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delusionsofgrandeur13 · 3 days ago

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good old-fashioned lover boy

a valentines weekend event fic!

jason todd x reader: ever the romantic: despite all his best attempts, none of his valentine’s day plans are going right!

content level: fluff so fluffy you could make a bed out of it and sleep for days

“with what..i most enjoy contented least..” jason shakes his head, pacing around the living room. “yet..in these thoughts? myself almost despising..c’mon, already!” he keeps muttering to himself, and from your position in the hallway, he looks extremely frustrated. you stifle a giggle, stepping out.

“jay?” you call, smiling warmly as you head his way.

“baby!” he starts, looking surprised. he puts up what look like jazz hands, before looking at his pose and dropping them, sheepish. “what’s up?”

“oh, nothing..” you plop onto the couch, pulling out your phone, waving it at him. “i did just get off of the phone with your brother, and he’s taking barbara on a little getaway. isn’t that sweet?”

jason nods, his whole demeanor having changed since the mention of dick. he waves for you to continue. because of course there’s more.

“well, he was wondering if we’d be able to dogsit haley.” you drop the news, almost cringing in anticipation of jason’s hard:

“no.”

“jay, why not? that dog is so stinkin’ cute and i have no problem with it.” he plops down next to you on the couch, and you blink up at him. “besides, it’s for valentine’s day! spread a little love!”

jason grabs your thigh, smirking. “oh, i’ll spread a little love, alright.”

“not if you’re gonna be this stubborn.” you roll your eyes, whacking his arm.

he sighs as you get up to go to the kitchen, dramatic as ever.

“fine.” he relents, and internally you let out a sigh of your own.

“good, because i already told him yes.”

your admission leaves jason groaning, but a small smile sits on his lips.

a few months prior:

“these ones, right?” the clerk looks up as packets upon packets of seeds tumble onto the checkout counter. she sets down her magazine, mumbling under her breath.

“camellia, tulips, coneflower, lily of the valley..” she shuffles through them, nodding as she goes. “yep, these should all work!”

“okay.” jason nods firmly. “i want all of them.”

february 13

haley’s happy barks are making you giggle, and jason suddenly can’t remember why he was ever opposed to the idea. if there’s an open tab on his search engine for the nearest shelter, well. that’s no one’s business but his.

you’re infatuated with haley, and jason snapped a ridiculous amount of pictures when you fell asleep on the couch with the dog snuggled up next to you.

later

you walk in as jason’s opening and closing the cabinets in the kitchen, a bit frantically.

“okay, flour, baking soda, sugar..”

“hey, baby. whatcha doing?”

jason jumps, turning around with a smile.

“hi honey! nothing, really. what are you doing?” he leans against one of the counters.

“uh..nothing? do you still want to go try that new pizza spot?” you walk up to him, resting your head on his chest and threading your arms under his. he wraps you up into a hug, walking you away from the kitchen. you giggle, your smile scrunching up your eyes.

“jay, where are we going?”

“why, to go get ready, of course?” he says, playing serious.

even later

you’re scrolling on your phone, looking for gifts for your boyfriend for valentine’s day, when he pops his head into the bedroom.

“i’m going to head out to the store, babe. do you need anything?”

you cock your head, sort of confused. you and jason almost always go get groceries together, unless one of you is at work or something. you set your phone down, thinking.

“the only thing i can think of is that we might be running a little low on eggs?”

jason nods, coming in to plant a big kiss on your forehead.

“sounds good,” he says, grabbing his jacket as he walks out. you settle back into bed, eyebrows furrowed. weird.

february 14th

“damn it, damian!” jason hoarsely growls from your apartment’s balcony, eyes locked on his flower pots. (or what was left of them) he’d gotten up early to get everything ready, and there was a batarang lodged into his pot, the flowers—he leaned over the railing—yup, on the sidewalk. great. now he’d have to buy you a store bought bouquet. which is fine, but seriously? he has half a mind to send a bill to bruce, he’s so pissed off. he didn’t even realize they were fighting over here last night, how could he not have heard?

he trudges down to the street with a garbage bag, carefully picking up the flowers—which had already been stepped on, to add insult to injury—handfuls of dirt, and the broken shards of the pot, dropping them all into the bag. an elderly woman strolls by, patting him on the back.

“such a nice young man!” she calls after him. he nods, raising a hand in acknowledgement. he doesn’t feel very nice right now.

jason cannot believe his ears right now. his voice is..gone? he spent weeks memorizing that sonnet for you, and his voice is a raspy, gravelly mess. you two had slept with the window open last night and it’d been pretty cold, but you liked that. he liked it, because the you’d snuggle up next to him. but he must be starting to get a cold or something. he hasn’t really talked yet today either, he’s been home alone while you’re at work. so far he’s just talked to the dog..which went extremely poorly. he tried to give haley a command, but just sounded like a teenager in puberty. he just knows if dogs could laugh, haley would’ve been cackling. ugh. maybe he’ll just save it for an anniversary. tying on an apron, jason grabs all the cake ingredients he needs, setting them out onto the counter.

the cake is baked, and it is beautiful. jason’s proud of himself, putting the final touches on the frosting, adding flourishes he didn’t even know he knew how to do. he sets down the piping bag, checking the time. you should be home from work anytime now. he takes his apron off, washing his hands. his shirt is..covered in flour, to say the least. he goes the bedroom to change, (into a different black shirt) coming back out when he sees disaster about to strike.

“haley, no!” jason shouts, except the dog can’t hear him if he’s lost his voice. haley jumps up, grabbing the end of the plate with her teeth. it bangs against the side of the counter, effectively flinging the cake across the room, onto the kitchen floor. jason slaps a hand over his eyes, groaning. the familiar metal of your key slots into the lock, and you open the door to…

what exactly is going on, anyways?

jason has a smear of what looks like flour on his face, haley is sitting, looking at you with her tongue out and her tail wagging, and there’s a cake. on the floor.

“jay..what?” you set down your bag, shrugging your coat off and dropping that too, heading towards your boyfriend. “what happened, baby?”

“i was trying,” jason sighs. “i was trying to make you a cake for valentine’s day. and grow you flowers. and recite shakespeare to you. but quite literally none of those things worked out.”

you smile, sending his heart thumping as you brush the flour off of his cheek.

“well, i don’t know about you, but i’m starving. and there’s some cake on the floor over there that looks, like, really good.”

jason rolls his eyes at you, a smile starting on his lips. you grab two forks, handing him one. he joins you on the floor, watching as you take a huge first bite. your cheeks puffed, you chew with wide eyes. jason chuckles, grabbing some for himself too. you swallow, grabbing his hand.

“jason. i don’t know how to tell you this, but you need to quit everything you’re doing and become a professional baker. this cake is insane.” you take another bite, sighing as you close your eyes.

“you’re ridiculous.” jason’s blushing, shaking his head. you shrug, scooping cake up and bringing your fork to his lips.

“yeah, but you like it.” you say as he nods, chewing. he swallows, beaming at you.

“happy valentine’s day, baby.”

“happy valentine’s day, jason.”

༄ For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

from sonnet 29, william shakespeare.

post divider courtesy of: @saradika-graphics

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meanbossart · 21 days ago

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ASK COMPILATION: Boomer Drow, Scratch, Mouthwashing, Cats and musical opinions.

A more casual compilation this time as I desperately try to make some room in my inbox. I went back so far I found lore questions and art prompts that I really liked but had completely forgotten about... That's why it's a mess in there LOL I will hopefully get to those soon!

Hi! Thank you! I still dream about smoking almost every night and had a couple during the new year but I'm hanging in there :')

Very loose and mostly as a bit. It might be something that I explore more in the future, but as of right now their "canon" setting is far, far more interesting to me!

...That's brutal and highly accurate 😭

[MORE UNDER THE CUT]

I'm not gonna lie, when I started posting I got, uh, a lot of responses like this to my art. About how I drew people "ugly" and frightening and even though it MOSTLY was meant as a compliment, it got kinda... Overwhelming 😅 It definitely led me to do a 180 for a while and re-access how I wanted to draw people. I love drawing flaws but I think that comes from not really seeing them as flaws, so the amount of folks AGGRESSIVELY harping on it did eventually get to me a little bit.

I think I've since found a pretty good balance between simple, pretty and "flawed" that I enjoy, though. So, thank you! I do take your message as a compliment and I'm glad you enjoy him.

DU drow was my first run! I have since played with a different character called Izzantar who was my first non-urge campaign though.

...

... I didn't find scratch in the DU drow run. Sorry anon LOL

Now you see, this is the legacy I want to leave behind.

(thanks for making Astarion feel included)

I was the one who recommended it to him and I really liked it! I've always DREAMED of a game that actually and unapologetically put you in the shoes of a shitty person and took you through the complex reasons why they are the way that they are without justifying their actions. And I adore the way the secondary character undeniably had a hand in the tragedy that unfolded despite his good intentions. The game sincerely explored the types of flawed characters I rarely ever see explored and I can only give it my sincerest kudos to it.

I've been considering playing Origins on stream after MANY recommendations, actually!

I would suggest examining and referencing off athletes and gymnasts videos for practice while trying to garner a more in-depth understanding of musculature by crossreferencing that stuff with dry, medical anatomy diagrams. I have a few more in-depth examples and advice in my #tutorial and #advice tags!

DU drow would really like Frida. Jarboe would constantly disappoint him by being the very dumb animal that she is.

I think Astarion would like both of them but complain endlessly about how much attention they demand and how up in his business they'd want to be - I have a feeling he likes street cats, which none of my cats are (Frida has a little street-smarts remaining but has been thoroughly spoiled by now. Jarboe was a hoarder cat before I adopted her and is extremely sociable and un-cat-like because of it.)

I DM'd a single Call of Cthulhu session in my teens and only recently participated in my first ever DnD game in a discord event! That's about it.

This is for the over-attentive ANE readers but Brutus is a Dalyria song for me ☺️

He'd like Jazz A LOT.

But I think he'd be more of a root-punk/post-rock guy, not really into synth. And then a lot of the classics like Elvis, Nina Simone, Marley, etc.

Also Foetus and GG allin for whatever reason.

3 for Astarion, 5 for Shadowheart. Jaheira would never but she could get away with 8.

#ask compilation #ask

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roxygen22 · 2 months ago

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bf timothee gets pissed and jealous bc yn is interacting w another guy before realizing that either he has a s/o, hes gay, or wtv you want

Jealous

"Who was that?" Timothée growled as he returned with your drinks, jutting his sharp chin toward the guy you were just speaking with while he stepped away. You and he had just started a few months prior, so this was his first company holiday party as your plus one.

You turned to see who he was glaring at. "Oh, that's Mark. We've worked together for a long time. He is one of our contract attorneys." As if he heard you speak his name, Mark turned and caught you looking. He smiled and sheepishly waved. You blushed with embarrassment and ducked your head before turning back to Timothée.

"He knows how to make you laugh," he said in a flat, gravelly tone.

"Oh, he's effectively the office clown. Mark does great work, but he doesn't pass up the opportunity to make people laugh. He has the worst dad jokes that you can't help but laugh and shake your head at. I enjoy it when he gets assigned to my contracts. He keeps things light."

Timothée shifted uncomfortably in his chair, arms crossed and glowering across the room. He almost looked like he was pouting. Is he jealous? you thought to yourself. You had never seen him behave like this before.

Suddenly, Timothée jumped to his feet and held out his hand. "Want to dance?"

You hesitated briefly as your brain caught up to his sudden change in demeanor. "Of course," you replied, taking his hand to let him lead you to the dance floor. Light jazz music filled the air from the stage band at the front of the room. Perfect for slow dancing.

You and he swayed beneath the twinkling lights on the dimly let floor. He rested his forehead against yours, humming softly to the tune, eyes focused on you and you alone, until you glided past Mark. A fire lit his eyes as his soft gaze shifted to a cold hard stare at the other man. Timothée lowered his hand to the small of your back and pulled you even closer.

On one hand, you were not a piece of meat to be fought over in a one-sided competition, as you were not Mark's type, nor was he yours; however, you were surprised to find the possessiveness mildly titillating on a primordial level. You lifted your hand from Timothée's shoulder to his cheek to gently pull his focus back to you.

His gaze softened once again. "Hey," he said softly.

"Hey," you returned. "Where did you go?"

"Oh, uh," Timothée stammered. "I just got a little distracted."

"Uh-huh," you replied with a smirk.

"Look up!" Your head swiveled to the side when you heard one of your nearby coworkers whisper yell, pointing to the ceiling. You and Timothée followed her gaze up to the mistletoe near the stage that he had managed to dance you under. He lowered his eyes to you and grinned so hard that you couldn't help but return. Given that you were in a room full of coworkers now staring at the two of you, you expected a cute, chaste kiss.

In an instant, you were staring at the ceiling again because Timothée had dipped you down and planted a forceful kiss on your lips. In shock you parted them, which only encouraged him to deepen the kiss further. You felt the blood rush to your face - in part due to gravity, but mainly from the embarrassment of hearing your workmates whooping and cheering all around you.

When Timothée pulled you back to your feet, your head whirled. You focused on him just in time to see him flash a smug look over at Mark. Mortified, you angrily growled through your teeth and stomped off through the side door by the stage. Timothée hung back for a moment in surprise, arms out around the void where you once stood until he regained his wits and chased after you.

"[Y/N], I-"

You spun on the balls of your feet to face him. He shrank back at the evident anger on your face, something he had not yet been subjected to in your time together.

"What was that?!" you yelled. "Don't you think that was a little EXTRA for a work party?"

"I just, I-"

You wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. "You are just jealous. Timothée, Mark is GAY. And happily married at that. You have nothing to worry about. But maybe I do, if you feel like you can't trust me and feel the need to strut about like...like a damn peacock to defend your territory."

"I- he-?"

"Yes, Timothée. He is gay. I am definitely not his type, nor is he mine."

"Oh." His shoulders fell as he stared at the ground, realizing that he was out of line.

"Timothée, YOU are my type. I love YOU and only you. Ok?"

He lifted his head rapidly, mouth agape. "You love me?"

"Yes. I know I haven't said it out loud until just now, as this is all still so new. Maybe if I had, it would have prevented this little...," you paused, unable to find the right word as you gestured between Timothée and the event venue. "Display."

"I love you, too," he all but whispered. You stepped closer to him and placed your hand on his chest. His heart beat wildly beneath your fingertips.

"Yes, but you don't own me, Timothée." He nodded and placed his hand over yours. "I need you to trust that I am not going to let myself get swept away by some cute guy at work."

"Cute?!" He bristled and then cleared his throat to keep the green-eyed monster at bay. "I suppose he is objectively good looking," he muttered.

You stifled a laugh. "But not as cute as you, my love."

Timothée half-smiled. "Love. I don't think I'll ever get used to hearing that word."

You patted his chest. "Now that it's out in the open, you'll be hearing it a lot. Now come on, let's get back inside out of the cold."

<><><><><>

Masterlist

@croatianprincess @bluizh @groovy-lady @pmak2002

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piratefishmama · 2 years ago

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Angel | Steddie Oneshot

Eddie Munson never believed that he’d go to Heaven. Sure he’d been raised in a catholic household, his uncle was religious, he’d been raised to give thanks for the food they ate, to pray before bed that should he not wake, his soul the lord take an all that jazz.

Wouldn’t believe it to look at him, to hear the songs he sang, the music he played. Wouldn’t believe how he’d been raised if one were to go by covers instead of contents.

But despite his upbringing in the very catholic Munson Trailer of Forest Hills Trailer Park, he never believed he’d go to heaven. Something about queers and submitting to sin and blah blah blah it’d been a long-ass time since his last confession, but Uncle Wayne stopped reminding him a few years back, so he had an excuse to keep ‘forgetting’ to do it.

Turns out, one did not need to go to confession to make it to heaven!

Angels would just. Turn up, apparently.

Maybe he’d done something good that he wasn’t aware of, he did go to that Make A Wish thing a few weeks back, DM’d a whole one shot for the kids, he’d spent hours there, a whole dang day just… hanging out with sick kids.

Maybe that was it. Maybe that was what brought this heavenly creature to his side.

To cut a long story short, he was on stage one minute, belting out the lyrics from the final verse of the last song in their set ‘Into the Underdark’, Jeff was slipping into the ending guitar solo, Eddie was gearing up for an end of gig crowd surf and the next.

The next he was looking into a bright, blinding light that kept moving between his eyes.

He’d always been told not to go to the light. If you see it? Don’t go to it, going to it would make whatever trip you were going on a one way ticket, there was no going back when you reached that light. Just hang back, wait for the resuscitation, it’d happen, someone would breathe life back into you, or whack you with enough voltage to get that heart kickin again, just don’t go into that light.

That light was way too close to his eyes, and he couldn’t swat it away. His arms felt tied down. Rude.

And then the light was gone, had he reached it? Was that it? One way ticket stub punched, sorry Earth, Munson out. “Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” Oh what heavenly chorus, the light had momentarily blinded him but shit… when his sight came back, at least enough to make out the vague shape of a very square jaw, of angular features, of warm hazel eyes, and a luscious head of hair surrounded by a halo of brilliant white light.

Angel. He had an audience with an Angel. It could only be an Angel. Neat.

He’d enjoy the ‘I Told You So’ he got from his uncle whenever the old goat made it up there he hoped it wouldn’t be soon though, he’d prefer a longer wait than a short one, thanks.

“Mnn… I hear you big boy, are you sure I’m in the right place though? I’ve been told Heaven wouldn’t want me” it sounded smooth in his head, but he was pretty sure he slurred half the words.

How could he have a slurred voice in Heaven? That didn’t seem fair.

Oh he’d forgive the slurred speech bit if the angel kept making that wonderful music with his vocal chords, that little giggle of a laugh, so bubbly and sweet, yep. Somehow he’d weaselled his way into Heaven. Suck it soccer moms. “Well, at least you can summon the strength to be charming.”

He was charming? An angel thought he was charming? Hell yeah, he’d rock this heaven shit, he already had an in with the big, winged boys!

“I can summon the strength for other stuff too, worship ain’t ever really been my thing but, baby I think I can learn for a literal Angel” he’d subject himself to an afterlife on his knees gladly if it meant he’d have his hands curled around this creature’s thighs, his mouth on—

“Oh wow…” Eddie couldn’t really see it properly thanks to the lovely blinding spots in his eyes that was no doubt his eyes adjusting to heavenly light, but he was sure his angel was blushing, he sounded a little breathless. Good. “You’re uh… wow”

Eddie hadn’t had much charm before becoming world famous but, he’d gained a little experience. Women and men alike throwing themselves at him, knowing he wasn’t all that fussed, babes were babes. All genders welcome to hop on and take a ride. He knew it was mostly the fame, he was still the same nerd he’d been back in high school, but… if fame got him laid then fame got him laid.

At the very least it gave him the experience to flirt with one of Gods pretty little birds. Maybe even score if the reaction he got was any indication.

So much for lust being a punishable sin, huzzah.

Steve was having a day. Okay no, Steve was having a whole week. The only upside to his overtime riddled ass, was that Robin had been on the majority of his shifts with him, so they could at least talk in the ambulance while they roamed the streets waiting for chaos to drop.

Monday, it’d been a seven car pileup on the highway, a few lost limbs, no fatalities but one hell of a close call on two accounts.

Tuesday, it’d been a tumble at a care home resulting in a popped hip and some heavy flirting from a few old ladies. Poor Robin suffering it from a few old men trying to shoot a shot they didn’t have.

Wednesday it’d been crisis after crisis resulting in him not finishing his shift until six hours after he was meant to finish his shift.

Thursday he had one blessed night off, thankfully his on-call status hadn’t dragged him in, and he got a decent six hour nap in.

Friday, another car wreck, he didn’t want to think about that one.

And now Saturday.

Dispatch sent them to the sold out arena, some idiot had leapt off the stage likely for a crowd surf, his foot tangled in an amp chord, it reduced his air time dramatically and he brained himself on one of the guard rails.

Excellent. At least he wasn’t dead.

Which given how easily one could wind up six feet under from such a whack to the head, he was lucky.

They parked by the side exit, shuffled in by security, and right through into the arena. The patient hadn’t been moved as per dispatchers instructions to the person who’d called. No moving the idiot until the professionals arrived and determined it safe.

Cameras, flashing lights, big beefy security guards standing in front of them blocking the majority of what was happening from view, there was… quite a bit of blood there. It didn’t look pretty in that lighting. “The crowd’s too much, let’s get him to the ambulance.” Robin’s patience didn’t exist when it came to large crowds.

Too many people. Plus she’d been on shift five hours longer than he had.

“Alright, you two, c’mere” Steve singled out two of the big security guys “we’re gonna need you to help us get him onto the gurney, we’ll look him over in the back of the ambulance.” There were no broken bones, nothing stopping them from moving him just enough to get him to the ambulance unscathed.

And then, somewhere between writing out paperwork, checking vitals, and Robin googling who this guy was, said guy… woke up.

Steve, being closer, was quick to check responsiveness, pupils reacted well to light although a concussion did look likely, they’d cleaned up the blood and found the cause to be a cut just above his left eyebrow that’d probably make a kickass scar and oh.

Without the blood. Oh. Oh he was pretty. Pretty plump lips, long lashes, deep brown eyes, faint freckles across his nose. All that hair. He was pretty.

“Mr Munson? Can you hear me?” He’d asked, while shining that little torch into those pretty brown eyes, left to right to check the responsiveness. And then he spoke and Steve— well. Robin was eyeballing him judgementally pretty damn hard given how fast his face flamed red.

Her head in her hands, her fingers plugged into her ears as Munson rattled off promises of worship and good lord— Steve didn’t know what to say, what to do, what does one do when a hot yet slightly delirious rockstar offers to worship your ‘angelic body’?

What does one do with that?

One awkwardly stutters through thanks while bright red and toasty until they can part with the guy at the ER wishing he’d met him under better circumstances cause it’d been a long ass time since anyone even touched him let alone worshipped him but accepting that he’d probably never see the guy again, so it didn’t really matter.

Until a few days later when the official Corroded Coffin account slid into his DM’s on Instagram, apologised profusely, and requested very sweetly to make it up to him with dinner the next time he was free.

Signed Eddie. With a little angel emoji. How on earth could he say no to that?

#steddie #piratewrites #Rockstar!eddie munson #Paramedic!steve harrington #SHITPOST FICLET #i have no excuse for this

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tinynerddeer · 11 months ago

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Dynamic

Emmett Cullen X Fem!Reader

Summary: You and Emmett have a relationship full of fun and passion.

Warnings: suggestive material, fluff

Authors Note: Emmett is often forgotten or like ignored i feel...that will change 😏😏

》》》》

You and Emmett were on your way home from a nice date at an expensive restaurant. The date was filled with laughter and loving hand caresses, just as the car ride soon would be.

Emmett was driving back to your house with you in the passenger seat. Where there is usually hilarious banter, there was soft jazz from the radio filling the jeep.

Comfortable silences like these were rare in your relationship with Emmett. Time with the two of you were always one of two things: passion filled moments, or snicker packed hang out sessions. You both enjoyed these dynamics as it allowed you to express all of your emotions and feelings for eachother. It seemed that this car ride back home would be demonstrating the almost baffling differences your relationship can exhibit.

Your hand was covered by his in your lap while his other hand was on the steering wheel. The jeep allowed you to sit right next to Emmett rather than be separated by a middle console, so you took this opportunity to lean against his large frame.

"Tired?" He asked, ready to soothe you to sleep.

"A bit." You repositioned youself so that his arm would be around your shoulders. You began to think back to your dinner date, specifically a crude joke Emmett told at the expense of a lady a few tables over. You tried your very hardest to not laugh for fear of disturbing the calm atmosphere. Emmett obviously noticed and heard your stuttered breaths.

He smiled. "What is it?" His large hand lightly shook your shoulder.

You scoffed. "Her boobs were so weirdly shaped. Like what bra would do that?" You laugh at your own commentary.

Emmett replied, "I know! That's what I said!" He laughed louder than you, making you laugh more. His chortles were always contagious. "Yours look much better."

"Emmett! Oh my gosh, I can't take you anywhere!"

"We are literally in my vehicle that I am driving," he stated obviously with a joking eye roll. "I think I can say what I want."

"You can, but the question is 'should you'." You turn to look at him more, moving one of your hands to his thigh.

"Nuh uh," was his childish response. You smile and lean up to kiss his cheek. He suprised you by turning to meet your lips with his. His hand that was on your shoulder began creeping its way down to your butt where he slightly squeezed. You gasped out, "Emmett," and turned your head away.

He kept kissing you on your neck and cheek as you moved youself to be partially sitting on his lap, wanting to be closer.

He picked up on your desires and peeled his lips away to focus somewhere else. His free hand pulled you further onto him. "Maybe not while you're driving?" You ask nervously.

He smirked down at you while his hands were now reaching up your floral dress. "No need to keep driving when we are already home." He sent a wink your way before opening the door to carry you inside to truly begin your night.

#emmett cullen #emmett cullen x reader #twilight #twilight x reader #vampire #twilight saga #fanfiction #twilight fanfiction #twilight oneshot #emmett cullen oneshot

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tasteleeknow · 2 years ago

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CALL OF THE SIREN

PAIRING: siren!minho x fem!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. fairytale!au CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. WORD COUNT: 5.7k

SUMMARY: the effect he has on people is obvious, they’re drawn to him like he’s an oasis in a desert. then, with a small jingle of a bell that announces his arrival into your store, he attempts to ensnare you.

NOTE: my step back into writing after a little break. please let me know what you think! this is my interpretation of a siren. i know some people write them as mermaid type creatures. i wanted to write more the bird type, pretty bird singing in a cage and never touched and all of that jazz. whatever, hope you enjoy!

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

“Would you just come for an hour or so? Please?” you friend asks, tugging on your arm and giving you her best puppy dog eyes.

“You just go,” you whine. “I’ve just had a new shipment in, I really should—”

“It’s Sunday,” he interrupts. “Your books can wait,” she tugs you a little harder. “30 minutes.”

“45.”

Elsie was perhaps the only person you could call a real friend. She loved you, she’d proven that over and over throughout the years. Still, she was a very different person than you were. She sought out new faces and new company seemingly every hour of the day she had free.

“Why are you so obsessed with dragging me around like a sidekick?”

“Why are you so obsessed with this bookstore?” she retorts.

“Why are you so obsessed with that man?”

“What man?” she says, faking ignorance.

“Oh, come on.”

“Listen, you just have to meet him once, alright? It’s not—”

“It is that weird,” you correct before she can finish. “You and everyone else have lost your minds. I really don’t see how it’s possible for any man to—”

“You’ll see.”

You sigh. “Let me lock up.”

—

It’s as busy as the last time you’d been dragged to the monthly market. It always felt like the entire region descended onto the field far too small to accommodate them all. You weren’t used to crowds like this. Your days were happily spent in your village bookstore, room enough for your books and a small apartment out back.

“There!” Elsie exclaims.

A crowd surrounds a small stage, obscuring your view of whatever has captured their attention. Your friend grips your hand and tugs you so suddenly you barely manage to stay upright, ducking your head as she barrels through the sea of bodies. The bustling sound of the market fades as she pulls you to a stop. Her eyes are fixed on the small makeshift stage, constructed from various wooden crates stacked beside each other. He’s singing: the man on the stage. He stands there in front of you, white dress shirt rolled up to his elbows with his hair falling into his eyes. He’s pretty, you’ll give him that. But when you turn to speak to your friend, the look on her face makes the words stick in your throat. She looks transfixed. She looks like he’s offering her the world on a silver platter, holding it out to her with his bare hands.

A strange feeling bubbles up in your chest, like you should wrap your arms around her as if she might at any moment lunge onto the stage.

Then the singing stops.

“That’s him,” she breathes dreamily, still failing to pull her eyes from the man on stage.

“Thank you for coming,” the man on stage announces just before leaping off the stage and walking directly towards you. The crowd begins shuffling around, making their way to the small booth where they can offer their cash as a thank you for a clearly enrapturing performance.

“You looked away,” he says when he reaches you, like that means anything at all.

Your friend grabs your hand, as if she's afraid you might turn and run. “This is Minho,” she says. “He performs here every month. We uh—We had a drink last month and I said I’d bring my best friend next time.”

You tug your hand from your friend’s, a little amused by her clear infatuation. Then you hold it towards him, inviting the stranger to shake it. He doesn’t. Instead he looks down at it like you’ve just held up something rotten in his face.

“Minho doesn’t like touching people,” your friend explains, grabbing your hand again and saving you the embarrassment of letting it fall to your side.

“Right. Well, I uh— I enjoyed what little of your performance I heard. Your voice is nice.”

“Nice?” he says, cocking his head a little.

Nice wasn’t enough of a compliment for him? The man refuses to shake hands and has a big ego. Your brows draw together, growing confused at your usually very intuitive friend’s infatuation.

Elsie laughs, swinging your hands back and forth between you. “It’s heavenly, more like. Nice is a ridiculous way to describe it. Doesn’t it just… feel like it’s seeping into your chest? Like you could drown in it?”

The man—Minho—looks at you with anticipation, curiosity: like your answer is important.

“I—I mean, sure. I suppose.”

“Should we all get a drink? There’s a shake stall, just near the lake,” your friend says, pulling Minho’s eyes from yours as she leads you away.

—

The remainder of the day is uneventful. You stay an hour and your friend chats away with the strange man like a lovesick puppy while you make yourself sick on a far too large vanilla milkshake. Love gives people rose tinted glasses, you conclude that night as you fall into bed. He was pretty and he had a nice voice, but clearly your friend's view of him was magnified by her heart. Infatuation does that to people.

—

The gentle jingle of the bell above the door is one of those sounds you’d grown so accustomed to, you now barely heard it. It was background noise, like the sea birds or the crashing of the waves against the cliffs. You were so close to the cliffside here, it was the biggest selling point of the place. If you cracked your window open at night you could fall asleep to that sound. It was a stark difference to the car horns and sirens you’d grown up with.

“Excuse me?” a voice says, startling you from your reverie.

“Minho.”

“You remembered.”

“I’m good with names.”

He looks around the store, taking in the high shelves and the ladders installed to reach. “Yes, you’d have to be. Elsie told me you were… attached to this place.”

“I love it.”

He tilts his head a little, that look crossing his face again. You feel like you’re under a microscope.

You clear your throat, stepping down from the small step you carry around the store to reach difficult places. “Do you need help finding anything?”

He shoves his hands in his pockets, gazing around the store lazily. “I don’t do a lot of reading to be honest. I could use a few recommendations.”

You brush your hands down your front. “Alright. What genres do you like?”

He shrugs, offering you a lopsided grin.

“You have to help me a little.”

“Give me three of your favourites.”

“We might not have the same taste.”

He shrugs again.

Okay, fine. He’d be buying either way.

He follows you around the store, a quiet shadow as you collect the first three books to come to mind. He’s quiet as he pays, placing his card down on the counter between you. Doesn’t like to be touched, you’re reminded. You slide the brown paper bag across the counter for him as you tuck his receipt inside.

“Here you go.”

“Do you think I’m pretty?” he says casually as he scoops it off the counter.

You’re quiet for a moment, processing the question. “I’m sorry?”

“I know it’s an odd question.”

“Odd doesn’t—”

“Humour me.”

Elsie has a lot of explaining to do. “Sure. You’re pretty and your voice is heavenly. It seeps into my soul.”

He grins. “You’re lying.”

“Look, I think you’re strange. You… make me feel uneasy and—”

“Uneasy?”

“Not in a bad way. I don’t feel.. unsafe. I just… feel like I’m missing something. It’s uncomfortable.”

“Not knowing something makes you uncomfortable,” he says, still grinning. It isn’t a question.

“Why are you here? You clearly didn’t come here to buy books.”

He juggles the brown bag into one hand so he can hold out his other towards you. “I came to shake your hand.”

“I thought you didn’t like to do that.”

“I don’t.”

“So why are you—”

“Humour me.”

You sigh, reaching out and grasping his hand in yours. He jolts as your palms connect, dropping the contents of the paper bag across the floor as he stumbles backwards. Okay, he really doesn’t like being touched. You round the counter to collect the books from the floor, cringing a little at the way one of the brand new paperbacks has landed.

It’s only when you’ve collected all three and righted yourself you realise Minho is standing deathly still, silent.

You raise your eyes to him. He looks shaken. You can’t help feeling sorry for him. “I don’t know what—I don’t know why you don’t like being touched, but it’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s okay to protect yourself.”

You place the bag at his feet and take a step away from him. “Did you—Did you feel anything?”

You frown.

“When we touched,” he clarifies.

“Like what?”

“Nothing. I uh—” he bends to collect the bag. “Thanks for the books.”

And with that, he’s gone. The small bell announces his exit.

—

It’s days like these, with the sun high in the sky and the gentle spring breeze, that you’re so grateful for life you can hardly contain it. You close the shop and take the small walk to the cliffside bench with a book tucked under one arm and a thermos in your chilled hands. She’s waiting for you there. She knows weather like this draws you out.

“The princess emerges from her tower, at last!” Elsie practically shouts as you lower yourself onto the bench beside her.

“No shouting on days like this.”

“Is that coffee?” she asks, gesturing to your thermos.

“Tea,” you correct, passing it to her before she can ask.

“Mm, prefer coffee,” she says just before taking a healthy sip.

“You should’ve brought some then.”

You’re both quiet for a while after that, opening your book to read silently as Elsie gazes out over the ocean, thermos grasped between her hands.

“Do you know something?” she says eventually. “I think you were right about this place.”

You place your book by your side as she passes you the half empty thermos. “Was I?”

“I know I tease you for it. But I get it. Why you spend all your time here, I mean. It’s nice.”

“Nice?” you laugh. “What an understatement.”

She turns towards you. “Oh, I'm the one understating the beauty of things now?”

“Don’t start.”

“I know he came to the store.”

“People do that when they want to buy books.”

“That man doesn’t need to go to a store to buy books.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” you question.

“Come out with me tonight and I’ll show you.”

“Where?”

She grins.

—

“What the hell is this?”

“Minho’s home,” your friend answers.

“Elsie, this is a fucking palace. What the hell is he doing busking at the local market?”

She shrugs. “I asked him the same thing. Come on,” she says, attempting to lead you towards the imposing doors.

“I wasn’t invited,” you point out.

“I have a plus one.”

The sound of chatter and laughter floods through the door as it opens. Half the town are his dinner guests by the sound of it. Elsie pulls you through the stately rooms, each with high ceilings and decadent carpets.

When she passes you a drink, you still haven’t spotted him. You recognise faces from your store, people who have dropped by once or twice on a lazy afternoon and others who are regulars. Members of the local book club practically keep you afloat.

“Is this a celebration?”

“No, he just holds these regularly apparently. Has a private concert before dinner.” She tips back her head and finishes her champagne in one go. “That’s where they’re going now. Come on, let’s get good seats.”

It’s the kind of place you’d read about in fantasy novels, with high ceilings and chandeliers and carpets that could be worth more than your shop. It’s utterly ridiculous. A tiny sliver of embarrassment sneaks its way inside you at the idea of someone that had all this stepping into your store. You stamp it under your boot before it can settle. Your store is everything. You’d never been prouder of anything in your life.

When the man of the hour emerges, the room quiets. People shift in their seats, leaning ever so slightly towards the stage where he stands. This stage is nothing like the one at the markets. It’s a permanent, elaborate construction, raising him high enough that even those peaking their heads into the packed room from the very back can get a clear view.

Then he starts singing.

It’s just like the last time you heard him. It’s pleasant, beautiful even. But as you take in the faces of those around you, you get that frustrating feeling again: you’re missing something. He stands centre stage, lulling the entire room into a dazed wonder. You get the urge to climb on stage and shake him. Tell me what this is! But you don’t. You wait for him to finish, wait for him to release his captives.

Thirty minutes later Elsie takes your arm as you filter out of the room and towards the dining room, only stopping when Minho steps in front of you—blocking your exit.

“Did you enjoy the performance?” he asks, a polite smile pulling the corners of his lips up.

It sets your friend off on a speech that makes you want to pull her aside and give her a gentle slap across the face. Snap her out of whatever has taken root inside her brain.

“And you?” Minho finally asks.

“It was fine,” you answer. He didn’t need his ego fed.

He laughs. Laughs. Like the idea that you weren’t totally enraptured by him like a sort of admiring zombie was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. Your eyes drop to his neck as you wonder how your hands would look wrapped around his throat.

“Elsie, they’ll be starting service now. May I have a word with my guest? Just for a moment.”

Your friend looks between you both, like she’s missing something obvious. You understand the feeling. Then she leaves with a gentle squeeze of your arm.

“You’re rich,” you announce after a moment of silence.

“Very observant.”

“How?”

“And blunt.”

“I don’t like not knowing things.”

“Yes, yes I know,” he smiles. Then he collapses into one of the empty chairs and looks around the room like he’s never seen it before, like it doesn’t belong to him. “People are… generous, with their donations. They like my voice.”

You scoff, collapsing into a chair across the aisle from him. “You expect me to believe all of this is just from… busking?”

“They really like my voice.”

“Yes, I know. Will you tell me why?”

“Must there be a reason?”

He takes a deep breath when you give him a pointed look before pulling himself to his feet and crossing the aisle towards you. You get the urge to run, but you don’t. You hold your breath instead as he kneels at your feet. He holds his palm up towards you, like he’s expecting a high five.

“I’ll tell you,” he says. “If you hold my hand while I do.”

“You won’t fall over this time?”

“I'm much closer to the ground if I do.”

It’s a strange request, but everything about him was strange. You hate not knowing things. So you press your palm to his, watching his face for any discomfort. His eyes fix on where your hands connect as he folds his fingers to intertwine with yours. It’s far too intimate for someone you’d only met twice before, but you need answers.

“This will be… odd,” he says. “You’ll have to be open minded.”

You huff out a small laugh. “Yes, well I wouldn’t expect anything else from you.”

He smiles. It’s a sad smile.

“I’m cursed,” he says eventually. It’s blunt and plain, no room for doubting the seriousness of it. “I exist to tempt others, to lure them without ever being able to touch them.” He takes a deep breath, readjusting the way your hands are intertwined so he can rest them in your lap. “It’s a safety measure, I assume. No one can resist me so to counteract any complications that might create… touch is repulsive. To both parties. I sing and I tempt them with beauty… and they want me. They want me so badly they throw their money at me in the hope it’ll make me see them.”

“Cursed.”

You look down at your intertwined hands, the warmth of his skin seeping into yours. Okay so he’s either teasing you or he’s completely insane.

“I can prove it to you,” he says, seemingly interpreting the look on your face successfully. “If I must. It won’t be pleasant.”

“We’re holding hands,” you point out. You weren’t in pain.

“Yes,” he says with a small smile. “We are.”

“Well, doesn’t that disprove your… story.”

He squeezes your hand a little. “You aren’t lured in the same way. My voice is ‘fine’, as you put it. I’m pretty enough, but I’m not—”

“What’s your point?”

“Curses can be broken,” he says. “Surrounded by all those books and you’ve never read a fairytale?”

You want to shove him onto his ass and wipe the teasing smirk off his face.

“You’re a curse-breaker. Come to set me free.”

You yank your hand from his.

“Is this fun for you? Do you want me to fall for this story you're spinning and make myself a fool just for you to waltz into the dining room and laugh about it with your friends?”

He frowns. “No.”

“Why do you sing?” you ask. “If this is a ‘curse’ that you hate so much. Why set up these events to sing for them all?”

“I need it,” he says, brows still drawn together. “Or I'll die. I… feed from their adoration, or the curse does. It’s wrapped around me, yanking at my soul. I feed it or I die.”

The look on his face, the tormented glaze to his eyes. It’s too convincing. He’s either as good of an actor as he is a singer or he’s…

“How would you prove it?”

He pulls himself to his feet. “I would let someone touch me. Your friend, perhaps.”

“And what would happen?”

“She would… be upset. She’d be in pain.”

“It hurts?”

“It’s excruciating.”

“You can’t do it to me instead?”

He shakes his head. “You’re the exception, angel. I can’t hurt you even if I wanted to.”

“Don’t call me that.”

“That’s what you feel like to me.”

“Well, don’t.”

“Alright.”

He’s quiet as you leave the room, as you leave his house. You pull your phone out to let Elise know you’ve left early. She’ll understand. You don’t like crowds.

—

It’s weeks before the small bell above your shop door signals his arrival. You’d almost managed to put him from your mind and then there he is, standing in your space with his hands shoved in his pockets.

“What do you want?”

He steps towards you. He looks nervous.

“I’d like to be free, angel.”

“I said not to call me that.”

“Right, sorry.”

You sigh, stepping down from the ladder to face him. “Okay, tell me what to do.” Humour him.

One corner of his mouth lifts up. “What?”

“How do I free you? Break the curse,” you say, gesturing at nothing in particular.

He looks around you, at the shelves crammed to bursting with books. “No fairy tales at all?” he questions. When you say nothing he redirects his attention to you again, suddenly looking a little more solemn. “I’m afraid you’ll have to fall in love with me, angel.”

You laugh. You can’t help it. “Oh alright, then,” you manage eventually. “Is that all?”

He isn’t laughing with you, you realise. It sobers you.

“I would really, really like to be free.”

“The fairytales you keep alluding to. Don’t they usually fall in love before the big curse is revealed? A little less pressure that way don’t you think?”

He pulls one hand from his pocket and rubs the back of his head. “It would feel… wrong. To spend time with you while keeping that from you. Wouldn’t you feel… used? If you did end up… feeling something for me and then discovering I had something more to gain from you.”

You frown. “Yeah, I guess I would. But if you want to be free that badly, why does it matter? You don’t know me.”

“Like I said, I can’t hurt you. It’s… maybe it’s part of it. I don’t know. I feel…” he trails off, eyes dropping to the ground. “It’s strange,” he continues after a moment. “I’ve known about you, that someone like you existed out there somewhere. Someone who could fix me. I just—How long have you been here? How long have you had this place?”

“5 years.”

“5—” he pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “Right.”

“How long have you been… like this?”

“6 years,” he says, shoving his hand back in his pocket. “You’ve been here this whole time. This curse is cruel, I shouldn’t be surprised. I just—”

“Swear to me,” you interrupt, taking a small step towards him. “Swear to me this isn’t some elaborate joke. I don’t want to see anyone in pain. I don’t want you to have to prove this to me. I just… I need you to look me in the eyes and swear to me.”

He takes a hesitant step towards you as he lifts his hands from his pockets. “Is there someone you… someone you don’t like very much?” he asks, a tiny smile forming on his lips. “Someone you wouldn’t mind seeing getting a very short jolt of pain?”

“You said it’s excruciating. Is it that way for you too?”

He nods.

“No, there’s no one I’d want to feel pain.”

He sighs. “I want to prove it to you. I want you to be sure of me.”

“You’ll have to prove yourself worth trusting. If I'm going to love you, I’ll have to trust you, won’t I?”

He reaches slowly for your hand. You let him take it, lifting it up so he can inspect it. He traces his finger over your palm, tracing the lines that cross your skin. “I’ll do my best,” he whispers.

—

It doesn’t take you long to recognise his patterns of behaviour. He visits the shop regularly, finding some way to touch you in these small ways before he leaves. You can’t help but stay quiet as he does, afraid to interrupt him. You can see it, the way he gets comfort from your touch. You suppose if you’d been unable to touch another person at all for six years you’d be a little desperate for human touch as well. Your hands are the focus of his attention. You’re sure he must know them as well as he knows his own. He traces the lines on your palms, plays with the rings on your fingers, wraps his fingers around your wrists.

He’s replaced the local bookclub as your biggest customer. It’s not possible for him to be reading all the books he buys. Still, he comes in once a week to ask for more recommendations. You slip in the occasional test. A vampire romance or fifty shades of grey. He never comments on it. Not until today.

“Are you trying to hint at something?” he says from the lounge chair tucked into a corner of the store. He’d taken to spending time reading as you worked. It was the only evidence you had that he read at all.

“Hint at what?” you ask from behind the counter.

“Your kinks.”

You choke on your tea, slapping your palm against your chest to prevent the liquid from entering your lungs.

“I’m sorry?” you choke out.

“I’ve noticed your recommendations are getting a little… adult. Do you have a thing for BDSM?”

You duck around the corner to check for any quiet customers lingering between the shelves. “Would you be quiet?” you scold as you march towards him. One of your regulars is perusing at the back of the store.

“Come on, angel. Don’t be shy.”

“Are you telling me you’ve been reading them?”

“I liked the one with the priest. Forbidden fucking is exciting, isn’t it? Doing it where you shouldn’t—”

You slap your palm over his mouth. You can feel his grin form. “If you don’t shut up, I’m banning you from the store.”

His eyes sparkle with mischief but he nods. You release him before wiping your palm on your jeans.

—

It’s only a few months after that when you notice it. He’s your employee. You didn’t hire him and you don’t pay him but as you hand him the box opener so he can start taking stock of the next box you find yourself frozen with the realisation.

He frowns, pulling himself to his feet. “What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing?”

He closes the box opener. “Well I was about to use this sharp thing to slice the tape from this box so I can take the books out.”

“Shut up.”

One corner of his mouth lifts up.

“You’re working here,” you point out.

“Am I?”

You nod. Silent.

“Would you like me to leave?”

You frown. “No.”

He smiles, sliding the knife open. “Then I’ll continue with the box, shall I?”

—

You stir awake at the gentle nudge against your shoulder. “Angel,” he whispers. “It’s late.”

“How late?” you mumble, rubbing at your eyes as you uncurl your body from the unnatural position you’d fallen asleep in on the lounge chair.

“I closed an hour ago,” Minho says. He crouches at your feet, hair standing on all ends from where he’s dragged his fingers through it. You reach out to smooth it down.

“Thanks,” you say through a yawn.

“Why are you so tired?” he asks, reaching out to take your hand so he can trace patterns across it.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Any reason?”

You trace over his face with your eyes, taking in his long lashes, the slope of his nose, the curve of his upper lip. “Would you… be spending time with me if I wasn’t…” you trail off, suddenly embarrassed.

“Do you trust me?” he whispers.

Your eyes flick across his, the soft light from the lamp doing just enough to make the deep brown clear. He needed something from you. You’d barely known him a year and he was the strangest person you’d ever met. It was probably foolish to trust him, dangerous at the very least.

“I do,” you answer. “I… trust you.”

He rocks forward, bringing his head down to your lap so he can press his lips to your hand. He peppers little kisses across your skin and you tangle your free hand into the hair at the back of his head. It falls down the back of his neck now, longer than it’s ever been before.

“Keep me,” he mutters, just clear enough for you to make out. “Will you keep me, angel? Please. I can’t hurt you. I swear.”

“Okay.”

—

“What?”

You blink, finding Minho’s sparkly eyes fixed on you. He’s smiling, like you’ve missed something funny.

“You were staring,” he says.

You drop your gaze to the floor, feeling your cheeks warm.

His soft footfalls as he approaches are the only sounds in the store. It was a quiet day, heavy rain preventing many customers from venturing out. He arrives at the bottom of the ladder, holding it steady as you descend. When you turn he doesn’t remove his hands, caging you in.

“Am I pretty?” he asks.

“Yeah,” you breathe.

“Yeah?” he repeats with a small smile. “Have I grown on you?”

You fiddle with the tie on his hoodie as his fingers stroke through your hair. Grown on you felt like the wrong way to describe it. Inside you. He’d tangled himself with you and now you weren’t sure you could ever let him go. You’d spent a few sleepless nights imagining spending your days in the store without him. A small part of you was afraid. Afraid that if—when—you told him you loved him, he’d leave. Curse broken, needs fulfilled.

“A little,” you mutter, eyes fixed on his chest.

“Only a little?”

You look up into his eyes, then to his lips. “Would you leave if it was more than a little?”

“Hm?” he questions as he tugs a little on one of your earlobes.

“That’s what you’re here for isn’t it? You need me to—” you suck in a breath. “You need me to love you. Will you leave after that?”

He frowns, hand dropping to cup the side of your neck. It’s a comforting hold, his thumb stroking gently behind your ear. “Why would I leave?”

“I’m your curse-breaker, right? That’s my purpose? That’s what you need from me.”

“I don’t need anything from you, angel,” he says. It’s a little unfocused, like his mind is somewhere else. His thumb keeps stroking.“It’s been two months since I needed to sing. It let me go.”

You drop the hoodie ties and grip the fabric instead. “What?”

He offers you a small smile. “You freed me,” he whispers.

The curse is broken… and he’d stayed. “You’re still here.”

“Mm, do you want me to leave?”

“No,” you answer quickly before pulling him towards you, tasting him for the first time. He stumbles a little, humming into your mouth as he steadies himself. It’s a frenzied stumble around the store. You are hardly aware you’re moving at all before you find yourself pushed up against a wall of books.

“The store is open,” he mumbles into your neck.

“Don’t care,” you mutter before you grip his hair and pull his mouth back to yours.

He laughs, taking a large step backwards and detaching you with ease. “Yes, you do. I’ll be right back.”

You attempt to catch your breath as he locks up, dropping your head back against the books and closing your eyes. You loved him. You loved him and he knew and he didn’t leave you.

His finger traces your lips when he returns. “You’re smiling,” he whispers.

Your eyes flutter open. “You didn’t leave me.”

He frowns. “I was just locking up.”

You huff out a short laugh. “No, I mean… two months ago.”

“Ah,” he says before pressing his lips together and adopting an exaggerated thoughtful expression. “Why didn’t I leave?”

You press your finger to his cheek. “Do you think I’m pretty?” you ask.

His eyes flick to yours, the teasing expression dropping off his face. “Angel,” he whispers. “You’re wrapped around my soul.”

You’re both quiet after that, little noises of pleasure the only sounds between you as he pushes you against the shelves. You snake your hands under his hoodie, pressing your hands to his skin. He’s so warm. He’d taken your hands shortly after you’d entered the store, cold and wet from the downpower. You’d frozen still as he lifted them to his mouth and breathed over them, warming them gently.

“Love touching you,” he mumbles against your lips. “So soft. You were worth it.” His lips move to the corner of your mouth. “I couldn’t touch anyone… for years and you were there at the end… a soft angel come to save me, hm? Let me feel you…”

He continues muttering the same way as he presses kisses across your skin. You snake your hands up his back, lifting his hoodie as you go. He barely detaches his lips from you for a second as he pulls it over his head and tosses it aside.

The rain seems to get heavier as you’re consumed by him, offering you a curtain of privacy from the world. It feels completely safe, here with him, in your favourite place on earth. It's yours, this place, him. You bite into his neck, just enough to leave tiny marks in his skin. He grunts, threading his fingers into the hair at the back of your head. “The angel bites,” he laughs as he slips his other hand up your thighs and under your dress.

“Stay here with me,” you gasp into his mouth as his fingers brush your clothed centre.

“I’m staying,” he breathes.

“You can’t leave.”

He smirks as his fingers brush back and forth, barely touching. “Listen to me. I’m not leaving you, yeah? I’ll never walk out the door again if that’s what you want.”

“You have a—a palace,” you gasp as he hooks his fingers into your underwear.

His lips ghost over yours as his fingers explore you, slipping through your folds leisurely. “Would you rather live there?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t you?”

He pulls your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing you. “Wherever you are,” he whispers as he tugs your underwear down your legs.

“Here,” you breathe.

“Alright, we’ll live here.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, like you can hold the sentiment inside him and physically prevent him from changing his mind. We, he said. We’ll live here. Suddenly his hands are under your thighs and he’s practically scooping you up, slotting himself closer towards you and lifting you up against the shelves. His bare torso is warm against your thighs as you wrap yourself around him securely.

“That sounds nice,” you mumble into the crook of his neck.

“Just nice?” he says back, the mischief clear in his tone.

“It sounds so wonderful, I could die from joy.”

He chuckles against your temple. “Don’t do that. Don’t leave me.”

“One condition.”

“Hm?”

“Would you fuck me now?”

He makes that face again, like he’s deep in thought. His mouth forms a straight line. You kiss it off him, forcing him to part his lips. “Alright, angel,” he mumbles. “I’ll fuck you now.”

His movements are lazy and patient as he pulls himself free from his trousers. You practically latch yourself onto his neck, sucking at his skin desperately. Then he’s playing with you, wetting the tip of his cock along your folds like he has all the time in the world. You’re on the brink of tears when he finally shoves you against the shelves and lets you sink down onto him.

“‘m inside you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

You hum, dropping your head back. “Yeah,” you breathe. “You are.”

please don’t forget to leave feedback, it took me lots of time and effort and hearing your thoughts is what makes me want to write more. thank you.

#lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know fanfic #kpop smut #stray kids smut #kpop imagines #skz smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids imagine #kpop scenarios #stray kids scenarios #stray kids x reader #skz x reader #minho smut #minho x reader #skz imagines #stray kids fanfic #skz scenarios

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parkitrighthere · 2 months ago

Note

Hey , will we get an update on AOP ? If not you mentioned we could get a sneak peak . Could we get that ?

Heyyy sweet anon!! How’s it going?? I hope you’re having the BEST day ever and soaking in all the Christmas magic!! I’m so sorry I didn’t check my inbox earlier, and well… rest is history, right? But hey, better late than never, right?? Sooo, here’s a little sneak peek for you, I hope you like it!

Okay, quick heads up:

This is the beginning of chapter 3. I mean, it’s not super exciting or anything yet (shocker, right?), but I promise it’ll do for now. I’m still working on the chapter, so cut me some slack. Also, I’ve realized I have a ridiculous amount of love for Kenji right now… like, why did I just say that out loud? 🤷‍♀️ Oh well, I did. #KenjiIsLife

So, here’s a little snippet (under the cut, obviously because suspense and all that jazz). Please try your best to like it, even though my dialogue game is still under construction. I swear, I’m leveling up my writing skills (slowly but surely). 😅 And seriously, tell me what you think, I’m dying to know!

And... uh, forgive me? Or maybe not? But, like, please? 🙈

Alright, here it goes—enjoy!

(Jimin have nothing to do with it. I merely posted him to distract you from all the mess I've posted)

The darkness wrapped the sky in its velvet shroud, a blend of endless black and the faint glow of stars. The moon hung high, heavy and luminous, as if holding up the weight of the heavens. Its light spilled through the open window, brushing across the room in silvery streaks, making the shadows dance on the walls. The cold air slipped in, sharp and biting, rushing past your face. You inhaled deeply, your chest rising as the chill pricked your skin.

It was already midnight, and sleeping wasn't an option. Your fingers gripped the edge of the windowsill, as you leaned forward, staring into the stillness of the night. The coolness of the wood beneath your palm punished you, but your mind was far away, caught in a storm you couldn’t quite name

You weren’t crying—there were no tears left to shed. You weren’t angry either. The fiery edge of rage had dulled long ago, leaving behind an ache too stubborn to fade.

You exhaled sharply, your breath mingling within the cold air. It wasn’t sadness—not anymore. You’d come to terms with it after talking to Elizabeth.

Your shoulders slumped, and you rubbed at your temples, trying to massage away the tension. It wasn’t about you. It never had been. Your reflection in the window—dull eyes and a tired face—stared back, and you nodded at it, a soft chuckle skipping past your lips. Acceptance wasn’t a choice; it was the only option left.

You thought enough about it, and one thing you grew certain of was that it was, and never would be, about you. You were ready to accept the bond—it was always about him. You knew you couldn’t keep trying alone. You tilted your head back, the moonlight catching the wet shine in your eyes, though no tears fell. It wasn’t how it worked. It couldn’t be.

Slowly, you pulled back from the window, the cold air chasing after you. Wrapping your arms around yourself, you let out a shaky breath. You wouldn’t beg—not for him, not for love. No.

You couldn’t deny it, not to yourself at least—you wanted to try. More than anything. Your chest ached with the thought, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress as if clutching at the hope you refused to voice. You didn’t know much about him, not really, except one undeniable truth: he was intense, passionate, extreme. And so were his emotions—wild, consuming, and impossibly bright. But he hid them, masked them behind a wall so impenetrable that even you, his mate, couldn’t see through it.

Your hands trembled as you ran them through your hair, the strands tangling between your fingers. The memory of his dark, shimmering boba eyes flashed in your mind. You’d imagined them so many nights—staring at you, full of the love and affection you so desperately wanted. No, deserved. Didn’t you? And even if you didn’t, a part of you insisted he should give it anyway. Because weren’t you his mate? Your lips pressed into a thin line, and your jaw clenched as bitterness bubbled in your chest.

You had the right to him, didn’t you? But fate, cruel and merciless as it always was, had turned your bond into a twisted game. Or maybe it wasn’t fate at all. Maybe it was him—your mate, the one who could ignite every nerve in your body with a single glance but chose instead to keep his distance.

Your shoulders sagged, and you leaned back against the wall, letting the cold surface seep through your dress. You didn’t know why he kept you at arm’s length, why his indifference cut so deep. A sharp breath escaped your lips, your chest tightening. Did you even want to know? That was the question that kept you awake at night, gnawing at the edges of your sanity.

The air felt heavier now, as you straightened, your fingers curling into fists at your sides. You didn’t know the reason behind his indifference. But did you want to? That was a big question now. You wouldn’t beg. Not for a man’s attention, not for his love. You might crave him—God, you craved him with every fiber of your being. His presence, his touch, the way his voice seemed to echo in your mind long after he’d spoken. But you would cut yourself open before you begged.

You were just a low-ranking werewolf, a speck compared to the royal Lycan king. But rank didn’t matter now, not to you. You would not grovel—not for him or anyone. If he wanted you, he’d have to fight for you, just as fiercely as you’d once wanted to fight for him. And it wasn’t necessarily that bad here; at least you were being fed.

There was no point in thinking about it now. As tired as your mind was, your body was weirdly energetic, yet you felt paradoxically weak—the lack of training and shifting in weeks was finally getting to you.

Your eyes darted around the room, taking in the too-familiar walls and furniture. Boredom surged like a wildfire, quick and consuming. You hated this place—its silence, its stillness. But if someone were to ask what you hated most, the answer came easily, almost reflexively. Him. Your mate. Jeon Jungkook.

You huffed, shaking your head as if trying to dislodge the thought. You stood there for a moment, swaying slightly, your arms hanging limply at your sides. Your chest rose and fell in slow, deliberate breaths. The night wrapped around you like a second skin, colder than it should’ve been. You rubbed your arms absentmindedly, even though you felt no sense of cold. There was something strange in the air tonight, though. Something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. It clung to you, just out of reach, like a whisper you couldn’t fully hear.

You, once again, reached to the window, your fingertips brushing the edge of the curtain. The cold glass pressed against your palm as you stared out at the still, dark world. A frown tugged at your lips. It wasn’t delight you were feeling—not even close. It wasn’t contentment either. No, this was different, deeper.

Fulfillment. As if something had shifted back into place, something you hadn’t realized was missing.

But with it came fear. A cold, tearing fear that settled in your chest and refused to let go. Your hand pressed over your heart, feeling its unsteady rhythm thrum beneath your skin. Your throat tightened, and your eyes flicked toward the moonlit horizon, searching for something you couldn’t name.

You turned away from the window, pacing the room with quick, uneven steps. Your fingers ran through your hair, tugging at the strands as if the slight pain would ground you. It didn’t.

You paused mid-step, staring at your hands as they trembled. Was it the bond? You didn’t know, but your gut screamed that it was. Everything—the restlessness, the strange sense of completion, the fear—it all traced back to him.

You glanced out the window at the night sky—heavenly dark and ethereally calm—and a small smile tugged at your lips, unbidden. The moon was truly magnificent tonight; you thought nothing could ever match the quiet beauty of nature—especially the moon.

You drew in a long, deep breath, holding it in your chest before letting it out slowly. The weight against your ribs loosened, if only a little. Your eyes dropped to your hands, fingers curling and uncurling as you bit your bottom lip in thought.

Without a second thought, you turned on your heel, your movements dogged but not rushed. You slipped out of your quarters and into the dimly lit hallway, pausing for a moment to glance around.

Where to go?

You tilted your head, brows knitting together as the question settled in your mind. You didn’t have an answer, you merely didn't want to sit in your quarters. With a small nod to yourself.

The guards stationed along the walls watched you with wary eyes, their expressions unreadable. You didn’t pay them any mind, your focus elsewhere. The coolness of the air pressed against your skin, seeping through your clothes like icy fingers. A shiver ran down your spine, but instead of recoiling, you welcomed it.

Winter was near. The thought sent a flicker of warmth through you, chasing away some of the cold. You’d always loved winter, the way the world transformed under a blanket of snow, quiet and pristine. In just a month, the first snowfall would come, covering everything in a soft, white hush.

A smile broke across your face, wide and genuine. Your fingers brushed against your arms as you imagined the crunch of snow beneath bare feet, or the feel of it against your fur in wolf form. She loved winter too.

And then there was the blue moon. Only three weeks away, a grand celebration waiting on the horizon. The thought made your chest swell with anticipation, and a quiet giggle escaped your lips before you could stop it.

Your steps quickened, your feet almost skipping as you moved through the halls. You practically bounced on your toes, the cold air swirling around you but unable to dampen your mood. For the first time in days, maybe weeks, something sparked inside you—something bright, something hopeful.

But happiness had always been a fleeting guest in your life, and tonight proved no exception. Your steps faltered, the soft rhythm of your bare feet on the cold floor coming to an abrupt halt. The smile that had warmed your lips vanished, leaving them pressed into a thin line as Jungkook’s voice tore through the stillness of the still night.

It was sharp, loud, booming even. The sound echoed around you, bouncing off the walls. Without realizing it, you had wandered near his quarters. Your chest tightened as frustration bubbled beneath your skin. No matter how much you tried, how much you willed yourself to stay away, you always found yourself here—drawn to him like a moth to flame. You hated it. You hated him.

Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. His voice rang out again, louder this time, filled with venom and a simmering rage that made your stomach churn.

“I’m not obligated to tell you anything. Anything.”

Your body flinched involuntarily at the sound, as if the force of his anger had reached out and struck you. It wasn’t fear, not exactly. It was instinct—your body recoiling from the raw, unfiltered aggression in his tone.

You turned your head slightly, your gaze shifting to the floor. Your lips parted, but no sound came out. For a moment, you considered walking away, your feet itching to retreat. But you stayed rooted to the spot.

He was angry.

He was yelling.

But why? At who?

The questions spun relentlessly in your mind, but the answers evaded you. Your curiosity, though unwelcome, began clawing at your chest, demanding to be fed. A small voice whispered in the back of your head, urging you to move closer, to press your ear to the door and unravel the tension vibrating through the walls.

You shook your head, swallowing hard, forcing your feet to stay planted. Jungkook had made many things painfully clear on your first day here—one of them being that you were not to involve yourself in pack matters unless explicitly asked. His rules were ironclad, just like the wall he had built between the two of you.

Fine. If he didn’t respect or care for you, you wouldn’t care for him—or his pack. You took a slow, deliberate step forward, ready to walk past his quarters without so much as a glance.

But then you heard it.

Her voice.

Elizabeth.

The sound froze you mid-step, your body stiffening as if an invisible force had gripped you by the shoulders. She was in there, her voice carrying through the closed door—tenacious, loud, yet gentle. She was asking him something, and though his voice was lower now, you could still hear the anger simmering in every clipped word he threw back at her.

Your stomach twisted, curiosity roaring to life and twisting into something darker. Jealousy.

The fire of it ignited low in your chest, spreading quickly, burning hotter with every second you stood there. What were they talking about? Why was she here, in his quarters, this late? The questions pushed everything else from your mind, leaving only a sharp, all-consuming need to know.

Your jaw tightened, teeth grinding together as your breath came out shakier than you wanted to admit. Your chest heaved as you stared at the door, as if willing it to give up its secrets. The thought of her—of them—on the other side of it sent a cold, bitter shiver down your spine. You clenched your teeth harder, your body trembling with an emotion you didn’t want to name.

Still, your feet remained rooted, caught between storming forward and fleeing altogether. You told yourself you didn’t care, that whatever was happening in that room didn’t matter to you. But the fire raging inside you screamed otherwise.

"Jungkook, you can’t just run away from all you’ve done!" Elizabeth’s voice cut through the heavy, pregnant silence like a blade, shrill and demanding. Each word was laced with venom, her tone rising an octave with every syllable. "It’ll be the death of us all. Do you even have any idea what would happen if Jimin found out what you’ve done? Do you know how many vamp—"

“Leave!!”

Jungkook’s voice thundered through the air, slamming into you like a physical force. The raw power in his Alpha command made your breath hitch, your chest tightening painfully as if an unseen hand had wrapped itself around your throat, forcing you to bare it.

Your knees buckled slightly, your hand shooting out to the cold wall beside you to steady yourself. The sheer authority in his tone wasn’t just heard—it was felt, reverberating through your body, making your heart stutter and your skin break out in goosebumps.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your wide eyes staring blankly ahead as the weight of his words settled over you. But then something stirred deep within you.

Your wolf.

You hadn't felt her in days.

It was a faint ripple at first, a flicker of energy in the pit of your stomach. But it grew quickly, spreading like a wildfire through your veins. She was there—fully present in a way she hadn’t been in years. You could feel her strength, her defiance, her barely restrained anger.

Why was she angry?

It took you a moment to realize that you were feeling Jungkook’s emotions. It was the first time you had ever experienced them. His feelings were so intense that it was becoming hard to breathe. It felt as if a fire was burning in the centre of your chest.

Your lips parted in a shaky exhale, and your fingers gripped the wall as you tried to steady your racing heart. The connection was overwhelming, a storm of emotions flooding your senses: pride, fury, longing—all of it tangled together.

Oh! Moon goddess, it was overwhelming

Your head turned slightly, your gaze narrowing on the closed door as Elizabeth’s voice was abruptly silenced. The tension in the air was suffocating, thick enough to choke on, and yet... you couldn’t move.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for. Maybe for Elizabeth to storm out, her face twisted with fury. Maybe for Jungkook to step into the hallway, his presence as commanding as his voice.

Or maybe, you were waiting for yourself—to decide whether you would stay or walk away, pretending none of this had ever happened.

"Move, Bee."

The whisper of your wolf echoed faintly in your mind, a nudge that left no room for argument. Before you could even process her words, your legs carried you away from the shadows where you stood rooted. Your feet moved on instinct, silent against the cold marble floor as you melted into the darkness of the hallway, just out of sight.

The door to Jungkook’s bedroom creaked open, and Elizabeth stepped out.

You stilled, your breath catching in your throat as your gaze locked on her. She looked… dreadful. Her hair was slightly disheveled, her cheeks flushed, and her lips pressed into a thin, angry line. But it was her eyes that unsettled you most—they were wide, almost frantic, as if she’d seen something that had shaken her to her very core.

What is wrong?

Your fingers twitched at your sides, itching to reach out and grab her, demand answers to the storm of questions swirling in your mind. But before you could act, she stormed off, her hurried footsteps fading into the distance.

The silence that followed was deafening, and your chest ached with your unanswered questions.

You kept walking and without realizing it, you were outside. The icy wind bit at your skin, and your bare feet pressed into the damp grass of the royal garden. The once soothing serenity of the night now felt oppressive.

The soft rustle of leaves and the distant hoot of the night animals did little to calm the unease gnawing at you. The cold that had earlier been invigorating now seemed to seep into your very bones, chilling you from the inside out.

Your steps faltered, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, your fingers digging into the fabric of your sleeves as your mind raced.

What were they talking about?

Your thoughts spiralled, wild and rigid. The memory of Jungkook’s loud voice echoed in your head, and Elizabeth’s pale, distraught face lingered in your mind.

What was she doing in his room in the middle of the night?

"Bee, you’re thinking way too much," your wolf interjected with a bored sigh.

You couldn’t help the dry chuckle that escaped your lips, your breath fogging in the crisp night air.

'Thinking too much? That’s rich coming from you,' you muttered under your breath, the tension in your shoulders easing ever so slightly.

Your wolf hummed in response, unbothered, as if this entire situation didn’t concern her in the slightest. She had made her grand reappearance only to take over your body, push you into the cold night, and now, she was defending him.

"Of course, you’d side with him," you said, shaking your head with a humourless smile. You paced aimlessly through the garden, your fingers brushing against the brittle leaves of the hedges as you walked.

"I’m not defending anyone, Bee. I only said you’re thinking too much," your wolf’s voice came again, calm and infuriatingly smug.

You huffed, dragging your hands through your hair in exasperation as you continued pacing. The cool breeze tugged at the strands, but it didn’t calm you—it only added to the storm brewing in your chest.

"You’ve said enough," you muttered aloud, a bitter chuckle slipping past your lips as you shook your head.

"Aww, Bee trying to be sassy? That’s new… and dumb," she quipped, her tone laced with amusement.

You froze mid-step, your jaw tightening as irritation rippled through you. Balling your fists, you let out a slow, shaky breath, your eyes narrowing at the empty garden ahead of you as if you could glare at her.

"I’m curious," you snapped, your voice low and laced with frustration.

"And jealous," she added with a shrug you could practically feel, the smugness in her tone igniting the fire in your chest.

You clenched your teeth, your fingers twitching at your sides as you turned on your heel and paced again. Was she always this difficult? you wondered, your steps now faster, heavier, as if walking harder would somehow silence her.

"You’re being impossible," you muttered, your voice clipped.

"Well… I’m trying," she retorted, her smirk audible in your mind.

You let out a low growl, a sound of pure frustration as you stopped in your tracks and threw your hands in the air. The cold bit at your skin, and the grass beneath your feet squished as you shifted your weight, trying to ground yourself.

"Why do you always do this?" you hissed through gritted teeth, pacing again, your movements acute and agitated.

Your wolf merely hummed, her silence somehow louder than her teasing had been. It was like she was sitting back, watching the chaos unfold, amused by your every reaction.

You pressed your palm to your forehead, your other hand on your hip, and let out a shaky breath. The night around you was still, the garden eerily quiet except for the rustle of leaves and your own unsteady breaths.

"Aren’t you curi—" you started, your voice harsh, ready to lash out at your wolf and her endless sass.

But the words died on your tongue when a hand landed on your shoulder, firm yet not harsh. The touch yanked you out of your spiralling thoughts, and for a moment, the world tilted. Your breath hitched, eyes flickering from their glowing yellow back to their usual shade as a startled scream tore from your lips.

Instinct kicked in as you twisted away, prying the hand off your shoulder with shaky fingers. Your movements were frantic, unsteady. In your rush to create distance, your foot slipped on the damp grass.

You stumbled backward, arms flailing uselessly to regain your balance, but gravity wasn’t forgiving tonight.

"No, no, no—!" The words barely left your lips before you felt it: an arm curling around your waist, warm and secure, trying to steady you. For a fleeting moment, you thought you’d be pulled back, saved from the inevitable fall.

But fate had other plans.

You went down, and so did he.

The icy water swallowed you both, shocking the air from your lungs as you hit its surface. The cold stabbed at your skin like a thousand tiny needles, and a gasp escaped you, only for the water to rush in through your mouth and nose.

Panic surged as your chest tightened, the burning need for air overwhelming your senses. Your limbs flailed in the dark water, your vision a blur of silvery moonlight and shifting shadows.

Just when the pressure in your lungs became unbearable, the same hand that had startled you moments ago was back, gripping your arm with unwavering strength. With a single pull, you were yanked upward, as if you weighed nothing.

You broke through the surface with a desperate gasp, coughing and sputtering as cold air filled your lungs. Your vision cleared just enough to make out the figure before you, drenched and dripping, his chest rising and falling as he caught his own breath.

You blinked rapidly, your body shivering violently from the cold. Water dripped down your face, tangling in your lashes and blurring your view, but you could still make out his piercing gaze locked onto yours.

"Stand still, Luna. It's not that deep," Kenji's voice broke through the haze in your mind, soft and distant. His words, though meant to calm you, barely registered in your brain. They felt like whispers, faint and without meaning, as your world rolled in the aftermath of the cold water.

You didn’t have the energy to respond. Everything felt numb, too much to process. You barely felt his hands as they gripped your body, pulling you out of the water, his strong arms steadying you. The cold air hit your skin like a slap, making your body tremble, but you didn’t care. Your clothes clung to your body, heavy and soaked, as if they were another layer of ice.

"Are you okay?" His voice, low and smooth, carried a tinge of concern, but you couldn’t answer him. You were too focused on your own ragged breathing, each gasp severe and painful as you tried to fill your lungs with air.

You nodded, still struggling to steady yourself, your knees weak beneath you. Kenji’s hands loosened their grip but remained close, as if afraid you might collapse. His eyes—green, intense, filled with raw worry—never left your face.

Your gaze flickered to him, taking in his drenched appearance. His black shirt clung to his frame, outlining the taut muscles of his chest and abdomen. Eight abs? You thought dazedly, momentarily distracted by the sharp, perfect definition of his body. His arms, thick with muscle, rippled as he shifted, veins prominent under his skin. His coat was missing, leaving only the damp shirt, trouser and boots that squeaked with every movement as water pooled around his feet.

For a moment, the world felt quieter, but the thudding of your pulse in your ears reminded you of the mess still swirling in your mind. Kenji’s eyes never left you, scanning you for any signs of distress, his worry plain in the furrow of his brows.

You opened your mouth, wanting to speak, but a cough seized you, harsh and sudden, the water still making its presence known in your lungs. You doubled over, a sharp spasm running through your chest as your throat burned.

Cough, cough.

You wheezed, the water still clogging your chest. Kenji’s hand was warm on your back, patting gently as you tried to catch your breath. His touch was surprisingly comforting, but it couldn’t shake the rush of anger and embarrassment bubbling up inside you. When your breathing finally steadied, he brushed your wet hair behind your ear.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be this frightened," he murmured, his voice soft and apologetic, eyes scanning you with an unreadable expression.

"Really," You snapped, unable to hold back your frustration any longer, huffing sharply and turning your gaze away from him. "Of course, I’ll be frightened. You came out of nowhere!" You couldn’t help it. The adrenaline still buzzed under your skin, your heart racing in a way you didn’t understand. Your eyes darted around, desperately looking for something to focus on, when you caught sight of the lake.

"There’s a lake here. A lake." The words came out in disbelief as you took a step back, your mouth falling open as you stared at the calm water behind you. You couldn’t believe it. It was like you had stepped into another world, even though you were still in the Lycan palace.

Kenji was still beside you, and his puzzled gaze flickered between you and the lake. "Why do you seem so angry at the fact?" His voice was light, but there was confusion in his eyes.

"Because. I. Fell." The words came out sharp, punctuated with an exaggerated roll of your eyes. You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, shivering from the cold water clinging to your clothes, which now felt like a second skin, heavy and soaked.

Kenji raised an eyebrow, a quiet chuckle escaping his lips. "Valid," he said, almost too calmly, his eyes still filled with curiosity.

"Duh!" You huffed again, your arms tightening across your chest in annoyance. The cold bite of the air wasn’t helping, and the peaceful lake, which had once seemed serene, now only added to your growing frustration. Everything felt off now—strange and disorienting. You were unable to contemplate why were you feeling cold, you were a werewolf.

The anger, now mixed with frustration, flared up again. "Who has a lake behind their palace garden?" You shook your head, still in disbelief.

Kenji’s voice was full of pride as he spoke, "We do." The way he said it made you want to smack him, but you held yourself back, the urge bubbling up in your chest. It would be unladylike, un-queenly. No, you couldn’t afford to lose control like that. You sucked in a breath, steadying yourself. Elegance, composure—those were the things you had to focus on.

You forced a smile, one that felt far too wide, far too tight. "Kenji." Your voice was soft, almost sweet, and the smile that accompanied it was dripping with artificial sweetness. His eyes snapped to yours, widening for a moment, and you saw the exact second his face twisted into something almost grotesque.

"That’s so fake!" he blurted, his voice betraying the shock in his tone.

A gasp slipped past your lips, surprise flashing across your face before it quickly melted into something else. His eyes shot wide with horror, his skin paling as he stepped back slightly, as if you had just slapped him. "Oh! Moon goddess, forgive me, Luna. I—I…" His words faltered, stuttering, as if he could barely comprehend the mistake he had just made.

You blinked, confused. His reaction felt over the top, but there was a genuine fear in his eyes now, one that caught you off guard. You weren’t strong enough to fight him off, and you weren’t a queen yet—not in his eyes, not in anyone's eyes. The only one who might consider you his queen was Jungkook, and he barely acknowledged you as his mate.

You crossed your arms tightly over your chest, the cold air biting at your skin as you stared at Kenji, ignoring the tension that still hung between you. You couldn’t care less about his reaction to your earlier words, focusing instead on the question hanging in the air.

“What are you doing here at this time?” you asked, your tone sharper than you intended. His eyes flickered with surprise, his mouth opening, but then nothing. He pointed a finger toward you, lips moving, but no sound came out. It was almost comical, watching him struggle to form words.

“What?” you snapped, growing impatient.

He blinked, his brows furrowing, trying to process your response before mumbling, “You mean, pardon?”

“No, I mean what. Now start talking, will you?” you demanded, your patience wearing thin.

He blinked at you, bewildered. “That was my question.”

“I mean once again. What?” You were so done with his indecision, the confusion clear on your face.

“That was my question.”

A frustrated sigh slipped past your lips, your eyes narrowing as you crossed your arms tighter. “I heard it before. Explain.”

Kenji’s eyes hardened slightly, frustration creeping into his expression, but he didn’t back down. “What are you doing here?” he repeated, his voice finally steady, but it only made you more annoyed.

“Walking?” you replied, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. You tilted your head, locking eyes with him. Your voice was dismissive, but the corners of your lips lifted in something close to a smirk.

“At this time?"

"When I walk, I don’t care about time. Walking is good.” You shrugged nonchalantly, your gaze challenging him to argue. His expression faltered for a moment, his mouth falling open as he stared at you, as if you’d grown two heads. You didn’t care.

“What? I can walk. It keeps you fit,” you added, eyes narrowing into a defiant glare, daring him to question you further.

Kenji stood tall, as he spoke, his gaze intense as if daring you to question him further. “We are. No. You are a werewolf. We have high metabolism. We stay fit anyway without walking,” he countered, his voice carrying a hint of amusement as he crossed his arms over his chest.

You arched an eyebrow, not even bothered by his words. “And?” you shot back, your voice laced with indifference. You still didn’t have a reason for being here, but you weren’t about to back down.

He sighed, clearly growing tired. “What are you doing here?” you asked again, as if it was the most obvious question in the world.

His gaze flicked to you, and before you could even bink, the words reached your ear. “Patrolling.” He said it with such ease, as if it were a routine task. His shoulders shifted, a casual shrug, as he waited for you to process. His eyes never left yours, a slight raise of his brow as if daring you to argue.

“Why?” you asked, your confusion evident. You could already feel the answer forming in his mind, but you were far too frustrated to wait for it. “I mean, why you?” you continued, gesturing at his strong frame. “You’re a warrior. A strong one. You have different duties. The guards who patrol are different.”

Kenji’s lips curled into a grin, and he stepped forward, looking down at you with pride. “First of all, I’m not a strong warrior. I’m the strongest.” His chest puffed out even more, his chin tilting upwards as if the very idea of being anything less than the best was an insult. The smirk on his face deepened as he caught your eye. “And don’t you know we were attacked yesterday? One of our warriors almost died?”

His words hit you like a slap. You blinked in disbelief, the words barely registering in your mind. “What?” The harshness in your voice made Kenji wince, his hand instinctively going to his ear as if to shield it from the sound. He stepped back, his face contorting in discomfort, eyes wide with surprise.

“You don’t know? Nobody told you?” His voice was quieter now, almost uncertain, and you shook your head in response. His brow furrowed, confusion turning to something else—something closer to curiosity. “Why?” he asked, a tinge of disbelief still hanging in his voice.

“I was ordered by Jungkook to stay away from pack business and so was told others not to tell me anything,” you explained, the words coming out flat, detached. You didn’t expect his reaction—his face drained of colour, and he looked like he had seen a ghost. His throat bobbed, and a heavy gulp escaped him, loud and clear. There was panic in his eyes now.

“Kenji?” You walked closer, your gaze softening as his body trembled slightly. You put your arm on his shoulder, trying to offer some form of comfort.

But what you didn’t expect was the shift in his posture, the way his shoulders hunched as if the weight of something far heavier rested on them.

“Are you crying?” you asked in disbelief, your voice almost a whisper.

“I don’t want to die.” He whispered, his voice small and muted. The words hung in the air, heavy and confusing.

“I still want to find my mate and impregnate her.” His confession was quiet, the last part barely audible.

You stood there for a moment, unsure of what to say.

Okay, now I’m just here nervously waiting for your thoughts! Please go easy on me, I promise I’m trying my best! 😬

#parkitrighthere #bts ffs #bts ff #ashes of promises #bts fanfic #anon ask #bts smut #jeon jungkook #thankyou so much for sending me this ask anon #jungkook scenarios #jungkook bangtan #jimin and jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook bts #jungkook fluff

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spiderfunkz · 1 year ago

Text

✦ RING, RING, RING!

"i think i can really fall in love with him."

word count : 0,9k

warnings : fluff, fem!reader, gwen is mentioned to be readers best friend, harry is mentioned as well, cutesy first dates, peter being just so madly in love & so are you. not proofread!

a/n : inspired by that one scene from 'before sunrise' where celine and jesse pretend to call their friends and tell them about each other :)) also i know i'm late to valentines but it's still february sooooo

if you told yourself a few days ago that you'd be spending valentines day with peter parker, you would laugh at the thought of it.

but right now you couldn't laugh at anything but peter's stupidly unfunny jokes and his cheesy, dry, pickup lines.

you couldn't imagine what valentines would be like with peter parker, but you don't have to. you're experiencing it right now.

he had asked you in a way you've only seen in rom-coms from the 90s. he knocked on your door with a ridiculously large bouquet of flowers, a heart shaped box full of chocolate, and a nervous nerdy smile.

and you accepted it obviously. peter's nice. really nice. out of all the boys in your class, he's a gentleman compared to them.

he's got those big brown doe eyes that make you blush if you make eye contact. that weirdly fluffy hair, that makes you wonder what his hair care routine is like sometimes. the sweetest smile you could ever imagine. and a heart bigger than a size of a lake.

and my gosh, you love him.

he made a reservation at this restaurant. one that you've passed by many times but never seem to stop by. you've always thought it was too fancy for a normal hangout with friends or family, it was always crowded with couples too. it always had a jazz band playing, roses on each table, and you could smell the scent of love from outside.

it was everything you've ever dreamed of. you didn't want it to end but unfortunately, the day got darker and the sun began to set.

"i really enjoyed today, peter." you smile.

"yeah of course. i really enjoyed today too." he replied, there was still a splotch of spaghetti sauce near his mouth.

"unfortunate that the hours went by so quickly, i think i have to go home soon." you pout, peter was still smiling, that spaghetti splotch is not going anywhere.

"or maybe we could still talk, for a bit." he paused for a second before making a hand gesture resembling a phone.

"ring, ring, ring!" he mimicked. you furrow your brows.

"pick it up." he stays smiley.

"okay, beep." you laugh, following his gestures.

peter mouths a 'thank you' before continuing, "oh yeah uh, harry? harry are you there?" he asks.

you knew harry, he's peter's closest friend. they're like two peas in a pod and you could never separate them, not even when harry moved away for years.

you join in his little joke. "uh yeah dude, this is harry. dude." you try to mimic his voice.

"yeah, hey harry! do you remember that girl i was gonna ask out for valentines? the really pretty girl from bio class?" his face became pink.

"oh yeah! the really pretty girl. i know her."

"yeah so, she's with me right now and i am just so happy."

"really? how happy?"

"extremely. she's so fun to talk to. she's so incredibly wonderful and i cannot put it into words how beautiful she is. really harry, you were right. she's an angel."

you smile. "really what else? how did the date go?" your voice rasps, clearly you couldn't really perfect the accent harry has. but peter seemed to like it.

"amazing. the food was great, this restaurant is good, i uh- got the reservation in time so everything has been going perfectly.

she's such a ray of sunshine. i can't stop stealing a glance every time, harry. i dunno what's about it, she's just so- perfect."

peter continues. he's doing it on purpose. well, not really, he was going to call harry and say all of those things. but he thinks it's better to tell you face to face. besides, he loves seeing you smile.

you try your best to blurt out a reply without stuttering. "that's um, that's amazing, dude. i bet she feels the same way about you." you could feel the butterflies in your stomach.

"you really think so?" peter tilts his head.

"i'm sure."

"well, thanks harry. i'll see you later, bye bye." he hangs up, mimicking a beep on the table.

you laugh.

"okay now it's your turn."

"my turn? oh, okay." you gesture your hand.

"dring, dring, dring!" you say, "ugh she's probably studying right now." you explain.

peter picks up, in a voice that will haunt you for years. "hey, girl! what is up!" peter laughs.

it took every cell in your body to not burst out laughing in front of everyone in that restaurant. "hi, gwen. is uh- is your voice okay?" you ask.

"better than ever!" — "oh, okay." you hold your laughter. "um, you know peter? peter parker from biology. the one with fluffy hair and pretty eyes?"

peter smiles, he blushes from his nose.

"yeah so, i'm on a date with him right now. and it feels like a dream. he's prettier up close. he styled his hair, yeah, it's pretty. and he's got spaghetti sauce smeared near his lips." you smile.

peter immediately fixes the splotch, finally.

"he's kind of tall. and he's kinda nerdy too. just my type." you cover your smile, "i like to feel his eyes on me when i look away." you continued.

peter smiles, "what a nice guy."

"he really is. as the date goes on i start to like him even more. i feel like i can really open up to him."

"really?"

"mhm. he got me flowers and some chocolate too. he's funny too, he's got a voice i can listen to for hours. he's like a shot of espresso, you know?"

peter couldn't hide his blush anymore. "a shot of espresso?"

"he makes me feel energized in a way, and he also makes my heart beat really fast." you laugh, "i think i can really fall in love with him."

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p1nkshield · 2 years ago

Text

Hi 👋 This is chapter four of the Estranged Uncle Au!

Just a warning there is mentions of cults and a scene that has Damian being Damian (AKA knife child) Please take care of yourselves! I hope you enjoy!

Clark was sweating buckets.

“I promise you I’m not in danger! This is all a big misunderstanding! Bruce isn’t even that creepy!”

Jazz rattled off several reasons.

“He has a cloyingly sweet public persona, his personal computer has extensive information on all of the local rogues in the area and all the adopted sons we’ve met look practically identical to both each other and you and Danny! Not to mention they all seem trained for combat! How is that not creepy?”

Okay from an impartial standpoint Clark could see how it looked like he was tied up in a cult.

“I swear if another fruitloop billionaire obsessed with one of my family members tries to adopt me I’m gonna wail!”

How specific!

“Wail?” Clark began to ask but was cut off.

“Are you tied up in a cult Clark? Because we can get you out if you are! I … uh know a guy who specializes in taking down cults.”

What?

“I promise you I’m not in a cult! The blue eyes and black hair is a coincidence and I am not in danger! Also what do you mean you know a guy who specializes in taking down cults!?!”

Danny squinted.

“Hold that thought. Everyone stop talking!”

Danny reached towards Clark’s shoulder and picked out a small device, no bigger than a grain of rice out of his cable knit sweater.

“No one who plants listening devices into sweaters isn’t creepy.”

He then promptly threw it to the ground and crushed it with his heel.

“That’s the end of the recording.” Tim said while cringing.

“Sleazy?!? Me? Sleazy? I did a back handspring on hardwood floors for them and they call me sleazy?!”

Dick thought that he could win them over. Was he too heavy handed?

“It’s probably because you fell asleep in the pico de gallo timber.” Jason joked as he inspected the weapons vault.

“What? Me?!? I was the only one who made any headway! I was just up late trying to track whoever was hacking us!” Tim defended.

“Well good news! You found ‘em! Let me know when they hack my library account seeing as the Big bad bat computer is being hacked by a couple teens.” Jason said dismissively as he took a flamethrower fuel canister.

Bruce was experiencing a new amalgamation of emotions. He was both incredibly embarrassed, incredibly amused and incredibly impressed.

How embarrassing that the bat computer was hacked! He put so much effort into the protection of his data!

But then again Clark must be beside himself trying to convince them he wasn’t in a cult and that was incredibly amusing. He even said all the things that people said when they were in denial about being in a cult!

This was absurd! The only way to describe this was absurd!

“Fools! All of you do not truly understand the gravitas of the situation! If they believe that we are indeed weapons dealers they may snoop further and compromise all of our secret identities!” Damian huffed his way into the view of his family.

“We’ll be alright Dami, Tim is reinforcing our defenses for the computer and we’re going to try and disengage for a while. If we keep on trying we might make it worse.” Dick ruffled through Damian’s hair despite many protests.

Damian tutted at this suggestion. They needed to approach the problem head on and quickly rectify the situation lest it spiral into a larger one. Perhaps if they suffered an accident.

“Damian! I know that face! That’s the face you make when you go off and try to rectify the situation by yourself!”

“That is not true Grayson! I was simply thinking about confiding in my companion about how tedious my science project is.”

“You promise you’re only going to engage in age appropriate activities like science homework and book reports?”

“I promise.”

"I'm choosing to believe you" Dick began to walk away before pulling another sour face. "...Sleazy?"

Damian checked his hidden blades one final time before encroaching upon this Daniel Fenton who had foolishly entered an alleyway. He deftly held a knife to the throat of his target.

"If you continue to snoop into my father's business I will not hesitate to cut you down!"

Damian was expecting to me met with fear and copious apologies. He was a fearsome and terrifying warrior after all.

"Are you trying to hold me at knifepoint on your tippy-toes?" The target said in the same tone that one would use with a kitten trying to jump a bit too high. They should be focused on the clear danger Damian was posing. Or at least the danger he was posing. Between the moment Damian looked at his feet and the moment he looked back up to find a very unperturbed Danny.

"Did your father put you up to this?" He asked.

"No! I acted of my own accord!"

"Well are there anymore ineffective threats you want to say?"

Damian was about to say something when his stomach audibly growled. Curses! He could not bring a meal in order to maintain secrecy from Alfred! Damian slowly looked up towards Danny's face. He has that look that Grayson gets before he does something annoying like ruffle his hair.

"Are you hungry?"

Damian did not dignify this question with an answer and began to storm off.

"I'm having some friends over, we can spare you a plate! My friend Sam chose the menu though so its vegan."

Damian stopped in his tracks.

"What is it that you are making?"

"Cauliflower gnocchi with cashew cream pesto."

"And this is taking place in Clark's home?"

"yep."

"Fine. But I will not be lenient with you because you've offered me a meal!"

Danny laughed and texted Sam

"Hey get another bundle of basil Im bringing a guest"

#estranged uncle au #dp x dc #Give clonk a moment to explain himself!#Damian Wayne thinks he is the best at solving issues quickly #Danny: We are having *fancy food you can eat*#Damian: ... fine. You may live a few more hours.#Also Alfred already knows what Damian is doing and where he is. He's just letting the punishment be him missing an Alfred-cooked lunch #Clark isn’t in a cult he swears!#tw cult mention #tw knife

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kodamaghost00 · 11 months ago

Text

30 Lucifer Headcanons

———————————————————

[Disclaimer!!]

This post will contain: NSFW,Sfw, Fluff, Smut

It's also Genderless for the girls,gays and theys!You're a new resident at the Hotel in this scenario.

———————————————————

Let’s begin!

Calls his partner “Angel” or “Love”. But will come up with outrageous names to annoy you too.

Makes his loved ones custom ducks. And he gets really nervous showing you the finished product.

“So uhhh… I made this one for you.” He said quite nervously as he gave you your duck. “Oh it’s lovely Lucifer… thank you so much.”.

He looked at you flabbergasted “Wait really?! You like it…?”. You just chuckled “Of course I do!”

You were there for him when Lilith left him. He was so down but you cheered him up.

When Lucifer and Alastor had their little sing session he was so happy that you sided with him and not that red deer guy.

He thinks it’s adorable that you get along with Charlie. He loves the way you care about her, and believe in her dreams.

Besides his “calm” personality he gets quite protective over time. When he notices you get hurt by something/someone he is immediately there you care for you.

He makes unhinged comments and jokes without even noticing that they’re out of place sometimes.

Ever since angel called him a “Short king” the term has stuck with him. He casually calls himself that as well.

He tries to learn more slang from the other residents and tries them out on you… “You serve *snaps fingers*… the outfit slaps ngl.” You just laughed your ass off due to his stiff voice and lack of feeling.

He enjoys basin and cooking a lot. He prefers to have you as a helper.

He’s a ambivert who’s pretty good at masking. Not many people notice when he’s exhausted.

Definitely a hopeless romantic. He WILL take you on a date with roses and jazz in the background. And if everything goes well he maybe even take you to his place?

He likes to get dominated but he also loves to dominate. Whatever you’re up to actually, he’ll just go along with it.

Groans overall but whimpers and whines when he’s close.

When you ride on top of him he digs his fingers into your sides and it gets firmer and stronger as he finishes.

He is definitely very weak in the way that he can’t hold in for long. You do one right move and he’s cumming fast.

He also enjoys bondage very much. He’d fuck you while you hand from the roof with a gag in your mouth. In combo with a blindfold? Seeing you drool? He finishes faster than you can say “Bow chika bow bow.”

GREAT IN AFTERCARE!!! He will spoil you with sweet words and cuddles. “You did so great love… thank you.”

He bathed with his rubber duck. His favorite is probably an apple themed one.

He also wears a little make-up. Like going out without a little eyeliner? Nuh uh.

He made his cane himself. The apple on top is exchangeable with a Rubber duck, skull and a snake. He’s making new ones as well.

He is already autistic coded with a special interest in ducks. But imagine he invented them. Like imagine he said ”Hey God… I have this little idea, do you think you can make it work?”

He gets nervous if you two make eye contact for too long. He’d laugh it off though saying it’s no big deal for him.

So so done with life sometimes he just drinks 3 black coffees in the span of 3 hours.

He easily gets distracted by literally anything and everything. Also procrastinates a lot.

He loves hugs from the back. And hugs in general make him feel so loved by you.

His love languages are Physical Touch and Acts of Service. You making him breakfast and cuddles afterwards? He’s straight up in love.

“You made this all for me love…? Wow that’s so amazing thank you so so much…” he gets stressed easily so seeing how much you care for him makes him tear up.

———————————————————

MASTERLIST

Thank you all so much for reading my silly headcanons [And also 20 followers]! I wanted to say “Loves Eskimo kisses” but I remembered he doesn’t rlly have a nose (πーπ). But yeah anyways… if you have requests don’t be shy and ask! I’d be happy to work on requests! Have a great day/night!

- Your Ghost ༼ つ ╹ ╹ ༽つ

#lucifer morningstar #hazbin hotel lucifer #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne #lucifer x reader #lucifer headcanons #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin headcanons #hazbin hotel #headcanon #lucifer my beloved #Lucifer Morningstar headcanons

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emma23 · 4 months ago

Text

headcanon y/n and Oscar Isaac characters during Halloween:

————————————————————————

Happy Halloween guys 🎃

Hope u enjoy it 💕🤗

—————————————————————————————————————

Steven Grant:

Halloween brings out Steven's passion for mythology, and he suggests a night tour of the museum to explore its more mysterious artifacts. As he eagerly guides you through the Egyptian exhibits, he starts sharing stories.

“Did you know the ancient Egyptians believed the dead lived in a world parallel to ours?” Steven’s eyes light up as he whispers. “They thought, on certain nights, like All Hallows' Eve, the boundary thins.”

You raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “You mean like... they could just walk back into our world?”

Steven laughs nervously. “Yeah, but don’t worry! They’re friendly spirits, mostly.” He leans closer, eyes wide with excitement. “Although, if we see anything out of place… just, uh, pretend you don’t notice it.”

Marc Spector:

Marc isn’t one for costumes or spooky stories, but he’s all in for protecting you during a Halloween adventure. He ends up taking you to an abandoned warehouse turned haunted house. You’re both wandering through dark corridors when he notices you jump at a sudden sound.

“You alright?” Marc’s voice cuts through the dark, firm but soft.

You laugh, catching your breath. “Yeah, just… wasn’t expecting that.”

Marc smirks, moving in closer. “You’re safe with me. Besides,” he adds, “those fake ghosts have nothing on the things I’ve seen.”

“Care to share any horror stories?” you tease.

His smile fades, turning into a mock-glare. “Nah. Some things are better left in the dark, trust me.”

Jake Lockley:

Jake insists on taking you for a wild ride through the city at midnight, where the two of you watch costumed crowds roam the streets. You pull out your phone to capture the scene, but he nudges it down.

“Forget the photos,” he says, one hand resting casually on the steering wheel. “Some things, you gotta see for yourself.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, like you?”

Jake chuckles, eyes flicking to you. “Exactly.” He slows down, the car idling under a streetlight. “Want to do something that’ll really give us a thrill?”

Your eyes widen. “What do you have in mind?”

He smirks, tapping the steering wheel. “Trust me. I’ve got a few tricks.”

Anselm Vogelweide:

Anselm has his own idea of Halloween—a bit unconventional. He takes you to a dingy jazz club, far from any typical Halloween crowd. As you both settle in, he orders two drinks and raises his glass.

“To... not being anywhere near a bunch of fake monsters,” he murmurs dryly.

You clink glasses, laughing. “So, not a fan of Halloween?”

He shrugs, a faint grin pulling at his lips. “Why pretend to be something you’re not? Reality’s scarier than any costume.”

Blue Jones:

Halloween with Blue is an extravagant affair. He insists on going to an exclusive masquerade ball, and you find yourself in an elegant costume that he’s carefully chosen.

“You’re quite the mystery tonight,” you tease, as you both dance in the candlelit hall.

He smirks, his eyes glinting behind his mask. “Tonight, all eyes are on you, sweetheart.”

As you dance, he leans in close. “Tell me, do you really think anyone else here can match up to me?”

You laugh, knowing exactly what he’s doing. “You really don’t have to worry.”

“I know,” he replies smoothly, his arm tightening around your waist. “But it’s more fun to make sure.”

Poe Dameron:

Poe is all about the thrill of Halloween, and he suggests a late-night ghost tour at a supposedly haunted location. As you walk through the eerie surroundings, he stays close by, casting playful glances your way.

“Alright,” he grins, “if you see anything spooky, just scream, and I’ll heroically save you.”

You roll your eyes. “Pretty sure I could handle a ghost myself, Poe.”

He laughs. “Oh, so you’re the tough one tonight?”

“Guess so,” you reply, smirking. “Maybe I’ll be the one saving you.”

Poe’s laughter echoes in the quiet as he wraps an arm around you. “Alright, hero, lead the way. But I reserve the right to hide behind you if things get intense.”

Santiago Garcia:

Pope keeps it low-key, but he suggests exploring an old, rumored-to-be-haunted trail. Walking side by side under the moonlight, he keeps you talking, subtly checking the surroundings.

“So, what’s your take on ghosts?” he asks, giving you a sideways glance.

You shrug. “I think they’re probably out there… somewhere.”

He nods, pretending to be deep in thought. “You know, if we see one, you’ve got to be the brave one.”

You laugh. “What, the tough ex-soldier needs protection?”

“Hey, I never said I was scared,” he teases, nudging you. “Just wouldn’t want them getting in the way of our night.”

Nathan Bateman:

Nathan’s Halloween style is an intellectual one. He invites you over to his house for a horror movie marathon, accompanied by his very strong opinions on everything you watch.

During a jump scare, you flinch, and he raises an eyebrow. “Scared?”

You play it off. “No, just… surprised.”

He chuckles, leaning back. “Look, most of this stuff is laughable if you think about it. The real horror? The way humans mess with things they don’t understand.”

You smirk. “Like you?”

“Exactly,” he replies, a devilish glint in his eye. “Welcome to the scariest place of all—my mind.”

Jonathan Levy:

Jonathan is surprisingly sweet about Halloween. He plans a cozy night in with you, pumpkin carving and Halloween treats included. As he carefully carves a pumpkin, you try to match his focus but end up making a mess.

He laughs, shaking his head. “Here, let me help. You’re... definitely not doing this right.”

You hand over your pumpkin. “Fine, but don’t judge my carving skills.”

He grins, working quickly. “Wouldn’t dream of it. But next time, maybe we’ll pick something less… complicated.”

You both laugh as he finishes the pumpkin, the warm glow of the candle inside casting shadows across the room.

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emilicious0 · 1 year ago

Note

Hello!!! I've read a couple of ur things and I had a thought and I noticed your requests were open so here I am uh-

Husk. Hes a cat. Right? Cats purr.

Reader just like, scratching behind his ears or playing with his tail and he purrs and they ask him about it and he panics cause HE'S NEVER PURRED BEFORE-

gn!reader x husk

huck purrs for the first time.

a/n ITS SO CUTE

□ husk was doing what he was always doing: looking after a bar, working, minding his own business.

□ alastor was out for some overlord work, and the cat demon felt at ease, enjoying his alone time (he wouldn't mind angels or your company though).

□ cleaning yet another wineglass and humming his favorite jazz tune, he didn't notice your presence immediately.

□ you finished your work at the hotel and decided to visit your favorite grumpy cat of hell. you took every chance to talk to him, even if you were super tired; husk was a good listener and, well, you had the biggest crush on him as well.

□ and despite knowing a lot about him, you were oblivious to the fact that Husk has a soft spot for you as well.

□ smiling at him, cleaning and humming, you playfully grinned, sneaking up behind him.

□ your first intent was just to scare him, but noticing his ears, your hand reached for them automatically.

□ feeling a hand on his head, Husk turned around and was ready to attack, but noticed you and relaxed.

"oh ... I didn't notice you... what are you doing?"

□ husk's voice was soft and almost meowing, and you felt pity and started to slowly pull away, but then...

□ you heard it—low, almost silent purring.

□ husk looked at you with shock, slapping his hands on his mouth, but it didn't help.

□ especially since you started to stroke him more intensely, desperate to hear more of the purring.

□ and yes, he purred more; your hand just felt so good, and he felt so loved in that one moment, the man couldn't stop himself, even if the panic of you thinking he is weird is rising, especially after the worst happened.

□ his tail wrapped around your waist.

□ now red-faced, still purring, he grabs your hand.

"p-please, s-stop,"

□ you stop, but the tail around your waist doesn't let you go.

□ you are going to have a long conversation, but it ends well

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #husk #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #husk x reader #husk x you #husk x y/n

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jackiepackiee · 1 year ago

Text

“May I have this dance?”

Chuuya x reader

(ft. The Flags)

Warnings - none

Type - Fluff

Word Count - 798

A song for you by Donny Hathaway. The slow jazz filled every inch of the old world pool hall, seducing the ears of every resident that found themselves inside. There were only seven, but that's how it always was. Every other night, when no missions were to be had. Albatross, drinking some fruit-based cocktail while teasing Chuuya. The latter gritting his teeth at his friend, although any passersby would think he hates him. Iceman enjoyed the music, as well as Doc as he both sipped on some heavy whisky. Pianoman and Lippmann were in a very intense game of pool, tied the entire run. Then, you. Changing the record to some more up beat jazz.

“We should dance! Doesn’t that sound fun?” You had always been rather energetic with a bit of alcohol in your system. It’s not like this place had a limit or carded anyone.

Lippmann looked up at you, a bit surprised. “Dance? Since when did you dance?”

“Since forever! Come on~ I love dancing, it’s only natural.” She explained.

On the other end of the hall Albatross teased Chuuya’s hair, before whispering into his ear.

“Go dance with her, you know you wanna~”

You didn’t realize this teasing, thinking Chuuya’s red cheeks were only from some overly expensive wine. Little did you know he hadn’t had a sip all night.

“No way! Anyways she’s talking to Lippmann, I don’t wanna bother her.” Chuuya said, pushing away Albatross. Not enough to hurt him of course.

Lippmann was having the same idea, no way he’d pass the opportunity up to play matchmaker.

“Very well then. Hmm, I’m not sure… you shouldn’t dance with Doc, wouldn’t wanna knock over his IV.”

Pianoman joined in, putting his pool stick down.

“And not Iceman, he’s a whole lot bigger than you with all that muscle.”

Pianoman said, easily concealing his playfulness.

Doc leaned into the trio of you, Lippmann, and Pianoman.

“And not Albatross, I’d bet he has two left feet.”

You.. you were not understanding what this was leading to. But still giggled at Doc’s little joke. Luckily Albatross couldn’t hear.

“Well, then who? You, Lippmann?”

Did she have to be so dense?

“No! I mean uh- I’m not very good at dancing, and neither is Pianoman!” Lippmann tried to turn it on Chuuya.

“But Pianoman, I’ve seen you dance on a mission before?” She spoke, curious as to why it was said he couldn’t dance. He shook his head, lying for a good cause.

Albatross walked over before she could ask any more questions, Chuuya in tow.

“You know, Chuuya could dance with you! Isn’t that right?”

She perked up, happy someone would dance with her. She smiled, and he melted. How could he ever say no to her?

“Sure… will you dance with me?”

He asked, gentlemanly as he always was with her.

Iceman, quiet as he always was, was still listening. He picked a record, it was from New Orleans. Jazzy and fast pace, probably from the 1930’s. He knew she loved this style. Swing dancing… Chuuya was in for an absolute treat, as well as the rest of the flags. Since they knew damn well he’d be faking it till he made it.

“Of course I’ll dance with you! Let’s go!”

She took his gloved hand in hers. It was surprisingly soft leather, though the real hand would be much nicer to hold and feel. Even if neither would admit it.

“You ready, Chuu?” God, his heart would give out if she called him that nickname ever again. But, he wouldn’t complain. What a lovely way to die that would be. Damn it, he got distracted.

“Chuuya? Ready?”

She was so patient.

“Yeah, I’m ready. Umm.. what do I do?”

She laughed, not in a mean way. It was cute, that’s what he thought anyway.

“Sorry sorry.. we can start with the basics. Okay, hands in mine.”

He took her hands. Unbeknownst to her, the flags gave him grins and thumbs up. “Your nails… They are painted red. That’s my favorite color, they’re lovely.”

“It is? Well isn’t that perfect, and thank you.”

She started to sway to the music. He followed suit, thanking his past self for learning how to keep rhythm.

“Can I spin you?”

She agreed, spinning while holding his hand. She was smiling, eyes beaming while looking into his. Was she?… she had her doubts before, but she definitely loved him.

Iceman, with his knowledge of records, changed the music to play a slower song. Meaning Chuuya could hold her close. He did not need five wingmen.

He pulled her closer by the waist.

“The music slowed down, so we should too.”

“Since when did you know about dance?~”

He made a faux annoyed expression.

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Part two?

#chuuya nakahara x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x reader #chuuya nakahara #chuuya stormbringer #bsd stormbringer #16!chuuya #albatrossxreader #iceman x reader #doc x reader #lippmannxreader #pianomanxreader #bungou stray dogs stormbringer

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allastoredeer · 8 months ago

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Chaggies Totally Legitimate Dating 101 Crash Course - Chapter 3, Snippet #2

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“A good meal and a quiet night.” Alastor relaxes against the arm-chair, sighing in deep content. “Ah there’s nothing like a good, bloody steak and my dear Ella to wind down after a long day.”

“Ella?” Vaggie says, tilting her head curiously. “Ella who?”

“Oh! Is she another one of your Earth friends?” Charlie asks, wide-eyed and awe-struck, likely jumping at the idea of meeting another member of his tight-knit inner circle. Mimzy hadn’t made the best impression, but Charlie had adored Rosie.

“No, she’s a singer,” Lucifer says just as Alastor opens his mouth to answer, dragging his finger along the armrest of the couch with his cheek in his hand. His finger stops and his eyes widen as Charlie and Vaggie look at him in surprise. “I - I mean, she’s a singer, right? Alastor? She sounds like a singer. You know, Lady Ella. Lady Ella,” he spreads his hands in the air as if displaying her name in bright lights, “That’s - that’s a good stage name. Very sophisticated, if you ask me. Very sophisticated.”

Alastor grips his cane and squints at him. Shut. Up, he wants to snap. You’re making it worse.

And get Ella’s name out of your mouth, he adds as an after thought

Lucifer hasn’t brought up when he stumbled on him in the kitchen the other night, and Alastor definitely hasn’t brought it up with him either. No one in the hotel knows about his late night cooking. Not before he moved into the old hotel, not in the six months that he lived in the old hotel, and he has no intention of letting them in on it in this new hotel. Lucifer is an unexpected exception, nothing more, and Alastor would prefer to keep it that way.

“Ah, yes, so you’ve heard of her,” he says brightly, going along with Lucifer’s haphazard save. “A man of good taste. Ella Fitzgerald, the Queen of Jazz,” he throws up his hands with flourish. “First Lady of Song and everything a vocalist should strive to be.”

“Oh, you’ve got another thing in common,” Charlie beams, holding her cards close to her chest. “Where’d you hear about her dad? I don’t think I’ve ever heard you listen to jazz.”

“Oh, I, uh…I dabbled in jazz,” says Lucifer, waving it off with a short, tight laugh that cracks. “You know, I mean, gotta listen to something, right? Or you get all lost in your own thoughts, haha, bleh,” he wiggles his fingers at is head, “you know. Don’t - don’t like that. Ha ha. Voices.”

“I do play Ella’s song often,” Alastor tacks on quickly, “and anyone worth their salt would know her. I’m sure he overheard the other day while I was in the library.”

“Yep, that,” Lucifer finger-guns at him, “that is it. I overheard it. The other night. Uh, day. The other day. Yes.” He clasps his hands and leans back with a charming smile. “That’s what happened.”

“Okaaaaay,” Vaggie says, looking between them. “Well, it’s nice to see you’ve got some things in common. So, uh...next question?”

“Yep,” Lucifer turns his finger-guns on her this time. “Yep, yep, yep. Yepper depper. Let’s do it.”

“I could talk about Ella all day,” Alastor agrees, flapping his hand back and forth with a laugh, “It’s probably best that we move on before I really get going.”

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Enjoy another snippet of what's to come in chapter 3!

Alastor and Lucifer trying to cover up their meeting in "De-Lovely" like:

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wolfjackle-creates · 2 years ago

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WIP Wednesday

Enjoy another snippet of the fic about ghost Robin haunting Jason! I really need to think up a title. Maybe I'll brainstorm some ideas and put out a poll to see what everyone likes.

Part 1 is here

And onto part 2 (1.2k words)!

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Looks like he was breaking his promise to Jazz to not do any ghostly business tonight. Of course Jazz’s boyfriend would be haunted by a ghost that needed help. Why was he even surprised? He adjusted the strap of his backpack to hold it more firmly. Hopefully something he’d brought would be enough and it’d be just a matter of getting Robin alone for a few minutes.

Jazz let go of Danny’s hand to take Jason’s as he led them down a hallway. Robin tightened his grip on Alfred before letting go and giving Danny a sad smile. Both Jason and Robin would point to objects and rooms as they passed. Danny paid extra attention to the items Robin pointed out that Jason ignored: a crack in the wall, a mark that had never been painted over, the chandelier he decided to hang from for a few seconds.

Voices echoed out of one of the upcoming rooms, and Jason slowed. Jazz leaned over to whisper something in his ear. Robin had the opposite reaction and shot a grin at Danny and flew to the doorway, waving him to come inside.

Danny couldn’t help but smile back at his obvious excitement. Jazz caught his expression and narrowed her eyes at him. Oh, she was not going to let this go.

With a deep breath, Jason entered the room, Jazz and Danny right behind him. “Hey everyone, this is Jazz’s brother Danny.”

Inside, too many people were gathered on a collection of chairs and couches. One man was sitting upside down on a chair, his feet on the back cushion and head inches from the ground. He grinned at them and did a flip that somehow ended with him on his feet and halfway across the room in the space of a breath. Robin cartwheeled to him.

“Hey, Danny, I’m Jason’s older brother Dick! Glad you could make it. Jazz says you’re always busy.” He held out his hand to shake, unknowingly passing it right through Robin.

Danny couldn’t help but look at where the arm passed through the ghost, but did have the wherewithal to shake Dick’s hand.

“Dick? You really use that by choice?” The words were out of his mouth before he could think. Embarrassed, he slapped his other hand over his mouth at the same time Jazz hissed a warning at him. “Shit! I mean—”

Only to be cut off by everyone laughing. Dick waved off his apology. “My parents were immigrants and it’s what they called me. After they died, I decided to stick with it. Don’t worry, I’ve heard all the jokes.”

“He’s made most of them, too,” added another black-haired boy. This one looked to be close to Danny’s age. “I’m Tim. We’re glad you could make it. Jazz mentioned you’re usually busy with work?”

Danny rubbed the back of his neck. “Uh, yeah. But I spent the last few weeks making sure I could get tonight free with minimal chance of interruption.” Not that it worked, his eyes flicked to Robin who was now hugging Bruce Wayne, the only person of the bunch he recognized on sight. And, what was that feeling radiating off Bruce Wayne? It was like liminality, but not quite. Had he died?

“Welcome to my home, Danny,” Bruce Wayne stood and came over to shake his hand with a wide grin on his face. “I’m Bruce and these are my kids.”

“Oi! Don’t call me your kid!” protested a blonde girl. “Hey there, I’m Steph and I’m just here for the food and to give Jason a hard time.” She also felt strange. Not a ghost, but the touch of death lingered. What sort of family had Jazz gotten involved in?

The rest of the group introduced themselves. Both Damian and Cass were liminal as well. So, out of the ten people he’d met tonight, three of them had died and two were as liminal as Sam, Tucker, and Jazz.

Completely ignoring the fact that Danny was trying to come to terms with all the death in what was supposed to be a normal rich family, Robin was doing even more antics to get his attention. He greeted Dick just as warmly as he had Bruce and Alfred. Cass, Tim, and Damian were the other three he seemed to like the most, though they didn’t get hugs. He didn’t react at all to Steph or Duke. He sat on Barbara’s lap for a minute, too, before returning to Dick’s side.

No one noticed the ghost desperate for their attention. Not even Jazz.

Barbara took the time to point out where the drinks were located and Danny looked over the selection of pop before grabbing a coke. He closed his eyes at the satisfying sound of the tab opening and sighed at the first taste.

One of the boys laughed and said, “You’re acting like you haven’t had a coke before.”

“Nope. I’m acting like I love coke and haven’t had any pop at all in ages.” He plopped down on a couch next to Jazz who ruffled his hair.

“Have you been traveling that long?”

Danny shrugged. “How long ago was our last phone call?”

“You don’t remember? Last week.”

“Grandpa had me doing favors for him. He dropped me off this morning.”

Jazz huffed in the way that indicated she was very annoyed. But it’s not like Danny could just not do the things Clockwork asked of him. Besides, his most recent trip was fun. He’d gone to another planet! He couldn’t wait until he could tell Jazz all about it.

Jason looked at them curiously. “You’ve never mentioned a grandfather before, Jazz.”

“Oh, he’s not really our grandfather. Just someone who helped Danny out once and decided to stick around. They’ve gotten close over the past few years. He’s fond of me, too, but we don’t have the same relationship.”

“Grandpa’s great. If infuriating at times. But favors for him are always interesting.”

“Next time feel free to invite him,” offered Bruce.

The image of Clockwork in Wayne Manor caused Danny to snort into his coke. “I don’t think he’d fit in here,” was all he said. Though maybe Robin would appreciate another ghostly visitor.

Dick did a cartwheel and landed upside down on an armchair. “What, too uptight for the likes of us?”

The last prank he and Clockwork had played on the Observants played in his mind and he smiled wider. “Not at all. You just come from different worlds.”

“I’ll have you know I grew up on the streets in Crime Alley.”

“I was a circus performer.”

“I was raised a rich kid through and through, but I hardly spend times in the upper echelons of society.”

“My dad’s in prison.”

“I’m a librarian.”

“I’m a foster kid.”

Danny held a hand up and laughed. They were still from different worlds, but he couldn’t explain he meant Earth versus the Infinite Realms. “I get it, I get it. I’ll let him know next time.”

“If he’s still in the area, you should invite him,” said Dick. “Alfred’s food is to die for.” Robin was hanging upside down next to Dick nodding solemnly.

Danny tried to stop himself, he really did. He even managed to keep from saying he’d been there done that, but he couldn’t keep from laughing so hard he couldn’t breathe.

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Part 3

And for the tag list!

@addie-lover-of-stories, @justwannabecat, @gin2212, @amercurio, @regonold, @overtherose, @readerzj, @sjrose1216, @echoednonny, @deeterzz, @blu-lilac, @number-one-jew

#dpxdc #dp x dc #danny fenton #jazz fenton #jason todd #batfam #anger management #theres so many ppl in the room #makes it hard to write!#how do you fit so many huge personalities into one room?#and give them all the time they deserve?#i'm gonna try my best #this fic is like 90% dialogue

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