#this is x and phantom before they go to sleep | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rippersz · 22 days ago

Text

𝘍𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘰𝘧 𝘞𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘴

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

(Lilia Calderu x Fem!Witchy!Reader) (NSFW Themes; Mostly fluff) (~9.1k words)

You are Lilia Calderu's roommate. You celebrate Christmas. Also, you are so undeniably, completely, totally, hopelessly, unbelievably (but also very believably) in love with her. Poor you.

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

You wanted her.

You wanted her so bad.

Since the very day you met her, you wanted her.

You wanted to hold her hand. You wanted to kiss her. You wanted to wake up next to her.

Was that a crazy thing to say? A crazy thing to think? To want your boss/roommate like you wanted your boss/roommate? Maybe. Probably. But no one ever said matters of the heart led down a road of sanity—so how on Earth could you be blamed?

Short answer: You couldn’t.

Not when the woman you wanted was as wise, as intelligent, as kooky, as beautiful, as charming as Lilia Murgo Calderu. An interpreter of the divine - and to you, all divine within herself.

Even when she’d just woken up, dreams still swimming behind her eyes, orange slippers on her feet as she shuffled around the kitchen. Even when she took her time brewing tea, fixing her hair, humming quietly to herself. Even when she looked up to acknowledge you with a good morning and a lazy wave of her hand, to which you always responded with a smile and a chuckle because honestly you found her early-morning demeanour to be quite endearing. Even with the bags under her hazel eyes and the exhaustion of a terrible night weighing on her shoulders. Even when she rarely slept peacefully and then spent the entire next day getting lost within her thoughts. Even when she screamed in her sleep, cried out for help, yelped from a phantom pain. You ran to her on those nights, practically flying out of your room to find her tossing and turning in her bed, and always stumbled in the dark over to her side. Even when she was overtaken by nightmares, by visions and ‘possessions’, by people speaking through her and people speaking to her. Even then, when she was at her most volatile, with golden wicks of magic sparking along her knuckles and her fingertips, still harnessing power in her dreams, you scrambled to take her hands. To hold them gently. To pry them from their fists and smooth them with your touches.

“Lilia,” you’d whisper, heart pounding and touch soft, “Lilia you have to wake up now, you’re going to hurt yourself sweetheart.” And by then, she’d already be mid-gasp, shooting up in bed, looking around the room wildly before settling on you.

Always you. Always at her side. Always willing to help. Her assistant, her roommate, the young woman everyone saw her around town with. The one who, perhaps, understood her more than anyone ever had before.

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

“Oooo,” you smiled, led by your nose through the door that separated the front of the shop from the back of the flat, whisked along easily by the smell of food. “This looks amazing..”

The spoon poised to the right of the stove, already dirty with the tomato and meat from the cooking pasta, was quickly picked up by your hand and dipped back into the pot.

“Lilia you are a godsend,” you whispered to yourself, bringing the spoon (heaped with bolognese) up to your mouth, already closing your eyes before anything could land on your tongue.

“Aht!” A sharp voice cut through your bliss, followed by a small smack and sting on the back of your knuckles as the devil herself walked up to your side and hip-bumped you away from the stove. “No tasting before it’s ready!” She scolded, taking the spoon right out of your hold and pushing it back into the pasta to stir.

“Hey!” You protested instantly, lightly shoving her back as you pressed yourself to her side and looked over the pot. She was warm, soft, and you felt your heart jump at the scent of her bourbon and wildflower perfume. “Gimme some now,” you teased, reaching over her for the spoon.

“Can’t you wait for five minutes!?” Lilia said loudly, shooting you a glare out of the corner of her eye as she moved her body and elbowed you away again.

“Ow- that hurt!” You cradled your belly. It didn’t, not at all, but you loved to add fuel to the fire.

Unfortunately, the fire had all the fuel she needed. “Good!” Lilia quipped, putting the spoon back into place in its holder, “I’m glad!”

You tried hard to hide the smile on your lips and the desperate giggles that wanted to fly out, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“So mean to me…,” came your laughter-laden lament as you moved to the table in the centre of the room. “Making me set the table, too.” You shook your head and let out a sigh that was much too loud, exaggerating the mope in your shoulders and the dragging of your feet while you moved around the room to get bowls and cutlery. “This is illegal, I think.”

A snort came from the stove, making you glance up just in time to see the smirk on red lips before she turned her head away to the spice cabinet. “Oh yeah? Who you gonna call? Ghostbusters?”

“The police.” You set the bowls down quietly and gave her a scoffing ‘duh’ to follow up.

“Oh please.” Lilia shook her head, sending grey and silver curls swishing around her neck, “The police will take one look at you and give you back.”

You paused at the drawer, a fork already in your hand, and whipped around with a gasp. “Did you just call me ugly?” You looked quite affronted, mouth agape, eyebrows furrowed, one foot already pointed out to tap rapidly on the floor.

“Is that what I said?” She shot back, spinning in her place to give you a look in return. Eyebrows raised, tone sarcastic, casting beautiful coffee eyes over the length of your body to prove her point. In the face of that gaze, intense in all its flawless effort, you had to control the sudden hot feeling that spread across your cheeks.

“That’s what I gathered,” you pointed out, sheepish beneath the weight of her full attention, and ducked your head to rifle through the drawer, “And you like to imply things.” You bumped it shut when you found another fork.

“Oh yeah?” Lilia huffed. “Well you like to accuse. So put that in your pipe.”

“And smoke it.” You spat, smiling.

“Exactly!”

The two of you laughed, creating a joyful harmony as you finished setting up the table and went to turn down some of the lights. Lilia, in the meanwhile, added the finishing touches to the pasta and donned tarot-themed oven mitts (which you gifted her last year for Christmas after her others were accidentally set on fire) to carry the pot to its trivet.

“Careful,” came your soft call as you double-checked the lock on the flat door.

“Hmm,” Lilia hummed, slipping the mitts off and throwing them on the countertop. “Come sit, I’m starving.”

“Shoulda cooked earlier then,” you teased, practically skipping over to the table to pull out her chair.

“Shoulda, coulda, woulda,” she waved her hand and rolled her eyes before taking her seat, falling into your familiar routine.

It was your pleasure, above anything and everything else in life, to make Lilia Calderu’s days as smooth and bright as possible. You made breakfast, you helped clean up, you always pulled out her chair for her and always beat her to the dishes, and at night, you turned down the lights before heading off to your own room. It was small, decorated to suit you, and totally unnecessary. You’d insisted in the beginning of your stay that Lilia have it instead, because it had a door and was less open-spacey, but she brushed it off and said that she was already comfortable in her little pull-out bed. You didn’t enjoy the thought of it, not with the way her back hurt sometimes, but it was nothing a good spot of healing tea couldn’t fix—or so she claimed. You also learned early on that Lilia was neat, careful, and entirely against rushing. She did not like to rush. Nor did she like to argue, or raise her voice when angry, or get angry in the first place. And she didn’t like sleeping in too much and she didn’t like cold showers and she didn’t like when you didn’t respond to her texts (which happened maybe two times and both times you got an earful). But you never minded the things she didn’t like. You made sure to work on time-management, to avoid rushing, and you never got angry with her, only frustrated, and you never yelled at her (because you were quite sure that you’d rather be stabbed then ever do so), and you woke her up before her late alarm and only let her sleep in if she had a rough night, and you never used too much of the hot water, and you kept your phone ringer on whenever you left the shop, and all of the things she needed you to make space for, you did. You gave her privacy, you gave her an ear, a shoulder, you gave her gifts and you gave her attention and you gave her banter and jokes and stability and routine and beneath it all, every time you smiled at her, every time you both sat down in the armchairs to read your books, every time you stayed up late to listen to her rant about the world’s offences against witches, you were also giving her your heart.

Happily, gladly, giving her your heart.

“My compliments to the chef,” you grinned as you took your spot opposite her, putting your napkin on your lap as though you were in a fancy restaurant.

“Mm, let me know if it’s too salty,” she ran her tongue over her teeth before grabbing your bowl, sliding it closer, and starting to dish up.

You couldn’t help the way you looked at her, keeping one elbow on the table, holding your chin with the cup of your hand, admiring the way she moved. There was a specialness to it, a gracefulness found only in someone like Lilia. Even the way she put homemade pasta into your bowl, even the way she gave you a hefty helping, to make sure you ate properly, and even the way she slid it back to you with a small smile. The way the dim lights darkened her eyes, the way she focused on her own food, the way she shifted to get comfortable.

Your heart felt just about ready to burst from your chest.

“It’s perfect,” was the only thing you could say after you had your first bite; a common phrase in your combined household because Lilia was a fantastic cook.

“Eh. Not bad,” she shrugged, but after her first bowl was finished, you smirked as you watched her grab another helping.

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

At first, living together was a bit awkward.

You were still a juvenile witch, having learned as much as you could from your previous mentor before she suggested Lilia as a continued source of help; and the last thing you expected when stumbling into Madame Calderu’s for the first time was the key to a future filled with the best of fortunes. You never got your palm read, never had her look into a crystal ball for you and pretend to know dead relatives, but still you were certain—your future was the best future one could have. There was a roof over your head, food at your table, books at your fingertips, and Lilia Calderu at your side. There was nothing more to want.

Though in the beginning, that wasn’t the case.

You tiptoed around her as though you were scared she was going to smite you down with all the power of the Divine Mother if you stepped out of line. You were the quietest, kindest, most endearing soul you could ever be—all in an effort to avoid being thrown out on your ass. But when you recognised Lilia’s way of living, how some larger part of her didn’t seem to really mind your presence at all, you began to settle. You lingered in shared spaces, you asked both the boring and exciting questions, and the tension in your shoulders faded. Sleeping came easier, smiling was instinct, and when you heard Lilia laugh at one of your jokes for the first time, you knew there was nothing in the world that could take you away from her home.

Her home which eventually became yours, but which would always be hers no matter what she claimed.

It was Lilia’s flat, your presence.

It was Lilia’s life, you tagging along.

It was Lilia’s heart, you left at the outskirts, mingling with the other acquaintances and friends (not that there were many, but still. Not in the inner circle of Lilia’s Inferno.)

And in your life, in your heart, she was at the very centre, embedded in everything you did.

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

“Merry Christmas!!” Your excited yell bounced off the walls, obnoxiously loud and announcing your entrance before you skated into the living room in fuzzy socks and holiday-themed pyjamas.

The only answer that greeted you was a low gravelly groan, muffled by the press of Lilia’s face into her sheets. And on top of her head, squishing her beloved curls? A pillow.

“Wake up now, Madame Calderu! It’s time to celebrate!” You sang, taking in the air of your shared flat.

It was decorated beautifully, with lights along the cabinets, a fake purple tree in the corner, and other little festive trinkets you found in thrift shops, dotted around any flat surface there was. Dancing snowmen, a penguin with an ‘I love you’ sign (a symbol of your devotion, as subtle as you could make it), two stockings hung on the wall beside the tree, each of your initials sewn into the fabric. And on the tree itself? Colour-changing lights, baubles and plastic decor, some in the shapes of stars, others in the shapes of the moon’s phases, a few depicting typical witchy symbols (a hat, a little witch on a broom, two that were painted like tarot cards. The Lovers and The World.) Beneath it, there was a red and white tree skirt, fuzzy and dotted with little purple faux-pines, and on top of that, forming a little neat pile, were a few gift-wrapped presents. It was the most wonderful, heart-warming, heart-wrenching thing you had ever seen. You could spot the ones you picked out for Lilia, the gifts you spent so long thinking about, and noticed a few days before Christmas morning that she had matched each one with a wrapped present of her own. The contrast couldn’t have been more obvious; hers were all clad in some shimmery blue iridescent paper you’d never seen before in your life and yours were dressed up in a matte red and brown pattern that repeated the scene of a little bear in a Santa hat reading a book.

You didn’t expect the presents to be there, in fact you didn’t really expect anything from her at all, and yet there they sat, adding to your pile of four. Four gifts for her and then, because she really was the softest person at heart, four gifts for you. As a thank you that evening, you’d made dinner - sweet potato chilli and slices of fresh bread. She loved it, but still you felt that a simple meal wasn’t a big enough show of gratitude.

Christmas morning pancakes, however, would make a stunning addition to the ‘thank you’ list, especially as they were Lilia’s favourite. Two with chocolate chips and two with blueberries (though you always made at least one extra of each just in case). And beside that, a mug of herbal tea and beside that, a mug of hot chocolate. You were dead silent as you worked, trying hard to give the resident witch at least a few more minutes of peaceful sleep before you woke her up for a proper celebration. It was hard to contain the excitement, the lightning in your veins as you anticipated the rest of the day. The company, the warmth, the movies you’d watch, the books you’d read. The shop was closed, partly because the roads were full of unpaved snow, but also because you were not going to be waiting for customers on Christmas Day. You wouldn’t allow it, and eventually Lilia agreed. It was unlikely anyone would go looking for a palm reading anyway, not in that chill. Plus they all had other things to do as well, like spend time with family and cuddle up with their kids and their lovers and hold their wives and drink wine with their lovers and their wives and eat biscuits with their wives and kiss their wives and open gifts with their beautiful wives and ugh! Well.

There were still gifts to open, gifts that you’d cherish no matter what they were. Even if Lilia got you the most basic things, like socks or a new body lotion or a water bottle, you’d wear them every day, you’d put it all over your hands, you’d never drink from anything else ever again. To even be in her busy head enough to receive a gift felt like an honour, and that was such a strange sentiment for someone you loved, putting her on a pedestal, but you were past the point of caring. Lilia Calderu was no perfect woman, you knew that more than anyone, but she wasn’t trying to be. Her kindness was taught, learned, maintained, and you weren’t sure which Gods you pleased enough to deserve it, but not a day went by where her care was overlooked. So all you could do was return the favour.

“Merry Christmas indeed,” came a sudden rumbling purr over your shoulder, husky with sleep and tinged with amusement as Lilia shuffled her way up to the counter.

You gave her a glance, taking in the robe around her shoulders, the colourful pattern of her nightgown, the slippers on her feet, and the sweet smirk on her lips, and could only smile when the heavy weight of her head leaned itself against your shoulder. Her curls tickled your neck a little, tied up as they were, but you had no complaints. She was warm, comforting, and still a bit tired. You would always be her headrest if that’s what she needed.

“Did you sleep well?” It was compulsory for you to ask, a habit you fell into as soon as you felt comfortable in the flat. Checking on Lilia was a common occurrence, though you only asked about sleep after she went through the night without waking up in a fit. The evening before had been quiet, so you had high hopes.

“Like a babe. What about you?” And that was the typical response, bringing a soft smile to your lips as you slid the mug of tea over to her.

“Likewise, though I fell asleep to a delightful little playlist called Lilia’s snoring.”

She gasped. “How dare you? I do not snore.” Wide coffee eyes looked at you, shocked, and one hand, devoid of decorative rings, playfully swiped at your arm. “Maybe you were hearing your own.” Lilia sassed before she hid her growing smirk behind her mug.

“Oh yeah right,” you rolled your eyes, moving away to shimmy the last pancake onto the small stack. “Let’s just go with that.”

Lilia snorted and took her chance then to dip into the bathroom, still intent on completing her morning routine before eating. You got to setting the table, putting the pancakes on each plate and the rest on a separate one off to the side, placing Lilia’s favourite fork and knife beside her dish (they were made for her a while ago, complete with engraved gems and smoothed symbols, the only surviving two out of a full set), and completed the table with your mugs. It looked a bit romantic, as it always did when it was just the two of you sitting at your little kitchen table, but over the course of your time together, neither of you mentioned it. Once, in the beginning of your routine, you lit a candle and placed it in the centre of the table arrangement, and promptly promised yourself never to do so again. For as soon as Lilia sat down, embraced by the flame’s flickering light and short warmth, you felt your cheeks grow hot. She looked unbelievably handsome that evening, meeting smouldering eyes over the candlelight, showing off the shadows of her wizened face, and you were overcome with the distinct desire to lunge across the table and kiss her senseless.

Fortunately for your friendship, you never did. And unfortunately for your friendship, the urge to do so only got worse. From kissing to holding, from holding to loving, from loving to fucking. You couldn’t help yourself, couldn’t control the flutter of your heart, but there was nothing to be done. Lilia was your roommate, your mentor, the woman who laughed with you and cried with you and consoled you when you were on your period and needed a shoulder. She wasn’t the woman you kissed or the woman you held or the woman you fucked and in all seriousness, you knew that she probably never would be. And although that thought came with its own sense of pain, its own sorrow and bone-breaking ache, it was also followed by relief. If you weren’t close enough for that, then you weren’t close enough to break each other’s hearts. So there was no need to fear, no need to worry, and if ever there came a day where Lilia found someone to be with her for good, then you would be happy. You would be happy. For her, for the woman you found yourself loving, you would be happy.

And speak of the witch, the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, followed by soft footsteps, broke you out of your staring contest with the counter.

“Thank you for breakfast,” she said airily, fresh-faced with a small bit of makeup, a spritz of perfume, and a better style for her unruly curls. You nodded, almost in a bow, as you slid her seat out for her and gently pushed her back in.

“It’s always my pleasure. Especially today.” You knew your eyes were shining, pouring with Christmas glee, but Lilia didn’t seem to mind the excitement.

Ever since the beginning of December rolled around, she’d been happy to help you decorate. She took the time to hang lights with you, standing on the tips of her toes to give you the string as you circled it around the tree, then she spent the second evening of her December dotting it with decorations, inspecting the ornaments and baubles as she went, and she even bought a wreath to hang from the inside of the front door. You felt as though your heart was going to crawl out of your chest, it was so full of light and love. And at the end of the evening, when she affixed the Triple Goddess’ symbol to the top of your purple tree instead of an angel, and whispered a quick, happy, “Four of Wands” to you when she settled back on her feet, you couldn’t help but wrap her up in a hug. If that’s what her heart told her, if that’s what the divine whispered, an upright Four of Wands, then who were you to dictate? The higher powers were more right that evening than they had ever been before: in that moment, everything was Four of Wands.

And while you ate a silent breakfast across from Lilia Calderu, enjoying the warmth and taste of your meal, taking in the slight chill of the morning and the beautiful image of her lounging in her nightie and robe, everything felt like Four of Wands all over again.

“You know I didn’t expect you to get me anything,” you finally murmured, hiding your eyes as you sipped from your mug. “It wasn’t supposed to be an eye for an eye sort of thing.”

Lilia finished her bite, licked the side of her mouth, and raised an eyebrow. “So you expected me to be the only one opening gifts on Christmas morning? I don’t even celebrate Christmas. Why would I leave you empty handed?”

You shrugged, already feeling the beginnings of warmth taking over your cheeks. You knew she didn’t celebrate - and technically you weren’t inclined to do so either, but the holiday cheer always got to you. And she had been so patient, going along with your joy. “I just assumed- I dunno…. We didn’t do it for each other the past two years, and exactly. You don’t celebrate. So I hope you know that just because I got you things-”

“Wait wait wait wait, stop right there.” Lilia cut you off, waving her hands a little bit, forcing your avoidant eyes from your plate up to her face. Her expression was strange, serious mixed with a distinct shadow of outrage, brick-red lips set into a frown; but behind her chocolate eyes? All you could see was warmth. “Before you even go any further, I’ll have you know that I did not feel obligated to get you Christmas presents just because you got some for me, and I certainly didn’t do it because I felt sympathetic.”

You opened your mouth, ready to interrupt, but were quickly shut down by a held-up palm and a stern look. Your jaw clicked shut.

“I did it because I wanted to.” She held your eyes. “I did it because I didn’t want you to be celebrating alone and although it has been a long time since I last celebrated the holidays, I have to tell you that this has been very nice.” Lilia nodded at you, her lips tilting up into a smile, and she watched with delight as you couldn’t help but mirror it. “It’s been nice, right?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, resisting the urge to shyly duck away, “yeah it’s been nice.”

“And that is precisely why I did it. Because this is the kind of atmosphere every home should have,” she spread her hands out, breaking away to look around your living room with pride and care, taking in the purposefully mis-coloured tree, the lights and ornaments, the gifts, the holiday trinkets, the stockings, the sight of your books mixed with her books in the shelf, your shoes next to her shoes by the front door, your notes stuck to the fridge, your handwriting on the wall calendar, the TV you bought a little while ago, the paintings you hung up, the food that you made for her and dished for her and placed beside her favourite knife and fork, the drinks you prepared, the look in your eyes… And when she brought her attention back to you then, you almost cracked right in half when she leaned forward as though she were going to tell you a secret and said, in a playful whisper with a smirk on her face, “And there is no other person I would rather celebrate with.”

You were so thankful she couldn’t read minds.

“Okay?” She nodded as a reassurance and you returned it without hesitation.

“Okay. Thank you…,” you breathed, shuddery and annoying, so out of tune, but when she looked at you in the way she did, when she spoke so gently, so firmly, you simply weren’t sure how you could’ve regained your footing sooner. “I- I appreciate it.”

“I know you do,” Lilia was smug as she leaned back in her seat and crossed one leg over the other while she finished her breakfast.

“Shut up.”

The response you got was a near-silent huff of laughter.

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

“Okay! Stocking first or presents?”

You stood in the middle of the room and Lilia sat in the blue armchair, nursing another brewed mug of hot chocolate. You hadn’t taken the chance to change, insisting that Christmas morning gifts were always unwrapped while still in your pyjamas, and Lilia had inclined her head to tell you that the reins were yours before she got cuddled into her seat.

“Let’s start with the big guns. Presents.”

You nodded, still managing to somehow follow orders, and swiftly crouched beneath the tree, then carefully picked up all four gifts for Lilia and shuffled back to her on your knees.

“Your gifts, m’lady.”

“Why thank you,” she smiled, looked down at you with those heavy-lidded eyes, stroking the fire in your heart, and put her mug off to the side before holding her hands out and taking the wrapped presents into her lap. They weren’t very big, one of them wasn’t even a box, so she had no trouble balancing as you quickly turned around to grab your own.

“Right,” once you were settled at her feet on the floor, cross-legged and acutely aware of how close you were, you set the boxes down in front of you and clapped your hands. “You go first, then me, then you, then me. Deal?”

“What if I want you to go first?” One dark eyebrow raised, adding to the wicked pleasure of a dark-lipped smirk, and you instantly tried playing off your fluster with a shrug.

“Then I will. Is that what you’d like, Madame Calderu?” Only used in moments of teasing, you enjoyed seeing the slight pink that went to Lilia’s cheeks as she heard you use her unofficial official title. Despite it being the name of her shop, it was rare that a customer addressed her as so. In time then, she only came to associate it with you.

“Yeah, why not,” Lilia shrugged, and you instantly picked up the first gift nearest to you.

“Can I shake it?” You grinned.

“If you’re interested in breaking things, be my guest.”

“Mmm, no thank you,” came your little murmur as you carefully (trying to hide your eagerness) undid the wrapping. It was a long box, thin, and as the gift was revealed and the paper fell off to the floor, you felt your heart stutter. Clearly, it was jewellery. And clearly, you had to open it. But the front caught your eye, stalling you, and you took in the small golden cursive L. with interest. “Did you make this?” You whispered, shifting the box to hold it like precious gems.

“Open it first, ask questions later,” you didn’t have to look up to know she was smiling, so you did what was desired.

The top came off with little resistance and suddenly you were looking down at a necklace. A familiar necklace. Familiar and yet different. Made of smaller beads with similar colours, more delicate and fitting to your less loud aesthetic, but with the same rectangular shaped pendant in the centre. You nearly folded yourself in half looking closer, feeling your heart in your throat when you recognized that yes, it was like Lilia’s, but it wasn’t meant to be a replica - it was meant to match. Two hands against a white background hovered above and below a sun with an open eye, fitting the same mould, but Lilia’s hands were an iridescent blue-green, the top one pointing down from the right and the bottom pointing palm-up from the left. Yours was in complete contrast. A deep blue background, opal coloured hands, the top one pointing down from the left, the bottom pointing up from the right, and the sun in the middle was not a sun at all but a full moon, painted white, the eye’s iris a dark midnight blue. It was perfect in a way you could not even voice, hand-crafted with so much care, and you looked up at Lilia as though she herself had the bright idea to create the sun and moon and hang them both in the sky.

“I- this is- Lilia…,” you swallowed, glancing at the necklace resting against her chest before looking down at its partner in your hands. “Holy shit, Lilia.”

“Here, let me help you put it on.” She flapped her hands to gesture you forward and forward you went, placing the box aside and taking the necklace out with the gentlest touch. When you turned and she slung it around your neck, the jewellery was cold, but her hands were warm, and in seconds you were suddenly matching with the woman you loved.

“...I feel like I’m part of your coven now,” you whispered while looking down, stroking it with reverence.

“Ha!” Lilia cackled, her smile brighter than fresh snow in the sun. “You don’t want to be part of my coven, kiddo,” she took a sip of her tea.

A very mean, insecure voice in the pit of your mind hissed at the sound of that nickname. It always incited a wild, twisting fire inside you. You hated to be reminded of your age, of the differences between you, because it always served as a symbol of what could never be. Coming to terms with unrequited love was one thing, but having the reason why it was unrequited spoken to your face so boldly, even without intent to do so, was a different beast entirely. You could handle the sadness when not reminded of its roots, but a quick ‘kiddo’ or ‘kid’ or reference to age spoken from Lilia’s lips had you instantly defensive. Of course you never showed it, never in front of her, but that didn’t mean the punch to your psyche didn’t hurt like a bitch.

“Yes, I do.” You insisted, moving the opened box and wrapping paper out of the way. “Of course I do. Lilia Calderu’s coven? Sign me the fuck up right now.”

She huffed, put her mug down, and turned back to her own gifts. “Shall I?”

“You shall.”

The first one she picked up was the squishy one, soft and medium sized, and you delighted in the way her brows furrowed as she pressed it between her fingers. Three seconds later, when the paper was torn off (just as gently as you did it, you noted), a small gasp, followed by a rich laugh, filled the air.

“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Lilia grinned as she picked up the oven mitts and slipped them onto her hands. It was a cute addition to your running joke. Only a few months before that moment, Lilia had somehow accidentally set her old oven mitts on fire. Bright flame and all. It was a miracle how you got there just before the smoke detectors went off and managed to throw the things outside before dousing them in water. They were still on her hands too! You’d nearly had a heart attack, staring at her with eyes so wide it gave you a headache as you ignored the half-charred mitts and held her palms. Lilia insisted she was okay as you inspected them, but she never pulled away and she didn’t protest when you asked her to please run them under cold water for a few minutes. Since then, the only ��oven mitts’ she had were dish towels and every time you meant to buy replacements, you procrastinated or you forgot. That simply wouldn’t do—thus, the tarot card themed oven mitts she had on her hands, waving them around and pinching her thumb to her fingers with satisfaction.

“These are lovely. Thank you,” her voice was liquid gold with gratitude as she finally slipped them off and gently set them on the table, giving them a pat for good measure.

“Yeah, I thought you might have needed some,” you smirked and gladly accepted the small playful slipper-covered kick you got to the knee. “Now my turn again.”

The next gift was softer than a box, but shaped like one, with a weird hard lump on the front, and once you got the wrapping paper off, your face almost split in half with the width of your smile.

“This looks so beautiful, oh my god,” your left hand stroked and fiddled with the pendant at your neck, holding it as a newfound comfort while your right hand explored the leather-bound notebook you found in your lap. The lump you felt on the front was a sewn-in gem, coloured gold and orange, and you felt warm with the thought that it reminded you so much of Lilia’s magical tint. “Thank you Lilia.. I promise you it won’t go to waste.”

Her eyes were shining proudly when you looked up at her, and you noticed the quick glance away from your collarbone to the book in your lap. She must have thought the necklace was just as beautiful as you did.

“It better not, or I’ll take it back,” she teased, humming a soft sound of agreement as you marvelled at the fraying, fabric pages.

“No chance. Now open your next one, please.” The notebook was gently set aside after you re-clasped the metal hinge.

As Lilia picked up one of the smaller boxes, harder than the oven mitts, and began unwrapping, you briefly wondered about what you were going to put in the new journal. There were no lines, so it was perfect for sketching, but at the same time you hadn’t kept a diary in so long and it was the perfect opportunity, accompanied by the most perfect feeling. Making use of something a loved one had given you. And you would make use of it, without a doubt you would.

“Is this a book of spells?” Lilia asked, turning the little brown book over in her hands with a furrowed brow and a confused smile.

You straightened up and shuffled closer to her knees, practically putting your chin in her lap when you excitedly reached up to hold it open for her. “That’s exactly what it is, yes. I had to get a bit of help from Elise, but…,” you bit your lip, suddenly shy at all the effort you’d put into contacting your mentor. She agreed to help because she loved you, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t teased, and as you looked up at Lilia then, staring into dark enchanting eyes, you felt a blush roll over your cheeks. “...It’s um- it’s little obscure spells. For like cleaning and mending and things. I think there’s one in there for even stitching stars? Just stars? And a few others. Shining copper, cleaning lipstick off of glass…,” you trailed off, watching as Lilia hummed and took the book from you again.

She took a moment to flip through the pages and read the small descriptions, taking the time to react to each one in kind. And when she got to the end, going a bit faster in her perusing, she suddenly stopped. You paused just as she paused and watched, with confusion, as her eyebrows promptly shot up.

“You think I need an.. ‘overstimulating orgasm’?”

….

“Excuse me?”

You went still.

Lilia’s eyes bounced from you to the page and back again before she turned it around on her lap, nonverbally forcing you to read it.

And there, in your mentor’s handwriting, were the cursive words, “Spell for a Very Special Feeling”.

And beneath it, in smaller print:

‘Do your wrists ever get tired? Your hands? Are you eager for a satisfying night in? A chance to really release your frustrations without doing the work yourself? I know just the spell.

Completing the steps below will result in a release like no other. It will burn, it will feel painful, but the pleasure will override the ache and in no time at all, you will find yourself feeling delightfully… overstimulated. No tiring hours of doing it yourself! No chickening out! Give it a try maybe once. Or twice. As many times as your body can take.’

And a diagram showing hand movements, followed by a chant to go along with it.

That motherfucker!

“Judging by your expression, I’m guessing you didn’t look through this thoroughly before you wrapped it for me?” Lilia smirked, cheeks growing pinker the longer you stared at the writing in complete and utter shock.

It took you a good second to react and then another two seconds to respond. You were quick to reach out and grab the book, wanting to look through it properly to avoid any other utterly embarrassing miscommunications, but Lilia yanked it back before you could.

“Too late,” she shook her head, and you floundered.

“N-no! That is not supposed to say that, I swear. I would never- that- Elise wrote them all! I approved them! I don’t even know how- why-”

Lilia raised one of her palms, cutting your sentence right in half, and you fell quiet as she smiled.

“She must’ve slipped it in. I think she’s trying to tell me something,” the book went flipping back and forth between her palms and you sighed.

“I’m really sorry about that, oh my god. It was just supposed to be a cute little gift.”

“And it is,” Lilia insisted, snapping the book shut with a smirk. “Don’t feel embarrassed. It’s only natural.” You felt something in you shiver when she winked and desperately tried pulling yourself together when she turned to put the little book on the side table.

Dwelling on the moment, now matter how enticing the idea sounded, was not a very good decision to make. You couldn’t afford to get distracted or blush too hard, but dear lord it seemed to be an impossible feat - especially with the image of Lilia in your head. Panting, blushing, hands gripping her sheets… the same hands, soft hands, with delicate wrinkles and perfect nails, just the right length and just the right width and so deceptively strong, no matter how feminine they seemed… the same hands she used to do her sewing, her cooking, her readings, her hair… the same hands she used to thread two fingers through the curve of her mug’s handle… oh in much the same way you wished they could curve into- no.

No.

You wrenched your eyes away, declining the draw of lust, and picked up the next gift on autopilot. As you tried emptying your head, the wrapping paper fell apart under your wandering hands, and soon you were staring down at what seemed to be a box of tarot cards. A very unique box of tarot cards with unique drawings, sequences, and detailing - art nouveau inspired. One of your favourites.

“I don’t have this set yet…,” you breathed, drifting your fingertips over the glossy cover of the box like it was your Bible.

“I know.” She hummed, still drinking from her hot chocolate, watching you with curiosity.

Tarot set collecting somehow became your combined hobby over the years, although your preferences differed so as to not have any duplicates. Lilia had a set she used only for the shop, one that didn’t hold the same sentimental value as the few others she had, and you displayed your decks on the empty surface of your dresser. Lilia rarely got new ones, she was quite connected to the five that she already had, they all held different meanings, and you only enjoyed splurging when you saw ones that were really incredible. Your next gift was a surprise for Lilia, it would bump her deck number up to six, and you smiled softly as you slid the top off of the decorative box and swiftly counted the cards as the tenth addition to your collection.

“These are gorgeous. Where did you get them?” You couldn’t tear your eyes away.

“A witch never tells,” Lilia put two fingers to her pursed lips and though you didn’t look up to see it, you still huffed at her words.

“Well can a witch accept a thank you?”

“She can,” your roommate acquiesced, giving you a heartfelt “You’re welcome” when you thanked her on the spot.

“I will say I think you and I had the same idea,” you admitted when Lilia got around to opening her next gift. She raised quizzical eyebrows as she looked down at the box in her hands, and you watched with glee as her lips parted in surprise. “We know each other so well.”

“It appears we do…,” she murmured low beneath her breath before she tossed the wrapping paper down to you and gave the box a proper look.

It was medium sized, wooden, hand painted, and carved. On the front, there was a rather uncanny all-black cameo of Lilia’s side profile. It was perfect, from the shelf of her brow to the distinct curve of her nose down to the gentle slope of her neck, and it was front and centre in the painted format of a tarot card. At the bottom were two words written in your pen, ‘The Divine’. And at all four corners, little details of the sun, moon, Saturn, and stars. Lilia was quiet as she opened the hinged lid, and then she gasped as she came face to face with The Empress. It took her less than a second to realise what you’d done. Her gaze shifted quickly, from every individual stroke to every mark and design, from every corner signature to every line. With slow movements, pouring with awe, The Empress was quickly pushed to the back as Lilia slipped the entire stack out of the box and began fanning them with her fingertips. Her touch was delicate, hovering as she traced outlines and ran her thumb along the curves of the cards.

“Hand painted,” she said softly and you looked from her to the deck and back again with a nod and a smile.

“Do you like them?” You didn’t really have to ask, you knew she did, but some part of you was always nervous whenever you did something nice for your roommate. You had to toe the line carefully, balancing being platonic and being romantic, and gifts were, at times, a difficult thing to interpret. You wanted her to enjoy them, to find use in them, to keep them for the rest of her long life just as she had with a bunch of her other souvenirs. If ever she had to leave, flee, or travel somewhere without you, you hoped that she would stop to pack them in with her things first. Or better yet, use them for special occasions. Times where she could tell people that she got that deck of tarot cards from a young woman she once knew, a woman she thought of often with fondness. Maybe a woman who could become her wife one day, though it was such a silly thought you could only shake it out of your head.

“Yes, I like them,” Lilia breathed, eyes still hungrily devouring the details. She looked quite impressed. “These are beautifully done. Thank you.” Her smile felt like a hug around your shoulders when she peered down at you.

“Oh I- of course…,” you said shyly, resisting the urge to bow your head or look away, and her smile only grew as she turned back to her new deck and began realigning them. You watched her for a moment, seeing her care and appreciation in the way she handled them like fine china, and it was only when the box made a light clink against the side table that you finally snapped out of it.

“Why don’t we open the last ones together?” You suggested, perking up with a renewed sense of interest. The last gift was your personal favourite as it contained the most magic, and since you had yet to find your own physical form of the craft, like Lilia’s golden whisps, it was also the most time consuming. Laborious magic was a true pain in the ass, but you had a little help from your mentor and in only a few days, the gift was complete. You prayed the witch in front of you enjoyed it.

“Good idea,” she put the wooden box to the side and picked up the last gift.

You mirrored her, then watched as both of you worked at the wrapping paper and revealed your last gifts.

In your hand, a small unassuming brown box. In Lilia’s, a long Tiffany-blue box. You shared a look and in unison, slid the tops off.

Inside the box, nestled in a soft foam mould, was a simple, smooth, shining Black Tourmaline. It was about the size of the dip in your palm and when you picked it up, your hand dropped just a bit with the weight. You glanced up at Lilia, meeting her eyes over the ledge of her knees, and smiled in confusion.

“This is gorgeous, but why is it so heavy?” You laughed, holding the gemstone like gold as you slid it between your palms and ran your fingers over the smooth surface.

“Turn it around,” she responded as she looked down at her own gift and hummed, moving to gently take it out of its own foam mould as though it was made of glass.

“Oh… woah…” On the other side was an engraving. A symbol. Seven points to a complex star. You’d seen glimpses of it in various books over the years, but it wasn’t among the most common signs in witchcraft, so you never paid it any proper attention. Clearly, to Lilia, you should’ve.

“It’s a Heptagram. In many religions, its existence is overwhelmingly positive,” Lilia said offhandedly, eyes still glued to her own gift, “and this…,” she twirled it in her fingers, face glimmering with the way the sun shone through the kitchen curtains and caught the light off of one of the shining little bunches, “is a bouquet of hemlock stuck in stasis.” Her vision readjusted, moving past the green of the stems to you, sitting in direct view behind them. You watched as the film of magic made the bunch glow. From certain angles, it seemed as though it stood beneath shining stained glass, casting reds, oranges, yellows, blues, purples, greens, pinks, and whites all in various shades.

“I knew it was a bit on the nose, but it can’t hurt you unless you decide to eat it,” you explained, “Elise helped me cast the spell. It will be like that forever, I’m pretty sure. That’s why it’s shimmering. Pretty, isn’t it?” You smiled, running your fingers over your new stone aimlessly.

“It’s perfect,” Lilia said warmly, tilting her head with a sweet smile on her face. “Thank you.”

“Of course!” You rushed out, chest almost heaving with the weight of her affection “Now are you going to tell me the meaning behind this stone?” You asked and held it up before your eye, symbol facing her.

“It’s a protective ward. Throughout the ages, it has come to mean different things to different believers, but I focused my energy into divine protection. As long as it’s with you, anyone with bad intentions will turn the other way,” she explained in her teacher voice, speaking matter-of-factly.

You blinked at her.

She looked entirely unbothered, maybe a little bit proud, as if it was just another one of her lessons. As if she did something like that for everyone, everyday.

“Or that’s what it’s supposed to do,” Lilia rolled her eyes and swung her head to the side as she picked up her mug again, “but I’m certain I got it right.”

Oh. Right. Of course. As if it was just another one of her lessons. Like a Christmas Day lesson. Like perhaps it was no big deal. Like maybe it wasn’t a true feat of magic, no matter how small the gem. Like protection wasn’t that hard. Like it wasn’t genuinely the kindest thing anyone had ever done for you. Ever. And like you wouldn’t think about it for the rest of your life, which you would, of course, cuz you’d hold the thing in your pocket, in your hand, you’d sew it into your skin, if it meant you wouldn’t lose it.

Not that you could, you decided. No. You’d have it forever. You’d keep it until death, considering that’s what Lilia wanted. Your safety. Your protection. She went as far as to pick out a gem for you, went through the time of making it compact enough, smooth enough, and spent lord knows how long carving the symbol into its surface. Then continued to cast on it, doubling the chance of success, tripling the strength. For your protection. For your survival. Because she cared. Lilia Calderu cared. And you knew she did, so you weren’t sure why tears started to prick at your eyes, but it wasn’t like she noticed anyway.

She was too focused on her hemlock, admiring it still with a pleasant smile on her lips, and you watched her lick the hot chocolate from her mouth and put her mug down before you sprang into action.

You hadn’t even realised that’s what you’d been waiting for, why you hesitated, but the second her hands were empty and you felt the warmth of her body press into your own, it made sense. That’s what you craved. That’s what you always missed. The subtle buzz in your body, calling as if it were without something, begging for a concept you knew nothing off, went quiet. Like a switch being turned off. Your hands tucked themselves beneath her arms and went winding up to her back, splaying out with the stone squished gently in between your left hand and her pyjamas. Of course that’s what you wanted. Lilia. Always Lilia. She still smelled so lovely, like the sweet perfume of your home and the lemon of her shampoo, and you shuddered as you felt a soft puff of breath along your neck. Jesus, you melted for her. Like ice in the sun. Like butter in a pan. Warm with love, with sunlight, and you felt as though you could soak her up forever. You could stay there, nearly collapsing at the feel of her arms running up to curl along the curve of your back, forever.

“Thank you Lilia,” you whispered into her ear, sounding shuddery and frail as those sweet hands patted you once, twice, so warm and so calming. Her arms squeezed gently, nonverbally returning the sentiment, and you felt weak. “Thank you…”

A minute passed, then she shifted and pulled you a bit closer.

“Merry Christmas, honey,” Lilia murmured, red lips so close to your skin you swore you could feel the brush of them. The pull of them. Like maybe she wanted them to be there.

What a silly thought.

“Merry Christmas, Madame Calderu,” you replied, just as softly, and grinned with joy as her shoulders began to jump with happy quiet laughter.

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

The witch came back the very next day oh the witch came back...

Hi! Hello! Hi! Let me know what you all think? Did I get the characterization right? I have another part in mind for this, so if you like it and you show your love, you may have more Lilia Calderu coming your way. I really hope you're all doing well. - Yours, Ripley x

・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・✩・┈┈・┈┈・┈┈・

#rippersz #fanfictionwriter #fanfic #fanfiction #Lilia calderu #lilia calderu x reader #Lilia calderu x fem!reader #Lilia Calderu #Lilia Calderu AAA #Agatha All Along #Agathaallalong #agatha all along #wlw fanfiction #Lilia calderu x you #Lilia Calderu x reader #Lilia Calduru x You #Lilia Calderu x me actually hellloooo #Please let Lilia Calderu live please please please #Agatha all along lilia

447 notes · View notes

totheblood · 9 months ago

Text

i still hear you. (prologue)

PAIRING: post tlou2!ellie williams x reader

SUMMARY: ellie stumbles upon your self-run town after her life is destroyed, except there's more to this town then what meets the eye. and it seems like there is more to you too.

WARNINGS: 18+ mentions of death, grief, related subjects; cursing, mentions of drinking/drugs, mentions of s*x

A/N: i've been working on this one for a while... i hope you enjoy! please send asks, reblog, and reply to this post <;3

WORD COUNT: 3k

"i still hear you laughing, but only for a minute"

Spring couldn’t come fast enough for Ellie.

The cold still nipped at the exposed skin on her hands, ghosting the phantom limbs of the two fingers she was now missing. Everything was cold. The tip of her nose, her ears, and most importantly her heart. As she wandered aimlessly, unsure of where to go, she knew there was one place she couldn’t go: home.

Jackson was no longer a place for her. Joel was gone, Tommy thought she was weak, and Dina…Well, Dina wanted nothing to do with her. Dina had a lot she could blame Ellie for before Ellie left, but she never did. She stayed. And now, on top of all of that, Ellie had left one of the few people in her life who cared enough about her to stay. Spring could come tomorrow but it would forever be winter inside her.

She didn’t know where she was going, but she knew she was going west. She couldn’t handle the harsh winters of the East Coast, and Wyoming stopped feeling like home before she left for Seattle. She thought about staying on the farm and living out whatever short life she was going to have there, but staying in that home painted with memories of “what ifs” would drive her crazy.

So she packed enough supplies to last her a few months if she hunted her food and headed to the West Coast. The first few days were silent, she only encountered a few infected and found shelter in abandoned buildings. She lived off of expired food she found in vending machines in old universities and occasionally sang herself to sleep.

On her tenth day, she found a car that lasted her about 2 days. Once it broke down, she just kept walking. Over abandoned highways and thick forests, she just kept walking. On day 17, she reached California and stumbled upon an eerily similar set of walls. It looked just like the gates at Jackson, except these were concrete and better built. They were much higher, and the gates almost looked… automatic.

Ellie was hesitant. She didn’t know what she was looking for, but she definitely wasn’t looking for another hometown to destroy. She approached the large walls cautiously, with her hands up and slowly. As she walked closer she was screaming, “I come in peace,” over and over again. She was almost 50 feet near the gate when she heard a girl's voice shout, “Don’t come any closer.”

She stopped in her tracks as the automatic gates began to open. Ellie expected an army of people with guns blazing, just how it was when she first arrived at Jackson, but when the gates opened there just stood you, grounded in all your glory, and a gun aimed right at her face. She wanted to laugh, but that just seemed sexist.

Instead, you pressed forward, unwavering, with your gun aimed right at her. She didn’t step backward, or even breathe, she just stood there until you were close enough to her to make out all the freckles on her face and the slit in her eyebrow.

“Who are you?” you spat at her.

“Ellie,” she breathed out, her hands faltering a bit.

With your hand firmly wrapped around the cold metal of the gun, you inched forward again, pulling back the slide, a metallic click echoing in the silence. The gun was loaded, and you were letting Ellie know that you weren’t afraid to shoot. Her hands stiffened again.

“What are you doing here?” Your tone was tough and the look on your face was enough to send Ellie running for the hills, but it also made her want to crack a smile. Your nose scrunched up as you spoke, and your lips were somehow not chapped in this weather. But Ellie didn’t smile, she was sure if she did you would put one right between her eyes. That much she was sure of.

“I-” Ellie hadn’t thought this far. What was she doing here? “I’m just looking for a place to stay.”

Your eyebrows creased as you gave her a once over, looking for any sign she was trouble. It was in your nature to search for danger, but she wasn’t raising any red flags. Except the fact that she made it here alone and unscathed, and was missing two fingers.

“What happened to your hand?” you asked, tipping the gun slightly to her hand. A pained expression crossed her face, it was almost like she forgot that two of her fingers were quite literally bitten off, but that fight was somewhere shoved deep inside her mind. It wasn’t something she wanted to remember.

“Lost them in a fight,” she replied simply, there was no point in telling the full story. It’s not like you had the time.

“You can’t stay here if you’re going to be trouble,” finally you put the gun down, resting your hands on your hips, giving her a firm look. Ellie would hand it to you, you were absolutely scary. In her mind, she knew she could take you, but she also wasn’t so sure of that.

“I’m,” she sighed, lowering her hands slowly, “I’m done with that. I won’t be trouble,” and for the first time in Ellie’s life, she meant that. She was ready to start over. She knew the fighter in her would always be there, itching to come out but she had been fighting her whole life. It was time to give up. She had already lost everything. Or so she thought.

Your face softened slightly before firming up again, your empathy peeking through like it always did. You looked her over again, sighing, as you signaled for someone at the gate to come. A man with short blonde hair trotted over, a leash in his hand. He looked kind as he offered a smile to Ellie.

“Old girl here is just gonna check to make sure you’re not infected,” he smiled, dropping the leash. Ellie’s heart rate picked up again as she watched the German Shepherd approach her slowly, sniffing around her as it circled her. You stood behind the blonde guy with your arms crossed across your chest. The dog found nothing and returned to the man, sitting down next to him, “Looks like you’re all clear!”

“Welcome to Mono City,” you deadpanned, rolling your eyes as you turned back towards the gate, walking in that direction. You were halfway there when you realized Ellie wasn’t moving. Turning on your heel again you stared at her, hand on your hip again. You had an attitude, Ellie thought, cute. “You coming or what?”

The small town sat on a large lake, glistening as the sun's rays bounced off the surface. Buildings were built close together, trees without leaves scattered on the walkway, and about a hundred people out on the street as she trailed behind you, earning dirty looks from half of them. Ellie scowled back. Ellie smiled when you introduced yourself to her, telling her your name and a few key details about yourself. She learned you served as some sort of mayor here, keeping everything in order, and that you were the person that people came to. She would be lying if she said that didn’t intimidate her. But all Ellie did was give you her name again and tell you that she was from Jackson, anything else she said would fall short.

“How are you with your hands?” you asked, voice flat and simple. Ellie choked on her words, stuttering a response.

“I’m, well,” she coughed, “I’m just okay with them now, since,” she shrugged gesturing to what she now called her ‘bad hand’, “you know.”

A wave of guilt crossed your face as you composed yourself, somehow already forgetting your previous interaction. You shook your head solemnly, cursing quietly under your breath as you stopped.

“Shit,” you turned to her, eyes squeezed shut, “sorry, I’m so used to asking the same questions, I didn’t even think.”

“It’s fine don’t worry about it,” she gave a tight-lipped smile. Now, with the illumination of the buildings, she could see your whole face. You were pretty, that she was sure of, but it was a more down-to-earth pretty. A type of pretty that you had to take in. You had scars around your face, and a pretty big scar down the side of your neck. It almost looked like the one Ellie had on her arm. But still, scars and all, you were just nice to look at.

“Well, just for that reason we probably won’t have you be on guard duty,” you stated, eyes flicking around her face, “do you have any other strengths?”

“Uhm,” Ellie had to think for a minute. She had never really been asked anything like this before. What were her strengths? Did she have any at all? She used to be good at guitar, but now she couldn’t play, and that probably wouldn’t be useful at all to anyone here. She was good at art still, something she couldn’t take for granted anymore. It was all she had. The scratched-out drawings of Dina, JJ, Jesse, and Joel were stuffed deep into her bag.

“I’m good at art,” she shrugged, “and writing, maybe.”

“Okay,” you smiled, showing off your teeth, making her warm a bit, “that we can work with. Maybe you can teach at the school.”

“You have a school here?” Ellie gawked. Jackson had a school but it was small and had maybe two or three teachers.

“Yeah,” you turned to keep walking, making Ellie stumble behind you to keep up, “we have three. An elementary, middle, and high school.”

“Wow,” Ellie was in awe, “It’s not like a military school or anything?”

“No,” you answered quickly, your voice tight, “It’s not like any of that shit. We don’t fuck with FEDRA here.”

Ellie would be lying if she said that wasn’t music to her ears.

“It’s just like a normal school except we teach a lot more practical things. Things we can use like, cooking, science, and English. Like reading or writing. Since you’re new you will probably start with the elementary school. We also have little extracurriculars and we’ve wanted to introduce art but haven’t been able to find anyone yet.”

“Oh, cool,” was all Ellie said as you both stumbled on what looked like a residential street. There were rows of houses, all that looked the same. There was a road, with cars parked on them and driveways with gates. Most of the houses looked about two stories tall, some had toys lying in the front yards and a few animals were roaming about, small cats and dogs. The porches had furniture on them, little couches and chairs, and as she walked she noticed some people outside with mugs in their hands as if they were drinking their morning coffee. The town looked like something she saw out of a movie, only something she could dream about. Her eyes were wide in awe as you rambled on about something but Ellie was honestly too entranced in everything. Here, in the middle of nowhere was a whole town of people living their lives, as if nothing had ever happened to them.

“Ellie?” you stopped in your tracks, crossing your arms over your chest. There was your attitude again, “are you even listening?”

“Y-yeah, I am. It’s just-”

“A lot, I know,” you sighed, “but you gotta listen, there are a lot of rules here. Rules that make this place function and if you don’t follow them, you could easily be kicked out.”

“I’m sorry,” she apologized, genuinely meaning it, “I’m listening, promise.”

“It’s fine,” you gave her a fake smile, turning to push open a gate to a nice house, “This will be your place.”

“Uhm,” Ellie stopped, not entering the front yard, “what do you mean ‘my place’? This is far too big for me.”

“This is the only size our houses come in,” you replied matter-of-factly, “you can just say thank you.”

Ellie blinked as she looked up at the blue house, that looked like it was built yesterday. It had a wrap-around porch and two white columns right by the entrance. The door was a giant white door with a gold handle. This was nicer than any house she’s ever been in, and way too big for one girl.

“Thank you,” Ellie replied, still awe-struck, “this is just so nice.”

“You’re welcome,” you smiled, fishing around in your bag for something. You pulled out a pair of keys, and handed them to her, “Here’s your house keys. You don’t get a car quite yet, that’s something you have to work your way up to, but there is a bike in the garage. Spring is around the corner so it will get warmer and you should have your car by next winter so don’t worry too much. My house is right across the block, but I’m usually in the City Center if you need me.”

She wrapped her right hand around the keys, tightening them in her palm. She watched as you searched through your bag again and pulled out a little device.

“This is your walkie,” you took a deep breath, “Try to find me before using it. It’s usually only used for emergencies so just be mindful of that. I’ll be by tomorrow to take you to work, so you have time to get settled in today. Okay?”

“Okay,” Ellie smiled, her voice sounding a little bit breathless.

That night Ellie settled into her new home. Well, she tried to settle into her new home but kept shifting around in every seat and couch, like she couldn’t find something to get comfortable on. She examined every part of the house, picking the smallest room for herself and shoving her backpack in the closet. She took a bath for the first time in months, washing all the dirt and grime off of her. Left in the shower was a bar of soap that looked like it had been handmade and unused. It smelled so good she almost took a bite, but instead chose to use it how it was meant to be used.

As the sun began to set she stepped outside, watching the activity on the block and smiling to herself. Everything just seemed so normal, but with the state of this world this town was certainly abnormal. From her window she could see you in your front yard, feeding a pack of cats that slipped through your white picket fence. She smiled to herself as she watched one rub against your leg, and your gentle hand coming down to pet it. She continued to watch as kids passed your house, waving to you and running back to their homes.

The next few days were uneventful. Ellie found herself getting used to teaching young kids, always laughing when they asked about her missing fingers. It was out of her comfort zone, but she was around JJ enough to know what kids liked. Her voice always got so high-pitched when she spoke to them, and they liked being chased around the room. On her fifth day of working, a kid ran in screaming, “Miss Ellie! Miss Ellie!” with a chicken scratch drawing of his family. He was so proud that all Ellie could say was “Good job, bud!” and ruffle his hair. He left with the biggest smile on his face.

But now, Ellie found herself at the city’s most popular bar, with the other teachers who wanted to congratulate her on her first week. Della, who invited Ellie out in the first place, made a toast to her, clinking her glass with Ellie’s and taking a long swig of her drink. Ellie took a sip of hers too and fuck, this shit was strong.

She felt human again, laughing with people her age in a bar and old music playing. She was almost having a good time until a song came on that reminded her of Joel. It was like her whole demeanor changed and everyone could tell. She excused herself from the group finding a small corner to sit on and finish the rest of her drink, hoping maybe it would make her forget everything. But then, the bell at the front door rang making Ellie look up to see who had entered.

There you were in all your glory, tight shirt on and hair completely loose. It almost looked as if you were wearing makeup. Ellie must’ve been staring too long because she blinked and you were standing in front of her.

“See you got yourself a drink,” you laughed, voice making Ellie’s cheeks turn pink. She was… really drunk.

“Yeah, I could get you one too,” she slurred a bit, goofy smile spread across her face. She watched as something odd crossed your face and now she was worried she said something wrong, “I just mean, like.. you know… I mean like as a thank you.”

“Right,” you sighed.

“For my mansion, you know,” she shrugged and you giggled. You giggled and it went straight to her head. What was she doing?

“You haven’t been paid yet,” you smiled back at her, now moving to sit down, “and it’s okay, I don’t drink unless it’s a special occasion.”

“What? Meeting me is not special enough,” she teased, knocking her shoulder with yours. Her eyes scanned your face, your smile reaching your eyes as you giggled again. Her stomach sank again. She wasn’t so sure if this was just the alcohol anymore, she felt like she was 12 and crushing on Riley again.

“No, it’s special,” you reassured, “Maybe, I’ll drink when you decide to stay.”

“Who said I’m not staying?” she questioned sitting up.

“Some people don’t,” you shrugged, smile fading. Ellie’s brain wanted to make it better, make you laugh again, or shit do anything to put the smile back on your face.

“Well, I’m gonna,” she said gently, so only you could hear her, “I need to get my paycheck.”

You laughed and Ellie breathed a sigh of relief, laughing with you.

“I’ll get that to you,” you smiled, “and we don’t use paychecks.”

“What’re you gonna pay me with?” she smirked, “I know some other ways you can pay me.” Then the same look from earlier crossed your face and she cursed quietly to herself, muttering an apology.

“No, no,” you said, like you were about to let her down gently, “I just try not to get… involved with anyone since…” your voice trailed off.

“Since?” Ellie questioned, but as you opened your mouth to speak the group from earlier made their way over, noticing your arrival and screaming your name. She watched as you got up, hugged everyone and started chatting with them, leaving her with her drink and too many questions.

There was one thing that scared her though. She knew you needed someone who could stay, and the only thing she was good at was leaving.

#ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams smut #ellie williams tlou #ellie williams x reader smut #ellie williams the last of us #ellie williams tlou2 #ellie williams fanfiction #ellie williams fanfic #ellie williams fan fic #ellie williams x female reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams imagine #ellie williams oneshot #modern!ellie williams #college!ellie williams #ellie williams one shot

1K notes · View notes

woso-dreamzzz · 3 months ago

Text

Big Bed IV

Hardersson x Daughter!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Sometimes you just need the Big Bed

It was a rough game.

Against a team like France, the games are always tough. They're ranked so highly and they play so skilfully and they run circles around most teams.

Their shots come in rapid fire, one after the other and it's like they're playing with multiple balls because the pressure keeps piling up and up and up.

A corner is where it all goes wrong for you.

One of your midfielders conceded it, a young girl that you're pretty sure plays for Häcken who had to kick the ball out after your defence was caught off guard.

France swing it in.

You can't get a good grip on it, not with all the jostling and pushing in your box but you manage to punch it away.

There's a leg already up though, a dangerously high leg with a knee that cracks into your eye.

The pain is instantaneous and you groan.

Your eyes swells shut quickly. You can already tell a bruise is forming.

It's a straight red card.

No leg should be high enough that the knee is what connects with someone. There should be no high legs regardless but the fact that it's the knee that hits you instead of the foot is pretty dangerous play and the player gets sent off.

You get taken off too. You can barely see out of your other eye. You're no use to the team right now.

You give the armband over to your vice-captain and follow the medics out to get treatment.

You don't have a concussion which is good but you have to sit there with an icepack on your face to make the swelling go down.

"You look rough," Magda says, tilting your head to one side when you come home that night.

This was the last match of your Euro Qualifiers and, honestly, it hadn't really meant much.

Sweden were already through so it's not like your absence from today's match was make or break for the team.

It's nice to be home though even if you still feel a bit unsettled.

You don't know if it's because of your eye or just plain exhaustion but you feel a little out of your skin, like you're sitting at the dinner table but not at the same time.

You're hyper-aware of every part of your body and your stomach swirls uneasily.

But you can push that feeling away, at least for a little while. At least while you eat with your mothers.

It's a good time, mostly. Good food. Good conversation. Good company.

You think you've made yourself feel better, pushing away this fleeting feeling of anxiousness.

It comes back though, like it always does. It creeps up on you like a phantom, waiting until you're alone to pounce.

You stare up at your ceiling.

It's dark out and, even though you took some painkillers, you can swear that you feel your eye throb.

You toss and turn for what feels like hours, unable to settle yourself.

The last time you felt like this, you were at home with Talia. She'd held you and whispered sweet nothings in your ear, a supportive body against yours as you both waited for the feeling to fade.

You feel dangerously unmoored, like you're a boat that's been pushed out to sea with no sails and no oars. You just drift into the darkness as your stomach swirls uneasily.

You sigh, pulling yourself from bed and shoving down the covers.

It's a short walk across the hall to your mothers but your hand freezes on the door handle, suddenly worried that they'll kick you out for doing this.

Your hand hovers, clenching and unclenching around the smooth metal before you close your eyes, resting your head on the door.

You push the door open, slipping inside.

It creaks slightly and Pernille rolls over in bed, voice still rough with sleep.

"Princesse? Is that you?"

"Yes."

"Is something wrong?"

"I..er...I mean no but..." You sigh. "I don't know. Can I sleep in here tonight?"

Even in her sleep addled mind, Pernille can't make much sense of why. "In here?"

"I can sleep on the floor," You say quickly," I just...I don't know. Can I?"

"Don't be stupid," Magda says, awoken by the noise and blunt as ever," You're not sleeping on the floor." She pats the spot between her and Pernille. "Get in."

"Are you sure?"

"Get in. The bed's big enough for all of us."

"I feel like a kid again."

"You are a kid. You're our kid. Get in bed."

It's the best sleep you've had in weeks.

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #the big adventures universe

542 notes · View notes

scudslut · 10 months ago

Text

ahhh yes yes, I haven’t written him too subby on here yet so I was super excited to write this❤️ I hope you like it @darylsgirl23 <3

Heartsease

Daryl x f!reader

Setting: Bridge Camp/Post Savior War

Wordcount: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+, softdom reader, unestablished relationship (but both know there’s a little somethin somethin iykwim), aka your his and everyone knows it, oral (m - receiving), unprotected piv, premature finish

Daryl was never one to keep still.

It made him anxious to be in one place for too long, always going on runs and patrols ensuring his people were as safe and provided for as they could be. He felt at ease outside the walls, out of people's prying gazes, and left alone to do his part for the community in peace. These days though, he was a flurry of activity. Hardly ever in the same spot long enough to see the sun rise and set again.

You knew he felt guilty - that he was angry and didn't know how to release it. You'd watch him work on the bridge for hours, frustration seeping out of his bones and into the atmosphere around him. It hung off him like a phantom.

The vast majority of the community was intimidated by it. They would walk on eggshells in his presence as if they could predict an oncoming outburst. But you knew better, you knew him.

He was angry at the world, yes. But he was distraught with himself... his own mind. It ran a mile a minute and gave absolutely zero reprieve. Anyone could see that if they dug just a bit deeper, looked at him a little closer.

Sure he was strong and burly; a true beast of a man, but he was also quiet and thoughtful. He cared so deeply about others that it frightened him to his core. All he wanted was to protect his family and do right by them.

And you saw all of that.

You had for years now and it only made your desire for him stronger. You wanted to thank him. Drop down to your knees and worship every freckle and scar that made him, him. He deserved it, deserved an escape.

Initially, you thought maybe he wasn't into that and preferred to keep his relationships asexual, to which you were perfectly happy to abide by. Any time spent with him was cherished time in your eyes. But during a sleep-deprived chat with Carol one night on patrol, long ago, you had found out he did have a few sexual encounters before the apocalypse. Just none that had truly meant much to him, or that he was entirely sober for.

That small bit of insight helped you understand the man so much more and you carefully dropped your hints from that point on. However, with your luck, every time you thought something might happen between you two, the moment would slip right through your aching fingers, dusted away by whatever imminent danger lurked behind each corner.

To be quite honest, you were getting fed up with the world's continuous cruel jokes, and from the looks of things, Daryl could use a healthy distraction right about now.

Ears perking at the familiar rumble you'd grown to love, you watched as he pulled up on his trusty, beaten-up Nighthawk, finally returning from a longer visit at Hilltop. You could see the sheen layer of sweat built up above his furrowed brows, his teeth nibbling away at his lower lip - an anxious habit you had picked up on mere days after meeting him.

His mind was bothering him. That much was clear.

He shuffled quickly to his tent, gaze transfixed on the muddy shoes he wore, avoiding any onlookers who wanted to ask their silly questions, throwing the flaps open, and disappearing in a fluster.

You knew better than to bother him now, give him some time to gather his thoughts and decompress. You whittled away at your spears, biding the time as you devised a plan on how you would approach him. After all, the last thing you wanted was to scare him off or embarrass him in any way. He was reserved when it came to these situations, unsure of himself. The few times you had brushed lips or touched him a bit heatedly, he was jumpy and almost insecure, as if he needed instructions on how he should behave. It was extremely endearing to you; like a stray pup who just needed a little reassurance and affection to calm his fierce walls of doubt.

It was almost dusk when you finished with your spears, gathering them up and placing them near some of the other weapons the community used when needed. You scanned the grounds, noticing everyone collected by the fire, dishing up for a late dinner. You quickly made your way over, grabbing two portions and slipping away before you were noticed and stopped for conversation. You knew Daryl wouldn't get one for himself, spew some excuse that 'he wasn't hungry' or was 'too tired' when really, he just didn't want to take away from another. Even if that meant he didn't eat or drink anything for days at a time. It made your heart blister for more reasons than one.

You balance both plates on your left arm, reaching to pull the flaps open slowly, not wanting to startle him with your arrival, "Dar? You asleep?" you whisper into the dim den.

You hear a grunt, some shuffling, and in a moment a soft glow fills the area as he lights a nearby lamp, perching up on his small cot, "I was."

Flicking off your boots, you zip the entrance closed behind you, "I brought you some dinner, figured you'd be hungry after your trip," You smile and he mutters a quiet thanks, opting to accept your kind offer rather than argue with you, he knew you wouldn't take no for answer anyway. He scoots to the side, creating a spot for you to sit while you two eat in comfortable silence. He liked that you didn't feel the need to fill the air, that you could simply enjoy each other's company without all the small talk. You were one of the few people he'd met in his life, who just inherently understood him, down to the most basic level. He hated leaving you all the time like he had been, just another thing to nag at his over-exhausted mind.

Hearing him sigh quietly, you cast your eyes over, watching as he scrapes up the remaining crumbs off his plate, placing it outside the tent along with yours for you both to deal with in the morning.

"I imagine your pretty tired, huh?" You ask, following his movements as he plops down again beside you.

"Nah, not really. Got a few hours 'fore ya came bustin' in here," he grumbles with a small smirk and you lean into him nudging his shoulder playfully. "Why ya wanna chat or somethin'?"

You consider him for a minute, trying to find the proper words to initiate what was truly on your mind. You knew you had no reason to be nervous. That even though you'd never labeled anything between you guys, you both felt it. Knew it was there. You just needed the right moment. Now was as good a time as any, you figured.

"No, I just- I wanna try something."

He nods his head for you to continue, so you scoot closer, placing your hand delicately on his shoulder and bringing your face centimeters from his. You stop just before you close the gap, gauging his reaction. His breath hitches slightly and you feel his pulse rapid under your fingertips, but he doesn't pull away. Taking that as the only confirmation you'll get, you press your lips to his softly, brushing your thumb against his stubbly, pink cheek. He takes a good minute to respond, carefully moving his lips back against yours and placing his hands on your hips. You feel him squeeze, eliciting a quiet moan of encouragement from you and he all but sinks into your touch, falling into a comfortable rhythm with your lips. You stay like that for a while, breathing in his piney scent and relishing in his gentle kneads at your waist. It wasn’t much to the untrained eye, but you knew that was his way of pouring his affection into you without so many words. His way of telling you he was yours.

You drag your kisses down his neck, nibbling and sucking at the salty flesh between his collarbones. His breaths grow uneven and you can feel him begin to tense again, unused to such personal attention, "Is this okay?" You ask, not wanting to push him past his boundaries. He only nods in response, his throat feeling like the Sahara.

He has to admit, he's thought about this many times, relieved himself to thoughts of you too many times to count over the years. He's just never known how to approach you about it, scared you'd reject him or he'd do something wrong.

He watches as you slip to your knees before him, your eyes glued to his. "You'll let me know if you want me to stop, yeah?" As he tries to nod in response again, you stop him, "I need you to say it to me," You press.

"Y-yea, I'll say somethin'," he whispers timidly and you grin, beginning to unbuckle his belt and slip his raged jeans down. You kiss down his strong thighs, feeling them tremble slightly beneath you. His hard-on is poking through his boxers and you drag your lips across it, placing soft pecks down the length of him, listening to his breathy pants. You didn't realize how turned on you'd be, having him all flushed and needy for you, but god were you enjoying it. Slipping your fingers into the waistband, you tug them down and his cock springs free, precum leaking from the pretty, pink tip.

"You dun have'ta," he mutters, anxiety sweeping over him fast, even though he really, really does want to. You catch his gaze, noticing how dark his stormy eyes have gotten.

"Let me take care of you, sweetheart," you reply, pressing soft kisses from the base to tip, feeling him pulse under your touch. You enclose your mouth around him, taking almost his entire length at once and you hear a guttural groan from above you, his knuckles white from the clutch they had on the bedsheets.

You wondered if he had ever had a woman go down on him before. Judging by the gasps and twitches he was emitting, if he had, it hadn't been for a very long time.

He bucks into you, searching in a daze for more friction, and you pin his hips down, earning a deep whine from him. You knew if he wanted to, he could easily overpower you, use your mouth to his heart's content, but he wouldn't. He wanted you to take charge. Needed it.

Raking your eyes over his heaving figure, you slide your tongue along his shaft, moving in slow, sensual circles as you bob up and down. Daryl's head is tossed back, eyes screwed shut and you can tell he won't last much longer. The sensitivity of not being touched in so long, sprinting towards him at full speed. You pull back, slowing your movements. He lifts his head off the wall, pale blue eyes blown to darkness as he watches you take him so sweetly, "Please," He whispers.

When you shake your head, humming a soft, "Not yet," as best you can around him, his eyes roll back into his skull, entirely overwhelmed by the overstimulation, but loving it nonetheless. "I-I can't," He gasps, his accent muddled even stronger in his lustful state. You have to squeeze your legs tighter, clenching around nothing hearing your man so utterly wrecked beneath you. You want to draw it out for hours. Have him begging you to let him cum down your awaiting throat. However, you decide you both have waited damn long enough to prolong your union even more.

Releasing him with a soft kiss to his leaking tip, you stand in front of him, shimmying out of your clothes as quickly as you can. "Lay down for me, baby,' You direct, moving the straddle him as he eagerly follows your orders, turning lengthwise on the makeshift bed. His eyes never leave yours as you sit down on him, groaning when he feels how wet you are pressed against his cock. "Have you thought about this before, pretty boy?" His cheeks flush crimson at your sultry compliments, nodding curtly whilst avoiding your stare.

"Dar." You press.

You were being so gentle yet stern with him it was making it brain fuzzy, all stressors from the day long washed away to be replaced by only you.

"Have, yeah," He huffs in embarrassment, trying with great difficulty not to portray how truly turned on your words were making him. But you saw right through him... or rather felt him. You lean forward, kissing and nipping up his neck to the shell of his pink ears, "Do you want me to stop?"

A full-body shiver jolts through him when he feels your warm breath against his ear, involuntarily rolling his hips into yours and you chuckle at his obvious sensitivity. He knows he needs to use his words. You won't be letting him off that easy. "Please don't," Is all he manages and it seems to do the trick. You grip his length, tracing it along your soaked folds, and slowly sink down. Your careful as you take in his reaction, scanning his expression for any signs of discomfort. He bites his lip, his eyes squeezed shut and lets out a muffled groan.

"Fuck," He mumbles, and you're surprised to hear him say anything you didn't need to pry out of him. A positive sign, you determined and start to bounce your hips slowly, creating a synchronized dance between your bodies. Your body is buzzing as you ride him, finally feeling the dull ache you’ve had for the man below you begin to dissipate as he whimpers oh so softly for only you to hear. His hands grip your waist hard enough to leave bruises to find in the morning, but you hardly give it a second thought. All you can think about is Daryl. His closeness, his warmth and strength, and-

He tenses beneath you, broken gasps leaving his chewed lips and suddenly he’s lifting you off of him, soaking your thighs and abdomen completely. You gawk as you watch him come down, sworn you haven’t ever seen something so fucking sexy in your life. His head tossed back, jumbled curses leaving his mouth, and dark auburn hair dripping with sweat. You don’t care that he finished before you, this was about him. But you see his eyes snap to yours when he fully comes back down to reality, cheeks blazing for a different reason than before.

Leaning towards him, you capture his lips with your own, tenderly pouring your affection into him, needing him to know you weren’t upset, “It’s okay, relax,” you whisper against him with a soft smile, leaning your forehead onto his. His eyes are filled with guilt, “I mean it, Dar,” And he’s back to his nods of response.

He didn’t need any more words of sympathy. He knew you were happy as a kid on Christmas, he just needed to accept it for himself. So with one last peck to his cherry lips, you slide off him, grab a rag to clean yourself up with, and scoot right in beside him, craving his warmth. He turns to you quickly, grabbing your waist and pulling you impossibly closer to him, burying his head into the crook of your neck. You feel a few soft pecks from him along your jaw and you sigh contentedly, wrapping your limbs around his, reeling in your post-coital glow.

You were safe, snuggled with your love, and that was all you needed.

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #daryl dixon drabbles #daryl imagines #norman reedus #norman reedus smut #twd drabbles #daryl dixon smut #daryl x reader #fem!reader #sub!daryl #subdom #dom fem reader #smut

1K notes · View notes

cherryredstars · 11 months ago

Note

Next door part two! I NEED THEM IN MY LIFE THAT WAS SO GOOD!

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Smut with Plot, Wet Dreams, Sexual Fantasies, Brief Mentions of Male Masturbation, Blowjob, Cum Eating

Summary: Nice but naughty, a heart that’s pure. She's the girl next door.

Word Count: 2.6K (Not Edited)

Part 1

He’s driving himself fucking mad.

It’s been almost two weeks since he last saw you in person. It’s somewhat his fault. He hasn’t been avoiding you exactly, just giving you room. You were so dazed when he left you, he could almost smell the remains of sex on you. It drove him crazy, fists clenched as he stood outside your closed door for what felt like years. He cock strained so painfully against his pants that he had half the mind to pull it out and jerk off in the middle of the hallway.

He didn’t want to scare you. Big, old him running after small, delicate you. A pretty and young thing that he wouldn’t mind locking in his bedroom and fucking until the sun rose and he was off to work. He could- would - worship you. He has done it thousands of times in the last two weeks in his dreams. They plague him almost every night, his body pressing you down into the mattress as you mewl out for him. He can hear the sound of your arousal as his balls slap against you echoing in his ears. Your phantom grip on his cock follows him when he wakes up, his hands wandering into his pants to try to replicate the feeling.

He’s always interrupted by the sound of your front door slamming as you rush out to go to one of your little classes, his frustration and want burning strong in his chest. But he has to be patient, has to wait for you to seek him out. He can’t just break through your door, no matter how badly he wanted to and show you how a real man would treat you. How he’d treat you so good, spoil you in a way that none of the boys your age can. He could make you his pretty little girlfriend, giving you anything you want. Fuck, he’ll pay for your entire college tuition if you asked him to.

Or, maybe he wouldn’t. Maybe he’d make you beg for it. Maybe he’d force you to work for it. He can already imagine it. He’d have you riding his cock, maybe even his face, laying back and watching you take your pleasure from him. He’d enjoy himself, moaning as you gasp and cry above him. You’d look so pretty with tears running down your face, asking him so sweetly to give you what you wanted. Your hips working to show him how much you deserved it, how you’re his good girl who deserves the right to every one of his credit cards. He’d have you coming until he’s satisfied with your pleas, finally giving in to you a-

Fucking annoying piece of shit.

Miguel’s eyes snap open, wondering to the alarm clock on his nightstand. The numbers are still blurry, and the sound of someone knocking on his door is the last thing he wanted. Especially when it pulls him away from his private time with you. His cock is poking a dent into his sweats, and he runs his hands down his face in frustration. He groans to himself as he gets up, adjusting his pants as he goes. His mind is still semi-stuck in his fuzzy little fantasy when he opens the door, mind slow as they try to process the sight of you.

You’re looking up at him with regretful eyes, a blanket draped loosely around your shoulders. His eyes can’t help but travel down your body, salivating at the way your cropped long sleeve shirt pokes out from your nipples and reveals the expanse of your navel. His eyes travel further down, catching on the plaid pajama pants that sit low on your waist with the strings untied. If his cock wasn’t hard before, it definitely is now.

“I’m sorry to wake you up,” Your siren voice calls to him, his eyes snapping back to your shy face as you bite your lip. “But, my heater is acting up again and I can’t sleep with it switching between hot and cold. I already called the landlord, but he said he’d send someone by next week.”

You look so pretty before him, cheeks slightly red from embarrassment as you stare up at him like he’s your savior. His hand grips tight on his door as he processes what you said. His poor little baby, suffering in her apartment. You should have come to him sooner. He would have gladly taken care of you. This just goes to show how he’s the only man capable of taking care of you, the only man you need to take care of your needs.

His hand covers the expanse of your stomach as he touches it. His warm hand is instantly met with your cold skin, sending shivers up your spine as he pushes you back so he can walk through his door. You walk obediently, taking a step back for every step he takes forward until you’re following him like a sweet puppy into your own apartment. It’s ice cold when his bare feet hit the wooden floors, his eyes trailing down to your own sockless feet. It brings a frown to his face, brows furrowing as he leans down and picks you up.

Your cold hands shock his shoulders as they hold onto him tight. The most precious squeal leaves your lips at the unexpected move, looking up at him with wide eyes as he carries you to your room. Most of the lights are on from your journey to the front door, but your bedroom is still clad in darkness. Your bed is soft when his knee sinks into it, lifting the covers to tuck you in where you’ll be nice and warm. He wraps them around you, covering you as much as possible. He makes sure you’re taken care of before he goes off into the hallway to check the heater.

It’s a quick fix, something he can do easily and doesn’t need a maintenance guy for assistance. It’s just dirty air filters, and he has spares in his apartment. It's a quick trip, with minimal labor. It takes him less than an hour to complete, but it’ll take some time before the heat starts filling up the place. When he walks back into your bedroom, you’re still under the covers and they shake slightly from the way you’re shivering.

“Got it fixed, should be working fine soon, give it an hour max.”

The soft thank you and beaming smile you give him tempts him to break something else in your house so you can give him more. He walks over to you, sitting next to you on the bed. Your skin still quakes from the chill, and he hates to see you so uncomfortable. His hand comes up to your cheek, attempting to warm the skin with the heat of his hand. You instantly melt into the touch, practically purring as you lean into his hold. He’s seen this scene so many times in his dreams that he can't help the dirty thoughts circulating in his head.

The darkness of your room hides the glazed look in his eyes as he studies your mouth, his thumb rubbing the expanse of your cheek, “You’re so cold, cariño. Needa find a way to warm ya’ up quick.”

The words are almost unheard, his thumb sliding down your face until it presses into your bottom lip. Your lips part slightly from the movement and he doesn’t ignore the temptation to slip the pad of his thumb through. Your mouth is warm and oh so inviting, your saliva coating his thumb print. You instinctively suckle at the skin, eyes shining bright at him as you open your mouth wider. It makes him groan softly, pressing his thumb further into your mouth until his hand is supporting your chin as his thumb presses flat against your tongue. It holds you still, blinking innocently at him as he rubs gently.

He can feel his cock twitching in his pants, and it doesn’t take him long before he picks you up again, dragging you and the covers to the floor until it forms a pile before him. You’re on your knees, body half covered in blankets and sheets. They protect you from the icy cold of the wooden floors, and simultaneously makes you look like an offering for him. Miguel spreads his legs, grabbing your chin again until your face is hovering at the same height as his stomach. Your beautiful doll eyes blink up at him and he smiles at the sight of you.

“It’s okay, I got a way to make you feel better again.” He mumbles down at you, his free hand fishing into his pants until he grips his cock.

It’s heavy and burning in his touch, a bead of precum glistening at the tip as it meets the frigid air. You stare at it in wonder, leaning your face closer to see better through the darkness. He watches you closely, slowly stroking his base as he basks in your attention. His hand leaves your chin, moving around until he grips the back of your neck. He pushes your face closer to him, stopping when your face is pressed to the underside of his cock.

The skin burns where the two of you meet, and his cock jumps in excitement. His hips move slightly, slowly dragging his cock along your face, the tip of your nose brushing just under his tip. Miguel lets out a muffled moan, his hand squeezed tight at his base as he slaps his dick against your face. Your eyes instantly closed, taking it without complaint besides a low whine.

Miguel lets out a low ‘fuck’ as he looks down at you, pulling your face away until his tip presses against your lips. He rubs his cock along the seams of them, watching as they get glossy with his precum. Your tongue tentatively slips out, gathering some of it as you hum out. His cock is quick to follow your pink muscle, slipping in the crown of his tip into your mouth. He can feel your hot breath on his tip as you gasp at the intrusion, your tongue pressing against him.

He lets out a pleased sigh, slipping his tip back out to slip it back in. You try to call out his name, but it gets swallowed by his cock reentering your mouth. Your hands fall to his thighs, gathering the fabric in your fingers as you lean into him. You instantly gag when you do, mouth and throat not used to taking something thick. It makes Miguel moan, knowing damn well he’s nowhere near the back of your throat yet. You’re so fucking sensitive. He pulls back, but you eagerly try to follow. His grip on your neck tightens, making you whine as he keeps you in place and he slips out.

“Careful now, muñeca. Don’t hurt yourself.”

You whimper at his words, blinking teary-eyed at him. He coos gently down at you, shutting you up by sliding himself back into your mouth. You hum against him, eyes shutting as he works himself in and out. He barely gives you anything, going no further than the end of his tip as your tongue glides against him. He moans, finally feeling what he’s wanted for so long. You’re sloppy, tongue uncertain as it prods at his slit and drinks up the precum he spills into your mouth. It’s warm and slightly salty as it travels down your throat, making something warm bloom in your stomach. Your hands fist his pants tighter and Miguel’s eyes drop down to them.

His finger is gentle as it glides over the back of your hand, the cold skin raised with goosebumps. He tsks lightly at you, grabbing your hand and placing it around his length. He moans at the contrast in temperature, hips bucking into your touch.

“Shit, baby, gotta warm up those hands too.”

He grabs your other hand, putting it slightly lower than your other on his cock. His hands leave your body, falling over your own as he guides you to stroke him. His tip still lingers in your mouth, and you moan around him from how heavy and warm he is in your grasp. Once you work up a rhythm, Miguel’s hands leave yours. His hand falls back to its original position at the back of your neck, letting out soft groans and grunts as you work him. He massages the pressure points near the back of your neck, encouraging your mouth to relax and start sucking at him again.

Miguel can’t help throwing his head back, eyes shutting as you work waves of pleasure out of him. He can feel his balls grow heavier. His cock twitching and jumping in your mouth the more you play with him. He’s close, and he looks back down at you before he pulls his cock away from you again. You cry out in displeasure, looking up at him with a pout on your wet lips. He sighs deeply at you, moving back to grip your chin.

“Open your mouth for me, yeah?”

You instantly do, not needing to be asked before you stick your tongue out eagerly. He chuckles lowly at your desperation, hand tight around his base as he rubs his tip against your tongue. You whine at him, eyes getting droopy as he slaps his cock against your muscle. It doesn’t take long for him to cum in your mouth, watching as thick, white liquid spills onto your tongue. He moans as he finishes, tapping his cock against your tongue a few more times to make sure he’s given you everything.

When he pulls his cock away from you, you close your mouth and swallow. Your eyes close as you savor the flavor, feeling the warm liquid slip down your throat and warm your belly. The warmth makes you sleepy, eyes half-lidded as you lean forward and press your head to his stomach besides his semi-hard cock. His hand comes to stroke your hair, humming at you as your warm breath hits his skin. Sometime during his attempt at warming you, warm air has started to spill into the bedroom. Miguel sighs in content, leaning down to kiss the top of your head before picking you up for the last time.

You instantly snuggle into him, always whining out when he deposits you into the bed. Your covers are soon placed over you, and you watch as Miguel tucks himself back into his pants before sliding into bed beside you. You’re quick to snuggle up against him again, basking in the extra warmth he gives off. The warmth in your stomach and from Miguel loll you into a sleep, your body pressed hard against him.

The comfort of it all and the post-orgasmic bliss makes Miguel drowsy, breaths beginning to slow. He can feel his eyes drooping, taking in the final sights of you before his eyes close. But once they do, a loud band echoes in his head. He’s quick to spring up from the bed, eyes opening as he finds himself staring at a wall. His wall. In his bedroom. In his apartment. Even from his bedroom, he can hear the sound of you rushing towards the elevator and on the way to class.

Miguel blinks in confusion, eyes moving towards the alarm clock at his bedside table. 8AM. He groans, falling into his bed as he sighs in frustration. His hands trail down his body, moving towards the aching dent in his pants.

Just another fucking dream about the girl next door.

Pt. 3 Pt. 4 Pt. 5

Extra 1

Join the Taglist

2K notes · View notes

azrielhours · 11 months ago

Text

Our Marriage Bed

Azriel x Reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: Azriel is slowly going insane wanting you, having difficulty differentiating between dreams and wakefulness. One night his dream carries over and he tries to get it on with you.

Warnings: Slightly darker sexual themes. Unclear beginning/end of wakefulness. Light choking, rough sex. Azzy being mean.

a/n: dedicated to my darling @tadpolesonalgae. Can be read alone, but part 2 to Company of Phantoms

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel couldn’t recall the last time in his five centuries he felt this much raw contentment. He was sitting in your room, waiting. Since that night you’d invited him to share your bed, a door had been opened. A friendship, he supposed, though friendship was a pathetic encapsulation for the trove of feelings he kept barely buried beneath the surface. The more nights he spent with you, the more the lines blurred between the boundaries of this arrangement. As did the boundaries of his sanity, but who was he to complain when he got to sleep in your arms night after night?

He basked in your space, illuminated by a warm glow. Your scent lingered in the sheets. Your books spilling secrets of your intellect on the shelves. Your music taste contained in the Symphonia on your dresser. Little pockets of you for Azriel to satiate himself with.

Azriel caught himself nodding off on the bed when the doorknob turned, and he straightened. Wordlessly, you walked right to him, a privilege he was yet to grow accustomed to. “Y/N,” he breathed as you sat right before him. You brought your hand to his chest, running it down his sternum, catching the skip in his heart. Azriel felt his last dregs of tiredness dissipate. Were you about to kiss him?

“Y/N—”

“Azriel,” you purred like a song.

He couldn’t breathe as your lips grazed his cheek, trailing to the corner of his mouth.

“Azriel.”

“Yes.”

“I have to tell you something.” Again, that dreamy drawl. He swallowed, waiting. But you only moved to trail your lips to his other cheek, shifting closer so your breasts pressed against his chest. Traced your mouth to his ear, letting your breath fan across his ear. There, you only whispered, Azriel.

Azriel.

“Azriel?”

Azriel snapped awake.

Fuck.

You stood next to him—next to the armchair, where he’d—

He looked around. Not in your bed. His cheeks heated. You hadn’t been—touching him, hadn’t tried to—

“Sorry for taking so long,” you spoke softly. Not in that echoey chant.

“That’s okay,” he said. Just a dream.

You only smiled sweetly at him. “Did you want to sleep here again, baby?”

Baby. God, you were killing him.

Azriel only nodded. You bit your lip apprehensively. How you managed to call him pet names and sleep next to him but still blush at the suggestion had him huffing a laugh. He reached out, gently clasping your forearms, tugging you down. You gasped, bracing your hands on his chest, landing into his lap. Azriel bit back his twin surprise at his brazenness, but when you leaned closer, he relaxed into the indulgence.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, and you wrapped yours around his shoulders. Azriel buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in. “Missed you,” he mumbled.

“I missed you too, Azzy.”

Azriel knew he was growing too reliant on you—could feel his discipline crumbling more each day he got to have you while not quite having you.

You gently pulled your arms back over his shoulders to leverage yourself off his chest, and Azriel loosened his grip around your waist, happy to lazily hold you. He watched you expectantly. You cocked your head to the side, and Azriel copied you, making you laugh.

“Let’s go to bed,” you said. “You already fell asleep.”

Azriel shook his head. “I wasn’t.”

You rolled your eyes, hauling off his lap. “I saw you, Az.”

He stood, letting you pull him to bed. “I saw you,” he murmured. You’d touched his chest the same way then, too. In dream and wake.

You gave a confused laugh, shaking your head, pulling the sheets back with one hand while he held your other. The words marriage bed crossed his mind before he suppressed the thought.

Once you’d both settled in, Azriel reached for your hand beneath the sheets, feeling his drowsiness return. He focused on the sensation of your gentle strokes across his hand. “What was it that you wanted to tell me?”

“Hm?”

“You said you had to tell me something,” he muttered.

“No, baby, I don’t think I did.”

He wasn’t sure why you’d change your mind so quickly. He knew he was asking too much of you, but he could not bear to pull back. “Can I touch you?” he whispered.

“Yes.”

Azriel snaked his arm beneath your shoulders, hauling you to his chest. “This okay?”

“Yes, honey,” you breathed, eyes closed. “Take whatever you want.”

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“Mhm.”

“Now I can’t sleep without you,” he whispered, stroking down your arms.

You only huffed a sleepy laugh.

“Look what you’ve done to me.”

“Sorry, Azzy,” you mumbled. He could feel your soft smile against his collarbones.

Azriel savoured your warmth, pressing you even tighter against him. It was never enough. He always wanted more of you.

You twitched in your sleep, prompting him to soothe down your arms. But instead of settling down, you suddenly pushed your body more firmly against his. Azriel’s mind quieted fully when you extended a leg across his hips. He itched to trace the soft skin of your thighs. But it felt—it was too much, wasn’t it?

You’d told him to take what he wanted—invited him to share your bed each night, but surely, he shouldn’t—

You sighed in your sleep, a pretty sound. But you were suddenly moving again. Tracing a hand up and down his chest. Up to his throat, dragging your fingernails gently down the column, bringing Azriel fully into alertness again.

The leg thrown across his middle stretched further forward as you slowly dragged yourself atop him. He braced his hands on your hips as you seated yourself on his lap Were you—was this—

“Y/N?” he whispered.

“Azriel,” you sighed.

“Yes?” he breathed. He’d take anything you gave. He’d been right about earlier—you’d wanted him.

“I have to tell you something,” you whispered.

Your knees bracketed either side of his waist, pressing your hips more firmly to his own. Balancing your hands on his lower abdomen, Azriel’s breath hitched.

You ground down against him. Once, then stilled. It was enough for Azriel to feel blood coursing where your bodies met. Then, again. A delicate drag of your core against him. He couldn’t help the glide of his hands from your hips to your thighs, where the fabric of your nightgown had exposed them for his pleasure.

He clasped the underside of your thighs, revelled in the movement as you dragged yourself a third time against his growing hardness. Azriel groaned.

You were straddling him perfectly. You fit perfectly. He remained still, watching to see what you’d do next—prayed there’d be a next.

Lust clouded his brain, making it hard to lay still beneath you as you stared down at him. He wanted nothing more than to grind you against him again, to bury himself inside you.

You only stroked your hands up his torso as you bent over him languidly, arching onto his torso to pepper kisses along his jaw. Your breasts pressed firmly against him. When you moved your hips against his again, kissing his neck, he turned to whisper in your ear. “You’ll give me what I want?”

“Yes, Azriel.”

He let himself grind up against you. “Anything I want?”

“Anything,” you breathed. He could hear the smile on your lips. When you made him groan again, you giggled, a wicked sound. You kissed your way to his mouth, but before reaching his lips, you lifted off his chest, returning to your previous straddle. You smiled down at the panting mess you’d made of him. “I wanted to tell you something,” you murmured airily.

Right.

“Tell me, pretty girl,” he rasped, stroking up and down your thighs.

You leaned back down, and against his lips, you whispered. “Azriel.”

“Yes.”

“Azriel.”

“Yes.”

“I want you to make me your bride.”

Azriel wholly stilled.

You only grazed your lips against his. “Make me your bride.”

He couldn’t breathe.

“Azriel.”

Azriel.

“Azriel?”

He blinked.

You’d moved off his lap, still hovering over him, a hand on his chest. The air was suddenly colder, seemingly darker than a moment ago.

How did you get off him so fast?

Too far away.

He was still panting, but you were taking him in with a calmer reception. Azriel sat up to meet you where you were, hands immediately going to your waist, tugging you firmly to his chest. You gasped, bracing your hands against his shoulders.

He kissed the smooth warmth of your neck, felt your pulse quicken beneath his lips.

“Azriel,” you breathed. He only grunted in response. You wanted him, and that was all he wanted. He thoroughly enjoyed the high-pitched tone he put in your voice. “Azzy.”

“Yes.” He kept kissing your neck, making his way to your shoulders, your collarbones.

“Did—did you have another nightmare?”

“No, baby, I didn’t,” he spoke against your skin. Even softer than it was a moment ago. Warmer, somehow. He continued his path, memorizing the hitch in your breath.

“Azzy,” you spoke again, stroking gently down his arms. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you what you asked for.”

You said nothing but didn’t stop your gentle caress down his arms.

“You said I can take what I want,” he ground out.

“Yes, honey, but—”

“I want to give you what you asked for,” he said.

“And what’s that?”

Azriel lifted onto his knees, caging your body. He turned you, guiding you to lay beneath him. You looked so beautiful, hair fanned out on the pillow, staring up at him. “To make you my bride,” he said, voice guttural. He braced his hands on either side of your head, and you widened your legs for him to cushion himself against you.

Again, you said nothing, so he leaned forward.

You quickly rested your hands tenderly against his face, stroking his cheekbones. But when he leaned down to kiss you, you turned your head to the side. He kissed your cheeks, trailing closer to your mouth. “You want to be my bride, pretty girl?”

When he raised his head to look at you, your eyes had fallen shut, brows pinching. Your lips parted as you breathed harder. You were being oddly quiet.

Azriel waited a beat. “Say you want me.”

Your eyes shot open, meeting his gaze again.

“You want to be my bride,” he breathed.

You slowly retracted your hands from his face. He watched your throat work a delicate swallow, your eyes searching his as he waited. “Is that—what I wanted to tell you?” you spoke gently. Not that wicked reverberation.

Azriel stilled.

Oh.

There was—no, there was no way. It’d been so clear.

He’d felt you. Felt how much you wanted him.

God, he was going crazy.

“…yes,” he whispered. It was what you wanted, what he wanted, you’d said it so clearly, he’d been awake, he was sure—

“Azzy,” you spoke again with that devastating gentleness.

“Y/N,” he rasped. He didn’t like the desperate edge in his voice.

“Baby,” you said, that enduring softness both soothing and hurting. He let himself stay where he was, resting on your frame, basking in your softness, knowing it would soon end. You searched his eyes, the restless pleading in them broke your heart.

He closed his eyes, bracing himself. Shit. He’d put his hands on your body, lay between your parted legs. Tried to kiss you.

Asked you to be his bride.

“I’m sorry.” He began moving off you, even as you rose with him. “I didn’t—I just thought—”

“Azzy, it’s okay,” you soothed. He sat on the edge of the bed, and you followed as he exhaled deeply. “Your dreams—it’s not your fault. I was just caught off guard, that’s all.”

Azriel shook his head. “I’m sorry. I can’t tell what’s real anymore.”

You cooed, wrapping your arms around his bicep. “It’s okay, honey. We’ll figure it out. I think you just need to rest.” You tugged, trying to pull him back to the pillows.

Azriel met your gaze again. “You still want me here?”

You frowned. “Of course I do.”

He searched your eyes for hesitation. Surely, he should leave, should keep himself from you. But you looked so lovely, beckoning him to sleep. No echoes, no siren mirth. Just honest eyes.

If he were better, if he were saner, he’d get up and leave. Would never risk your comfort—your body—in the state he was in. He was shocked at his inclination to stay.

He rose, let you pull the sheets back for him, and lay beside you. He knew shame would meet him in the daylight. He didn’t even want to think about what he’d revealed to you. He closed his eyes, and when you curled your body against his arm, he let himself savour it with every selfish drop of blood in him.

Perhaps this would be the last night he got this gift. He was perfectly content with not sleeping, lest he miss the feeling of sharing your bed this final time. Lest he fall back into his mania.

Azriel decided he’d choose in the morning whether this could carry on. For now, he’d lay next to you. Restless and haunted.

Baiting love and baiting sanity.

“Azzy, c’mere,” you murmured. You stood with your back to him in an open field, staring at something on the ground. Azriel approached you, took your extended hand to stand beside you.

Before the both of you lay a large square plot in the earth.

A grave.

Azriel turned to face you. Your eyes were cloudy, but you smiled up at him. “Our marriage bed.”

Azriel shot awake.

He’d let his feelings turn into something decaying and poisonous. Still, he didn’t know if he could muster the strength to walk away from you.

He turned in the dimness of the morning to see you and halted.

You were gone.

Dread pooled in his stomach, ice tightened his shoulders.

You’d left.

He shouldn’t be surprised, yet he remained frozen, aching. He let his head fall into his hands.

He’d scared you away. Surely.

He’d…he’d make sure you were okay, and then… that would be it. He’d withdraw.

Azriel got ready haphazardly, scrubbing his face in the sink, throwing on yesterday’s clothing. He raced downstairs, running immediately into Cassian, making him stumble.

“Mother’s tits, Az. What’s the matter?”

“Y/N. Have you seen her?”

Cassian was immediately alert. “Why? Is she alright?”

“She’s fine,” Rhys cut in, emerging from the kitchen.

“Where is she?” Azriel demanded, taking a step towards the High Lord.

Rhys surveyed him, and Azriel didn’t like the placating look on his face. “She went to run an errand. Nothing to worry about.”

“What errand, Rhys?”

Rhys stepped closer and placed a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. Had you told Rhys what’d happened the night before? “Az, maybe you should… ease up.”

“Ease up?”

“Yeah. Take a breath. She’s okay. I’d never let anything happen to her.”

“You keep hogging her all to yourself, Az,” Cassian joked. “We had to send her away.”

Azriel ignored Cassian’s attempt at lightening the mood. “Why’s she away, Rhys?”

“She needed to do something.”

“And she… asked you for help?” That shouldn’t have stung as much as it did.

“I just happened to be awake,” Rhys said gently.

Azriel was stunned silent for a beat as his brothers took him in.

“C’mon Az. Let’s go work off the stress in the ring. It’s been a while,” Cassian offered. Azriel still held Rhys’s assessing gaze. Like he could see straight into Azriel’s weary soul. He broke his gaze to meet Cassian’s. His brothers must think he was truly losing it.

“Okay, Cass.”

Rhys nodded in approval, satisfied. “She’ll be back soon.”

“Azriel,” you called.

You shifted, bracing yourself on his frame where he lay, somewhere cold and final. Azriel immediately supported you as you put more of your weight on him. He didn’t dare move as you leaned down to kiss his cheeks.

It was dark—you must’ve come to bed. He gently grasped your forearms where they were braced on his chest, lest you slip away again. “Where’ve you been?”

“I left.”

“Why?” his voice faltered.

“You didn’t make me yours,” you murmured.

“But I want to,” he tried rising, but you pushed him back down into the cold beneath.

You met his hazy gaze. “If this is how it’ll be, you’ll only find me in our marriage bed.”

His heart dropped to his stomach. No.

“Yes.

In the companion plot you’d dug to rot in the ground together. “It’s not safe there.”

“Here,” you corrected, kissing his eyelids. Though your eyes were unkind, you only peppered kisses along his jaw. “You don’t listen, Azriel.”

He focused on receiving your affection, ignoring the sharp discomfort inching up his spine. Stone digging into his flesh.

“Azriel. Are you listening?” As you shifted, dirt collected on his legs.

“I am,” he closed his eyes, smelling the musk of the earth.

“Azriel.”

“Yes.”

Azriel.

“Azriel,” you spoke. Gently this time.

Kindly.

He opened his eyes.

You leaned over him not in a tomb but in his bed. It was indeed dark, but there was no finality to be found here. Not when he met your gaze, filled with concern and gentleness. No punishing scowls nor reprimand. No asphyxiation imposed on his ribcage.

“Y/N,” he rose immediately. He’d spent the day searching for you. After sparring, he’d taken off, searched the River House. The city. Asked around for you to no avail.

He’d returned to the House of Wind as the sun set, defeated. He didn’t think sleep would find him in your absence. “I’m sorry,” he began. “I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t mean to scare you. I just—my dreams, they’ve been—” disturbing. Uncanny— “they—I don’t know when they start, or if I’m awake—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off with the softness in your tone he ached for. You placed a soothing hand on his arm. “After—um, last night, I asked Rhys if I could talk to Madja.”

Oh.

“I know you spent a while having sleepless nights,” you continued. “I thought—maybe the unsettling dreams you’ve been having are a result. So I had Madja make a tonic to help.” You held up a vial full of sloshing liquid.

“A sleeping aid?”

“Not exactly,” you shook your head. “This is to give you dreamless sleep. So you can have an easier time differentiating.”

Azriel was speechless. “Thank you,” he managed.

You nodded, offering a soft smile.

Which meant— “You’re not angry with me?” he asked.

A frown pulled your brows together. “No, love, I’m not angry. I came back to the Town House after Madja finished, but you were gone.”

Oh.

“I—I didn’t know if you—I was looking for you,” he said.

“So was I,” you murmured. “When you didn’t come back to the Town House all day, I asked Mor to winnow me here.” The silence was heavy as you both sat with the clarity. There was much to address. You averted your gaze, crossing your arms.

“What is it?” Azriel asked softly.

You found his eyes with an openness that had him holding his breath. “Last night, you mentioned—you wanted me to, um—”

“It won’t happen again,” he cut in.

You shook your head. “It’s not that, I—Azriel,” you paused, voice softening even further. “You dream of marrying me?”

Azriel was rendered speechless again, but he could do nothing but nod truthfully.

You blushed but uncrossed your arms, peering shyly. “Well. I can’t say I’m entirely opposed to the notion.”

Azriel couldn’t help his smile. His relief. “Yeah?” he spoke softly, itching to reach for you.

You nodded. “I mean we should take it slow, but I’m glad—I’m glad you also—” you gestured back and forth between your bodies. “I—it’s good, Azriel,” you stammered.

He stared intently at you, searching your eyes for doubt. Finding none. He swallowed. “I can do slow.” He’d crawl on shattered glass should you ask, let alone take slow ungratefully.

Your smile deepened, and if it was possible, so did Azriel’s affection for you. You shifted closer to him, reaching for his hand, winding your fingers together. “It’s late, Azzy.”

He narrowed his eyes playfully, happy to let you take the lead.

“Wanna give that tonic a try?” you smiled sweetly.

Azriel chuckled. “Is that taking it slow?”

You laughed. “If you got other things in mind, I won’t object.”

He opened his arms to you, and you smiled, shifting forward, sitting before him. You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him sweetly. Azriel sank back into the headboard, urging you further forward. You broke away to crawl into his lap. Azriel pulled you firmly against him by your thighs, enjoying your gasp against his mouth.

Azriel tried not to let his urgency show, but it was difficult to hold back when you pressed your body so deliciously against him. He’d dreamt of your warmth against him so frequently that this felt familiar rather than uncharted. It felt correct.

So when his hardness pressed against you, he only broke off from your mouth to see what you wanted next with no apologies tumbling from his lips.

You gazed at him, wide-eyed and wanting, but didn’t remove yourself. He forced his hands to settle on your legs despite the need to pull you onto him. You bit your lip apprehensively; with your grip on his shoulders, you dragged your core against his. Azriel’s eyes nearly rolled to the back of his head, his head falling back against the headboard in relief.

You seized the opportunity, bending forward to kiss his jaw. He gripped your hips, guiding your movement against him, relishing the gasp you let out in your shared pleasure.

He began pulling at the laces of your gown, helping you out of it. You paused only to bare yourself, and he followed suit, tugging off his shirt.

He wanted to taste you, to mark you, to sink inside you and have his way with you. When you returned to his lap in only your skin, he didn’t know where to begin.

Azriel traced down your front, kneading your breasts, drawing more of your pretty moans, making him dizzy with need. He’d take his time another time, he decided, needing to be inside you. Needing you to be ready for that. His hands wandered down the softness of your torso, and you leaned back in his lap to watch as one of his hands braced itself on your thigh, holding it further open, the other touching you where you needed it.

You shuddered, thighs instinctively shifting to close, but he resisted. He stroked up and down your folds, spreading your slick. When he continued his teasing, you impatiently grasped his wrist, setting him where you wanted. He thumbed at your clit, massaging circles into it, causing your back to arch.

His touch was gentle but skilled, pulling an orgasm from you before you could truly sit with the pleasure. Your legs shook, chest heaving, but before you could worry about the haste of it, Azriel was unbuckling his pants, freeing himself.

Through the haze of your pleasure, your jaw fell slack at the size of him. You met his gaze, nervous suddenly. He only gauged you. “You can do it,” he rasped.

You swallowed, nodding. He seemed inclined to sit back and watch you take him, making no move to rise. Perhaps this was his way of making it less intimidating, you thought.

Azriel’s intentions were in fact less benevolent. With you finally at his mercy, falling apart in his lap and baring yourself to him after all his wanting and waiting, he was suddenly overcome with the need to feel the labour of this coupling. Not in the carnal sense—beyond the pleasure, he needed this to be stamped into your body.

He loved you, but right now he wanted you to work for your pleasure like you’d made him work for his devotion, his sanity. His patience and worry. That you asked Rhys for help this morning instead of him. That you made him lose his grip on his control so viscerally.

So he said, “Take what you want.”

You rose on shaky legs, hands braced sweetly on his shoulders as you guided yourself closer to him, legs spread on either side of his hips. You reached down, lining him up and began sinking.

At the immediate pinch between your brows, Azriel knew it hurt you, that the stretch was difficult. Yet you were trying to take it for him. You were so tight around him, so snug it had him heaving. “Good girl,” he muttered and felt you sink a little easier at that. You whimpered.

When you were halfway down on him, you paused, panting softly, meeting his gaze. The innocent pleading in them had Azriel nearly breaking his resolve. He thumbed at your clit again, moving his grip from your thighs to your hips to ease you down. When you finally sank all the way, you were shaking enough for Azriel to let up, to lean forward and kiss you. He was struggling to remain still in the wake of your vice grip, to keep himself from fucking you, but he knew you needed the reprieve.

He kissed you for as long as you needed, continued to massage pleasure back into you as you adjusted in his lap. When you finally relaxed against him, he sat back against the headboard to watch you move. With your hands still on his shoulders, you began hauling yourself up and down onto him, wincing each time he bottomed out. You felt so good around him that he could barely breathe.

You still struggled to ride him. The sheer size of him making it difficult to rise fully, and your legs were close to giving out. “Azzy,” you whimpered, pouting at him terribly.

Oh.

His sweet, lovely girl. “Aww,” he couldn’t help but coo. He frowned in disbelief at his own cruelty, making you take him all on your own like that. “I’m sorry, angel.” He gripped your thighs around your ass, taking over. You gasped as he began guiding your body up and down his length with an ease that stole your breath again. He hauled you up and let you sink down at a relaxed pace, seeing how closely you teetered on the edge of pain and pleasure. “So good for me, right baby?”

“Mhm,” your eyes were falling shut, the pleasure drawing your brows together in a concentrated pinch as you let him fuck you onto him. You relaxed further into his hold, winding your hips forward and back, and he began moving faster.

One of his hands shifted to your throat, gripping it gently but firmly, making your eyes flash to his. “Say you’re mine,” he spoke lowly.

Your hand wrapped around his wrist lovingly. “I’m yours, Azzy.” He could tell you were close again from the breathy pitch.

“My bride,” he corrected.

You gasped, shifting forward as he hit a spot deep inside that had your rhythm stuttering. “Your bride,” you panted.

“That’s fucking right,” he said, shifting forward so you fell back into the bed. With your legs open, he returned his grip to your throat and plunged inside you again, making you moan. He fucked you more firmly despite the slide of your tight entrance making it nearly difficult. You gripped his wrist with both your hands now, and when your nails dug into his skin, he knew you’d fall apart.

You gasped, mouth agape and soundless as you shuddered through your climax, clamping your legs around his tightly until they fell open again as the pleasure coiled and released. He pulled out to give you a moment to catch your breath, knowing he was being rough.

Though every bone in his body ached to cover you like a shadow, to press his skin on yours and only let up when you needed to breathe, to kiss you and show you he loved you, he rose to witness the sight of you.

Bare and spread for him.

If not for the threat of potentially scaring you off, he’d have tied your wrists to each bedpost and kept you here. All his for all time. To claim and fuck as he pleased.

You were breathing hard, shifting restlessly on the bed, waiting for him to bury himself in you. It seemed you and Azriel kept returning to the act of burial, whether earthly or bodily.

“Azriel,” you breathed, grounding him. He grasped your knees where they lay on either side of him and gently plied them further apart, bending them up to allow him to look at your swollen sex. You blushed when you realized what he was doing, turning to bury your head in the pillow, but Azriel couldn’t tear his eyes away, admiring the gleam. What he did to your body. Your slick was spilling out of you. He ran his fingers through it. You flinched, still sensitive from release, but he didn’t let up, pushing his fingers into you—just needing to feel you. Your thighs shook as he did.

Azriel was harder than marble and needed to be inside you again.

He lined himself up, and before you had the chance to truly catch your breath, he was plunging again. You gasped, hands finding his chest. Azriel pushed inside, relishing the tight fit. He leaned over you, snaking his arms beneath your back. He rested his weight on his forearms where they pressed between your body and the mattress. His hands found their place on your shoulders, gripping them tightly from beneath. The position allowed him to use your frame to haul you onto his length as he pleased.

He fucked you harder than before, and there was nothing you could do but take it, mouth gaping and brows pinching at the overwhelming control he held. At the ecstasy he thrust into your body that made your head spin. At the utter power contained in his body, the ease with which he moved over you and inside you. You were encompassed by the mass of him, all corded muscles pressing into your torso and thick arms beneath you. You gripped his neck, scratching his skin, listening to the sharp slap of his hips against yours.

He was in your womb, so deep that there was a bite of pain with each thrust, but it was him and you wanted every part of him. The pleasure was so overwhelming that you stopped breathing, body tense as you tried to acclimate to it once again. Azriel rested his forehead on yours, lips brushing against yours. Not kissing you, just breathing against your mouth. You let out a choked whimper. “That’s it,” he growled. “Good girl. You can take it.” You heaved air into your lungs again, surrendering to the hold he had on you, physically and whatever tugged you to him beyond. Surrendered to the pleasure, no longer resisting it even as it stunned every nerve ending.

You relaxed, rode the waves, drowned in them. “Good fucking girl,” he breathed again, feeling the shift to pliability in your body. On a baser level, he understood that you were yielding to him. You were safe with him, and you were his. The urgency in his thrusts calmed, but he shifted his hold, and wrapped his arms around your waist, slotting himself against you. He buried his face in your neck, and you wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

Still soft in his arms, still taking him.

He felt his release cresting but didn’t want to stop. Didn’t want this to end. Your thighs were shaking around his waist. “I’m coming inside you,” he breathed into your hair, making you whimper again.

“Please, please,” you panted. He knew you were nearing your release as well, knew you likely couldn’t take more given how thorough he’d been with you. Azriel reverted to hurried movements, memorizing how he dragged against your walls. How warm and tight you were, still clamping down on him like iron, impossibly tighter as he dragged you closer. Your breathing halted again as release tore through you. You cried out, writhing against him.

The pulsating suction of your climax massaged him inside you, making him shudder. He plunged himself into you, putting all his weight into it, fucking you so deep into the mattress as your tightness crested his pleasure.

He finally stopped moving, releasing his seed deep inside you. It was the longest and hardest he’d ever come, leaving him shaking above you, panting.

You soothed shaky hands down his back, and Azriel finally eased his weight off you. Remaining buried inside you, he shifted his arms to bracket your frame, raising to look at you.

Beneath him, your eyes were droopy but bright as you watched him back. That he found sincere trust in them, that there was softness after all he’d done to you only made his chest ache. You truly did give yourself to him. “I—I don’t want to pull out,” he admitted lowly, voice hoarse.

You stroked his cheeks, hands still unsteady. “Then don’t,” you whispered. Azriel snuck an arm beneath your waist again, this time guiding you to lay on top of him as he turned to rest on his back, careful to keep himself tucked inside you. You gasped, sensitive and overstimulated, but took it patiently as he settled himself into the bed, settlling yourself against his chest. He stroked down your form against him, soothed the tremors in your arms and legs.

Whatever part of him existed before that could bear to be without you was dead. Perhaps this is the burial he’d been haunted by night after night. His immortality rebirthed with his consummated bride. He pulled the sheets over your bodies, kissing the crown of your head.

He’d learn to be with you less intensely, to want you more sanely. But not tonight—tonight, he was finally going to rest in peace, buried with you, buried inside you.

His bride in your marriage bed.

taglist: @iimisty-a @feyretopia @aroseinvelaris @cullenswife @reiincarnatiion @sfhsgrad-blog @answer-the-sirens @mrstangerinejohnson @marigold-morelli @courtofjurdan @azriels-mate123 @emotionless-lover @marina468 @slvtherinseeker @owllover123 @banasheefan56 @nyotamalfoy

#azriel x reader #azriel/reader #azriel fanfic #azriel fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #azriel x you #azriel smut #azriel spymaster #acotar fanfiction #azriel fluff #azrielhours #acotar

1K notes · View notes

letoasai · 1 year ago

Text

dp x dc Chronos part 5

Part 1 - Previous - Master list

Diana was furious.

She’d known her young uncle for only a handful of hours but here she was, ready to go to war for him. Perhaps that was what her grandfather had meant earlier, his words still ringing in her ears.

I have a task for you, Diana. One i do not think you will turn now but i’ll give you the illusion of choice.

Perhaps it was less an illusion and more her grandfather merely knowing ahead of time how she would react. If Danny was to be believed – and he did seem such a trustworthy boy – his Clockwork knew every path one could take.

She knew there were still questions to be asked, but Danny had been able to tell her a great deal before his eyes began to droop and she insisted he try to sleep. The curtains to the room had been left open and she watched as his eyes happily glazed over at the sight of open space before him. It had only taken minutes for him to fall asleep.

Now she had a lot of work to do and she planned to get as much done while Danny slept as she could.

She entered the conference room with a quick stride, many members already present for the meeting she had ordered via text. They’d learned that some equipment didn’t work well around Danny. Visuals were blurry at best and audio crackled into something indistinguishable. Diana had instead been texting information to Bruce and Kal to look into while she focused on the boy.

“Were you able to find anything?” She asked immediately, not elaborating on which fact she was talking about. She’d sent them so many little snippets that she didn’t really care where they started.

Batman just grunted, and despite wearing his cowl, she could see just how unhappy he was.

“You’re not going to like it, but you expected that.” Superman said, papers laid out in front of him. He wasn’t the only one doing his research.

Green Lantern and Flash were still there, the latter looking like he was having an existential crisis over the topic of ghosts.

Martian Manhunter had also arrived, his frown informing her that the others had caught him up on what had been happening.

“Can we confirm the truth as Danny has laid it out for us?” She asked, taking a seat.

“Oh, yeah.” Hal muttered, rubbing a hand down his face. “Constantine will arrive later, but he could confirm the new High King of the Infinite Realm went by Phantom. Never heard him sound so horrified as him learning that someone had punched a hole into another realm in their house though. Inter-dimensional war crimes on our end are stacking up.”

“Our end?” She asked.

“The GIW…” Bruce began, sounding a mixture of exhausted and livid. “Are completely out of their depth and did not have the authority to just name a species unidentified to the rest of us as non-sentient. If the Infinite Realm retaliates, and John thinks it’s a possibility, it won’t just be aimed at the GIW alone but the entire dimension. That makes this more of a mess for us to clean up than it already was.”

They’d already decided to help, that was what they did. But there was a difference in lending a hand and righting a wrong and taking responsibility for someone else’s fuck ups because they had to.

“Can we prove it?” Diana asked.

“Absolutely.” Kal nodded. “Honestly, for a government agency, their security is a joke. There was a backdoor already in place. We can ask Danny about that later.”

Diana nodded, certain the information would be good in his hands. She turned her attention back to Bruce. “The Fentons?”

There was a certain level of disgust that tried to choke her out in that situation. Danny had been so hesitant, the betrayal fresh and painful. She had lived in the World of Men for a long time now and it had as many delights as it did drawbacks, but to learn what Danny’s parents had attempted to do to him left her burning to seek them out herself.

His mother had lost her privilege to refer to herself as such.

She didn’t care what the circumstances were. Capture and torture with the intentions of vivisection was inexcusable. The target being a child made it all the more heinous. Diana knew Batman would understand without her saying a word.

“Run of the mill mad scientists. They might have been onto something once when it came to energy but their bias took over. Even if they had been correct about ecto-entities, their language is incredibly inappropriate. No licenced and competent science journal would be associated with that.” He stared at her unhappily. “They’re lunatics. The fact that their children grew up in their home is outrageous.” He hit a button on the remote and a location appeared on the computer screens.

A bricked house on a street corner, enormous Fenton Works sign taking up most of the front. It was an eyesore, but not as much as the sci-fi looking shuttle sticking out of the roof. The OHSA violations alone should have had the building condemned and there was no way permits had been granted for any of that construction.

It was a supervillain's dream and not the least bit subtle. It should have been a crime in itself for the town to allow it to remain in a residential area and was shocking that no calls to Child Protective Services had been made.

Yes, Danny was an exceptional being, but Diana understood now all the likely scenarios where he could have died in that house. Danny had called his death an accident, but she wasn’t so certain about that. “They were the ones to hurt him.” Diana said, hating how her throat was tight. She was already emotionally compromised.

“Yes, i know.”

Diana’s attention snapped back to him. “How?”

“Simple reasoning. They are unstable ghost hunters with questionable science. Danny was removed from his home for his safety. Chronos said he needed a guardian. That doesn’t paint a pretty picture.” Bruce muttered. “Either his guardians couldn’t care for him, or shouldn’t care for him.”

She felt her shoulders relax somewhat, knowing that such a logical conclusion should have occurred to her too. She really was worried about Danny’s recovery. “We can add it to the file i know you’ve created, but i’d prefer if no one asked him about that at this time. This last attack only happened several days ago and it is still fresh on his mind.”

Bruce’s eyes narrowed, always a hound when it came to sniffing out abused kids. “This last attack?”

“They’ve been after him for a while.” Diana hummed, though she’d only had a vague example or two since Danny hadn’t wanted to get into it. She couldn’t imagine how he’d just returned home every day to parents who tried to capture his other persona.

“We must factor in his identity.” Martian Manhunter approached them, having been listening. J’onn had been doing his own research the last several hours. He laid down a startlingly clear picture of Danny in his white haired ghost form. A print out of an Amity Park newspaper article.

“What is that?” Bruce frowned, sliding it closer to read.

“The hero of Amity Park. Phantom. The articles are biased and unfavorable, but that is not the current accepted public opinion. Phantom protects the living from ghosts. He also protects the ghosts from the ghost hunters.” J’onn explained, voice carefully neutral. “Phantom appearing other places, perhaps shouldn’t coincide with where Daniel Fenton ends up.”

“A name change could be warranted. If that’s what he wants.” Bruce adds.

J’onn gave a single nod. “It’s a great deal of pressure on one teenager's shoulders. Being a king of a realm on top of that…”

It was silently agreed upon that Danny deserved this break and Diana was going to get it for him.

“It was only a matter of time before something had to give.” Diana said, turning enough to speak to everyone in the room. “Well he won’t be dealing with all of that alone now. We start with dismantling the GIW, appealing the Anti-Ecto Acts, and smoothing over our relations with the Infinite Realm.”

“Only that much, huh?” Flash muttered, trying to wrap his head around the science of ghost hunting.

“Why not get some of the kids involved. Young Justice, maybe?” Hal was rubbing his eyes, not looking forward to the consequences of this mess. “Once he heals it might do him some good to be around others closer to his own age. People he wouldn’t need to hide half of himself from.”

When put like that, Diana could only agree.

“I’ll mention it to him.” “I’ll get the information i have to Lois.” Clark said, sliding his papers into a binder. “If public opinion of Phantom is already decent in Amity Park, then we’ll up the exposure to put pressure on our oblivious government.”

“I’ll take a few of the GIW facilities.” Bruce muttered, but he had that familiar tone that said he was about to let his children go buck wild. “A little recon…” he added vaguely.

Before anyone else could put in their own two cents, the sensors went off, exactly how they had before Chronos had arrived. A paranormal knock of sorts before the very air seemed to split in two, a glowing green portal building around it.

“Here we go again.” Barry muttered, each of them surrounding the portal as they’d done early for safety’s sake but they were less inclined to fight immediately.

As J’onn was seeing it for the first time, he remained near Diana, keenly watching the portal manifest. It wasn’t Chronos who stepped out though, it wasn’t human at all.

From the portal stepped a creature that Diana didn’t have the name for. Bipedal, humanoid, but beast like in appearance. Horns on his head and spikes from his tail made of ice were noticed secondary to his arm of ice that still encased his bones inside. His fur was white, his claws could easily kill and he was covered by a kilt and cape.

What gave Diana pause as the bag slung over one shoulder, the tell tale signs of a medical cross across the front.

“Who are you?” Superman asked, more polite than their earlier run in with her grandfather.

The creature, a ghost presumably, held himself rigid. He was doing a great deal to make himself appear smaller then he was but his gaze was assessing. He was ready to fight if necessary.

“I am here for His Majesty, the Great One.” Was his response.

Diana stepped forward, deciding this was exactly what she suspected. “I am Diana. Granddaughter of Chronos who Danny fondly calls Clockwork. You are Frostbite, come to check on Danny, yes?”

All of his attention was on her now, but he seemed to see what he wanted in her after locking eyes. “I am. Frostbite, Ruler of the Infinite Realm’s Far Frozen. I have come to see Our Savior the King, as his primary physician.”

“He’s a doctor.” Flash whispered.

“Fascinating.” J’onn muttered, sounding a little winded by whatever he was sensing. “He is who he claims.”

“I’m relieved.” Diana muttered, approaching him with a smile this time. “Please come with me and i will take you to Danny. I’m afraid we did what we could but his unique biology left us questioning our choices. He is resting in a private room.”

“Did something happen to setback his recovery?” Frostbite asked, serious over the care of his charge as he followed Wonder Woman out of the conference room without so much as a glance back at the other heros.

“Excitement, i believe.” Diana offered. “He may have been a little too excited to show off his alternate, living form and seemed to forget his condition.”

Frostbite actually snorted. “Sounds like him.”

“I did not realize how badly wounded he was. We had been talking about our arrangements and he was answering my questions about ghosts. He appeared sore, but fairly pleased to speak with me. Given what he had just been through…”

Frostbite grunted his agreement. “His heart is soft, but his will is unlike anything i have ever known. Many of us saw this tragedy coming, but he insisted on seeing it out for himself, hoping for a favorable ending.”

Diana cracked her knuckles out of habit, that anger still simmering. “He will be safe in my care, i assure you.”

“The Great One is the rightful King to our realm, but many forget he is still just a child.” Frostbite said, eyeing her even as she led him through the Watchtower.

“It is not something i am likely to forget.” Not after she’d seen how small he was in their medbay bed. “He’s resting but weak, you can help?”

“As long as he has not taken more damage, i’m sure i can.” Frostbite said, a gentleness to his voice as they stopped at Danny’s room. Diana went in first to prove the area was a safe one but that may not have mattered given how quickly Frostbite followed her.

He was at Danny’s bedside in an instant, having somehow moved passed her without knocking into her. He could have gone through her for all she knew. For all he seemed to be a hulking beast, Frostbite was nothing but gentle as he examined Danny. He looked over any and all work that had been done to Danny since his arrival, and checked the bandages across his torso. He went as far as to grab the clipboard on the foot of Danny’s bed to read, having no trouble understanding the medical jargon.

From his medical bag, he pulled out several small bottles, all of them growing a toxic green. Injections were given to the teenager, and it didn’t seem to matter that he was in his living, dark haired form.

“Has he explained to you what it means to be a halfa?” Frostbite finally asked, breaking the silence.

“Only in vague, teenager terms.” Diana said. She’d been quite sure that Danny’s flippant attitude was more a coping mechanism than anything.

Frostbite just hummed. “Then i will have to fill you in.”

#ghost king danny #danny phantom #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #wonder woman #Frostbite

2K notes · View notes

3rachasdomesticbanana · 4 months ago

Text

Side Effects | Han Jisung

•Synopsis: Your science loving nerd of a roommate Jisung has been acting strange but that's not what has fear coursing through your body. It's the feeling that someone's watching you when you're supposedly all alone, the objects moving seemingly on their own and the phantom intimate touches that has you on edge.

Are you going crazy or is there something or someone in the apartment targeting you?

•Pairings: science geek Jisung x Female Reader

•Content Includes: smut, mentions of hauntings & hallucinations, lies and secrets, slight non-con?, somnophilia, unprotected & protected p n v, pervy Jisung, masturbation (m + f not mutual), cliffhanger, Chan makes an appearance a few times

an: if I missed something and you feel it should be included in the content warning please kindly let me know in the comments ♡

Part two will include more scenes with Bang Chan but Jisung is still included. Part three, which will be the last part, will be Jisung.

Part II

Want more smut? Follow the banana 🍌

⚠️tiny warning before continuing: there are moments where reader is unaware of what's happening due to being sleep. these moments may appear as non consensual which is the reasoning for the slight non-con warning. I tried make it known that any sexual activity that happens is welcomed. I hope I was able to convey that. Just a heads up lol. Enjoy♡

Your roommate, Jisung, is a nerd. You mean that in the most affectionate way, of course, but it’s true. When he's not helping the chemistry professor at the local college in his free time, he's experimenting in the apartment or researching different chemicals and compounds. His room is a chaotic mess of beakers, test tubes, and textbooks, everything he needs to create something from science. In the two years of living here, It’s never bothered you. Just as long as he and his equally nerdy friend, Chan, don’t blow the place up or set anything on fire. In fact, you’ve grown quite used to the faint, yet sharp scent of various chemicals wafting through the apartment over the years.

Today, the scent of acetone and metal permeates the small apartment. Jisung and Chan have been working on something for months, the two of them locked away in Jisung's cluttered bedroom. When you ask about it, they just shake their heads with a smirk and say, “Top secret, y/n.” You roll your eyes but smile, understanding their need for secrecy. You respect their space and their experiments, no matter how strange it makes them act, always offering to clean their beakers and test tubes whenever you're washing dishes. The dynamic between you and Jisung is what makes the roommate setup work.

Jisung couldn't believe his luck. Not only was his roommate hot and open minded but a gamer who's always down for a Naruto or Bleach marathon. He was so grateful that you weren't like the stuck up pretty girls he dealt with in highschool. Jisung really felt comfortable with you, he could be himself without fear of feeling like his IQ was lower than what it actually was. So whenever he and Chan were close to a scientific breakthrough and you never asked too many questions it only caused his “little infatuation” as he calls it, to grow.

One evening, you find yourself in the kitchen, hands submerged in soapy water as you scrub away at the dishes. The random playlist you chose earlier plays softly in the background and the faint scent of lemon from the dish soap mixes with the clean, crisp scent of freshly laundered towels, filling the kitchen air. You’re lost in thought, your mind drifting as you methodically clean the plates, forks, and glasses, when you feel a sudden, inexplicable chill. It’s as if a cold breeze has brushed against the nape of your neck but the windows are closed and the AC isn't on. You shiver involuntarily and glance around, half expecting to see Jisung standing there. But the kitchen is empty.

You shake your head, chalking it up to just a random chill and turn back to the sink. The sensation lingers, though—a prickling awareness like you're not alone. For ten minutes it felt like someone was there in the kitchen with you but each time you looked around, no one would be there. You could hear faint tinkering and music from Jisung's room and you knew he was working with Chan. The cold is back as you finish up the last of the dishes and when you turn around again, you nearly drop the plate in your hands. Jisung stands there, silent and unexpected. Brown eyes behind round framed glasses shine at you and he gives you an awkward smile.

"Where did you come from?" you ask, your voice higher than usual.

"Sorry," he says with a shrug. "Didn’t mean to scare you, just needed a drink."

You laugh nervously, feeling your rapidly beating heart slow down. "Jeez Ji, you should wear a bell or something." You let out a breathy chuckle.

He shrugs again and laughs quietly before grabbing a drink from the fridge and disappearing back into his room without another word. The interaction leaves you confused and slightly unsettled. Well, that was strange… stranger than usual. There’s something off but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You shouldn't really be surprised by strange behavior when it comes to Jisung but he's never acted that strange before.

Over the next few days, strange happenings become more frequent. Objects begin to move on their own; a cup slides across the kitchen counter that you barely just noticed and a book falls from a shelf behind you while you watched tv. You find yourself jumping at shadows and sounds and now you're convinced that the apartment is haunted. Of course you haven't said anything about it, Jisung would more than likely think you're crazy.

One evening, you’re gaming in the living room. Headphones on, fully engrossed in the game, when your can of soda just sort of levitates a few inches off the coffee table before gently coming back down. The controller slips from your hands as a cold sensation moves across your cheek. You jump back and scream, calling out for Jisung, but it’s Chan who saunters into the room. Curly hair wild, lab coat askew, and glasses perched on his nose.

"Jisung’s in the bathroom," he says, noticing your wide eyes and pale face. "What’s up y/n?"

"The can... it moved on its own." You stammer.

Chan chuckles, shaking his head. "Must be a temperature change or something. Science can explain a lot of weird stuff, y/n."

“Channie, it fucking levitated! Can science explain that?!” you say in a half shout, half whisper looking up at him.

“Mate, chill out.” He gives you a sympathetic smile and walks over to you to pat your head. “Science can most definitely explain that. I can show you how if you want? I'll just need a few supplies for the demonstration.” His eyes light up and he smiles wide at you, showing off his dimples.

“That’s… okay, Chan. You don't need to do that.” The lack of enthusiasm in your voice isn't missed and he chuckles, patting you again before leaving the room.

You’re not convinced, but you nod to yourself and try to focus on the game, occasionally glancing back at the can. The feeling of being watched never truly leaves, though. Every day you start to notice more—subtle things, like the way Jisung’s eyes linger on you a fraction too long, or the odd satisfaction in his smile when you mention the hauntings after you caved and told him. Jisung's watchful eyes make you feel like you're part of one of his experiments, like some sort of test subject. He's always been a bit weird at times, but this is a whole different level of weird for him. You shrug it off as stress or lack of sleep since he and Chan have the tendency to overwork.

The night is warm tonight, the air heavy with the lingering heat of the summer day. You sit in the black metal wicker chair on the balcony, a book loosely cradled in your hands, listening to the sounds of traffic and crickets below. The warm summer breeze drifts across your skin and you adjust your tank top and shorts that have already begun sticking to your skin from the heat. With a sigh, you look down at the worn paperback book in your hands and try to focus on the words.

You’re half-aware of your surroundings: the breeze, the faint smell of an impending rainstorm, the sounds of the city. It’s peaceful, lulling you to sleep. Your body relaxes, and the book slips from your fingers, resting across your lap. You're in a state somewhere between consciousness and slumber when you feel it.

It's subtle at first, like a feather brushing against your skin, but it soon shifts to the feeling of hands. The touch is hot and insistent, groping your breast under the thin fabric of your tank top. Panic surges in your chest and you force your eyes open, heart pounding in fear. You sit up, the book slipping from your lap and landing with a soft thud on the concrete floor.

You glance around, trying to make sense of what you just felt, but the balcony is empty. You glance down and your breath catches in your throat. Your left breast is exposed, the strap pulled aside in a way that couldn't have happened by accident. A cool breeze brushes against your bare skin, a stark contrast to the phantom heat of the touch you just felt. You pull your tank top back in place with trembling hands, looking everywhere but seeing nothing. Scrambling to your feet, you slide open the glass door and step inside, locking it behind you.

With your heart still thundering in your chest, you make your way to Jisung's room. When you knock on his door, you hear shuffling, the sound barely audible over the whir of some machine inside. He opens it a little and you’re momentarily stunned by the sight of him—disheveled hair, sweaty brow, black-framed glasses askew and wearing an oversized black hoodie.

"Can I help you?" he asks, his voice tinged with exhaustion.

"I think…” you sigh and brace yourself. "The apartment is definitely haunted." you blurt out.

Jisung looks shifty, eyes darting to the side but he quickly recovers and a skeptical smirk plays on his lips. "Haunted? Really, y/n?"

"I’m serious," you insist. "I think something just touched me. Out on the balcony." You point a finger in the direction of the glass door.

Jisung’s brows knit together and he steps out of his room, closing the door behind him, giving you his full attention. "Like... someone was out there?" He messes up his hair even more, running his fingers through the dark strands.

You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself. "No, there was no one there when I opened my eyes but it felt hands on me Ji. I don’t know how to explain it."

His eyes darken with a mixture of skepticism and concern. "So you think the place is haunted and that a ghost touched you?" You nod, your heart still pounding in your chest.

He places a comforting hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding you, if only slightly. "Sounds like you were in REM sleep. Dreams tend to feel real and vivid in that cycle." He gives you a sympathetic smile and adds, "Maybe it’s just your imagination."

You narrow your eyes at him. "I’m not imagining this, Ji." You say starting to feel frustrated.

He sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Okay, y/n. I’ll look into it, alright?"

Reluctantly, you nod and walk to your room with more questions than answers. As days pass, the strange activity continues. You catch glimpses of movement from the corner of your eye, feel phantom touches on your skin, and hear whispers that have no source. You're starting to feel like you're going crazy.

Jisung’s behavior becomes stranger. He spends even more time locked away, emerging only to grab food or ask you cryptic questions about your day. You start to suspect he knows more than he’s letting on but every time you ask, he deflects with a nervous laugh and spouts some scientific theory. Even Chan is acting odd, though he's usually the more grounded one among them. Not by much—Chan's a weird one too, but it’s part of his charm. He’s an adorkable dork.

The two men are lounging on the couch tonight, eyes glued to the anime playing on the screen, while you're in the kitchen preparing popcorn for the three of you. The scent of melted butter fills the air as you pour it over the freshly popped kernels.

Suddenly, Chan's voice cuts through the ambient tv noise. “You did what?!”

Jisung quickly shushes him, their heads whipping around to you as you turn to look at them, each wearing an identical, innocent grin. Weirdos, you think, shaking your head, tossing the popcorn.

You missed Jisung's whispered confession to Chan about his antics on the balcony. Chan already knew about the mysteriously moving objects and the true cause behind them. It's because he was partially involved. He and Jisung had created a liquid that granted invisibility to the drinker. Their top secret experiment they were working on for damn bear a year was almost near perfect. After successful trials on mushrooms and lab rats “borrowed” from Jisung's chem professor, they decided to take it a step further. Jisung volunteered as their human test subject, and you became the unwitting participant in their trails.

Chan never imagined Jisung would push the boundaries so far though, especially by groping you. But Jisung couldn't resist. Initially, his plan was to give you a harmless scare, maybe brush against your arm. But when he saw you asleep, your tank top revealing the side of your breast, his self-control vanished. He was overwhelmed by a primal urge and it was like his hands were moving of their own accord. He gently pulled your left breast free and gave it a firm squeeze. His mouth hovered inches from your skin, ready to kiss the mound of flesh when you woke with a start.

“Bro, I don't know if you should be taking so many doses. We're not sure if there's any side effects.” Chan cautions, his voice barely audible as you rejoin them in the living room.

Jisung stays silent, unable to respond to his partner as you settle on the floor in front of them, handing over the bowl of hot popcorn. Chan’s concerns echo in Jisung’s mind. He knows Chan is right, but the thrill of invisibility is intoxicating. He revels in the mischief, in watching you unaware of his presence. The moments when you think you're alone, wearing nothing but that oversized Tokyo Ghoul T-shirt and panties, are his favorite.

Every time you reach for a cup or a plate, the hem of your T-shirt lifts just enough to expose a tantalizing glimpse of your ass. When you bend over, the thin material of your thong outlines your pussy, making him feel certifiably insane. Sometimes he would intentionally knock something over just to watch you pick it up. The sight of you bending would make him painfully hard and he'd have to slip away to his room, unable to resist the urge to jerk off to the image that was now burned into his mind.

Jisung’s addiction to the elixir grows with each use. He tells himself it's all in the name of science, to see how much is needed for long-lasting effects but deep down, he knows it's because he can’t get enough of watching you unseen. He needs to be closer to you.

One night, Jisung decides to take things further. Pretending to go out to help the professor at the college, he sneaks back into the apartment quietly, slipping into your room while you’re in the shower. The steam fills the air of your bathroom, the hot water cascading down your body. As you stand under the spray with your back to him and eyes closed rinsing your hair, you remain oblivious to his presence. The glass door to the shower is slightly ajar, giving him a perfect view of your wet body. His breath hitches as he frees his hard cock from his sweats. It’s as if he has no control over his impulses; the need to cum clouds his thinking or maybe it's the elixir that's got him feeling this way? He rubs the palm of his hand over the head of his cock, coating it with precum. When you bend over to shave your legs, he almost cums at the sight of your bare pussy.

Jisung’s eyes are glued to the space between your thighs and the way the water bounces off your skin as the steam rising around you. He bites his lip to keep quiet, thinking, “So beautiful.” His hand moves faster, and he's bucking up into his closed fist until he can’t hold back any longer. With a muffled groan, he cums hard, splattering onto your ass and mixing with the water, washing away unnoticed by you. If only the elixir made his semen invisible too, he'd probably always cover you in the warm, wet fluid like this. He knows he would.

Watching you becomes a nightly ritual for Jisung. He drinks the pale teal liquid that is the invisibility elixir and sneaks into your room. He watches you during intimate moments, like when you fuck yourself with your fingers before bed. He hears you moan his name occasionally when you bring yourself to multiple orgasms and it only adds fuel to the fire. He never thought you found him attractive.

To him, you’re way out of his league. But watching you climax to the thought of him is a dream come true. His obsession grows, and he becomes bolder, unable to resist the urge to touch you while you sleep. Each night when you fall asleep, he lightly runs his middle finger up and down your cunt over your pajamas while he fucks his hand. The soft moans you let out in your sleep never fails to make him cum.

One particularly hot night, you decide to sleep naked on top of your covers. It's impossible to be comfortable when your pajamas stick to your overheated body. You’ve just had an orgasm and you lay there, sated and relaxed waiting for sleep to take over (though you really should get up to pee). Jisung watches you from the corner of your room, his cock painfully hard in his hand. He's lost track of how long he's actually been in here watching you. He waits until you're deep asleep, your chest rising and falling steadily, before he moves closer to your bed.

He can’t resist the sight of you, legs spread apart, pussy glistening. He begins to stroke his cock standing at the foot of your bed but it’s not enough. Before he knows it, he’s slipping out of his sweats. The bed dips as he crawls onto it but you don’t stir. He pushes your legs apart more, his breath catching as he sees just how wet you still are. Slowly he rubs the head of his cock against your folds, shuddering and the sensation. He tells himself “Just the tip,” but when he pushes into your opening, your pussy clenches around him and he can’t stop. He pushes deeper and deeper, burying himself inside you, freezing when you make a soft moan.

He waits, barely breathing before he starts to move slowly. You feel so warm and tight around him. He knows he should stop, "This is so wrong!" his inner thoughts yell at him but it feels too good.

“Fuck, Y/N, you're so wet.” he whispers in the dark, feeling bolder.

Slowly he moves but soon each thrust becomes more desperate than the last. He has to stop himself from slamming into you so that he doesn't wake you.

“Slowly… slowly… ah! Oh shit.” he mumbles quietly. “Is this what you were imagining when you came moaning my name, y/n? Hm? Were you imagining my cock pumping in and out of this tight cunt? Oh fuuuck, mm.”

His legs soon begin to shake as he watches the way his cock disappears inside your dripping cunt and slips out again, leaving his length covered in your creaminess. It's too much—the sight, the soft sighs you're making in your sleep. He pulls out just in time, pumping once into his hand before he's cumming onto his palm, careful not to leave any evidence behind.

He takes one last look at you, still sleeping, before he tiptoes out of your room and back into his. Had you woken up, you would've caught sight of Jisung cumming into his hand above you. The elixir wore off just as his orgasm hit him. He lays in his bed still feeling the lingering sensation of you squeezing his cock with your pussy and it takes a lot to not down more of the pastel teal liquid that sits on his desk and go back into your room to fuck you again.

“How can I make it last longer? There's got to be a way to lengthen the invisibility time frame without taking too many doses,” he mumbles to himself, looking up at the ceiling and lazily stroking his cock. He cums hard minutes later, moaning loudly into his pillow, replaying the sound of you moaning his name in his head and falls asleep peacefully with a smile on his face.

The next morning, you’re up early, sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee in your hands. A blank sleepy expression on your face as you stare off into space. Jisung joins you, wearing his best poker face.

"Hey, y/n," he says, trying to sound casual. "Sleep well?"

You nod, your eyes, however, tell a different story. "I had a weird dream. It was so vivid... so real. It felt a lot more real than the one I had on the balcony."

Jisung’s stomach churns with guilt but he forces a smile after pouring his own cup of coffee. "Dreams can be like that sometimes. Maybe it’s stress or something."

"Maybe," you murmur, stirring your coffee absentmindedly. "It’s just... I woke up sore." Your face heats with a blush thinking about your activities before you fell asleep last night. Maybe you were too rough? But then why do you feel like you were stretched out way beyond your two fingers?

He swallows hard, trying to keep his expression neutral and ignore the growing sensation of his cock as he sits down across from you. "Sometimes dreams can manifest physically. Your mind is very powerful, you know."

You nod slowly, still feeling doubtful. You know that something strange is going on around the apartment but it's just your testimonies with no hard evidence.. Soon the conversation shifts to more mundane topics and Jisung couldn't be more relieved but the tension remains between you. Throughout the day, you barely see him. Even when Chan came by, Jisung didn't come out of his room. You got the weirdest feeling that he was avoiding you.

“Maybe he's just tired of hearing me complain about my delusions,” you wondered to yourself stirring a cup of chamomile tea.

You spent the time you weren't working convincing yourself that you were indeed experiencing some stress-induced hallucinations. Who were you to doubt someone as smart as Jisung and Chan? A week off of work would do you some good—maybe you'll give yourself a spa day, binge on junk food, and catch up on some anime.

Meanwhile, Jisung and Chan worked hours and hours trying to study their creation further. Jisung's secret of what he did last night stays that way. A secret... No way could he tell Chan—he'd probably stop the experiment, maybe destroy all their hard work and Jisung couldn't, wouldn't let that happen. He needed it now, needed you now. He wasn't just obsessed with the science and having created something that scientists have tried to create for centuries; now he was obsessed with the feeling of invisibility, obsessed with the power it gave him and obsessed with the feeling of you. He craved it all. He knew that feeling could be a side effect, as well as feeling out of control while invisible and all the reckless wrong things he did but he chose to ignore every red flag and blaring warning signs. The more he drank the elixir, the more it controlled him, possessing him with insatiable lust and desire.

That night, driven by compulsions he can't deny, Jisung slips into your room again. Once more, you're naked, lying on top of the covers and the cool air from a fan blowing over your body, makes your nipples hard. The sight takes his breath away, every inch of your body exposed to his hungry gaze again makes his mouth water. He positions himself between your legs, slipping on a condom before pushing into you. The sensation is overwhelming, and he bites down on his lip to keep from making a sound. You moan in your sleep, your hips lifting towards him, and he nearly loses it. He begins to move, each thrust slow and deliberate, watching your face for any sign of consciousness. You murmur something unintelligible but stay asleep. In and out he moves, the slow tempo is so frustrating to him but he knows he needs to be smart. You moan his name in your sleep and he flinches, startled by your voice.

"Shit..." He whispers looking down at you.

Jisung’s heart pounds in his chest, a mixture of fear and excitement coursing through him. Your breathing changes, a soft whimper escaping your lips. He can't help but cum quickly and it's intense. He's trembling and panting, spilling into the condom that he hastily slipped on earlier with a grunt. He's still thrusting into you slowly, riding out his orgasm when you start to wake up.

The room is dark when your eyes slowly flutter open. A faint glow from the streetlights seeps through the blinds of your window and casts eerie shadows across your walls. There's a random sensation between your legs pulling you from the depths of sleep. At first, it feels like another dream, but it's all too real. Your eyes scan the darkness, heart pounding, but there's nothing—just the dark room and the soft rustle of the sheets.

The feeling of being filled, stretched in the most intimate way and the rhythmic movements should scare you, but the pleasure is too incredible. Your breath hitches and you find yourself moaning softly as your fingers instinctively trail down your body, finding your clit. You begin to rub, matching the invisible thrusts, your mind in a haze of pleasure and confusion.

Jisung is mesmerized by the sight and his own pleasure builds again as he watches you pleasure yourself. The combination of your fingers and his cock pushes you closer to the edge and he can feel your orgasm approaching, your muscles tightening around him.

"Fuck me harder." you whisper, the words slipping out before you can stop them. Your eyes squeeze shut and you arch your back lost in the intensity of it all.

Jisung bites down hard on his lip but obliges silently, thrusting harder, deeper and the bed creaks with the force of his movements. He's getting closer to a second orgasm and he can't hold back. His speed picks up and his fingers dig into your hips as he rails your eager warmth. Your body tenses, your back arching further off the bed as you cry out, the sound of your orgasm filling the room. He watches you, unseen but not unnoticed, every moan, every tremble fueling his own arousal. The sight of you coming apart because of him, the feel of you around him—it's too much. With a hard final thrust, he cums hard, filling the condom more that it's dangerously close to overflowing.

You collapse back onto the bed, chest heaving, eyes fluttering close. The room is silent, the only sound is your labored breathing. You sit up slowly, heart racing, looking around the room, but there's nothing like always—just shadows and silence. Even the full feeling is gone.

"Was… Was that real?" you whisper, voice trembling. "I'm losing my mind."

You slide out of bed, legs unsteady and make your way to the bathroom. The light is harsh, almost jarring after the darkness. You look at yourself in the mirror, skin flushed, eyes wide. The lingering effects of your climax make you shiver.

"If that was a dream, it was the most realistic dream of my entire life." you whisper to your reflection. "But if it wasn't... does that mean that whatever is haunting this place just fucked me?" You shake your head and turn the faucet on, splashing your face with cold water.

Jisung slips away, heart pounding, mind spinning. He knows he has to stop, that what he's doing is wrong in so many ways. But the memory of being inside you, the way your body responded to him awake—it’s past addictive. He can still feel the heat of you, the way you clenched around him and he’s not sure he can give that up. He retreats to his room, the guilt eating at him even as your climax plays over and over in his mind.

He lies awake, staring at the ceiling, knowing he’s crossing a line but unsure if he can ever come back from what he's doing. The need, the desire—it’s too powerful. He’s gone too far, and he knows it. The thought of stopping, of never feeling you again—it’s a torment he’s not sure he can endure. All he can think about is the moment he's able to be inside you again.

As the days pass, the tension between you grows. Jisung’s obsession deepens. He becomes reckless, pushing the boundaries of what he can get away with. When he asks how you're doing, you gloss over your experiences of the previous nights, only telling him that you had another strange dream. You don't tell him how you're starting to enjoy them or how feeling sore and wet the next morning is almost addicting.

You think you've gone insane but you embrace the lunacy. Each night, you feel the presence, the pressure, and you give in to it. Giving the ghostly dream specter a face, you've started imagining Jisung, which only makes the experience that much more real and pleasurable. You picture his face, his body, the way he would touch you if he knew your secret desires. It’s become a habit for you now, a way to cope with the confusing feelings. It's better than things getting messy between you two. You'd have nowhere to live if something went wrong between you and Jisung. No need jeopardizing your living arrangements and friendship.

The night is still early, and you can hear the two men in the other room tinkering with their experiments as you rest in your own room. Does the feeling only happen when you're asleep? Could you trigger it somehow? Should you try talking to it?

As you lie naked in your bed, you close your eyes and imagine Jisung. You see him in your mind, wearing nothing but his little lab coat and glasses, kneeling between your legs, looking down at you. You slip a finger past your folds and then another. Your fingers work furiously, slipping in and out. “Jisung,” you moan softly.

His heart skips a beat, for a moment he thought you were aware of him in your room.

“Jisung,” you whisper again into the darkness. “Please… please touch me.”

Unbeknownst to you, Jisung stands at the foot of your bed, invisible and now trembling with need. He hears your whispered plea and it’s like a spark to a stick of dynamite. He climbs onto the bed, his eyes devouring the sight of your naked body, so inviting, so ready. You feel the bed shift and gasp, afraid to open your eyes in fear of the feeling disappearing.

He moves between your legs, his hands tracing the curve of your thighs and you shiver at the familiar, unseen touch. You moan softly, your body responding instinctively, your hips lifting in anticipation. Jisung takes his time, savoring every moment, his cock already hard and aching.

He lets the bead of precum drip onto your pussy before he slides into you slowly, watching your face contort with pleasure as he stretches you. You gasp, your hands clutching the sheets, your back arching off the bed. So real, so intense, you moan Jisung's name again, the sound driving him wild.

“Jisung… yes, please…” you plead, your voice thick with desire.

He moves within you, his thrusts deep and steady, the bed creaking with each motion. You meet him with equal fervor, your hips rocking against his, your body desperate for more. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared pleasure, the slick, rhythmic slap of flesh against flesh.

Jisung’s heart races, the thrill of fucking you while you moan his name, steadily pushes him to the brink. He watches your face, the way your eyes squeeze tight, the way your lips part in ecstasy and he knows he can’t stop. Not until you're cumming around him.

“Fuck, Jisung,” you cry out, your fingers digging into the mattress as your orgasm builds. “Fuck me harder.”

He does. Jisung leans into you supporting himself on one hand fucking you harder, pushing into you deeper and gripping your hip so tight it'll leave bruises but you don't notice. You meet his movements eagerly, your body arching, welcoming him in. The sound of your moans fills the room, mixing with the creak of the bed and the slap of skin against skin.

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper, urging him on. “Yes, Jisung, just like that.” you pant, your voice breathy and desperate.

He's driving into you with a force that makes the bed rock and hit the wall. Your tight, wet heat and your voice spurring him on. He can feel your body tensing, can tell you’re about to cum.

“Cum for me, y/n.” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “Cum on my cock.”

You cry out, shocked at hearing a voice and your body is convulsing as you reach your orgasm. He pulls out just in time, spilling his seed onto your stomach, watching as it glistens in the dim light. He didn't mean for this to happen; he was only in your room as a test. Chan, back in Jisung's room, sits with a stopwatch timing just how long the test run will last. He was only meant to watch you. Jisung didn't have a condom this time but he can't seem to care about the consequences of leaving his cum behind.

You lie there, panting, a satisfied smile on your lips. “Jisung…” you murmur one last time before rolling over, drifting off to sleep.

Jisung watches you for a moment longer, a mix of pride and guilt churning inside him before he goes and rejoins Chan, who heard everything. He's questioned by his best friend as soon as he walks into the room. Jisung has no choice but to confess and with a deep breath he tells him everything. The watching, the touching… the sex. By the time he's done, Chan is staring at him in disbelief.

"Dude, that's... I don't even know what to say," Chan finally says. "You know that's messed up, right?"

"I know," Jisung says, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know… but I can't stop. You don't understand. There's this compulsion, this undeniable need when I drink it. It's… it's like my deepest desires control me and I can't do anything to fight back. Please, help me."

Chan sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Of course, I'll help you. We're in this together. I'll be the one drinking it now, and I'll stay here to make sure you don't do anything you shouldn't. We need to be more careful from now on.”

Jisung nods and sighs with relief and for the next few weeks, they work tirelessly, refining the elixir. They study Chan's reactions, starting from the lowest dosage, slowly upping it little by little. Jisung tries to keep his distance from you, but it's hard. Every time he sees you, his desire flares up and he has to fight the urge to use the elixir again. He misses being inside you.

It's been weeks since you felt the ghostly presence and you miss it but you figured since it went away, then it really must've been due to stress and the days off from work truly helped. You didn't think you'd ever feel the strange sensation of being fucked by something you couldn't see again.

How incredibly wrong you are....

★𝔗𝔞𝔤 𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱★ wanna be tagged? Let me know here

@resi4skz @3rachasninja @moonlightndaydreams @rylea08 @hanjiphile @krayzieestay @oddracha @ldysmfrst @jeonginsbaee

#skz smut #han jisung smut #stray kids smut #han jisung x you #han jisung drabbles #han jisung imagines #han x reader #han smut #han jisung fanfiction #han jisung fanfic #han jisung hard hours #han jisung hard thoughts #han jisung oneshot #han jisung x reader

558 notes · View notes

wholoveseggs · 4 months ago

Text

Phantom Desires

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

{Daemon Targaryen X Reader} Harrenhal is tormenting Daemon, blurring the lines between what is reality and what is a dream. The damp, cold castle is driving him mad—until he meets you. You smell like summer, feel like a dream, and your lips taste like honey. If only you weren't a ghost.

♡♡ I was super inspired by Daemons bad time at Harrenhal and I decided he needs more trauma ~xoxo ♡♡

5.3k words - Warnings: smuttt, ghost!reader, oral sex {m! & f! receiving}, Harrenhal lore, spooky shit, fiery death, Daemon is losing his mild, ghost sex, Alys Rivers being Alys Rivers {I love her}, horrifying as it is horny ...

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

{Daemon Targaryen Tag-List}

@elijahstwink @starshipcookie @absolutemarveltrash @odairtrqsh @darkened-writer @cheneyq @fallout-girl219

My love, please…

Daemon was woken by a voice calling him softly from across the room. It sounds like the breeze through the curtains, but when he opened his eyes, all was quiet.

He loathed this place, the damp made his bones ache and in every dark corridor he felt as if he was being watched. He could hardly sleep a full night in the cursed castle.

My love, come with me…

This time when Daemon's eyes snapped open, he could see a figure at the end of his bed, silhouetted against the moonlight that shone through the open window. He reached for his dagger, but stopped when the figure stepped into the light and disappeared.

"Fucking hell." Daemon cursed, rubbing his eyes with his palms. Maybe the damp really was making him lose his mind. He couldn't even trust his own eyes anymore.

He laid back down and closed his eyes again, pulling the furs around his body tighter. Sleep. He told himself. Go. To. Fucking. Sleep...

You stood there, watching him sleep from the foot of his bed. He was a handsome man, his blonde hair was tousled against the dark furs of his bed, the moon casting silver across his features.

You crept closer, kneeling down on the edge of the bed, your hands smoothing the sheets. You longed to touch him, to feel his warmth, to feel his hands upon you.

My king…

You whispered, tears stinging your eyes. He would never hear you, no one could hear you. You watched him stir a little, his eyelashes fluttering, his face frowning in his sleep.

Please, I'm begging you. I don't want to burn. Don't let me burn…

Daemon's eyes snapped open. He was sure he had heard something. There it was again. Crying. Someone was crying.

He needed some air, this place was starting to make him paranoid. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed, pulled on his breeches and a jerkin before grabbing a torch and stepping into the hall.

The castle was quiet, his footsteps echoing along the empty halls. He wasn't a fool, believing in tales of ghosts and the like. But this place... he had seen things he couldn't explain.

Maybe it was the stress of the war. Of the guilt he was trying so hard to ignore. All the lives lost because of his actions. The lives of people he loved.

A sob cut through the silence, pulling Daemon back from his dark thoughts.

Don't burn me alive…

A voice, soft and pleading, echoed from the end of the corridor. It had to be a hallucination brought on by lack of sleep and the damp.

Please…

There it was again. Daemon turned on his heel, following the sobs until he found himself outside a small door. A woman's voice came through the wooden frame, crying, sobbing, pleading.

His hand went to the doorknob, he was shaking, terrified. What was happening to him? He had become so unmoored that he had lost his grip on reality? He knew the only way to get it back was to confront it head on.

When he pushed open the door, he saw you, standing in the dark corner of the room, your arms wrapped around yourself as you sobbed.

For a moment he just wanted to turn around and leave. He didn't have the capacity to console a crying woman right now. But then, he couldn't stop staring at you.

You turned, looking straight at him. Daemon felt a jolt in his stomach. Your eyes, they were beautiful. They seemed to glow with their own light.

"Are... Are you alright?" He asked you, cautiously, looking around the room for someone else. There was no one.

You wiped your tears, the reason you had been crying had already slipped your mind. The moment you saw the man before you, his blonde hair shining like the moon and his eyes, they were so piercing, like he could see right through you.

"I'm sorry, I must have gotten lost." You said, taking a step towards him.

He looked you up and down, his face twisted with confusion. You were dressed in finery, soft silks and velvets, the kind of thing a noble would wear. But this room, it was bare, cold and damp, not fit for a mouse let alone a woman of your beauty.

"I'm afraid I must have missed your introduction." He replied, giving you a curious look.

You smiled softly, it was the first time in so many years you had a visitor. He was handsome, strong, everything a man should be. You knew what he was, a Targaryen. A dragonrider. Born with fire in his veins.

You reached your hand out, and his eyes darted to it. He hesitated before taking it, half expecting his hand to pass right through you, but instead your fingers were warm, solid.

"I'm sorry for intruding, my lady. I thought this room was empty."

Your heart was pounding, the blood rushing to your ears. His touch, it felt like fire, power and there was an odd void to it. Like death rode beside him.

"It's alright." You whisper, not wanting him to let go.

"Are you a ghost?" He asked, his hand sliding up your arm, as if testing you, checking to see if you were real.

You laughed, how silly, "A ghost? No."

Daemon let out a shaky breath, "Thank the gods."

"Do you want something warm to drink? It can get so cold here," You asked, you wanted him to feel welcome, to calm the fire in his veins.

He seemed hesitant at first, but then he nodded, a small smile forming on his lips.

He followed you down the dark halls, keeping his torch aloft to light your way. The flames illuminating the damp, cold walls and the dust that floated through the air.

"You know, it wasn't always like this." You said softly, as you walked through the narrow passageways, your fingers running along the cold wet stone. "It was once a beautiful place, warm, welcoming."

He glanced around at the rotting floors and the moss growing along the stonework. He couldn't imagine it.

"My understanding is that it was always a cursed place, even before Aegon's arrival," he stated as the two of you entered the kitchens.

It was just as cold as the rest of the castle, but there was a fire going, and a basin full of fresh water. He lit the torches around the room and you began pulling out ingredients and preparing the tea.

Daemon leaned against the table, watching you work. You didn't look like you belonged in this place, you were too clean, too soft. Yet you behaved like you owned everything you touched.

"They say that before Harrenhal was built, it was a vast forest of heart trees," You said, focusing on putting some herbs and root vegetables into the pot over the fire, "That the trees themselves were Gods, and their roots are still underneath the stones, waiting to reclaim what is theirs."

"Sounds like a lot of nonsense," Daemon replied bitterly, his skepticism evident.

"Yes," You agreed with a small smile, "But old stories often have a grain of truth to them."

He didn't understand why he was so drawn to you, why he sat and took the warm cup of tea that you handed him, or why he asked you to sit down next to him. He wasn't in the business of trusting people, but you... it felt like he had known you his whole life.

"The witch that resides here, Alys, said something similar," he added, remembering how she spun a tale about how this place was cursed.

Your eyes darkened and your lips set in a line.

"Do not trust her," You tell him, your voice firm, "She sees things that are not there and hides secrets that are not her own."

He laughed and shook his head. "And what makes you so certain?"

You shrugged, "I see things too," you replied nervously, twiddling your fingers on your mug.

Daemon took a sip of his tea, an amused smile on his face and his eyebrows raised, "Is that so? Well, what do you see about me?"

You looked at him, your eyes studying every inch of his face, his hair, the scars along his neck. "You wish for things you don't really want," You whisper, "You seek violence, but deep down, you only want peace."

Daemon's face darkened, his jaw clenched and his hands tightened around his mug.

"Peace is for the weak," He replied harshly, his voice low, threatening, "Only the strong survive, and take what they want."

He looked so sad, so lonely. You wanted to reach out and comfort him, but you were scared. There was a rage in him, and a desperation that seemed to engulf him.

"I didn't mean to offend." You apologize, lowering your gaze.

You didn't look at him, your fingers running around the rim of your mug, until you felt him move closer to you.

"You didn't." He answered you, his voice softer, "Tell me more, about yourself. If you will."

You looked up at him and you could see his eyes had changed, softened, there was a curiosity there.

"How did you end up here?" He asked you, watching the fire dance in your eyes.

He could see a shadow of sadness in them, pain, worry. But then it disappeared, hidden behind a mask of a beautiful smile. You fascinated him, such a pretty flower growing amongst the cold unforgiving stone.

"My husband put me here." You told him, tracing your finger along the scarred wood of the table. "He's gone now, lost in smoke,”

You could tell he didn't know how to respond. But his expression told you that he had lost someone too. He just quietly nodded, taking another sip of his tea. He was starting to relax a little more, the warmth of the fire and the comforting smell of the drink was starting to put his mind at ease.

"Why did you think I was a ghost?" You asked him softly, your hand coming to rest on his arm, as though to remind him you were real, solid.

Daemon sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, he didn't know how to answer that question without sounding insane. You could sense that a shadow hung around him like a stormcloud. His secrets coming to the surface.

"This place... It has a restlessness to it," he said, his voice low, cutting through the silence. "Some nights I lay awake listening to the walls groan, as though they are shifting and moving. I can hear... I can hear..." He trailed off, his voice getting hoarse.

You placed a hand on his cheek, his skin was rough and warm, and he leaned into your touch. You liked the way your skin felt against his, you wanted to assure him that you were trustworthy.

Daemon couldn't explain why he was telling you so much, but there was a calmness to you. When you touched him it felt like Dragonstone on a summer's day, like the feeling he got when he was alone in the clouds, flying far away from everything.

"Perhaps you are just lonely, and the castle is lonely too," You suggest to him.

Daemon couldn't deny the loneliness that plagued him. The nights were the worst, he had no one to confide in, no one to love him. He didn't want to think of his wife, his queen, far away and angry with him. Or his brother, dying alone and in agony. He had hurt them in ways that he could not atone for.

"Perhaps you are right," he admitted, taking your hand from his cheek and intertwining it with his own.

You watched him, the firelight dancing across his handsome features. His blonde hair was like liquid silver and his eyes were beautiful, like a summer sky.

"Stay with me tonight," He told you, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand, his eyes pleading. There was a vulnerability in him, one that drew you in.

Daemon couldn't tell if he was being a fool, or if he was simply desperate to not be alone. The practical part of his brain told him that a good fuck would help him sleep, but this felt like something else. You were beautiful, there was no denying that, but you also felt like a dream, a figment of his imagination.

You didn't say a word, just stood up, still holding his hand, and led him from the kitchen, through the hall, past the courtyard, up the steps to his bed chambers.

The journey there felt like a blur, he couldn't take his eyes off you. The way your dress swayed, the way your hair bounced, the way the moonlight lit up your skin. It was like you were made of mist, or smoke, something that could fade away any moment.

The room was colder than when he left, the air smelled stale, and the curtains were flapping in the wind. It had a haunted quality, like a portrait whose eyes follow you around the room.

He had left the fire burning, but the warmth had been extinguished, and the flames were low. You moved to light the candles, giving the room a soft glow, but the darkness remained.

You turned to face him, he was watching you intently, waiting for you to make a move. You stepped closer, closing the distance between you, your hands sliding up his chest. He was so warm, so solid, full of life and power.

His hands tangled in your hair, pulling your face closer, and your lips met. It was a gentle kiss, hesitant, almost afraid. Like he was doing it for the first time.

His mouth was warm, the taste of the tea still on his lips. You could feel the desire building, the fire growing inside him. You pulled away, looking up at him. His eyes were dark, pupils dilated, a hunger in them.

"Please don't burn me," you whispered, the words sounding strange to his ears.

Daemon didn't understand what you meant by it, and his lust was too powerful to care. He captured your lips again, kissing you deeply.

Your fingers found the hem of his shirt, pulling it up over his head. The light of the candle flickered across his chest, illuminating the texture of his scars.

"You have seen battle," You comment, tracing the mark on his chest, a reminder of the war and the violence he craved.

"Many times," he said, his voice low, heavy with desire, "And I have many more to see."

"So much suffering," You whisper, leaning forward, kissing one that stretched across his chest, "So much blood."

He closed his eyes, letting the heat of your touch wash over him.

You moved down, dropping to your knees, pressing your lips against his stomach, feeling the hardness of his muscles. Your hands reached for laces of his breeches, untying them and freeing his cock from the confines.

He let out a shaky breath as your hand wrapped around him, slowly stroking his length.

"My king," you whispered, kissing the underside of his shaft.

Daemon let out a moan, his head falling back, his hand reaching out to grip the back of your neck. He needed more, needed to feel your lips wrapped around him.

You obliged him, opening your mouth, taking his cock into your hot, wet mouth. He groaned, his hips bucking forward, pushing himself deeper.

"Fuck," he hissed, his fingers tangling in your hair.

He looked down at you, his cock disappearing between your plump lips. The sight made him harder, and he was struggling to control himself. He wanted to fuck you, claim you.

Your hand reached down, cupping his balls, massaging them gently. Daemon moaned, his grip on your hair tightening, pulling your head forward, forcing his cock further down your throat.

He tasted like power, like a dragon made flesh. You could feel his pulse throbbing, the heat of his blood, the energy that pulsed through his body.

Daemon pulled you back by your hair, his cock popping out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting you. He stared at you for a moment, before bending down and picking you up.

He carried you to the bed, dropping you onto the sheets. You looked up at him, his eyes were wild, and the smile on his face was pure lust.

He untied your dress, pushing the fabric aside, his hands sliding across your breasts. He bent down, his lips wrapping around your nipple, his tongue flicking over the sensitive nub.

Daemon groaned, his hands moving down, tugging on your skirts, pulling them up around your waist, leaving you completely exposed to him.

He continued kissing his way down, his lips trailing across your stomach, his hands lifting your thighs, pushing your legs apart.

He settled between your legs, kissing your inner thigh, gently nipping at the tender skin. You felt his warm breath against your cunt, a soft moan escaping your lips.

He chuckled, pressing his face between your thighs, inhaling your scent. You could feel his tongue licking the length of your pussy, his fingers probing, pressing inside of you.

You gasped, your back arching, your hands clutching the sheets. You had never felt anything like it before, the feeling of his mouth and fingers moving in tandem, making your whole body tingle.

"Don't burn me, don't burn me," you whispered, over and over.

He pulled away, his eyes filled with concern, but he did not speak, did not ask you what you meant.

Instead, he pressed his lips against yours, his tongue sliding into your mouth. You tasted yourself on his lips, and you moaned, wanting more.

His eyes were gentle, trying to convey a tenderness he did not have, and his voice was quiet, as he whispered, "You are not going to burn."

Your hands went to his chest, clutching his shoulders, and you let him spread your legs. He was still fully clothed, but his cock was free, the tip of his erection pressing against your entrance.

You gasped as he slowly pushed himself inside of you. You clung to him, wrapping your arms and legs around him, moaning softly as he began to thrust.

He moved slowly at first, allowing you to adjust to his size, but he quickly increased his pace, pounding into you, the sound of flesh slapping together echoing through the chamber.

"My king, my king, please don't-" you moaned, feeling him hit a good spot inside, sending sparks through your body.

He didn't listen, didn't understand what you meant, just continued to fuck you, his fingers digging into your thighs. He could feel his climax building, his cock throbbing inside of you.

You could feel him getting close, his breathing becoming ragged, his movements becoming erratic. You fell over the edge together, crying out as he released his seed deep inside you.

"My king, oh my king," you moaned, your nails digging into his back, leaving deep red marks.

He collapsed on top of you, panting heavily, his head resting on your chest. He didn't know why you kept calling him king, perhaps you were a bit confused about his status. But he wasn't going to correct you, he enjoyed the way it sounded coming from your lips.

You stroked his hair, his breathing slowly returning to normal. You could feel his heart beating, his warmth, his power.

"Don't leave," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

"I won't," you promised him, the words slipping from your lips before you could stop them.

You felt him slowly fall asleep, his weight comforting on top of you.

There was a strange peace in the room, the darkness and the chill receded, the candlelight dancing across the stonework.

You held him, running your fingers through his hair, humming a tune that was as old as the castle itself.

Daemon woke to the sounds of screaming. His eyes shot open, his hands grabbing for his sword that was always close by. He was alone in his bed, the fire long since extinguished, the only light coming from the full moon.

He didn't have time to worry about where you had gone, the sounds of people shouting and a dragon roaring had him jumping out of bed, quickly dressing.

He ran down the corridor, the stones were ice cold, and the air smelled stale, the shadows dancing menacingly along the walls. He had to push against a door, it was swollen from the damp, but when he burst through, the smell of burnt flesh was thick.

You were in the courtyard, standing in the middle, your white dress glowing in the moonlight. You turned to look at him, your eyes full of tears.

"Please don't burn me," you begged him, your voice breaking.

The roar of the dragon filled his ears, and the sky was lit up with orange flames. He looked to the sky for the source of it, had Aemond arrived with Vhagar?

He was horrified when he saw that the dragon was not Vhagar, but the largest dragon he had ever seen. It looked like Balerion, but it had three heads.

He watched as it descended, its wings so large that with every movement, the sound of the wind would change, becoming deafening, thunderous.

He turned to look back at you, to tell you to run, but you were now right in front of him. Your face was mere inches from his own, burned black, melted, half of it hanging off.

"My king," you cried, your voice a broken, raspy sound. "Why did you burn me,"

Daemon screamed, then woke up in his bed. His body covered in a sheen of sweat, his heart pounding.

The bed next to him was empty, cold, the fire still burning low. He could still hear the screams, the dragon, the pain and suffering, still smell the ash and the charred flesh.

The sun was shining through the window, the sound of birds singing. Everything was peaceful, the castle was still, silent.

He sat up, his breathing slowing, his pulse returning to normal. He looked around the room, there was no sign of you, no sign that the night had ever happened.

He ran his fingers through his hair, trying to calm himself. It had just been a dream, a vision. Nothing more.

But he could still smell you on the sheets, and the image of you was burned into his memory. He got up, dressing quickly, needing to move, to do something.

He spent the day meeting with vassals and lords, discussing matters of the realm. Trying to keep his mind busy. He felt as though he was slowly losing his grip on reality, he swore he could see you around every corner, could hear your voice in every creak and groan of the castle.

The sun had set, and the candles were burning low. The castle was quiet, the servants had gone to bed, the halls empty. He felt like he was completely alone, the only one left in the vast void of this wretched place.

He made his way down to the kitchens, looking for you. It was a foolish thing to do, he knew, but he had to find you, had to see if you were real.

He found Alys, sitting on a stool next to the fireplace, her nose buried in a book.

"Evening," she said without looking up, "Tea is in the pot."

Daemon didn't want tea, he didn't want anything other than to know you were alright.

"Have you seen the new girl?" He asked her, trying to keep his voice even, trying to seem nonchalant.

"Who?" She asked, still not looking up.

"She..." Daemon tried to describe what you looked like, but when he tried to picture you in his mind, the only image he could see was the one from his dream, your burned and melted face.

Alys watched him with a slight smirk, this dragon lord was unraveling so quickly, it was delicious. She went back to focusing on her book. "Doesn't ring a bell,"

He knew there was no point in trying to get more out of her, so he gave up and left the kitchen.

"Perhaps she is where you left her?" Alys suggested, her laughter echoing after him.

He walked back to his chambers, his heart pounding, his palms sweating. He stood outside the door for a moment, before gathering his courage and stepping inside.

The room was dark, the curtains were still closed, the air cold. There was a book lying open on his bed, one he did not remember leaving there.

He picked it up, holding it far away from him, like it could burn him. It was a book of the histories, of the conquest. Of Harren the Black and his sons burning alive.

He wondered who else died in the blaze, the nameless faces who were forgotten by history, the servants and slaves, the wives and daughters.

Daemon was sure he was losing his mind, the castle was haunting him, and it was only a matter of time before he became one of its ghosts.

Don't burn me… My king…

He remembered the fear in your voice, the sadness, the pleading. Anger and confusion bubbled in his chest and he threw the book across the room, the pages fluttering as it landed.

He needed sleep, this was all because he wasn't sleeping. Once he was rested, his mind would be clearer. He put no stock in dreams or visions, ghosts and monsters, that was for children and fools, this was all just because he was tired.

He got ready for bed, blowing out the candles, the moonlight casting shadows across the walls. He settled into bed and closed his eyes, waiting for sleep to take him.

You watched him lay there, his brow furrowed, his face troubled. He tossed and turned, his eyes fluttering open and closed.

You laid down next to him, gently placing your hand on his cheek. He calmed at your touch, his breathing slowing. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, his skin warm, and his hair tickled your lips.

"My king," the words fell from your lips, barely above a whisper.

He opened his eyes, nearly jumping out of bed when he saw you, laying right next to him, your head on the pillow.

"What are you doing?" He demanded, his voice harsh, his hand gripping the dagger under his pillow.

You sat up, your hair falling around you, your dress slipping off your shoulder. "I was just... I just..." You tried to find the words, tried to think of what you were doing, where you were. "...I missed you," you said, the words not feeling quite right, but they were the only ones that came.

He stared at you, his eyes wild, his hand gripping the dagger so tightly, his knuckles were white.

"How did you get in here?" He asked, his voice low, dangerous.

You thought about it, trying to remember, but it was like there was a fog covering your mind.

"I don't know, I've always been here," you said, your voice trembling, tears starting to form. "I just wanted to see you."

He let go of the dagger, and took a deep breath.

"What is your name?" He asked, his eyes studying you.

"I- I don't know," you stammered, the tears falling freely now.

He reached out and touched your face, wiping away the tears with his thumb. His hand lingered, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"You're not real are you?" He asked, his voice full of sadness.

"Yes I am," you cried, grabbing his hand, pressing it against your cheek. "I'm right here."

He sighed, closing his eyes. "Who do you think I am?"

"You're the dragon king," you said, smiling through the tears, “the great conqueror,”

He stared at you, his eyes filled with sorrow. "What is my name?" He asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"Aegon," you said, the word felt right, like it belonged in your mouth, but the fear in his eyes told you otherwise.

He pulled away from you, moving to the edge of the bed, his back to you. He felt your arms wrap around him from behind, your breasts pressing against his back, your head resting on his shoulder.

"You're not really Aegon," you whispered, "Are you?"

He shook his head, his eyes staring at the floor.

"I'm not real?" You asked, your hands clutching his shoulders.

"No, no you're not," he whispered.

Suddenly you were kneeling in front of him, your hands resting on his thighs, your head tilted to look at him.

"Then why can I touch you?" You asked, running your hands up his thighs.

He didn't answer, just pulled you into his lap and pressed his lips to yours. You melted into him, his hands on your waist, his lips parting.

You tasted sweet, like honey, like a spring day, the flowers blooming. He needed you like a fire needs air, like a man needs water, his hands moving down to your hips, pulling you closer.

He moaned into the kiss, your hips rolling against him. You could feel his hardness beneath the fabric, the heat radiating from him. Your hands untied his shirt, pushing the fabric aside, revealing his bare chest.

You kissed his neck, biting and sucking on the tender skin. He groaned, his hands moving to your hair, tugging, pulling you away from his neck.

You stared at him, your eyes dark, full of lust, your lips swollen. He pulled you back in, his mouth crashing into yours, his hand moving to the back of your neck, holding you in place.

He lifted your skirts, his hand dipping beneath the fabric, easing a finger inside you. You gasped against his lips, his touch sending shivers through your body, your hands gripping his shoulders. He slipped another finger inside you, pumping slowly, then adding another. His eyes never left yours as the intensity increased, moving faster, your breath coming in short gasps.

Your lips brushed his, your voice a breathy moan. "Please my king.... Don't burn me, don't burn me,"

Daemon froze.

"I can't burn you," he said, his voice hoarse. "You're already dead."

Your face crumpled, the tears flowing freely, sobs wracking your body. The sound of you crying echoed strangely in the chamber, the shadows growing longer, the light from the moon turning crimson.

"I'm dead? You killed me?" You cried, trying to pull away from him, but he wouldn't let you go.

"I didn't kill you," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "That was someone else, in another time,"

You looked at him, your eyes wide, your mouth open in a silent scream. He watched in horror as your skin began to bubble and blister, peeling off in chunks. It was like you turned into sand in his arms, slowly crumbling, falling through his fingers.

You screamed, a blood curdling, terrible sound, like the screams he had heard in his nightmare. You were being consumed by fire, the flames eating away at your flesh, burning, boiling, the smell of burning meat filling the air.

He couldn't look away, couldn't let go. He was frozen in place, trapped, watching as you were destroyed. Then you vanished from his lap, fading into nothing.

Daemon sat in his bed, his skin clammy, his breathing ragged. He clutched his head, his fingers digging into his scalp. He couldn't take this anymore. He was going mad.

"Don't leave me here in this place," he whispered, he did not know why he had said it, but he did. It was a plea, a desperate, hopeless plea.

But you had left. Because you were never real.

And this wretched castle was just as lonely as before.

777 notes · View notes

aviiarie · 5 months ago

Note

Hi avieee! I am making a request this time. So uhm I really really like your that lost & found platonic arle x reader. So I am wondering if you can do a part 2 of that? Like what happens after reader is rescued? The Fontaine trio reactions? Does Arle go into overprotective mama bear mode?

😶‍🌫️

⊱ ۫ ׅ ✧ AFTERWORD. platonic fonatine siblings, arlecchino & reader !

synopsis. (sequel to lost & found. read that one first.) [name] is reunited with their siblings. contents. PLATONIC. aftermath of kidnapping. gn!reader. they/them pronouns used. fluff. 1k words. notes. i wanted to make this a sort of epilogue, so apologies if it is a little short!

“[Name]!”

Their eyes opened with a flutter, still in a haze halfway between sleep and consciousness. The call of their name was their only warning before they were tackled in their hospital bed by a blur of black and red, crying out in alarm at the sudden weight falling on top of them. In their daze, it took a moment for them to realize who it was.

“L-Lyn—Lyney?” they managed to stammer out, wheezing as he squeezed them in a much too tight hug.

“[Name]! You’re back!” Lyney clasped their face in his hands and peppered kisses to the top of their head, like an overly affectionate grandmother who hasn’t seen their dearest grandchild in years. They shoved at him weakly, rolling their eyes at his over-the-top show of affection. He wasn’t fazed, laughing hoarsely through his tears. “You’re alive. Gods, I’m so glad you’re alive.”

“Don’t be a pest, Lyney,” Lynette scolded as she entered the room as well, but she was barely looking at him. Her focus was set squarely on them, tears brimming in her eyes. “[Name]. I am… very relieved you are back.”

“I’m never letting you leave my sight again,” Lyney whispered, pressing his forehead to theirs. There was a shakiness behind his melodramatic display, a fragility behind his theatrics. The experience seemed to have shaken him far more than he was willing to admit. He moved off them, giving them room to breathe as Lynette hurried over to their beside.

“Never,” Lynette promised, settling on their other side. She leaned down to bump her head against the top of theirs, curling her tail around their leg.

“Is there… room in there for me…?” a quiet voice sounded from the doorway. They all looked up, as Freminet nervously knocked on the already opened door.

“Of course, come here!” Lyney stood abruptly, stepping back to make room for Freminet to squeeze in. He slipped into the space between them and Lyney, turning the four of them into something that was partially an awkward huddle, and partially a group hug. Lynette was still on their left, shoulders brushing. Freminet had circled their waist in a clumsy hug with his cheek pressed against their shoulder. And Lyney settled himself on the edge of the bed, draping an arm over the bed board.

“I really don’t think there’s enough room for all of us—” They tried, but Lyney shushed them.

“There’s room enough,” He said, patting their cheek. “And don’t think for a minute you’re getting rid of us so quickly after what happened.”

The siblings all seemed to stiffen up at his mention of the ordeal, himself included. For Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet, it was sharp and clear in their memories, along with the lingering feeling of dread that came with losing one of their own for so long.

But for them, the entire experience was a haze. There was a distant pain throbbing in the back of their head, the phantom feeling of someone hitting them with something hard. Beyond that was a blur between being dumped on the cold, hard floor, and feeling warm hands pull them into a familiar set of arms.

“…Good.” They said quietly, resting their chin atop Freminet’s head. “I don’t want any of you to leave, just yet.”

-----

Arlecchino’s heels clicked loudly, sounding an alarm to all of the children loitering in the halls. After years in her care, they had learned to predict her mood from just the sound of her shoes, and the hurried clacks echoing off the walls told them clear as day that she was not in the mood for anything to interrupt her.

She brushed past the eyes that peeked out from the doorways, vanishing as soon as she grew close. She didn’t care to scold them for being nosy; they didn’t matter to her. There was only one person who mattered in that moment.

When she opened the door, Lyney was the only one that looked to be awake. The other two were curled around [Name], all three fast asleep in a pile of limbs and blankets. Lynette was lying on top of the blankets, one arm thrown over the other two siblings, while Freminet was clinging to [Name]’s waist so tightly that it was a wonder they were still breathing.

They looked like a pile of kittens taking a mid-morning nap together. The sight was endearing enough for the corner of her lips to twitch, almost forming a smile.

Lyney had settled himself in the chair beside them, resting his feet on the edge of the bed. His arm was stretched out to carefully run his hand through their hair, in the same gentle routine he used to help his sister fall asleep when they were young. The sound of the door opening made him look up, and he greeted her with a nod.

“They’re alright?” Arlecchino asked quietly.

“They’re alright.” Lyney answered with a tired smile, pulling his hand back to rest on his lap.

“Good.” She swept into the room, standing over their sleeping form. The blankets hid the majority of their injuries, but there was a flash of white bandages peeking out from where their skin was exposed.

Arlecchino brushed her thumb across their forehead. She knew they most likely were too deeply asleep to hear her, but it didn’t stop her from murmuring, “I’m never going to let anyone hurt you.”

The words made them stir slightly. It was slow at first, a small furrow in their brow and a twitch of their lips, but it was soon followed by a murmur. Their eyes opened a crack, meeting hers.

“Father…?” They mumbled lowly.

“Shh…” Arlecchino hushed them with a whisper, still tracing her thumb across their face. The slow, soothing motion had its desired effect; their eyes were already sliding shut. “Quiet, get some rest. You’re safe now. They won’t ever hurt you again.”

She leaned down and kissed their head, leaving her lips hovering above their skin for a moment to whisper, “Never again.”

656 notes · View notes

kitkatscabinet · 1 year ago

Text

Soap, Suds and the Scouser

John Price x MacTavish! reader

Summary: Due to shitty neglectful parents, Johnny's older sister had been forced to take him in and raise him as her own. As such, she's fiercely protective of him, not that he minds, at least not until she screams at his Captain.

Word count: 4.4k

Johnny doesn’t remember much of his life before you. All he remembers is feeling cold, and not understanding love until you swept into his life. From the moment you had swept into his life the dull greys had morphed into an array of colours, his unrelenting loneliness and misery chased away by the light of your affection.

He doesn’t have a ma and pa like most other kids, and sometimes they tease him for it but he doesn’t mind, because he’s got something better. His big sister is the coolest person in the whole world! You tuck him into bed and read him bedtime stories every night. If he’s been really good he even gets to visit the base where you work sometimes. (He doesn’t understand until he’s older why you suddenly retire from the coolest job ever.)

You never yelled at him and even seemed to get upset when he wouldn’t let you know he was hungry. He cried when you scolded him for that, begged you not to send him back to the house with the angry people who sometimes forgot to feed him. He’d been surprised when instead of getting mad at him you’d started to cry, squeezing him tightly against your chest until he wriggled to be let go.

You hugged him much more after that, pulling him close whenever he was within reach and planting raspberries on his tummy while he shrieked in laughter. You keep it up even as he gets older and tries to escape from the kisses you’d pepper his face with.

He was fourteen the first time he snapped at you for it and the way your face had fallen would forever be burned into his brain. You pull away a little after that and Johnny feels sick with guilt, he hugs you a lot more after that.

Later in his life when asked why he’d joined the military he’d answer without hesitation, that he wanted to be like his idol. He wanted to be like you, wanted to make you proud. In a way, he wants to live up to your legacy. As a child, he hadn’t realised just how much of your life and career you’d had to give up to take care of him.

(You’d been on track for a promotion to lieutenant, and likely would have made captain in record time too.)

As you started to near 40 Johnny was determined to step up and take care of you for once. He makes it through selection easily, but to his surprise, you’d blown up at him. He can’t remember an instance where you’d been so furious at him, not even when he’d crashed his principal's car on a dare.

It’s the first time in his life you end up not being on speaking terms and he doesn’t know what to do. He can’t exactly leave the army, wouldn’t even if he could because finally, it feels like he has a purpose. The men in his unit instantly pick up on his sudden 180 in personality but any inquiries are instantly shut down with a glare.

It’s the worst few months of his life, but he won’t apologise. He’s not a child anymore and he needs you to see that. He almost breaks when it’s time for his first deployment and you still aren’t on speaking terms, he’s been sleeping like shit and he misses you like a phantom limb.

He ends up not needing to when you show up on base, with red-rimmed eyes and hollowed cheeks. Johnny crosses the distance and lets you pull him into a crushing hug, not paying any mind towards the odd stares they receive.

“I’m sorry. Please be safe,” you whisper into the fabric of his uniform and Johnny doesn’t need you to elaborate. He doesn’t respond verbally, because there’s nothing else to be said, and simply squeezes you tighter against him for what will be the last time for a while.

It’s hard to be away from you for so long, he’s never done it before and he’s teased relentlessly for how often he calls you. Johnny just laughs in their faces when they pout and complain when he gets your care packages, he has many emotions about your bond but shame is not one of them.

When the plane lands on his home turf and the dust settles Johnny can’t wait to collapse into one of your hugs and he can practically taste your cooking and he wants to cry when he remembers he’ll have to wait another day. Only, when his boots hit the tarmac he only has to take a few steps before he sees you waiting for him, beaming grin as you open your arms. Dropping his bag, he closes the distance in a flash and he’s not ashamed when he pulls away and notices the wet spot he’s left on your shoulder. The next thing he notices is the uniform, his eyes widening and you laugh.

“Now that I don’t have to look after a brat anymore I figured it was high time I became active duty again.” He can’t seem to reign in his shock, gawping like a fish and you frown in faux anger, “What? Think I’m too old to do the job? I could still put you in the ground Johnny.” The look in your eyes promises retribution if he doesn’t agree so he simply nods rapidly.

He’s twenty-two when he gains the moniker Soap, you laugh when he tells you and his smile drops when you won’t explain what’s so amusing. (No matter how much he asks around the base all he gets is amused laughter.)

It’s not until he’s twenty-three, riding the high of being selected for an elite task force and returning home after the shit show that was Verdansk that Soap starts to learn more about the imposing history of his sister.

He doesn’t even make it to the debriefing room, still covered in grime when he spots you stalking towards him with concerning vigour, thunder on your face that usually indicated an impending ass-whooping.

Preemptively Johnny backs up, mouth opening to apologise for whatever he’s done, only to freeze as you march straight past him and round on his captain. “You John Price?” Soap recognises the tone and decides it’s in his best interests to stay still and silent, Gaz is openly gawking though the mask makes it impossible to gauge Ghost’s reaction.

His captain, in a terrifying show of no self-preservation skills, nods in a ‘who wants to know’ sort of manner, brow raised and arms crossed.

“I dinnae ken who the fuck ye think ye are - ” Oh dear. Instantly Soap’s mind blue-screened, white noise ringing in his ears. Your accent only ever got that heavy when you were truly angry, when he zoned back in you were still yelling, arms flailing to enunciate your point that had very likely become very lost in translation to his starstruck teammates. “ - Irresponsible!”

Your chest was heaving by the time you’d finished, perfect hair even a little dishevelled. “Laswell” you nodded your head in respect towards the woman, before smiling softly when you turned to Soap.

“Johnny, bring your teammates over for dinner when you’re free.” It’s said kindly enough but Soap knows it’s not a suggestion. You pat him lovingly on the cheek before disappearing back down the hallway.

When the shock fades and movement becomes a possible thing again, it takes some extra cajoling to get their captain’s attention and Soap is mortified that whatever his sister said, it had so profoundly shaken the unflappable man.

Unable to hold anyone’s gaze, Soap marches forward, resolutely staring blankly at the floor. If he’d taken more than a few seconds to gauge his Captain’s reaction, it would have been abundantly clear his frozen state wasn’t one of perceived terror but arousal.

From the moment John Price bore witness to the fuming Scotswoman stalking towards him with the grace of an apex predator he knew he was fucked. You were an absolute vision, truth be told he barely registered the venomous words you were screaming at him, in front of his men no less.

His dazed eyes flickering from your perfect pretty lips down to your tits, hips, thighs and back up. His brain was empty of all thoughts except for the stunning goddess and how you’d look sitting astride his lap, squeezing his cock as he mouthed at your -

He clears his suddenly dry throat, dilated pupils darting back up to flicker over your face once more as he desperately attempts to reel his focus back towards what you’re saying, to anything that’s not the aching erection begging to be freed from the confines of his tactical pants.

Shifting his weight uncomfortably he watches as you pat Soap on the cheek lovingly, forlornly wishing that was him instead. Watching your ass sway with your departure, holding back the groan building in his throat.

Vaguely Price was aware of the wide-eyed looks exchanged behind his back as he stomped towards his quarters, little mind was paid towards them however. His focus solely on reaching the privacy he needed, slamming the door shut with far more force than necessary as his other hand fumbled for his belt. He doesn’t bother with his pants beyond freeing his flushed cock, leaning back against the door with eyes closed to help better produce an image of your likeness in his mind to match the voice that still rang in his ears.

Although you weren’t in any capacity attached to the 141, couldn't be due to your conflict of interest, you still shared a base. It was large enough that logistically you should have been able to work without ever seeing any of the 141. Key words being should have, because all of a sudden John Price seemed to be everywhere you turned.

At first you’d simply assumed he was just another man in power, irritated that you’d so thoroughly dressed him down in front of his men but John Price quickly proves you wrong. He brings you tea, hustles to hold doors open and more than once you’d walked into your office to find flowers. You want to think he’s just trying to get into your good graces, trying to smooth things over with one of his teammates siblings, the denial doesn’t last long.

You try not to be so taken by his blatant courting attempts even if you are a little confused. Nobody has ever given you this much blatant effort and it makes you feel like a little girl with her first crush instead of the grown woman you are.

It’s embarrassing, but it’s the most romantic, the most tender that you’ve been treated pretty much since you first took in Johnny. You’d given up on several potential relationships before they could even start over the years, not willing to let him suffer from any potential breakups.

Still, when you arrive to your office at 4am to find a bouquet of sunflowers you can’t help the way your heart hammers relentlessly against your ribcage as if trying to escape, to jump out straight into the arms of John Price.

To Soap’s surprise, it’s his Captain who clears their schedule, getting on his sergeant’s case about the promised dinner he’d nearly forgotten about himself. When Johnny walks apprehensively through the front door of your home the anger is apparently gone and you greet them all eagerly, planting a kiss on his cheek as you ushered them all inside and towards the table.

“Smells heavenly, thanks for having us lass” Price smiles charmingly, moving into the kitchen and swatting your hands away as he finishes setting the table and commanding the boys to help him, insisting that you sit and rest.

Soap, who is still somehow unaware of his captain’s affections, feels like he’s entered a new dimension for a few seconds. The perceived tension he’d expected nowhere to be found, though he quickly decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth, simply happy that everyone was getting along.

(He’ll look back on this moment down the line and wonder how he was so blind.)

The food is great and you’ve even bought Soap’s favourite beer, something you don’t drink and Johnny lets himself relax as he witnesses you joke around with the team and even start to mother Gaz and Ghost.

“How is it you know Laswell?” Price asked, seemingly hanging on your every word as he sat down next to you on the couch. Soap paused his conversation with Gaz to listen in as all ears and eyes were suddenly on you, you’d always been notoriously quiet about anything to do with your career.

“Classified” you smirked, laughing as Johnny groaned dramatically and slumped back down in his seat. “I will say we were both very young,” you look into the bottom of your glass with a nostalgic gaze, but there’s something on your face that looks far too close to the time he’d walked in on you-

“Oh my god! You fucked Laswell!” He shrieked and Soap thought he could be forgiven for the girlish raise in pitch. Price choked on his bear, froth spilling from his nose as you reached for a washcloth to pat his shirt dry, the man having to bite back the groan at the feel of your hands against his chest.

You don’t give a verbal response but you do turn back to Johnny with a mischievous grin whilst wiggling your eyebrows. When the situation calms a little you surprise him by volunteering even more information, “she was the one that started calling me Suds.”

There were a few seconds of silence as the information was processed before Kyle started to laugh, and Johnny frowned a little, “wait…” he trailed off, shooting you a somewhat betrayed look as you started to laugh too.

“What was it you told me? They call you Soap cause you clean house? Na little brother, you’re named after me.” Johnny’s face was hysterical as he pouted, his teammates teasing him as laughter filled the house.

At some point, you’d meandered outside as the boys had started to roughhouse after a game of cards had devolved into a lighthearted screaming match. You sat on the porch with closed eyes, allowing yourself to enjoy the feel of the cool night air on your skin.

A creak behind you alerts you to the presence of another, the wind carries the scent of scotch and cigars and you open one eye to watch as Price sits next to you. “Needed a break from the peanut gallery?” your brows raise in amusement as he huffs at your words, reaching for a smoke and placing the end in his mouth, hands patting down his pockets for a light when you gave silent confirmation that his actions were ok.

You giggled a little as his frustration grew, reaching over with your own lighter, holding the flame out for him. “Cheers love,” his gravelly voice sent a shiver down your spine. His breath hitting the back of your hand and you watched slightly mesmerised as he inhaled the smoke. The conversation dwindled and you sat in comfortable silence, simply enjoying the company as your arm lightly brushed his jacket-clad one.

Silently Price handed you the cigarette, and though you didn’t usually smoke you found yourself accepting, acutely aware of his deep blue eyes boring into the side of your face as your lips clasped around the filter.

“Sorry for going off at ye earlier” you apologised, suddenly realising that you’d failed to do so. Continuing to stare straight ahead as you passed the smoke back his way, knuckles brushing against his slowly.

“S’alright lass, you’re just looking out for what’s yours, it’s admirable really. Sexy too” he growled, voice a whisper on the wind. You’re not sure if the shiver that runs through your body is from his words or the cool night air. Regardless, you lean just a little bit closer into the captain’s warmth, a contented hum escaping your lips when he wraps an arm around your shoulders, tucking you into his side.

You’re not ashamed to admit that over the past few weeks you’d been oogling the Captain, it was hard not to when the man flaunted his body so shamelessly in front of you. Looking, it quickly became apparent, was hardly comparable to touching and its impossible to ignore the way your body sings in delight at the feel of him against you.

Up close you can better detect the hints of his cologne, spicy wooden undertones accentuated by the faint whiskey you can smell on his breath as it caresses your forehead. From any other man the scent of cigars and alcohol paired with the scratch of a beard aginst your ear as he leaned his head against yours would have been a turn off, but it was so quintessentially him, so John Price that you couldn’t help but love it.

It’s the rusty squeak of the screen door, alerting you to the presence of another, that forces the two of you to part. Ghost, no, Simon, stands silently at the threshold, watching the scene before him with appraising eyes.

“Johnny’s looking for you.” His words cause you to sigh, throwing an apologetic glance Price’s way before you all head back inside, brown and blue eyes boring into the back of your head.

Your little brother ends up simply wanting to whine to you about how Kyle has to be cheating, it’s the only possible way the man could have won so consecutively. You want to throttle him for that, for so thoroughly cockblocking you, instead you settle for scuffing him over the back of the head and forcing him to help you with the dishes.

You work together in practiced tandem, cooperating with silent ease the result of years attending to each others needs. It’s the first instance during the night that the two of you have a moment alone together and you allow yourself to enjoy the peace and monotony of the task, silence accompanied by the soft spray of water.

“Been meaning to ask, what’s it that got you so barmy with the captain.” His words are lighthearted, teasing, though you can’t help the way your hands still suddenly as you were reminded of that day. You pull yourself together as quickly as possible but Johnny has already undoubtedly picked up on your sudden change in behaviour, the clinking of the ceramic plates in the sink alerting him to the fact your hands were shaking. Although Johnny’s not sure exactly what’s upset you, he’s aware that he has and quickly tries to backtrack but you cut him off,

“He put my baby brother in what was very avoidable danger” you whispered, eyes never leaving the now sparkling clean plate you’d been scrubbing for the past fourty seconds. Johnny doesn’t answer the shaky confession, but he does bump his shoulder against yours, lightly pushing you out of the way and completely taking over the task.

Ever since the dinner at your house, something had shifted between you and Price. It was un unspoken tension, crackling through the air every time you so much as laid eyes upon one another, but one you both felt.

Lingering gazes turned to light touches, fingers brushing against yours, large hands cupping your hips as he passed behind you and the like. It was driving you insane, every night you’d return to the sanctuary of your bed, fingers exploring the expanse of your body as you imagined it was Price touching you instead.

The two of you were a powder keg waiting to explode, waiting for the single spark that would light the whole thing. It was an inevitable reality, and one you both knew was coming. You’re not sure who snaps first, what exactly lights the powder, though you find you care very little in the face of his lips against yours.

You push him against the door of your bedroom, hands tugging at the roots of his hair as he lets out a sinful groan, only for you to swallow it with another open mouthed kiss. With one of your thighs between his legs and pushing against his thick erection, you grind frantically against his own muscled thigh.

The drag of you’re already soaked cunt slowly drenches his pants as well, you’re so focused on planting kisses and bites down the skin of his neck and chest as you rip his top off that you barely notice the way his dilated gaze watches your every move.

“Fuckin hell darlin, that’s it, take what you need baby.” He sounded wrecked, his words of encouragement causing your rhythm to falter as your hands continued to paw at his chest needily. As much as Price wanted to continue watching you use him to chase you’re own pleasure it would have to wait another time, at this moment he needed you now.

A squeal leaves your lips as your back is suddenly on the mattress and Price tugs your pants and underwear down to your ankles in one aggressive move, his hands keeping your thighs spread as he stared intently at his prize.

The groan that leaves his throat at the sight is guttural, the praise he mutters is nearly indistinguishable over the blood pounding in your ears as his tongue swipes over your swollen clit. John Price eats like a man starved, lavishing your thighs in bitemarks when his fingers replace his tongue. He makes you cum like that twice, your juices coating his beard and neck while you tug harshly on his hair.

“Price please, s’too much, need you now” you sobbed, pulling him up into another bruising kiss and wrapping your shaky thighs around his waist to try and coax him to where you wanted him most. Any other day he’d probably tease you for being so needy but Price was just as aching with need as you, cock flushed and dripping as he lined himself up with your fluttering hole.

“I know darlin’” he cooed, dipping his mouth down to place reassuring kisses over your chest as you finally stripped your top half bare. His left hand cups one of your tits, forhead resting against yours as he slid into you with one smooth thrust. The pace he sets is relentless, you’ve both been waiting for this moment for weeks. There’d be a time for tenderness later, but right now it was sheer animalistic need fuelling your movements. Your nails rake down his spine as he grunts, whines reaching a crescendo that lets him know you’re quickly approaching your climax once more.

His own rhythm starts to falter, the sensation of your warm walls squeezing him so tightly nearly too much for him to bare. He refuses to cum first however, thumb swiping over your clit as he grumbles against your collarbone, “come on love, nearly there, be a good girl and cum for me yeah?”

You are so worked up, so desperate to please the man bringing you such pleasure that you obey with a high pitched keen, thighs clamping his waist in a vice as your walls milk his cock. Price swears at the sensation, unable to pull out from how harshly you’’ve locked your ankles over his back and is filling your womb with thick ropes of cum before he can stop himself.

Shaky arms unable to hold his weight up anymore collapse, though you don’t seem to mind, snuggling up to him and wrapping your arms around his houlders to keep him in place. He falls asleep tangled in your arms, face nuzzled into your neck as your fingers play gently with his hair.

When Price wakes the next morning to an empty bed and cooling mattress he frowns, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and lumbering out of your bedroom, still naked from the night before. He quickly finds you in the kitchen, standing at the counter wearing only panties with his shirt.

Immediately the sight stirs something primal in him, chest rumbling with pleasure as he plasters himself to your back. You hum happily, turning your face so he can plant a gentle kiss on your lips. “Morning darlin.” His voice is still hoarse with sleep and you feel the way it rumbles through his bear chest against your back.

“Morning” you let out a moan as he pressed his hard cock against you. Your head falls back to rest on his shoulder as one of his hands dips below the hem of your underwear, both of you sighing happily as his calloused fingers make contact with your still tender pussy.

Any reprimands are banished from your brain at his touch, your worries evaporating into nothingness as the pad of his thumb flicks over your clit. Just as you’re about to cum there’s a screech from behind of “My eyes!” And you whirl around just in time to witness your little brother run face first into the wall behind him in his haste to escape.

Johnny hits the floor with a heavy thud, hands still covering his face as he continues to scream about the atrocity he’s just witnessed. You think he might even be crying, whether from the pain or the visage of his captain’s bare arse you aren’t sure.

You should be beyond mortified, and a large part of you is. Still, you can’t help the belly laugh that escapes you as your brain finally catches onto what’s just happened. Your legs collapse from under you as your own tears of laughter stream down your cheeks. Johnny’s also crying and writhing on the floor whilst Price looks to be contemplating murdering the both of you.

Still giggling you manage to stand once more, pulling the captain down into another sweet kiss before spinning him around and ordering him to get dressed. You do give him a smack on the ass before he leaves though and the sound sets Soap off into a new cursing fit, one hand shaking an aggressive fist towards where he thinks his captain is while he keeps his eyes covered.

While you’d have liked to have kept whatever it was you had with the Captain a secret for a little longer, liked to have kept him selfishly to yourself, you had to admit that scarring your little brother so badly was worth it. Though given the stink eye he relentlessly stared at Price with you’d probably have to give him a little more time to adjust. Even if unbeknownst to you, the wedding had already been planned out in the Englishman’s mind.

Tags: @innercollectivecomputer @cooliofango @pertinentpostmortem @ghostslillady @domaniquessidehoe2 @ilovehyperfixating @pauphs @Skotchi @juvenillia

#x reader #cod mw x reader #john price x reader #john price #captain john price x reader #cod john price

1K notes · View notes

roanniom · 2 years ago

Note

feeling absolutely unhinged tn just wanna be eddie’s little HOUSEWIFE more than i wanna BREATHE

Come Home

Mechanic!Eddie Munson x fem!reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY, PIV sex / unprotected sex, oral sex (m receiving), titty fucking, recreational drug use and alcohol consumption, dirty talk

It’s a role playing thing more than anything else. You are a teacher and, as such, are very busy and a far cry from a stay-at-home anything. Hell, you’re not even married to the man.

But ever since you and Eddie had moved into the little third floor walk up in what could laughingly be called Downtown Hawkins (really just the overgrown main street), Eddie had been jokingly calling you his little housewife. It’s a title that sends shivers down your spine and a smile spreading across your face any time he utters it. And he does so jokingly, of course. You know how much Eddie respects your ambition and your hard work, so you’ve never had to worry that he truly wanted to see you barefoot and pregnant, stuck in the kitchen for the rest of your days.

But some days that idea is way more appealing than you’d like to admit.

On this day in particularly, you find yourself fantasizing about it more than normal. In the morning you’d woken up earlier than usual, roused by the loud thunk of a garbage man tossing a can recklessly back into place. Unable to go back to sleep, you’d extricated yourself from Eddie’s arms and tiptoed into the kitchen where you’d whipped up a batch of pancakes, scrambled eggs, and fresh coffee. Way more than your usual weekday toast or cereal, mainly because you wanted to give your tired brain something to focus on in order to wake up more fully before work.

Eddie had stumbled into the kitchen, stretching and in his mechanic coveralls, with a massive grin on his face.

“What has my little housewife been up to this morning?!” His voice had bellowed through the small space and you’d dropped the spatula in order to walk over to him.

“Thought my big strong man could use a hearty breakfast before he has to go to work for the day,” you’d said with a humorous lilt, wrapping your arms around his neck just as his hands come to rest on your waist, pulling your body to his. Your words and actions made his grin grow even bigger.

“You’re so beyond good to me, you know that? What’d I ever do to deserve a babe like you, huh?” he’d asked, sliding his hands down and around to squeeze your ass. You’d squealed and pushed yourself further into his body.

“You treat me right in the bedroom, so I treat you right in the kitchen. Those are the rules.” You’d said it primly it as if reciting a gospel. He’d laughed and shoved his face into your neck, peppering kisses against your throat and cleavage till you’d screamed about not wanting to burn the last batch of pancakes.

The two of you had sat together at your shitty linoleum dinette set eating breakfast way too fancy for a Thursday. Eddie had insisted on pulling his chair right up against yours and keeping his hand on your thigh even while he devoured forkfuls of eggs and pancakes with abandon.

By the time you were driving home from work, however, the phantom feeling of the weight of his hand on your thigh from the morning still hadn’t dissipated. It had been a half day, allowing the students to leave early in order to theoretically study for finals (but you heard tell of a bonfire that was going to be happening down by the lake so you held no delusions that the free time would be utilized by any for actual academic purposes). So this meant you were going to be home way ahead of Eddie today.

Your first thought upon waking through the front door is that you should masturbate. You’d been feeling so confined by your clothes all day and had been feeling needy since you’d kissed your boyfriend good bye on your way out the door.

So you march right into your shared bedroom, strip down to your sensible underwear, light a candle, and lay across your bed. You hadn’t had to get yourself off in a good long while. Eddie kept you good and satisfied, the insatiable man that he is. You do your best to get in the right mindset, breathing deeply running your hands along your body.

You catch a glimpse of yourself, however, in the mirror across the room and you frown. Maybe your underwear is too sensible. Gliding to your dresser you dig in one of your drawers and pull out the lingerie you’d been planning on surprising Eddie with on his birthday. It’s lacy and see through and your heart rate kicks up just at the thought of the way you know his jaw will drop and his eyes will widen at the sight of you.

Once your curves are encased in the fine fabric, you lay down on the bed once more. Hands slide up to you with your nipples through the fabric and you sigh. It feels good. Not as good as it would if it was Eddie touching you…but good.

You roll onto your stomach and look at the clock. 2:00 pm.

Fuck.

Eddie wouldn’t be home for hours. The injustice of that fact makes you pout and roll petulantly back over onto your other side. This new position gives you a straight line of sight to Eddie’s old black lunch pail and you perk up. This might be your best bet to loosening up and finding pleasure on your own.

~*~

It’s 2:45pm when the shop phone rings. Eddie doesn’t look up from the car that he’s working on, instead ducking his head further under the hood and squinting at the engine that’s been giving him a hard time.

“Eds! It’s your girl calling!”

Eddie stands up straight so fast he bangs his head hard on the underside of the hood.

“Motherfuck,” he mutters to himself, rubbing a grease-stained hand on the part of his head that was sure to soon form a bump. He makes his way over to the little office of the mechanic shop and takes the phone from his uncle’s outstretched hand with an appreciative nod.

“Baby? What’s up? Is everything okay?” Eddie’s apprehension is clear. You never call him at work. Not because you don’t want to but because your days are usually both so busy there’s barely any chance to do so.

“Eddie!” you cry out over the phone, your voice high and bright. “I miss you. Come home.”

Eddie’s a bit startled by your demand, immediately checking his watch. Just as he thought, it’s still really early in the afternoon.

“Why are you home so early? Are you sick?” His heart starts thudding over the possibilities when he hears your musical laugh.

“No it’s a half day at work, silly. Remember?”

Eddie shakes away his fears and laughs along.

“Oh sorry sweetheart, completely forgot.” He tosses a glance back into the shop at all the cars he still has to get to. “Must be nice. Getting into any trouble with your free time?”

He asks the question lightly. Joking. Fully expecting you to say you’re about to go grocery shopping or you’re watching a shitty movie on tv or reading one of your paper backs. But then you mumble.

“Well...maybe just a little.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline and a huff of a chuckle escapes his lips.

“Oh yeah? What’s my girl up to, huh?”

There’s the rustle of fabric over the line and then your voice is low.

“I’ve needed you since you left this morning Eddie. Can’t take care of myself as good as you can,” you say, practically moping. Eddie’s stomach flips and he slams his back against the wall next to the phone, making sure he can no longer be seen in the doorway from the shop.

“Oh fuck, sweetheart are you...are you touching yourself?”

“I was trying to. It’s getting a little easier now that the edible is kicking in,” you say, sounding far off for a second like you’re thinking real hard about it.

“Now that the…” Eddie’s face splits in a massive grin and he rubs a hand over his eye. “So you’re telling me you’re high right now?”

“It’s kicking in, yeah,” you whisper cheekily and he can guess you’re smiling.

“So you mean to tell me that you’re high…and horny…and calling - begging - for me to come home and fuck you?” Eddie closes his eyes and squeezes the phone cord so tightly that he’d worry it would snap if he actually gave a fuck. His low, almost growling words cause you to moan over the phone and his knees go weak.

“Yes, Eddie. Need you so bad. Can you come take care of me? Please?”

Eddie doesn’t reply, not directly to you. Instead he turns toward the shop and cries out, loud enough that you hear it and descend into giggles.

“Uncle Wayne, I’ve gotta go. Gotta…take care of something at home!”

~*~

When Eddie thunders up the stairs to your shared apartment, he doesn’t know that you can hear him coming from inside. You laugh at the way you can hear his enthusiasm in his rapid steps and adjust yourself, waiting for him to reach the door.

When you hear him step onto the welcome mat you wrench the door open and lean against the frame dramatically. Just on cue, Eddie’s jaw drops to the floor.

“Welcome home, baby,” you coo handing over the glass of whiskey you have in one hand. His eyes are so fixed on your lingerie that he barely notices what you were holding in the other hand until you busy yourself with it.

You bring one of his pre-rolled joints up to your lips and light it with his favorite lighter, puffing a bit to bring the burning end to life. The lap of Eddie’s mechanic coveralls immediately tightens as he watches your plush lips work around the joint.

“Fucking Christ…” Eddie mutters to himself before knocking back the entire glass of whiskey in one go. You pull the joint from your lips to laugh at his reaction, squealing when he slams the door and grabs you around the waist, dragging you into the apartment. “Where have you been all my life?”

You giggle and bring the joint up to his lips, delighted when he takes a grateful drag.

“I’ve literally been right next to you your whole life,” you respond, referring to the friendship you’d shared since grade school, long before you both admitted your feelings for one another.

“Well fucking stay right next to me, okay?” Eddie gruffly asks, burying his face in your neck. You hum your approval and wrap yourself around his tall, lanky frame.

“That depends.”

“Oh? On what?”

“Can you fuck me now?” you ask breathlessly. Eddie pulls back to look at you, laughing, but you’re not joking.

“Of course, baby. But I just got in the door. Let me shower and - ,”

“No!” you say petulantly, holding onto him as he tries to step out of your grasp. “I want you like this.”

You begin kissing up his neck and he attempts to extricate himself.

“Sweetheart, I’m covered in grease and sweat...” Eddie shakes his head but you’re nodding so profusely he stops in his tracks.

“’s what I’ve been fantasizing about all day,” you clarify, biting your lip and looking up at him through dropping eyelashes. Eddie’s cock hardens that much more and soon you’re pressed up against the closed door to your shared bedroom, his thigh fitted between yours in a way that has you panting.

When Eddie finally pulls away from the act of devouring your mouth, you sag against the door to catch your breath, watching as he pulls from the joint that he must have miraculously continued to hold onto as you’d made out. He looks like sex on a stick as he stands there, propped up by the arm against the door beside you, joint between his lips, tousled hair sticking up in every direction from the impatience of your hands. His coveralls have been zipped open and pushed askew by those same impatient hands and he smiles under your scrutiny.

“What brought this...enthusiasm on, babe?” he asks lowly. “Not that I’m complaining of course.”

You wriggle under his gaze. A little embarrassed, but also wholly aware that it’s Eddie. Your Eddie. So you’re honest.

“Wanna be your little housewife,” you admit shyly. His features crumple for a split second as he is entirely unable to handle how fucking adorable you are. But just as quickly he’s grinning.

“Of course you do,” he says confidently. He places the joint back between his lips and presses his thumb against the plush of your lower lip. The tip of your tongue darts out automatically to lick at the pad of his thumb and Eddie’s breath catches. Your pupils are blown wide. You’re properly horny (and properly stoned) and a deep seeded desire to care for you bubbles in his abdomen. “Can you get on the bed for me, princess?”

Like a gentleman, he opens the door you’d been pressed against and bows you inside. You do as you’re told and immediately drop down onto the mattress, looking up at him expectantly like a puppy who is awaiting further trick instruction. Eddie wants to laugh, but his dick also twitches impatiently in his coveralls, reminding him action is probably the best next course.

“Undress me?” he asks as the next part of his plan. You get up on your knees on the bed and drag him to you by the fabric of his coveralls. Tongue placed between teeth, you stare him in the eyes as you zip him down all the way, pushing the sleeves over and off his shoulders. The garment drops to gather at his hips where it tented at the crotch, catching on his hard dick. You whimper and reach for it but Eddie grabs your arms and winds them around his neck, pulling you in for a kiss.

When he pulls back, he has a smirk on his lips.

"Alright. Time for a shower."

Your brows knit together immediately in betrayal and your arms tighten around him, trying to keep him grounded against you.

"But I - !"

Eddie shushes you and steps out of his coveralls. His boxer-covered dick prods insistently against you and it makes you whine more, rubbing into it as much as you can. But Eddie's having none of it. He pulls you off the bed, dragging you alongside him on his way to the bathroom.

"Shhh, sweetheart. You're gonna help clean me up. That's what a good housewife would do, yeah?" He comes to a stop in front of the sink, leaning you against the counter so he can pull back the shower curtain and turn on the water. You brighten up a little at his words.

"Yeah..." you agree tentatively. Eddie rewards you with a massive grin and before he can stall any longer, you strip down his boxers and nudge him into the shower. You tear off your lingerie and step in behind him as fast as you can, pushing your way into his waiting, dripping arms.

"There's my baby," he coos. The longer the two of you stand in warm embrace beneath the steaming shower head, the more his erection flags into a contented, semi-hard state, however, and you aren't having any of that. So you are the one who pulls away and gets to work.

You clean your man. Well.

Soap up and down the length of his body. Shampoo in his hair - which you can only access efficiently once he leans down to help you reach. He hums and groans as you massage the shampoo and then the conditioner into his scalp and the sound makes your entire body sing. There's so much intimacy in the act, and if you weren't so turned on that every nerve in your body felt like a live wire, you probably would have enjoyed it more. Once he's started rinsing off, however, you attend to your favorite part. Running your hands up and down his abdomen and tugging at his cock without preamble.

"Baby..." Eddie reprimands, his eyes closed against the spray of water as he rinses conditioner out of his sopping curls. He doesn't open his eyes or move to stop you so you take that as your cue to continue. You get him nice and hard again, aided by the shower water and saliva that you spit into your hand.

"Sweetheart," Eddie tries again, chuckling this time and grabbing at your wrist. "I'm supposed to be getting clean."

"I don't care," you answer petulantly. "You've kept me waiting."

Eddie's laugh is full-bellied this time. He turns the water off and slaps your ass lightly, stepping around you to get out of the shower.

"I know, baby, and that was cruel. Why don't you get dried up and put on another one of those little get ups for me. I'll get us another drink and we'll do whatever you want, okay?"

You fight the urge to groan in frustration that you're being made to wait yet again, but a good housewife wouldn't do that. So you nod and wrap yourself in the towel he offers you, bouncing back to the bedroom on impatient feet.

~*~

Eddie had gotten the upper hand on you, that much he knew. Making you wait had been cruel, but he knew it was better then getting you - and the bedroom - all covered in grease. He makes a mental note, however, to fuck you on his work counter at the garage one evening next week after closing time when Wayne was out of town. He's nothing if not attentive to your wants and needs.

He whistles as he walks back to the room, a glass of water and two cold bottles of beer in hand. He's expecting you to be waiting patiently - maybe even already at the door. But he stops short the minute he sees you.

You're spread out on the bed in a different lingerie set, this one somehow even sexier than the last (the second part of the birthday present you're giving him early) and he feels his entire body flush a deep red. You watch it spread down his neck and chest and rub your thighs together.

"Eddieeee," you call out, letting the second syllable become a whine. You might still be begging, but you're the one in power now, as far as Eddie is concerned, as he moves on autopilot towards you. You get up onto your knees and accept the bottle of beer from him, wrapping your lips around it lasciviously. Eddie chokes as he takes his own sip.

"Can I have it?" you ask, gazing up at him from beneath your eyelashes. Eddie swallows thickly.

"Can you have what, princess?" he asks. He knows what you want. He's just a teasing asshole and needs you to say it.

But you are tired of playing the game so you don't play fair. Instead of answering him you pull at the towel tied around his waist till it falls to the floor, exposing an erection so proud your mouth positively waters. You make eye contact as you reach for it, practically daring him to get in the way of what you want again. But Eddie's resolve is completely gone at this point, and he lets you have it, letting his eyes fall closed at the sensation of your hand wrapping around him.

You tug at him. You let your thumb ease over the thick vein that you so enjoy licking. You flick your wrist when your fist encases his mushroom head, coaxing a bead of precum out the slit just as you'd hoped.

Eddie takes one final swig of his beer before grabbing your bottle from you and placing both it and his on the night stand. You whine when the motion pulls his cock out of your grasp, but you’re placated when he climbs onto the bed and grabs you by the thighs, pulling you roughly under him.

“How do you want it, baby?” He asks, kissing a trail down your neck from your ear to your clavicle. “What’s my girl been fantasizing about in that little head of yours?”

A tiny half sober part of your brain finds humor in the phrasing of the question. You happen to know Eddie finds you to be the smartest person he’s ever met, so the diminutive nature of his words tickles the part of you that longed for role play like this. Tired of being the smart girl, the serious girl, the strong girl, right now you just want to be this. Eddie’s girl.

“I just want to make you feel good,” you coo. You can see the conflict play out behind his eyes at your response. On one hand he’s so fucking turned on by you wanting to please him. Like he can’t fucking stand how turned on he is. But he also gets off on you getting off, so he’s not sure how to proceed.

And you know this. You know your Eddie is the most selfless, generous lover you’ve ever had and you know that it must kill him to think of putting his pleasure first. But you furrow your brow and give him the biggest puppy dog eyes possible in an attempt to telegraph the fact that you need him to play along. That him taking what he wants will be giving you everything you need.

It’s clear the moment this clicks in his mind because Eddie’s features go soft. He rubs a knuckle lightly against your temple and smiles.

“Of course my baby wants to make me feel good." The kiss he places to your forehead and then the tip of your nose makes your eyes slide closed. So it's soft he wants, you think to yourself. Your heart rattling around in your ribcage doesn't exactly feel ready to slow down enough to match a soft tempo, but you'll work with what he wants to give you.

At least that's what you're thinking when suddenly you feel the bed shifting away from you and your world upended when Eddie flips you over onto your hands and knees. You scramble for purchase against the sheets and yelp in surprise, but you don't even have a second to get situated before Eddie is dragging you back against him by your hips.

"Gonna do so good for me, aren't you baby?" Eddie asks, deep and low from behind you. His voice makes you shiver, as does his hand which slides from between your shoulder blades, down the line of your spine, ultimately delivering a light slap that has your ass bouncing. He groans at the visual of his own making, gripping your hips with two hands again. "Fuck that's the ticket right there, huh?"

"Let me be good for you - oh!" You start off trying to incite him to finally do something but break off in a gasp when his cock begins sliding through your pussy lips, getting your slick all over his hardened length. The tip prods your clit and you buckle inward, so turned on and edged from the events of the last few hours. Eddie laughs and the sound goes straight to your core.

"My little wife that sensitive? Worked yourself up so much for me, huh sweetheart?"

The whimpering inhale to take in in response to that statement makes his cock pulse.

"Need you, Eddie," you whisper. Eddie hums behind you before pushing at your hip to flip you over once again. You're more disoriented this time, even more so when Eddie moves from his place between your thighs in order to straddle your stomach.

You gaze at him above you from your new position on your back and...fuck it is glorious. You try to make grabby hands at him but he ignores you, leaning over instead to the nightstand where you'd left his other pre-rolled joint. He lights it and resituates himself over you, taking a deep drag and dropping his head back as he holds the smoke deep in his lungs while stroking his cock over you with his free hand.

"Jesus Christ..." you mutter to yourself at the debaucherous image above you. You lift up onto your elbows to get closer and he rolls his head back toward you, opening his eyes half mast to blow smoke in your direction. When the cloud clears you see his lazy grin, red-rimmed eyes sweeping up and down your figure.

"This do it for ya?" he asks, playfully. You nod forcefully, unable to take your eyes off the head of his angry red cock disappearing and reappearing in his fist. The slide is loud and fast and wet. Wet from your own slick, your realize with a lurch of your stomach. Fuck you want him inside you. Reaching out a hand towards him, you tear your gaze away from his dick and bring it back up to his overly amused face.

"Can I help?" you ask, way too innocently for the context of the situation. Eddie pretends to mull it over, joint elevated in his free hand as his tongue slides over his teeth.

"Yeah, I think there's something you can do..." he says vaguely. You're unsure of the implications until he moves forward, pushing the straps of your lingerie off your arms, and it is suddenly abundantly clear what he is angling for - and you couldn't be more excited.

As Eddie brings the underside of his cock to rest against your sternum, you lift your breasts up on either side to sandwich his length between. Eddie watches you from above, his grin indicating how proud he is that you're playing along so quickly.

"There you go, that's perfect. Now could you just - oh fuck." Without him even having to complete the request, you spit on his cock, adding to the wetness still present from your slick, reaching up and spreading it over his erection in a way that has him biting his lip in seconds. "Look at you, knowing just what I need."

You smile up at him and push your breasts together again, moving slightly to let him feel the drag of your plush skin against him. Eddie places the joint back between his lips and leans forward to grip your shoulders for leverage. This allows him to fuck his hips back and forth, creating the friction he was seeking.

Though this act doesn't directly stimulate any of your erogenous zones specifically, the sounds it pulls from his lips and the look on his crumpled face as he watches what you're letting him do to you - it's got your pussy practically weeping.

"You're so fucking hot, princess," Eddie says around the joint before taking one last long hit and reaching over to stamp it out in the ashtray on the bedside table. With both his hands free, he returns to you with renewed attention, dropping his palms to circle lightly over your nipples. Your eyes widen at the stimulation and Eddie grins. "Like it when I fuck your tits?"

"Yes," you breathe out in response immediately.

Eddie pinches your nipples as a reward and your hips stutter upwards into nothing behind him. Eddie laughs and begins thrusting a bit harder, wrapping his big hands around your smaller ones to help crush your tits even tighter around his cock.

"Fuckin' yeah you do. My perfect girl. Oh shit, just look at you," he practically grunts. You stare heart eyes up at him, watching him take pleasure from your flesh in the most selfish way while still somehow making you feel like you're god's gift to earth. The image of him - eyes blown black and lips red and swollen from biting as his cock moves in the valley of your breasts - has you letting out an unfiltered moan. Eddie's brow twists in mock sympathy. "Need something, princess?"

Your hips buck again and Eddie chuckles, reaching a hand behind himself and down between your legs to play with you where you need him most. He jaw drops at the feeling of your excessive arousal.

"Fuck, sweetheart, you're soaked. I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he frowns down at you in faux commiseration. You shake your head but your eyelids flutter at the feeling of his fingers against your clit.

"No this is - oh. This is about y-you," you respond, squeezing your breasts tighter to try and get him to fuck them faster. Eddie ignores your statement and instead sinks a two fingers into your heat. Your body tightens and your eyes slam shut. The feeling of his fingers inside you and his thumb on your clit have you neglecting your goal and after a few minutes your hands drop entirely from your breasts in favor of fisting the sheets. Eddie's dick slides up and down your slicked sternum along to the rocking of your body. Watching it rub against your wet skin, watching your tits bounce freely while your cunt squelches loudly around the in and out motions of his fingers - it all has Eddie feeling higher than any strain ever could.

After a few minutes more of the best show Eddie's ever seen in his life, he eases his fingers out of you and brings them to your lips, pulling the bottom one out from between your teeth. The action has you opening your dazed eyes to peer up at him, breathless.

"Let's take care of that pretty pussy now, alright?" Eddie prompts, easing himself back to sit on the bed between your legs. You seize the moment, however, and disentangle yourself from him, dropping down to take his cock in your mouth. Eddie's hands immediately find your hair and he chokes on air. "Hey, hey, stop that, I said we're taking care of you."

"This is what I want," you try to say, but your mouth is a little preoccupied with his cock. You run your tongue up the vein you love so much. You let his fat tip tap the back of your throat, gagging eagerly when you feel his hips press forward just that tiny bit more as he loses himself in the feeling of you.

It's messy. Absolutely filthy, exactly how you like it. Exactly how you know he likes it. With your hands on his balls and elbows and knees digging into the mattress, you arch your back and make sure your ass sticks up that much more with each bob of your head. Eddie certainly takes note. You know because eventually his hand slides back to get a big handful of one of your cheeks before raining down a slap on your backside that has you slamming forward and choking on his length even more. Your eyes water and your throat burns. The guttural moan he lets out in response, however, is priceless.

You're more than a little disappointed when he pulls you off of him finally, holding you back with his hands under your arms like you're a child he doesn't trust to behave correctly.

"Now are you going to let me fuck you or not?" he asks, his voice absurdly tired as if he's suffered some great inconvenience.

You feel inhibition-less, both from your nice high and the result of being absolutely cock drunk at this point, so you giggle and draw a line down from his jaw, over his neck and clavicle, and down to circle one of his nipples.

"You've already fucked me," you tease with a voice hoarse from his dick. You lean forward in spite of his hold on you and lick a stripe from peck to peck, kitten licking his other nipple and up the expanse of his tattoo. "In two different ways, actually."

Eddie, now fully riled up and aching, has had enough of your teasing (though to be fair he's done much worse to you so far today). He pulls you back into sitting position and grips your jaw lightly to force your roving eyes to focus on his.

"I want to fuck you properly now," he enunciates dramatically. You nod his grip and he nods along with you, trying to hide the grin growing on his lips. "What'll it be? Back or hands and knees?"

Before he's even finished asking, though, you've pulled out of his light grasp and scrambled around on the bed, dropping to your forearms and presenting your ass to him. Eddie groans, deep and low, and squeezes at your hips and waist almost too tightly. Almost. Instead you moan at the bruising feeling and wiggle your ass to beg for more.

The sight of you in front of him, primed and ready and all covered in lace has Eddie's mouth positively watering. He realizes, however, that you're still trussed up in your lingerie. The straps are down and your tits are out, and he'd moved the gusset of your panties to the side to finger you, but there are still parts of your body obscured by fabric. And that just doesn't sit right with him.

There are a few ties in the back that he attempts to fidget with, but his impatience gets the better of him after just a few moments. He grips two handfuls of the material and wrenches the body suit in two, straight down the middle.

"Eddie!" you chastise, high and loud. It ends on an incredulous laugh because, regardless of how absurd and immature the action was, it's also incredibly hot. "This was supposed to be a birthday present for you!"

"Well fuck, baby. I had to unwrap it first, jeez," Eddie laughs right back. He pulls the tattered remains of the ruined garment off, tossing it away from the bed, before grabbing you by the front of your thighs and slamming your body back against him. The two of you let out twin moans at the impact. His cock slides around in your slick for a moment, but you're no longer waiting around. You reach down and guide him inside you without any further preamble.

The stretch is still immense, regardless of the excessive foreplay. He's always been a lot to take, and your body is somehow always still shocked by his sheer size. But Eddie anticipates this, of course, so his finger is on your clit within seconds, working you through the initial ache and bringing you quickly into a throbbing, expectant pleasure.

"This pussy's been waiting for me, hasn't she," Eddie whispers right in your ear. His chest is on your back as his hips begin rolling, bringing him in and out of you.

"N-needed you for so long, Eddie," you whimper, cheek pressing into the sheets. Eddie tsks and places kisses to the base of your neck and shoulders.

"I know, baby. You've been so good, waiting for me to come home and take care of you."

“Always waiting for you to come home,” you whimper. Eddie knows it’s just part of the role play. He knows you have work and your own hobbies and friends and a life on top of the one you share with him. Realistically you aren’t sitting around at home waiting for him. But the memory of your voice so sweetly begging him on the phone and the memory of you greeting him at the door in lingerie mixes with the sensory overload he’s experiencing inside you. It makes his cock twitch and his fingers grip your waist with a bruising pressure that you love.

“I know, princess,” he hums, dropping down over you again so that his chest is to your back, hands propping him up on the mattress on either side of you. With one hand Eddie pulls your hair aside so he can pepper light kisses to the back of your neck. A stark contrast to the unforgiving, pendulous thrust of his hips.

“Maybe I should just keep you here,” he says breathlessly after a few minutes that are silent save for the wet slap of skin on skin. He feels you shudder beneath him and continues, lips catching your earlobe. “Keep you naked and wet and waiting on this bed for me at all times. Filled with my cum. Covered in it.”

You inhale sharply at his words and your lips pull into a dramatic o. Eddie feels you clench around him and is more than aware of what this is doing to you.

So of course he continues.

“That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be my pretty little thing?”

You nod your head erratically into the mattress, practically beside yourself at this point. It’s exactly what you want, at least for the purposes of this fantasy. The weight of Eddie against you and the steady way his cock pummels that sweet spot inside you has your eyes rolling back in your head as your lids drop. It has your toes curling and your brain going fuzzy, like static with an untuned radio station. Every nerve ending in your body has evaporated save for the ones between your thighs which receive all of the attention they could ever need.

“Tell me you’re mine, baby,” Eddie says abruptly. Your hazy mind struggles to comprehend his words but understanding seeps through, as does the memory that for as much as you love praise, your man feeds off it as well.

“I’m yours, Eddie Munson,” you gasp, the words twisting in a whine. His finger has found your clit again and it’s just unfair how ducking good it feels. You arch your back into the feeling, widening your legs to encourage him even deeper. The sight and your words has Eddie gritting his teeth.

“Oh fuck this,” he says suddenly, abruptly pulling out and flipping you onto your back. The sudden motion and the unwelcome emptiness has you dazed and your stare at the ceiling in confusion, blind to the way Eddie adjusts you. He lifts your hips up to slide a pillow under the small of your back, elevating you and extending your legs. In this new position the backs of your thighs meet the tops of his, your knees hooking on his hips while his knees dig into the mattress.

Hearing a shick shick shick sound that doesn’t correspond with the feeling of his dick re-entering you is both disorienting and upsetting, so you tip your chin to your chest in an effort to get a glimpse of him tugging on his slicked cock. However, that’s the exact moment that Eddie leans over you and fills your field of vision with his beautiful face.

“Sorry, princess. Needed to see your eyes while you said you were mine.” His words are so sweet, but he subverts the sweetness by choosing that exact moment to breach your entrance again.

“Oh god. Eddie - oh.” Your eyes slam shut to keep from crossing while you struggle up fathom the deliciousness of his first inward thrust. When his rhythm picks up, however, you feel his big warm palm press against your cheek before giving it a feather light tap to gain your attention.

“Eyes on me, pretty girl,” Eddie coos. You do as he says, squinting up at him to take in his massive, pleased smile. His hair is stuck to his temples, whether still wet from the shower or sweaty from exertion you’re unsure. All you are sure of is that fact that he is gorgeous. His eyes that shine down on you with so much love, the dimples that sink into his cheek to make space for his joy, his lips that move as they say your name. The whole picture has your brain screaming mine mine mine mine.

“That’s right, pretty girl, all yours,” Eddie agrees with a smirk. Your brain and drug addled brain must have caused you to speak your thoughts out loud but you can’t bring it in you to care. Not when Eddie is hoisting you up even higher against his elevated lap, causing your back to arch off the bed, your head and shoulders pressing down against the mattress for leverage as you bounce in his grasp.

“Jesus Christ, I want it. I want it, I w-want it Eddie…” You’re positively rambling now, scrabbling against the sheets for purchase. Seeking out your organs with legs that shake as the squeeze against Eddie’s narrow hips.

“And I want you. Wanna fuck you on the washing machine. Bend you over the - fuck - the kitchen counter while you wear one of those aprons and nothing else.” If you’re rambling, so is he. He’s so far gone in the fantasy at this point, so overwhelmed by everything he never thought he, the town freak, could want let alone have, in any capacity.

The gravel tone of his voice and the fucked out look on his face are what do you in ultimately. You squeeze down on his cock and cry out, wide eyes blind with pleasure and fingernails digging into any part of him you can reach.

“Oh god, oh Eddie!”

“Fucking shit, princess. You’re so tight, that’s - fuck!” Eddie has lost all intelligibility at this point. But that’s just fine by you, because you’re miles high now. Body tingling and seizing and floating, both from the weed and the strength of your climax.

You fall boneless back to the bed and register the fact that Eddie’s still teetering on the brink, every muscle tensed and shaking as he chases satisfaction. Your body is pushed higher up the bed with each of his escalating, punishing thrusts. He seems lost, and that’s what gives you the instinct to ground him.

Grabbing at his neck and shoulders, you pull Eddie down to you, causing him to catch himself on the mattress on either side of your head while you kiss him. It’s extremely one sided with his fat gone he is and with how much energy he has focused on pistoning into your soaked pussy. But it feels good nonetheless and you know it’s doing something for you to slide your tongue into his slack jawed mouth because it causes him to let out a groan from deep in his chest.

When you pull away you place your hands on both sides of his face and hold him there to make eye contact. His gaze is incredibly unfocused, and his brow is twisted in agony, but you keep the eye contact and make sure to enunciate when you speak.

“I’m yours, Eddie Munson,” you repeat the earlier sentiment, this time staring straight into his soul. Eddie’s entire body convulses then, just like clock work, and he buries his face into your neck and clings to you while hot ropes of his cum paint your walls. You hold him through it, even as his hips continue to rock. “There we go. That’s it.”

It takes him several moments to come back to earth, aided in his return only by the gentle feeling of your hands caressing his back and sliding through his hair. He hums into your neck, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin there before finally pulling back to look at you.

Your kiss swollen lips are still wet. Your eyes are much to bright and your hair is positively bedraggled. All surefire proof that you have been well and thoroughly debauched. Pride swells in his chest at the sight, but it also swells in his dick, causing it to twitch inside you in spite of softening, and you inhale sharply at the feeling. Your features settle back into a relaxed smile though and Eddie kisses beneath your eye.

“That do it for you, baby?” he asks, voice ridiculously smug. You reward him with a massive smile, but your shrug throws him.

“Yeah, but we’re just getting started handsome. We have the rest of the day. Thought you wanted to keep me in your bed, filled and covered in cum?”

A deep blush stains Eddie’s cheeks and chest as you quote the dirty talk he’d spewed in a moment of passion. But, not one to back down from a challenge, he pulls his softened cock out of you slowly, pleased by the way your smirk crumples st the loss.

“You’re right, princess,” Eddie says with a grin. He drags the reddened head of his cock up from your slit over your pubic bone and to your lower belly, sure to catch it on your clit on the way up to elicit a gasp from you. He smears the mixture of your cum and his there on your belly before leaning down and licking a stripe up through the mess that has you clenching around nothing.

When Eddie looks up to find you gazing at him with mooning eyes, he takes pity on you and leans back up for a kiss. A sweaty, salty, cum-flavored kiss that’s everything you, the freak’s lover and a freak in her own right, could ever want.

It doesn’t take long before wandering hands and massaging tongues lead you to feel something stiff digging into your hip again. You reach down and graze your fingers over his leaking tip and bite your lip.

“Make me yours again, handsome, and if I can still walk afterwards I’ll make you dinner.”

Eddie shakes his head deviously at your proposal.

“We’ll be having take out.”

You frown up at him.

“But I thought you like it when I make dinner,” you begin to argue, but then you’re crying out because Eddie sheaths himself back inside you with one thrust. Your pliant, wet, satiated body welcomes him without protest this time. Eddie grasps at your curves and nudges his nose against yours before moving.

“I do love it when you make dinner, baby. But the way I intend on fucking you, you sure as hell won’t be able to walk tonight. That’s a promise.”

And your Eddie is a man of his word.

~*~

——

———

————

—————

Hope you enjoyed ♥️

#eddie munson smut #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #mechanic!eddie Munson #stranger things smut

4K notes · View notes