist.

As the last pockets of resistance are snuffed out, you land amidst the ruins, stepping down from Dallax’s back. You scan the battlefield, taking in the broken fortifications, the piles of charred corpses, and the men who now kneel in surrender. Victory is yours. The Stepstones are won.

Daemon approaches, blood splattered across his armor, a wild grin on his face. “Well done, nephew,” he says, his voice carrying a note of satisfaction. “I thought I might have all the fun, but you’ve stolen quite the show.” His eyes gleam with shared triumph, the bond between you strengthened through battle and bloodshed. “The Crabfeeder will feast no more.”

You smirk, wiping sweat and grime from your brow. “Someone had to keep you from getting killed. I couldn’t let you take all the glory.”

He laughs, the sound cutting through the dying echoes of the battle. “You’re learning. Perhaps there’s more of me in you than anyone cares to admit.”

As Daemon moves to rally the remaining men, your thoughts drift, carried away on the winds of victory. The image of Alicent appears in your mind—her gentle smile, the way her hand rests on the curve of her belly, swollen with the child she carries. You think of your son, Aegon, barely more than a year old, his bright eyes so full of curiosity. It is for them that you fight, for the future you intend to build, for the family you have claimed as your own.

The taste of blood and ash lingers on your tongue, but underneath it all is the yearning to return to them, to hold Alicent in your arms and feel the soft weight of your son as he rests against your chest. You think of how you will recount this victory to them—how Aegon will listen in awe, his little hands reaching out as if to grasp the tales of dragons and battles. You smile to yourself, imagining the way Alicent will scold you softly for the bloodshed, though you know she will be proud all the same.

“Soon,” you murmur to yourself, the words almost lost in the wind. “Soon I’ll be home.”

But for now, the battle is done, and the Stepstones are yours. The fires burn low as you gaze out over the broken landscape, your thoughts with your family, even as your dragon’s shadow stretches long over the conquered land, a reminder of the price of victory.

#house of the dragon #hotd #hotd reader insert #hotd x reader #hotd x y/n #hotd x male reader #hotd x you #hotd alicent #alicent x you #alicent x y/n #alicent x reader #alicent hightower

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starmapz · 3 months ago

Text

cigarettes in the theater || s. geto

❦ suguru geto x sorcerer reader

❦ oneshot

❝ the week following the declaration of suguru geto's status as a curse-user, you receive an invitation to meet him for a movie. you know you should decline, but you don't have the heart to do so. what harm is there in sharing one last cigarette with your lover? ❞

❦ warnings ; no pronouns used. angst. hurt/comfort. pet names (angel, sweetheart, darling). use of cigarettes. graphic descriptions of death and injury. heavy subject matter discussed.

❦ words ; 3.4k.

masterlist || dependency - prequel || nicotine dream - follow up

By all accounts, you should be scared. You should be breathing heavily, your heart pounding in your ears, wide-eyed at the carnage that surrounds you in the theater.

Yet… you aren’t.

You’re numb to it, numb to it all.

A body slumps to the floor in the row before you and all you can do is swallow the bile that threatens to upheave the contents of your stomach.

The presence behind you shouldn’t bring you the ease that it does. Yet, he’s been the only constant in your life as of recent, and you can’t bring yourself to hate him for what he’s done, even as a drop of blood runs down the side of your face. It isn’t your own, of course. He wouldn’t dare lay a hand on you.

You should have fought back against him, you should have protected everyone, but instead, you sat and watched. Maybe that makes you just as bad as it makes him. Maybe you’ll be sentenced to death by the higher-ups as well, seen as an accomplice to his actions tonight.

You wonder if you’re broken.

The worn red fabric of the seats hides the bloodshed so well that with little effort, you could clean everything up. You could hide the night’s calamity and go back home to Gojo, Ieiri, and Nanami. You could sweep this all under the rug, hide your trail, and blame it all on him.

Yet, you don’t move to do that.

He sits only a few seats back, smoke drifting languidly from his cigarette. His eyes are glued to the screen, just as yours are. There’s a sort of dramatic irony to the kind words being spoken on-screen as a drama plays.

“Cigarette?”

His voice is as sultry and kind as ever. You take a breath before you turn to look at him.

Suguru looks as beautiful as ever. His dark hair is up in a half-bun and the rest cascades down his shoulders, falling effortlessly over his collarbones. His eyes are sunken, tired, but that’s not unusual for him as of late. He’s wearing a deep blue sweatshirt and gray sweatpants. It’s almost cruel of him to do so, he knows it’s your favorite outfit on him.

It tugs on your heart strings in ways you can’t describe with words.

Your chest feels heavy, heart pounding suddenly against your rib cage, practically tearing its way out.

“Yeah,” you respond, barely above a whisper. You know he can’t hear it over the movie, but he reads your lips.

Long legs step over the chairs, descending the theater until he reaches your row. He pulls down the uncomfortable red seat, plopping down beside you. His cigarette hangs from his lips as he pulls a small box from his pocket. His sharp eyes watch your movements as you pull the cigarette from the cardboard.

“You look tired,” he comments, leaning over to light the cigarette.

“I could say the same for you,” you respond neutrally, taking a drag from the nicotine sitting between your lips. You blink a couple of times as you let the relaxation wash over you, a temporary escape from the dark corners of your mind.

Then again, it’s all temporary. Every life saved, every ‘thank you’ or lack thereof, each one a fleeting moment forgotten in the grand scheme of things and instead replaced with the sight of your lost classmates. Your lost friends.

The sight of Haibara flashes through your mind and you turn your head from the screen, from the bloodied seats before you, your jaw trembling subtly.

Suguru notices your movement, setting a hand on your knee. Your brain tells you to pull away. It tells you he’s dangerous, but there’s nothing more you want right now than to curl into his arms and feel his lips against your temple just as you had only a week ago.

So much has changed since then.

“Did it make you feel better?” You ask out of the blue, keeping your tone even as you steel yourself and push the image of your classmate’s body from your mind.

At the end of the day, his answer doesn’t matter. You’re surrounded by corpses in a theater. By all accounts, he’s already made his bed and you’re both laying in it here and now.

Suguru pauses, observing your expression. He can’t gleam anything about how you’re feeling, beyond the underlying sadness in your tired eyes. That look has been there for a while now, though. He recognizes it all too well. The dark circles beneath your eyes are a shade so dark that concern plagues him, though he knows he has to play his cards right in this conversation if he wants to help you heal.

“I don’t regret it,” he responds evenly, his thumb rubbing circles into your knee.

You bite your lip to prevent it from trembling. “That’s not what I asked, Sugu.”

You’re finally looking him in the eyes, for the first time in a week, for the first time since his return from the mission that sealed his fate as a curse-user.

You’re as gorgeous as he remembers, perhaps more. Even with sunken eyes, glossy and sad, and your hair somewhat disheveled, he finds himself unable to stop the way he stares at your lips. He still yearns to call you his still.

“It did, yes.”

It’s a nail in the coffin. This isn’t just a departure from Jujutsu Tech, he’s traveling into dangerous territory now, with malicious intent.

It should hurt to hear those words, it should be painful beyond belief. Yet, it’s not.

You think again that maybe you’re broken.

Silence hangs heavy over you both as you take a deep breath, processing his response.

“How’s Satoru?” He asks calmly.

You swallow the bile rising in your throat. It’s sour and you frown at the feeling. “He’s been better. He’s angry with you.”

“I figured,” he hums softly, a bleak smile pulling at his thin lips. “Shoko?”

You take a long drag from the cigarette. “I’m not really sure,” you admit, avoiding his gaze now. You feel guilty for the fact that you’ve drifted apart from both Nanami and Ieiri, but the entire faculty seems to be drowning. None of you have time to yourselves and when you do, you’re locked away in your dorms.

“And you?”

You pause. You don’t know how you are.

No, that’s a lie. When Suguru reached out to invite you to a movie, deep down you knew this would happen. Maybe not the pile of bodies, but this conversation. From the moment you hesitantly typed see you there, you knew it would all lead to you crumbling in his arms.

Suguru is your lighthouse, your beacon of hope and safety. Your home. You love him too much to let him go.

“I miss you.”

He doesn’t miss a beat as he responds, “I miss you too.”

You can’t help it this time, your lip trembles and your chest heaves with a sob. “It’s all so fucked without you, Sugu. I don’t think-” Your voice betrays you, cutting you off as another sob wracks your body.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he hums, resting the cigarette between his soft lips as he moves his hand from your knee to wrap his arms around you. He braces himself as he lifts you up out of your seat, away from the armrest so that he can cradle you in his lap.

With a final drag from his cigarette, he puffs the smoke into the air and puts it out on the plastic armrest beside him, leaving a melted circular indentation behind. It doesn’t matter, in the grand scheme of the mess that is the theater.

His nimble fingers slip your own cigarette from your fingers as you cry into his chest. He taps his finger once against it, his other arm holding you tightly to his chest.

His warmth is so familiar and brings a sense of comfort you haven’t felt since the day the news broke.

The corpses of 112 of the village inhabitants were found dead.

Like alcohol over an open wound, the thought stings. You don’t agree with what he did, but… you suppose there is a reason you’re here.

“Why did you do it?” You swallow a sob, taking a deep breath to steady your breathing when you finally begin to steady your emotions. You shift in his lap to straddle him, letting your hands rest on his built chest.

He leans back in the chair, which reclines slightly with his weight. Taking a drag from the cigarette that was yours, he lets his hand rest on your hip. “You know the answer to that question.”

Of course you do. You’ve been thinking it. Nanami’s been thinking it.

Ever since Haibara’s passing, it’s been plaguing you all. Nanami feels he failed Haibara. You feel you failed them both as their superior. Yet Suguru… he’s been feeling the effects since Amanai’s passing. He’s been slowly spiraling and despite your best efforts, it’s clear this was inevitable.

“That’s not what I mean. What was the breaking point?”

Suguru blinks calmly, holding the cigarette to your lips to take a drag. “I exorcized the curse,” he begins, “yet they demanded I kill two young girls.” His expression shifts from neutrality for the first time in the night to one of disgust. “Shit, you should have seen them. Caged like goddamn animals, two innocent children.”

You try to keep an impartial expression, but your eyes widen, betraying your shock and distaste. If he can find the right words, Suguru wonders if maybe, just maybe, he might find you back in his arms for longer than this conversation.

“They’re sorcerers,” he tells you, “but they weren’t responsible for the curse.”

Your fingers grip at his sweatshirt as you wrestle with your emotions. You want to hug him, bring him the comfort his eyes silently beg for, but there’s so much going through your mind, so many questions to ask.

“There were innocent people there,” you state blankly.

“Were there?” He challenges you.

Your brow twitches, you’re not sure what to make of the question. It seems obvious that there would be. “Of course,” you respond, lips parting.

Suguru takes a long drag of the cigarette, putting it out in the same fashion as the previous one before dropping the stub to the floor. “Are they innocent for calling on us with no regard for the sorcerer bodies piling up?” When you don’t respond, he continues. “Are they innocent for standing by and allowing two terrified children to be caged like animals?”

Your gaze drifts to the side, melancholy swirling in your tired eyes. Suguru admires you as he lets you think, resting his hand that had been holding the cigarette on your thigh. He longs to bring you closer, to kiss your soft lips, but he refrains out of fear of ruining the conversation.

“I suppose that means I’m not innocent either,” you mumble, eyes darting to the severed leg that sits on the ground behind Suguru. You’re forced to swallow bile again at the sight, a shiver running up your spine. You’ve grown numb to the sight of death, but your stomach certainly hasn’t.

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, his deep and observant eyes taking in the minute twitches of muscles in your jaw.

With one hand firmly keeping distance between you despite the compromising position you’re in, you lift your other hand to rub your face, sighing. When you drop your hand back to his chest, he offers you a small smile. It’s just like him to keep smiling and offer solace for those in need in spite of his own turmoil.

“Do you disagree with my actions?”

“Yes,” you tell him firmly, not hesitating for a moment.

“Why didn’t you stop me, then?”

Your lips part, brow knit tightly as you spare a glance at the bloody scene around you. Why didn’t you stop him? You’re asking yourself the same question.

“I’ll ask again, my dear. Why didn’t you stop me?”

You want to vomit. You don’t agree with him. You don’t want to kill people. Why are you here?

All you can do is stare helplessly at him. Stare at his sharp and beautiful features, the way he looks at you with such admiration, the way his hands feel at home on your body.

“I don’t know,” you whisper. You’re almost certain he doesn’t hear you as the movie playing behind you picks up in volume and music plays.

Suguru attempts to pull you closer, but you keep your arms firm, keeping distance between the both of you. He doesn’t dare push it, push you. Not when he feels your resolve crumbling before him. Maybe it’s selfish of him, but he doesn’t care to be selfless any longer. He wants you, he wants you by his side.

“There’s a purpose to this all,” he tells you, raising his voice over the movie’s music. He’s running out of time to get through to you. Running out of time before the carnage is spotted by employees and Jujutsu Tech is informed. He already failed to convince Satoru to join him, but he knew that would happen already, the snowy-haired sorcerer was far too set in his ways.

“Satoru told me,” you say all too quietly, but he reads your lips.

“Then why are you here, my love?”

“I-” you pause, the words die in your throat. You can’t say what you’re thinking, it pains you physically as you turn your gaze to the melted hole in the arm of the chair, desperate to focus on anything that isn’t him.

“You can tell me,” he coaxes you, “even if it hurts me.”

You would never hurt Suguru.

“I miss you,” you tell him again, eyes brimming with tears now. The words are on the tip of your tongue. You know it, he knows it.

“I miss you too, sweetheart.”

He’s so patient, so calm, as he always is. You know no matter what conclusion you come to, he’ll accept it. He would let you leave, though you think you wish he wouldn’t.

The music in the background fades as the movie comes to an end, much more somber, quiet music taking over as the credits roll. The light from the screen dims, leaving the both of you in near-darkness. Suguru is running out of time with you as the movie nears its final moments. It’s only a matter of time now before staff arrive and the police and Jujutsu Tech are informed.

“I think I still love you, Sugu,” you whimper. You can’t hold back your tears any longer as finally they spill, sobs wracking your body.

Suguru shushes you softly, relieved when finally you give in and allow him to hold you to his chest. He runs his hand gently along your spine, soothing you as you tremble in his muscular arms.

“I never stopped loving you. I never will,” he whispers. He buries his face into the crook of your neck, closing his eyes as he relishes the moment. He missed you more than he ever thought possible, and the idea of losing you again when he’s already lost his best friend brings with it a sense of hopelessness he’s grown all too familiar with.

You clutch at his sweatshirt desperately as the reality of your situation crashes down on you. You want out. You want out of the world of Jujutsu sorcery and curses, you want out of the world where those you care about die.

Yet… you don’t want to leave with Nanami. You don’t want to work a nine to five job like he’s expressed interest in. You don’t want to stay with Gojo, you know he’s too dedicated to Jujutsu Tech. You don’t want to eliminate humans from the world like Suguru. But you don’t want to live without him either.

In a matter of a week it’s like your whole world came crashing down and you sit in limbo.

Suguru’s eyes flicker to the screen and he sighs. The credits are reaching their end as more and more logos show and he knows he’s nearly out of time. He can’t face Satoru again if that’s who they send after him, not right now with you here in his arms. He’s running out of time with you.

“I want you by my side,” he tells you softly.

You raise your head from his shoulder and he gently wipes your tear-streaked cheeks. “You can’t ask that of me.”

His calm eyes observe you carefully. “Talk to me, then. Why are you here?”

Your lips part, hesitant, but you manage to choke out what’s on your mind. “I feel lost.”

“You don’t want to be at the school anymore,” he fills in the blank. He knew that already, before he chose how he wanted to live, back when he was still a student, you had expressed a desire to leave.

“I don’t want to- to kill people, Sugu.”

“I wouldn’t ask that of you.”

You sigh, chewing on your lip. You inadvertently find yourself glancing down at his lips, pursed as he waits for you to make a decision.

“Then what are you asking of me?”

Suguru pauses, he hadn’t thought much of his answer to this question. He knew you wouldn’t want to bring harm to people, you’re too kind. He lifts his head slightly, staring into your eyes, a tempest of uncertainty thundering within them. As his lips brush yours, he can only hope, pray, that you’ll allow him to close the distance, that you’ll give in to him.

“I could use help looking after the girls while I’m away.”

You pause, taking in his words. There’s still a lick of uncertainty to this whole situation. Your life has lost its direction, but the one thing you find yourself drawn to is him. Although you disagree with his methods, he’s right.

You are here.

You didn’t stop him from wreaking havoc on the theater.

You don’t hate him for what he’s done.

You feel his pain. Yours just manifests in a different way.

Like a switch finally flips, you lean forward, pressing your lips to his. Your fear, your pain, even if only for a moment, it all dissolves as you’re consumed with him, with Suguru, your lover.

He slides a hand to the back of your head, pulling you into him as he deepens the kiss, passion overflowing from the movement of his lips on yours. His tongue swipes your lower lip and with a quiet whimper, you give him access to deepen the kiss. It gives him the chance to say everything his words don’t.

He parts from you, eyes flickering wildly over your features with nothing short of adoration in those beautiful deep irises of his. He pants lightly, catching his breath as he cups your cheeks.

“We need to leave, angel.”

You swallow hard.

This is it, there’s no turning back now.

Slowly, you nod.

“I love you, Suguru.”

“I love you, too.”

Hand in hand, you escape out the theater’s emergency exit. As the sun sets over the horizon, you spare a glance at your boyfriend.

You hadn’t noticed in the dim lighting but blood coats his sweats, dried into the gray fabric. His hair still drips with fresh blood and your breathing hitches when you see the way his keen eyes follow your gaze. He doesn’t seem at all phased by it.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you realize that he has bloody handprints covering his shoulders. Shaky hands lift to stare at your crimson palms. Before you can overthink your decision, Suguru gently takes your hand in his.

“I need a cigarette,” you whisper shakily, thankful when he complies. He lights it for you and as you take a drag, you feel your nerves calm.

You wonder what life would have been like had you met him at a normal college.

As news breaks of the carnage in the theater and you’re labeled as a curse-user too, you wonder if you have any right to wish for things to be different.

You wonder again if you’re broken, but as two young girls run up to meet you excitedly and hop into your boyfriend’s strong arms, you watch him with a small smile. Though he still looks exhausted, he seems happier.

For the first time in a week as you’re dragged into Suguru’s new home, you don’t feel the crushing weight of uncertainty.

You don’t regret your decision.

masterlist || dependency - prequel || nicotine dream - follow up

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moonlight-prose · 22 days ago

Note

I either want to tend to Gabriel’s wounds or make some with my nails 😏

bound in the strands of permanence

a/n: knowing how intense his battles get when monster hunting, he must be so numb to the pain. because of course he is. it's been centuries of life, countless wounds, and he's unable to stop from wanting that infliction back. but in a different way. i really just word vommitted cause this was meant to be a drabble. my bad.

summary: he walked with monsters in the night, claiming their lives for a vendetta placed upon him by the church. but he found peace in daylight with the touch of your healing hands.

word count: 1.9k+

pairing: gabriel van helsing x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI 18+ ONLY!!, love, tending to wounds, pain kink, masochism, tw: blood, breeding kink, p in v sex, rough sex, they're unhinged and in love, dirty talk, forever.

Pain was inconsequential in the grand scheme of being God's right hand. Immortality ran through his veins like a poison without an antidote. He couldn't necessarily die. People have tried, monsters have nearly succeeded, but death never asked for him to deign its doorstep.

He was bound to life on a planet riddled with evil—destined to drag each horrid creature to the pits of hell with him.

But pain was a different matter altogether.

After so many wounds, knives, bullets, arrows, he could no longer register the nerves that stretched to and fro beneath his body. They were there. Unmistakable with the phantom aches and near deaths that still plagued his eternal soul. But remembering why they came to be eventually rescinded to the back of his mind—an afterthought to all the detriments of his waking life.

Years went by before he dared to ask someone for help. But a particularly nasty wound to his shoulder was out of reach even for him. Which is how he came to stumble onto your small quarters in the furthest reaches of the Vatican.

There were other healers, other doctors who could have easily stitched up his wound. But you weren't a member of the church.

He found that ironic.

Neither of you mentioned how long it'd been since he stumbled through your doors, shoving a bag of coins into your hand, before falling onto the cleared wooden table meant for patients in the city. Not that either of you couldn't remember it. Two years, three months, and two brand new flesh wounds that barely needed wrapping.

Yet he still came anyway.

"Turn into a beast again?" you questioned, wrapped the cloth tight along his scarred abdomen.

He smiled, shuddering at the icy touch of your hands. "That was one time."

"One time too many."

"And if it hadn't of happened I wouldn't have a reason to come here."

You scoffed, tying the knot painfully, relishing a bit in the harsh grunt he let out. "You don't need a reason to come see me Gabriel."

"It's impolite to knock on a lady's door this late without a reason." He shook his head, unconsciously sliding his hand over yours that remained on his wound. "I'm not one to mistreat a lady."

"I'm hardly that. They won't even let me in the fucking church–"

Sharp eyes dragged up to your face, glaring at the pout in your lips that formed a curse. He may have been a man who found your way of life refreshing, but he was still devoted to the God above. Your mouth curled into a wry smile—hand moving to tip his chin up. To remove his gaze and place it where you wanted him to truly look.

"It's not right how they treat you," he rasped.

The familiar dark cloud of grief began to drip into his iris, shrouding his once sharp gaze that pierced each part of your soul. They called him God's right hand. The man who was sent from the heavens above. You merely thought of him as the man who gripped your heart in an iron fist—reluctant to let you go.

"I'm not one of you."

He sighed. "You could be."

"Only through the binds of marriage would I enter that place and even then, I don't entirely wish to follow rules not made of my own volition."

"Marriage," he mumbled, eyes dropping to the lip you worried between your teeth. "To whom, if I may ask?"

"To no one."

"Why?"

The way he looked at you is what threw you off guard. Intense, without boundaries that may have been set in place for other patients. He weeded out your deepest fears and silently vowed to rip each one apart with his bare hands. Monsters walked beside him in the night, but Gabriel Van Helsing was doomed to wander the daylight alone. Yet he found...he didn't want to anymore.

"If I were to ask..."

Your knees almost buckled - the weight of his inquiry slamming directly into your chest. "Ask me what?"

Gabriel looked at you as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. As if nothing felt more right than the words about to spill from his lips. To be bound to a soul meant permanence in the eyes of his God, and how lovely it might be.

To have someone he could be permanent with.

"To marry me darling."

There remained an answer to this madness. A final solemn vow you might have otherwise been able to say. But his confession hung in the air like a cloud that refused to dissipate with the change in weather. When had he fallen in love? When had he finally relented to the ache that built in his chest?

When did he realize that he came here at night for you and not for his wounds?

You wanted to give him something in return—a promise that could outlast all that threatened to rip him from you.

So you kissed him. You dragged him close—your hand tangling in his hair—and caught his lips in a kiss that damn near threw him off the table. He didn't expect to finally taste you, his heart hammering an unsteady beat in his chest. But he certainly wasn't about to complain. He met your actions in kind, gripping onto the flesh of your hips with a soft groan.

His tongue met yours—hesitance bleeding through each action—and when he found no resistance he finally devoured what he hungered for. Standing to his full height, he licked into your mouth, his hand gripping the back of your neck painfully to keep you close. Neither of you even registered what happened when he crowded you against the heavy wooden door sealed shut with a lock.

"Gabriel," you sighed, bending to let him drag his tongue down your throat.

"Say yes," he growled, rucking up your skirts as you worked the belt of his pants still coated in grime and dust. "Marry me. Be mine forever."

"God above." A gasp tore from your chest when he notched his dripping cock at your entrance.

He held you there, fixing his gaze on your face, even as you tried to drag your hips forward. "Darling."

"I want..."

"What?"

A moan rumbled in his chest when you finally looked at him—the love you kept locked away pouring out into the furrow of your brows. The tears that fell down your cheeks. Hiding it felt pointless at this time. Because you knew your answer, you knew the second he stumbled through your door demanding you help him. You knew it the moment his gaze locked on yours.

Forever would be spent here. In the safety of his hold.

"I'll marry you," you breathed.

There were few times you managed to see this man smile. Once or twice when you told a joke. More often due to the biting pain on his body as you stitched him up—a defense mechanism rather than agonizing grunts he used to give you. And now when your words settled in his mind - solidifying something he wondered about for years.

His lips bloomed into a smile that met his eyes for the very first time. Light practically shone directly from the hazel iris.

You expected him to give you an answer, a shower of words full of love. Instead he sunk into you with a harsh groan, his forehead falling to yours, mouth swallowing the cry that erupted from your chest.

Lovers existed in your life before him—a sprinkle of men who once or twice believed you'd be their wife one day. But none of them compared to the one before you. Gabriel stretched you wide enough to hurt, but he quickly sought out the small bud pulsing for attention—circling it slowly with each shallow thrust.

Your legs shook under the sensations, nails digging into his bare shoulders, and for the first time...he felt pain.

A fractured cry escaped his mouth, finding its way into yours as you sharply cut him to ground yourself. Panic flooded your veins at the thought of hurting him. Only to feel his hips slam into yours, impaling you on his twitching cock spurting precum like a broken faucet.

"Again," he rumbled, pulling out at an achingly slow pace. Only to punch back in and drag out a shout from the depths of your stomach. "Hurt me again."

"But–"

"Do it."

Cutting your nails down his back—blood welling to the surface immediately—you felt his entire body shudder. His head tipping back as he fucked into you fast enough to hurt. There was no rhythm to how he moved. Rutting into you wildly like the beast he once became—his body overwhelmed with a mix of pain and pleasure. Agony merging together with the love he felt for you.

The wet squelch of your cunt swallowing him in with each thrust echoed in the small confines of your room. Each one followed by the loud resounding echo of your moans and his ragged grunts. You felt unhinged. Probably looked like it too.

But pleasure was creeping up on you faster than you could anticipate. Your nails marred his skin with each blinding strike of his cock against your walls. It drowned you. Swallowed you up with the promise to spit you back out later.

You'd never felt so whole before.

"I can feel her begging," he gasped against your lips, a string of spit connecting your mouth to his. "Will you let me?"

"Uh-huh."

He smiled, harsh and unforgiving. "We'll have a little one running around by the time our vows are exchanged mea amor."

His words struck something in your chest—dragging out the darkest secret you kept hidden each time he looked at you. Binding yourself with him through the bonds of marriage was one thing. Having his child remained something else entirely. You almost loathed how much you loved the idea.

"Oh–"

"You'll make me a sinner," he babbled, stimulating your clit until pain began to spark up your spine. "A child before marriage. What will God think?"

"G-Gabriel!" A violent tremble began in your legs, working up your body until he was forced to hold you up with his body weight. "I-I can feel it."

He chuckled, speeding up just enough to push you over the edge. A scream echoing off the stone walls—ringing in his ears as your walls clamped down, a gush of cum coating down to his balls. What he wouldn't give to see that again. Your face screwed up in pleasure, pain bleeding into his body with each scratch of your nails.

"It will simply have to take," he gasped, spilling into you with a cry of his own.

Seconds bled into a minute and yet he couldn't stop cumming. The sticky warmth of it trailed down your legs and dripped onto the floor. And he merely shoved back into your—keeping it from spilling out entirely. Intent on keeping each promise he made.

Kissing your cheeks, he found your lips with a sigh. "Take this."

"What?" you mumbled, vision blurry with tears.

The cold kiss of metal on your finger stirred you back to life. "Until I find a jewel meant to sit on your hand."

His insignia burned through your chest, claiming you under the very name he sought to learn more about. You were to be his. A Van Helsing of your own volition. It should have terrified you.

Yet the fear was nowhere to be found.

"I love you Gabriel. I should have told you years ago..."

With a soft kiss to your forehead, he curled his arms around your back. "Then tell me again tomorrow."

And each day after that.

#van helsing x reader #gabriel van helsing x reader #van helsing x you #van helsing x y/n #van helsing smut #gabriel van helsing smut #van helsing #gabriel van helsing #my writing

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mellowsaturns · 2 years ago

Text

for you, anything

JOEL MILLER X READER

summary: joel do what he does best, smuggling and taking care of you

warnings: fluff, soft!joel, domesticity, established relationship, reader caught a cold, sick fic

wc: 900

—

After spending years and years fighting to survive a cordyceps apocalypse and tolerating a totalitarian government regime, you were no stranger to hardship. But it seemed like one thing has finally gotten to you, something that had you weak and bedridden for days now, something so insignificant in the grand scheme of things, but it happened—you had managed to catch a common cold.

Okay, maybe you were being a little dramatic, but the combination of a sore throat, the inability to breathe, the stuffy nose and constant chills was making you feel awful.

The door opens and on a normal day, you would’ve been alert and ready for any potential intruders but you had no energy left and besides, you knew who it was just by the creaks of the floorboard.

You peek out from the corner of your eyes and Joel was leaning against the wall at the end of your bed, looking at you in pity.

“Shut up,” you groaned, pulling the thin blanket over your head.

That garnered a small chuckle from him. “Didn’t even say anything,” he said.

“You didn’t need to,” you murmured.

Feeling the bed dip with his pressure, he pulled the cover away. “How are you feeling today?”

“Like shit,” you replied as he brought his hand up to feel your forehead. “I can feel a major headache forming,” you added with a pout.

“Poor baby,” he cooed.

You gave him a weak punch in the arm. “You dick, if you’re here to make fun of me just leave.”

He snickered for a bit, clearly enjoying this before mellowing. “Here,” he said, handing you a paper bag you didn’t even know he was holding.

Raising an eyebrow in suspicion you took a peek inside. “Joel,” you gasped, “How did you manage to get these?”

Because inside the bag were different envelopes of white pills and packets of powdered electrolytes, everything you needed to help you get through a cold—probably way past its expiration date, but still, these were highly prized. You would have had to work months just to get enough rations for these items. And Joel just handed you these��

“Are you seriously questioning my skills?”

You scoffed. “No. But you really didn’t have to get all these for me. I would have gotten better with time.” And you know that he knows it too, but he still got these things for you because he knew it would help alleviate the pain even if it was for a little bit. And no matter how much he downplays it, you know how hard it must’ve been for him to get these items. You know because you’re in this business with him.

You couldn’t help the smile that was tugging at your lips. “But… Thank you. I appreciate you doing this for me.” For always taking care of me.

He hummed and looked away, embarrassed at the gratitude you were giving him. Getting up, he headed to the living room and grabbed you a bottle of water.

“Let me,” he offered, before placing the bottle on your bedside and helping you sit straight. He popped the medicine onto your palm and you swallowed them down. And maybe it was the placebo effect but you were feeling better already—or maybe it was just the fact that Joel was here.

Sometimes, he really was the best medicine.

Suddenly, he pulled out something from his pocket. “Here.”

You frowned in confusion before a surprised expression spread all over. “Joel…” you whispered.

Turning the package in your hand, you examined its content and the slight wrinkles of the plastic. He had managed to find you a bag of those hard fruity candies that you once loved when the world wasn’t in ruins—something you had forgotten until now. Something meaningless you told him all those years ago when you first got to know each other and reminisced about the good old days.

You wanted to cry. He went through all this effort just to make your life a little easier and joyful when you know it made his life a little harder.

When you looked up at him, he gave you a shy smile. “Thought it might make you happy.”

You were beaming. And if you weren’t sick, you’d kiss him.

He started taking off his shoes when you stopped him. “Joel, I’m sick.”

He scoffed, as if you said something absurd. “Move over,” he grunted, hogging the spot next to you and getting underneath the covers.

He crossed his arms and closed his eyes.

“I kinda miss this you know,” you whispered. Because even though you were wrapped in his jacket he gave you a few days ago, in which he insisted you wear because your blanket was too thin, it just wasn’t the same.

He made a noise in agreement and minutes later, he was snoring.

It’s been three days since you caught a cold, hence, three days since you’ve been fully in his presence. It only occurred to you now that he didn’t stay away because he was scared of catching it, but that he spent all that time working and doing what he does best. All because of you—all for you.

All you could do was admire him as moonlight gently graced the features of his face.

When you got better, you’d give him that kiss he deserved.

#self indulgent bc i am sick and feel awful #joel miller x y/n #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine #joel miller one shot #joel miller fanfic #pedro pascal x reader #joel miller fluff #pedro pascal x you

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cottonlemonade · 1 month ago

Text

His Favorite Customer

word count: 1276 || avg. reading time: 5 mins.

pairing: post-time skip!Osamu x chubby!Reader

genre: angst ending in fluff

warnings: catcalling, spoilers

request: watching Goosebumps with some sweet’n’salty popcorn dressed as a traffic cone with Osamu || fluffy-angsty, Halloween Party with crush Osamu

Up until a few minutes ago you thought, the worst day of your life was when your now ex-boyfriend broke up with you in the middle of a supermarket. You still couldn‘t look at a can of peas without getting flashbacks. But when a car drove past you and splashed your costume which was already unfit for the cold to begin with, you were certain it couldn‘t get any worse than this. The friend who had invited you to the Halloween party left around the time you lost your last bit of sanity with some Dracula she just met, taking her car and thus your ride with her. When she called to apologize for leaving you behind, it was clear that you had become nothing but an afterthought, and even the promise of a free lunch the next day did nothing to lighten your mood or lessen the simmering feeling of abandonment. You shuddered in a cold breeze, goosebumps forming on your arms and legs. No taxi in sight and the street was filled with drunk partygoers howling and screaming - you just wanted to be home and wash this stupid night off you with the longest hottest shower known to man.

You ignored the notification about your dying battery and tapped around for the number of a taxi service or an Uber. But of course, just your luck, everyone you called was busy. If it wasn‘t so late and dark and cold and wet you might have considered walking. It wasn‘t too far away in the grand scheme of things - at least compared to other places like, say, China. But you stopped after only a couple of homeward steps. Being ever so helpful, your mom had recently sent you link after link to articles from various newspapers all warning people to not walk the streets alone after dark for a spike of crime during the costume season, finishing off the sinister spam with an obligatory kiss emoji. As you (very bravely) held back tears you scrolled through your contacts, trying to figure out which of them you wouldn‘t mind losing if you woke them up at 1 a.m. to pick you up from a random Halloween party somewhere in the outskirts of Kobe.

Halfway through the E‘s your phone finally shut down. Great.

You sniffled, slung your arms closer to your body for a bit of warmth, and started walking. Some convenience store might sell a charger or have a payphone at least, you told yourself.

Cars whooshed past, groups of friends staggered dangerously close to the road and the wetness from the earlier drive-by splash slowly seeped through the last layer of fabric. It truly couldn‘t get any worse. That was until a few minutes later when a handful of guys stumbled out of a bar in front of you, clearly very drunk. You braced yourself, holding tightly to the small purse you carried, and looked at the ground as you walked by them. Unfortunately, you weren‘t quite as invisible as you would have liked. You heard many sets of steps fall in behind you. Not wanting them to think you just assumed they meant any harm, you tried to steady your breathing but ever so slightly increased your pace. So did the steps behind you. You lengthened your stride again, making the men behind you laugh and call out, “What are you running from, little butterball?! There should be enough for all of us!“

Throwing caution to the wind you began to run, your eyes spotting the telltale sign of a convenience store like a shining beacon just up ahead. More laughter, wolf whistling, and something that sounded very much like someone running after you. Your heart pumped with adrenaline, your lungs were burning - when was the last time you ran anywhere but a short sprint to the bus? You couldn‘t keep this up for long, surely he would catch up with you any moment. You dared to look behind you but in your hurry couldn‘t spot the person following. Taking a deep breath you were ready to let out a scream when you bumped into something very solid.

Two strong hands steadied you by your shoulders and a familiar voice said, “Oh, sorry. - Hey, ya okay?“

You didn‘t care anymore and just held onto their puffy jacket, squeezing your eyes shut.

Whoever it was, put an arm around your shoulder and you heard him bark, “Keep walkin‘.“,

Ignoring the inappropriate comments that followed, you began to cry and a second arm came up to wrap around you.

“It‘s alright.“, he said calmly, “They‘re gone. Yer good.“

You sniffled again and looked up.

“O-samu?”, you hiccuped in between the syllables.

He looked around, then noticed your wet costume and pulled you into the warmth of the convenience store.

Once he ushered you to the seating area facing the shop window he shrugged off his jacket to put it around your shoulders. Then he excused himself for a moment and went to collect just about every hot food item the store had to offer from deliciously steaming ramen and sticky skewers to Chinese buns with different fillings, one savory, one sweet. His short absence allowed you to take deep breaths of his jacket collar. That warm, woody scent that had driven you crazy for months was just what you needed to calm down. The last couple of minutes already felt like they happened hours ago and you shuddered to think what would have happened if he hadn’t been there. You turned around in your chair and watched him consider the beverage shelf by the door, until he eventually shrugged and grabbed an armful of various flavors. Seeing him balance everything to the cash register and dumping it on the already teetering mountain of food made you smile, then chuckle which helped release some of the nervous energy still pent up in your body. You pulled the puffy parka closer to you, thinking about the many many times you had hoped the handsome store owner would ask you out. Often enough he had reciprocated a flirty comment that slipped out from you, making you question whether he meant it or if he just considered that good service. You surely would have enough opportunity to overthink later but right now you were just so very glad someone you knew was there to help. As you ate, you explained the situation between fewer and fewer sobs.

“No problem.”, he said, pinching off a piece from the steamed red bean bun, “I’ll take ya home.”

“Thank you so so much. I owe you.”

“Don’t even think about it. Least I can do for my favorite customer.”, he grinned and took another piece of bun.

“Bet you say that to everyone.”, you mumbled, then quickly blew on the noodles to cover the comment.

“Can’t believe ya think that low of me.”, he joked and shook his head in pretend sadness.

You pushed the half eaten bun over to him, “Peace offering?”

“Well, if ya insist.” He happily took a large bite and you laughed.

The car ride to your place was pleasantly quiet. You took the opportunity to take a couple more inconspicuous whiffs of his jacket before finally handing it back to him when you got out.

“Thank you again so so much. You’re a lifesaver.”

“No worries.”, Osamu hesitated for a moment, then added, “I meant it, ya know. Yer my favorite. I hope yer coming by tomorrow so I can make ya forget those jerks. Food’s on the house, of course.”

Your cheeks began to hurt from so much smiling.

“I’d love that. See you tomorrow.”

art: @Zing14268125 on Twitter

a/n: a request for @pinkmildliner

Thank you so much for the congratulations and the request! I hope you enjoyed it!

for requests see here

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beomglocks · 8 months ago

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☆.｡.:* pairing: asshole ceo!hyuka x assistant!reader

☆.｡.:* warnings & other : enemies to less hated enemies/lovers, kai is an asshole, very mean, reader is nonchalant, sub!reader, softdom!kai but like meandom aura idk how to explain it, reader lowkey likes kai but like hell no that's ur boss!, unless..., idk if i will ever expand on this concept but fhwuwe i just love the thought of mean CEO kai, im back just for this ig

☆.｡.:* wc : …

you hum to yourself quietly, picking up a white collared shirt that you believe best fits the vibe of the upcoming business meeting.

"what do you think of this one?" you ask calmly. you watch silently as your boss glances up briefly from his phone to look at the attire you've chosen. he cranes his neck back and forth before groaning dramatically.

"i hate it."

you stare at him with a neutral expression on your face as he goes back to gluing his eyes to his phone as if whatever he was doing on there was more important than the task at hand. "that's the fifth one today sir," you speak up.

there's not a hint of mockery in your tone whatsoever. you're just doing your job after all. was it easy? hell no. however, you weren't about to let this stuck up brat get you out of line.

you were used to kai's constant demands. as his secretary and right hand women it's only normal for you to be able to deal with whatever bullshit was thrown your way. you were tougher than he gave you credit for and he had never acknowledged it but you were the only one who had stuck around.

the thing was, kai was used to getting everything he wanted but that all halted once you became his assistant.

normally he could get anything and anyone no matter what. the latest car or prettiest girl to play around with, you name it. he had a habit of fucking around with his assistants until you showed up. the moment you stepped into his office for the interview you were already on his hit list. thankfully you had a friend who worked here already so you knew of his advances towards the woman he worked with.

"its a good thing you're pretty, we'll look good standing next to each other," he had quipped once you sat down. you had held a straight face and answered plainly, not giving in to his advances.

"with all due respect sir, im here to work, not be a trophy on a wall to you." you still remember the way scoffed at you. as if to say, "we'll see". you can tell he didn't like that one bit.

sure, he had hired you despite the rudeness you gave him on the first encounter, why wouldn't he? your resume was impressive. long list of amazing companies he rivaled with in the past and you were smart. sure, he cared about all that in the grand scheme of things but he mainly hired you because you were his type. however, he kept you on a tight leash. metaphorically but he wouldn't be opposed if it were literal. he knew you weren't the type to condone his flirtatious advances and he hated that so he made your life a living hell in return.

no longer was he the boss who occasionally flirted with you and held the door open whenever you were running late. no. he had turned into somewhat of a tyrant, throwing fits over you not liking him in that way and penalizing you for even being just a second late. everyone in the office knew it was never a good day for you if you had to physically be around him.

he sighs, throwing his phone haphazardly on his bed. he rubs his face with his hands as if he's trying to cool himself off from exploding at you. you put the shirt down on the chair closest to the walk in closet, preparing for whatever he has to say to you.

"y/n-" he pauses to look up at you. his blonde hair is strewn all over the place and he has a bored expression. his eyes are narrowed and the way he's looking at you should make you feel small but it doesn't work. at least not outwardly. you'd be lying if you said the way he looked at you didn't make you throb a bit. but you couldn't and wouldn't ever let him win. you didn't care if he was nice or mean to you.

right now though, he's clearly masking the irritation in his eyes with a neutral face.

"i give you the keys to my very expensive, very lavish house not so you can chastise me about my fashion choices and my likes and dislikes but so that you can do your goddamn job and choose the best option for me."

"if i knew what i wanted to fucking wear i wouldn't have hired you in the first place don't you think?" he finishes. you raise your eyes row when he curses at you but remain silent.

he must've really been in a bad mood to curse at you because you don't think he's ever done that. he was mean but never to the point of swearing at you. that's how you knew today he wasn't having it.

he walks up to your still figure at the front of the closet. you're significantly shorter than him which he uses as a way to assert his dominance. he holds your jaw and inspects your face. he hates that you have such an indifferent expression on your face, you swear you see his eye twitch a bit.

"i hate that stupid look on your face," he mutters. "i curse at you and you don't even flinch, i flirt with you and you turn me down.. what do i do to break you?" he asks more to himself than you.

he holds that position for a while, waiting for anything, any sign that will help him out in this situation. you purse your lips because you know exactly what he's waiting for.

an invitation.

"im just here to do my job kai. i don't want to fool around with you." you say. "no matter how you are," you say to yourself. you hope your voice isn't faltering because kai has always respected your personal space but now he's all in your face. "are you serious? you're telling me you haven't thought of me fucking the mess out of you not even once. i mean.." he glances at his king bed for a second. "we're in my room right now, don't be so crass, its offensive.." he smiles a bit at his own intentions.

you hold your stare to the best of your abilities although the wetness that's pooling in your underwear is telling you to just give in. sure, he's your boss, your hot boss who has mentioned time and time again how badly he craves you, so what harm is it?

before you almost let your pussy do the thinking, suddenly you remember the fact that he only wants you just to say he broke you. it was almost like a game to him and you were the prize. you definitely weren't gonna let him win.

you clear your throat, trying to pull away from his grasp. "your meeting will be soon can we please get you dressed?" you say it with so much monotonous that it causes kai to blow another short fuse.

with a light shove he removes his hands from your jaw and sighs heavily. "the day i fuck the indifference out of you will be the day this whole building hears my name," he says to himself as if already imagining how it'll go down. "but it's ok, i suppose i can keep playing this game."

he turns around to look at you still standing stupidly near the closet.

"although im not sure how much longer im willing to play."

#txt imagines #txt scenarios #txt reactions #drabble #angst #hueningkai imagines #hueningkai angst #hueningkai x reader #hueningkai drabble #hueningkai fic #txt angst #tomorrow x together imagines #txt fluff #hueningkai drabbles #txt headcannons #smut #txt smut #hueningkai smut

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it-happened-one-fic · 2 months ago

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Sleep Well - Vil

Author Notes: Just based on this and the fact that I have the entire vampires series it looks like I have a serious Vil issue. But, in reality, I've had this written for a bit and it's just been gathering dust in my google docs while I occasionally polish it. This fic was written and edited while I listened to the acoustic version "If I Lose Myself" by OneRepublic. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender Neutral Reader/ sfw/ fluff/ romance

Word Count: 1243

Everyone had a safe place that they liked to lose themselves in. This was a simple and true fact. And for Vil, that place was you.

But, to be honest, he really didn’t know who or what your safe place was. Though he couldn’t entirely deny that he would like for it to be him.

Though it hadn’t been immediate by any means, you had become his safe place after you accepted him even when you’d seen him at his worst. Not just the pretty face, not just the poised person, and not just the fame.

Him, in his entirety. Everything that was and would always be Vil Schoenheit.

You weren’t daunted by his fame or sometimes less-than-pleasant demeanor, and you hardly seemed to demand any bizarre expectations of him that so often came along with anyone who was a fan. Instead, you just existed and allowed him to exist in that same way. No real expectations beyond him being himself.

But since the moment Vil had realized that about you, you’d always been in Vil’s world. Even when it wasn’t always obvious.

Sometimes you were just on the outer fringes of his life, attending the very same school he did, but from another dorm. And at other times you would appear in his peripheral vision, laughing alongside your friends and waving at Epel as he walked over to join your little group. And if your eyes met Vil’s then you would always smile and wave at him.

Joyful and welcoming of his presence even when others were whispering about how Pomefiore’s Housewarden was in this corridor and about what he might be doing.

It was refreshing and even a little startling. Rather like splashing water in one’s face after a lengthy and tiring day. It would surprise him, and then he would immediately relax before raising a hand in a return greeting.

If he was totally honest with himself, Vil far preferred the moments when you were close to him, though.

Even if it was just the two of you sitting side by side as you awaited some sort of class activity or for Crowley to explain his new grand scheme to the entire school, there was something relaxing about your presence and the way you always greeted him with at least a small smile.

Even when you were perfectly exhausted, just as you obviously were today.

None of you knew exactly what Crowley wanted, and the headmage simply would not get on with his speech. You, Vil, and everyone else of any real importance were assembled here and had been seated for what felt like hours.

You’d approached the young man and sat down next to him, a slight smile and a weary, “Hello,” on your lips before you’d turned your gaze to the dais that Crowley had appeared on. And that had been at least an hour ago.

Vil hadn’t been able to ask how your day had been or if you knew what Crowley wanted this time. But he’d been content to simply sit by your side as the two of you listened to the exuberant headmage prattle on about this, that, and, of course, the other. And at this point, even Vil’s attention was beginning to stray as the headmage continued on.

But Vil stiffened as suddenly he felt a light weight rest against his shoulder.

He didn’t have to glance to know what it was, but he still found himself looking down and immediately seeing your peaceful, sleeping face.

If it were anyone else, Vil probably would’ve woken them up and even felt slightly miffed. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was you, and you were exhausted. And even if he might never admit it, Vil knew perfectly well that he played favorites when it came to you.

So Vil relaxed, not drawing attention to your relaxed, slumbering position as he continued to listen to Crowley’s droning speech.

A droning speech that lasted for at least another thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes during which Vil carefully slipped an arm around you to better support you as you rested so that you wouldn’t wake with any soreness.

It didn’t take long for everyone to file out of the room after Crowley finished. Everyone filling the area with muttered complaints and sleepy yawns until the room was empty except for two people.

You and Vil.

Your eyelids fluttered as the clatter continued as people finally finished exiting, and Vil felt an amused smile cross his face at the motion. Idly wondering if you were dreaming about something that somehow explained the racket from just moments ago.

Through the window the sky was an exquisite painting of reds, yellows, and oranges. The death of the lengthy day that had seemingly drained you.

But Vil wasn’t complaining. Instead, he carefully woke you with a gentle squeeze of your shoulder.

You mumbled something unintelligible that had Vil’s smile spreading as your eyes slowly opened. A bleariness to your gaze that clearly revealed exactly how well you’d been resting as you blinked groggily.

“Vil?” You slowly lifted your head, frowning as you slowly focused your gaze on him. His name was mumbled, but he could at least understand you this time, and he dipped his head in a half-nod to better meet your eyes.

“Did you sleep well, Tater tot?” There was a teasing lilt to his tone that seemed only to make you frown more until realization began to dawn in your eyes as you abruptly finished waking up.

“I-” You glanced around, almost frantically, as you began to register exactly what had happened and where you’d been napping.

“Crowley’s speech is already done. Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything important. He managed to not say anything in all that time that he spoke,” Vil reassured you in a dry tone as he watched you scan the room with wide eyes before looking back his way, this time with a flustered expression.

“I’m so sorry; I really didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Tater tot. I didn’t mind.” Vil could practically hear the smile on his face in his own words. And if this were a conversation he were overhearing, he probably would’ve rolled his eyes at how soft his voice sounded.

But here he was, doting on you and losing his usual chilly demeanor as he smiled fondly at your embarrassment.

“I do recommend that you work on getting more sleep during nighttime hours, though. Not resting is horrible for your skin, your mentality, and your entire body.” He paused, tilting his head as he scanned your face before he smiled and dropped his scolding tone, “Take better care of yourself, Tater tot. You’ll worry those who care for you.”

He watched as you visibly relaxed, a half-smile appearing on your face as you nodded, “I’ll try.”

You looked out the window towards the slowly darkening sky, “I guess I should let you go though. You’ve got better places to be than sitting here next to me.”

Your words made him frown, simply because of how wrong they were. But he didn’t object as you stood, raising your hand in farewell as you smiled fondly down at him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Vil. Sleep well.”

A half-smile worked its way onto his face at your well wishes, and he found himself standing and grasping your hand in his. Startling you as he gave it an affectionate squeeze, “Indeed. Sweet dreams, my sweet potato.”

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rayveneyed · 4 months ago

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cw: sexually explicit content / blood / relatively light sadomasochism / age + experience gap (reader is older + more experienced) / sub!choso / vampires 🧛‍♀️ / sex and violence as two sides of the same coin /

choso kamo is 160 years old when he meets you.

in those years of walking the earth, undead, he believes he’s embraced his vampirism as much as he possibly can. the broiling self-hatred he had once found solace in has reduced to a simmer, strongest in those moments of blood and guts and weakening heartbeats; and although he often avoids crowds, and companionship, and light, he no longer believes himself to be a slave of his own nature.

to be true — in the grand scheme of immortality, of vampirism — he isn’t anywhere close to the level of control he’d wish to have. often, when indulging yuji’s desire to enjoy the world as he did before his death — boardwalks and arcades and cotton candy — he feels his canines aching in his gums, stretching until they dimple against his bottom lip.

it’s not comfortable. it’s not confident. but even despite the growing aches, he’s no longer cowering in alleyways; no longer drinking from poor stray cats and garbage-chewing rats to momentarily satiate that ever-growing, gnawing hunger. he has some sense of control—

“oh, you baby-bats. so adorable.”

control which he now flounders to grab.

a sharp, inky black nail scrapes up the column of his neck — he can’t help but arch into it, head tilting back until his wide, pupil-blown eyes find the ceiling, with its intricate coving and obsidian chandeliers. the music from the main hall is nothing but a buzzing in the back of his head; thoughts of his friends’ whereabouts, an afterthought. your fingernail crowds the underneath of his jaw and stops at where his pulse point would have thrummed, would he have been alive.

you’re a demon. a devil. a she-beast. a succubus. any horrid, terrible name he could call you, he will — dressed in blacks and burgundies and gold older than him, your lips painted an ox-blood red and your eyes as sharp and dark as any polished knife. in your hands he is small. weak. mortal.

“satoru usually keeps his strays away, after last time,” you say, pouting now, though it’s a crude approximation of sadness — even now, your eyes glint with devilment. “so mean, when he knows i have a weak spot for bats like you.”

that wretched finger stretches up; pokes at his bottom lip, scrapes against the fangs that had — embarrassingly — extended from his gums at the simple weight of you on top of him.

“look at that,” you coo, and your grin is something unsettling, something that curdles in the pit of his stomach and heats between his legs. “excited, pup?”

his answering breath comes ragged, and it’s always more embarrassing than it was when he was human. his heart doesn’t work, his lungs do not work, and he has no need to breathe — in fact, he lost the reflex to do so around 92 years ago — but his brain is scrambled, it seems, wilted neurons confusing signals from almost two centuries ago. “i’m — ahem — i’m okay, duchess.”

“how sweet. you don’t have to call me by my title, you know. my name will do just fine.” at his silence, you push yourself up from where you’d been laying low against his chest — looking far too excited when you say: “unless, of course, you like it.”

his hands tremble at his side. he can’t remember the last time he’s indulged in — in debauchery. the last time someone’s made him feel like they’re holding his heart in their hands. over the past hundred-odd years, he’s avoided it like the plague, and for good reason — most vampires aren’t known for their commitment, let’s just say. and now you’re on top of him looking like every sin he’s tried to avoid, and he’s straining so hard in his pants he fears he’ll cum before you even hint at removing a single article of clothing.

you press yourself flush again, nosing at his neck. he knows, for the first time in his long life, what it feels like to be prey. is this what his victims had felt when he ripped into their throats, young and inexperienced and bloodthirsty? did their vulnerability sit like a stone in their throats?

a groan comes from you, suddenly, and your tongue darts out to lave against his skin. choso’s answering moan is more of a whimper, broken and weak in his mouth, but you don’t seem to notice — or care. he flexes his glutes in an effort to stop himself from rutting up against you — not only would it be embarrassing, desperate, but it would be rude. this is your house, after all. your soirée. your gilded halls and bedazzled walls. your silk sheets against his back. your satin skirt bunched around your waist.

“tell me, pup,” you say, and he fights the instinctual reflex to shiver at the brush of your lips against his skin, “have you ever fed from our own?”

“hm?” it’s a sound of confusion brought half on by his simple lack of knowledge, and half on by his slow-processing brain. only seconds after does he fully register your question, and the eyes he hadn’t realised he had screwed shut flew open. “no. i — i didn’t know that was possible.”

all at once, you’re sitting up again — swinging your leg over his hips until you’re standing. it wouldn’t be right to call it clambering — you are impossibly graceful, even passed the agility and elegance that comes with the gift of the undead. his hands reach for you before he can stop them, a sound like a question on his tongue, and you send him the sweetest, most tooth-rotting, stomach-turning smile. he thinks he likes your biting, cruel grins more, though you’re lovely regardless.

you begin to reach for the ties of your corset at your spine — just another thing that makes his mouth water. people didn’t wear these sorts of clothes anymore, not in the human world. but he remembers the skirts and corsets from paintings of noblewomen hundreds of years ago, and how he’d admire the curve of their waists, the swell of their chests—

“of course, satoru wouldn’t tell you. why would he?”

his eyes snap up from your chest, caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but you don’t seem to mind. the corset is removed painfully slowly, for no other reason than to torture him; then, the outer dress, with its carmine satin and intricate embroidery. you throw it to the floor carelessly, as if the most knowledgeable museum curators wouldn’t prostrate themselves at your feet for the simple chance to display it for millions to see — a while his eyes drink up the sight of more skin, the whisper of form beneath your underdress and bloomers, you near him once more.

metal to a magnet, a moth to flame, he pulls himself to the edge of the bed. you find a place between his legs and grasp his chin, and choso can’t look away from you.

“i can take you apart and put you back together,” you say — promise — voice like crushed velvet, quiet and creeping like a choking vine. your thumb smooths over his cheek and ends at its apple, where you press the sharp tip of your nail into his flesh. “i can show you the pleasures of your eternal life, and its pains, and everything in between. i can bring you to every edge, and draw you back from them just as quick — and it will be painful, and you’ll enjoy it so much you won’t be able to go another day without it.”

he’s lost the ability to speak. his unmoving heart is in his throat — or in your hands, or between your sharp teeth. you tilt your head and regard him with knowing, twinkling eyes.

“all you have to say, pup, is yes.”

oh, it’s out of him so quick he can hardly keep up — a word so breathy you’d swear you’d already had your way with him. but embarrassment is a thing of the past when your smile stretches, and you murmur marvellous. you release him from your grasp, much to his chagrin, but when you begin pulling down your bloomers his attention shifts.

he can smell you. smell you. the musky, salty scent of between your legs — a smell that has his mouth watering and his fingers cramping from how hard he fists the sheets. your bloomers are damp when you discard them, sticky with your arousal, and pride glows in choso’s chest. he didn’t do much, but it seemed enough — if he had only let himself lose control, hump up against you harder, perhaps it would’ve stained his clothes; seeped through your layers and onto his lap. he’d go home and hold it over his nose until the scent faded, and perhaps after.

“new as you are,” you say, climbing onto your bed once more and reclining back against the numerous pillows — huffing a mean-sounding laugh when he crawls after you. “i’ll do you the mercy of taking it easy, just this once. oh, don’t make that face — you look like a kicked puppy. i promise you’ll enjoy what i have in store for you.”

and you hike up your underdress, and spread your legs. choso’s mouth waters — the thick smattering of hair on your mons, your flower-like labia, shiny with your arousal. and your clit, peeking out from its hood, pink and shiny and begging to have his mouth on it. but as if this wasn’t enough — as if he wasn’t already scrabbling to get between your legs — you take one of those long, sharp nails, and drag it against your inner thigh. the skin splits. blood trickles down from the wound like a river of gold, flowing into the crease between your thighs and your pussy, and it smells ambrosial. if his fangs were aching before, they’re screaming, now. this isn’t human blood; this is richer, sweeter, creamier. delectable. hedonistic. you’ll make a glutton of him.

“after all,” you say, grinning wickedly, “i’m treating you to a most delectable meal.”

#sub choso u will always be famous #living out my gothic vampire dream. need #choso x reader #choso kamo x reader #jjk x reader #anime x reader #choso x you #choso kamo x you #jjk x you #anime x you #choso smut #choso kamo smut #jjk smut #anime smut #im thinking about the lore for this au now #gojo who acts like a hedonist but is actually tortured by the reality of his immortality #nanami who strictly feeds either on animals or sustainably sourced human blood 😭😭😭😭#vampire hunter toji who is also a vampire a la mikael mikaelson #also pup is what baby bats are called……. im dying #also goths call beginner goths baby bats but i think its fitting here #also no choso is not a baby or a child or anything he is v much a consenting adult 😭😭#i jusg think it puts like the extent of immortality into perspective #idk its 3am and i have work tomorrow #who up subbing they choso

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