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rockingbytheseaside · 6 months ago

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✦ You test out a new lipstick

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia)

Tw: smooches! Shield your eyes!

Oh, would you look at that, you bought a new lipstick. You just need to test whether it wears down quickly or leaves any mark.

✧ Pierro is in a haste. You blurt out that you need a new lipstick once, and the next thing you know, he purchases several high-quality ones for you. Offering you swatches of colors, makeup removers, different shades, and lipstick textures, he observes with analytical admiration as you sit in front of a mirror and apply the lipstick carefully.

One last step is missing – to try its imprint. The Jester is ready to reach for a napkin to let you try. But you only smiled. Before he can comprehend, your hand reaches to turn his head and gently guides him closer to your lips until you sweetly capture his. It’s not often that The Jester experiences a complete blank out, but when you deliberately trace your lips across his skin and start preparing his face with kisses, how else is he supposed to react? Hold in his hitched breaths? Not deepen the kisses to relish the ambrosia of your lips?

Suffice it to say, you are proud of the imprints on his pale skin. He seems even prouder, wearing them like a badge of honor, despite his stoic appearance.

✧ You asked Il Capitano to evaluate the new shade of lipstick you bought. Like any loving partner, the honorable Captain stated honestly that any hue suits you elegantly. Even if his knowledge of cosmetics is minimal, he felt delighted and proud of your looks.

But that wasn’t the issue. Now you were standing in front of him, smiling menacingly.

“What is it, my treasure?”

You stepped closer.

“Dear…?”

You stepped even closer. Oh no, thought the Captain, he’s in danger. His pleas for reason and mercy went unheard. Instead, he faced a bigger battle—a battle that left his helmet not with scratches but with various imprints of your kisses. You stood triumphantly, happy with your lipstick and the numerous marks on his helmet and neck.

Il Capitano lost the battle that day.

✧ At last, Il Dottore mused to himself, the perfect hue of lipstick designed scientifically for you. You voiced your issue in finding a suitable shade of makeup for yourself, hence you asked none other than your beloved to find a logical solution. So he took matters into his own hands to find the best chemical solution and accurately create the best shade to match your skin.

Naturally, it was a success. With his gloves stained in various colorful substances, he proudly handed you a slender tube with a delicate black cap from the table as if it were a casual concoction he could make on a whimsy. Hence, you thanked him and blithely applied it on the spot.

“Dottore, it turned out magnificently!” – you said as you looked into the reflection of your face. But when you turned to look at him, Dottore’s complexion went vaguely blank. “Hm, what is it? Isn't it good? You made it matte, too.”

He silently stepped forward; even behind his black mask, you could sense his full attention zooming on the beauty of your lips.

"Well, true... I formulated it to be stain-proof, so it won't smudge as you go about your day. However," - he hummed, his hand cupping your jawline warmly. "Every product requires assiduous testing. We could conduct a few tests of our own to ensure its performance. If I may,"

Of course, he would test it personally. Of course, he then captures your lips in a kiss, his hand on the back of your head, his touch an ardent mix of passion and desire. He explores your mouth, his tongue caressing yours with a fervor, wanting to test how long the lipstick will last under the pressure of his kisses. You should've expected this, as his other hand encloses around you to press you flush against him.

"Ah... interesting. It's held up quite well. There's no transfer on your skin or mine, but I do think further testing is necessary."

“Enough, enough! That’s plenty of testing from you!”

✧ Scaramouche dislikes shopping. It’s a hassle, truly. You requested him to accompany you on a leisurely stroll, oblivious of your trap to drag him to some quick shopping. Except this quick shopping turned into a full-blown shopping spree. The question is: was he here to accompany you or to pull you away from wasting all your Mora on fleeting indulgences?

“No, you don't need any more clothes. You have plenty of unworn ones.”

“No, we don't need any more plushies, your bed is already littered with them.”

“And no, you already had some snacks on the way here. Stop buying more!”

You couldn't escape his stern reminders, even if they were practical. However, there was still one shop you left as an ace up your sleeves. Before finishing today's trip, you encouraged The Balladeer to join you in cosmetics shopping. Your innocent smile spoke promises of letting him choose your new lipstick color if he so desired, and the allure of it caused him to halt.

“... Me? Why must I choose? Can't you pick a simple color and call it a day, huh?” - Scaramouche feigned annoyance when, in reality, he quickly grabbed your arm and led you hastily to the boutique. “We'll quickly buy one, but don't get any ideas that we're staying here for any longer.”

Poor Harbinger; he didn't have to lie to himself so cruelly. The two of you stayed in the boutique for a long while, not because you were indecisive, but because Scaramouche suddenly took the matters with utter seriousness. Should he suggest a carnelian shade? It would match with his own red eyeshade. Or perhaps a darker one would suit your complexion? Especially if you decided to leave contrasting lipstick imprints all over his porcelain skin-

Scaramouche shook his head. Your voice interrupted his train of thought.

“Um… Scara, sweetie? Could we decide already? We spent the whole day in this shop.”

“We'll buy all of them, then,” - he held up your face, his full focus on you as you timidly averted your gaze. “Here. Now let me help you apply it.”

✧ Pantalone sat behind his desk, fingers intertwined thoughtfully. Silver glasses cast a shadow upon his already darkened gaze. His expression, unfortunately, was far from pleased.

“L-lord Harbinger Regrator,” – the Fatui subordinate uttered. “It is with utmost sorrow that I must inform you that- that the cosmetologists you hired have not finished their work. They are still in the process of creating the products you requested.”

The silence of the office was deafening. The Harbinger granted no mercy with his prolonged pause.

“... I commission the best cosmetologist in all of Teyvat, and they still dare to waste my Mora and time? Is this some frivolous matter for them?” - The Harbinger's hands sternly pressed against the table, his voice raised “My beloved requested a new lipstick! They deserve the best of the best, as soon as possible!”

“Uh, honey… I am still here in the room.” - your voice interjected awkwardly. Indeed, it's true; you are sitting nearby, blinking in confusion. You waved at the Fatui subordinate to take it easy, signaling sympathetically that your partner was having another one of his ambitious episodes.

“Honey, my love, this is no fleeting matter! I wanted you to get the highest, custom-made quality for cosmetics. You rarely ask for anything, but when you do, I can't just let you down!”

“It's just lipstick…! I didn't even say what color or kind I wanted.”

“And that's precisely why you shall get all of them. You there,” - he signaled back to the subordinate swiftly. “Quick, send the letters to those cosmetic chemists to hurry up if they want to make themselves worth the Mora. Delays are not negotiable.”

With the Fatui worker scurrying away in a hurry, Pantalone sighed deeply before plopping down beside you on the sofa of his office. You patted his back, amused by his sudden precedence over something so mundane.

“There, there, Pantalone. You know it's nothing urgent. It's just lipstick.”

“Not any lipstick. Your lipstick, darling! I need to see you don the most dazzling color on your lips.” He turned to gently trace his thumb across your jawline, his voice softening. “...The lips that should be showering me with kisses and leaving lipstick prints on my skin.”

You laughed heartily – “Oh, so that's what it's all about? You know, makeup or no makeup, I can still kiss y-”

You didn't register how The Harbinger's head bowed lowly in reverence. “I would pay you any amount of Mora for you to do so.”

Pantalone truly knows how to blow up over the most bizarre things. Either way, as the weeks passed, the newly ordered cosmetics did arrive as instructed. How did people know? Because Pantalone didn’t shy away from flaunting the traces of your delicate lips on his neck and blouse. A testament to stolen kisses and intimate moments behind closed doors. His triumphant grin says it all.

✧ Your ever-observant boyfriend, Tartaglia, noticed you mulling something over by the mirror. You seemed in deep focus, a new item in your hands as you inspected your visage. You tried on a new lipstick!

Childe, being the endearing goofball that he is, complimented your new purchase with delight. You appreciated his knack for noticing even the smallest changes, even if you didn't directly tell him you tried on something new. All was well!

Or was it? For beneath his easygoing smile, in the deepest recesses of his soul, Tartaglia was begging, crying, screaming. He wanted to hold your face in his palms and kiss you senseless. He wished to taste the sweetness of your lips until this adorable color of your lipstick was smeared on both of your faces. He wished to soak in the warmth of your pecks and kisses, dreaming for your touch to litter his face with imprints.

Did he say all of that? Of course not. He kept beaming at you in adoration, his smile tender while his thoughts devouring. Yet, after days of wrestling with his unspoken desires, Childe devised a plan – a very, very subtle plan.

“Oh nooo,” - he lamented dramatically, leaning against the doorway with a hand draped theatrically over his forehead. “If only my beloved was here to bestow me some loving kisses, especially when they look so alluring in their new lipstick! If only!”

You raised an eyebrow at Tartaglia’s shenanigans as if asking him: Really? What is this damsel in distress act? Nonetheless, luckily for the 11th, his oh-so-subtle hints hit the mark, because you happily cupped his cheeks and smooched them with fervor, feeling his warm skin under your lips as he chuckled.

Needless to say, your lipstick didn’t stand a chance.

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moscatosin · 13 days ago

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🖤 taste tests - mattheo x reader x theodore🖤 bored reader. oral (m! rec), public spaces, have a sprite. mdni, (2.3k).

“You two are both absolutely, fucking deranged.”

Coming from anyone else, the comment would have stung a little, like a quick witted insult with clearly no through process put into it, but slipping off the tongue of one Theodore Nott; the words were delivered as a fucking compliment – one wrapped, mind you, tastefully within the perfection of his somewhat rare, yet rather amusing comedic flare.

Your knees – they ached. God, did they fucking hurt at this point, all bruised and battered and bloodied on an almost artistic scale from the rough stone floors you’d been kneeling on for now what felt like forever, but let’s be real – the uncomfortable feeling and pain you were going through was a rather small price to pay for a sliver of illicit thrill.

There were three months left until graduation. 3. That equated out to roughly 60 days of classes and exams, or better still – eighty four days trapped within the castle walls of Hogwarts until your undeniable freedom from the education system you’d been held hostage within. Not that you weren’t grateful for what you’d learned; no, this wasn’t the case – you’d had the absolute time of your life, but it was time to move on. Time for bigger and better things than what Hogwarts could simply offer.

Until then though, you needed something to keep yourself relatively sane amidst the chaos of final exams, petty courtyard drama and dormmates you’d be oh so happy to never see again. The ache for something different, something unique and something that you could make undeniably yours is what brought you to this point: hair slicked back into a high ponytail and on your knees between the dimly lit rows of shelves at the back of the library, participating in something that over time you’d affectionately dubbed as ‘The Taste Test’. A story, rumour, myth that had rather quickly lingered throughout the school.

The concept? Simple enough. Sometime between mid February and the end of June, you’d made it a mission to give head to every sixth and seventh year boy in campus and rank them – both solo and by house from one through forty six based on the categories of taste, texture and overall satisfaction. Easy enough right? Ha! Wrong. Not when Slytherin of all houses was fucking involved, and not when you’d left them, intentionally until last. Let’s just go out on a limb by saying that their reputation for intensity that had been rumoured around the castle and whispered in riddles by portraits as you strolled by wasn’t just ‘talk’, and that you, over the last few evenings; had found that out firsthand.

Feeling fingers deeply knot into the length of your ponytail before being wrapped rightly around a palm, you managed to barely stifle an innocent little giggle at Theo’s comment, only for it to near immediately morph into a dangerous yet delicious choke as the tip of Mattheo’s cock roughly hit the back of your throat, causing you to splutter and gag. With eyes delicately watering, you glanced up at him from waist height with a feigned expression of both innocence and vulnerability you knew he’d see right through but threw out there anyway.

“Oh c’mon Princess, don’t give me that sweet little doe-eyed look”, Mattheo barely managed to drawl out as a sick little smirk threatened to tug at the corner of his lips, “You’re the one who wanted to try every guy and well.. low and be-fucking-hold, you’ve saved the best two for last.”

A quick slap at your cheek which caused the skin to bloom an immediate shade of pretty scarlet red, Mattheo’s eyebrows cocked up, his bottom lip brought almost seductively up to be caught between his teeth as he continued to thrust into your mouth setting a relentless pace that you hadn’t yet experienced from any of the other subjects involved in your little project.

Gagging, a hollow whimper escaped your lips that burned the edges of your tongue as it rolled out; your hands braced hard up against his thighs, half hoping Mattheo would slow down, mind already wondering how much you’d have to swallow and if skipping dinner tonight was fucking worth the empty stomach. Every other boy you’d been with prior had been in private – their dorm, a vacant broom cupboard, empty classroom, blah blah but this; oh this just had to be different. Nearby, Theo lounged comfortable, sprawled out on a chair he’d dragged over from a study area, watching on with an amused grin as he flicked through the pages of your little leather bound notebook and tried to decipher everything you’d recorded.

“Little miss researcher has got this all figured out Mattheo – point system and fucking everything”, Theo snorted, twirling his wand casually between his fingers, “Taste, texture, satisfaction – Merlin, it’s almost like a bloody Michelin guide.”

You managed to pull back just enough to catch your breath – just enough that you could talk and narrowed your eyes near menacingly. “It’s called having a scientific approach, Nott. Something I’m sure you wouldn’t understand.”

Mattheo chuckled along; his hand tightening back into your hair to guide you back to where you should have been focused; tip of his cock parting your lips a little easier than you’d have liked to admit. “Scientific huh? Less focus on Theo, more focus on the task at hand yeah?”

Rolling your eyes back heavily, you complied, focusing on the task at hand – just as Mattheo wanted. The library for the most half was silent, save for the faint rustle of pages from a forgotten book a student desperately flickered through last moment in an attempt to find something smart to quote into an assignment, and well, the occasional muffled sound from your efforts that you’d prefer to keep that way. A library – of course it had to be in the fucking library.

The Slytherin boys had been the final hurdle in this little experiment, and fuck – they hadn’t disappointed. Each brought something rather… different. Draco, a rather attractive arrogance. Blaise, a smooth confidence. Goyle ugh… breathmints; thank christ. Enzo, the intimacy of platting your hair as you went down on him. Theo, lounging around like a bored king was next; and you already knew from the dead eyed look he always wore and shot you that he probably couldn’t have cared less.. but Mattheo; fuck, the way his hips snapped up against your cheeks, it was a damn performance.

The rules overall, were simple. No bias. No favouritism. You’d worked your way through all students or well.. subjects – systematically. The Gryffindors – earnest, yet predictable. The Ravenclaws – surprisingly experimental. The Hufflepuffs – sweethearts, but rather lacking edge and now… these fucking serpents.

Feeling Mattheo’s pace slow, his grip in your hair began to loosen as he let out a low growl, pulsing and spilling into your mouth without much warning. There was a shift in his stance; weight switching from left leg to right as the telltale sign that Mattheo was close. Pulling back slightly, you teased your tongue flat against his shaft to draw the feeling out. No need to rush a finale. Swallowing each spurt, tears that had formed in the corners of your eyes running rogue down your face mixed in with mascara which ever so gently dyed lines into your cheeks. “Who’d have thought that mouth you run in classes would be fucking good at this?”

Chuckling, you skimmed your thumb across your lips to clean up and snatched your notebook out of Theodore’s hands to scribble down the score you felt Mattheo earned. Tilting your head, you hummed softly pretending to consider as if you hadn’t just been thinking about these scores for the last nine minutes.

“Taste – a solid eight. You eat way too many chocolate frogs – I can almost taste them. Texture – seven and a half. Standard. Nothing special. A little gritty. Satisfaction...” You paused, smirking; knowing that this would either make or break his confidence into tiny, pathetic little shreds. “Let’s go with nine. Always room for improvement, Riddle.”

Almost barking out a laugh; Theodore shook his head and bit his tongue between his teeth, buying himself some time to think of an appropriate reply before interjecting what had just been revealed.

“Brutal M. However, that would make it my turn now hey? Let’s see if I can’t top Riddle’s nine.” “Yeah – good luck asshole. She’s a fucking harsh critic.” Mattheo managed out, shooting Theo a glare as he stepped back to adjust his trousers before taking a seat on the edge of a nearby desk.

Sliding off the chair he’d been so comfortable in, Theodore sauntered over with that lazy, arrogant confidence that just made him oh so infuriatingly charming. Crouching down for a moment, his fingertips – soft and gently pushed up beneath your chin so that your eyes could meet his – the exchange of gazes glinting with undeniable mischief.

“A harsh critic? Nah, this little dollface is just discerning. Aren’t you love? Ready to meet your champion?”

Snorting in response, you tucked some loose hair which had fallen in front of your face from how rough Mattheo had been behind your ear and smiled. “Awfully cocky Nott for someone who hasn’t even stepped up to the challenge yet. You ready?”

“Oh, I am more than ready”, he confirmed; getting up, back straightening and feet widening with perfectly polished shoes as Theodore undid his belt with a theatrical flourish and guided you to tug his zipper down with your teeth, complimenting you with the whispered phrase of good girl that made not only your mind fault for a second but your inner thighs begin to burn.

The next few minutes on your knees were an absolute fucking blur; a battle ground of Theodore’s teasing commentary as his cock ran tender between your swollen lips and your own determination in trying ever so hard to stay focused. He was different – different from Mattheo, different from the other boys. Less intense, far less worried; much, much more playful, guiding you with soft murmurs breathed in both an eclectic fusion of Italian and English as well as, the occasional cheeky remark, reminding you to keep your eyes focused on him.

Unlike others; Theodore gave you fair warning – something only the Hufflepuffs funnily enough had done; prior to sinking his fingers into your hair and holding you close as he could before spurting warm and salty into your mouth. By the time he was finished with you, your knees were screaming; ready to call it a night. Thighs still irritatingly warm though. Damn – perhaps you should have convinced them this little project was a fuck study rather than a suck study. Leaning back, you swallowed hard; catching your breath with further flushed cheeks before you felt around for that notebook of yours and flipped it over to the last page, scribbling down Theodore’s scores before you could forget anything.

“Well?”, he asked, attempting to peer down over your shoulder, “Gonna keep me in suspense or tell me that I’ve bet Riddle?”

“Taste – nine”, you gasped out, licking your lips. “Rather savoury – it was nice.” You tapped the feather of your quill against your chest and continued to scribble. “Texture – seven point five; I’m starting to think this is a standard. Oh and satisfaction; you were the only one polite enough to warn me that you were coming so.. eight. You could have been a little rougher with me. Not bad overall though.”

Clutching at his shirt in mock offense; Theo sighed and furrowed his brows. “Not bad? Girl, I’m wounded – I was aiming for legendary, not the same fucking score as Riddle.”

“Better luck next time Italian Stallion”, Mattheo managed to choke out in between laughs, pushing himself off the edge of the desk he sat at watching rather intrigued.

Closing your notebook and tying the thin straps around it to keep the pages concealed, you reached a hand out, having Theodore help you onto your feet as you swept the material of your skirt down flat against your thighs and smiled; pulling your hair out of it’s updo to casually cascade down over your shoulders.

“That’s it – the taste test is now officially complete”, you chirped, walking out of the library with both boys past some rather curious and bashful looks from studying students.

“So who’s the winner?”, Theodore asked, falling into pace beside you. “Don’t tell me some Gryffindor with a hero complex.”

“Nah, surely it’s a Slytherin”, Mattheo piped up, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you walked out into central hall.

Holding your notebook close up against your chest, you shrugged and twirled some hair around your fingers lazily, “A girls got to have some secrets fellas – I mean c’mon.”

Nudging the shell of your ear with his nose, Mattheo chuckled softly, warm breath creeping down along your jaw that made your inner thighs burn with further more regret. “Pretty please princess – just give us a hint. How about overall? Slytherin took top spot – didn’t we?”

Shrugging again, you wriggled yourself out of his hold and shook your head, taking a few steps ahead before turning around with a spin on your heel to face them.

“Maybe, maybe not.. you’ll both just have to wait until graduation.”

The boys grumbles and groan at your answer, but nonetheless don’t bother pushing it any further. Not yet. Not now. They’ve got heaps of time to gruel information out of you. As you slip through the darkened corridors of the castle back to your dormroom, you can’t help but grin. This whole experiment had been a ridiculous, reckless way to pass the time, but hey, it had done its job. You’d survived your final few months of being stuck in the castle with a story that no one would believe, and a notebook full of secrets you’d take with you to your grave…

… or at least the ten year class reunion.

unedited - i'm sorry. short but i hope you enjoy xoxo

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pucksandpower · 1 year ago

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What the Eyes Can’t See

Charles Leclerc x blind!Reader

Summary: you may not be able to see in the traditional sense, but Charles won’t let that stop you from seeing him

The crackle of the fireplace fills the cozy living room as you snuggle deeper into the plush couch cushions. Your head rests on Charles’ chest, rising and falling with each steady breath. His arm wraps around you, fingers tracing lazy circles on your shoulder.

“This is nice,” you murmur, nuzzling against the soft cotton of his shirt. “Just you and me.”

Charles presses a kiss to the top of your head. “It really is. No racing, no interviews, no cameras. Just us.”

You smile at the rumble of his voice vibrating through you. “You know, there are times I’m actually grateful I can’t see.”

“Oh?” His thumb strokes your arm. “How so?”

“Because it means I experience things purely through the other senses. Like right now.” You inhale deeply, savoring the smoky wood blending with Charles’ warm, earthy scent. “I can really focus on the sound of your heartbeat, the feeling of you breathing, that wonderful smell ...”

Charles gives a contented hum. “I’ve never thought about it that way before.”

You shift to gaze up at him, fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “Of course, there are other times when not being able to see is … difficult.”

“Like what?”

You consider this for a moment. “Hmm, well, I’ll never get to admire the Monaco skyline or see you celebrating on the podium after a win.”

A hint of sadness tinges your tone as you continue. “And as much as I love listening to you talk about racing, I can’t fully picture the circuits or the cars or … or you in your race suit.”

Charles’ chest rises and falls with a soft sigh. You can sense his gaze studying you intently.

“Is there anything you wish you could see? If you could have your sight for just a day?”

You don’t even have to think about your answer. “You.”

You feel him tense in surprise. “Me?”

“Yes.” Your hands roam over the strong lines and curves of his face, trying to commit every plane and angle to memory through touch alone. “More than anything, I wish I could see what you look like with my own eyes.”

You trace the sweeping arches of his brows, the aristocratic slope of his nose, the firm line of his lips. Lips you’ve kissed so many times yet never seen.

“I want to see the exact shades of your hair and eyes,” you murmur. “Whether your skin has any adorable little freckles. What expressions flit across your face when you smile or laugh or ...”

You trail off as emotion clogs your throat. Charles pulls you closer, cradling you against his chest.

“Hey,” he says softly, tilting your face up toward his. “Maybe this will help.”

His warm fingers alight on your hands, gently guiding them until your fingertips brush the graceful curve of his cheekbone. You freeze, caught off guard by the tender intimacy.

“Charles?” You breathe. “What are you doing?”

“Letting you see me, in a way,” he responds. “Go ahead, map out my face with your hands. Don’t hold back.”

You swallow hard, heat creeping into your cheeks. Taking a steadying breath, you begin tracing the striking angles and planes of his features with feather-light touches.

First the high forehead, smooth and unblemished beneath your questing fingertips. Then the regal swoop of his nose, the delicate arches of his brows. You brush across each, imprinting the shapes and textures into your mind’s eye.

When your fingers graze the plump curves of Charles’ lips, he presses a soft kiss to each fingertip in turn. You shiver at the whisper of his breath fanning across your skin.

“Keep going,” he murmurs, voice low and husky. “Don’t stop.”

You let your hands roam freely over the stubbled planes of his jaw, the hollows of his cheeks, the strong column of his neck. Every slope and angle, every tiny perfect imperfection imprinted into your consciousness.

As your fingers trace along the high planes of Charles’ cheeks, you can’t help but notice two tiny indentations forming in the skin. Little divots that crease and deepen as an affectionate smile blooms across his lips.

Dimples. Charles has dimples.

The discovery hits you like a bolt of lightning, a rush of tenderness and endearment flooding your chest. You find yourself helplessly, hopelessly captivated by those adorable little dents punctuating his smile.

“You have dimples,” you murmur in awe, fingertips stroking over the precious divots again and again.

A low chuckle rumbles through Charles’ chest. “That seems to delight you.”

“Of course it does!” You exclaim, feeling your own lips stretch into a beaming grin. “Dimples are the cutest thing. Especially on you.”

You lean in to nuzzle your nose against his cheek, dropping feather-light kisses into each crease. Charles gives a contented hum, strong arms winding around your waist to pull you flush against him.

“I had no idea you’d be so smitten over a couple little dents in my face,” he teases, smile evident in his voice.

You shake your head vehemently, still peppering those blessed dimples with adoring kisses. “Not just dents. They’re absolutely adorable.”

A burst of affection blooms in your chest as you realize this is the first time you’ve been able to fully appreciate this charming little detail of Charles’ features. All the times you’ve laughed and joked together, exchanged warm smiles and loving embraces — you never knew the true adorability of his dimples until this very moment.

Pulling back, you cup Charles’ face in your palms and simply drink in the shape and feel of that beautiful, dimpled smile pressing against your skin. In that instant, you fall just a little bit more in love with this incredible man.

“I’m so grateful I got to discover this about you,” you murmur, stroking the pads of your thumbs over the grooves in his cheeks. “Your dimples are my new favorite thing.”

Charles gives a soft laugh, the rumbling vibrations resonating through you both. “Well then, I’ll just have to keep smiling so you can appreciate them.”

As you continue to trace the sharp edge of his cheekbone, you can’t resist leaning in to nuzzle against the warm, fragrant skin. Charles sucks in a sharp breath, fingers tightening around your wrist.

When you finally pull back, you feel as if you’ve beheld and memorized every nuance of his face. Every dip and curve, every tantalizing detail.

“Thank you,” you whisper, drinking in the comforting scents and sounds surrounding you both. The crackle of the fire, the rhythm of Charles’ breathing, his warm, intoxicating essence. “Thank you for letting me see you like that.”

Charles doesn’t respond at first. You feel his piercing gaze raking over you, studying you with an intensity that raises goosebumps along your arms.

“You know,” he says at last, voice rough. “There’s also something I want to see.”

Before you can ask what he means, gentle fingers are slipping beneath the frames of your sunglasses. You tense instinctively, pulse skyrocketing.

Nobody ever sees your eyes.

You start to pull away, shaking your head. But Charles simply holds you steady, thumbs stroking your temples in a soothing caress.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs. “Let me in. Let me really see you this time.”

There’s no demand or expectation in his tone. Only tenderness and an affection so profound it steals your breath. Your throat works as you swallow hard.

Do you trust him enough?

You think of his face — the face you’ve just meticulously mapped and memorized. And in the cadence of his breathing, the rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, you find your answer.

Slowly, you give a tiny nod.

The sunglasses slip away, and for the first time you’re baring the full weight of your sightless gaze to another soul. You can’t see Charles’ reaction, but you feel his sharp inhalation, the minute tremor that courses through his body.

Panic grips you for a moment, wondering if you’ve made a terrible mistake by exposing such a vulnerable part of yourself. Maybe he’s revolted or pitying or-

“Beautiful.”

The hushed utterance shatters your wildly spiraling thoughts. You clutch at Charles, needing an anchor.

“What?”

“Your eyes,” he clarifies, reverence ringing in every word. “They’re the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

Gentle fingers cup your face, thumbs tracing the delicate skin beneath your sightless gaze. You yearn to ask him a thousand questions — what color they are, if any scars are visible, how he can possibly think them beautiful.

But then his lips are on yours, silencing your whirling doubts with a scorching, openmouthed kiss. You melt into the heated embrace, pouring all the unspoken words and insecurities into the slick slide of your mouths.

When you finally part, both of you are breathing raggedly. Charles rests his forehead against yours, fingers still mapping the curves of your face with infinite tenderness.

“Thank you,” he whispers again, voice tight. “For sharing this with me. For letting me all the way in.”

His thumb brushes the fragile skin beneath your eye, and you understand that he’s thanking you for more than just revealing your eyes. He’s grateful for the soul-deep intimacy you’ve permitted by exposing your most vulnerable and closely guarded self.

You swallow hard past the lump of emotion clogging your throat. No words can adequately express the depths of what you’re feeling. So instead, you simply lean in and capture Charles’ lips in another kiss, hoping he can taste the love and gratitude and trust shining through every caress.

When you finally pull apart, you cuddle back against Charles’ chest with a contented sigh, feeling more seen and cherished and adored than you ever have in your life.

As Charles trails tender kisses along your brow, his deep, soothing voice rumbles against you.

“No matter what, I’ll always be here to show you all the beauty and wonder you can’t see ...”

The words wrap around you like a warm, comforting blanket, chasing away any lingering insecurities. In this moment, cuddled in the arms of the man you love more than life itself, you’ve never felt more grateful for the unique way your senses experience the world.

Because really, what use are eyes when you can simply close them and see with your heart instead?

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stevieschrodinger · 4 months ago

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Part One

Eddie squints into the bright sunlight flooding the kitchen. He’s eating a bowl of lucky charms that taste like chemicals and fake sugar and he’s not even sure he’s going to make it to the end of the first mouthful. The texture is grainy and artificially chewy and Eddie is sure he used to like these.

Steve, the guy in Eddie’s house, sits himself opposite with a neat little piles of scrambled eggs and cut fruit on his plate. He looks at Eddie, gets up again, pulls the blind just far enough that Eddie’s eyes are shaded, and then comes back again.

“Can I get you anything?”

“You can get the fuck out of my house,” Eddie replies. But there’s no bite. No meaning. No energy. No anything behind the words. He’s so fucking tired and so done with it all.

Steve carries on like Eddie hasn’t spoken, and eats his breakfast.

Eddie’s spoon clatters on the rim of the still full bowl; he goes back to bed.

Eddie blinks open gummy eyes to find some electrolyte sports drink thing and a banana sitting offensively on his bedside table. His cock is hard and unrelenting and making him fucking miserable. He flops over onto his back and shoves his hand down his pants, thinking vaguely that he’d kill a dude for a bag. For a pre rolled. For a fucking cough sweet.

He comes too fast, his knot doesn’t even pop, and it feels empty. Like he’s starving and someone handed him a handful of popcorn; doesn’t solve anything. If anything, it’s made it worse.

He clambers out of bed, his sweats soaked with come. When they start to slide off his too skinny hips, Eddie lets them. Watches as they slide to the floor, a wet, pointless mess. Just like him.

Eddie stalks into the kitchen, Steve’s sitting at the table, he has a pen in his hand, and he’s tapping it gently against the page. Doing a cross word or something, Eddie guesses. Where the fuck did he even get a newspaper. Eddie didn’t even know you could still buy newspapers any more.

“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something to make all this better? Isn’t that your fucking job, or whatever?”

Steve sits back, he doesn’t seem to bat an eyelid over Eddie being naked, and he doesn’t stare either, just makes normal eye contact like Eddie being bare assed in the middle of the kitchen is a day to day occurrence.

“Are you open to taking a suggestion?”

“Are you open to taking a suggestion,” Eddie snarks back, bitches back, “like what?”

“Have a bath.”

“A bath? Really? That’s all you got for my...recovery or well being or to cure me of being a fucking addict?”

“No. You just stink,” Steve replies, still in his totally even and reasonable tone of voice.

“I’m in rut,” Eddie snaps back.

“Are you?” Steve raises an eyebrow, “can’t smell anything over the arm pint stank.”

“I- you- that’s just fucking rude, aren’t you supposed to be working for me? You can’t say shit like that-”

“I work for Chrissy.” Steve folds his newspaper and stands, “I presume you have a full bath in your en suite.” And Steve just...walks away. Eddie trailing behind as Steve lets himself into Eddie’s room and then into his bathroom.

“Oh. Sure. Just, make yourself at home,” Eddie bitches at him, “you just do whatever the fuck you like.”

Steve sets the bath running, rummages around under the sink and comes up with bubbles and bath salts that Eddie didn’t even know he had.

He wonders vaguely how bad bath salts would burn if he tried to snort them.

And then Steve starts cleaning, while the bath fills. He pulls out supplies, wipes down the counters and sinks. He throws some bleach down the toilet and wipes that down, “get in,” he turns the taps off, “I’m going to find something for this mirror.”

The mirror does look grim, Eddie can’t remember the last time he even had the cleaning lady over. He can’t remember if he’s still paying her. He can’t remember Chris saying a word about her. He wonders vaguely where she’s gone.

Eddie lies there in the steaming water, eyes slitted and vaguely watching as Steve brings the glass back to a perfect mirror shine, climbing up on the counter stretching high to buff away every last smear.

“I had a cleaning lady. Where’d she go?”

“She quit months ago.”

“She quit?” Eddie asks, genuinely surprised, “why?”

Steve raises that eyebrow, “wage dispute.”

“Fuck off, I paid her plenty.”

“Didn’t sound like any amount would be enough for what she was dealing with.” Steve lets that one sit, and Eddie wishes Steve would at least be smug or be a cunt or anything about it, but he’s not, he just delivers it like it’s a calm fact, the same as everything else he has to say. “I’ll do your hair.”

“I’m not a child.”

Steve doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to. His face is an unreadable mask of cool professionalism that’s screaming, ‘why do you act like one then?’

When he wets Eddie’s hair, Eddie’s sure he pours water all over his face on purpose.

Eddie sits in the tub, Steve perched on the side, and he lets Steve wash his hair. He knows which products to use. He knows which order. He knows what to let sit and when to bring out the wide toothed comb. This is not Steve’s first rodeo with curly hair.

Eddie slumps back at some point, muscles feeling like they’re unwinding and unspooling into the water, his eyes have been closed for ages and he doesn’t remember closing them.

It takes a long time for him to put it together.

“You’re not washing my hair any more,” he slurs. He sounds a little drunk.

“No,” Steve says quietly.

“What, you a masseuse too?”

“I wear a lot of hats. It’s part of the job. I believe in a holistic approach to recovery.”

"Oh yeah," Eddie speaks quietly, "gonna' wave your magic wand and fix me? Solve all my problems and let me skip off into the sunset?"

"No. You're probably going to be fighting this battle for the rest of your life."

"Jesus Christ. Do you have to be so honest about it? Aren't you supposed to be all positive and shit."

"I am being positive. I'm positive you'll always be an alcoholic and a drug addict-"

Eddie snorts a derisive noise.

"But I'm also certain it gets easier, if you stick with it."

Eddie makes another dismissive noise, and goes back to being half asleep, Steve’s sure fingers working into his scalp.

Steve leaves, at some point. The water starts to cool. Eddie starts to become aware of himself, and he doesn’t like it. The rut is there, itching under his skin, but it feels weird and half formed and almost like it’s happening to someone else, far away.

He vaguely wonders about scoring and then realizes he can’t. It just makes him want it more though. The more he tries not to think about it, the more he can’t avoid thinking about it.

He gets out of the water, finding clean towels on the heated rails he dries himself, twisting his hair up on top of his head inside a towel.

His bedroom has also been cleaned, the sheets changed. The drapes are pulled and a window is open, letting in fresh, warm afternoon air.

Steve has laid out a clean tee shirt and sweats on the bed.

Steve can go fuck himself.

Part Three

#steddie #pre steddie #rock star eddie munson #drug abuse #alcohlism #eddie munson #stranger things #steve harrington #ficlet #chrissy cunningham #eddie and chrissy #alpha eddie munson #beta steve harrington #chrissy is eddies manager

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the-autistic-vulcan · 21 days ago

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Callsign: Infinity (Thunderbolts x Autistic!Thunderbolt!Reader)

Description: Being a member of the Thunderbolts and being Autistic

a/n: This is partially self-indulgent since I am autistic myself, I am also including stuff for other autistics as well, so let me know how I've done!

a/n: sensory problems, meltdowns, sensory overload, harmful stimming, anything i missed? let me know

gif credit: @deniable-masterpiece,

The Thunderbolts are a rambunctious, often snarky and sarcastic, rag-tag group of anti-heroes

To the average person that sounds like an absolute disaster - and since Valentina recognized your meticulousness as an assassin and frankly detailed reports, she thought you would be the perfect fit

Alexei was the first to welcome you with open arms, quite literally squeezing you in a hug - you appreciated the pressure, but you still stiffened

Once he let go you did relax, but kept your distance, going to the others to shake their hands

He was a little unsure about your reaction, but he didn't think much of it

Yelena and Bob were the first people you actually told you were autistic to - the three of you are thicker than thieves, so it felt almost natural to say it to them

You explained to them how you couldn't make eye contact very well, and that you required some extra help in certain social situations

Yelena was up to the task, almost taking you under her wing like a little sibling, Bob gave you a hug (with permission) and told you that you could go to him if you needed anything, and vice versa

Though you didn't exactly tell the rest of the team about your autism, your behaviours spoke for themselves

Ava was next to notice - she saw you picking at your skin. You weren't stressed or anything, you just did it because you could

She eventually came up to you and asked what you were doing - once you explained stimming and what it did for you, she immediately caught on

Even on some occasions, when she sees you rocking back and forth on your feet, she just joins you so you don't feel too alone

John and Bucky are a duo waiting for disaster, but when it comes to you, the two of them finally agree on something for a change

You have particular sensory needs when in and away from the tower

In terms of florescent lights and extreme sounds, John is the first to react, giving you military certified headphones and a pair of shades to keep yourself from reacting negatively

Bucky helps you out in other senses, like taste and texture, always getting your opinion on material for updates on the team's suits since you like to search for his arm to hold when overwhelmed

He always goes to you like you will go to him

Finally, you have Alexei, the first person to make himself known to you, aside from how awkward it may have been

He really wanted to look out for you, he just didn't know how - until an extreme case caused him to react like his life depended on it

The two of you were in the tower alone, Alexei was having a go at baking when the smoke alarm started to blare

You threw your hands over your ears, despising the sound and he desperately tried to silence the blaring - once he did, he went straight to you to check you were okay

He's like a human weighted blanket, bringing you close to hold you tight, telling you everything is alright and telling you to remember to breathe

Once you soothed, you smiled at him, quietly thanking him as you calmed - Alexei felt accomplished, and that he sort of redeemed himself from the first time you both met

To draw this to a close, the team are incredibly accommodating - looking out for you, but respecting that you can indeed take care and handle yourself

Being autistic didn't change their perceptions of you really, just that you needed a little extra help

That was something all of you could agree on and hold each other to indefinitely

Like, Comment and Reblog! Have any ideas? Drop them in my inbox!

#marvel #marvel x reader #thunderbolts #thunderbolts*#thunderbolts x reader #bucky barnes x reader #yelena belova x reader #ava starr x reader #john walker x reader #alexei shostakov x reader #bob reynolds x reader #bucky barnes #yelena belova #ava starr #john walker #alexei shostakov #bob reynolds

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reginyani · 5 months ago

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hiiii

maybe rossi hosting a lil summer get together at his mantion and bau!reader wears this blouse: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/1030339220974014138/ and spencer just going crazy over ittttt

I love this request! heres a little blurb for you anon<3

Summer Daze | s.reid x fem!bau!reader

summary: You show up to Rossi's outdoor summer party wearing something that makes Spencer go absolutely nuts.

cw: mentions of readers body/collarbones, flirty!reader, shyflirt!spencer, nothing else really (if im missing smth lmk!)

wc: 596

Rossi's backyard glowed in the warm summer light. Lanterns hung from the trees, tables were adorned with vases of beautiful flowers, and the sound of gentle conversation and laughter filled the air.

You hadn’t been there long before you felt Spencer’s eyes on you, his gaze magnetic and impossible to ignore.

The blouse you had chosen for the evening was light and airy, perfect for the summer heat. It was a soft cream color, finely sheer but with enough lace and texture to keep it classy. It flowed gracefully as you moved, teasingly revealing glimpses of your skin. The neckline and straps framed your collarbones beautifully.

Spencer had seen you dressed up before, but this was different, and it was driving him crazy. His mind latched onto the details—the way the soft fabric hinted at your silhouette without giving much away, the way the neckline drew his attention like a magnet compared to the other details, and the way the fabric shimmered in the sunlight. It was overwhelming, a feeling he wasn’t used to.

He tried to focus on the conversation Rossi was leading with the group, but it was no use. His eyes kept darting back to you, tracking every move you made. You didn’t seem to notice the effect you had on him, which only made it worse.

Until you caught him.

You were mid-laugh with Emily, JJ, and Penelope when you turned, locking eyes with Spencer for just a moment too long. A smile curved your lips as you excused yourself from the girls and walked toward him, the blouse swaying softly with each step.

“Hey, Spencer,” you said warmly, breaking him out of his trance as you sat down. “You doing alright?”

He blinked a few times, as if trying to reboot his brain. “Uh, yeah, yeah… I’m fine.” But the crack in his voice betrayed him.

You tilted your head, chuckling softly. “You sure? You seem a little… distracted.”

His gaze dipped for a split second, his eyes landing on the lace detailing along the edge of your neckline before snapping back to meet yours. “The blouse,” he blurted out, wincing at his own words. “I mean—it’s really nice. It suits you.”

Your cheeks warmed at the unexpected compliment, but you decided to push him just a little further. “Oh, really? You like it? I was actually thinking about not wearing it at all,” you lied.

Oh, how Spencer wished you hadn’t worn it. The distraction was too much, and he felt the heat creeping up his neck. “Yes. I mean—it’s very… elegant. And, uh, summery.”

You laughed softly, the sound drawing a shy smile from him. “Thanks, Spence,” you said, leaning in just a bit closer. “That makes me feel a little better about it. I wasn’t sure if it was too much, but I’m glad you approve.”

His breath hitched as he caught a faint trace of your perfume. He scrambled for a coherent reply. “It’s not too much at all. It’s perfect. You look—” he paused, “great.”

The words hung in the air, and for a moment, Spencer wanted to dig a hole and disappear. But the gentle smile spreading across your face told him he hadn’t fucked anything up.

“Careful there, Spencer,” you teased, making his heart skip a beat. “If you keep talking to me like that, I might start to think you’re flirting with me.”

His face turned a deep shade of pink. Before he could respond, you stood and walked back to the girls with a playful wink, leaving him sitting there, utterly undone.

#spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfiction #mgg #matthew gray gubler #fanfiction #fanfic #request #spencer reid criminal minds #x reader #x y/n

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mellow-rosemallow · 2 months ago

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a/n: I accidentally deleted the draft when I wanted to post, and I had no copies so I had to rewrite the whole thing (lesson learned) 😭🙏

“A rose for the most beautiful flower in Fontaine!”

The smooth, cheeky voice of a magician fills the warm air as he presents you with a rainbow rose. Holding it out with dramatic exuberance, its bright petals catch the sun. Yet another offering from Lyney in his ever-persistent attempt to win your heart.

Every day, he appeared with a new gift in hand, all accompanied with a shining smile that seemed just too perfect to not have been rehearsed. Whether it was a dazzling brooch, a box of chocolates, or a beautiful bouquet, Lyney always found a way to charm you— even if those charms never actually worked.

You’d seen it all before. Lyney’s flirtatiousness is something he’s not at all ashamed of; in fact, he pushes it forward. It wasn’t like you disliked him, that wasn’t the case at all— he was handsome, undeniably talented, and charismatic. But the problem was that it never felt genuine, it always felt like he was just putting on another performance. His stage persona had seeped into his life, the world has become his stage.

What was the point in indulging?

You stared at the rose for a moment, then back at him. His violet eyes searched your face, almost expectant, as though he was waiting for you to melt at his charm. You didn’t. You wouldn't fall for his thoughtless advances.

“Thank you, Lyney. It’s very beautiful.”

You accept the rose with a polite smile… before shoving it into your bag with little care for its fragile leaves.

In his eyes, Lyney sees your carelessness with the flower as yet another failed attempt to elicit any sort of meaningful reaction from you. His practiced smile falters for just a moment before he fixes it.

You turn and walk away, your own smile turning into a half-grimace at the colorful rose that stuck out of your bag. The moment you turned a corner, you tossed the flower into a nearby alleyway. It fell into a pile of other withered roses, their once vibrant petals a dark and desaturated pink.

“Ta-da!”

You sit under the shade of an umbrella at Café Lutèce as Lyney approaches you with another gift. You’d think he’d give up by now, considering your reactions, but no. He persists. This time, the gift is a slice of cake inside a small box, neatly wrapped in ribbon—it's tidiness fitting for Lyney himself.

“Ah, cake. How delicious. Thank you,” you said, accepting the box with a polite smile. It had become routine by now. Once again, Lyney’s smile twitched at the edges.

“My apologies,” he started with a short laugh. “Is the gift perhaps not to your liking?”

You couldn’t tell him the truth—the truth being that these gifts meant nothing to you. So you gave him another polite response.

“Oh no, not at all. I appreciate the gesture!”

You accepted the small box and set it on the table. Fiddling with the ribbon in thought, you decided it would be better to eat it now to avoid throwing it away. Might as well share with him—it’s the least you could do after constantly giving him such dry reactions.

“Say,” you started. “Would you like to share this with me? Consider it my thank you.”

Lyney’s smile brightened, and his eyes lit up with hope. He sat down across from you, setting his hat aside on the small table as you opened the box to reveal the dessert. Picking up a fork, you sank it into the soft texture of the cake, putting a small piece into your mouth. Your eyes lit up—it was delicious. Miles better than whatever you were receiving before.

Seeing your widened eyes, Lyney spoke up with a smile.

“It’s the exclusive cake from Hotel Debord!” he noted enthusiastically. “Can you believe they only sell sixteen slices a day? Quite the competition in the morning, if I do say so myself,” he added with a short laugh. You nodded in response as you swallowed.

“It must be. What flavor is it, by the way?”

“I’m not sure. I think it’s an experimental creation by the chef—Escoffier, I think?”

He took a bite himself, humming softly in approval. You caught yourself watching him a moment longer than expected, just enough to notice how he closed his eyes when he smiled, or how the golden light framed the edge of his hair.

“I heard one of the Melusines at Palais Mermonia buys a slice daily,” you remarked, turning your attention back to the table.

“She must have connections,” Lyney replied, grinning.

For a moment, the conversation paused. Not awkward, just quiet. It was a quiet where neither of you felt the need to fill the space. A couple strolled past on the cobblestones, their laughter fading into the city. Somewhere nearby, a server cleared plates with a soft clatter of porcelain. The cafe owner brewed fresh coffee in the background, the warm smell traveling down the street.

You took another bite of the cake, slower this time.

“This is actually… really good,” you admitted.

“I’m glad,” Lyney said simply.

The sun slipped a little lower in the sky, and the shade from the umbrella stretched across the table. You found yourself leaning forward slightly, resting your elbow beside the box as you picked at the dessert, less out of hunger and more to keep the moment going.

The rest of the time passed easily, with the cake becoming a backdrop for the topics you touched on—Escoffier’s food, favorite restaurants, and various stories. Your voice’s strained politeness soon faded away as you spoke, and time seemed to fly by as you talked with the magician. But eventually, the moment came to an end.

“…It seems about time for me to head home,” you said, standing up from your seat. The sun had begun to fall, the final rays of daylight shining from behind the city’s walls and rooftops. Lyney picked up his hat, setting it back on his head as he wished you good night. You waved back as you walked, leaving the cafe with a comfortable air of silence.

In the following days, Lyney’s sparkling gifts stopped. Instead, he began approaching you whenever he spotted you out and about the city. Soon enough, your spontaneous conversations became a natural part of both your daily routines.

On a clear afternoon, you were out browsing the various shops lining the city streets when you saw Lyney sitting by a fountain, observing the dancing water. His violet eyes held a certain calmness, as if reflecting lavender. Compared to past interactions, this side of him was… soothing.

“Is everything alright?” you asked, surprised by the concern in your own voice.

“Ah, everything’s fine!” Lyney assured with a smile. “I was simply having trouble thinking of new tricks to incorporate into the shows my sister and I perform.”

You sat beside him, the cool stone of the fountain beneath you, the spray of water misting the air around your arms like a whisper. Despite the bustle of Fontaine’s streets, the two of you sat in a quiet pocket of stillness.

“Sounds a bit like writer’s or artist’s block,” you remarked.

“Yes, exactly! In fact, that’s exactly what it is—I’m an artist myself, you know, just with extra flair!” he declared with his usual exuberance. But this time, it felt like personal jest, rather than a held-up persona.

A few moments passed. The fountain’s rhythm filled the silence, water falling and rising in an endless loop. The scent of warm pastries lingered faintly in the air. Lyney leaned back slightly, bracing himself with his hands on the fountain’s edge. He tilted his head to the side, eyes closed, face lifted toward the sun.

An entire hour passed in what felt like mere minutes— a repeating pattern you came to realize whenever you spoke with Lyney. You didn’t realize how much time even passed until he stood, stretching his arms for a few seconds before letting them fall to his sides.

“Shall we take a walk?” he asked, looking down at you and extending an arm.

You nodded, taking his hand and falling into step beside him.

The streets of Fontaine were beginning to glow under the early evening light. Lanterns flickered on one by one, their soft golden halos illuminating cobblestone paths as shopkeepers swapped out their displays for the night. You walked past a bakery with brass window frames, past a street musician playing a soft tune on a lyre, past the perfume shop that always made the air smell like warm spices.

Conversation drifted between you two, sometimes pausing completely before picking up again just as naturally. The breaks of silence were somehow just as comfortable as the exchange of words. You continued looking around the surrounding shops, Lyney walked with his hands folded behind his back, humming absently every now and then.

As you rounded the corner to your street, the setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and navy blue, the golden hour fading into a sea of bright stars. The light caught on the street, making the path shimmer as though those same stars had reflected onto the ground.

Your home came into view, framed by the iron of its small balcony and the faint scent of flowers drifting from the window boxes. You stopped just short of the steps.

“Well,” you started, turning to Lyney. “This is it.”

He glanced up at your door, then back at you. His hand moved behind him, and for a moment, you half-expected a dramatic flourish. But instead, he simply pulled out a single red rose.

Presented without ribbons and illusions. Without a card or flattering words.

Just a rose.

“For you,” he said. His voice, for once, was without theatricality, no lilt meant to charm.

As you did with the other gifts, you looked at the rose, then at him. His eyes had that same calming glint you’d caught during your talks. You took the flower gently, holding it with more care than you had any of the previous ones.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice quiet but honest.

Lyney offered a smile in return—not the perfect stage smile you’d seen so many times before, but something smaller.

He stepped back. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I’ll be around.”

He tipped his hat lightly and winked before turning to walk away, his steps echoing faintly down the cobbled street.

You entered your home and closed the door slowly, the cool handle lingering under your fingers longer than necessary. As the latch clicked shut, you leaned against it, letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. Your eyes drifted to the rose in your hand.

“Well, he’s frustrating,” you murmured to yourself, the words escaping with a hint of fond exasperation. You turned the rose in your fingers. It wasn’t particularly rare. No sweet fragrance. No shimmering petals.

It was simply red. A deep, vibrant red.

But for some reason, this one seemed brighter than the others.

fun genshin fact : for those who don’t remember or haven’t played the quest, all rainbow roses are actually closer to lillies, and the original rainbow roses went extinct. since both flower species grew together, the living species stole the name!

#lyney #genshin lyney #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #lyney x reader #lyney x you

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doritochoi · 10 months ago

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Teacher's Pet | C.S

pairing: fem!reader x teacher!choi san

genre: pure smut, 18+, mdni ( because its always my fav)

warnings: san is in his late 20s, reader is 21 years old, public sex, unprotected sex, big!dick san, teacher x student relationship.

Every day when you left the school building, you would see your art teacher, Mr. Choi. He was sitting in the schoolyard with the other teachers, smoking a cigarette. Even if you weren't a smoker, this sight was inexplicably appealing. You noticed how the pronounced veins on his hand gripped the cigarette with undeniable elegance. It was a small detail that fascinated you every time. You didn't know exactly what attracted you so much to Mr. Choi. Maybe it was the way he carried himself, always with an air of mystery and distinction. Or maybe it was the passion he put into teaching art, inspiring you, to explore your own artistic talents. Despite the fact that you couldn't explain exactly why you were attracted to Mr. Choi, your obsession with him grew day by day. You knew everything about him, from the car he drove—a sleek black Bentley that gleamed in the sunlight—to his daily habits. Indeed, your obsession with Mr. Choi could not be explained only by the external details you observed about him. It was something deeper than that. You are seeing him not only as a teacher, but also as a protective and inspirational figure in your life. In his every gesture and every look you felt safe around him, like he was an anchor in a sea of uncertainty. Being a strong and wise mentor, you wanted to learn more from him and feel protected in his presence.

It was Wednesday, 7 PM. You always waited in the hallway to see your favorite teacher. You even knew when he arrived. You waited until you heard footsteps approaching, knowing it was him because his footsteps had a distinct sound you recognized. You see him climbing the stairs, and hurriedly you enter the classroom. You sat impatiently in the chair, looking towards the door and waiting for Mr. Choi. Finally, the door opens, and he appears in the doorway, exuding an air of safety and elegance. His black jacket matched his hair perfectly, and the slightly unbuttoned shirt revealed a bit of his well-defined chest. His hair framed his face impeccably, and each strand seemed to be carefully placed to highlight the fine features of his face. But the most captivating were his eyes. They were a warm, rich shade like melted caramel. In the sunlight, his eyes were shining in a charming mixture of gold and brown. His gaze, penetrating and mysterious, had the power to hypnotize you. Your eyes traveled further down, noticing his slightly transparent shirt and loosened tie. His slim waist was always a temptation for you. You wanted to feel the texture of his skin under your fingers, notice how it felt to hug that waist that seemed to be ripped from a work of art. Those pants, which sat perfectly on him, accentuating his well-defined figure, were hard to ignore. You couldn't help but turn your gaze to them, noticing how they molded perfectly to his legs and highlighted every movement of his graceful body. With every step he took, the pants seemed to draw your attention more and more, and you couldn't help but want him to get closer, to notice every detail of that charming appearance.

He sat down in the chair and you assumed he was sitting with his legs spread, imagining you could sit on his thighs and move lightly on them. This thought made you feel a little excited rubbing your thighs together. After that, he announced that the next mark would be given for a drawing that would impress him. You didn't hesitate and took out a sheet, starting to draw immediately. In less than ten minutes, you've created a perfect drawing of Mr. Choi in all his glory. His position was exactly the same as sitting on the chair, and every detail of his expression and posture was captured precisely. Mr. Choi sats up elegantly from his chair, and the subtle scent of his perfume wafted throughout the classroom, captivating your senses. With quick and sure steps, he began to walk through the students, finally stopping behind you. He bent down a little, put his hand on your shoulder, and you flinched a little from the movement he made. He looks at your drawing, smirks, then brings his lips to your ear whispering in a husky voice. "Can you meet me after class?", he said so softly that only you could heard. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You didn't even know what to answer, so you turned your gaze towards him, now staring at his features and nodded.

The hour passed extremely quickly and you have to go home, but you remembered your teacher's words. Before going to his office, you went to the bathroom. You unbuttoned 2 buttons on your shirt and lifted your skirt a little so that your red panties could be seen. You honestly didn't know what was in your head to do something like that, but you couldn't resist anymore. Seeing him so many times with that innocent face, pretending he doesn't notice you, it annoys the hell out of you. After you got your things, you headed to his office. You stopped in front of the big wooden door. That door made you to feel different things, especially since you know very well who is inside. You took a deep breath, put your hand on the doorknob and opened the door. As soon as you opened the door, you started to feel an intoxicating scent of vanilla that was present in the whole room.He was there, sitting on the chair and looking at the laptop. He looked at you from time to time, enjoying every part of your body. "I knew you would come", he closed the laptop making you startle a little. He got up from his chair now seeing how he looked. His shirt was almost undone, and his pants looked wrinkled, you didn't know what or who brought him to that stage, but he looked different. He was getting towards you, and you ended up hitting your back against the wall. You couldn't look at him, so you started lowering your head, looking at the ground. "Look at me, miss," he moved so close to your face that you could feel his breath. You didn't do what he was saying, you continued to look down, annoying him. He wasn't happy with what you were doing so he took your hands and stuck them to the wall above your head forcing you to look into his eyes. "Don't avoid the situation", he started to put his hand on your waist and then lower reaching your panties. He looks at them, then keeps playing with the material. "We both know what you want, and you know well that I can offer you everything you want", this time you could feel his breath on your neck, until you felt something wet. He kissed you in a unic style making you feel things. Mr Choi grins a little, watching how he can dominate your body and see what things he can do to you. "Tell me pretty girl, what is your on your mind?", his voice was so low that only you could hear it. His hands began to roam your body, undoing the buttons on your shirt, now remaining with only the bra visible. "Please, fuck me" ,these were your last words, not thinking twice about what you were going to do.

He picked you up in his arms, you wrapped your legs around his waist, and he took you to the front of his desk, making you sit with your ass on it. His hands started going everywhere, from your firm breasts to your panties. He undid your bra, and a hand massaged your left breast, kissing you passionately. You let out a moan, making him even more excited than before, rubbing his cock against your leg as well. "Bend over ", you didn't even stop to think, because you got off his desk, and you bent over showing him an amazing view. He got down on his knees, tore your skirt, now showing only the red panties you chose for him. "Fuck, I can't wait to taste you", he starts running his hands on your inner thighs, then approaching with his lips, applying small kisses. "Stop teasing, please" , You knew he was the type of person who likes to tease, especially you. He always did this and he likes it a lot. With a determined hand, he starts and removes your panties, looking with such a charming look as if it was all he wanted. He licked his lips, started to come closer and without saying anything, his tongue was already doing its job. Mr. Choi’s tongue moved with deliberate precision, exploring every sensitive spot with a teasing slowness that drove you mad. Each flick and swirl sent waves of pleasure through your body, making you arch your back and press against his mouth. The room filled with your moans, the sound echoing off the walls, blending with the intoxicating scent of vanilla that still lingered in the air. He pulled back slightly, his breath warm against your wetness as he spoke, "Tell me how it feels, pretty girl. I want to hear every detail." You could barely form thoughts, but you managed to gasp out, "It feels amazing... please, don't stop." A smirk played on his lips as he continued his sensual assault, his tongue now circling your clit with agonizing slowness before giving it a gentle suck. Your hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles turning white as you fought to stay grounded under the intense pleasure. Just when you thought you couldn't take any more, he slid two fingers inside you, curling them in a way that made stars explode behind your closed eyelids. "You're so wet for me," he murmured, his voice thick with lust. "I can feel how much you want this." , "Yes, Mr. Choi... I want you so badly," you panted, your hips bucking against his hand, desperate for more. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against your sensitive skin. "Patience, pretty girl. I want to savor every moment of this." He continued to work you with his fingers, each thrust and curl perfectly timed to keep you on the edge. His thumb found your clit, rubbing it in slow, torturous circles that had you teetering on the brink of climax. But just as you were about to tip over, he stopped, pulling his hand away and leaving you panting and needy. You let out a frustrated whimper, looking down at him with wide, pleading eyes. "Why did you stop?" He stood up, his body towering over you as he undid his belt, the sound of the leather sliding through the loops making your heart race. "Because I want you to beg for it, pretty girl. I want to hear you say exactly what you want." Your eyes locked onto his, filled with desperate desire. "Please, Mr. Choi. I want you inside me. I need to feel you." He slowly lowered his pants and boxers, his hard cock springing free. He stroked it a few times, letting you see just how much he wanted you too. "Is this what you want?" he asked, his voice a low growl. "Yes," you breathed, your eyes locked on his impressive length. "I want you to fuck me. Please."

With a satisfied smirk, he positioned himself at your entrance, rubbing the head of his cock against your wet folds, teasing you just a bit more. "You’re so eager, aren’t you? Such a good girl, asking so nicely." You could only nod, your breath hitching as he slowly began to push inside you. The sensation of him stretching you, filling you completely, was almost too much to bear. You wrapped your legs around his waist, urging him deeper, needing to feel every inch of him. He started with slow, deliberate thrusts, each one hitting just the right spot inside you. "You feel so good," he murmured, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "So tight and wet." Your nails dug into his back as you clung to him, your body trembling with pleasure. "Faster, please," you begged, needing him to take you harder. He didn’t need to be told twice. His pace quickened, his thrusts becoming more powerful, more urgent. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, mingling with your moans and his grunts of pleasure. You could feel the pressure building inside you, the familiar coil of your impending orgasm tightening with each thrust. "Oh, Mr. Choi," you cried out, your head thrown back in ecstasy. "I'm so close.", "Come for me, pretty girl," he urged, his voice rough and demanding. "I want to feel you come around my cock." That was all it took. Your orgasm crashed over you like a tidal wave, your walls clenching around him as you screamed his name. He continued to thrust into you, riding out your climax, pushing you to heights of pleasure you’d never known before. As you came down from your high, he slowed his pace, giving you a moment to catch your breath. But he wasn’t done with you yet. He pulled out and flipped you over, bending you over the desk. The cold wood against your heated skin was a stark contrast that made you shiver. He entered you again, this time from behind, his thrusts deep and relentless. One hand gripped your hip while the other reached around to play with your clit, adding to the overwhelming sensations. "Do you like this, pretty girl?" he asked, his voice strained with his own pleasure. "Do you like being fucked like this?", "Yes," you moaned, your voice barely more than a whisper. "I love it. Don't stop." He didn’t. He kept up the punishing pace, driving you both closer to the edge. You could feel another orgasm building, this one even more intense than the last. "I’m going to come again," you warned, your body trembling with anticipation. "Come for me, pretty girl," he commanded, his voice a growl. "Come all over my cock." With a final, powerful thrust, you did. Your orgasm ripped through you, more intense than anything you’d ever felt. He followed soon after, his own release spilling into you with a guttural moan. For a moment, the world seemed to stand still, the only sound your heavy breathing and the pounding of your heart. He stayed inside you for a moment longer, savoring the feeling, before finally pulling out and collapsing onto the desk beside you. You both lay there, spent and satisfied, basking in the afterglow. "That was incredible," you whispered, your voice hoarse from screaming. He smiled, brushing a strand of hair from your face. "You were incredible, pretty girl."

#ateez scenarios #ateez x reader #ateez smut #san ateez #san x reader #san ff #ateez san #san smut

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mahalachives · 2 months ago

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BTF - Dust, Drama, and Domesticity

Note: This is a bonus one-shot for Between Two Fires. To fully enjoy and understand this piece, I highly recommend reading Between Two Fires first—it’s the emotional groundwork for everything that follows. Trust me, it’ll all make sense after!

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Genre: romcom, humor

Summary: Months into cabin life, you decide to start a memory box to capture the highlights of your unconventional love story. Inside, you tuck a dried flower from the garden, a ribbon from your first Autumn Court dress, and, for a dramatic flourish, a tiny vial of ashes from the Winter Court nobles you obliterated.

Nothing says romance quite like organized arson souvenirs.

Main Story: Between Two Fires - Masterlist

"We should make a memory box," you said one morning, curled against Azriel's chest as sunlight streamed through the east-facing windows of your cabin.

His scarred fingers continued their lazy path through your hair. "A what?"

"A memory box. Like a time capsule, but one we can open whenever we want." You propped yourself up on an elbow, excitement bubbling through you. "It's something humans do. We collect meaningful items that tell our story, then keep them in a special container."

Azriel's shadows swirled with interest, reaching toward you before retreating. At first, his expression remained neutral—that carefully cultivated mask of indifference he'd perfected over centuries. But as you continued speaking, a subtle shift occurred—his eyes softened, his head tilted slightly, and his shadows began forming gentle, curious patterns.

"What purpose does it serve?" he asked, ever practical despite the growing interest evident in his posture.

"It preserves moments that matter," you explained, tracing a finger along his collarbone. "In my human life, my grandmother had one. On special occasions, she'd open this worn cedar box and tell stories about each treasure inside."

You closed your eyes, memory washing over you. "I remember the weight of my grandfather's war medal in my small palm—cold and heavy with history. The yellowed lace of her wedding handkerchief felt so delicate I was afraid my breath might tear it. The tiny leather shoes from my father's first steps, cracked with age but still holding the shape of feet that would one day carry him to war." Your voice softened. "It made history feel... touchable."

When you opened your eyes, Azriel was watching you with an expression you'd only seen a handful of times—open wonder, unguarded and raw.

"A physical record of memory," he said thoughtfully, his shadows settling into a gentle, rhythmic pattern. "Something to anchor the past to the present." A moment's hesitation, then: "We could pass it to our children someday."

The casual mention of children—something that had once been just a dream whispered in darkness—now felt wonderfully possible. A future stretching before you, no longer theoretical but tangible. Your breath caught, and for a moment, the golden bond between you pulsed with shared emotion.

"Exactly," you whispered, running your fingers along the leathery membrane of his wing where it draped protectively over your legs. The texture, both soft and strong, still fascinated you after all this time. "Special things. Meaningful things."

Three days later, he presented you with a box he'd carved himself. Not just any box—a masterpiece of craftsmanship. Dark, polished wood with flame patterns etched along the edges, each one representing a chapter of your shared history. Copper hinges that caught the light like tiny embers. Most stunning were the barely visible shadows carved into the wood itself—protective symbols only visible when light struck at certain angles, his own magic embedded in the grain.

"Open it," he urged, his shadows betraying his anticipation by dancing excitedly around his shoulders.

Inside, nestled on a bed of midnight-blue velvet—the exact shade of the shadows that had first caressed your cheek—he'd already placed the first item: a dried flower from your garden, the first bloom after your return from the human world.

"It's beautiful," you whispered, carefully touching the delicate petals.

"The beginning of our new chapter," he said simply, but the emotion in his voice revealed how deeply this project had already taken root in his heart.

Over the following months, the collection grew. Each addition came with a story, a moment preserved:

A ribbon from your first Autumn Court dress after returning, stitched with golden thread that still caught the light even decades later.

A scrap of parchment where he'd written.

Year 68: I felt the bond flicker today. Stronger, then gone. Is she thinking of me across worlds?

The ink had faded slightly, but the hope contained in those words remained undimmed.

The cork from the bottle of wine you'd shared the night you'd finally told him everything about your human life—every detail, every fear, every triumph. How he'd listened until dawn, his shadows a comforting blanket around you both.

One crisp autumn afternoon, you appeared in the doorway of his workshop where he crafted new shelves, your expression suspiciously innocent as you cradled something in your palm.

"I found the perfect addition," you announced, holding up a small glass vial. Gray powder filled the tiny container, sealed with an ornate stopper shaped like a perfect crystalline snowflake that caught the light in fractal patterns.

Azriel set down his tools, wiping dust from his scarred hands as he approached. His shadows reached the vial before he did, curling around it with curious tendrils. When he took it, you noticed how carefully he handled it, turning it with reverence in his calloused fingers.

"What is this?" he asked, studying the fine gray powder.

"Ashes," you said cheerfully, your tone deliberately casual. "From the Winter Court nobles I incinerated."

The vial slipped from his fingers as if it had suddenly transformed into a venomous serpent. Only his shadowsinger reflexes allowed him to catch it before it shattered on the workshop floor. His expression shifted from curiosity to horror so quickly you had to bite your cheek to keep from laughing.

"You kept their ashes?" His voice jumped an octave higher than you'd ever heard from the usually composed male. His wings flared defensively, the leathery membrane suddenly taut as a drum.

"Just a pinch!" you said defensively, fighting to maintain your serious expression. "I asked Eris to collect some. It felt significant. You know, closure and all that."

"Closure," he repeated faintly. His shadows writhed in agitation, pulling tight against his body like frightened children seeking protection. "You kept a souvenir of people you killed."

"Executed," you corrected primly, placing a hand on your hip. "Legally. As High Lady. For crimes against me and my court."

His shadows pulled even tighter, practically disappearing into his skin. The membrane of his wings trembled visibly, and you watched a muscle tic in his jaw—the most flustered you'd seen him since that first night you'd returned.

"That's..." He struggled for words, his composure completely shattered. His eyes darted between you and the vial as if trying to reconcile the woman he loved with this macabre keepsake. "That's not..."

"Not what?" you prompted innocently.

"Normal," he finally managed, staring at the vial as if expecting the ashes to reconstitute into vengeful spirits at any moment. "My love—"

"Says the male who collects people's secrets for a living," you countered, crossing your arms. "Who has interrogation techniques that made even Rhysand squeamish."

"I don't bottle them as keepsakes!" His wings snapped fully extended, nearly knocking over a shelf of tools. "I don't display them in our home!"

"Well, you should," you sniffed, warming to your performance. "It's very satisfying. Look how pretty the container is! The snowflake is a nice touch, don't you think? Symbolic."

As if summoned by the rising tension, Ember and Sizzle materialized with twin pops of flame, your loyal companions hopping excitedly between you. They squeaked in what sounded suspiciously like approval, having developed a disturbing fondness for fire-related vengeance stories over the years.

"I'm not putting actual remains in our memory box," Azriel said firmly, setting the vial on his workbench with the delicacy one might use for nitroglycerin. His shadows formed a protective barrier around it, as if to quarantine a disease. "That's... macabre. Disturbing. Wrong."

"Fine," you conceded with an exaggerated sigh worthy of a slighted courtier. "I'll just keep it on my nightstand then. It will look lovely next to the candles."

His face went so pale you could almost see through it to the wall behind. The great assassin of the Night Court, terrified by a tiny bottle of dust. "You will not."

"My side of the bed, my decorative choices," you insisted, raising your chin defiantly.

"They're remains!" His voice cracked on the last word.

"Exactly," you corrected with pedantic precision. "And technically, they're just carbon now. Very purified. Almost artistic, really. I could have them made into a lovely paperweight."

His shadows formed agitated question marks above his head, something you'd only seen happen when he was truly and completely flustered. "That doesn't make it better!"

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. "What if I had them made into jewelry instead? A nice pendant? Oh! Or tiny flecks in a pair of earrings that catch the light when I move? Very Winter Court aesthetic, which would be deliciously ironic."

The look of absolute horror on the shadowsinger's face—the most feared assassin in Prythian's history—was so comical that you couldn't maintain your straight face any longer. Your composure cracked, and you dissolved into uncontrollable giggles.

"I'm joking! Mother above, your face!" You doubled over laughing as understanding slowly dawned on him. "The great Shadowsinger, terrified of a tiny bottle of dust! You've faced down armies without flinching, but this—" you gestured to the vial, "—this breaks you?"

Realization transformed his expression from horror to indignation. His shadows flattened against his skin, almost pouting. His wings folded back with an affronted snap.

"You're not putting that in our memory box," he stated, voice clipped with wounded dignity.

"No," you agreed, wiping tears of laughter from your eyes. "It's just sand from the foundation of our cabin. I colored it with ash from the fireplace and had Eris enchant the bottle with that snowflake stopper. I wanted to see your reaction."

His relief was so palpable you could practically taste it, his shoulders dropping as his shadows cautiously extended again. "You're terrible."

"Your face though!" You mimicked his expression of horror, exaggerating the wide eyes and dropped jaw. "I've seen you interrogate the worst criminals in Prythian without blinking, but this—" you gestured to the vial, fresh laughter bubbling up, "—this is what breaks the mighty shadowsinger."

Just as his expression softened into reluctant amusement, you added innocently: "The real ashes are in that cookie jar shaped like a rabbit."

Azriel's eyes darted to the kitchen before narrowing at your renewed laughter. You didn't miss how his shadows secretly slipped toward the kitchen to check, only to return with confirmation that the jar indeed contained only cookies.

He took a predatory step toward you, shadows stretching menacingly. His wings flared fully as he lunged for you, shadows racing ahead to tickle your sides. "Come here, you menace."

You shrieked with laughter, darting around the corner with Azriel in hot pursuit. Ember and Sizzle bounced after you both, their excitement causing tiny flames to erupt in their wake. A curtain caught fire as you raced past, but Azriel's shadows extinguished it without him breaking stride, his focus entirely on capturing you.

The chase led through the kitchen (where you knocked over a bowl of fruit), past the living room (where you leapt over the sofa with surprising agility), and finally ended in the bedroom when he caught you around the waist, his wings creating a leathery cocoon around you both as you fell onto the bed.

"Gotcha," he growled, pinning your hands above your head. His wings arched possessively over you both, blocking out the world.

"So you have," you replied, slightly breathless from running and laughing. "What now, shadowsinger?"

His eyes darkened as he leaned closer, shadows caressing your cheeks with surprising tenderness. "Now I extract my revenge."

Author’s Note:

This oneshot was brought to you by too much caffeine, not enough sleep, and Azriel refusing to let me live my life in peace. Also, I think the shadow bunny is plotting against me. Proceed with caution. 🐇✨

Taglist: @circe143 @lunarxcity @willowpains @messageforthesmallestman @lreadsstuff @evye47 @lovely-susie @moonfawnx @tele86 @moonlitlavenders @darkbloodsly @ees-chaotic-brain @smol-grandpa @auraofathena @lottiiee413 @minaaminaa8 @claudiab22 @moonbeamruins @shewolf1549 @crimsonandwhiteprincess @a-band-aid-for-your-heart @kathren1sky-blog @alimarie1105 @masbt1218 @topaz125 @falszywe @randomdumsblog @sophia-grace2025 @okaytrashpanda @thegoddessofnothingness @unarxcity @svearehnn @suhke3 @galaxystern08 @ivy-34 @hellsenthero @nayaniasworld @raccoonworld @bobbywobbby @evergreenlark @greenmandm @shinyghosteclipse @catloverandreader @the-onlyy-angie @bunnboosblog @i-like-boooks @ashduv @kayjaywrites @lovelyreaderlovesreading @badbishsblog @vera0124 @i-am-infinite @scatteredstardustt @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @chaotic-luvrs @etsukomoonbeam @justtryingtosurvive02 @dianxiaxiexie @annaaaaa88 @mortqlprojections @quiet-loser @shamelesswolftheorist @vanserrasimp @lovelyflower7777 @probendingwords @allthatisbuck1917 @thejediprincess56 @forvalentineboy @romwyz @plowden @jada-lockwood @traveling-neverland @wanderwithmex @magicaldragonlady @makemeurvillain @justswimm @saltedcoffeescotch @rafeecameronsbitch @sherhd @stainedpomegranatelips @ayohockeycheck @yourdarkrose @taurusvic @illyrianshadow @s-h-e-l-b-e-e @ly--canthrope @star-chaser1 @dormantzzzs

#acotar #azriel #azriel x oc #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel x you

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pinkgy · 3 months ago

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i loved ur dick hcs for the whb kings! if u can, can u pls also do hcs for eligos, foras, amon, and gamigin? tysm 🤍

Hi ! Sorry for the delay, and thank you so much for your request :(

Ilysm for picking some of my fave nobles ugh, I also tried to be more specific with this one, hope I don't get shadowbanned haha

𝗪𝗛𝗕 𝙉𝙊𝘽𝙇𝙀𝙎 𝗗𝗜𝗖𝗞 𝗛𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗡𝗦

GN! Pronouns

𝘾𝙒: NSFW, Mentions of Cum and Sexual Intercourse.

𝙁𝙊𝙍𝘼𝙎

19 cm / 7.4 Inches Why do I have the HC that every Hades noble has a beautiful dick?

Not that girthy but looooong, it's that type of dick that somehow touches the right places e.v.e.r.y t.i.m.e, no curves, no particular shape, it's a mystery.

His friend is pretty normal looking, it's also kinda heavy so it kinda just hangs there, it also has a tanned-ish shade that makes a nice contrast with his skin color (15-1318 TCX)

One prominent vein begins at the base and fades at the half of it and one less prominent that goes through all its length, and yes, you can feel them.

He cums a normal amount, but it's stickyyyy so you feel like his dumping a whole liter of it, it's also kinda clear, very very pretty, and has a nice taste.

Not much of a grower, if you focus you can see it through his pants, so the surprise isn't huge.

𝙂𝘼𝙈𝙄𝙂𝙄𝙉

21 cm / 8.2 Inches Oh there it is For the sake of this HC, one will be called D1 and the other will be D2

There's a reason why the MC was surprised when they found out he had two of them because, for some magical reason, he manages to hide them and does an amazing job at it.

They're the same size, but D2 is slightly more curved than the other, also both tips are the same shade (15-1516 TCX)

Both are extremely sensitive, D1's tip gets ultra sensitive sometimes and D2 cubs the second you grip its base.

D1 cums more than D2 and also tends to do it a few seconds quicker, individually they cum a lottt, together, well, it also tastes amazing, credits to Lucifer and his nutrition plans for it, it has a normal texture and a normal appearance.

He's a grower too, as I said before, there's a reason poor MC was surprised he could fit that in his pants.

𝙀𝙇𝙄𝙂𝙊𝙎

16 cm / 6.2 Inches

Top 5 prettiest dicks in the game, everything about it is perfect, the length, the width, the shape, it’s just like him, beautiful, you might even feel bad for putting it inside you.

His head leans on the thinner side and when he’s really aroused it gets ultra-sensitive and turns into a pretty shade of pale pink (12-1212 TCX)

Doesn’t have any prominent veins and its length turns girthier at the base, also no curve or anything, may I say again, it’s perfect.

He cums a looootttt, kinda watery and might not taste the best (because of his diet) but even this guy's cum looks pretty, a clear-ish shade of white that you can swear it’s even sparkly.

He's a grower, a HUGE grower, he might not be the biggest, but you definitely didn't expect what he had under his pants.

𝘼𝙈𝙊𝙉

19 cm / 7.4 Inches

You’ve seen it, I’ve seen it, we’ve seen it.

I’m gonna be guessing that what we’ve CLEARLY seen is when it’s soft, he's not much of a grower, but its final length is considerable.

It curves upwards just a little bit, but that tiny curve feels heavenly, his base and tip are thinner than its body by some millimeters so it might hurt you a bit, but this sweet man will prep you for it ❤️

His cum also might not taste the best, but it's bearable, it's also very sticky and almost fully white, giving him a nice view when it's all over you.

Amon is shameless, he loves that you can see it through his pants, so you can get ready for what awaits you. Oh and Tip is 16-1511 TCX.

𝘽𝘼𝙏𝙃𝙄𝙉

18.5 cm / 7.2 Inches

Another one from the top 5 prettiest dicks in the game, but it’s not like Eligos’ that is simply perfect, no, Bathin’s is so pretty that it feels like someone carefully crafted it to look amazing.

The length and the girth fit perfectly with him, exactly 3 not too prominent veins adorning it and a tiny curve upwards, it always reaches the right places, only stings when he enters you the exact amount to feel good.

Tip can get really really pink when he’s too aroused, about 17-1926 TCX, and the rest of the length is about the same shade as his skin tone, maybe a tiny bit more tanned.

That one tiny curve, yeah that one, it does wonders, because his whole dick fits so perfectly inside you it’ll curve just the right way that you’ll see the stars.

His cum is as perfect as him, perfect texture, perfect color, perfect taste, doesn’t cum lots and it also kinda takes him a bit to let go, but it’ll be worth it.

He’s not a grower, you can see it through his pants, fully rigid only grows about an inch.

#whb #prettybusy what in “hell” is bad?#what in “hell” is bad?#what in hell is bad #whb gamigin #whb gamigin x reader #whb eligos #whb eligos x reader #whb foras #whb foras x reader #whb amon #whb amon x reader #whb headcanons #prettybusy what in hell is bad #what in hell is bad x reader #whb smut #whb x reader #whb bathin #whb bathin x reader

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dorkszn · 10 months ago

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logan howlett x blk!reader hcs <3

for both masc and fem readers !! these are kinda stupid and crack-ish lmao

— you always let him pick your next braids color and he pretends he doesn’t love it.

— he grumbles when you leave shiny lipgloss kiss marks on him but after a while, he just stops trying to wipe them off.

— but he does love kissing you on the lips with your gloss on, especially if it’s flavored. he loves seeing it all smudged and messed up when he pulls away. and he just grins at you when you swipe your thumb over his lips, removing the lip gloss he stole from you.

— if you not the one cooking, he ain’t eating. i know he had some soul food once and it touched his soul forever.

— you’ve put your bonnet / durag on him. he may or may not have been asleep but who’s really checking?

— one time, you gushed to him about how megan thee stallion was coming to your city and told him you’d literally die if you didn’t see her. he said you were being dramatic and he didn’t see the big deal. but he got you the tickets.

— i can see you forcing him to come with you which he reluctantly does. of course, he’s unamused. until he actually sees her. you can’t even be mad at him for it because.. real?

— he gets jealous when you gush over male celebrities, especially if they’re caucasian. he’s supposed to be your favorite white boy.

— loves your natural hair. like he loves it so much. short or long, tight coils or loose curls, he doesn’t care. he just loves it.

— and your body. utterly obsessed with you and your body. he thinks your skin is so pretty and perfect and soft, that your eyes are just the most perfect shade of brown, that you just smell so sweet and nice all the time, that your skin bruises to nicely when he sucks his marks into it.

— idk how he’d feel about rap or hip-hop but i think he’d mess with r&b.

— he used your hair products in the shower once and got the ass-whooping of a lifetime because apparently he “used too much” and “it’s not even for his hair texture.”

— calls you ma’am or sir in front of your family

— you bought him a nice, little silver chain to replace his dog tags with the initial of your first name on it and he never takes it off unless he’s going on a mission or something. only because he knows if it breaks, he’s breaking the neck of whoever broke it.

— hates chitlins.

— watches spooky scary sunday with you. he doesn’t really understand it or see the point but he’ll watch it if you ask.

— he’ll pick you up and carry you past big dogs if you’re scared of them. he’s gonna tease you first, of course. maybe push you towards it a little.

that’s all !! and sorry again, ik these are pretty bad 😭

417 notes · View notes

lotusloong · 4 months ago

Note

If you're cool with song fics, would you do one based on "Suffering "from Epic: The Musical? (It has a choke hold on me for the past few days...) I personally don't know which Wukong is most fitting, though...

Waiting

Relationship: Sun Wukong X Female Reader

AN: HHOOOOOO okay! So first off, I fucking love greek myth, and I love the take of Epic the Musical, amazing songs.

So I really really really liked this request! I hope I did it justice, I like to think I did, at least the first half lol. 3k words in im like ‘some smut would pair really nice with this’ and another 4k words later here we are. I have more requests cooking, this one just ended up getting away from me a bit lololol! I also wasn’t sure which Wukong this prompt works best with so I left it up to personal preference! I hope you like it ♥

Tags: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Smut, like...really horny smut, Violence, Wukong losing his temper, Wukong wanting to be a baba, Slight Pregnancy talk sprinkled throughout, I have a kink okay don't judge, Let me know if I missed any tags pls

Read it on AO3!

The wood of the long boat felt sturdy under his feet and the gentle breeze felt cool against his fur, but Wukong kept his gaze on the still water. The keeper of this valley had warned them of a shapeshifter in this lake, and the Monkey King was not willing to let his Master drown today. He had been tempted to take the group the long way around, through the mountain range, but the longer path would have meant more opportunities for other yaoguai to attack. In the end they agreed to take a short cut across the lake itself, his fellow disciples agreeing to surround the Tang Monk if trouble showed up and let Wukong handle the tricky nature of the shapeshifter.

The boat ride has been peaceful so far, and they were over halfway across the lake. And that's when he felt an unfamiliar magic probing at his mind. If he were a lesser demon, he probably wouldn't have noticed it.

“My darling?” The surface of the water broke with a gentle ripple, and suddenly Wukong was looking down at a familiar face.

Your face.

The creature dared to wear your skin, to use your voice, to trick him.

“Don't you miss me?” Your voice sounded like music to his ears. It had been so long, too long, since he had last heard it…

He almost felt grateful to the yaoguai, for reminding him of how you sounded. That gratefulness wouldn't protect them from his simmering rage, however. It was insulting that they would dare try to use you against him, as if they had the right to try and imitate your beauty.

He leaned over the edge of the long boat just enough to show interest and quickly hit his tail against the wooden floorboards. His ear flicked at the sound of Bajie and Wujing moving closer to Tang Sanzang and Bai Long Ma.

He had to put on a show to distract the shapeshifter, and that's something the Monkey King was renowned for.

“...More than you know.” He spoke, his voice soft. He didn't like being so obviously vulnerable about his feelings towards you to a stranger wearing your face, but they say all the best lies have sprinkles of truth in them. At his words the yaoguai moved closer, looking the picture of innocence. It wasn't you, and it was more obvious the closer Wukong looked.

Your eyes, normally so bright and alive, looked shades darker than they were supposed to be, as if there was no distinguishable pupil. Your hair wasn't the same, the color was also the wrong shade and the texture didn't look right. Even your smell, the sweetest and most intoxicating scent he had ever had the pleasure of breathing in, wasn't right. This fake-you smelled of kelp and bad lake water.

It filled him with fury, an anger so strong he desperately wanted to give in to it, to let it control him as he beat this thing into the muck for daring to use your perfect image against him.

“Then come in the water and kiss me~” Not-you purred, fluttering its eyelashes in a way that made his stomach churn. His tail twitched in irritation, and not-you’s eyes followed the movement. He had to keep playing along.

“My love I've told you this before-” He looked at the dark water before him, lifting a foot and taking a hesitant step back from the side of the boat. “You know I'm afraid of the water.” He wrapped his tail around his leg in an act of embarrassment and shame. Not-you's eyes widened, looking from him to the water with surprise. It was quickly covered up, confusion in their voice as they kept trying to soothe him.

“I'll make sure you're safe, love. This isn't nearly as deep as the Eastern Ocean, when you went to visit the Dragon King…?” They started hesitantly, watching his reaction to their words. Wukong gave them a pleading look, making up an excuse on the spot.

“But his palace is at the bottom of the sea. It's not as…scary to sink in water when you have to go down that deep anyways…” For a moment he worries they won't believe him, their brow furrowing in disbelief. Then suddenly, their eyes light up, and they smile with a grin that is much too wide for your mouth.

“Oh! Y-yes, I had forgotten! Because of the stone you came from, you sink in water!”

“Yes, exactly, hehe…” Not exactly. He could swim no problem. He glanced over his shoulder to his companions, still huddled protectively around their Master as the distant shoreline grew closer and closer. Just a little more, and with his Master safe on dry land he would take great pleasure in tearing this yaoguai apart for their transgressions.

“Well, you don't have to worry about that here. I'll be with you! And…and you can come see our little ones! They miss you terribly, you know.” He felt a sting in his chest at the thought of his monkeys, at how they must be doing at home with you, slowly rebuilding from the damaged remains of your shared mountain.

“I'd love that, but…” He shifted on his feet again, staring at the still water like it might bite him. He saw not-you stifle a roll of their eyes, swimming closer still. They looked at him then, and Wukong could feel that same gentle probing at his mind, matching the magic he felt earlier. He braced himself for what they would say next, biting his tongue until he tasted iron to keep his anger in check. The shore was right there-

“...Our daughter also misses you, love. Won't you come with me to see her?”

The absolute fucking gall of this creature.

The anger he pushed away comes flooding back full force, so intense and burning it feels like he's on fire. Perhaps he is, considering how the creature in front of him looks suddenly terrified, their face - not yours, it could never be as beautiful as yours - suddenly lit up by a vivid red glow from his eyes.

They try to swim away, but it's too late. He feels the boat lurch underneath him as Bajie drags it onto the sandy bank, and his hand shoots out to grip the forearm of the shapeshifter with enough strength to bruise. His claws dig into skin that's not as soft as yours as thin rivulets of blood leak down to their elbow, dripping into the water below. They immediately cry out, using their free hand to pull and hit at his own arm, for all the good it will do them. He catches another whiff of their scent and his nose crinkles in distaste, canines on display.

“How dare you.” He growls. He didn’t have a daughter. He wasn’t allowed one, no matter how desperately he wanted such a thing. “You dare use magic to look at my inner desires!? To use them against me!?” The shapeshifter looks terrified, their shaking form slowly losing shape as their hold on their magic fails at their internal panic.

He had wanted to start a family with you, since the beginning of your relationship. Many early days of your courtship had included the two of you spending time together, cloud watching and fruit picking on the lush mountain ridge of Mount Huaguo as you talked and talked for hours at a time. It was then he learned what love was, what a mate was, that he wanted you by his side forever. And during those months you talked about what you would want in the future, and the topic of families and children came up.

He had loved the idea from the beginning, seeing you surrounded by little ones with his fur color and your eyes, or your smile and his laugh. It was a far-off daydream the two of you shared in whispered breaths, foreheads pressed together as you lay side by side under a cloudy sky and imagined what your kids would be like, who they would grow into.

But those dreams had never had a chance to start.

He had grown worried for the future, the concept of mortality weighing heavily on his mind. He didn't want to say goodbye to his people, to you or your possible children. So he set off with the promise to find immortality and return to share it with you and your subjects. That was the start of it all, his quest leading to him wanting to better defend his home, to get a proper weapon to protect those closest to him, and eventually…the Celestial Realm taking notice of him.

For over 500 years your shared desire to have a family had been put on hold as he dug himself deeper and deeper into trouble with the other gods. You had stayed by his side through it all, until he was trapped away by the Buddha. When Tang monk finally released him, he rushed to where the Jade Emperor held you captive and freed you with a desperate kiss.

Now you were back home, trying to rebuild a kingdom from the ground up without him, because he had to be ‘redeemed’ in the eyes of heaven.

Wukong knew it had been painful for you. It had been painful for him.

Now his only goal was to deliver his new Master across the continent and back so he could finally fly back into your waiting arms and live happily with you. And this time, he would stay. Stay, and start that family you both so desperately wanted.

How dare this vile thing try to use that against him.

“I should kill you now, you pathetic wretch.” He hissed, dragging the shapeshifter up and out of the water to be closer to him, the surface of the lake splashing. Fear filled its eyes, and it whimpered in fright. It was still your voice, however poorly imitated, and it made him hesitate for just a moment. The yaoguai noticed, and immediately tried to take advantage.

“M-my love, you’re hurting me! Please, please stop!” It cried, and tears gathered in its too dark eyes. Wukong huffed, trying to ignore the instinct to not hurt his mate, knowing it wasn’t really you. He dragged the shapeshifter closer, gripping them by the neck with his free hand, delighted by the choked gasp they released.

“How many of you are there?” He growled, voice raspy and dark with promises of harm. Not-you shook in his grasp, throat bobbing under his palm as they tried to breathe. Their voice changed when they next spoke, the illusion falling further apart.

“I-I’m sorr-y-! Mercy, m-mercy puh-please!” They cried, real tears of distress running down their cheeks, which were slowly growing scales and changing color. Not satisfied, Wukong loosened his grip just enough for the wretch to stop choking and answer his question.

“Tell me! How many of you are there?” He gave it a good shake to get his urgency across, and the creature wailed further at this treatment. “Tell me or I’ll drain this entire lake and kill every living thing I find!” He hissed. He heard his Master on the shore, a displeased noise at the threat.

“M-my pack! My pack is here b-bu-but they won’t-! Please, pl-ease! I-I am s-s-so s-sorr-yy!” Wukong snorted in response, his breath billowing from his nose in a steamy cloud, framing his face. His glowing eyes looked like hot coals as he glared at the yaoguai. Bajie and Wujing looked over the surface of the lake from where they stood on the sand, wary and waiting for another shapeshifter to burst from the water. The one Wukong held by the throat thrashed and whimpered some more.

“I-I’ll tell them to-! Huughh-to le-eave-! I-! I just wanted immortality! The m-monk-!” Wukong gave the creature another shake at their words.

“So you think to take my Master!? To use the face of my wife!? You dare look through my mind and use my desires against me!?” He was heating up, smoke billowing from his mouth as the desire to burn this creature to a crisp festered inside him. Or perhaps a shock of lighting to permanently scar it? His eyes glowed a deeper red, and the faint smell of urine hit his nose.

The wretch had wet themselves.

Disgusted, Wukong threw it back into the water, snarling as he did so and stepping on to the sandy bank himself. The creature scrambled and fumbled with trembling limbs in the shallows to get into a frantic kowtow. More of its true form was on display now, a thick fishy tail and claws on display.

“Pl-please, let us go Great Sage-! I’ll-! You’ll never see us again, we won’t ever attack any other travelers!” They pleaded. Wukong growled low in his throat, the desire to kill this wretch screaming at him to finish the job, but a gentle hand on his shoulder stopped him. He jolted, looking behind him to see his Master.

“I believe they have learned their lesson. Why not show mercy?” The Tang monk smiled, a pleading look in his eyes. Wukong snorted, clenching and unclenching his fists. He stalked forward, giving the yaoguai a swift kick to the side that sent it sprawling.

“By the grace of my Master, you live. Get out of my sight.” The words had hardly been spoken before the shapeshifter fled, disappearing in a puff of mist. Wukong turned away from the sullied lake water, to the approving gaze of his Master. Tang Sanzang lifted a hand, intending to place it on his head.

“I am very proud of you, my student-” The monkey ducked away from his touch, furious still. His tail thrashed behind his every step as he walked.

“I should have killed the damn creature. Pretending to be my beloved, the fucking gall they have-!” He stalked past Bajie, who side-stepped away from him and his anger, sending a panicked look to their other companions as Wukong jumped into the trees. Tang monk held up a hand to his students, a sign to leave the monkey be, his eyes concerned.

“Why don’t we camp near the area for tonight? Wujing, Bai Long Ma, would you start setting up? Bajie, accompany me as I look for mushrooms? I have a craving for them tonight.” The others nodded at the words of their Master.

Wukong did not return until the sun was sinking towards the horizon in the late afternoon.

He did not speak to anyone, simply walking through their camp and jumping into the lower branches of a tree, sitting and staring out into the wilderness. His tail hung low beneath the branch, flicking back and forth, showing how agitated his thoughts still were. Sanzang waited a few minutes before standing, making his way to the base of the tree and sitting comfortably under it. Wukong’s tail continued to flick by his head.

“This area seems rather safe.” The monk spoke.

“Hmph.” Was the only response he got. The monk took a deep breath, trying to keep the smile off his face as he spoke again.

“I think it would be fine to settle here for a couple days. To let us rest before moving on. The mountain range ahead will be quite challenging to cross.” Wukong sat in silence still. “I would also think…it would be safe for you to leave us for those couple days.”

The tail stopped its twitching, freezing in place.

“You travel so far and so fast with no issue, it wouldn’t surprise me if you jumped all the way back to your mountain and came back within the span of three days! It wouldn’t be a challenge for you, in any case.” There was shifting on the branch above him, a single leaf fell and landed on his lap.

“...Are you sure, Master?” The Monkey King’s voice was soft, a whisper filled with hope. The monk couldn’t fight the urge to smile anymore.

“Be back before sunset three days from now.” Is all he said. The rustling of the trees and the sound of the wind was his only response. When the Tang monk opened his eyes and looked up, the tree was empty.

~~~~~~~

You push your arms high over your head as you stretch your back, spine popping as muscles pulled in a satisfying way that had you sighing in relief. After another long day of work; expanding the fruit tree grove, listening to your subject’s worries and struggles, checking over storage supplies, and any tasks brought to your attention, you were desperate for a good rest. Your chamber in the stone palace of Water Curtain Cave was exactly the place to do that, with your favorite night robes and comfiest blanket waiting for you to snuggle into for the night.

You shut the door behind you, the chattering of your subjects still awake at this time muffled by the thick wood and stone walls. No doubt the guards were transitioning, fellow monkeys making sure they ate their fair share after the large dinner you all had together. That was something you always appreciated about your dear husband’s people, they had a deep sense of community and always chose to dine and share things with each other. It felt…loving.

You glance at your marriage bed, your half still a little messy from your rush to get up this morning, the other half still kept and clean. Cold. The same as it has been for over 500 years now…

Your own half had been the same since the war on the Celestials, but after your release you had made the space your own again. Your husband however…

You looked to the side doors of your balcony, an opening in the side of the mountain that let you see to the distant horizon. The sun was creeping closer to the far-off mountain range, turning the sky an orange and purple hue, the faintest twinkle of stars far above.

He was somewhere out there, doing a good job, you're certain. Wukong wasn’t the type to give up, and he certainly wouldn’t abandon you and your people. He would come back, someday. You had to be certain of that, if nothing else. If he…if he didn’t come back then you…and your people…

You didn’t like to think about what would happen. It made your heart ache.

You step closer to the balcony doors, gripping the handles and slowly pushing them closed for your privacy. The view was beautiful, but you wanted solitude for tonight.

Before the doors fully shut, you whispered into the wind like you did every night, hoping that somehow Wukong would hear and know you were thinking of him.

“Goodnight my love…stay safe and protected.” And as the doors finally slid shut, you didn’t notice the tiny golden cicada that slipped in through the crack above you. You turned away and began undressing, removing layer after layer of your hanfu to be washed another day.

“Well, this is certainly a beautiful sight to come home to. Tell me gorgeous, do you welcome everyone this way or am I special?” The voice made you freeze, your under-blouse half untied, leaving your chest exposed. You turned frantically, looking around your bedroom and seeing nothing out of place. Furniture still covered in scrolls and important documents, your vanity covered in hair ornaments and jewelry, your bed in its still half made state.

But that voice…

“W-Wukong?” You whispered, not believing your ears. It must be a trick of your tired mind, exhaustion and heart ache making you hallucinate the voice of your mate.

You were proven wrong as a cicada zipped past your nose and startled you, circling multiple times in the air before flashing with golden light. And there, in all his glory, your darling husband stood.

“Please continue. I was enjoying the show~” He purred.

He looked tired. His eyes still had that same inner fire to them, but it was dim. His fur and clothing were clean but simple, no extravagant gold decals or jewelry like he used to enjoy wearing. You knew that monks chose to wear plain and simple clothes, but seeing your husband follow the practice, however unwilling, was something you never thought you’d see. The only gold to be seen on him was the fillet on his head, and the sight of the band sent a flash of anger through you. You hated that damn thing.

His frame looked lighter, constant travelling combined with meager meals from campsites and begging from strangers not suiting your husband’s needs. Where he used to have a healthy layer of fat over his chest, tummy, and thighs, the muscle looked more lean. Clearly still strong, but not getting as much nutrients as he needed. Despite your own exhaustion you were overcome with the need to rush downstairs and grab everything edible, to prepare a feast for your lover that he deserved, anything for him to look like his old healthy weight.

At your silence, his clawed hand came up to cup your cheek, thumb stroking over the edge of your cheekbone. He stepped closer, and the feel of his warmth so close to you once again had your breath shuddering.

“Oh peaches…you look exhausted, my sweetheart. Have you been sleeping?” Wukong bumped his forehead to yours, golden eyes staring into yours. It was like a damn burst at his words, and you sniffled, tears gathering in the corners of your eyes.

“I could say the same-…about you.” You mumbled, eyes fluttering as he continued to stroke your cheek, his other hand wrapping tight around your waist and pulling you closer to him. Remembering your own hands could move, you wasted no time gripping his shoulders, digging your fingers into the fur exposed from his collar. Wukong sighed at your touch, his tail circling tight around one of your legs as he nuzzled his forehead against yours.

“I’ve missed you…” You whispered. He shuddered under your touch, and suddenly his lips were on yours in a desperate kiss that had you whimpering against him. His lips were still soft, the imprint of his sharp canines against your own lips a familiar and welcome feeling. You kissed back, letting your tongue peek out to lick along his lips. He opened for you with a heady groan from deep in his chest, letting his tongue meet yours.

You were pushed backwards towards the wall, his arm around your waist moving to your ass and gripping the flesh tight, pulling your hips towards his. You followed his movements, letting your leg hike up to curl around his hips, your already half undone clothing falling further apart. The threads tying your blouse together slipped away to reveal your chest, your breasts squished against the firm plane of Wukong’s own. The rough fabric of his robes felt like too much against your sensitive nipples, drawing whines from you as your hips bucked against his. You wanted his soft fur, his hot skin, against you.

You both broke away from the kiss, heaving gulps of air. Thick tendrils of drool snapped as you separated, your lips already growing swollen from the kiss. With shaking hands you pulled at his tiger skin sash, trying to undo all the knots holding his clothing together that were just too complicated for your lust filled mind to focus on. You had only managed to get one undone before his mouth was on yours again, his tongue forcing its way inside and turning your brain into jelly. You pushed your aching core against the hard length hidden by his clothes, the leg you were still standing on shaking with the effort to hold you up.

His own hands left your body to join yours at his clothing, roughly pulling at the fabric so you could get your hands tangled in all that glorious fur. You bit his bottom lip in encouragement, rewarded with a hiss and sharp buck of his hips against your own. Sash undone, his hands slammed into the wall you were pressed against as he broke the kiss again, staring at you with wide blown pupils.

“I’ve missed you too, my beautiful mate…” He growled, voice rough and raspy with lust. He bent towards your neck, suckling at the soft skin he found. Your back arched as you moaned, pressing your heaving chest closer to his. With no knots in the way your hands were free to pull and tug at his clothing, his hands leaving their rooted position on the wall just long enough to slip his arms from the cloth. Finally, warm fur under your hands, strong muscle holding you close as you humped against your mate’s hardening cock.

Wukong growled in response to your touch, trailing kisses and bites from your abused neck to your collar bones, and further down still to your chest. One hand leaves the wall to grope at your left tit, his thumb and forefinger pinching the sensitive nipple. You squeak and jolt, and he grins in response.

“Still so sensitive~” He purrs. You blush but don’t ask him to stop.

His grinning mouth envelopes your tit, sucking the soft skin and nipping it with his sharp teeth. You moan at the feeling, throwing your head back against the wall with a solid ‘thunk’ that you don’t even feel, too focused on the heat of Wukong’s mouth working wonders to your body. Wukong is clearly bothered by the sound though, as his hands suddenly move back to your ass and hike your standing leg up to join the other around his hips. You latch onto his head, keeping it pressed against your soft tits as he suckles away, and the support of the wall leaves your back.

Distantly you’re aware that your husband is walking across the bedroom, but you focus instead on pressing kisses to the crown of his head.

“F-feels so good my love, fuck-” You moan, his mouth trailing kisses across the expanse of your chest to play with your other nipple. Your pussy is throbbing where it’s pressed against Wukong, fluid leaking into the cloth still worn over your legs. A sudden feeling of weightlessness hits you as Wukong’s arms drop you, and the soft feel of your bed hits your back, the plush mattress making you bounce as you land. You squeal in surprise before looking up at him, to see your king staring down at you with a fiery hunger in his eyes. He stands tall and imposing, and you ache to be filled.

His gaze doesn’t leave you as his claws grip the waistband of his pants, pulling the last few ties keeping it in place and letting it drop to the floor.

Your breath leaves in a rush, your mouth suddenly drooling at the feast of a demon standing before you. His chest, littered with scars, heaves with his breath, his tail lashes to and fro behind him, the muscle of his arms and thighs on full display for you. Between his legs his engorged cock leaks prefluid, a prominent vein on the underside throbbing in time with his heartbeat. You want it in you, in whatever way you can get. Mouth, cunt, ass, it doesn’t matter you just want to worship the body in front of you to make up for the many centuries of separation.

Without hesitation you lean forward on the bed, folding your legs under you so you’re on your knees. Your hands grip the thick muscle of Wukong’s thighs, fur tickling your palms, as you bring your face closer to his throbbing dick.

“Love-” He starts but doesn’t finish, your cute tongue peeking out to lick a solid stripe up his length. He chokes on his words, hands immediately tangling in your hair. He doesn’t push you away or pull you closer, he simply holds you as you worship him. You press your lips against the fat vein you spotted, delighted by the way Wukong’s abdomen jumps in response. More fluid leaks from his pink tip, drooling a steady stream onto your cheek, and you lap it up eagerly, the salty taste making you shudder. Fuck, you missed that flavor.

Desperate for more you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, giggling in your throat at the cute jerk his hips gave at the feel of your warm, wet mouth. You fluttered your lashes and looked up at him, his claws still tangled in your hair and his cock stretching your lips, a trail of drool and precum leaking from the corner of your mouth. He moaned above you, golden eyes bright and pupils blown wide. Satisfied, you swirl your tongue around the sensitive head, suckling sweetly before pulling your lips off with a lewd ‘pop’.

“Shit-such a good girl for me, my beautiful mate…” He purrs as you move your head lower. You bite your bottom lip, eyeing the thick, heavy ballsack hanging between your mate’s thighs. You can catch the faintest whiff of his natural musk, and you decide you want more. Before you can second guess yourself or be embarrassed by what you’re about to do, you shove your nose right into the fat balls hanging in front of you. Wukong jerks in surprise, but your fingers grip the fur of his thighs tighter, preventing him from moving away.

You nuzzle against the heavy globes, warm skin tickling the bridge of your nose and cheeks. You can feel the weight of his cock above you, resting against the crown of your head where his claws still massage your skull. The balls resting on your face feel so full…it’s clear your mate has been pent up on the length of his journey. Tonight you aim to drain him completely, and the thought sends a shiver down your spine that has your pussy clenching hard on nothing as a moan leaves your throat.

You take a deep breath in through your nose, mind flooded by the musky smell of your mate in its strongest form. It’s enough to make you feel drunk, your mouth opening to suck on a single ball, rolling the sensitive flesh around with your tongue. You suckle it like it’s candy, the heady taste more intoxicating than anything you’ve had before.

“P-peaches, fuck-! F-filthy girl, you’re bold tonight, h-huh?” Wukong gives a breathy chuckle above you as you move onto his other ball, suckling it with the same care as the first one.

“You’re fucking filthy when d-desperate aren’t you? F-fuuuck~...” You moan in response, wiggling your hips happily at his words. You are, you’re so desperate, over 500 years since you’ve been able to play around like this with your chosen mate, you don’t care if it's unbecoming. You want your husband and you’ll damn well enjoy yourself, even if others would call you a whore for it.

With that in mind you take one hand off your mate’s thigh, bringing it low between your own thighs to press against the ache you feel. The thin material of your undergarment is soaked through, and the pressure of your fingers has you gasping desperately around the soft skin still in your mouth. Wukong notices where your hand has gone, groaning in need as he bites his bottom lip.

“Sweet girl, lay back-...lay back and let me see you-” Now his hands push at your head, gently encouraging you to release him from your mouth. You whine, not wanting to stop but also desperate for some attention yourself. Wukong chuckles above you, his grin soft at your needy behavior.

“I know love, I know. We have plenty of time though, the next three days in fact.” Suddenly eager for more than just his touch, you lay back against the pillows of your bed. Wukong's claws tail down your chest and tummy to your hips, gripping the waistband of your under clothes and slipping them off.

“Three days!? We actually have three days with you at home!?” At his nod, you squeal, kicking your feet before grabbing him by his shoulders and dragging him on top of you with a kiss. He follows your pull willingly, his knees settling down between your thighs and his hands gripping the soft flesh of your waist. His tail loops around one of your thighs as he settles between them, moaning into your kiss. He suckles your tongue before pulling away, sitting on his knees and watching his hands caress your skin. Every mark, every curve, his gaze takes it all in with reverence and it’s now you suddenly feel shy. Your body has changed a bit over the centuries, stress and challenges you faced with and without your husband leaving their mark. You cover your face with your hands even as he pushes your thighs further apart to reveal your dripping opening.

“Oh, darling…” He growls, claws moving closer. You jump at the feel of his calloused skin on your inner thigh, and blush even further. Your skin is soaked, the slick drooling from your pussy reaching mid-thigh and coating your husband’s hands as they massage over you.

“P-please don’t stare-” You whimper, wiggling to close your thighs once again as embarrassment takes over. Wukong’s claws dig into the meat of your thighs, keeping them open despite your trembling muscles pushing against him.

“And why not? A sight like this should be enjoyed and savored…Such a pretty pussy making a mess for me? I’m honored.” You feel your cunt flutter at his words, and you squeak in response. A feather light touch of his fingers against your lips has your hips bucking off the mattress, seeking more pressure to grind against. Wukong chuckles darkly at the movement and you peek through your fingers just in time to see his mischievous grin before he leans down and buries it into your slick folds.

You scream, hands leaving your face to tangle into the sheet of your bed, you back arching as Wukong’s arms lock around your waist, preventing your hips from leaving the hot, wet torture that is his mouth. His tongue bullies its way past the ring of muscle for your entrance and presses up, immediately looking for the sensitive spot in your gummy walls that makes you cry for him. His teeth feel sharp where they sit against your sensitive skin, and despite knowing he would never hurt you more than you ask, the perceived danger of such sharp canines against you has your adrenaline racing.

He pulls his tongue out of your cunt with a slurp, and presses a sloppy, wet kiss against your swollen clit.

“Fuck! Wukong!” You sit straight up, hands gripping and pulling at the fur on top of his head. He gives a pleased growl at the motion, encouraging you to pull harder. With you watching, he buries his nose against your folds, and takes a deep inhale of your scent.

Oh.

Liquid heat pools in your belly at the action, and you tug desperately at his fur again.

“Please love, please just-” His tongue traces a pattern through your folds again, and you feel a sudden sting as he playfully nips your engorged clit. “500 years Wukong-! Please, don’t tease me anymore-!”

He laughs low in his belly at your words, but does lift himself up to slot his hips against yours. You bite your lip at the feel of his cock pressing against you, hot and heavy as it leaks fluid over your mound, mixing with your own slick.

“Alright, alright peaches…Not so shy now-” You buck your hips up, delighted by the brief friction of grinding against him. “Dammit, okay! Settle down, I don’t want to hurt you sweet one.” He shushes you, waiting for you to lay your hips back onto the mattress. You groan in frustration, watching with rapt attention as his hand grabs the length of his cock, rubbing the pink tip through your folds and gathering more slick. You hold your breath, waiting in anticipation for him to move.

His cock presses against your opening, the tight muscle immediately giving way as your mate pushes himself into you. You both gasp at the feeling, his cock twitching in response and you can feel it. You pull desperately at his shoulders and he follows, leaning on his hands above you as you pull him into a desperate kiss. His hips push forward achingly slow, spreading your soft walls at an agonizing pace. You need him now, dammit. Need him to bully his way inside you and break you on his cock like a bitch in heat.

You wrap your legs around his hips, and with one sharp tug and a jerk up of your own, he sinks fully into you. Wukong shudders and groans deep in his chest, his arms trembling under his weight as he sags against you, lips never leaving yours. You keen loudly at the feeling of being so full so fast, your walls squeezing tight around him. You pull away from the kiss, panting desperately as you fall back into the pillows surrounding you.

“...S-Sweet one, so tight-” He hisses, burying his face in your neck. You need him to move.

“Wu-Wukong…fucking move…” You whimper, your body shaking with overstimulation. Your king hisses between grit teeth, shifting into a better position on his knees. Your cunt refuses to give at first, clamped down tight around him before he pulls harder, and a lewd ‘squelch’ echoes between you both. It’s followed by another, and another, as Wukong builds a slow rhythm, grinding his hips in shallow circles against you. You cup his jaw and make him look up at you, breathing each other’s air before he kisses you again. His tongue still tastes like you, and you moan as the pressure in your belly increases.

His thrusts pick up speed as you kiss, his breath coming out in hot puffs from his nose against your cheek. You aren’t doing much better, your lungs feel entirely too empty as your body burns, heat making your toes curl and your legs lock tight around his hips. It’s been so long for the both of you, you aren’t surprised you didn’t last very long, but you truly don’t care. Wukong is in your arms again, he’s kissing you again, your bed smells like him again.

His thumb makes its way to your mound, finding your clit and rubbing harsh, sloppy circles around it that make you cry into your shared kiss. He nips your lips in response, his tail thrashing where it curls high in the air above you both. You feel your peak rising, and pull away just enough to look into his eyes when you cum.

“I-I love you…” Your shaking voice manages to get out before the pressure inside you snaps. You bury your face into his warm neck, biting down, uncaring of the fur getting in your mouth. Wukong moans, his hips stuttering their rhythm as you clamp down tight, your pussy milking him for everything he has. He follows you over the peak, pressing his lips to your ear to whisper back.

“I love y-you-...too-” He shudders, and you feel the liquid heat of his release inside you, flooding your cunt. Your spasming walls take it greedily, until it's too much, and thick globs of white cum leak back out your spasming pussy, mixing with the mess of fluid already painted across your thighs. You both shudder and shake, the glow of orgasm leaving you gradually as you lay in each other’s arms. Wukong practically collapses on the bed next to you, wrapping his arms tight around your back to drag you with him. You adjust yourself, keeping your legs tight around him as he flips onto his back and lays you along his chest.

The rise and fall of his breathing soothes you, growing slower and deeper as you both come down from your high. You move, lifting yourself up enough to press a kiss to his pectoral, right above his stone heart. When you look up, he’s staring at you, a very soft smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. He looks…upset.

Doubt wiggles its way into your mind, wondering if he’s upset by what just happened.

“Everything okay?” You whisper. He startles, the unease in his gaze clearing up as he watches you. One of his clawed hands comes up to brush through your hair, playing with the strands. After a moment, he speaks.

“There was…a shapeshifter, today. Trying to steal Master’s flesh.” You lean into his hand, the feeling of his fingers playing with your hair, a feeling you have missed over the years. You keep your eyes locked with his to show you’re still listening.

“They wore your face.” Wukong mumbles. You freeze, eyes widening in shock. “They wore your face, and they used some…some kind of magic to see what I-...see what we-” He growls, glaring off the side of your bedroom at some unseen enemy. “They brought up how we don’t have little ones of our own yet. Still.”

You aren’t sure what to say, so you grab his hand that's frozen in your hair, bringing his palm low enough for you to press a kiss against his pulse point. He smiles at you, the familiar warmth you adore coming back to his eyes.

“It upset me quite a bit, everyone could tell. Master…took pity on me I suppose, said I could leave them for a few days to see you.” His thumb strokes over your cheek, trailing down to your jaw and curving around the length of your neck, fingers back in the thick of your hair once more.

“Well, I suppose I’m grateful for that, at least.” You begin, a touch of bitterness to your tone. “Not that I think it’s right I haven't been able to see, touch, or properly talk to my husband in seven years-!” His brow furrows, a sad expression making its way onto his handsome face. You take a deep breath, shoving those feelings aside.

It’s just for a few more years.

You can handle a few more years of letters and talks through magic portals and dreams as you wait for Wukong to come back to you. And if you’re lucky, maybe more nights where he’s able to actually visit you like this.

You shift a little, sucking in a sharp breath at the feel of his softening cock still inside you, but now close enough to his face you can press a kiss to his furry chin. He jerks at the feeling of you moving as well, but neither of you makes to actually get up and clean yourselves off. If your gut feeling is correct, which it usually is, your mate will be rested and ready to go again in a few minutes, and for the rest of the night.

“I’m sorry my love, I’m just…frustrated by the distance between us. I miss having you with me every day.” Wukong sighs underneath you, pressing a kiss of his own to the crown of your head.

“I know. Believe me, peaches, I know.” He sighs, and you rise and fall with his chest as he does so. “It’ll be over soon. We’re immortal. Time is…it’ll pass before we even realize it.” You know his words are true, and you can’t help but smile up at him when you next speak.

“And then we could…finally try for that family?” You offer. His eyes widen, but a grin follows soon after.

“I’d love nothing more.” He seals his promise with a kiss.

#Sun Wukong X Reader #Monkey King X Reader #Sun Wukong #Monkey King #Tang Sanzang #Zhu Bajie #Sha Wujing #Journey to the West #My Writing

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sativariddle · 5 months ago

Text

STICKY SITUATION…

OLDER!THEO x parkinson!reader.

includes; smut. read at own risk or wtv.

ᯤ NOW PLAYING…the party & the after party ( the weekend )

lips.

that single word echoed in your intoxicated mind, looping endlessly. lips. lips. lips.

soft, plump, and flushed with the prettiest shade of rose, they were an invitation, a temptation you couldn’t ignore.

every brush of them against your own sent a jolt through your veins, every gentle bite leaving a tingling ache that begged for more.

the way they parted — just barely, just enough — only added to the dizzying warmth pooling in your chest.

and the sounds - oh, the sounds - those quiet, breathless whimpers, the soft gasps swallowed between kisses, only thickened the haze clouding your thoughts, making it impossible to focus on anything but the way they felt against you.

sloppy, open-mouthed kisses trailed down your collarbone, wet and feverish, each press of his lips leaving a ghost of warmth against your skin.

his hands—desperate, trembling —fumbled to strip away every last piece of clothing, yanking fabric down with a force that spoke of raw need.

there was no patience, no restraint.

later wasn’t an option. he needed to feel you now—now, now, now.

if anyone were to walk in, they’d be met with a sight scandalous enough to shake the very foundation of propriety—pansy parkinson’s little sister, pinned up against the door of a random ravenclaw bathroom, her thighs trembling around her sister’s best friend as he filled her to the hilt.

theodore’s hands were everywhere—one cupping the side of your face, thumb brushing against your lips as if to quiet the soft, helpless moans slipping past them; the other gripping your waist, fingers digging into your skin hard enough to leave imprints.

every deep, languid thrust sent sparks ricocheting through your body, the friction of his veins dragging against your walls.

your head lolled back against the door, mouth parted, each little noise fluttering into the air, swallowed between the ragged breaths you shared.

your fingers tangled in theodore’s dark locks, nails scraping against his scalp as he drove his dick into you relentlessly, each snap of his hips pressing you harder into the wood, lifting you just a little higher, just enough to make you feel every inch of him.

"theo … mm.. fuck…” the words barely escape your lips, more of a breathless whimper than anything coherent.

the pressure inside you coils tighter, heat blooming at the base of your spine, threatening to snap at any moment.

his thumb drags lazily across your lower lip, smearing the moisture there, pressing down just enough to make you feel dizzy, hazed.

his other hand trails down your side, fingertips ghosting over your ribs before gripping your hip with bruising force, keeping you exactly where he wants you.

his fingers intertwine with yours, pulling you closer—deeper.

the shift in angle is devastating, the head of his cock hitting something inside you that has you choking on a gasp, body tensing before dissolving into uncontrollable shivers.

every drag, every thrust is like a live wire against your nerves, an electric current that floods your veins and makes your head spin.

the pleasure is unbearable—too much, too intense, too good.

your entire body feels like it’s on fire, burning from the inside out, the sensitivity making every movement almost painful in its perfection.

your head ragged, unable to stay still, rolling in loose, thoughtless movements as the pleasure drags you under. eyes clenched shut, mouth open in silent cries, lost to the dizzying, overwhelming sensation.

“stop fucking... shit- moving.”

theodore’s voice is raw, laced with euphoria, and before you can even process it, a strong palm presses against the side of your head, forcing you still.

your cheek meets the unforgiving wood of the door, the rough texture cool against your burning skin.

his fingers tighten, squishing your cheeks against the surface, holding you in place as his hips snap forward, harder, deeper, faster.

each thrust sends a tremor through the door, through you, forcing a strangled whine from your lips.

“there we fucking go…just like that.” his voice is guttural, satisfied, the sound of it making the pleasure claw at your spine, making your body surrender to the relentless rhythm he’s set.

“nott? open the door!” pansy’s voice sliced through the thick, humid air, sharp and impatient. “i have to pee! hurry the fuck up!”

pansy.

pansy parkinson.

pansy fucking parkinson.

theodore’s movements halted instantly.

the air between you turned suffocatingly still, the only sound left was the ragged rise and fall of your breathing.

his palm, once pressing you firmly against the door, now moved swiftly—snaking around your mouth, muffling the startled gasp that threatened to spill from your lips.

your mascara-coated lashes fluttered, widened in pure shock.

with trembling hands, you unraveled your legs from around theodore’s waist, the lingering ache between your thighs a reminder of just how compromised you were.

your dress—black, short, and now hopelessly wrinkled—was yanked down, the hem barely reaching mid-thigh.

theodore, composed despite the panic he felt, pulled away from you, the loss of warmth against your skin almost dizzying.

his boxers came on first, then his pants, each movement swift, practiced.

bang!

your breath hitched.

bang!

the walls trembled.

BANG!

the force of pansy’s fist sent a shudder through the door—the very door you were still pressed against, the vibrations rattling your bones.

your head snapped toward theodore, black eyes blown wide with sheer, unfiltered terror.

“hurry the fuck up! my bladder can only hold so much, asshole!”

panic.

absolute, gut-wrenching panic.

it clawed at your throat, curled around your lungs, squeezed every ounce of reason from your intoxicated mind. each second dragging you further into a frenzied fog.

your heart pounded so violently it felt as though it had stopped altogether, only to restart with each deafening knock—a beat-for-beat rhythm against your ribcage, against the door, against the walls.

ever fiber of your being screamed at you to move, to do something—anything. but you were frozen, locked in place.

theodore’s fingers grazed your skin as he grabbed the thin straps of your black dress, guiding them back over your shoulders with a gentleness that felt almost mocking given the frantic, panicked state you were in.

the fabric was warm, still clinging to the heat of your bodies, but the moment it settled back into place, a wave of something cold crashed over you.

and suddenly—you needed to get away.

a deep, all-consuming dread coiled in your stomach, twisting tighter with each breath.

you didn’t know if it was the sheer terror of your sister standing just beyond that door, her fists still rattling the wood, or if her voice had shaken something loose in you, knocking sense back into your fogged-up, intoxicated mind.

maybe it was the suffocating weight of reality sinking in, the undeniable truth of what you had just done, who you had done it with.

you fucked up.

the thought rang in your head like a deafening siren, looping, taunting.

your pulse thrummed in your ears, drowning out everything else—the heavy silence between you and theodore, the residual echoes of your shared breath, the way his hands lingered just a second too long before pulling away.

your skin crawled.

not from his touch, but from the recklessness of it all. from how easily you let it happen. from the fear of what would come next.

you fucked up, you fucked up, you fucked up.

the realization settled like lead in your chest, heavy, suffocating. you needed to leave. needed to be anywhere but here. needed distance—from him, from this room, from the heat still lingering between your legs.

“whatever, fuck yourself!”

oh, pansy.

if only you knew.

the moment her footsteps faded down the hallway, the consequence of your actions crashed into you like a tidal wave, drowning you in regret.

it settled deep in your bones, heavier with each glance at theodore, at the mess you had made.

his throat was littered with deep purple bruises, evidence of your desperation.

you had done that. you had let this happen.

theodore took your silence as an invitation, misreading the hesitation in your eyes.

without a second thought, he dipped his head, lips already reaching for yours.

the taste of your cherry chapstick barely lingered on his mouth before you yanked away, the sharp ‘mcht’ sound of disconnect filling the tense space between you.

“enough!” your voice came out harsher than you intended, but you didn’t care. “we just almost got fucking caught, theodore. are you an idiot?”

his only response was a lazy, “i don’t care.” and he didn’t—not about the consequences, not about the reality of the situation, not about anything other than your cherry chapstick and how good it tasted.

his lips found your throat, moving down in slow, deliberate drags.

over your pulse, along the dip of your collarbone, down to the tops of your chest where his teeth just barely scraped against your skin. he was relentless, selfish, wanting.

and maybe, just maybe, you wanted too.

for a second.

but then the shame swallowed you whole.

“stop.”

you shoved him off with more force than necessary, and he stumbled back a step, his messy hair falling over hooded, unreadable eyes.

he looked at you like he already knew what you were about to say.

you took a deep breath, putting distance between you, trying to breathe past the guilt pressing against your ribs. trying to pretend you didn’t still want him.

“this was a one-time thing.” the words burned your tongue, but you forced them out anyway. “one time, okay?” another breath, another step back. “we are drunk. we aren’t thinking straight.”

yeah. that was it. that was the excuse you would cling to.

you were drunk. intoxicated.

that was the only reason you had wanted him so badly tonight.

right?

xo, 𝔧𝔷.

#*ੈ🍃 ݁༉‧₊˚.sativariddleworks.#harry potter #hp fandom #hp marauders #hp smut #fanfic #hogwarts houses #harry potter x you #theodore nott #theodore nott x you #ravenclaw #older!theoxparkinson!reader

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humaling · 3 months ago

Text

Stacking Seashells, Falling Hard.

pairing: finnick odair x reader

summary: a seashell competition between you and finnick on a random saturday afternoon.

warnings: none! just finnick being absolutely smittened by you

word count: 1k

author's note: a little treat for the angst i fed last time

The sky stretches endlessly above you, a cloudless canvas of pale blue as the sun hangs high, pouring golden heat over the world. You sit beneath your pink sunshade umbrella, the fabric fluttering gently in the salty breeze. The sand beneath you is warm, almost too hot, grains of it pressing into your bare legs, rough and scratchy against your delicate skin. Beside you, a small metal bucket overflows with seashells—smooth and jagged, large and small—each one carefully collected and sorted. You take them one at a time, brushing your thumb over their textures before stacking them with careful precision in front of you. The fragile tower rises steadily, seashells balanced precariously on top of one another.

It’s a dull day, painfully uneventful. Since you’d rolled out of bed that morning, there’s been nothing to do. Your father’s busy brokering deals over the seafood he hauled in at dawn, your mother’s off with her amigas on a rare no-husband-and-kids day, and your brother—well, he’s probably sneaking around District 4, up to something he’ll deny later. That left you alone in the house, bored out of your mind, until inspiration struck: head to the beach and see how tall you could make a seashell tower before it toppled over.

So here you are—at the beach, under the relentless midday sun. The heat presses down on you, heavy and thick, but you hardly sweat. You’ve been shaped by this weather, conditioned to the sun's weight after spending countless childhood afternoons racing down these very shores, salt in your hair and sand between your toes. The heat is familiar, almost comforting.

These days, though, you prefer the quiet. You’ve grown to savor the stillness, finding a kind of peace in your own company. Stacking seashells, listening to the waves, breathing in the briny air—it’s simple, but it’s enough.

You’re so lost in the rhythm of it that you don’t hear the approaching footsteps, the soft shuffling of feet over sand. Your focus sharpens on the 32nd shell, fingers steady as you carefully place it atop the growing tower.

“Bet I can make mine taller than yours.”

A sharp gasp rips from your throat as something small and hard whizzes past your face, close enough to stir a lock of hair. Your stack crumbles in an instant, shells scattering across the sand with soft, hollow clinks. Your jaw drops, heart stuttering as you stare at the ruins of your hard work.

The intruder drops down beside you, elbows digging into the sand as he props himself up with an infuriating ease. You whip your head toward him, your glare cutting sharp enough to draw blood.

Of course. Finnick Odair.

"Bet you can’t," you shoot back, picking up a seashell and chucking it at him. He snatches it midair without even trying, the movement so smooth it’s almost irritating.

He flashes you a grin, teeth white and perfect beneath the sun's glare. His sea-green eyes dance with mischief, strands of damp bronze hair clinging to his forehead. His skin glows under the sun’s touch, tanned and lightly glistening with sweat. Dimples carve into his cheeks as his smile widens.

“You’re on,” he says, voice low and teasing.

And just like that, the quiet of your afternoon is gone.

The sun melts into the horizon, bleeding warm shades of amber and rose into the sky. The soft, golden glow reflects off the ocean’s surface, rippling light across the sand and casting long shadows behind you. The competition had been brutal—neither of you willing to concede, both of you clinging to victory like it was life or death. Your pride was on the line, and Finnick’s was too—though, truthfully, he stopped caring about winning long ago.

He had taken the lead early on, his hands deft and steady as he stacked shell after shell. But the higher the tower rose, the shakier it became. He lost his rhythm while you found yours, his 40th seashell barely clinging to the precarious stack while yours stood tall at 54, stable and impressive. His breath hitched as he placed the next shell, heart racing—not from the pressure of competition but from the way you looked under the soft afternoon light. The sun kissed your skin, warm and golden, highlighting the curve of your cheek as you sucked it in, brows furrowed in intense concentration. A loose strand of hair fell into your face, and Finnick’s fingers twitched with the quiet urge to tuck it behind your ear.

He leans back, stretching his spine with a satisfied sigh—only to watch in horror as his entire tower collapses, seashells clattering into his lap. His mouth parts in disbelief, frozen as the wreckage sprawls across the sand. You take one look at the disaster and your face splits into a triumphant, mischievous grin.

“Ha! Loser!” you crow, pointing at the scattered shells with a glint of savage satisfaction in your eyes.

Finnick groans and lets himself fall backward into the sand, arms flopping to his sides in mock defeat. A laugh bursts from your chest—bright and unrestrained—and the sound of it makes his heart stutter. Your own tower wobbles and topples over, shells tumbling down into a pile, but you don’t seem to care. You're too busy soaking in the sight of Finnick Odair brought to ruin.

He shields his eyes against the sun with a lazy hand, squinting up at you as you sit above him, framed by the fiery sky. The sunset bathes you in shades of peach and rose, and the wind stirs through your hair, making it ripple like silk. His chest tightens. You look… breathtaking. Otherworldly. Like some sea goddess born of foam and starlight. His heart squeezes painfully at the thought. He knows better than to say it out loud—knows it’ll inflate your ego beyond repair if you found out that Finnick Odair—Capitol’s golden boy, the one everyone wants but no one truly gets—is utterly, hopelessly in love with you.

But he is.

A slow, helpless smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, his irises dilating as he watches you. His gaze traces the soft curve of your jaw, the delicate slope of your nose, the faint salt-kissed sheen on your skin. He could look at you forever and never get tired of it.

“Fine,” he says, voice low and soft as the ocean breeze. His eyes glint with quiet affection. “You win.”

And in his head, he knows you’ve been winning for a long time now.

#finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #hunger games finnick #the hunger games

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sikayeto · 3 months ago

Text

[2000] Thursday the 27th

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

[michael robinavitch x offspring/daughter reader]

[tw: assault and violence]

[summary: another missed dinner, another gasp for air]

[a/n: this is unedited! but i hope you enjoy anyways!]

MASTERLIST

[1] [3]

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

There’s an overwhelming sense of relief. Hearing the words, “You passed,” come out from your instructor’s lips felt like a dream. A dream you’ve had for the past 6 months. And it came true. It’s a reality. Wet tears stream down your face. A choked sob escapes from depth inside of you.

6 months ago, you failed your final nursing practical exam. Through constant practice, and weekly counselling sessions, you’ve overcome this obstacle that derailed you from your life plans. No longer would the label of “FAILURE” hang above your head. You’re back on track. Exactly where you need to be now.

Leaving the testing room, you pull out your phone and send off a text to your Dad.

[Hey! You’re coming home for dinner, right?]

[I sure hope so]

[Great! I’m making roast and veggies!]

[What’s the occasion?]

[You’ll find out soon!]

[See you at 8!] Read

Warmth rushes into you, and floods your carcass with each breath you take. The weight of the world placed upon your shoulders as you balanced on a delicate pedestal, no longer threatens to make you fall. The bright fluorescent overhead lights of the college didn’t burn your retinas. Instead they highlighted the shades and hues of the furniture and walls. Picked with the sole purpose of uplifting the moods of students. Is this what happiness felt like? Is this how normal people feel?

Ecstatic. Giddy. Delighted. Happy.

Excited. You haven’t felt excitement in who knows how long. You get to tell your Dad the good news. But first, you have to make dinner.

- - -

The apartment is bathed in the warm yellow of lamps and other light fixtures. Honey Glazed ham wafts through the kitchen and permeates the rest of the premises. Singing and dancing along to “The Winner Takes It All” harmonizing from the vinyl player, Reggie makes figure eights between your legs. You pause every now and then to stir a pot of sauce or saute a side dish on the stove. Eyes fluttering every now and then to the clock. Counting down the minutes to your Dad’s arrival.

Good news. You get to tell him the good news.

The oven timer reaches 0, and beeps. Snapping out of it, you grab the oven mitts nearby and take the roast ham from the oven. The glaze on the ham glistens and shines. Steam wisps from its flesh, teasing your olfactory senses with the promise of a sweet and savoury supper. Mashed potatoes are plated next. Whipped to perfection with thick cream and salted butter. A side of oil roasted seasonal vegetables are placed down on the dining table next. A fork stabs one of the carrot pieces and directs the morsel to your mouth. The carrots flavour blooms on your tongue. The texture, you find, is just right. Not too crunchy, and not mush either.

Looking at the meal you’ve painstakingly prepared, another emotion emerges from you. Pride. You’re proud of yourself. It’s been so long, you’ve forgotten what that feels like.

A quick glance at the clock tells you that your Dad is due to arrive home soon.

You start cleaning up the kitchen. Washing the dishes you left in the sink, and wiping down surfaces. Losing yourself to the dulcet tones of the vinyl player and the peace that lays on you like a familiar blanket.

Eyes instinctively gravitate to the clock.

8:10pm

That’s not a problem. He’ll be here any minute now.

8:30pm

He probably just got held up. Any minute now.

9:15pm

He works at the ER. If he’s late, there’s somebody’s life on the line. He’ll be here.

10:00pm.

You sit at the dining table. The ham’s gone cold.

The screen of your phone illuminates from where it lays on the table. Hope sparks from within. Picking it up reveals a text message from one of your classmates.

[We’re at the Pearl celebrating! They’re playing Sabrina! Get here ASAAAAAAP!!!!]

[...]

[Be there in 30 :)]

- - -

“Busy Woman” blasted from the base speakers of the club. Bodies crowded each other on the dance floor, a flurry of motioning limbs. 2 drinks in and you’ve melded together with the rest of the population. The music replaces the neurotransmitters telling your muscles to contract and move to the beat. Bringing your cup to your lips, no liquid reaches them. Realization dawns on you that your cup’s empty. You grab the attention of your group of classmates on the dance floor with you, motioning to your empty cup, and then pointing at the bar. One of the girls nods in understanding.

You maneuver around the people blocking your way to your next drink. Reaching the sticky front counter of the bar, you catch the attention of the bartender.

“What can I get you?” he yells over the music.

“Gin and coke please!” you shout back.

He gives you a thumbs up and starts making the drink. You busy yourself with your phone as you wait. A glass with bubbling dark liquid appears in front of you. A quick thanks and you’re back to the dance floor.

That last drink might’ve been too much for you to handle. The world spins more than you're comfortable with. There’s a heaviness in your gut, and the faint taste of acidic vomit in the back of your throat.

Everything in slow motion. Strobe lights flash in and out of your view. Bones and sinew that used to be so hollow and light, are now made of lead. Trying its hardest in tandem with gravity to drag you down, down, down to the disgusting floor. Stumbling like a newborn fawn, making your best attempt at making it to the equally disgusting bathroom.

With all your withered might, the bathroom door swings open and bangs against the wall.

Leaning against the wall, hands reaching for the cold porcelain of the singular sink. The press on nails you put on in a hurry before you left the apartment, dig into your fingers with how hard you grip the sides of the sink. You see glimpses of the sequins of your too short dress, in between leaning your head down and looking at the cracked mirror.

Burning pain emerges from your scalp as your head is forcefully pulled back. A hand pressed against your mouth muffles your scream. In the mirror is the bartender. He grasps the back of your skull and slams your head into the mirror.

Everything goes black.

- - -

Regaining consciousness wasn’t a better experience. He straddles your prone body. You’re on the bathroom floor and his hands are wrapped around your throat. Every cell in your body burns because you’re starving for oxygen. Hands flailing to find some sort of relief or purchase. Trying desperately to pry away the bones that have viced your airway. Start patting aimlessly around the tiled floor. Pain shoots from the tip of your finger as it touches something sharp. The bartender looks as if he’s somewhere far away. You grasp on to the makeshift blade and stinging red blooms from your palm. With all your strength, you swing your arm towards the bartender. The large shard of glass you grabbed, deeply pierces the side of his torso. If you guessed, somewhere probably between the 4th and 5th left lateral ribs. The bartender falls back in shock at the sudden foreign body that entered his. Blood leaks from the open wound in steady rivets. You lean up on your elbows, gulping down gallons of air.

Now, the bartender lays prone on the dirty floor. Hands weakly trying to stem the flow of life leaving his body. Everything stills, and the only thing you can hear is the sounds of your breathing and the beat of your heart.

The bathroom door opens, and a random girl enters. One glance at the scene in front of her, and she screams.

You don’t remember the ride to the hospital in the ambulance. You remember the sirens, the lights, but whatever you had in your system was still wreaking havoc.

Wheeled into the ER on a gurney, you hear the paramedic yell out, “21 year old female, drowsy but oriented times 3, possible head trauma. Respiration rate of 8 and O2 sats at 85% on 10L. Heart Rate is 115 and BP is 95/80. We think she got drugged with something and gave her intranasal naloxone but it’s not having any effect on her vitals”.

The ER lights forcefully invade your pupils, and you squint in an effort to adjust. You hear your name called out in surprise. Trying to focus on the source of your name, your eyes adjust to reveal a doctor.

“Uncle Jack?”

‐------------------------------------------------------------------------

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