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bokunoheros · 2 months ago

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LIPSTICK STAINS & MIRRORS

CHARACTER: SHOUTO TODOROKI

GENRE: FLUFF, SMUT

TAGS/WARNINGS: reader is gender neutral but written to be afab (shouto calls you princess once), reader is implied to be shorter than shouto, y’all are like 20+, married and live together, mirror sex, kissing, so much kissing, i love kissing, oral (m. receiving), fingering (reader receiving), inappropriate quirk usage (temperature play), shouto is a tease but in a loving manner, cervix kissing, chair sex, riding (reverse cowgirl), cumming inside, and aftercare, also kinda lazy ending?? bc i stayed up til 10am finishing this and wanna be done so bad

SUMMARY: you just ordered a bunch of new lipgloss and can’t wait to try it out — subsequently, your husband thinks you look beautiful, but doesn’t know how to verbalize it.

WORD COUNT: 7.7K

🦊’s A/N: this wasn’t actually going to be the first fic i posted here, but i DID just get a bunch of lipgloss i've waited a week and a half for, and would love to do the following <3 anyway shoutout judydoll they didn’t sponsor this but i wish they would. // also i pulled like two all-nighters writing this so i’m sorry if it like. starts unraveling a lil at the end i didnt actually proofread this god bless everyone thank you for giving this fic a chance

you had just ordered a bunch of new lipgloss you’d gotten in a buy 2 get 1 free sale, and it had finally come in the mail! after squealing excitedly and startling your poor husband, and highschool sweetheart, you quickly ran up to your shared bedroom and sat down in front of your vanity. fumbling with the box for a second, you get up to grab a pair of scissors from the bathroom before using one blade to cut through the packaging tape sealing the contents inside away.

once you’d managed to get your greedy little hands on the new products is around the same time shouto had wandered into the bedroom, where he stood leaning against the door frame, watching as you excitedly looked down at your lipstick and wondered which one to try on first.

hm……. maybe the more natural looking color instead of the red..? probably, since it's less likely to leave a stain, you think to yourself, oblivious to your husband's presence — until you caught a glimpse of him in the mirror, that is.

“oh! shouto, just in time,” you grin, waving him over. “which one do you think i should try first?” you ask, knowing he had always shown an interest in the process of how you did your makeup. not that he had actually verbalized said interest, rather, it was something you noticed while you were still in highschool. after months into the actual relationship, you two had finally had sex and you had stayed the night at his house. once this became an almost routine of sorts, you'd begin bringing stuff to stay overnight, and get ready for class in the morning, including a few makeup palettes. and so, shouto slowly took an interest in the way in which you’d do your makeup — be it just some eyeshadow/liner, or a fully beat face, he found it to be so…..interesting.

that being said, the youngest of the todoroki family takes a step towards you and away from the doorframe to look down at the lipsticks in your hands and picks the one in the shiny silver, almost holographic, tube and says this one.

huh, what do you know? he had picked the lipstain! guess it’s meant to be, then.

untwisting the cap, you shift in your seat slightly to better face the mirror as you pull the wand from the bottle, and find yourself face to face with the applicator you had been tweaking over for what felt like ever — a nice, smooth, iron tip! one of a kind, really, as you had never seen anything like it before! looking into the mirror, your gaze lingers on shouto for but a moment before focusing on your own lips and applying the stained lipgloss evenly — and then one more coat for good measure.

“what do you think?” you ask sweetly, turning around in your seat to face him.

what he thinks? obviously, he thinks you look stunningly, jaw droppingly gorgeous regardless of what you’re wearing, or if you have makeup on or not (save for the times you’ve ugly cried around him…), but god…. he can’t ignore the way his body suddenly feels flushed as he looks at your lips and the red-ish color currently staining them.

“i think — it looks nice,” he says simply as he takes a few steps closer to you, up until he’s directly behind your vanity chair and planting his hands on the back of it.

“just… nice?” your voice comes out softer than normal, and you sound audibly disappointed. at this, shouto begins to internally panic as he thinks of a way to get his admiration.

“very nice,” he corrects quickly, and you can’t help but let out a little chuckle at how rushed he sounded — you understood that your husband wasn’t exactly a stellar wordsmith, so you weren’t actually too upset with him.

“that’s it?” this time, you sound much more lighthearted, as you raise a brow at him and watch him speedrun the five stages of grief through his expressions and slight body language.

“....i think, you look very lovely,” he’s finally able to vocalize. even after all this time, he still got somewhat bashful when complimenting you — it wasn’t his fault! you just happened to render him speechless and left his dick hard every time you did anything! fuck… how should he go about this? maybe he should just show you what he thinks? yes…. that should work.

“stand up,” he says all of a sudden — he didn’t sound demanding or rude or anything, but there was a certain firmness to his voice that had you obeying without a second thought. without a moment of hesitation, shouto steps around to the side of the chair so he’s standing almost in front of you, and plants his large, calloused hands on your hips.

“shouto….” your voice comes out as a mere whisper as he pulls you closer toward him, left hand coming to cup your cheek as you look up at him.

“hm?” is all you get in reply as he leans in to kiss you tenderly.

tilting his head slightly to the side, he slots his lips over your painted ones in hopes of properly conveying his feelings on how he thinks you look. truthfully, as embarrassing as it may be, shouto wishes you’d put some lipstick on him so he could kiss you all over and leave a physical mark as you so often did to him. maybe one day he would have to sneak some of your lipgloss for himself to surprise you with? perchance… (you can’t just say perchance!) that being said, he takes advantage of the lipstick you’re currently wearing and hopes it transfers onto his lips.

and just like that, you’ve forgotten all about your new lipstick, or anything that wasn’t your husband, really. when you first met him, it was a little difficult to imagine shouto todoroki as a good kisser, and it was kinda true initially!, but after a little guidance and experience, he very quickly got the hang of it and used his newfound skills to turn you into nothing more than a panting mess.

swiping his tongue over the seam of your lips, he pulls away with a slight grin just as you part them for him.

“hey…..” you whine. “that’s not fair.”

“what isn’t?” he asks in a way that would’ve made you think he was playing dumb if he wasn’t….. well, like the way he was. you know your husband well enough to know that he was asking an earnest question, as he often teased you without meaning to or being aware of it.

“just… kiss me again, …please?” you ask in such a saccharine voice, shouto finds himself unable to resist for even a moment as he eagerly leans back in for another kiss.

god…. he was just so fucking weak when it came to You. he could never tell you no or deny you of what you asked for — hell, the first time you asked if you could kiss him (when he was still a kissless virgin), he accidentally bonked his head against yours in trying to copy the way you tilted your head to the side. …only, he had tilted his in the same direction as you, making for a very awkward, very laughable (but memorable) first kiss.

“mmh,” he hums quietly, pleasurably, as his lips work against yours — gently and tenderly, full of nothing but adoration for you, his sweet spouse.

there just truly weren’t enough words in the world for shouto to describe his affections for you, so instead, he often took to showing you exactly how he felt; more often than not, this led to fleeting but heated kisses throughout the day that left you on your toes and wanting for more. jesus, did he even realize the effect he had on you? (he did Nawt.)

this time, it was you to take the initiative to swipe your tongue over his plump lower lip before nibbling on it lightly and sucking it into your mouth. at this, the softest little moan slips past shouto’s throat at the feeling and he pulls you closer to him, so much so that your chest was now flush against his as the hand on your cheek leaves a cooling sensation against your flushed skin.

releasing his lip with a wet, almost schliiick kind of noise, you go to pull away from the kiss, just as he had done earlier, just to find the hand on your cheek had shifted to cradle the back of your head, and the hand on your hip had turned into an arm wrapped tightly around your waist as shouto’s tongue manages to slip into your open mouth.

you can’t help but giggle at the almost ticklish feeling of the wet muscle running around the inside of your cheeks before his tongue is suddenly ice cold and you’re squealing and trying to push him away.

“shouto!” you cry with no real irritation or upsetness — all he had done was catch you off-guard, really. okay, so maybe he could tease you on purpose every now and then..! it just wasn’t often that he did such a thing! he was typically kind of oblivious to a lot of things — not that it was his fault or anything; he hadn’t exactly grown up with the best social cues or …. uhm. family, in general, really….. (touya and enji i’m looking at you).

“yeah?” he breathes, looking down at you with stars in his eyes.

“what was that about?” you ask, trying to steady your breathing, chest heaving slightly as your hands find their way up to his chest, where they rest on his boo—well defined and muscled pecs.

“what was what about?” he echoes, tilting his head, actually playing dumb this time—he knew damn well what he had done this time around, and he couldn’t contain the little smile that tugged at the corners of his plump and almost pouty lips. he loved using his quirk to tease you — given, he’d been extremely hesitant about it at first, worried he might hurt you, or somehow cause some kind of permanent damage. thankfully, as the years went by, he gradually warmed up to it, and now? he couldn’t get enough of your reactions! like when he was fingering you, and suddenly his hand started to get a little too hot, or a little too cold, depending on which one he was using; it wasn’t enough to actually hurt or cause any damage, just some mild discomfort turned to pleasure once you got used to the feeling. and sometimes, whenever you let him cum inside or somewhere on you, his cum felt hotter than it should — sure, yeah, cum is warm, but…. his was just hot! it didn’t scald or anything, but it was definitely an added sensation that wouldn’t be possible without his quirk.

“you know what..!” is what you would have said had shouto not leaned in to kiss you again—effectively cutting you off and rendering you speechless. so maybe he knew he was a good kisser; he was highly observant after all, and would have to be a moron to not realize that he at least left you breathless every time! sure, he didn’t realize the full extent of the effect he had on you, but… partially aware is better than completely oblivious, right?

this time as you two kiss, the hand cradling your head moves back down to your hip, and before you know it, he’s picking you up and sitting himself down in the chair you were previously sitting on not too long ago.

“ah–!” you gasp at the sudden movement and change in position. now straddling his lap, with your back to the mirror, shouto begins trailing kisses down to your jawline and then the column of your neck. now, your husband wasn’t a particularly sloppy kisser. no, more often than not, he was very put together in almost every aspect of his life, and the bedroom was no exception. well, save for the occasions shouto just simply could not contain himself, and it was beginning to seem like one of those situations as he runs his freezing tongue over the sensitive skin of your neck, causing goosebumps to form as he nibbles at the junction where your neck and shoulder meet.

“sho–shouto—,” you breathe as he peppers kisses over your tender flesh. it had taken him a long while to be able to show affection so freely, and even now, he still had some trouble, but compared to the todoroki you knew in high school, he had improved by leaps and bounds!

your husband merely ignores your soft cry of his name—his dick doesn’t, though, and you can even feel it start to twitch to life beneath you. fuck. all you had done was put on a little lipstick, and?? now your husband was glued to your neck, nipping and biting along the way, even stopping in a couple places to suck against the skin there in order to leave a couple hickies!

“don’t tease,” you try to chide him, but it comes off weak and a little pathetic sounding as shouto finds a particularly sensitive spot on your neck and takes full advantage of it. jesus christ! his tongue was so cold!! it was such a contrast to the heat of his breath, you couldn’t help but pant at the feeling.

“‘m not,” is the only thing he says, it was more of a mumble, really, as he bites down harder than he had previously, and you can’t help the squeal that leaves you as his teeth sink into your skin.

“shouto!” if you didn’t know any better, or if you had married someone more… aggressive (katsuki)...., you might have thought your husband had drawn blood — he didn’t, obviously, as he would never intentionally hurt you, but he did like to toe the line of pleasure and pain often enough to keep you on your toes, just enough pain for it to be able to bleed into an acquired type of pleasure.

“yeah?” he all but hums in response, sounding pleased with himself.

he doesn’t give you a chance to respond, however, as he quickly pulls away from your neck to plant another heated kiss to your glossy lips. it doesn’t last very long, though, as he pulls away just far enough to look at you properly, and his eyes widen when he sees the way your lipstick had been smudged and it had spread slightly down to your neck (it was more like lightly red-colored patches in the shape of his lips peppered vaguely over your flesh).

“will you put on some more lipstick?” he suddenly asks, sounding out of breath.

giggling quietly at his request, you nod and oblige, shifting to turn around on his lap so that your back was against his chest, and your ass against his steadily growing erection. grabbing the tube of lipstick from your vanity, you untwist the cap and begin to apply more, focusing wholly on your lips during the process, completely missing the way shouto was eyeing you in the mirror.

after putting the cap back on and setting the silver bottle full of what felt watery liquid when you put it on, but wasn’t actually, back down on your vanity’s surface, you tilt your head to face your husband, who had wrapped his arms around your waist while you had been applying the aforementioned beauty product, and smile at him.

“better?” you wonder aloud, knowing it was much better indeed.

“mhmm,” he hums sweetly, one hand coming up to all but squish your cheeks, just without the pressure, to better tilt your head towards him as he himself leans in for yet another kiss. you swear, the first time you kissed shouto, a switch flipped in that poor boy’s brain, because ever since then, he’s been addicted to them like they’re crack—he needs your kisses the same way he needs oxygen to breathe or a therapist for his generations of trauma stuffed into a single, incomplete lifetime. (please….. please, go to group therapy with the rest of 1-a, i’m begging.)

shouto can’t help but smile against your lips as he pulls you flush against his chest and rolls his hips, and consequently, his hard-on, up against your ass. neither of you can contain the whimper or little gasp that slips past your throats, nor can you help the way one of your hands comes up to thread itself into his peppermint-colored hair as you part your lips needily, trying to shift around in his firm grasp.

despite the quality of your lipstick, it still transferred partially onto his lips, simply due to how fresh the coat was, not that your husband minds. he’d revel in the way he’d get to smear lipstick over your body, and — pause. his hands suddenly find themselves planted on your hips as he manhandles you to face him again, and meets your gaze for a moment before pressing a kiss to your forehead. but in that moment, you could see all the love and admiration in the world swirling around in his beautifully mismatched eyes, and you couldn’t control the wide-ass smile that had spread across your face—so wide, in fact, your cheeks hurt. even though it was such a simple action, you could truly feel his love for you in everything that he did.

“i love you—so much, y’know,” you practically coo, hands moving to cup his flushed cheeks as you simply just look at the man you had married. goddamn! he was so beautiful! taking in all the fine details of his face, you notice the faintest little dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose, and the way even his eyebrows, and even his awfully long lashes (he got them from his mother), are different colors. his perfectly plump and pouty lips to match his overall softer facial features. how could anybody be so perfect-looking? it was just simply unfair! even with his ice burn scar and somewhat sparse left eyebrow growth, it didn’t change a thing in your eyes.

shouto feels his heart flutter at your words, and his grin stretches to be almost uncharacteristically wide as his hands shift lower on your hips, closer to your upper thighs, and his thumbs begin rubbing tender circles against the plush flesh there.

“i — love you more,” he whispers back. the words sound shy coming from him, but you can tell he means his words. you may have fallen first, but shouto fell harder. his smile softens a bit as his hands move up to cup your cheeks tenderly before pressing another kiss to your painted lips. god. he truly could not believe how lucky he was to have you — you, who brought him out of his shell back in highschool, you who showed him love can be tender and soft, you who taught him how to let love into his heart.

now, it was shouto’s turn to show you just how much he loved you.

sliding his tongue over the seam of your lips, he lets out a soft hum as he grips your thighs before sliding his hands slowly upwards and up under the t-shirt you wore—it was his, actually!—and over your bare ribcage. you can’t help the goosebumps that broke out over your skin at the feeling of his calloused hands against your much softer flesh, nor the chill that runs down your spine and causes your nipples to stiffen under the thin fabric—especially with the way he begins to palm and grope at your tits.

“mmnh,” you hum at the temperature difference of his rough hands, and let out a soft moan when it increases drastically all of a sudden, your right nipple freezing cold and the left a little too hot for comfort—even your body was unsure of how to react to such a feeling, but it sure does send a throb down to your clit, and you can feel a damp spot begin to form in the seat of your panties, which is all you happened to be wearing under your stolen shirt.

“shouto, please,” you whine, squirming around on his lap, and dragging your thinly clothed cunt over the erection in his stupid grey sweatpants that always drove you crazy.

“please what, love?” he asks, pulling away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

“god…. just— fuck me,” is all your able to get out, but, lucky for you, your husband has something even better in mind than just that. sure, he couldn’t wait to get his dick wet—to feel the way your cunt wraps around his sensitive tip—god, he can feel himself leak pre-cum like he’s some excited teenager again, and he groans at the nature of your request.

“mm, …not yet,” he smirks, and, before he’s even processed what he himself is doing, he had already licked an embarrassingly hot stripe up the length of your neck.

“shouto!” you squeal. “what was that for?!”

“felt like it,” he replies simply before attaching his full lips to your neck once more, where he began nipping and nibbling at all your most tender spots, before he finds your sweet spot and bites down particularly hard and begins suckling against the skin there, determined to leave a mark of sorts. now, while shouto was not one to leave marks in obvious places—he was perfectly content with marking you in places only he could see—he just couldn't help himself for some reason..! maybe it was because he was feeling rather bold at the moment, or because he couldn't get enough of the sweet, quiet noises you were making as he nipped and sucked at your flesh until you were sure the skin was raw.

“sho—” you can’t help but wiggle in his lap, cunt grazing over his erection. when he groans at your actions, you repeat your actions, rolling your hips down against his as he marks your neck up in pretty blue and purple and reddish hues.

suddenly, an idea pops into your mind, and you find yourself melting off of his lap and onto your knees between his legs, eager hands reaching to unbuckle his leather belt and pull it off of him.

“wh–what’re you doing, baby?” shouto finds himself breathless with a flushed face as you begin to unbutton his pants and tug down the zipper, exposing his all-too-tight black boxers and the wet spot that had formed on them. you only grin and lick your lips at the sight, of course, eager to get your husband’s perfect cock in your mouth.

“what’s it look ‘m doin’, huh?” you look up at him with big wet eyes and pouty red lips. “now lift your hips f’me,” you instruct him, and he does as told, so you can tug his pants and boxers down in one swift go.

shouto hisses as his sensitive tip comes into contact with the cool air of the bedroom, and he looks down at you a little embarrassedly, biting as lower lip as you kissed his swollen and flushed head before taking it slowly into your mouth.

“ah–!” your husband moans as you suckle around his mushroom-headed tip and he can’t help the way one large hand falls down to rest on top of your head, long fingers burying themselves into your hair as he begins to set a moderate pace for you to bob your head. unfortunately, poor shouto still had trouble controlling his reactions whenever you gave him head — your mouth and tongue were simply too skilled for your own good! for his own good!

tilting his head back to look at the ceiling instead of you, in an attempt to not bust too early, he catches a glimpse of the lewd sight in the mirror and—oh god. his dick fucking twitches and he feels an embarrassing amount of pre-cum leak from his sticky tip and into your hot mouth.

“jesus christ—fuck,” your husband groans—it wasn’t too often that he swore, only when he was especially mad, passionate, or, in this case, especially horny. “take it easy, honey—please,” he whines, hand gripping your hair tighter, forcing your head further down his thick length despite his contradictory words. you pay his actions no mind, however, only doing your best to suppress your gag reflex and hollow your cheeks out around him before swallowing thickly; you even went as far as to deepthroat him all the way, uncaring of the way drool seeped past your lips and all around the base of his cock. swallowing around him again once his leaky tip hits the back of your throat, and shouto’s hand grips your hair a little too tightly—not that you minded in the moment. if anything, it made your pussy throb. as did the way he was panting and moaning softly above you. god…… his little noises were absolutely divine and each and every one sent a jolt to your clit.

much to his embarrassment, shouto is surprisingly noisy in bed — not exactly loud per se, but certainly unable to contain all his little huffs, puffs, and soft moans and quiet groans. but it wasn’t like it was his fault! how exactly was he supposed to stay quiet when you’re making him feel so damn good? jesus, it wasn’t fair! for him, anyway; for you, his sweet sounds only made you all the more hot and bothered.

his gaze falls down to meet yours, and then further down to his dick and the way your glossy lips wrapped around it and the fucking lipstick stains you were leaving around him. how was he meant to last like this? (here’s a hint: he wasn’t!)

pushing against his hand for a moment, he lessens his grip as you pull off him with a sickening schliiickk noise and wrap one hand around his base as you pant for air, looking up at him with doe-like eyes.

“shouto?”

“yeah?” his heart is pounding and he bites his lip as he looks down at your flushed face that now had a thin sheen of sweat over it, and he feels almost ashamed for the way he immediately craves your mouth back around him.

“i want you to cum in my mouth, okay?” you tell him with a soft smile, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear before taking him into your mouth once again, all the way down until your nose was flush against his mix-matched pubic hair and you had to actively breathe through your nose so you didn’t hurl. shallowly beginning to bob your head, your tongue laves over the underside of his veiny cock as the hand previously wrapped around him moves to cup his balls, fondling them softly before giving them a gentle squeeze.

“oh—sweetheart,” he moans, dick twitching violently in your mouth. “don’t stop,” he all but begs you, rolling his hips up, forcing himself further down your throat. you actually do gag at this, but are able to swallow most of your excessive drool down, only some of it spilling over and out of your mouth and onto to your husband’s dick, mixing beautifully with your lipstick stains, and poor todoroki groans at both the sight and feeling.

all it takes is a few more bobs of your head and another squeeze to his balls before they’re tightening and suddenly he’s cumming down your throat—just like you had asked him to. god, he swears you’ll be the death of him!

swallowing around his awfully sensitive length one final time, both to tease him and get his cum down, you pull off of him with another disgustingly wet noise before looking up at him oh-so-sweetly.

the hand that wasn’t still fondling his balls comes to wrap around his dick, pumping it slowly as you press a little kiss to his flushed and shiny tip, licking it playfully and swirling your tongue around it for a moment before you actually stopped teasing his cock with your mouth and just with your hand.

“baby, please—” his voice is uncharacteristically whiney and his hips buck up into your grasp. despite his natural temperature regulation due to his quirk, shouto finds his entire body feeling hot, so hot, thanks to your delicate touch. “just—ah!” he moans softly as your hand begins moving up and down his shaft slowly, moving up and up until you could place your thumb over the slit of his red and swollen head and run it over the horribly sensitive spot.

“god–damn, sweetheart—give me a moment, please,” he begs you, hips bucking upwards as his cock twitches simultaneously. shouto feels like he’s losing his mind as you pump his oversensitive length and he has to keep his eyes away from the mirror lest he nut again—no, the next time he came today, it would be inside you, his beautiful fucking spouse. “just let me breathe.” one of his large hands comes up to run through his hair and push his bangs out of his face just for them to fall right back in place once it exits his hair.

with a scoff and a roll of your eyes, you blow a puff of cold air over his cockhead and let out a playful okay.

“i guess,” you giggle, looking up at him from your spot on the floor. it’s true that your knees were starting to get a little sore, but you figured you were basically done anyway, so, naturally, you went to stand—just for shouto’s massive hands to land on your hips, up under your shirt, and turn you around so that you’re facing the mirror before tugging your panties down to your now reddened knees in one swift movement.

pulling you onto his lap, his painfully hard cock pressed into the crack of your ass, you whine and squirm in your husband’s strong grasp.

“b-baby?” you sound audibly confused and shouto can’t help but smile at your reaction as he presses a kiss to the side of your neck.

“shh,” he hushes you gently, one hand coming down between your legs to stop and rest on your clit.

“sho-shouto,” you can’t help but whine as he applies a slow but firm pressure to your achy bundle of nerves, gently starting to trace teasing circles over it.

“can’t i make you feel good, too?” he whispers into your ear, catching your gaze in the mirror. his heterochromatic eyes are glued to the reflection of yours and you feel a chill run down your spine as he nuzzles his nose against your neck as his middle finger dips down to your dripping slit before bringing it back up to rub against your pulsing clit.

“ah!” an airy breath escapes you and your back arches at his calloused touch. “fuck,” you hiss as he begins pressing soft kisses to the already brusing flesh of your neck and finger moves with experience over your slick button.

the first several times you two slept together, shouto was rather shy, and not particularly bold — always scared he was going to hurt you somehow or fuck up your pleasure, and then you’d want nothing to do with him; so it took a bit of instruction and teaching him what it is you do and don’t like, but shouto, ever the fast learner, quickly caught on and figured out what exactly he had to do and how he had to do it in order for you to feel good.

“that’s what i like to hear,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you, nibbling on the lobe of your ear before blowing a puff of cold air onto it. todoroki could never get enough of the noises you made — the same way you couldn’t get enough of his whimpers and whines — and would do anything in his power to elicit such sweet sounds from you.

“sh-shut up,” is all you’re able to get out, unable to think as he brings his middle finger back down to your slit and actually inserts it into you this time — fingering you in the lightest, most teasing manner possible, while he heats up his hand, his right arm wrapping around you tighter to keep you in place.

shouto just chuckles at your poor attempt at a quip as he licks a chilly stripe up the column of your neck, causing you to shiver as a devious grin stretches over your husband’s usually sweet face.

“oh, honey,” his voice is low and deep and admittedly makes your pussy clench around the single finger stuffed in it — god, you wish he’d add a second or third to actually stretch you out. and, almost as if he had read your thoughts, shouto curls his finger inside of you before pulling it out about halfway so he could slide another in until—he just stops, one finger half way in you with the tip of another barely poking at your entrance.

“sho–shouto?” you all but whine, hips wiggling futilely, wishing he’d just scissor your cunt open already!

“look in the mirror,” he commands softly. nodding hesitantly, you reluctantly look at your reflection and take in the lewdness of the scene: shouto had your legs spread out over his, keeping them open by borderline entwining your lower legs with his, with his thick ring and middle fingers positioned against your cunt, and his chin now resting on your shoulder, piercing gaze capturing your own.

as he finally begins easing his ring finger into along with the one already in there, you can’t help but squeeze your eyes shut, and just like that, any movement stops.

“i didn’t tell you to close your eyes,” he mutters, right hand coming up to slip under your shirt and pinch a nipple.

“ah! ‘m sorry!” your eyes immediately fly open as you try to focus your gaze on the sight in front of you as shouto’s fingers get progressively hotter the further they slip into you, and suddenly—you were burning from the inside out!

“mmh, shouto….” you whine, one hand coming up to tangle into his hair, giving it a light tug.

your husband merely ignores you as he focuses on pleasing you instead; curling his all too hot fingers at just the right angle, spreading them apart to scissor your pretty pussy, his eyes trained on your reflection and each little way you react to his touch—the way you flinch and try to close your legs, just for him to effortlessly prevent this by spreading his a little wider. god; he had learned to be a little too good at this for your own good.

“nngh—, c’mon baby, don’ be a tease,” is all you’re able to get out as your husband takes his goddamn time fingering you; this couldn’t even be considered as finger-fucking! the feeling of the calloused pads of his heated fingertips rubbing against your already hot inner walls as he pumps them slowly—your internal temperature felt like it was skyrocketing, when in reality, it was only one or two degrees higher, something shouto could easily remedy should he switch hands.

“i’m afraid i don’t know what you’re talking about, lovely,” he smiles gently, beginning to pepper kisses along your neck once more. fuck, you coudn’t stand when he played dumb like that — he had to have known what he was doing!! (and he did! that just wasn’t for you to know.) “if there’s something you want…. then you’ll have to ask for it directly, my dear,” he tells you cheekily, and you can physically feel his smile against your skin as he begins to suck against the junction of your neck and shoulder.

god! damn him!

“f-faster,” you whine, wiggling and rolling your hips against his slow moving fingers, just for shouto to pull them nearly all the way out of you. “sh–shouto! goddammit! please don’t tease me!” you plead, eyes beginning to lightly water over out of sheer frustration. tugging at his hair, you try to twist around enough to give him another kiss — just for him to avoid your lips, too!

“uh-uh,” he chides, his freezing free hand pinching one of your nipples, and you gasp louder than you would have liked to at the feeling. “watch yourself in the mirror ‘n ask nicely and you can have anything you want, princess,” shouto says softly, physically unable to stop smiling. sure, most of the time, his teasing was truly unintentional, the other half of the time (a little less than half, really, it was closer to 60/40) was completely on purpose, as hearing you whine his name or for him to touch you never failed to turn him on or bring a somewhat sadistic smile to his usually stoic face.

nodding, you refocus your attention onto the large vanity mirror, with the chair scooted far back enough so you could clearly see his fingers buried in your glistening cunt, and you physically can’t control the whimper that slips past your throat as his index and pinky fingers move to spread your slick folds apart so you could get a better view of what shouto thought was the most perfect pussy in the world—ever since you’d first had sex (despite his initial nerves), he had quickly grown addicted to the feeling of your cunt wrapped oh-so-snuggly around him.

finally, your husband finally began to finger you in earnest, crooking his fingers in such a delicious way so deep inside you—much further than your own fingers could ever reach, anyway—and suddenly you wish it was his dick filling you up, not just his fingers..! unbeknownst to you, this was both shouto’s brief way of giving his sensitive cock a rest so he could fuck you properly without creaming too early and making sure you’d get to cum twice, too.

“you’re so tense,” his voice has a saccharine lilt to it, and you feel goosebumps erupt over your skin as he watches the way his fingers pump in and out of you, and he can feel his length twitch and drool pre as he imagines your cunt fluttering around his dick instead of his fingers.

“‘s not my fault—you’re not exactly making it easy f’me to relax,” you complain, shifting around in his grip as you give his hair a light tug.

“oh? i’m not?” his gentle smile stretches into a shit eating grin as he slides his fingers out of you entirely before bringing his hand up to his mouth to lick your slick off the digits that had been nearly knuckle-deep inside you less than a moment ago, except—he only sucks off his ring finger, leaving the middle one for you to suck on instead, bringing it up to your plump, glossy lips whilst softly telling you to open your mouth. of course, you obeyed without a second thought, happily, and almost hazily, swirling your tongue around his finger in a similar manner you had done with his cock. the action reminded shouto of such, and he lets out a quiet groan at the feeling.

“mmh,” you hum pleasantly around the digit that was pressing down lightly against your tongue. you weren’t too pleased, however, about the lack of stimulation your pussy was receiving, and you decided to make this known to your husband.

catching his eye in the mirror, you let out a little whine and wrap both your hands around his thick wrist as you purposely let the drool in your mouth build up so it begins to seep down his hand and slowly trickle onto his forearm.

“baby, please. please just fuck me,” you mumble, tugging on his wrist to pull his calloused, slick finger from you spit-soaked mouth.

shouto really was planning to finger you to an orgasm, honest, but—when you asked so sweetly, he just couldn’t say no to you!

“fuck,” he groans, both hands quickly settling onto your hips in order to lift you enough to align your soaked slit with his flushed and achy cock. “y’know i can’t tell you no when you ask like that,” he says before letting you slowly sink all the way to the base.

“you feel so good,” he groans out as your puffy pussy wraps around him tightly.

“s–so do you,” you whine out, feeling his head kiss the entrance to your cervix. jesus christ, how was it possible to hit so deep? “s-so, so good,” you tell him, trying to look at the two of you in the mirror and the way your cunt envelopes him and—it’s just too embarrassing to look at!

squirming in his grasp, you try to turn around to better face him so you could plant a kiss to his plump lips. shouto, however, simply uses one large hand to squish your cheeks and hold your face in place to watch as he lazily fucks up into in the mirror. no matter how bad he wanted to kiss you (that would have to come (cum) after you), he just enjoyed that flustered look on your face too much to not indulge in it! besides, he was always so sweet to you, he’s sure you can handle some light teasing.

“aa–ahh! sh-shouto! fuck!” you cry as he begins bouncing you up and down his needy dick. you whimper at the way he throbs inside you and your cunt clenches tightly around him—making your husband groan loudly too. “sho–!” it’s all you can do to look into the mirror at the lewd sight, and embarrassingly enough, it only serves to turn you on even more.

“hmm?” it’s all he can do to hum out a response as he keeps you moving up and down, strong arms moving with ease as he rhythmically rolls his hips up into yours. “what—” he hisses from the way his tip hits against your cervix, with nowhere left to go. “what is it, love?” he does his best to answer coherently, needing you to be the one fucked dumb first. without a second thought, one hand abandons your hip to slide down your abdomen all the way back between your legs where he began rubbing slow, tight circles against your neglected clit.

“ah! f–fuck!” you moan as he soon sets a steady pace against your throbbing bud, steadily working you up to an orgasm, the knot in your stomach tightening.

it doesn’t take much longer before you’re quivering in shouto’s grip and whining about how close you were, and he can’t help but feel a sense of pride wash over him as he pushes you closer to the edge.

as your cunt clenches and flutters around him, shouto feels himself growing uncomfortably close as well, and soon finds himself asking if it’s okay if he came inside.

“yes, please, baby,” you whine and nod your head, one hand moving to entangle itself into shouto’s hair as he finally allowed you to kiss him once again.

and, with a few more thrusts, you find yourself cumming in sync as the horribly tense knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re creaming all over your husband’s cock.

“oh fuck,” he groans, dick pulsing once, twice, before finally squirting his thick, hot seed deep into your womb, leaving you feeling both gross and contently full.

after rubbing your clit throughout the duration of your orgasm, shouto still doesn’t stop, even once you began coming down from you high, and you can’t help but jolt in his lap from the oversensitivity.

“sh-shouto, you can—you can st-stop!” you manage to spit out, biting your lower lip as you watch his calloused fingers rub steady circles against your poor clit.

“but—” he pants. “you only— only came once,” he tries to explain, rolling his hips up into you despite his own sensitivity, desperate to make you cum again.

“i– i know, but—’m sensitive, baby,” you try telling him, quickly feeling that familiar knot start to form again. “ple—please!”

despite your pathetic little mewls, your husband ignores you in favor of your excess pleasure, significantly warming up the fingers playing with your puffy clit.

it’s not long before you’re cumming one more time, evening out your total to two—equal to what you had given your oh-so-doting husband (even if you only went out of your way to actually give him a single orgasm—he just happened to cum a second time because you felt so good wrapped around him).

“fuck, baby,” you moan, back arching deeply as he slowly lessens the pressure on your throbbing clit. shouto never disappointed you in bed, or in this case, just simply in the bedroom, and for that, you were eternally grateful.

once you were done making a mess around the length of his dick, your back falls flush against his chest, and you both pant heavily for a long moment before either of you are able to recompose yourselves.

afterwards, shouto helps lift you off his softening dick, and into the bathroom so you could piss (always piss after sex, y’all), before going downstairs to get you a glass of water and then returning back to your shared bedroom to wait in your king sized bed. once you re-entered the room, your husband sits up in the plush bed, with his arms extended out to you, your water already on your nightstand.

with a smile, you make your way over to the bed, with only slightly wobbly legs, and curl up in your loving shouto’s strong arms, where he holds you close to him, resting your head against his chest, where you could hear his beating heart—a sound so soothing you were almost lulled asleep by it until you heard the quietest, faintest whisper of, “you’re so beautiful,” and you can’t help the grin that breaks out across your face as you tell him he is too, something shouto has never been too sure of how to process, but over time, as the compliments he received increased, he slowly learned how to handle and accept them properly.

“i love you,” you say in sync, and you let out a little giggle at this before saying jinx! and pressing a kiss to his cheek before nuzzling your head back against his chest and yawning deeply.

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couldeatthatgirlforlunch · 3 months ago

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Fun little thought, what if reader started kicking Hal in the balls without saying a word everytime they see him after that... less than consensual situation.

I mean EVERYTIME

Hal: Hey I know I messed u- *inhuman screech*

Reader: *kick him and walks away calmly*

________

*at a meeting bringing coffee*

Hal: Please talk to m- *bitch scream*

Reader: *pours hot coffee on his D, kicks him and turns to batman with a smile* Here's your iced coffee with whiskey, and maple syrup.

________

Batman: So we have noticed some... new hobby of yours, that might be affecting the work morale....

Hal: *on the floor crying after tasting reader's new shoes*

Superman: *concerned*

Wonder Woman: *tears of joy*

Reader: I have no idea what you are talking about.

The JL will do half assed attempts to stop it but everyone knows he deserveds it.

I can hold grudges for a loooooooooong time.

Rage took over your rationality for a long time, at some point, you and the League start getting suspisious...

The first few times he might have been caught off guard, but at some point, he's either delusional, or, well... He's getting turned on. It wouldn't be outrageous to think that, based on his previous "deviated conducts"

When questioned, Hal gets evasive

I personally don't think by Hal's personality he would enjoy being humiliated in front of other people maybe in the bedroom, only if you asked rly nice and cute, but for the sake of memes, let's leave it ambiguous if he is or not...

3 scenarios might happen:

1-You get tired and stop.

2-You realize he might me aroused and stop.

3-You start wearing especially pointy shoes that really hurt, and Hal stops aproaching you, just talks to you in a safe distance, and everything goes back to normal when you are the one to take initiative to talk to him in person first, and not just through e-mails, texts and phone calls, for whatever reason.

But be aware, each ring color means an emotion, Hal got green bc of his strong will

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sigma-alpha-writer-chad · 1 month ago

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Grow Up, Would You? [Josh Washington]

“I don’t know if you’ve changed any since middle school but I really hope you’ve learned the difference between pranking somebody and just being a fucking bully.”

You can also find this story on Ao3!

Prologue / Chapter One / Chapter Two

[Italicized chapters are sort of like,, flash backs? Stuff in the past, whatever.]

[CHAPTER ONE]

I’d never been one for parties.

Yet there I stood, staring up at the house of the address I was given, the windows flashing a multitude of colors as the muffled music blared. People were scattered around the front lawn, holding their drinks and talking happily amongst themselves as laughter filled the cool night air. I felt a sense of midding as I slowly made my way to the front door, a small smile formed on my face.

I opened the front door to be met with the loud, hot air of the party. It wasn’t packed, but it was close. Immediately I started looking around for the one who invited me, gently pushing my way through the groups of people. There were faces I recognized, and ones I didn’t. I hadn’t seen anyone in the area since I’d changed schools years prior. But none of them were who I was searching for. Until finally, I saw him.

He was tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes behind a pair of thick black rectangular glasses. He wore a dark green sweater that fit his broad shoulders snugly and blue jeans. I especially knew it was him when I spotted his hiking shoes.

Who wears hiking shoes to a party?

“Chris!” I called. M y cousin, Christopher Hartley, leaning up against the wall and talking to a girl with red hair. He turned to me and smiled.

“Jordan! I didn’t think you’d show,” he said. He took a step towards me and pull ed me into a tight, familiar hug. Chris took a step back as if to get a better look at me. “You look great!”

“Yeah, well, y’know,” I grinned. I tucked a hair behind my ear. It was Chris’s friend group’s graduation party, and it was a big one. A smaller celebration had been held prior by the adults for Chris , a nice outdoor barbecue with baby photos tacked onto the walls and various cork boards. But once that was over and everyone had left, Chris begged me to go with him to a much larger, run by the teens grad party the next week.

“Let me introduce you to my friends!” Chris was practically yelling into my ear to be heard over the blasting music.

“Uhm, no! I’m good, actually, I’ve met your friends!” I’ d met his friends. Mean girls, meat-heads, and -

“C’mon, Jordan, please! You haven’t seen them in like 4 years, they’re totally new people now!” Chris insisted. He grabbed my wrist and began to pull me back towards the red-haired girl. I recognized her then.

“Hi, Ashley,” I waved meekly.

Ashley Brown. Despite the people she surrounded herself with, Ashley seemed like a nice girl. She had red shoulder length hair and hazel eyes under thin eyebrows. Her makeup was subtle and suited her well. She was a very conventionally pretty girl and one that Chris had a huge crush on. Even back in elementary school I remembered seeing her and Chris, nervously sitting together at lunch. Their crushes on each other were so obviously mutual it was sickening to know they were both oblivious to the other’s feelings.

“Hey, Jordan.” Ashley smiled sweetly and waved back at me before glancing back at Chris with a look that screamed “get me out of this.” I decided to get her out of the situation myself while escaping the prospects of having to re meet Chris’s friends. As far as I knew, the group was entirely made up of the same people as it was when I’d changed schools 4 years prior. “Actually Chris, I’m going to go…” I paused. “To the bathroom.”

“But you just got here,” Chris’s face dropped. He knew me well enough to know I was just making an excuse.

“I drink a lot of water, and -”

“Jordan. Don’t ditch me,” Chris said. “Please.” At that moment I despised him for being a sweetheart. I couldn’t say no to Chris, no matter how much I’d wanted to.

Chris spent the next hour or so introducing me to his posse. Just as I’d suspected, it was exactly the same as it had been previously. Emily Davis, Jessica Riley, Matthew Taylor, Michael Monroe, Samantha Giddings, and Hannah and Beth Washington. I noticed there was one missing, but I didn’t dare ask in fear of reminding Chris of th at final person.

“ Sam seems nice,” I commented. “She’s probably my favorite out of everybody that you’ve introduced me to.” And I wasn’t lying. Sam stuck out like a sore thumb compared to the people she ran with. She was active, vegan – not passive-aggressive.

“Yeah, Sam’s great. Hey, I’m going to grab a drink. Do you want something?”

“A water bottle?” Chris gave me a look.

“Really?” I nodded and he left to go get the beverages, leaving me by myself near a fireplace. I took a moment to really look around at the house I was in. It was large, just short of a mansion, and old. The architecture was somewhat gothic.

“ BOO!” I nearly jumped out of my skin at the sudden scare. Someone had grabbed my shoulders hard as they shouted into my ear. I knew immediately who it was, and I was as far from happy as someone could have ever possibly been. I heard a familiar laughter as I turned around to face him, taking deep and steady breaths.

“Joshua Washington,” I said blankly. “Still fail to grow up?” Josh’s smile fades.

“Whatever your name is,” Josh repeated my tone. I couldn’t tell whether or not he had actually forgotten my name or didn’t care to use It. “Still can’t take a joke?”

“Guess not,” I shrugged. Josh stared at me, his shit-eating grin slowly returning to his face. “Or maybe you should come up with some new jokes. ‘Boo’? So last year.” I held eye contact with Joshua for what felt like an hour.

“An oldie but a goodie.” Josh’s brow twitches in frustration. He still held onto his smile but I could tell it was a struggle.

“Not a goodie if nobody fucking likes it.”

“I like it.”

“Hey, Josh! I see you’ve re-met Jordan!” Chris chimed in. Whether he knew we were about to start fighting or not was a mystery, but I was grateful for the interruption nonetheless.

“ Right, Jordan, that’s what it was,” Josh said. “I didn’t remember her at all other than the amount of crying she did.”

“The amount of crying you made me do.”

“All in good fun.”

“You tried to get pig’s blood to ‘Carrie’ me.”

“Like I said, just jokes.” Chris finally interjected.

“C’mon, Jordan, he didn’t mean anything by -” I hold my hand up to stop Chris there.

“I’m not doing this. You were in on a lot of those, Chris, you know how they hurt me.” I didn’t expect him to be on Josh’s side, but then again it wasn’t that surprising considering the amount of torture he helped exact. Chris looked down at the floor in defeat. I turn to Josh.

“I don’t know if you’ve changed any since middle school but I really hope you’ve learned the difference between pranking somebody and just being a fucking bully.” I huffed at him. I could barely see him under all of the lights but I managed to catch a glimpse of expression other than snark. For half of a second I could’ve sworn it was remorse.

It didn’t last.

“ Well. I’m not a bully, so… whatever.” Josh turned around and walked away, leaving Chris and I. I was shocked to look at Chris and see him glaring at me.

“Did you have to do that?” He asked. I raise my eyebrows in surprise.

“Do what?”

“Start a fight, just like that?” I could feel my heart sink.

“Chris, no, I didn’t -”

“Why can’t you just get over it already?” I could smell the booze on Chris’s breath. I knew he was drunk, he didn’t mean it. He couldn’t. He watched me cry enough growing up to know what kind of effects Joshua Washington had on me and my mental health. I chose to say nothing, my eyes full of tears threatening to spill over. My throat felt tight, and I knew if I said a word, all eyes would be on me as I cried in the middle of the room. So I just shake my head and shrug. I took my water bottle and headed out onto the back porch of the house – where Hannah and Beth Washington happened to be.

They noticed right away that my expression was negative. Something I’d apparently forgotten was how different from their brother the twins were, as they came to me immediately.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Hannah asked as she took my hands into her own. I swallowed.

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I sighed, looking over the balcony and into the woods.

“Was it Josh?” Beth asked. My eyes flickered to hers. My silence was all the answer that she’d needed. “He’s an ass, for sure. But he’s not as bad as he makes himself out to be. When it comes to you we don’t know what’s wrong with him.” I’m surprised at what Beth was saying. “Have you heard that dumb stuff about ‘he’s only making fun of you because he likes you’ from, like, grade school? I think it’s like that.”

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at that. The twins ignore the obvious attitude and continued to chat with me. There was absolutely no way Joshua harbored any feelings for me other than disdain, and there was no way in HELL that it could have ever been romantic.

“Girl, don’t worry. You can hang with us.” Hannah grinned at me as she hopped excitedly. “He’ll leave you alone if we tell him to, or whatever.” I smiled at the girls. Just as I had with Chris, I could smell the booze on them and could only assume this kindness and promise of friendship was temporary. Once they were sober, they wouldn’t remember this at all. And if they did, I was sure they would regret it.

“Sure, that would be nice,” I admitted. Even if it’s just for the night, I would never complain about having friends – even if they were related to my sworn enemy.

“Great! Give me your phone!” Hannah insisted. I did as she’d asked, and next thing I knew I had their contact information. “We’ll hang out after tonight, we promise.” I nodded. I would be lying if I said that I hadn’t hoped it would happen, that these two would somehow integrate me into their lives.

It was severely unfortunate that it didn’t last long.

#until dawn #until dawn x reader #josh washington x you #josh washington x reader #josh washington #joshua washington #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends to lovers #this is an x reader just didn't want to write “y/n” a lot

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bogleech · 11 months ago

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One time on the private Cracked.com writers forum where articles were pitched and workshopped a newbie signed up and went through the approval process entirely just to pitch an article about why My Little Pony is the best cartoon and their first talking point was that it has beautiful high budget animation compared to "garbage any child could draw," a point they chose to illustrate with a screenshot from Adventure Time. And I was SO IRRITATED by this I responded with an entire detailed lecture, images and video clips to explain how Adventure Time is complex frame-by-frame animation with thousands of new drawings per episode while My Little Pony is just 2-d "puppet" animation recycling the same body parts that only have to be drawn once, which the OP didn't realize at all I guess, dazzled by the bright colors and big shiny anime eyes.

And I forget what their response was but it was as simple and nice as "oh, that's interesting thank you for explaining this" and they meant that sincerely yet I still felt somehow obliterated.

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fuctacles · 6 days ago

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<< eight | 😺 | ten >>

a little poll while you're here

It's pure torture, sitting in a salon chair. Eddie briefly wonders how women can endure all this treatment and how many of them experience their first homoerotic thoughts under a hairdresser's touch.

The only time anyone is this hands-on with him is during sex, and even then it wildly depends on the partner. His body can't comprehend that it's not a bedroom setting, despite the intimacy of drawn curtains and soft music, and that it is not the time to pop a boner.

Thankfully, Stephanie swiftly distracts him with questions about his interests, which always works on his nerdy brain. The fact that she's no longer massaging shampoo into his scalp also helps.

"I'm going to cut about this much, okay?" she asks after a moment of brushing and D&D talk, holding up the ends of his hair so he can see.

"Sure. There's so much of it you can cut more," he jokes but Stephanie cocks her head, pursing her mouth.

Gods he wishes she'd stop making her lips look so kissable.

"Don't you want to grow them out even more? I think it would look good."

She could also stop praising his hair and overall look.

"You think I could pull off ass-long elvish hair?" he smiles at her mirror reflection.

"Hm..." She looks at him completely seriously, plays with the hair around his face, and traces the line of his cheeks with the tips of her nails. Whatever vision of him Steph is conjuring in her mind, she seems to like it. "I think yes. Absolutely," she decides, but Eddie doesn't remember what he has just asked.

"Only the ends, then?" she asks, backing away so he can release the breath he's been holding.

"Yeah. Just the ends." He tries to nod, but she swiftly taps her comb on the top of his head.

"Don't move your head unless I say so," she scolds him with a played-up frown.

"Yes ma'am," he's quick to agree. It's her kingdom and all that. Also, she's maneuvering sharp objects around his head.

"Good boy," Stephanie smiles again and one of these sharp object might as well have just pierced his heart.

He knows he won't leave this ordeal unscathed.

"Could you dye just a streak of my hair? Some weird color, like red?"

Eddie can see her little smile in the mirror. It's a knowing smirk like she was anticipating that question, and this hint of condescension makes her look hot as Hell.

"If you want red-red and not ginger-red, then I'd have to order the dye," she says, thoughtfully combing through his hair. Stephanie works fast, though, so he's pretty sure she should be done soon. There's another snip of her scissors before she straightens up to look at him properly.

"As you can imagine, there aren't many adventurous metalheads in Hawkins to work on."

"I'll let you know that during longer breaks there are at least four."

Stephanie laughs.

"Your bandmates, right? But are they all as willing to experiment with their hair?" She raises her eyebrow, and she's suddenly up in his face. The counter behind her creaks under her weight and Eddie wonders how nice it would be to feel it on his lap.

"Well... Gareth's been growing it out," he offers.

"If he has anything in mind, let me know," she smiles. "I should probably look more into what's new and hip among kids anyway."

"If you weren't holding scissors, I'd pinch you," Eddie scoffs. "New and hip among kids," he repeats under his breath.

Stephanie rolls her eyes.

"There's a big difference in hairstyles between Hawkins and Indianapolis though, you can't deny that." She straightens up again to wet her comb in the sink. "Close your eyes."

He does as he's told.

"Would you want to be—" his breath catches embarrassingly when her damp fingers touch his chin to angle his head where she wants it. "—a hairdresser in a city like that?" he asks.

She hums in affirmation as she combs through his fringe. A stray droplet falls on his nose and she swipes it away with her finger. Eddie wants to lick it clean.

"I've been saving for a second salon, actually. The prices in the city are crazy though."

"Really?" Eddie raises his eyebrows since it's all he can do right now, considering there's a snip of scissors way too close to his eye. He thinks about having Stephanie up in Indianapolis with him. In the same city, that is, close enough to drop for a friendly visit. He could show her all his favorite places, too.

She hums.

"Do you cut your fringe yourself?" she asks suddenly.

Eddie sighs.

"Does it show?"

"Not really," she chuckles. "You did a good job, honestly. It's slightly choppy, but it suits you, so I'm just gonna even it out and leave it like that."

"Oh. Thank you."

She hums again, snipping some hair by his left temple.

"If I didn't like working with hair, staying here would be torture," she picks up their previous topic. "I got this place shortly before Robin had to move, and I felt stuck in Hawkins without her. But I'm making good money here so I figured I could save enough for a place over there." She combs his fringe again, snips once, and then he can hear a clank when she puts her tools away.

"How much more do you need?" Eddie asks and then jumps when she touches his face again, dusting stray hair from his cheeks.

"A bit," she says, but it sounds like more than that. "I was going to sell this place to add to it, but then Robin was talking about opening a chain, so now I'm training Joyce to take over here. Don't tell her though." She bops his nose suddenly, making him squeak. "It's kind of a surprise and I need time to figure it out. You can open your eyes."

Eddie blinks his eyes open and smiles as soon as he can see Stephanie again. But she moves aside, to reveal the mirror behind her.

"I know it's not much, but is that okay?"

There's indeed not much of a difference, other than his hair being an inch or two shorter and his fringe laying a bit better against his skin.

"Yes, I'm never cutting it by myself," he says, lightly brushing the hair framing his face with his fingers.

"I can totally do it for you whenever you visit," she agrees easily. "Now, do you want some color in your hair anyway? Because I could bleach that streak you want dyed later, but we would have to deal with the roots when you come back."

Eddie hums thoughtfully.

"How light can you go? Can you give me like, a white Bride of Frankenstein streak?"

Stephanie snorts at that.

"I'm afraid not." She purses her lips, gently rubbing a lock of his damp hair between her fingers. "At least not with what I have on hand. Your hair isn't that thick but it's dark enough to be a challenge for bleaching. I may be good, but I'm not good enough to promise it wouldn't burn to a crisp." She smiles apologetically.

"I'll wait for the red dye, then." Eddie shrugs. "No problem."

"Okay. I'll grab the conditioner then, and we should be done soon." Stephanie pats his shoulder and he briefly considers asking her for something outlandish just to keep her working with his hair.

my boyos:

@wheneverfeasible @steddieinthesun @hattsy-likes-pretty-stuff @bumblebeecuttlefishes @phantomcat94

@tartarusknight @tinyplanet95 @steddiefication @estrellami-1 @disrespectedgoatman

@madigoround @tartarusknight @blasvemous @cryptid-system

#these get so long compared to dog boy chronicles im so sorry #crazy cat lady stevie #transfem steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #mine #stevie harrington #steddie fanfiction #cw: age gap #stevierything

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ju1cyfru1t · 1 year ago

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Y/N’s guide of an ornate box turtle mutant

fluff :)

(Rise!Mikey x reader)

gn reader, romantic leaning but can be read as platonic

In which Mikey stumbles upon your documentation on himself.

Donnie’s version Leo’s version Raph’s version

☻Subject of interest

Ornate Box turtle mutant; humanoid turtle man

Special note: subject appears to have developed several personas

☻ Diet:

Pizza, sweets (favors cupcakes), fruits, Dr.Pepper (likes to try new things; bring specimen new snacks?)

☻ Likes:

Orange, baking + cooking, stickers (reminder: buy goo gone), painting, emotional vulnerability (Donnie warns; be cautious of ‘Dr.Feelings’), horror films, romance films (subject cries?), cuddling (nts: subject holds tight), helping others (even if they don’t deserve it, not going to name any names they know who they are), Jupiter Jim (movies, comics, games)

☻ Dislikes:

Being snuck up on (will cause turtle to refuse to come out of shell), lying, seeing people sad (note: subject is concerningly good at reading emotions),

——> subject does not seem to dislike many things. subject is very, strangely optimistic.

☻ Tail language ❌leave tail alone, do not startle the subject.(will hide in shell) he is sensitive and sassy❌

twitching rapidly: threatened, scared, upset. not very common, but can soothe turtle with (gentle) shell scratches.

wagging: excited, happy, energetic. typically while talking about Jupiter Jim? and other likes? (see above) (tip: will increase w/ shell scratches)

still and loose: relaxed, sad. very rare, specimen is very energetic, only relaxed when asleep. sad turtle most soothed by being held???

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Mikey smiled happily to himself, laying on his plastron in his room. He read your words carefully, really taking it in. You really have this crime-fighting silly little ninja giggling and kicking his feet.

It just felt so good knowing you cared so much about him. Not that he didn’t know before, but it’s always nice to be reminded just how much you really, truly did. Him. Not Leo, or Donnie, or Raph. Just him.

Of course Mikey had noticed you acting a little sketchy around him, and had even asked you what was up but with the same response of nothing every time. He was a little relieved this was all it was.

The guilt slowly poured into him as he realized this was probably a violation of your privacy. His curiosity got the better of him when he saw the folder in your backpack with his name on it after you left it in his room. He totally betrayed your trust!

After some very nervous thought, he knew he needed to make it up to you somehow…right?

——————————————————————————

☻Subject of interest

Ornate Box turtle mutant; humanoid turtle man

Special note: subject appears to have developed several personas. such as Dr.Delicate Touch, Dr.Feelings, and Dr.Positive. what does this mean? is this normal? Of course!

☻ Diet:

Pizza, sweets (favors cupcakes), fruits, Dr.Pepper (likes to try new things; bring specimen new snacks?) Oooh, I’ll make you a list!

☻ Likes:

Orange my life color, thank you, baking + cooking, stickers (reminder: buy goo gone) you took them off? D:, painting it’s easy when I have such a beautiful muse!, emotional vulnerability (Donnie warns; be cautious of ‘Dr.Feelings’) Whaaat? Donnie doesn’t know what he’s talking about anyway.>:( horror films, romance films (subject cries?) They’re just so sweet!, cuddling (nts: subject holds tight), helping others (even if they don’t deserve it, not going to name any names they know who they are) it’s what I do, baby! Jupiter Jim (movies, comics, games)

☻ Dislikes:

Being snuck up on (will cause turtle to refuse to come out of shell) I like when you carry me Ha ha very funny, lying, seeing people sad (note: subject is concerningly good at reading emotions), (to be continued???)

——> subject does not seem to dislike many things. subject is very, strangely optimistic. Dr.Positive will see you now!

☻ Tail language ❌leave tail alone, do not startle the subject.(will hide in shell) I can’t help it! he is sensitive Nuh uh and sassy❌

twitching rapidly: threatened, scared, upset. not very common, but can soothe turtle with (gentle) shell scratches. I agree, the subject would like that very much.

wagging: excited, happy, energetic. typically while talking about Jupiter Jim? and other likes??? (see above) (tip: will increase w/ shell scratches) Maybe you should test that hypothesis again! Just to be sure. ;D

still and loose: relaxed, sad. very rare, specimen is very energetic, only relaxed when asleep. sad turtle most pacified by being held??? Again, you should probably continue to test that theory.

Beautiful work! But, I would keep in close contact with the subject. You know, for research purposes.

Love you!

- Mikey🧡

p.s. I’m really sorry for looking through your stuff

——————————————————————————

TYSM FOR READING🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

3 DOWN 1 LEFT 🤺

(also I’m still working on requests, and they are still open)

#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt x reader #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rise mikey #tmnt michelangelo #mikey x reader #rise of the tmnt #rise michelangelo #tmnt #mikey hamato #rise mikey x reader #rottmnt #tmnt x reader #tmnt mikey #rise april #rise donnie #rise donatello #rise leo #rise raph

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gigizetz · 10 months ago

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Aeolus character design process!

(disclaimer: my writing sucks and I'm not good at explaining things so if it gets a bit weird just know I'm trying my best)

a lot of people have been saying very nice things about my character design for Aeolus in EPIC, and that makes me really happy! So I decided to break it down to show you guys my full process in designing them! :D

When I first listened to the snippet of Keep Your Friends Close I was very excited that this old bearded god man was going to be interpreted by a girl, so the first concept I had was to maximize this contrast by also making my Aeolus appear as a child. Aside from the contrast thing, it would also tie in with their playful personality. Here are some of the sketches I did at the time (around 2022):

Since the beginning I always had the clown aesthetic in mind. Not sure why, just thought it matched the cute playfulness of the character. It was fun combining wind/cloud stuff with the clown aesthetic, like the cloud around the neck and wrists, which was supposed to resemble those ruff thingies that clowns usually wear.

I experimented with a lot of elements, like the headband and the cropped shirt, but I decided to remove and recicle them in other EPIC characters (Odysseus and Circe). Their design was also more feminine, and since I was aiming for a more androgynous look this would be changed later.

I remember around this time I saw a video of Jay where he said he envisioned Aeolus having a more calm nature aesthetic, so I decided to change my design to better match what he had in mind. I made the hair wavier, with clean and smooth lines, made sure that Aeolus would act less clown-like, rarely stand up and never abandon the cloud. These doodles better resemble the current design:

it was also around this time that I designed the island in the sky. My biggest inspiration was New Super Mario Bros. WII world 7, mainly because of the chill vibes and cute fluffy clouds. So I took that and threw the combined aesthetic of a child's playroom and ancient Greece temple on top of it and it was done.

Right now here's the full body reference of them:

I'm very proud of it, I think it matches the themes and feelings I had in mind while also translating their personality quite well. The color palette is a simple blue/yellow/red, but the simplicity helps to complement the childish appearance. Their outfit is comfy, cute, and something you'd like to sleep in. The round shapes makes them adorable. Overall a cute little gremlin that is also a very powerful god.

#digital art #art #epic the musical #greek myths #epic: the musical #character design #epic the ocean saga #epic the musical fanart #the oddyssey #the ocean saga #keep your friends close

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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 month ago

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In The Gloomy Depths [Chapter 5: Ruby]

Series summary: Five years ago, jewel mining tycoon Daemon Targaryen made a promise in order to win your hand in marriage. Now he has broken it and forced you into a voyage across the Atlantic, betraying you in increasingly horrifying ways and using your son as leverage to ensure your cooperation. You have no friends and no allies, except a destitute viola player you can’t seem to get away from…

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), parenthood, dolphins, death and peril, violence (including domestic violence), drinking, smoking, freezing temperatures, murder, if you don’t like Titanic you won’t like this fic!!! 😉

Word count: 5.5k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Tagging: @nightvyre @mrs-starkgaryen @gemini-mama @ecstaticactus @chattylurker, more in comments 🥰

💎 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 💎

Scarlet dusk spills over the pine planks of the deck like rising water. Sweet little Madeleine Astor invites you to attend dinner with her party—perhaps there is gossip that you and Daemon have had some sort of a row—but you have other plans. As the rest of the first-class passengers descend the Grand Staircase to the dining room on D-Deck, you make your way eastward towards the stern. You pass shipbuilder Thomas Andrews, who is ambling along with a group of chuckling, pipe-puffing gentlemen including J. Bruce Ismay and Benjamin Guggenheim. Mr. Andrews is mentioning the iceberg warnings that the captain has received from nearby vessels today; the other men are agreeing that Captain Smith is right to not be concerned. On a night as calm and cloudless as this one, surely an iceberg would be spotted by the lookouts with more than enough time to steer the ship to safety.

Aegon is waiting by the steel railing of the stern, stolen black coat, face glowing in fading daylight the color of sunstone, a crystal mined in Oregon. His scuffed brown leather portfolio and a folded easel are tucked under one arm; in his fist is clutched the handle of a small wooden box, which must contain his painting supplies.

“So,” he says, smiling when he sees you’ve accepted his offer, this final kindness before you are torn away from each other when Titanic docks in New York Harbor. “Where should we set up our studio? It can’t be in my cabin. One of my roommates is currently fornicating with a Russian girl. She seems nice. I hope she isn’t burdened with his bastard child.”

“You don’t think we should join them?”

He laughs. “Maybe I’m not ready to share you.”

“You’re not living up to your reputation, prodigal son. I had heard you were an irredeemable miscreant.” Then you turn to leave, and Aegon follows you.

You stop first at the Café Parisien on B-Deck, which is mostly deserted; it’s very cold outside, approaching freezing temperatures as the sun sinks below the bloodied horizon, and the heaters don’t work especially well in the restaurant. You purchase several different sandwiches and a chocolate croissant. No cash exchanges hands, which is good because you don’t ever have any; the stewards there recognize you and will add the charge to your illustrious husband’s bill, to be paid before passengers disembark on either April 16th or 17th, depending on how quickly Titanic arrives at her destination.

Daemon and Rhaenyra will be in the First-Class Dining Saloon for the next several hours, and thereafter will almost certainly steal away into her rooms to commit their incestuous adultery. Rush is eternally prowling nearby in case Daemon finds himself in need of anything: a drink, a gun, a troublesome wife shoved over a railing. Per her nightly tradition, Dagmar has taken Draco to the Verandah Café, which in addition to being a more casual eatery has become a sort of playroom for first-class children. And so in your staterooms, only Fern is present, finishing up some dusting before she journeys down to C-Deck to enjoy dinner in the Maids and Valets Saloon. From above the fireplace, the taxidermied tiger head watches you with eerily still gemstone eyes, a dispassionate witness to your treason.

“Hello, ma’am,” Fern says when you enter. “Can I make you a cup of tea before I go?” Then she sees Aegon walk in behind you with all his equipment, and she blinks, bewildered. “Good evening, sir. Did we meet on the Boat Deck this morning…?”

“We did,” Aegon replies a bit sheepishly. Fern looks at you, seeking an explanation.

“I need a favor,” you tell her.

“Of course, ma’am. Anything.” But Fern’s large dark eyes shift skittishly between you and Aegon.

You give her the paper bag heavy with treats from Café Parisien. “I’ve brought you dinner. I wasn’t sure what kind of sandwich you’d prefer, so there’s ham and Gruyère, tomato and chèvre, and pâté and cornichon. Eat whichever you like, or all three, it doesn’t matter. Oh, and there’s a chocolate croissant as well, nice and flakey and shining with butter. It’s absolutely massive.”

“That’s very kind, ma’am,” Fern says. She’s touched, but she’s still puzzled.

“Fern, I’m asking you to stay here in the sitting room. It doesn’t matter what you do, but don’t fall asleep, and for God’s sake don’t leave to go outside, not even for a moment.”

“Alright,” she agrees cautiously.

“I don’t think they’ll be back for a few hours, but if somebody does walk through that door—Daemon, Dagmar, anyone—all I need you to do is offer to make them tea, as you would on any other night. And offer loudly.” This will alert you to the intruder and give you more than enough time to get Aegon out onto the private deck, from which he can access the hallways of B-Deck and the Grand Staircase.

Fern understands. She nods, studying Aegon thoughtfully. “Yes ma’am.”

“And I didn’t have any visitors.” Your voice is grave; it is not only your reputation at risk. It’s your life.

Fern feigns shock. “Of course not. I haven’t seen a soul.”

You touch a palm to her shoulder, fleeting and gentle. “Thank you, Fern.”

“It’s no trouble at all, ma’am,” she says, and then goes to the small circular table and begins to unwrap one of the sandwiches from Café Parisien.

As soon as you and Aegon are inside your bedroom, you push Daemon’s writing desk in front of the door, precious extra seconds bought in the unlikely event that your husband returns and Fern can’t slow him down. Aegon immediately begins setting up: placing his easel, clipping a piece of fresh linen-like parchment from his portfolio to it, and removing a palette, brushes, and tiny tin tubes of oil paint from his wooden box. He turns off all of the lamps except one, then glances at the unlit white candles on the dresser and the nightstand. Before he can say anything, you take his aluminum lighter from your handbag and light the wicks.

“Can I do anything else to help?” you ask.

“Yeah.” Aegon nods to your spacious walk-in closet, where the door is hanging ajar. It’s nearly as large as his entire third-class cabin. He shrugs off his black wool coat; beneath it he is wearing only a white button-up shirt and dark green corduroy trousers. “Get dressed. Put on something you feel like you look especially good in.”

You gaze blankly at the closet, then turn back to him. “I don’t think I look good in anything.”

“Well now I’m going to make you watch.” He smirks at you, mischievous, teasing, then drops to his knees to squirt beads of paint onto his stained palette: golden like the lamplight, a rich dark brown like the walnut wood of the bedposts.

“How would you possibly accomplish that?”

“You have a mirror.” He points to it with a paintbrush, the oval-shaped pool of silver standing upright by the bed.

You gape at it, mortified. “No, I couldn’t possibly stare at myself the whole time.”

“Sure you could.” Aegon goes to the mirror and adjusts it until it is filled with your reflection. “Not too bad, right?”

“I suppose,” you murmur, but you have already fled to the closet. As Aegon swirls colors together on his palette, searching for the perfect shades, you sift through your collection of jewel-toned fabrics: lace, cotton, velvet, wool. You think again of the dusk light that turned the decks and waves to rubies, and your eyes catch on a red silk robe: purchased only a month ago, never worn yet, no memories of Daemon or anybody else, a new age like sunset or dawn. You take off your green gown and remove the emeralds from your ears, then don the crimson-colored robe and return to the bedroom to meet Aegon, silk flowing behind you like a riptide, the rustling of your legs beneath the fabric.

Aegon is scrabbling around by the foot of the bed, smoothing out any bumps in the Turkish rug, straightening the white ruffled bed skirt that hangs down to the floor. He peers up at you and freezes, his fretful fingers going still.

You ask tentavively: “Is this okay?”

He chuckles. “Okay is one word for it. Come over here.”

You go to Aegon and he takes your hands, both of them, and draws you down onto the floor where he is. You sit with your legs bent and tucked to the right, as if you’re a mermaid, your tail the color of blood instead of cool rippling depths. Aegon arranges the hem of your robe—he wants your bare feet showing, the silk rumpled in some spots and smooth in others—then retreats and stands back to study you, chewing the corner of his full bottom lip, his hands on his waist.

“Can I take your hair down?”

“Sure,” you say, but when he touches you—even a graze, even a whisper—you have to stop yourself from startling a bit, from reaching out to grab his wrist and keep him close.

“I can paint from memory,” Aegon tells you as he works, perhaps filling the quiet to soothe your nerves. “But it always turns out better if I have the person in front of me.”

“I’ll try to stay still.”

“You can move around if you have to,” he assures you. “I’d rather have you comfortable. I know you’re not a statue.”

“Right.” You smile. “I’m a rock.”

Aegon laughs and places your left hand on the bedpost as if you are clinging to it. “The best rock. Now let’s see you glimmer.” He goes to the mirror and repositions it one final time, angling it downwards slightly so you are in the center of the glass oval. From behind you on the dresser, flickering dots of candlelight glow like stars. You instinctively avert your eyes from your reflection, but Aegon is insistent. Gingerly, he turns your head back towards the mirror before striding over to his easel.

You do not want to watch yourself, so you watch Aegon instead, his doppelganger reversed in the glass. He’s mixing paint on his palette, repeatedly glancing at your robe to make sure he’s made the correct shade of red. He’s absentmindedly tucking a lock of his hair behind his ear. And you cannot stop staring at his hands: the way he holds a paintbrush, the bumps of his knuckles. He is not a man who has ever pillaged or bruised but only created pinpoints of light that gleam through the darkness, music and art and laughter, the gems of human existence. He is far from home, just like you are. His bones are the bars of a prison; you have married into the same one, created new life with it, melded your bloodlines together like forged metal.

Now Aegon is back, his reflection kneeling behind yours, and he begins to reach for your waist before he stops himself. “Is it alright if I…?”

“Of course. However you want me.”

The Aegon that lives in the silver sheen of the mirror settles his hands lightly just below your ribcage. He turns you just barely towards the mirror, only an inch away from where you were before, but he is precise, he is careful. This is the last image he’ll ever capture of you.

The warmth of him against you, his weight, his wonder as he gazes at your reflection with eyes like deep water; your breath catches, and at first he fears he has crossed a line and removes his hands. But your fingers are—slowly, like a suggestion that someone could so easily pretend not to have noticed—pulling up the hem of your silk robe, to just above your ankles, to your calves, to your bent knees. Aegon’s right hand covers yours, and then—as your eyes lock in the mirror—skates up the inside of your thighs as you part them, displacing the vivid red of your robe, revealing yourself in the glass, and so you can see it as he touches you, not like he owns or commands or uses you but like he is here to chisel you free from the perpetual darkness of the mine you’ve been trapped in for millennia.

You gasp in desperate, disbelieving relief, shaking all over, and you move to kiss him; but Aegon catches your face in his other hand and turns you back to the mirror. “No,” he whispers. “Watch.” And then he presses his lips to the apple of your cheek and lingers there for a moment, tasting you, breathing you in like you’re water filling the lungs of a drowning man.

“Aegon…”

“I want you to see how beautiful you are. I want you to see what I’ve been dying to do to you.”

His right hand is still between your legs, his fingers circling, a whirlpool that drags you down like an anchor until you hit the seafloor, an ocean not of pressure and cold but bright, yearning warmth, golden lamplight and flickering candles. You reach back to touch Aegon’s face—the stubble of his short beard, the sand-colored strands of his hair—but still he keeps your gaze fixed on your reflection. Now you are unashamed in a way you haven’t been since before your wedding night five years ago, just about the same time Aegon was leaving home. The proof is indelible, inking itself into your memory like a painter’s signature: you are desired, you are loved.

“Thank you,” you moan, so low it’s almost inaudible. You’re close. You’re very, very close. “Oh my God, Aegon, thank you…”

“Shh.” He kisses the side of your face, his eyes on the mirror, transfixed. “Show me.”

It’s a beam of sunlight refracted and scattered by a ruby; it’s a scalding torrent of blood that crashes through a web of arteries all the way to the heart. And when—still shuddering, still fighting for air—you pull away from Aegon’s grasp, he lets you go without any resistance.

You roll onto the floor and drag him on top of you by his shirt, struggling with trembling fingers to untangle the tie of your robe until Aegon realizes what you’re trying to do and helps you. He opens the blood-red silk and tastes the salt blooming on your belly, your breasts, your throat where your pulse is thudding drunk and maroon in your carotid. It’s better than cider or champagne or beer or nicotine; he is not a poison but a cure. He is unbuttoning his shirt and his trousers, hurried famished need. He is inside of you, and he is kissing you deeply, your palms on his flushed face, your hips moving with his. You steal a glimpse of the silver-moonlight mirror, and there you both are: lost and far from home, shipwrecked on the same island, castaways and wave crests and mirages. In the end, you know you have not disappointed him. His lungs are breathless and his eyes wet, his muscles just as spent and useless as yours. Neither of you are lost anymore. You have found each other here in the gloomy depths.

Almost immediately, Aegon forces himself off of you and crawls towards his easel, at last staggering to his feet. He grabs his palette and a brush and begins working with frenetic strokes, his damp hair falling in his face, his brow knit with concentration. You don’t have to ask what he’s doing. He’s trying to paint you before the memory begins to fade. He works in thin layers, just enough to cover the white of the parchment. His visions are soft and fragile like dreams, things that can be blown away and forgotten. From where you’re still lying on the floor, you gaze up at Aegon as he paints.

Is it possible that I’m in love with him? Is it possible that after this voyage I’ll never see him again?

You have no sense of how much time has passed when he finally looks over at you and says: “I think it’s done.”

You stand and wander across the bedroom, your red robe still open and hanging loosely from you like flayed skin. On the paper you find two faces instead of one, you in a golden haze of ecstasy no one else can see the cause of, Aegon whispering as your fingertips reach back for him.

He has written in black in the bottom right corner of the painting: Petra and Picasso.

~~~~~~~~~~

Aegon doesn’t want to move it yet. The oil paint needs hours to dry, and he’s worried that if he takes it outside while it’s still wet, the wind screaming down from the Arctic might be cold enough to make the paint freeze and chip away, and the momentary lust-red magic he’s captured will be gone. So with the new painting still clipped to it, you hide Aegon’s folded easel, the leather portfolio, and the wooden box of supplies under your bed, concealed by the white ruffled bed skirt. You both take turns cleaning up in the bathroom—someone always listening for the noise of an unwelcome interloper—and Aegon shimmies back into his clothes while you change into a blue dress, velvet for warmth, pale like ice.

“Where can we go?” you ask Aegon as you put on a coat, heavy white wool. I don’t want to say goodbye to you yet.

He must feel the same way. He pushes Daemon’s writing desk back to its original place, unblocking the door. Then Aegon offers his hand and you take it.

You walk together into the sitting room. Fern looks up from where she’s perched on the sofa and sewing closed a rip in the sleeve of one of Dagmar’s charcoal-colored dresses, her eye wide.

“Thank you, Fern,” you say, calm and drowsy. “That will be all for tonight.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“How can I repay you?” You don’t have your own money, your own land; even the jewels in your collection belong to Daemon. You’d give them all up if they could buy your freedom. You’d let them sink into the dark cold North Atlantic Ocean, emeralds and rubies and sapphires. Randomly, you think of Daemon’s gemstone-studded dagger, the hilt glinting with gold.

Fern replies: “Never send me away to live with people who don’t bring me chocolate croissants.”

You dash to the sofa and hug her; Fern is stunned but accepts your embrace, warily patting your back as if the bones beneath might be porcelain or glass. Then you clasp Aegon’s hand again and vanish with him into the hallway.

Most of the men are still at dinner or have moved to the First-Class Smoking Room, the women are still gossiping and sipping their champagne, and so you and Aegon slip through the heated corridors like sharks in warm currents. He leads you towards the stern, to the section of the ship reserved for his chosen people, then down to F-Deck and the Third-Class Dining Saloon. They are just beginning to move the tables out of the way for dancing. You find a quiet corner of the room and take off your coats, then Aegon disappears for a moment and returns with a tray: two plates full of corned beef, cabbage, carrots, and potatoes, two bowls of plum pudding, two cups of tea, a dark bitter pint of Guinness for you. You can feel your face light up when you see Irish food.

“You’re lucky you weren’t down here for breakfast,” Aegon tells you. “We had fried tripe and onions.”

“Oh, awful,” you say, laughing. You take a bite of corned beef and close your eyes, thinking of Saint Patrick’s Day with your family each year, always a cold wet day in March, green hills and grey mist. When you open your eyes, Aegon is smiling.

“A little taste of Ireland.” Now he is wistful. Across the room, the musicians Aegon sometimes plays with have climbed on top of a table and are performing My Wild Irish Rose as couples whirl around the floor. “I’ll miss it. I love the music and the people. Perhaps one in particular.”

“What are you going to do when you get home?”

“I’m going to tell Aemond he has to teach me how to be a duke,” Aegon says casually as he eats. “I can’t really give it up, unfortunately. The title belongs to the Crown, not my family. It can be taken away any time the king decides he wants to. And he’s a strict one, George V. He’s humorless, he’s harsh. If I refuse my inheritance, I can’t just pass it along to Aemond, not unless the king agrees. But the way I am…my failings, my lack of restraint…it makes my bloodline look like bad stock, doesn’t it? Especially with all that eugenics bullshit floating around. I don’t want my mother and siblings to lose everything because of me. My mother has spent her entire life miserable, I figure she should have something to show for it.”

The Hightower branch of the family are phantoms to you. You know them only from newspaper articles and erratic gossip and sneering remarks muttered by your husband. You take a swig of your Guinness, and for the first time in as long as you can remember you don’t feel like you want to have another. You don’t want to take the jagged edges off this moment, hidden below deck with Aegon for what is almost certainly the last time. You don’t want to forget anything about him. “What’s Aemond like?”

“Superior to me in every way,” Aegon says. “Disciplined. Clever. Very tall.”

“I myself favor short, delinquent artists. Those tall clever dragons are nothing but trouble.”

He snickers, shaking his head. “I’m not a real artist.”

“Sure you are. You’re Picasso.”

He’s watching you with murky blue eyes, dazed and marveling. “What are you going to do when you’re back in Ireland?”

It’s a fantasy, a folktale. I’ll never see Ireland again. “I’m going to help take care of my father. He’s…he’s not well, and he hasn’t been for a long time. His memory is failing. I want to make his last years as painless as possible. I want to spent time with my mother again, I want to go on walks and sit in the garden and read books and paint our ugly little pictures. We used to play this game where we’d each paint an animal and then have the other guess what it is. It once took her twelve tries before she realized my grey blob was supposed to be a basking shark. I saw one washed up on the shore when I was little.”

Aegon is smiling. “I could teach you how to paint.”

“Yes,” you say softly, knowing it will never happen.

“You could teach me what it’s like to have nice parents.”

“They’d adore that. They always wanted more children.” You are distracted, gazing into your Guinness, flecks of foam like constellations in a night sky. “I want to make sure Draco grows up to be a good man. I want him to be kind and gentle.” You look to Aegon, the thought suddenly leaping into your mind like a cat onto a windowsill. “Like you.”

Aegon’s eyebrows shoot up. “Like me? No, Petra. You don’t want that. I was a demon.”

“And yet you turned out fine in the end.”

“I turned out weak,” he says, abruptly severe. He drags his fingers through his disheveled hair, staring forlornly at the white wall behind you. “I wanted to help you but I can’t. I followed you from Galway to Cork, to the first-class decks, to your staterooms, and now…now when we dock in New York you’re going to get dragged off to wherever Daemon wants you to be and…and there’s just nothing I can do about it.”

“You’ve helped me,” you insist. “But now you’re too far away.”

Aegon comes over to your side of the table and drapes an arm across the back of your chair, and you lean into him, and together you watch the couples dancing to cheerful Irish music. Below your feet the engines are humming, and outside the waves are crashing against the hull of the ship, and up on B-Deck Daemon is probably crawling like a spider into Rhaenyra’s bed, and Laenor is consorting with his new Parisien companions, and Dagmar is reading some Scandinavian story to Draco before he falls asleep, and husbands are dulling their worries with brandy and cigars, and wives are distracting themselves with gossip about other women’s lives.

You don’t want to leave, not even as the passengers here in the Third-Class Dining Saloon begin to clear out and those left are so drunk they can hardly keep themselves upright, stumbling into tables and chairs and howling uproariously. Aegon doesn’t want to leave either. Now his arms have circled around your waist, and he’s nuzzling at your throat and the curve of your jaw, and you’re trying not to notice the weight of your black opal engagement ring on your left hand so you can forget the life you’ll have to go back to tomorrow.

I want him again, you think hazily. Where can we go? Where on earth can we go?

There is a sudden jolt, a deafening grinding sound, a tremor that shakes through the steel latticework of the ship. The few remaining dancers shout and cling to their partners. Pints of beer are knocked from tables and spill across the floor. Plates clatter and lightweight wooden chairs slide away.

“What the fuck was that?” a drunk man slurs, but then he and his friends begin to laugh about it, pounding on each other’s backs. You turn to Aegon. He’s not laughing. His eyes are large and darting around.

“Aegon, the ship is fine, right?”

“Yeah,” he says quickly, but he’s standing and passing you your white wool coat. “Come on. Let’s go up to a higher deck to see what’s happened.”

You picture the lifeboats that you have strolled past so many times, not nearly enough space for all the passengers, only the lucky half, the richest half. “The ship can’t sink, can it? That’s what everyone’s been telling me since we boarded, and I didn’t believe them because of course any ship can sink, but…Aegon…”

“It’s probably just a problem with one of the boilers or a propeller or something,” he says as he pulls on his black coat, stolen just like the way he’s stolen you tonight. But he doesn’t walk to the hallway and up the nearest staircase; he damn near sprints, dragging you along with him.

Outside the night sky is black and full of stars, bitterly cold, no wind. You emerge near the bow of the ship, and third-class passengers are kicking around chunks of ice as if they are playing Gaelic football. Aegon spins around, searching for the source of the ice.

“Ehi, amico! Did you see it?” an Italian man calls to Aegon. Aegon trots over to join him. You look down at the pine planks under your shoes. Is the ship listing towards the starboard side, or is that your imagination?

“No, what happened?” Aegon is asking the Italian. You can hear voices from the other decks, less alarmed than curious, people rattled awake, stewards helping to retrieve items that have rolled away.

“Iceberg, a huge one! We just went right past it! Pieces broke off and fell everywhere. We don’t have nothing like this in Napoli!”

“An iceberg?” Aegon echoes, stunned. He goes to the railing and leans over to squint out into the blackness. “Did we hit it?”

“We bumped it a little, I think,” the Italian says, unconcerned. Then he returns to the game, kicking a block of ice when it glides over to him.

“Look,” you say to Aegon when he returns to you, pointing skyward. Up in the crow’s nest, you can just barely hear the lookouts shouting back and forth. You cannot decipher their words, but they sound agitated. They sound afraid.

“Hit an iceberg,” Aegon murmurs, trying to make sense of it. “But that’s not serious, right? No one’s running for the lifeboats, no one’s talking about leaks or anything—”

“Aegon, does the ship seem like it’s listing to you?”

He peers down at the deck, shifts his weight from foot to foot. He doesn’t have to answer. When he looks up at you again, his blue eyes are panic-stricken.

“I have to find the shipbuilder Mr. Andrews,” you say. “He’ll have investigated, he’ll know how bad the damage is.”

“I’m going with you.”

I don’t know where my jailers are: Daemon, Dagmar, Rush, Rhaenyra. “You shouldn’t be in my section of the ship.”

“If something really is wrong, they’ll be the first people to know,” Aegon says. That’s cruel, but it’s true. First-class lives are worth more than his.

You fly up the steps to A-Deck, where on the Promenade Deck men in black suits are chuckling about the ruckus as they puff on pipes and cigars, and women in beaded evening gowns are pressing their soft pampered hands to their chests as they recall the shock of the earthquake-like shudder that rattled Titanic. Stewards are flitting around fetching tea and pillows. No one is talking about lifeboats or sinking, which you take to be a good sign; but you can’t find Thomas Andrews.

When you and Aegon have at last circled back to the bow of the ship, you spot a group of men walking swiftly into the glass box of the bridge. They are speaking in low voices, their hands moving in frenetic gestures. Thomas Andrews is there, you are relieved to see. J. Bruce Ismay and Captain Smith are among those with him.

“Mr. Andrews!” you cry, and he stops and turns. He is carrying an armful of rolled-up engineering drawings.

“Lady Targaryen,” he says numbly, then seems to lurch out of a trance and hurries to you, standing closer than would be considered proper. In his state, he has not noticed Aegon, lurking a few paces behind you and listening intently. “Your family, Daemon and the others…you must wake them.”

“I saw the ice on the deck by the bow, did the ship—?”

“We hit it,” Mr. Andrews tells you, hushed so others will not hear and become hysterical. “An iceberg. Scraped along the side, caused the iron plates to buckle below the waterline. I’ve seen the forward cargo holds and they’re…” He blinks, astonished, as if this is a nightmare he might still wake up from.

This can’t be happening. This ship was supposed to be unsinkable. That’s what everybody told me, that I was insane to fear the journey. “But…but what about the watertight bulkheads?” He had spoken so confidently of them at dinner just a few nights ago.

“I didn’t built them high enough, and seawater is spilling over the tops. The first five compartments are already flooded, too many for Titanic to stay afloat.”

“The ship will sink?” you whisper, terrified. Aegon moves closer, a palm on the small of your back.

“Yes,” Mr. Andrews says.

“When?”

“Perhaps an hour or two.”

“An hour?!”

“Carpathia has answered our distress call, but she’s four hours away.”

You stare at him. “And the ocean…it’s freezing.” Anyone left adrift in it will die.

“Get to a lifeboat, Lady Targaryen,” Mr. Andrews says. “Don’t wait. I’m doing everything I can.” He rejoins the other men and goes with them into the bridge. Behind the glass walls, J. Bruce Ismay begins to yell something at Captain Smith.

“Hey, hey, listen,” Aegon is telling you, but you can’t seem to focus on him. His voice sounds like it is coming from very far away, another coast, another lifetime.

“There aren’t enough lifeboats,” you say, flat with shock.

“I know. I remember what you told Fern when I saw you up on the Boat Deck.”

You race for the steps that lead down to B-Deck where your staterooms are. “I have to find Draco—”

“Wait, wait, listen to me.” Aegon’s hand reaches out and grasps yours, not imprisoning you but imploring you, begging you to hear him. “Half the people on this ship are going to die.”

“Yes,” you agree, the horror of it quivering in your voice. In the frigid night air your words turn to fog like the mist that clings to the Cliffs of Moher, like ghosts captured in the corners of photographs.

“And most of the bodies will never be recovered, and there will be no way of knowing for sure what happened to them, and the crime scene will be at the bottom of the ocean.”

Crime scene? Crime scene??? “Aegon, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t you get it? Petra, this is your way out. I’ll help you. We’ll do this together.”

Draco. I have to get Draco into a lifeboat. “Aegon, I don’t understand, do what?”

His eyes are gleaming; the grin that splits across his face reveals teeth like pearls. “We’re going to kill your husband.”

#aegon x reader #aegon targaryen ii #aegon ii #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon ii targaryen #aegon x y/n #aegon x you #aegon ii targaryen x reader #aegon ii x you #aegon ii x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon ii fanfic #aegon ii x y/n

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cinnbar-bun · 9 months ago

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first off— I LOVE UR WORK!! i think i just went thru and read everything you have for one piece LOL. second!!! i saw hc / drabble request open !! i have a silly idea that i feel like you can make come into reality.

recently i’ve been watching isekai’s so…imagine. reader getting isekai-d into the one piece world!!! (more specifically, interactions with the cross guild!!!)

A/n: Thank you very much nonnie!! I really appreciate you taking the time to read my stuff. Please enjoy this <3

Getting Isekai'd Into Cross Guild!

Rating: SFW

Relationship: Cross Guild x Reader

Notes: GN!Reader, a bit crack, short and sweet. No relationship is defined so you can assume it to be platonic or romantic <3.

The wonderful Truck-kun granted your wish of getting isekai’d by sending you straight to the One Piece world! How wonderful!

Except, you quite literally fell on top of Buggy just as he was trying to argue his case to Crocodile and Mihawk.

Now, they have no clue what the hell just happened but Mihawk already agrees with whatever that just was.

Buggy is about to scream over the fact you just fell on top of him and Crocodile is wondering how you managed to get here.

Crocodile assumes a Devil Fruit, Mihawk assumes you snuck in, and Buggy assumes you’re the devil.

It takes a moment for things to settle down as they demand you tell them what you’re doing here. You explain that well… uh… you’re not really from here.

Crocodile almost plans to kill you right away because he doesn’t have time for stupidity like that, but you show whatever you have on hand to prove otherwise.

They’re all immediately entranced by your phone, but they have something they’re also interested in too.

Crocodile: Your credit cards and money. When you explain how a credit/debit card functions he’s amazed. Tempted to start a bank and overhaul the current financial system. Also loves the excel spreadsheets. The fact this “machine” will calculate all of this for you and put it in a neat list… well… mark him down as interested.

Buggy: The shiny games on your phone that are colorful and fun. The fact he can “Google” anything and look up new material.

Mihawk: EReaders and, this will sound hilarious, but text messaging. He doesn’t care to talk, but he thinks that sending texts would be so much more effective and efficient than having to haul himself around the sea or, god forbid, answer a phone call.

Okay so you did manage to prove you’re not from this world (or that perhaps you were an alien freak but that’s okay) and Crocodile and Mihawk are pretty much entertained. That’s it. You can go. Bother someone else.

Buggy however, holds you close and pouts. “Can we keep them? Can we keep them pleeeeeeeease???” He begs as if you’re a little puppy.

Crocodile is against this but Mihawk shrugs and agrees. Whatever. This could be interesting.

Buggy still doesn’t understand you’re not some circus animal and rambles about what he should have you wear and perform for his show while Crocodile cuts him off.

Frankly, if you’re telling the truth and have nowhere else to go, you gotta earn your keep. Crocodile just makes a new position for you that shouldn’t be too hard after you said you have 0 combat skills or training.

You’re basically just their assistant and do menial work that no one else really wants to do. For now at least.

Buggy is actually… kinda happy you’re so nice to him? He’s used to either worship from his crewmates or abuse from Mihawk and Crocodile, so you quickly become his new favorite person. He’s pretty shocked you’re as nice as you are considering how crappy this situation is, but he’s grateful. Softens up to you right away and loves having your attention.

Buggy likes to do silly tricks to make you laugh whenever he can, mostly as a way to be the “flashiest” guy in your eyes. He really doesn’t like when others try to take you or away or interrupt his time with you, since he’s a brat and finds you entertaining.

Crocodile and Mihawk are tougher nuts to crack. Neither of them trust people, but they find you interesting, even though you are incredibly weak compared to others.

Crocodile always tries to see what you may/may not know about him since you made a few offhand comments that were a bit too… knowledgeable… so he often tries to get you to slip up more or confess to something. He hopes to see if you know something useful that can be used (but also deep down is afraid you know too much).

Mihawk on the other hand finds you amusing. Plenty of things are similar to your world, but it’s quite clear you’re not used to many aspects of this one. He forms a habit of just watching you or actively messing with you to see your reaction. It’s a bit funny to him, admittedly.

Of the two, Mihawk is the first to somewhat let his guard down and be a bit protective of you. He figures even if you were hypothetically “dangerous”, he could easily kill you so what does he care? You do your job, you’re entertaining, and you don’t give him a headache.

Crocodile only lets up when you “prove” time and time again that you are reliable and not trying to go after them or sabotage them. He does think it’s a bit weird you’re eager to help them, considering what they do and what you know, but hey, who is he to complain?

To sum it up: Crocodile cares the most about you being isekai’d, Buggy cares the least (except when it comes to his perception. He wonders if he’s also got a following there).

Buggy likes showing off his new tricks or discussing silly hypotheticals with you.

Crocodile likes when your eyes grow wide whenever he drops an expensive item on your desk as a token of his appreciation to you.

Mihawk likes when you talk him to normally and share deep discussions with him.

It is a bit strange that there’s some “normal” person with these three villains, but you’ve become important to them. You’re unique and special, practically one of a kind in this zany world. They show their feelings towards you in different ways, but the way they’ve grown attached to you and try to protect you show that you’re valued in their life.

#one piece #one piece x reader #x reader #reader insert #sir crocodile #one piece hcs #sir crocodile x reader #crocodile x reader #crocodile one piece #dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk #buggy x reader #buggy the clown #cross guild #cross guild x reader

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d1xonss · 10 months ago

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heyyy went thru all your masterlist (reader one) and fell inlove with your fics i was wondering if you can write something like grumpy!daryl x sunshine!reader ykwim? like they complete eachother (::

Sunshine

✧ Pairing : Daryl Dixon x Reader

✧ Era : Season 10

✧ Pronouns : she/her

✧ Genre : Fluff

✧ Word Count : 2.1k

AN ~ Ahhh thank you so much for reading, it truly means so much! I’m always down to write this type of stuff, I think it’s so cute:)) I appreciate the request and hope you enjoy! ps- I thought this was a super cute thing to post for Valentine's Day💋

It was quiet, peaceful inside your home as you busied yourself around the space. It was a nice hot summer day, and you felt quite accomplished with the amount of things you had gotten done in just the span of a few hours. You tended to your garden full of colorful flowers, made a trip to the pantry to pick up a few things you were running low on, cleaned and tidied up the house, the list really went on and on. But the truth was you loved doing things like this, it almost tricked you into believing that life outside the gates was normal again. Even though you knew it wasn’t, it was still nice to pretend from time to time.

Currently, you busied yourself with making some of your famous homemade brownies, something you found you hadn’t made in quite some time. With everything going on lately, it was hard to find the time to do the things you loved most, which was in fact, to bake. But now that everything had died down for the most part, you quickly hopped back onto the opportunity. Whether it was cake, cookies, or some kind of bread, you always found life to be a little bit better with something sweet.

But you weren’t just making these brownies for yourself, in fact, whenever you whipped something up it was never just for you. It was also for your husband Daryl whom you adored more than anything else in this world, the man constantly making you happier with each passing day. And he loved you just as much if not more, and he especially loved being your taste tester whenever you tried out a new recipe. The first time you had called him that, he just scoffed and shook his head as if what you said was something stupid. But you could see that small smirk he had on his face afterwards, silently telling you that he actually loved the little job you assigned, though he would never admit it out loud.

You hummed to yourself quietly as you began to mix the dry and wet ingredients together, swaying your hips a little to the soft song playing in the background. Recently you had found a record player on a run and you were over the moon excited to use it, missing music from the world before. And although you hadn’t found the best records in the world to listen to, you thought almost anything was better than the quiet. The most you had found were a few country albums which weren't in your top favorite genres for sure, but you had to admit it was growing on you the smallest bit. With the way you danced along, it was hard to deny.

Your head then suddenly snapped up when you heard the sound of the front door opening, a smile being brought to your face as you already knew who it was. He was a little loud upon entering your shared house, dropping his crossbow on the table with a loud smack, huffing and puffing as he entered the living room without a word. Your smile dropped a little, usually he would call out to you to announce that he was home, but clearly today was not one of those days. He was in a mood, and you knew you would have to cheer him up.

Although Daryl was perfect to you in every way, he was a pretty grumpy man from time to time when things didn’t work out or go the way he planned. The littlest things could completely ruin his demeanor for the rest of the day at times. He would hold onto it, rant about it constantly while it was on his mind, even though most of the time it was something that he couldn’t change. But you assumed that’s what frustrated him the most. And this was no different, hearing him sigh heavily in the other room as he plopped down on the sofa.

But the best thing about you, was that at the end of the day, you always found a way to make him feel better.

You discarded the mixing spoon that was in your hand, moving out of the kitchen and towards the living room in an attempt to see what was bothering him. But once you caught sight of him whilst lingering in the doorway of the space, you sighed quietly upon seeing how he held his face in his hands, slumped over the side of the couch. You could tell he was irritated and that something had happened today while he was out, but it was nothing that you couldn’t fix. And you figured the brownies would help too.

So you finally pushed yourself forward to enter the room, softly sitting down next to him as you raised your hand up to squeeze his shoulder lightly. “Hi sweetie.” you greeted softly.

But he didn’t respond. He didn’t even raise his head up to look you in the eye. The most he did was grunt, and even you didn’t know in that moment if it was directed towards you or not.

You eyed him for a moment before speaking again, “How was your day?” you asked gently while rubbing his shoulder up and down now.

Still nothing. Damn he was a tough one to crack today. But you knew he couldn’t resist you for very long, even if today was the worst day of his life, he always came around for you. Always.

Upon not getting a verbal response, you leaned further into him and began to trail a few quick kisses on the side of his head, to which he scoffed and scooted away from. “Come on woman, m’ not in the mood.” he grumbled as he finally looked up from the floor.

“He speaks.” you said as you raised your hands up in victory, your actions causing him to scoff with a roll of his eyes. Acting as if you were the dramatic one here. “What happened?” you asked with a tilted head.

He blew out a breath of air, “Nothin.”

“Mhm…” you trailed off sarcastically with a nod, “Nothing…”

He was silent for a long moment, nearly minutes passing by, before he blew another harsh breath out as he leaned back against the couch. “We lost all those damn supplies on that run we took today, walkers just came outta nowhere and we didn’t have time to stick around. Negan’s getting on my fuckin nerves all the damn time, spittin out the same bullshit I’ve heard a hundred fuckin times before. And my bike broke down on the way back, don’t even know if I can fix it.”

If someone was looking at this from an outside perspective, seeing the amount he just unleashed while you sat there with a small smile on your face, their jaw would probably be on the floor. How you hardly reacted at all, how he was so harsh with the way he spoke, you were sure it would look questionable to anyone who didn’t truly know the two of you, or your dynamic. But the truth was, you had heard this similar song and dance about a hundred different times before, knowing he just needed to get everything off his chest and blow off some steam. And you knew after saying it all out loud, along with a little comfort, he would see that everything would be alright in the end.

Your lip stuck out in a pout as you looked at him, “Oh, my poor baby.” you said dramatically as you pulled him back into you, placing your lips on his cheek to kiss him there multiple times as he let out a heavy and annoyed sigh.

“Stop.” he protested, yet made no attempts to pull away from your affection. In fact, you swore you almost felt him lean in further.

You giggled against his skin as you pulled away far enough to look him in the eye, “I’m sorry you had a rough day.” you spoke seriously now as you stroked the side of his face, “But it’ll be okay…everything will work itself out.”

He scoffed quietly at your words, “Ya always say that.”

“And I’m always right.” you said as you leaned in to place another kiss on his cheek, “Remember when you came back from a hunt that one time with nothing, and you were all grumpy about it? What happened the next day?”

He glanced over to you for a few moments before letting out a soft sigh, “Found three deers…” he grumbled.

“Right.” you said as you moved to give his arm a soft squeeze, “You worry way too much over this kind of stuff, just breathe. Relax. It’s all going to be fine.”

His expression softened drastically after you talked to him, kind and gentle as always, wordlessly leaning into you and wrapping his arms around your waist, hugging you tight. You laughed lightly as you hugged him back, stroking the back of his hair soothingly as you felt him exhale deeply. Taking a breath like you advised.

“M’ sorry.” he muttered suddenly after a few moments of silence.

Your brows furrowed a little in confusion, “For what, honey?”

“For dumpin this shit on ya all the time…” he clarified as he squeezed you tighter, “Ya don’t deserve that…hearin me bitch-”

“Hey.” you cut him off as you pulled away, taking his face in your hands, “That’s what I’m here for, to listen. I’m honored to be the one you go to when you need to rant about something, and I’m even more honored that I’m the one who gets to make you feel better. That’s certainly not something to be sorry for, okay?”

His lip turned up in a small smile as he took your hands from his face, kissing your palm lightly as he looked at you with soft eyes, “I don’t deserve ya.”

You shushed him instantly with a shake of your head, “Yes you do.” you assured, before your mind trailed off a little in realization which caused a small smile to form on your face, “But…I do think I have something else that’ll make you feel better. Maybe even better than I can.”

He scoffed with a growing smile, “Well, I highly doubt that…but go on…” he said as his interest clearly piqued.

“Well…I just so happen to have some brownie batter in the kitchen with your name on it.” you said as you raised your eyebrows.

His eyes widened the smallest bit in clear excitement before glancing out the doorway, clearly itching to rush into the kitchen now, “Ya haven’t even baked em yet..?”

You shook your head with a smile, “Nope…I’ll even let you lick the spoon.” you said, knowing that was his favorite part.

His smile only grew then as there seemed to be a sparkle in his eye, like a kid in a giant candy store. The two of you then ventured back toward the kitchen where the music was still playing softly, getting the batter ready to be put into the pan to bake. But of course, he took the spoon from you almost instantly when you were done using it, licking the entire thing completely clean as if he couldn’t get enough. Though he felt he had to tease you just a little bit, taking a small dollop from the utensil on his finger before bringing it to the tip of your nose with a “boop.”

You knew then and there that his mind was far from the events earlier that day, now enjoying his time he had with you as he looked at you as if you were a bright ball of sunshine after a rainy day. The sunshine that he desperately needed in his life.

But then the time came. The oven had beeped and you had pulled the brownies out of the oven to cool before cutting them, topping it off with some powdered sugar before your taste tester gave his honest feedback. He took a corner piece, which were his favorite, and took a large bite of the chocolate goodness while you looked at him in anticipation.

“Well..?”

He said nothing, his eyes rolled back and a groan left his lips as he savored the sweetness on his tongue, and that was the only answer you needed. You smiled brightly as you clapped to yourself, his signs of approval proving that you were only getting better with the hobby you loved to do.

“Dunno how ya do it,” he commented before shoving the rest of the brownie in his mouth, “They just get better and better.” he said with his mouth full.

You smiled proudly as you began to grab a piece for yourself, “Well it’s a good thing I have my taste tester to give me all the feedback I need.”

Normally he would roll his eyes at the continuous nickname you bestowed upon him, but not today. He only smiled with a nod, bringing you in to leave a dramatic kiss on your cheek, pulling away with a loud “muah.”

“I’ll always be here ta taste whatever ya want sunshine.” he promised.

And you believed him completely.

~ Thanks for reading!

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